Torah & more… תורה ועוד

Three kids were on route home a week ago and since then we’re holding our breath. There is nothing to say, but pray. May we hear good news soon.

* * * * * * *

This week I had the opportunity to participate at a SWAT training, role playing for emergency situations. The reply to my ‘good morning’ as I walked in was, “great, we need a dead female”… I got a torn shirt, “bullet shot” in my forehead, a very “bloody” wig and lots of red paint – which is still in my currently pinkish hair. Over the next 7 hours I “died” and was resurrected numerous times.
Lying motionless with my eyes closed on the (relatively) cool concrete floor in this somewhat macabre pose, listening to the rescue teams training, working hard to figure out how to move in unison, anticipate complicated situations, support each other and save us, I had some extra time to think of this week’s parasha hero, Korach and his 250 people. Korach incites a mutiny challenging Moses’ and Aaron’s leadership. After all, they are all from the tribe of the Levi and the whole nation is “holy”, why should Moses and Aaron tell everybody what to do? Korach is further accompanied by Moses’ inveterate foes, Datan and Aviram. Joining them are 250 distinguished members of the community, who offer holy incense to prove that they are worthy of the priesthood. You might think Moses and Aaron feel relieved to have so many willing helpers, but instead, the earth opens up, swallowing the mutineers and a fire consumes those who offered the incense.
Who is Korach? In my usual manner, and with my extra time (on that floor), I started trying to analyze Korach’s name, the root and the letters. Korach is spelled kof.resh.chet. Rabbi Hirsch points that the same root is used for the word for balding (karcha: check Leviticus 21:5), a smooth interior of a garment (karachto, check Leviticus 13:55) and frost (kerach, Genesis 31:40), which is also the word for ice in Modern Hebrew. The root means “cohere”, which the dictionary says means- 1. to stick together; be united; hold fast, as parts of the same mass. 2. Physics (of two or more similar substances) to be united within a body by the action of molecular forces. 3. to be naturally or logically connected: 4. to agree; be congruous.

I was excited to find a letter by letter analysis of his name (ah, the things that make me excited!):
According to kabala, the ideal balance between thought and action is hinted in the letter heh. The letter heh is made of three parts: the top – for thought; the right side – for speech and the left – for action. Notice, that the left side is shorter than the others and that it stands sort of “under” the top, indicating that action is subject to thought.
Each of the letters is Korach’s name is very similar to the heh, but is different, and how it’s different is significant to what happened and what we can learn.
The letter kof is like a heh except the left line goes down lower than the right, indicating a situation when those who act are not under those who think, which drags the former lower.
The letter resh is like heh except it has no left side at all, parallel to Korach’s dmand to separate thinking from doing.
The letter chet is like heh, except the left side is closed, making all three aspects – thought, speech and action – equal.
Just from his name, we see that Korach demanded often conflicting things: to be “equal” as in “kulam kdoshim”, everybody is holy, and yet, to be a leader, unique above everybody, so which way is it?

In Pirkei Avot (the Sayings of the Fathers 5:20), we’re told: “Any dispute that is for the sake of heaven will have a constructive outcome; but one that is not for the sake of heaven will not have a constructive outcome. What sort fo dispute is for the sake of Heaven? The dispute between Hillel and Shamai. And which was not for the sake of Heaven? – The dispute of Korach and his entire company”.

Wait, if we want to use these role models, shouldn’t the parallel to Hillel and Shamai, two giants of two different opinions and ways of thinking, be Korach and Moses?
But the Mishna chose to say, Korach vechol adato, Korach and all his crowd, to say, the dispute was not at all between Korach and Moses, but rather, it was internal, between Korach and his very own people!

Korach is considered the prototype of divisiveness. His criticism, even if it had some valid points, is not constructive. He is not interested in fixing or improving things. It is all about glorifying himself and only himself. Hence, his priorities are mixed up and messed up; his “gang” is united by who they are opposing, not positive input and desire for anyone’s well being; and their “togetherness” is only temporary. He is a role model for how not to be, how not to do things and thus is not sustainable. Like ice (kerach), Korach and his group break apart and melt away when light shines on them.

Shabbat Shalom.

Long ago and far away, people used to tie a knot in their handkerchief to make sure they didn’t forget something important. Today, while tying a “Kleenex” is pretty much impossible, there is a website called “KnottedHandkerchief” that sends reminder email before an event.
Why do we need reminders? Why do things slip our mind? And how these knots supposed to help?
At the end of this week’s Torah portion, God tells Moses to instruct the Children of Israel to tie knots on their garments as reminders of the obligation to observe all the commandments. A mitzvah for our clothing??
The first humans were naked (Genesis 2:25). Initially, they had no shame and they had no evil inclination within them. They also had no free will, and thus no ability to see choices and make decisions, all essential components in a real relationship.
After the “fruit”, it was no longer natural for them to roam around naked in the Garden, and thus, they “hid”. Their first set of clothing was made and given to them by G-d (Genesis 3:21). It was an act of care, compassion and protection, but also of sadness and distance since the humans were no longer one with each other or with the Divine. Clothing symbolically expressed closeness, G-d’s kindness and empathy, yet also separation. Indeed, from before birth till after we pass, we’re clothed, shelled, divided – and yet, connected. Through our clothing we communicate who we are and check who is another, like soldiers who recognize a member of their unit, a member of another army (this can be a “dangerous” and not very PC metaphor, so just work with it for as long as it works and toss when no longer useful).
Hebrew plays with us a bit, because “begged”, a garment, shares its root with “bagad” and “bgida” which mean – betrayed and betrayal. It turns out that contrary to what we think, what we wear has little to nothing to do with the climate we might live in for even in perfectly comfortable weather, where we would be fine in nothing at all, humans wear something! The Torah teaches that clothing are a way for us to communicate; they are a reminder of our original separation (and not “sin”!) from G-d and each other. This is why we can use them to reconnect.
The commandment of tzitzit specifies: “…so you may not wander after your heart and your eyes to lead you astray (Numbers 15:39)”, and by the way, “lead you astray” is a PG translation to the Torah’s blunt language literally saying “which you prostitute after them”.
Why does the Torah place the heart before the eyes? Aren’t we first attracted by what we see, and then ‘feel’? Apparently not. The eyes are an agent of the heart and not an independent organ. The heart leads, the eye follow. According to what’s in our heart, so we see. This is easily tested when we look at something, or someone, at different times in our lives, and all of a sudden, “it changed”. Did “it”? How about the familiar phenomena that when we’re pregnant, so is everybody, and when we’re looking for college, so is everybody, etc. Is that objective “seeing”?
This very same Torah portion also opens with the story of the “spies”: Twelve esteemed princes of the twelve tribes are sent to check out the Land of Israel before the rest of the nation would follow. Only two of them, seeped in trust in God,  saw the Land’s potential! The ten others “saw” an impossible place to conquer or live in, full of “giants”, fortified cities and inedible fruit. Why the different view of the same exact place? Interestingly, the Torah tells us they were sent “latur et ha’aretz”, to scout or “wander” the land, using the same root from the mitzvah of tzitzit where it says “velo taturu”, do not wander! Don’t go around aimlessly without first preparing your heart! In this regard, the heart is just like any other muscle. We hopefully wouldn’t run a marathon “cold”; likewise, we should not send our heart out to decide our life for us without some prep. It too needs some training, some “reminders”.

And there is maybe a little comfort: The Torah tells us that often that which separates us also brings us closer again. Just like what we wear is not only a divider, but also a tool to reconnect, so too, our exit door can be our point of re-entry, and where we erred is where we begin to correct – with each other and with the Divine.

Water fights to celebrate Shavuot? Yes, that’s what was done in some North African communities; true, summer has arrived and it was fun to cool off, but why then, davka on Shavuot? More serious commentators and historians explain that it was because the closest thing to Torah in this world is water, and what better holiday is there to be joyful with water, with the Torah. So say the Midrash (English continues below):
נמשלו דברי תורה במים
מה מים, מסוף העולם ועד סופו [=יש להם התחלה וסופם אינו נראה בעין]
כך תורה, מסוף העולם ועד סופו
מה מים חיים לעולם
כך תורה חיים לעולם
מה מים מן השמים
כך התורה מן השמים
ומה המים מטהרים הגוף
כך תורה מטהרת הגוף
ומה המים יורדין טיפין-טיפין ונעשים נחלים-נחלים
כך תורה: אדם לומד שתי הלכות היום ושתים למחר
עד שנעשה כנחל נובע
ומה מים אין אדם גדול מתבייש לומר לקטן: השקני מים
כך דברי תורה אין הגדול מתבייש לומר לקטן
למדני פרק אחד, דבר אחד, פסוק אחד, ואפילו אות אחת
ומה מים כשאין אדם יודע לשוט בהם, סוף שהוא מתבלע [=טובע
כך דברי תורה, אם אין אדם יודע לשוט בהן ולהורות בהן, סוף שהוא מתבלע
מדרש שיר השירים רבה א’, י”ט
The Torah is likened to water:
Just like water have a beginning but no end in sight,
So goes the Torah, from one end of the world to the other
Just like the water lives forever
So the Torah, lives forever
Just like the Torah comes down from heavens
So the Torah…
And just like the water purifies the body
So the torah…
And just like the Torah comes down bit by bit and joins to great rivers,
So the Torah: a person learns a couple of ideas today and a couple tomorrow
Until he becomes like a flowing stream
And just like with water, when one is thirsty, a greater / older person isn’t embarrassed to say to a younger / smaller one: please, give me some water
So it is with Torah words, and an older person is not too shy to say to a younger one:
Please teach me one chapter, one matter, one verse, and even just one letter
And just like a person doesn’t know how to navigate water, ends up drowning
So it is with Torah words, and a person who doesn’t know how to find his (her) way in them, can drown.

This quote is from the Midrash on the Song of Songs. There are others in the Talmud: Rabbi Akiva said that just like water softens and changes a rock through constant dripping and persistence, so does the Torah makes changes in one’s heart through repeated learning. The Talmud says elsewhere, that just like when it rains in the night, one can only see the effects when the sun comes out, so it is with the Torah that the effects can take time. And another Rabbi Akiva parable tells about the fox who tries to convince the fish to escape the dangerous fishermen’ leave the ater and climb to safety on land as a metaphor for how crazy it is for us to leave the Torah in order to expect gains elsewhere and be saved from all sorts of troubles.
When I garden I think of other metaphors. For example, if we go with the ‘just like the Torah gives life, so does water’, we can easily see that just like the water is not responsible for the weeds along its way; it just gives water to all, so does the Torah. Torah learning is not a guarantee for goodness or wisdom, long life, success or anything. In fact, in Pirkei Avot it says, “derech eretz kadma leTorah” – mannerism and how one behaves takes precedence to Torah learning, and literally – comes before Torah learning, exactly because of the above principle, because if one waters weeds, they’ll grow too.
In Isaiah we read, “oh, everyone who is thirsty! go to the water! (Isaiah 55:1)”. This too is true for the Torah. One must have a thirst for this in order for the learning to be interesting, inspiring and make sense. When we are not “thirsty”, Torah words fly over our head with no meaning. Some of it has to do with age or personal maturity and some – with developing an inquisitive learning style. And just like we know we should drink at least so and so many glasses per day, how about watching our Torah intake? Last but not least, clear, clean water is what’s attractive – and healthy – rather than dirty, “standing” water. On Shavuot we have an opportunity to drink the “real thing”. Enjoy & chag same’ach!

A few years ago when I was working on the annual ceremony for Yom Hazikaron, in my usual zeal and enthusiasm, I invited, begged and twisted every arm around me to attend. For the Israelis among us Yom Hazikaron, the day to remember IDF fallen soldiers and terror victims is more serious and somber than Yom Kippur, so in the cultural gap between Israelis and American, “Memorial Day” is one of the very top, if not the pinnacle itself. The only “Memorial Day sale” Israelis know about, is of flowers and candles at the entrance to the cemeteries. That is also where the traffic jams are on that day. It’s the day “no one can understand” (as portrayed in an aliya commercial some time ago). It’s a day that we’re really sad, but if to be completely honest, we’re also a little full of ourselves as if we own mourning; as if we own sadness; as if we’re the only ones who ever lost anyone to war, battles, tragedy, bravery, independence, values.
So back then, when I was walking around preaching, convincing, guilt tripping, on and on about coming Yom Hazikaron , one gentleman responded with, “sure, I’ll come to your yoma… whatever it is, if you come to our Memorial Day service”. And his poignant eyes that have seens World War II, Korea and Vietnam bore right through me.
For a moment, I thought he was kidding. Memorial Day service? Here? Does he mean the clicking sound of the doors opening at Macy’s and Nordstrom Rack?? The hiss of the BBQ flame?
But, to my great surprise I discovered there are such things. This year, we opted to visit the USS Hornet, one of 4 aircraft carriers-turned museums nationwide, docked right here, in Alameda. True, it’s not quite the same but it seems right to take some time and pay attention to each other’s pain.
***
Today, the 28th of Iyar, is Yom Yerushalayim, Jerusalem Day. This day commemorates the reunification of the city in 1967. It is told that many, many years ago, Shem, the son of Noah suggested that this clear-mountain air city would be called shalem, wholeness, perfection; but Abraham suggested that this site, chosen by G-d, should have the word yir’a, reverence, awe in it.
G-d, who listened to both decided to combine both names into one, and call the city yeru-shalem, but then Shem came back all sad: “not enough you put me second, Abraham’s name is longer: mine is 3 letters and his is 4”. G-d decided to rearrange things slightly, making from yir’a – yir’u (which combined the alef and heh into a vav, maintaining their numerical values), so Shem wont be upset. But after he left, G-d decided to add another letter, the letter yod for His name, maybe so we remember our priorities, and so that Yerushalayim will have 7 letters (in Hebrew) like the 7 days of the week and the 7 branches of the menorah.
Nowadays there are bulldozers and cranes and buses and a new light-train and traffic jams and taxi drivers honking through narrow streets; merchants are yelling in the open markets where people rush between bins of fresh vegetables, sweet fruits, and colorful spices, avoiding the tahini sauce smeared on the sidewalk; There are kids running around. And soldiers. There are religious, secular, Arabs, Jews, tourists, foreigners, locals dressed in clothing styles from all over the world; countless languages and accents. Talking about peace and reverence seems delusional. And yet, a gateway is naturally full of hustle and bustle; a place that connects heaven and earth can’t be all heavenly perfection. It’s very much earth but it’s still, well, Yerushalayim.
***
There are many interesting topics in this week’s Torah reading but the winner of the most complex, difficult to understand, raising objections comes right before the laws of the nazirite and the mention of the priestly blessing, and is no doubt the ordeal of the Sotah: “Speak unto the children of Israel and say unto them: If any man’s wife go aside, and act unfaithfully against him”… The Sotah is the “suspected” unfaithful woman who goes in front of the priest in order to drink “magic” water: if she indeed was unfaithful to her husband, the water can cause her great public pain and embarrassment; if not, the water would have no affect and her name would be cleaned.
There are issues with the translation. for example, the Hebrew says “ish, ish” where the English only mentions “man” once. But there are much more serious issues with the fact that in this most private matter, and one that if absolutely necessary, can be solved by a court, we call upon a miracle and border line magic; we, who preach lo bashamayim hi, “it is not in the heavens”. There is a huge problem with 1. asking for a miracle in the first place, 2. the area we are asking for that miracle (shouldn’t we reserve miracles for really important stuff rather than pettiness between husband and wife??) and 3. the way in which it is done (including erasing God’s name).
In the Mishna and Talmud there is a tendency to move away from this ceremony for all the same reasons we might move away from it too (and historical complexities), but according to the Rambam, we ask for this miracle-interference davka (especially) in this area of relationships because everything else is based on that. A People is not made of big “wows”. Sinai happened once; Shabbat happens every week. A family’s well being is not about the ‘one time we went to Disney World’. It’s about the daily, often most mundane interactions: the dishes, the garbage, the late night cup of tea or glass of wine.
The fact that one needs a divine miracle shows great helplessness. What happened before they went to the priest? On the surface (and from our critical modern gaze) it looks as if he “went crazy”, suspected her “out of nowhere” and dragged her to a public humiliation. In action, this is not possible. We have to move away from the text and imagine life between the husband and wife. What happened to their communication, relationship, time together? What happened to ‘honey please’? She could not be ambushed and dragged to the priest in her sleep; she had to be warned, in advance with great specific details, and with witnesses. If she was with “someone else”, it couldn’t have been a onetime incident. There had to be “histatrut” – deliberate hiding. And of course, as divorce is permitted, she can also refuse the whole ordeal and the marriage can be dissolved. Thus, this procedure is only for a couple that both want to recover their marriage and restore their trust!
Last but not least, the rabbis, like us, were bothered by the lack of symmetry between husband and wife: she must drink strange water and? What about him? In Torah times a man could have more than one wife which made this more complicated but the Talmud (Masechet Sotah) and the Rambam say that the Sotah ordeal only worked if the husband has never sinned against his wife.
With the destruction of the Temple, the Sotah ordeal was abolished, but the importance of mutual trust in a relationship remained. There is a beautiful midrash about Rabi Meir who gave up his honor for a woman who was suspected by her husband. In defense for taking such extreme measures (he told her to spit in his eye) he said, that he was just trying to be like his Maker, who likewise lets His name be erased. How far should one go to make peace between husband and wife? It is always very complicated but the Torah in this parsha goes pretty far.
Shabbat shalom.

As far as I can remember, I’ve had one association with the 14th of Iyar: It’s the day my father, Aharon Kohane z”l, passed away. He was only 48 years old and died from ALS, a horrible debilitating disease. As a child, I dreaded yod dalet (14) in Iyar. It meant people pointing and looking at us with pity; it meant standing in shul, mumbling Aramaic words; it meant heading to the cemetery in the hot days of early summer, staring at the white stone and thinking about things I was way too young to think about.
So it took me a long time to learn that the day of his passing is actually a unique date that originated in the Torah; a day critical in meaning as well as ancient and modern practices.
We turn to the Book of Numbers, 9:1-14, and are witnesses to an interesting situation:
Moses tells the Children of Israel about the Pascal offering, which should occur on the 14th of Nisan (the month parallel to April). This seems pretty straight forward, but unlike most of the time when Moses speaks and everybody says amen, here a few people raise their heads from their notes and wonder, yes, but what if…??
We’ll see it again later with Tzlofchad’s daughters (Numbers 27:1-11). Here too, we’re presented with a case study: There were people who were ritually impure because they attended to a dead body and thus could not celebrate on the 14th of Nisan. What should they do? Should they miss this annual celebration??
“Wait here”, says Moses, “and I will hear what G-d commands concerning you”. These are the moments I like and admire Moses the most: when he says, ‘I don’t know’; when he doesn’t assume; when he models to us that it’s ok to not know, and it’s ok to ask.
And G-d answers with such a reasonable and Jewish () reply: “Speak unto the children of Israel, saying: If any man of you or of your generations shall be unclean by reason of a dead body, or be in a journey afar off… in the second month on the 14th day at dusk they shall keep (the Pascal); they shall eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs…”
If you missed the first Pesach, (for a good reason), says the Almighty, that’s alright. You have another chance one month later (which this year is tomorrow), thus called Pesach Sheni, 2nd Passover. No, there is no need to go crazy and clean the house from chametz, again, just because one of the family’s members was away or “ta-me” (ritually impure, and on that concept a longer conversation some other time -) or on a journey, but we should not miss an opportunity to come close to G-d.
We’re not naïve: There are enough things in life which come only once and once they are gone, they’re gone, but for those things we can have a second chance with? Let’s!
One of my favorite verses is in this week’s portion, Bechukotai: “If you walk in my laws”… (Leviticus 26:3). Walk in my laws? I can get that we are supposed to “keep” laws, “remember” or “fulfill” laws, but walk in them??
Indeed, the Torah is very clear that it’s all about a journey, and what we have is a map for a good path to travel between arrival and departure from this earth. How wide is the path? How far can we veer off to see a nice vista point or explore a bit before we lose the main road? Is it ok to travel in jeans and t-shirt or should we wear skirts and hats?? There are times that we think we got the answer, and we “know” it all. Then comes Moses and reminds us that even he had to ask; even he had to learn that, when it’s possible, there is room for second chances.

Pesach Sheni has been declared a “Day of religious Tolerance” in Israel

Yom Hazikaron & Yom Ha’atzmaut: Yom Hazikaron begins here not with sunset the day of, but with the first note of somber Israeli music, broadcasted from 9000 miles away, 10 extra hours earlier. Obsessively, I listen to galgalatz (Israeli music plus) traffic reports, as if it’s me who is maneuvering Haifa’s roads on my way to my friend’s grave-site (very crowded along the beach, near the military cemetery and outside my high school, where one of the biggest memorial ceremonies takes place). On these two days, which just passed this week, I feel like Captain Hook’s crocodile – my head slightly above water, but in my belly – a different clock is ticking, marking another time.

A few years ago, I invited a friend to join in Yom Hazikaron commemoration ceremony “ey sham” (somewhere) in Northern CA. It was a bit of a patronizing invite that had the tone of: ‘you need to come to see what a sacrifice my friends and I had to make, so you and others like you can live here peacefully, because, you know if we didn’t have a state… and we wouldn’t have had a state if not…’. These were the lines we were fed as kids, growing up in Israel, and I spat them out without a second thought.
‘Sure, I’ll come’, he said. ‘Will you also come to our Memorial Day?’
‘Memorial Day?’ I asked surprised. ‘that’s for shopping and BBQ. Sure, I’ll come’, I chuckled.
‘We meet at the entrance to the cemetery. You want to be there by 10am. Parking is a pain’, he told me. He wasn’t joking.
So often, American and Israeli Jews stand facing each other clothed with ‘holier than thou’ expressions. The short is – lo tzarich. It’s not necessary. We’re part of same family. Let’s find out more about each other instead of less.

This week’s Torah portion is another one of these – this or that? Yes. And this time the question on our table is: Communism or Capitalism? Yes!
The Book of Leviticus has opened before us like a beautiful flower: we started by dealing with our possessions, then our animals, from sacrifices to the laws of kashrut; then people, from birth through life, then Peoplehood in general with the priest’s Yom Kippur atonement, and now, we’re coming to the laws regarding The Land.
We’re also reaching new heights in the peculiarity of our laws. We might have gotten used to it, but the shmita year must really be just one of our craziest mitzvot: “Six years you shall sow your field, and six years you shall prune your vineyard, and gather in the produce thereof; And the seventh year shall be a Sabbath of solemn rest for the land, a Sabbath unto God. You shall neither sow your field, nor prune your vineyard” (Levitics 25:3-4). And just in case we didn’t get it (let’s be honest: how could we get this??), the next verse states: …”it shall be a year of solemn rest for the land”, and in case we still didn’t get it (‘wait, are you sure it’s not crop rotation? You really mean a whole year of rest to the land’??), the next verse also calls it: …” the Sabbath of the Land”…
So did we get it??
On the surface, it’s simple: The shmita year is like Shabbat, but for a whole year. Imagine what would happen if we got such a commandment. We barely make it through one “hands-off” day. How would we deal with a whole year? The Children of Israel must have asked that too, and God said: “And if you shall say: ‘What shall we eat on the seventh year?… then I will command My blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it shall bring forth produce for the three years” (25:20-21). Why three years? Because we need food for the 6th, 7th and beginning of 8th year too. And this just gets “worse” when there is a jubilee (the 50th year in a cycle), when we will need food for four years before we can harvest our own produce off our own land!
Of course, we learned how to work with the system because a restriction and discipline is often just a push for more creativity, so we learned to grow plants above ground (rather than in the soil), and near by “The Land” rather than in the land. But is that all it is? A trick or challenge for us??
According to Rabbi Hirsch of the 19th century, shmita makes three things possible for a human being: to bridge and flow better between the materialistic and spiritual worlds; to highlight our connection to The Land, because shmita is only binding in Israel; and to learn the correct approach to social class, richness and poverty in a just society.
Winston Churchill is quoted saying: “The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries”. The Torah offers us a careful mix of both which I’ve seen called “capitalism with a conscience” or “socialistic capitalism”. Either way, we want to express the idea that it’s not an either or.
It’s great that some people can reach for the stars and pick some, but those who can’t, still deserve the basic respect of human dignity. Thus we have countless laws how to make sure that the gap between rich and poor, land owners, laborers and gathers, balabatim (heads of households) and the widows, doesn’t grow endlessly, but rather that we maintain care for each other. This way, we advocate for free economy, and those of us with creative powers who are capable of increasing their wealth, are encouraged to do so, but greed is curbed, the needy are served and given a place as valued members of society too. And the Torah tells us that the Land belongs to God (25:23) and we are but temporary tenants on it, so once every seven years, we return what we have to the rightful owner.
Recent history has seen the world separate “isms” out, trying to make them stand on their own. Some of them have had a good idea at the core, but their isolation from the greater system, made them fail with dreadful consequences. And although we are not in the Land of Israel and don’t have to let our land lay fallow, we can still live by some of these values, and especially this week, remind ourselves of this Land uniqueness and beauty.

If by any chance you forgot one of the Torah holidays, fear not! There is one chapter where you can find them all: Leviticus 23, in the heart of the Torah portion of Emor. All together – seven (7) holidays, including Shabbat, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot & Shmini Atzeret, from spring to fall with no Biblical winter holidays.
But wait, then what is Shabbat doing here?
Shabbat is mentioned in a lot of places throughout the Torah. I like it here as one of the holidays to remind us – perhaps – that, in spite of the differences (between the “real” holidays and Shabbat), our ability to connect with G-d and each other, to contemplate and celebrate who we are, comes, not only annually, but weekly. There is no need to wait for Yom Kippur or Pesach. Every week we can stop and take a moment.
In fact, “stop” is what Shabbat is all about. Shavat, in Hebrew, means to strike (like a worker’s strike, not like a blow); to cease working. G-d on this 7th day created something super important for us: the stop.
We know that when we work, there is always just one more thing to do: maybe my next draft will be better yet; maybe my next email is The important one; I’ll just finish one more thing…
When is the point of “enough”, “we’re done”?
Apparently, sometimes there is no “point”. One more correction, one more brush stroke, one more dish, one more load of laundry… G-d says, just stop! Now! You’re done. We can easily go on and on. This is what I would do even just with this entry here, not to mention longer writings. If draft number 18 was better than 17, I should go over it again. And again. And again. Right? Wrong. But that ability to pause has to be learned. The pause is just as important to the music as is the tune.

In between the holidays, we find another reminder of the value of here and now. The Torah tells us:
“וספרתם לכם ממחרת השבת, מיום הביאכם את עומר התנופה, שבע שבתות תמימות תהיינה, עד ממחרת השבת השביעית, תספרו חמישים יום”…
“And you shall count unto you from the morrow after the day of rest, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the waving; seven weeks shall there be complete; even unto the morrow after the seventh week shall you number fifty days”… (23:15-16).

This refers to the counting of the Omer where are now: seven weeks of seven days from Pesach and Shavu’ot. Time has seen us add numerous explanations and customs, and even holidays to the sfira, the count. All the “Israel days” are concentrated here; as kids, growing up in Israel, we were particularly religious about Lag Ba’omer, celebrating it with grand bonfires for which wood (very precious in Israel!) was collected (not to mention sometimes stolen) weeks in advance. This was in honor of Bar Kochva (the “hero”), Rabbi Akiva and the great revolt following the Temple’s destruction (we were not told of the disastrous results of this revolt…). Special minhagim were kept during the sfira: no shaving, no weddings (except on Lag Ba’omer).
And somehow, between it all, the original injunction of the sfira, was a little lost.
The sfira, first of all, is supposed to help us connect between Pesach and Shavu’ot; between the exodus and the time of giving of the Torah; between the wow of liberation and the reason of that liberation, or else, we’d still be running “free” in the desert. The sfira is a countdown (count-up?) to a special event, like waiting for a birthday, a big trip, a gift; something we expect excitedly; something without which we would be going nowhere with no purpose at all.
And, the sfira also reminds us that things don’t happen all at once, that things take time, and a process, sort of like creation. After all, G-d can do anything, so why take 6 days to create the world? Can’t he just say “poof” and ‘let there be world’?? Why break it down to light and dirt and plants and various animals? And why take a break in between?
Maybe to teach us that good things take time; that in order to build something real and beautiful, there is a course to go through, like a spiritual pregnancy. We can’t plant a seed and expect a blooming flower and fruit ripening on the tree on the next day. The seed has to rot in the ground, going through a process that many of us would consider disgusting, until a beautiful flower comes out. We can’t be born and immediately start hiking; we can’t be slaves, and get the Torah immediately.
Sometimes we forget, especially nowadays, when we’re bombarded with slogans for immediate gratification, everything from “peace now” to fast food, we want whatever it is, yesterday. We want others to guess our needs and give it to us sooner rather than later, before we even figured it out ourselves.
But the Torah says – the journey itself takes precedence to reaching the destination: “im bechukotai telchu”– if you (just) walk in accordance to my law”… (26:3). Each step along the way is a goal in itself, which we can’t do without. Like children, we count: One. Two…. Twelve… Twenty one… Thirty Three… We need each piece to complete the puzzle, even if we don’t always see the whole picture right away. We learn and practice patience and structure and putting things together…
In Genesis, we hear about Abraham who was “ba bayamim” (Genesis 24:1). “Ba bayamim” is a figure of speech which means advanced in years, but it literally means ‘comes in the days’, or better ‘comes with one’s days’. That means, said the sages, that when he was coming and going, he still had all his days; he still knew exactly what he did yesterday, and the day before, and a year ago, And since he managed to make each day meaningful, he came with all of them.
And so it is with us. We’re still taught to count. We need to count every day because every day counts.

Shabbat Shalom.

I still like reading to my kids, though they are all pretty much grown up with excellent reading skills of their own. So it was a recent late Shabbat when the timer on the light had another hour to go, that I pulled out one of my favorites.
Seder Yom (“A Day’s Order”) by Adam Baruch, one of Israel’s finest writers, forever straddled the Jewish Orthodox and Modern Israeli worlds is a fabulous collection of shorts, connecting halacha and the halachik process to current daily life, often based on questions people asked him. I open randomly, and chanced upon a section titled sh’chenut tova, good neighborlyhood. Yes, I know, this word doesn’t – yet – officially exist in English, but for the sake of this conversation, it means neighborly relationship. He wrote the piece in response to an inquiry about erecting fences. Quoting Jewish sources, the writer states that erecting fences builds good neighborly relationship. For only when I have a safe space to be who I am, and so do you, we can also have good relationship with each other.
I thought about it again in conjunction with this week’s Torah portion which on one hand includes the most famous “Love your neighbor as yourself”, and on the other hand, peculiar laws such as “don’t mix wool and linen in the same garment”. Any chance they are actually related, or that in some way, each can help us understand the other better?
We tend to think of “love your neighbor” as a mitzvah that “makes sense”, while of “sha’atnez” (the mixing of wool and linen) we think as a “chok”, a commandment which has no rhyme and reason and we can’t comprehended. But, seriously, can we, who on most days barely stand ourselves, love another human, possibly a stranger, just as much? What should we do on those days when we short-change ourselves? Do the same to another?? And what about the fact that the Torah, although stretching us up, is not unreasonable, while this law, in its simplest form, is??
Since it says here “you shall keep (guard, maintain) my laws” (Leviticus 19:19), Rabbi Hirsch takes us back to the first time we see the verb “to keep”, lishmor, which is when G-d placed the first humans in His Garden (Genesis 2:15). What did he need to “guard” or “maintain”? For that, we go just a little earlier, to the 3rd day of creation, when G-d says: “’Let the earth put forth grass, herb yielding seed, and fruit-tree bearing fruit after its kind, wherein is the seed thereof, upon the earth.’ And it was so. And the earth brought forth grass, herb yielding seed after its kind, and tree bearing fruit, wherein is the seed thereof, after its kind; and God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1:11-12).
Like a chorus, the repeated statement is “after its kind”: each was created to be who and what it is, and to grow within its realm to the fullest potential. Certain mixes interrupt with this process, with this purpose of creation, and we have to guard against that.
When I was very young, I was told that it’s not good to mix wool and linen because they shrink differently in hot laundry. Well, maybe that too. But the Torah, through many commentaries, tells us that “wool” and “linen” are two very different “kinds” beyond the thread in a garment. For example, there is a midrash that this is a reminder to the fight between Cain and Abel: Cain brought flax seeds as a sacrifice (linen) while Abel brought sheep (wool), and as we know, it would have been better if these two “kinds” were kept separated.
Interestingly, the same verse (in this week’s reading) also instructs us not to “let (your) cattle gender with a diverse kind”. We gain some insight from a unique word used here: “kil’ayim”, which means “materials that are mutually exclusive”. Rabbi Hirsch, in his poignant dig into Hebrew roots, points to the fact that “kil’ayim” shares its roots with “kele”, jail, prison. It literally can mean – “two jails”. Accordingly, mixing things that don’t fit with each other “imprison” both of them in a place they should not be. Some things help us grow and some things – don’t. In a world where everybody supposed to live happily happy after, these ideas might seem unpopular, but for those of us who traveled a bit and got some dust under our earthly shoes, we know it’s so.
Which brings us back to “love your neighbor”. Because of the Hebrew grammar in the verse, Rabbi Hirsch concludes that we are not asked to “love” all people in the simple or romantic sense of the word, which would likewise be impossible, but, we are asked to see them as we’d like to be seen ourselves, namely, as equal and yes, separate, special human beings created in G-d’s image, each unique for who he or she is. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Shabbat Shalom.