Torah & more… תורה ועוד

Pesach is a holiday of songs: we make our youngest stand on a chair and sing the ma nishtana; we stay up late into the night singing songs we barely understand (please feel free to share a satisfying explanation to chad gadya!) and on Shabbat Pesach (or there about, depending on one’s tradition), we read Shir Hashirirm, the Song of Songs.
The Song of Songs (also Song of Solomon or Canticles) is one of the megillot (scrolls) found in the last section of the Bible. It’s unique within the Hebrew bibles as it makes no reference to the commandments, historical facts or G-d. Instead, it celebrates love and its expression. It encompasses 17 almost independent songs, meshed into one long poem. Some say that the name “Song of Songs” is a contraction of ‘A Song that is comprised of many Songs’ (the breakdown into chapters is actually something we inherited from the 11th century Christians). Even in the way it’s written, this book is different. It’s not a story or a list of directives, but two alternating voices, like a stage play or a conversation, with two lovers harmonizing.
The erotic-sexual nature of the Book didn’t escape our Talmudic sages who debated in length whether it’s even suitable to include such writings in the Holy Bible. It was Rabbi Akiva who said: “The whole world is only worthy for the day the Song of Songs was given to Israel, as all the writings are holy and the Song of Songs is the holy of Holiness” (Mishna, Yadaim, 3:5). Not everybody agreed with him about the book being the ‘holy of holiness’, but they did decide to include it in the canonized version of the Bible.
The ever-intriguing topic and the somewhat illusive style of the book, combined with the passage of time, have resulted in countless writings, from lessons in couple relationships regarding how spouses should treat each other in order to maintain that same excited spirit, to spiritual messages about the eternal and his people. One way or another, it’s a beautiful love story.
And the connection to Pesach?
The text offers some. It’s spring: “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land” (2:11-12). It also reminds us of the Exodus: “I have compared you, O my love, to a steed in Pharaoh’s chariot” (1:9).
But it’s more than digging for specific words. It’s that feeling of love, because Pesach is when the Children of Israel and G-d chose to give up all other options, and “eloped” in the middle of the (Exodus) night, escaping to the desert, to get married in Vegas…
And ever since, Pesach is the anniversary celebration of our engagement, which calls for a party. We push all the junk aside, get our special dishes and foods, placing in the middle of the table a reminder of our early days. We invite family and friends, talk and sing and tell endless stories about our great love, about how we met, how beautiful we seemed to each other, and what extraordinary things we did together… “Ten songs are in the Bible and they all include ups and downs, good and bad moments, except for the Song of Songs that is all praise and joy” (midrash zuta). The Song of Songs itself was written much later but in a way, I think it’s fair to say that its spirit was the background music when we started our journey.

Mo’adim Le’simcha & Shabbat Shalom!

Song of Songs related fun clips:

http://www.mako.co.il/music-Magazine/specials/Article-e6840d508630541006.htm

On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, while we are wrapped in prayers, quivering with remorse, begging forgiveness, and promising to be oh so good in the upcoming year, the high priest faces two “se’irim”, fairy he-goats: one, he will sacrifice on the altar, and the other – send to the desert as atonement for the misdeeds of the Children of Israel. The goats are practically identical. The choice which one is going where is decided by a drawing, a lot.
Why is it that davka on Yom Kippur our central worship focuses on something that is out of our control, like drawing a lot? Indeed, Yom Kippur is the day we’re judged on our actions, but just in case we get the illusions that everything is dependent on us and what we do, here’s a reminder.
The section about the high priest’s task on Yom Kippur is read twice in the year: once, on Yom Kippur, and once, just around Pesach.
Wait, but why? Shouldn’t we be reading the stories of the Exodus right around now? We are still in Leviticus, struggling with priests and sacrifices? But I thought on Pesach we celebrate freedom? Which way is it, freedom or prescribed destiny and random lots?
Yes.
David Ben Gurion, in a famous quote from 1939 said: “We must fight the war as if there was no White Paper, and the White Paper as if there was no war”, referring to fighting the British White Paper and laws on Jewish immigration to then Palestine while simultaneously supporting the Brits in their efforts against the Germans. This has always been who we are: able to hold two conflicting ideas at once.
In the back of our minds we remember that some things are beyond us. We were born to a certain family, at a certain time. We have certain qualities. But Pesach takes front and center stage, asking us to ignore all that just for now, pack our stuff and once again leave our personal Egypts.
Because for me, Pesach is not just a historical – national celebration; it is also a very personal challenge. How do we achieve true freedom? We laugh at ancient people, worshiping wood and stone, while we drag our gods in: power, prestige, pleasures, progress, personal gain, youth, and some. Our gods are mostly invisible, giving us the illusion they don’t exist, and the smoke from the sacrifices we bring to them covers our eyes and blinds us.
Wait, what’s wrong with progress, one wonders, or with pleasure?
You’re right, they are not bad by themselves, until they take over our priorities.
The Torah teaches us that freedom lies within discipline. In Hebrew, mishma’at (discipline) shares its root with mashma’ut (meaning). Only within a strict structure, one can be truly liberated. But aren’t we exchanging one slavery for another? Yes. That’s all we got. Real freedom, says 11th century poet, Rabbi Yehuda Halevi, is choosing who is our master, nothing more. Nothing less.

And in the spirit of “in haste we left Egypt”, some shorts:
Acharei Mot, this week’s parasha, gave us the most important 2 words in the Torah: vechai bam. You shall live. That’s what S/He said. Enjoy.
Pesach Cleaning: No, it cannot be done “symbolically”. Roll up your sleeves and scrape that gunk from under the fridge’s drawer.
Pesach food: Pasta, cereal, cakes, and now even blintzes, Kosher for Pesach?? Once a year, just give me my matza please!
The Haggadah: Yes, it’s meant to be read. Yes, even the pages in the middle. Study, discuss, sing, imagine, elaborate on, play with it, debate it, enjoy. That is the main course. The rest is commentary.

Shabbat Shalom & a very meaningful and happy Passover!

From the Prince of Egypt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Kr4aCUYg8A

Which was is it? Yes! Quote by Stephen Covey

What do we think about Mozilla’s CEO stepping down?Brendan Eich is widely known for a number of major contributions to the evolution of the Web, including inventing JavaScript and being the co-founder of mozilla.org. Last Thursday he had to step down, 11 days into being Mozilla’s CEO, forced out by the uproar over a donation of $1,000 he made six years ago to a ballot measure against gay marriage.
No, I am not going to debate Prop 8 here, nor the changes in our country since 2008. I likewise think it’s irrelevant that his contributions were way offset by other Mozilla workers who donated in support of gay marriage. And I’m not going into the fact that his (small) donation stands in stark contrast to other companies’ leadership staff who donated against gay marriage, yet have continued to work and be promoted. All that can be found on the web; the “open” web Eich helped create for all.
Eich’s situation is unique: Mozilla claims to carry the banner of openness, a banner he initiated and fought for. Mozilla Chairwoman Mitchell Baker wrote in a blog post Thursday: “Mozilla believes both in equality and freedom of speech. Equality is necessary for meaningful speech. And you need free speech to fight for equality.” She emphasized the company’s support of “the open Web” and confessed to having screwed up “because we haven’t stayed true to ourselves.” She continued saying: “While painful, the events of the last week show exactly why we need the Web. So all of us can engage freely in the tough conversations we need to make the world better,” she wrote. “We need to put our focus back on protecting that Web. And doing so in a way that will make you proud to support Mozilla.”
So here’s my issue: do you throw someone out of an “open company” which stands for “all of us engaging freely in tough conversations” – the same someone who co-founded this company with these principals, because, well, he acted on them? Because he allowed himself to express who he is, even when in a minority? I remember my kids once questioning whether I think “normal” is like me. We laughed but it’s a dangerous pitfall we all can fall in, and open Mozilla is no exception. I would like to ask Ms. Baker when she speaks about “openness”, does she actually mean, open, or does she mean – open to people like her? I would argue that having people of different views as leaders of a company, much more expresses these values of openness, than having people with same views, all chiming to the same tune!

I don’t know Eich, and if he came over for Shabbos, we would probably argue about this and other issues. I would tell him about my friends who suffer because of discrimination, and I believe he would tell me about his too. Either way, I don’t think I would kick him out of my house for having different opinions than me. Isn’t this what diversity is all about? Having different opinions and supporting different causes (yes, within reasoning, and I can already hear the critics saying: what if he supported the Nazi party? you’re right, then we’ll have a different conversation, but the fact is, he doesn’t, he isn’t out to hurt anyone, and we, the “open minded” people of the modern world, must be able to tell the difference. More on that in his own blog).

My concern here is that we are quick to react and we do so from a place of fear. In the effort to force ourselves to become more “open”, we actually become more closed. In that sense, freedom can become just another jail.

Ignaz Philipp Semmelweis (1818–1865) was a Hungarian physician of German extraction, (and some say of Jewish heritage). In the mid 1800’ he discovered that the incredibly high mortality rate among the birthing mothers (10-35%) could be drastically cut by the use of hand disinfection in obstetrical clinics. Semmelweis’s observations conflicted with the established scientific and medical opinions of the time, and despite his documented successes, his ideas were rejected by the medical community. Only after his tragic death, it’s become obvious that there was something to his discovery.
I thought about him this morning, writing my blog about tzara’at; about how quick we are to judge things we don’t already know.What is tzara’at? The quick answer is leprosy! Didn’t we see them in the Papillon? Yes, that would be correct in Modern Hebrew, but not for this Torah portion. Aligning Torah tzara’at with leprosy is a result of sad translations mishaps, and we’d be better off if we simply said, ‘we don’t know’. The Biblical tzara’at is, well, the Biblical tzara’at. And while for people of old it was a real disease, for us, it begins with a humble exercise approaching something we don’t know, and have a hard time even fathoming, sort of like the doctors around Semmelweiss. And by the way, to confuse matters further, the Biblical tzaraat was not healed by doctors, but by the priest!
So if it’s not leprosy, what is it? I typed צרעת quickly in Hebrew, my letters got mixed up and became צערת, related to Hebrew for sadness צער. This coincidental find is probably as close to its meaning as anything. Torah tzara’at is a set of symptoms that appear on one’s skin, clothing and even house walls, that have to do with a growing distance one acquires from the spirituality that the Torah teaches us as a way of life. Therefore, the treatment is also spiritual, and not physical. We learn about it best from people throughout the Tanach who contracted tzaraat, and discovered that it is a by-product of behaviors that involve tzarut-ayin – צרות-עין – narrow eye, or narrow mindedness and related by acronym צר-ע, but the most common situation is speaking lashon hara. The famous among those is Miriam being stricken with tzaraat (Number 12) after speaking about the “Kushite woman”. The assumption is that she said something bad. The sages thus taught that tzaraat has to do with motzi-shem-ra, speaking badly about another person.
So what is it doing here? Why not speak about it later, with Miriam, for example?
If we step back and look at the Book of Leviticus from the beginning, we see that we’re slowly climbing a ladder: we started with an inanimate objects (the mishkan on one hand, and on the other, cases of theft and possessions), learned our to deal with animals (korbanot, sacrifices and kashrut), then people, and what makes people unique. We looked at individuals: the woman and her baby, and now, we’re moving to the next stage: a group of people, society. Society is not just a bunch people doing whatever they feel like. It is a new structure, a “being”, a new compound. And the first and foremost tool to create, maintain and achieve longevity in this construction is speech.
Interestingly, even with the tzaraat, there is a ladder: it can affect one’s skin, then clothing, then houses, then be a result of inappropriate usage of sexual abilities and relationship.
Wait, who ever heard of a disease that affects houses??! I find it so intriguing, and no, it’s not mildew, because whatever this was, if this “thing” affected skin and clothing, why not the tents where the Children of Israel lived in the desert? True, the desert is dry, but then, why could it affect clothing?
Further, the tzaraat of the houses appears only in the Land of Israel. It opens with: “When you are come into the land of Canaan, which I give to you for a possession” – we expect an uplifting follow up to such a celebratory opening! But the verse continues: “and I (G-d) put the plague of leprosy in a house of the land of your possession” (Leviticus 14:34). Why does it say “I put”, straight, like a promise? Why not only if we’re behaving “badly”??
The midrash says that tzaraat in the houses in Israel was a good thing: it forced people to clear the house of their belongings and in some cases knock it down. When the house was knocked down, the inhabitant discovered treasurers in its walls, rewarding them and reminding us how a bad thing can turn into a good thing. Another midrash teaches how people had to be much more generous with each other, knowing their belongings might be out for all to see. I prefer the Kli Yakar (Shlomo Ephraim ben Aaron Luntschitz 1550 –March 3, 1619) who noticed the use of “I give you for a possession” in the first part of the verse, as opposed to “your possession” in the latter. Accordingly, as long as a person remembers that his house and belongings are a gift from the Almighty, s/he will also be giving and generous to others; once we think our “stuff” is “our possession”, we will get a reminder in the form of an affliction on our houses, that, well, it’s not.
Nowadays, we no longer have the same spiritual sensitivity that previous generations had. To the best of our knowledge, we are not afflicted when we say something about another, and we have the illusion that we’re lucky. At the same time, it seems that we lost the ability to clearly distinguish what we’re doing wrong. A lot of it is left to ‘opinion’. Who’s the say? Well, oblivion is nice but it takes away our ability to repair.
And still, we cant get away with it so easily. Speech continues to be considered a critical tool. G-d created the whole world with words, and we, who were created in His image, are left to do our part with the same tool. Shabbat Shalom.

ובא אשר- לו הבית והגיד לכוהן, לאמור כנגע נראה לי בבית” – ויקרא י”ד,ל”ה Drawing by Ahuva Klein

Tazria must win the ‘most misunderstood Torah portion’ prize. The word itself is untranslatable, and it follows by laws of “purity” and “impurity”, two more concepts we don’t understand. Then it goes into sacrifices that the child-bearing mother must bring, and it tells us the waiting period for brining those is different if she had a baby boy or girl. By then we close the book tightly. That’s it! I’m done! I knew it! Torah is prejudice against women! Ancient people had issues! We are so more advanced! Moving on…
It’s tempting to use the “time” now and look into other issues: oh my, we’re nearing Pesach; let’s talk about that… but I couldn’t budge from the woman at the opening of Tazria. What in the world is “tazria”? “The opening verse is: isha ki tazria, meaning, when a woman… ?? The New International Version: “becomes pregnant”; hebcal and Chabbad websites: “conceived”; KJV (King James Version): “conceived seed” and I appreciate the honest struggle in the latter.
Tazria comes from zera, seed, and it is an active form of the verb (conjugated in hif’eel, if you care for Hebrew grammar). The woman here doesn’t “become pregnant” and she’s isn’t conceived which are passive as if things happen to her by ‘getting pregnant’. Perhaps the closest use of that verb is in Genesis 1:11-12 when on the 3rd day of creation G-d said: “Let the earth put forth herb yielding seed… (mazria zera)”, and we picture fruitful plants that sprout on and on. Further, to seed is an action we often think of as masculine: a man may “seed”, but a woman?
The rabbis had fun with it. They also brought into the conversation Jacob and Leah. It says about them:
“אֵלֶּה בְּנֵי לֵאָה אֲשֶׁר יָלְדָה לְיַעֲקֹב בְּפַדַּן אֲרָם, וְאֵת דִּינָה בִתּוֹ” – These are the sons of Leah whom she bore to Jacob… and Dina, his daughter”(Genesis 46:15).
In the Talmud, Brachot 60 the sages said: “If a woman seeds first, she bares a son” – and therefore, if a man seeds first, they have a daughter. Thus they connected the gender of the baby to who had orgasm first, (and I know people that swear by this “recipe” :). There are later discussions whether it’s true or not, and if not, what is the meaning of this gmara. Regardless, I like it because it implies the Talmud – as our Torah portion – thinks that the woman is not just something to be acted on; she “seeds”!
We then must touch on “purity and impurity”, also best left in Hebrew: tahor & ta-me. We cab bring the voices of Rabbi Se’adya Gaon who lived in the 10th century who says (roughly translated) that these stages bring a person close to grappling with their own limitations and temporary nature. To be tame met – impure by contact with a dead, is the most common, and it is awe instilling, but then, what about childbirth? Rabbi Beni Lau, nephew of Israel’s past chief rabbi, brings the words of midrash rabba comparing the woman to a home:
רבי אליעזר אומר: כשם שיש דלתות לבית, כך יש דלתות לאשה,
זהו שכתוב: “כי לא סגר דלתי בטני” (איוב ג).
רבי יהושע אומר: כשם שיש מפתחות לבית, כך לאשה ,
זהו שכתוב: “וישמע אליה אלוהים ויפתח את רחמה” (בראשית ל).
רבי עקיבא אומר: כשם שיש צירים לבית, כך יש צירים לאשה ,
זהו שכתוב: “ותכרע ותלד כי נהפכו עליה ציריה” (שמואל א’, ד’).

Like a home, she has doors, Rabbi Eliezer plays on a verse from Job; she has openings – and the word for open shares its root with “keys”(petach – mafte’ach),s ays Rabbi Yehoshu’a, and she even has “hinges” like a house, says Rabbi Akiva, because in Hebrew, hinges and labor pains is the same word (tzirim).
What does it mean? It means that childbirth is equated with a person leaving home. The processes described in this portion acknowledge that while this is a very happy occasion, it is accompanied with incredibly strong emotions as the fullness turns to emptiness; the wholeness – to a separation. There is a danger that the for the woman who has been such an integral partner in G-d’s creation in the highest sense possible, this will be accompanied by further feelings of separation, not just from her baby but from the divine and hence the need to create opportunities to come back and draw near via the korban (sacrifice, from karov, to approach, get close).
The same journey happens to us every spring: after being indoors, we venture outside again; it happens to us with Passover and any personal exodus we might experience. The Torah nods at us as if saying, it’s ok to be apprehensive; it’s ok to feel all the complicated feelings you have; keep going.
Shabbat Shalom.

Shmini or “8th” (“eighth”) is the only Torah portion named with a number (not to be confused with “Numbers”, the forth book of the Torah and its opening portion). In this week’s parasha we read about the inauguration of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) when Aaron and his sons begin to officiate as priests and the divine Presence comes to dwell in the sanctuary.

Shmini includes also the tragic death of Aaron’s two elder sons when they offer a “strange fire before G-d, which He commanded them not”. Aaron is silent in face of this tragedy, on what should have been the most joyous and respectful day of his life. The mikveh (a pool of water with specified qualifications for ritual purity) is mentioned and the kosher laws are spelled out: Land animals may be eaten only if they have split hooves and chew their cud (but not either); fish must have fins and scales; a list of non-kosher birds is given, and even a (fascinating) list of kosher insects, all detailing the permissible and forbidden animal species for consumption.

Idol worshipers and Monotheists, Buddhists, Barbarians and Westerners alike, we all have fashioned some dietary system. The fact that each culture has so many rules and customs around food clearly implies that there is something about eating which is much more than a mere physical activity. One of the first biblical instructions is to not eat from the tree of knowledge between good and evil (Genesis 2:16). Simply picking a fruit turns from a physiological act to an expression of morality’s limits and has serious consequences.

The message continues following the flood, which changes forever human’s relationship with the animals (many hold that prior to the flood humans – and animals – were vegetarian); through the prohibition against eating even certain parts of an animal (Genesis 32:33) and the mitzvah not to mix meat and milk (Exodus 23:19). Then we come to this week’s parasha.

Is there any relationship between the consecration of the Mishkan, this extensive list of animals and the Torah portion’s name? Possibly. Let’s take another look at the word “shmini”: The root of the word “eight” – shmone – is Sh.M.N. We use the same letters to make words like sha’men and shemen, fat and oil respectfully. According to the MaHaRal of Prague, the number “seven” – sheva, stands for “just right” (like the seven days of the week). With the same letters we make words like “save’a” – satiated (but not over-eating!). Marriage celebration lasts 7 days and is accompanied with 7 blessings, while during times of mourning we sit “shiv’a” – 7 days. Seven stands for the natural manner in which life flows, while eight stands for the little extra, that which s beyond, the supernatural. In its shape it symbolizes eternity. It can remind us of our ability to get a glimpse of another dimension.

The eighth day as a concept isn’t a new: It’s the day of brit mila (covenant of circumcision), marking the above and beyond relationship between G-d and His people. It’s also reminds us i Shmini Atzeret, a holiday at the end of Sukkot, adding one more day, which as Rashi and others say, is “like being with a King and father who wishes to keep his children near a little longer”, above and beyond.

But the first time there is an 8th day ever according to our teachings is the day following the completion of creation. That very original first “8th day” is the first chance we have to be active partners with G-d in the creation. The Mishkan is considered as incredible as creation. Walking into it was like stepping into a different existence, but instead of a world that G-d created and people joined later on, this is a structure that the Children of Israel built, and upon its completion, invited G-d into it, on the 8th day.

The 8th day has thus become symbolic of our role as partners in Creation; in how we treat our environment, animals and humans. It is an eternal invitation to take a positive role in tikun olam, in making the world a better place, in our interactions with all those we touch, far and near.

Shabbat Shalom.

“I have nothing to wear” probably was not one of the things the priests of the Tabernacle used to say in the morning. As we learned earlier in the Book of Exodus, they had carefully designed, beautiful clothing that was full of splendor and symbolism.

This week we find out they even had special clothing for taking out the garbage: “And the priest shall put on his linen garment, and his linen breeches shall he put upon his flesh; and he shall take up the ashes where the fire has consumed the burnt-offering on the altar, and he shall put them beside the altar” (Leviticus 6:3).

The Tabernacle was closed to the public at night because sacrifices were brought only during the day. But before a new day began, the priest got up early to take out the ashes from the sacrifices left on the altar, reminding us that we can’t start a new day, a new endeavor, while the old “stuff” is still around, smoldering.

There was also a special place to dump the ashes, because regardless of whether trash is physical, intellectual, emotional or spiritual, there needs to be a dedicated place where it can be safely deposited. Only then can we turn around and welcome the new day, fresh and clean.

The Torah portion of Tzav brings us more instructions regarding the sacrifices, this time directed specifically to Aaron, the high priest, and his sons, who were the ones to carry out the sacrificial system. They had to know how to offer each sacrifice. However, they did not have to know why it was brought. This caused major challenges later on, when the sacrifices became a meaningless routine, and the prophets criticized it. But this system did demonstrate how Judaism values straightforward action. Looking at the Ten Commandments, we see they all have to do with how we behave — not what we think, how we look, where we’re from, etc.

A familiar joke comes to mind about two friends, Joe and Mo, who meet in the street. “Which way is the bridge?” asks Joe. “Here, hold these,” says Mo, handing over two giant watermelons he’s been carrying. Then he throws his hands in the air, saying, “I don’t know!”

Speaking with our hands might seem like funny behavior, and yet it is important to note how important this type of action is to how we express ourselves and tell others who we are and what we believe in.

The sacrifices of the Tabernacle seem light years away, but if we read about them carefully (and yes, it’s not easy), we can find some fascinating aspects and even core values we still share and wish to emulate today.

The root of the Hebrew word for sacrifice, korban, is related to karov, “to come near.” The Torah is adamant that one cannot have a close relationship with anyone, including God, without a “sacrifice,” without giving up something. According to the Torah, we can’t get connected and committed to anything just by receiving. We must give of our own.

The altar at the Tabernacle, and later at the Temple, contained an ongoing fire, and the text tells us: “veha’esh al hamizbe’ach tukad bo” — “and the fire upon the altar shall be kept burning within it” (6:2-5). On the surface it seems simple: The fire needs to be burning at all times on the altar, similar to the ner tamid, the eternal light, above the ark in shuls. However, the same verse also can be read “and the fire upon the altar shall be kept burning within him.” Namely, within the priest’s heart.

To serve God and the community properly, the priest must have a fire of devotion, commitment and service within him. He must be passionate about his calling, but as we all know from home barbecues, tending a fire is an art. The Torah asks us to be cautious with any fire: the one of the altar, and the one within us. Wherever we are, we need to find that balance in our lives.

Shabbat Shalom.

Zadok the Priest and the Temple Dedication. From Henry Davenport Northrop, “Treasures of the Bible,” published 1894

This article is also in the j weekly:

http://www.jweekly.com/article/full/71038/torah-03-14-14/

Leaning against the stone railing of my balcony, I saw him disappear into the crowded streets beneath me, his head still slightly stooped, but his step lighter as if planted with renewed hope.
I held my hand up to shadow my eyes, the bracelets on my wrists jingling softly. The setting sun gently dried my tears, sparkling on my cheeks, and the evening wind played with my dark hair, falling down my back, a beautiful contrast to the royal blue satin chosen for me this morning. In the distance the mountains loomed dark, their pointed peaks decorated with bright snow, while in the valley below the almonds and pistachios already blossomed in white and pink.
The city swayed like a pile of colorful snakes. People rushed through the alleys before night fall covers everything with a heavy blanket. They carried cages with chicken, led goats tied with a rope. Children sloshed through puddles from the recent rain, tossing small stones to the adults’ discontent. Stallholders had already collected their goods, loading the remaining ware to carts and in bags of colorful fabric on the backs of small donkeys. Many of the women had straw baskets on their heads laden with rice, lentils, dried fruit, and vegetables. They walked in pairs and small groups, laughing and talking about everything and nothing. Some families already spread their mats on the cobble-stoned street for the night’s rest. The smell of cumin and cardamom rose and mixed in the air like incense, flying, lying.
Huddled inside my cashmere scarf from the evening chill as the moon rose in the east, almost full, I heard a long, lone ood string vibrating from afar.
“I’ll be in my room”, I heard her, “if you just need anything … “
I nodded, wiping my eyes again with the back of my hand.
“Thank you”.
I mouthed a little smile, nodding over my shoulder without turning back. A bird spread its wings to roost at the top of the tall palms leading to the main gate. The scent of burning oil reached my nose now.
“Good night your majesty,” she said, curtsying in the hallway.
“Good night”.
I took another deep breath. Everything was still, and oh, how I missed my mother in these moments. My mom was the most beautiful woman in the city, and my uncle was madly in love with her. But she opted for his younger brother who was handsome and talented and promised her the moon. Sadly, he died in a strange accident when his workshop caught on fire shortly after I was conceived. My uncle told my mom that he’d care for her and her baby, once I was born, but I believe she couldn’t bear the thought of living without her beloved man, and died at my childbirth, as if completing her mission upon my delivery. Every year, I celebrate my birthday and her memorial day. I think of how brave she was, following her heart. Will I be able to ever do that?
Loud voices and clanking glasses reached my ears from the courtyard. Two servants dragged a wooden wine barrel from the cellar. Another, almost frightened, carried a thick book. I sighed with relief. Whatever it is, the king would be busy again tonight, and I can finally rest from the long day.
Life in the palace was hectic. My schedule included endless meetings with the many who roamed our courtyards, enjoying luxury banquets, and thinking they are a critical part of the kingdom which extended from India to Ethiopia.
But today… it started out as usual. I sat with my girls, laughing, as always, in the center. They threaded pretty beads in my hair, rubbed oil on my feet, fixed my gold earrings, tied the silver sandals up my thigh, decorated my flower parasol. I have to look my best. Everybody knows I was chosen for my beauty, and when I’m called, everybody will stop in their tracks and look. At me.
But suddenly, I was rushed to the window. It turned out that he’d been waiting for me all morning! Why was he not more careful? It is forbidden for anyone to know about us! I could see his silvery curls adorning his head like a crown, surrounding his high forehead and tanned skull; his all-knowing gaze was smoldering. I heard the screams and the guards trying to calm him unsuccessfully. I peeked and noticed, in horror, the shabby clothes and worn, torn gray robe, sackcloth and ashes on his head, walking restlessly by the gate, refusing to hear nothing of it.
Ashamed, I sent Hatach to bring him new clothes, a light cotton shirt and matching, white embroidered pantalones. He refused to accept my gift. He will not leave until he conveys his message. It’s an emergency.
When the sun reached its zenith and the girls went to eat in their kitchen, Hatach brought in my lunch, carrying porcelain bowls of steaming stew with saffron rice and vegetables on a platter, his canvas shoes shuffling along the marble corridor. I learned to recognize his footsteps, the limp. The king did not want him; too old and unfit, but because of complicated family relationships he avoided firing him and sent him instead to be a eunuch for the women.
“He says the situation is very difficult,” Hatach whispered, looking over his shoulder, and out loud said, “Here’s your lunch, your majesty.”
“Thank you,” I replied politely as I was taught, then whispering back, I asked, “Do you have more information?”
“I hope this dish pleases you” he said. He looked around again and pulled out a small note from his pocket. “Here” he whispered, “He says to tell you this, and insists you go over there” he nodded towards the chambers, “without any delay”.
“Indeed, the food looks excellent, as always,” I replied loudly trying to buy some more time. “You know that if I go there without an invite, he’d kill me!” I mumbled through my clenched teeth. “I haven’t been summoned for thirty days, and suddenly I should just show up? In the inner chamber? And then what?” I looked up questioningly. The king’s personal guards were a crew of four thousand men of the nobility, carrying sharp spears. Any stranger who approached without permission was killed immediately. It happened to Vashti. I would be no exception.
He shook his head. “I will convey that to the chef”, he said officially, and added, whispering “I told him. Here, read,” he said bowing, glancing to check the hallway.
“But, I can’t! You understand me, don’t you?” The fine parchment laid folded, untouched in my lap. “He’s the one who made me promise not to tell anyone! I have to keep our secret! And so do you “, I looked up at him, pleading.
His eyes met mine in silence.
I sighed and rolled open the note, finding my uncle’s familiar handwriting, angular and excited: “Think not for a minute that you shall escape in the king’s house, and be better off than all the Jews. For if you hold your peace at this time, relief and deliverance will arise to the Jews from another source, but you and your father’s house will perish; and who knows whether you have not come to royal estate for such a time as this?’”
I read the text again and again, closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Who knows. Really, who knows. Is that why it all happened just so? Images passed before me…
“Thank you for lunch,” I said out loud,” Please come back later to get the tray, and please, let the girls know I need my rest and have no desire to go out to the gardens.”
He bowed again and left.
Sometime later I got up and went out to the balcony where I stood, gazing at the changing colors and sounds, praying and crying, praying and crying. It’s night, dark and quiet now. The storm has subsided. I have a plan. And whatever happens, happens.
I can hear Hatach’s footsteps in the yard, his trailing robe, rushing to me with my uncle’s blessing. He’s also made sure my favorite delicacies have been prepared. He already knows that this is the last meal I would eat for the next three days.

The House of the Rising Sun
You might recall this famous folk song sung by its most successful commercial version, recorded in 1964 by the English rock group The Animals. The song was a number one hit in the United Kingdom, the United States, Sweden, Finland, Canada, and even Israel. And it turns out not only I can still fumble its cords (especially if you wait long enough for me to arrange my fingers…), but this was the first song Tony Blair, previous primeminister of the United Kingdom learned to play on his guitar too.
The song’s origins are unclear: Musicologists say that it is based on the tradition of broadside ballads of the 18th century and that English emigrants took the song to America where it was adapted to its later New Orleans setting. Alan Price of The Animals has even claimed that the song was originally a sixteenth-century English folk song about a Soho brothel. Honestly, I never much paid attention to its words, but looking at it again this morning for the purpose of making sense here, I learned that it’s actually a warning song about life gone wrong, advising the listeners to do things differently moving forward, and “not to do what I have done”.
Tomorrow, the “House of (rising) Sun”, Israeli Beit Shemesh, is going to vote for its mayor. Again. The last elections, this past fall, were deemed fraudulent when dead people came with valid ID cards to vote for the incumbent candidate. After a bitter debate, Israel’s Supreme Court is sending Beit Shemesh back to the polling booths. Tomorrow.
Short of what Wikipedia tells me, I don’t know Moshe Abutbul, the Be’er Sheva born politician and current mayor, who became charedi later in life. On the other hand (and especially considering I’m only 29 years old ), it’s been almost 40 years since I met Eli Cohen, Beit Shemesh mayoral candidate. It seems that in spite of a slightly receding hairline, the kid who grew up in the city he’s always called home hasn’t changed much: an idealist at heart with a winning smile, he used to volunteer for the fire department and Magen David Adom as a teen; he took one of the lead roles in the local theater play showcasing Beit Shemesh (of the 70’s!), went on to be an officer in a combat unit and continued to work for the Jewish people via shlichut with JAFI and senior leadership in the organization.
The elections tomorrow are accompanied by a feeling of dread: Over the last years, Beit Shemesh has become a stronghold for the extreme charedi groups, while the old-timers of the city, many of whom love Judaism and its “masoret beit aba” (home traditions), serve in the army, and pay taxes have been pushed against a wall. Tomorrow the city gets to decide: Which will it be?
There are no clear evidences that the original House of the Rising Sun ever existed, but this pivotal battle over the House of the (rising) Sun at Beit Shemshe is in many ways a battle over everything Israel is, can and should be. What will be the echoing cords of tomorrow’s elections?

Beit Shemesh mayoral candidate Eli Cohen at a final press conference

There is no good way to say it: most of the Book of Leviticus should be skipped. Yes, it includes “love your neighbor as yourself, but much of it makes for hard, unpleasant reading which is mostly irrelevant anyway. All the sacrifices, blood and gore? Why would our sages prescribe this as the first book for little children to learn?

We ended the Book of Exodus with the Mishkan completed. Professor of Kabala, Nadine Shenkar writes that the Mishkan was an architecturally amazing structure, representing a microcosm of the world and offering “a meeting between Heaven and earth that doesn’t happen here or there, but rather, in the middle…” Just like leaves, flowers and fruits on a tree, says Shenkar, don’t get their nourishment from the rain directly, but it must pass through the root system, flowing from the bottom up, so do we have to get our spiritual nourishment through the physical elements around us. Shabbat for example, is the most physically satisfying (also the one we work hardest for) and therefore, the most spiritual.
The Mishkan had to be a most physical structure as did everything that happened there, but we are told that initially, G-d’s glory in the form of the cloud rested on it so tightly, that there was no room for anyone. Even G-d had to “shrink”(whatever that means -) and make room for us. At the same time, when Moses was invited in, he was overwhelmed. When he wrote about this encounter, his humility wanted to write this as a chance encounter, rather than a dedicated meeting. After all, how could G-d Almighty Himself invite a human to meet at The Tent?? In Hebrew, he wanted to write vayikar (happened) rather than vayikra (He called). The midrash tells us that they compromised on a small alef at the end of the word vayikra, both teaching us the importance to make room for something else in our life. The Tent – ohel moed – is indeed known as the “Tent of Meeting”, and in order to meet, both parties have to come together. Moed also indicates dedicating time, and having a joint destiny (yi’ud).

The Book talks about our lofty connection with G-d, but delves into the most physical aspect that can be: detailed descriptions of animal sacrifices. Poor animals! We can see the picture: the farmer dragging his goat up the hill; the animal, sensing where it’s going, resentful, bleating; the priest waiting at the entrance, taking the struggling creature, trying to calm it but also knowing his task. Top this “barbaric” picture with the current politics surrounding the Temple Mount and the issue of bringing sacrifices becomes more and more unpopular.

But the Torah, quietly and persistently, stands and rejects our modern attitude. For one, it reminds us where meat comes from. It’s not a sealed package in the freezer compartment, not much different from the fruits and veggies in the other aisle. It was a live creature. There is no special blessing for eating meat. It’s a compromise, a necessity, it has a different impact and should not be taken lightly. More important, when brought as an offering, we have to understand “sacrifice”. In Hebrew, korban comes from karov, to come near. The Torah tells us that there is no way to come near to anything without giving up on something. The easiest place to see it is between parents and children. A baby doesn’t do much for the parents except cry, wake them up at night, ask for food, and then ignore them. What creates the bond (in very broad strokes) is the parents’ giving, not receiving. The children in turn, love, give and care to their kids. Visa vie the parents, they are commanded to “honor”. In our modern age, we got it all wrong: being a consumer society, we have the illusion that the more we get, the happier we are, but it turns out it’s about what we give, like St. Francis’s famous line: “in giving we receive”.

As much as it cares about all living things, the Torah here is largely concerned with the person bringing the sacrifice, not the animal, and the text is clear: “adam ki yakriv”- should a person wish to come near to G-d, he needs to give up on something. Giving up on nothing doesn’t create a relationship. And the person wishing or needing this closeness because of growing distance (through a transgression or just because) must give up a part of their animal nature, whether the part of himself that was stubborn, obstinate and fiery (like the bull), followed the herd thoughtlessly (like the sheep), or flippant (like the bird).

And the kids learning Leviticus? Maybe they too open with learning about the need to give, so the journey from childhood to adulthood moves one from natural, dedicated selfishness to learned, developed, dedicates service, awareness and care for another, so in a few portions “love your neighbor as yourself” will make sense.