7 is a good Jewish number.
Seven days of creation
Seven days of the week
Seven days of Passover
Seven weeks between Passover and Shavuot
Seven years of the shmita agricultural cycle
Seven seven-year shmita rotations until the Jubilee Year
Seven days of priestly ordination
This week's Torah Portion Shmini (meaning eighth) begins in a radical place: It is the post-seven. It is the what happens next. It is the "what can I possibly do now"...
I love Judaism not for the seven, but for the eighth. What do I mean by this?
Our tradition tells us a lot about what happens during the sevens. We know about the seven days of creation, the seven days of the week, the seven days of Passover, or, in this week's Torah portion, the seven days of priestly ordination. Seven is chartered territory. But, what do we know about the eighth?
After all that build up, after all that ritual, after all that celebrating and creating, well...what happens next?
Shmini reminds us that life goes on after the established times of our lives. The "eighth day" is a metaphor for all those "after days" we live. The day after a promotion, a birth, a birthday, a graduation, a celebration, a death, a diagnosis, a setback.
This week's Torah portion doesn't walk the established path. Instead, it recognizes the first step we take afterwards.
As the Eitz Chayim Torah Commentary explains, "The seven-day week symbolizes a complete unit, and an eighth day represents starting over at a new level" (630).
I can remember some of my own recent eighth days. The day after I began at TBS. The day after my grandmother died. The day after I was ordained as a rabbi. September 12, 2001.
Reflect on some of your eighth days.
In this week's Torah portion, our ancestors mark the eighth day by making offerings to the Divine on the newly constructed mishkan, the newly constructed tabernacle.
How do we mark our own eighth days? How might we bring a sense of holiness to them?
On this Shabbat, let us remember that our tradition not only deals in the established sevens, but also follows us, in all the messiness of our lives, into the liminal eighths. May God grant us the insight to recognize these eighths and may we be comforted by the Divine Presence on them.
March 28, 2008
March 14, 2008
Parashat Vayikra 5768
This Shabbat, we begin reading from a new book of Torah, Leviticus or Vayikra. While I tend to meet these chapters with excitement, I know others have a different reaction. Yes, I believe Leviticus is the most "looked down upon" book in our Five Books of Torah. Leviticus focuses almost solely on law: laws of sacrifice, laws of ritual purity and impurity, and laws of holiness (the exceptions to this rule are two short passages of narrative). Because of its focus on these squirmy details, Leviticus is commonly described as foreign, irrelevant, and legalistic. And yet, many of us who know and love her feel that she is simply misunderstood!
This week's Torah portion Vayikra focuses on laws concerning different sacrifices. Let's just be clear here: Rules regarding animal sacrifice do not exactly fit into our modern understanding of the universe. And, I will be honest: As a vegetarian, my initial encounters with this book were quite tense. With time, though, I have come to see the potential hurdles between Leviticus and me as welcome invitations to reconsider the true meaning of the text (if it's only blood and guts, we are all in trouble!).
Let me share with you one example of this deeper searching: A central root word found in this week's Torah portion, this week's parasha, is k-r-v (koof-reish-vav). The root "k-r-v" is usually translated as "to sacrifice." As my grandmother used to say, "this is a shanda!" This inexact translation obscures the true meaning of the word, which is "to bring near." While on the surface this chapter may seem to be about a holy barbeque, a closer reading suggests that all these laws and sacrifices are really about drawing near.
The obvious question is, "Drawing near to whom?"
One answer is drawing near to God (i.e. humans "make sacrifices" to God and therefore "draw near" to God). But, this is only part of the story. In addition to the parts of the offerings that are burned on the altar for God, there are other parts that are often shared by the priests and the people (most notably, in the wellbeing offering). In this sense, then, the offering of animals, grains, and incense on the altar can be read as metaphors for our own attempts to share together with God and with our community.
Biblical scholar and anthropologist Mary Douglas offers another layer to our exploration. She asserts that, according to the book of Leviticus, the only time meat could be eaten was during a sacrifice (that is to say that, according to Leviticus, the rest of the Israelites' diet was vegetarian). She also suggests that all of Leviticus' sacrifices were to be made completely in silence. From Douglas, we learn that the sacrifices were attempts to elevate seemingly mundane parts of our lives to a level of intense holiness, intention, and community.
If you can get beyond the "ick" factor of livers protuberances, suet, and entrails, and open yourself to the deeper meanings of this oft-misunderstood book, you can connect with an important lesson: Potential moments of holiness are often masked and sometimes difficult to realize. But, if we are willing to search deeper and stretch ourselves a bit, we may find that the sacred was around us and in us all along, simply waiting to be unearthed and named.
This week's Torah portion Vayikra focuses on laws concerning different sacrifices. Let's just be clear here: Rules regarding animal sacrifice do not exactly fit into our modern understanding of the universe. And, I will be honest: As a vegetarian, my initial encounters with this book were quite tense. With time, though, I have come to see the potential hurdles between Leviticus and me as welcome invitations to reconsider the true meaning of the text (if it's only blood and guts, we are all in trouble!).
Let me share with you one example of this deeper searching: A central root word found in this week's Torah portion, this week's parasha, is k-r-v (koof-reish-vav). The root "k-r-v" is usually translated as "to sacrifice." As my grandmother used to say, "this is a shanda!" This inexact translation obscures the true meaning of the word, which is "to bring near." While on the surface this chapter may seem to be about a holy barbeque, a closer reading suggests that all these laws and sacrifices are really about drawing near.
The obvious question is, "Drawing near to whom?"
One answer is drawing near to God (i.e. humans "make sacrifices" to God and therefore "draw near" to God). But, this is only part of the story. In addition to the parts of the offerings that are burned on the altar for God, there are other parts that are often shared by the priests and the people (most notably, in the wellbeing offering). In this sense, then, the offering of animals, grains, and incense on the altar can be read as metaphors for our own attempts to share together with God and with our community.
Biblical scholar and anthropologist Mary Douglas offers another layer to our exploration. She asserts that, according to the book of Leviticus, the only time meat could be eaten was during a sacrifice (that is to say that, according to Leviticus, the rest of the Israelites' diet was vegetarian). She also suggests that all of Leviticus' sacrifices were to be made completely in silence. From Douglas, we learn that the sacrifices were attempts to elevate seemingly mundane parts of our lives to a level of intense holiness, intention, and community.
If you can get beyond the "ick" factor of livers protuberances, suet, and entrails, and open yourself to the deeper meanings of this oft-misunderstood book, you can connect with an important lesson: Potential moments of holiness are often masked and sometimes difficult to realize. But, if we are willing to search deeper and stretch ourselves a bit, we may find that the sacred was around us and in us all along, simply waiting to be unearthed and named.
March 7, 2008
Parashat P'kudei 5768
When God finished creating the world, God stopped. In this moment of pause, the divine offered a blessing. Our Torah tells us, "And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because on it God ceased from all the work of creation that God had done" (Genesis 2:3).
In this week's Torah Portion, P'kudei, the people finally complete the difficult work of building the mishkan, the holy tabernacle in which God dwells. When the Israelites finished their task, our Torah teaches us that Moses offered words of blessing, "And when Moses saw that they had performed all the tasks - as Adonai had commanded, so they had done - Moses blessed them" (Exodus 39:43).
There are obvious parallels in these holy texts. In moments of completion, our tradition teaches us, it is fitting to stop and offer words of blessing. These purposeful moments of focused prayer are not only about praising the divine, but also are about personal reflection.
This week's parasha speaks to me personally. In my line of work, as I am sure is true in yours, I have the privilege of working on a number of large projects. These projects are often long-term, complicated, deeply fulfilling, and time consuming. Often, the build-up to a project's completion can feel all encompassing. Do you know what I am describing here? Waking up in the middle of the night with project details on the brain, making and re-making lists, circling conversations about deadlines and schedules...
When major projects in our lives come to an end, we can often experience what I affectionately call "Post Production Blues." The work is over and we are left...wanting. The ensuing quiet can feel unsettling. (Parents may often recognize this in their children as they complete major school projects, finish tests, or return home from camp). In moments like this, when I recognize feelings of loss, I look to my tradition for guidance on how to navigate.
We can take a clear lesson from this week's parasha (as I mentioned a couple weeks ago, sometimes Torah can be wonderfully simple). When we finish something--complete a project, finalize a report, or reach the end of a significant period in our lives, we can offer a blessing. We, like God and Moses in God's image, can stop and recognize our accomplishments, give thanks for those who supported us, and recognize that our acts, each of them, parallel the original acts of creation.
My blessing for us this Shabbat is that each of us remembers that we are created b'tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, and, therefore, are imbued with holiness. Let us remember that, in God's image, our lives are filled with many acts of creation, and we too have the power to mark those acts with words of blessing, praise, and gratitude.
In this week's Torah Portion, P'kudei, the people finally complete the difficult work of building the mishkan, the holy tabernacle in which God dwells. When the Israelites finished their task, our Torah teaches us that Moses offered words of blessing, "And when Moses saw that they had performed all the tasks - as Adonai had commanded, so they had done - Moses blessed them" (Exodus 39:43).
There are obvious parallels in these holy texts. In moments of completion, our tradition teaches us, it is fitting to stop and offer words of blessing. These purposeful moments of focused prayer are not only about praising the divine, but also are about personal reflection.
This week's parasha speaks to me personally. In my line of work, as I am sure is true in yours, I have the privilege of working on a number of large projects. These projects are often long-term, complicated, deeply fulfilling, and time consuming. Often, the build-up to a project's completion can feel all encompassing. Do you know what I am describing here? Waking up in the middle of the night with project details on the brain, making and re-making lists, circling conversations about deadlines and schedules...
When major projects in our lives come to an end, we can often experience what I affectionately call "Post Production Blues." The work is over and we are left...wanting. The ensuing quiet can feel unsettling. (Parents may often recognize this in their children as they complete major school projects, finish tests, or return home from camp). In moments like this, when I recognize feelings of loss, I look to my tradition for guidance on how to navigate.
We can take a clear lesson from this week's parasha (as I mentioned a couple weeks ago, sometimes Torah can be wonderfully simple). When we finish something--complete a project, finalize a report, or reach the end of a significant period in our lives, we can offer a blessing. We, like God and Moses in God's image, can stop and recognize our accomplishments, give thanks for those who supported us, and recognize that our acts, each of them, parallel the original acts of creation.
My blessing for us this Shabbat is that each of us remembers that we are created b'tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, and, therefore, are imbued with holiness. Let us remember that, in God's image, our lives are filled with many acts of creation, and we too have the power to mark those acts with words of blessing, praise, and gratitude.
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