Counting the Omer 5768

We are currently in a special period of time between Pesach (which this year began on April 19, 15 Nisan) and Shavuot (which this year falls on June 8, 6 Sivan). During this time, we engage in a counting ritual called "Counting the Omer."

What does it mean to count the omer? Each night from the second night of Pesach to the First night of Shavuot, Jews say a one line blessing and declare the day of the omer we are entering.

What is an "Omer"? "Omer" is the Hebrew word for a certain measure of barley. During biblical times, an "omer" of barley was brought to the Temple as an offering on the second day of Pesach. Leviticus 22:15 instructs us to count 49 days (7 weeks) from the second day of Pesach to Shavuot (the Festival of Weeks).

Why do we count the omer? Even though we no longer bring offerings to the Temple, this is a period of time in which we recognize ourselves as a wandering people. According to the narrative of our cyclical calendar, we have just been freed from Egypt (Pesach), but we are yet to receive the Torah on Mt. Sinai (Shavuot). This is a time of anticipation and longing. During the omer, time is meant to be noticed and reflected upon.

The blessing for counting the omer is:
Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha'Olam asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tizivanu al sefirat ha'omer.

Blessed are you, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who has sanctified us with your commandments and commanded us to count the omer.

Check out Online Omer Counters: For excellent commentary and detailed instructions on counting the omer, visit the My Jewish Learning entry by Rabbi Jill Jacobs. Or, for a really funny downloadable Omer calendar, check out Counting the Homer (as in Simpson).

Parashat Acharei Mot 5768

I believe this week's Torah portion Parashat Acharei Mot may reveal a deeply entrenched argument that the Torah has lovingly preserved for us. The argument, according to Leviticus scholar Mary Douglas, focuses on the role of meat in human life. (And, I know many of you have meat on the brain these days, as you begin searching the TBS Sisterhood Cookbook for the perfect brisket recipe to use for your Passover seder.)

The Torah's ancient "meat argument" revolves around a central question: Can meat be slaughtered and consumed if it is not being offered as a sacrifice to God?Before I get to the two answers, let me give a word of background. In the Torah, the most common kind of sacrifice was a well-being sacrifice. This sacrifice was "shared" by three parties: part was offered up to God as smoke on the altar, part was eaten by the priests, and part was eaten by the Israelites who brought the animal. And so, the question is, could an animal be slaughtered and eaten if it wasn't first brought to the Tabernacle and offered up to God?

1. "Yes," answers Deuteronomy (and the Jewish laws derived from it). An Israelite could slaughter an animal, cook it, and eat it, without any sort of special ceremony, as long as it was slaughtered in a kosher manner.
   
2. "No," answers Leviticus.Douglas explains: "Leviticus...[allows] no profane slaughter, the only shedding of animal blood it permits is in the consecrated killing of sacrifice" (Douglas 68). While many scholars do not agree with Douglas' reading of Leviticus, I found her interpretation quite compelling as I read this week's Torah portion. Leviticus 17:3-4 exclaims, "If anyone of the house of Israel slaughters an ox or sheep or goat in the camp, or does so outside the camp, and does not bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting to present it as an offering to Adonai, before the Tabernacle of Adonai, bloodguilt shall be imputed to that man: he has shed blood; that man shall be cut off from among his people."

The ancient commentator Rashi explains that if a person were to kill an animal outside of the prescribed system, he would incur bloodguilt "just as if he had killed a human." According to Acharei Mot, all creatures on earth "belong" to God and, therefore, need to be treated in a consecrated manner.

While Leviticus' understanding of sacrifice does not translate into Jewish law, it does have an enduring value for us today. This week's Torah portion teaches us to be concerned about holiness in all aspects of our life, from what we eat to how we relate to others. And, while we may reinterpret some of these mitzvot, their underlying concern is simple: we can search for the holy in everything we do, whether we are preparing a meal, beginning a conversation, searching the internet, or talking with our children.

My blessing for us all this Shabbat is that we embody some of what Leviticus pushes us to consider: No aspect of our life is profane. Everything we do has the potential to be sacred, if we only choose to define it as such.

Pesach 5768

Pesach (Passover) is around the corner! The first seder night is Saturday, April 19, and, with its fast approach, Jews around the world are beginning to think about cleaning, cooking, and celebrating freedom. And, I...well, I am starting to think about hametz. What, you might ask, is hametz?

During Pesach, the Torah tells us that we may neither eat nor own leavened bread or hametz of any kind (Exodus 12:15-20). Hametz refers to food prepared from any of the following five species of grain: wheat, barley, oats, spelt, and rye that have been allowed to leaven. Ashkenazi Jews add rice, millet, corn, and legumes to the not-to-be-eaten list. So, it seems, Pesach starts out with a number of restrictions.

The bread lovers amongst us cry out: What are we allowed to eat, then? Matzah (that favorite of cardboard-y treats), the Torah proclaims! Interestingly, there's only one fundamental difference between hametz and matzah - time (it's the same flour, water, etc.)! The rabbis explain that "matzah" is considered "matzah" only because it is made in fewer than 18 minutes. Potentially, the only difference between hametz and matzah is a moment, a second, an instant.

I believe there is a deep spiritual lesson for us to learn (and learn again) in this distinction. Avoiding the consumption and ownership of hametz is not just about crazy-making ancient rules. As Los Angeles Rabbi Sharon Brous teaches, "Matzah doesn't waste any time - it is the sense of urgency that drives us to do uncomfortable, inconvenient things. ...Hametz, to the contrary, is what keeps us complacent." Rabbi Brous suggests that, at this time of year, we are meant to "act like matzah," to attend to life with immediacy. The ancient Rabbi Hillel asks a similar question in Pirkei Avot, "If not now, when?" As Rabbi Brous suggests, this is the time of year for tough conversations we have been putting off, for much needed breaks we have not been taking, and for attentiveness to social issues we have been delaying. If Rosh Hashanah is the time for reflection, Pesach is the time for action! All year long we "act like hametz," now is the time for us to "be matzah.

Our tradition helps us to jump-start or act-out this spiritual reorientation with physical activity ("we learn best by doing"). We are told, literally, to disown all of our hametz. If you have never tried this, this Pesach 5768 is the year to do so. First, you should do a thorough search for hametz called b'dikat hametz. This search, traditionally done in gusto with a candle, feather, and spoon, can be especially fun for children of all ages (you can even hide hametz in corners!). Bundle up your hametz in one place. Then, there are two ways to get rid of your hametz:

1. You can donate your hametz to the poor. In fact, there is a specific mitzvah associated with this, Ma'ot Hittin (literally money for wheat), which commands us to give to the needy before Pesach. In the next week or so, try to finish any open hametz in your house (a great excuse to invite friends over for a hametz dinner party!) and then simply donate any unopened hametz. It can be fun to re-purchase new treats after the chag. Feel free to give your hametz to your organization of choice or drop it off in the TBS Education or Main Lobby before Wednesday, April 16, and we will take it to Second Harvest.
2. You can "sell" your hametz. It was clear to the rabbis that it might not be feasible for everyone to simply get rid of all their hametz. So, there is another option to "sell" it. In order to do this, take all your hametz and put it in a closed cabinet or box and label it hametz (keep it shut throughout Pesach), you will then "sell" it for the remainder of the holiday. It is common practice today to appoint an agent to arrange the sale of your hametz on your behalf. If you would like to do this, simply come in to TBS before Wednesday, April 16, and sign a form listing Rabbi Jocee Hudson as "your agent." Your hametz will be "sold" and unavailable for your use from Saturday morning, April 19, until the end of the holiday. I will be "selling" your hametz to the Executive Director of Mercy House, Larry Haynes. If you like, you can fulfill the mitzvah of Ma'ot Hittin by making a Pesach donation to Mercy House.

Parshat Tazria 5768

During a religious school game this past week, I overheard a teacher say firmly to one of our students, "Please take my hand, there are no such thing as cooties."

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, "cooties" refer to those invisible things a boy and girl might accidentally catch if they were to touch one another. Cooties are part of a complicated playground purity classification system, which those of us outside of its bounds may never fully understand. And, while I take no issue with the teacher's wise counsel, her words are ringing in my ears as I study this week's Torah portion, Tazria.

Tazria is all about cooties or, in the biblical language, about those things that can cause a person to become tamei (best translated as "impure"). Tazria describes a series of events or conditions that can make a person tamei; for example, childbirth renders the mother tamei and certain skin diseases cause the afflicted to be tamei.

In our contemporary setting, many of us take issue with this system of purity and impurity. The idea of labeling new mothers as tamei, not to mention those with certain skin diseases, feels discriminatory, foreign, and potentially cruel. Why, then, would our ancestors have embraced such classifications and what role did they play in their society?

Leviticus scholar Mary Douglas suggests that the categories of tamei (impure) and its counterpart tahor (pure) not only reflect ancient boundaries, but also give voice to our ancestors' very real fears about that which they didn't understand. Biblical scholar Howard Eilberg-Schwartz explains that, for our ancestors, people or things that were labeled tamei often represented missed opportunities for life or even symbolized death itself. By labeling things tamei, Leviticus seeks to apply some sort of human control over those aspects of life our ancestors feared most, that which they could not control.

And this is why I call Tazria the "cooties" Torah portion. Young people create concepts of cooties to assert boundaries between themselves and those they don't understand. As contemporary Reform Jewish adults, I recognize that most of us don't much worry about whether things are tamei, tahor, or full of cooties. However, I think we can all agree that our world is filled with plenty of classifications that attempt to assert order in chaos or to define that which seems inexplicable. This is why we have labels and classifications, to organize and explain our world.

Tazria reminds us that while these classifications can be constructive tools for organizing society and asserting a sense of control in areas of chaos, they also have the potential to become destructive. Sometimes classification systems make us feel safer, but they can also distance us from that which is "other" than us or from those who we do not understand. This is why we, as adults, must move beyond the classifications we use, and engage in real dialogue, careful examination, and ongoing study. It is only when we question the labels we use that we ensure a sense of holiness in our world. On this Shabbat, let us consider carefully the words we use and the labels we apply. How do these labels help us and how do they hurt us? Do they bring a sense of holiness to ourselves and to our community? Let us continue both to define and to refine the world around us.