Parashat Tazria Metzora 5769--Mikveh as Modern Ritual

In the days leading up to my rabbinic ordination, I stepped into a mikveh, a Jewish ritual bath, for the first time. There should have been nothing surprising about the experience. I had visited the mikveh many times before and studied the laws of immersion. I knew what to expect. I knew what would happen. I was ready.

How surprising it was for me, then, when I entered the mikveh and had what I can only call a transformational experience. The mikveh lady lovingly intoned, “The mikveh is the womb of the Jewish people.” She said, “God hears your prayers from the mikveh.” In those moments, I felt an uncontrollable urge to cry. I felt all of the hopes, disappointments, prayers, accomplishments, wounds, and healings from years past creep up to the surface. I felt cleansed. This is not what I would call a miracle, but it is what I would call an experience.

The laws of mikveh and ritual immersion are laid out in the chapters of Leviticus, particularly in this week’s double Torah portion, Parashat Tazria-Metzora. In her essay in the Women’s Torah Commentary“Contemporary Reflection,” Pauline Bebe writes:

The rabbis derived their laws that require an immersion in the mikveh in large measure from Leviticus (see at 12:1-8, 15:16, and 11:36). They rooted the laws in a need to purify oneself ritually after certain conditions such as menstruation, male seminal emission, certain skin diseases, or contact with the dead. Removing impurities was a precondition for coming into contact with the holy, such as in approaching the sanctuary. With the destruction of the Temple, these laws remained mandatory for women and optional for men. …While traditional Jews continue to use the mikveh for “family purity,” most liberal Jews rarely enter the mikveh.

I recently had the honor of speaking at a local Hadassah event. During the event, one woman asked a question regarding Jewish thoughts on the beginning of life. I spoke of the rabbis’ technical definitions before stopping myself. A flood of thoughts overtook me. As I was answering this delicate question, recent conversations with many women who are dear to me sprung to mind. This might be a function of my age, but I am at a time in life when many people close to me, family and friends, are starting families. In the tales of pregnancy and joys of birth, one factor has stood out. Surprised me even. A number of women dear to me have miscarried early in their pregnancies. I shared this fact with the Hadassah attendees and spoke of my desire to consider new rituals to help women who miscarry. After the conversation was over, I was surrounded by women, many of whom had their own tales of miscarriages. The losses these women experienced, for many of them decades ago, were still very much real.

We don’t talk about miscarriage much in public discourse. Yet, it has become overwhelmingly clear to me that this is a common and deeply painful rite of passage in many women’s lives. In Leviticus, we read of the need for “ritual purification” at times of menstruation and birth, but neither the rabbis nor the Torah ever mention miscarriage rituals. How do we respond Jewishly to miscarriage? Might there be an answer in our mikveh rituals?

I accompanied a TBS congregant, who was completing the final ritual of her conversion, to the mikveh recently. It was a homecoming of sorts for me, to stand on the other side of the curtain, to hear another person’s immersion, to see how much the ritual meant for this woman.

It is true what Pauline Bebe writes, liberal Jews do not often access the mikveh. But, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. Feminist ritual creators and theologians have created new rituals around mikveh. And, while some thinkers feel that the mikveh is beyond re-interpretation, many understand that the mikveh’s healing waters have much to hold for Jewish men and women at all different points of transition, from menopause to miscarriage, from marriage to divorce, from loss to promotion (read “Rising from the Ritual Bath” for more on this).

In that Hadassah gathering and in talking with other women, I have come to see that there is a powerful need for rituals in the wake of miscarriage. It is time that our community begins talking about these. If you are interested in learning more about this, check out ritualwell.org’s extensive listing of new resources.

What I am reminded by in this week’s Torah portion is that it is in our power to reclaim Jewish traditions and symbols to reflect our own life experiences and truths. This has been the practice of the Jewish people for centuries. The way we keep Torah relevant is by continuing to rediscover who we are and what we need from our people and our faith.

Parashat Sh'mini 5769 -- Alien Fire

This week’s Torah portion brings us unexpected tragedy. It brings us a tale of unexpected death and loss. The book of Leviticus, so sparse with its narrative, interrupts its ritual and legal descriptions to deliver us three verses of pain in Parashat Sh’mini. The text reads:

Now Aaron's sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Adonai alien fire, which God had not enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from Adonai and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of Adonai. Then Moses said to Aaron, "This is what Adonai meant by saying: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, And gain glory before all the people." And Aaron was silent. (Leviticus 10:1-3)

The Torah cries out for explanation. What was this alien fire? Why is such a harsh punishment inflicted on the sons? What do we make of a God who consumes people with fire? If Adonai is our God of Salvation, why would God kill Aaron’s sons?

Question after question, but the text answers none. The Torah remains as silent as Aaron.

Throughout the generations, interpreters have sought to shed light on these and other mysteries of the Torah. This is why we, as a Jewish community, rely so heavily on our sages. We use their interpretations to help us articulate our own understandings of Torah. This is the great chain of Jewish tradition. And, for generation after generation, the interpreters of our Torah have been solely men. The fact that men, exclusively, were the commentators on Torah has affected the way that we read and understand our holiest of texts. Indeed, we have come to realize that women’s voices and women’s experiences were kept out of the realm of Torah scholarship for generations. (This does not even address the belief of many that the Torah itself was written by different men—and not women—over many generations)

Why, you might ask, do I raise this question skewed Torah interpretation now? For two reasons:

1. In just a little over a week, on April 25, our congregation will be blessed to welcome our 2009 Scholar-in-Residence, Dr. Tamara Eskenazi, into our community. Dr. Eskenazi, co-editor of the newly published, award-winning "The Torah: A Women's Commentary,” is one of the most sought after Jewish scholars today. During her Shabbat with us, Dr. Eskenazi will teach us Torah in unique and exciting ways. Dr. Eskenazi lends an important voice to the Jewish community today. She and others declare that Torah can only be made fully relevant in our lives when both men and women’s voices join together to interpret and uncover the meanings of our holiest of texts. No longer can we solely rely on the voices of men of generations past, we must add new voices to the chorus. This Torah portion provides the perfect backdrop for my personal invitation to you to join us on April 25 for our scholar in residence. Check out details and RSVP by clicking here! In the “The Torah: A Women's Commentary,” Dr. Eskenazi and others help shed new light on ancient texts.

1. In reading through selections of this week’s parashah in the Women's Torah Commentary, I read Sh’mini anew. I focused on the implied pain of the final line “And Aaron was silent.” How did Aaron, devoted father and priest, feel seeing his sons die before his eyes? How helpless he must have felt. How devastated. How alone. In the Women’s Torah Commentary’s “Voices” section, the editors present a series of poems exploring issues of loss and mourning. These poems are meant to draw out the reader’s experience of these verses. I believe they help us link our own experiences to the emotions of the text. I want to share one of these poems with you this week.

A Pure Whole Memory

Only when the face is erased

can anything here be remembered whole,

only when the face is erased.

Then the light go wild,

the colors start from their frames.

Stars plunge from their height like epileptics.

Grasses groan up out of the earth

(their growing pains greater than wilting pangs).

All those things that blind our eyes

draw back to the shadows.

So too the face.

Somthing begins to stir in the depths.

How many days,

how many years of wind and weather,

have we waited for it to erupt

from the depths of the earth,

one pure whole memory,

like a lily,

pale red.

by Dahlia Ravikovich, translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

I invite you to reflect on the following questions. I also, again, invite you to join us in our studies with Dr. Eskenazi on April 25.

1. What does this poem suggest about the nature of loss?
2. How might this poem relate to Aaron and his experiences in the text?
3. How might this poem reflect (or not reflect) your own experiences of loss?

Birkat HaHammah -- Blessing of the Sun

On February 9, 1986, when I was seven years old, my parents woke my younger sister, Emily, and me up in the middle of the night. They had prepared a thermos of hot chocolate, borrowed a telescope from a friend, and packed blankets and jackets. They led us out into the cold night air. Emily and I were in our pajamas, and my parents bundled us up in the back seat of the car. As we drove, my parents explained to us that we were about to see Halley’s Comet, a comet that appears in the night sky once every 75-76 years. They set up the telescope and we held our breath, waiting for a flashing light to appear in the sky. As we waited, I clearly remember my mom saying to Emily and me, “Remember this night forever. And, in 75 years, the two of you should meet one another again, at night, with a telescope, and see this comet again.”

We remember the milestones our parents create for us.

This year, at dawn on Wednesday, April 8 (not to be confused with sundown on April 8, which is the first night of Passover), Jews around the world will gather together to commemorate another such heavenly event. Jewish tradition teaches us that every 28 years the sun returns to its original place in the heavens; the place it rested at the exact moment of creation. On April 8, the sun will reach this exact point. On this day, Jews gather at dawn, gaze toward the sun, and recite a blessing called Birkat HaHammah.

The Talmud and other sources of rabbinic literature have complicated explanations for why Birkat HaHammah only occurs every 28 years, and wonderfully complex mathematical explanations for how their computations are found. Check out the Orthodox website for great explanations of this! The possibilities for this day, though, only begin with halachic computations.

This year, many Jewish groups are looking to highlight and celebrate the environmental implications of blessing the sun. If we can understand the seven-day creation story not as a literal description of the world’s inception, but as a metaphor for its birth, I believe this celebration is enriched even further. The seven days of creation symbolize a world in perfect harmony. In this world, animals and humans, plants and birds, sky and sea, air and earth exist in their intended balance. In past generations, we have disrupted this harmony. The threats of climate change, we are told, are very much real. The effects of pollution are real. The alarming rate of landfill growth is real. We need a sun blessing this year, more than ever!

And so, as Jews, we have a unique opportunity this April 8. We have an opportunity to open our eyes and the eyes of our children to a new way of looking our planet. Are you looking for ways to celebrate? Check out these ideas below:

Support TBS’s New Solar Ner Tamid. In honor of Birkat HaHammah, Temple Beth Sholom will be installing a new solar power grid on top of our sanctuary. From this point forward, our Temple’s eternal light, our Ner Tamid, will not be fueled by electricity, but directly by the sun. This new power source will serve as an ongoing symbol of our sustainable relationship with both God and our planet. This new solar power grid will be funded by a grant from the Los Angeles Board of Rabbis, a generous donation from the TBS Torah Study group, and funds from the TBS Religious School tzedakah collections. If you would like to contribute to this fund, please send a check to Temple Beth Sholom with the words “Solar Ner Tamid Project” in the subject. On a future Sunday morning, the TBS Religious School will be unveiling and celebrating our new solar ner tamid. We invite you to join us for the celebration!

Create a ceremony. I recall hot chocolate and blankets, and a special blessing by my mother, as I watched Halley’s Comet fly by. If you are interested in creating memories by celebrating Birkat HaHammah, I invite you to choose a place to go at dawn on April 8 (some ideas are the beach, on a mountain, in a park, on your front porch, or in your backyard). Check out the printable ceremonial materials for blessings to say at home at and create your own ritual.

Get involved. This year’s Birkat HaHammah has inspired a host of new Jewish environmental advocacy resources. If you are interested in learning more, Click here.

If you plan on celebrating Birkat HaHammah this year, please let me know. If you have pictures to share, please send them along! In our world today, we must embrace opportunities to celebrate. I invite you to seize this moment. It only comes every 28 years!

This week’s Torah Portion is Parashat Tzav. Please check out the URJ Torah Commentary by Dr. Rachel Adler to learn more.