April 29, 2010

Parashat Emor -- Human Experience

A few weeks ago, I opened up the text of Parashat Emor to study with Rose Kauffman-Skloff in preparation for her fifth grade d’var torah, which she delivered to the Religious School community last Sunday. Together, we read these words, which God instructed Moses to tell the Israelites “These are My fixed times, the fixed times of the Eternal One, which you shall proclaim as sacred occasions” (Leviticus 23:1). Rose was wide-eyed to discover that many of the holidays she celebrates today were described in detail in the Torah. “Can you believe we’ve been celebrating these holidays for so long?”

This ancient Torah portion not only tells us when to celebrate but how to celebrate these holy days: Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. Each day has its own list of commands, reflected in their prescribed active verbs: You shall elevate, you shall eat unleavened bread, you must count, you shall bring, you shall leave, you shall observe complete rest, you shall practice self-denial, you shall make offerings, you shall rejoice, you shall live in booths.

These holy days, accented by these verbs, begin to paint a picture, in miniature, of a life fully lived and experienced. The actions of these days tell the story of our lives: We regret and we rejoice, we bring and we leave, we observe and we elevate, we eat and we live. Other Jewish holy days were added to the calendar in rabbinic times. On Tisha B’Av, we mourn and we experience loss. On Chanukah, we make light and we remember.

These holy days suggest something remarkable: that all of our human experiences—from loss to delight, from low points to high, from sickness to health—all have their place not only in an individual’s lifecycle, but also in the fabric of our communal calendar. They have been embedded in the cycle of our years since ancient times. Our tradition tells us unequivocally: No matter what life brings you, you remain in the fabric of Jewish time, and in the pattern of Jewish life.

Rose summed it up well, “Some of these holidays make you sad. On some you celebrate. Some are sort of boring.” And such is life. Each of us experiences moments of disappoint. Each of us is granted moments for rejoicing. Sometimes life rolls along, unchanged, and is overwhelmingly tedious.

Torah reminds us this week that whether we confront joy or sorrow, illness or loss, pain or healing, wellness or despair, certainty or ambiguity, or life or death, we remain in sync with the sacred rhythm of our people’s time.

In this knowledge we can take some comfort. Our life’s experiences are not ours alone, but are shared with Jewish people across the globe and through out history. As Ecclesiastes teaches, “There is a time for every season under heaven.”

April 8, 2010

Parashat Sh'mini--Strange Fire

A few years ago I was given a playlist of contemporary songs that focused on biblical themes.  The focus of the music was broad—from the irreverent to the inspired.  What was notable about the music was that it was not intended to be religious in any way.  The songs were simply illustrations that biblical images and stories weave their way into our daily lives and the art we create.  This week’s Torah Portion Parashat Sh’mini is no exception.

It’s ironic that I look forward to this Torah Portion, a portion which is, at its core, deeply troubling and quite bloody.  This Torah Portion includes the only narrative incident in all of Leviticus.  It goes like this:
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 strange 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 story is simple.  Nadab and Abihu offer “strange fire” on the altar and God responds by consuming them in fire.  Aaron, their father, is left in stunned silence.  No explanation is given. 

Where Aaron remains reticent, Jewish commentators burst forth with explanations.  For generations, our ancestors have done back-flips trying to make sense of what Nadab and Abihu possibly could have done wrong.

I don’t love this Torah Portion for the narrative or for the traditional Jewish commentaries.  I love it for the Indigo Girls’ song “Strange Fire.”  In this song, the Indigo Girls sing:
i come to you with strange fire, i make an offering of love, the incense of my soil is burned by the fire in my blood. i come with a softer answer to the questions that lie in your path. i want to harbor you from the anger, find a refuge from the wrath.  this is a message of love. love that moves from the inside out, love that never grows tired. i come to you with strange fire.
What I love about these lyrics is simple.  They take a message of pain and anguish and quite simply, by just a few words, turn it into “a message of love.”  While Nadab and Abihu’s strange fire produced wrath, their strange fire is meant to provide “softer answers” and a “refuge from the wrath.”  This is a complete reworking of Torah!  And I delight in it.

I believe that sometimes Torah’s purpose is not to instruct, but to warn.  Why is Aaron silent?  Why does Moses’ off-putting attempt to make sense of the incident feel so incongruous?  Because this is a story in which God got it wrong.  This is a story of innocent life taken.  This is a story that is meant to evoke pain and anger.  And we are not given answers.  And it is not made right.  Torah leaves us with two choices:  To justify God’s actions by blaming Nadab and Abihu, or to learn from the injustice of the act.

Ancient Jewish commentators choose the former.  The Indigo Girls choose the latter. 

We have this power too.  What messages will we draw from our Holy Texts?  Will they be messages of blame or messages of love?  Will they be justifications or new paths?  What is the purpose of Torah in our lives? 

Will we continue to condemn the strange fire or embrace it?