Two Minutes of Torah: Tzav - The fire within

There is something magical about fire. It provides warmth, but has the power to burn. It is a source of light, but also a force of destruction. It can be comforting, but it is also dangerous.

I’ve always been fascinated by fire; the heat, the light, the colour, everything draws my attention and focus. When I was younger and the Shabbat candles were lit I used to squint and watch as rays appeared to burst free from the burning flames. These rays which disappeared when I refocused my eyes made the fire all the more intriguing. I would watch as the two flames danced on the wicks of the Shabbat candles. And it was not just on Shabbat; fire plays an important part across our Jewish observance. Chanukah is defined by the oil which burnt for eight days, on the anniversary of a person’s death we light a Yahrzeit candle, and it formed a central part of the sacrificial service.

It is the sacrificial service which is the major focus of this week’s Torah portion; beginning with the description of the Olah, the burnt offering. With this type of sacrifice it is hardly surprising that fire is a central element. The olah is ‘burned upon the altar all night until morning, while the fire on the altar is kept going’ (Leviticus 6:2). One can imagine that the sacrifice would have been completely consumed. But this is not the only reference to fire (esh): ‘And the fire upon the altar shall be kept burning, not to go out; every morning the priest shall feed wood to it’ (Leviticus 6:5). The fire for the olah is not specifically lit, it is perpetually burning.

The Tabernacle was always ready for the burnt offering to be brought, and through the night as the Israelites slept the fire continued to burn. One must also imagine that the fire was protected, and maintained, as the Israelites journeyed through the wilderness. This would have required serious dedication and commitment to ensure that this fire was never extinguished.

In our environmentally conscious society we are always told to switch off lights, and preserve electricity. In contrast the Israelites kept this fire burning, even when they would not use it for sacrifices.

I think that there is something very powerful about the symbolism of this ever-burning fire. The Tabernacle in the wilderness would have always been a place of warmth and light. I have an image of a faint glow emanating from the Tabernacle at all times. Perhaps it would also have offered warmth for those in the wilderness who needed it. At the same time, with a fire burning at its centre the Tabernacle would have been a potentially dangerous place. People would have needed to approach with caution, conscious of the potentially destructive fire within, just ask Nadav and Avihu (Leviticus 10:1-3).

There is something else that I take from this ever burning fire. The Israelites were always ready to serve God. The Tabernacle and Priests were prepared to offer a sacrifice at any time, day or night, and maybe this is the lesson we should take. We need to be ready to serve God. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, we need to keep the fire within us burning. Whenever we have the opportunity to perform an act of tzedakkah, to work towards tikkun olam (the repair of the world) and to fulfil a mitzvah, we must feel the fire burning within us, and we must act. The ever burning fire of the Tabernacle is now within us, a force which can bring warmth and light to the world.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayikra - Praying with our bodies

This week we begin the Book of Leviticus, and with it we commence the laws of sacrifice. For us Reform Jews, living in the twenty-first century, these instructions may appear gruesome, barbaric and archaic. Yet for generations our ancestors communicated with God, and prayed to God, through sacrifices and the slaughter of animals.

Rabbi Ignaz Maybaum (writing in the shadow of the Holocaust) suggested that the end of sacrifice was the positive outcome of the destruction of the Second Temple. We can celebrate the fact that our synagogue does not smell like a giant barbecue, that no blood is spilt when praying to God, and that words have replaced sacrifices.

While the idea of animals being killed is uncomfortable at best, and tremendously distressing at worst, there is something fascinating about the detailed ritual which accompanied this form of interaction with God. There is a clear process for the Israelite and the Priest as the sacrifice is offered; almost everything is meticulously choreographed. ‘He shall lay his hands upon the head of the burnt offering … the priests shall offer the blood, dashing blood against the sides of the altars’ (Leviticus 1:4-5). There is a physicality to sacrifice which is often missing in our prayers.

It is for this reason that the Amidah is, for me, such a peak moment in the service. I appreciate the fact that we all rise as a community. We take three steps backwards and three steps forwards, as though we are literally coming into the presence of God. And then we bow, at several points, bending our knees and extending our backs. The Amidah is important because of the words we recite, but a significant part of its power comes from the fact that our entire bodies are used to praise God.

Abraham Joshua Heschel, the great Jewish thinker of the twentieth century, joined Martin Luther King on his march at Selma. Afterwards he commented that it felt like his feet were praying.

Have we ever had an experience where it felt like our bodies were praying, or even just a single limb?

I don’t want to return to sacrifices, but I appreciate the idea that my body could be involved in my prayers. Without sacrifices, and with limited opportunity for physicality in prayer, our challenge is how we use our bodies in the service of God. The ancient Israelites prayed with their hands, placing them upon the head of their sacrifices. Abraham Joshua Heschel prayed with his feet, joining a civil rights march. How will we use our bodies to pray?

There is an entire spectrum from sacrifice to marching; each one of us will choose our spot and our way. Nothing needs to be harmed or killed. But perhaps we can find a way to supplement the prayers of our hearts with the actions of our bodies. The sacrifices remind us of this potential, and Abraham Joshua Heschel offers a fascinating example. The choice is up to each one of us to find ways to channel our prayers through our bodies.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayakahel-Pekudei - Giving something that matters

As an older brother it was my prerogative to pass things down, sometimes to sell them, to my little sister. When I wanted a new games console it was first necessary to pass the old one on to my younger sister – it would be extravagant to expect to own more than one console. I was only ready to give it to her when I had finished with it, or when there was a new one which I wanted more. Once it was of little or no value to me, then I was ready to pass it on.

As I write this I feel the need to apologise to my sister: sorry Libby.

This week the Israelites are all asked to give something. Following on from God’s instructions to Moses a few weeks ago in Parashat Terumah, it is now the time for Moses to pass this request on, and tell the people directly. Moses says: ‘This is the thing which God has asked, saying: Take from among you gifts to Adonai, everyone whose heart moves them shall bring’ (Exodus 35:4-5). The Israelites are not simply told to bring, Moses continues with a very specific list including: ‘gold, silver and copper, blue, purple and crimson yarns’ (Exodus 35:5-6). With these wonderful materials the Tabernacle is to be build, and it is clear that it will be an awe-inspiring structure.

We could ask where the Israelites managed to find all of these wonderful materials in the middle of the wilderness, but that’s a subject for another time.

I want to know why God required such an elaborate building project? Why does God’s house need to be jewel-encrusted? Were there not better uses for all of the riches God requests?

I’m a big fan of the Indiana Jones films, and to mix religious imagery for a moment, I especially love the scene towards the end of The Last Crusade, when the cup of the Holy Grail has to be chosen. The jewel encrusted, elaborate, gold cup is unsurprisingly not the holy chalice, rather (and I’m sorry to spoil the ending) it is a simple cup which is the Grail.

Why not a simple tent for God’s Tabernacle?

One could make an argument that God’s dwelling place on earth should be of five-star quality, a home befitting our Deity.

But I think that this is more about the people than God. For this to be a worthwhile community project they need to give something of value. It needs to be something of real value, something worth giving (it can’t be an old, used games console). The request for precious metals and expensive materials is about demonstrating the significance of this project, and the significance of the people’s involvement. They are asked to give something of value, to make their donations meaningful. It is therefore all the more impressive when they bring too much and are told to stop (Exodus 36:6).

The Tabernacle is a project for the people, through their donations of precious materials they become truly invested in building God’s dwelling place on earth.

When we make donations, what and how do we give? What is most precious to us in today’s society, and are we willing to donate it for a project we believe in? Each one of us needs to decide what is precious to us, and see if we are willing to give of that for projects we believe in. Our most precious commodity may be our money – do we donate it? It may be a skill which we possess – will we allow it to be utilised? Or it may be our time – will we volunteer and contribute it? If we can give something which matters, something which is precious, then perhaps we too can cause God’s presence to dwell amongst us.

CCAR Conference: WOW!

It is hard to put into words the experience that was the CCAR Convention 2010. There is first of all something amazing about being surrounded by about 500 colleagues; people who share passions, ideas and experiences. For me it was also special to be back on the west coast with friends and teachers I was delighted to see. And I was especially lucky to have my older brother-in-law Brian looking out for me and taking care of me.

Some of the highlights and ideas which I want to share:

Erev Rav Dan Medwin led a wonderful session on Visual T'filah. His insights, experiences and teachings were masterful. I am intrigued by the prospect of leading visual services for children and families at West London Synagogue, and also perhaps for RSY-Netzer. Some people will be reluctant to put the Siddur to one side. But the potential for a service on a screen, with visual niggunim, pictorial kavanot and artistic interpretations of prayer is something which I personally find very exciting.

I also spent some time with the folks from the Mission Minyan in San Francisco. The way that they bring together such a diverse group of Jews, finding a way to pray together is inspiring. For us involved in synagogue life it can seem threatening that people are finding Jewish community outside of our traditional institutions. But it seems like we have a lot to learn about what makes these places attractive, to bring into the synagogue; and with their focus solely on prayer, I am convinced that we in synagogue life still have a role to play in providing meaningful Jewish community and experiences.

Finally, I think the most important thing I learnt at CCAR was the importance of Ben Zoma's words: eyzeh who chacham: halomed mikol adam - Who is wise? The person who learns from everyone. Spending time with Rabbis, hearing about their experiences, sharing ideas and learning from them is so tremendously valuable, we need to find opportunities to do this both in person and when we're not all at conferences together.

Two Minutes of Torah: Ki Tissah - Take a Break

It can be difficult when Shabbat arrives. We sometimes find ourselves consumed by various tasks and responsibilities which make an enforced 25 hours of non-work quite a difficult proposition. I remember while being at University the self-discipline which was required to put essays and papers to the side, and to spend an entire day not working or studying. These essays were important, and they needed to be finished, but Shabbat provided an obligatory pause for rest and recuperation.

Taking a day of rest in our 24-7 society can seem difficult, and almost impossible, but surely we all require a day of rest, to take some time for ourselves, our family and friends.

In this week’s Torah portion the final instructions for the Mikdash (Tabernacle) are given, and Bezalel is introduced to us as the man who will lead this project. However, before building can begin, prior to the work commencing, we are given the commandment of Shabbat again ‘You shall keep My Shabbat as a sign of the covenant between Me and you throughout your generations’ (Exodus 31:13).

There is an important message for us in this chain of events. We are essentially told that even a project as significant as building God’s dwelling place on earth – the Mikdash – should be stopped so that everyone can take a day of rest on Shabbat. Pikuach Nefesh – the obligation to save a life, is the only activity which is more important than the observance of a day of rest.

While we may celebrate the obligation to take a day of rest, the severity of the commandment, as it is given in Ki Tissah, can be a little uncomfortable. ‘Anyone who defiles it shall surely be put to death, for anyone who does work on it; his soul shall be cut off from his people’ (Exodus 31:14).

The punishment of death for breaking Shabbat seems harsh in the extreme. It is also apparent that the text does not specify what actually qualifies as work on Shabbat, and how a person might desecrate it. However, the problem remains that death is a punishment threatened by God.

However, when one looks at the text the Hebrew does not say that someone or something will kill this person, rather it says: mot yumat, which is most readily translated as ‘will surely die’. The punishment for not observing Shabbat is not literal death, it is a figurative death. The person who never takes a moment to rest from their work, observing Shabbat, it is as though they are dead – rest is a necessary part of life. Death is not a punishment for breaking Shabbat, it is a metaphorical consequence.

Similarly, when it says that ‘his soul shall be cut off from his people’, it is a consequence, not a punishment. The person who completely absents themselves from Shabbat loses their place in the community, as they lose their engagement with the community. It is not a case of being actually cut off, but their soul will lose the sense of connection with the rest of the community.

If Shabbat is important enough for the Israelites to take a break when building the Mikdash, the house in which God will dwell; then is there any work which can not be delayed for 25 hours so that we can rest, recuperate and spend time with our loved ones and community?