Thursday, March 28, 2013

Chol HaMoeid Pesach


When speaking about the ritual of searching for hametz on the night before the first seder, the 14th day of the Hebrew month Nisan, the first Mishnah of the Tractate of Pesahim plays with imagery of light: 

“Light of the fourteenth—we search for leaven with the light of a candle.”

".אור לארבעה השר בודקים את החמץ לאור הנר"

The word light is used twice in one short sentence, yet does not mean the same thing in both instances. Indeed, the Gemara tells us that the two uses reflect opposite meanings. As the Rabbis of the Talmud understand it, “light of the fourteenth” does not refer to the literal meaning of these words.

Instead, light refers not to the light of day, but the darkness of evening. Consequently, the Mishnah is teaching us that the ritual of the search for hametz should be performed in the darkness of the night before Passover. The second use of the term light, however, does in fact refer to light, as the Mishnah instructs us to search for hametz by the light of a candle.

Of course, this presents us with the obvious question: Why did the Rabbis use the word light when they intended darkness? The Hebrew word leila (לילה) would certainly have worked. Why did the Rabbis not say what they meant?
Maimonides, in his commentary to the Mishnah, suggests a compelling explanation for this unusual use of the word light: he suggests the Rabbis were guided by literary concerns. That is to say, it would have been less aesthetically pleasing to begin the tractate on the holiday of Passover with the word night. Darkness intimates an absence, while light (illumination) allows for the appreciation of abundance.

Truth be told, using a word that is the opposite of what one intends is not unknown in both biblical and rabbinic Hebrew. When Jezebel plants false witnesses against Naboth, she tells them to accuse Naboth of having “reviled God and king.” The word used in I Kings 21:10 for reviled is beirakhta (blessed)—the opposite of what the intended meaning is.

Continue reading.  

Monday, March 18, 2013

Tzav


Leviticus 6:1–8:36 - Shabbat HaGadol

Ears, Thumbs, And Toes

The ceremony installing the priests teaches the importance of consecrating the entire body for sacred service.

Traditionally, the Book of Vayikra (Leviticus) was known as Torat Kohanim, "the Teachings of the Priests." Its contents are directed to people who would be ministering in the Temple in Jerusalem, and its topics pertain to priestly sacrifice, ritual and purity.

Yet, our tradition also holds that the eternal task of the Jewish People is to mold ourselves into a nation of priests, a holy people.

In doing so, the standards that apply to a 'kohen' (priest) in the Beit Ha-Mikdash (the Temple) are essential tools for elevating our own spiritual and ritual status as well. The same guidance that the Torah provided the '' at his task can ennoble and uplift the serious Jew of today as well.

In seeking to fulfill our divine mission, we turn to the very book that trained God's servants in antiquity as well. At the outset of our commitment to become a nation of priests, we can look with special benefit to the ordination of the 'kohanim' (priests) into their sacred service.

An Elaborate Ceremony
That installation took place amidst elaborate ceremony. The 'kohanim' washed themselves to become ritually pure, and then donned special clothing to demarcate themselves for their activity in the Temple. Anointed with a special oil, the 'kohanim' sacrificed a sin offering to atone for their own shortcomings and errors before attempting to intercede for the atonement of the people.

After sacrificing the ram of burnt offering, Moses took some blood from the ram of ordination, and "put it on the ridge of Aaron's right ear, and on the thumb of his right hand, and on the big toe of his right foot." He then repeated that same ritual for each of Aaron's sons. Finally, the remains of the animal were boiled and consumed by the newly-ordained 'kohanim.'

Continue reading.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Vayikra


Leviticus 1:1−5:26

The Value Of Animal Sacrifices


The institution of animal sacrifice allows us to confront our deepest subconscious urges and needs.


By Rabbi Bradley Artson
Sefer Vayikra, the Book of Leviticus, is at the center of the Torah, not only spatially, but also spiritually.

More than any other single book, Vayikra sets the tone and establishes the central themes of biblical and rabbinic Judaism throughout the ages.

Establishing a Sacred Community
The central focus of Vayikra is on establishing a sacred community--"a nation of priests" whose daily deeds perfect the world under God's rule. By establishing an ideal community, Vayikra recognizes that deeds speak far more eloquently than words, that living in a holy community can provide a sense of God's presence far more pervasive than more ethereal approaches. So far, so good.

Few modern Jews would have any problem, at least in theory, with those general remarks. Our problem starts when we examine how Vayikra defines the detailed practices of a sacred community. What kind of deeds and activities create the core of Vayikra's vision?

At the center of this central book lies a preoccupation with animal and vegetative sacrifice, which is far from the world view of most contemporary Jews (and most contemporary Americans, for that matter).

When we think of religious devotion, we tend to picture silent meditation, appreciation of nature, perhaps even a commitment to ethical living. But the connection between killing animals and serving the Lord escapes us completely.

To understand our own sacred heritage as Jews, to appreciate the religious perspective that emerges from the Torah, the Talmud, and most later Jewish writings, we must come to an understanding of the centrality of Temple ritual and of sacrifice.

Continue reading.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Vayakhel-Pekudei


Exodus 35:1–40:38 & 12:1–20 - Shabbat haChodesh

A home for God among us

And everyone who excelled in ability and everyone whose spirit moved him came, bringing to the Lord his offering for the work of the Tent of Meeting and for all its service and for the sacral vestments. Men and women, all whose hearts moved them, all who would make an elevation offering of gold to the Lord, came bringing brooches, earrings, rings, and pendants — gold objects of all kinds. And everyone who had in his possession blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, goats' hair, tanned ram skins, and dolphin skins, brought them; everyone who would make gifts of silver or copper brought them as gifts for the Lord; and everyone who had in his possession acacia wood for any work of the service brought that. And all the skilled women spun with their own hands, and brought what they had spun, in blue, purple, and crimson yarns, and in fine linen...
What I love about this passage, this rich and detailed description of a construction project I can hardly imagine, is how grassroots it sounds. This isn't some decreed-from-above, top-down, serfs-laboring kind of process; this is everyone with a talent bringing that talent to bear on the work at hand. This is everyone in the community donating what they've got, whether it's gold or fine linen or soft leather. This is a veritable barn-raising, folks. Except that in a traditional barn-raising, the community comes together to build a structure for one of its members; here in our story, the community comes together to build a structure which will be inhabited not by any individual or family, but by the presence of God.

As a contemporary feminist reader of this text, I find much to savor in this passage. Here, women's contributions are valued and honored alongside the contributions of men. And, notably, women contribute in at least two different ways. Both women and men make elevation offerings of gold to God, and women are specifically commended for their skilled weaving-work. In other words, women contribute to the building of the mishkan both on a fiscal level, and on a creative level. They give physical items of value, as well as the spiritually-valuable work of their hands and hearts.

People bring every kind of beautiful thing they had. Cloth and leather, polished wood and precious stones. On a metaphorical level, I imagine, people bring every kind of temperament and creative skill to the process. Those who are even-keeled bring their serenity; those who are hot-headed bring their fire. Woodworkers and weavers, careful introverts and spontaneous extroverts, bring what they have, and who they are, to this work -- work which, the text notes, is fueled by the entire community, each person giving as she or he feels called.

In this week's part of our story, the Israelites take every opportunity to be generous, and that generosity transforms them. The craftsmen Bezalel and Oholiab, and "every skilled person whom God had endowed with skill," together undertake the project of building a suitable home for God's presence. They take, from Moses, all of the gifts the Israelites brought, in order to fashion them into the mishkan. But then, we read: