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Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Behar/Behukotai

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This Shabbat we read a double parshah: Behar/Behukotai.  It begins by saying that God spoke to Moses at the mountain.  The word ‘behar’ means both ‘at the mountain’ and ‘in the mountain’, which clearly raises questions.  For me, I always think of the piano teacher I had when I was growing up.  

My piano teacher was an avid church going woman, and she and I would have great conversations about religious practice.  Her social engagements (as she put it) always revolved around her church groups.  She was the first person in my life for whom I would attach the phrase ‘prim and proper’.  My piano teacher showed me how to create tea essence, rather than quickly use a teabag (an inexcusable shortcut in her eyes).  Every now and then I could glimpse her private life, but only brief glimpses.  Once, she told me that her brother was a pilot in the Canadian Air Force, and had been killed in the Second World War.  For a moment she paused, and then it was back to our lesson.  Our worlds were so different, but over the years there were wonderful intersecting moments.

The only time we had a disconnect of understanding was when I had to book my music theory exams.  Every date she mentioned was a Saturday.  I told her I can never take that exam on a Saturday.  I outlined the problems getting to the Conservatory on Shabbat, as well as the problem of writing.  I asked if I could take the exam orally, assuming I could walk there.  No variations on the exam were possible. Rules were rules.   My teacher felt frustrated – she couldn’t understand why I couldn’t negotiate around the problem with a religious leader.  She asked me why my rabbi wouldn’t just give me a dispensation to write the exam.  That was our moment of disconnect –I didn’t understand what a dispensation from a religious obligation meant..

I never took those exams, and after all our years of preparation together she felt I had let her down.  I couldn’t explain my world to her, and she couldn’t explain hers..  I think of her when we read this week’s Torah portion, parshat Behar/Bechukotai.  The very beginning of the parshah states: “When Moses was at Mount Sinai (behar)”, which is a correct translation, but ignores the literal layers of the word ‘behar’.  It means both ‘at the mountain’, as well as ‘in the mountain’.  Revelation at Sinai is not an experience that is lived, it is an experience, like the mountain, that is entered.  

At one point, Moses asks to see God, and God says no.  Instead, God tells Moses to enter a nook in the rock, and God will pass over Moses’ face – Moses will then feel the Divine Essence.  God could have done the same thing while Moses stood in open spaces, but God instructed Moses to stand inside the mountain.  Some things can only be felt and understood while standing within them.  The revelation at Sinai, and ‘behar’, tell us that our Judaism is best understood while we stand within it.  

The Torah reading this week invites us to enter our Judaism and ask all our questions while standing inside, protected with the solid rocks of ancestry.  From that position we build bridges to everything around us and the world connects.

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate.

Shabbat shalom,

Rachael

Rachael’s Thoughts on the 14th day of Iyar

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Today, Friday May 5th, the 14th day of Iyar, is a special day in the Jewish calendar –it’s Pesach Sheni, the Second Passover.  While we were in the wilderness, about a month after celebrating Pesach, a group of people approached Moses and said they were legitimately unable to participate in the holiday of Pesach, it’s not fair that they miss out and don’t get to celebrate.  Is there no way to ‘do it over’ just for them?  Moses consults with God, and Pesach Sheni, the Second Pesach, is set. 

In today’s world, the very question seems baffling.  Why would anyone ask to do Pesach later if they legitimately couldn’t do it the first time?  If Judaism allowed them to miss it (for example, health concerns), would someone today ask a rabbi if they could stop eating bread and only eat matzah one month later?  What are we missing today that our people in the ancient world understood?  Why is this group asking for a ‘do-over’? 

Having ‘do-overs’ is something we all experience as children.  I remember being in school and playing jump rope at recess.  If you missed your step and the rope stopped during your turn, you were officially ‘out’.  But you could ask for a ‘do-over’, an arbitrary moment of compassion, where you will be granted your turn again.  You have asked for a free turn to…well…do it over.  The decision is made by the owner of the jump rope.  It’s a moment of power and privilege to the owner of the rope, a request for compassion to be granted from the ‘owner’, the one higher than you.  It’s both a political and theological metaphoric moment in the school playground.  As kids, we don’t process all that, we just want the ‘do-over’. 

Jewishly, we actually don’t want do-overs because mistakes and errors are part of what shape us.  Teshuvah, repentance, learning to correct and move forward, are important moments we don’t want to give up –important Jewish skills we want to learn. But while we don’t want the ‘do over’, we do want the ‘do again’.  I want to be in the moment under my chuppah with my chosen partner… again.  I want the moment I met each of my babies…again.  I want the bear hugs of my father and the cuddles of my mother…again.  I don’t want to miss out on wonderful things, and that is exactly why a group of people approach Moses and ask not to miss out on celebrating Pesach.  To them, it’s a wonderful thing. 

There’s the detail that opens everything for us.  We’re supposed to enjoy our rituals.  Judaism should be a good thing in our lives, a positive and solid foundation from which we encounter the world.  Ritual should be celebratory — something we don’t want to miss.  The moment we question why there would be a Pesach Sheni is an indicator that we may want to reposition Judaism in our lives.  It should always pull us to joy and celebrations. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

  

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Shemini

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This week’s Torah reading, parashat Shemini, introduces Israel to the routine of sacrifices, and the strict structures of fixed ritual.  Having to be spiritual in preset moments of our day is something we struggle with all the time – why can’t I just pray when I feel like praying? 

Long ago, the Sages discussed the tension that exists between spontaneous and fixed prayer.  At times, we enter the moment as it occurs, and express ourselves with a spontaneous prayer that is uniquely ours.  Other times, we are told to pick up a Siddur at specific times of the day and use the words printed there.  Both of those expressions feed our souls, in very different ways. 

In this week’s parashah, Israel is being introduced to fixed ritual through specific sacrifices that are triggered by time or events – nothing spontaneous. Humanity calling out to God from within a human moment is natural to us, and we see it happening throughout Torah. It is the fixed routine of spirituality that is new and challenging – telling our souls, which are timeless, that they are now on a schedule for spiritual expression.  

Prayer is often challenging, not because we don’t feel a moment of depth, but because we may not feel it in the specific hours we’re gathered together with a Siddur in our hands.  This challenge isn’t new, as we hear the discussions in the Talmud of rabbis introducing their spontaneous prayers into the time of a fixed prayer.  In other words, the answer is not to always choose one or the other, it is to layer one into the other.   

If being spontaneous speaks strongly to you, find a moment to also utter a line of prayer from the Siddur – if praying out of a Siddur speaks strongly to you, find a moment to also stop and utter a personal spontaneous prayer.  Create a prayer that is both timeless and time bound. 

Layering both expressions together is the way the Torah reminds us that both our bodies and our souls are holy and must enhance each other.  Our bodies are entirely of this world, each cell containing its own clock, keeping us connected to time.  Our souls are entirely of the spiritual realm, connected to God, existing outside time.  Our expression of prayer, entering a holy moment, elevates our awareness of both a structured existence as well as a spontaneous one. Jewish ritual is not entirely about the details of the expression, it includes the nuanced expression of our personal moments. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Pesach Message for 2023

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Together, over the years, we’ve explored many of the themes and important moments that weave in and around our Seders.  I thought it might be nice to summarize a few of these thoughts as we are about to enter the holiday this year.

The Haggadah includes a debate on whether you believe justice or mercy should prevail once we are safe.  Were ten plagues enough?  Maybe hundreds of plagues would reflect a more just Divine response.  Were ten plagues too many?  Maybe mercy should have prevailed, and we should only refer to these plagues by their initials.   Do you believe that once there is no threat from an enemy, the fighting should end, or is safety only possible when an enemy is utterly erased?

Matzah is called ‘the bread of affliction’ and we usually believe it only represents our suffering.  Yet, the Torah clearly shows us that the last plague, death of the ‘first born’ is actually death of the one holding the birthright.  As this plague cycles through Egypt, over and over, the birthright will move to the next living child – the result is the inevitable death of every Egyptian.  The Torah describes the screams coming from all their homes.  The only way to stop the plague is to leave, and so God tells us to be ready to grab the matzah before it is done, because the level of human suffering is so high.  The ‘bread of affliction’ includes more than only us. 

The Haggadah is our only text that is never formally closed – we are told that anyone who expands in the telling of these events is only to be praised.  We understand that praise to be for those who expand with meaningfulness, and not for those who only expand to the length of the Seder.  


The Seder is meant as a pivotal Jewish moment for the younger generation to watch their older family members.  We are teaching them the importance of our history; how we tell it; how we infuse it with meaning. The Seder begins as we understand that the constraints of Egypt exist in all our lives today.  It ends as we proclaim a hopeful moment of “Next year in Jerusalem!”, and sing our favourite songs together.  The flow of the night moves us from slavery to redemption.

In other words, every year we teach our children that we know how to journey from despair to hope.  God showed us how, our Sages shaped the Seder around it, and we recommit to it every year.   Moving from despair to hope is our journey of redemption, and Judaism tells us we are redeemed everyday.

Wishing everyone a meaningful Pesach, with a prayer for daily redemption and unity for all the Jewish people, here and in Israel!

Chag Kasher v’Sameach, 
Rachael

Rachael’s Thoughts on Shabbat Hagadol

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This Shabbat is called Shabbat Hagadol, The Grand Sabbath, the Shabbat before Pesach.   One of the reasons for this name is because this is the first time, while still in Egypt, on the verge of leaving, Israel willingly takes on the choice to fulfill a commandment.  This means all the Israelites in Egypt cross the threshold of becoming an adult, becoming Bnei Mitzvah, and the meaning of Gadol, when speaking of a person, speaks of someone who is no longer a minor, someone who is a mature adult. 

But being an adult, with free will, immediately raises a question of choosing a perspective.  Life brings wonderful things to us, and can equally blindside us and bring tears to our eyes.  We know both sides are in our path – we do not choose what will happen, we choose how we read what happens. 

It reminds me of the old Jewish man who is lying in bed fearing the worst.  He calls to his wife, Goldie, and he says: ‘Goldeh, things are looking tough right now, but I’m remembering our years together.  I remember when we first were married, and suddenly our lives became hard, finding a place to live’.  Goldie nods her head.  ‘And Goldeh, I remember when we opened our first grocery store together, and we were robbed within a month.’  Goldie nods her head. ‘And Goldeh, don’t think I’ve forgotten that when we opened our second store together, it burned to the ground right after the insurance expired.’ Goldie nods her head.  ‘And through it all, Goldeh, you were there, every step, every moment.’  Goldie’s eyes fill and she nods. ‘And so, my Goldeh, in this moment of dire reflection, I have come to an important conclusion…’ Goldie leans closer, ‘My Goldeh…I now understand…you’re bad luck.’ 

It’s not what happens to us that shapes us, it’s how we choose to view it.  Ancient Egypt simultaneously produced slaves and leaders.  Our texts show us that Moses becomes our spiritual giant, Miriam becomes the guardian, and Aaron becomes the peacemaker.  Yet it is for us to choose what we see and where we focus. 

This Shabbat is the 10th day of Nisan, the day Miriam died.  Miriam, the quiet leader who brought us culture through her spontaneous song and dance; who brought us water in the wilderness through Miriam’s Well; who taught us guardianship as she protected her brother, Moses; who taught us to step into opportunities as she spoke to Pharaoh’s daughter and reunited her mother with Moses so they could bond.   

Our Sages teach us that we were redeemed from Egypt on the merit of the Jewish women, and so my thoughts move to Miriam and Goldie.  As Shabbat Hagadol leads us into Pesach, I choose to think of everything Miriam brought to us, and not to think of the great sadness they felt when they lost her.  I choose to think of Goldie, so strong, so loyal, so misunderstood. 

Our people is filled with Miriams and Goldies and Moses and Aarons.  Regardless of how busy things can get, may we never be the ones who choose not to see them. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat —our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate.   

Also wishing everyone a meaningful, connected and beautiful Pesach. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Ki Tisa

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This week’s Torah reading, Ki Tisa, starts with Israel learning how to conduct a census.  It’s actually a far more nuanced thing than we first realize.  The very nature of counting something reduces its essence to something that can be quantified by a number.  When we count a thing, we objectify it, ignore anything that is unique or distinguishing about it, and relate to all things being counted as if they are they same.  The only significance applied to counting something is the end number, the sum of the things.  It’s clear why this process would be problematic to us when connected with people. 

The second problem with counting people is one of tempting the ‘evil eye’.  Jewish sensitivity about positive and negative forces in the universe goes back to our beginnings.  Once we accept that there is spirituality in the world, it becomes difficult to draw a line saying spiritual forces only exist in some places but not others.  Because we don’t really know, we err on the side of caution.  To assign a final tally to counting people might draw a negative force to take notice of that large number and now play with it, bring negativity to it…reduce it.  No mention of a number, no invitation or temptation for negativity, we have secured each other. 

As much as that might sound out of place in our modern society, I’ve noticed people who never took such things seriously suddenly became aware of it once they have children.  They err on the side of ‘just in case’. 

All wonderful spiritual concepts to explore but on a practical level, how could we ever take a census?   

God tells Moses to command everyone to give a coin, a half shekel.  No one is allowed to deviate from that set coin amount —whether rich or poor, everyone must give the same.  The coins are all collected and counted.  We are not counting people, we are counting their donations.  The amount collected would then be used to sustain and support those who work for the nation, the ones who facilitate ritual and leadership.  In other words, we managed to take a census, collect a religious tax, support community workers, and everyone in the nation has given charity and fulfilled a mitzvah.  Why be satisfied with a mere census when we can accomplish all of that instead? 

Sometimes, we read something in Torah and feel it imposed on us, or it’s tying our hands —wouldn’t  it be easier to just do what we want, directly and quickly.  It’s moments like these when we realize that what might seem as a limitation could actually be a broader accomplishment that now sits firmly on our Jewish values.  In a world of sound bites and instant response times, the Torah reminds us that taking shortcuts is not always our preferred process. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat —our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael  

Rachael’s Thoughts on Shabbat Zachor

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The Shabbat before Purim is called Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat of Remembrance.  It is named after the commandment to always remember what Amalek did to us as we were coming out of Egypt – the word ‘zachor’ means to remember.  Ironically, the commandment regarding Amalek is to erase the memory of this people, but at the same time we are commanded to remember. 

Our history with Amalek goes back to biblical times when they attacked us as we came out of Egypt.  It is not just the attack, it is that they targeted the part of the nation that is protected at the back: the women, the children, the elderly.  The rules of warfare respected that conflict should remain between the strong and the armed.  Amalek first attacked those that were vulnerable, they preyed on the ones ancient societies had agreed to protect.  Amalek was a nation whose core rested on self-interest, brutality, and immorality – the epitome of evil. 

The Torah commands us to remember that evil exists in the world and it will hunt.  We consider Haman to be a descendant of Amalek, and we therefore read of them on this Shabbat, the Shabbat of Remembrance.  But the commandment is to erase their memories from existence, so why do we do the opposite by naming a Shabbat after remembering them?   

It is not history that we are directed to erase, it is the logical reconciliation of that history.  The fact that hatred and evil of that kind can still gain supporters means it is somehow still making sense to someone.  The commandment to continue to fight Amalek, by remembering them until they are forgotten, speaks to the goal of changing the cultural consciousness.  We have not won against evil in the world so long as it still makes sense to some cultures. 

The prophet Isaiah spoke of a time of redemption when nation would not raise sword against nation, and they would no longer study war.  It is not that they would not feel the need to study warfare, it’s that war would no longer make sense to anyone. 

We remember Amalek so we will recognize evil when we see it.  It is the only war we are commanded to wage – fight evil until it’s very existence becomes an anomaly. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Terumah

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In this week’s parashah, Terumah, the Torah describes two gold angels perched on top of the Ark of the Covenant.  The angels are Cherubim; in popular culture we’re told to envision cute, chubby, baby-like angels, but the midrash tells us something quite different.  Cherubim are fierce, and very protective of both their privacy, and their domain – we don’t want to run into them.   

These Cherubim are both looking down at the Ark – they are there to protect it.  In this protective stance, their wings spread over their heads, extending toward each other, almost, but not quite touching.  God has told Moses that the Divine Voice will be heard in the space between the wings.  Although we are afraid of them, we must overcome our fears and focus on the space between them.   

God will speak from the empty space. 

Today, our world seems short on empty spaces. It is filled with the things we inherit; the things we acquire; the things we build.  Judaism does not view materialism as bad; it cautions us against creating tunnel vision around it.  Wealth can trick us into thinking there is no emptiness in the world. The Torah reminds us that we are to seek the spaces in the world that seem empty, and recognize there is a holy moment inviting us in. 

When the Sages talk of a Torah scroll, they describe the writing as ‘black fire on white fire’.  There is no emptiness, there is no background, there are only invitations inward.  God’s Voice can be heard from the space between the angels, a place we would have ignored, we would have thought it was empty. 

The challenge of everyday is to recognize these places we previously ignored.  The Torah this week invites us to listen closely, because we will hear something that beckons us.  Whether it is someone in need of food, in need of a smile, or in need of eye contact, it will rarely be their voice that speaks to us, it will most often be their silence.  But silence does not mean emptiness. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

  

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Mishpatim

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This week’s Torah reading, Mishpatim, contains the famous phrase: “an eye for an eye”.   It introduces a list of injuries that are to be repaid with the same injury.  In the ancient world, chances are these words were taken literally, but in Jewish texts, we see that the discussion begins, almost immediately, on whether it is the actual eye, or the monetary equivalent.   

We know that, in the end, the Jewish judicial process will introduce the concept of equivalence within the law –an assessment of damages, rather than the actual infliction of damages.  But how did we become so bold as to interpret Torah in this way? 

Interestingly, the discussions do not begin with a question of whether a court should be inflicting physical damage on anyone, since even imprisoning someone is taking away physical freedom.  The debate centres on whether we could actually do what the Torah has told us to do.  What if the injury is only partial –could we be sure that the court’s action would likewise only partially injure in the same way?  In other words, the Torah has told us to do something we are incapable of doing.  We view these moments as invitations to engage with our Torah and explore it from the inside. 

Generally, we understand that everyone moves from the known to the unknown.  In this case, we know how we function when we are capable, and we know how we function when we are diminished, but we don’t know how that could be projected onto someone else.  We now understand that we are projecting the difference, not the injury.  We can calculate the difference.   

We also know that each generation will have its own set of ‘knowns’ and ‘unknowns’; Judaism shows us how the words of the Torah will teach this process to each generation, no matter where in time they are placed.  It is how we see the growth and evolution of Torah, and Jewish values, and that this growth was intended from the very beginning.  It is how we understand these laws to be eternal and forever meaningful. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

  

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Yitro

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This Shabbat we read the Ten Commandments, a well-known passage in Torah that is often the most misquoted and misunderstood.  We’re not sure there’s actually ten; a careful read of the Torah would seem to list over thirty commandments.  The Sages grouped and categorized them to result in ten, and our tradition never questions that number.   

We also think the Ten Commandments are consistently understood across cultural and religious communities, they are not.  Within Christianity, the first commandment is “You shall have no other God before Me”, while in Judaism, the first commandment is “I am the Lord, your God.”  What is viewed as an introductory statement to most of the world is presented in the Torah as an actual commandment to be fulfilled. 

This first commandment begins with the word ‘Anochi’, ‘I am’, which is a commandment of self-awareness and engagement.  Judaism demands that we struggle with our concept and understanding of God.  We are not commanded towards a conclusion of this struggle, we are commanded to engage with it.  “I am the Lord, your God”– what does that mean to each of us?   

The Torah says that God is the source and humanity is the image.  Therefore, I cannot fully explore, or understand the image, unless I struggle with seeking the source.  I cannot reach self-awareness without understanding from where I originated.  I will never exhaust my understanding of God, but as Rabbi Tarfon taught us in Pirkei Avot, ‘your job is not to complete the task, but neither are you free to avoid it’. 

This Shabbat we stand in shul together when we read the Ten Commandments, just as we stood together at Mount Sinai when we received them.  The first commandment, “I am the Lord, your God”, continues to invite us into the greatest of explorations, the push to grapple with both the inward and outward thresholds of the infinite.  An appropriate commandment to begin a list of laws that will change the world. 

I’d like to wish everyone a sweet and peaceful Shabbat –our Jewish time to regroup, rest, and reinvigorate. 

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael