Remembrance of Names

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name

A poem by the Israeli poet, Zelda

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name

שנתן לוֹ אלהים ונתנוּ לוֹ אביו ואמוֹ

Given by God, and given by our parents

This poem is translated to English by the poet and artist Marsha Falk,
who uses it as the mourners’ kaddish in her siddur, Book of Blessings.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by our stature and our smile
and given by what we wear

This is one of those poems that has lived close to my heart from the moment I heard it recited by Rabbi Dorothy Richman in the old Beth Sholom sanctuary one Shabbat morning. And this year it touches closer than before, as I rise each day to say the traditional kaddish for my dad, I also keep this one in mind.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by the mountains
and given by our walls.

In this week’s Torah parashah, Pinchas, there are a lot of names---verses and verses and verses of names, as part of a census that is taken of the children of Israel. These names take up a huge part of the parashah. And with all the juiciness of this parashah – the finish of the Pinchas story, the daughters of Tzelophchad, the ritual anointing Joshua receives from Moshe as he is chosen to succeed him as leader -  we rarely talk about this counting, this accounting of the Israelites

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by the stars
and given by our neighbors

There are three times in the Torah we hear about taking a census of the Israelites. The first is  in Exodus (30:11-16), in the midst of the details of building the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. Everyone twenty years and older —well, all the males—must pay half a shekel. Not only is this a method of keeping track of the count, but it’s also a way for everyone to give an offering of atonement, with the proceeds going to help build the mishkan. Whether rich or poor, each one pays the same. Hezekiah bar Manoah, known as the Khizkune, a 13^th century French rabbi says, “a wealthy person must not contribute in excess of this, for if the Torah were to allow the wealthy to contribute more, and the poor to contribute less than a half a  shekel each, how could each of them attain the same level of atonement” When it comes to the spiritual life of our people, we are all equal, no need to list one person or tribe before another – we are coming together for a common goal.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by our sins
and given by our longing

The next census is taken at the start of the book of Bamidbar, Numbers, in the very first verses. It’s the second month of the second year after the children of Israel came out of Egypt. Moses and Aaron counted each male, twenty years old and upward, who is able to go to war. Here, the instructions are that the counting is to be organized by clan, listed by names. We are given the names of the head of each tribe who will help with the counting. And we then get the count, tribe by tribe, with the assurance that all the clans were registered; all the names were listed, even if those names were not voiced. And then, with the tabernacle in the center, surrounded by the Levites who will carry all the furnishings and accoutrements of the mishkan, each tribe is strategically placed around them, standing by their flag, led by their chief, ready to move through the wilderness, protecting their precious center from any harm, as they march to the promised land of their final destination, traveling as one.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by our enemies
and given by our love

Which brings us to this week’s census. A journey that was expected to be two, three years or so has turned into 40. The generation that came out of Egypt was deemed not able to be brought into the land—they could not shake the effects of their life under slavery. They were too fearful and too closed to move into freedom. They were not ready to take on what was needed to form this new nation. So a whole new generation is now poised at the edge of the Jordan, about to go into the Land. Like the former counts, this one is also all males over twenty, able to bear arms. This count will also be by clans, but this time, those clan names are voiced. What makes this count different from the two that preceded it? Unlike the first count, which was centered around building the mishkan; or the second count, which was centered around protecting the mishkan, this count is about the land. “Among these shall the land be apportioned as shares, according to the listed names “ (Num 26:53)

The Israelites are about to enter the land, stake their claim, revitalize the roots that were left behind when Jacob and his family left Canaan for Egypt so many years before. But they never forgot those roots; they never forgot their given names. According to the Midrash, the Israelites did not change their language or their names in Egypt. “They did not call Reuben “Rufus” nor Judah “Leon” nor Joseph “Lestes” nor Benjamin “Alexander” (Vayikra Rabbah 32).  They kept, and remembered,  their names, with all the names of the line going back to the sons of Jacob. I think these names are voiced is as a way to honor the past souls who bore the burdens of slavery, who may not have made it to the land in body, but who had enough faith and fortitude to leave Egypt and start on the road to freedom, even as they may have been too broken to complete the journey.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by our celebrations
and given by our work

It is said that ritual makes the invisible, visible. I think names bring connection to distance. Giving a name, acknowledging a name, creating a name for the nameless brings things and people close, making it personal. It is an important part of remembrance. Our Hebrew names include the names of those who came before us, and when we say their names, we hear the names of those who came before them. We are reminded that we are entering the stream of our tradition, where we teach in the name of our teachers, allowing the support from the past to carry us into the future.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
given by the seasons
and given by our blindness

Names became part of my omer ritual this year, as I counted each day with a name of one of the victims of those gunned down in the Christchurch mosques this past March. Rabbi Benjamin Blech, at Professor of Talmud at Yeshiva University, points out that the central letters of the Hebrew word Neshama, soul, are shin and mem, - שם – the Hebrew word for name. Your name, he says, is the key to your soul. Sharing those moments of blessing the day with the names of those innocents lost in the act of prayer, connected my soul to theirs, strengthening my resolve to speak for those souls who can no longer speak, to act in their names and the names of the others who were killed in Pittsburg and Charleston and Orlando and Sandy Hook and too many other places, so that no more souls are lost in such a way.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name
give given by the sea
and given by our death

This poem and this naming take on new meaning now that my dad is gone. Now, he and his name live in me, in my name, in my soul. And his name is honored in my communities. Here, it will be read each week for eleven months, and then each year, along with the loved ones of others. We are the people of the book, a book we keep writing with names, keeping the thread of our tradition alive – both as individual families and as a people. We write these names in our books, on our walls, and in our hearts.

לְכֹל  אִש  יֵש שֵם

Each of us has a name – a name that gives us our present identity, which holds the foundation of our past, and forms a path to the future. Each of our names, shaim shelanu, lives as remembrance \in our neshama, in our individual, and, as a people, our collective souls.

Zichronam l’vracha – may the memories of those names, of those souls, serve as blessings for us

Shabbat Shalom

Torah, then to now

היום שמונה ושלשים יום, שהם חמשה שבועות ושלשה ימים, בעמר
Today is thirty-eight days, which is five weeks and three days, of the omer
תגארת שביסוד
A day of compassion in a week of foundation

I think studying Torah is more important than ever during these days of turmoil in our country.

On Monday I had a discussion with a student about the discontent that came from the Israelites the moment they crossed the Red Sea, finally free from hundreds of years of oppressive servitude in Egypt. They so easily lose faith in the power that brought them freedom, with no faith in themselves. They immediately complain, "If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots, when we ate our fill of bread! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to starve this whole congregation to death." - Ex 16:3.

While the Israelites could be vilified for not looking at the events that just past; not realizing how far they had come; not appreciating the hope that lies ahead; rewriting their history to make the oppression under the Egyptians as an ideal--let's have some compassion for the perspective that they have, created by those hundreds of years of servitude. Looking at the situation through their eyes can bring some understanding of their reality, a place from which to find understanding of their actions.

Then it was time to bring this story to our world today. My teaching to my student was that we can't just dismiss people's perspectives, even as we don't agree. We need to listen and, more importantly, really hear through their ears, so we can find a way to civil dialogue and a find a way to move from conflict to understanding. Something very hard these days, but very necessary.

I need to find the hope that compassion can strengthen the foundation of our country and our lives.

Hearing the Words through the Generations

היום ארבעה ושלשים יום, שהם ארבעה שבועות וששה ימים, בעמר
Today is thirty-four days, which is four weeks and six days, of the omer
יסוד שבהוד
A day of foundation in a week of humility

I've heard it said that all translation is commentary. That is certainly true when it comes to Tanakh and other Jewish texts. Hebrew is the language of those texts, the language of our liturgy. As one who studies those texts and translates that liturgy, I am keenly aware how much can change with different connotations of words and phrases.

For instance, what is often translated as "obey God" is usually, in the literal translation from Hebrew, a variation of "hear the voice of God." To me, those bring up two different reactions, giving me two different ways to look at the relationship between God and the Israelites in the Torah.

It was pointed out to me by a biblical historian that in the culture of ancient times, "hearing the voice of..." was a phrase that meant "obey." To that I say, fine, but that is not what reads to me. And that is the magic of sacred scripture--that it is how it is able to speak to each generation in its time using the same language.

The Torah is a foundation of my life, and I am humbled by ancients who created it, keeping its messages and stories accessible from culture to culture––from language to language––לדור ודור l'dor v'dor from generation to generation.

Torah as Prism

היום שלשים יום, שהם ארבעה שבועות ושני ימים, בעמר
Today is thirty days, which is four weeks and two days, of the omer
גוורה שבהוד
A day of strength in a week of humility

I am humbled when my b-mitzvah students take in my teachings and make it their own. This is the strength and the future of our people.

Testament of Freedom

היום שלשים יום שהם ארבעה שבועות ושני ימים בעמר
Today is thirty days--that is four weeks and two days--of the omer
גבורה שבהוד
A day of strength in a week of humility

When my own words won't come, I share the words of others.
Here is Ruth Brin's poem for this week's Torah parashah, Behar.

TESTAMENT OF FREEDOM

The people of America read
about the sabbatical year
and the year of the jubilee
as a testament of freedom.

In the beginning they engraved
the words of Leviticus on the Liberty Bell:
"Proclaim liberty throughout the land
unto all the inhabitants thereof"

Generations later, the slaves,
in hopes of their freedom,
sang "The year of the Jubilo"
and "Go down, Moses."

You made us to be free;
ou set the s park
in every uman heart.

Now help us fan the s park to flame,
to light our way,.
Now help us brak the chains,
tear down the walls.

Help us bring freedom at last
to all the world.

Chag Sameach!! Redux

היום תשעה ועשרים יום שהם ארבעה שבועות ויום אחד בעמר
Today is twenty-nine days--that is four weeks and one day--of the omer
חסד שבהוד
A day of loving kindness in a week of humility

As much as I appreciate the big occasions in the Jewish sacred calendar--the festivals and holidays, with the ritual that goes along with them--it's the marking of the small moments, the ones more buried in the practice that give insight into the practicalities of the lives of the ancient Hebrews, while still creating space for a teaching from a modern perspective.

Today is Pesach Sheni, a day for those unable to celebrate Passover at its proscribed time of the 15th of Nissan.

Adonai spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelite people, saying: When any of you who are defiled by a corpse or are on a long journey would offer a passover sacrifice to Adonai, they shall offer it in the second month, on the fourteenth day of the month, at twilight. They shall eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. . . Numbers 9:9-11 

Commemorating our liberation from the slavery of Egypt is one of the most important rituals we have--so important that if something has stopped us from doing that at the proscribed time, we get a second chance. And not only do we need to stop to remember, but we are told that those who are with us are to share in the moment.

When a stranger who resides with you would offer a passover sacrifice to Adonai, he must offer it in accordance with the rules and rites of the passover sacrifice. There shall be one law for you, whether stranger or citizen of the country.                                           Numbers 9:14

This celebration is so important, so seminal to who we are and how we view the world, remembering that we were slaves, that we were freed. We need to remember the feeling of liberation and share it with others. There is no looking away from it, making sure we always have empathy for those who are enslaved, and raise our voices to help lead them to freedom.

And what a great excuse to have another seder :) Maybe one year I'll organize a seder sheni for anyone who missed the others. For now, I'll just have some matzah with butter, salt, and pepper--being able to enjoy the taste knowing I can go to bread any time I want :)

Making the Sacred Calendar Count

היום שמונה ועשרים יום שהם ארבעה שבועות בעמר
Today is twenty-eight days--that is four weeks--of the omer
מלכות שבנצח
A day of leadership in a week of perseverance

Yes, another day missed...another opportunity to start again. I think a good way to do that is share the drash I gave at The Kitchen last night.
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Shabbat Shalom

One of the things I enjoy about tutoring my b’nei mitzvah students are the side discussions I get to have. I will admit, sometimes those discussion have little to do with Torah—there is talk of sports, or shoes. Recently, in the midst of one of an exchange about books, it came to light that I had never read the Harry Potter books. “Well” my student said, “You always give me homework, Marilyn, I have homework to give YOU” And so now I am reading the books as she lends them to me, one by one. (With tears in my eyes, I just finished the fourth book, looking forward to the next.) Not only am I enjoying the writing and the characters and the arc of the stories, I’m seeing so many messages of ethical and social and justice and life lessons that I know I will return to, weaving them into my teaching as I continue to uncover the different layers of meaning that will, may I say “magically” come to light.

In Harry Potter’s world, he often has something in mind that needs to be done and the tools to lead him there, only to find that there was a something else calling him to go another way, which those same objects are able to guide him, albeit in a different manner than expected. That echoes the way I often deal with Torah—thinking I want to study or teach one part of the text, but something else becomes illuminated which turns out to be much more appropriate to the time and space that I’m in that particular moment.

That is what happened on the way to preparing this drash. Months ago, when I asked Noa if I could share a teaching on this week’s Torah Parashah, Emor—I had a very specific teaching in mind that I wanted to share, dealing with the proscribed necessary perfection of the priests who offer the sacrifices, and what that sometimes troubling section says to us in the context of the world today. It’s a good teaching and I hope, someday to give you that teaching---but that will not happen today.

Because as I went to gather my sources, my searches kept taking me to a different part of the parashah, and it soon became clear that was what I needed to talk about, and share. So as I go where some invisible force led me, you will all see why it was where I needed to go this evening.

Last week, in Kedoshim, which is the very center of the Torah, we learned much of the code that gives us a framework for living in community, how to treat each other and ourselves with compassion—which is a definition of being Kedoshim - living in holiness.

In this week’s parashah, we begin a turn to matters seemingly more external—of our relationship with the land and the seasons. One entire chapter is dedicated to laying out the Jewish calendar, when and how to celebrate the festivals of the year.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks pointed out in his commentary on Emor this week, there are five specific mentions of these festivals in the Torah. The first two come in Shemot, Exodus, within first groups of laws we are given as a people. Only the three main festivals are mentioned—Pesach, Shavuot, and Sukkot— and the emphasis is on the tie to the yearly agricultural cycle. This is a good introduction to these special, sacred times. It serves as an important, concrete connection for an uprooted people in need of some grounding.

That leaves three more accounts. Two of those three come as the Israelites are poised to go into the land. Towards the end of the book of Numbers, we get a detailed description of the rituals involved with the offerings for each of the festivals that will take place at the Temple when it is built. Here we get celebrations of the full sacred calendar—weekly, Shabbat; monthly, Rosh Chodesh, the new month; Pesach and Shavuot; “Yom Teruah,” Rosh Hashanah, a day of “Kipurim” of atonement; and Sukkot. These sacrifice based rituals bring a different kind of understanding of the festivals, with a focus on honoring the One who created this world of living.

Later on, in Deuteronomy, it’s Moses is pouring out his heart and soul to these people he has been leading for forty years, giving his last instructions, for they will now go on without him. It’s about celebrating the festivals as a people, as a society—gathering together at the Temple in Jerusalem, leaving no one out,

ובנך ובתך ועבדך ואמתך והלוי והגר והיתום והלמנה
“your son and daughter, your male and female slave, the Levites, the stranger, the fatherless, the widow”

No matter what gender or status in the world—it is important to maintain the connection to our people, including all who wish to join.

What separates this telling of our celebrations in Emor, in the book of Leviticus, in this book that talks about holiness, from the others is that this telling, as Rabbi Sacks says, is not in terms of the ritual offerings of the sacrifices which we hear about in Numbers, nor about the unifying, inclusive societal aspect of the gathering together—not that there’s anything wrong with either of those. But here we are reminded of the times of internal, spiritual “checking in” with ourselves that are built into our sacred calendar.

The times given here are not just in specific days and months, but described most often using the words “Mo’aid” and “Mikra Kodesh.”

The Mo’ed – is a specific time, a fixed time, but it means more than that. The Ohel Mo’ed, the tent of meeting, is the sacred place where Moses and Adonai meet—a personal meeting with God, with the Transcendent spirit. In the last line of the mystical poem that began our entrance into Kabbalat Shabbat, Yedid Nefesh, we sang “מחר אהוב כי בא מועד” “Hurry, loved one, the appointed time has come”—it’s an intimate time of meeting, like a lover’s tryst. When we enter into Shabbat, we leave the rest of the week behind and make time to meet with ourselves on a different level, connecting to an introspective world.

Mikra Kodesh, echoing the name of this book of holiness, Vayikra, “and he called” Mikra Kodesh, often translated as “sacred occasion,” is to be called to holiness, to be brought close, with affection, with a feeling of intimacy. Each of the occasions mentioned – Shabbat, Pesach, Shavuot, Sukkot gives us the opportunity to spend time in that closeness, with ourselves and with others. The Mo’ed and the Mikra Kodesh combine to give us a fixed, holy, intimate moment—almost a stoppage of time, a kind of meditation, a presence that can only happen when we remove ourselves from everyday matters.

We live in secular time, in a material, physical world. The sacred Jewish calendar gives us a way to take off from that world, and help us gain a sense of our inner selves that is not always possible in the hustle and bustle of our lives. It is time we need but don’t always know how to access. The Torah is the instruction manual for how to make this happen.

There is one more important occasion given in this weeks Torah—one that lets us bring a piece of that spiritual intimacy into our everyday lives. That combines the agricultural, the ritual, the societal, and the spiritual into a period of the year. And that is……the counting of the omer.

We are instructed for “count for ourselves” the 49 days between Pesach and Shavuot. We count an omer – a measure of grain—for each of those days between Pesach—a commemoration of liberation and freedom; and Shavuot—the commemoration of the revelation of the Aseret Debrot, of the 10 Utterances, know as the 10 commandments.

We follow and maintain a connection to the earth as we acknowledge and track the early harvest of spring to the enjoyment of the first fruits of the harvest—taking the time to be thankful for what has been created, and a reminder to take care of what we have.

And each year, we count for ourselves, taking an omer, a measure of ourselves, taking a-count of where we are, in preparation for what lies ahead. We take the same journey of growth that our ancestors took as they went from the slavery of Egypt, Mitzrayim, that Narrow place—to the celebration of revelation, of how to live with ourselves, together, into a place we can call home.

We count as a people, each of our counting joining with all the others who count with us.

We continue in our lives, yet take a moment to pause and reflect each evening. We are thankful for the Kabbalistic mystics who gave us the intentions of chesed/loving-kindness, gevurah/strength, tiferet/compassion, netzakh/perseverance, hod/humility, yesod/foundation, and malchut/leadership/majesty, that we can use each day to help bring that intimate, spiritual closeness into each day.

I've been counting the omer for fifteen years, with varying degrees of engagement. Fourteen years ago, I counted while undergoing chemotherapy--my first infusion was on the first of Nissan; the final infusion was on the forty-ninth day of the omer. Instead of counting down the days, like a prisoner in a cell waiting for release, I was able to count up, using the Kabbalistic intentions to guide the way. I learned many things that year, not the least of which was that strength does not need to be characterized by a closed fist. You can show strength with an open palm when you need to ask for help.

And if some years, we can’t seem to find our measure; we can’t seem to find the connections, it all seems out of reach---well, that also brings in the beauty of the practice. Unlike Harry Potter, we don’t need wands or potions or spells -- for the cycle is always be there for us each year to tap into.

And brings me here, to this day, and this time to take a breath and continue the journey of this count—stopping to take a-count of where I am, right now, happy to share it with you. 

 So, let’s count….

Connections in Torah & Prayer

היום ששה ועשרים יום שהם שלשה שבועות בחמשה ימים בעמר
Today is twenty-six days--that is three weeks and five days--of the omer
הוד שבנצח
A day of humility in a week of perseverance

An omer post from 2014 - still feeling these connections . . .
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There is a saying attributed to Rabbi Louis Finkelstein, "When I pray, I speak to God. When I study Torah (the first 5 books of the Bible) God speaks to me." As someone who does both regularly, I am often asked about my relationship to God. My standard answer is, "Define God."

My reality is that I don't know how to define God. I like to say that God lives in the unknown. Lately, thanks to Rabbi Bradley Artson, I'm thinking that God lives in the connections we have--connections with others, with the planet, with ourselves.

I have been studying Torah regularly for more than 15 years, cycling through the same five books in one way or another. Each year I find not just new teachings, but sections of text I feel like I haven't seen before. That is the "magic" of any sacred writing, and why those texts written in ancient times still speak to people today. I am not so concerned about who authored those writings--some say God, some say people who were God-inspired, some say a combination of deep philosophers with some really good storytellers. I'm in the latter camp, but will respect others' beliefs as long as they respect mine. What's more important than the "who" of the books is the "what" that they have to offer. The teachings I receive from the words of the Torah through the myriad of lenses set out by commentators throughout the ages help me navigate the relationships that make up my life.
That is my version of God speaking to me.

In prayer, through song or words, I seek release from my overactive, wondering mind. The melodies cycle through not just my head but run through my being. I often stand, swaying, dancing in my place with the rhythms. The biblical Hebrew with the tunes from another time and place touch the seed within--the part of my DNA that connects me with my ancient tribe. Reading the liturgical psalms and poems, I get to enter that timeless stream where the past, present and future are one. Those words written so long ago engage me with thoughts of compassion, thankfulness, fullness, and peace. They serve as a reminder that while we may be walking on the edge with stability in question, taking a moment to breathe, letting go of extraneous thoughts can bring in the balance we need.
That is my version of speaking to God.

A foundation of mindfulness

היום עשרים יום שהם שני שבועות וששה ימים בעמר
Today is twenty days--that is two weeks and six days--of the omer
יסוד שתפארת
A day of foundation in a week of compassion

Don't curse the deaf, or put a stumbling block before the blind,

be in awe of your God

I am Adonai

 -- Lev 19:14

This week we read Kedoshim, a part of the Torah that has many laws, many of which deal directly with how we live in this world with each other. The verse above is one that we read, one that I think we pass over with a "yeah, yeah, I know that."

But take another look, expand your thoughts from the physical manifestations of meaning.

There are many kinds of obstacles--spiritual, psychological, as well as physical. Blocks we put in front of others as well as blocks within ourselves.

And while the deaf may not hear the curses directed at them, words can fly in many directions, heard by many years. The much of the harm can be to the one spraying the curses.

The bottom line-----mindfulness is wonderful constant to have in your life.

The blessing that is Aviva Zornberg

היום תשעה עשר יום שהם שני שבועות וחמשה ימים בעמר
Today is nineteen days--that is two weeks and five days--of the omer
הוד שתפארת
A day of humility in a week of compassion

As mentioned yesterday, I've spent time this week learning from one of the premier biblical scholars of our time, Dr. Aviva Zornberg. It was amazing to be lead through the journey of Moses' life, both within each of the four teaching sessions and on the path from session to session--from his birth to his death. There's so much to absorb, processing the meanings contained in the trajectory of Moses' growth within himself, his complicated relationship with the Israelite people, and his intimate, but sometimes difficult connection with God.

But as special as having this time with this incredible teacher was to also get a chance to hear a bit about her life and how she came to this calling. She had a religious upbringing in Scotland, the daughter of Holocaust survivors. Her father became her teacher from an early age, passing his knowledge and wisdom of Tanach. Aviva admitted that she might have benefitted from the fact that she had no brothers, something that is certainly our gain :) She said she teaches in his lecture style, which is how she is able to take us on these 45 minute journeys in Torah, weaving in so much content but never losing her way. 

I got to ask her if she ever took into account the voice of who wrote the various parts of the Tanach, or the layer that the Masorite scribes added to the writing as they cemented the pronunciations and patterns of the chant. She said no, neither of those factors concerned her. She looks to what the text speaks to her, looking at what is there, accepting its inspired sacredness.

Throughout these teachings with this small group, she gave us glimpses of her life. She noted that, feeling the intimacy of the moments. It was such a blessing to learn from and with her, and it was time I will cherish.

Murmerings

היום שמונה עשר יום שהם שני שבועות וארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is eighteen days--that is two weeks and four days--of the omer
נכח שתפארת
A day of perseverance in a week of compassion

It's the chai day of the omer--eighteen days, חי. Those letters that add up to 18 make up the word for life.

I spent this chai day holding fast to the etz chaim, the tree of life, the Torah with a day of learning from the amazing biblical scholar, Aviva Zornberg. There's so much to process, too much to write about at this point. I will say that this study of Moses and redemption that is the theme of these three days of learning has a sub thread on what it is to be heard, what it is we hear, what we need to hear, and how we listen.

There is much more, but that will be revealed in the days, or weeks, to come.

It's not just about the matzah . . .

היום שלשים ימים בעמר
Today is three days of the omer
תפארת שבחסד
A day of compassion in a week of loving kindness

Now that the seders are over, the tough part of Pesach begins--keeping away from chametz until the 7th or 8th day--depending on your practice and location. But if the focus of the holiday is to tell the story, re-enact leaving Egypt and celebrate our liberation from slavery, what's the point of continuing through the week. And yet, the Torah instructs us even before we leave Egypt that this will be a 7 day holiday:

16 You shall celebrate a sacred occasion on the first day, and a sacred occasion on the seventh day; no work at all shall be done on them; only what every person is to eat, that alone may be prepared for you. 17 You shall observe the [Feast of] Unleavened Bread, for on this very day I brought your ranks out of the land of Egypt; you shall observe this day throughout the ages as an institution for all time. 18 In the first month, from the fourteenth day of the month at evening, you shall eat unleavened bread until the twenty-first day of the month at evening. [Exodus 12:16 - 19]

There seems to be a consensus in the commentaries that the 7th day commemorates the splitting of the Red Sea. That is a teaching I have not heard before, and I'm not sure what to make of it. But those commentaries also mention the intermediate days as days of purification, a preparation to cross the boundary that separates the slavery and oppression of Egypt from the time that marks the road to freedom.

So Passover is not just about the initial escape from Egypt, but honoring that first step into liberation. We need to appreciate the aftermath of that first, somewhat traumatic leave-taking--take a breath and get ready for what comes next.

Re-Counting the Omer

היום יום אחד בעמר
Today is the first day of the omer
חסד שבחסד
A day of loving kindness in a week of loving kindness

We drank the wine, ate the matzah, maror, charoset, and all the other tasty dishes that come with the Passover seder. We asked the questions, re-enacted the story of liberation from Egypt, Mitzrayim, our narrow place, and find ourselves now on the road to revelation. To guide us on our journey, tonight we start the counting of the omer--49 steps of mindfulness.

You can find the how, when, what, and origin of this ritual in this article by Rabbi Jill Jacobs and in this entry in the Judaism 101 online encyclopedia. For a brief explanation of the Kabbalistic counting method, you can read this article from Rabbi Simon Jacobson.  In the proverbial nutshell, we count 49 days from the second day of Passover to the day before Shavuot, based on the teaching from the Torah--Leviticus 23:15-16. The Kabbalists added a layer of using 7 Sephirot, attributes that can serve as a connection to the Transcendent spirit, giving us a way to internalize the counting. Each day is assigned an attribute; each week is assigned an attribute. So the counting is not just a number, but a unique couplet of awareness.

I will once again take up my practice of blogging the omer, writing a post each day. As I remarked last year, I add to the count with an accounting of my life. This year I realize another obvious connection that I have manage to miss in this context until now. In Hebrew, the word for counting - ספ'רה - and the word for recount, tell a story - לספר – have the same root. And so, it all comes together.



For those of you who participate in the counting, I'm glad once again to count along with you. For those who have never counted, I invite you to come along for the ride. You are all welcome to download the simple chart you see to the left to help you keep track. I will also be tweeting out the count each evening, California time, so feel free to follow me, @mdivah.


On this day of double loving-kindness, remember that the counting, like life, is a process. There are often bumps in the road, and sometimes our journey takes us in a different direction. But the beauty of our traditions, these rituals we have followed for so many centuries, through so many generations, is that they remain for us to turn to, if not this year, the next.

In the flow of the language

היום ששה ועשרים יום שהם שלשה שבועות וחמשה ימים בעמר
Today is twenty-six days, which is three weeks and five days of the omer
הוד שבנצח
A day of humility in a week of perseverance


As I continue my daily blog writing for this year's omer practice, I also have to find time each week to write in Hebrew. I have written some posts of some of my trials, tribulations--and even a few triumphs as I continue to work on proficiency in this language that I love. (You can find them by clicking on "Hebrew" in the categories listed in the sidebar.) This year, I can see my relationship with Hebrew represented in this day of humility and perseverance.

Three years ago, I used the day of compassion and strength to write about my Hebrew studies. I ended that post with "I have the strength--and the smarts--to learn Hebrew. I need to add in compassion, give myself the time and space to let the knowledge settle in." Although there have been ups and downs, I do think that has taken place and I've moved forward in my Hebrew comprehension. When I study Torah, I can begin to uncover new meanings by looking at the grammatical structure of the verses and for a Torah geek like me, that's pretty cool.

Being more aware of the flow of the language also makes me a better Torah reader and service leader. People can hear the particular cadence and feel a connection to the writings. Part of the responsibility of a prayer leader is to bring people along with you, help them experience the letting go that prayer can bring. Having an understanding of the language helps me convey the poetry of the words, and allows the kahal, the community, to take them in and cycle them out in their voices, which is part of the point of prayer.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to speak fluent Hebrew. That's a maybe/maybe not. I worry that I won't be able to get enough vocabulary to stick in my brain. But I need use the aspect of humility to be able to learn in my time and not worry what advanced state I should be--again, the message of presence. Remember that like everything else in life, it's a journey. As long as I keep going, persevere, it doesn't matter how big or small the steps.

Kvelling. . .

היום חמשה ועשרים יום שהם שלשה שבועות וארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is twenty-five days, which is three weeks and four days of the omer
נצח שבנצח
A day of perseverance in a week of perseverance

Today is one of those days that makes a teacher proud. One of my students had his bar mitzvah today. After nine months of learning and studying and practicing (another three :) he shared so much Torah with translation, commentary, and chanting (three again :).

His Torah portion was Lev 25:1 - 28 of Parashat B'har--not the hardest section of Torah for a 13-year-old, but not the easiest either. In a nutshell, it has instructions for having the land lie fallow every seven years, and about the Jubilee year, every 50 years, when all possessions revert back to their original owners. All of this is a reminder that the earth does not belong to people, but to God.

While working on the translation, in verse 17 we came across the phrase, "fear your God." When I see this phrase, which comes up often in Torah and liturgy, I process it as awe rather than fear. When I asked Josh how he would translate it, he came up with "respect the power of God." It was a moment for this tutor to kvell.

His drash, his teaching, centered around how we need to appreciate that the land needs to rest as much as we do. He referenced someone he knows who is a farmer, who reinforced the practice of rotating crops and planting specific crops to bring back nutrients to the land, as well as letting the land rest. I have a feeling these teachings will stay with him--which is, ultimately, what this study is all about.

And then there was his chanting--which was spot on. In fact, there was a point where I thought he needed a correction, but he, very lightly, corrected me---which is the best a teacher can hope for.

Just a wonderful morning...one that will stay with me for many years to come.

It's all about three . . .

היום ארבעה ועשרים יום שהם שלשה שבועות ושלשה ימים בעמר

Today is twenty-four days, which is three weeks and three days of the omer
תפראת שבנצח
A day of compassion in a week of perseverance

A day of threes--twenty-four is eight threes which is three weeks and three days. There is a recurring theme of three in Jewish tradition. Abraham traveled three days when he found the place for the binding of Isaac (Gen 22:4). It was on the third new moon, the start of the third month of the liberation from Egypt that the Israelites arrived at Sinai (Ex 19:1). They spent three days in purification rituals before receiving the Asseret Debrot, the 10 utterances know as the 10 commandments (Ex 19:11). In the first chapter of Pirkei Avot, the Teachings of our sages, we learn the teaching from Shimon Ha-Tzadik, "The world rests on three things -- Torah, Avodah--Service, and Gemilut Chasadim--acts of loving kindness. And there's the thread that cycles through so much of ritual and liturgy--creation to revelation to redemption.

Three also seems to be the "magic" number when my students are preparing for their b'nei mitzvah. As they learn to chant, verse by verse, in layers. First, read and get comfortable with the Hebrew words and their meanings. Second, decode the trope, the cantillation, that gives the punctuation, the phrasing, and the music. Third, practice the verse as a whole.

And the practice itself has its meme of three. The first time through is very halting. The second time is better, with stops at the harder words and note combinations. It's with the third round that the smoothness starts to come. It's a phenomena I've now seen again and again...and again :)

Maybe it's the ancients of our heritage looking after the generations ahead. Maybe it's part of that eternal stream of tradition that my students enter into in their journey to adulthood. Maybe it's just the proof positive of "the third time's the charm."

Maybe 3 is the number of perseverance . . .

Define God

היום אחד עשר יום שהם שבוע אחד וארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is eleven days, which is one week and four days of the omer
נצח שבגבורה
A day of perseverance in a week of strength

There is a saying attributed to Rabbi Louis Finkelstein, "When I pray, I speak to God. When I study Torah (the first 5 books of the Bible) God speaks to me." As someone who does both regularly, I am often asked about my relationship to God. My standard answer is, "Define God."

My reality is that I don't know how to define God. I like to say that God lives in the unknown. Lately, thanks to Rabbi Bradley Artson, I'm thinking that God lives in the connections we have--connections with others, with the planet, with ourselves.

I have been studying Torah regularly for more than 15 years, cycling through the same five books in one way or another. Each year I find not just new teachings, but sections of text I feel like I haven't seen before. That is the "magic" of any sacred writing, and why those texts written in ancient times still speak to people today. I am not so concerned about who authored those writings--some say God, some say people who were God-inspired, some say a combination of deep philosophers with some really good storytellers. I'm in the latter camp, but will respect others' beliefs as long as they respect mine. What's more important than the "who" of the books is the "what" that they have to offer. The teachings I receive from the words of the Torah through the myriad of lenses set out by commentators throughout the ages help me navigate the relationships that make up my life.
That is my version of God speaking to me.

In prayer, through song or words, I seek release from my overactive, wondering mind. The melodies cycle through not just my head but run through my being. I often stand, swaying, dancing in my place with the rhythms. The biblical Hebrew with the tunes from another time and place touch the seed within--the part of my DNA that connects me with my ancient tribe. Reading the liturgical psalms and poems, I get to enter that timeless stream where the past, present and future are one. Those words written so long ago engage me with thoughts of compassion, thankfulness, fullness, and peace. They serve as a reminder that while we may be walking on the edge with stability in question, taking a moment to breathe, letting go of extraneous thoughts can bring in the balance we need.
That is my version of speaking to God.

The 21st Century Daughters of Tzelophchad

Pinchas is a parasha that is close to my heart—it is my birth parsha. There are so many ways it speaks to me personally. But this year, this week in particular, this parasha speaks to us all.

During the school year, I teach Torah to 7^th graders. I constantly impress upon them what I call “the magic” of the Torah—that these ancient teachings, these stories, these precepts, have managed to speak to each generation with relevancy for its time. And this week is one of the moments when the Torah’s teaching come to life.

In this parasha, there is mention, by name, of nine women—nine  women. So often in the Torah we to have look between the lines to find the stories of women in a document written in a time of strong patriarchy, yet here, out front, nine are named, giving them a true presence in our heritage.

We have Cozbi bat Tzur, daughter of a Midianite chieftain, killed by Pinchas. Now, granted, she is certainly not one to be emulated but still, she gets a name, unlike Potiphar’s wife in the Joseph story or even Pharaoh’s daughter, who plucked Moshe from the water.

During the counting and the listing of the genealogies, we hear "ושם בת אשר שרח – v’shaim bat Asher, Sarach” – The name of Asher’s daughter was Sarach. It is a name we have heard only once before, in Genesis (46:17). Sarach is listed there as one of the 70 souls who go to Egypt with Jacob, once Joseph’s true identity is revealed. She is the only granddaughter of Jacob listed. We never learn anything else about her—yet the mention of her name must note something of importance. One story is that she is the one who told Jacob of Joseph’s survival, and lived long enough to tell Moshe where to find Joseph’s grave in Egypt so that his remains could be returned to the land of Israel, as he requested on his deathbed.

When counting the clans of the Levites, we hear for the first time, the names of Moshe’s parents—not just his father, Amram, but also his mother, Yocheved. Yocheved is not just described as a wife or a mother, but as a Bat Levi—given that honor in her own right. Miriam, his sister, is also named.

And then there are the daughters of Tzelophchad, whom I have dubbed “Women with Chutzpah” It is the story of these women that comes to the forefront today, in this monumental week.

We first meet the five sisters, Machlah, Noa, Chauglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, in the list of genealogy (Num 26:33). There, we learn only that their father, Tzelophchad, son of Hepher, son of Gilead, son of Machir, son of Manasseh son of Joseph—had these five daughters; he had no sons. But unlike Asher’s daughter Sarach, we do learn more about them. After all the tribes are counted and named, including the tribe of the Levites, their story is told.

Our story begins (Num 27) with these five daughters of Tzelophchad, once again mentioned by name—Machlah, Noa, Chauglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, who come forward. They stand before Moshe, before Elazar HaCohen, before the Nese’im—the chieftains, and before the entire Ai-dah—the entire community. They stand at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting and state their case:

Our father died in the wilderness. He was not part of the rebellion of Korach. And he left no sons. למה—LAMA––WHY should his holding in the Land of Israel be lost because of this—give us a place among our tribe. Moshe brings their case to God.

And God says, the words of these women are right, you should give them their place in their tribe—transfer their father’s share of land to them. And so, God relays these new laws of succession for the Israelites. The first of these laws—if a man dies with no sons, his property will transfer to his daughter.

Before the daughters of Tzelophchad spoke up, Jewish law dictated that only sons were in line to inherit from their father—any sisters were excluded from the inheritance. The daughters of Tzelophchad stood up to this injustice. Some commentators note that in a time when so many of the Israelites were pining and whining to go back to Mitzriyim, to Egypt, these women were looking forward, wanting their portion of the Promised Land. Rashi notes that as the reason their genealogy, going back to Joseph, was mentioned once again at this time. Just as Joseph cherished the land, wanting his remains to rest there (Gen 50:22), these daughters of Tzelophchad were imperative in their request for their portion –“תנה לנו אחזה בתוך אחי אבינו – t’nah lanu achuzah betoch achai avinu" - Give us a possession as part of our family inheritance.”(Num 27:4)

 Other commentators are impressed with the manner with which the daughters of Tzelophchad
made their request. They did not rebel, like those who stood with Korach. Reish Lakish, a 3^rd century Amorah, Talmudic rabbi, says that the women went through the channels Moshe set up for these types of disputes on the advice of his father-in-law Yitro—first they went to the chiefs of tens, who judged that since it was a case concerning inheritance, it needed to go to a higher authority. They then went to the chiefs of fifties, then hundreds, then thousands, then the chieftains. All gave the same reply—this needs a higher authority. When the daughters went to Elazar, he told them to go to Moshe.

So, the daughters of Tzelophchad—Machlah, Noa, Chauglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, stood in front of the whole community—including all the chieftains, Elazar HaCohen, and Moshe, in a place for all to see, and stated their case. And Moshe, seeing the deference shown both by and to these women, realized that this case needed to be taken to his “Supreme Court”, God. God ruled in favor of the daughters of Tzelophchad, and the law was changed. And while, as we will see next week, there was some modification of the law, the women were granted their inheritance in the land as stated in Joshua (17:3-6), “Ten portions fell to Manashe…because the women of Manashe received a heritage among his sons.

These righteous women saw the injustice they were subjected to, the denial of their inheritance, and knew the time had come to stand up and be counted. Imagine the courage and the chutzpah they had to have to question the patriarchal rulings of the time. A group of five women making a claim for all to see in a time of strong patriarchy. They stated their case with respect, and were treated with respect. They wished to honor their father and their heritage. They showed their desire to move forward into the land of Israel when others wished to go backwards. Their righteousness was rewarded with an implementation of a change from an unjust system of inheritance to one of justice. Aviva Zornberg, a pre-eminent Torah scholar of our time, teaches that this is the first instance of oral Torah – these women were responsible for setting Jewish law.

Fast forward thousands of years-------

Starting in 1989, a group of righteous women, soon dubbed the Women of the Wall, women who simply wish to respectfully and fully pray at the Kotel, the remaining Western Wall of the Temple, are harassed each time they go to pray. Harassed not just with words, but with chairs thrown at them. They, like the daughters of Tzelophchad, keep going through the system, saying LAMA—WHY can we not, rightfully, partake of our heritage. And while that struggle continues, they, like Machlah, Noa, Tirtzah, Milcah, and Chaglah, are bringing changes to the laws.

And then there’s Edie Windsor and Thea Spyer—two more “Women with Chutzpah” who literally danced together through life. These two women met in 1965, and fell in love. In 1967, Thea proposed to Edie, presenting her with a diamond brooch instead of a ring to avoid attracting attention. In 1975, when Thea was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, they modified their dancing—whirling on crutches, then a wheelchair—and remained committed to each other. In 2007, they were finally legally married in Canada, this time with a very public announcement. Thea died in 2009. And that beautiful, vibrant, loving 44 year relationship was treated like it never happened.

But Edie, in the name of Thea and their love, stood up like the daughters of Tzelophchad, went through the system from one court to another, and this week, the Supreme Court of our land said, “כן—YES” this women is right, this law is wrong and it must be changed.

It is my bond with the daughters of Tzelophchad, that makes this parasha my parasha, but we are all a part of their inheritance. They stood up for their rights and for equal justice. They did so with respect and with strength. As do Anat Hoffman and the Women of the Wall. As did Edie Windsor and her lawyer, Roberta Kaplan. And as did Wendy Davis and Leticia Van De Putte in the Texas statehouse this week, literally standing up for women’s rights and access to the health care they need. And as did Kris Perry and Sandy Stier who, along with Paul Katami, Jeffrey Zarrillo and their lawyers, fought and won the right for marriage equality in our state of California—and hopefully soon, throughout our country.

Rabbi Arthur Green teaches that each generation leaves a bit of their oil on the Torah as it passes through their fingers. What happened in this country this week will become some of that oil, bringing light and relevance to the story of Chaglah, Machlah, Noa, Milcah, and Tirtzah—the righteous daughters of Tzelophchad—and pass that on to the next generation of  “Women—and Men—with Chutzpah.”

כן יהי רצון –  Ken y’hi ratzon – May it be so

Shabbat Shalom