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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 

Rachael’s Thoughts on Parshat Bo

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This week, we finish reading the plagues of Egypt, and we are always stunned by the last plague: the death of the first born.  The magnitude of it, the severity, the immense loss of life always lingers with difficulty in our hearts.  This plague not only changed Egypt forever, it also changed Judaism forever. 

We usually understand the last plague is God passing through Egypt and taking the lives of all the Egyptian first born.  Except, the Torah didn’t exactly say that.  The Torah states that God will pass through Egypt and take the lives of every eldest child in Egypt.  Worded that way, it now includes all the Jewish first born as well.  The fact that the Israelite’s first born shelter in homes that have blood painted on the doorposts means they are protected, it does not mean they are exempted.   

Because Jewish eldest children were not exempted, they now owe every breath they take to God.  They are to live out their lives in the service of God, who owns their futures.  It is the first born who were destined to become those who serve God, the priesthood, what we now know to be the role of the Kohanim.  It would mean that every family gives up their first born to Temple service with no argument or exceptions.  But the Torah says we must redeem them out of that predestined future.  The ceremony is called ‘Pidyon Ha-ben’, the ‘Redemption of the Child’. 

Jewish families redeem their first born out of ritual service on the thirtieth day after the baby is born.  Actually, the Torah commands us to do this –we buy our children out of a lifetime of service to God.  It’s a lesser-known ritual, because the Sages minimized how often we would obligate parents to this service.  Technically, the word is masculine, so only baby boys would be obligated; it says first born, which implies first natural live birth, so all surgeries or previous unsuccessful pregnancies would exempt the baby.  The list goes on as to how infrequently we would actually need to redeem the baby because the goal is to not obligate them in the first place. 

But, wouldn’t we want our children to live in the service of God?  Isn’t that an entrance to holiness?  Shouldn’t we be honoured? 

Yes, we’re honoured with the concept, but we’d rather our children choose their own destinies.  Egypt showed us what it looks like when a person’s free will is taken from them, when their future is not their own, when their voices are ignored.  The Torah rightly reminds us that, technically, God spared our children, so logic dictates they are in perpetual service; but then the Torah immediately tells us how to release them. 

There are many moments in the Egypt experience that help shape Jewish values.  The importance of freedom, the centrality of choice, and the empowerment of destiny.  It is true for us, for our children, and as our Egypt experience teaches us, for all people. 

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 Va’era

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This week’s Torah reading, Va’era, begins detailing the plagues of Egypt.  We are familiar with these plagues, after all, we recite them every year at our Seders. But, in fact, we’ve been debating their meanings for millennia.  We’ve looked at them in their details, in their impact, and in their categories. 

One of the ways we categorize them is by realizing that each plague is targeting another god of Egypt.  The Nile was seen as a god since it flooded its banks every year and irrigated Egypt.  Frogs were viewed as representing the frog goddess who brought fertility to Egypt after the Nile would flood.  As the plagues progress, each one targets a different god worshipped in Egyptian life.   

To anyone sitting outside of that culture, the impact of the plagues is devastating, but random.  To anyone in ancient Egypt, it is clearly an attack on their gods, and their world view.  The result of the plagues is to discredit anything Egypt has trusted, leaving them feeling confused and powerless.  When trust is removed, paranoia sets in, and everything and everyone now sits under a cloud of suspicion.  The cohesion of a nation has fallen apart. 

When we read of the plagues, we are not meant to read them as distant, ancient world occurrences.  The plagues challenge us to look at the world around us today, and question what the things are we worship, as if they are gods; what are the myths we have created in our daily lives that now build into a house of cards.  Measures of success today may be sitting on materialism in our lives, rather than on the role of values, compassion, and acts of human kindness, the things Judaism tells us could truly change the world. 

We think we know all about the plagues of Egypt, but we shouldn’t read them as if we stand outside of their reality.  The Torah, in its eternal truth, invites us in, and positions us to ask those questions in our own lives –what are the things I worship that are truly meaningless? 

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 Vayishlach

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In this week’s Torah reading, Vayishlach, we see Jacob wrestling with an angel all night until daybreak.  It results in an injury – the angel grabs Jacob’s thigh, injuring his nerve and causing him to limp for the rest of his life.  The severity of that injury has significance both in how it speaks to us in our Jewish identity, as well as how it remains silent. 

Before Jacob is injured, he demands that the angel bless him, and the angel tells Jacob his name will be changed to Israel.  According to the angel, the name means Jacob will struggle with people and with God but will be enabled to meet those challenges.  In the same moment of such a strong blessing we also hear of such a grave injury.  The two extremes sitting side by side teach Jews that Covenant conveys blessings but it is not a shield against injury or pain.  Jewish identity will always contain both the blessings and the pain. 

On a personal level, the injury remains silent.  The Torah tells us Jacob will now limp but Jacob himself never refers to it.  We do not hear him speak to his family of ever being in pain or ever feeling limited because of his limp. 

After Jacob, the Torah introduces us to our next leader, Moses.  Like Jacob, Moses also has a handicap which we learn of when he speaks with God at the burning bush.  Moses tells God he has a speech impediment.  Interestingly, God does not view it as a handicap and nowhere in Torah do we ever see anyone asking Moses to repeat himself because they can’t understand him.  Moses is the only one who sees his limitation and he feels insecure because of it. 

Two leaders stand side by side, both have physical limitations, but Jacob does not define himself by it while Moses does.  It challenges us to ask how much of how we perceive ourselves is based on self-imposed limitations.  Among the many things we learn from Jacob is this subtle detail of personal empowerment: choose the blessings over the pain, and question ourselves about our perceived limitations. 

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 Lech Lecha

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In this week’s Torah reading, parshat Lech Lecha, we meet our first generation of ancestors: Abraham and Sarah. We always think of them as the beginnings of Judaism, the ones who followed God into a relationship that changes them, changes their descendants, and changes the world. 

What we don’t often emphasize is that the journey to search for something more didn’t begin with Abraham and Sarah, it began with Abraham’s father, Terach. Before reading of the beginning of the Jewish journey, the Torah tells us that a man named Terach took his family, including his son Abraham and daughter-in-law Sarah, and left their home in Chaldean territory. Along the journey, Terach dies, and his family stagnates. They seem paralyzed by the loss of their father and the family journey seems to end just as it has barely begun. 

It is then that God speaks to Abraham and prompts him to ‘lech lecha’, ‘journey onward’. It is a Divine prod to continue with the vision and initiative of his father, Terach –to bring the family to new horizons. The relationship that God, Abraham, and Sarah, will form is not the relationship Terach envisioned but it is the continuation of his impulse to search beyond the usual. 

The Torah is always full of layers of meaning and timeless messages. Terach changed his family culture and envisioned what could be beyond, but his life ended. If not for God reaching out to Abraham and Sarah, Terach’s vision would have ended as well. The Torah is always full of timeless messages, and in this case, we are shown that the journey of a life takes longer than a lifetime. 

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

Shabbat shalom, 

Rachael