Matzah Ball

--By the Tar Heeb

I am not a baseball fan.

I would go even further and say that I am a baseball hater. Growing up in Charlotte, North Carolina, I had two sports passions: the Charlotte Hornets and the Carolina Panthers. Both basketball and football are more exciting than baseball (possibly objectively and definitely subjectively), thus cementing my allegiance to the sports. I also played both, in JCC leagues for basketball and middle school for football.

Little League, the so-called quintessential American experience, eluded me as it does for many Jewish boys due to the overwhelming priority that my parents put in Hebrew School. The lack of baseball viewing and playing opportunities while growing up a Jewish kid in Charlotte resulted in my apathy and subsequent hatred of the game, which is pretty easy to do considering the snail's pace at which it is played. So it was much to my surprise when the worlds of Judaism and baseball collided for me on Monday night and of holiday: Passover.

My office had decided a few weeks ago to buy tickets to the Washington Nationals' home opener and when our secretary asked if I wanted to go, the only allowable response was “yes,” since it was an afternoon game. I didn’t give the game a second thought until I was packing to go home for Seder and realized the game would smack dab in the middle of Passover. I couldn’t think of a worse combination.

I had come to terms with the fact that I had to spend three hours watching baseball and conjuring up topics for conversation with my co-workers, but now without partking in two of my top three pastimes: 1) drinking beer, 2) eating food and 3) belligerently quoting baseball movies (for someone who hates baseball, I sure do love baseball movies). No. 3 on my list was still a possibility, but without the guise of being at least mildly drunk, I’d just look like a crazy person.

In the end, I just sucked it up. I chatted with my co-workers, pretending not to be ridiculously jealous of the tons of beer and food they were expensing to the company. I made SEVERAL laps around the entire stadium and even contemplated building a bear (yes, they have Build-A-Bear station at the Nationals Ballpark). And ultimately I realized that the kind of suffering I had to endure by going to a baseball game on Passover is exactly in the spirit of the holiday.

I just had to remember that no matter how rooted my hatred of baseball is, it is nothing like the Exodus from Egypt.

---

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From Slaves to Seder to Stories

--By Hannah

I really love Passover. The Seder has always been one of my favorite family gathering times -- I think I like it so much because it’s kind of stuck in time. If you think about it, a seder is like a living fossil, a bunch of traditions, practices, and readings that preserve this central kernel of memory. We add to the memory over time with new traditions (hey, my family puts an orange on our seder plate) and new memories from our own historical contexts. The point of the whole thing is that we’re supposed to pretend -- no, we’re supposed to actually remember, like it happened to us -- that we were slaves in Egypt.

The Haggadah is pretty damn assertive about this. We read, “this year we are slaves. Next year may we be free.” Even though I’ve been to 46 seders over the course of my lifetime, and have led seders for exactly six years running, I still have kind of a hard time wrapping my head around the whole thing. How, exactly, am I supposed to remember leaving Egypt -- an event which happened approximately 3,287 years before I was born? What, really, does that mean?

I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not going to talk about Torah even a little bit today. Don’t get me wrong, I know that the texts that comprise the seder are deeply rooted in rabbinic literature and Torah. What I will do, however, is tell you a story that I learned at a seder, a story about remembering:

When the founder of modern Hasidism, the Baal Shem Tov, saw danger threatening the Jews, he used to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. He would light a special fire, say a certain prayer, and the danger would be averted. Later, when his disciple was worried about the fate of the Jews, he would go into the exact same place in the forest and say, “God! Listen! I don’t know how to light the fire of the Baal Shem Tov, but I know the right place and I know how to say the right prayer.”

When the disciple of the disciple desperately needed to save the Jewish people, he would go into the forest and say, “I can’t light the fire. I don’t even know the prayer. I do know the place, though.”

Eventually, it came time for the disciple of the disciple of the disciple of the Baal Shem Tov to intercede to help the Jewish people in times of trouble. Sitting in his house, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: “I can’t light the fire. I don’t know the prayer. I can’t even find the place in the forest. All I can do is tell the story, and this has to be enough.” And it was sufficient.

This is pretty much exactly how I feel about Passover. So much time and history has passed since the Israelites made their exodus from Egypt. Heck, I’ve never even been to Egypt. So much about the lives of the Israelites is just completely unimaginable to me. I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave, I don’t know what it’s like to pray to God for alleviation from an oppressor, and I certainly don’t know what it’s like to make a paschal sacrifice.

But I do know the story. I know the story of the Exodus; I know the story of the Haggadah; I know the story told by my family during the seder, going back hundreds of years. So, even though I don’t know the fire, the prayer, or the place, I can still remember the story and relive the history of my family, my community, and my people. And this, I think, is more than sufficient.

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Dressing in Shades of Grey (Tzav)

--By Chanel

For a while, I didn’t wear pants. I don’t mean in the manner of Lindsay Lohan (leggings do not count as pants), but that I only wore skirts, in an attempt to take on greater religious observance. This lasted for about two years, before -- after careful examination -- I decided I was really better off in jeans. It’s taken me about that long to achieve an equilibrium of pants and skirts again.

Parsha Tzav is laden with this business about what it is to act on behalf of a community (as Aaron does), and how private observance affects everyone (the Israelites’ offerings). As a Jewish professional, I believe it’s not only important, but also vital to bring my authentic self to my work. I want my students to see the complexities of what being Jewish can mean, so I’m pretty loud about my multiple identities: feminist, Zionist, child raised by a single mother, etc. In the last few years working for Hillel, I’ve come to think of my Jewish identity as being public property. People are curious about how I behave Jewishly, and why.

You’d be surprised how many folks noticed my return to pants, even in the small, lefty Jewish community in which I worked at the time. Two years is a long time to commit to something -- how could I just reneg on tzniut (modesty)? It was hard to explain that skirts were an experiment in something larger: becoming more observant, and that the experiment had failed.

It didn’t lead to anything; aside from the skirts, I wasn’t keeping more mitzvot. I was just a girl in skirts, which led people to form whole new sets of assumptions about my identity. The prospect of deconstructing them exhausted me. In retrospect, I realize I wasn’t confident enough to not care.

Throughout Tzav is the work of sacrifice: how it must be done, how it can be eaten, how it becomes holy. Admittedly, it’s hard for me to connect spiritually to this. It’s Hebrew that’s difficult, with exhaustive descriptions and a certain level of monotony. What I can reach for, and relate to, is what it is to make sacrifices in my own life, and to recognize the sacrifices of others, large or small. To a degree, choosing to be a professional Jew means forsaking a private Jewish existence. My Jewish behavior will be under scrutiny by others, and as a result, my own.

This realization comes with a weird kind of relief: along with encouraging my students to develop Jewish confidence, I have to do the same. It’s imperative. I have to be as reflective as I ask them to be, I have to push myself as hard as I push them to look at the grey parts, the unsettling moments, both Jewishly and in the world at large.

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For Who Knows How My Love Grows? And Who Knows Where the Time Goes? (Vayikra)

--By TruBluJu

When I was first asked to post a little wisdom for The Watering Hole this week, I responded without hesitation. “Of course,” I said. I was around when this little idea was first hatched on the third floor of our fraternity house, but I had yet to take advantage and post my thoughts. This was finally my chance. Then, much like what happens to all of us, my week began and time quickly slipped away. Unfortunately, this seems to happen to me a lot lately.

What does this have to do with the week’s parsha? To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure. All I know is that after reading for the first few lines of Vayikra, I was sparked with an idea and now you’re going to have to bear with me as I hash this out:

According to my Google search, Vayikra outlines the rules for ritual sacrifice. Apparently, Hashem spoke only to Moses and bestowed upon him the ritual sacrifice rule book. This is one of those portions that always escape me. Why do we bother to study the right and wrong way to sacrifice an animal to G-d? I’m pretty sure this is a dated practice. The only animal sacrifices we care about are the ones that will bring a delicious steak to our plate with a side of sautéed mushroom, garlic mashed potatoes, and a frosty beer.

As I started reading through the first couple lines of the parsha, dreaming about steak, I began to think of the word "sacrifice" in a different context. Just because none of us partake in ritual animal offerings anymore does not mean we are foreign to the idea of sacrifice. As young professionals with dozens of priorities, wants, and needs, we come face to face with the notion of sacrifice each and every day. The concept of sacrifice is giving something up for your well-being or the benefit of others. For some of us, it might be as simple as buying the Harris Teeter brand yogurt instead of Yoplait in order to stay within our monthly budget. For others, it might be a bit more difficult. But at the end of the day, there is one sacrifice I think we all make: time.

Remember when we were in college and would always complain about how little time we had in the day? “If only I had a few more hours in the day, I wouldn’t feel so rushed,” we said. Oh, how little we knew back then. I am not sure about you, but I would much rather have my college schedule than my current schedule. If I had only spent a less time playing basketball, watching my housemates play video games, going out on weeknights and stalking Carolina Basketball players around campus, then there would have been more than enough hours to complete my studies, extracurriculars, and the endless pursuit of, umm ... the perfect pair of pants. Since graduating college almost four years ago, I find things are no longer that simple.

Today there are not enough hours in the day for me, a busy young professional. Between work, friends, significant others, family, errands, the gym, volunteering, synagogue, etc., I feel constant pressure to sacrifice one or more in lieu of something else. It puts a lot of stress on me. I want to make everyone happy and be everywhere at once, but we all know that is impossible. Lately, I’ve felt like if I choose one thing over another, I will be letting a group of friends or colleagues down.

• Do I go out with the guys for the first time in a month or spend my only free weekend night making dinner for my girlfriend?
  
• Do I volunteer at a Habitat for Humanity site on Saturday afternoons or join a flag football team with my friends?
• Do I go to the gym in the morning or head into work a little bit earlier to finish up a grant proposal?

If those are the most difficult choices I have to make in a day, then life could definitely be worse. But still, decisions like these are things that constantly weigh on us. We are left wondering, "How do we accomplish everything we want to and give everyone in our life equal time?"

The only answer I can give is, just like Moses, we must prioritize our sacrifices and time. Figure out the most important things to you and make those top priorities. Don’t worry about the small stuff. If you have to sacrifice the time for one of them, you can always fit it in next week. Just make sure you make enough time for your friends, loved ones, and whatever else makes you happy. Everything else will work itself out. I promise. And if I’m wrong, we’ll go to your local kosher butcher, ask the owner to sacrifice a very special cow, and I’ll treat you to a delicious steak.

---

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Third Time's a Charm

--By Elana

So as I was reading about the purpose of this blog, one question popped out at me: "How is this 2,000-year-old document relevant to our lives today?"

I’m not going to speak directly about how this week’s Torah portion, Vayakhel-Pekudei, relates to our lives today; I’m going to let my dad do that. I’m going to be a little selfish and speak to how it is indirectly relevant to my life, and in the process, hopefully impart a little nugget of wisdom.

I have always been a planner: a regular Type-A personality. It’s not until recently that I’ve learned the valuable lesson of recognizing that happy coincidences are usually opportunities waiting to be to be seized. About 15 years ago, my father gave a d’var on this very Torah portion. In it, he states that our family had just found out that I would be giving the d’var for the same portion on my bat mitzvah. When I was asked to write on this blog for this portion, well -- third time's a charm.

Something about this portion has always made me think of my grandfathers, both of whom have passed away and I greatly admired, as my father mentioned in his d’var. The portion seems to speak to me (and follow me!), so I suspect that this isn’t my final encounter with Vayakhel. Without further ado, recounted here is my father’s take on the Torah portion:

The parshah this week, Vayakhel, appears to be a very dry, very long cataloguing of every detail of construction of the tabernacle in the desert under the guidance of Bezalel, whom God has especially endowed with the necessary wisdom and artistic skills. During a simple reading of this type of parshah, one can easily succumb to what I call the "glaze factor." But I believe a thoughtful consideration of the context can yield some interesting possibilities.

I suspect each of us finds, as the years pass and we experience repeated cycles of readings, different parshiot become prominent for us on an individual basis -- either because we come to associate them with our own specific experiences or because they strike some particular chord of revelation and recognition.

Part of Chapter 35, Verse 31 was chosen for my father's headstone just several years ago: "And He hath filled him with the spirit of God, in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge ..." We have learned just recently this parshah will be read the week of our daughter Elana's bat mitzvah, with its rich potential for appropriate associations with keeping the Sabbath, building a proper religious environment, and participating in communal growth. And last week, Helen's father, Israel Schrager, passed away. Izzy was a skilled Old-World tinsmith whose history is one of loss and survival through the Holocaust, of building a new life and family in a new land, and rebuilding and persevering through new adversities.

I am sure you can understand why I find this parshah has such particular resonance for myself.

This parshah and the next, Pekudei, conclude the Book of Exodus. Inherent in them are two great themes of passage: a change in the character of the events described, and a change of protagonists in the progress of the Jewish people as a nation and in its relation to God.

I find fascinating the many facets of understanding to be derived from apparently simple descriptive narratives, either directly from the text or by inference when contrasted to other chapters. This and next week's parshiot are, in their basic content, a virtual mirror of two earlier parshiot (beginning at Chapter 25 as a cataloguing of construction details for the sanctuary), but there are important differences in both context and perspective.

In the earlier narrative, God commands Moses in detail how to build the Sanctuary, then describing in detail how Aaron and his sons, who are individually named, will be prepared, supported and catered to, and also how they are to minister as high priests.

But after this giving of instruction, the people rebelled. The incident with the golden calf and Aaron's failure to stop it followed, and Moses interceded to save the people from God's anger.

Then, in this week's parshah, the people show by their heartfelt generosity and participation that they truly deserve the renewed covenant.

From the beginning, the Book of Exodus has described one conflict, one supplication for help, one challenge after another to God. Moses' dialogues with God, the hostility of the Israelite leaders after Moses' return to Egypt, the continuous doubts of deliverance, and resistance to Moses's leadership at the Red Sea and in the desert are examples.

But now, the Jewish people, as a community, have themselves created a positive tribute to the God of their deliverance, the God that made them a nation dedicated to Him at Sinai.

The Torah is very candid about the human foibles and frailties of even the most important personalities: From Adam and Eve, to each of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs, to the shortcomings of Moses, and to Aaron's failing -- leaders' transgressions have been chronicled along with their triumphs. This is to remind us not only of their humanity, but that none are to be idolized when there is only one God to be worshipped.

Yet here at the close of the Book of Exodus, Moses and Aaron are only occassionally mentioned, seemingly as reference points, as mere conduits for messages to the people. The figures of Bezalel and Oholiab are named, as previously, only in connection with building the Mishkan; but they are barely characterized as possessing the artistic skills and wisdom needed to build, and to teach the people to build, a worthy Tabernacle.

Bezalel and Oholiab, along with "every wise-hearted man, even every man whose heart stirred him ... to the work," and the over-generous donations of the people, built the sanctuary -- not just with artful skill, but with "wisdom of heart," with love, and with compassion, as a worthy testament to the covenant with God. Through the last 85 verses, the text names Bezalel only once -- the sanctuary is the creation and the construction of "every wise-hearted man."

Instead of decrying the tragic failings of glorified leaders, this parshah is a celebration of the special potential of every individual.

Finally, let us remember that the tabernacle was built as a portable house of worship, as the Jewish people continued their journey of learning and growth. Where it stood was not important. What it stood for was all important.

May our community continue to be one where each of us can express our love for God with a "wisdom of heart."

---

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It's so pretty and golden! I can see my reflection in it!

By Dr. Dreidel



When I was little I loved my big wheel and I rode. I even tried in my house but my mom wouldn’t go for that. One brave morning I decided to ride to the end of the block and back. As I passed the driveway of the last house I looked up and saw my neighbor’s car backing down right at me. I froze.

Somehow, my neighbor saw me. Hit the breaks and got out to make sure I was ok.

I never have told anyone that story. It was just a small thing that happened along the way, but what if that car hit me. No more Phil. No more I90Shpeil, no more professional Jewish Leadership.

The world works in mysterious ways. Look at Queen Esther. Faced with the destruction of her people she hesitated. What could she do? If she said something the king might have her killed. But Mordechai answered her. “You’ll die? So what!?” She had to do something. So, Esther stood up to the King, making her decision not knowing if she was facing life or death, but knowing that what she was doing was right.

This week we read about Aaron the high priest. Aaron the prophet, the great communicator, who faced a similar leadership dilemma. Moses was gone and the people were starting to sweat. They thought, what if he doesn’t return? And they began to despair. They went to Aaron and demanded an idol. And Aaron relented. The story is told very plainly, the people went to Aaron, Aaron asked for golden jewelry to build the idol and an idol was built.

If you read deeper into the chain of events you find that Aaron too was desperate – one commentary reads that Aaron tried to delay the people from idol worship. If he could just slow them down until Moses returned then he could save the day. So he asked for Jewelry, thinking the women and men wouldn’t give it up. But they did. Then he said that he alone would have to make the Calf so that he could take his time, but before he knew it there stood the calf and the people began to worship it.

What could Aaron have done? Instead of slowing the process why did not Aaron stand up, channel Nancy Reagan and just say no? Was he scared to act?

I saw the Watchmen last week. It is a movie about the humans behind the masks. Essentially asking, “what kind of twisted person would really dress up and run around fighting crime?” For these characters, they felt most like themselves when they had their mask on.

We all have masks. We need them, and we feel more comfortable using them. But why? What is it about being human that we lie, we doubt and we assume alter egos?

If you flip through Jewish texts, you’ll notice God too has a Mask and that God’s presence becomes hidden the further you move beyond the books of the Torah. The story of Purim in fact does not mention God at all. Where was God when the Jewish people were about to be exterminated? A question that was echoed years later when we asked where was God during the Holocaust?

If God has a right to ask our ancestors, Adam, Abraham and Moses, where are you? Then we should ask where is God? And why is God’s presence masked from us?

The thing is, though, The Hebrews in the desert knew exactly where God was. They were the unmasked generation. So how could it be that the Hebrews in the Desert built the Golden Calf?

Look, I struggle with God’s existence all the time. But if God revealed himself to me, I think I would get the picture.

What I really like about this story is that it shows that it’s ok to doubt. If the generation that knew God’s voice could push Aaron to veer off the path, then so might we be pushed off the path.

If they could mess up then we can mess up.

Several things happened after the Golden Calf. Moshe shattered the tablets, God forgave the people after Moses repented, and then Moses asked God to unmask himself so that he could see God’s face.

Did Moses have doubts that God existed? Why did he want to see his face? I think it was to understand, not for himself but for the people. Essentially Moses was asking what we all ask everyday. What is the master plan? Why do bad things happen to good people?

We all want to know the master plan. When I was young and riding on my big wheel, is it possible that it was God that stopped that car from hitting me? I don’t know. But, as the Golden Calf shows us, not knowing is what it means to be human.

The Golden Calf altered our history. The second tablets were carved by the hand of Moses not by God. We still got the teachings, but this time we had to work for them.

We have a choice every day to either work hard and put in the effort to receive the teachings of our parents, teachers, and self help books. Or we can choose to just buy the leadership book but not read it.

Its natural for us to want to know, but not put in the effort. We just want to give our money to someone that we know will manage it for us. We don’t want to do the research. Why examine the investment strategy? If it’s good enough for Elie Weisel and Kevin Bacon, then it’s good enough for me.

That is the Golden Calf, the life of ease. We don’t have to think, we don’t have to tear away our attention from our iphones and gchats to concentrate.

But that is not the life of a Jew. We are here to do the work. We are here to ask questions and argue. We are here to lead and make the world a better place.

To be desperate is not a Jewish value. Desperation is not Jewish, because if you’re Jewish there is always hope. No matter how dark the times may be, we can hope and believe in our people and our covenant with the world. I can’t tell you whether or not to believe in God. But I can tell you that you should believe in doubt. Because that is the struggle. That is what makes us human.

Our fight to overcome our doubts and stand up for what is right is what will ensure that the Jewish people and each of our future endeavors will make a difference in the world. That struggle within each of us is what will ensure that the light that shines in our communities will not be the light reflecting off of our gold, but will be the light that shines out from the inside, the light of the righteous.

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Mountain, what Mountain?

By Sweet T

This is one of the more interesting portions for me. It captures beautifully one of my favorite sayings: sometimes you have to trim a bush to make it grow. And it’s also where the law forbidding mixing milk and meat together comes from, thus banning the delicious cheeseburger, turkey and swiss (please milk a turkey, I beg you), and other delectable combinations.

The most striking part of this portion is the killing of three thousand men for religious sin, in this case worshipping a golden calf. Moses comes down from Sinai only to find the Hebrews worshipping an idol (of him, ironically), becomes so maddened he orders the Levi Clan to attack the idolaters.

Now three thousand men was quite a lot for a group that had just escaped Egypt and was heading to an unknown land to physically conquer it from the people that dwelled there. Everyone man counts (sorry ladies, while women had much to lose if their men lost in battle, I don’t think they were involved in the fighting), and they could ill afford to lose a good chunk of their force. I’m sure this was going through Moses head; it had to be. It’s was only a few hours before when we was pleading with God not to kill them all when he was up on Sinai. So he obviously felt a value for his peoples’ lives.

Unfortunately, we can’t ever know what he was thinking, but I’m willing to guess he had a moment of realization: that moment when you realize whatever path you’re heading down is not going to get the job done. We might be paying credit card bills, and making the minimum payment each month, but when you do the math, and figure out with interest, that at that current payment, it will take you three years to erase $3,000 worth of debt.

What you do has a lot to do with the type of person you are. Whether it’s realizing that your workout regimen isn’t going to help you lose weight, or whether you figure out that the amount of money you’re spending on car repairs you could put into a newer vehicle that wouldn’t break down, we all have these moments where we understand our situation and recognize the unavoidable need for change. Some people act and make the necessary changes, and succeed (hopefully). But just as easily, some don’t make the changes. And as my ex-Marine uncle has told me, “idiocy is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results.” You want to erase the Visa bill, change your budget and pay more of it off.

Moses understands this. He has a few options here. He can allow it happen, disallow it and forgive, exile the sinners or, as he does, kill them all. Each option brings with it a stronger effort to dissuade his members from doing it ever again. Think, if he had just forgiven them, would Judaism still exist, today? Would it had just been a matter of time before the Hebrews regressed again?

Whether or not you agree with the method, the result still stands. In order to accomplish great things, you must take great action. I use this story as an allegory, not a encouragement of mass extermination. And I encourage all of us to look forward to those moments in our lives, and make the changes on a consistent basis. I think when we are honest with ourselves, just as Moses was when he came down and saw it for himself, we lead a more fulfilling life.

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Etching Ancestry (Tetzaveh)

You have history
carved into the bones of your shoulders
genealogical etchings handed down
l'dor va'dor, generation to generation.

We stand upon ancestral underpinnings
every step we take
springing off someone else's efforts
toes tapping forward only because they've been carried
to where they can walk
feet pressing down upon ground
and finding paths in futures
unable to be imagined
by minds focused only on furnishing opportunities
out of the options afforded them.

We are only ever as able
as we believe our children to be.

Build your priestly vestments
Robe of pure blue
rimmed with pomegranates and gold bells
ringing out ruby rivers of life
from the seeds we have sown.

An ephod of fine linen
two shoulderpieces at two ends
two stones inlaid
lapis lazuli etched
with the names of 12 tribes
six to a side
ordered by birth
and bordered by gold
two stones to two shoulders
two chains to two frames
a breastpiece that's bold
yarn of blue and purple
and crimson and gold
set square and doubled
span by a span
and filled in with stones:

Carnelian, chrysolite, emerald -- a row
then turquoise, sapphire and amethyst, though
jacinth, an agate and a crystal befo'
beryl, lapis and jasper bring it home.

One to a tribe
with light shining bright
answers spelled out in family faces
so you'll know when you're right.

The Tablets of Destiny are held in your hands
the cursed or the faultless
each at your command.
So light your perfections
and reveal your truths
but know that we join you
each moment you stand.

---

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Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got(And other lessons from Tetzaveh)

--By Heinz 57

When I was 17, I had my timeline set in what I believed to be stone. Really. Emphasis placed on stone. I had my first serious boyfriend, and I envisioned a diamond ring by 20, marriage by 22 and the first kid by 24. In college, I admit, I even went to a jeweler and picked out that ring. It wasn’t the classiest of moves, but what do you expect from Kay’s Jeweler at the Holyoke Mall? The four Cs became my friend (cut, clarity, color & carats), as I picked out my ideal ring: round-cut, three stone (a .75 carat in the middle, .5 for the others), size 6, platinum band. Creepy as it sounds, my ring was so vivid that I could feel the weight of it on my finger and even caught the glare of it out of the corner of my eye.

At 26 1/2 (okay, 2/3), my plan hasn’t gone exactly the way I imagined. For one, the last conversation I had with my b'esheret of the high school days involved him asking me -- quite nicely -- not to post on his Facebook wall, as it made his current girlfriend irrationally jealous. My finger is still empty, and my tastes have shifted slightly (feel free to google “Cartier, honeymoon ring”). Don’t get me wrong (particularly you, Boyfriend), I’m happy with my life as it is. I’m in school, doing that independent woman in the big city thing, complete with a few sets of knee-high boots and a taste for fruity martinis. I’m two years past my self-prescribed due date, and I’m more than okay with that.

But as I watch my friends get engaged, I can’t help but think to myself “Princess Cut ... really?!” or “Check out the clarity on that baby!” and of course, “Three months salary, my ass.” There’s something about the diamond ring that makes me weak in the knees. It’s not just that it represents a commitment, a declaration of love or a promise to stand by each other. It’s that they are so gosh darn pretty.

Before I go any further, a confession: I fall somewhere into the vast void between hippie and JAP. I'll admit I had dreadlocks, I’m generally dirty and saving the world is top on my list of priorities. I cringe at girls whose bags cost more than my rent, or whose shoes could pay my grocery bill for a month. Fair trade is a mantra I might not live by, but a goal I hope to one day embody. I’ve belonged to such Facebook groups as “Recycle that bottle or I’ll Recycle your face” and the only reason I use plastic shopping bags is so I can recycle them when cleaning out my cat’s litter box. My SIGG water bottle is always in my backpack and I spent about 10 years of my childhood at outdoorsy environmental camps.

I also own not one, but two pairs of Uggs. I currently have a Tiffany's necklace around my neck, and my nails are freshly polished. I don’t think it’s contradictory, I just consider it my own unique style.

How can I be an environmentalist, and still drool at the site of something like jewelry? What does it really mean, at least in this day and age? We all know about blood diamonds. We all know about the pollution caused by gold mining.* We generally don’t care. Sure, I care in the hypothetical. But, I’ll tell you right now, if Boyfriend were about to propose, I wouldn’t take him off of that knee to drill him on the social awareness of his purchase.

The issue probably takes its root in the plan I made at 17. The diamond was a symbol, not of love, but of conquest. I thought that rock on my finger meant my life itself would be solid. I’ve learned now that love doesn’t really make your life solid. Love means excitement. It means fights, it means storms, it means compromises. It means being picked up and twirled. It means staying on your toes, always moving, always growing, always improving. Love is being constantly surprised by what you learn about your partner, and what it shows you about yourself. It means never knowing what might happen next, and being okay with that.

I’m sure Judaism has some straight forward lessons for love. And ... I’m not really interested in that right now. I want to know how I can show up at my next PETA meeting, look my patchouli-smoking friends in the eye and say, “Heck yeah. Diamond!” I suppose it’s safe to say that we like to see things dressed up. Whether its a clean-water inspired scarf (they exist) or the fabled solid-gold toilet of Donald Trump, we generally enjoy the pretty.

And back in the day -- way, way back in the day -- the Jewish High Priests were all about the pretty. They wore gold-adorned frocks, complete with precious stones. Think Gucci meets the Pope. The altar was about as flashy as it could be, putting those Oscar afterparties to shame. The Torah goes into extreme detail about the ornate decoration of the Tabernacle. We’re not a religion with extra words; these descriptions serve a purpose. They teach us something. They offer us a glimpse into the past. And they reassure me that it’s clearly not absurd to find beauty in the shiny.

Jennifer Lopez, not particularly the patron saint of Jews (humor me here) wisely stated, “Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got, I’m still, I’m still Jenny from the block.” Nowadays, our bling is simply that: bling. Jenny claims her bling didn’t change her. What’s its purpose then, if not to demonstrate a rise to extreme wealth and pop-stardom?

And what was it like in the time of the Temple? The gold cherubs that sat upon the ark weren’t there simply to show off, they demonstrated a grandeur unlike anything else found on earth. The priests' golden frocks demonstrated not only that they themselves were to be admired, but also that their work was Holy. Was the gold necessary back then? Can we transfer that meaning into today's bling? Am I shallow for thinking "Yes"?

We would like to say inner beauty is what counts, and I think -- at least I hope -- that when you’re at the point in your life where that diamond ring is encroaching, you see the inner beauty above all in your partner. But our religion shows us that dressing up a priest is okay. It’s a reflection, not only of the inner, but also of the beauty of a wonderful thing: God. The gold that coated the altar came from the community as a whole, a tangible gift of something precious to celebrate something even more valuable. We like fancy.

Sometimes, we like fancy for the wrong reason. We celebrate in the superficiality. We compromise our ideals. But if we're celebrating something that is beautiful no matter how it's dressed, like the holies of Judaism or a real love, then the extra glitter is simply reflecting that majesty. It might be a stretch to say I want a diamond to worship God. But, I think it’s fair to worship Love ... and we might as well do that with something gosh darn pretty.

*(To learn more.... check out No Dirty Gold to learn more about environmentally friendly jewelry companies, or feel free to purchase something from Brilliant Earth> for yours truly. To learn more about the interplay between Judaism and the environment, take a look at Canfei Nesharim, Hazon or COEJL

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I care, now what?

The good news about the Israel and Palestinian conflict is that there are answers everywhere!

Ask two Jews, you get three answers. Go to Israel and ask the Israelis, which is what I just was able to do with PLP, and you get even more. While in Israel with PLP's academic fellows, I had the opportunity to meet with community organizers, city planners, government officials and Jewish educators. And everyone we talked to had an opinion to share, often several of them.

During times of war in Israel, the public lines up behind the government in support of the troops. This is a country where everyone is connected to the soldiers and the support is tangible. For the most part, though, life in Israel goes on. The country is so resilient. People populate the boulevards of Tel Aviv, go to the coffee houses in Jerusalem and eat on the side walks in Haifa. In a place smaller than New Jersey, it was incredible to see Israelis living their lives with a war zone so close by.

I was in Israel for nearly the whole war. While I was there, I learned about the conflict, but also went to the cafes, clubs and boulevards. Once I got back though, the conflict seemed much closer to me. Walking around Boston, the images of the war were in my face. On the cover of Newsweek, Time Magazine, the New York Times and the Boston Globe there were references to the war. Even on Facebook, the war was raging in peoples' status updates and notes posted.

After a full semester as a graduate student earning my MA in Jewish Professional Leadership and having taken a semester of the Philosophy of Israel, I am very sensitive to how complex Israel is (even without taking the Palestinian-Israeli conflict into account).

On our trip, PLP explored this complexity and the group pushed itself to rethink what we knew. For example, I had always spent most of my time in Israel in Jerusalem. This time I really got to know Tel Aviv, and I came away feeling that Tel Aviv was almost more of a Jewish City than Jerusalem. Everything in Tel Aviv from the street names to the use of public space for parks was all planned out by and for Jews. From the original five streets of Tel Aviv, to the late night club scene there is something distinctively Jewish going on.

Throughout the country, this is what we started to see. That even in the most mundane details there is a certain depth, a quality that is Jewish, and this is what keeps the country together.

Since Zionism's beginnings in the 1800s, the Jewish people have been arguing over what Israel should be. Even Zionism was not one clear answer. There was religious Zionism, political Zionism, labor Zionism and other branches. All wanting something different out of the land.

The same holds true today. There are so many different opinions in Israel about what it should be. Differences among Jews in Israel and out of Israel. Differences among religious and non-observant, modern and traditional, black and white, young and old, Arab and Christian and Muslim and Jew and atheist and secular.

At the end of the day it does not seem like it would ever work, but some how it does.

And then, there is the conflict.

Facebook statuses, gchat updates, and profile pictures all were charged with different facts and figures such as Quassam hits, deathtolls, buildings smashed, but not one or even 19 facts can tell the whole story. To reduce the conflict into quick one liners like facebook and the media really cheapens the experience of what is happening.

The humanity on both sides exists and needs to be respected and at the root of it all I don't think that is happening.

It is a hard discussion to have in which a full debate can be held. People experience things emotionally and intellectually and we as Jews and as humans need the opportunity to do both and do so in a way that we feel safe. I do not mean comfortable. Sometimes when you love something or someone you have to be uncomfortable. You realize that its ok to feel uneasy, but you are willing to feel that way because you want to understand, and you want to help others know how you feel.

I feel that this is lacking in our, the Jewish people's, understanding of one another.

There is a gap between Jews in Israel and Jews in America. Both populations want to claim Judaism and what they are doing is right. Sometimes it seems that the only ones that recognize that we both come from the same people are our detractors, those that will attack a synagogue in Chicago in response to a conflict thousands of miles away.

In Judaism there is the concept that time is a spiral.

In a cosmic twist, as the Jewish people have been fighting for its survival and protection of late, Jews around the world are remembering first becoming a people in the story of Exodus.

From slavery to the desert to entering the land it was a long and trying journey for the Hebrews. And, even then everyone had an opinion. Its important to remember that our affinity for disagreement is as old as we are.

I wonder then how we can call ourselves a People. What does one Jews really have in common with another.

As a future professional in the American Jewish community, I think I have a lot to learn from the Jews in Israel. Really. At the end of the day in Israel, no matter how much everyone disagrees with one another, they all still have a love for their country. The civil religion in Israel is very strong and it has been constructed in such a way that everyone can grasp on to it in one or more ways.

Jonathan Woocher, wrote twenty years ago about the civil religion of American Judaism, and recently updated his thoughts on the concept. In a time in which Jewish creativity is at an all time best, with the advent of Jewish rappers, musicians, magazines, new ways to pray, new ways to commune, new mikvahs even, it seems that everyone in America has a chance to develop a very personalized Jewish connection.

I think this is great, the more ways for us to connect to "Judaism" the better. What I wonder though is what then is Judaism and who is the authentic.

The beauty of Israel though is that while everyone can debate and argue what is a real Israeli or a real Jew, at the end of the day this conversation is only intellecutal. The people there are already living and connecting together. Religious and secular both call Israel home.

This is what I hope to bring to the Jewish community as a leader. A feeling that at the end of the day no matter how much we disagree we are all in this together. This is where the civil religion plays a big role. Maybe it needs to be updated from the 1980s, but there is something that we all agree on. The fact that we all care enough to disagree, that is something that I think we can build on.

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Relaunch for the Holidays

The Watering Hole is currently relaxing on the beaches of Tel Aviv reflecting upon this last year in preparation for the new year and Rosh HaShana.

The Site and commentary will relaunch with the start of the New Year.

Have an idea that you would like to see with the site? Have a reflection on this last year? We are currently recruiting new writers, ideas and more!

Give us a shout: wateringholetorah[at]gmail.com

Relaunch for Rosh Hashana with Genesis 21:1-34, Numbers 29:1-6.

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God is a Treehugger

-- Dr. Dreidel reporting

Last week's reading, Behar, told us to give our land a break every seven years.

Basically, for every six years that we work the land for crops we give the land a year to cool off, regroup and enjoy.

What does the land do for that seventh year? Do the corn stalks and trees get together to drink wine and eat challah?

I interviewed the trees in my back yard but unfortunately they had no comment.

I tried to reach out to the ents of Middle Earth, but alas I was unable to locate the ents or their wives.

The Lorax, who has been retired for years, and was on vacation in the Sahara Desert when I rang. Although his answering machine left a number for his son, the new lord of the trees.

Jr. was quite busy down in Africa, South America and Charlotte, N.C., where trees are flying off the shelves.

I'm not sure the last time that we remembered to take a year off for the trees. Could you imagine what would happen in America if everyone had to give the land a break?

What about the air and our water?

Often on the Internet I find chain emails about boycotting pumping gas for a day, or staying home for work. Even if 100,000 people responded and boycotted or stayed home, that would barely be a blip.

The fact is giving the land a break is just not in our nature. Everyone I know hardly gives themselves a rest, which is supposed to happen once a week.

In order to truly rest we need to turn off our cell phones, unplug our stereos, shutdown our laptops, and tune out.

That is a lot of things to do. And its hard to get away from so many things. With our constant blackberry-ing it's easy to forget to rest and I don't mean passing out on the couch watching sportcenter again.

I say let's get out there and rest. Maybe we can start an online chain mail.

It was remarked that "You can't stop the problems of mass consumerism with more consumerism."

I don't want to go into that, but it suggests that what the world needs now is not more of the same, but rather some good old fashioned rest, respite and 40 winks.

Same goes for the air, the land and the Lorax.

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One and Done

I have always liked to think of Judaism as a ladder, with a goal of always moving up. Each of the commandments is a step on the ladder meaning the ladder is very tall. But the point wasn't to be at the top of the ladder -- or in the middle or at the bottom -- just being on the ladder is what was important.

Its a good thing that Judaism is more like this than like the NCAA Tournament. The Ten Commandments would likely be the No. 1 - No. 4 Seeds. The rest of the commandments, like Kashrut, rituals of sacrifice and doing it on Shabbat, those would be the rest of the seeds. It would be pretty interesting and fun to see the current Mitzvah seedings.

Maybe this week, when Governor Spitzer was forced to resign after being busted paying for an "escort," Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery would bring home a high seed. The commandments would have to duke it out.

The only problem is that if it was tournament-style instead of ladder-style it's "one-and-done." Win and move on, but sin and go home.

In the Parsha this week, Shmini, Aaron's two sons are helping their dad with the rituals. They decide to light an extra fire and are immediately killed on the spot. There was no loser bracket for them, no NIT tournament.

Later, Moses tells Aaron its not good to drink while on the job. So for this week, I'd imagine that would rule the Mitzvah power rankings.

Don't drink on the job. Similar to "don't shit where you eat." Important rules to know. Sometimes difficult to follow. But in our world at least, Governor Spitzer, Britney Spears, you and I, we all get second chances. Even Jerry Springer was able to reconfigure his life.

So for my final thought for the day, don't be intimidated by all the commandments, laws, stipulations and rabbinical debates found in Judaism. The beauty of it is that you win and go on, or lose and try again. It is said the righteous man gets knocked down eight times. But the important thing is that he gets up.

Apply to more than one grad school. Make a plan B. Ask out another girl (or boy).

And as the sages said, "Keep on Truckin."

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Vayikra: There Will Be Blood

At the conclusion of Exodus, we found the Israelites wandering through the Sinai with their newly-built Tabernacle. So far, it's been a tough ride out of Egypt, and the follies and tribulations of our desert ancestors are well documented in the annals of history. Having moved past the disaster of the Golden Calf, we begin the book of Leviticus - Vayikra - with the hope that things will get a little brighter.

Over the course of the next five chapters however, we learn that the beautiful Tabernacle was built to function as an altar to spill the blood of animals and sacrifice them to God. These sacrifices were instituted so the Israelites could atone for their sins. Not exactly a cheery portion this week.

It seems like Vayikra is obsessed with blood:

• And he shall kill the bullock before HaShem; and Aaron's sons, the priests, shall present the blood, and dash the blood round about against the altar that is at the door of the tent of meeting. (Leviticus1:5)
• And the priest shall bring it unto the altar, and pinch off its head, and make it smoke on the altar; and the blood thereof shall be drained out on the side of the altar (Lev. 1:15).
• And he shall present of the sacrifice of peace-offerings an offering made by fire unto HaShem: the fat that covereth the inwards, and all the fat that is upon the inwards, and the two kidneys, and the fat that is on them, which is by the loins, and the lobe above the liver, which he shall take away hard by the kidneys (Lev. 3:3-4).
• And the priest shall put of the blood upon the horns of the altar of sweet incense before HaShem, which is in the tent of meeting; and all the remaining blood of the bullock shall he pour out at the base of the altar of burnt-offering, which is at the door of the tent of meeting (Lev. 4:7).

In fact, the word blood is mentioned at least 25 times in these five chapters. This Parsha raises some tough questions about ancient Judaism as well as the nature of God. Why is the Torah so concerned with spilling the blood of animals? Were the ancient Israelites a primitive, bloodthirsty people who cared nothing about living things? Why does God need blood to grant atonement?

Over the centuries, non-Jews have pointed to this Parsha to say that Judaism is not a religion based on morals and intellect, but on uneducated rituals. Indeed, it is very difficult -- if not impossible -- for our civilized, modern minds to understand the significance of animal sacrifices. Spirituality should be the key to reaching God, and the physical world should be bypassed completely to achieve salvation ... right?

Not for Jews. Holiness in Judaism means that the physical and spiritual join together; a bond between humankind and God. In the Torah, a place was consecrated as sacred only if something happened there between man on Earth and God in Heaven. We have to remember that we are human beings with human urges and human emotions, and we should not repress our humanness. The Torah understood this, at least in the most basic of ways, by emphasizing blood throughout this Parsha.

We simply cannot ignore the physical aspect of Jewish life and tradition. Despite the emotions and basic human needs that drive us and our behavior, it's blood that is running through our veins, and blood that keeps us alive and sustains us. When the Israelites saw the blood of the animals they were sacrificing, they were immediately reminded of their own mortality. These sacrifices were sin offerings, so instead of being punished with their own blood (except in cases of murder or other serious violations of the law), a person would sacrifice an animal to God. The twist comes in knowing that God does not need these sacrifices; they were more for the person who committed the sin to realize that they are still human.

We are not just body and not just soul, but a united being composed of both. Although Judaism has (thankfully) evolved beyond animal sacrifices, the physical human aspect of our religion is today just as important as the spiritual. We afflict our bodies on Yom Kippur, we can choose what to eat or not eat based on Jewish law, and we are commanded to pay attention to the body's needs. This Parsha reminds us that although it's not alright to sin before God, it's alright to be human. Lucky for us, we don't know how to be anything else.

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Vayakhel: An Exercise in Subtle Juxtaposition

There's really no good way to follow up The Brooklyn Boy's last post because it was so hella good, especially since I was at the NC Hillel Statewide where he first unearthed his penchant for rhymin' d'vars (and I was one of the enthusiastic minions; or was it minyans?). Well done, sir.

I'm not sure if you've ever read through this Parsha (Vayakhel; Exodus 35:1 - 38:20), but it's what I would call ... laborious. It starts off with Moses reminding the Jewish people, fresh off of the Golden Calf disaster, that God has commanded them to observe Shabbat or they will be put to death:

And Moses assembled all the congregation of the children of Israel, and said unto them: 'These are the words which HaShem hath commanded, that ye should do them. Six day shall work be done, but on the seventh day there shall be to you a holy day, a sabbath of solemn rest to HaShem; whosoever doeth any therein shall be put to death. Ye shall kindle no fire throughout your habitations upon the sabbath day. (Exodus 35:1-3)

Makes you wonder at which point in Jewish history they stopped putting people to death for not observing Shabbat ...

Then, suddenly, verse after verse for the next three chapters -- more than 100 verses total -- the Torah offers a step-by-step blueprint about how to build the Tabernacle, or Mishkan, the physical center for the ancient Jewish religion in the desert, all the way down to the details of the lengths and colors of the curtains, and the number of bars of acacia wood on each side. No one ever said the Torah read like a novel.

The stark juxtaposition of God's decree about the Jews observing Shabbat being paired with the description of how to build the Tabernacle is striking, and also intentional. If you read through the verses following the decree, it describes in detail the different tasks of how the Mishkan is to be built, and even who God thinks should build it. These tasks involve mundane activities like sewing, casting metals and cooking: all acts that involve the creation of something. And it's no small coincidence that these are the very acts that are forbidden on Shabbat.

The Tabernacle was built to give the Jewish people a physical "dwelling" place for God's presence. Centuries later, after the Israelites had conquered Canaan and established Jerusalem as their capital, the Mishkan was housed in the Temple, which would be the central place of ancient Jewish worship until its most recent destruction in 70 CE.

So here's the reason for the text's juxtaposition. During the workweek, the ancient Jews had a physical structure accompanying them in the desert to remind them of God's presence. Through the various "creative" activities described in the Parsha, they were given the task of actually building the Tabernacle, making those once-ordinary tasks holy.

Why then, on Shabbat, are those very same acts of creation forbidden? It's because on Shabbat, God rested from his creation of the Universe. Everything that it took to build God's desert house was halted on Shabbat in the Israelites' best effort to emulate God. We don't necessarily need to be around a structure that houses the Divine Presence because, on Shabbat, we are immersed in it. Different from the ancient sacrifices and rituals that could only be conducted near the Tabernacle or at the Temple in Jerusalem, Shabbat can be observed anywhere on Earth, and that's what makes it beautiful. Shabbat is the one time during the week where we as Jews can focus our spiritual energy and not create, but just be.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not going to be self-righteous here. I definitely create on Shabbat in the classical sense, as I'm sure many of us do. I'm a child of modern America, I work for a computer company and do weekend work sometimes, I play drums in two bands, and I love taking long Saturday morning drives.

Does this detract from my Shabbat experience? Maybe, if you're thinking solely on a traditionally Jewish level. I guess I don't need to do all of those things. But even if I stopped "creating" and unplugged, put the sticks down, and simply walked around the southern part of Heaven for a day, I don't think it would make a big difference for my personal experience. It's great to try every once in a while, and I have before. But for me, Shabbat is about the re-creation of the self, and working on bringing a sense of peace back to ourselves and to our broken world. And I say thank God for that.

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Ki Tisa -- High (In)Fidelity

This was first performed for 200 people at a Statewide Shabbat at NC Hillel, and caught the attention of a Rabbi who said it would really benefit bar mitzvah students if I did this for every portion in the Five Books, which indirectly led to the foundation of this site. Crazy. Also, I spit it at the "Twelve Tribes" Open Mic at National Poetry Slam 2007, where it went over like gangbusters. Enjoy.

All I ask is your attention as I command it,
Use spoken word and put pen to page
To outline for y'all a critical stage
In Jewish history and I won't be vague

I'll unravel the mystery locked in the Parsha
This week, Ki Tisa relates the state of Jews at Sinai
Who got confused when they looked at the sky
And could not comprehend what they could not see
So they committed an act of infidelity
And created a calf that repped visibly
A notion of God they could understand
And they did all of this
under Aaron's command

Because he conciliated while Moses terminated
Said, "I'll be back"
and 40 days deliberated in a conversation with God
who at the end said something odd:
He saw the calf, said, "You don't know the half
Of what your people are doing at the foot of the path.
They're really not fooling me with their charade.
I'm 'bout to regulate
cuz I just got played."

Moses said, "Hold up ...

It ain't the right thing to do
You love these people try not to undo
The work of the Exodus and give rise to
Undue attitudes about a God who rescued his people only to off 'em
And turned the whole desert into one sandy coffin."

So Moses bounced — to see for himself
What his people had done with their material wealth.
He got so mad he shattered the tablets
Ground up the calf and let all of them have it
Aaron got frantic and tried to lie his way out
By telling Moses the calf came about all on its own
But Moses saw through that, knew he should atone
For the sins of the people who should turn to stone
Like Lot's wife -- the REEE-MIIIX!!
And the Levites believed it
So they stepped forward toward God
And had to carry out a terrible job
See, 3,000 people lost their lives that day
Because they almost undermined the whole Jewish faith

And lessons were learned by all parties involved:
The people needed to see that all idols aren't God
And the man upstairs needed to be fair
And not expect people to believe in the air

So stop ...

... and take a look at what surrounds you at the moment
And don't just do it now, do it any time you can control it
Every person and thing, please try to own it
Because God's in all of that
now take that thought and hone it into tangible form
So you don't have to dance by a calf to keep warm.

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Leaping Into February and March

Doc Driedel thought it might be a good idea to widen the audience of my (roughly) monthly calls for contributors beyond the scope of the e-mail list. Check below for the info, and email me if you're interested.

Since my job has been whupping my butt for the better part of three weeks -- including swallowing this whole weekend -- you got two whole weeks with 100 percent less harassment. Here's what's been going on at the Hole:

• We were linked by the Union for Reform Judaism's Shabbat Blog, which recommended us as one of three sites to visit "to fulfill the mitzvah of Talmud Torah, the study of Torah." You are not writing in a vacuum -- people are reading; we average more than 70 hits per week, have 7 feed subscriptions and 17 fans on Facebook.
  
• We took our first guest post from a board-certified Rabbi. (Thanks, "Rabbi V"!)
• We caught knowledge from repeat contributors "Dropping the Baum," "Dr. Driedel," "Flower," "The Tar Heeb" and also yer favorite Brooklyn Boy. The "Baum Drop" analyzed Moses' demand that Pharoah "Let My People Bo." The Tar Heeb wondered about "The World Without Us," while Flower took a look at "The Laws of Love," and I decided Moses and Aaron originated the roles MJ and Scottie Pippen would fill many thousands of years later.
  
  But a special shout out goes to the good doctor, whose search for "The Leaders in Our Lives" took us through a brave, thoughtful tribute to a friend whose journey ended too early. Thanks for sharing, good sir.
  
  That post accomplishes everything we strive for here at the Hole, and proves that the text is merely a jumping off point for larger issues -- not something those of you on the fence should worry about being bogged down by should you choose to contribute.
  
• Also, we missed a week because a writer dropped out late and I was too pre-occupied to cover. We've done a great job getting up one post nearly every week since our relaunch in October -- Yeah, it's like that. Seriously stellar job. All of you. -- but this is why I'd like to get to a point where there's more than one post per portion.Again, it's a numbers game. One contribution from every person means no one writes more than once every two months or so.
  
  I don't want to lose the momentum we've built. We've got something unique here, one that fills an unaccounted-for niche. Let's make the magic happen.
  
• One great idea from my buddy Johnny Poo was the posting of bar/bat mitzvah speeches when the respective portion comes up. If you can turn yours up, that would be an easy way to get involved. Remember, the alias system is there not only to free you from expectations, but also save you from potential embarrassment. And believe you me, I have been looking for mine since he floated the idea. Luckily, I've got until Deuteronomy, ha.
  

Here's the upcoming schedule:

February

Ki Tisa (Exodus 30:11-34:35; Deadline: Feb. 20)
--Me, with a spoken word joint about the Golden Calf
NOTE: Ten Commandments also covered here, if anyone wants to tackle that last second, ha.

Vayakehl (Ex. 35:1-38:20; Deadline: Feb. 27)
Community donation of materials, and construction of the Holy Tabernacle and related furnishings

March

Pekudei (Ex. 38:21–40:38; Deadline: March 5)
Creation of the Priestly Vestements, the blessing of new priests and the Jews set off on their

Vayikra (Leviticus 1:1–5:26; Deadline: March 12)
Rules for acceptable offerings and how to absolve sins (Don't stop snitching!)

Tzav (Lev. 6:1–8:36; Deadline: March 19)
Rituals for offerings, commandment against eating animal fat, consecration of the Tabernacle and the priests

Shimini (Lev. 9:1–11:47; Deadline: March 26)
Sacrifice on behalf of the people, the rebellion of Aaron's sons, the rules of Kashrut (Kosher law)

April

Tazria (Lev. 12:1–13:59; Deadline: Apr. 2)
Purification rituals and how to deal with medical afflictions

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Shrinking the Self (Tetzaveh)

So while this project started -- and will continue to be -- alternative commentary for and from 20-somethings, we're not going to turn down a more ... mature voice when they have a relevant contribution. One such voice is that a mentor of mine, Rabbi V, who presided over my temple during this Brooklyn Boy's formative high school years, and a wee bit before that.

She's socially active, interesting and -- most importantly -- encouraging. She's the one who got me to understand that thinking is everything, and while the text certainly is holy, it should serve as the foundation for that greatest of Jewish traditions: Debate. Wrestle with the important issues until they make sense to you. Not agreeing is okay, but have a basis for your position. That said, here's her take on Parsha Tetzaveh:

Imagine how incredible Aaron, the High Priest, looked decked out in jewels of every color, golden armor, jingly bells on his hem and a zany headdress -- what a contrast to the burnt umber, barren landscape of the Sinai desert! Now imagine how sweltering he would have been in that outfit. Although we know the names of these cohanim -- Aaron, Nadav, Avihu, Elazar and Itamar, the institution of the priesthood pretty much obliterates their personalities. The office consumes the individual. Their clothing almost literally swallows them.

This could be a drag for the cohanim as individuals: In Parashat Shemini in Leviticus 10, Nadav and Avihu attempt to defy the rules and just be themselves. As a result, God hurls a giant fireball at them and they die instantly. But it was of great benefit to the Jews. The loss of human personality through these garments allowed the priests to be seen as celebrities. However, they were not celebrities for themselves or by their own merit -- they were celebrities because they represented all the people.

The clothing was a key to how the priests were celebrities for the people. Obviously, the bright colors were conspicuous, so when the cohanim stood before the masses, even from far away there would be no mistaking the guy in the golden breastplate. The clothing was highly symbolic. On each shoulder, Aaron wore a lapis lazuli stone on which the names of each of the twelve tribes were engraved. So all the regular people felt that they were integral to the rituals Aaron performed. Aaron, the High Priest, metaphorically carried the people on his shoulders. Having the name of their tribe on his garments was like having your sporting team or alma mater on the hat or jersey of the President. You feel validated. Less like a chump for belonging to the smallest tribe or rooting for the Cubs.

The gemstones on the breastplate had a similar function. Twelve dazzling jewels, each representing a tribe, shone from the silver breastplate during the rituals. Every tribe, and thus every member of the twelve tribes was included. When you looked at the Cohen Gadol, you knew he alone was the High Priest, but you got the sense that he was your man and that you were important in everything he did.

That the individual men who were cohanim had to check their personal identity at the door when they got into their garments meant the priests had to do some serious tzimtzum. Tzimtzum is a Hebrew term meaning shrinking oneself to allow others to grow in importance. Kabbalistic theology of the creation of the universe uses the term tzimtzum to describe how God once filled the universe, but shrank to a tiny point to allow space for the stuff of the universe to fit. Then God radiated the divine self into matter.

The cohanim also had to shrink themselves to some degree – to lose their personalities in order to leave space for all the people to gain a sense of participation and ownership of the rituals. The clothes helped the cohanim cloak their own authority, and as a result they became paradoxically more powerful because the masses bought into the new rituals instead of rejecting them and the priests as elitists know-it-alls. In a 1944 utopian piece called “After The War” novelist and essayist Henry Miller wrote that in a new era humans will realize that they can no longer hoard power: “His aim will not be to possess power, but to radiate it.” This may have been God’s goal for the priests in designing these outfits -- to radiate power outward and let all the people own some piece of power.

Last week, millions of voters went to the polls in the primary elections and caucuses to use their power of citizenship. The phenomenon of Barack Obama has been exciting to see, and interesting in light of the way that the cohanim radiated power. Obama has not tried to build a cult of personality, though he is personally popular. Instead his mode is a little bit of tzimtzum. He talks about the power of the people to make change, not just his own abilities. After Super Duper Tuesday, he spoke, saying, "We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek… We are the hope." Obama’s strength in connecting to and energizing an electorate comes not from possessing power, but in radiating it.

In the January 28, 2008 issue of the New Yorker, George Packer wrote about the differences between the celebrity of Hillary Clinton and of Barack Obama. The Obama celebrity is less personal, and more about his capacity to inspire others -- to make people believe they have power to make change. In the article, former Secretary of Labor (under Bill Clinton), Robert Reich defines the power of political inspiration as "the legitimizing of social movements and social change, the empowering of all sorts of people and groups to act as remarkable change agents."

One of the reasons that voters who really want change in this country (from cynicism to optimism at the very least) gravitate to Obama is because his candidacy suggests that we all hold a stake in change and all have the power to make change. Obama is not just running on a ticket of policy change, but on change in the process. He is running on the belief that regular Americans should not feel voiceless and excluded from democracy – elbowed out by powerful corporations or by Washington insiders.

One of the reasons the priesthood in the desert was embraced by the Israelites is that the ordinary people felt included in this radical new way of worshiping One God. The clothing of the priests assured them that the men in power were getting very little for themselves (mostly a lot of sweat, ashes and ram’s blood) and that the people as a whole were getting a lot. Tzimtzum may just be the only way to make lasting change. A person in power can fall, but a movement with a wide base can outlast the individual – even if the individual enjoys celebrity status.

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Big News!

We caught a link today from the Union for Reform Judaism's Shabbat Blog, which recommended us as one of three sites that expound upon the weekly Torah portion. They also included their own Reform Voices of Torah along with writer Stone Goodman, who produces topical prose and poetry.

Good look, URJ. And thanks to all the writers for producing such quality content week after week. You impress me anew every time. Onward and upward!

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Mishpatim: The Laws of Love

In the weeks before Valentine’s Day (I know, I know -- St. Valentine, not a Jew) and in contemplating my upcoming engagement, I’ve been thinking more and more about relationships, about love, and rules we follow for how we treat each other. Did you know that there is an increase in domestic violence on Super Bowl Sunday?

According to a study done by Indiana University, an average of 244 additional cases of domestic violence occur on Super Sunday. Even at times when the emphasis should be on love, people revert to the raw emotion of anger, and its spawn, violence. Throughout this Parsha I read words traditionally translated as referring to violence, here offered as guidance when someone wrongs you and how to get even. We find the often quoted “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot, a burn for a burn, a wound for a wound, a bruise for a bruise.” (Exodus 21:24-25). We also see continual references to women as property, and even wives are only promised “sustenance," "clothing," and "marital relations." I won’t be one to argue with these three necessities, but what about "respect," "safety," and "honesty"? Perhaps I’m reading the words of the Parsha too closely, but perhaps we should all rethink what sustenance really means -- don’t we need love to survive?

Also woven throughout Mishpatim -- just like life’s hardships -- are continual references and illusions to how to conduct respectful and loving relationships.

Unfortunately, there are no set-in-stone rules for love, and certainly not as many as the ordinances set out in Parsha Mishpatim. In this Parsha you read laws spanning agriculture, theft, carnal indiscretions, and holidays. But G-d also sets forth rules similar to guidelines for healthy relationships. Partners should learn:

• Give and take
  “If you take your neighbor's garment as security, until sunset you shall return it to him” (Ex. 22:25)
• Empathy
  “And you shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, since you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Ex. 23:9)
• Loyalty
  “You shall not prostrate yourself before their gods, and you shall not worship them, and you shall not follow their practices.” (Ex. 23:24)

Maybe I’m consumed by the fires of love right now, but the last portion of Mishpatim (in which Moses ascends Mount Sinai and interacts with G-d), sounds strangely familiar to my own experiences with mortal love, in that sometimes reality is clouded, and love is brilliant and consuming:

“And Moses went up to the mountain, and the cloud covered the mountain. And the glory of the Lord rested on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days, and He called to Moses on the seventh day from within the cloud. And the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a consuming fire atop the mountain, before the eyes of the children of Israel. And Moses came within the cloud, and he went up to the mountain, and Moses was upon the mountain forty days and forty nights.” (Ex. 24:15-18)

So in the spirit of the Super Bowl, Valentine’s Day, and G-d’s ordinances, love each other by following the rules of fairness and honesty, and know that it’s okay to become consumed by love. Good luck and ... play ball!

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