Balak: Ma Tovu at Camp Judaea

How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!
And I, with Your great loving-kindness, shall enter Your House; I shall prostrate myself toward Your Holy Temple in the fear of You.
O Lord, I love the dwelling of Your house and the place of the residence of Your glory.
Come, let us prostrate ourselves and bow; let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker.
But, as for me, may my prayer to You, O Lord, be in an acceptable time. O God, with Your abundant kindness, answer me with the truth of Your salvation. (Num. 24:5)

What else could you possibly choose to discuss in this week’s Parsha, Balak, except for this curveball of all curveballs in the Torah? Balaam is sent by Balak to curse the people of Israel, but is overcome by the beauty he finds at the end of his journey, and his blessing, the “Ma Tovu,” is recited. Whenever I sing “Ma Tovu,” I close my eyes and try to imagine the beauty that this man must have seen that caused him to betray Balak. I would then open my eyes and find that beauty: the lake at Camp Judaea, my childhood summertime home.

I went to Camp Judaea from 1993 to 1998 as a camper, and returned as staff the summer after graduating high school in 2002. Since Camp Judaea is one of five junior camps Young Judaea (the Zionist Youth Movement of America) sponsors throughout the country, the camp isn’t affiliated with any religious movement of Judaism in particular. However, Camp Judaea tends to resemble the Conservative movement in many of its practices, including maintaining a kosher dining facility, observing Shabbat, and holding minyan services every morning.

Services are held in a roofed, open-air structure with benches in a semi-circle surrounding the Bima, all of which facing our lake. We would open every morning service with “Ma Tovu.” I would always close my eyes upon the beginning of the prayer. I noticed my wet feet. The morning dew had collected during the trek from the cabins to flag pole to services, and it was more than noticeable. My stomach would grumble. There was at least an hour between when I wake and when I eat at camp, and my stomach was always at the midpoint of this period and letting me know about it. I'd listen to the ambient sounds around me: other campers singing, feet shuffling across rocks, birds singing their morning songs - all of these sounds flooded my auditory landscape. I would open my eyes and look out on the sun's reflections skipping across the lake, signaling the beginning of another wonderful summer day in the Appalachian mountains of North Carolina.

This Shabbat, I will not be in services to hear this Parsha read. I’ll be with 30 of my friends, tubing down the Potomac River in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. I can think of no better way to recall my camp days than to be in nature, on a body of water. To me, that is truly “Ma Tovu.”

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Soul Shower: Cleansing Yourself after Touching Death (Hukkat)

“Whoever touches the corpse of a human soul which dies, and he does not cleanse himself … that soul shall be cut off from Israel.” (Num. 19:13)

Death is not unnatural, or negative, or removed. For some of us, it’s closer than others. It is a constant shadow to a sunny day. Death is in fact, an integral part - a stark reminder - of life, and can be the impetus for moving the important aspects of life to the forefront of your existence. Is it contradictory to command a “ritually clean person,” one without blemishes, innocent to the wrenching sorrow of loss, to deal directly with death and then have them be considered unclean, set apart, quarantined, for seven days? Nope. How could you have understood the black stain of heartache without first experiencing it?

Maybe the lesson that G-d is trying to impart in this week’s Parsha, Chukkat, is that after facing death we have to cleanse ourselves and relinquish our reluctance to move on. We have to live. We have to accept death as a facet of life and pledge to ourselves to live life harder. With more passion.

It is so important to cleanse yourself after touching the darkest depths. Not just the death of someone or something that you love, but the contemplation that there is nothing left for you to live for. My roommate told me that true meditation is to breathe in the good and the bad around you — all of the stressful, painful things that your coworker said to you, your Facebook crush didn’t say, or your mind is screaming at you. This way when you breathe out, you’re putting positive energy back into the world. So if air can cleanse your mind, maybe water can cleanse your soul.

In Chukkat, God commands anyone that has touched a dead human soul to become clean by sprinkling water on themselves. You can take a painful experience, like death, and cleanse yourself to live a more positive life. Think about all those times you stood out in the summer rain just to get soaked. Maybe your soul just needed washing. Maybe you weren’t breathing, and instead holding your breath. Waiting for the bad part to be over instead of reveling in the intense experience of grief and the astonishing outpouring of comfort from those around you. Maybe you were holding your breath to get through the stench of pain because yes, sometimes life stinks. Sometimes all you have to eat is “rotten bread,” but then maybe you start getting bitten by venomous snakes and you realize, hey that bread wasn’t such a big deal.

The people spoke against God and against Moses:

"Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in this desert, for there is no bread and no water, and we are disgusted with this rotten bread." The Lord sent against the people the venomous snakes, and they bit the people, and many people of Israel died. The people came to Moses and said, "We have sinned, for we have spoken against the Lord and against you. Pray to the Lord that He remove the snakes from us." So Moses prayed on behalf of the people. (Num. 21:5-7)

A friend of mine recently broke up with his long-time girlfriend, and in an intense moment of despair told me that it actually made him realize how many other people had gone through so many terrible things in their lives and he had never been able to understand before just how terrible they were. And that he was sorry. Because unfortunately, loss can be so many things. It is not just the death of your mother. It can be the death of a relationship, of an ideal, of hope. And you realize at that point, so alone in a crowded room, that things weren’t so bad before. That no one really cares if you made a B+ in physics. But like my sister told me after our mother died - the perspective that we earned isn’t anything she would wish on anyone else. And I wouldn’t. But I do think it’s important to find the positive in an unimaginable negative.

“Blessings that your own heartbreaks open your heart to still greater compassion.”

--Rabbi Arthur Waskow

My dance teacher told us once that we all hold our breath much more than we realize. Stop and think about it. Are you waiting to get to the other side? To figure out what you want to do with your life? How about the scenery along the way? And the company? Maybe you’ll get frustrated and hit a rock, and maybe in the midst of your anger, a miracle might just happen. Because friends are exactly that. I bet your phone will ring just when you’re getting down. And someone will say - though maybe not in so many words - “Hey, I love you. Let’s live life”.

Without accepting that love, those helping hands from the community, without cleansing oneself from the wallowing in despair, that soul “shall be cut off.”

The Israelites “circle the land of Edom, and … became disheartened because of the way.” (Num. 21:4) The circle is so significant. It is the process. They are so obsessed with achieving an unknown end that they cannot accept the journey for what it is. Some of them won’t make it any farther than the journey. Life is hardship and struggle punctuated by surprising happiness and joy. How often are we, as young professionals, caught up in the angst of a generation that demands instant satisfaction? Then suddenly, something earth shattering happens, your cell phone rings and your life changes in an instant. A deep breath in and a flash of fast-forwarded images. Death, or whatever the loss may be, puts life into perspective.

“And I find myself in a fleeting moment traveling through far and wide to the great big open, things are coming into focus, things are coming into focus.”

--Heartless Bastards

Why I Feel Guilty About My Mom's Labor Pains

In an early episode of The Cosby Show, a young Cliff Huxtable cautions the rebellious slacker that was teenage Theo, “I brought you into this world, I’ll take you out of it.” None of us are strangers to the guilt of having parents who decided to make our existence possible. We are, in all fairness, a piece of them, their idea, their decision (well, maybe not always, people get lazy ‘bout birth control sometimes). The question then begs to be asked, how far should this indebtedness extend? Should we preoccupy ourselves with doing them proud and making our lives worthwhile to prove that we weren’t some big ole mistake and waste of reproduction?

At this stage, when we are adequately prepared to fund and take responsibility for life decisions, there is a tremendous amount of ambivalence on the subject of doing good by the ‘rents. There is the question of whether their ideas for you and the foundation upon which your morals were implanted and guided were the ideal for your needs. Moses lays the guilt on thick in Numbers 16:9, cautioning the deviants of what they owe to their God:

Is it but a small thing unto you that God of Israel has separated you from the congregation of Israel to bring you near to Himself, to do the service of the tabernacle of the LORD, and to stand before the Congregation to minister unto them?

This is not to say we must take for granted or regret our - oftentimes unbelievably privileged - upbringing, but as someone whose teenage years were stifled by the din of suburbia, well, let’s just say it became necessary to differentiate myself earlier on than most.

Controversial as it might be, I could genuinely see where Korah was coming from. He’d been led out of slavery and destruction by Moses, yes, but that’s not always reason enough to blindly follow the leader through the desert to a theoretical - but not tangible - land of milk and honey. My parents delineated a path - through good grades, good behavior, good manners, and eventually a good college - that would supposedly lead to my success, happiness and satisfaction. This equation was not supposed to be questioned, but rather followed without suspicion or deviation.

Similarly, Moses depends on God for guidance and his followers are meant to follow him as a messenger without question or original thought. And when they had ideas of their own, they were quickly shot down and punished. Furthermore - like on that episode of the Cosby show where the Huxtables play a faux drinking game to teach Vanessa a lesson about partying too hard - they are meant to endure public and premeditated tests of their will and individual decision making.

There is a considerable amount of irresponsible rebellion in pimply teenage years in order to distinguish oneself from parents. Korah, at first, was sloppy and a bit of a loose cannon (well, if they HAD cannons in Numbers). But the first inclination to dissent from your parents will give them cause to teach you an easy lesson. Rebelling by sneaking out at night to a 24-hour diner (the only fixture open that late in the suburbs of crickets) for instance, is not a good way to express your individuality and need for free will - not that I would know. It’s like asking your parents to give you a lecture and a prompt punishment.

Depart, I pray you, from the tents of these wicked men, and touch nothing of theirs, lest ye be swept away in all their sins. (Num. 16:26)

Correcting rebellion can sometimes quash the capacity for individual behavior and life lessons, learned on one’s own.

Beyond questioning the authority of the people to whom your life is owed- not that I’m campaigning for any such thing- is the importance of questioning political power. I would be remiss if I did not address this passage in terms of asking for answers and accountability from a particularly disastrous administration. Because we are privileged, and American, and fortunate enough to live in a Democratic society (read: being led out of the desert) is no reason not to demand responsibility, reasoning, and a conscience (for God’s sake). We shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds, and I often pause to respect the freedoms I am afforded, but, as my ACLU card reminds me, dissent is patriotic. As an activist, feminist, and other “-ists,” it is important for me to enjoy the right to demonstrate without fear that the ground will gobble me up, like it did Korah. I’ve faced down barricades and riot cops, and I certainly wouldn’t trade those for the harsh hand of pharaoh, but the inability to express oneself and question power is as stifling as parched as my throat in the desert.

Sh'lah L'kha: That little voice in the back of your head.

Picture this: you’re out drinking with your friends, just having a great time. You’re not wasted yet - just happy, enjoying a nice buzz while finishing off a drink. The server comes around to see if everybody wants another round and now you have a decision to make. Of course everybody’s got work the next day, but having such a good time, you all decide not to call it a night just yet. Then you hear that faintest of voices in the back of your head:

“You know exactly what is going to happen if you have that next drink - your ass is gonna pull itself into work with a crazy hangover, cause this won’t be the last one.”

Of course you ignore it, because you’re out with your boys, having a grand old time. Inevitably, too many beers later, you find yourself waking up to a jarring alarm, nursing a splitting headache, stomach churning, body aching, and you think to yourself, “I swear, I’m NEVER going to do that again, and this time I really mean it.”

It’s in human nature to forget mistakes of the past and fall into the same patterns and habits time and time again. The Jewish people do just this again in Parsha Sh'lah L'kha. Right as the Jews reach the Promised Land, God tells Moses to appoint one scout from each tribe to go on ahead and get the lowdown on how things are looking in the new country. Part of what happens is that Moses gives one of them a new name of Joshua, appointing him a kind of lieutenant because he knows Joshua will eventually be the one to take care of business. Moses wants the scouts to find out EVERYTHING about the new land: how hard it looks to get in there, what kind of stuff grows there, how the farming looks etc .

The scouts find some tough times lie ahead - or at least what they perceive to be tough times. They find heavily fortified cities that look (to some of them) to be as impenetrable as CD wrappers. Sometimes you just don’t buy the CD because opening it is going to be such a damn pain - that’s how these dudes felt. One of the other things they do when they’re out scouting is to bring back some fruits to show everyone what grows there, and they come back with a cluster of grapes, figs, and pomegranates. Nowadays in America, it’d probably be easier to come back with some grape fruit snacks, Fig Newtons, and Pom Juice, but if you rolled up in Eretz Yisrael, you could probably grab all those goodies just as easily today.

Then the scouts come back to Moses, Aaron, and all the other Jews to report on what they saw. Unfortunately, all but two of the scouts start talking some major smack about what is going on in Canaan. They tell everyone that the land is awesome, truly flowing with milk and honey, filling everyone with that feeling kind of like when you see the Vegas skyline on the horizon. But then they smack all those dreams down, telling everyone that the land is inhabited by actual giants. Imagine someone telling you that you’re supposed to be moving into a place where giants live; it might be just a little bit intimidating. One of the scouts tells Moses that it ain’t no thang and that they’ll be able to overcome any obstacle, because they’ve got God in their back court, but most of the scouts just start bitching about how awful and impossible it would be to go in there.

After hearing this, the people start bitching too, even asking, “Why couldn’t God have just let us DIE in the desert instead of make our sorry asses come all this way to get killed by frickin' giants” Remember that killer hangover from before? Ever had a hangover so bad you totally wished God would just kill you then? That’s how the Jews were feeling at the time. What the Jews didn’t realize though was that they were slipping back into that old habit of not having faith in God. They truly thought that God couldn’t provide for them the land he promised, even though he showed them miracle after miracle. They doubted the upcoming miracle that would give them the Promised Land and in doing so doomed themselves to having to wait a generation before they could go in. Having just passed the 40^th anniversary of the Six-Day War, it’s interesting to me that even in biblical times the Jews were going to have to overcome incredible military odds to have a home in Israel; these days it doesn’t seem like much has changed.

All the sorrow could have been avoided though if they’d just shown a little faith and believed that God was gonna take care of business. If they’d heard the little voice in the back of their heads that said, “Don’t slip back into that same old pattern,” they wouldn't have had to wait for it. Just like if you listen to that little voice while you’re drinking, you won’t have to wait for the hangover to pass.

-- Written by "The Curly Jew"*

*Posted with permission by Dr. Dreidel

Great - And Not-so-Great - Decisions (Sh'lah L'kha)

I’m sitting in a Bank of America, waiting for a specialized banking assistant (how mighty are the names we give ourselves these days), when I get a text message from a friend:

I’m officially a homeowner. Bid accepted.

G-d damn, a homeowner? I still live at with my parents. A kid nearby wanders over, and grabs my pants leg. Hello, there. I used to be your age once.

It’s now two years since college graduation, and partaking in a Jewish tradition, I moved back to my parents’ house. Just for two months, I promise. I have three weddings this summer, plus the one this past spring; we’re getting married left and right. They say graduation is the big leap, but I disagree. We just move into temporary jobs or positions: graduate school, consultant work (whatever that means), English teaching positions in foreign countries. The big leaps are happening now: house purchasing or building, buying cars, making job decisions that affect career paths, and - oh, yes - the marriages. Those are big decisions, but those aren’t the biggest ones facing us right now.

This week’s Parsha is all about big decisions. The Israelites come to Canaan, scout it and report that it is inhabited by giants who live in fortified villages. The Israelites suffer a moment of weakness (Giants in fortresses. I mean if G-d told me I could beat MJ one-on-one, I’d give him a look) lose faith in themselves, and opt not to fight, despite the fact that God has told them they will win. All because of some big giants.

For people like us, we’re the Hebrews of that age: staring in the face of these big decisions. It’s funny then that we spend most of our time staring at either a computer or a TV screen. It’s 48 inches, and you can count the pores on Jessica Alba’s face in Sin City. Totally worth it.

A good part of our lives is eaten up in the commute, precious hours devoured in the office, and we arrive home too exhausted to do anything other than slum it on the couch. We’re too occupied with the day-to-day to pay attention to even the week-to-week. Except weddings, I have those planned out … and the bachelor parties.

It’s not that there aren’t big things on our radars. We do pick up the occasional magazine displaying ways to put our pension in good shape for when we retire. G-d, that seems far away. Some we take care of, some we don’t. Some changes we make in our daily lives make us feel like we are wielding great control over it. Not only are these tomatoes organic, but grown locally. But the biggest decisions are the ones that we don’t even get a chance to really consider. Like, are we spending enough time with our friends? Do we get to get away enough?

Recently, I went on a trip to Italy with my brother (younger) and sister (older). I went despite worries about my ability to afford it (nope) and the time it would take (can’t afford that either), because my mother insisted that we three wouldn’t ever be able to do this again. And while we got along with varying degrees of success (Colin, I swear if you drag us to another museum, I will pour this wonderful bottle of Chianti on your white pants), I’m glad I went, because, my mom (gasp! Is he really saying it?) was right - who knows if I’ll be ever again be able to take off 10 days straight at the same time as my brother and sister. Those moments are ones we sacrifice like little lambs, in the hopes of putting ourselves in a better position 20 years down the road.

I think we know our big decisions. I think we know when we’re not making the extra effort to remain connected to our own self. It’s like a big giant staring us in the face. We know what will make us happy, but we fear the consequences, despite how good it feels to spend the weekend with a good friend, or to take off an evening to catch up with a good book. And unlike the giants that Israelites will eventually beat 40 years down the road (G-d’s punishment to the Israelites for not believing in him), our giants will continue to come back, again and again, and it will be our job to slay them then as we hopefully will do now.

B’haalot'kha: Miles Davis in the Desert

Imagine being alive to see the greats of the jazz era hone their craft. John Coltrane. Charlie Parker. Miles Davis. Three legends of not only jazz music, but of any genre of music in modern history. When these three jazz icons - or any of their peers - got on stage or a street corner to wail on their instruments, people gathered to listen and be taken to a higher place. God forsees these jazz-induced orgasmic experiences in this week’s Parsha, B’ha’alotkha.

In the portion, God commands Moses:

Make two silver trumpets for calling the community... you shall blow the trumpet and you will be remembered before God, and you will be delivered from your enemies. On that day of rejoicing and in your festive season and at the beginning of your months, you shall blow the trumpets. (Num. 10:1-10)

I find it important to point out that these call horns were “silver trumpets” and not the shofarim used later in the Torah, and even today. The shofar, the horn of a ram, did not and does not compare to the trumpet in terms of tune and pitch, but cannot be rivaled in raw power. The shofar, after all, made the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. But power was not what the Israelites had in the desert - they were weak, and complained constantly.

This whole Parsha is about Moses, the greatest leader in our people’s history, doubting his own leadership skills due to his people’s constant complaints. The Israelites needed finesse, entertainment. The shofar would have only been another reason to whine, due to its lack of objective beauty, visually and aurally. The silver trumpet was given to the people to ease their superficial suffering. The generations to follow had the power to take hold of the shofar.

I have experience with both the shofar and the trumpet. When my parents went to Israel for the first time, when I was 8 years old, they returned 10 days later, bearing gifts. The present I revered most was a small, black shofar my father had bought for me in Jerusalem. I immediately began to blow, day and night, in preparation for the New Year. The sound and smell both marked where in the house and I had been and where I was headed.

That year’s High Holiday services marked a change. After years of masterful shofar blowing by one of The Watering Hole’s own fathers, our new Rabbi coordinated a shofar choir of both young and old to really bring the house down. I loved blowing the shofar on the High Holidays. It was the main event, and I was a co-star. I did so until I was 13, when being up on the bima to blow shofar instantly became “uncool.” I did pick it up again in college. My senior year, I even blew the shofar in both the Reform and Conservative service: my first double-header.

All this shofar blowing history is important, but the key to the story is that I was an awful shofar blower, and it didn’t matter. Those in attendance revered me because I had taken on the sheer power of the shofar.

The trumpet is a different story. I always loved jazz music, but didn’t know much about it until I took History of Jazz my first semester at UNC. This class, ultimately my favorite in college, opened my eyes to an incredibly rich history of ground-breaking musicians and performances. The best and most challenging part of this class was recognizing solos from famous jazz pieces both by instrument and musician with no melodic context. I would listen to these provided solos over and over on my headphones in my dorm until I knew every note. These solos would take me to another place, make me forget about all the other stresses of being a first-year college student. I would hide my procrastination by studying jazz.

My love of jazz has not wavered in the five years since I took that class. Living four blocks from the center of the DC jazz district doesn’t hurt. The most tangible tool I learned in that class and use today is the ability to assess skill on the trumpet, among other jazz instruments. Within moments, I can tell if a musician is going to wow or bore me with strong accuracy. God giving the people silver trumpets was a stop-gap used to ease the constant complaining of the people of Israel, but could easily become a punishment, depending on the trumpeter. But try blowing a shofar on a busy urban street - it's guaranteed to be a show-stopper.

KB24 and the Kosher Connection (B'haalot'kha)

During the last few days, Los Angeles Laker and best-player-in-the-L (LeBron disagrees) Kobe Bryant found himself so unhappy with Laker management that he demanded a trade. Then he didn't. Then he did for real. Then again, maybe they can work something out. In short, KB24 was feeling a little Jewish.

Wait, what?

How does Kobe flip-flopping harder than John Kerry McCain make him an honorary Member of the Tribe? Simple: He had a Moses moment. One need only browse this week's Parsha, B'haalot'kha, to see how.

As the Israelities march from Sinai to Kadesh, they begin to complain at Kibroth-Hattaavah. Bemoaning the all-manna, all-the-time diet God provides to insure the Chosen People don't become malnourished ones, the peanut gallery clamors for the meat, fish, cucumbers - anything, all of which they had while living in Egypt, conveniently forgetting the harshness of that whole slavery deal. (Num. 11:4-6)

This, of course, incurs the wrath of the G-O-D, which combines with the burden of leading a people dissatisfied by a situation that while not ideal, frequently offers moments of transcendence and forces Moses to challenge the management:

And Moses said to the Lord, "Why have You dealt ill with Your servant, and why have I not enjoyed Your favor, that You have laid the burden of all this people upon me? Did I conceive all this people, did I bear them, that You should say to me, 'Carry them in your bosom as a nurse carries an infant,' to the land that You have promised on oath to their fathers? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people, when they whine before me and say, 'Give us meat to eat!' I cannot carry all this people by myself, for it is too much for me. If You would deal thus with me, kill me rather, I beg You, and let me see no more of my wretchedness!" (11:10-15)

So Moses (Kobe) is starting to crack under the pressures of leading a people (the Lakers) to the Promised Land (an NBA Championship) and feeling like God (Jerry Buss/Mitch Kupchak) isn't giving him the resources (good teammates) to make this all possible. While it remains to be seen how things develop for our basketball-playing friend, B'haalot'kha reveals God first spread Moses' burden upon 70 elders (11:16) before providing a slew of quail outside the borders of the camp, for people to collect and eat as they wish. (11:31) But the meat was tainted, and plague struck anyone to imbibe. (11:33)

The Biblical Recommendation

The Lakers should assuage as many of Kobe's people as they can to ease the pressure he's feeling, and then trade him for spare parts to teach their fans a lesson. One should note, however, it took 40 years for God to get the Jews to the Promised Land ...

Naso: A Benediction in Transition

Y'varech'cha Adonai v'yishm'recha
Ya'eir Adonai panav eleicha vi'huneka
Yisa Adonai panav elecha v'yaseim l'cha shalom

May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious unto you.
May the Lord lift his countenance upon you and give you peace.

(Num. 6:24-26)

When I look back at my childhood, I have two distinct memories of the Priestly Benediction, the prayer given by God to Moses and Aaron in this week’s Parsha, Naso. The first such memory isn’t a specific instant, but a collective memory of being blessed by my parents every Friday night at the Shabbat dinner table prior to our meal. As the weekly ritual of my parents fighting over who would get the honor of blessing either my sister or I unfolded, I would watch in awe - I realized how seriously my parents took this blessing. As I grew older I realized its importance. It wasn’t just any blessing or prayer; it was an inheritance.

By my pubescence, the power and meaning of the Priestly Benediction became clear. It was the act of passing God and God’s teachings unto the next generation. Allowing our children to be engulfed and protected by God’s will, which brings me to a second memory: my Bar Mitzvah. I had watched each week as my classmates were called to the Torah to become B’nei Mitzvot, each being blessed with the Priestly Benediction by our Rabbi, which seemed common place at the time. Just another part of the Bar Mitzvah service, on par with the gift-giving arms of the synagogue family trudging up to the bima for their weekly 15 seconds or 15 minutes of fame, depending upon who was bestowing the gift that week.

Sept. 13, 1997 was my turn to shine. I was becoming a man. My family and friends had gathered, and I was a nervous wreck. As I woke on that Saturday morning, I felt all the knowledge of my Bar Mitzvah studies trying to escape from my subconscious. But once I got to the synagogue, it was game time, and I had my game face on. This was surely an intimidating sight, coming from a slightly overweight 13-year-old boy with a bowl haircut. The service ran smoothly, and I could see the pride gleaming in my parents’ eyes. Then it was time for the Priestly Benediction.

The Rabbi placed his hand over my head, hovering six inches above. There was a perceived power due to his differing hand placement from that of my parents, who had firmly and lovingly placed their hands on my head each week at the Shabbat dinner table. I felt as if electricity ran through my Rabbi’s hand, through the air and into my head. I knew at that moment that the Priestly Benediction was not only an inheritance from parent to child, but also one from the entire Jewish people to its newest full member. I felt the weight of 6,000 years of tradition bearing down on me vicariously through my Rabbi's outstretched hand. At that moment, I accepted the responsibility of carrying on that tradition by accepting the blessing.

Fast-forwarding to the present, almost a decade since my Bar Mitzvah, the priestly benediction has a different application in my life. Although I feel the power of God it prescribes every day, I no longer hear it said - and definitely not toward me - on a regular basis. I no longer have weekly Friday night dinner with my immediate family. My adopted DC family of 20-somethings is a suitable replacement, but no blessing for children is recited. I no longer attend regular Saturday morning services; a consistent hangover has replaced a few hours of Shabbat prayer. The opportunity to see a Rabbi greet a Bar Mitzvah into Jewish adulthood with the Benediction is a distant memory, but also approaches beyond the horizon. As I live through the transition from childhood to parenthood, the Priestly Benediction conjures great memories of my youth, and hopefully will do the same for my children.

Wayward Wives, Benedictions and Animal Offerings (Naso)

The Parsha of Naso, like many other excerpts of our holy book, is fraught with scandal. On its surface, Naso seems like a serene (READ: boring) account of the preparations required to construct the Tabernacle. But buried beneath all the details, we have adulteresses, ascetics, and the ever-present animal sacrifice.

The Parsha starts off hum-drum enough, with Hashem asking Moshe to count all of the members of the tribe of Levi who will be helping to transport the Ohel Mo’ed (the portable tabernacle) across the desert. The count, mind you, only included males between 30 and 50 years old. As with so many of our Parshiot, the Torah has no qulam with leaving females, children, and the elderly unmentioned. We’ll leave that discussion for another time – there's a lot of ground to cover.

Without warning, but purportedly linked to the preparations for building the tabernacle, the Torah then decrees that Moshe should “send out of the camp all who are afflicted with tzaraat, who are contaminated by bodily discharge, and those contaminated by contact with the dead” (Num. 5:2) until they are cleansed of their ritual impurity. Ok, great - now that we’ve gotten rid of the oozers and the necrophiliacs, we can get down to business.

But then, oh but then - and also without transition - the Torah goes on to define the “Wayward Wife” and how to deal with her. The sotah is a woman accused of adultery. The Torah is generally fair about giving accused criminals a fair trial (remember that it takes three eye witnesses in order for the Beit Din, a Jewish court of law, to convict someone of first-degree murder). In this case, the woman must be publicly accused by her suspicious husband (a wonderful experience, I’m sure), and then must be seen cavorting with the other man by a third party.

What follows, however, can only be described as a witch-hunt, desert-style. The poor schmuck whose wife might have been around the block a few times (hey, we’re not making judgments …yet) has to take her to the Cohen with a meal offering of plain barley (after all, even Cohens have to eat). The Cohen then takes a clay jug full of holy water and shakes it up with a handful of dirt off the Temple floor. The accused woman signs an oath, with Hashem as her witness, that says if no man has lain with her, she will be able to drink this bitter concoction with no physical repercussions. On the other hand, if she has been a little loose, she swears that after she drinks the water, her belly will swell and her thighs will - get this - rupture. The signed parchment is added to the jug and swirled around a couple of times so that the ink dissolves.

I know Arthur Miller’s witches weren’t real, even though they floated. But come on; dirt, parchment, and dissolved ink (origin unknown) would make my belly swell for sure.

Now we can get going with building the Tabernacle, right? Wrong.

First, the Torah teaches us about Nazirs. Nazirs are people who, out of a desire to be closer to Hashem, take a vow of nezirut (abstinence) from fun stuff like drinking alcohol, touching dead bodies, and cutting their hair. Nazirs can abstain for a specific amount of time or their whole lives. At the end of the period of nezirut, they are instructed to make a triple animal sacrifice – a male lamb, a female lamb, and a ram. Lucky day for those Cohens.

The Parsha ends on a high note, with Hashem teaching the Cohens the Priestly Blessing. We still use the Priestly Blessing today in the Amidah (basic building block of any synagogue service), on Yom Kippur, and on Erev Shabbat. It’s a beautiful little ditty:

“May Hashem bless you and keep you. May Hashem’s face shine upon you and give you grace. May Hashem lift up his face to you and give you peace.” (Num. 6:24-26)

Finally, the Torah recounts each tribal gift to the building of the Tabernacle (the world’s first Capital Campaign!). While each gift is identical, the Torah itemizes each one in entirety to give all twelve tribes their due. The gifts are so generous that it is worth mentioning here. Go ahead, be proud.

“This was the dedication of the altar, in the day when it was anointed, by the princes of Israel: 12 dishes of silver, 12 silver bowls, 12 spoons of gold ... All the silver vessels weighed 2,400 shekels ... All the gold of the spoons was a 120 shekels. All the oxen for the burnt offerings were twelve bullocks, the rams twelve, the yearling lambs 12, with their meal offering. The kids of the goats for sin offerings 12. And all the oxen for the sacrifice of the peace offerings were 24 bullocks, the rams 60, the he-goats 60, the yearling lambs 60.” (Num. 7:84-87)

And now, for the moment we’ve all been waiting for:

"And when Moses would go into the Tent of Meeting to speak with Him, then he heard the voice speaking to him from off the covering that was upon the Ark of Testimony, from between the two cherubim; and it spoke to him." (Num. 7:89)

After all that, without a doubt, one of the greatest moments in Jewish history. If it weren’t for the guidance Moshe received in that Tabernacle, we wouldn’t be here today to tell the story.
Chag Shavuot Sameach.

Prayer Mosaic (Naso)

Welcome to The Watering Hole's official launch. Glad to have you with us. We intended to start at the beginning of Numbers, but someone (me) dropped the ball, and we're kicking things off with the book's second portion, Naso. My poem (below) focuses on the identical offerings given by the 12 chieftans of Israel prior to the first use of the Tabernacle in the wilderness (Num 7:1-89). Today's other commentaries will explore the priestly blessing (Num 6:22-27, Tar Heeb) and provide a broad overview of the Torah's longest portion (Num 4:21-7:89, Casseopia). Enjoy it, kids.

I face East, and pray;
6,000 years of tradition
escaping on autopilot
but uttered anew every time
as these fumbled phrases
are finding fresh pauses
and the focus is fading
from coordinated community baselines
to the syncopated search for harmonies
that my mind strives to wind
into a heartsong

that I've been unable to express.

We'll stand and sit together
united by every letter
identical measures masking individual aims;
no matching prayer the same -
passing through the vessel they change
until they couldn't be uttered
by any other wonder that God made.

Just like in Naso,
before the Hebrews could go
any further they needed to show
respect to the Tabernacle.
First, from Nahshon,
the incense would crackle:
10-shekel gold ladle burnt
bull, ram and lamb;
200 shekel silver
oil and flour rep land;
purfication goat;
then five more and five lambs,
two oxen, five rams
for well-being was planned;
11 chieftans followed,
offering it over and over and over again
'til God descended from heaven
and the portion comes to an end.

So I'm lost in my head
as I face east and pray,
traveling back to each of the days
when words wouldn't say
anything of substance
or just get in the way
at camp, at college,
at home or at shul;
those summer nights
by lake or by pool;
Subway Series, snow days
or kissed lips so cool.

And I find 6,000 years
always stays new.