The Humble Leadership of the Nesi'im

This week, in Parashat Vayakhel, the Israelites continue building the mishkan (the portable sanctuary they use in the wilderness). Famously, Moses asks the people to donate supplies and materials -- gold, silver, fabrics, oil, spices, wood, precious stones and more -- and they show up with such generous contributions that he then has to announce that they can stop giving!

This week, in Parashat Vayakhel, the Israelites continue building the mishkan (the portable sanctuary they use in the wilderness). Famously, Moses asks the people to donate supplies and materials -- gold, silver, fabrics, oil, spices, wood, precious stones and more -- and they show up with such generous contributions that he then has to announce that they can stop giving!

Meanwhile, tucked at the tail end of this section is a pair of short verses that focus specifically on the contributions of the nesi'im, the leaders of each tribe: "And the nesi'im brought precious stones for the ephod (apron) and for the choshen (breastpiece), and the spices and oil for lighting, for the anointing oil and for the aromatic incense" (Exodus 35:27-28).

The nesi'im, the tribal leaders, bring their gifts last of all... after "the whole community" and "everyone who was skilled in ability," after "men and women, all whose hearts moved them" and "all the skilled women." This is noted by the commentators. One midrash takes a jab at the leaders who contribute last, accusing them of having dragged their feet because they were upset that they hadn't been tapped to donate first; it notes that in this verse, the Hebrew word "nesi'im" appears in its shortest possible form (נְשִׂאִם), without any yods, as it is more commonly written (נְשִׂיאִים), seemingly to diminish the leaders who procrastinated in bringing their gifts because their egos got in the way. (Click here to read this midrash, from Bemidbar Rabbah 12:16, in full next to the biblical verse.)

Perhaps I've been shaped by so many years of working in a cooperative community, but my take on the gift of the nesi'im coming last is decidedly different. To me, it seems a great sign of the strength of their leadership that -- when the Israelites are asked to contribute -- the nesi'im initially hang back. It's almost as though they're thinking: "Let's see what the rest of the Israelites are able to do first, and we'll be sure to fill in the gaps at the end." In my reading of the text, the nesi'im understand that the goal of this particular donor campaign is 100% participation from the community. They take responsibility for the ultimate success of the project, and yet they are cautious not to overstep or overshadow others.

In my mind, the nesi'im are illustrating a beautiful form of leadership here, one that is inherently humble. Their style of letting others go first indicates great self-awareness... for such leaders must constantly pay attention to the dynamic contexts in which they operate and make strategic choices about when to step forward and when to step back, practicing tzimtzum (contracting, as God does in the Kabbalistic creation story, to free up space for others).

This is precisely the kind of leadership we've aimed to cultivate at Kavana over many years. Our goal has always been to empower every member of the Kavana community to forge their own individual Jewish path and to bring their unique gifts to share with others as we collectively build a vibrant spiritual community. But getting there requires building a culture of humble leadership.

I was thinking about this very notion last Saturday after our monthly Shabbat minyan. As we walked home, my daughter Mia asked me whether I ever worried that we wouldn't have a minyan (the minimum of 10 Jewish adults needed to constitute a prayer quorum). In my head, I quickly added up the number of people who had contributed to the leadership of that morning's service by bringing their unique gifts to share with the community: "donations" ranging from items for kiddush lunch to a thoughtful dvar torah, to davening or chanting skills... and I explained to her that just our "active donors" to the morning experience already added up to well over a minyan! This is an explicit goal for our cooperative community: that Kavana strives to create a broad array of opportunities for volunteerism, leadership, and active engagement, and also to spread the wealth of such roles broadly rather than rest on the shoulders of just a few leaders.

This principle also informs how the Kavana board functions; various board members regularly practice stepping forward and stepping back to make space for one another and ensure that all voices are heard in our collective work. It informs our staff culture as well, where Liz and Jasper, Maxine and Traci and I all regularly step forward into leadership and step back to make space for one another and for the many partners with whom we collaborate as we create programming and weave community.

Given all this, it's probably not surprising that one of the things that drew our Rabbinic Search Committee towards Rabbi Jay LeVine was a sense that he intuitively possesses this kind of humble and strong leadership. I couldn't be more thrilled that he will join Kavana's staff team next week (beginning next Tuesday, March 1st), to share his gifts with the Kavana community, and to work closely with all of you as you bring your gifts forward. Here, again, is a brief bio:

Rabbi Jay Asher LeVine is a life-long learner and seeker of wisdom and beauty. He is married to Rabbi Laura Rumpf and together they have a 14-month-old son, Ami (pronounced AH-mee). Rabbi Jay grew up the son of two music teachers in Willcox, Arizona, attended college at the University of Arizona where he earned dual degrees in Finance and Judaic Studies, and then entered rabbinical seminary at Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles. For the past six years, he has served as one of the rabbis at Temple Isaiah in Lafayette, CA. He has been trained in community organizing and mussar facilitation, and is currently a member of the Jewish Studio Project's Creative Facilitators Training, a Jewish art process promoting healing and belonging.

If you are interested in joining Rabbi Jay's "welcome wagon" over the coming months, please drop us a line; this could be a great opportunity for us to step forward into leadership by hosting a neighborhood welcome party, preparing a meal for his family, or sharing local recommendations or tickets, memberships, gift certificates, etc. to favorite Seattle spots!

Finally, this week, I encourage you to think about where you fit into the leadership schema that Parashat Vayakhel shows us with regard to the nesi'im. When do you tend to volunteer quickly, and when do you hang back to make space for others? If we all aim to be intentional about how we contribute to the greater whole, I have no doubt that together we will be capable of building a community of immense beauty.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

All that Glitters

As we continue to move through the Book of Shemot (Exodus) this week, we find ourselves smack in the middle of many Torah portions focused on the plans and construction details for the building of the Mishkan, the Israelites' portable Tabernacle. Parashat Ki Tissa contains some key details about the Mishkan: instructions for the copper laver, the anointing oil and incense, another mention of Betzalel and the other artisans, and the critical link between the Mishkan's construction and the creation of the world/Shabbat (see Exodus 30:17-31:17 to read up on any of this).

As we continue to move through the Book of Shemot (Exodus) this week, we find ourselves smack in the middle of many Torah portions focused on the plans and construction details for the building of the Mishkan, the Israelites' portable Tabernacle. Parashat Ki Tissa contains some key details about the Mishkan: instructions for the copper laver, the anointing oil and incense, another mention of Betzalel and the other artisans, and the critical link between the Mishkan's construction and the creation of the world/Shabbat (see Exodus 30:17-31:17 to read up on any of this).

But then, leaving off in the midst of this section about the Mishkan, the text veers off in a wildly different direction to tell the (in)famous story of egel ha-zahav, the Golden Calf. As that narrative begins, Moses is still up on top of Mount Sinai, where he's receiving the Torah from God, and down below, the Israelites have started to panic, wondering what has become of him. Exodus 32:2-4 picks up there:

Aaron said to them, “[You men,] take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” And all the people took off the gold rings that were in their ears and brought them to Aaron. This he took from them and cast in a mold, and made it into a molten calf. And they exclaimed, “This is your god," O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt!”

The story of the Golden Calf raises so many questions... it's really a juicy one for exploring themes of theology, idolatry, leadership, sin, punishment, forgiveness, and more! In addition, an astute reader might wonder: where did all the Israelites' gold come from? After all, the people are in the middle of the wilderness, and hadn't they just escaped from being enslaved in Egypt?! How could it be that they are moving through the desert wearing enough gold earrings to create a giant molded calf statue!?

In order to answer this one, we have to backtrack a few weeks to Parashat Bo where, in the midst of their rush to escape from Egypt, the Israelites had apparently paused from their dough preparation during the tenth plague in order to collect gold and other riches from their Egyptian neighbors:

The Israelites had done Moses’ bidding and borrowed from the Egyptians objects of silver and gold, and clothing. And Adonai had disposed the Egyptians favorably toward the people, and they let them have their request; thus they stripped the Egyptians. (Exodus 12:35-36)

These two short biblical verses are ripe with tension. Did the Israelites really intend to borrow the Egyptians' gold, or did they steal it from the Egyptians, or was it gifted to them freely? One popular rabbinic read is that the property the Israelites took from their neighbors on the way out of Egypt was essentially back-pay for time already worked... in a word, reparations.

Returning to this week's Torah portion, I believe the story of the Golden Calf is embedded inside the narrative about the construction of the Mishkan so readers like us can't help but see the stark contrast between the two building projects. The Mishkan represents creation, creativity, and order, whereas the Calf emerges from chaos and uncontrolled human fears and desires. Theologically, one construction project is commanded and sanctioned, whereas the other is directly prohibited. And, the building of the Mishkan is fundamentally about creating a vessel for holy space where God can dwell amidst the people (it's precisely the empty space within the structure that matters), whereas the Calf is about the object itself, which is part of its idolatry.

Both the Mishkan and the Calf are fashioned from a substantial amount of gold, the same raw material, procured in the same curious manner from the Egyptians upon the Israelites' departure from Egypt. (In the Mishkan, gold plates the inside and outside of the ark, forms the cherubim, the menorah, and more.) If we are to take the path of reading the Israelites' gold as originating from reparations due to our ancestors, the question before us becomes even sharper. We Jews -- both then, in ancient times, and now, in contemporary ones -- have experienced hardship and have also come into possession of material blessings. Parashat Ki Tissa asks us to consider: What will we choose to do with our gifts? How do we ensure that we are investing in holy enterprises and not idolatrous ones?

As we move closer to Passover, we will have more to say on the topic of reparations, and what we might learn from our own history of enslavement and material gain. For this week, though, I invite us all to consider how we might use our "gold" this week. Many Jews have the custom of giving tzedakah just before Shabbat, emptying their pockets of any coins that remain at the end of the week, in service of a higher sense of justice. That seems like a particularly appropriate mitzvah to take on with intention as we head towards the Shabbat of Ki Tissa. This week, our Torah portion reminds us that it is our obligation to use our resources for the best and holiest purposes we can.

Wishing us all a Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Navigating Risk in our Holy Pursuits External Inbox

In this week's Torah portion, Parashat Tetzaveh, we read the manufacturing instructions for Aaron's vestments. He is the first Kohen Gadol (High Priest), and his distinctive clothing contributes to the majesty and mystery of the role: there is to be a breastpiece, an ephod (like an apron), a robe, a fringed tunic, a headdress, and a sash. Everything is to be made of beautiful and colorful materials -- linen yarns and precious metals, gemstones and dyes -- from his head-piece down to the very bottom hem of his robe, where ornate golden bells and pomegranates will hang for adornment.

In this week's Torah portion, Parashat Tetzaveh, we read the manufacturing instructions for Aaron's vestments. He is the first Kohen Gadol (High Priest), and his distinctive clothing contributes to the majesty and mystery of the role: there is to be a breastpiece, an ephod (like an apron), a robe, a fringed tunic, a headdress, and a sash. Everything is to be made of beautiful and colorful materials -- linen yarns and precious metals, gemstones and dyes -- from his head-piece down to the very bottom hem of his robe, where ornate golden bells and pomegranates will hang for adornment.

Regarding the robe with the hem of bells and pomegranates, though, the instructions take on an ominous tone: "Aaron shall wear it while officiating, so that the sound of it is heard when he comes into the sanctuary before the Lord and when he goes out -- that he may not die" (Exodus 28:35). A similar caution accompanies the instructions around his linen breeches: "They shall be worn by Aaron and his sons when they enter the Tent of Meeting or when they approach the altar to officiate in the sanctuary, so that they do not incur punishment and die" (Exodus 28:43).

Both of these verses contain grave warnings... reminders that Aaron's holy business has a dangerous side to it. Come too close to fire, the text seems to say, and you might get burned. (For anyone who recalls the tragic tale of Aaron's sons Nadav and Avihu, which appears a bit later in the narrative, you know that these are not throwaway lines... this is precisely what happens to them.) For Aaron in Parashat Tetzaveh, however, there isn't much choice. With the threat of death looming out the corner of his eye, Aaron must push through whatever fear he might be feeling in order to perform his duties on behalf of the Israelites.

These lines drawing attention to the extreme danger of the Kohen Gadol's service reminded me of a New York Times article published last weekend, entitled "What Scares the World's Most Daring Olympians." Through interviews with some three dozen athletes, the report probes a wide range of fears -- "the fear of missing the Olympics, of regret, of disappointing family and friends, of losing control of where their story goes or how their career ends" -- but ends up honing in on the number one fear from across all of these athletes and extreme winter sports: the fear of injury or death. As the article explains, successful Olympic athletes must learn to acknowledge their fear, to analyze and understand it, to work with it, and to push past it. In the words of the report: "To reach the Olympics means not only having more talent than most others in the world, but also being more daring. It is taking risks, thoughtfully."

This theme -- of recognizing risk and fear, and moving forward (thoughtfully and purposefully) in spite of them -- feels incredibly relevant right now. As Omicron numbers drop, for example, we are faced daily with questions about how to best navigate risk as individuals, while state and federal governments similarly tussle over questions like mask mandates. One way or another, we're all fundamentally asking: how do we assess risk accurately so that we can move forward, even in the face of fear?

Yesterday, I heard Ruth Messinger, Global Ambassador of the American Jewish World Service, speak on the topic of Moral Courage, which takes this theme to the next level. She began by asking everyone to think of a time when they had acted with moral courage and to identify how that felt, and then to consider the converse -- a time when they had failed to act with moral courage -- and identify how that felt. She spoke with reverence about individuals who understood that, in making a statement or taking an action, they were risking a lot (in some cases, their lives!); however, they felt they had a moral imperative to do the right thing... and the examples she gave ranged from AJWS grantees who work for human rights in the face of oppressive regimes, to righteous heroes who saved Jews during the Shoah, to Liz Cheney who in recent weeks has attempted to speak truth to power inside the Republican party. Ruth Messinger urged us to highlight the stories of people who stick their necks out, so that they can serve as inspirations to us all.

Finally, next Tuesday will be the 14th day of Adar I, a special day called "Purim Katan." This minor holiday comes only in leap years, where -- one month before the actual celebration of Purim -- we have an opportunity to begin to think about the themes of Purim and hear advance echoes of the Megillah's story, a tale which is, at its core, about finding courage in the face of fear.

And so, with images swirling in my head -- of the Kohein Gadol's garments and snow-covered mountains, truth-tellers and courageous queens -- this is the core lesson I'm taking from Parashat Tetzaveh this week: The world is filled with extreme beauty, and also with risks and fear. Even if we aren't high priests or Olympic athletes, heroes or queens, each of us must determine for ourselves how to manage risk, befriend our fears, and move forward anyway... thoughtfully and carefully, perhaps, but with all the courage we can muster.

I encourage you to enter into the theme, and consider for yourself this week: What is my "holy work"? When have I had to conquer fear in order to achieve something I wanted to do? In what circumstances, and for what worthy causes, am I willing to risk a lot in order to stand up for what I believe in?

Wishing us all a week of courage and fortitude!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rachel

A Double Dose of Joy, Creativity, and Strengthening

Gosh, there's so much heaviness we could talk about this week. I've been distraught about the series of bomb threats at historically black colleges, and my brain is swirling with so many questions that have been stirred up around antisemitism this week (Maus, Whoopi Goldberg, graffiti, Tucker Carlson, etc.). If any of these topics don't ring a bell, I encourage you to search them online and read up -- there are many great articles and takes out there already!

Gosh, there's so much heaviness we could talk about this week. I've been distraught about the series of bomb threats at historically black colleges, and my brain is swirling with so many questions that have been stirred up around antisemitism this week (Maus, Whoopi Goldberg, graffiti, Tucker Carlson, etc.). If any of these topics don't ring a bell, I encourage you to search them online and read up -- there are many great articles and takes out there already! -- and you're always welcome to reach out to me directly if you want support in processing any of these topics that intersect with our Jewish values and identities.

Meanwhile, though, yesterday was Rosh Chodesh Adar, the beginning of a particularly lucky and happy month on the Jewish calendar, and that's where I'd like to focus today, highlighting a few particular aspects of this time:

1. This year, we will be fortunate enough to experience a double dose of Adar joy, since this is a Hebrew calendar leap year. Unlike the Gregorian calendar, which follows the sun -- with 365 days in most years and a 366th once every four years -- the Hebrew calendar is a lunar one. However, 12 lunar months does not provide enough days to keep Jewish time running in sync with the solar year and its cycles. In ancient times, the rabbis calculated that by adding an extra lunar month 7 times in every 19 years, they could keep these two calendar systems synced. Historically, the month of Nissan (when Pesach falls) was considered the first month, and the extra month got tacked on at the end of the year with a doubling of the twelfth month... thus, we get to celebrate the month of Adar twice this year, with Adar Rishon, first Adar, and Adar Sheni, second Adar. In leap years like this one, Purim falls in the second of the two months; however, the associated "simcha v'sasson" ("joy and gladness") extends throughout both of the two months of Adar!

2. The Torah readings for this week (Parashat Terumah) and the coming few weeks all focus on the creativity and craftsmanship that was required to construct the Mishkan, the holy space where the Israelites and God could meet up with one another, and all of its component parts and accoutrements. The Torah's materials list is incredible -- gold, silver, and copper; blue, purple and crimson yarns; fine linen and goats' hair; tanned ram skins, dolphin skins and acacia wood; oil and spices; precious stones and more(!) -- and the artistry must have ranged from weaving and intricate metal-work to woodwork and architectural building. Jumping off from Parashat Terumah, artist and song-writer Julie Geller writes: "Your art, your creation, your ideas - each is Divine. The skill we can learn to cultivate is allowing the natural Divinity of our creative work to flow through us." Of course, there's no one right way to engage in creative work. Last weekend, creation happened in 6 different kitchens, as the chefs and bakers of Kavana's Caring Committee whipped up nourishing soups and stews and tasty treats that will be used to support members of the Kavana community (see photos below). This weekend, there will be opportunities to weave song and prayer with Traci Marx during our Kabbalat Shabbat service tomorrow night, to bring creativity to bear around climate change and social justice issues with the Dayenu Circle and Tzedek & Tikkun groups, and to actually create art of your own through our Rosh Chodesh Art Makerspace. Whatever your materials and craft of choice, Adar is a great time of year to let the creative juices flow!

3. The Mishnah (in Shekalim) describes that in ancient times, the month of Adar was a time for public works and infrastructure building: the repairing of roads and highways and mikvaot, the construction of new cisterns, the upkeep of graves in cemeteries. Infrastructure may not feel like the most exciting topic, but the collapse of a bridge in Pittsburgh last week cautions us that we cannot afford to ignore it. On a more metaphoric and spiritual level, this aspect of Adar also points to the ongoing task of strengthening ourselves from the inside out, ensuring that we have the technical structures we need to support our values and visions. During the coming two months of Adar and beyond, with the support of Project Accelerate, Kavana is turning attention to capacity building and infrastructure development in order to support the continued healthy growth of Kavana's work (stay tuned, as I'll have more to share on this topic over the coming months).

The bottom line: this year, we have the gift of two full lunar months of time to devote to cultivating joy, honing creative skills, and strengthening infrastructure. How will you make the most of this opportunity?

Wishing you a wonderful double month of Adar - Chodesh Tov (x2)!!

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Noticing and Loving "the Stranger, the Widow and the Orphan" Among Us

Parashat Mishpatim is filled with rules and laws of all kinds... so many that it can be easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees. But, right smack in the middle of the Torah portion, two verses that appear back-to-back carve out a category that is central to who we are as Jews.

Parashat Mishpatim is filled with rules and laws of all kinds... so many that it can be easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees. But, right smack in the middle of the Torah portion, two verses that appear back-to-back carve out a category that is central to who we are as Jews. The specific verses in question are Exodus 22:20-21:

וְגֵ֥ר לֹא־תוֹנֶ֖ה וְלֹ֣א תִלְחָצֶ֑נּוּ כִּֽי־גֵרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃
You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.

כָּל־אַלְמָנָ֥ה וְיָת֖וֹם לֹ֥א תְעַנּֽוּן׃
You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan.

The stranger, the widow, and the orphan function together as a set, both here and in subsequent biblical texts. Taken together, they represent the vulnerable edge of society. Rashi (the medieval French commentator) explains this as follows: "That (i.e. not wronging someone) is also the law regarding any person, but Scripture is speaking of what usually happens and therefore mentions these in particular, for they are feeble in defensive power (i. e. they have no one to protect them) and it is a frequent occurrence for people to afflict them." In other words, precisely because the stranger, widow and orphan were commonly wronged in ancient times, the Torah commands us specifically regarding them.

In a Dvar Torah on this parasha, Rabbi Shai Held writes that our obligation towards those who are most vulnerable does not end in Parashat Mishpatim. Rather, "Exodus teaches us the baseline requirement: not to oppress the stranger. Leviticus magnifies the demand: not only must we not oppress the stranger, we must actively love her. And Deuteronomy raises the stakes even higher: loving the stranger is a crucial form of 'walking in God’s ways.'"

Today, the language of "stranger, widow and orphan" may not resonate exactly; we might use very different language to describe the specific categories of those who reside on the margins of our society, at greatest risk of abuse or in need of most protection. But, the principle first expressed in Parashat Mishpatim -- that we have a special obligation to look out for the needs and well-being of the vulnerable -- remains core to who we are as Jews. Here are three examples of how this idea has resonated and applied for me over the past week:

1) Yesterday, Kavana participated in a Multifaith Criminal Justice Reform Lobbying Day. Altogether, this multiracial, multifaith group represented 14 Christian, Jewish and Muslim congregations, and held 17 meetings with state legislators. The six bills we focused on touched on a wide range of issues -- from clemency to solitary confinement to legal financial obligations. While speaking in terms of "human dignity" and "restorative justice," what we were really doing was standing up for a group of people who we might consider a modern-day "stranger, orphan or widow": those who are incarcerated. Parashat Mishpatim calls on us to remember that people who are living behind bars are still human, and their lives matter. (As an aside, I was proud that Kavana was well represented in this coalition. Special thanks to Stacy Lawson, Julie Burg, Chava Monastersky, Arlene Cohen, Ann Levine, Tamara Erickson, Josh and Judy Elkin, Diane Hostetler, Chessy Singer, RachelDoyle, Sonia Jaffe and others for showing up on behalf of our community in this important and holy work!) This work will certainly continue over the coming months and there will be many opportunities to engage.

2) Last weekend, a Trans & Non-Binary Torah Study Group met at Kavana for the first time. While Kavana aspires to be a safe place for EVERYONE, there is no question that in our broader society, it is particularly hard to be trans or non-binary. We can see this vulnerability through the high prevalence of suicide thoughts and attempts among transgender youth and adults, and also in the many harmful anti-trans legislation proposals (in states around the country, including our own!). If we purport to care about "the stranger, the orphan, and the widow," as Parashat Mishpatim calls upon us to do, it is incumbent on all of us, whatever our identity, to support the many trans and non-binary members of our own community (in ways as simple as using correct pronouns!), and to stand up against hateful legislation, in support our fellow human beings everywhere. (Special thanks to Roberta Klarreich for bringing some of the anti-trans legislation to my attention -- see below in Partner News for more information about the work she's been up to lately!)

3) On Saturday, January 16th, the attack on a synagogue in Texas left many of us -- and Jews everywhere -- feeling particularly vulnerable. In addition to the fear stirred up by the horrible hostage situation, many of you reported to me that your sense of Jewish marginalization was compounded by the silence of non-Jewish friends/colleagues and the downplaying of antisemitism (even by the FBI, initially!). Perhaps in this case, it felt like we were the stranger, widow and orphan. A few of us had the chance to process this event together in conversation following last Saturday's Kavana Shabbat Minyan, and as I shared there, my experience was a little different. Even as the situation was still unfolding at Congregation Beth Israel, I was already receiving messages of support, solidarity, and prayer from my African American colleagues, who have been part of a Black-Jewish Clergy group (creating "Beloved Community") with me for the past several years. One colleague sent prayers to the hostages in Colleyville; another wrote "We see again why you hire armed security, and use small or no signage identifying your congregations...;" still another said "We are all affected by this demonic attack on your community." Reading these notes -- sent from members of one vulnerable group to another, with intention and love -- made me feel significantly less alone and significantly less vulnerable.

During this week of Parashat Mishpatim, I urge us all to let these texts and themes continue to percolate at the forefronts of our minds. You might ask: Who else stands in as our modern-day "stranger, widow and orphan"? What obligations do we have towards them? How can we work together to see, support, and advocate for those who are most marginalized, in their moments of greatest need and in an ongoing way? There are no singular answers, of course, but these lines of Torah feel perpetually relevant; it's always the right time to hone our awareness, empathy and compassion.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

We Have Just Enough: Gathering Manna in the Wilderness

As I sit down to draft this week's message, I pray that you and yours are okay, and weathering this current wave of the pandemic with as much ease and comfort as possible. We know that so many of you have been isolating with Covid or quarantining because of exposure, and others dealing with school closures, work disruptions, and mental health challenges. Please know that the Kavana community is here and intact (even if our activities are online for the next few weeks!); we're all moving through this turbulent time together. If you need support, please don't hesitate to reach out through the Kavana office or to me directly.

Wow, this is such a wild ride of a time -- it just feels like too much!!

As I sit down to draft this week's message, I pray that you and yours are okay, and weathering this current wave of the pandemic with as much ease and comfort as possible. We know that so many of you have been isolating with Covid or quarantining because of exposure, and others dealing with school closures, work disruptions, and mental health challenges. Please know that the Kavana community is here and intact (even if our activities are online for the next few weeks!); we're all moving through this turbulent time together. If you need support, please don't hesitate to reach out through the Kavana office or to me directly.

On the calendar too, this week feels like it offers an abundance of themes to highlight... so many that it almost feels like drinking from a fire-hose!

• This is the week of Shabbat Shira and Parashat Beshallach, where we read of the crossing of the sea and celebrate liberation through the Song of the Sea.

• We are also moving towards Tu BiShevat (Sunday night/Monday), which has me thinking about trees and potential growth, sowing seeds for future generations and the urgency of addressing climate change.

• In the coming week, we will also pause to remember the legacy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr... even as we continue engaging in the struggle for civil rights in our day, through voting rights and criminal justice reform.

Even with all of these important themes -- and below you'll see many opportunities to engage programmatically with all of them! -- I want to direct our focus to a different section in our parasha.

After the Israelites cross the sea and find themselves in the wilderness, God sends manna to feed the hungry people. The Torah introduces the manna like this: "In the morning, there was a fall of dew about the camp. When the fall of dew lifted, there, over the surface of the wilderness, lay a fine and flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, 'What is it?' ('man hu?') - for they did not know what it was" (Ex. 16:13-15).

The Torah goes on to explain -- and midrashim and commentaries abound on these themes -- that manna is a magical food. It will sustain each person according to their individual needs and tastes; it will last longer on Shabbat than on other days of the week; it can be gathered but not hoarded.

The Israelites' arrival in the wilderness must have been jarring and disorienting on so many levels at once. All of a sudden, they find that the ground beneath them has shifted, both literally and figuratively. As cruel as Pharaoh's oppression must have been, slavery also brought with it a kind of dependence and stability. Now, with manna, their impulse is to gather as much as they can for self-preservation. And yet, manna just doesn't work that way! As Rabbi Shai Held writes in his essay on this parasha in The Heart of Torah, through manna, "the people are being taught a new way of being, and a new way of receiving." Through manna, they are "learning to trust."

This message resonates deeply for me as we find ourselves in our own wilderness right now. Again, in the words of Rabbi Held, "Religion is about many things -- one of them is the aspiration to surrender the illusion of self-sufficiency. We need God, and we need other people. Because we are human, and therefore embodied and fragile, the question, ultimately, is not whether we will be dependent, but on whom."

This points to everything we do at Kavana, actually... showing up to be in community with one another; to sing and to learn and to pray together; to care deeply and tangibly for one another; to march together, prune trees together, lobby together, and demand justice together. Because we are human, and therefore embodied and fragile, we need one another, and we have the power to uplift one another in holy ways and to create a better world together.

In this week of too much, may we all find ways to be comfortably dependent, on God and on one another. May we all come to realize that, in fact, we have just enough, and exactly what we need to traverse this wilderness.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Cultivating Flexibility and Adaptability, Like a Reed

Like many of you, I'm feeling the stress of this particular moment. Only a few short weeks ago, the mood felt very different: my household was finally fully vaccinated(!), Kavana was busy planning for a January return to many more in-person events, and there was a generally positive energy in the air... an optimistic zeitgeist. And then (as I'm sure I don't have to explain), this latest Omicron wave hit, like a dark cloud, complicating everything.

Like many of you, I'm feeling the stress of this particular moment. Only a few short weeks ago, the mood felt very different: my household was finally fully vaccinated(!), Kavana was busy planning for a January return to many more in-person events, and there was a generally positive energy in the air... an optimistic zeitgeist. And then (as I'm sure I don't have to explain), this latest Omicron wave hit, like a dark cloud, complicating everything.

Perhaps this week's Torah portion can help us move through this challenging moment.

Parashat Bo picks up in the middle of the ten plagues, beginning with an opening verse that reads: "Then the Lord said to Moses: 'Go to Pharaoh. For I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his courtiers (hichbad'ti et libo v'et lev avadav), in order that I may display these My signs among them... in order that you may know that I am the Lord'" (Exodus 10:1-2). This notion of the hardening of Pharaoh's heart is repeated like a refrain... for example, "But the Lord stiffened Pharaoh's heart ("vayichazek adonai et lev par'oh"), and he would not let the Israelites go" (Exodus 10:20). In fact, the Torah mentions the hardening of Pharaoh's heart a total of 20 times in the narrative of yetziat mitzrayim, the Exodus from Egypt!

The image of a hardened heart is easy to understand. In a physical sense, we humans rely on so many of our body parts -- our heart, our lungs, and more -- to be strong, but also flexible and pliable. Stiffness, literally, would mean an inability for our organs to function. In a more metaphorical sense, too, a hardened heart for Pharaoh and his courtiers also implies rigidity, and an inability to compromise or to cope with changing circumstances. Each instance of Pharaoh's hardened heart brings on a new plague, which means that it results in the swift and severe consequences of suffering and ultimately even deaths.

As for us in this moment, we too find ourselves up against rapidly changing circumstances. We would do well to use Pharaoh and his courtiers as negative examples... that is, to look to them for what not to do. Instead, we can aim to be as un-Pharaoh-like as possible, to cultivate precisely the opposite qualities in ourselves!

One Jewish teaching that may help here is a precept offered by Rabbi Elazar ben Shimon. He says: “One should always be as flexible as a reed and not as unyielding as a cedar. This is why a reed merited to have made from it a quill to write a Sefer Torah, tefillin and mezuzot” (Babylonian Talmud, Taanit 20b).

The core of Rabbi Elazar's teaching is that flexibility is prized. Inherent in flexibility is a kind of humility, a willingness to be wrong sometimes and to do teshuva and make changes or correct course; it's for this reason, he teaches, that a reed merited being the instrument for the scribal writing of our most sacred texts. Aesop offers a similar fable about an oak and a reed, and many other cultures teach, as well, the same essential lesson: that when the wind blows, it's better to bend than to be uprooted. True strength can be found in the capacity to bend and adapt.

In any case, here we are in January 2022 / Shevat 5782, facing down plague-like conditions and vacillations of both policy and mood. As we experience this newest Covid-19 wave, even if this Omicron variant turns out to be milder in its direct health impacts, its social impacts are already far-reaching. The degree of suffering and distress people are experiencing is real, as all of us wrestle with cancellations and changes of plans, disruptions of business and supply chains, and impacts on our schools and community organizations.

We can't control these conditions, but we can seek to cultivate within ourselves a capacity to respond with sensitivity and flexibility. If we set a kavana (intention) to be as un-like Pharaoh as possible, we can imagine ourselves as pliable and adaptable. We can be the reed, the instrument of holiness.

As you'll see below, this is precisely the approach that Kavana as a whole is trying to embrace right now. As a small, nimble organization with a supportive and flexible community base, we have the ability to adapt with relative ease to changing circumstances, and we will continue to do so. Due to the new surge in the pandemic and high transmission rates in our area, over the next few weeks, we'll be offering Kavana programming and community touch points mostly online. Yes, it's somewhat demoralizing to be back at this point, but we know that this is only temporary... and we hold out hope that within a matter of weeks, new circumstances will allow us to adapt yet again and resume facilitating in-person connections.

Meanwhile, though, as we weather this difficult time, let's do it together in all the ways that we can. We hope you will join us online... for Kabbalat Shabbat tomorrow night or for any of the dozens of other upcoming programs, services and events. And, if you need support of any kind, please say the word.

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom... and the flexibility and adaptability of spirit that it will undoubtedly take to weather this moment,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum