Inviting Our Inner Warriors and Lovers

During the Passover season, Jewish tradition pairs the majestic story of freedom found in the book of Exodus with the intimate love poetry found in the book of Song of Songs. What could possibly connect such disparate quotes as “Let My people go!” (Exodus 5:1) and “Your navel is like a moon-shaped basin, wherein no mixed wine is lacking; your stomach is like a heap of wheat, hedged about with roses” (Song of Songs 7:3)?

During the Passover season, Jewish tradition pairs the majestic story of freedom found in the book of Exodus with the intimate love poetry found in the book of Song of Songs. What could possibly connect such disparate quotes as “Let My people go!” (Exodus 5:1) and “Your navel is like a moon-shaped basin, wherein no mixed wine is lacking; your stomach is like a heap of wheat, hedged about with roses” (Song of Songs 7:3)?

For the ancient rabbis, it is all the same drama - the quest for a meaningful spiritual life, as expressed through our most intimate relationships as well as through political and socio-economic conditions. In other words, half of the work involves battle - fighting the forces of oppression, both external and internal. But the other half of the work involves courtship - the subtle art of seduction, romance, play, flirtation, the awakening and wooing of a wild love.

Poet and storyteller Robert Bly writes in his book Iron John about reclaiming our inner Warriors. “Warriorship inside...amounts to a soul alertness that helps protect a human being...from shamers, unconscious swordsmen, hostile people, and greedy interior beings.” This is the work of the Passover story. The Israelite people, inspired by God and led by Miriam, Aaron, and Moses, seek to recover their inner Warriors throughout the entire Torah.

But we are not only Warriors. We are also Lovers. Robert Bly situates the context of the Lovers in a garden, which echoes the many garden and other nature features of Song of Songs. “In the garden the soul and nature marry.When we love cultivation more than excitement we are ready to start a garden. In the garden we cultivate yearning and longing - those strangely un-American feelings - and notice tiny desires. Paying attention to tiny, hardly noticeable feelings is the garden way. That’s the way lovers behave...The most important events in the lives of the great lovers take place in the Garden Not Open to Everyone, and by extension we can say that the most significant events in our soul lives take place in this same garden.”

There is a yearning in both the story of Passover and in the Song of Songs. Enslaved in Egypt, the Israelites finally cry out, and voicing their yearning allows the Warrior to redeem them. The lovers in the garden cry out as well, asking “Where are you? Where have you gone? When will you come back?” Liberation on the one hand, the archetype of universal freedom, and an intimate enclosure on the other, reminding us of the pleasures of particularity.

A midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 7:3) on the verse in Song of Songs ponders with loving attention the many details described. On the word for “mixed wine,” ha-mazeg, it playfully suggests a new name for God: mizga d’alma, the Mixer of the World. One commentator (Etz Yosef) explains that God sustains the world through the mixture of forces and elements in nature. I would add this includes our painfully and delightfully complex human nature.

Passover begins on Shabbat this year, which feels to me like a wonderful shelter in which to begin the journey of liberation. May your seder spark fierce and loving conversation, and may the Mixer of the World, mizga d’alma, weave blessing into every new connection.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Pesach Sameach,
Rabbi Jay LeVine

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How Can We Repair?": Start by Discussing Reparations at Your Seder

Yesterday was a historic day in our country, with Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson's confirmation by the Senate. She will, of course, be the first black woman to serve on the Supreme Court of the United States. I am thrilled at the prospect of such a talented and qualified judge joining our nation's highest court and want to celebrate this moment; however, a piece of me is also experiencing a more complicated swirl of emotions, including relief that things fell out this way (because it wasn't always evident to me that they would), anger and bitterness about her treatment by some senators during her confirmation hearings, and a deep sadness that after so many years, decades and centuries of struggle, our society still has so very much work to do.

Yesterday was a historic day in our country, with Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson's confirmation by the Senate. She will, of course, be the first black woman to serve on the Supreme Court of the United States. I am thrilled at the prospect of such a talented and qualified judge joining our nation's highest court and want to celebrate this moment; however, a piece of me is also experiencing a more complicated swirl of emotions, including relief that things fell out this way (because it wasn't always evident to me that they would), anger and bitterness about her treatment by some senators during her confirmation hearings, and a deep sadness that after so many years, decades and centuries of struggle, our society still has so very much work to do.

Last year when we read this week's Torah portion, Metzora, my newsletter opening was entitled "It's Time to Dismantle the House, and I invite you to click here to read (or re-read) it if that feels helpful. In it, I wrote about systemic racism as a plague on the house of our American society, and how there comes a point at which we are left with no choice but to dismantle the fundamentally flawed house in order to rebuild.

This year, I want to build on that idea. This Shabbat, in addition to reading Parashat Metzora, we will also read a special haftarah (selection from Prophets) in honor of the fact that this is the Shabbat preceding Passover. In this special haftarah for Shabbat haGadol, the prophet Malachi tells the people Israel that they've gone off the rails:

"From the very days of your fathers you have turned away from My laws and have not observed them. Turn back to Me, and I will turn back to you—said the LORD of Hosts." (Malachi 3:7)

But then comes the kicker... as the nation poses a most challenging question, asking: "ba-meh nashuv," “How shall we turn back?” The people of Israel, it seems, understands and acknowledges that there is indeed a problem. Even better, they want to be part of the solution, to do teshuva. But, they ask, how can they do so? What is the actual path towards effecting repair? When we dismantle, how do we begin to build back from a new, more just foundation?

The haftarah's question -- "ba-meh nashuv" -- is so very relevant to our moment, too. We are living through a time of great change, filled with both progress and set-backs all at once. As much as we are trying to move our society forward, racism hasn't disappeared. If anything, over the last handful of years, it seems to have crawled out from under the rug such that we can see, more clearly and in sharper relief than ever, all the ways in which it is built into the foundation and walls of the house in which we reside. Ba-meh nashuv - how do we turn back? How can we possibly repair the damages of the past in order to be ready to move forward? Or -- in Jewish vocabulary (and connected to the word "nashuv") -- how might we embark on a collective teshuva process?

For Kavana, conversations about how to address both the injustices of the past and the structural inequalities that remain to this day have percolated up in many different settings over recent years. One notion our community keeps coming back to -- grounded significantly in our understanding of teshuva -- is that reparations could play a key role in moving our society towards a vision of liberation and redemption.

This year, a small group of Kavana partners and staff teamed up to create new resources to help you guide your seder conversation towards a discussion of reparations:

• The seder insert, “What? Gold and Silver on the Seder Plate?," is designed to be used during the maggid (telling) section of the seder, right after the Ten Plagues are recited. It includes a very brief text to read aloud: Exodus 12:35-36, the verses in which the Israelites are preparing to leave Egypt and pause to collect gold and other riches from their Egyptian neighbors. On the back side of this insert, you'll also find a chance to act out this part of the story in a short role-play exercise, followed by a set of contemporary questions to stimulate rich discussion about reparations from a number of angles.

• A companion webpage: www.kavana.org/reparations. There, we’ve collected links to articles, videos, podcasts and other resources we have found useful, in the hopes these can deepen your discussion at the seder and provide opportunities for follow-up learning. Seder leaders, especially, are encouraged to take a look in advance of the seder, and everyone is welcome to share these resources widely.

I want to express deep gratitude to Kavana partners Charles Mayer, Jennifer Nemhauser, and Matthew Offenbacher, together with Rabbi Jay LeVine, for all the hard work they have poured into this project over recent months. The five of us have enjoyed the process of working together to create these resources, and we are very excited to hear how this discussion goes for you at your Passover Seder, what additional resources you know of on these topics, and what suggestions you have for next year! Whatever your Passover seder plans this year, please do add an item of  gold or silver to your seder plate, give this discussion a try, and then email us your feedback and ideas. We genuinely look forward to continuing this conversation with you!

May this Shabbat HaGadol help us to ask ourselves the question "ba-meh nashuv" ("how can we repair"), and may the upcoming Passover holiday bring us one step closer to liberation and redemption for all!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Coming Home to Wholeness

My first d’var torah here somewhat awkwardly coincides with parshat Tazria in the weekly Torah reading. What nourishment are we supposed to draw from the extensive minutiae dealing with the strange skin affliction called tzara’at? A person with this affliction, called a metzora (often incorrectly translated as “leper”), undergoes a series of examinations by the priest, spends time in quarantine in an impure state, and if the condition persists could be banished indefinitely to a living space outside the Israelite camp. “All the days that the affliction is on him he shall be impure. He should sit alone; his sitting-place shall be outside the camp” (Leviticus 13:46).

Hello from your new rabbi! I am so excited to be wrapping up my first month with you at Kavana, and beginning to meet this community in all its wonderful diversity. Let me say right away that my intention is to connect with each of you over time. I look forward to discussing life journeys with you, exploring and experimenting with our spiritual yearnings, pursuing justice and taking care of each other, and drawing out nourishment from Jewish texts and tradition. If our paths haven’t already crossed, they will soon! Please feel free to reach out and send me an email at rabbijay@kavana.org.

My first d’var torah here somewhat awkwardly coincides with parshat Tazria in the weekly Torah reading. What nourishment are we supposed to draw from the extensive minutiae dealing with the strange skin affliction called tzara’at? A person with this affliction, called a metzora (often incorrectly translated as “leper”), undergoes a series of examinations by the priest, spends time in quarantine in an impure state, and if the condition persists could be banished indefinitely to a living space outside the Israelite camp. “All the days that the affliction is on him he shall be impure. He should sit alone; his sitting-place shall be outside the camp” (Leviticus 13:46).

Typically this ritual of isolation is understood in one of two ways. Those who read the plain sense of the text (such as Yosef Bechor Shor, 12th century France) highlight that self-isolation prevented the disease from spreading. Sadly, we understand that all too well.

On a more allegorical level, the sages of the Talmud argue that metzora stands for motzi shem ra, one who brings out a bad name. In other words, this disease is the embodied rot produced by slander and gossip. Isolating a slanderer prevents their harmful speech from spreading.

But there is yet a deeper layer to this ritual isolation. The central mystical text of Judaism, the Zohar (1:64b), connects the isolation of a metzora to God’s action in destroying much of the world through the great Flood:

And this is the secret of the verse, "God sat at the Flood" (Psalms 29:10). What is "sat?" If it had not been written in the scriptures, we could not have said it, that God sat alone by Themself, and was distinct from the Judgment; here it is written: "God sat," while in another place it is written: "He shall sit alone" (Leviticus 13:46).

The only way God, who is the One who Creates and Delights in Creation, could destroy humans, animals, plantlife… was to enact an inner division. God exiled a part of God’s self to sit outside of the violent action like a metzora cast outside the camp, a divine dissociation. Which hints to me that perhaps destruction in general can only be accomplished by imagining we are separate from each other. War, theft, violence, planet-poisoning, none of these would be possible if we truly understood our inescapable inter-being. The Zohar is a drama about the yearning of God to be made whole once again, which is another way of saying it is a story about our own yearnings to be whole, to live in a world of connection and care, a world that embraces diversity as expressions of a deeper wholeness, where there is no inside or outside the camp.

At Kavana, I feel I am joining a community where we practice treasuring and expressing our unique gifts and stories and journeys and yearnings, and where we weave ourselves into that larger tapestry of wholeness. As poet Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote, “I live my life in widening circles…”

I look forward to becoming part of your circles,
Rabbi Jay LeVine

Red Heifer, Newness & Renewal, and Matzah Shopping... Passover is Coming!

Last Thursday, on my way home from a Purim event, I stopped off at a grocery store to begin my annual Passover shopping. My daughter Yona looked down at our cart -- filled with boxes of matzah, special kosher-for-Passover ketchup and chocolate chips (important staples for our household for the week of Passover!) -- and reminded me that this has become something of a Purim tradition for us, to begin our preparations for Pesach! To be clear, I haven't started actually cooking anything yet, or cleaning and kashering my kitchen. But, even the act of shopping for Passover groceries felt like a hopeful, forward-looking act.

Last Thursday, on my way home from a Purim event, I stopped off at a grocery store to begin my annual Passover shopping. My daughter Yona looked down at our cart -- filled with boxes of matzah, special kosher-for-Passover ketchup and chocolate chips (important staples for our household for the week of Passover!) -- and reminded me that this has become something of a Purim tradition for us, to begin our preparations for Pesach! To be clear, I haven't started actually cooking anything yet, or cleaning and kashering my kitchen. But, even the act of shopping for Passover groceries felt like a hopeful, forward-looking act.

I suppose our grocery stop was indeed right in sync with the Jewish calendar. Preparing for Passover is a huge theme of this month, and particularly of this weekend. This coming Shabbat, in addition to the regularly scheduled parashat hashavua (weekly Torah portion) of Shemini, this week has not one but two special monikers: Shabbat Parah and Shabbat Mevarchim Chodesh Nisan.

Shabbat Parah refers to the special maftir reading we add this Shabbat morning, which comes from Numbers 19:1-22. This passage is about the red heifer that was sacrificed and whose ashes were mixed with water in ancient times in order to purify people who had become ritually impure after coming into contact with death. Because only people who were ritually pure could participate in the Passover sacrifice, the laws of the red heifer represent a necessary preparation step to ensure full participation in the Passover ritual, which explains why our tradition is to read this passage each year in the lead-up to the holiday.

A special haftarah (passage from prophets) is also paired with this maftir: Ezekiel 36:16-38. Within the haftarah, we hear echoes of the Red Heifer ritual, for example, "I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean" (Ezek. 36:25). But, as Rabbi Mychal Springer asserts in this article about Shabbat Parah, "the text then moves into new territory," saying: "And I will give you a new heart (lev chadash) and put a new spirit (v'ruach chadasha) into you" (Ezek. 36:26). She goes on to explain: "The implication of these verses is that the purification is needed not because of the taint of death, but because of a moral taint. We need a new heart and a new spirit... The process of renewal is not the same as putting in something new. When we renew, we actually take something old and make it new again, we restore it."

Through both of these special passages, then, we focus our energy on preparing for the possibility for newness and renewal.

This feels like an accurate reflection of where we find ourselves seasonally, as well. On multiple days this week, we've begun the morning here in Seattle with the weather feeling like winter, but ended our afternoons with the glorious sunshine of springtime! The cherry blossoms on UW's campus are in full bloom, and the daffodils of March are making way for the tulips of April. In every yard and park, we can't help but notice the color "spring green," and it's easy feel the sense of renewal and possibility that this spring season brings.

To be honest, we all need this renewal, maybe more this year than ever. I arrive at this spring moment feeling weary in the wake of so many months of pandemic time, shocked by the violence of the war against Ukraine, dismayed by the divisiveness and bullying attacks of so many Senators during Supreme Court Nominee Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson's Senate Confirmation Hearings this week. Bring on the sunshine!

In our Kavana community, too, we are ready for renewal and newness. It felt so wonderful to reconnect in person with so many of you at our Purim celebration last week, and to enjoy Megillat Esther, pizza on the beach, costumes and cotton candy... and we're left feeling ready for more! Fortunately, our afterschool programs -- Moadon Yeladim and the Middle School Program will be returning to in-person formats next week, for the first time in more than two years (see below for registration details)!! We have also welcomed a couple of new babies into our Kavana community over the past couple of weeks (you'll see one such announcement below); the arrival of each and every new baby into this world is an act of renewal in and of itself, a kind of preparation for a more hopeful future.

Finally, this Shabbat is the one on which we will announce and bless the new moon of Nisan (the Hebrew month that will then begin the following Shabbat). This means that, in fact, Passover is coming soon, and you'll see that a number of events have been added to both the Kavana and Community calendars below to facilitate preparation for Passover on many different levels, through learning, mitzvot, art, and finally the seder ritual itself.

In the blessing for the New Month that Jewish communities around the world will recite this week, the theme of renewal features prominently too. We say: "May the Holy One renew this new month for us and for all God's people, for life and for peace, for joy and for gladness, for deliverance and for consolation." Kein y'hi ratzon (so may it be the Divine will)!

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom as we head into this special Shabbat of preparation and renewal and springtime,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Remembering Amalek, and Blotting Out his Memory with Love and Support

This Shabbat, Jewish communities around the world will read from two different sections of Torah. The weekly parasha is Vayikra, and in it, we begin reading the Book of Leviticus from its start. Then -- because this week is the Shabbat before Purim, Shabbat Zachor -- we also read a special maftir (concluding) section. I want to talk about both passages, as a way of framing this hard week of news in the world and also moving us towards Purim.

This Shabbat, Jewish communities around the world will read from two different sections of Torah. The weekly parasha is Vayikra, and in it, we begin reading the Book of Leviticus from its start. Then -- because this week is the Shabbat before Purim, Shabbat Zachor -- we also read a special maftir (concluding) section. I want to talk about both passages, as a way of framing this hard week of news in the world and also moving us towards Purim.

Let's begin at the end, with the special maftir. This passage -- Deuteronomy 25:17-19 -- reads:

"Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt — how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear.  Therefore, when Adonai your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that Adonai your God is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!"

Amalek, as this text explains, is the quintessential enemy of our people, infamous because when our ancestors were leaving Egypt, he picked off the stragglers. It is incumbent on us, therefore, to embrace the paradox of remembering Amalek while also blotting out his memory.

In Deuteronomy's portrayal, Amalek feels like a caricature of evil... so much so that it might be hard to believe that such an evil leader could exist. After all, what kind of person would do such a thing, purposefully targeting the stragglers, the weakest and most vulnerable members of society?  

This year, we don't have to wonder. Yesterday's direct rocket attack on a maternity hospital in the southern port city of Mariupol, Ukraine took my breath away; the country's President Volodymyr Zelenskyy called it an "atrocity." It seems that Putin has taken a play from Amalek's book, targeting not only civilians, but particularly those who are already in a medically vulnerable position (pregnant and birthing mothers, newborns) and least capable of fleeing.

And unfortunately, the spirit of Amalek is alive not only across the ocean, but also closer to home as well. A cultural battle is currently being waged here in the US, and trans, non-binary, and genderqueer youth are caught in the crosshairs. In Texas, the state Attorney General issued a statement declaring gender-affirming medical care for minors child abuse under state law; since then, the state has begun investigating families of trans kids (and the ACLU is already bringing lawsuits). Florida's Senate passed a bill nicknamed "Don't Say Gay" this week, banning classroom discussion about sexual orientation or gender identity in primary schools, and the governor there has signaled that he will sign it into law. While these acts may result in less direct bloodshed than rocket fire, they too represent a violent assault on already-vulnerable populations, as the additional struggles that LGBTQ+ youth face are well documented. In multiple ways, then, Amalek's spirit seems to be alive and well in our world today. Knowing this underscores the importance of marking Shabbat Zachor each and every year with a reminder to ourselves to remember Amalek in every generation; it is our obligation to confront and stamp out the evil that Amalek represents.

Standing in stark contrast to Amalek's violent assaults, this week's Torah portion, Parashat Vayikira, begins with the phrase "Vayikra el moshe...," "[God] called to Moses." The word "vayikra" is unusual in a number of ways: the alef at the end of the word is written in a smaller font than the other letters (raising the question of whether it does or does not belong there), and in any case, the Torah's verb choice here seems strange (why "called" and not any of the more common verbs for speaking to someone?). A long string of rabbinic midrashim interpret this word and imbue it with great meaning. The commentaries envision God issuing a loving, personal invitation to Moses... calling Moses by name, summoning him to come closer, holding Moses as dear and beloved (which plays with reading the word minus the alef as "vaYikar,"  in which case the verse would be translated, instead: "And God was dear to Moses..."). In contrast to the maftir about Amalek, God's call to Moses at the beginning of Parashat Vayikra is a reminder of how we ought to aspire to be soft and gentle, loving and caring with one another.

We live in a world of harshness, a world in which Amalek's spirit takes many forms, a world in which the existential threats of the terrifying Purim story -- that evil forces want to wipe out and obliterate whole groups of human beings -- are all too real. But Purim, through its central mitzvot, tries to help us shift towards more of a Vayikra mindset, calling each of us into loving personal relationships with one another.

As we head into Shabbat Zachor this week, I want to issue three invitations to you, each one of which corresponds to one of the central mitzvot of Purim:

1) The megillah commands us to feed one another on Purim, sending portions of food to one another and feasting together. Here at Kavana, we've created an opportunity to participate in this communal sharing of food through this Sunday's hamentaschen baking event. Participants will bake from home (gathering in small groups either in person or on Zoom) and will bring the fruits of their labors to share at our community party next Wednesday evening. We also encourage community exchange of "mishloach manot ish l'rei'eihu" ("the sending of portions from one to another") on Purim Day next Thursday; Kavana partners are welcome to use the partner directory to locate neighbors who might enjoy a delivery of treats in support of community! In this way, we nourish one another.

2) We are also instructed to give matanot le'evyonim, gifts to the poor, on Purim. This feels like a direct response to the warning we read about Amalek... a statement that we don't want to become hardened or accustomed to cruelty, so we must seek to arouse in ourselves precisely the opposite impulse: to meet the needs of those who are the very most vulnerable. I encourage you (of course) to continue supporting our fellow human beings everywhere who find themselves under attack, from the Ukrainian people to trans and queer youth right here in the United States. Meanwhile, as a Kavana community, we will direct our attention over Purim to an even more local project: supporting the residents of two Tiny House villages in South Seattle. Between now and Purim, I invite you to cull your cabinets or go shopping for sheets or towels or toiletry items (see below for details); I ask that you do so with the intention of loving your fellow human beings in your heart. We will also have opportunities for people to contribute cash (or donate via Venmo) at our Erev Purim event, to purchase gift cards for some of the most vulnerable among us. As we tell the story of our own experience of vulnerability, supporting other in theirs is the least we can do.

3) Finally, just as we are commanded to read the Amalek passage each year, so too are we instructed to hear the story of Megillat Esther. There is an obligation to tell the Purim story in community... perhaps because it's really quite terrifying, and so by coming together en masse, with costumes and playful energy and levity, we make it so that we can hear the story without being shaken to our cores. As we listen, we will fulfill the command from the Deuteronomy passage above, using our noisemakers to literally blot out the name of Haman (a descendent of Amalek). Kavana has carefully planned an event for next Wednesday evening that we hope will work -- and will be super fun! -- for a very broad swath of the Kavana community. We want you there!! There will be story-telling and songs for kids, and a chance to fulfill this central mitzvah of Purim by hearing the whole megillah chanted. To sweeten the deal, we're throwing in cotton candy and a photo booth and a DJ... please come; it'll be a blast!

As we enter this Shabbat before Purim, then, we pause to acknowledge that unfortunately, Amalek's spirit is alive and well, and our world can indeed feel like a scary place. Drawing on the model offered to us in Parashat Vayikra for inspiration and on the mitzvot of Purim for tangible instruction, may we remind ourselves that we have more power than we think to support one another, to help the most vulnerable, and to spread joy in our wake.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

As Blue as the Sky

The image of the Ukrainian flag with its brilliant colors sprang to mind as I read this week's Torah portion, Parashat Pekudei. In the descriptions of the furnishings of the mishkan and the clothing of the High Priest, there are many colors mentioned, but amid the gold and purple and crimson, one stands out as the most dominant: a shade of blue known in Hebrew as t'chelet. For example, in Exodus 39:22, we read: "וַיַּ֛עַשׂ אֶת־מְעִ֥יל הָאֵפֹ֖ד מַעֲשֵׂ֣ה אֹרֵ֑ג כְּלִ֖יל תְּכֵֽלֶת׃," "The robe for the ephod was made of woven work, entirely blue."

I'll admit that before a couple weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to identify the Ukrainian flag. But now, its blue and yellow stripes are unmistakable and ubiquitous.

The image of the Ukrainian flag with its brilliant colors sprang to mind as I read this week's Torah portion, Parashat Pekudei. In the descriptions of the furnishings of the mishkan and the clothing of the High Priest, there are many colors mentioned, but amid the gold and purple and crimson, one stands out as the most dominant: a shade of blue known in Hebrew as t'chelet. For example, in Exodus 39:22, we read: "וַיַּ֛עַשׂ אֶת־מְעִ֥יל הָאֵפֹ֖ד מַעֲשֵׂ֣ה אֹרֵ֑ג כְּלִ֖יל תְּכֵֽלֶת׃," "The robe for the ephod was made of woven work, entirely blue."

I was curious, so I looked up the origins of the Ukrainian flag. I learned that the golden yellow stripe represents fields of wheat and the blue stripe signifies the wide blueskies of Ukraine.

This sounded not terribly dissimilar from a piece of Gemara I remember learning about t'chelet. The Talmud (in Sotah 17a) considers the meaning of the tzitzit, the fringes on the corners of rectangular Jewish garments that once were dyed with the same bluedye as the High Priest's robe. It asks:

"But what is the meaning of the thread of blue? As Rabbi Meir would say: What is different about sky-blue from all other colors? Sky-blue is similar to the sea, and the sea is similar to the sky, and the sky is similar to the Throne of Glory, as it is stated: “And they saw the God of Israel; and there was under God's feet the like of a paved work of sapphire stone, and the like of the very heaven for clearness” (Exodus 24:10). As it is written: “the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone” (Ezekiel 1:26)."

In other words, the Talmud explains the connection between the brilliant blueof t'chelet and a whole chain of signifiers: the sea, the sky, God's throne and the heavens themselves. Making a ritual item blue, therefore, serves as a tangible reminder of that which is ever-present, transcendent and holy.  

This week, the Ukrainian flag has certainly functioned in that way. Its bright blue and yellow stripes have shown up in protests and appeared in editorial cartoons; its colors have been displayed behind profile pics on social media, and they have lit up night skiesall over the world. Everywhere, the colors evoke emotion, and a sense of connectedness to the larger causes of democracy, human dignity, self-determination and freedom.

Last week, I shared in Kavana's Facebook groups a post by my friend Yehuda Kurtzer, President of the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America. Yehuda wrote of using "three technologies that our people have developed over time to respond to the anxiety of powerlessness and as tools for the retrieval of our agency": tzedakah, prayer, and study.

This week, as the brutal invasion of Ukraine continues, we can see the human toll this crisis is taking, for both the people of Ukraine and also for the people of Russia. While none of us alone has the power to stop the awful events that are unfolding right now, we can do something, employing these tools of our tradition. As Yehuda writes, "They are not nothing... they have carried us throughout history, they bind us to each other, and they give us dignity to help a little bit now and to imagine a better later."

As for Tzedakah, there are many wonderful groups working to ease the suffering of Ukrainians, at home and around the world as refugees stream out of the country. Before Shabbat this week, I invite you to make a donation to the organization of your choice -- whether that be a Jewish organization like the American Joint Distribution Committee (JDC) which has an established presence on the ground that, HIAS (Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society) which will be resettling refugees, IsraAid which is already providing aid to the thousands of Ukrainians seeking refuge in Moldova, or a general organization like UNICEF. Better yet, don't just donate; share what you're doing with friends and family, or with the Kavana community through our Facebook page, and invite others to join you in contributing to the repair.

As for prayer, I invite you to join Kavana's spiritual leader Kohenet Traci Marx for Kabbalat Shabbat services this Friday night, and also to tune into musical leader Chava Mirel's Singing Circle next Tuesday evening. Both of these experiences promise to be deep, soul-filled (virtual) spaces where we can share our anguish and locate hope together.

And finally, when it comes to using study to re-center us on our values, I invite you to learn something new this week. There are so many amazing podcasts and presentations about Ukraine, both general and specifically addressing the many Jewish angles pertaining to its history and the current situation. If you find something great, again, please share it with the Kavana community through our Facebook pages. As for me, I'm reflecting on what this week's Torah portion has to offer, about how we surround and gird ourselves with tangible items -- whether flags or robes -- that help center us on who we are and what we're doing here.

The blue color of both the High Priest's garments and the Ukrainian flag draw our attention up to the sky's great expanses, drawing our gaze upwards so we can consider our connection with the Divine. When we do so, we can't help but think about the dignity of each and every human being and the indomitable human spirit that yearns to soar free.

Lastly, as we enter the second month of Adar today and tomorrow, I'm thinking of one more significant mention of the brilliant blue color of t'chelet. This one can be found in a verse from near the end of Megillat Esther, in chapter 8, verse 15, which reads:

וּמָרְדֳּכַ֞י יָצָ֣א ׀ מִלִּפְנֵ֣י הַמֶּ֗לֶךְ בִּלְב֤וּשׁ מַלְכוּת֙ תְּכֵ֣לֶת וָח֔וּר וַעֲטֶ֤רֶת זָהָב֙ גְּדוֹלָ֔ה וְתַכְרִ֥יךְ בּ֖וּץ וְאַרְגָּמָ֑ן וְהָעִ֣יר שׁוּשָׁ֔ן צָהֲלָ֖ה וְשָׂמֵֽחָה׃

And Mordecai went forth from the presence of the king in royal apparel of blue and white, and with a great crown of gold, and with a rob of fine linen and purple; and the city of Shushan shouted and was glad.

Just as Mordecai emerged victorious from his ordeal, so too may the Ukrainian people and all of us emerge under banners of blue... towards freedom, human dignity, and hope.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

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