Notes from our Rabbis

Briana Romancier 7/28/22 Briana Romancier 7/28/22

The Five Sisters

This is a strange moment we find ourselves in. I’ve enjoyed catching up with lots of Kavana folks since my return from Israel. It seems that – after 2+ years of pandemic time – many of us are finding ways to take advantage of this summer’s weather and rhythms. Overall (and even despite the heat), the Kavana community is actively soaking in summertime in wonderful ways: hiking and camping, visiting family out of state, traveling to exotic destinations abroad, boating and swimming in lakes, reading great books, enjoying beautiful sunsets. And yet, this summer, there’s an edge for many of us… an underlying feeling that all is not right in the world. By now, given vaccinations and boosters, we would have expected life in this Covid era to be easier; however, the new variant that’s emerged is spreading so quickly that positive Covid tests, disrupted plans, and the weariness of pandemic have become a way of life again… ugh! Socially and politically, the phenomenon is even longer term and more profound. Over most of the decades of our lives, many of us have had the sense that our society is progressing towards justice and equality (based on gender, race, sexuality, religion, and more). Now, though, we’re witnessing significant setbacks coming so quickly, and these connect to broader concerns about the future of our American democracy. What incredible dissonance we’re holding… beauty and disappointment and anxiety all at once!

This is a strange moment we find ourselves in. I’ve enjoyed catching up with lots of Kavana folks since my return from Israel. It seems that – after 2+ years of pandemic time – many of us are finding ways to take advantage of this summer’s weather and rhythms. Overall (and even despite the heat), the Kavana community is actively soaking in summertime in wonderful ways: hiking and camping, visiting family out of state, traveling to exotic destinations abroad, boating and swimming in lakes, reading great books, enjoying beautiful sunsets. And yet, this summer, there’s an edge for many of us… an underlying feeling that all is not right in the world. By now, given vaccinations and boosters, we would have expected life in this Covid era to be easier; however, the new variant that’s emerged is spreading so quickly that positive Covid tests, disrupted plans, and the weariness of pandemic have become a way of life again… ugh! Socially and politically, the phenomenon is even longer term and more profound. Over most of the decades of our lives, many of us have had the sense that our society is progressing towards justice and equality (based on gender, race, sexuality, religion, and more). Now, though, we’re witnessing significant setbacks coming so quickly, and these connect to broader concerns about the future of our American democracy. What incredible dissonance we’re holding… beauty and disappointment and anxiety all at once!

How to manage this dissonance is going to be a big, important question, not just for this summer, but for this chapter of life that we’re experience collectively. As I read this week’s Torah portion – Matot-Masei – with this notion in mind, a section of text jumped out at me, right at the tail end of the book of Numbers/Bamidbar, one that I’ve never focused on before.

In order for me to explain the section of text that’s capturing my interest right now, first we have to back up to last week’s reading in Parashat Pinchas. Perhaps you already know the story of the “B’not Zelophehad” from Numbers 27:1-11 (if not, you’re invited to click here to access that text in full). To summarize, a group of five daughters of a man named Zelophehad – their names are Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah – come forward together to make a claim to their father’s land, in a time when there was no precedent for women to inherit land. They note that their father, who died in the wilderness, was a good guy (apparently he hadn’t participated in the rebellion against Moses’s leadership). Standing side by side, the five sisters make an impassioned plea to be able to inherit land, saying: “Let not our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen!”

This extraordinary group of women, it seems, do everything right; in this particular case, a just outcome is achieved so smoothly that it almost feels miraculous! Moses takes their case straight to God, who responds with support for the women, and even declares a new law enabling daughters to inherit in any such circumstances. It’s a quick and unequivocal win. Later Jewish interpretive tradition celebrates these five sisters, with the Talmud (in Bava Batra 119b) lauding them as wise/chachamot, astute interpreters/darshaniyot, and pious/rachmaniyot. To this day, the B’not Zelophehad are held up as exemplars of effective, collaborative, feminist change-making. (Here’s an example of an empowering article written just last week that does exactly this!)

I, too, have always celebrated the swift victory of the B’not Zelophehad. But somehow, I’ve never paid much attention to the later installment of their story, which appears like a coda at the end of this week’s Torah portion, in Numbers 36. Sadly, there their story becomes more complicated, and their victory qualified and partially undermined.

In Numbers 36 (and again, you’re invited to click here if you’d like to read the section in full), it is a group of men with power – the all-male tribal heads of the clan – who “come forward” with a counter-claim against the sisters. It seems that they are threatened by the step towards equality that the B’not Zelophehad have made. The tribal heads’ expressed concern is that if these women inherit land and then marry out of their clan, the land apportioned to them will pass down through their husbands to members of another tribe, “thus our allotted portion will be diminished.” In short, these are men of privilege, scared of losing their power.

Moses, at God’s bidding, affirms that the case of the tribal leaders, too, is just. And so, the victory of the B’not Zelophehad is undercut by the “courts” of the day. Moses’s new ruling declares that inheritance cannot pass from one Israelite tribe to another. In order to preserve the status quo, Zelophehad’s daughters will now only be permitted to marry men from within the clan of their father’s tribe.

I have to wonder how Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah might have felt about this curtailing of their options? Here they are, five young women, advocating collectively for themselves – and for women of future generations – to have rights to inherit property. But in achieving this victory, they’ve inadvertently walked into the trap of a new restriction, one that limits their freedom about who they are eligible to marry. I wonder if this was a compromise they were happy to make, or whether Moses’s new rule felt deflating and disappointing, coming on the heels of their earlier win?

To us -- the future generation readers of Torah -- this may feel like a sobering end to the Book of Numbers, as on the path towards justice, we have just witnessed a big win, followed by a partial walking-back of the progress made.

Although it’s disappointing to think that the B’not Zelophehad’s victory was not as smooth, easy, and total as it first seemed in the first installment, this year, I’m appreciating the messy ending to the Book of Numbers. This is a reminder that I need to hear right now: that it’s not only true for us, but in fact true across time, that justice isn’t achieved in a straight line. There are – and always have been – zigs and zags, progress and setbacks, swings and backswings. This feels like important Torah for us to keep in mind at the moment, so that we can feel the forward momentum that is true, even in light of the setbacks and disappointments.

In addition, I am inspired by the group experience of the five sisters. They are in it together through thick and thin… while boldly bringing their case before Moses, and also (presumably) while learning of the counter-suit against them and making the decision to accept husbands from within their own clan in order to preserve their land holdings. Like them, we too must stick together through all the ups and downs of life… building the kind of community that can celebrate joyously in good times and also provide consolation and support through hard ones.

In that vein, we cordially invite you to join together in community this summer, from tomorrow night’s Shabbat in the Park (in the Magnolia neighborhood – see below!) or Saturday’s Partner Hike & Torah event (in NE Seattle) to any of the many other gatherings listed below. We can’t promise that life won’t have dramatic swings and backswings, but we can promise that it will be better – healthier, sweeter, more meaningful, and more supportive – if we, like the five sisters in our parasha, strive to weather the vicissitudes of life and hold the dissonance together!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 7/21/22 Briana Romancier 7/21/22

Rushing into Stillness

As I am experiencing my first summer in Seattle, I have to say - everyone was right, this is glorious! What a beautiful season. People seem to make up for the relative lack of water coming from the sky by swimming or kayaking or paddle boarding in the lakes and seas around us. And the abundant sun does seem to energize a remarkable amount of activity. Whether we are enjoying the outdoors or adventuring out of city, state, or country, summer sparkles with motion.

I returned from staffing a Honeymoon Israel trip a little over a week ago, a trip that left me breathless with constant motion. When I landed, coughing and tired, I discovered I had come down with COVID, and was forced to isolate for over a week at home. One day, frenzied group touring, the next, just lying in bed. The contrast was startling.

Reading about the Sukkot rituals had a strange resonance for me, coming out of this high-contrast experience. The Torah describes this pilgrimage festival (a time when many people would make the journey to the Temple in Jerusalem). For each of the seven days of Sukkot, they make special offerings. It sounds like quite the social gathering, a sacred hubbub. But then, the Torah adds a mysterious eighth day. “On the eighth day, you shall hold an atzeret; you shall not work at your occupations” (Numbers 29:35). Although a few extra sacrificial offerings are described, the reason for appending this day to the week of Sukkot is left unclear.

Luckily, Rashi offers a number of ways to understand what this atzeret is.

[The root of atzeret means “stop” - ] you are restricted in the doing of work.
Restrict yourselves from leaving Jerusalem: this teaches that this requires that they should remain in Jerusalem overnight (that the pilgrims should not immediately after the seven days of Sukkot begin the journey homeward) (from Sifrei Bamidbar 151:1)
And an explanation of it in the Aggadah is: because on all the seven days of the Festival they offered sacrifices corresponding in number to the seventy nations of the world, and they propose then to set forth on their way home, the Omnipresent says to them: “I beg of you make a small banquet for Me, so that I may have some pleasure from you exclusively” (from Talmud Sukkah 55b).

Rashi’s answers reveal that we don’t really understand why atzeret exists. His first explanation just unpacks the word itself and ties it to the instruction in the verse not to work. That doesn’t get at why we shouldn’t work on the day. His second explanation gives us a why - it would be religiously rude to leave at the first opportunity as soon as one’s obligations are over. Of course, this doesn’t apply to other holidays, so why here at Sukkot?

So his third explanation solves the dilemma and gives us what I think of as the ultimate introvert party. According to rabbinic tradition, the offerings on Sukkot are done on behalf of all the nations of the world. In other words, the people offering them are doing so as imagined delegates of everyone else in the world. (There’s a lot to unpack there about the appropriateness of doing religious rituals on behalf of people of other religions who aren’t present, but let’s set that aside for now.) The Talmud perceives that God wants an extra moment that isn’t about anyone else, just the Israelites and their Beloved. It is an afterparty of sorts, a quiet moment where we stop ourselves from attaching to the activities Out There and just settle into being present with Right Here. Shmini Atzeret (the eighth day when we stop) is a festival of contemplative practice.

So like my abrupt transition from go-go-go to stop-stop-stop, Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret combine extremes in an unusual way. Perhaps this is some wisdom we can glean about cultivating both activity and pause, noisy and quiet, action and contemplation, togetherness and solitude.

I know some of us are living in Shmini Atzeret time as an ongoing experience, sheltering from this pandemic because of concerns about immune system, or isolated for other reasons. Many of us are juggling the non-stop demands and delights of work, school, parenting, travel, and home crafting. One thing after another. All of us need connection that pierces through the noises in life and emerges out of the silences in life. Author Cole Arthur Riley, creator of Black Liturgies, has a remarkable book out now called This Here Flesh. She writes,

“My spirituality has always been given to contemplation, even before anyone articulated for me what ‘the contemplative’ was… From a young age, my siblings and I were allowed to travel deep into our interior worlds to become aware of ourselves, our loves, our beliefs. And still, my father demanded an unflinching awareness of our exterior worlds. Where is home from here? What was the waitress’s name? Where do we look when we’re walking? If a single phrase could be considered the mantra of our family, it would be Pay attention…"

“I wrote this book during the fall and winter of 2020, during the coronavirus pandemic. When I am finished, I will be in my fifteenth month of isolation, as I am one of the many immunocompromised who cannot test my fate with this virus. Apart from my husband, my days are spent in solitude, in a kind of silence and stillness. It has reminded me what an empty spiritual life will manifest from these virtues alone (silence and stillness). I cannot sustain belief on my own. And I’m learning sometimes the most sacred thing to do is shout.”

Riley weaves us in and out of the exterior world and the interior world. Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret. Her dual lessons of “pay attention” and “sometimes the most sacred thing to do is shout” strike me as useful, and easy to practice.

As we approach Shabbat (a word that comes from the root “to cease”), may you balance motion and stillness, action and contemplation, in the ways that work best for you. And if you need someone to respond to or simply witness your shouting, let me or Rabbi Rachel know! We are just a call away.

Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Jay LeVine

Briana Romancier 6/29/22 Briana Romancier 6/29/22

Fantasy & Reality: Fighting Back against Injustice and Insurrection

The decisions handed down by the Supreme Court over the past week have been gut-wrenching. I know that many of you are sharing in my experience of grief and anger, and contending with a sense of disequilibrium, as we are forced to grapple anew with what kind of a country we’re living in. There’s a human fantasy that we can make the world work the way it should. But the radical shifts we’re witnessing in our country’s direction are reminding us of the fact that real life doesn’t work this way.

The decisions handed down by the Supreme Court over the past week have been gut-wrenching. I know that many of you are sharing in my experience of grief and anger, and contending with a sense of disequilibrium, as we are forced to grapple anew with what kind of a country we’re living in. There’s a human fantasy that we can make the world work the way it should. But the radical shifts we’re witnessing in our country’s direction are reminding us of the fact that real life doesn’t work this way.

The whole 40-year period of the Israelites’ wandering in the wilderness was characterized by complaints and grumbling, but in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Korach, we witness a full-blown insurrection. Korach and his band of followers directly challenge Moses and Aaron’s leadership, and – by extension – God’s will. "You have gone too far!,” they accuse Moses and Aaron. “The whole community is holy, every one of them, and the Lord is among them. Why then do you exalt yourselves above the assembly of the Lord?" (Numbers 16:3).

At face value, it might seem like Korach makes a good point; the whole community is holy. But, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks pointed out in his 2018 commentary on the parasha, while Korach presents himself here as "the people's champion," he consistently misleads, through inferences and false accusations, trying to erode the Israelites' faith in the establishment. According to Rabbi Sacks, the rabbinic sages saw that the core problem with Korach’s challenges were not the fact that he argued with Moses and Aaron, but rather his motivations for doing so. They interpret that his rebellion was "not for the sake of Heaven"… that is, that Korach’s real aim was not truth, but rather personal gain.

In the parasha, the fantasy proceeds apace. “Scarcely had he finished speaking all these words when the ground under them burst asunder, and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach’s people and all their possessions” (16:31-32). Literally, the story moves in quick sequence through these steps: 1) Korach rebels with malice and for self-gain; 2) Korach is swallowed up by the earth itself, thus resolving the situation (phew!).

I’ve been thinking about Parashat Korach this week as I’ve read the last couple Supreme Court decisions and heard the continued testimony about the events of January 6, 2021. Needless to say, I disagree (or, perhaps I should say, I dissent!) strongly and vociferously with the Supreme Court majority’s rulings. I dissent when it comes to the denial of bodily autonomy, and the undermining of a half-century of feminist gains. I dissent when ostensible concern for fetuses trumps concern for the real live human beings who are carrying these potential lives. I worry about the un-doing of separation of church and state, a core foundational principle of our nation (and one of utmost importance to us Jews as a religious minority in this country). Most of all, I am terrified to see our country moving towards fascism, patriarchy, racism and Christian fundamentalism; I abhor the tyranny of the minority that’s emerging, as judges and rulings which do not reflect the will of the majority of votes are advanced through voter suppression and unfair power play. Stepping back, I can see the relationship between this spate of Supreme Court decisions and last year's attack on the Capitol (and related plans for a coup-from-inside), in sharp relief. We are witnessing a terrible perversion of justice in real time, built upon dangerous populism and a mountain of falsehoods.

I will admit -- perhaps a little sheepishly -- that some piece of me has engaged in the fantasy this week that perhaps the earth will simply open up and swallow all of our modern day rabble-rousers and insurrectionists. These leaders have been working assiduously over many years now to undermine our democracy, through gerrymandering, filibustering, fanning the flames of conspiracies and lies, and purposefully eroding people’s trust in our democratic system of government... much like Korach in his day. In my fantasies, the Supreme Court justices who were appointed by presidents who didn't win the popular vote (and thus never truly represented the majority of American voters) would just magically disappear. In my fantasy, we could wave a magic wand and wave away all of the insurrectionists – both those who launched a violent physical attack on the U.S. Capitol last year, and also the ones who tried to pull down the institution of democracy from the inside. In my fantasy, we could right the game board until it isn’t tilted any more.

Although it's cathartic to let my brain go down this road sometimes, I am aware that this isn't the reality. The same rabbinic tradition that pegged Korach as disingenuous and hell-bent on stirring the pot also taught that “the age of prophecy had ended” and “we don’t rely on miracles any longer”... by which they meant that in their day, in contrast to biblical times, God could no longer be expected to intervene in human affairs or to take care of evil-doers for us. Like them, we are left to our own devices. We must fight back against all those who would pervert justice through legitimate democratic action, noble ideals, and truth.

We are going to be in this fight – for our nation’s very soul – for a long time; this past week has certainly underscored that point, setting us back decades and making the unraveling of these rulings a long-term project. And, if we are going to be in it for the long-haul, it’s critical that we ground ourselves in spiritual communities like Kavana: to stay centered on our values, to cultivate the inner strength we will need, and to find safety in numbers. We who live in places like Washington State – where many of our rights are (thankfully) likely to remain intact – have a special obligation to help those who suddenly find themselves living inside altered realities.

We must vote like our lives depend on it this November, and also turn out other voters and do everything in our power to ensure the fairness of elections across our nation. We must contribute funds to organizations that are committed to helping people everywhere access abortions if they need them, and also help to de-stigmatize all reproductive health decisions. We must speak up as Jews to remind the world that this week’s decisions are an infringement on our religious freedom, in a country where separation of church and state has made it possible for minority groups to live and flourish. We will have our work cut out for us as we try to restore our democracy – and we must maintain moral clarity about our fundamental beliefs around human dignity and equality. As Rabbi Jay said to me earlier this week, “we must practice doing things that matter, even when it’s not creating obvious change.” Those who have been working to erode our American democracy have played the long-game, and their efforts are unfortunately bearing fruit. We, too, must commit to being in each of these fights for the long-haul!

This week, I invite you to read the Seattle JCRC’s statement on the Supreme Court ruling overturning Roe v. Wade. I invite you to contribute financially – yes, right now! – to the Jews for Abortion Access Fund. I invite you to turn to one another for conversation and mutual support, considering what it will take for you to cultivate the tools you will need – clarity of values, stamina and resolve, a delicate balance of patience and righteous indignation – to be part of the multi-pronged solutions we'll devise over the months, years and indeed decades to come.

For better and for worse (maybe both), we do not live in a fantasy world; the earth is not going to open up and swallow Korach and his followers this time around! But, this week’s dramatic Torah portion reminds us that insurrectionists and evil uprisings have always been part of our collective story, and our generation is no different. We must remember that Korach will not and cannot win in the long run. Meanwhile, though, it’s on us to fight back from a place of values, clarity and collaboration.

Wishing us all fortitude as we embark on this challenging next chapter of our new American reality – and as always, grateful to be in this together with each of you,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 6/23/22 Briana Romancier 6/23/22

Becoming Twilight People

We begin our Torah portion with a minor textual dilemma. By the time we end the portion, the Israelites will have faced a major spiritual dilemma - and failed. I think the two dilemmas are related.

We begin our Torah portion with a minor textual dilemma. By the time we end the portion, the Israelites will have faced a major spiritual dilemma - and failed. I think the two dilemmas are related.

The major spiritual dilemma comes about when the Israelites send twelve men (one from each tribe) to scout out the land of Canaan and spy on its inhabitants in preparation for war. The twelve spies return from their expedition with tales of how wonderful the land is, a place of true bounty! But rather than getting the people excited for their pending new home, the spies gloomily report that the inhabitants are fearsome, some are literal giants, and there is no way they could ever hope to defeat them in battle. Only two of the spies, Caleb and Joshua, seek to maintain perspective and trust in God, although no one seems to listen to them. God becomes angry, then threatens to destroy the people and replace the Israelite nation with a new one descending from Moses. (Moses declines.) The people panic and say they will march into Canaan immediately and prove their worthiness, but without God’s permission many of them are massacred. The surviving members of that generation of Israelites are sentenced to wander the desert until they die out, over the course of forty years. Their fears about being incapable of entering the land of Canaan become a self-fulfilling prophecy. All around, it is a bit of a community organizing disaster story, and a major tragic turning point in the Torah.

The minor textual dilemma is embedded in the first description we hear of these twelve spies: “Send men (anashim) to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people; send one man (ish echad) from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain (nasi) among them” (Numbers 13:2). God instructs Moses to send men. Specifically, a man from each tribe. So far so good. Then it says that this man must be a nasi, a chieftain. Reading this, you might assume that it was the tribal leaders who went on this ill-fated quest, but the listed names differ from the previous listing of each nasi a few chapters earlier. If it wasn’t the nasi who went as a spy, why are the spies called nasi’im? Each of the medieval interpreters give us different ways to solve the dilemma.

Chizkuni (13th century France) cleverly re-arranges the sentence to read: Each nasi will send someone… (rather than being the one sent). This works great, except grammatically.

Ovadiah Sforno (16th century Italy) interprets nasi as “someone who excels - among his whole tribe - in knowing the matter [of scouting out] the land.” Clearly a valuable qualification! The only problem with this interpretation is that a nasi is plainly different from someone who is an expert on scouting out the land.

Yosef Bechor Shor (12th century France) suggests that nasi means the people had to be of sufficient status that when they brought back gloomy reports the people were unnerved. These were leaders that the people looked up to, even if they weren’t the literal chieftains. This idea seems potent, but why not just call them “leaders” like the very next verse does, rather than the top tribal chieftain?

Rashbam (12th century France) declares that these brave men earned the title nasi, “chieftain”, by virtue of their having volunteered. Now here is a practice still prevalent in our time, motivating and rewarding volunteers by giving them epic-sounding names. Still, it seems a bit of a stretch.

In reading these commentaries, it seems clear that we don’t have any clarity about why the text calls the scouts “chieftains.” And here is the opening to connect this minor textual dilemma to the dramatic failure that is this story’s main focus. Rather than worrying about what specifically nasi means here, if we zoom out and notice the over-the-top descriptors of these scouts, we see a pattern.

“Send men, one man from each tribe, chieftains!” (In the next verse too, the scouts are referred to again as “men, leaders of the tribes.”) It seems almost a little too descriptive, as if the text is already starting to overcompensate for the unmanly humiliation most of the men will undergo. They will see giants and feel small in comparison (“like grasshoppers”). They leave men and come back boys, afraid and powerless. When they are called out for it, they “man up” and overcorrect, assembling themselves into a hypermasculine battalion and rush foolishly into battle.

The piling up of labels betrays an anxiety about who the people are supposed to be. They struggle to connect to a God of radical freedom, The Ever-Becoming, The Source of All, The One Who Spans All Spectrums. Their self-conception is too limited, a rigid understanding of masculinity that sets them up to fail to see beyond a bigger-is-better battlefield. The scouts fail because they can’t imagine other ways of being. What if the scouts had included women and gender-queer folx?

In our moment in time, it has never been so important for Jewish community to reflect the radical diversity of who Jews are. We are still wandering the archetypal wilderness in search of a better world, and only when we practice true belonging with each other will we finally glimpse where we are going. Rabbi Reuben Zellman, the first openly transgender rabbinical student accepted to Hebrew Union College, wrote a beautiful rendition of the prayer Maariv Aravim (recited in the evening) that feels appropriate to offer this week for Pride Shabbat:

Twilight People Prayer
“As the sun sinks and the colors of the day turn, we offer a blessing for the twilight,
for twilight is neither day nor night, but in-between.
We are all twilight people. We can never be fully labeled or defined.
We are many identities and loves, many genders and none. We are in between roles, at the intersection of histories, or between place and place.
We are crisscrossed paths of memory and destination, streaks of light swirled together. We are neither day nor night.
We are both, neither, and all.
May the sacred in-between of this evening suspend our certainties, soften our judgments, and widen our vision.
May this in-between light illuminate our way to the God who transcends all categories and definitions.
May the in-between people who have come to pray be lifted up into this twilight.
We cannot always define; we can always say a blessing.
Blessed are You, God of all,
who brings on the twilight.”

Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Jay LeVine

Briana Romancier 6/16/22 Briana Romancier 6/16/22

Hope Springs Eternal

This week's Torah portion, Parashat Beha'alotecha, opens with instructions about how to set up a "menorah" -- literally, a lamp-stand or light source -- in the mishkan. Thus it happens that the haftarah (prophetic reading assigned to accompany a particular Torah portion) for Beha'alotecha is the same one we read on Shabbat Chanukah: Zechariah 2:14-4:7.

This week's Torah portion, Parashat Beha'alotecha, opens with instructions about how to set up a "menorah" -- literally, a lamp-stand or light source -- in the mishkan. Thus it happens that the haftarah (prophetic reading assigned to accompany a particular Torah portion) for Beha'alotecha is the same one we read on Shabbat Chanukah: Zechariah 2:14-4:7.

The prophet Zechariah prophesied towards the end of the 70 year period that separated the destruction of the First Temple from the dedication of the Second Temple. It's hard to imagine from our perspective now just how bold and radical Zechariah's prophecies would have sounded in his day... here he was encouraging the people of Judah to rebuild the Temple that had been razed decades earlier in 586 BCE!

Admittedly, his is a strange prophecy. Zechariah's vision involves the High Priest Joshua ben Jehozadak in a courtroom with angels; it echoes other prophetic words, like Micah's vision of peace coming in the shade of vines and fig trees. And -- in the tie to our Torah portion -- Zechariah receives a specific vision of the menorah: "a lampstand all of gold, with a bowl above it. The lamps on it are seven in number and the lamps above it have seven pipes and by it are two olive trees, one on the right of the one, and one on its left" (4:2). Even Zechariah himself doesn't seem to understand what this vision means, and he turns to the angel next to him and asks: "What do those things mean, my lord?" The angel's answer is also cryptic: "This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit, says the God of heaven's hosts."

To me, Zechariah's vision of the menorah reads as a powerful promise of hope. In the prophet's day, with the Temple Mount still a reminder of destruction, warfare and loss, his vision signaled that the Temple would in fact be rebuilt. The menorah indicates that light will once again shine; the sevens symbolize completion; the flanking olive trees signal an era of peace and wholeness to come.

Not all prophetic passages make their way into our liturgical cycle, but I love that our ancient rabbis decided that we -- the Jewish people, for all eternity -- needed to hear this message of hope not just once but twice each year! Whether we find ourselves close to the winter solstice or the summer one, the world around us can feel bleak. Hope is "evergreen content," a theme that's perennially relevant to the human experience.

And, in fact, we do need this message of hope right now, as much as ever. Wherever we go, we are surrounded by reminders of our American society's fundamental problems -- whether the specific topic is the January 6th hearings, or the impending doom many of us feel about the overturning of Roe v. Wade, or the sadness/frustration/anger connected to the ongoing epidemic of gun violence in our country. A dose of hope and encouragement would certainly come in handy in this moment.

Here at Kavana, our community's internal challenges are less severe (thank goodness!), but as the school year comes to a close, I can reflect on how hard this whole year has continued to be, for many individuals and families on a personal level, and for all of us, collectively. On an organizational level, this has been a year of continual shifts and pivots, because of Covid, in order to meet our community's needs. Zechariah's words in this week's haftarah come at the perfect time for us, functioning like a pep talk: You can do this. It's time to rebuild and rededicate. There will come a time when light and completion and peace feel true. And, when you do move forward, know that success will not come through might or through power, but rather, through an attempt to live in concert with God's spirit, to engage in divine pursuits in the world.

Kavana is taking Zechariah's message of hope and encouragement to heart. Right now, we are preparing to move forward -- with rebuilding and rededicating, and making our community better than ever before -- as we prepare to enter into a new fiscal and program year. Over the coming months, we will have lots of exciting news to share with this community about our plans to grow and deepen Kavana's work. As you already know, Rabbi Jay LeVine joined our staff just over three months ago now... this new rabbinic position a fulfillment of the promise we made to the Kavana community several years ago when we celebrated Kavana's B'nai Mitzvah. This summer, we will also be bringing on a new Director of Education (stay tuned next month for an introduction!) and creating a new position for a Director of Community Engagement (more on that in August!). Growing Kavana's staff team will enable this organization to better achieve our stated purpose of being "an innovative Jewish cooperative that empowers each community member to create a meaningful Jewish life, develop positive identity, and receive support on their journey." And finally, as we shared with Kavana partners at last month's Annual Partner Meeting, we are working with Project Accelerate to expand Kavana's organizational capacity, building the structures we need to support all of this growth. We will be turning to you again in a few months to help us reach a fundraising matching goal in conjunction with this hopeful vision for Kavana's future!

Meanwhile, there's no need to wait to be a source of light to the Kavana community. If you haven't already contributed in this fiscal year -- or if you are feeling a particular sense of gratitude for the ways in which Kavana continually buoys you with hope -- we invite you to lend your financial support before the end of FY '22, on June 30th.

Thank you for being part of this community, a continual source of hope and support. This week, may we find the encouragement and hope we need to know that the best is yet to come!

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 6/9/22 Briana Romancier 6/9/22

As Open as the Wilderness

This week we find ourselves in the final days of Omer count-up, as we ascend towards the mountain and the holiday of Shavuot. This celebration of revelation -- where we recall the giving and receiving of Torah at Mount Sinai -- begins this Saturday night. Between now and then, we will also move through the Shabbat of Parashat Bamidbar, the opening section of the Book of Numbers.

This week we find ourselves in the final days of Omer count-up, as we ascend towards the mountain and the holiday of Shavuot. This celebration of revelation -- where we recall the giving and receiving of Torah at Mount Sinai -- begins this Saturday night. Between now and then, we will also move through the Shabbat of Parashat Bamidbar, the opening section of the Book of Numbers.

At a mincha/afternoon bat mitzvah service last Shabbat, I heard a preview of this Torah portion (as the mincha reading always features the opening verses of the coming week's parasha). In her Dvar Torah, Ella, the bat mitzvah student, focused on the title and first key word of the Torah portion: "bamidbar," which means "in the wilderness." Ella astutely compared the Israelites' formative period of wandering through the wilderness to an individual's teenage years, noting that in both cases, there's a need to explore identity questions and figure out what to do with new-found independence. Both wilderness experiences are fundamentally oriented towards growth.

She also cited a beautiful rabbinic teaching on the opening half of the first verse of of Bamidbar, which reads "God spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai..." (Num 1:1). The midrash zeroes in on the word "bamidbar" itself, asking why the Torah was specifically given in the wilderness? Numbers Rabbah 1:7 boldly asserts: "It is to teach that... anyone who does not make themselves as open* (hefker) as the wilderness is not able to acquire wisdom and Torah."

(*In addition to "open," the word hefker could be translated as "ownerless" or "un-possessed." In rabbinic parlance, hefker either refers to something that can't be owned in the first place [e.g. a wild animal], or something that once belonged to someone but has now been renounced or abandoned [e.g. an old piece of furniture left on the sidewalk with a "free" sign on it, or a coin that's been dropped on the sidewalk and left behind such that there's no longer an obligation to return it if found].)

I find this such a striking and profound teaching: that each of us should aspire to make ourselves as open and "ownerless" as the wilderness in order to acquire wisdom and Torah. I've been thinking about this line all week, and as it's rolled around in my head, I've applied it to real-life situations in a variety of ways -- here are a few examples:

In a get-to-know-you session for our Israel-Palestine trip participants earlier this week, many reflected on their wish to remain open to experiences and people, stories and learning as we travel together in late June / early July. What a beautiful intention to set before travel, encountering new people, or embarking on any immersive experience!
As I continue reading commentaries about gun violence spurred by the tragedy in Uvalde, I am struck by the published lists I've seen this week of Senators and the number of dollars they accept from the NRA. The politicians who accept these huge sums are beholden to business interests that fly in the face of public health interests and human lives; this is the opposite of the ideal of making oneself hefker, open and ownerless enough to be able to make decisions that qualify as wise. How can we help cultivate greater openness and ownerless-ness in the political arena?
Creativity, too, flourishes in the presence of openness. I have appreciated having a window into Rabbi Jay's artistic process, as he has counted the Omer this spring through the spiritual practice of painting trees each day. At Kavana, we're dabbling in these creative modalities as well... see the bottom of the newsletter for an example from last weekend's Art Makerspace event.
Pride month began yesterday, and I've been marveling that a whole generation of children are growing up able to explore questions of gender identity and sexuality with more openness than any of us who are adults now can claim to have experienced in our youth. For anyone who's interested in learning more, Keshet has some great resources for Pride month; I'm also excited that this week the Conservative Movement issued a new teshuva (halakhic legal ruling) thoughtfully detailing how best to call non-binary people to Torah honors. We can all help our society grow and gain wisdom by cultivating openness in this arena as well.

I invite you to read this line of midrash once more: "The Torah was given in the wilderness to teach that... anyone who does not make themselves as open (hefker) as the wilderness is not able to acquire wisdom and Torah." This Shabbat, as we approach Shavuot - our celebration of learning - try to let this line roll around in your head too, and see what other connections and wisdom emerge.

As I close, I want to share with you a song, Tiftach Libi b'Oraita, that very much connects to this teaching. It was composed by my friend and colleague Naomi Less of Lab/Shul (one of Kavana's partner communities in the Jewish Emergent Network), together with Matt Check; the words come from Bei Ana Rachetz, the Aramaic prayer that's recited as we stand before the open ark in a traditional Torah service:

Tiftach libi b'oraita
v'tashlim m'shahlin d'liba'i
Open my heart to Wisdom;
Satisfy my heart's Longing.

Take a listen to Naomi Less singing it here, and take a deep breath. Imagine opening yourself up, so that you are as free and wild and ownerless as a wilderness, so that you are ready to receive Torah, learning and wisdom this Shavuot (and beyond). Please do feel free to be in touch to let me know how this midrash reverberates for you as well.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 6/9/22 Briana Romancier 6/9/22

Walking with Nachshon

We are only a few weeks away from the longest day of the year, and as it so happens we also reach the longest Torah portion of the year with Naso, which has more verses than any other. Luckily, long doesn’t mean boring. There are strange, possibly misogynistic rituals for allaying the jealousy of husbands (the Sotah ritual). We find precise descriptions for how to be holier-than-thou (the Nazirite vow which mimics the restrictions placed on priests, but for regular people).

God said to Moses: “Speak to Aaron and his sons: Thus shall you bless the people of Israel. Say to them:

May God bless you and protect you.
May God’s face shine upon you and be gracious with you.
May God’s face lift towards you and grant you peace.

Thus they shall link My name with the people of Israel, and I will bless them.”

All of this Torah is worth engaging with - whether to critique, ponder, or practice. But one small detail in the final chapter captures my attention this week. Numbers 7 contains an admittedly tedious list of offerings that each of the twelve tribal leaders contribute to the portable sanctuary as the Israelites prepare to put into operation all the instructions they received at Mt. Sinai and begin their trek to Canaan. There are usually two main ways that the tribes are listed: (1) by birth order of the sons, which would begin with Reuben, or (2) clustered according to the four mothers of the twelve sons, which would also begin with Reuben. Either way, it stands out that the offerings of the tribes in this chapter begins not with Reuben but with Judah, the fourth tribe by birth order. Over time, Judah will become a dominant tribe, but there seems to be no tribal reason to begin with Judah at this point in the history of Israel. Some commentators (like Chizkuni) assume the person who went first was chosen by lot, but nothing in the text itself proves that point. The chieftain of Judah seems instead to have exuberantly lined up first to make the tribal offerings. Perhaps his name is familiar to you - Nachshon.

The most famous midrashic story told about Nachshon is that when the Israelites were trapped at the seashore with Egyptian soldiers closing in, one person - Nachshon - did something startling and strange. He walked, step by step, into the sea, until he was almost buried in water. Just before he would have drowned, the sea surrenders and parts, allowing all of the Israelites to walk to safety on dry land. To call someone “a Nachshon” is to identify their willingness to jump headfirst into a new and potentially hazardous endeavor.

This Shabbat, I invite you to join me for a Mussar & Meditation gathering Saturday morning. Mussar is a Jewish virtues ethics practice, a way of asking “how should I be in the world?” There are many ways to strive to be a better human, but I love how Mussar directs us inward to study our own character as a kind of sacred text, and then directs us outward to practice flexing moral muscles around character qualities (in Hebrew, middot, singular middah) like patience, anger, gratitude, enthusiasm, and more. It is a way to experiment with your life in small ways that lead towards holiness and justice.

The masters of Mussar teach us that every human being is born with every quality (middah), but that the measure of the middah is different in each one of us. Our life’s curriculum is to discern where the right balance for us is in each middah, and then practice it!

Nachshon models a few phenomenal qualities he has already brought into balance. If he were our Mussar teacher, he might give us insight into Courage (striding into the sea), Enthusiasm (lining up first to offer his tribe’s contribution), and even Humility (alone among the twelve tribal elders, the text does not list his title, just his name).

What qualities or middot do you feel well-grounded in? What qualities do you feel are imbalanced in your life (too much or too little)? Where do you want to grow, to soften, to be curious, to experiment and play and discover?

Wishing you a Shabbat that balances the stillness of reflection and the spontaneity of jumping into action.

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Briana Romancier 5/18/22 Briana Romancier 5/18/22

Lifting Ourselves Up, through the Mitzvah of Self-Care

We in the Kavana community are coming off of a beautiful Annual Partner Meeting this past Sunday(!), but still, I have to admit, the world around us continues to feel challenging to me right now. By way of example:

Covid rates in our community are about as high as they've been. Most folks seem to be experiencing this virus relatively mildly, but still, please let us know if you could use support while you're staying home to isolate or quarantine!
The mass shooting in Buffalo was horrific, and I am mourning the loss of ten precious lives and praying for healing for the three victims who were injured. Meanwhile, the ideologies and conspiracy theories that show up in the shooter's manifesto are incredibly terrifying; the interweaving of antisemitism and anti-black racism underscores the importance of the work we've been doing to build relationships with the African American community here in the Seattle area. Anyone who's interested in learning more is welcome to join Bend the Arc for a national call entitled "Understanding Replacement Theory: National Jewish Community Call" at 5pm PT tomorrow/Thursday.
The eye of our nation is still on legislation, courts, elections, and the many issues that fall out from there. Our Kavana community stands poised to channel our anxiety and anger into election work designed to help protect and strengthen our democracy -- stay tuned for opportunities to help!
I experienced a huge personal loss this week, with the death of my primary rabbinic teacher and mentor, Rabbi Steve Sager. The whole Kavana community has been an indirect beneficiary of Rabbi Sager's wisdom and Torah, in ways both large and small. I look forward to sharing more of his teachings and legacy with you directly over the coming months.

The cumulative effect of all of these challenges is that right now, I'm feeling quite in tune with the general sense of the Omer as a period of low-grade mourning. (Classically, this is the case because Rabbi Akiva's 24,000 students are said to have died of a plague during this time of year.)

This subdued season of the Omer is punctuated, however, by a single day of happy celebration: Lag Ba'Omer (which falls tomorrow). Stepping back, this fits a pattern that many of us will find familiar. Our Jewish traditions are often oriented towards helping us hold multiple, conflicting emotions simultaneously, and bringing us back into balance if we go too far in any one direction. For example, when we gather for the Passover seder, we pause during our mostly-joyous recitation of our liberation story to spill drops of wine in remembrance of the losses of the Egyptian warriors who drowned in the sea. When we celebrate love and delight under a wedding chuppah, we also pause to shatter a glass and bring ourselves back down to earth, as a reminder that there is still much brokenness awaiting repair. I love that during this Omer window, the reverse dynamic is also true. During this period of mourning and melancholy (in which, many traditionally refrain from joyous occasions like weddings, live music, and even haircuts!), we pause to bring ourselves "up" through a day of relief and joy, filled with bonfires and picnics, games and song. If for you (like me), the state of the world is getting you down, I especially invite you to join us tomorrow evening for our special Lag BaOmer Singing Circle (see below for more details), which promises to be quite a treat!

This week's Torah portion, conveniently, is also filled with mitzvot intended to help us regain equilibrium when we have lost it. Parashat Behar famously contains the commands about shmitah (the sabbatical year of rest for the land) and yoveil (the jubilee, in which indentured servants went free in ancient times), both of which are fundamentally about re-centering.

In addition, one specific phrase in Parashat Behar - "ki yamuch achicha" (see Leviticus 25:25) - has garnered especially a lot of rabbinic interpretation! This phrase could be translated "if your kinsman is in straits," or "if your kinsman stumbles." It speaks conditionally about what to do when someone is experiencing a severe challenge or feeling low... and the end of the verse makes it clear that we each have an obligation to "redeem" (or remedy) this situation.

Many of the rabbinic midrashim on this verse take it in the direction of poverty... that is, they ask: how do we help "our kinsman" who is poor? However, one midrash in particular seems to take a different tack, understanding the "kinsman" in the verse as oneself. This midrashcoaches us about the importance -- especially when we find ourselves "stumbling" -- of tending to our own selves, both body and soul. Here is the text of Leviticus Rabbah 34:3, almost in its entirety:

Another exposition of the text "If your kinsman is in straits." It bears on what is written in Proverb 11:17: "The merciful man does good to his own soul." This applies to Hillel the Elder who once, when he concluded his studies with his disciples, walked along with them. His students asked him: 'Master, where are you headed?' He answered them: 'To perform a mitzvah.' 'What mitzvah are you headed to perform?,' they asked. He said to them: 'To wash in the bath-house.' Said they: 'Is that a mitzvah?' 'Yes,' he replied, 'if the statues of kings, which are erected in theaters and circuses, are scoured and washed by the man who is appointed to look after them, how much more I, who have been created in the Divine Image and Likeness'...

Another exposition of the same verse also applies to Hillel the Elder. Once when he had concluded his studies with his disciples, he walked along with them. His disciples said to him: 'Master, where are you headed?' He replied: 'To bestow kindness upon a guest in the house.' They asked: 'Have you a guest every day?' He replied: 'Is not the poor soul a guest in the body? Today it is here and tomorrow it is no longer?'... Accordingly, Moses exhorts Israel, saying, "If your kinsman is in straits... then shall his kinsman... redeem."

I find this pair of stories about Hillel the Elder so beautiful. In the first, he claims that spending time in the bath-house -- where he goes to care for his own body -- is a mitzvah (a religious obligation). Today, our equivalent might be going to the gym to work out, or getting a massage or a pedicure, or spending a day relaxing at a spa. Hillel's students seem surprised to hear him say that this kind of "self-care" isn't indulgent, but rather a must. In the second story, we hear less detail about how exactly Hillel intends to "bestow kindness," but we do know that his objective is to pay attention to the "guest" in question: that is, his own soul. This, too, the midrash reads as a religious obligation encompassed in the biblical verse of Leviticus 25:25. Re-reading that biblical verse in light of these midrashim interpretations, we might say something like this: "If you yourself are feeling in straits, or having a hard time, do something to take care of your body and do something else to take care of your soul; self-care of both body and soul are a form of redemption."

Perhaps these midrashim jumped out at me because they were the ones I needed to hear this week. I can only hope that some of you will find this idea helpful as well... and if not this particular week, then the next time you are feeling sad or stressed or otherwise find yourself "in straits." Meanwhile, I look forward to singing with many of you tomorrow night, as we celebrate Lag Ba'Omer together.

Wishing you a week of well-being and self-care... of both body and spirit,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 5/4/22 Briana Romancier 5/4/22

In this tough week, let's embrace the greatest principles of Torah

I'll be honest: this has felt like a very hard and heavy week so far... and it's only Wednesday! Although I can't say that the news out of the Supreme Court feels like a surprise, I do feel gutted and raw about the pending decision to overturn Roe v. Wade, and all that it portends for our American society. And, if that weren't enough, on our Jewish calendar, today was Yom HaZikaron, a national Memorial Day in Israel, a reminder of the high price of Jewish statehood and the ways that the ongoing conflict over land undermines security for all who call the land of Israel/Palestine home.

This week's Torah portion, Kedoshim, reminds us that our aspirations to "be holy" play out in countless day-to-day decisions we make and actions we take. The parasha defines holiness through many concrete examples of what not to do (no incest, no idolatry, no defrauding of others) as well as many examples of what to do (e.g. showing reverence for parents, leaving the corners of your fields for the poor and the stranger, judging all people fairly).

But, Parashat Kedoshim is notable not only for its tangible examples, but also for its sweeping statements of principle. In fact, Rabbi Akiva famously calls one line from this parasha -- "v'ahavta l'rei'acha kamocha," "you shall love your neighbor as yourself" -- a "klal gadol ba-torah," "the greatest principle of Torah." This statement of Rabbi Akiva's sparks a debate among rabbis, as it seems to suggest that the way we treat others should stem primarily from our own experience and what we do and do not desire for ourselves (in this, Rabbi Akiva seems to follow in the footsteps of his teacher Hillel, who famously taught a version of the golden rule: "what is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor").

In a couple of rabbinic texts -- including the Talmud Yerushalmi, Nedarim 9:4:2-4 and in Bereishit Rabbah 24 -- an argument is preserved between Rabbi Akiva, who holds up this "you shall love your neighbor as yourself" line from Parashat Kedoshim as the highest aspiration of Torah, and ben Azzai, who instead chooses a line from Genesis (5:1), "these are the generations of Adam," as the Torah's "k'lal gadol" ("greatest principle"). In naming the Genesis verse instead, ben Azzai is arguing that the basis for how we treat others ought to stem not from our own personal experience, but rather, from an awareness that all human beings are created in God's likeness, and therefore every person has the same intrinsic dignity and worth.

The truth is, I'm not sure that Rabbi Akiva and ben Azzai's positions are really so at odds with one another. Both of them seem to believe in holding every human being in high esteem, and treating every individual with kindness, dignity and respect. Whether we do this because we are good at extrapolating from our own life experience (per Rabbi Akiva's opinion), or because we can have learned how to cultivate empathy even for those whose life experiences are different from ours (as Ben Azzai prefers) feels almost irrelevant to me. Both statements -- "v'ahavta l'reiacha kamocha" and "zeh sefer toldot adam" -- are foundational principles, and both approaches feel, to me, worthy of being labeled a "k'lal gadol baTorah," a teaching of the highest order. In fact, taking a "both-and" approach and pairing them feels doubly powerful!

The vision that emerges from Rabbi Akiva and ben Azzai's conversation -- for building a holy society in which we demonstrate love for our neighbors and apply the principles of human dignity and equality -- is well aligned with democracy, a system of government that values equally the voices of all voters. It is decidedly not aligned with the Supreme Court's decision that is apparently coming down the pike... one which fundamentally empowers those without uteruses to make decisions about the bodies and choices of those with them, imposes particular Christian beliefs on a multi-faith nation (and specifically infringes on Jewish religious freedom, as our tradition permits and in some cases mandates abortion!), and subjects a majority to the will of a court that represents a minority.

In both the United States and Israel, I dream of seeing true democracy -- and not ethnocracy or facism -- flourish. I dream of freedom and human dignity for all.

If, as we mark Israel's 74th birthday, you're interested in going deeper into what this kind of vision would look like for the State of Israel, I highly recommend that you listen to last week's episode of Chutzpod! -- where hosts Rabbi Shira Stutman and Joshua Malina welcome Israeli and Palestinian guests, Leah Solomon and Layla Alsheikh, to engage in an inclusive and nuanced conversation around Yom Ha-Zikaron and Yom Ha'Atzmaut -- and/or that you take an hour to watch the recording of yesterday's Joint Israeli-Palestinian Memorial Day Ceremony, which was beautifully produced, and managed to be painful and uplifting and hopeful all at once!

Meanwhile, closer to home, here in the United States, things just got real; we can see in sharper relief what battles we will be fighting in the years to come. At Kavana, we have many social justice commitments -- not only to reproductive rights (although certainly these!) and LGBTQ+ rights (which may also be impacted by this court ruling), but also to immigrants' rights, to overcoming the legacy of slavery and systemic racism, to ensuring educational and economic opportunities for all, and more. The "klal gadol" -- foundational principle -- underlying all of these commitments is, in fact, the statements of Rabbi Akiva and ben Azzai taken together... that we must love our neighbors as ourselves AND operate on the basis of recognizing the shared humanity of every individual.

For now, if you're having a hard week too, I invite you to pause and take a deep breath. We will have much work to do, and we need to re-center ourselves on our core values, and take care of ourselves and of each other. Over the coming 6 months -- between now and the midterm election -- Kavana will be making a concentrated effort to do our part in ensuring that all voices are heard in our country and that we can protect our democracy and build a society together in accordance with our highest values. We'll be working together with Vote Forward again (as we did before the last election) to write to voters across the country, and coming together both online and in-person through letter-writing parties to make this a connective and fun experience. If you'd like to be involved in coordinating or hosting such efforts on behalf of the Kavana community, please be in touch.

Wishing us all a week of re-centering towards our most core values and foundational principles,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 4/28/22 Briana Romancier 4/28/22

Opening to a Creative Life

A week after Passover ends, we read in the Torah portion a strong reminder that we should truly leave Egypt behind. God tells the people, “You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt where you dwelt…” (Leviticus 18:3). Having taken the people out of Egypt, God wants to ensure that Egypt gets taken out of the people as well. Having lived there so long, they no doubt picked up habits, customs, rituals, beliefs, internalized oppression, false refuges, the strange comfort of known pain.

God seems a bit worried that not only will they relapse into Egyptian practices, they might be tempted by the practices of their new neighbors the Canaanites as well. “You shall not copy the practices…of the land of Canaan to which I am taking you; nor shall you walk in their statutes!” (Leviticus 18:3).

It would be easy to read this verse and conclude that there is truly only one way to be Jewish - follow God’s laws! We received Torah at Sinai, and we observe it. Don’t look back, don’t look around you. Just stay in your lane. The Jewish path in the world is one of separation and differentiation.

Which makes it all the more surprising when we read a comment by the great 12th-century scholar Abraham ibn Ezra, which offers us a more expansive way forward. Ibn Ezra is troubled by the apparent redundancy of the verse. He wonders why it says both “You shall not copy the practices…” and “nor shall you walk in their statues”. If the point is to steer clear of what other people are doing, we don’t need doubled directives. The second phrase must be teaching something new. Ibn Ezra therefore comments, “Don’t walk in their statutes [means] don’t get used to walking in this way so much that it becomes a statute for you.”

Here’s the radical assumption behind Ibn Ezra’s words: Sometimes you actually do in fact do what the people around you are doing.

The boundaries are not so clear anymore. Ibn Ezra opens us up to a way of being in the world that acknowledges we are influenced by other cultures. We live in a broader world. And that’s okay!

Ibn Ezra’s point then, is that if we live in a world where the boundaries are porous, where we participate in our larger culture, then we have to cultivate a countercultural practice as well. We must not get so caught up in the habits of society that we mistake them for eternal truths. (Presumably, becoming habituated in Jewish practices is laudable, although there is a tradition of keeping things fresh here too - strikingly, a key distinction is made betweenkeva, the fixed aspect of Jewish practice, and kavana, the fresh and revitalizing intention and interiority we bring to ancient ways that keep us on our spiritual toes as we walk them.)

Ibn Ezra’s comment points us to a countercultural project of Jewish living in a larger context - live in the world but don’t become too attached to it. Critique power, challenge the mainstream, be a little punk with an attitude of nonconformity (to give credit to some of the music movements that grew up in the Pacific Northwest).

Being creative is one of the most powerful ways to bring kavana to Jewish practices and to cultivate a countercultural sensibility - to see things differently, to know that societal norms are just that, norms not nature, and that we are inherently and wildly and beautifully diverse. When we explore our creativity, we avoid “walking in a way so much that it becomes a statute for us”. We can see the world in new ways.

We are in the season of Sefirat HaOmer, Counting the Omer, seven weeks between Passover and Shavuot. The traditional practice is simply to recite a blessing and count each night, but for many people today it has become a season of creative practice. For me this year, I am watercoloring a tree a day - not to do it well, but to do it with joy, to help train my eyes to appreciate this densely-wooded city of Seattle, to keep asking the question, “What else might this be?” when I make a mistake. (You are welcome to follow me on Instagram @jaylev13)

Kavana Partners Stacy Lawson and Laurie Reed and I are also hosting a few Makerspaces (date of the next one TBD). If you love playing with art materials, this is for you! Also, if you are terrified at the thought of playing with art materials, or feel like you aren’t an “artist”, or if you just need to get out of a rut and try something new, this is absolutely for you. The Kavana Makerspace is a place to reclaim the countercultural practice of creating, without needing to qualify, credential, or critique your art, but just to explore and follow the pleasure of raw making.

May our creative exploration help us walk through life with passion and open to possibility. Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Briana Romancier 4/21/22 Briana Romancier 4/21/22

Embracing the Gentle Blessing of Dew

I hope this note finds you well, and enjoying Pesach and spring-time. I know, from speaking to many of you this week, that this holiday has represented quite the range of experiences for Kavana community members. For some, last weekend marked a glorious return to large, in-person family seders for the first time in several years, while for others, positive Covid tests led to last minute cancellations of plans and pivoting, as we've become so accustomed to doing. Whatever you have done so far to mark Passover, I hope it's been meaningful and sweet.

As I write to you today -- on the 6th day of Pesach, and also the 5th day of the counting of the Omer -- I want to focus our attention on one more shift that happens during this particular week of the year.

On the first day of Passover, Jewish communities everywhere insert into their Musaf prayers a special prayer for dew, Tefilat Tal. This prayer functions like a toggle switch on the Jewish calendar, marking the transition from the rainy season to the dry season in the land of Israel, and the corresponding change from reciting "mashiv ha-ruach u'morid ha-gashem" ("You bring the wind and cause the rains to fall") in the Amidah to "morid ha-tal" ("You cause the dew to fall") in its place.

The Prayer for Dew, Tefilat Tal, that's inserted into our Pesach service is in the form of an ancient liturgical poem known as a piyyut. Piyyutim are a brilliant (and probably far underappreciated) Jewish art-form... this week in conversation, Rabbi Jay referred to the piyyut as a cross between midrash and poetry. :-) This particular piyyut about dew is composed by Eliezer HaKalir,one of the great paytanim of all time, who probably lived and wrote in the late 6th/early 7th century in Palestine. As the Or Hadash Siddur explains, the content of Tefilat Tal can really be read on two levels: on one, it asks for the blessing of dew to sustain us through the coming dry season; on a second level, it is a prayer concerning the end of exile and the rebuilding of Jerusalem. In this sense, it's not accidental that this plea for redemption is recited on Pesach, as we think not only about our past redemption, but also the future redemption that we anticipate and hope to bring about.

In order to fully appreciate the brilliance of this prayer, it's important to have access to the original Hebrew, where it's possible to hear the strict rhyme scheme (4 rhyming lines per stanza!), feel the word play (based on other biblical appearances of the word tal/dew), see the reverse alphabetic acrostic (beginning with the last letter of the alphabet and moving to the first), and experience the overall structure (with each paragraph beginning with the Hebrew word for "dew" and ending with the phrase "with dew"). You can get a taste for some of these elements already from just the first stanza:

טַל תֵּן לִִרְצּוֹת אַרְצָךְ
שִׁיתֵנוּ בְרָכָה בְּדִיצָךְ
רוֹב דָגָן וְתִירוֹשׁ בְּהַפְרִיצָךְ
קוֹמֵם עִיר בָּהּ חֶפְצָךְ
:בְּטַל

Tal ten lirtzot artzach,
shiteinu v'racha b'ditzach,
Rov dagan v'tirosh b'hafritzach,
Komem ir bah cheftzach
b'tal.

Dew, precious dew, unto Your land forlorn,
Pour out our blessing in Your exultation,
To strengthen us with ample wine and corn,
And give Your chosen city safe foundation
In dew.

If this has whet your appetite to read more, I invite you to click here to find the Prayer for Dew in its entirety (in Hebrew and/or English).

For me, meanwhile, I'm particularly struck this year by the symbolism of pausing at this season to celebrate dew. As my colleague Rabbi Rachel Barenblat writes: "Dew represents blessing, a gift from God. Dew is sustenance which arises as if by magic. Overnight, something mysterious occurs and when we wake water gilds the grasses and the fields. (Of course, the scientific processes are well-understood -- it has something to do with temperatures and condensation -- but I prefer to think of dew as a mystery.) Dew represents divine grace: omnipresent, mysterious, blessing everyone equally no matter who we are."

When I hear the word dew, I'm also prompted to return to the Exodus story we tell on Pesach, where dew is also referenced the first time manna appears for the Israelites in the wilderness, in Exodus 16:13-14: "In the evening, quail appeared and covered the camp; in the morning, there was a fall of dew (shichvat ha-tal) 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." There, the connection is clear. Both dew and manna appear overnight on the ground. Both are delicate and sweet. Both sustain us in a "bottom up" rather than "top down" way, as a manifestation of divine love and support. In contrast to rain, which comes from above, directly, and sometimes feels conditional (as in Torah's cycles of rain and draught), dew is always soft and gentle; dew represents unconditional love.

In this week of Passover, the liturgy's focus on dew can prompt us in so many directions. This weekend, as we move through the final days of our Pesach holiday and also experience a taste of Seattle's glorious spring (and it looks like we're in for some exquisite weather!), I invite you to spend some time thinking about dew, the gentle blessing that we typically take for granted. Perhaps you'll take an early morning walk and feel the moisture on your feet, or pause to look closely at the flowers of the garden (a la Shir HaShirim, which Rabbi Jay wrote about last week). In addition, dew reminds us that we already have what we need when we wake up each morning... which is not so different than the seder song Dayeinu, which prompts us towards gratitude. You might consider: What sustains you in this consistent kind of way? What would it look like to try to be the dew -- that is, the consistent, supportive presence of blessing -- for one another as we move through life together?

Finally, I'm happy to share a beautiful song to escort you into the next chag, entitled "Tefillat HaTal v'Geshem", by Ariel Root Wolpe. This is a contemporary take on the prayers for both dew and rain in a singing-as-spiritual-practice modality. As she sings: "Dew, shower the earth. Sing our joyous rebirth. Sooth my hands, and soak my seed. Morid, morid."

Wishing you a chag sameach, and a season-of-dew that is filled with grace and wonder, blessing and mystery, unconditional love, and precisely the support that you need,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Briana Romancier 4/14/22 Briana Romancier 4/14/22

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)?

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

‍

Briana Romancier 4/8/22 Briana Romancier 4/8/22

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

Briana Romancier 3/31/22 Briana Romancier 3/31/22

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

Briana Romancier 3/24/22 Briana Romancier 3/24/22

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

Briana Romancier 3/10/22 Briana Romancier 3/10/22

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

Briana Romancier 3/3/22 Briana Romancier 3/3/22

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

Briana Romancier 2/24/22 Briana Romancier 2/24/22

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

Briana Romancier 2/17/22 Briana Romancier 2/17/22

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

Briana Romancier 2/10/22 Briana Romancier 2/10/22

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