Kavana Newsletter from Between the Holidays

What a glorious High Holiday season this has been at Kavana! It was lovely to gather with so many of you for Yom Kippur this week... some participants have described the experience as "most amazing" and "transportive." We will have more to say on this topic next week -- including a long list of volunteer and staff leaders to thank, and a follow-up survey to share with everyone who attended over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. For now, here are a few glimpses below.

What a glorious High Holiday season this has been at Kavana! It was lovely to gather with so many of you for Yom Kippur this week... some participants have described the experience as "most amazing" and "transportive." We will have more to say on this topic next week -- including a long list of volunteer and staff leaders to thank, and a follow-up survey to share with everyone who attended over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. For now, here are a few glimpses below.

Meanwhile, though, the Jewish calendar marches on! The next festival, Sukkot, begins this Sunday evening. Through this holiday, we embrace the vulnerability of life, dwelling in temporary booths that offer minimal protection from the elements. And yet, this is called "z'man simchateinu," the season of our great joy. So many of the themes of Sukkot -- harvest, hospitality, and the precariousness of our human circumstances, to name a few -- come together as we head to Oxbow Farm this Sunday for our community's annual gleaning event, where we'll be picking green beans and cherry tomatoes to be distributed through local food banks. It's not too late to register to join us!

Finally, the Kavana office will officially be closed for each of the next two Mondays and Tuesdays, in observance of Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah. Expect to hear from us again during the intermediate days of Sukkot, in the second half of next week.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach,

The Kavana Team

Touching Base from inside the Days of Awe

When our small but mighty staff and lay team began planning for this year’s High Holiday season, we articulated goals around striving towards a new “newness,” rediscovering and reinventing norms, and finding more and innovative ways to connect with one another this year.

When our small but mighty staff and lay team began planning for this year’s High Holiday season, we articulated goals around striving towards a new “newness,” rediscovering and reinventing norms, and finding more and innovative ways to connect with one another this year.

These goals served us well when we came together in record numbers earlier this week for Rosh Hashanah! We've heard from many of you that celebrating the New Year with Kavana felt like attending a festival or being at summer camp: the joy of being together, the rich and diverse options of services and programs, the gorgeous weather and the beauty of being in nature! There was such a positive buzz in the air, as community members connected, reconnected, and deepened relationships with one another! Thanks to all of you who showed up and engaged so deeply in the work of the season, and especially to those who volunteered for the many different roles that it takes to run such a large and complex gathering. Here are just a couple of the many sweet comments we've received so far:

"I mean, the whole scene was incredible. Loved the location, the options, the warmth of the community."

"I think it may have been one of the best spiritual experiences I have had. It felt to me like a spiritual retreat. I loved the choice of so many different services and I definitely strolled over to all that was offered. The musical service nestled in the trees and the zen little enclave where the yoga and mindfulness was offered... talk about going with the times and thinking out of the box."

We can't wait to be back together this coming week on October 4th and 5th for Yom Kippur!

In the meantime, we thought we'd share Rabbi Jay's Rosh Hashanah sermon ("Healing Regret") with those of you who might have missed Kavana's Erev Rosh Hashanah services. The content ties directly into tomorrow morning's Mussar & Meditation event (see below for more info and the registration link).

Also, the Kavana website has now been updated to reflect the revised Yom Kippur schedule -- click here to read about our full array of offerings. We will be sending out confirmation emails to all who have registered for the High Holidays by Monday morning, so if you joined us for Rosh Hashanah or have already registered, you should be good to go. If you'd like to join us for Yom Kippur but haven't registered for the High Holidays yet, please click here to register by this Sunday, October, 2nd at latest.

Below, enjoy some photos from Rosh Hashanah, and share in the magic of the High Holidays at Kavana!

Wishing you a Shana Tova u'Metukah, and also a Shabbat Shalom,

- Liz Thompson & The Kavana Team

The Importance of Showing Up

This past weekend was a busy and beautiful one for the Kavana community. Dozens of you turned out to sing with musicians Joey Weisenberg, Deborah Sacks Mintz and Chava Mirel and with other members of the broader Seattle Jewish community; the harmonies and energy were electric! Three Kavana education programs -- Havdalah Club, Prep & Practice, and our High School Program -- met for the first time in this new cycle, each bringing old and new participants together with a great buzz. People are turning up in large numbers to re-engage and reconnect... and it sure feels great!

This past weekend was a busy and beautiful one for the Kavana community. Dozens of you turned out to sing with musicians Joey Weisenberg, Deborah Sacks Mintz and Chava Mirel and with other members of the broader Seattle Jewish community; the harmonies and energy were electric! Three Kavana education programs -- Havdalah Club, Prep & Practice, and our High School Program -- met for the first time in this new cycle, each bringing old and new participants together with a great buzz. People are turning up in large numbers to re-engage and reconnect... and it sure feels great!

Parashat Nitzavim, which we read this Shabbat in the lead-up to Rosh Hashanah, emphasizes the importance of showing up. The opening verses, Deuteronomy 29:9-11, read:

"You stand this day, all of you, before Adonai your God —your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials, every householder in Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer—to enter into the covenant of Adonai your God..."

In Deuteronomy's recollection, everyone showed up at the mountain -- regardless of gender or generation, leadership status or role (even the woodchopper and the waterdrawer!); therefore, everyone is included in the covenant.

At Kavana too, we have always valued face-time... that is, people showing up in person and spending time together doing a range of activities (learning, praying, volunteering, socializing, supporting each other, etc.), in order to build authentic relationships and create a tightly-woven fabric of community. Our cooperative model is grounded in a belief that everyone's presence and participation really matters.

Without a doubt, the last few years of pandemic time have posed a great challenge, and we've had to get creative about redefining what it means to show up. As we enter this new Jewish year and new academic year, we are feeling this cycle's potential to feel more normal than last year or the previous one (fingers crossed!). This is translating into many more in-person opportunities to gather and celebrate together than we've had over the last couple of High Holiday seasons... and it seems that our community is ready for this, as hundreds of you have already registered to join us for the High Holidays. Of course, some Kavana folks aren't able or aren't ready to rejoin large in-person gatherings yet, and we are offering opportunities to join High Holiday services via Zoom as well... that absolutely also "counts" as showing up!

In any case, if you haven't registered yet, TODAY is your day... as with Parashat Nitzavim, we aspire to have our whole community stand together as we engage in the spiritual work of the season over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. (And, we ask that you register by this evening, so that we can have name tags and materials ready for everyone who plans to attend!)

In this season of cycles, now is the perfect time... to be returning, renewing, recommitting, reengaging, reconnecting, and rekindling relationships! Please join us, and together we will make 5783 a year of sweetness and blessing, for each of us individually, for all of us as a community, and for the world.

Shana tova u'metukah - wishing us all a good and sweet New Year, as we stand to face it together,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Borders and Boundaries

I was struck upon first moving to Seattle how difficult it is to give directions based on geographical features. You can’t say, “Head towards the water” because water is all around. You can’t say, “Look for the mountains” because east or west we can (occasionally) see the Cascades or the Olympic mountains. Being surrounded by water and mountains is a wonderful and occasionally disorienting experience!

I was struck upon first moving to Seattle how difficult it is to give directions based on geographical features. You can’t say, “Head towards the water” because water is all around. You can’t say, “Look for the mountains” because east or west we can (occasionally) see the Cascades or the Olympic mountains. Being surrounded by water and mountains is a wonderful and occasionally disorienting experience!

In parashat Ki Tavo, we find instructions for a different multiple-mountain experience, one that is meant precisely to orient the Israelites morally as they enter the land of Canaan. Half the tribes are supposed to climb Mt. Gerizim, and the other half are to climb Mt. Eival. From across a valley, the tribes will call out to each other blessings from one mountain, and curses from the other. The combined effect is to discern the right path to follow as a moral society, God’s promises and warnings booming and echoing like thunder (perhaps recalling Mt. Sinai, where Torah was first given.)

One of my favorite definitions of what a blessing and a curse are comes from the medieval scholar Rabbi Avraham ibn Ezra. Commenting on Genesis 2:3, he writes, “Peirush berachah tosafot tova - The explanation of “blessing” is an increase in goodness.” A curse, by contrast, is a diminishment of goodness. Often, the blessings in Torah are rewarding a generosity of spirit, and the curses are afflicting those who diminish others.

One of the curses in Ki Tavo expresses that sin of diminishment literally: “Cursed be the one who moves their neighbor’s landmark” (Deuteronomy 27:17). Commentators clarify that the person moving the landmark is doing it in a way to make their neighbor’s property smaller, thus enlarging their own property. They are stealing land, violating boundaries, and diminishing both the material well-being and dignity of their neighbor. The curse appropriately redirects that diminishment towards the one violating another’s space.

While the surface level of this verse focuses on actual land, I see in it the potential to reflect on boundaries more generally. Karl Schlögel, in his book Ukraine: A Nation on the Borderland, lifts up the centrality of boundaries and borders to the nation and to human experience.

“Ukraina is generally thought to mean ‘borderland.’ Ukraine has been a paradigmatic land of borders, and not only because it once bordered the steppes; it is a territory criss-crossed by [geographic, religious, and linguistic] boundaries…

“...The two words (‘border’ and ‘boundary’) cover an extraordinarily wide and differentiated spectrum of phenomena. There are hard and soft, permeable and hermetically closed borders; real and virtual boundaries as well as phantom boundaries that have been effaced and yet continue to have palpable effects; unfenced ‘green’ borders and fortified ones with troops stationed to defend them; territorial boundaries and lines drawn by social distinctions… Borders are among humanity’s most elementary experiences of space and time.”

Boundaries have been at the core of some of the biggest social issues of our time, from the border wall that in the xenophobic imagination protects white America, to the #MeToo movement shining a light on how painfully often women’s personal boundaries are violated by men in power. Boundaries are also at play in conversations about work culture and burnout, and health and safety in a time of pandemic.

More than just a rule about property theft, our verse in Deuteronomy might serve as a reminder of how much we should use this High Holiday season to return ourselves individually and collectively to a sustainable and loving and respectful relationship to boundaries. When boundaries are healthy, keeping out what should be kept out and allowing in what is nourishing and necessary for life, we experience shleimut, integrity and wholeness.

Contemporary author and composer of parables Noah Ben Shea wrote a book several decades ago about a simple yet wise baker named Jacob. Here is his take on the boundaries we’ve internalized, the walls we put up around our hearts.

A community leader came to see Jacob, hoping to find peace of mind, an ease for his burden. The man was troubled by a repetitive dream that he did not understand.

"Jacob, in my dream, I have traveled a long distance and am finally arriving at a great city. But, at the entrance to the city, I am met by a tall soldier who says that I must answer two questions before I am admitted. Will you help me?"

Jacob nodded. "The first question the soldier asks is 'What supports the walls of a city?"

"That is easy," said Jacob. "Fear supports the walls of a city."

"But what supports the fear?" asked the man. "For that is the second question."

"The walls," Jacob answered. "The fears we cannot climb become our walls."

As we approach the High Holidays, here are a few questions for reflection:

1. Where have you diminished someone else by taking up too much of their space, or crossing boundaries they had set? What might you do to mend the situation?

2. What do you need to do to respond to the times when your boundaries were crossed?

3. What boundaries do you need to set in place to enter the new year strong and whole?

4. What inner walls do you need to tear down to enter the new year open and unafraid?

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Jay LeVine

"Etching Compassion" in Preparation for the New Year

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, contains the most mitzvot (commandments) of any parasha: 74 by most counts -- more than one tenth of all the commandments in the Torah!

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, contains the most mitzvot (commandments) of any parasha: 74 by most counts -- more than one tenth of all the commandments in the Torah!

As one way of considering our objectives and intentions during this season, I want to zoom in for a moment on a particular mitzvah from our parasha that’s always fascinated me: “shiluach ha-ken,” “the sending away of the nest”. The text of Deuteronomy 22:6-7 reads:

If, along the road, you chance upon a bird’s nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over the fledglings or on the eggs, do not take the mother together with her young. Let the mother go, and take only the young, in order that you may fare well and have a long life.

This mitzvah has generated so much interpretation throughout the centuries. Some commentators focus on the language of the “chance” encounter with the nest, while others debate how tasty fledglings would really be for eating (would they?) or compare this commandment to the laws of kashrut (which also feature mother and baby animals: “do not boil a kid in its mother’s milk” – is there a link between them?).

There is also a famous story in the Talmud (which actually appears in different versions in a number of places), that hinges on the seeming guarantee of longevity of life at the end of this mitzvah. It pins the crisis of faith of Elisha ben Abuya -- rabbinic Judaism’s greatest heretic -- to the disconnect between these verses and what he experiences in the world. [This is an aside, but I am a big fan… both of Elisha ben Abuya’s questioning around theodicy, and also of rabbinic tradition’s insistence that the promise of “long life” here can’t be taken literally, but rather must be viewed through a metaphoric or interpretive lens. This is an important reminder for those of us who sometimes find ourselves stuck as we wrestle with the reward and punishment language embedded in our High Holiday liturgy!]

One of my favorite interpretations of this commandment, however, belongs to Shadal, also known as Samuel David Luzzatto, a brilliant 19th century Italian Jewish scholar. In a philosophical treatise called Yesodei ha-Torah, The Foundations of the Torah, Luzzatto argues that the mitzvah of shiluach ha-ken is fundamentally intended to arouse compassion in us. Here are his words (from Sefer Yesodei HaTorah 21:1):

And not towards man alone did the Torah command compassion and kindness, but also towards beast and bird — on the one hand, for the sake of the animals themselves, "for His mercies are on all living things" (Psalms 145:9), and on the other, for the benefit of man himself, so that he habituate himself to the trait of compassion and not adopt that of cruelty. … As we find in the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird (Deut. 22:6-7). For the mother bird lying on its fledglings or eggs could easily have flown away and rescued itself upon seeing or hearing a man approaching. Why did it not do so? Out of compassion for its young. If a man were permitted to take her, it would be impressed upon him that compassion is rash and foolish, causing harm to those actuated by it. And, to the contrary, by its taking being forbidden to him, the glory of compassion will be deeply etched in his heart.

To Luzzatto, shooing away a mother bird before taking eggs from the nest isn’t only a practical matter, but a training exercise designed to strengthen our compassion muscle. Luzzatto goes down two paths in his thought process. First, he considers what might happen if a person were permitted to take the mother bird. He imagines that the mother bird -- out of her own compassion for her young -- would stay in her nest, thus making her an easy target. A person who comes along and snatches the mother, therefore, might incorrectly deduce that the mother bird's compassion is the source of her vulnerability, and extrapolate from there... reaching conclusions that Luzzatto would find false and dangerous. Second, Luzzatto champions this mitzvah and holds it up as a paragon of a compassionate act. In doing so, he is drawing on a long line of commentators from previous centuries, such as Ramban, who explained that "when a person sends off the mother bird and she goes away, she will not be distressed at seeing her young taken" (Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed III:48). Shooing away the mother bird is viewed, therefore, as an act of kindness; anyone who has this much consideration for the feelings of a mother bird will, by extension, also be sensitive to protect the feelings of other human beings. I think this is what Luzzatto means when he posits -- in exquisite language -- that “the glory of compassion will be deeply etched in his heart.” In other places in his writing, Luzzatto also extends a similar line of thought to all of Torah, arguing that, in fact, the point of all of Jewish practice is to engender compassion towards others.

This week, as we prepare for the New Year, I want to suggest that we consciously try to inhabit Luzzatto’s worldview. During Elul, many people observe daily practices anyway as part of the spiritual preparation for the New Year: blowing the shofar, reciting Selichot (penitential) prayers, journaling, and more. Luzzatto’s interpretation of shiluach ha-ken offers a great addition to our spiritual tool-belt, inviting us to consciously cultivate compassion within ourselves through our actions, large and small. If you chance upon a bird’s nest this week, intending to take the eggs, by all means, please do shoo away the mother bird first! But, even if you don’t, fortunately there are an infinite number of other situations which we can view through this lens. (Do you carefully catch and release spiders that turn up inside your house in the fall? Try to buy food that was cultivated locally and ethically? Stock your car with granola bars so you always have something ready to hand to a person in need on the street? Offer support and treats to teachers on strike? I would love to hear your ideas and examples!)  

Whatever your actions of choice, I invite you to join me this week in setting an intention (kavana) around “etching compassion” deeply into our own hearts. Imagine the ripple effects that this collective intention could have, with each of us approaching the new beginning that Rosh Hashanah offers us from a personal place of compassion. Then together, we can set our sights on building a community and a world full of compassion.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Meeting the King in the Field

For centuries, Jews had called God “King” (or even more intensely, “King of Kings of Kings”). God, it was clear, could be compared to a king. Human kings, it was also clear, couldn’t hold a candle to the luminous eminence of the divine, despite what many of them claimed. God, like a king of old, was powerful. Like a king of old, God’s judgment and justice was meant to rule the land. God as king became part of every blessing and prayer we say (Baruch…melech ha’olam…, Blessed are You…King of the world…).

A long time ago (circa the late 1700s), Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady taught us something new about God and metaphor.

For centuries, Jews had called God “King” (or even more intensely, “King of Kings of Kings”). God, it was clear, could be compared to a king. Human kings, it was also clear, couldn’t hold a candle to the luminous eminence of the divine, despite what many of them claimed. God, like a king of old, was powerful. Like a king of old, God’s judgment and justice was meant to rule the land. God as king became part of every blessing and prayer we say (Baruch…melech ha’olam…, Blessed are You…King of the world…).

Unfortunately, metaphors can detract as well as add to our understanding. Because of the kings we encountered through history, we also began to think of God as isolated in the grandeur of the palace, and in order to meet with the king, we would have to navigate intricate bureaucracies. Whether through rigorous Torah study, disciplined prayer rituals, or impassioned meditative practices, the path to God often seemed reserved only for the elite few.

Shneur Zalman accepted this metaphor of God as King, and even acknowledged how it made God seem further away from us. But then he taught that in the lead up to Rosh Hashanah which centers God’s kingship more than any other time of the year, this month of Elul, God the King does something unexpected. HaMelech ba’sadeh. The King is in the field.

“It is comparable to a king who returns to the city, and when he passes through the fields on his way to the palace, anyone who wishes may get close and greet him as he passes through the fields. This is important, because once he is in his palace, entry is only possible to those with special permission. So too, during the month of Elul, all go out into the field to greet the King as he passes through.”

The King is in the field, the divine is present where you are.

I want to take Shneur Zalman’s invitation to re-imagine our relationship with God one step further. What is the “field” today? This is not a wild space, nor is it an urban space. It is a place of intentional cultivation that produces something nourishing. When it comes to matters of the spirit, the field is not raw nature, nor is it the highly developed centers of religious practice (sanctuary, prayer, theology, ritual). What happens if we understand the “field” as the secular arts, a place where we don’t normally expect to find God but where we do cultivate meaning, beauty, joy, and healing?

With that question in mind, I have put together an Elul playlist of secular songs that have moved me in 2022, and that in some way felt appropriate to the themes of this season. If you want to listen on Spotify, you can find the playlist here. Below is a list of the songs, with one lyric highlight. You may find other songs and lyrics that move you through Elul and the High Holidays - feel free to share with me or on the Kavana Facebook group!

On Taking Account and Making Amends

1. Band of Horses, Warning Signs. “I don't want help / I don't want counseling / I won't go to therapy / I won't do anything.”

2. The Sadies, All the Good. “When I search for answers / Questions are all I find / Wish I knew what I needed to do this time.”

3. Sharon Van Etten, Mistakes. “Even when I make a mistake / It's much better than that.”

4. Stars, I Need the Light. “We're gonna work it till we wake up with the truth here.”

On Big Questions & Spiritual Connection

1. Calexico, Harness the Wind. “Are we just falling stars / Dancing across the sky?”

2. Angel Olsen, Through the Fires. “And walk through the fires / Of all earthly desires / And let go of the pain / That obstructs you from higher.”

3. Aurora, Everything Matters. “You're part of the dawn where the light comes from the dark / You're a part of the morning and everything matters / And we are, an atom and a star / You're a part of the movement and everything matters (to me).”

On Generosity and Self-Care

1. Laura Veirs, Seaside Haiku. “Give but don't give too much / Of yourself away.”

About Relationships, Love, Grief, Time Passing

1. The Whitmore Sisters, Friends We Leave Behind. “The friends we leave behind / It’s what defines us / How many will there be / When we’re gone?”

2. Kevin Morby & Erin Rae, Bittersweet, TN. “And there was no time, suddenly."

A Taste of Sukkot & Ecclesiastes (A Time for Everything)

1. Regina Spektor, What Might Have Been. “Living and dying go together / Business and crying go together / Passion and madness go together / Yellow and sadness go together.”

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Jay LeVine

We are all Jews-by-Choice in Elul

I started my day yesterday at the Seattle Mikvah (ritual bath), where I was serving on a beit din, a panel of three rabbis, supervising a conversion for a baby who, through adoption, is now part of a Jewish family! Often, I am also privileged to witness such ritual moments for adults who have chosen Judaism, too. Within the Kavana community, together with many Jews-from-birth, we have many individuals who have chosen, along the way, to identify with the Jewish people and participate in Jewish life (whether or not that has entailed a formal conversion process). I always appreciate the opportunity to celebrate this powerful choice!

I started my day yesterday at the Seattle Mikvah (ritual bath), where I was serving on a beit din, a panel of three rabbis, supervising a conversion for a baby who, through adoption, is now part of a Jewish family! Often, I am also privileged to witness such ritual moments for adults who have chosen Judaism, too. Within the Kavana community, together with many Jews-from-birth, we have many individuals who have chosen, along the way, to identify with the Jewish people and participate in Jewish life (whether or not that has entailed a formal conversion process). I always appreciate the opportunity to celebrate this powerful choice!

Today, many converts to Judaism prefer the terminology of "Jews by choice."  But, as sociologists have pointed out, in contemporary times, all Jews are -- in effect -- Jews by choice. In our society, there is no external pressure towards observance or affiliation. And so, we are left to choose for ourselves how we will forge our paths of connection and identity.

This is a time of year where choice is a dominant theme. This week's Torah portion, Parashat Re'eh, begins with God setting out the array of choices: "See, this day I set before you blessing and curse" (Deuteronomy 11:26). The blessing is defined as what will follow if the Israelites live in accordance with God's commandments; the curse is what will result if they "turn away from the path." As a way of helping the Israelites visualize this dichotomy, Moses instructs the Israelites that as they actually enter into the promised land, they are to physically pass between two mountains, Har Gerizim and Har Ebal. On Har Gerizim, the blessing will be pronounced, and on Har Ebal, the curse. By passing between the two, the Israelites are forced into a moment of higher cognition, in which they become explicitly aware of the choices they face and all that might follow from their decisions.

This weekend is also Rosh Chodesh Elul - the beginning of the Hebrew month of spiritual preparation that leads us towards the High Holidays. In his book This Is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared, Rabbi Alan Lew weaves the image from Parashat Re'eh together with our entry into the month of Elul. He writes:

"We have to come to see our life very clearly, clearly enough so that we can discern the will of God in it, so that we can tell the difference between the blessings and the curses, so that these things are arrayed before us as clearly as mountains, as we intone their names from the valley in between -- that sliver of eternity on which we stand and that we call the present moment.

This is why we are advised to spend the month of Elul in the regular practice of introspection, self-examination, and silence. We no longer perform the great pageant of the blessings and the curses, Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal. But this pageant was a ritual, and the inner process that this ritual was trying to express in visual form persists. Today we have our own ritualization of it: the Days of Awe, the High Holy Days, the time when it is made equally clear to us that everything depends upon our own moral and spiritual choices. And although we no longer have the two great mountains to help us see this choice in concrete form, we do have the month of Elul - a time to gaze upon the inner mountains, to devote serious attention to bringing our lives into focus; a time to clarify the distinction between the will of God and our own willfulness, to identify that in us which yearns for life and that which clings to death, that which seeks good and that which is fatally attracted to the perverse, to find out who we are and where we are going...

I love Rabbi Lew's image of the inner mountains. In this read, the month of Elul becomes a time to try to awaken ourselves to choices we had forgotten that we get to make... after all, it's human nature to go on auto-pilot, to get stuck in our own patterns and stories and forget that we are making choices all the time. The mountains lie within us, always.

A famous High Holiday image -- of a balance, or scales -- also relates to the two mountains. Maimonides (a.k.a. Rambam, the great medieval Jewish philosopher) writes that "one needs to see himself all year as if he is equally balanced between innocence and guilt... If doing one mitzvah, behold he has tipped himself and the entire world to the side of innocence and brought about salvation for himself and for everyone else." (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Teshuvah 3:4)

Maimonides' articulation reminds us that the choices we make aren't always as large and grand as mountains; sometimes they are as small as adding a tiny weight (a paperclip? a feather?) to a set of scales. And yet, it doesn't take more than this to tip balance just a bit toward the good. Powerfully, Maimonides claims that micro-actions can be enough not only to influence our life on a personal level, but also the fate of the world as a whole… in other words, every little choice can matter.

With all of these images swirling -- mountains that represent blessings and curses, scales where a single act has the potential to tip the balance toward the good -- we enter into the month of Elul through the gateway of Parashat Re'eh. Now is the perfect time to ask yourself: what do you want to do with the coming month, and the coming year? What choices -- both large and small -- will help you move yourself, personally, and help us move ourselves, collectively, toward the good, and towards blessing? What does your Judaism-by-choice look like? This is the core spiritual work of the season.

Below, you'll find many events that have the potential to connect you to the Kavana community and to a broader circle of fellow travelers. I hope you'll join us tomorrow evening for our final Shabbat in the Park of the summer, and also pick some activities for the month of Elul -- whether writing, davening, gathering, singing, and/or learning -- that can help you enter into this communal framework of the season of choice. Lastly, I know that there are many in our Kavana community still exploring their connection to Judaism. The WCR's Intro to Judaism class, listed below, could be a great way for anyone to learn some basics, or could be a point along the pathway to a mikvah conversion for anyone seeking to become, literally, a Jew-by-choice.

May the new month of Elul, which begins this Saturday and Sunday, hold blessings for us and for all the people of Israel. May it inspire us to choose paths of blessing, for ourselves and for the entire world. Amen!

Shabbat Shalom, and Chodesh Tov,
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum

Refugee Torah

One year ago, the United States withdrew from Afghanistan, after several decades of attempting to fight terror and build a democratic nation. The withdrawal itself went poorly, and the decision to withdraw has its proponents and detractors. I’m not interested in getting into political reasoning or military strategy here, only in highlighting that as a result of American presence in Afghanistan and subsequent American absence, a number of Afghan people have needed to flee their homes and many of them have arrived here (with more still trying).

One year ago, the United States withdrew from Afghanistan, after several decades of attempting to fight terror and build a democratic nation. The withdrawal itself went poorly, and the decision to withdraw has its proponents and detractors. I’m not interested in getting into political reasoning or military strategy here, only in highlighting that as a result of American presence in Afghanistan and subsequent American absence, a number of Afghan people have needed to flee their homes and many of them have arrived here (with more still trying).

These refugees are in harm’s way in part because of the choices our elected officials made, and we are responsible to them. As Rabbi Will Berkowitz, CEO of Jewish Family Services in Seattle, wrote in an op-ed last September, the United States “must finish the mission. The mission isn’t complete if we leave these people to die.” And the mission isn’t complete if we also don’t help those who arrive here in Washington state to rebuild their lives however best they can. JFS does good work resettling refugees (among the many social services it provides).

It feels startlingly appropriate that the Torah portion this week speaks directly to how we should support refugees, and immigrants more broadly.

Cut away, therefore, the thickening about your hearts and stiffen your necks no more. For your God is God of “gods” and Lord of “lords”, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the orphan and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You must revere God: only your God shall you worship, to [God] shall you hold fast, and by God’s name shall you swear. (Deuteronomy 10:16-20)

Here we have a spiritual-ethical-spiritual sandwich.

Ethical action begins with spiritual work. We are told to soften and open our hearts - it is all too easy to avoid the pain and overwhelm from really penetrating our consciousness, whether through rationalization or distraction or just shutting down. I shut down sometimes when reading the news - there is just too much to process, and that overload is paralyzing. Distraction can be helpful to recharge and restore a sense of agency, but it is easy to stay distracted by things that are more immediate, urgent, enjoyable, etc. And rationalizing is so very easy when everything matters - “We need to be focusing on Ukraine / China / Mother Earth / Democracy…” Softening and opening our hearts takes courage and vulnerability.

Once we open our hearts to full awareness, and soften our necks so we aren’t stuck in one perspective, Deuteronomy suggests we will displace the idolatry of our own egoic interests by acknowledging God, whose “lordship” is a reminder that we aren’t the center of the universe. This is at the core of almost every spiritual practice I can think of. Once we don’t place ourselves at the center, we can see ourselves as part of a larger ecosystem. We have an honored place, and every creature has its role in service of others. Heart aware and open, neck flexible enough to see multiple perspectives, and ego decentered, we are finally ready for ethical action.

God is described as hael hagadol hagibor v’hanora, “the great, the mighty, the awesome God”, a phrase so potent it entered into a key prayer, Avot v’Imahot. But God’s greatness isn’t about the spiritual realm! God’s greatness comes from “showing no favor and taking no bribe, but upholding the cause of the orphan and the widow, and befriending the stranger, providing food and clothing.” Then the text explicitly says, “you too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” We use our most central story - the enslavement in and then exodus from Egypt - as a way to decenter ourselves, to reimagine our purpose as being in service to those most in harm’s way.

To be spiritual is to be ethical. Ethics is a practical outcome of spiritual work.

When we fuse our spiritual practices with ethical care, and our spiritual concerns with ethical actions, we “revere God, worship God, hold fast to God, swear by God’s name.”

Where Deuteronomy talks about the “stranger”, it isn’t referring to people we don’t know. The Klein dictionary lists for the word ger, “foreigner, stranger, temporary dweller, newcomer.” It is referring to immigrants. There are so many ways to live out this Torah text today. We can challenge xenophobia and create a welcoming society for immigrants seeking a better life for any reason. There are asylum seekers from Latin America and elsewhere around the world fleeing gang violence, domestic abuse, or persecution for sexual or gender identity. We can donate to organizations that provide legal representation and fight policies that strip humans of dignity (like detention centers). We can learn more about Ukraine’s history and honor its complex national story, and help places like JFS resettle Ukrainian refugees.

This week, I hope you will devote some attention to Afghan refugees in particular, remembering that many of the people now estranged from a brutal Taliban regime are here (if they’re lucky) because they wanted to help Americans build a better Afghanistan. And if you want to share thoughts or ideas with me, please send an email or arrange a call.

Shabbat shalom!

Rabbi Jay LeVine

Rebuke, the Right Way

By the time this week ends, we will be entering into Tisha B’av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. It marks the destruction of two Holy Temples, and over the years almost every great tragedy that has befallen the people while they endured exile. Throughout the centuries Jews have mourned, wept, chanted poetry of lament, fasted, asked why, raged, surrendered to the brokenness (at least for a day), and occasionally even opened themselves up to an unsettling form of communication - the rebuke. Tochecha, as it is known in Hebrew, is a deeply important spiritual practice, but one that is extremely difficult to get right. It involves telling someone else what they are doing wrong, in such a way that they are grateful you told them and change their ways. Can you imagine??

By the time this week ends, we will be entering into Tisha B’av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. It marks the destruction of two Holy Temples, and over the years almost every great tragedy that has befallen the people while they endured exile. Throughout the centuries Jews have mourned, wept, chanted poetry of lament, fasted, asked why, raged, surrendered to the brokenness (at least for a day), and occasionally even opened themselves up to an unsettling form of communication - the rebuke. Tochecha, as it is known in Hebrew, is a deeply important spiritual practice, but one that is extremely difficult to get right. It involves telling someone else what they are doing wrong, in such a way that they are grateful you told them and change their ways. Can you imagine??

Most of the stories Jews tell about why bad things happened to them in ancient times involve claiming some responsibility. Rather than victim blaming, this inner story creates the possibility of agency. If we somehow messed up, and that’s why bad things happened, maybe we can make up for it, or do better next time, and then bad things won’t happen. Of course, this only works if there is some truth to it. Some things in the universe simply will not go away regardless of our quality of behavior. Nevertheless, I think there is a helpful lesson the rabbis give us when they say that Jerusalem fell because of baseless hatred among Jews, or because they didn’t make a blessing over Torah study (really - it’s in the Talmud, Bava Metzia 85b), or they stopped observing Shabbat, or any of the other dozen or so reasons the tradition cites. If we can analyze where we went wrong, we can learn and grow. And where we can learn and grow, we can eventually thrive.

Rebuke is one way that we learn and grow, and that’s why we have a Proverb that says, “One who reproves a person will in the end find more favor than one who splits the tongue (that is, speaks duplicitously)” (Proverbs 28:23). Surrounding yourself with flattering liars stifles more than just the truth - it cheats you out of receiving a deep gift in this one precious life: learning something new about yourself and growing into a better person as a result.

This week, we enter into the book of Devarim / Deuteronomy. Most of the book is framed as Moses teaching the new generation of Israelites everything the generation of the wilderness experienced. They are about to enter into the land of Canaan, and Moses will soon die just short of that threshold. This is his last chance to share words of wisdom, to teach, inspire, help envision a new way of life, and ultimately entrust his life’s mission to others. He begins, as it happens, with rebuke. Even though it wasn’t this current generation’s mistakes he recounts, he desperately wants to teach them to do better, to avoid where his generation went wrong.

In the midrashim (creative commentaries) on the opening of the book of Devarim, there are a number of teachings related to rebuke, each opening up different insights. Here’s one I particular like for our moment in time (Devarim Rabbah 1:4):

“These are the words (devarim)...” Rabbi Acha son of Rabbi Chanina said: It would have been fitting for the rebukes to be said from the mouth of Balaam, and the blessings from the mouth of Moses, except that if Balaam had rebuked them, Israel would have said “A hater rebukes us,” and if Moses had blessed them, the nations of the world would have said, “The one who loves them blesses them.” The Holy One of Blessing said: Moses, who loves them, will rebuke them, and Balaam, who hates them, will bless them, in order that the blessings and rebukes will become clear in the hand of Israel.

So much of the rebuke, criticism, scorn, or downright hate speech swirling around us right now is destroying our social world. Rebuke, given with love from someone you trust in the context of deep relationship, has the capacity to build new worlds. Moses, beginning his speeches with rebuke, does so only from a place of mutual belovedness, and out of a desire that his words build up the Israelites, rather than tear them down. What if we, like Moses, made sure our critiques were offered only in the context of love, trust, and ongoing relationship? I suspect we would have less to say, but it would be more impactful.

Another midrash from the same section (Devarim Rabbah 1:6) sees in the same phrase that opens Deuteronomy, “These are the words (devarim)...”, not rebuke but a vision of the Israelites at their best. Instead of devarim, the midrash reads devorim, bees. Like bees buzzing around pollinating flowers and creating sweet honey, the Israelites, by acts of righteousness and true seeing, create sweet nourishment in the world.

May we be bees of justice and beauty, thoughtful in giving and receiving rebuke, and mindful that when we practice caring relationships with family, friends, and community, we are building the world we hope to see.

Shabbat Shalom!

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

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.

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.

1. [The root of atzeret means “stop” - ] you are restricted in the doing of work.
   

2. 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)

3. 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

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

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

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

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

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).

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). And we read the instructions for and purpose of the Priestly Blessing (Numbers 6:22-27):

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

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:

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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