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Matot-Maasei

7/29/2022

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Well, we Jews are finally back in sync! 

Well, at least in terms of our Torah readings, anyway. When the second day of Shavuot occurs on a Shabbat, since the Israeli observance and that of Diaspora congregations which only observe one day of the holiday read the regular weekly reading instead of that for the Festival, the weekly parsha is offset by one week until the conclusion of the book of Bamidbar (Numbers). The rectification occurs this week since we are now entering the Torah/Haftarah cycle which leads us through the lead into Tisha B’av, the day of mourning for the national calamities which have befallen our people, and the build-up to the High Holidays. Beginning with next week’s parsha, the three Haftarot D’puranuta, Haftarot of warning, will give way to the seven Haftarot D’nechamta, of comfort, which follow Tisha B’av and start the countdown to the Days of Awe. This week, the discrepancy is ameliorated by our reading a double parsha in Diaspora, while others read a single parsha, Ma’asei, so that we can all be (literally) on the same page next week for Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat preceding Tisha B’av. 

But also think about the post-biblical legal, symbolic, and technical mechanics which created this situation. The Torah itself gives no details about how and when it should be read. That originated far later, in the days of Ezra and Nechemia, 4th-5th Century BCE. There was a mandate that the Torah should be read publicly; we needed to improvise in order to determine the practice and procedure by which this could be accomplished. The ultimate conclusion suffers from a lack of liturgical uniformity, but it gets the job done, and has remained fairly steady for millennia. 

The same can be said about the responses to innumerable other Mitzvot which have popped up in the wake of otherwise ambiguous commandments or statements from the Torah which have been interpreted—and reinterpreted—in an effort to fit them to each new version of Jewish modernity. The biblical laws of Shabbos observance, not surprisingly, did not specifically address how modern kitchen appliances and culinary preparation should be handled. The Torah’s version of Kashrut seemingly omitted the standards of how plastic or Pyrex™ dishes should be handled. Not to mention whether certain foods, which were unknown in the days of the Bible, could be considered Kosher or not. The Talmud does not have a section on guar gum or microbial rennet cheese. Not to mention all of the rest of the ritual constructions we’ve concocted in an effort to “protect” the Torah, as best we understand it. One could argue, (and I do!) that this millennia-old system of perennial catch-up is the strength of Judaism; for a faith based on Halacha, rabbinical law, we constantly strive to re-apply ancient standards to modern circumstances. Hayashan Mitchadesh—the old is renewed. Our tradition of reinvention is as old as its very sources. 

The danger comes, I feel, when people feel they must declare allegiance to one choice while denigrating another. The informed individual knows that since we are all living by Divinely inspired constructions, there is no monopoly on holiness. Only a danger of disinformation or intolerance. Over the past week or so, I davened in several shuls of varied orientations; some up my alley, others not so. But, even though I was honored to participate or lead, I knew the rules and played by them, hoping to bring people to a spiritual consensus even if the mechanics were not my taste. I have had non-Jewish colleagues apologize for mentioning bacon in conversation, and I’ve had Jewish colleagues serve me meals that I could not eat.  I’ve also seen Jewish clergy buck the trend of their movements in order to accommodate the practices of those to their right or their left, and Christian clergy whose standard blessing to a friend or parishioner, delivered as automatically as we say “yaashar koach,” invokes the name of a particular individual which we find a little oogy. 

Let’s face it. We were all created b’tzelem elokim; in the image of G-d. From the day after the first Shabbos, we’ve been improvising with G-d as much as Hashem has been returning the favor. I am very content with my standards and practices, and I respect those of others, since they all come from the same place, are derived from the same sources, and subject to the same flashes of brilliance or imperfections. Who am I do say? I will do what I can to understand where you are, where you come from, and to meet you on respectful, common ground. 

Just don’t tell me that you have the exclusive, inside Divine track. Don’t mandate that living by anything but your morality, rules, laws, or preferences, is sinful. Don’t corrupt a free and fair democracy and try to reverse the direction in which its gears turn. Don’t call out troops to use violence in an effort to prove you’re right and that I, or anyone else, are wrong. And don’t tell me that G-d, or a demagogue, has given you any more authority than anyone else. 

Let’s clear the air. Matot and Ma’ase come back together, universally, this week. 

So can we.


Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen
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Pinchas

7/22/2022

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At the end of last week’s parsha, Balak has been unsuccessful at trying to hire Balaam to curse Israel. But the king of Moab as another, more insidious trick up his sleeve. He sends Midianite women to the camp to seduce the Israelite men in two ways; one of them the old-fashioned way, the other enticing them to commit idolatry. G-d becomes angry, and pronounces a death sentence against the sinners. When Pinchas, Aaron’s grandson, sees a couple openly cohabitating at the entrance to the Tabernacle, he takes a spear and skewers the two of them. The plague of immorality is halted as a result, but not after 24,000 individuals are killed.

Our parsha opens with the continuation of the story. But rather than criticizing Pinchas for his unbridled zealotry, G-d praises him and rewards him. Crediting Pinchas with putting an end to the debauchery, Hashem confers upon him a “covenant of peace,” invoking the name of his grandfather, effectively promoting him to the rank of a full Kohen (priest)—a position which previously been granted only to Aaron and his sons. From now on, Pinchas’ descendants, as well as any generations to follow, will carry the Priestly lineage. Chazal (our sages) even teach that the High Priests would all come from Pinchas’ line. 

Does it seem fitting that an act of violence, committed rashly, would merit such a magnanimous response? Why doesn’t the Torah provide a more benign solution to the problem? Reading on, we get a little more information. We learn that the murdered Israelite was Zimri ben Salu, a leader of the tribe of Simeon. Chazal suggest that this may be a pseudonym, and that Zimri may have been none other than Shlumiel ben Tzurishaddai, the prince of the tribe. And the woman? She is identified as Cozbi, daughter a leader of Midian’s ruling class. In other words, so devious was Balak’s plan that he sent the daughters of Midian’s most prominent families to tempt and convert the best of Israel’s best. The Moabite plan, executed by the Midianites, was not intended to simply pick off a few weak-minded individuals. It was calculated to decimate the entire socio-political infrastructure of the nation by weakening the inherent sense of morality shared by the Israelites. Such is the power of an influence which, using psychology and calculation, is capable of destroying an entire nation from within. Suddenly, it becomes much easier to understand why Pinchas is lauded for his autonomic response to defend G-d, the sanctity of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), and all of B’nai Israel. It also lends greater credence to the next few verses, where Israel is commanded to harass and kill Midian.

One can legitimately argue whether the ringleaders and the perpetrators deserved the same fate. Some suggest that Moab was spared here (they were already under sanctions) because Ruth was destined to descend from that nation (Rashi). Or that, with issues hinging on fundamental morality, the fact that Midian went along with the plan without keeping their moral compass trained on due north was their undoing. Whatever the case, there is certainly a strikingly contemporary lesson for today. Just like a bridge, building, or city needs a strong, well-maintained infrastructure to continue functioning, so, too, do our moral underpinnings need to be constantly refreshed and made strong. If by accident, or even worse, on purpose, we allow them to erode, the potential damage runs the risk of destroying us from the inside out. The story of Pinchas reminds us that there are times when evil must be met, brazenly and without hesitation, sometimes by an unequal, opposite force.

Simon and Garfunkel put it aptly: “Silence like a cancer grows.” There are times when we just can’t afford to be silent, .


Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen
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Balak

7/14/2022

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After several weeks’ parshas containing harrowing stories of rebellion, retribution, plague, punishment, and cycles of retribution, the Torah finally delivers some comic relief. The story of the blustering Balak who enlists the G-d-fearing prophet Balaam to curse Israel is the stuff of classical comedy. The renowned seer turns out to be the most blind. The angry king only gets angrier as his plan progressively fails. Add to this a talking donkey who is smarter than her rider. Each successive attempt at a more effective curse becomes instead a greater blessing. Best of all, Moshe and Israel are completely unaware of the multinational plot against them. They only make a narrative appearance in the last nine verses of the parsha. 

Yet, despite the Marxian (Groucho, not Karl) style of Balak, there are multiple sources of inspiration and enlightenment contained in its language. Balaam is a prophet who can’t help but be a good one, despite the fact that some authorities want to give him a bad rap. Ramban suggests that he was chosen by G-d to be the conduit between Heaven and the non-Jewish world. Chazal (our sages) credit him with predicting Balak’s ascension to power as well as interpreting the meaning of the supernatural events which accompanied the revelation at Sinai to the world. Once Balaam starts to get the message, his mantra, supplied by G-d, becomes, “Whatever Hashem puts in my mouth, I will speak.” Those words are increasingly inspiring. Many of them have become iconic parts of the liturgy, including Num. 24:5… “Ma tovu ohalecha ya’akov….” (How goodly are your tents, O Jacob….), which is recited daily. So powerful is the poetry of Balaam’s parables that Chazal considered including some of them in the daily recitation of the Shema. The final mashal (parable) is, I think, the most remarkable of all. It predicts, in fairly direct terms, the future conquest of the 10 northern tribes by Assyria, followed by our fate under the rule of Greece and Rome. The eventual fall of Rome is also foretold. Quite an amazing literary and historical legacy. 

Balaam teaches us through his (mis)fortune. When he gives himself over to speaking the words of Hashem, he can’t help but speak truth. As a famous, professional soothsayer, he could have said anything he wanted, knowing that his words would be meaningless absent the veracity granted them by G-d. But he speaks instead through parables supplied from above. 

There are those among us for whom the words of our liturgy are the deepest and most meaningful, inspirational poetry and prose of all. And those for whom they are a comfortable but anachronistic comfort. Those who strive for a deeper, more symbolic or mystical meaning, and those for whom the mumbo-jumbo is just that; nonsense with, perhaps, a Divine purpose. This brief biblical diversion teaches us that the words of the siddur, as old and iconic as they may be, nonetheless can have a powerful effect. If we, like Balaam, can strive to speak the words that Hashem puts in our mouth, we, too, can have the ability to unite past, present, and future through prayer. 

O G-d, open my lips, and may my mouth declare your praises (Psalm 51).


Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen
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Chukat

7/7/2022

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Over the past few weeks of Parshas, we have gotten used to relatively long (in Torah terms, at least) descriptions of ritual/political laws or events, various deleterious events and their unfortunate aftermath, and the inevitable punctuation of the Children of Israel complaining about whatever is irking them that day—usually food.

This week, however, the parsha makes relative haste through multiple subjects and pieces of narrative over the course of 87 verses. Our learned sages (Chazal) almost universally agree that the episodes listed in Chukat are not in chronological order, but rather, as the Torah is apt to do, are arranged for thematic, educational, or inspirational reasons. Let’s look at a few of them to try and pull out some of the editorial backstory. Four episodes in particular: the red cow (parah aduma), the death of Miriam, Moshe striking the rock, and the miracle at Arnon.

The red cow (heifer, if you will) is one of the mysteries of the Mitzvot. A pure red cow is sacrificed, its blood spread toward the Mishkan,  and then it’s burned with cedar wood, hyssop, and a crimson thread. Its ashes are mixed with pure water, and are used as a sprinkling solution to purify anyone who has been in contact with a corpse. The conundrum, however, is that the act of preparing the purifying water renders the practitioner impure. We’ll talk about that on Shabbos…join us in person or online!

Shortly thereafter, we learn of the death of Moshe’s sister Miriam. Immediately, the source of water which has been quenching the thirst of the nation disappears. This is what leads Chazal to conclude that it was because of Miriam’s merit that a miraculous well followed us through the desert. Connecting this episode to the next, Midrash suggests that the rock which Moshe struck back in Sh’mot (Exodus) was the same one which he struck this time instead of speaking to it as he had been instructed. Some of the sages conclude that the rock followed Israel through the wilderness, as the locus of the well, which disappeared following her death. Yet, despite Moshe’s previous relationship with this holy milestone (sorry for that), he doesn’t follow the instructions, and strikes the stone instead of speaking to it, ostensibly condemning himself to a denial of the right to accompany the nation to the promised land.

The account of Arnon is referred to obliquely in the text, mostly from the cryptic references attributed to the now lost “Book of the Wars of Hashem.” Chazal teach that the Ammonites planned to ambush Israel by rolling large boulders down from their hiding places on two mountains as the nation passed through the valley in between. The miracle was that G-d pressed the two mountains together, crushing the would-be attackers. B’nai Yisrael would not have known about their salvation but for the blood which ran down from the rock crevices. A juxtaposition of strophes in the apocryphal book suggests that the stream of blood was transformed into the new source of water for Israel.

Three symbolic themes connect these episodes: red/blood, water, and stone. The elemental omnipresence of the three is classic. The red of life-giving blood is tinged with its association with sin. Water is similarly vital to survival, but brings a connotation of purity in contrast. Bringing them together is rock, “Tzur,” symbolic of Hashem, our Rock upon whom we put our trust. The relationship between holiness and sin is a constant dynamic, and the two are in such constant conflict that they can be regarded as a single entity. Yet, if you view two simultaneous conflicts of clear vs. red on opposite ends of a spectrum, what is the fulcrum which provides the opportunity for balance? You got it. Our Tzur, our Rock, right in the middle.

Like our ancestors of old, we strive to balance our tendency toward the worst in our nature with our best and holiest potential. With our feet planted firmly on a strong, stone Divine foundation, may every trace of red be washed away, leaving us perfectly in perfect equilibrium, in every way.


Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen
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