PARSHAT TETZAVEH

(5768)

 

DIGNITY

“Make sacral vestments for your brother Aaron, for dignity and adornment.”                                                      (Exodus 28:2) 

            I saw a wonderful movie this week at the recommendation of several congregants.  The movie is entitled The Bucket List.   Two older men, both suffering with cancer, decide to take off together on a series of adventures before they “kick the bucket.”  Morgan Freeman plays an auto mechanic who is a beloved husband, father, and grandfather.  Jack Nicholson plays the crotchety owner of the hospital, a wealthy business man with far more money than love in his life.  They meet in a hospital room where both learn that their cancer is terminal, and decide to live all their dreams before their time comes.

            The two men become best friends as they decide that they should not spend the last months of their lives connected to tubes in a hospital room.  This is the ultimate “death with dignity” movie.  They sky dive, drive racing cars, fly to Europe to dine in Paris, climb the pyramids, and travel to Hong Kong to be fitted with hand made silk suits.  But something happens before they ever visit that Hong Kong tailor.  I do not want to give away the ending, which is very moving.  But the ending should come as no surprise if you ever go to the movies, or if you ever listen to my sermons.  True human dignity is not about clothing and adventures.  It is not about climbing mountains or driving expensive cars.  And human dignity is not about clothing.  Rather it is connected to those we love and those who love us.

            This week’s portion mostly deals with clothing, in particular, the fancy clothing worn by Aaron and his sons as they served as priests in the ancient sanctuary.   The clothes are described in great detail.  One can imagine that these outfits were quite beautiful and made the priests stand out from the crowd.  Ultimately, the purpose of the clothing was for “dignity and adornment.”

            Clothing can be a source of human dignity.  There is nothing wrong with dressing nicely.  Sometimes I feel that we Americans have lost that sense of clothing as a source of dignity.  When people come to Sabbath services in jeans and tee shirts or when I see people flying on airplanes in shorts and sandals, I wonder if a sense of occasion has been lost.  It is nice to dress up now and again.  But in some kind of ultimate sense, human dignity can not come from clothing.

            I perform too many eulogies here in south Florida.  It is part of the reality of living in a retirement area.  Often I will speak about how the deceased was impeccably dressed, how she never left her home without having her hair done and putting on make-up, how he loved to wear a good looking suit and tie.  Sometimes I will speak about people’s “bucket list,” how in the last part of their life they went on an African safari or went bicycling through Europe, how they walked on the Great Wall of China or climbed onto a glacier in Alaska.  Such events are important.  But they are not the ultimate source of human dignity.

            Ultimate human dignity comes from the first words God speaks regarding the human beings God created.  “It is not good for man to be alone.”  Relationships are what make us human.  Dignity comes from those we love, and from those who loved us.  That is why it is so important as the end of life approaches to make peace and spend time with the people we love.  Relationships are what give our lives dignity.

            I recently spoke with a woman whose mother had died peacefully after a long illness.  The woman certainly was sad.  But she also felt a great comfort.  “There were no secrets.  Everything that needed to be said was said while she was alive.  And when she died, she knew we were all there with her.”

            I can think of no greater example of death with dignity. 

                                                                           

 

 

PARSHAT TETZAVEH

 (5767)

 

THE MASKS JEWS WEAR

 

“Make sacral vestments for your brother Aaron, for dignity and adornment.”

                                                                                    (Exodus 28:2)

 

            It is a coincidence that this week’s portion often falls around the Jewish celebration of Purim, which begins Saturday night.  This week’s portion deals with clothing, in particular the special garments worn by the priests for dignity and adornment.  As any teenager can tell us, clothing has powerful symbolic value.  And Purim is also about clothing, the costumes we wear and the masks we use to cover our true selves.  If the Torah portion is about showing our true selves by the clothes we wear, Purim is about hiding our true selves by our clothing.

            What is Purim?  In many ways, Purim is the Jewish version of Carnival or Mardi Gras.  It seems that we humans, sometime near the end of winter, need a day to let go, party, wear masks, and celebrate survival.  In fact, Jewish tradition teaches that on Purim we should become sufficiently inebriated so that we cannot differentiate between “Blessed is Mordecai” and “Cursed is Haman.”   (In this time when drinking is often out of control, especially among our young people, I would recommend a limit on this practice.)

            Purim is fun, but underneath the story of Mordecai and Esther is a more serious message.  First of all, the very name Esther comes from a Hebrew root “to hide.”  Esther hid her identity from the king and from the people.  God hides God’s face from the people; in fact, the book of Esther never once mentions the name of God.  It is as if God steps out of the picture, telling us humans to handle our own redemption.  And we humans, as we celebrate Purim, wear masks to hide our real selves.  We go into this most joyous celebration with a sense that something is hidden.

            Many years ago Rabbi Eugene Borowitz, a prominent Reform theologian, wrote a book called The Masks Jews Wear.  We Jews have made it in this country.  But in doing so, we must hide our true selves, showing the world an artificial face.  We Jews are often the best comedians around, we put on a happy face but cannot show our true selves.  It reminds me of the well-known story of a very depressed man who goes to see a psychiatrist for help.  The psychiatrist recommends he go to the circus where a well-known clown was performing.  “I hear the clown is very funny.  He will lift your spirits.”  The man answers, “Doctor, you don’t understand.  I am that clown.”

              In a similar way black poet Paul Laurence Dunbar wrote, “We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes – This debt we pay to human guile, With torn and bleeding hearts we smile.”  In Dunbar’s time and some would say today, blacks could not show their true selves to the world.  And Jews often believe they cannot show their true selves.  When Jews came to this country, they were often told, “Be a Jew at home but a man in the street.”   Can Jews show their true selves in the street?   Ask any Jewish student at a major university in this country who attempts to speak up for Israel, and we still see the necessity of wearing a mask.

            After Purim, Jews finally take off their masks.  Esther took off her mask and revealed her true self to the king.  In doing so, she put her life on the line.  But in doing so she rescued her people.

            This Purim let us take off our masks and reveal our Jewish identity. Let us not simply joke about our tradition, but be proud of it.  For after all, we the heirs to an inheritance that has transformed the world.

 

 

PARSHAT TETZAVEH

 (5766)

 

MOSES’ EGO

 

“You shall bring forward your brother Aaron, with his sons from among the Israelites, to serve Me as priests; Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar, the sons of Aaron.”

                                                                                    (Exodus 28:1)

 

            Last week I wrote about being “in the zone,” those moments when athletes and the rest of us are fully present, performing at the highest level.  I used the term dasein from existentialist philosopher Martin Heidegger, usually translated as “being there.”  One of my readers wrote back a wonderful insight.  She said that in those moments of dasein, the ego seems to disappear.  There is only a sense of being totally present, without distractions of the self, the ego, or worrying about one’s particular needs.  It is nearly impossible to be in the zone when one is busy worrying about how one is doing.

            In a similar sense, I often speak about the highest level our soul can reach in this world according to kabbala, the level of chaya or life.  We particular reach this particular level in moments of total relationship with the other, those moments that Martin Buber called I-Thou.  At such a moment time and space pass away, the self disappears, the ego is not present, and there is simply that moment of being fully in the presence of the other.  We can reach such ego-less moments in the presence of other people, although inevitably such moments are temporary.   Ideally, we can reach such moments in the presence of God, Whom Buber calls the Eternal Thou.  Again, we cannot reach it when we think of ourselves and our needs.  Reaching chaya means letting go of the ego.  In fact, that is one of the greatest teachings of mysticism in all faiths, letting go of the ego.

            To reach the highest level in life, whether in sports, in relationships, or any other endeavors, requires setting aside our ego and not worrying about ourselves.  We learn this from the greatest teacher, Moses.  According to the Torah, Moses was known for his extreme humility.    Later the Torah will teach, “Now Moses was a very humble man, more so than any other man on earth.”  (Numbers 12:3)    No one knows Moses’ burial place, and later Judaism did everything to avoid becoming a cult of Moses.   Moses did not want to be the center of attention.  No one knows where he is buried, so his gravesite will not become a shrine.  Next month, when we read the Passover Haggada, Moses is not even mentioned in the telling of the story.  Moses was here to serve God and teach God’s law, not to serve himself.   From the beginning Moses set his own ego aside.

            This week’s portion tetzaveh is always read near Moses’ yahrzeit, the anniversary of Moses’ death, which occurred on the seventh day of the Hebrew month of Adar.  Perhaps more than any other portion, this one proves that Moses was willing to set his ego, his self, and his needs aside.  This is the only portion from the beginning of Exodus onwards where Moses’ name is never mentioned.  The entire portion deals with Moses’ brother Aaron and his sons, the special clothing they wore, and their investiture into the priesthood.  Moses was proud of his brother.  It is almost as if Moses deliberately stepped aside, telling his brother, “Aaron, this is your moment of glory.  The Torah needs to focus on you, not me.   I am going to leave my name out of this portion.”

            What a lesson for us today.  I have met people who can never step aside and let someone else have a moment of glory.  I have seen the mother of a bride try to outshine her daughter at the wedding.  I have seen the bar mitzvah where the focus was on other family members to the detriment of the bar mitzvah boy.  I have seen people’s egos, and their need to be at the center of attention, get in the way of other people’s moments of celebration.

            Of course, we are human beings who live in a real world.  We have egos.  We have needs.  Perhaps a few saintly people can go through life totally setting aside their own ego.  Most of us will focus on ourselves.  But perhaps like Moses, we can practice the discipline of setting our own egos and our own needs aside.   It is the best way to reach the highest level we can reach in this life.

           

           

           

 

 

PARSHAT TETZAVEH

 (5764)

 

MEL GIBSON'S PASSION, AND MINE

 

"Make sacral vestments for your brother Aaron, for dignity and adornment."

(Exodus 28:2)

 

This week's portion speaks of the clothing of the High Priest and the other priests who served in the ancient Temple.  The clothing was a symbol of dignity and adornment.  The Priests were not allowed to perform the Temple rites in street clothing.  The clothing made the man and the priests wore these garments proudly.

Last week I watched Mel Gibson's new movie The Passion of the Christ.  The movie showed the High Priest Caiphas and his fellow priests in a very different light.  Dressed in the same garments of the priesthood, wearing tallises to show clearly their Jewishness, the priests were the villains.  They were the ones who urge Pontias Pilate to crucify Jesus.  The underlying message - the Romans may have killed Jesus, but they were acting at the behest of the Jews.

How am I to react to the popularity of this movie?   First, it is extremely violent, bloody, deserving of its R rating.  It is basically the story of the vicious torture and murder of a man, shown in excruciating detail.  The problem is, to a huge number of people throughout the world, the tortured man was actually God incarnate.  According to their religion, his suffering and death was to redeem us from our sins.  That is the reason that the woman sitting behind me in the theater sat crying throughout the entire movie. 

As so many others have commented, Jews and Christians who view this film see two completely different movies.  They can witness the same footage, but what they see is totally different.   This is not surprising.  Jews and Christian face the world with different sacred stories.  That is why the first thought that came to me after seeing The Passion of the Christ was, this is not my story.

What are the two stories?  They are based on the verse in the Bible, "He was wounded because of our transgressions, crushed because of our iniquities."  (Isaiah 53:5) Who was wounded?  To Christians of course, it was Jesus who they call the Christ (Greek for Messiah) who was wounded for our iniquities.  Gibson is telling the story of God becoming man, suffering great pain, and dying for our sins.  When a Christian sees this movie, he or she is focused on the pain and suffering of Jesus.  Each blow becomes atonement for the sins of the world.  According to Christians, by his suffering are we saved.

We Jews see a very different story.  Who was wounded for the sins of the world?  The suffering servant of Isaiah is the Jewish people, the eternal victims of history.  Jews are the canaries of the world, the ones who suffer and die throughout history.  When Jews see the movie they are not focused on the suffering of Jesus, but the blaming of the Jews.  Never mind that historically it was the Romans who killed Jesus.  Even in the movie the Romans are portrayed as evil and sadistic.  But it does not matter, they were doing their dirty work of torture and crucifixion at the behest of the High Priest and other Jewish leaders.  For Jews, it is a story of blaming the Jews.

There are two ways to interpret Isaiah's vision of a suffering servant.  And therefore, there are two different movies.  For Christians, it is the story of the suffering of their Lord.  For Jews, it is the story of the historic suffering of the Jewish people..  How are we to react to these two different stories?

I am convinced that religion is worthy if and only if it makes people better.  Can the Mel Gibson's passion make Christians better.  Yes, but only if they view the suffering of Jesus and say, "If he went through that for me, I need to live by his greatest teachings to be worthy of his suffering.  I need to learn to love as Jesus loved."  I believe the movie has the potential to make my Christian neighbors and friends into better human beings.

What about my fellow Jews?  Can this movie make us into better humans.  Yes, but only if we remove the siege mentality that afflicts so many of us, that sees us as victims once again.  We need to use this as a time to dialog with our Christian neighbors, and to understand their passion for this story.  We need to realize that Judaism is meant not to separate us from our neighbors but to influence us to make this world better.  As a Christian, Mel Gibson has his passion.  As a Jew, my passion is totally different.  How can we use the ancient wisdom of our scriptures to make this a better world?  If Mel Gibson's movie helps accomplish that, he has done a great mitzvah.

 

 

PARSHAT TETZAVEH

(5763)

 

MOMENTS BEYOND TIME

 

"You shall further instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting a (ner tamid) eternal light."

(Exodus 27:20)

 

The woman had not set foot in synagogue for years.  Yet she decided to lecture me on how to make my synagogues more attractive.  "You rabbis need to overhaul synagogue services.  Nobody understands Hebrew.  You need to conduct services in English so people can follow them.  And you need new modern music, and musical instruments to attract young people.  Then maybe I would come."

I told her that rabbis had tried all her ideas.  Even the more liberal Reform Movement is returning to more Hebrew and more tradition in their services.  They have discovered that people want something more in a spiritual experience than the modern and the transient.  They want a touch of eternity.

In this week's parsha we continue the detailed directions for the building of a portable tabernacle.  The Israelites were to bring clear olive oil for a flame that would burn continuously.  The idea of keeping a flame burning at all times developed into one of the most prominent features of synagogue architecture, the eternal light.  A synagogue keeps a light burning at all times, the symbol of that which is permanent and not transient.

People need a touch of eternity in their lives.  They need moments when they step out of time, and step into something that was there before they existed and will be there after they are gone.  When we conduct traditional Hebrew services, using the same prayerbook and the same melodies as our ancestors, we are stepping outside of time.  When I say the Amida (the central prayer of every Jewish worship service), I am saying the same words that the early rabbis in Babylonia, the medieval rabbis of Spain, my family ancestors in the pale of Russia, and Jews today from Israel to South America to throughout the United States are saying.  I become part of something greater than myself. I step out of time and space into eternity.

I can certainly replace the Amida with some modern American poetry, some folksongs, some inspirational readings.  Such a worship experience may even move me more than the traditional Amida.  But it would lack that feeling of eternity, of standing outside of time.  In a similar way, I could certainly rebuild our entire worship service in English, filled with creative reading, poems, and folksongs. It may even be as popular as the latest television fad.  But I doubt such a service would have the holding power to attract generations of Jews.  People who come to pray want to touch eternity.

One of the favorite questions I am asked is, "Rabbi, what do you do when the eternal light goes out?"  The answer is simple; "we change the light bulb."  We all know that nothing in this material world lasts forever.  Our classical Hebrew prayers, no matter how revered, did have a beginning and do change over time. As Ira and George Gershwin wrote in one of their most famous lyrics,

In time the Rockies may crumble,

Gibraltar may tumble,

They're only made of clay;

But our love is here to stay.

The Gershwins are saying that all material things must end. That is why we humans, created in the image of God, need to step outside of time.  We need love.  We need God.  And we need moments of eternity.

 

 

PARSHAT TETZAVEH

(5762)

 

CLOTHING

 

"Make sacral vestments for your brother Aaron, for dignity and adornment."            (Exodus 28:2)

 

This week's portion carefully describes the eight sacred garments worn by the High Priest and the four worn by ordinary priests as they performed their duties.  Whenever I read this portion, I think about the meaning of clothing in our modern world.                       

In the Garden of Eden we humans were "naked and not ashamed." (Genesis 2:25) We were like animals, or young children, who do not need clothing.  Then we ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge, became aware, and made the first clothing - fig leaves.  (Genesis 2:7)  Eventually God fashioned animal skins for the first man and woman.  (Genesis 3:21)

Of course, clothing protects us humans from the elements.  (Obviously here in Florida, less clothing is needed then in chilly New York.  And if you walk on South Beach in Miami, it is obvious that there is a tradition of wearing less.)  Having said that, our tradition also teaches the importance of modesty as a key to holiness.

However, in this week's portion, we see another purpose of clothing.  What we wear has symbolic value.  Our clothing gives a message to ourselves as well as others who see us.  The High Priest and the other priests had to wear the special clothing whenever they offered their sacrifices.  The clothing was carefully designed, and "they shall be worn by Aaron and his sons when they enter the Tent of Meeting or when they approach the altar to officiate in the sanctuary, so that they do not incur punishment and die."  (Exodus 28:43) Quite literally, for the High Priest, the clothes make the man.

Today priests no longer bring sacrificial offerings dressed in special clothing.  But clothes still have symbolic value.  We wear one kind of clothing at the beach or to play tennis, another kind of clothing to run our day-to-day errands, still another when we conduct business, meeting our customers, clients, or patients, and still another at formal occasions such as a wedding or a banquet.  Our choice of clothing makes a statement regarding our feelings about the occasion.  I am always amazed at people who attend a funeral wearing shorts, or who come to synagogue services in an jeans and a tee shirt.  As many motivational speakers have taught, "Dress for the job you want, not for the job you have."

I drop my daughter off at the local high school and watch how the youngsters dress.  Often I see not only a lack of modesty in their clothing, but a lack of respect for the institution.  I often wonder whether more appropriate dress would help students behave more appropriately and create a better atmosphere for learning.  That is why I support uniforms, or at properly enforced dress codes.  Our schools could use some more dignity and respect.

Purim is coming, known for its gaiety, drinking, and of course, its costumes.  I will be in costume Monday night for the Megillah reading, and invite all of our youngsters and adults to do likewise.  On Purim we deliberately wear clothing that would be inappropriate any other time.  Purim is the one day where men may dress like women and women like men, usually forbidden by Jewish law.  Outrageous clothing sets the mood for the merriment.  So, day by day, what we wear sets the mood for how we see ourselves and how others see us.

 

PARSHAT TETZAVEH

(5761)

 

SIBLING RIVALRY

 

"You shall bring forward your brother Aaron, with his sons, from among the Israelites, to serve me as priests."                                           (Exodus 28:1)

 

This is the only portion in the entire Torah from the book of Exodus onwards, that Moses is not mentioned by name.  The portion speaks of the inauguration of Aaron and his sons into the priesthood.  It is almost as if Moses has stepped back and let his brother have all the glory.

There is much wisdom regarding the relationship between siblings that grows out of this portion.  I wrote in my book God, Love, Sex, and Family: The midrash teaches that Moses and Aaron loved and honored one another; at the moment that Moses took the political leadership and Aaron the priesthood, each was happy in the success of the other.  Regarding Moses and Aaron, the Psalmist wrote "How good and how pleasant it is that brothers dwell together." (Psalms 133:1) (Midrash Tanhuma Shmot).

Why did these two brothers get along, when other brothers in the Bible hated one another?  If we can answer this question, perhaps we can find the key to avoiding sibling rivalry.  Moses and Aaron were two very different types of human beings.  Moses was the law giver, disappearing onto the mountain for forty days to commune with God, unable to speak without a stutter, impatient with the people and uncompromising in his commit­ment to the law.  Aaron was the priest, a peace maker, who enjoyed the public role of being the spokesman before Pharaoh, a man proud to wear the Priestly garments. 

There is a classic rabbinic passage on the difference between the two brothers.

"Moses motto was, let the law cut through the mountain.  Aaron, however, loved peace and pursued peace and made peace between man and man." (Sanhedrin 6b)

The two brothers each excelled in different areas, fitting their particularly personalities.  So each was able to celebrate the success of the other, without bitterness or jealousy.

Social scientists who have studied siblings have noted that brothers and/or sisters will show their independence from one another by staking out their own particular areas of talent, and ceding other areas to their sibling.  By staking out their own areas, they can then take pride in their sibling's accomplishments. 

Francine Klagsbrun has noted:

"[There is] the need brothers and sisters have to be different, to distinguish themselves from one another, to establish their own identities. . .

 "For many siblings, asserting differences is a path that sets up demarca­tion lines, as if to say `Here you are and here I am, so we do not need to get in each other's way.'  It is also a path through which envy and competition may be held at bay." (Mixed Feelings, p. 27-28)

Klagsbrun uses the term role assump­tion to describe this.  Moses and Aaron each assumed roles, one took the more private role as law giver, the other more public role as priest.

Siblings rivalry can only disappear when siblings step back and allow their fellow sibling to find an area where they can shine.