PARSHAT TZAV

(5768)

 

PASSING THROUGH DANGER

“If he offers it for thanksgiving, he shall offer it together with the sacrifice of thanksgiving, unleavened cakes with oil mixed in, unleavened wafers spread with oil, and cakes of choice flour with oil mixed in, well soaked.”                                  (Leviticus 7:12)

 

            I passed through a dangerous situation last Friday afternoon right before services.  (At least my grandmother would have thought it was dangerous.)   I stopped at my dry cleaner to pick up clothing, and as I was walking in, I noticed that my sleeve button was missing.  My shirt sleeve was wide open and I had to conduct Shabbat services in a few minutes.  I showed it to my dry cleaner, who told me, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” 

            “Let me take off the shirt,” I said.

            “No need to.  It will take a second.”  Before I knew it, he had sewed a new button on the sleeve.  And he did it while I was wearing the shirt.  My late grandmother would be so upset; she believed in the Jewish superstition that you never sew clothing on someone’s body.  And I admit I felt a bit uncomfortable.  Was it dangerous?  I told two of our synagogue members, both of whom told me that if I chew on a thread I will be all right.  So after chewing on a thread, I suppose I am now safe.

            I tell this story somewhat tongue in cheek.  I know that we Jews are a superstitious people.  We do not sew on buttons while wearing a shirt.  We do not have baby showers.   I tell pregnant women they can go to a cemetery but they stay away anyhow.   And each Yom Kippur I watch as hundreds of people walk out of Yizkor services even after I ask them to stay; it is considered bad luck to be in services if your parents are alive.  Superstitions teach us so many dangerous situations we need to avoid.

            But this story has a more serious message.   My dry cleaner is a religious Moslem.  We often discuss religion as I pick up my very large weekly load of suits, shirts, and slacks.  (Sometimes I think he would never harm me because I singlehandedly keep him in business.)  But in truth, I have developed a wonderful relationship with both the dry cleaner and his wife.  We often discuss our respective religions.  (Do you think it is hard to fast on Yom Kippur?  Imagine doing it every day from sunrise to sunset for a month during Ramadan?  He considers this a true religious challenge.)  In fact, he has invited me to visit his mosque during a recent Moslem festival.  And each week he wishes me a Shabbat Shalom.

            I have heard Jews say that Moslems are dangerous.  They are not.  There certainly exist Islamist extremist who preach a jihadist war between Islam and the West.  Such individuals must be fought with whatever weapons are appropriate.  But there are also countless individuals who simply desire to live in peace, people who care about their neighbors.  People ask me how we are going to stop the Islamist extremists.  The answer is simple – we cannot stop them.  Only Moslem moderates can stop them.  And that is why it is so vital that we build relationships with these moderates.  That is why, even in a powder keg like the Middle East, Israelis and Palestinians are quietly dialoging, getting to know each other beneath the radar of public media.  They are the only hope for an eventual peace in the Middle East.

            This week’s portion speaks about an offering of Thanksgiving.  The Rabbis of the Talmud taught that such an offering is given when someone comes through a dangerous situation.  Today we say a special prayer of thanks known as birkat hagomel.  We say the prayer after a long journey, after recovering from an illness or going through surgery, and after being released from prison.  (see Berachot 54b)  What is a long journey?  Some say it after every airplane journey, but I believe airplanes are too safe to require such a prayer.  An overseas trip to Europe or Israel is safe.  But after a journey to Iraq, Pakistan, or Afghanistan, such a prayer would be appropriate.

            I long for the day when I can journey to any nation on earth and feel safe. Perhaps it all begins with a relationship with a Moslem dry cleaner who is very quick at sewing on buttons.

 

 

PARSHAT TZAV

 (5767)

 

CAN MACHINES KEEP MITZVOT – PART 2

 

“Command Aaron and his sons, saying, This is the Torah of the burnt offering; It is the burnt offering, because of the burning upon the altar all night to the morning, and the fire of the altar shall be burning in it.”                         (Leviticus 6:2)

 

            This week’s portion is called Tzav, literally “Command.”   God commands Aaron and his sons to burn the burnt offering on the altar all night until morning.  The Torah is filled with a variety of commandments dealing with both the ritual and the ethical, both negative and positive commandments.  Judaism teaches that there are 613 commandments in the Torah, 365 negative commandments (thou shall not) corresponding to the days of the year and 248 positive commandments (thou shall) corresponding to the limbs of the body.

            One could ask the question, if God wanted us to follow all these laws, why not make human beings as automatons, little robots who automatically follow God’s will? Why not make us as the angels, who automatically do good and are unable to sin?  Of course the reason is that God made us humans with free will.  We have been given the choice of doing the right thing or the wrong thing.  This idea is at the center of the Biblical view of humanity.  We humans were created in the image of God because we were given the ability to choose.

            Last week I raised the issue whether machines can keep commandments.  Often in my synagogue we struggle to provide a minyan, the ten Jews needed for the daily prayers.  Could I make a couple of robots that I would keep in storage in my office?  When we fall short of the necessary ten, could I pull out a couple of robots and count them.  This is the kind of idea science fiction writers love (is the robot really a Jew?)  But in real life, we cannot count robots nor automatons in the minyan.

            This brings me to modern times and the teachings of many of my contemporaries today, particularly on college campuses.  They insist that free will is really an illusion.  Like the robots, on some deep level we humans are machines.  We have no real choice about the decisions we make, but are under the control of forces beyond ourselves.  In the old days, people would say that we are under the control of stars and planets.  (This is one of the reasons that Judaism and other Biblical religions reject astrology.)  Because so many people believe that heavenly bodies control our actions, Shakespeare could write in his play Julius Caesar, “The fault dear Brutus lies not in our stars but in ourselves.”

            I am convinced that if Shakespeare lived today, he would have written the line differently.  “The fault dear Brutus lies not in our genes …” A material viewpoint of the world sees us as genetic machines.   Fairly regularly I have counseled someone going down a bad path in his or her life, who told me, “Rabbi, I cannot help myself.  It must be in my genes.”  Richard Dawkins and other materialists say that our entire being is a mere machine set up for our genetic survival.  Blaming genes is a way of escaping responsibility.

            People blame more than genes.  In 1978 George Moscone, the mayor of San Francisco, and Harvey Milk, a city supervisor (in fact the first gay supervisor) were assassinated by Dan White, a former supervisor.  In his defense, White’s lawyers argued in the infamous Twinkie defense, that White could not control his actions because of his addiction to Twinkies and other sugary foods.  He received an unusually light sentence.   We humans become mere machines when we say, “The food I ate made me do it.”

            Part of the modern philosophical agenda as taught on many college campuses is the decentering of the self.  Humans are not free independent agents.  Freudians see humans as victims of the id, unconscious forces which overpower the ego.  Marxists see us as victims of economic forces that are acted out in history in what is called dialectic materialism.  Structuralists see deep patterns of human behavior that control how societies organized themselves.   All of this modern theories downplay that role of free will and the human ego in self-determinism.  From their perspective, a mechanistic, deterministic view of humanity becomes natural.

            The great religions based on the Biblical disagree with this approach.  Humans have free will and can make choices, and thus become responsible for their actions.  It is essential that this message be heard today.

 

 

PARSHAT TZAV

 (5766)

 

BEHIND THE SCENES

 

“And the priest shall put on his linen garment, and his linen breeches shall he put upon his flesh, and take up the ashes which the fire has consumed with the burnt offering on the altar, and he shall put them beside the altar.   And he shall take off his garments, and put on other garments, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a clean place.”                                                                                                (Leviticus 6:3-4)

 

            Each morning the high priest would put on special garments and remove the ashes from the fire where the daily offering was burnt.  He then changed into ordinary streets clothes and carried the ashes outside the camp to a special place.  The ashes still maintain their holiness even after the sacrifice has been burnt up.  The great commentator Rashi teaches that this particular tradition needed special encouragement for the priest.  One can imagine that the priest willingly brought the daily offering.  At that time he was at the center of public attention.  Removing the leftover ashes early each morning needed more encouragement.  It had to be done, or else the altar would see a build up of dirty ashes.  But it was not fun.

            This entire portion reminds me of those who work hard behind the scenes to make sure everything is ready.  They do not get the public recognition.  When we go to the movies, the stars, the producer, and the director are shown at the beginning.  At the end of the movie, when everyone is walking out, the credits roll by.  Hundreds of names are listed, from the make-up artist to the sound engineer to the caterer.  They are unknown.  And yet, without them, the movie would never have happened.

            Last week I wrote about my trip to New York City with our high school students.  It was my moment of glory to be with these young people for three straight days.  And yet, if it were not for other people I could not have made the trip.  I want to mention in particular my assistant Rhonda, who did all the busy work of arranging hotels, flights, restaurants, tours, collecting money, and overseeing details.   While in New York we saw the play Rent.  It is wonderful if somewhat edgy musical.  When the actors took their bows, I thought about those behind the scenes, the lighting and music and stage manager, even the ushers.  We often do not appreciate those who make things happen.

            We like to say that God is in the details.  I will be the first to admit that I am not a detail person.  I tend to see the world in broad pictures.  We recently celebrated a pet Shabbat in our synagogue.  We gathered before services to teach about the Jewish view towards animals and to bless countless dogs, and various other pets including a snake and a skunk.  The idea was mine, although taken from other rabbis and originally used by churches based on a prayer of St. Francis of Assisi.  I could come up with the broad idea, but it took our youth director Rayna to realize that we needed to provide dog biscuits and water, plus catchy tee shirts.

            In my personal case, the one behind me taking care of the details is my wife Evelyn.  She is the one who makes sure all the pieces are in place before we go on a trip or plan any other activities.  She is the one who makes sure that everyone, including me, has the appropriate clothes to wear.  And when I am waiting in the car, she is the one who runs back into the house when I forget my pills or the extra pair of glasses.    

            There is no holiday that is more detail oriented than Passover.  Most of us sit down at a seder, the ritual meal at the center of the holiday.  There is special food and special dishes.  For those who keep kosher (and I encourage it particularly during Passover), there has been a total changeover in dishes and cutlery.  New food has been bought.  The house has been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom.  And a huge amount of cooking has taken place.  How often do we appreciate the detail work behind the scenes, the one who prepared that seder?   

            In general, how often do we appreciate those who work behind the scenes carrying out the detail work?  Whether it is the busboy who sets our table in the restaurant, the housekeeper who makes sure our hotel room is clean, or the delivery person who makes sure we have a newspaper at our front door before dawn each morning, there are people who work behind the scenes to service us.  They make the world work.   For that they deserve a big thank you.

 

 

PARSHAT TZAV

 (5764)

 

POINTING TOWARDS HOLINESS

 

"And Moses took some of the anointing oil and some of the blood that was on the altar and sprinkled it upon Aaron and upon his vestments, and also upon his sons and upon their vestments, Thus he consecrated Aaron and his vestments, and also his sons and their vestments."

(Leviticus 8:30)

 

In this week's portion, Moses consecrates Aaron and his sons for the priesthood.  Why do we need the priests at all?

An answer dawned on me as I spoke at a conference on family life down in Mexico City.  I was one of very few Jews, among several thousand people, mostly Catholics including many Catholic priests, various other Christian groups, Mormons, and quite a few Moslems.  The purpose of the priesthood, both in ancient times and in the modern world is to point the way towards the holy.  Even those who may not have embraced a life of holiness would look to the priest for a vision of holiness.

We Jews are to be a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation."  Perhaps our job as a people is to point the way to holiness for the world.  Perhaps in a perfect world, people would look at Jews and say "this is a holy people."  I went to Mexico City because I felt there should be a Jewish presence at a conference on the centrality of family.  After all, our Torah gave the world a vision of family life.

Allow me to share the beginning of the speech I gave in Mexico City:

There is a tale in the Talmud of a wealthy Roman woman who approached a great rabbi and asked, "Since God created the world, what has he been doing?"  The rabbi answered that God has been matching men and women for marriage.  The woman said, "That is not difficult."  She lined up all her male and female slaves and matched them up, "This man with this woman; this man with this woman."  The next day the slaves came to her, this one with an injured eye and this one with a broken arm.  "I don't want him."  "I don't want her."   The Roman woman then returned to the rabbi and said, "I realize the greatness of God.  To make a good match is as difficult as the parting of the Red Sea."   (Genesis Rabbah 68:4)

At the center of the Torah=s vision for humanity is the verse, "A man shall leave his mother and father and cleave unto his wife, and they shall be one flesh."  (Genesis 2:24)   Notice that it does not say, a man shall leave his mother and father and cleave unto his lovers, wives, mistresses, and casual pick ups.  Marriage and fidelity are the ideal for men and women.  Yet we live in a world of recreational sex, failed marriages, and children whose parents are not a daily presence in their lives. 

Why are our marriages in such trouble?  Twenty five years of Rabbinic counseling have convinced me that we do not know how to love.  As a culture we have totally misunderstood the meaning of love.  We date someone who attracts us sexually,  we fall in love, then we get married.  Then for many of us, the marriage becomes stale, we seek excitement elsewhere, we fall out of love, divorce, fall in love with someone else, and marry again.  Polygamy has been outlawed, but serial monogamy has become the norm.  Or else we do not bother to marry at all, moving from lover to lover as long as we feel fulfilled.  In our search for love, too often we abandon marriage..

Too often what we think is love of the other is really simply love of ourselves.  There is a Hasidic story of a man who catches a huge carp and keeps it alive to give away as a gift.  The carp is very frightened, until he hears the Hasid say that he is going to give the fish to the local nobleman.  "He loves carp."  The carp feels much better.  If the nobleman loves carp, he will certainly protect him and keep him safe.  The Hasid brings the carp to the nobleman, who immediately orders his servants to cut it in half, cook it, and serve it for dinner the next two nights.  The carp screams.  "I thought you love carp.  You don't love carp; you only love yourself."

If we are to create marriages that last, we must rethink how we look at love.  We need to teach our young people the true meaning of love.  What does it mean to fall in love and marry?  Let us share some insights from the Jewish mystical tradition known as kabbala.  I believe these will help us rediscover the true meaning of love, and create marriages that really do succeed.

 

Passover, our most family oriented festival begins this week.  May we renew the holiness of family life on this Passover.  Then may we be role models of family holiness for the world.

 

 

PARSHAT TZAV

(5763)

 

FINDING ATONEMENT

 

"He [Moses] led forward the bull of the sin offering.  Aaron and his sons laid their hands upon the head of the bull of the sin offering."                      (Leviticus 8:14)

 

I just finished reading a beautiful novel by Ian McEwan entitled Atonement.  Set in pre-World War II England, it tells of a thirteen year old girl, a future novelist, who commits a terrible act of betrayal.  The second half of the novel speaks of her attempt to overcome her guilt and find atonement.

In the epilogue of the book, looking back as an older woman, she writes "The problem these fifty-nine years has been this: how can a novelist achieve atonement when, with her absolute power of deciding outcomes, she is also God?  There is no one, no entity or higher form that she can appeal to, or be reconciled with, or that can forgive her.  There is nothing outside her."  If there is nothing outside of us, whom do we turn to for forgiveness?   God plays many roles in our lives as humans.  One of the most important is the God Who forgives.

As a rabbi, I counsel people dealing with every issue human beings can face.  One of the most persistent is the quest for forgiveness and atonement in the eyes of God.  Someone comes to see me, often asking for an extremely confidential meeting.  "Rabbi, I have done wrong.  Do you think God can ever forgive me?"  I hear confessions, although I am not a priest.  What I hear is a sense of being out of sync with the universe, needing something to be at peace once again.  The quest for atonement is one of the most powerful human needs.  Atone comes from the two words at one, at one with the universe and at one with God.

In ancient times people brought animal sacrifices to God to find atonement.  The suffering of the animal served to vicariously fulfill the need to suffer and be punished because of one=s sin.  Even the priests, responsible for the bringing of the offerings, had to first be at one with God.  The priest could not help others atone until he had atoned his own sins.  Therefore, at the center of the investiture of Aaron into the priesthood was the sin offering, so he would find atonement.

Christianity built an entire theology on the idea of vicarious atonement.  Jesus died on the cross, suffering to take away the sins of those who believe in him.  This idea resonates in a powerful way, making Christianity in its various forms the largest faith on earth.  Someone must suffer if we are to be at one with God again.

As a Jew, I do not accept the idea of Jesus dying for my sins.  "A person shall die for their own sins."  (Deuteronomy 24:16)  But that leaves unanswered the idea that human beings need atonement.  We need to find a way to become at one with God and the universe after we have done something wrong.  As a spiritual leader who counsels people in need of atonement, I find that I personally must be at one with God if I am to help others.  Like the character in McEwan=s novel, there is pain in the quest to find forgiveness.

I remember hearing once a prayer of a great rabbi before Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.  He turned to God and said, "Lord of the Universe.  Although I am often hungry, I will fast on this day.  Some of my own flesh will disappear.  We can no longer offer animal sacrifices to find atonement.  Therefore, may this sacrifice of my own flesh serve as forgiveness for my sins and put me at one with You."

How do we become at one with God?  How do we find forgiveness?  Must we suffer and feel pain?  Can we transfer our sin to someone else, an animal or another human being?  Can we continue to live when we have done wrong?  How do we find peace, hope, and healing?   These are fundamental questions that humans of all faiths and of no particular faith must ask.  The search for answers is at the heart not only of a great novel, but also of all great religions.

 


 

PARSHAT TZAV

(5762)

 

WHEN CHILDREN DISAPPOINT US

 

"And Moses took some of the anointing oil and some of the blood that was on the altar and sprinkled it upon Aaron and upon his vestments, and also upon his sons and upon their vestments.  Thus he consecrated Aaron and his vestments, and also his sons and their vestments."          (Leviticus 8:30)

 

Much of this portion deals with the consecration of Aaron and his sons into the Priesthood.  Moses must handle all the rituals for his brother and his nephews.

I imagine the emotions that Moses must have felt at this time.  His brother=s sons were following in their father=s footsteps, into a position of honor and glory.  Meanwhile, his own two sons Gershom and Eliezer disappeared from the story.  They would not follow in their father=s footsteps, nor take on any kind of leadership role in the community.

It would have been natural for Moses to feel a sense of deep disappointment in his own sons, even as he consecrated his brother=s sons.  He was gracious in not mentioning his own feelings. 

One of the largest counseling issues I face is parents who are disappointed in their children.  They may regret the spouse their child chose to marry (whether of the same religion or a different faith), or they may regret that their child has not married at all.  They may feel angry that their child is gay or lesbian.  (I highly recommend the newly released movie Trembling Before God which deals with this issue.)  They may be upset over their child=s choice of a career, the city where their child chose to live, or dozens of other life style choices.  They may believe their child has not lived up to his or her potential in terms of education, career, talent, or ambition.

Many Jewish parents have particular issues that trouble them.  They may be frustrated, or deeply frightened, that their child has chosen to live in Israel.  Or they may regret that their child is more observant than they are.  (How often do I hear parents lament, "My child is Orthodox, and won=t even answer the phone on Saturday or eat food in my home!") Sometimes the parents regrets are reasonable; no one likes to see a child make foolish choices.  Too often, however, parents make unreasonable demands of adult children.

I tell parents, "Your job is to raise your children with the right values, and then let them go.  You cannot control the choices they make as adults.  You can communicate your feelings, but ultimately your children must decide for themselves.  And if they make foolish choices, so be it.  All you can do is keep the lines of communication and the door open.  You do not need to agree with every decision your children make.  But you should never stop loving them."

There is a natural tension between parents and children.  Children are trying to break away from their parents and assert their own identities.  They often see their parents as controlling and overbearing.  Parents on the other hand never stop being parents.  My children sometimes say to me, "When will you stop telling me what to do."  I always answer with a smile, "My father stopped telling me what to do when I was forty six.  That is when he died."

This week is Shabbat HaGadol, the Sabbath before the festival of Passover.  We read a special haftarah (portion from the Prophets) that speaks of the day in the future when Elijah the Prophet returns to announce the coming of the Messiah.  The haftarah closes with the words, "He will reconcile parents with children and children with parents."  (Malachi 3:24)

In other words, when the Messiah comes parents and children will finally get along.  Until then, we must all feel the same tension between the generations that Moses must have felt.


 

PARSHAT TZAV

(5761)

 

GOD IN THE DETAILS

 

AAnd he shall put off his garments, put on other garments, and carry forth the ashes outside the camp to a clean place.@

(Leviticus 6:4)

 

God commanded Aaron to dress in special clothes and remove the burnt ashes from the daily whole offering.  The Rabbis comment that Aaron needed special encouragement for this particular mitzvah.  Clearing out dirty ashes does not have the glory of most of the other activities the high priest had to do.  It is one of those necessary details.  Without it, the altar would fill with ashes and soon be unusable.

Clearing ashes is one of those little details that are easy to ignore, but are necessary if the daily sacrifices are going to proceed without problem.  Often we lose track of how important the minor details are in the smooth functioning of our lives.

Passover begins this Saturday night.  We are busy making preparations, removing the hametz, buying the matzah.  Perhaps it is worthy to ask, what is the difference between hametz and matzah, between leavened and unleavened, what we are forbidden to eat and what we are commanded to eat on Passover?

If we mix flour and water and let it sit 17 minutes, 50 seconds before baking, it is matzah and eating it fulfills a mitzvah.  If we mix flour and water and let it sit 18 minutes, 10 seconds, it is hametz, a serious transgression of the Torah.  What a difference a few seconds can make!  The difference is in the details.

Let us look at the words themselves - matzah, hametz.  Both share a tzadi and a mem, one has a hey, the other a het.  But the hey looks like a het, with only a tiny space to differentiate them.  This tiny space, but it makes all the difference in the world.  The difference is in the details.

Passover preparations are filled with details.  How do you kasher a kitchen?  What ingredients are kosher?  Where can I buy the proper food?  How much do I need so that, chas v'chalila, I don't run out in the middle of the holiday?  How do I sell my hametz?  During Passover, God is in the details.

People tell me, "why bother.  Rabbi, I keep all the basics of the holiday, who needs the picayune details."   I sometimes answer,  imagine a family in ancient Egypt that did not want to bother with the details.  Picture a family of Israelites who said, "Why should we bother to put blood on our door?  God knows we have good Jewish hearts.  Why bother with the details?"  When God brought the tenth plague, would He have passed over such a home?  God did not want good Jewish hearts, he wanted Jews who placed the blood on the door.

It is the details that can make or break so many important events.  I recall performing a wedding recently at a luxurious hotel.  Everything was set - the huppah, the winecups, the glass to break, the rings.  Then I asked the ushers to pass out kipot.  Nobody had remembered to order kipot.  I dug an old, bedraggled yarmulke from my car, imprinted with some Bat Mitzvah's name, for the groom.  Everyone else had heads uncovered.  Igoring the detail put a damper on a beautiful wedding.

Now I am aware that mistakes are made.  We are all human.  Nonetheless, it behooves us to watch the details.  One letter left off a Sefer Torah by a scribe makes the entire scroll non-kosher.  Sometimes a mistake in a detail can ruin the whole event.  Recently we passed out Saturday morning synagogue programs with the name of the Bar Mitzvah spelled wrong.  It was a minor detail that seriously upset the day for a family.

George Herbert wrote, "For want of a nail the shoe is lost, for want of a shoe the horse is lost, for want of a horse the rider is lost..."   and so on until the kingdom was lost.  He had the right idea.  A nail can make all the difference.  God is in the details.


 

PARSHAT TZAV

(5760)

 

WHAT IS A MITZVAH?

 

"The Lord Spoke to Moses saying, Command Aaron and his sons..."

(Leviticus 6:1-2)

 

I walked into our morning service, and found two worshippers involved in a heated discussion.  The first insisted that the word mitzvah means "good deed".  The second answered, no the word means "commandment".  Back and forth they debated.  I finally replied, "you're both right.  Mitzvah in our common usage has come to mean a good deed. But the word in every traditional source means "commandment."

The gentleman who insisted that mitzvah meant good deed strong­ly told me, "Rabbi, what do you mean commandment!  I remember in my previous synagogue going one morning a week to our daily worship services.  It meant waking up an hour earlier than usual.  I did it because I knew they needed me to insure a minyan (ten required to hold services).  It was a good deed."

I replied, "did you feel that God commanded you to pray and participate in the services?"  "No, it has nothing to do with God," he said, "I went because it was a good deed."

In this little argument lies the essence of the difference between Orthodox and liberal Judaism.  For Orthodox Jews, a mitzvah is a commandment ordained by the living God.  To most liberal Jews, whether they affiliate with Conservative, Reform, or Reconstruction­ist congregations, a commandment is simply a good deed.  We may perform it out of our commitment to the Jewish people, to our fellow human beings, or to our own spiritual growth.  But there is no sense that we are submitting to the will of the greater, commanding God.

As we read this portion, my question is not to Orthodox Jews.  They know that God is a commanding God.  My question is to the vast majority of us affiliated with the various liberal movements, eclectic in our observance.  Do we keep any religious practices because we believe God commanded us?  Or do we only observe those items we consider good deeds?

I recently asked my teenage study group, "Do you believe there are actions that God wants you to do?  Do you believe there are actions that God has forbidden you to do?  Is there anything you do - or do not do - not because you want to our your parents told you, but because God told you?"  "Did God command you to honor your parents?  Not to commit murder?  To keep the Sabbath?  To fast on Yom Kippur?"

Rabbi Hanina taught that to perform a mitzvah because we are commanded is higher than performing a mitzvah simply because we feel that it is a good deed.  (Kiddushin 31a)  This sounds strange to modern ears.  We value autonomy and choice - picking those mitzvot we find spiritually meaningful, that we consider good deeds.  In our celebration of freedom, we no longer hear the voice of the commanding God.

As we read these ancient commandment regarding the sacrificial offerings, each of us should ask ourself - what modern observance do I keep, not simply because it is a good deed, but because it is truly God's commandment?