Ki Teitzei, 5784

Deuteronomy 21:10 – 25:19
Isaiah 54:1-10

Devarim Chapter 23, verses 13 and 14 tell us:

“And you shall have a designated place outside the camp, so that you can go out there [to use it as a privy]. And you shall keep a stake in addition to your gear; and it shall be, when you sit down outside [to relieve yourself], you shall dig with it, and you shall return and cover your excrement.”

In this d’var torah I will talk about how the reason we don’t have the third temple nor Moshiach is because of flush toilets.

Just kidding. But I do find it interesting that Torah has two verses of how to bury your poop which follows Leave No Trace, or LNT. LNT was developed as a method of best practices to preserve and protect natural spaces. Burying your business is a major aspect of LNT. It’s so important that backpackers carry a dedicated lightweight shovel to do this very task. It’s another example of something that if the Jews are doing, you might want to consider, too.

I spoke on Ki Teitzei in 2016, 5776. In that drash I spoke about believing women when they’re hurt by men. It doesn’t matter if that is caused by formal or casual sexism, violations of their privacy, or assault. I supported this by quoting Deuteronomy Chapter 22, verses 23-29 which lists specific punishments for sex.

And this hurts me so much. It hurts me because it’s more prescient than it ever has been. The UN has dismissed the rapes, which were recorded and bragged about by Hamas, of women and men. Feminist organizations have covered their eyes and ears to blindingly obvious evidence of crimes against both Israeli and Gazan women and men. These crimes were perpetuated supposedly for a few reasons, but they all boil down to blind hate. One of their excuses was that Israelis don’t deserve to live and should be humiliated. Another is that queer people don’t deserve to live. Another is that people who try to get humanitarian aid after Hamas steals it don’t deserve to live.

We have 16 million people, our people, trying to take up the mantle of these abused victims. I don’t know how many allies are taking up the mantle, and of those allies, I don’t know how many are taking it up only to score political points. All I know is that I feel like we’re on an island surrounded by sharks screaming into a deafening wind, with no ships stopping.

I spoke, last time, about Rabbi Yitzi Hurwitz in Temecula, CA, who has ALS and knows how hard it can be to pick up your donkey alone — he is forced to record his words of wisdom using only eye tracking technology on a computer. He wrote that helping lift one’s donkey is a simple mitzvah, extending that to lifting one’s fallen spirituality is a deeper one.

He writes: “…Realize that it is his animal that has fallen—not him. His neshamah [soul] is pristine. He is essentially holy and wants to be G?d’s. It is only his ‘animal’—his circumstances, nature and upbringing that put him where he is today.”

This man is a force of nature. These were written years ago, and I quoted them eight years ago. And this man is still alive today, writing using only his eyes and incredible technology.

This year, I want to take a different message from Rabbi Hurwitz’s words. Last time it was about helping lift up others’ spiritual burdens. And we’ve been doing that for decades.

We’ve supported every civil rights movement in modern history. We know what it’s like to be strangers in a strange land; we know what it’s like to constantly be the other. Because of this, we build others up and expect them to adhere to the social contract and support us back. Yet time and again we’re strung out to dry by people we thought were allies.

The far left accuses us of genocide. The far right accuses us of running the banks. Both deny the rapes and assaults of October 7. Horseshoe theory, the idea that the both political extremes meet back up, rings true. Antisemitism truly is the hammer which forges horseshoe theory.

Luckily, the moderates of both sides largely support us, albeit quietly. We’re the little secret of moderates. Few are willing to stick their necks out for us, even though they acknowledge our value and contributions.

What does this have to do with helping unburden our struggles? What does this have to do with lifting our worldly burdens to free our pure spirit? For this, I want to expand on this very commandment: “You shall not see your brother’s donkey or his ox fallen… and ignore them. [Rather,] you shall pick up [the load] with him.” With him, together.

We are firmly in the month of Elul. A month when we confront the inclination to do evil that’s inside all of us. Maybe we want to be petty for offenses that shouldn’t matter or take outsized revenge for minor offenses. Maybe we want to demean someone for a small reason or gossip about them. Whatever the transgression, this inclination has a voice and pushes us to act on our animal instincts. I’ve given into it, for sure. And I try every day to do better, though some days I try harder than others.

What is the inclination of people who should be our allies? For the left, who speak of opportunity and fight racism, while denying us the very safety they extend to those who have slaughtered us. Who extend safety to those who would happily slaughter them, as well. For the right, who speak of opportunity and business, while stoking fears of globalists and secretive backroom cabals seeking to overthrow the world? I can’t speak to their inclinations.

What is our inclination? To demean them? To call them less than human? To strip away their humanity? I know I’ve done that. And I can’t even be ashamed of it. For what they’ve called me, for the death threats they’ve sent, and them trying to get me fired. For the lies they’ve said to my face this year, previous years, and throughout my life. Truly the only thing separating these people from animals is they chose to pick up the mantle of hate. So why would I not call them barbarians, or savages?

I only have one answer to this. I learned it as a teenager when I was fencing. My coach told me to never underestimate any opponent. The moment you underestimate them, they can get a leg up on you. They can outwit you if you discount their wiles and ability. The moment you play down how much of a threat they are to you is the moment you give them a gaping opening to wreck you.

Ki Teitzei is a parashah which outlines 74 of our 613 commandments. 12% of our commandments are in this single Torah portion. I’m sure there’s some gematria in there, but my job only requires me to count to 10, so I’ll let someone else play with that one. It would be so easy to write a drash about paying workers on time, or whom to charge interest to. Laws of divorce and other social contracts would be a fun, historical dvar torah to prepare. Fine. Maybe after the hostages are returned I could play around with this and have some levity. If I wanted to get a little petty, I could look at ““All your weights and measurements shall be truthful,” and demonstrate how Hamas lies about their deceased, though since they’re not Jewish they’re not bound to the mitzvot.

Today, though, no. I don’t feel levity on this island we’re on, screaming into the wind. Our souls are pure. Our hostages’ souls are pure. Our defenders’ souls are pure. Heck, as distasteful as it feels and as much as it makes my stomach wretch, one could argue that those who’ve been brainwashed by propaganda might even have pure souls. We have a burden weighing us down and that burden is modern day terrorism and those who support and endorse it.

I want to look at a different commandment in this parashah. The last one. “When G-d gives us respite from our enemies, then we shall destroy the remembrance of Amalek. We shall not forget.”

Rabbi Neil Borowitz quotes his mentor, the late Rabbi Chanan Brichto, who taught him, in 1973, that Amalek had transcended from a tribe of people to all terrorists who would harm us. And this is what I think of now. That we do not get to destroy the memories of Amalek, of terrorism.

It’s easy to turn this inward and to say that we need to eliminate the tendencies within ourselves, our own inclination to do evil. But I truly don’t see a notable amount of that. I see our animalistic urges of bloodlust and violence tempered by true justice. After all, our own IDF has the lowest ratio of civilian to combatant deaths in any recorded war with estimates of 1.2-1.6 civilians for every 1 terrorist killed.. This is significantly lower than the average ratio of 9 civilians for every combatant.

It’s the naturer of darshot to look inward. I want to turn this outward, though, to those who have called for violence against us and those who act upon those calls. This is my message for us, and for those on the fence, and for those who hem and haw about our very fight for survival. Amalek never left. Amalek never even changed its characteristic: it remains sneaky and vile. It remains opportunistic. It remains barbaric. Amalek doesn’t care who gets in its way or about collateral damage. Amalek only wants to kill Jews and those associated with Jews. Us. Our friends. Our supporters.

I find it interesting. One of the things standing in the way of rebuilding the temple is those who would kill us. One of the things standing in the way of eternal peace, an eternal Shabbat, is those who would kill us. Maybe this generation is the “heel of Moshiach,” the lowest point before he comes, according to kabbalists. Maybe Moshiach is coming soon.

Regardless, we have a directive. We have to choose life, our lives. And we have to choose to help others’ lives. But right now it’s time for us to lift our burdens off of each other, even at the risk of being insular. We cannot fight Amalek while pinned down by a donkey. We must lift our burdens together, regardless of political affiliation. Regardless of who is in office. Regardless of which extreme is marching in the streets or in the newscycle.

It is our burden. And together we can lift it and realize the purity of our souls. But only together can we do that.

Korach, 5784

Numbers 16:1-18:32
Samuel 11:14-12:22

There’s a lot to glean from this parshah. I think of the spies, which I have a lot to say about. Maybe I can get in early for next year. And how the going against Moses and G-d can relate to this. I think of Pinchas at the end of Balak, and his zealotry being his undoing and hurting others.

A quick, non exhaustive, recap. Korach, Moses’ cousin, led a rebellion of people against Moses. Korach was a Levite, and not just any old Levite, he was a rich, high powered one. He used this power to organize a group of 250 people to try and usurp power from Moses, saying that he, Korach, was appointed High Priest. To test this, they provide incense offerings. In response, G-d has flames consume the imposters offering incense while the earth opens up to engulf the masses of mutineers, then closes, swallowing them up.

The masses blame Moses and Aaron, a new plague breaks out, and the staves of the leaders of each of the 12 tribes are gathered. Of the 12 staves, Aaron’s blossoms and blooms, proving his status as high priest.

Finally, Hashem commands the best oil, wine, and grain; the first fruits; and various animals are to be given to G-d and then given to the priests.

Yeah, there’s a lot. And a lot I skipped over. But it gave me some questions.

First, there’s the instance of G-d taking out a mass of people who have been misled by someone in power. But not just someone in power — someone abusing it. Someone twisting their office into what it isn’t. We even have a commandment about this, one I think of often: shatnez. Leviticus 19:19 and Deuteronomy 22:11 prohibit the mixing of wool and linen in the same garment, a prohibition which does not extend to the priestly robes.

While we’re not supposed to try and logic away mitzvot, we are still able to look at some deeper meanings. I have always looked at this commandment as twofold:

Don’t assume a uniform or position you’re not a part of.
This means you don’t impersonate a role. If you’re not a priest, don’t wear a priest’s garments. If you’re not a cop, don’t wear a police uniform, except on Purim. If you’re not an expert, don’t bill yourself as one.
Stay within the lane of your duties, and only act as your office when you are on duty.
If you’re a priest, you only serve as a priest when it’s appropriate. If you’re a police officer, you honor the boundaries of your station. If you’re an expert, you offer only your scope of practice.

We saw people go outside this, drastically, in 2020. People with no epidemiology training, no medical training, no pharmacology knowledge, offered sham solutions to a worldwide pandemic. A celebrity doctor, Dr. Oz, who specialized in cardiology, made sweeping statements about public health. Statements which went against what 90% of experts in public health recommended. Celebrity after celebrity, podcast hosts, and TV personalities lied about patently fake benefits of a livestock antiparasitic treatment.

All this while the people in their uniforms were trying to save others. All while people acting within their scopes of practice died. Doctors, nurses, public health experts, fell by the score as people speaking outside their scope assisted a virus.

Secondly, I think of Phineas, in Pinchas, coming up in a few weeks in Number 25:11. Who ran people through with a spear to “avenge G-d’s name”. Some believe he saved the Israelite people through his action. Others believe he went too far.

It reminds me of Korach, who got some sort of bee in his bonnet and stepped way out of his station. Was it zealotry and passion, like Pinchas? Was it capitalizing on his fame and fortune, like Dr. Oz?

It also reminds me of the spies from last week. 12 of which were recruited, 2 which reported truth, 10 which reported fallacy. And why were their reports erroneous? Were they scared? Were they trying to be relevant? Were they reflecting the anxiety of the people who wanted them to go? Was Korach the embodiment of people filled with doubt? Did he feel like he was getting left behind?

I’m sure we can make arguments and debate for any of these stances, because Torah mirrors our very human condition of nuance and contradictions. We can enjoy something so intensely it becomes overwhelming and painful. We can derive pleasure from something which hurts us, as any hot sauce aficionado can attest to. We can get happy relief from an outpouring of sorrowful tears.

And this leads to my next thought. In my drash on Shemini, I spoke of the idea that even if something was distasteful to us, we are challenged to find something noteworthy or even good, in it.

I can’t help but read Korach and think of some of the most distasteful people I’ve met. JVP. A group so vile, so hateful, and so misguided that their name, Jewish Voice for Peace, would be laughable if it wasn’t so horrific.

I even personally know a local member, someone who used to work for Federation. Someone who I was proud to call my friend. Now someone who refuses to acknowledge my existence, going so far as to have a note in her file at my work that she will work with anyone except me.

These people have been compared to the Kapos of World War II. But I think they’re worse. They sell us out not under threat of their own death, but for social status and acceptance of other Jew haters. They are openly aligned in their deeds, statements, and values of David Duke, the former grand wizard of the KKK.

I’ve personally run into these people. I’ve personally been threatened by these people. And I’ve personally held them accountable. They ran a campaign trying to get me fired from my work. They sent me death threats. They filled my inbox and voicemail with such disgusting hate and vitriol that it went from threats to their own confessions.

Most of these people are, indeed, not even Jews. They’re just a group called Jewish Voice for Peace. A group not even run by Jews. Rather, they’re a group which has tokenized about 5-10% of Jews and pretended they speak for all of us. These 5-10% of Jews supposedly believe Israel shouldn’t exist, they believe in the lie that is the nakba, and they protest in favor of Hamas.

These are the commandments I see them violating.

They violate their station as Jews by calling for the destruction of our community. They use the phrase “as a Jew” to give false legitimacy to hate speech against Jews. To undermine Jewish safety in the United States, Israel, and abroad. We are supposed to be a tribe. After all, the very word “tribe” was coined to describe us, our religion, and our people. To throw your family under the bus for social status is abhorrent.

They help others impersonate us and don a uniform they don’t have a right to. We already have groups like “Jews For Jesus” and the “Messianic Judaism” movement donning false robes of Judaism. They bolster these claims of people aligned under “Jewish Voice for Peace” as talking for all Jews. In fact, I have personally confronted them. One of them was so bold as to say “I love Jews and support Jews, but Zionists should die.” She said this to my face after a city council meeting, while holding a Jewish Voice for Peace sign.

They have a zealotry which hurts our community and which blinds them to endanger everyone around them. Much like Pinchas and the spear, they give into their blind cause more than the process which protects us all.

And, like the spies, they report on falsehoods. They report lies. They espouse propaganda given by the Qatari government through Al Jazeera. They parrot lies from UNRWA, the ICC, and blindly antisemitic governments like South Africa. They use these lies to keep people from doing what they should be doing. Instead of working to build peaceful coalitions dedicated to the betterment of everyone, these sick lies only serve to dehumanize Jews and infantilize Palestinians.

Which brings me to my last point. And this truly is the hardest task for me. It’s what I struggle with daily, hourly even. It’s the struggle I have when I read these reports and see these news stories.

We’re challenged to find something noteworthy, or even good, in which is otherwise unsuitable for us.

How can I do this? What good can I find in Jews allowing themselves to be taken and used like this? In this blind self hatred and social flagellation? It’s a question I’d love an answer for. Perhaps it’s a misguided quest for power that would have them swallowed by the earth in another time. Perhaps the misguidedness just shows the passion we have as a people, the drive for change that we are always stoking. Even if it’s in the wrong direction, maybe we need to admire that intensity while we still are horrified at their message.

I truly have no answers for this, just as I have no clear answer for Pinchas, the spies, or Korach. What I do know is that these members of our tribe are hurting us and, are likely, themselves hurting. They’re misguided and they’ve gone down a path that is horrific. And while my first instinct is to rage at them, deep down my heart just aches for them. It aches for the fervor they could have for our tribe and family. It aches for the peace they could help promote. It aches for the knowledge and philosophy they ignore.

Normally I like to have a clear message for Shabbat. I think it’s important to have a clear message of hope or action for our day of rest. That said, I honestly don’t know what kind of message I can have when our own people are taken by lies, are hurting us, and are liable to be swallowed up by the earth.

Behar, 5784

Behar, 5784
Leviticus 25:1-26:2

I spoke about Behar in 2015. The topic I focused on was the commandment not to sell land beyond what could be reclaimed. In that drash I spoke about the Rosemont Mine and Lake Mead. About how the mine had been promised to use less water and resources, while Lake Mead was running at record lows. If Lake Mead dropped below a certain level by the end of 2015, estimated to be a 33% likelihood by the US Bureau of Reclamation, there were to be extreme water cuts to Arizona. Even worse, that chance of drastic water loss was estimated to be 75% likely by 2017.

It’s now 2024, as the solar calendar goes. Lake Mead is at 1,068.5 feet above sea level, 6.5’ below the 1,075 foot above sea level threshold set by the US Bureau of Reclamation.

Yet today the lake is 19’ higher than this day in 2022.

The laws of shmita dictate that we don’t work the land we farm on every 7 years. We let it lie fallow, untilled, and dormant. During this time, anything that grows is not to be sold, but rather to be given to the community. I think of it as returning to the people who’ve worked the land, who depend on it, and who worry about what the next year’s harvest will be.

Indeed, letting the land rest takes immense amounts of faith. G-d addressed this, promising a miracle of sorts every 6th year to allow us to stockpile and prepare for the following year. The last shmita year, on the solar calendar, was 2021-2022. In 2020, there was a surprise level of snowpack around Lake Mead, bringing it to 1,096’ above sea level, 21’ higher than the critical level of 1,075’.

Even outside eretz Israel, maybe we can see miracles before the shmita year.

Yet even outside eretz Israel, we still must make preparations for not being able to harvest, just as we make preparations for shabbos when we can’t cook or manipulate electronics.

Archeologists in Israel found evidence of ancient Jews pickling foods like vegetables and fish, drying fruits and legumes, making wine, collecting honey, and pressing extra oil. All ways of preserving food. We know firsthand to hope for miracles but not plan on them. Which is exactly why I’m so proud to be in Tucson, where we have such a strong culture of conservation that Phoenix is asking to purchase some of our allotment of water because we have “excess.” Yes, Tucson apparently has “excess” water while Phoenix has lawns.

I don’t want to just rehash my drash from 2015, though.

“Behar” means “on the mountain” and refers to Sinai, directly referring to Moses’ trip up Sinai where he received the Torah.

I don’t know of a single culture that doesn’t have legends, stories, and myths about mountains. The desire to stand atop something so massive to look down and see so far is intoxicating. It’s truly intoxicating. It’s so stirring that people risk their lives to climb them just to look down.The allure of testing yourself against an immovable, immutable object that doesn’t care about you can fully take you over. The exertion and risk that it takes to climb them, too, can be mind boggling.

I want to go back to Sinai. Midrash says Moses received the entire Torah. Including his striking the rock, his negotiations with G-d to see the land but not enter it, and the death of his sister, Miriam.

What a burden, to know the future and to know where you’ll fall short. Where you’ll make mistakes. Where you have to settle for exactly what you can get, even though it’s not what you want. It was his burden of knowledge to receibe

I haven’t spoken much about this in a drash, yet, aside from a small anecdote in my last one about filtering water. But I know a little about seeing the promised land and not entering it. I also know about seeing a promised land and being able to enter it while others cannot. And I know the lure of a mountain.

Last year I set on a trip to hike 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada, through California, Oregon, and Washington. I was captivated with stories of the Sierra Nevada mountains, their peaks of 14,000 feet, and the wisps of light playing on the snow during golden hour. The idea of waking up at 3 am to hike before the snow got soft, under the banner of the Milky Way, with our eyes acclimated to starlight and gentle headlamps burrowed its way into my bones.

I entered the Sierra Nevada mountain range with a group on May 25, 2023, a year ago. It was fraught with problems and hazards, and I ended up having to retrace my steps and get a second group to go in with. We started at Kennedy Meadows South and eventually made it to the town of Lone Pine, CA. This city looms large for the cinema industry, as it’s close to a geographic area called Alabama Hills. Tremors, Gladiator, and Iron Man were all partially filmed there. Oodles of John Wayne and Errol Flynn films were shot there, too.

But in Lone Pine, what hikers seek is Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the contiguous 48 states. Its peak is 14,505 feet above sea level. There are a famed 99 switchbacks snaking up a lower mountain to get to the final approaches of Whitney.

It was a grueling hike up the approach, as the switchbacks were covered in snow. So instead of back and forth up a gentler gradient, we used crampons and ice axes to go up the mountain along an area that was relatively safe to ascend, then traverse across a flat to the saddle of it. One misstep, one fumble, and I’d have had to rely on my ice ax to stop my descent. We had to hop over a 2 foot wide canal that someone had carved in the snow while glissading down. Glissading is when you sit on the ice and use your ax as a brake while sliding down. This 2 foot canal was essentially someone’s tuchus trough from where they slid down.

I didn’t get to summit. One member of my party was having horrible panic attacks and another was having terrible altitude sickness. The one having panic attacks sat back before the final ascent and we waited with her, because you don’t leave anyone behind when at elevation. The rest of the group summited.

We took a few much needed days off in town to recover, after that. And went back into the Sierra to hike to our next destination, Bishop, CA. Unfortunately, we woke up at 3am the next morning to intermittent whiteout conditions. The weather outlook had changed overnight to at least three days of predicted snowstorms. Our boot tracks had been covered in snow and, with the revised forecast, we made the decision to bail.

Just like that, my Sierra Nevada trek portion was gone. I knew I’d have to skip ahead. Though there is more to this story, that’s a different time.

I was looking forward to seeing part of my very first thru hike, the Tahoe Rim Trail, part of which overlaps the PCT in the Sierra Nevada. I was looking forward to Milky Way backdrops against starlit mountains. I was looking forward to snow shimmering in morning sun. I was looking forward to grueling early mornings and oddly early afternoons to bed.

Sure, I didn’t strike a rock, but it was decided for me that I wasn’t to see this land.

Moses saw the future, and he knew he wouldn’t reach everything he’d striven for. His ultimate goal would only be viewed from far away. Yet what did he do? He still lead. He had a truly humble nature which influenced how he lead our people. So he went up Sinai, learned that he wouldn’t get to enter the promised land, and still took everyone else there.

What drove him? Was it duty? Was it compersion, the word for the joy you get for others having joy? Was it stubbornness? Was it faith to Hashem’s orders? We could make arguments for any of those, and I’m sure others. Regardless, Moses knew what was in store, and he still took us there.

What was it like for those who made it in?

The finish line for most of the people I hiked with was Canada. Only about 15-35% of the people who start this trail make it to Canada. Some drop out because of injury, others run out of money, some find that they are happy with what they’ve done. Regardless, for those who start with dreams of walking to Canada, the attrition rate is incredible.

When we, the Israelites, not hikers, were wandering in the desert, many of us died. Many committed sins that led to their deaths. Yet those of us who survived, supported each other, and banded together made it to the promised land. We had to watch our leader die, looking over the land he sacrificed so much of himself to bring us to. And we still had to go on.

When I touched the terminus at the US/Canadian border, I broke down. I cried for 10 minutes straight. I collapsed. It was the culmination of years of planning, five months of strenuous exercise, joy, heartbreak, interruptions, fear, and victories. It was a lifetime of experiences in five short months.

Looking back, I think about the people who stopped. My friend Bottlecap who summited Whitney and got a bad feeling about going forward. My friend Snickers, who had some complications and had to stop. My friends Shark and Halfpint, who had other things come up. My friend and trail family member, Sinead, who got injured. In fact, tomorrow is the one year anniversary of where we had to split up after a tear filled half hour of talking.

What does a mountain have to do with shmita? And what does all this have to do with the trail?

We all have a drive to do something. Some of us want to create, some want to write, some want to learn, some want to climb. And we all have our part to play in our community and world. Some of us will make it, others won’t.

We also need to remember land doesn’t belong to us. We can make deals with other people to acknowledge ownership of land, but ultimately it belongs to G-d. The land is the land. To think we can conquer the land only hurts us. Instead of trying to conquer and tame it, we should tend to it and facilitate its health. When we take care of it, it will take care of us.

Climbing mountains may bring us clarity and vision. It may drive us forward. It might give us a view. Like Moses, though, it’s what we do when we come down that matters.

Shemini 5784

Shemini
Leviticus 9:1-11:47
Ezekiel 45:16-46:18

Who wants to hear another drash about strange fire?

I sure don’t feel like giving one. So let’s talk about something else instead.

Being raised by a parrothead, I often look at life through the late Jimmy Buffett’s lyrics. He had a witticism that was both honest and profound, and something I continue to enjoy to this day. It might be a song lamenting being away from home and missing it while engulfed in the hubbub of a big city, which I might recycle this reference for the next time I speak about Jonah. It could be a song about desiring what you’re denying yourself for your own good, which I could tie to some Pirkei Avot. Today it’s a small line: “The right word at the right time… that’s the difference between lightning and a harmless lightning bug.”

A description starts off as one thing, and then turns away to become something else.

In chapter 11, we learn which mammals are kosher and which aren’t. And each description of the mammals starts off with the positive sign that it would be kosher. The camel, hyrax, and rabbit all bring up their cud. The pig has a cloven hoof. But after each of them is introduced, the disqualifying attribute is listed.

There is a thought in the Midrash which I like. If you’re looking at this, you might think the kosher qualifier for these animals is not important, because it’s immediately negated by the disqualifier. And, of course, Torah is concise, except when it has a point to make. So there’s a point to be made here.

The Midrash points out that even when G-d is telling us how something is not fit for consumption, it still has positive attributes. These attributes are not something we necessarily care about in our day to day life, but it’s something G-d cares about, and if they say we should care about it, we should take note. A pig has a cloven hoof, good, but it doesn’t take up its cud, so it’s unclean for eating.

This parashah also talks about other forms of purity. Purity of action, and purity of body.

Again let’s look at Midrash. Aaron’s sons “each took”, which indicates joy, “their own fire pans” which tells they did not consult each other. They also didn’t talk to Moshe nor did they honor Aaron. This was of their own volition because they were so excited. But their excitement was outside the bounds of the commandments, and G-d killed them for violating it.

Their intentions were right but their execution was wrong. Just as cooking a meal for a loved one is a good intention, cooking it wrong can be disastrous. And of course we are a religion and people of action, not of intention.

Wait, am I giving a drash on strange fire now? Oops.

Nadav and Avihu could have easily avoided death if they had just talked with Moshe or Aaron before, to try and get permission. Instead they were swept up in excitement and it permanently changed their families.

Finally we talk about purity of contact. Of a carcass touching a water vessel, touching seeds and grains, touching water, and touching bodies. Water has a special place in Judaism. Moshe was discovered in a river and he did not enter Israel because of an outburst brought about by water. Soon we’ll have a seder which recounts how the Nile turned to blood.

Water is important. And I feel like I got a special insight as to how important it is last year. Finding stretches of 30+ miles without water in 90 degree heat. Not knowing for certain if a water cache would be open. Scooping snowmelt out of a shallow puddle with a swollen Jerusalem cricket in it just so you can filter it and have a drink for the first time in 10 miles. This story is for a different time, though.

Water is important. And Torah obviously emphasizes the importance of flowing water instead of still water. Of course we aren’t supposed to speculate on the reasoning behind what Torah says, but I’d be remiss to ignore how flowing water is less likely to harbor bacteria and other disease vectors than standing.

Water is so important that we are able to extrapolate the mikveh from this parashah. This is our final purity, the one of body, of touch. Washing is important to us and, indeed, it has saved us through history.

Our laws on how to handle trash saved our shtetls during the Plague. Laws of bathing put our hygiene centuries ahead of society, even before soap and germ theory. And laws on what is clean and unclean after touching things have helped protect us since before cross contamination was a phrase.

Our existence has always been labored. We have had to fight for every scrap of progress, of safety, and of autonomy. In the lands and societies we’ve gone into, some of us have assimilated, some have integrated, and some have refused to do either. Regardless, I would argue that any one of us who made these decisions did so with a pure heart, with pure intention, and with the desire to live our best Jewish lives as best as we can. And we continue to do so today, with alarmingly few people willing to raise their voices with us and willing to march with us.

This seems an appropriate parashah, to be speaking of cleanliness two weeks and change before Pesach, when we cleanse our houses of chametz. When we recount how we left Egypt to serve G-d with a clean slate, with pure intentions. When we dip herbs in salt water. When water cleansed Pharaoh’s army from the land.

May we find the good, notable things in what is ultimately unsuitable for us. May we find these with passion, with clarity, and with fervor. And may we always find our way back to cleanliness, to integrity, and to righteousness. Shabbat shalom.

5784, Terumah

Exodus 25:1-27:19

Here we have another parsha that is less narrative and more instruction. And I like that. Just as we have four children and different answers for them during the Passover seder, we have different narrative styles for different people and different emphases on what we need to do as part of our family to exist.

We have instructions instead of storytime. Instructions on how to build the holiest artifacts we ever had. Instructions on who was to build them. Instructions on how they should look, where they should be placed, and what they should be composed of. Everything from inside to outside, the supports, the textures, the materials, the fibers, anything you can think of.

What stood out to me about this was the description of the menorah, specifically its organic inspirations. It’s described as branches from its sides, each ending in a cup, like a flower, surrounded by petals with a calyx underneath it, with the cups resembling almond blossoms.

Is this a surprise? Considering our Torah is our etz chayim, our tree of life. Considering our multiple holidays around and immersing ourselves in nature, including tisha b’av and Sukkot. Considering our commandments to feed our animals before we eat, not to salt fruit fields, and the myriad others to protect earth and reduce cruelty. Even our first prophet was lead to G-d by a plant. With all this, we could just as easily be called “people of the land” as easily as “people of the book.”

I want to talk about plants, specifically sage.

After moving back here in September, I picked up something that’s difficult to maintain while traveling and impossible to maintain while walking. A plant. Well, a bunch of plants. I picked up an aloe vera, a lavender, a lipstick sage, and a Jerusalem sage. What can I say, I love fragrant plants. One of my favorite hedonist pastimes is smelling every plant I can. Creosote and sages in the desert, different pines in the forest, every bright flower from manzanita to lupine. Different dirts have different scents and I loved each of them. Even air, walking along a mountain ridge and smelling clouds as they swirled over a rock outcropping around me.

There are at least 24 kinds of sage in the land of Israel, among them Salvia dominica, pungent sage; Salvia hierosolymitana, Jerusalem sage; and Salvia verbenaca, or vervain sage. The name “salvia” comes from the Latin “salveo” meaning “I save”. Unsurprisingly, these cousins of the mint family have been used medicinally for millennia.

Yes, Jews used plant medicine. And why wouldn’t we?

But beyond the medicine, many of these sages resemble the menorah. They have flowers at the top and come off a branch in multiple straight lines. Many of them have leaves below the stems, leaving them looking like a menorah when flattened out. Salvia judaica might be the most striking example, with broad leaves at its base, striking dark stems branching up from the central stalk, and vibrant lilac flowers lining those stems.

Plants, just like us, rely on much to exist. We need lessons, community, and knowledge to survive. Plants have different instructions encoded. They have physical triggers embedded in their seeds which, when set off properly, cause an eruption of life from soil. Soil is often not dead, though. There’s a vast network of mycelium, or fungal, networks helping support many seedlings, juvenile, and mature plants. There are insects, bacteria, birds, and any number of influences that prop up plant growth.

It’s appropriate that our symbol might be modeled after a plant. Just last week Daniel Nyman said not one person can fulfill all the mitzvot, and I think it’s up to us as a people to fulfill them all. Not one organism can produce fruit, but a network of them can produce an orchard. We have Torah and Talmud and Pirkei Avot and modern thinkers, some of whom we agree with and many whom we don’t. All of it is important to sustain us and keep our lamps lit.

But what do we do with plants? What do we do with this botanical inspired menorah?

We place it next to the most ornate, valuable, heavy object we could conceive of making. An object of solid gold, heavy acacia wood, and fine materials possibly representing different elements of earth and nature. Again, with the nature. And we place these together, along with an altar and other important pieces inside our most holy room.

Can you even be surprised that many of us enjoy having houseplants when we have a menorah that looks like our desert plants inside the sanctuary? We have a special value for plants and, now that we’re no longer wandering, we can bring them inside with us. We can cultivate them. Plants are as much a part of civilization as our people, our laws, and our animals. Plants are so important to us that our prayer for Israel relates it to a plant:

Avinu shebashamayim, tzur Yisrael v’goalo. Barekh na et m’dinat Yisrael, reyshit tz’mikhat g’ulateynu.

Our father, who is in heaven, Rock and Redeemer, bless the state of Israel, the first sprouting of our redemption.

Thursday, in a profound example of bigoted cowardice, the Rialto Theater here in Tucson canceled a show by Pennsylvania musician and rapper, and Zionist Jew, Matisyahu. The Rock, a smaller venue, called up Matisyahu, and offered him a space to perform, for free. Word quickly got out that the show was on, and I was able to attend, along with a few other members of this synagogue. This show was amazing, Jews showed up for Jews, and we overcame.

This brings me back to the delights we can find in this parsha. As we are fashioned in G-d’s image, we are to fashion objects in images resembling the world we interact with. As a sagebrush fills the air with its complex perfume of spice, and earthy ground, and sweet; the menorah fills the room with light; and we must do the same with each other. Just as one branch on a plant can’t sustain the whole organism, one branch of a menorah cannot fulfill the mitzvah, and one person cannot sustain the community. But together, with all of us, we are the organism, we are the people Israel, we are the community, all of us, together.

5784, Vaera

Exodus 6:2-9:35

There’s much I can say to this parasha. The idea of escaping the corruption of the city for wilderness especially speaks to me. But today I want to focus on something else.

We learned last week that Pharaoh intentionally made the Israelites’ work more difficult by not supplying hay for bricks but keeping their quota the same. The hay was traditionally supplied by the Pharaoh’s state, allowing the workers to form the bricks faster. Forcing them to gather their own hay and keeping their quota the same is unnecessary and serves only to break their spirits.

We know what happens when people try to break our spirits.

This week, Moses, selected by G-d; and Aaron, selected by Moses, are to implore Pharaoh to free the Israelites so they can serve G-d. Pharaoh, who enjoys free labor, as many in power do, doesn’t want to lose it. Also, just like many in power, he doesn’t just want free labor, but to show off his power. This week it results in the first six, out of 10, plagues. If we’re breaking up 10 plagues, why six and not five? That’s a different drash.

Instead my question is this: what happens when oppressors try to show off their power to us, today? We have Iron Dome, we have the IDF, we have associations and organizations to advocate for us. We are no longer dhimmi, the status the Ottoman Empire gave us, rendering us legally powerless.

What happens when Pharaoh tries to show off his power to us, then? We have G-d, Moses, and Aaron.

It took me longer than I care to admit, which is Thursday, to understand why Pharaoh’s sorcerers replicated the plagues at first. It was to say “big deal, we can make plagues, too.” It was a play to invalidate the power of G-d.

What’s the difference then, between the plagues that Moses directed from Hashem, and the spells Pharaoh’s sorcerers cast? There is, of course, the source. One is divine, one is from mortals. Just like the difference between human ingenuity and AI, one creates, the other is diminutive.

Humans have the amazing ability to create ideas and art. Whether we paint a fresco depicting a wonder or write a melody which leaves us speechless, our hands, our minds, our mouths, and even our entire bodies are able to drive an emotion, story, or thought. This might be for ourselves in the privacy of our space or publicly, for an audience.

AI doesn’t have this ability. It can only take in data, mix it up, interpret it as data instead of emotions, and put out something that incorporates elements of everything else put in. It doesn’t create, it just reassables.

We’re made in G-d’s image. We can create. We have breath, just as G-d has breath.

Back to plagues versus spells. Hashem creates, sorcerers cast. The only thing sorcerers can put out is what is already in the nature that G-d created. On the other hand, the depth of plagues is vastly deeper than anything mankind can direct or conjure up.

Okay, so I’ve talked about plagues and the power that the sorcerers ultimately found lacking against G-d. Let’s talk about something else.

There’s an idea called “‘b’ eating crackers”. The ‘b’ is a diminutive word which rhymes with “ditch” or “stitch”. This phrase is for when you have such a deep loathing of someone that even something as innocuous as them eating crackers will drive you mad. This is, obviously, hardening one’s heart.

And we’ve all experienced the ‘b’ eating crackers. When we’re sitting at the airport or on a plane and can’t stand the person sitting next to us. Or when we’re on the bus. Or when someone says something and we just can’t stand it, that’s the ‘b’ eating crackers phenomenon.

Pharaoh didn’t like us standing up for ourselves. Does that sound familiar?

In her 2021 book, People Love Dead Jews, Dara Horn writes about how people love Jews when they’re dying, but hate the idea of us standing up for ourselves.

I don’t want to get too deep into current events because we all know too much about what’s going on. We all know the insipid, antisemitic response of the UN and the Hamas enabling UNRWA. We all know about how the UN’s commission on human rights is headed by some of the world’s most egregious violators of human rights.

Please bear with me as we take a detour, for context.

Pharaoh hardened his own heart against us during the first five plagues. Moses cast his staff and G-d enacted a plague. Pharaoh’s sorcerers cast their spells and Pharaoh said “see, you’re not special” for the first two plagues. At the third plague, the sorcerers couldn’t create lice. And suddenly they understood their limitations.

At the fifth plague, the sorcerers deeply understood that Hashem, the source behind the nature they used for spells, was out of their influence. During the sixth plague, the sorcerers were afflicted like all their kinsmen. They were unable to recreate the boils because they were in too much pain from their own.

Pharaoh relented, after the swarms of insects, and said he would allow the Israelites to go out of his city to sacrifice and serve G-d. However, as soon as it became convenient and he wasn’t under pressure, he reneged. We were about to escape the corruption of the city to the purity of the wilderness, something I’m deeply familiar with, when Pharaoh decided he didn’t want to let us have respite, after all.

Pharaoh had taken the one thing that those who would oppress us don’t have: he had taken our autonomy.

Let’s come back to eating crackers and hardening hearts.

It was only after the fifth plague that G-d started hardening Pharaoh’s heart. During the first five, Pharaoh made his own choices. He made the decision to hurt us. After that, G-d demonstrated the error of his ways to ensure he couldn’t do it again.

We have entire groups of people who’ve been quietly advocating against us for years. We also have groups of people and countries who have been vocally advocating against us. Both silent and loud people conspiring against us.

Finally, after October 7, for a reason that can only be attributed to the world’s oldest hatred, we were perceived to be eating crackers when we were just standing up for ourselves. All these groups of people who hardened their own hearts should be starting to realize their sorcerers, their advisors, their allies are against something they haven’t been able to imagine.

Then, as Ezekiel, in this week’s Haftarah said
“Thus, said G-d,
“I’m going to deal with you Pharaoh
“Who said ‘my Nile is my own, I made it for me.’”
We have people claiming a river, the Jordan, just as Pharaoh claimed the Nile, is for them, when it’s for all of us. And today, the Jordan River, just as with the Nile, we will not allow it to slip from us.

Somehow, despite the vocal antisemites in academia, despite the vocal antisemites on social media, despite the antisemitism latent in governments, and despite the antisemitic bent in so much media, support for Israel is up. We still have a long way to go, but what we’re up against is not unprecedented.

The danger may not be unprecedented, though luckily we’re able to take unprecedented care of ourselves. Instead of stealing aid meant for others to line our pockets as Hamas does, we invest in each other and ourselves. We strive for a civilization, which takes care of each other, while those who would see us gone fight within each other while fighting us.

Hashem gave a corrupt leader plagues upon his people. We did not suffer these plagues, and I believe deep in my soul that it’s because we operate as a people and as a nation, not as an oligarchy or dictatorship. We’re here for each other and we continue to be.

Only by being here for each other can we get through this. Hashem gave us each other, and we are a nation, as one, alone.

Am Yisrael chai and Shabbat shalom.