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Posted/updated: May 08, 2009
The Adult B’not Mitzvah Class of 2009/5769 invites you to read their personal D’vrei Torah, which they shared with the congregation on May 8, 2009.
On Giving Thanks: Reflections on Parshat EMOR and Becoming a Bat Mitzvah
Ravelle Brickman
Gail H. Geltman
Barbara Hochberg
Carol Hochberg
Robin Sue Kahn
Ruth Leibert
Alice Nanes
Susan Lee Rein
Patricia W. Rich
Martha Schwartz
Carol Winer
Elaine Weiss
If coincidence is God working behind the scenes, then it is no accident that my Torah portion today is about the Festival of Sukkot. In Emor, the holiday is described as a celebration of the harvest, commanded by God so that we, as Jews, will remember the days of wandering in the desert and give thanks for the gift of life.Just as giving thanks is the essence of this portion, it is also the catalyst for my own journey toward commitment. For me, the road back to Judaism began with the birth of my first grandchild more than nine years ago. Today, there are four girls. Their names—Eva, Abigail, Miriam and Hannah—recall some of the great women of Jewish history while preserving images of a more recent past.
Ironically, I never knew my own grandparents. There were not many people of that age in the mostly child-oriented streets of Queens when I was growing up in the 1940s. We had a few older relatives—my father’s stepmother, whom we rarely saw, some great-aunts, uncles and cousins—but they lived far away, in Brooklyn. My mother considered our family to be very lucky. She and my father were both born in America, allowing us—my parents, brother and I, our cousins, aunts and uncles—to escape the terrible fate that befell our relatives in Europe. Every night she led us in a simple prayer, thanking God for the fact that we were safe. We also prayed for the end of the war and the creation of a State of Israel, two things that actually happened.
The synagogue we attended was Conservative. My mother liked it because of the mixed seating and the fact that people chanted in unison. Although I could not become a Bat Mitzvah—the very idea was shocking—I was nevertheless packed off to Hebrew School to learn the first lines of Genesis and the Sh’ma. At 12, I joined the other girls for a Confirmation service where we wore white robes and took turns reading English speeches written, presumably, by the wife of an Episcopal deacon.
The speech I read, called the Flower Offering, bore no relation to Genesis, nor did it reflect on Judaism or rites of passage. My mother was nevertheless proud. I think she saw it as an aspect of the American dream. My mother had a surprisingly good Jewish education. Her Hebrew pronunciation was perfect, with not a hint of a Yiddish accent, and she could recite many prayers by rote. As a teenager, she studied the Hebrew Bible at the Jewish Theological Seminary. In 1926—another case, perhaps, of God pulling the strings—she worked for Dr. Stephen Wise, rabbi emeritus of Central Synagogue.
While my mother and I had a difficult relationship, I would like to think that we might have gotten along if we’d had another 29 years of practice. She would have been thrilled to see me standing at the bima in this place. She would certainly have said a prayer of thanks for the gift of great-grandchildren. Giving thanks is a common refrain in Jewish liturgy. Nearly all our prayers are blessings. We thank God for the creation of the sun and for the privilege of learning Torah, for the divine and the mundane in equal portions, for bread and wine and the fruit of our labors.
My own prayers, today and throughout the year, involve a simple litany. I am grateful, first, for the bounty of nature, for the lives of children and grandchildren; second, I am thankful for the love of Judaism they share, and for the light they will bring to the future. Third, I am grateful for the seeds that were sown by others along the way. And last, I thank God for the gift of life and for allowing me to celebrate this new season.
In Parshat Emor the Israelites are still wandering in the desert. They began their wandering in Exodus and continue to wander throughout the Torah. In Emor, God reiterates the need for faithful obedience to His commandments and reminds the Israelites, it is “I, Adonai, who sanctify you and I who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God, I, Adonai” (Lev 22:32-33).
Emor continues to discuss God’s laws of holy living. Through our observance of God’s commandments, God sanctifies and makes holy the Israelite community. Just as Adonai brought the Israelites out of Egypt and made them wander in the desert for forty years, I too have wandered. I have been brought out of my own personal Egypt to be with God. Mine is a story of self-discovery – a story of a stranger in a strange land – not a stranger among the Egyptians, but a stranger among my own people, the Jews. My “wandering” stopped when my disability began. When I could barely walk, sit, or stand, I found my way to Central Synagogue for Shabbat services.
The nearly thirty-two months of my disability brought me on a path to God. This challenging period of physical infirmity was a period of profound introspection and spiritual awakening which provided me with both the opportunity and the time to delve into my heritage. Emor contains a calendar of sacred times that belong to God and the Jewish people. The most sacred occasion of all is Shabbat, defined as the seventh day, a day without work and of complete rest. I have “wandered” and found my way into this Temple to welcome Shabbat, to observe and celebrate our holiest day of the week, which is now my holiest day.
My greatest joy is attending Shabbat services and basking in the community of friendships I have formed at Central Synagogue. The greatest surprise of all to me is my profound love of chanting Hebrew. The Torah calls to me. My new found love for Judaism started with my commitment to become a Bat Mitzvah and with my realization that it is my passion and my dream to study to become a rabbi when I retire from the legal profession. I am most grateful to Central Synagogue for putting me on this path. I am softer, kinder, more gentle and loving to others than I have ever been. I am filled with love of God, of my fellow people, and all God’s creatures.
People have asked me, “Why become Bat Mitzvah now?,” “Why after all these years is it so important to you?” These questions prompted me to reflect on my history, my family and the journey through Judaism that led me to this day.When I was young, girls did not become Bat Mitzvah or go to Hebrew School We lived in a non-Jewish immigrant neighborhood and religious tolerance among my friends was not an attribute, probably because they really only knew the stereotype of a Jew. They kept telling me I was not like other Jews which was really confusing because I was just like the other Jewish people I knew. Those were mainly my family and my parents’ friends.
My parents were not very religious. However, I did learn all about the Jewish holidays because I did not go to school on them, since it was important for our neighbors to recognize our Jewish identities. My mother did light the Shabbat candles every Friday night and we went to synagogue on the High Holidays. Our synagogue was Orthodox. My memories of the service are limited. I loved standing next to my father while he chanted the prayers. Then we were asked to leave and I spent my time standing on the corner with a group of friends. It was not until I met my husband and we went with his family to a Conservative temple that I actually attended services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
As a child, Passover was my favorite holiday. I loved the story of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt. My imagination was stirred by the parting of the Sea of Reeds, and the ten plagues. Usually being the youngest at the table, I was able to ask the four questions. It was a time for family and friends to celebrate our freedom and to examine our heritage.
My parents did give me a strong sense of Jewish identity, though it was cultural rather than religious. When I had children, I insisted on belonging to a Reform synagogue since I really wanted to be able to understand the services. My husband and I were instrumental in building a new temple. I have always felt a responsibility and commitment to the Jewish people. I spent many years volunteering for Women’s American ORT (Organization for Rehabilitation through Training). ORT is a Jewish organization that provides cutting-edge training and strategic educational initiatives that empowers students in 63 countries. I became President of the Westchester Region and went on to the State board. That organization was important to me because I have always felt the best gift you can give anyone is the opportunity to have the skills you need to get a job and be self-sufficient. Yet with everything I accomplished, I still felt something was missing.
When my daughter told me she was going to enlist in Hebrew at Central Synagogue, I decided to join her, as I always wanted to be able to read the prayers. I was not thinking about becoming Bat Mitzvah. During my studies, I realized how upset I would have been if any of my grandchildren did not become B’nei Mitzvah. If I expected them to do it, why not Grandma when she had the opportunity? I loved reading the Torah portions. In doing so I felt a strong emotional attachment to God that I had never before experienced. A passage that really resonates with me is “Then you will begin to seek God your Lord, and if you pursue Him with all your heart and soul, you will eventually find Him” (Deuteronomy 4:29). The discussions and the interpretations of the Torah portions were fascinating and illuminating. Belonging to this Bat Mitzvah class has given me a sense of belonging and community. I especially feel blessed that I have been lucky to have a teacher like Sandi who has patience, knowledge and a real sense of caring for her pupils.
In Parshat Emor, we are told to declare certain days as the “set times of God, the sacred occasions, which you shall celebrate each at its appointed time.” (Leviticus 23:4) This passage emphasizes that the holidays are significant and powerful moments in time. Our holiday celebrations are these sacred fixed times and become sacred moments through ritual and worship.
My Jewish identity has always been a strong force in my life. My Jewish life has always been marked by our holidays. They are the fabric of our lives interwoven into family and traditions. We rejoice on these holidays with rituals that allow us to take time out of our everyday lives. These are times for my family to gather and open our doors to friends of the same and different faiths. We share these sacred times and celebrate in the warmth of our Jewish community. Every Jewish holiday has a unique mitzvah that expresses true power and beauty. I particularly appreciate the rituals of Shabbat as a way to connect with holy time, my spirituality and our community. There is no question that, “The holidays are the jewels on the crown of Judaism.”
Two years ago, as I embarked on my new Jewish learning experience to become Bat Mitzvah, I began to attend Shabbat services regularly. This was a completely new experience for me. In the beginning, Shabbat was simply a tool for practicing reading Hebrew and developing the proficiency and speed needed to keep pace with the services. Over time, week by week, an amazing transformation occurred. Shabbat became an essential part of my “holy and sacred time.” Each Friday, I would rush out of my office, in anticipation of walking into our beautiful sanctuary to feel the serenity of Shabbat. Shabbat allows for a time of calm sanity, for grounding and rebalancing not found during a hectic work week filled with responsibilities and obligations. Shabbat is at the heart of Judaism. Shabbat’s still moments allow for a type of Jewish meditation. Shabbat nourishes my mind and body, creating a renewal of spirituality and energy. It has become my “food” that fuels my inner spirituality. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, rabbi, theologian, and activist of the twentieth century states, ‘The Sabbath itself is a sanctuary which we build, a sanctuary in time … The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals.”
Each Shabbat we open the Torah and are presented with a new story of the cycle of creation, reminding us about the importance of human relationships, values and community. I am constantly amazed by the Torah’s timeless lessons of life and how eloquently they relate to the present time. We must read between the lines to understand the many interpretations these powerful words express. Today, I am in awe, actually overwhelmed to stand in front of you and chant the power of the Torah’s words.
I value the significance of these “fixed times” in our lives. I have come to understand the significance of observing the Sabbath. Parshat Emor also tells us, “when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger” (Lev 23:22). This teaches me, I must set aside time not only for Jewish learning and Shabbat, but I must make a meaningful contribution to society. Otherwise, I will not realize the full potential Judaism has to offer. It is my goal this year to set “fixed time” aside to volunteer and use this “sacred time” to reach out and make a difference in others lives who are in need. I am in the process of applying to an organization that aids children and families in need. Just as Heschel said when he marched with Martin Luther King, when engaging in helping others, I too will feel that “my legs were praying.”
On a side note, I would like to mention how proud I am of my mother, who has embarked on this wonderful learning journey with me for the last two years. Her dedication and depth of insight reading the Torah has been a truly inspirational. This experience has been empowering-life changing; it is a path I never thought I would have taken. As a class of 13 women, we worked together with humor, dedication, sharing, writing, thinking and discussion: flexibility, and strongly held opinions. We took small steps and today we are miles from where we began. Our individual spiritual journeys have been heightened by the process we created and shared. We committed to each other to complete a task connecting us to each other more strongly. I thank my Bat Mitzvah classmates for sharing their strong sense of community and all their support. I will always be thankful for this gift.
Parshat Emor, this week’s Torah portion, is similar to others in Leviticus in that it provides lists of rules as to how holidays should be observed. It also outlines how sacrifices should be performed and discusses qualifications for who can and cannot be priests. It commands the Jewish people to act in very precise manners. This parsha provides ways for people to manage their time in a sacred way and find a place for themselves in the world. It suggests basic morals and values that help us to live our lives.
Throughout the year, as we read and studied the Torah as a class, I sometimes found it difficult to find meaning for myself in this four thousand year old document. Each week, each student in the class led a discussion of the parsha and I searched for ways to connect with the text. I found the Torah commentaries useful, as they provided thoughts concerning how the text could be interpreted for us today. We delved into this during classes and debated concepts. I discovered that it takes a great deal of thought to find ways to understand and identify with aspects of the Torah, in the culture of the twenty-first century.
I applied this same determination to my understanding of Parshat Emor. I struggled with the way that this parsha approaches the discussion of Shabbat and the desire for priestly purity. Through my study and wrestling, I have clarified my beliefs and strengthened my own understandings of Shabbat and the Torah’s ideas about purity.
Parshat Emor discusses the fact that a priest’s body has to have no physical imperfections. The presence of physical imperfection impairs holiness, according to the authors of Emor. This confuses me. Humans were created in God’s image, therefore presumably all acceptable to God. This being the case, I wonder why there is so much emphasis placed on bodily perfection. Weren’t we all created holy in our present state blemished or not? In modern-day culture, the same lack of tolerance for imperfection remains. It becomes increasingly apparent that American society strives for physical beauty. People strive for the presence of a “perfect” figure, clear skin and youthful appearance, among other things.
Parshat Emor also discusses the Sabbath, specifically dictating that one must rest on the seventh day. This is not always practical in today’s world. The concept of taking time out each week is meaningful. I have tried to create rituals such as reading a book or the newspaper, watching a mindless program on television, or going to the gym. These activities help me to re-group and relax. I have also carved out time to connect with family members, even if only by e-mail or a short phone call. Sometimes this is not done on the seventh day alone; but throughout the week. That has meaning for me, rather than saving “rest” up for one day out of seven.
Over the course of our studies together in the B’not Mitzvah class, attending Friday night services has become a meaningful way of connecting with classmates and other familiar people in the congregation. Whereas once sacrifices drew us closer to God, today, Jews grow closer to God as they join in Sabbath prayers in the form of songs. It is the music of these services that speaks to me in a special way. It brings back some very happy childhood memories shared both with my brothers and my parents. It brings back memories from summer camp where Friday evening, dance and music were a significant and very happy event. It enables me to remember my dad, when he was healthy. He gave me the love that I have for music. As I observe Shabbat in my own way, I find meaning in the rituals and feel connected to my family and community. Though I will not always find every word of the Torah relevant to my life, I appreciate the way in which it provides rituals that help us to construct our lives.
“And the Lord spoke unto Moses, saying…even these are My appointed seasons.” Thus in this parshah do we learn about that with which we are already familiar, the very fabric of the years of our lives. We learn of the sanctity of Shabbat, of its holiness to God. We learn of the seven days of the Feast of Unleavened Bread. We learn of Shavuot, of Rosh Hashanah and of the Day of Atonement. We learn of the seven days of Sukkot.
The annual rhythm of these festivals marks our lives in many ways. We savor the peace of Shabbat. We gather in extended family celebrations for Seders, for dinners in our decorated sukkot, for rejoicing at each new year. These festivals bind us together, not just as families, but as a community. They are the unique festivals of our Jewish community. They hold the sweetness of our childhood memories and they are a tangible manifestation of the legacy we hope to pass to our children. They are what we share.
It is this emphasis on community, on the importance of the shared in Jewish life, that continues to draw me to the Jewish faith. In our studies in preparation for this day of our B’not Mitzvah we have observed the mitzvot of tzedakah and community service. Our studies have included joint efforts and many hours of shared conversation about the texts, about their relevance to our lives and our community, and about world events and social justice. We have emerged from this effort as more than B’not Mitzvah. We have become good friends.
I began my journey to this day with a simple quest to learn enough Hebrew to keep up with the pace of the service. From my first aleph-bet, I was fortunate to find friends. I want to thank Susan Alt and Phyllis Lusskin (who are here today) for their support as we gathered weekly to read to each other, oh, so haltingly. As I progressed, I began to feel a need for more understanding of meaning. How, in fact, could one pray without understanding the words? Three years ago this interest led me to an intermediate Hebrew class here at Central Synagogue. While I was, at the time, content with my language study, many of my classmates and new friends felt the need for more and requested a class leading up to a Bat Mitzvah. I agreed to be part of this group and I have been so enriched by the experience.
Our Torah is truly a blueprint for a good life that we can create in the here and now. It is not easy but it is made easier by being a burden shared. We will continue to focus on making our community and world a better place. One very basic way to build that community is to keep and share our traditions. Therefore, these are indeed our appointed seasons. As instructed by Torah, let us remember these festivals and observe them together.
Parshat Emor is about numbers, counting and rhythm. I find it fascinating that this Parsha contains 63 of the Torah’s 613 mitzvot—leaving 550 mitzvot for the other 54 parshiyot. The most significant part of this Torah portion speaks of preserving the holiness of times; it gives instructions for the weekly Sabbath and the annual festivals. It reads: “God spoke to Moses saying, these are My fixed times, the fixed times of God, which you shall proclaim as sacred occasions.” Leviticus 23 tells us when we shall celebrate our holidays, our sacred occasions—dates set apart as belonging to God. It begins with the Sabbath, continues in the spring with Pesach, and ends in the fall with Sh’mini Atzeret. We learn about the shofar, and when to observe other annual rites.
And it is precise. We are told that the Passover offering occurs on the 14th day of Nisan; in the 7th month, Tishrei, we observe the Festival of Alarm Blasts or Rosh Hashanah; and one week after Sukkot, on the eve of Simchat Torah, we mark the day we complete the reading of the Torah in its annual cycle.
We count, we have rhythm. One thing has remained constant since ancient times: these holidays are occasions for the entire family and community to come together and celebrate. By taking part, we feel in sync with the rhythm of Jewish life that has guided the Jewish people for millennia. This rhythm is what specifically identifies the Jewish people, even as we find our lives being influenced by various calendars. Perhaps it is one reason that we persist in debating whether the holidays are early or late—they almost never seem to be on time. In our family, if Rosh Hashanah fell near Labor Day, we returned from summer at the seashore and dressed in cottons for services. If it fell late, it was a wonderful autumnal holiday and we got to wear our new woolens. Whatever the temperature, Rosh Hashanah always felt like such an important time to us.
The holidays God provided give us sacred times in the midst of a less than sacred world. Spending the day in the synagogue and fasting at Yom Kippur. Guests in the Sukkah. Friends and family around the seder table. Being together at the Passover seder is the high point of our Jewish calendar. I’ve made the seder for at least 30 years, after watching my mother-in-law make it for years and learning from her how to make gefilte fish! Days of preparation of the special delicious foods, a long table set with our best finery and family heirlooms, setting out the haggadot, reviewing the order of the service beforehand, and finally the family arriving—it is a joyous time. But most importantly, it is the time when we “retell the things that befell us,” when we recall our ancestors following Moses out of bondage in Egypt to travel to the Promised Land. It is a story I am proud to tell. I know that my children, nieces and nephews will continue to make the seder, tell the story of the Exodus, and observe the “sacred times” of our tradition.
While holidays are among the primary guideposts for Jewish time, they are not alone. The cycle of the Torah reading itself, for example, is a primary indicator of Jewish time—where we stand in the ongoing saga of the journey of the ancient Jewish people. Jews like cycles. The cycle of the five books of Torah. The cycle of holidays and the Sabbath as set out in Emor.
Tonite we complete another cycle, that of studying to become a Bat Mitzvah. The preparation and study for this occasion has brought a group of 13 women together. Some of us knew one another, but not well. Others were new to us. We’ve come together weekly for two years to study Hebrew and Torah. This was a difficult period of time for me because my husband was ill and finally passed away. These women came to my side and gave me much needed support at every step of the way. We’ve gotten to know one another and become friends. Above all, our study has brought us to Shabbat services every Friday nite. We meet to pray, to read the Hebrew that we’ve learned (never the transliterations!), to sing, and to be there for one another. Our cycle will continue in the fall when we begin another area of study, yet to be chosen. Shabbat Shalom.
I dedicate this to my husband Malcolm who loved to attend Shabbat services every Friday for many years.
I enjoyed studying Leviticus Chapter 23 in which the festivals and other holy days of the year are scheduled in a calendar of sacred time. It is comforting to know, in advance, when these special events in the Jewish religion will occur. A spiritual feeling arises when we perform a rite that goes back through the generations. It feels special to know that Jewish people in other places are performing the same rite in the same way and at the same time. Ismar Schorsch, former Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, wrote that “Each of us needs a sense of holiness to navigate the relentless secularity of our lives.” Jewish festivals, holy days, and Shabbat provide us with specific times when we can step back and participate in the most sacred of Jewish ritual events.
I particularly liked reading Leviticus 23:42 in which it is written, “Ye shall dwell in booths seven days; all that are home-born in Israel shall dwell in booths.” This verse speaks to me in many ways. When my four children were small, we erected a sukkah (booth) on our back porch under our canvas awning. My children grew up experiencing and appreciating the joy of the Sukkot celebration in our make shift sukkah.
My husband and I and members of our family have been constructing a sukkah in the garden of our current home each year since the birth of our first grandchild 16 years ago. As we build our sukkah we recall and discuss that it is a symbol of the “booths” or “huts” in which the children of Israel lived during their journey through the wilderness. The booths represent the glorification of God’s role in the redemption of the Jewish people. The booths also represent the fragility of life itself. My father-in-law and my daughter-in-law’s father died a few years apart just before Sukkot emphasizing, for us, the fragility of life.
Maimonides did not consider a sukkah to be kosher unless one could see the sky and stars through its roof. The roof is usually made of impermanent organic materials. The sukkah is not designed to offer any real protection from the elements. Our grandchildren tie down their homemade decorations to keep them from flying away in the wind. We have to wear warm jackets, inside the sukkah, when the temperature gets cold. At the conclusion of the holiday, when we take down the sukkah, we have to discard our grandchildren’s rain damaged drawings. The children don’t mind. They look forward to making new decorations next year. It is part of the fun of the holiday.
One of our granddaughters celebrated her Bat Mitzvah last Sukkot at her synagogue. Everyone happily partook in the Shabbat meal which was held in the synagogue’s sukkah. The sun was shining and the wind was blowing while the decorations swayed. I will always cherish those memories. Leviticus 23:42 speaks to me because it reminds me of my relationship with my family and the importance of celebrating holidays together.My connection to Sukkot is one of the many ways that I identify with Judaism. I feel more complete as a Jewish person as I approach the B’not Mitzvah day. I am grateful to my rabbis, cantors, and teachers at Central Synagogue as well as my Me’ah teachers for guiding me on my Jewish educational journey. I intend to keep studying and learning. I love the experience.
Becoming a Bat Mitzvah as an adult has enormous meaning. I chose this path to mark my commitment to Jewish study and to intensifying my practice of Judaism. I have gained great satisfaction from studying, following a line of inquiry, and indulging my curiosity in such meaningful areas. The Great Wall of China; the Pyramids; the Roman Aqueduct; Stonehenge: each has survived for centuries; each demonstrates the achievements of a highly organized society that was advanced in mathematics, engineering, and transport. The Jewish people have no such monuments; and yet, the culture and the people have survived—the question of how that happened has been the impetus for my studies; and finding my answer has been rewarding.
The Jewish people have the Torah. We are “The people of The Book.” “It was the Holy Book, and the study of it, which kept the scattered people together,” according to Sigmund Freud. What is the Torah? A collection of stories, about people many of whom have serious flaws; and of extraordinarily detailed laws and regulations for situations no longer pertinent. And yet…In its repetitiveness, its inconsistencies; with its poetry, its moral tone; its psychological power, it is a brilliant document that has fulfilled its purpose: to hold together a people who were living through a time of crisis, and through many times of crisis throughout the world and the years.
I am a writer. I have always been interested in the power of communication. The WORD is the foundation of our Jewish world. God said, “Let there be light”, and there was light…God created the world through God’s words. We are told that God inscribed the commandments on the tablets that God gave to Moses. When Moses came down from Sinai he instructed the people, “enjoin [these teachings] upon your children, that they may observe faithfully all the terms of this Teaching. For this is not a trifling thing for you: it is your very life; through it you shall long endure on the land that you are to possess upon crossing the Jordan.” (Deuteronomy 32: 46-47).
Traditional Jews explain that God also gave the people the Oral Torah—the Talmud—at Sinai, as they were given the written Torah. The Torah is a living document because it demands constant study, interpretation,, analysis, and resolution. The critical directive to study Torah implies “ask, discuss, postulate, argue,” to try to attain answers that are meaningful for the situation at hand. The process of interpreting the main texts of the Talmud is continual. If the participants—even the earliest Rabbis—did not agree, their differing opinions were nevertheless respected and noted in the Talmud. The perennial engagement of Jewish people with study and questioning, which begins with and is epitomized by the child asking the Four Questions at the Seder; has shaped the people as well as our literature, our laws, and our history.
Many groups have found their own meanings in Torah; developed their own rationale, explanations, interpretations—Gemara, Midrash, Mishnah, Kabbalah…Because they are Jews, there are numerous understandings and interpretations. And that is why Torah lives. Ben Bag Bag said, “Turn it, and turn it, for everything is in it. Reflect on it and grow old and gray with it. Don’t turn from it, for nothing is better than it.” (Pirke Avot 5:22).
The Torah invites and requires constant interpretation. The Rabbis whose thinking contributed to the Talmud and later works investigated, explored, and argued over literal and metaphorical meanings, over word repetition, over scribal errors. Always, they were striving to make the Torah meaningful. When not enough detail was included, they extrapolated to find ways to observe. They related sacrifices in the no-longer existing Temple to prayer, study, and mitzvot. Through detailed descriptions of Temple construction they found directions for Sabbath observance. Always, they and we, learned the importance of attention to detail and of seeking meaning in all we do.
As I prepare to read from the Torah, I see additional evidence of the levels of personal involvement that are incorporated into the process of understanding: the Torah scroll was inscribed without punctuation or vowels that clarify connotation. Readers over the centuries seek further levels of meaning contributed by vowels, by crowns above some of the consonants, and by cantillation marks. Each reader, at his or her own level, faces the challenge of understanding the meanings, the intentions, the deeper significance of the Torah. And after two thousand years, we continue to confront ourselves and those who have gone before us. In our world, in our time and nation, most Jews consider the laws that concern human relationships—social justice—to be our religion’s most important teachings. And because the Torah and Talmud are so rich, we have many proof texts and stories to support those positions….Yet the same sources provide arguments for those fundamentalists whose point of view is completely different.
Emor, our Torah portion, is not very inspirational in its פשט p’shat, or apparent reading, to this modern intellectual, feminist, liberal, Reform Jew. Yet, my section, and much of Emor, deals with time; and as Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “Jewish ritual can be characterized as the architecture of time.” Our architecture is not physical, but spiritual and intellectual.
I am not a fundamentalist; I do not believe in the literal interpretation of these passages; and yet I am convinced that it is indeed the Torah and its teachings that have allowed the Jewish people to endure for centuries.
Just as the book of Leviticus is the center of the Torah, the Torah has become the center of my life: my guide to the right path to a better “me”. Parshat Emor bases itself on rituals and ethics; first, explaining the laws of priesthood, holiness, perfection and sacrifices; followed by descriptions of the holy days and festivals; and concluded by the laws pertaining to lighting the Menorah and the bread offering in the Sanctuary. All these have the end result of having a link to God.
The idea of sacrifice has evolved throughout the ages. While in ancient times, the ideal ritual to approach God was the sacrificing of animals (especially the lamb), in modern times, these have been substituted by the sacrifices and offerings made by humans. I am now the creature coming close to God with all of my heart and spirit. I do this by observing Sabbath, praying, studying Torah, Tzedakah, performing good deeds, among others…
In order to connect with God I create a sacred environment, converting my home into a sanctuary every Sabbath and on holy days. The perfection that was expected in the past may now be replaced, for example, with the “unblemished” offerings I make to the Blessed One. When setting my dinner table, I use the most beautiful flowers, the nicest candlesticks, the loveliest Kiddush cup, the best tray, and the tastiest wine. All of these flawless, so that I may come closer to God.
It is important to emphasize that while perfection was demanded for sacrifices, humanity has been and continues to be imperfect. Nevertheless, the Holy Blessed One has always accepted sacrifices from us all, whether we have suffered from physical disabilities or a broken heart and/or spirit. God after all is merciful because He is beyond body, beyond limit and beyond understanding. In the end, our spirituality is the best sacrifice we offer Him. This past year of studies has been the most wonderful and transcendent time in my life because it was another way to approach the Holy One. My Bat Mitzvah seals the covenant between God and me.
I will always be grateful and thankful to Him and will revere Him for the miracles in my life, while I ensure to keep my spiritual flame burning from now to eternity.
We learn that in the Torah there are 613 mitzvot or commandments. In this week’s parsha, Parshat Emor alone, there are 63 laws. Laws, laws and more laws. Today, we examine these commandments and try to understand them in the light of the history of the Jewish people. In biblical times, the children of Israel needed to hear the strong will of God spoken by Moses, their trusted leader. The precise details in every law pertaining to the worship of God were necessary in order to impress them with the power and righteousness of God.
Leviticus 23 is devoted to “the appointed seasons of the Lord which you shall proclaim to be holy convocations.” God reveals to Moses the time, the season and the meaning of all the holidays. Throughout the centuries the Jewish people have kept the holidays that God commanded as His appointed times for meeting. We have remembered our history and added a few more. In this Torah portion there are three sets of laws that are significant to my way of thinking. They concern Passover, the commandment of gleaning and the Ner Tamid.
Passover has always been special to me. I grew up in Albany NY, three hours away from my grandparents in New Haven CT. Every spring my parents, sister and I would drive down to their house to have seder with all my aunts, uncles and cousins. It was crowded and hectic, but the whole family was there, Maxwell House hagaddot and all. And so much wonderful food.
Several years later, at the family seder, I introduced Bob Weiss, my soon-to-be husband to the entire Schiff family all in one evening. He will never forget it. Today, the Weiss family seder is crowded and hectic too. We celebrate with our friends from near and far, and the children tell the story of Moses and teach the adults.
Another commandment, seemingly unrelated to worship or holidays is slipped into the text. Leviticus 23:22 reads, “When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God.”
This sense of caring and being responsible for members of our community who are in need is, I believe, a trait of the Jewish character prompted by God’s commandment to the children of Israel so long ago. My grandfather told me that in the late 19th century, his mother, a desperately poor woman herself, baked extra challah each week for those families less fortunate than hers. My grandfather delivered them in secret on Friday mornings. This story had a tremendous influence on me. In part because of this story, I became a social worker and an advocate for the elderly, the needy and the hungry.
When I received my assignment for this week’s Torah reading, I was pleasantly surprised to see that its subject was the Ner Tamid, the Eternal Light. A year before I was Confirmed, our Temple sponsored a NFTY group. A newspaper was started and I was asked to draw a picture for the mast head that would represent the paper’s name. I drew the Ner Tamid that was hanging in the sanctuary.
I think of the Eternal Light that God commanded Aaron to place before the veil in the Temple and how it could be a symbol for my own life. It shines with strength and constancy. I think of how many times in the past 57 years that I have tried to learn to read Hebrew. At Temple Beth Emeth in 1954, girls did not become Bat Mitzvah. Two years ago, when Central Synagogue offered adults the chance to study for Bat Mitzvah, I joined the class immediately.
We have just celebrated Passover and this year I felt comfortable with the Hebrew. Through the years I have been drawn to the study of the history and culture of the Jewish people. It has instilled in me a sense of responsibility for my fellow human beings and a deep love for my family. When I think of the Ner Tamid and its continuous beam of light, it reminds me of my own determination to become a Bat Mitzvah. I thank God for bringing me to this day.
