Parasha Tzav: The Anointed One

Once again, the entire world looked on in horror this week as terrorist attacks struck the city of Brussels. This past year alone we have seen violence, destruction and an unspeakable disregard for innocent human beings seemingly everywhere – from the intractable conflicts in Iraq and Syria, to Libya and Africa, to Paris and San Bernadino, in our own nation, and now Belgium. We continue to see random stabbings in Israel. We ask ourselves – what is becoming of our world?  Throughout history, when things appear to be spinning out of control, people look for leaders who appear to offer hope and, at times, claim to have answers that will restore order to the chaos.

As a minority living among an often hostile majority, the Jewish people have seen more than our share of violence directed against us throughout history. In the year 1648-1649 alone, Jewish communities in Ukraine were terrorized by the followers of a Ukrainian nationalist named Bogdan Chmielnicki. He led a Cossack and peasant uprising that sought to end Polish rule in Ukraine. Chmielnicki was bent on eradicating the Jewish presence in Ukraine. Over the course of that one year tens or thousands of Jews perished in his terror campaign. One chronicle of the time estimated that 100,000 Jews were killed and 300 communities were destroyed. As we might imagine, the problem of refugees was severe.

Hope came to these devastated communities in the form of a man who declared himself to be the Messiah, or Mashiach, in Hebrew. His name was Shabbatai Zvi . He was born in 1626 in Smyrna, an ancient Greek city in Anatolia, then under Ottoman rule. He was well versed in Talmud and was ordained as a rabbi when he was 18.  His deeper interest was Kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism, and he soon attracted a small following. When he was 22 years old he declared himself the Messiah, but nobody paid him much attention. During his twenties and thirties he traveled through Asia and the Middle East. At times he was expelled from Jewish communities for his bizarre, peculiar and even blasphemous behavior. At other times he settled down and led a quiet life.

His life changed when he was forty years old. While in Jerusalem he sought out a well-known intellectual and mystic named Nathan of Gaza. He hoped that Nathan of Gaza would help him with the spiritual malaise he was experiencing at that time. Nathan of Gaza convinced Shabbatai Zvi that he was indeed the Messiah. With the help of Nathan of Gaza, messianic fervor spread throughout the Jewish communities of Europe, Asia, and Africa. It spread not only in places like Ukraine, which had been devastated by terror, but in cities and countries that had known no violence as well. People fasted, repented, and offered Messianic prayers written by Nathan of Gaza. Some sold all their belongings and made plans to travel to the Land of Israel.  Others slept in their clothing, expecting any time that that they would be miraculously transported to Israel in clouds. The entire Jewish world was aflame, divided between believers in this self-proclaimed Messiah and his opponents.

Ultimately, Shabbetai Zvi was brought before the Ottoman Sultan and given the choice of converting to Islam or being put to death. He chose to convert to Islam and was given a pension by the Sultan. From then on he outwardly professed the Muslim faith but secretly practiced Judaism until his death at age fifty.

 In our Torah reading for this week, we find the word for Messiah – Mashiach --  although it has nothing to do with being a savior of any sort. In our Torah reading this week “mashiach” or “Messiah” simply means “anointed one”, and it is used in conjunction with Aaron’s investiture as the High Priest. Moses inducts Aaron into the priesthood by dressing him in his priestly clothing and pouring consecrated oil over his head. Later on in the development of Judaism, this “anointed one” or Mashiach becomes the term used for a descendent of King David. This descendent of David, usually conceived as a military hero, will lead Israel to victory over all of her enemies. He will oversee a return of Zion’s exiles to the Land of Israel and will establish a Kingdom where the Jewish people can live in peace and tranquility. A King Messiah who is kind, wise, and righteous will rule the world justly. All people on earth will live securely, with plenty for everyone.

Although the concept of “Messiah” has been an important part of Jewish thought throughout the ages, Judaism has taken a patient and passive approach to these beliefs. However, in the 1990s, Messianic fervor gripped at least a segment of the Jewish world. As the last Lubavitcher Rebbe neared the end of his life, many Chabad Lubavitch followers began to believe that he was the Messiah. When he died in 1994, some of his followers held that he would come back to life and reveal himself as the Messiah. To this day they have not found a leader for the Lubavitch movement to replace their beloved Rebbe.

Our prayer book takes an entirely different approach to Messianic yearnings. The traditional Amidah contains language that prays for a “Redeemer” for the Children of Abraham – the Messiah in the form of a person. Our prayer book substitutes the hope for a redeemer with the hope for redemption. There is only a difference of one Hebrew letter, but that one letter makes a world of difference. By adding that letter, our prayer book rejects the idea of the Messiah as a heroic conqueror. Rather, for us, redemption is to be gained through working together to end oppression, to promote justice, to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, to relieve human suffering.

Messianic times are an ideal that we all should aspire to bring on, to struggle toward. May our yearning for Messianic times keep us from being complacent, from being satisfied with the way things are.  May we all work for a better world, a world, free of violence, free of suffering, free of terror --  In the words of the prophet Micah, a world where “every person shall sit under his vine and under his fig-tree; and none shall make them afraid”.

Shabbat Shalom

Vayikra -- Making Sacrifices

Years back I heard of a congregation that read only from the first book and a half of the Torah-- Genesis and half of Exodus, Shabbat morning.  As you know, traditionally, we read from all Five Books of the Torah in the course of our weekly Sabbath morning services. The reason this congregation read only through the first book and a half of the Torah was because that is where all of the exciting stories are. Once one gets beyond the Exodus from Egypt and the building of the Golden Calf, the narrative parts of the Torah get fewer and fewer. By the time one gets to the Book of Leviticus, where we are this week, the narrative grinds to a halt. There are but two brief stories in the Book of Leviticus. The rest of the Book of Leviticus is as filled with mitzvoth as a pomegranate with seeds.

Having read about the completion and erection of the Mishkan in last week’s final chapter of Exodus, the Book of Leviticus opens by outlining the five major types of sacrifices that can be offered there. The first type, the Olah, means “going up”. It was offered to atone for a person’s sinful thoughts or ideas, which “come up” in one’s mind.  Its purpose was to help the worshipper raise the state of his or her spiritual level. 

Whereas the olah is an animal offering, the second type of sacrifice, the mincha, is an offering of flour, oil, and frankincense.  It was inexpensive, probably for people who could not afford an animal offering.  The message was that spiritual elevation is available to all, regardless of their financial situation. 

The type of sacrifice known as zevach shlamim was brought by a person or a group of people. This offering was meant to express gratitude for G-d’s goodness and love of G-d.  This animal sacrifice was eaten at a communal feast.  Finally the Hatat and the Asham sacrifices were brought when one sinned and felt guilty. In bringing the Hatat or the Asham, one was asking forgiveness from G-d.

The Torah goes into great detail as to how these sacrifices were to be offered to G-d by the priests. It enumerates which parts of an animal were to be given to G0d, which parts were to be retained by the priests for their personal consumption, which were to be eaten by the person who brought the offering, and on and on. It is little wonder that some congregations would prefer to skip the whole thing.

Furthermore, it is irrelevant to our lives today.  As we all know, animal and grain sacrifices ceased when the Second Temple was destroyed. There is a poignant story about Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai and his student, Rabbi Joshua, as they looked upon the Temple ruins. Rabbi Joshua bemoans the fact that with the Temple destroyed, Jews no longer have a way to atone for their sins. Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai replies that he ought not despair. Atonement for sins, he says, can still be gained through acts of charity and justice. This story illustrates both the feelings of loss that Jews have experienced throughout our history, as well as the adaption to loss that has been the key to Jewish survival throughout the ages.

The Temple in Jerusalem, however, was more than just a place for worship – it was the central symbol of Jewish sovereignty and national identity. That is why the Romans destroyed it in the first place, and that is why they never allowed the Jewish people to rebuild it. Nevertheless, throughout the ages Jews yearned to rebuild the Temple. In fact the rabbis added an entire section of prayer to our Sabbath Worship service to express that longing. The traditional Musaf service, which is named after the musaf, or additional sacrifice that was offered at the Temple on Shabbat, contains within it prayers to G-d to restore the Temple and to resume animal sacrifices.

The Modern American Reform Movement eliminated the Musaf service in its first published prayer book in 1856. The thinking was that the very mention of animal sacrifices obstructs rather than enhances the cultivation of spirituality for the modern American Jew. Subsequent prayer books of the Reform Movement followed suit.

In 1945 the Conservative Movement made a break with tradition by changing the wording of some of the traditional prayers in the Musaf service. They kept the Musaf service, with its focus on the Temple and the sacrificial system, but adapted the language to conform to modern sensibilities. They recognized American Jews had no desire to return to animal sacrifice as a system of worship. The Conservative Movement therefore changed the wording of the prayers to express the hope that we modern worshippers be as devoted to our form of worship as our ancestors were to theirs. Thus they maintained the link to the past while recognizing and acknowledging that sacrificial offerings constituted a stage in the evolution of our religion that we had long left behind and to which we did not wish to return.

The Jewish Reconstructionist Foundation also published its first prayer book in 1945. It eliminated the Musaf service entirely, as well as references to Jews as the “chosen people”, resurrection of the dead, and the hope for a Messiah. These changes so enraged the Orthodox community that on June 12, 1945, two hundred Orthodox rabbis gathered for a ceremony in New York in which Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan, the chief author of the prayer book, was excommunicated and his new prayer book burned.

Today the passions aroused by liturgical innovations have abated. The Reform Movement in Israel has added a prayer “in memory of the Musaf service” and the Reconstructionist Movement advises that those who want to add a musaf service be permitted to do so. Not all of our fellow Jews, however, have come to terms with the elimination of sacrifice as a form of worship. These religious nationalists see in the restoration of sovereignty of the State of Israel over Jerusalem the first divinely ordained step toward the building of a Third Temple and the re-instituting of the sacrificial cult of Biblical times. That is another sermon, for another time.
Shabbat Shalom

Parasha Pekudai -- Struggling With Our Evil Inclination

President Ronald Reagan famously exclaimed, “Trust, but verify”. The phrase is actually a saying from the Russian language.  Historians tell us that President Reagan used it often in his arms control negotiations with Michael Gorbachev in the 1980s.  “Trust, but verify could be the title of this week’s parasha. As you recall, Moses has been instructed to build a Mishkan, a place of G-d’s presence. The Israelites would take the Mishkan with them as they travel through the desert to the Land of Canaan, the land the G-d has promised them. There had been an outpouring of donations from the Israelites to construct the Mishkan – gold and silver, fabrics of all kinds, acacia wood and precious stones, animal skins and oils and spices. The Midrash tells us that some of the Israelites doubted that Moses had used all of the donations that he had gathered for the purpose for which they were intended. Therefore, our parasha begins by telling us that Moses gave an account of all of the donations that he received and how he used them, lest he be suspected of using some of those donations for his own, personal use.

You may think that it was a terrible thing to suspect Moshe Rabeinu – the great Moses our Teacher, who, the Torah tells us, spoke to G0d himself ‘face – to – face” – of embezzlement of funds. But there is in all human beings a Yetzer-Ha-rah – an inclination to behave badly.  In some ways ,we  might say that can’t blame those Israelites who wondered whether Moses was putting something aside for himself. It turned out Moses could account for every penny, so to speak.  There is a different story about a rabbi, closer to our times , who had to struggle against his yetzer ha-rah to do the right thing.

In Russia at the end of the 19^th century there existed one of the great schools of Jewish learning of all time – the Volozhin Yeshiva. Young men would come from all over Europe, even from the United States, for the chance to study with some of the best rabbis and most dedicated students in the world.

Like most Jewish institutions to this day, this Yeshiva had financial challenges. They were always short of money. In an effort to deal once again with another financial crisis, the head of the Yeshiva, Rabbi Chaim Solovietchik, set off for the city of Minsk to raise the money that would prevent the Yeshiva from closing. There were two rabbis in that big city that raised money for the yeshiva on a regular basis. These were Rabbi Duber Pines and Rabbi Baruch Zlotolwitz. Rabbi Soloveitchik went to the home of Rabbi Zlotowitz and asked him if he could raise the money to save the Yeshiva. “I will see what I can do,” said Rabbi Zlotowitz. Rabbi Soloveithcik stayed at Rabbi Zlotowitz’s home anxiously waiting for Rabbi Zlotowitz to raise the money.

After two weeks, Rabbi Soloveitchik asked Rabbi Zlotowitz how he was doing. “I have raised almost half the money you need,” said Rabbi Zlotowitz. After a full month had passed, Rabbi Soloveitchik asked him again. “I am happy to say I have raised the entire sum,” said Rabbi Zlotowitz. Rabbi Soloveitchik returned to Volozhin with the money and paid off the bills that the Yeshiva owed.       

A few days later two men appeared before the rabbinical court in Volozhin. The two men were none other than Rabbi Zlotowitz and Rabbi Pines, the two rabbis who lived in Minsk and raised money for the Yeshiva. Rabbi Pines had brought a complaint. “Rabbi Zlotowitz and I have always been equal partners in raising money for the Yeshiva. But when Rabbi Soloveitchik asked Rabbi Zlototwitz to raise money this time, he didn’t do it. Rabbi Zlotowitz gave the entire amount out of his own pocket! I insist that I be able give him half of the amount that he contributed to the yeshiva, and in return I will gain an equal share in this worthy enterprise.

When Rabbi Soloveitchik heard about this, he took Rabbi Zlotowitz aside. “If you gave me the money out of your own pocket,” he asked, “why did you make me wait at your home for a month until you gave it to me? Why didn’t you give it to me right away, and let me go?”

Rabbi Zlotowitz replied, “Do you think it’s easy to give such a large amount of money? I had to struggle long and hard with the greed in my heart just to give you half of the money. Then I had to wage another all-out battle in my heart to wrench out the other half from my pocket. I’m sorry, but it took me an entire month to convince myself to give you the entire amount!”

So it can be with us. Often we have to struggle with our own yetzer ha-rahs in order to do the right thing. Our yetzer ha-rahs say to us “I’ll do it later” or “I’ll wait to see what others give” or “They’ll never know the difference,” or “I’d rather sleep than study” or --- just fill in the blank! The sages understood our yetzer ha-rah to be a part of the human condition, for each morning upon awakening we pray, “Dear G-d, do not allow my yetzer ha-rah to rule over me.” May our yetzer- ha-tov, our good inclination always overcome our yetzer ha-rah and may we do Good all the days of our lives.       

Shabbat Shalom                                         

Ki Tissa - Building Community

 Last Sunday morning our synagogue was buzzing. The social hall was filled with booths put up by each classroom in our Religious School.  Just imagine about 170 children, with parents in attendance collecting money for various causes.  At the booth put up by our Pre-K and Kindergarten class they were collecting for a North Shore charity called The Ark. Grade 1 was collecting for Israel Guide Dogs; Grade 2 for the PJ Library. Grade three was collecting for American Friends of Magen David Adom – the Israel Branch of the Red Cross. Grade 4 had a booth for the Make a Wish Foundation. Grade 5 was soliciting for the Ronald McDonald House; Grade 6 for the Lend a Hand Foundation. Grade 7’s cause was Chai Lifeline; Grade 8 was supporting Saint Baldrick and Grade 9 for Save a Child’s Heart. This was our annual Tsedaka Fair. As I walked in to the social hall, contributions in hand, I was immediately greeted by a first grader wearing a plastic snout of a dog. Then I saw that everybody, including the teacher, was wearing a rubber dog’s nose at the Israel Guide Dog booth. Each class had researched the charity for which they were collecting and made a sign illustrating the organization. They also had literature out on the table of the booth to inform contributors about the charity. But most impressive was the “elevator pitch” that each class wrote to describe the charity for which they were collecting. A first grader at the Israel Guide Dog booth had memorized her pitch, and did not need to be asked twice to deliver it. As I went around the room, each booth had one or two students designated to deliver the pitch.  In all the school raised almost $1200 to distribute to the various charities. More important, our students learned a great deal about the mitzvah of tsedaka, of giving.

One thing they learned was how small contributions add up! Our parasha of the week, Ki Tissa, opens with Moses asking each Israelite in the camp to contribute a half shekel to the building of the Mishkan. As you recall, the Mishkan is the portable sanctuary that will be the abode of G-d’s presence in the Israelite camp as they travel to the Promised Land. The wealthy are not to give more and the poor are not to give less than this half shekel. It is clear that in raising money for the building of the Mishkan, what was most important was not how much was raised, but how many people participated. Asking for a small amount of money insured that everyone would feel a part of the building of the Tabernacle, that everyone would have an investment in achieving the national goal of providing a “home”, as it were, for G-d.

It is still a smart strategy for fundraising.  One of our synagogue’s book clubs, renamed “The Dick Marshall Memorial Book Club” recently read the book Outwitting History the story of the founding of the National Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Massachusetts, the town where Middy and I lived before coming to Naperville. Aaron Lansky was a 24 year old student of Yiddish at McGill University when he found that he and his fellow students were having difficulty finding books in Yiddish to read. A vast literature had been produced in Eastern Europe, but the Holocaust had destroyed Yiddish culture and virtually all books were out of print. Lansky realized that as the native Yiddish speaking generation gave way to the new, their children and grandchildren were discarding the libraries that they were not able to read.  He left his graduate program and set out to save these books from the landfill.

At the time, experts estimated that there were perhaps 70,000 Yiddish books that were still extant and recoverable. Lansky soon realized that the large Jewish Philanthropic organizations had no interest in his seemingly quixotic quest to collect Yiddish books. But people who read about his project sent him money – five dollars, eighteen dollars, thirty six dollars. This was in 1980, before the internet. He gradually built a community of about 4000 people from around the country who supported him through small donations. Eventually, Lansky and his network of volunteer zamlers, book collectors, collected one million volumes of Yiddish literature, some it quite rare, from around the globe. The books are not simply stored. They are placed in the hands of new students of Yiddish, of scholars doing research into Yiddish culture and at University libraries around the world to strengthen their existing collections. Twelve thousand titles have been digitalized and are available free, online. The National Yiddish Book Center is now supported by 30,000 members, making it one of the largest and most vibrant Jewish cultural organizations in the world today.

What do our Congregation Beth Shalom Religious School Tzedaka Fair, the Mishkan, and the National Yiddish Book Center have in common? They were all built around small donations. They were all built with the idea of maximum participation. Just as important as the end product of these causes -- raising money for charity, for building a house for G-d or saving a tangible legacy of Jewish life in Europe, these causes built a sense of community because they invited the participation of everyone.  

This coming Motzei Shabbat, March 5, we have an opportunity to both build community and do a mitzvah at the same time. Our first Trivia Fundraiser has a low bar for entry, inviting maximum participation. It promises to be fun and to build community, while raising much needed money for our synagogue. And if this question comes up at trivia night – “What is, proportionately, the most in-print literature on the planet” – you are going to know the answer by virtue of your being at services this evening. The answer is – “Yiddish literature” – thanks to the efforts of the National Yiddish Book Center.

Shabbat Shalom