Happy Passover חַג פֵּסַח שַׂמֵחַ Pesach / פֶּסַח Pesach (Passover, the Feast of Unleavened Bread) for Hebrew Year 5781 begins in the Diaspora at sundown on Saturday, 27 March 2021 and ends at nightfall on Sunday, 4 April 2021. Passover (Hebrew: פֶּסַח Pesach) commemorates the story of the Exodus, in which the ancient Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt. Passover begins on the 15th day of the month of Nisan in the Jewish calendar, which is in spring in the Northern Hemisphere, and is celebrated for seven or eight days. It is one of the most widely observed Jewish holidays. Passover begins on the 15th day of the Jewish month of Nissan. It is the first of the three major festivals with both historical and agricultural significance (the other two are Shavu’ot and Sukkot). Agriculturally, it represents the beginning of the harvest season in Israel. The primary observances of Passover are related to the Exodus from Egypt after 400 years of slavery as told in the biblical Book of Exodus from chapters 1 to 15. Passover lasts for seven days (eight days outside of Israel). The first and last days of the holiday (first two and last two outside of Israel) are days on which no work is permitted. Work is permitted on the intermediate days, referred to as Chol Ha-Mo’ed. The name “Passover” is derived from the Hebrew word Pesach which is based on the root “pass over” and refers to the fact that G-d “passed over” the houses of the Jews when he was slaying the firstborn of Egypt during the last of the ten plagues. Passover is also widely referred to as Chag he-Aviv (the "Spring Festival"), Chag ha-Matzoth (the "Festival of Matzahs"), and Zeman Herutenu (the "Time of Our Freedom"). Information about Passover Join us for our virtual community Seder for the Second Night of Passover: March 28, 2021 at 6:30 pm PT Zoom links to come.

Parashat Tzav (Link to YouTube video) Parashat Tzav / פרשת צַו Read in the Diaspora on 27 March 2021 (14 Nisan 5781). Parashat Tzav is the 25th weekly Torah portion in the annual Jewish cycle of Torah reading. Torah Portion: Leviticus 6:1-8:36 This portion continues both the processes of the offerings for Elevation, Thanksgiving, Minchah, Sin and Guilt. This portion, however, focuses on the role of the Priests. It also continues the discussion of the priests’ ordination. This portion is called “Tzav”. This means “command”. Typically, Hashem’s instructions to Moses and Aaron is “telling them…to say…”. This word is more emphatic and conveys the importance of having the priests be diligent in carrying out the instructions in preparing and executing each of the offerings in its respective situations. This portion also goes into detail about the process of performing the Minchah offering. The priest is to take threefingers full of flour. This is where the priest cups his three middle fingers and scoops up flour for the meal offering. This portion mentions the concept of piggul. This is where the offering would be disqualified by improper thought or intention. Here the offering is not performed during the appropriate time. The offering is also disqualified if the meat touches a contaminated person or object. This portion also discusses the actual consecration of Aaron and his sons, continuing the instructions from earlier in the Torah in the portion of Exodus. Shabbat HaGadol / שַׁבָּת הַגָּדוֹל Shabbat HaGadol (Shabbat before Pesach) for Hebrew Year 5781 begins at sundown on Friday, 26 March 2021 and ends at nightfall on Saturday, 27 March 2021. Shabbat HaGadol ("Great Shabbat" שבת הגדול) is the Shabbat immediately before Passover. There is a special Haftarah reading on this Shabbat of the book of Malachi. Traditionally a lengthy and expansive sermon is given to the general community in the afternoon. Pesach I / פֶּסַח יוֹם א׳ Torah Portion: Exodus 12:21-12:51; Numbers 28:16-28:25 For the first day of Passover, the Torah reading reiterates the preparation of the Israelites to leave Egypt. Moses tells them that they are to slaughter a lamb for the feast. They are to take some of the blood of this Paschal offering and use hyssop to smear some on the top of the lintel of their homes. This will be a sign for the destroyer to pass over the houses of the Israelites who have smeared blood on the lintel. The Israelites will continue to perform this offering to observe as a festival when they arrive in the promised land from generation to generation, forever, keeping it always in the land. They are also to gird their loins, pack up their possessions and get ready to leave in the morning. We also have the beginning of the four questions that children ask as part of the Seder in the Haggadah. When children ask: “What mean you by this service?”, we are to explain the sacrifice. Hashem then carries out the final plague, the killing of the first born. The Israelites then leave Egypt. They take their bread, that was baked quickly and did not have time to rise. They also asked their neighbors, the Egyptians, for silver and gold, as payment for years of free labor. The Egyptians gave them their jewels of precious metals willingly. The Israelites had been in Egypt for 430 years, although not all of that time was spent as slaves. When they left, Hashem told Moses that this will be the law of the Paschal lamb, that all who are part of their families and circumcised may partake. And thus did Moses lead the children of Israel out of Egypt out of the house of bondage. Pesach II / פֶּסַח יוֹם ב׳ Torah Portion: Leviticus 22:26-23:44; Numbers 28:16-28:25 A mother and its young are not to be slaughtered on the same day. G-d’s name is holy and not to be desecrated. The Festivals are discussed. It discusses them in order of the (secular) year. It talks about Pesach, counting the Omer leading up to Shavuot, Rosh Hashannah (and Yom Kippur), Succot and Shemini Atzeret. Numbers 28:16-28:25 The maftir of both days talks about the Pesach offering.

This prayer invoking the heavenly angels offers key insights into the purpose of prayer and our broader responsibility as religious people. BY RABBI SARAH KRINSKY When we think of the kedushah (literally “holiness”) prayer, our main association is likely with the third blessing of the Amidah, a piece of liturgy that has become so synonymous with the idea of referencing angels to sanctify God that it has become known as “The Kedushah,” suggesting that it is the only prayer that functions this way. As it turns out, that kedushah is only one of three prayers that incorporate biblical verses — especially Isaiah 6:3: kadosh, kadosh, kadosh (“holy, holy, holy”) — that construct a dialogue between angels and humanity. There’s a much lesser known Kedushah d’Sidra at the end of the morning service, and there’s a text called Kedushah d’Yotzeir (“the sanctification of creation”) that appears immediately after Barekhu, the call to worship that formally opens the morning service. Kedushah d’Yotzeir is the fourth of four subsections of a blessing that praises God as the one who creates light and fashions darkness. This blessing set culminates with the famous words or chadash al tziyon ta’ir (“cause a new light to illumine Zion”). While this kedushah is not the most celebrated or well known, it does offer some insights into the broader purpose of prayer and our jobs as religious people in the larger world. It does so in three key ways. A model of connecting our individual prayer to a larger whole In contrast to the kedushah from the Amidah, which can only be said when there is a minyan of 10 people gathered together, the Kedushah d’Yotzeir is still permitted — and even required — when a person is praying individually. In general, Jewish tradition tends to prioritize prayer in a minyan; however, the presence of a kedushah that is permitted in non-minyan prayer emphasizes the idea that each person, regardless of how inside or outside the communal core they may fall in a particular moment, is still crucial, and their prayer is still welcomed and accepted. This tension between the individual and the community is reflected in a line from the Kedushah d’Yotzeir that describes a scene in which the angels on high chant kulam k’echad onim v’omrim b’yirah (“all together as one chant and speak with reverence and awe”). Rabbi Reuven Hammer, in his Or Chadash commentary, describes this angelic chorus as “depicted as totally harmonious.” This nuance of harmonious, as opposed to in clean unison, is enlightening. Harmony implies individuals working in concert to bring about a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. It says: we don’t have to be the same to be here together, thereby offering a place for distinction and difference as core to what community means. Each voice is both a distinct individual and a component of a larger communal whole at the same time. Understanding our relationship to the idealized world the prayer describes In the kedushah of the Amidah, we don’t just describe the angelic vision — we embody it. We put our feet together and sway back and forth, stepping (quite literally) into the angelic experience. In the Kedushah d’Yotzeir, there is no standing, no swaying. We describe the angelic vision from just a bit outside. This difference is crucial, and helps model something significant about the aspirations we articulate during prayer. The world we describe throughout the morning service is a glorious one: it’s a world of peace, wisdom, abundance, light, love and redemption. It’s a world we wish we could exist inside of, a world we remind ourselves of our obligation to bring about. But it’s also a world that is fundamentally separate from the reality we currently inhabit. By giving us two models of how we relate to this angelic vision, our prayers help us to notice this gap. Sometimes, there is great value in fully inhabiting the world of angels, if only for a brief, constructed moment. Other times, it’s important to remind ourselves how far we are from that world. The Kedushah d’Yotzeir helps not only to notice, but also to bless the sanctity of that gap – a gap that we are hopefully moved all the more forcefully to help close. The inherent dignity in each person To the extent that this moment in the service is noticed or remembered, it is likely less because of its content and more because of its form. Other than the brief Barekhu, this is the first moment of verbal call and response in the service. The prayer leader, adopting the role of narrator, describes the angelic scene, during which the community takes the part of angels, chanting the lines kadosh, kadosh, kadosh (“holy holy, holy”) and baruch k’vod Adonai mimkomo (“Blessed is God’s glory”). Until this moment, the prayers of the community have been led and guided by the prayer leader. Now, though, we are on our own – left to declare the words of our liturgy without the supportive net of the prayer leader’s voice keeping us together. In a typical prayer service, the stakes of this independence are relatively low. If we miss our line, everything will be okay. But this experience of going out on one’s own without the typical structures of support and guidance is not unique to prayer. Each of us has had, in one way or another, to venture out on our own — a life moment that can often be scary or make us feel vulnerable. It is notable, then, that this moment of liturgical independence is preceded by and introduced with the affirmation kulam ahuvim, kulam b’rurim, kulam giborim (“all are loved, all are pure, all are mighty.”) It’s as if to say: before people feel safe or comfortable going out on their own, they need to feel reassured in the knowledge that they are capable, strong, and loved. This passage asks us to recognize the times in which we need to make ourselves vulnerable, to do something that requires courage yet is laden with fear. And we give ourselves a space and a moment to remind ourselves: we can do this. We are worthy. We might feel, in whatever moment we’re gearing up for, as though we are alone. But in truth, we are part of a community and a relationship with the divine in which we are noticed, affirmed, and loved. In these three key ways, the Kedushah d’Yotzeir is emblematic of the various roles of prayer. Jewish prayer, at its best, allows us to feel both wholly ourselves and also part of a bigger narrative. It drives us to improve our world and to bring about our idealized vision for who we can and want to be. And it reminds us of the inherent worth, dignity and value of each human soul. In so doing, this piece of liturgy becomes deserving of its name: a call to holiness.

Parashat Vayikra 5781 Parashat Vayikra / פרשת וַיִּקְרָא Read in the Diaspora on 20 March 2021 (7 Nisan 5781). Parashat Vayikra is the 24th weekly Torah portion in the annual Jewish cycle of Torah reading. Torah Portion: Leviticus 1:1-5:26 The book of Leviticus (Vayikra) opens with a discussion of various types of sacrifices. The first of the offerings (Korban)is the elevation offering. This is for people who have committed a sin for which there is no punishment, failed to perform positive commandment, or sinful thoughts. It is a voluntary offering for someone who wants to get closer to G-d. They would first lean their hands on the head of the animal (smittah) while confessing sins using an animal from their herd, flocks and birds, whatever is affordable. In this offering, the whole animal is burnt. A meal offering of fine flour, with oil and frankincense, unleavened, salted is used for those of very limited means. Salt is used as a metaphor to preserve Israel. The minchah is from the first grain to Hashem (i.e., the Omer, as started at the 2nd day of Pesach, first grain, before which no other grain offered.) The peace-offering is brought voluntarily by people who are moved to express love for Hashem, as a tribute. This expresses a sense of wholeness (shalem which is also the word for “peace”). Only parts of the animal is burnt and the rest is used for a feast. Sin-offerings or Hattat are for unintentional sins. However, if a sin is committed accidentally and without intent, no offering is needed. These are also performed for community sin and when a ruler sins. The animal used for the sacrifice depends on whether the sin was committed by the congregation (bull) or a ruler (he-goat). There are offerings to atone for someone who has contaminated the sanctuary or violated a spoken oath. There are guilt offerings for someone who sins unintentionally against Hashem or committed a sin for which he was unaware at the time. Finally, there is a sin-offering for theft or swearing falsely and then wanting to repent.

Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei / פרשת וַיַּקְהֵל־פְקוּדֵי Read in the Diaspora on 13 March 2021 (29 Adar 5781). Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei is the 22nd and 23rd weekly Torah portion in the annual Jewish cycle of Torah reading. Torah Portion: Exodus 35:1-40:38 This week’s parashat is a double portion, Vayakhel-Pekudai. Within a nineteen-year period, seven years are “leap” years, in which the additional month of Adar II is added. Since the Hebrew calendar is a lunar calendar, it is 11 days less than the secular solar calendar in use in our society. After two or three years, the holidays have been occurring earlier each year and thus are out of sync with their seasonal placement. That extra month helps reestablish the appropriate time for those holidays. This accounts for when some holidays occur on Shabbat and there is a special parashat that also puts the cadence of Torah portions off. Therefore, some portions are doubled up so that the reading of the Torah occurs during Simchat Torah which occurs in October. These portions are one of those pairs. Torah portions can be paired when they similar or concurrent themes. Vayakhel-Pekudai finalizes the plans to collect materials and build the Mishkan and its artifacts, outfit the Cohenim, and sanctify this new process. Just as previous portions described the dimensions and building process of this new dwelling place of Hashem, these two portions address that the process gets done. Parashat Vayakhel reiterates not to work on any of these projects during Shabbat. It then repeats that Israelites whose heart motivates them, should contribute to the Tabernacle and how the people brought supplies (braceltes, noserings, ornaments) for all the projects. It then repeats how Belzalel and Oholiab were selected as the master contractors to supervise. The parashat then describes that the building and crafting were carried out: curtains, cover, planks, partitions, screen, table, menorah and incense altar. They then made the elevation-offering altar, laver, courtyard and screen. Parashat Pekudai reviews that amount of gold and silver that was used in the construction. It then reviews that the clothing and attire was made: Aaron’s vestments, breastplate, robe of the Ephod, tunics of linen and head-plate. Moses then inspected all the finished products. Moses then commanded the workers to set up the Tabernacle. They then erected the Tabernacle as the Glory of Hashem filled the Tablenacle. This concludes the book of Exodus. Shabbat HaChodesh / שַׁבָּת הַחֹדֶשׁ Shabbat HaChodesh (Shabbat before Rosh Chodesh Nissan) for Hebrew Year 5781 begins at sundown on Friday, 12 March 2021 and ends at nightfall on Saturday, 13 March 2021. Shabbat HaChodesh ("Sabbath [of the] month" שבת החודש) precedes the first of the Hebrew month of Nisan during which Passover is celebrated. Exodus 12:1-20 and the laws of Passover. On the first day of Nisan, G-d presented the first commandment of how to "sanctify the new moon" (kiddush hachodesh) for the onset of Rosh Chodesh and thus Nisan becomes the first month of the Jewish year (counting by months.) https://hebcal.com/holidays/shabbat-hachodesh?utm_source=redir&utm_medium=redir

Rabbi Yitz Greenberg - ygreenberg@hadar.org Download in pdf format (text) Download in mp3 format (audio) Parashat VaYakhel-Pekudei 5781 To access the 5781 Divrei Torah collection from Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, click here. Our double Torah portion concludes the tabernacle section of the Book of Exodus. It tells how the various parts of the tabernacle were fashioned, then it describes the erection of the building, the placing of all its appurtenances in their proper places, and finishes with a financial report on the amounts of precious metals used and an inventory of the special textiles incorporated. Surprisingly, the Torah “interrupts” the account to instruct the Israelite on laws of Shabbat observance. The Torah tells us that labor (melakhah, dignified, creative work), that is, creation, is prohibited on the Shabbat (Exodus 35:2-3). The traditional commentaries scramble to explain the insertion of a seemingly unrelated set of laws. In his commentary Rashi suggests that the Shabbat instruction is inserted here—before the construction is described—to underscore that the work of building the tabernacle is prohibited on Shabbat.1 The holy work of building a house in which to meet and serve God, nevertheless, must stop on Shabbat. Getting the sanctuary done faster is not religiously significant enough to interfere with the global Shabbat instruction to live a day of pure being, dedicated to internal reflection and relationship. (Only pikuah nefesh, saving a life, is weighty enough to override the Shabbat prohibition of labor, because life is Judaism’s highest value). There is another possible approach. These Shabbat laws are not an interruption but a juxtaposition. Shabbat represents sacred time. The tabernacle represents sacred space. These two phenomena are closely related. They are parallel to each other and they play an identical role in the ecology of Jewish religion. Hence they appear together in our Torah portion. The key goal of Judaism, as I have argued in this series, is to repair and perfect the world so life will flourish to its fullest degree. In the Messianic age, human honor and dignity—the infinite value, equality, and uniqueness of every individual—will be upheld on a daily basis in real life. Living the Jewish covenant involves working in every generation to overcome the inequalities inflicted by poverty, oppression or discrimination, as well as to end the life-degrading effects of hunger, war, and sickness. We work on the present reality in an effort to improve it. There is a real tension between the ideal we strive for and what can be done in the present status quo. This tension is the dynamic which generates the energy to pursue our activities at an intense (covenantal) level and strive to live by the higher values in our daily lives. Given that the pace of covenantal improvement is incremental, we spend our whole lives in this work and the task is passed on to the next generation. The challenge is: How do we keep up the present impact of the ideal, when its actual realization is so far away? The covenantal process generates a real danger, that one will participate in—and then accommodate—the present reality, so as to slip into its routine. One may even unconsciously come to accept the norms and expectations of the status quo. How can we avoid selling out the dream and the mission? There is a second danger. “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?”2 How do we not lose the intensity and drawing power of the dream? This is the Achilles heel of the covenantal method, with its commitment to function in the present reality while working to change it. The Jewish tradition deals with this challenge by creating sacred time and sacred space. The future perfected world is brought forward into the present in the form of a “mini-cosmos,” a miniature version of the ultimate goal. In the realm of time, the Torah carves out one day of the week, Shabbat. A. J. Heschel calls it an “island in time.”3 During these twenty-five hours, one experiences the ultimate reality-to-come. On Shabbat, there is no labor (melakhah), i.e. dignified creative work to upgrade the world. This is not so much a prohibition as it is an imagined future fantasy, turned into a present experience. On this day, the world is complete, so there is nothing left to do.4 In a perfect world, one needs only to be, to live, to relate to family and friends, to self-develop, to learn Torah, to make love, to have family meals with time for conversation, to sing songs, to learn, as well as to enjoy company and guests. On Shabbat, good food and wine is provided to deepen the pleasure. On Shabbat there is no war, no deprivation, no public mourning. In effect, one lives in Messianic time and experiences the joys of a completely repaired world and the delight of a fully human experience with no distraction or anxieties to mar the day. For now, this is only twenty-five hours and the peace and perfection are artificially created in that the rest of the world is not keeping Shabbat. But for the practitioner, the promised future perfection is present, vivid, and real.5 The same function is carried out in the creation of sacred space. In this building—be it tabernacle or temple—one carves out a mini-world. It is made of precious, permanent, non-decaying metals, like gold and silver, to symbolize eternity and the absence of decay and death. In this space, no human death is present. Even people who have been in proximity to death and as a result become ritually impure, cannot enter until they have undergone a purification and rebirth-to-life ceremony. In this space, the priests are perfect physical specimens, foreshadowing the Messianic era with full cure of disabilities that handicap people.6 Everyone is ethically on their best behavior.7 There is no war, no strife, no clashing interests. One feels the presence of God in the absence of evil and in the unity of the divine and human in common cause. Again the Messianic reality is only inside this one building. But the experience is vivid and real. This is the covenantal method of keeping the dream alive. A mini-redeemed world is set up and experienced deeply in time and space now. The encounter is so powerful that the participant knows that this is real - not just an idle fantasy. Thanks to this present experience, the future is not some distant star that is too far away to exercise gravitational pull. Then when one walks out of the Temple or re-enters the weekday, one sees with fresh eyes all the flaws, the missing qualities, the compromises of the present. Energized by the taste of the messianic, the religious celebrant determines not to settle for the status quo but to change it. This is the covenantal method of world transformation which the Torah portion holds up as twin tracks on the way to tikkun olam, world repair. Start by redeeming one day, then widen the liberation steadily into Sunday, Monday—until all seven days are perfected. Start with one ideal building, then extend it to one city, then into one country. Keep on extending the zone of life, freedom, perfection, get some allies along the way, and some day the whole world will be redeemed, a Garden of Eden with liberty and justice, love and peace for all. Shabbat Shalom. 1 Rashi’s comment on Exodus 35:2, based on the Mekhilta. 2 The first lines of Langston Hughes’ poem, Harlem (1990). 3 Abraham J. Heschel, The Sabbath, ch. 1, pp. 12-25.4 For another exploration of this theme, see Shai Held’s essay on Parashat BeHar, “Another World to Live In: The Meaning of Shabbat,” available here: https://www.hadar.org/torah-resource/another-world-live, and published in Shai Held, The Heart of Torah.5 For a fuller exposition of Shabbat as Messianic preenactment, see I. Greenberg, The Jewish Way, especially pp. 149-163.6 On this theme, see my previous essay on Parashat Teztaveh, “On the Priesthood, Or: Holiness is Living in the Fullness of Life,” available here: https://www.hadar.org/torah-resource/priesthood. 7 “Who will dwell in your holy mountain (Temple)? One who walks uprightly, acts justly, speaks the truth… does not slander…” (Psalm 15:2ff). For more on the model of the Temple as a place of perfection / a paradise, see Jon Levenson, Sinai and Zion, pp. 137-142.

The final chapter of the Book of Psalms calls for a symphony of horns, drums, lyres and more. BY LEX ROFEBERG Some people might immediately put down a book if it had 150 chapters. But that’s precisely how many are in the Book of Psalms and, for one reason or another, it has remained relevant to Jews — and adherents of many other faiths — for millennia. Far more than any other biblical book, the Book of Psalms (Tehillim in Hebrew) has been imported into the liturgical texts that make up traditional Jewish prayer. One psalm, included in its entirety in the daily morning service, is the final chapter, Psalm 150. Serving as a kind of grand finale to a jam-packed book of poetry and praise, its text is worth examining closely. Let’s begin by looking at its implicit thesis statement, made clear by the repetition of one word twelve times in only six verses. The word is hallelu and its centrality can’t be overstated. Hallelu shares a root with Hallel, the prayer recited on many holidays, and was imported into English in the form of Hallelujah. It means “praise,” but in the context of this psalm, it is an imperative, utilized as an instruction for all Israel. The text is more than requesting or encouraging, it is imploring the people of Israel: “Praise God!” This in and of itself is fairly unsurprising. As the culmination of a book about God’s incredible attributes, and as a centralized text in daily worship, we would expect the idea of praise to manifest. What’s interesting is the manner of praise that the text proposes. After 149 previous psalms, this final, peak text enjoins its readers to praise God through noisemaking. Some might argue that noisemaking is a crude way to put it. This prayer calls for holy instrumental music — a symphony of horns, drums, lyres and more, all mobilized toward the sanctification of God. Many people – Jewish and otherwise – will speak passionately about the ways in which they experience holiness through music. What we have here is a proof-text for how that modality of spirituality and meaning-making possesses an ancient precedent. More than that, we have another implicit teaching. Judaism can, and should be, loud. While silence can be an important component of life, that which is raucous need not be understood as inherently disrespectful. While the chorus of sheket b’vakasha (“quiet please!”) may be a hallmark of Jewish summer camps, Psalm 150 tells us that we can and should connect to one another (and God) through cacophonies of sound. The word psalm in English sounds a little bit like the word “solemn.” But this final psalm reminds us that prayer can and should transcend that which is stone-faced and serious. Prayer, in ancient times and today, can be joyous. It can be musical. And crucially, if Psalm 150 teaches us anything, it’s that prayer can loud and boisterous without being any less sacred. Lex Rofeberg serves as strategic initiatives coordinator for The Institute for the Next Jewish Future and as co-host of its Judaism Unbound podcast. He lives in Providence, Rhode Island, and is studying towards rabbinic ordination through ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal.

Parashat Ki Tisa 5781 Parashat Ki Tisa / פרשת כִּי תִשָּׂא Read in the Diaspora on 6 March 2021 (22 Adar 5781). Parashat Ki Tisa is the 21st weekly Torah portion in the annual Jewish cycle of Torah reading. Torah Portion: Exodus 30:11-34:35 Shabbat Parah / שַׁבָּת פּרה Shabbat Parah (Shabbat of the Red Heifer) for Hebrew Year 5781 begins at sundown on Friday, 5 March 2021 and ends at nightfall on Saturday, 6 March 2021. Our parashat opens up with Hashem commanding Moshe Rabbeinu to take a census of all the men 20 – 50 years old. We do not count heads in Judaism, but we “lift up the heads” (Hebrew idiom) by collecting a half shekel from all of them, regardless of their wealth. Since the Torah states this is for atonement, the rabbis interpret this contribution is for atonement for the lives these are men in battle will take if and when they have to go to war when necessary to protect their land. Moses is then commanded to make a laver, a wash basin used by the Kohenim when they enter the Mishkan to perform their duties. There are spouts to wash their hands and their feet. Today, we wash our hands before prayer. Moses has been gone for 40 days. The people think he should have come back but they count the day in which he went up to the top of Mount Sinai as the first day. They therefore believe he is dead and feel that they need a representative, a god, to be their intermediary with Hashem. The rabbis believe that the Eirev Rav, the mixed multitude of non-Israelites that used the chaos of the Exodus to escape from Egypt and were pagans, who instigated needing a god. As this mob escalated, Aaron tried to make peace by buying time. He asked them to donate their gold, thinking they wouldn’t give up their riches. They did, and he fashioned a golden calf. The rabble proclaimed, “This is your god, Israel!”. Aaron proclaimed that tomorrow would be a feast to Hashem, knowing Moses would return. Hashem knew what was going on and informed Moses. Moses took the tablets of the Ten Commandments, went down to the people. When he saw the golden calf, he threw the tablets on the groundbreaking them. The Levites came and eliminated the people who encouraged the golden calf. Moses then melted the golden calf, ground up the gold and made the remaining people drink it. Moses then went back up Mount Sinai alone. Hashem said that he would destroy those people and make a new people from Moses’ lineage. Moses stated that then people would say that G-d brought the Israelites out of Egypt to kill them in the desert and He shouldn’t do that. Hashem reveals his thirteen attributes to Moses. He reveals to Moses in a vision and the Thirteen Attributes are revealed. We recite these when we do a Torah service not on Shabbat and also on Yom Kippur, and when fasting for atonement. Hashem also showed Moses Himself. He told Moses to put himself in a cleft of rock and he would pass by, and Moses would see the “back of His head” or some believe the knot of His Head tefillin. This is because no human can see G-d’s “face” and live. Moses then received a second set of tablets for the Ten Commandments. As Moses descended the mountain, his face was glowing so brightly that he needed a mask. This is also Shabbat Parah ("Sabbath [of the] red heifer" שבת פרה), which takes place on the Shabbat before Shabbat HaChodesh, in preparation for Passover. Numbers 19:1-22 describes the parah adumah ("red heifer") in the Jewish temple as part of the manner in which the kohanim and the Jewish people purified themselves so that they would be ready ("pure") to sacrifice the korban Pesach.

The Shema The prayer's three paragraphs seem unrelated, but they lead us on the steps of a spiritual journey. BY CANTOR MATT AXELROD YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE The Shema: How Listening Leads to Oneness PRAY The Shema PRAY There is no prayer more iconic within Jewish life as the Shema. Originally appearing in Deuteronomy, its words are recited numerous times, publicly and privately, throughout the course of each day. Its majesty lies in its sheer simplicity as the credo of the Jewish people: There is only one, true God. In the prayer book, the Shema is followed by three distinct and sometimes mystifying paragraphs. While many worshippers may be familiar with most of the words, they probably give little thought as to why these specific words are linked with the Shema. The first paragraph is in fact the most familiar and also the most logical in its inclusion: Veahavta et Adonai Elohecha — You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. Just as these words follow the opening line of the Shema in the prayer book, they are also the very next verses in the Torah. The connection between the oneness of God and our obligation to devote our lives to follow Him are forever juxtaposed in our recitation. The next paragraph seems to go in a completely different, and even troubling, direction. On the surface, the words represent typical biblical expressions of obedience. Love God. Heed the commandments. Serve God with all your heart. If we do these things, we read, then God will provide all that we need. We’ll have rain in the proper season and an ample harvest of grain. There will be an abundance in the field for our cattle and we will eat to contentment. Then the text takes a dark turn. Don’t stray, we are told, and don’t worship false gods. For then God’s powerful wrath will be directed against you. There won’t be any rain. The earth will not yield its produce. You will soon disappear from the land. Why couldn’t we have been left with positive words of hope and benevolence? What was the value in this overt threat of punishment for disobedience? God is effectively communicating to us that our motivation for performing the commandments and expressing our devotion is the threat of annihilation. Do what I say, God tells us, and no one gets hurt. This primitive message of reward and punishment does not resonate so well with modern ears. In fact, in some recent editions of the prayer book — most often used in Reform and other progressive congregations — omit this paragraph in its entirety. But this misses a prime opportunity to delve into human nature and explore why people act justly or resist the urge to follow a more destructive path. Ask any child why they do homework each evening and they will not explain the value of reinforcing what they learned that day. More likely, they’ll say something akin to, “Because if I don’t, I’ll get in trouble.” Ask any adult why they pay taxes each year, don’t expect to hear a lesson on civic responsibility and the need for all of us to equally bear the burden of supporting the government. Instead, like the young student, they’ll likely answer, “Because if I don’t, I’ll get in trouble.” The words of the Shema are not simply an anachronistic call for blind obedience. Rather, they are an accurate reflection of the fact that good and moral behavior must sometimes be motivated by the possibility of negative consequences. Humanity cannot live solely on the honor system. We aim for the day when doing the right thing is its own reward. But in the meantime, we work for a paycheck and we obey laws that carry a penalty for disobedience. The Shema concludes with a third paragraph, a seeming non-sequitur which strangely instructs us to attach tzitzit fringes to the four corners of our garments. Seeing these fringes serves as a reminder of all of God’s commandments. Just as we surround ourselves with these tzitzit, so too do we symbolically live within the bounds of God’s mitzvot. These three paragraphs — love God with all your heart; obey God’s commandments or perish; see the tzitzit and remember God’s commandments — seem at first glance to be three unrelated texts. But really, they work together to brilliantly represent humankind’s moral development. Each paragraph of the Shema leads us to the next step of a spiritual journey. First, we proclaim that we recognize just one true God and that He should be the object of our devotion. Next, we strive to obey God’s teachings, but realize that we will stray from the path and incur negative consequences, both individually and collectively. Finally, we structure our lives so that we are surrounded by God and His commandments every minute of the day, ultimately living a life a life of mitzvot because God is — in the Shema’s final words — Adonai Eloheichem Emet, the God of truth. We want the prayers that we recite to reflect our thoughts and experiences and the Shema links the words to emotions that all of us can relate to. We seek to do the right thing for its own sake, but realize that it’s easy to fall short. We are always searching for reminders of God’s presence around us, and the Shema tells us that this can be as simple as looking down at what we’re wearing. Cantor Matt Axelrod has served Congregation Beth Israel of Scotch Plains, New Jersey, since 1990. He is a graduate of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America and a national officer of the Cantors Assembly. Cantor Axelrod is the author of Surviving Your Bar/Bat Mitzvah: The Ultimate Insider’s Guide, and Your Guide to the Jewish Holidays: From Shofar to Seder. You can read his blog at mattaxelrod.com.

Parashat Tetzaveh 5781 Parashat Tetzaveh / פרשת תְּצַוֶּה Read in the Diaspora on 27 February 2021 (15 Adar 5781). Parashat Tetzaveh is the 20th weekly Torah portion in the annual Jewish cycle of Torah reading. Torah Portion: Exodus 27:20-30:10 This portion discusses the oil for the Ner Tamid, or the Everlasting Light. This was to provide light in the sanctuary which was completely covered. The olives were pressed for oil, the first drops being the purest. It was the job of the high priest to change the wick. The portion then discusses the dress of the priests officiating in the Mishkan. The first garment addressed was the Ephod, a short, close-fitting coat. It was woven with blue, purple and scarlet thread, with strands of gold woven into it. Two onyx stones, with the names of the twelve tribes were used as buttons (six on each). The same material was used to make a breastplate. It had four rows of three stones each. It was doubled over to make a pouch. Inside the pouch was the Urim and Thummin, “Lights and Perfections”. Some say this referred to the breastplate itself, others such as Rashi believe it referred to the parchment inside containing the name of Hashem. This was used to consult Hashem for important matters. Each stone was engraved with the name of one of the twelve tribes. When the High Priest consulted Hashem, the stones would light up sequentially and the priest had to discern which letters on the stones were used to spell out the answer to their question. Next was the robe, a long garment. The ephod was worn over it. It was made of only blue thread. On the bottom hem were interspersed pomegranate shapes of blue, purple and scarlet, and golden bells. Next was a gold plate that went across the forehead, engraved with “Holy to Hashem”. It was tied to the turban with a blue thread. Finally there was a robe. Moses then consecrated Aaron and his sons into the priesthood with a ceremony. He offered a bullock and two rams as a sin offering to purify them. He also used unleavened bread and wafers made with fine flour spread with oil as meal offering. They then washed their bodies and dressed in the priestly attire. Moses used fine anointing oil on their heads. He then took some of the blood and put it on each of their right ears, thumbs and feet. More blood was sprinkled on the altar. This was done for seven days to make atonement. Finally, Moses is commanded to make an altar to burn incense. This was used every day.

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How approaching the siddur like an actor handles a script can deepen the prayer experience. BY RABBI MARC SOLOWAY The Jewish prayer script is complicated and repetitive, full of metaphors and ideas that are unfamiliar and even alienating. God as an all-powerful king of the universe, a triumphalist telling of history that glorifies the downfall of our enemies, endless synonyms for the ultimate source of power and hints of resurrection and a messianic future — all these and more can make prayer seem remote and inaccessible. Struggle with the lofty language of prayer often leads to a rejection of the very premise that prayer can add any value or meaning to our lives. But the challenge of the words need not lead us to that conclusion if we take some theatrical advice from the world of acting. Many people joke that being a rabbi is like being an actor. Both professions are performative, involving public speaking, projecting in a fine voice or confidently leading others in song. But there are deeper connections too, profound spiritual ways in which the art of the actor and the rabbi weave together, especially around prayer. Acting is more than pretending or putting on a show. It is about the suspension of disbelief to explore the different truths of a character. The narrative and characters of a drama may be entirely human creations, but there is still an authentic expression of emotional truth. Hamlet and Lady Macbeth may not be historical figures, but when a good actor plays the poetry of Shakespeare’s lines, they tap into universal truths that are deeply moving because they reflect our own messy lives. What if we approached prayer like a great play? What if we thought of ourselves as actors and treated the prayer book as a script, bringing our curiosity and willingness to discover ourselves in the words? The point of prayer is not who or what God is or isn’t, but rather who we are in relationship to that unfathomable force. Each of us has all kinds of core truths that may be reflected to us in the mirror of the ancient prayers if we are willing to find them. In finding those truths, we can borrow some tools from method acting, a technique in which the actor strives to access the internal world of the character. The Russian theater director Konstantin Stanislavsky developed the “magic if,” an exercise demanding the actor to ask a series of questions to help get inside the character’s mind, opening the imagination to discover some truth about the character. In approaching the Jewish prayer script, we can all become method actors approaching this ancient, sacred text with our own creativity and curiosity. Stanislavsky’s “magic if” is similar to the Hebrew word k’ilu, which literally means “as if.” K’ilu is used often in Jewish tradition to describe something indescribable. In a prayer context, it can serve as an invitation to engage our spiritual imaginations. The ancient rabbis recommended that when taking three steps backward and then forward at the beginning of the Amidah, the central prayer of every Jewish service, they should be taken k’ilu atah omed lifnei melech basar v’dam – “as if you are standing in the presence of a king of flesh and blood.” This serves as a kind of stage direction, a note for the actors. The rabbis believed that the best way to generate the appropriate internal and external posture for prayer was to imagine God as the most powerful human imaginable, a king with the power over life and death — the ultimate “magic if.” Even if we reject any notion of God, there is value in playing a humble servant as an antidote to human arrogance. Try the following exercise: Picture an imaginary door behind which sits a mighty king, a ruler on a throne who has the power to grant us our deepest wish or to deny us everything, even our own life. On this side of the door, we can prepare ourselves emotionally, physically and spiritually for this awesome encounter. How might we use this time of preparation? We then enter the door leading into the inner chamber of the king and we have three steps and one bow with which to approach the royal presence. During this time, the king will decide our fate. How will you take those steps and that bow? How will they feel? What internal gestures might accompany our outward movements? This “prayacting” exercise requires us to imagine ourselves in a posture of radical humility or reverence, perhaps even fear. Using our imaginations to touch these core qualities in prayer can help us to experience and incorporate them authentically in our own lives. This is just one example of how we can use our imagination like actors when approaching Jewish prayer. Another can be found in the blessings surrounding the Shema, which contain sacred stories of creation, revelation and redemption. The paragraph leading into the Shema is a retelling of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. Using the “magic if,” we are invited to enter into this dramatic story of standing at that quaking, smoking mountain. An actor might experience wonder, appreciation, gratitude, relief, or awe, and bring that consciousness into the chanting of the Shema. Using our spiritual imaginations, this narrative can be made to come alive. Between deep faith on one hand and rejection of any supernatural power on the other, there lies a creative approach, an invitation for a “magic if”, where creativity and ritual come together to offer more meaningful and engaging Jewish practice. Prayer can reveal new and surprising truths about ourselves and the world around us if, like actors, we engage our creativity and imaginations and attempt to evoke the emotional landscapes those prayers suggest. Rabbi Marc Soloway has been the spiritual leader of Congregation Bona Shalom in Boulder, Colorado, since 2004. Prior to that, he was an actor, storyteller and practitioner of complementary medicine in his native England. He is also the narrator of two PBS documentaries about Hassidism and hosts a weekly podcast A Dash of Drash.