Here is a bottle of Purity from the Hampton Inn. What’s in it? Shampoo. I saved it for a moment like this. I wish that it just came out of a bottle. That would be easy.

Today’s Torah portion is one of those complicated ones and it feels so dated. When I was a kid sitting at Temple Emanuel in Grand Rapids, we would read a responsive reading from Psalms. Every week we said, “Who may ascend the mountain of the Lord and who may stand in G-d holy Temple?  Only those with clean hands and a pure heart.” And I knew that wasn’t me, that couldn’t possibly be me. My mother was always saying, “Wash your hands.” So clean hands, not so much. How did clean hands and pure heart get linked?

What is purity? Freedom from contamination. Cleanness, clearness, clarity, freshness, healthiness. As someone in the congregation pointed out, the ads for “Pure Michigan” And if you watch those ads you will see water prominently featured.  Pure is something not mixed with anything else, pure gold, not an alloy. Or Ivory soap, 99.44% pure. And as someone quickly pointed out. But not 100%. And that is exactly the point. Once we are not 100% pure, and none of us are, then what? Pure is free from harshness or roughness or being in tune, like a musical note, a pure note. Pure is free from what weakens or pollutes. Or free from moral fault or guilt. Ritually clean. Back to cleanliness is next to Godliness.

We know this…particularly at this season of spring cleaning, of Passover cleaning. We borrowed it from the Puritans. Please note their name. Puritans! Cleanliness is next to Godliness.

And this has been inculcated in the culture. A few weeks ago we celebrated scout Shabbat. Now I am a third generation scout, making Sarah a fourth and my granddaughters, fifth. We’ve been doing this for a long time. The Girl Scout law has had many versions. 1912: “A Girl Scout Keeps Herself Pure.” In 1920 it was “A Girl Scout is Clean in Thought, Word and Deed.” The current one is to “show respect for myself and others through my words and actions.” There seems to be a connection between purity and cleanliness, between words and actions.

We know this. Think about the song we sang all the way back in the beginning of the service. Elohai neshoma sh’natata bi t’horahi. “The soul which You have given me is pure.” This is one of the things that separates us from Christians who think that because of Adam and Eve we are all born with what they call Original Sin. There is something holy, profound, pure about breath itself. Later we sing, Kol haneshama t’halal yah. Let every breath of life praise G-d. And then almost immediately, Nishmat kol chai.

So life and breath in its very basic form is pure. Then what goes wrong?

What are the things that make us not pure?  I think that they are things that cut us off from the Divine. I think it is about behavior. About not following G-d’s commandments, mitzvot, or even that Girl Scout law. Behavior that is not righteous, is not correct, is not proper, the real meaning of kosher.

Then there are the things in our parsha. Things that erupt from us—blood, rashes, semen, puss—that seem to be against the normal flow.

Tameh and tahor are often translated impure and pure, unclean and clean, unfit and fit. Many women get upset by this language. If we call a woman who is menstruating or who just had a baby unclean, it is not a big jump to call her dirty. And since we have dropped the requirement for men to immerse after an emission, why this seemingly unequal burden on women. Some suggest misogyny. Some suggest that it was the men who wrote the rules. I would suggest fear—blood, other fluids, the source of life spilling out.

How do we become pure again? Three ways. The priest offers a sacrifice for us. We don’t do that any more. We separate ourselves from the community until we heal. We don’t have a formal process for that, although some people do it intuitively. And we can immerse in water. Either in a natural body of spring fed water or in a mikveh, a Jewish ritual bath.

Let me suggest another translation or tameh and tahor, one I learned at Mayyim Hayyim, the community mikveh and education center in Boston. Ritually unready and ritually ready. Ready for what? Ready to approach the Divine. Ready to reconnect. Ready to come close.

So what does this have to do with us? We don’t have sacrifice (thank G-d). We don’t put women outside the camp in some kind of Red Tent. We don’t cut ourselves off from community when we feel a need to become pure. How do we do this? Do we need to do this at all.

At Mayyim Hayyim where I was a mikveh guide and educator, and a staff person briefly, we talk about this connection. There is no magic in the water, and yet people come out changed. It changes your status from impure to pure, from non-Jewish to Jewish, from ritually unready to ritually ready. There are three remaining commanded reasons for mikveh—becoming Jewish, becoming a bride and after a woman menstruates. Mayyim Hayyim has successfully developed other uses for the mikveh. Before chemotherapy, after chemotherapy, after tamoxifin, after divorce, before Bar or Bat Mitzvah, after sexual abuse, for a milestone birthday. They have revitalized some uses like in the 9^th month of pregnancy, before a major Jewish holiday, before Shabbat. I suspect the list would be limitlessness. So if there is no magic in the water, what is this about? Why does this work?

There was a good discussion. Someone said that when she does a lot of gardening, she loves taking a shower because she washes off layers and layers of dirt. “You feel so good when you come out.” And while you go into the mikveh clean, since you shower or bathe first, it does feel good. 95 degree water, softer than in my house in Chelmsford or South Elgin. My skin always feels better! Someone added that what she was trying to explain is being “reborn”.

I think it is because it is a whole body experience with nothing that separates us from the Divine. Not clothing, not jewelry, not bandaids, not even nail polish. No barriers. I think part of why Mayyim Hayyim works, why immersing fully in water with no barriers between you and G-d is that there is a strong connection between the spiritual and physical.  Many describe this experience of being in womb and being reborn, returning to that sense that the soul is pure. Coming out clean, pure, ritually ready. Able to continue or go on. Able to connect.

Mayyim Hayyim does a lot right. From the moment you walk through their gates there is a sense of warm and welcoming, of beauty, of calm. You have a sense that whatever burden you have, you will be taken care of. If you have joys to celebrate, they will celebrate with you. If you are going through a difficult time, they will cry with you, or create a ritual, a ceremony with you that is meaningful to you. Or they will just give you the non-judgmental space you need, a broad smile and a warm hug.

Shortly after Mayyim Hayyim opened almost 10 years ago, just such a thing happened After years of struggling with psoriasis, someone found a cure. He wanted to immerse, to celebrate his newfound wellness. His rabbi in Detroit had linked the painful disease with tzaarat that we read about in the Torah, in this very parsha Often translated as leprosy, maybe psoriasis is closer. The ritual team created a liturgy that included a prayer of gratitude:

“In gratitude I come today to celebrate the blessings in my life. I honor those who have helped me along the way and give thanks for their supportive presence. As I prepare to immerse in the waters of the mikveh, I appreciate the journey that has brought me to this moment.” Immersion Ceremony for Gratitude.

How does this connect to these parshiyot?  As Mayyim Hayyim said about this parsha, “Tzara’at is the physical manifestation of a spiritual disease.  Fittingly, a spiritual yet physical disease comes to its close when you enter a physical yet immensely spiritual place, the mikveh.”

While it can be hard to see the connection between the various strands in this parsha—they all have to do with life and death and culminate in immersion. Why would birth and the recovery from a repugnant disease be marked the same way—with immersion? What is the connection between niddah and brit milah, between menstruating and circumcision? Again, Mayyim Hayyim helps us by teaching “Rabbi Yosef Bechor Shor (12th century France) suggests that the menstrual blood that women monitor in observing niddah functions for them as covenantal blood, parallel to the blood of circumcision.” Is it possible then, that perhaps they are not that repugnant after all.

Today we also read Chapter 12 of Exodus as we continue to get ready for Passover. Rav Kook writes that we only achieve true redemption and freedom on Passover through removing all boundaries, everything that impedes, all the chametz (leaven) in our lives.  Some people have the tradition of immersing in the mikveh before Passover. How can immersing in the mikveh as a way of cleansing ourselves from spiritual chametz make our Passover more meaningful, more redemptive? I suspect it is not cleaning under the refrigerator. That’s schutz, not chamatz!

The end of the Psalm 24 with which I started with is important. It had been truncated at Temple Emanuel. It ends by saying “Such are the people that seek G-d, who long for G-d’s presence” That is the function of the mikveh, of removing things that are tameh, ritually not ready.  That we are doing here today, becoming ritually ready, becoming pure, by our prayers, by our deeds, by our thoughts.

In this holy place, let’s take it a step further. Let’s learn from Mayyim Hayyim and make this a safe, non-judgmental space. How do we do that? Some people have a tradition of a Shabbat box. When they come home on Friday afternoon, they leave their keys, their cell phones, their money in a box on the counter, to be picked up again after sundown on Saturday.

What if we have a Shabbat box here? Not for keys and cellphones—although we could do that too. What if, like at Mayyim Hayyim, we suspend our judgment when we walk through the door. Here we embrace diversity. Some are Orthodox. Some are Reform. Some are intermarried. Some are not. Some stand for Kaddish, some sit. Some seek silence, some sing out loud. Some sit with family, some sit alone. Some shuckle, some dance, some stand up straight. All of these ways to daven are within normative Judaism. All of us are Jews. Just Jews.  All are trying to do the same thing—connect with the Divine, find that sense of purity, or wholeness, of peace.

So we are living out this Psalm. “Who may ascend the mountain of the Lord and who may stand in G-d holy Temple? Only those with clean hands and a pure heart.” Seeking the Lord in the spirit of holiness, purity. As such, that is our reward. Together—if we create this non-judgmental, safe space. Come let us ascend the mountain of the Lord! For me, I’ll jump into the water. I may bring that bottle of shampoo with me. It is a kind of hide and seek game as the Psalm suggests. Ready or not here I come!

So I wrote this before the article came out in the Boston Globe this weekend about Mayyim Hayyim, celebrating its 10^th anniversary. Kol hakavod Mayyim Hayyim, you have made a lasting difference in the Jewish community. Not only in Detroit, Australia, Israel as your article suggests but in this Jew now in Chicagoland. http://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/regionals/west/2014/03/29/after-years-mikveh-newton-embracing-new-rituals/p0NyW0clopYzCrxXqteNXI/story.html

Happy Birthday!

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
–Simon and Garfunkel

 This Simon and Garfunkel song was the first poem I analyzed. When I was still a student in Evanston. What does the sound of silence mean? Isn’t that a contradiction? I won’t ask my congregation to do anything I am not willing to do myself. And maybe my friend the Rev. David Ferner is right—we always preach the sermon that we ourselves need to hear. This is one of those mornings.

 This morning we are going to read one of the most difficult portions of the entire Torah. This is the portion that includes the death of Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu. Let’s look at it.

“And Nadav and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire therein, and laid incense thereon, and offered strange fire before the LORD, which He had not commanded them. And there came forth fire from before the LORD, and devoured them, and they died before the LORD. Then Moses said unto Aaron: ‘”This is it that the LORD spoke, saying: Through them that are nigh unto Me I will be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified.’ And Aaron was silent.” (Leviticus 10:1-4)

What is going on here? What is strange fire? Do other translations help—alien fire, idolatrous fire? What about the phrase that this was something that G-d had not commanded? Is this something over and above what G-d wanted, demanded, commanded? Something over the top? Were they being narcissistic, thinking they were above the law and they knew best? Were they being passive aggressive as one member suggested?

What about the punishment. Fire from G-d? Struck by lightening? G-d devouring them—consuming, eating them, what does that mean? As one member pointed out, we should not be surprised by this. In the previous chapter, G-d seems to eat the sacrifice Aaron has prepared. G-d maybe kind and compassionate, but G-d also seems to have His own anger management issue. So watch out. Do exactly what G-d says or watch out!

What is the role of Moses here? How is he like Job’s friends? Does he jump in immediately? Too quickly? Does his explanation ring true—“It is G-d’s will. They are with G-d now. G-d is sanctified, made holy because they are close to G-d.” if you had been Moses, how might you have responded?

And my real question. What about Aaron’s response? Aaron is silent. Aaron kept his peace. We are told he is the only one in the Torah who was silent. What would your response be to, G-d forbid, the death of a child? To Moses trying to comfort you?

Let’s talk about silence. Have there been times in your life when you have been stuck silent? What emotions were contained in the silence?

There is that old adage, “Silence is golden.” I have a t-shirt we bought for my mother that says “Silence is golden but duct tape is silver.” There are times when we might wish we could duct tape someone’s mouth. We can probably all remember our mothers saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Maybe that ideal came from Eishet Chayill, A Woman of Valor in Proverbs, “She opens her mouth with wisdom and the law of kindness is on her tongue.” For me, still working on that one!

It seems Judaism puts a premium on silence. We learn from Psalms, “Silence is praise to You” (62:2). From the Talmud: “Words are worth a perutah, silence is worth two” (Tractate Megillah) and “What should a man’s pursuit be in this world? He should be silent” (Chullin 89a). From the mystical tradition: “Silence is the means of building the sanctuary above [the godhead] and the sanctuary below [the soul]” (Zohar 2a). “It is often more effective to fast with words than with food. As fast of words, a struggle with silence, can teach us how often we misuse words” (Vilna Gaon). The Maggid, the disciple of the Baal Shem Tov, declared “It is best to serve God by silence.” So is Aaron’s silence an example of his deep faith?

For many of us, in a world we never turn our electronics off and CNN is blaring in the background, silence makes us uncomfortable. I am not very good at silence.

And sometimes we shouldn’t be silent. Just last week at Purim, we read that Esther was not silent. The artwork in the front hall that we put up specifically to tie in with Purim says, :”For the sake of Jerusalem I will not be silent.” (Isaiah 62:1) So when should we be silent?

Back to our text. In times of terrible tragedy, the natural response seems to be to cry out in grief and anguish. Just think about recent images of grieving families in China and Malaysia—or families in Newtown, Connecticut after the horrific shooting at Sandy Hook. However, as we know, people respond to grief in many ways—some cry, some withdraw, some tell stories, some channel their energy into cooking, some write, some laugh.  We read a Psalm this morning for the dedication of the Temple, praising G-d for turning the Psalmists’ mourning into dancing, his tears into joy. That takes time.  Dancing can be a sign of joy but it can also be an expression of grief.

Aaron was silent. How profound his grief must have been! How hurt! How amazed! How shocked. How confused? He just witnessed this inexplicable event. What had his sons done to cause this? What had they done that he hadn’t done. Remember this was a brand new rite. Had they gotten caught up in the moment? Why was he still here and not them? Survivor’s guilt? Moses’s words don’t help much.

Many of the words we say at funerals and shivas don’t help. Let’s build a list. Things I hope you never say to someone at a funeral or to someone who has just lost a child. Things like:

• It was G-d’s will.
• G-d needed a little helper up in heaven.
• He is in a better place now.
• Time will heal.
• You can have another child.

These kinds of comments make me nuts.  They make me want to scream. That’s why we learn from Job’s comforters that silence really is golden. When you go to a house of mourning, traditionally, you are supposed to let the mourner speak first. Only when he or she is ready. Not before.

I want to find just the right words to comfort Aaron. And maybe that is the point here. Aaron’s silence is so compelling because in the face of this tragedy there are no words.

The rabbis were uncomfortable with Aason’s silence. They invent midrashim around it. But the rabbis traditional interpretations don’t help me. I thought about using them, and they are appended to the end of this d’var Torah. In a sermon about silence, maybe we should just use less words. Maybe we can’t explain what happened and maybe we shouldn’t try.

Maybe the sages are right and silence is a sign of wisdom. That wisdom can reflect contradictory emotions. Maybe Aaron’s silence reflects those contradictions. It can be a sign of keeping the peace–between Aaron and Moses (I might be a murderous rage towards Moses), between Aaron and G-d (how could G-d do this! WHY!) or even with himself. It can be a sign of discretion or a sign of guilt. We can be silence out of anger or sorrow or because there simply are no words.

I have rambled too long. Meditation and silence has a long history in Judaism. I will be really honest here. Like was mentioned earlier, many people are scared of silence, uncomfortable with it. That would include me. I am always afraid that if I slow down long enough, I will either fall asleep (embarrassing!) or I will cry and will not be able to stop. I feel like I can’t take that chance.

Nan Gefen talks about the power of silence in her book, Discovering Jewish Meditation. “Over the years, you’ve undoubtedly had experiences that were spiritual in nature. Perhaps they took place while you were reading a poem, or holding a sleeping child, or walking in the woods, or watching the sunset. Or while you were praying. These experiences and more have helped you know that something exists beyond your regular, everyday reality. This “something” is what I call, “the silence within.” To many of us this state seems both familiar and mysterious. It has the quality of spaciousness and it appears to have no boundaries. Like a pregnant pause, the silence within contains all possibility. It is the raw material of creation, the formlessness that exists before the concrete emerges. When we enter into this state, we have our most intense spiritual experiences and receive our most significant moments of understanding.”

Gefen continues, “If you are like many people, you probably don’t pay much attention to the silence within as you rush from place to place. (YES! That is me exactly!), juggling responsibilities and meeting deadlines. But you sense its existence. In the quiet moments it hovers just outside your consciousness and you are drawn to it. (OK, for me maybe not drawn to it, maybe prefer to avoid it, to keep running away from it!) It might even frighten you, the scary unknown. (Yep, that’s me!)

A Chasidic rabbi was asked what he does before he prays. He answered he prays for an hour that he might be able to pray. I told that to our president last week as we were both running around the sanctuary adjusting the heat while other people were praying. But it is true, most Shabbatot I have prayed and prepared for at least an hour before I ever get to CKI. This morning was no exception. I tried the exercise I want us to try as a group shortly. I made myself slow down enough to hear the silent sound of silence. And what I heard amazed me. It wasn’t while I was trying to sit in silence. It was actually while I was getting dressed. It was very simple. Very quick. And VERY profound.

When we move into Passover mode, we talk about Elijah, and G-d’s “still, small voice.” What I heard was “You are loved.”

So we are going to try this. The women of Mayyim Hayyim, the community mikveh and education center in Boston, wrote a wonderful book, Blessings for the Journey, A Jewish Healing Guide for Women with Cancer. It is especially appropriate this morning, since in the haftarah we will read about a purification rite that actually mentions the phrase Mayyim Hayyim. Part of the beauty of this book is that it is a non-judgmental reference, giving practical suggestions for spiritual practice for someone has cancer—or really any crisis. There is even an entire chapter on what to do if you are angry with G-d, giving you permission to be angry with G-d, which is OK in my book, and maybe even a necessary stage.

One of the sections includes a way to be silent. If you are willing, let’s try it. It is a shortened version of the same exercise that I went through earlier this morning. Close your eyes gently. Focus on your breathing. Ruach is the Hebrew word for breath or spirit. The Divine breath. Think of the Divine entering your body as you breathe in. Exhale through your moth with a big breath and let out anything you don’t need. Keep following the natural flow of breath. Each breath is a miracle. G-d’s breath out, expression, is your in=breath, inspiration…If tears well up, let them flow, watching and letting go of the stories about the tears, while maintaining your awareness of sensations of greif or joy, anger or safety of love—whatever precipitated your tears. (page 136)

Come back gently to the room. Open your eyes slowly. Now we know the gift of Torah study this morning. Something Aaron already knew. The power of silence.

The Classical Rabbinic Material:
The rabbis wrestled with Aaron’s silence too. The Midrash tells us that G-d rewarded Aaron for his silence. That it is through him, not Moses, that the we learn the prohibition of performing the Temple service intoxicated. Now I want to scream. NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I want my kids back.

The word here for silence is not the usual one sheket. Instead it is dom. It appears only one other place, in the story of the battle at Gibeon. Battling the Canaanite kings, we learn that God stopped the sun in its path so Israel would have time to defeat its enemies: “Stand still (dom), oh, sun, at Gibeon; oh, moon, in the valley of Aiyalon.” (Joshua 10:15) The term, dom, implies a moment of complete and absolute paralysis. That must have been Aaron’s response. Complete paralysis, utter disbelief and shock. He was unable to respond. He was unable to move. His life comes to a crashing halt. A state of suspended animation. A state of inertia.

It also means something like singing. I can understand where being inert goes with grief. You just don’t want to do anything. Even getting out of bed is hard. But what about singing? How is that connected to grief and to silence? By being silent, by not moving can we achieve inner peace, inner happiness through silence? Is that too much to ask of a grieving father?

The rabbis teach that meditating in silence, leads to a sense of inner harmony and happiness leads to singing. Apparently in that split second, when Aaron’s sons were taken from him—let’s use the real words—were killed, the rabbis believe that Aaron was able to achieve that sense of inner harmony and be silent. Some say his faith was that profound, so profound. He did not react with an outcry of pain. He dealt with his sorrow within the confines of his soul. He bowed to the will of the Creator with perfect acceptance. Here are the texts:

Babylonian Talmud, Zevachim 115b
When the sons of Aaron died, he [Moses] said to him: ‘Oh my brother! You sons died only that the glory of the Holy One might be sanctified through them’. When Aaron perceived that his sons were the honored ones of the Omnipresent, he was silent, and was rewarded for his silence, as it is said, “And Aaron was silent.” And thus it says of David, “Be silent before the Lord, and wait patiently [hith-hollel] for Him,” (Psalms 37:7) this means, ‘though He casts down many slain [halalim], be silent before Him.’ And thus it was said by Solomon, “A time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7) sometimes a person is silent and is rewarded for his silent; at others a person speaks and is rewarded for speaking. And this is what Rabbi Hiyya ben Abba said in the name of Rabbi Johanan’s: What is meant by, “Awful is God out of your holy places, mi-mikdasheka?” (Psalms 68:36)? Read not mimikdasheka but mimekuddasheka [through your consecrated ones]: when the Holy One executes judgment on His consecrated ones, He makes Himself feared, exalted, and praised.

Lamentations Rabbah 1:17, #52 (Quoted in Sefer Ha-Agadah)
The congregation of Israel said also: Master of the universe, my soul is desolate within me, for when I pass Your house, which is destroyed, and am plunged in utter silence, I ask myself: The place where the seed of Abraham used to bring offerings to You, where priests used to minister on the dais, where Levites used to intone praise with harps–is it right for foxes to be romping about in it? “How I passed on with the throng, and led them (eddaddem) to the house of God” (Psalm 42:5). …According to Rabbi Berekhiah, the people of Israel also said to the Holy One: In the past, we used to go up carrying baskets of first fruits on my head, but now [we go] “in silence” (eddaddem) – we go up in silence (demumah) and come down in silence (demumah). In the past, we used to go up with songs and psalms of praise before the Holy One. But now we go up with weeping and come down with weeping. In the past, I used to go up in “a festive throng” (Psalm 42:5), throngs and throngs caught up in festivity – but now I sneak up like a thief, and like a thief sneak down. (Note the connection between eddaddem – led them – and demumah – silence.)

Babylonian Talmud Megillah 18b
Rabbi Judah of the village of Gibborayya–according to some, of the village of Gibbor-hayil–interpreted  “Silence is praise for You,” (Psalms 65:2) as meaning that silence is the height of all praises of God.

Lamentations Rabbah 1:1
It is reported in the name of Rabbi Joshua ben Levi: The Holy One summoned the ministering angels and asked them, “When a mortal king loses a dear one and wishes to mourn, what is customary for him to do?” They replied, “He hangs sackcloth over his door.” God said, “I will do likewise.” Hence it is written, “I clothe the heavens with blackness, and I make sackcloth their covering” (Isaiah 50:3)…..”What else does a king of flesh and blood do?” They replied, “He sits in silence.” God said, “I will do likewise.” Hence it is stated, “He sits alone and remains silent, because he was taken away” (Lam. 3:28).

“Who can retell the things that befell us,
Who can count them?
In every age, a hero or sage
Came to our aid.”

Oh wait, that is a Chanukah song. Try this one:

“Oh, once there was a wicked, wicked man 
And Hamen was his name sir, 
He would have murdered all the Jews, 
Though they were not to blame sir. He lied and lied about the Jews, though they were not to blame sir. 
Oh today, we’ll merry, merry be 
Oh today, we’ll merry, merry be 
Oh today, we’ll merry, merry be 
And nosh some hamentaschen”

It raises the question. What do we teach our children. Years ago I remember a story on NPR that talked about music that families would teach children in Bosnia. It instilled hate for generations, for over 500 years. I remember thinking, “We Jews do that too—and for a lot longer than 500 years!”

And no, I didn’t start with two songs because we are going to do the Great Latke-Hamantaschen debate that they do at places like MIT and University of Chicago. We all know this one….”They tried to kill us. We survived. Lets eat!” So tonight we will eat. Hamantaschen—Haman’s hat, pocket or ears. And we will read the whole megillah later but before we get there, this is Shabbat Zachor. The Sabbath of Remembrance.  We are commanded in today’s Torah portion to “Remember not to forget.”

We Jews are good at remembering. We remember the creation and the exodus from Egypt each time we make “Kiddush” on Friday night, when we sanctify time and set it apart for Shabbat. We remember our loved ones with Yizkor, a memorial service (same root as Shabbat Zachor) or on their yearly yahrzeit.  Our holidays are tied to remembering. None more so than Purim.

So what do we remember today? What is so important that we need to be commanded to remember not to forget? The Amalekites. What do we know about the Amalekites? They attacked the Israelites leaving Egypt, the rear flank. The part was weary, hungry, thirsty.

Here is how Exodus describes it: “Then Amalek came and fought with Israel at Rephidim. So Moses said to Joshua, “Choose for us men, and go out and fight with Amalek. Tomorrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the staff of God in my hand.” So Joshua did as Moses told him, and fought with Amalek, while Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill. Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed, and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed. But Moses’ hands grew weary, so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it, while Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side. So his hands were steady until the going down of the sun. And Joshua overwhelmed Amalek and his people with the sword. Then the Lord said to Moses, “Write this as a memorial in a book and recite it in the ears of Joshua, that I will utterly blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven.” And Moses built an altar and called the name of it, The Lord is my banner, saying, “A hand upon the throne of the Lord Jacob! The Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation.” (Exodus 17:8-16)

From this verse we learn to blot out Haman’s name, considered a descendent of Amalek. That’s why we make so much noise on Purim.

And here is how it is described in today’s portion: “Remember what Amalek did to you by the way as you came forth out of Egypt. How he met you by the way, and smote the hindmost of you and all that were enfeebled in your rear, when you were faint and weary and he feared not God. Therefore it shall be when the Lord your God has given you rest from all your enemies round about, in the land which the Lord your God gives you for an inheritance to posses it, that you shall blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven; you shall not forget.” Deuteronomy 25:17-19

When Saul was King there was a war with the Amalekites. Saul was told by Samuel that he needed to completely eradicate the Amalekites and when he didn’t he lost his kingship. That is the haftarah we are reading today.

“Thus says the Lord of hosts, ‘I have noted what Amalek did to Israel in opposing them on the way when they came up out of Egypt. 3 Now go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.” (1 Sam. 15:2-3).

So my next question. Are there sins that cannot be forgiven? What are they? Deuternonomy 5:9-10 and Exodus 34:7 seem to say that there are some sins that God has a hard time with, especially those when the sin involves hating God. Then God will visit that sin of parents on the third and fourth generations. God wasn’t happy with the sin of the Golden Calf. No that is not strong enough. God was downright angry! We are even told that even in the tenth generation Israelites could not welcome a Moabite or an Amorite because they did not offer food or water to the Israelites when they were fleeing Egypt. Pretty harsh language.

But completely destroy an entire people? The Amalekites? The men, women and children? Even the sheep? That’s genocide. I think I am like Saul. I must have heard this wrong. Why the children? Why the sheep?

Many Jews see an Amalek in every generation. Haman, Hitler, today I read language about Iran, the Palestinians. To be clear. Iran is a real threat, the recent arms shipment that was intercepted proves that. To be clear, the rockets that fell from Gaza into southern Israel this week—over 80 of them—proves that some Palestinians are real threats. But in my mind, let’s underscore, SOME, maybe. Certainly not ALL.

Chabad has an interesting take on this. Even though the name Amalek “refers to a real nation, it also describes a character trait within ourselves. Just as Amalek stood in direct opposition to the Jewish people, the trait symbolized by Amalek defies the very foundations of our divine service.” Chabad continues that “Amalek represents the cold rationality which makes us question everything we do or experience.” Boy, we know that I do that. All the time.  They point out that there is a numerical equivalence between the word Amalek and the word safek, Hebrew for doubt. “Amalek causes doubt and hesitation which cools the ardor of our divine service.” An interesting thought when we remember that the Book of Esther is one of two books that doesn’t even mention God!

There is a dark side to Purim. How many people did the Jews kill defending themselves since Ashaverous’s decree could not be rescinded? 75,000. That is a lot of people. Innocent or maybe not so innocent. If these were residents of the 127 provinces from Ethiopia to India under Persian rule who were willing to carry out Haman’s order, doesn’t it show that anti-semitism is everywhere? Even back then? Just like the song says?

Does anyone remember what happened 20 years ago this weekend, on Purim? In Israel? Does anyone remember the name Baruch Goldstein? Today is the 20^th anniversary of the 1994 Hebron Massacre. When Baruch Goldstein walked into a mosque, the Cave of Patriarchs, a holy site we share with the Muslims and murdered 29 Palestinians. Many Jews feel a “twinge of embarrassment.” Jews don’t do that. They don’t murder 29 people in cold blood. It is not living up to the ideal of a “light to the nations”. But where did the fear come from that was so strong Baruch Goldstein felt he had no choice? What about the assignation of Yitzhak Rabin? Why is peace so scary? So for me, quoting the Forward this week, “But a mere twinge of embarrassment is too easy.” Goldstein’s grave has become a shrine for a whole community of Israelis. I am not comfortable when the oppressed, the survivors of unspeakable tragedy and trauma become the oppressors. That’s why I am a proud member of Rabbis for Human Rights, T’ruah.

Last year I was moved by Yossi Klein HaLevi who talked about two kinds of Jews. Passover Jews and Purim Jews. I even used it in the letter that went out with the yellow candles for Yom HaShoah that the Men’s Club sends out. “Jewish history speaks to our generation in the voice of two biblical commands to remember. The first voice commands us to remember that we were strangers in the land of Egypt, and the message of that command is: Don’t be brutal. The second voice commands us to remember how the tribe of Amalek attacked us without provocation while we were wandering in the desert, and the message of that command is: Don’t be naive. The first command is the voice of Passover, of liberation; the second is the voice of Purim, commemorating our victory over the genocidal threat of Haman, a descendant of Amalek. “Passover Jews” are motivated by empathy with the oppressed; “Purim Jews” are motivated by alertness to threat. Both are essential; one without the other creates an unbalanced Jewish personality, a distortion of Jewish history and values.”

Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach—who I rarely quote, or even sing his songs for other justice reasons, told a story that the Forward picked up on. The Chasidic master Zvi Elimelech of Dinov (1783-1841) stopped his Purim festivities and said, “Saddle the horses and get the carriages, it is time to blot out Amalek.” His Hasidim were petrified. “What could the master mean?” Being obedient disciples, they got in their carriages and followed their rebbe. He rode into town to a local inn where the Polish peasants (the Amalekites of his day?) were engaged in their own drunken bash. The rebbe and his disciples entered the inn. When the peasants saw them, they stopped dancing. The music stopped. Everyone circled around the rebbe and the Jews as they walked to the center of the dance floor. The room was silent. The rebbe looked at one of the peasants and put out his hand with his palm to the ceiling. Silence. The peasants looked at one another. Suddenly one of them stepped forward and took the rebbe’s hand. They slowly started dancing. The musicians began playing. In a matter of minutes, all the Hasidim and peasants were dancing furiously with one another.

Purim is important. Lord Rabbi Sacks points out that out in his weekly message. He describes it as the most boisterous of holidays. (In fact it is Simon’s least favorite!) But Sacks thinks that it is odd, for many of the reasons that have bothered me (and maybe Simon!) He asks, “Why such exhilaration at merely surviving a tragedy that was only narrowly averted? Relief, I can understand. But to turn the day into a carnival? Just because we’re still here to tell the story?

He answers, “Slowly, though, I began to understand how much pain there has been in Jewish history, how many massacres and pogroms throughout the ages. Jews had to learn how to live with the past without being traumatised by it. So they turned the day when they faced and then escaped the greatest danger of all into a festival of unconfined joy, a day of dressing up and drinking a bit too much, to exorcise the fear, live through it and beyond it, and then come back to life, unhaunted by the ghosts of memory.

Purim is the Jewish answer to one of the great questions of history: how do you live with the past without being held captive by the past?”

For all of us, this becomes the central question. How do we live with the past without being held captive by it? How do we not only survive—but thrive? How do we make meaning out of our lives? How do we take our own traumas and learn to continue, and then to celebrate life unabashedly. The Forward asks, “You want to blot out Amalek? Go to the mosque at the Tomb of the Patriarchs. Or any mosque. Reach out your hand. And dance. That is how you blot out Amalek. Crazy? Ask Zvi Elimelekh of Dinov. That is what it means to take Purim seriously after 1994.”

So for me, tonight, I will be celebrating. I have turned Purim into a “really big show”, a big top this year. Maybe the greatest show on earth. We will have fun—no doubt—in the service of God, dare I say. We will dance, we will sing, we will be silly, we might have just a drop too much to drink. We will blot out Haman’s name. And then we will do it all over again in the morning, when we will teach our children how to have fun. Along the way and we will make memories. We will remember not to forgot. Come celebrate life with us.

When Simon and I lived in Massachusetts, we would participate in doing some colonial re-enacting. He would be a farmer from Chelmsford; I would be a farm wife. I’m pretty good at entertaining little ones with a cup and ball game and cooking over an open fire, even in long dresses and petticoats. He was great at sewing, building a fire and lining up with his musket. But we were playacting. The truth is, if I had lived in Chelmsford in 1775, I could not have been a land owner. You needed to be white, male and a Christian to own land.Things changed by the time we moved to Chelmsford.

This week we started reading the book of Leviticus. For many moderns, it can be a difficult book. The idea of the cohanim, the priests, sacrificing animals on my behalf does not express my spirituality very well. And while I admit that I love a good steak, I am not interested in having a barbecue in the synagogue parking lot as how I collect my pay. So what is Leviticus about? Rabbi Nehemia Polan talks about it being a reset button. The Israelites want to recapture the experience they had at Sinai. They want to “draw close” to God. That is the root of Korban, one of the sacrifices being offered. It is also the root word that appears most frequently in this first parsha of Leviticus.

Religion in Latin comes from the word religio, to tie back up. That is the purpose, to re-create, to re-enact the experience of connecting with the Divine. To feel that Divine presence, that Divine Love. The Israelites, commanded by God do exactly that by re-creating all of the elements. Smoke, Fire, a Pleasing Odor, A Boundary that could not be crossed, intermediaries (the priests), washing of clothes, purifying bodies, staying ritually ready. Everything that happens in Chapter 19 of Exodus happens again here in Leviticus.

I am still not ready to sacrifice an animal in the synagogue parking lot or return to sacrifices on the Temple Mount if and when a Third Temple is erected. That’s not how I think I am going to draw close to God.

In 70 CE, the Second Temple was destroyed, centralized worship and animal sacrifice game to an abrupt end. Judaism had to re-invent itself again or go the way of other civilizations. And so it did. It became a religion of study and prayers. “A story is told about Rabban Johanan ben Zakkai that he was walking along the road when Rabbi Joshua ran after him and said to him: Woe to us because the house of our life has been destroyed, the place which used to atone for our sins. He answered: Do not despair we have another atonement instead of it. He asked; what is it? Johanan answered: ‘For I desire loving kindness and not sacrifices’. (Hos. 6:6) (ARN 8:38.)” The evening prayer, ma’ariv and the morning prayer, shacharit and replaced the “one in the evening, one in the morning sacrifices of the priests. Our homes became known as a mikdash ma’at, a little sanctuary.

This was a huge and radical shift. As one of my students said this week after reading this story, she wasn’t sure that would have been her response looking at the burning smoldering mound that had been the Temple. She might have been seriously depressed and lack any words what so-ever. “Oh woe is me.” or “Oy vey” might have been the extent of it. And for many that would probably be about it.

Some have argued that we in American Judaism are at precisely this kind of shift. The Pew Study (which until now I haven’t written about but have been thinking about) has made communal Jewish leaders once again depressed. “Oh woe is me” “Oy vey” the intermarriage rate is up. A category of Jews who are millenials and see themselves as Jewish but not as a religion. That trend exists in the Christian world too. There is even a name for them, “Nones”. Truth be told, depending on how you read Pew you can draw those conclusions. http://www.pewforum.org/2013/10/01/jewish-american-beliefs-attitudes-culture-survey/

I used to craft surveys for a living. The Pew Study is not especially well crafted. People answered the questions asked, and no more. Which is exactly what people do. Jewish leaders have been bemoaning trends in the Jewish community for decades. But what if the question is wrong. What if instead of asking “Who is a Jew?” or “What kind of Jew are you?” or “How do you practice being Jewish?”, we ask, “Why are you Jewish? What do you like about being Jewish? What do you want to pass down to your children or children’s children?” What if instead of yelling at someone who is considering marrying someone not Jewish we say, “Mazel tov!” and “How can we help you explain Judaism to your significant other?” or “How do you want to celebrate life’s milestones.”

I work in a congregation that is at least 50% intermarried. That is not news. Most of the synagogue leadership, including the president, the president of Sisterhood and the president of the Men’s Club, the secretary, the treasurer, the VP of Education, the chair of the ritual committee are married to someone who wasn’t born Jewish. Some chose to convert. Others did not. All of them raised their children as Jews. It would seem disingenuous to me to sit down with one of those children, now adults contemplating marriages of their own and say they can’t marry someone who isn’t Jewish. Their parents already have and the world did not come to an end. In fact, they are now sitting before me as JEWS and mensches. Their parents must have done something right!

There are lots of books out right now telling us how to get through this new seismic shift. Relational Judaism by Dr. Ron Wolfson talks about the need to deepen our connections to people, to build community. Playlist Judaism by Rabbi Kerry Olitzky talks about the idea that people today only want to pick the part of the album they want to hear. IPods have fundamentally changed how we purchase music. That needs to be true of synagogue membership. Want Hebrew School, great, that is fee x. Want pre-school? That is y. Want High Holidays? That’s z. Want the full subscription, soup to nuts, that is a. In the process, we may deepen people’s commitment and relationship. Jewish Megatrends, Finding a Spiritual Home, even a book on the difficulties and changes of modern parenting, All Joy, No Fun have pieces of the answer. But the truth is, we are on the cusp of something new. This has never been done before. And so NO ONE has all the answers. It is beyond ALL OF US.

This week there was a fascinating d’var Torah published by Punk Torah. http://punktorah.org/is-judaism-programming-itself-to-death-parshah-vayikra-by-rabbi-patrick/ He makes the case, much like All Joy No Fun, that we are over programming. Judaism is going to die by over programming. One in the morning, one in the evening may just be too much. I think he is right. He also thinks, like Relational Judaism, that it is about the community, about the people. He is right. He identifies three questions:

• “How are we doing as a community to serve other people?”
• “How can we help people’s hearts be overwhelmed spiritually?”
• “How can we help create the kind of world that others want to live in?”

Those are great questions. I think he missed the fourth. “How do we relate to God?” Back to Leviticus, that is what they were trying to do–relate to God, find God’s presence. We can build community in lots of places–at our children’s schools, with the parents in PTO, on the soccer field, performing in a musical, at Girl Scout camp, at our places of employment, at the health club or Kiwanis, Rotary, WeightWatchers. What sets a synagogue community apart is creating a safe, non-judgmental space to discuss the big issues of the day, from within a Jewish context. Why are we Jewish?

If we keep the focus there and not on saying, “We can’t do that. It has never been done that way before.” Then I am very optimistic about Judaism. Will it sound like Sinai? No. Will it look like Leviticus? No. Will it be like the Talmud? No. Will it smell like the shtel? No. Will it taste like your bubbe’s kitchen? I doubt it.

So my answer, is stop bemoaning our fate. Celebrate every Jew and every potential Jew that walks through the door. Find a place for everyone at the table. Welcome everyone who wants to be a part of Judaism, who wants to be a part of our community–because they were born Jewish, because they are raising Jewish children, because they are curious and want to explore, because they are searching, whatever it is.

Together, we will continue to build a community to discuss the meaning of life, why be Jewish, and how be Jewish. To explore something so essential, so existential. To talk about God.

I just returned from the happiest place on earth. From Walt Disney World. And it seems important to try to gain some perspective on that while marking Adar 11, the month that Purim falls in, the month when we say, “Be happy; it’s Adar.” We all love good fairy tales—and both the Book of Esther and the usual Disney fare are precisely that.

What is it about Disney that makes the magic work for me? Does it always? Disney frequently gets slammed for being anti-semetic (see recent article in the Chicago Jewish News, http://chicagojewishnews.com/2014/01/22/was-walt-disney-anti-semitic/) But after reading the article I am not sure whether he was or wasn’t. Disney also gets slammed for painting a picture of “prince to the rescue, live happily ever after.”  It doesn’t fit for some feminist agendas.

And maybe that is why the Princess Half Marathon drew me in so excitedly. Here was a chance to live out my fantasy of being a princess (I don’t fit the Disney or Barbie specs), wear a tutu and be strong and smart.

Maybe because at Disney it seems that wishes, that dreams can always come true. The fireworks at the Magic Kingdom stress that message, whatever your dreams are. It is inspirational, aspirational. I stood there wishing on a star to finish rabbinical school. I did that. I finished rabbinical school. Surely if I could accomplish that I could return to running. “Any wish is possible. All it takes is a little courage to set it free.”

This youtube clip is 11 minutes long, but it is so beautiful and so powerful. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRIzFNeEMqs    I love how they string all the lyrics about wishes and dreams from all of the Disney movies together. It makes you believe. It is what I would call Disney spirituality.

When you look closely at the Disney princesses, they each possess their own characteristics:

• Belle likes to read (she is probably still my favorite even if I don’t think I look good in yellow!). She teaches about the importance of reading to the Beast and she doesn’t just want to be wife to Gaston and mother to his children.
• Jasmine isn’t willing to settle for whomever her father presents in marriage. And Aladdin, perhaps the most Jewish of all the characters shows compassion in the market place to someone who has even less bread than he.
• Pocahontas is strong and understands the role that nature plays.
• Ariel, the Little Mermaid, wants to be “part of this world,” and is willing to defy her father to follow love. She learns how to communicate without a voice.
• Elsa and Anna, in Disney’s newest, Frozen, work together eventually and become best of friends as sisters.

Did I finish the race? No. But there are other races that can be run.  Am I at a perfect weight? No. But healthier than I have been and stronger too.  Am I as nice as I would like to be all of the time—cue “Human Again” from Beauty and the Beast. No. But I begin to understand the internal voice that drives that.

I have had lots of wishes and lots of dreams and lots of goals. I did not leave Orlando setting the next goal. I am excited about my upcoming fellowships, with American Jewish World Service and with Renewed Jewish Leaders. I still want to climb Mount Katahdin.

I struggled a bit with my costume for this race. I wanted to wear a tutu, seemed like fun. I wanted it to be hot pink, fits with the Energizer Rabbi motif. But I felt I was too old to be a princess and I really wanted to be the Fairy Godmother (or Fairy Grandmonster, a long story, but because I make magic happen).

What I discovered somewhere along the way is that I am my own person. Somewhere along the way I became a queen. That is part of what the holiday of Purim is about. The action in the Purim story changes in Chapter Four. Mordechai begs, “Do not think that because you are in the king’s house you alone of all the Jews will escape.  For if you remain silent and keep you peace at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

Esther agrees. Esther becomes the empowered queen, not the princess waiting for someone else to rescue her. A queen is beautiful, compassionate, strong, able to make her own decisions. With just a little glitter thrown in. But the sparkle doesn’t have to be glitter that washes off. It needs to be deeper. Sparkle in your eyes, in your conversation, in your spirit. That’s what I take away from this trip, the desire to live with sparkle, with enthusiasm, with grace, with love. The desire to pretend and then to go back to being me.

Be happy, it is Adar. A month full of changing weather, maybe spring will come! A month of renewed love and renewed commitment. Of new dreams and new wishes. A month of fun, and make believe and pretend. But more importantly, a month of finding our voices and standing up for what we believe in, like some of the Disney princesses and like Esther.

PS: This post would not be complete without thank yous–To Sarah, my daughter, my princess and my running partner who pushed me to get there, in a good way. To Simon who came along for the ride and wanted to be the perfect cheer squad. Not sure how he found me at Mile 8 and to all those who contributed to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. You took your obligation to speak out and to give from the heart seriously. http://pages.teamintraining.org/vtnt/dipihalf14/mfrischklein#home Together, we raised $5400 and saved lives. That is more important than finishing the race. We saved lives, just like Esther.

Welcome to President’s Day Weekend. How many of you built a Lincoln Log house for your dining room tables this week? We honor our presidents—Lincoln, the son of Illinois, Washington, others.

This celebration fits nicely with this week’s Torah portion. The parsha is a study in leadership. We have several examples—some good, some bad. So before we begin, what is a leader? What is a good leader?

People had good answers to those questions—a leader is a guide, a teacher, someone with vision, sometimes someone who is charismatic although you can be a charismatic leader who is a good leader but is immoral like Hitler, someone who carries out the will of the people or who has the courage to stand up to the people and say no.

As I explained, that seems to be exactly the point of this week’s parsha. We have Moses, G-d. Aaron and Bezalel.

Bezalel is the architect of the mishkan. He takes the design instructions that G-d gave to Moses and the gifts that the people offered, used his skill and his wisdom and built the mishkan. That’s where our parsha begins. Bezazel creating holy space, taking the vision and carrying it out, in all of its nitpicky details. He is a good leader and deserves to have his name remembered.

But then the story goes awry. Moses is still up on the mountain. The mountain was quaking and shaking, smoking and appeared on fire. The people were scared. He hasn’t been heard from in 40 days. Remember, no cell phone to call Tzipporah and say, “Honey, I’m fine, but G-d hasn’t finished talking with me. I’ll be a little late, dear. Don’t worry.” Moses must have died. He was their leader, their caretaker, their conduit to the Divine. He took them out of Egypt, made the Red Sea part, gave them manna and water in the wilderness. Without him, how could they survive? What kind of G-d would do this? What kind of leader would bring them out into the wilderness to die? They wanted to go back to Egypt, where they were safe—even if they were slaves. They wanted to build a golden calf, like the idols they knew in Egypt.

“When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, they gathered round Aaron and said, ‘Come, make us a god who will go before us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened to him.’ Aaron answered them, ‘Take off the gold earrings that your wives, your sons and your daughters are wearing, and bring them to me.’ So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron. He took what they handed him and he fashioned it with a tool and made it into a molten calf. Then they said, ‘This is your god, Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt.’ (Ex. 32: 1-4)

So what kind of leader is Aaron? At this juncture he finds a way to do what the people want. But then, like Adam and Eve, he makes excuses. He denies responsibility. He blames the people. He didn’t really make the calf. He just threw the gold into the fire and out came the idol, fully formed.

Rabbi Lord Sacks in his weekly message teaches that “Leaders can fail for two kinds of reason. The first is external. The time may not be right. The conditions may be unfavourable. There may be no one on the other side to talk to…Sometimes despite your best efforts, you fail. Such is life.

The second kind of failure is internal. A leader can simply lack the courage to lead. Sometimes leaders have to oppose the crowd. They have to say No when everyone else is crying Yes. That can be terrifying. Crowds have a will and momentum of their own. To say No may be to put your career, even your life, at risk. That is when courage is needed, and not showing it can constitute a moral failure of the worst kind.”

What about G-d as leader. He becomes angry. Very, very angry. He wants to deny that the Israelites are His people. Watch the pronouns as Moses pleads with G-d to spare them.  Suddenly they are Moses’s people or just the people. He wants to destroy them all.

What about Moses as leader? He pleads for his people. He is audacious enough to remind G-d that they are G-d’s people. His argument is successful and the Israelites are spared. This is Moses’s finest hour some have said. It becomes the basis of how to plead with G-d for forgiveness and sets up much of the liturgy for Selichot and Yom Kippur. A good strong leader.

A midrash from Berachot 32a teaches us about leadership. “And the Lord spoke to Moses, ‘Go down at once!'” (Exodus 32:7): What is the meaning of “Go down at once”? Said R. Eleazar, “Said the Holy One, blessed be he, to Moses, ‘Moses, go down from your position of greatness. Have I made you great for any reason other than for Israel? Now “Immediately Moses grew weak and did not have the power to speak.” When he said to him, ‘Leave me alone that I may destroy them’ (Deuteronomy 9:14), Moses thought, ‘This matter now depends on me.’ “Immediately he stood and become strong in prayer and sought mercy.” The matter may be compared to the case of a king who grew angry with his son and was giving him hard blows. The king’s friend was sitting before him, afraid to say anything to him. The king said, ‘Were my friend not here, sitting before me, I should have killed him.’ “The other realized, ‘This matter depends on me.’ Immediately he stood up and saved [the son].”

Rabbi Michael Pitkowsky says that this is “how a leader should react when he or she is faced with a crisis. According to this midrash, leaders should not remain aloof and above the people, rather, they must “go down” from their greatness. While it may be easier for a leader who is facing a crisis to try and stay above the fray, Moses’s success was based upon his ability to lower himself in order to help lift up others. “

A good leader then is one who humbles himself, (or herself!) is able to be on the people’s level and see what they want. It is like we learn in the Talmud, “Puk Hazei Mai Amma Davar – go see what the people are doing” (Berachot 45a, Eiruvin 14b).

But more to the point it is what the community needs. What happens when what a community needs is in conflict with what they want?  When Moses returns down the mountain, he is angered. Like G-d he is angered. Very, very angry. He smashes the 10 Commandments. He grinds the calf to dust and makes the Israelites drink it. He kills 3000. This leadership makes us uncomfortable. It should.

How does this relate to us? Each of us has the potential to be a leader. To be a Bezalel, building something out of the free will gifts the people offer. To be an Aaron and listen to the will of the people. To be a Moses, and bring a vision to the people. Each of us has the opportunity to be angry or to be a peacemaker.

I have said often that we are on the cusp of a paradigm shift in Judaism. Our models of how we organize Judaism are changing. We can be angry leaders saying things like the young people don’t understand, they are not really being Jewish, they don’t care, they don’t give, they don’t volunteer. OR we can figure out how they want to engage, what they want to do, how they want to give and build our community, our structures and infrastructures. Recently I read an article written by Daniel Gordis about the problems in the Conservative Movement. His contention is that the problem in the Conservative Movement began when the rabbis were able to justify driving on Shabbat. The article is worth the read (and it is long). http://jewishreviewofbooks.com/articles/673/cognitive-dissonance/?utm_source=%22Cognitive+Dissonance%22+and+Its+Uses+%28Jewish+Review+of+Books%29&utm_campaign=Cognitive+Dissonance+%28JRB%29&utm_medium=email

His initial point, “Conservative Judaism was never sufficiently aspirational. Instead of insisting that halakha might give congregants aspirational ideals, it recalibrated Jewish practice for maximum comfort. It failed to recognize that the space between the “is” and the “ought” is where we grow deeper,”is right on target. What the Israelites wanted when they demanded a golden calf was reassurance, comfort and a connection with the Divine who seemed hidden and distant. That’s what we all want. That was the point of the whole sacrificial system, according to Rabbi Nehemia Polen, when I was honored to study Leviticus with him. When the Temple was built, it was to reassure the people, to combine the elements at Mount Sinai, smoke and fire, mountain, the Presence of the Divine. When the Temple was destroyed, the rabbis had to revamp. Judaism became a religion of halacha and study.

However, in the end, I think he misses the point. A return to a strict halacha is not the answer. The people don’t want it and wont’ do it. As Rabbi David Mark says in his comments to the long article, “Every Jew writes her own Shulchan Aruch, her own “Code of Jewish Law.” It doesn’t have to make sense. Faith, Religion, folkways– they aren’t supposed to make sense. When Jews come together in a congregation, they decide on which customs and laws make them feel holier as a group.”

Our job, then as Jewish leaders is to educate, educate, educate, (on this point I agree with Rabbi Gordis) so that people can write their own Torah, write their own Shulchan Arukh. So that we can feel connected with the community, the Jewish community. So that we can feel connected to the long chain of Jewish tradition. But most importantly so we can reconnect with the Divine.

Rabbi Lord Sacks said, “It is easy to be critical of people who fail the leadership test when it involves opposing the crowd, defying the consensus, blocking the path the majority are intent on taking. The truth is that it is hard to oppose the mob. They can ignore you, remove you, even assassinate you. When a crowd gets out of control there is no elegant solution.”

Ultimately, tradition dealt kindly with Aaron. He received the honor of becoming the High Priest. He is portrayed as a man of peace. As we learned, there is more than one kind of leadership. Priesthood requires following the rules and not being swayed by the people. Moses and Aaron were not leaders in the same mold. Our synagogue president and I are not leaders in the same mold. And that’s OK. Neither Moses or Aaron are failures. Neither Joe or I are failures either.  We have different roles. The synagogue president has to deal with the finances and maintaining the building. I have to deal with people’s ethics and their pysches and their spirits. I have to find ways to be aspirational to everyone who walks through the doors of this building. Everyone. Both Joe and I have an obligation to uphold the vision of the community, which is based in Jewish tradition. Both Joe and I have an obligation to try to lead from a position of compassion and to be slow to anger. However, when we get angry, and it happens occasionally, we need ways of working it out. That is why our weekly meeting, face to face, like Moses and G-d did, is so critical to our leadership.

Rabbi Zuziya had it right. When he gets to heaven, he will not be asked, “Why were you not Moses?” The question will be “Why weren’t you Zuziya.” None of us are called upon to be Bezalel, Moses or Aaron. We are called on to be ourselves, our best selves. Sometimes we need leaders who can stand up to the crowd. Sometimes we need peacemakers. Sometimes we need builders. Sometimes we need quiet dreamers. No one person can do everything.

So it is a question of both/and. We need leaders who will humble themselves and go down among the people. They are the ones that will have the courage to stand up and say, “That is not right, we cannot do that.” And we need leaders who will build consensus and follow the will of the people. They can become the peacemakers. In this room we have many different kinds of leaders. Each of you in this room (or reading this on the blog) are a leader. The challenge of this week’s parsha is to figure out what kind of leader are you?

63% of Lake Michigan is frozen. Temperature this morning was -10 when I got up. Chicagoland has had 60+ inches of snow when the average is 36.7 at O’hare and only 19 inches in Elgin! This year even the pets have cabin fever. They want to go outside and run. Too cold!

So what do we do? We gripe about it, and while that gets old quickly we gripe some more. We plan trips away from Chicagoland to some warmer climate. That is expensive. We cook more soups and stews and comfort foods. That can cause weight gain. We learn winter sports–skiing, hockey, skating. And we watch the Olympics.

Every year I have children read the Wise Men of Chelm story “Snow Falls in Chelm”,about the diamonds that fall from the sky. Last year, my first year in Elgin, it was actually on the Illinois fifth grade standardized test. The kids thought I knew the test in advance. Then I have the kids write blessings for snow. There is not actually a blessing for snow in Judaism, although we have the word–shelig in Hebrew. The kids get it. They usually include things like thanking G-d for the beauty of the individualized snowflakes or for hot chocolate and sledding and snow days. They see the beauty and the wonder. (But then they don’t have to drive in it!)

I am not alone in this, both Rabbi Harold Kushner and Rabbi Larry Kushner describe similar phenomena in their Hebrew School classes.  During that first snowfall of the year, “As you might expect, there was suddenly great excitement in the room. “Look! It’s snowing outside! Winter is here!” And they all lept out of their places and ran over to the window, completely oblivious to the fact that the rabbi was trying to tell them a story….He realized that for the children, there was no reason to recite the blessing. Their spontaneous reaction, their excitement, was an even stronger affirmation of the wondrousness of nature than any adult’s blessing could ever be….There’s no way that adults can appreciate the wonders of snow as much as kids can.” As Rabbi Larry Kushner writes, “There are places children go that grown-ups can only observe from afar.”

According to the Midrash on Job 37:6, G-d made the Earth from snow. “From where was the dry land of the earth made? From the snow that is under G-d’s Throne of Glory.” According to Maharal, the 16th Century rabbi of Prague, snow is an illuminating force tantamount to spiritual light. (Wait until you see the picture at the end of this post!) “That is why God made the earth from snow, because people on earth need to be reminded of God’s involvement in man’s affairs,” Rabbi Boruch Leff wrote in 2001. “Snow descends and covers the grounds as if to shout, ‘Remember that it is God that is constantly covering the ground and providing everything in our life.'”

Rabbi Everett Gendler used to have a snow service once a year where he would add poetry about snow and beautiful photos from the American Museum of Natural History. A similar resource is Kenneth Libbrecht’s book of photography, The Snowflake. As a CalTech physicist, he has spent his entire career studying snow crystals and his photography is gorgeous.

This year my birthday got snowed out. No services. No party. No dinner out. Just snow. One of my Boston friends suggested I build a snow sanctuary. “Why not?” I said. We are in the middle of reading the directions for building the tabernacle in the desert. They had lots of sand. We have lots of snow as a natural resource.

So on Wednesday at Hebrew School, we built a mishkan out of snow. We looked at pictures and building plans. We shoveled out the courtyard. We made snow walls. We went on a treasure hunt in the building. We spray painted a cardboard box to make the Ark of the Covenant. We found the tablets of the 10 Commandments and a brass pot for the brazen laver. We found a seven-branched menorah in gold. We found a challah for the “showbread”. We put of a Tent of Meeting. We used purple, blue and crimson. We turned a tallit into the veil separating the Holy of Holies. We used a rock for the altar. We built a fire. Then we had hot chocolate and popcorn and we talked about inviting the Presence of the Divine to join us.

It was a good day. I think the kids will never forget the winter they built a snow sanctuary.

They say that clothing makes the man, and jewelry makes the woman. Today’s Torah portion is all about clothing and jewelry. But there is a point to these instructions.

Remember those bands from a few years ago that said WWJD. No, it did not mean as someone suggested, “Worldwide Jewish Domination.” It stood for “What would Jesus Do,” and if you looked at the bracelet on your wrist you might remember what you were supposed to do—be like Jesus, act like G-d. In Latin, Imitatio Deo, imitating G-d.

We have a tradition of imitating G-d too. Sifre Eikev, which we read this morning says,  “To walk in God’s ways” (Deuteronomy 11:22). These are the ways of the Holy One: “gracious and compassionate, patient, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, assuring love for a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin, and granting pardon” (Exodus 34:6). This means that just as God is gracious, compassionate, and forgiving, you too must be gracious, compassionate, and forgiving.” The text continues that as G-d clothed the naked, we should clothe the naked. As G-d visited the sick, you should visit the sick. As G-d fed the hungry, you should feed the hungry. As G-d buried the dead, you should bury the dead.” So walking in G-d’s ways is imitating G-d.

We know the expression, “I’ll be there with bells on….”, meaning something like I am excited and pleased to come. I will be there to celebrate, wearing my finest. It first appeared in a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. But its roots go much deeper. Some say that it is a reference to the bells that teamsters would tie on their horses that were transporting goods. If their wagon broke down, then another teamster would ask for their bells as a reward. Arriving to their destination “with bells on,” was a source of pride. Some say it is a reference to the bells or knobs that were on beds in England. Or it is a reference to the bells on a jester’s costume. Or to the bells that told the time in a naval watch.

There are lots of popular cultural references to bells and faith. In the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life we are told that “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.” While I don’t think that is true, I love the movie. For George, the bell becomes a reminder to be grateful for his life, his wonderful life. Something he didn’t understand until his guardian angel showed him what the world would be like if he hadn’t been in it, thus earning his wings.

In another Christmas story, Polar Express, a boy, from Grand Rapids no less, has lost his love of Christmas. He is whisked away to the North Pole and because he is a good kid and helps other kids on the train, is given the privilege of receiving the first gift of Christmas from Santa—a bell—, which then falls through the hole in his robe pocket. Santa finds the bells and delivers it all wrapped up. When he opens his gift, he and his sister can hear the bell, but his parents cannot and assume it is broken. Chris Van Allsburg ends the book with  “At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.”

So the bell has to do with belief, with faith.

But many say it comes from this week’s Torah portion. The cohanim, the priests, needed to sew gold bells and pomegranate-shaped tassels of blue, purple and scarlet, onto the hems of their robes.

Why? Like the phrase “with bells on” the text does not give us an answer. The pomegranate is easy. Pomegranates grow in Israel, one of the seven species. They have 613 seeds and are a reminder of the commandments.

But the bells. They are more complicated. Some say the bells are so that when the High Priest, the Kohain HaGadol entered the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur, the sound of the bells would signal that he was still alive. Some say that the sound of the bells chased away danger—noise often does. Some say that they were to summon the presence of the Divine. Some say the bells were a necessity to keep him alive, lest he die.

I think all of the clothing and the jewelry that this portion commands are to remind the cohanim, the priests of how they were to behave. Clothing makes the priest. The names of the twelve tribes were inscribed as a reminder. Each of the jewels on the breastplate was one of the tribes, as a reminder. The Talmud itself teaches something similar. Each of the pieces of clothing reminds the priest to avoid specific sins. The breastplate was to prevent miscarriages of judgment. The me’il, the jacket would prevent gossip, lashon hara, an evil tongue, with those noisy bells, which would drown out the sound of gossip. The three colors of the tassels remind us that there are three people who are injured when lashon hara is spoken—the speaker, the listener and the one who is spoken about. The Ephod would prevent succumbing to idolatry. The tunic, like Jacob’s coat of many colors would remind us against spilling blood in jealousy and murderous rage. The robe, against sins of sexual impropriety, the headdress against arrogant thoughts (BT Zev 88b)

Even the colors, the purple, the blue, the crimson. They too served as reminders. Rabbi Emil Hirsch, who helped found this congregation, who drove out on a stagecoach—probably with bells on and is a source of pride for Simon for his commitment to social justice, wrote an article for the Jewish Encyclopedia about color. The white was the color of purity, the purple, the lower animal level, the crimson, the human level and the blue of the sky, Godliness. A more modern commentary added to it and said they represent the four worlds and that human beings reflect a combination of those four levels. It is all of us.

Rashi deduced a law for all the priestly vestments: “From the negative one can derive the positive: if he will have them he will not be liable for death; thus, if he enters lacking one of these garments he is liable for death at the hands of Heaven.” While that would seem a pretty severe punishment, Maimonides rules the same way. Getting too close to the Divine can be scary, even dangerous.

I think that is the point. Not only is the High Priest consecrated to G-d but every Israelite man and woman is, every Jew is. We are told that we are to be a light to the nations, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. As Jewish law developed, The development of Jewish law and observance has produced numerous instances of obligations and prohibitions that originally were intended only for the kohanum, democratically extended to all Jews so that we are a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.

We typically don’t wear bells. But we do have a uniform of prayer, of service, as it were tallit and tefilin. These too are set up as reminders. They remind us what our behavior is supposed to be. When you look at the tzitzit on the tallit you are reminded of the 613 commandments or the Presence of G-d or both. When you wrap yourself in tefillin you make the word Shaddai, one of the names of G-d, with the straps. When I wear a kippah, it reminds me to be humble, to “know before whom I stand.” It is like my version of the WWJD bracelet and if I drive through McDonalds or go shopping at Jewel it keeps me honest in some way. I wear other things as well. I always wear the 10 Commandments. I wear a wedding ring that is inscribed, “Live Contented.” I wear a bracelet that is inscribed, “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li,” I am my beloved and my beloved is mine to remind me of Simon’s love.

So for each of you, I have a gift. A little gold bell. Something you can put in your pocket, or tie on a ribbon of purple or crimson or blue. Something to remind you of how to behave, of the 613 Commandments, of how to be a holy person, of the very Presence of the Divine.

Yesterday was Super Bowl Sunday. It is also known as World Wide Wrap by the Federation of Jewish Men’s Clubs. It is an opportunity to “teach our children diligently” and explain the commandment to “bind them as a sign upon your arm and as a sign before your eyes.” What does that phrase mean? To put on tefilin, phylacteries, strips of leather with these very words in little boxes. To wrap yourself.

At Congregation Kneseth Israel, we wrapped. The men did tefilin and the older Hebrew School students, 4th through 8th grade did tallit. Why? Because we are commanded to wrap ourselves in fringed garments too. Most kids will wear a tallit for their Bar or Bat Mitzvah. They may never attend a weekday morning service where tefilin are used.

I struggle with this event every year. While I like the commandment to wrap yourself with fringes (tzitzit), tefilin just don’t speak to me. So much so, that when I was applying to rabbinical school after college I ruled out Jewish Theological Seminary because they were going to require women to wear tefilin.

Let’s be clear. As I read halacha, women are exempt from the commandment to wear tefilin but they are not prohibited from wearing them. If a woman wants to, she can and should be able to. One year for the World Wide Wrap I began my discussion with a picture of Tefilin Barbie. http://www.hasoferet.com/bar/barbie.shtml What does this doll say about where we are in American Jewish society? That we have made it? Is it good for the Jews or bad for the Jews? That it is OK for women to wear tallit and tefilin? That I want to be like Barbie? Because usually the answer to the last one is, “No, I don’t want to be like Barbie.” Ultimately I think it is mixed.

This year there has been a lot of chatter about Orthodox girls being allowed to wear tefilin. At one Jewish day school in Riverdale, two high school girls have now been permitted to wear tefilin. http://forward.com/articles/191256/modern-orthodox-high-school-in-new-york-allows-gir/ Rabbi Lookstein, at Ramaz on the Upper East Side has said that girls would be granted the opportunity to daven with tefilin if so requested, but he has yet to receive such a request. http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.571258

This is exciting big news. 

However, these decisions have come with quite a bit of controversy in the Orthodox community. One of the best pieces of writings was in Ha’aretz: http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.571258

I have seen these arguments before, used on both sides. While I like the intellectual stimulation and challenge of following these arguments, I don’t like what it does to spirituality. It actually breaks the spirit. Here are some girls, who want to do something that has been permitted in the past arguing for their halachic rights. If it enhances their spirituality and their meaning and doesn’t really break halacha, let them do it. Similarly, the Men’s Club looked a series of videos on youtube about how to correctly wrap tefillin–and how not to! The language employed in some bashing the other methods were cruel and bullying. That can never be appropriate. That can never be halachic.

Neither is calling a woman an abomination. Several years ago, Noa Raz was physically assaulted by an ultra-Orthodx man in Beersheva’s Central Bus Station. According to the press release, the man asked Raz twice if the imprints were from tefillin. When she told him they were, he began to kick and strangle her while screaming “women are an abomination.” Raz, who practices Conservative Judaism, and is studying at the Fuchsberg Center, broke free from the man and boarded her bus. http://jta.org/news/article/2010/05/13/2394791/conservative-woman-attacked-for-tefillin-imprint

Traditionally, it is clear that tefilin have been the domain of men. Something men are obligated to do, required to do. Women can–as long as they are consistent with it, take it on as a commandment. And from the earliest times we know that some have. We learn in the Talmud that “Michal, daughter of the Cushite wore tefilin and the sages did not protest.” (Eruvin 96a) In another place it states that “Michal, daughter of King Saul laid tefilin.” (JT Eruvin 10:1, 26a) But just as quickly we are told that “Women, slaves and minors are exempt from the recitation of Sh’ma and from tefilin but are obligated for the Amida prayer, mezuza and birkat hamazon.” (Berachot 3:3). This last mishnah plus the idea that tefilin are men’s clothing (also prohibited) is what gives credence, despite the references to Michal, to the prohibition of women donning tefilin according to the Shulchan Arukh and other sources.

Maggie Anton contends in her wonderful series of books, Rashi’s Daughters, that Rashi’s own daughters wore tefilin. I love these books. They are great novels and Maggie has done substantial historical and textual research. They make medieval Jewish France and Germany come alive. Nonetheless, while stories of Rashi’s daughters wearing tefilin existed before Maggie Anton’s novels, apparently there is no good historical evidence of their accuracy. Other women in the time period did.  Fazonia, the first wife of Rabbi Haim ben Attar, wore tallit and tefillin, as did Rabbi Haim’s second wife. The Maid of Ludomir (Hanna Rachel Werbermacher) in the 19th century also wore tefillin.

Poet Ruth Brin describes Winter this way:
Falling, deeply fallen, the snow,
continuous, silent, covers the ground,
the roots of plants and trees, seeds, spores,
cocoons, the various multitude of living cells,
covers completely, persistently
the white face of earth,
spreading relentlessly,
continuously,
as we who are masking, always masking,
deeply masking ourselves.

This is Shabbat Terumah. It is also Rosh Hodesh Adar 1, Chinese New Year’s, a black moon and my birthday. That is a lot of celebrating. It was also a snow day, in itself a gift. No where to go. No Shabbat services to lead. Just quiet. Breakfast in bed. Long run on the elliptical. Shoveling. Long bubble bath in the late afternoon light, enjoying the view of snow laden evergreens. It was beautiful.

I am intrigued by this confluence of events. I learned that a black moon is when two new moons appear in the same month. It is an auspicious time. It is also a SuperMoon, appearing 14% bigger, even though it is a new moon.

In Judaism, we can’t have a “black moon” since all of our months start with a  new moon. We have a lunar calendar and because there are only 28 or 29 days in a lunar month periodically we need to adjust the calendar so that holidays continue to appear in their seasons. (Remember how crazy it seemed to have Chanukah before Thanksgiving?) Every so often we correct and add not just a day but an entire leap month–Adar 1. This is one of those years.

I always think that Adar 1 is a gift, a gift of a whole month. But not everyone feels that way. Some see Adar 1 as the invisible month, representing the invisible Dinah, maybe the masking, the hiding of ourselves as Brin described. Maybe that is a gift of winter, as we hide.

Yesterday I met with the seniors at the Victory Center and explained this odd calendaring. They knew Dinah only from “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” and a song I had never heard (written in 1925) about Dinah in Carolina. I read them the story of Dinah in the Bible. It is not a pretty one. Chapter 34 outlines it: “And Dinah, the daughter of Leah, whom she bore to Jacob, went out to see the daughters of the land. And Shechem, the son of Hamor the Hivite, the prince of the land, saw her, and he took her, and he lay with her by force and he humbled her…Now Jacob heard that he had defiled Dinah his daughter, and his sons were with his cattle in the field, and he was silent until they came.”

The text is not explicitly clear what happened to Dinah and then she disappears. She is invisible. Jacob is silent. Jacob cares more that the sons created a problem for him rather than caring for Dinah. Anita Diamant wrote a whole book, the Red Tent, on the New York Times bestseller list for years, to tell the story from Dinah’s point of view. One of the women yesterday said, “He raped her.” She then went on to say, “I was raped when I was 12 and I was invisible. I never talked about it again.”  And that is the gift of Adar 1, to make the invisible, visible. To feel safe to say the unspeakable. To gather strength and courage in the dark of winter. To be able to see the new moon.  It is a gift.

The women understood the importance of gifts. It is about life, health, children, education, kindness. A doll, a drum, a soccer ball are less important. Fleeting.

Our Torah portion today begins, “G-d spoke Moses, saying, Speak to the children of Israel, have them bring Me an offering, a gift. Take My offering from everyone whose heart compels him to give.” What are these gifts? Does G-d require gifts? The Torah mentions gold, silver, copper, fine linen, ram’s skins, purple, crimson, blue yarn, jewels, even dolphin skins. Where did they ever find dolphin skins in the desert? Why the detail?

Sometimes I have students try to build a model of the mishkan. They read the text, give me a shopping list and I go to Michael’s. I buy leather, “jewels”, gold and brass rings, balsa wood. I’ve never found dolphin skins. Sometimes they build a model out of legos. This year the kids seem to want to build it in MineCraft.

Ruth Brin in her poem “Building” has it right:
Out of the cedars of the forests
the ores of the mountains
the stones of the hills
the copper of the desert,
from the earth itself,
the metals hidden in the earth
and the life that springs from the earth,
they built the Temple
where they came to worship
the Creator of the earth.
The Temple was a psalm of stone.

Building a tabernacle is about making holy space. It is about the gift of the spirit. Our homes are to be a mikdash me’at, a little sanctuary, a little tabernacle. I am grateful for the gift of my home. How lovely are our dwelling places, “mishkanotecha Yisrael.” It has heat and light and warmth and that wonderful spa tub with a view of the evergreens.  I admit I am not much of a builder. But every year we would build a Lincoln Log cabin for Lincoln’s birthday (also in February). We would make a cherry pie for Washington’s birthday. It was a tradition; a ritual. Of course we used to joke if we did it once it became a tradition. You try it. Those rituals are about making holy space too.

Today I received a gift. Not a material gift. It was a bright red cardinal that perched outside in the snow. It seemed to watch me while I was running on the elliptical. I remember the first year after my mother died, Simon and I were in Ogunquit for my birthday, and a bright red cardinal appeared against the bright blue sky. They have appeared other times too. Earlier today someone had said, “A cardinal is a representative of a loved one who has passed. When you see one, it means they are visiting you. They usually show up when you most need them or miss them. They also make an appearance during times of celebration as well as despair to let you know they will always be with you. Look for them, they’ll appear.” My mother was a cardinal. She grew up in Saint Louis. She rooted for the Cardinals all her life. She collected cardinals. I have one that peeps in my office. And here it was, a perfect gift on a snowy morning.

My mother tried to celebrate every day, especially in February. My birthday, ground hog’s day, Lincoln’s Birthday, Valentine’s Day, her anniversary, Washington’s Birthday, Girl Scout Thinking Day. And then, the days would be longer, March would be here and spring would arrive. That was a gift too.

Life itself is a gift. Again, from Ruth Brin, her translation/poem of Shehiyahnu:

We thank You, Eternal G-d
for telling us,
“My love around you,
My blessings on you
have surely brought you to this day.”

Someone told me yesterday that birthdays are to be celebrated, because they mark the day you came into the world, that you enriched the world, just by being born. May we each hear the Divine telling us, “My love around you. My blessing on you.” That love is a gift. May it be so for each of us.