An Interesting Experiment

In a previous drash on Chukkat, I noted the three rituals performed in the parsha:  1) the sacrifice of the Red Heifer, 2) purification of those who have touched the dead, and, after Miriam’s death, 3) the banging on the rock to produce water.  The first two rituals are prefaced by the phrase, “This is the ritual” (or “This is the Sacred Commandment”) but the third is not.  Moses does not perform the third task as a ritual, and pays the price.  In this drash/kavannah, I address the importance and meaning of ritual through three other rituals:

This is the Ritual:

Bowing during the morning blessings.

I used to refuse to bend my knee

and bow

during the Morning Blessings.

Baruch Atah Etcetera

Thank you for Etecetera….

Who was I bowing to?

A male king?

That’s not God.

Screw that.

But then I thought

What if I bowed anyway?

What would that feel like?

So I tried it for a month.

As an interesting experiment

I bowed deeply for a month.

And

It was  mechanical, pointless.

And then one day, kind of without warning

Each time I bowed, I found there was a reason.

I bowed to history and tradition,
I bowed because my ancestors bowed.   

I bowed to everyone who has ever been forced to bow,
I bowed because everyone else in the room was bowing.

I bowed to my fear of the future,
I bowed to my regrets of the past.
I bowed because I am not the center of the universe.
I bowed because I do feel God's presence, somehow.

This is the Ritual:

Wearing a tallit.

I never wore  a tallis

During the Shabbat morning service

When I was little

It’s cause I was a girl

Girls didn’t do that

I sat next to my Daddy in services and played with his tallis fringes

But they were his, not mine,

Never to be mine.

And anyway, why should I?

Do I really think God cares whether I wear fringes?

Do I even believe in the kind of God who would care if I wore a frigging shawl?

I don’t believe in religious rules!

I can wear whatever I want!

How dare you tell me how to be a Jew!!

And anyway, navy blue stripes,

So boring.

Everybody knows

I’m all about the fashion accessories,

So screw that

But then I thought,

What if I wore a tallis anyway?

What would it feel like?

So I wore it for a month,

As an interesting experiment.

And

It was dramatic and self-aggrandizing, look at me.

And then one day, kind of without warning,

Each time I put on my tallit I found there was a reason.

I put on the tallit because it was winter and it kept me warm.

I put in the tallit to wrap myself in the memory of my father, sometimes I even wore his.

I put on the tallit because I can and you can’t stop me.

I put on the tallit because it covered the vanity of whatever I was wearing that day.

I put on the tallit because I found one that matched my outfit.

I put on the tallit because it draped me in Torah.

I put on the tallit because God apparently has a thing for fringes and who am I to argue?

I put on the tallit because women who wear tallit at the Kollel, the Wailing Wall, get arrested by the state of Israel.

This is the Ritual:

Wearing a kippah.

I sometimes wore a yarmulke when I was young

The flimsy lacy kind.

Stuck on with a bobby pin,

A trivial thing,

A girly affectation,

Stupid.

A real kippah was for boys,

It fit their short hair.

But it flattened my lovely curls

So screw that.

But then I thought

What if I wore a kippah anyway?

What would it feel like?

So I wore a kippah on my head for a month,

As an interesting experiment.

Immediately, each time I put on my kippah,

I found there was a reason.

And it was amazing!

I put on my kippah to make a feminist statement.

I put on my kippah because it shows respect for the synagogue and the prayer leaders.

I put on my kippah to announce to myself that I have entered the shul and I must be mindful.
I put on kippah because I can have a lot of different ones to match my moods and my earrings.

I put on my kippah because everything underneath becomes a capsule of kadosh, of holiness.
I put on my kippah because it reminds me to connect to God, however I understand God that day.

These are the rituals:

So now on Shabbat morning,
When I thank a being I don’t believe in at least in the old way

Except when I do,
When I need something bigger than myself, 

I bow.

So now, on Shabbat morning

When I go to services

And I need to separate myself from the mundane
But not my community,

I wrap myself In my tallit.

So now, on Shabbat morning

When I begin another vertical conversation with the non-linear

And I need to place myself in kesher, connection,

I put on my hat of holy, my kippah.

These interesting experiments,

These rituals,

They are not empty.

Red Heifer or Water From a Rock,
Friday night chicken or lighting candles,

They mean something.

Not always the same thing

Not always with the same impact

Not aways to everyone in the room

But every time.

So pardon the presumption, but

I have a suggestion for you:

Try your own interesting experiment.

Pick a ritual:
One that is done in your community,
One that you don’t usually do,
One that you almost never do, 
Just one.
Then do it.
 Do it without a reason. Do it for a month or two. 
See if it takes on meaning for you, 
See if it creates sacred space. 
See if it creates sacred time.
 Learn about this ritual.
Do you know its traditional reason?
Do you know it's communal value?
Do you find a personal resonance?

Can you create your own meaning?

Keep doing the ritual for a month or two.
Then stop.

Do you miss it?
Did it matter? 

Do you want to do it again?

Brucha At Achat, Baruch Atah Echad, Bless the One-ness, giving us the ability to encircle time and space with meaning.  

Amen.

Prayer for The Levites

Numbers 8:13-15

You shall place the Levites in attendance upon Aaron and his sons, and designate them as an elevation offering to the Lord. 14 Thus you shall set the Levites apart from the Israelites, and the Levites shall be Mine.

Blessed be Yah, Breathing Us In and  Breathing Us Out

Help me with my obligations as a Levite for my congregation:

May I serve my community to the best of my ability with hard work and creative problem solving.

May I remember the larger goals when I am bogged down in the small details.

May I learn to set limits without being angry when those borders are crossed, as they will be.

May I never forget that that everyone means well.

May I represent my community to the wider Jewish kahal well and appropriately.

May I always remember to work with my community with diligence so together we may serve and repair our world.

Blessed be Yah, Breathing Us In and  Breathing Us Out

Help my congregation with their obligations to their Levites:

May my community serve me to the best of their ability with fair wages and benefits.

May my community understand that I am a professional and not a volunteer.

May my community remember that  I do not work 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year.

May my community remember that I love what I do and who I do it for.

May my community always remember to employ me with respect so that together we may serve and repair our world.

Blessed be Yah, Breathing Us In and  Breathing Us Out

Help me with my obligations to myself:

May I remember to ask for the fair parnassa that I need to sustain myself and my family.

May I remember  to respect myself and my needs because  I am just as important as any member of my community.

Just as Bezalel built the Mishkan with his labor, and as he also took joy in the beauty of his creation, may I know that I’m entitled to joy even when my hard work makes me sad.

May I always know that I love what I do and who I do it for, even when they drive me crazy.

May I always understand the limits of what I can realistically do, so that I may better serve and repair our world.

Bless be Yah, Breathing Us In and Breathing Us Out.
And bless the community, the work and the workers, that we are one in the One-ness.  
Amen.

Go up the Mountain: A Shavuot Kavanah

We gather together

At the edge of the Red Sea

Or in a room at the edge of our seats,

Ready to run

Or ready to study?

Either way it's unknown territory.

We trek through the desert.

And with each step away from home

And the cucumbers of Egypt,

We tremble:

From Revelation

Or Pharoah's chariots?

Either way I hope you brought a flashlight.

So,

With each step

We walk into the past.

History or Myth?

Either way, it's real and it's ours.

Trusting our rabbi or Moshe on the mountain?

Either way we're gonna learn something.

Following our hazzan or the prophetess Miriam?

Either way it sounds good.

Closer and closer to Sinai

To get the Gift of Torah.

The Gift of Obligation and Knowledge,

Or the Gift of Doubt and Guilt,

Either way, God loves giving presents!

Would you have left Egypt?

Would you have crossed the Red Sea?

Would you have walked the desert?

Would you have waited at Sinai?

Or would you have stayed home, cozy and hydrated,

Asking no questions,

Fearing no answers?

Either way, my feet already hurt.

So,

Let us go up the mountain. 

Four Children, Five Rabbis

Okay, so

Four Children sitting around a table, talking

At a seder

And they have to ask,

Why is this night different from all other nights?

Why on this night do we ask so many questions?

And who gets to answer?

And who must  listen?

The first child, 
Book smart.

The wise child

Knows all the rules.

He's direct,

No messin' around,

This is what you do on Pesach:

Tell the story, dip the herbs

Recline, drink four cups

Ask the questions, Know the answers .

It's obvious. Duh.

The second child,

A smart ass, smart and an ass.

Doesn't care about the rules

Unless she knows what they're for,

She wants meaning

And is kind of obnoxious about it

Because sometimes it's hard to ask the next logical question

Without annoying someone.

What does this story mean to you? she asks.

And it comes off as a challenge, but it's not.

She really wants to know:

What does it mean?

So you tell her,

Freedom!

To be who you are,

To make choices,

to seek God whether you find God or not,

To become a person and then a people,

To ask questions.

The third child,

A beginner,

Doesn't know what to do

Doesn't know why we're doing it,

A baby!

So you say to him,

We tell a really good story

With a beginning middle and end

And a hero

And a villian

And miracles and dancing and bugs and dead cows and blood,

You'll love it!

And this is why we tell the story:

So we don't forget we were slaves,

So we don't forget what God did for us,

So we don't forget Torah,

And the seder is what we do to remember.

And because we remember

We don't enslave others.

We bask in God's presence.

We study Torah

And we tell stories.

And then there's the fourth kid

 The child who doesn't even know

 that she can ask a question.

Is it because she doesn't care?

Or is it, that she doesn't have a context?

Doen't know that she doesn't know?

So she doesn’t know how interesting it all is?

Or perhaps it’s because no one will let her talk

So she doesn't even try?

Sitting in the back of the bus,

Not allowed to study Torah,

Married at 17, popping out babies at 18.

So let's not wait for either of them to say something

Let's hold out our hands and say,

We were slaves

And now we're not.

And there is so much to know and do

And you can know and do it

And we will help you.

You are inspired,

You just don't know it yet.

Okay.

So

Five Rabbis sitting around a table, talking

At a seder.

They don’t have to ask,

Why is this night different from all other nights?

Each of them knows the direct meaning.

All of them plumb the depths of the hidden and symbolic.

Any one of them can tell a tale that bridges a gap.

Five out of five are inspired by God's revelations.

They know the rules and the meaning and the stories and oh my God, are they empowered to talk.

They stay up all night

And talk and talk and talk!

Each one smarter than the other

But in the morning when their students come in,

They still haven’t got an answer.

Hey you guys, say the students,

Listen.

Tzav, a drash

Tzav, this week's parsha, establishes some of the sacrificial duties of the professional high priest, the Kohanim,  along with some of their perks and ends with the ritual of their consecration.  There is an obvious parallel between these duties, perks and consecration and those of the modern Jewish religious leader. 

In Tzav, God tells Moses how to conduct a series  of religious rituals that only the Kohanim can carry out, specifically the rituals of Burnt Offering, meal offering, offerings for purgation, reparations, sacrifices for well being and the prohimbitions regarding fat and blood, and then the insturctions for ordination of the priests.  We are told what the priests should be wearing, how they kill, burn or otherwise consume the food or creatures being sacrificed.

The purpose or efficacy of sacrifice is taken for granted.   If done correctly, the ritual will evoke well-being,  sin will be purged, God will be placated.  The acts are not without meaning and effect, but to me the obligation seems  paramount and is perhaps an ends unto itself.  One wonders how the high priests managed to escape corruption and cynicism and one assumes many did not.   But noneless, they – and we - we brave alll the possible pitfalls, because they and we need the rituals.  Why?

Rabbi Nancy Fuchs Kreimer wrote in The Torah, A Women's Commentary,

As we learn about ritual as a human phenomenon, we come to understand it as a language of it's own, uniquely meaningful.  

But what gives it that meaning? Is it the ritual itself, is there some magic in the specific act, or is it enough that it is separate and repeatable and and we have all agreed to assign meaning to it?  And in our own time, is group or private prayer an adequate substitute for an orchestrated and dramatic public offering of value to God?  Or is the system of halacha and all the attendent sacrifices one makes in comfort and ease if one is halachically observant, the only true substitute for a fire on a high altar?

Or are those special creatures, the hereditary high priests the only ones who can perform the rituals correctly so that we may be made whole and holy?  If so, can these Kohanim serve as models for a moden rabbinical student?  How should we approach the learning and carrying out of our rituals?  Is there is the inherent value to a ritual even if is divorced from its history, or meaning?  Where can we find our fire?

Arthur Green writes in his interpretation of the Se-fat Emet's commentary on Tzav,

We long for a perfect act of worship, one in which there is no distraction, no doubt, no holding back, no wandering of the mind, nothing but the pure gift of love.  But we miss the point.  Our worship is all about struggle, an ongoing inner process of transformaiton

I would like to tell you what was, for me, a perfect act of worship and a transformation.

My father was a kohen.  When I was young, I knew he was special, and he got to do stuff other people didn't do because of it and that made me special.    

One day my father came home with this wooden box, and inside were five beautiful silver coins, which were for the pidyon ha ben,   the ritual of redeeming the first born son from service in the temple.  My father would "sell" these coins to the parents of the child for the price of a donation to the temple, he would then perform the pidyon ha ben, whatever that was, and they would pay him with the coins.  My father was very proud of these coins and I really wish I still had them.  We bonded over the coins, until he told me that I could never do this ritual because I was a girl, and only boys counted as kohanim, and only boys needed to be redeemed.  Not fair.

Years pass, I am an adult feminist and completely alienated from Judaism and I move to Seattle and then discover Judaism ain't so bad after all and move back to Jewish New York, but  as drawn as I was to the Jewish community, I still couldn't help feel that religion was irrational and not for me.  But then, friends of mine had a baby, their first, and a boy, and they knew I'm a Kohen, I don't remember why, and they asked me to perfrom their son's pidyon ha ben.

Me?  But I'm a woman?  You mean, I can be a Kohen now? Or at least act as one? Yes, I can.  It was so exciting!  I hadn't read Hebrew out loud in a long time, but Rabbi Sami Barth stood next to me at the ceremony while I enabled Debby and Wrolf to redeem the infant, Jeremy.  And myself.  Because in that act, that perfect act of ritual, both Jeremy and I were redeemed.  My fear and doubts were nothing next to the connection I felt to Aaron, to my father, to every woman who ever wanted to lead and study and pray as a full human being and a Jew, and most of all, to my authentic self.   A perfect act of worship and transformation, indeed.

That baby, Jeremy,  is going to college next year.  And I am applying to rabbinical school, though not because I'm a kohen.  I belong to a congregation that considers such hereditary status to be beyond anachronistic, no, more like repulsive and un-American and we never, and I mean never, do aliyot by Kohen, Levite and Israelite, but I still, whenever I hear the priestly blessing recited by the rabbi and sung by the cantor, I still think, that's mine to say, not yours, mine, though I don't tell anyone, well I just told you, because I know I'm not supposed to feel that way, and I know it's not real but I do.

But I have come to know that any leader of ritual can be that k'li kodesh, sacred vessel.   Rabbi Shefa Gold, writing about this parsha in her book, Torah Journeys, says:

We are commanded to be a nation of priests, to take responsibility for the holiness of our world, to be healers, and when necessary to stand between Life and Death, bridging the finite and the infinite.

The ritual leader, kohen or rabbi or not, lights the holy fire, whether it's a burning pigeon or a powerful metaphor, and creates the bridge between the past and the future.