Dear Bubbe (Six Years Later)

Dear Bubbe,

           

Six years…I’ll be honest, I think this year was easier overall than last year, but there are some days where I miss you like I did six years ago to this day. I still cry, and I wonder if the tears will ever truly fade, because I know you never wanted me to cry for you. I remember you requested that of me six years ago, along with staying in school and finding someone special to marry someday (still no luck I’m afraid…but I promised I’d wait until that special someone comes around – preferably after med school as we agreed). I still replay a few cherished memories from time to time – like me ringing that turtle-shaped bell in the dining room and annoying the living daylights out of Mom and Dad, you becoming the biggest Beano supplier in Baltimore, or me watching you pray at Zayde’s gravesite in complete rapture and silence. Sometimes, if I close my eyes and drown out the world, I can hear your voice in my mind, and it’s like you never left. Especially reflecting on the last few years of your life when we started discussing life’s hardships and disappointments, we became so close.

Can I confess that I’m afraid to talk to Dad on your yahrzeit? He loves and misses you so very much…trust me, the whole family does…but Dad especially. Your yahrzeit weighs so heavy on his heart, and I fear upsetting him by talking about you to him today. You made such an impact on his life – and mine too – in more ways than you know.

            Bubbe, you’d be so proud…I scraped by another year in medical school! The second year, they say, is the hardest, and I’m halfway through my third year now (and by the grace of G-D passed Surgery)!! Remember when I said that the pain of second year would eventually pay off? It’s finally happening! The docs are letting me see patients (on my own) and do all sorts of amazing things! I’ve held new life in my hands, given advice to hundreds about medical issues, explained procedures, and discussed end-of-life care documentation with patients. I feel so empowered and connected with my community, and I have never felt so ready to start my career than with the inspirations of third year.

And guess what? I enjoyed pediatrics!! Yeah, I know – crazy coming from the budding geriatrician! I’m interested in becoming a family medicine physician because of the joy of treating sick kiddos (but still thinking of focusing in geriatrics for the most part). And still thinking about hospice/nursing care-type settings and still committed to being an “old-fashioned” house-call doctor for my patients with transportation issues. I’m also thinking about working with the Spanish-speaking community as I am starting to become much better at Spanish with practice in the hospital. It never gets old when my patients wonder why a “Herbert Rosenbaum” can speak Spanish! But, I’m so happy and honored to offer services to a wider slice of the population. I’ve become so active in medical politics and American medicine, and it’s so surreal finally feeling like I can make a difference in people’s health. Oh, I used your picture in a presentation on my psychiatry rotation! It's was about Adult Protective Services, and I used you to represent that we should always know that we should always think of someone we love when on the fence about reporting elder abuse. You have inspired so much of my passion for medicine, and I wanted to find someway to honor that gift you gave to me.

            On the Jewish front, I still struggle with much of my expression of faith here in medical school and in Dallas. Chagim are still so difficult without you, especially High Holidays. While I am still Jewish in my blood and soul, it is so difficult to balance my needed time in the hospital and to find a community with similar Jewish ideals to my own. I have made a few Jewish friends here and there, and don’t get me wrong, I love them to pieces. But it is so hard to maintain a vibrant community which promotes Judaism as a central element of one’s being. Celebrating and praying was effortless around you. I felt so connected to my heritage and faith around you, and looking back, I never realized how much of a security blanket your Jewishness was for me. Or, how much your Jewishness would influence my own. Trying to nurture the seedlings of my growing faith has become an immense undertaking. Interestingly, I have found it in the recent months through Jewish cooking (who knew this kid could bake?). I’m trying to revive your old recipes and recreate “Bubbe’s Kitchen” best I can. I found your recipe for mandel bread…I know it’s yours because your final instruction is to keep the cookies hidden from Dad.

I miss running to you and asking a million questions about Jewish traditions. You just knew … everything.       

  

            Oh, and I would be so mad at myself if I did not tell you the good news! Bubbe, George got a job! I can’t really explain what it is, but he contracts work with Intel – the computer company! That kid would make you so proud. He’s come such a long way, and to bask in his success is truly a dream come true. He misses you too…

            Mom and Dad are doing well, all things considered. They are active with their friends in San Antonio, and Mom will go to the casino from time to time. Retired life sounds kinda nice among my hours and hours of daily work and study!

            Say hi to Zayde for me…Aunt Es too!

            May G-D bless you forever in G-D’s Kingdom.

            I pray G-D one day reunites our souls.

            I miss you and love so very much, always and forever.

With all my love,

Herbert

[Poetry] look up

when the world seems
low,

and there is nothing but darkness:

look up!

but close your eyes.

feel the Presence.

this is all you need.

if you can sense Sh'khinah

the rest is a gift

Memories of Simchat Torah, or "On How Being Short Made Me Jewish"

B”H

“Herbert, when was the first time you knew you were Jewish?”

“What? I mean, have always known I was Jewish…”

“No, but when did it first click inside you? When did you first feel Jewish?”

An interesting question I was posed not too long ago, and I must say I was quite stumped. To answer such a question required mental digging through decades of memories.

My first inclination was that my connection with Judaism must have surrounded food. After all, we Rosenbaums are not short on food…just in stature. Almost yearly pilgrimages to Baltimore’s Suburban House (before the terrible fire) with the gantse mishpokhe could epitomize the meaning of l’dor vador, as could the tradition of sharing creamed herring and whitefish salad with my Bubbe (z”l) and Great-Aunt Esther (z”l) to the laughable, utter disgust of my cousins. But, one must consider also Bubbe’s famous mandel bread (mandelbrot) and Cousin Carol and Sima’s feasts for various holidays; that kugel is the stuff of legends. Or, maybe it was that one time my mother and I failed miserably at making latkes for Chanukah.

But, how could I have appreciated Jewish food culture without understanding tradition and customs? Chanukah again poses a great contender for an answer to the question, for I have known the blessings over the chanukiyah candles as far back as I can remember. Or perhaps Pesach with all the additional dietary restrictions and our family’s seder in the loosest of definitions. Surely, it was learning about the Jewish tradition of naming children, learning about my zeyde, my namesake, and learning to say Kaddish with my family when we visited his gravesite.

            Something, still, must have instilled in me a desire to learn and embrace these religious and cultural elements. My Bar-Mitzvah is a good first thought, but I think I had established my faith long before thirteen years of age. I suppose Sunday school religious courses provided the fundamentals for various Jewish topics du jour, but I was not the best behaved child in those classrooms (primarily because I was assigned instead to babysit my younger, wild-child of a brother). My memories of the rare occasions my family went to shul (#RoshHashanahYomKippurJews) were marked with unneeded, multiple bathroom visits and staring off into space at the top of the temple dome. And trying to read the prayers in Hebrew with all the adults was a challenge, because I read the letters so slowly and carefully as they whizzed through tefilah. Oy, do I especially remember my childhood guilt and embarrassment in my inability to read Hebrew alongside my Jewish brothers and sisters as I was always the last to finish Shmoneh Esreh (I still am often the last to finish, come to think…)

            But, aha! I have found childhood guilt! I must be close in my mental archaeological excavation to unveiling this mystery. There must be something in the Hebrew!!

            I have always had a love for languages since I was in diapers, starting first with Spanish television kids shows (special shout-out to my homegirl, Dora). To this day, there are some words I know only in Spanish, Yiddish, Hebrew, Italian, Latin, Russian, or some other language I studied formally or informally at some point in my life. Accents come naturally to me (somewhat problematically when I accidentally imitate a person in the middle of a conversation). Hebrew was, notably, the first language I learned with non-Romanized letters. I also think it was in Hebrew, before English, that I comprehended “roots” of words and derivations. Perhaps my favorite part of Sunday school was learning a new word or phrase in Hebrew – to say it with a non-American accent, to understand its rooted meaning, and to write the Hebrew characters with care.

            And suddenly, the dust from my childhood memories finally settled. I remember so clearly my first time feeling Jewish. It goes back to the Hebrew for sure, but also to a lesser-discussed holiday and, what else, my height.

As a young child, I was fascinated with the Torah: its various ornaments, its antiquity from the appearance of the parchment, its size relative to my shrimpy status. (Am I allowed to use the word “shrimpy” when talking about the Torah? Oh well.) But, I remember being troubled in not ever seeing the physical text from which all the people on the bimah read. Children weren’t usually on the bimah, spare the B’nei Mitzvah who were in transition to adulthood. Sure, the rabbi would have a lengthy sermon about the weekly parshah, and I could glean the gestalt of the lessons from the English translations, but the Torah is the most holy of works in Jewish faith in its direct connection to G-D. What did the original text look like? What is the appearance of the divine calligraphy?

            OK, maybe I wasn’t quite so eloquent as a kiddo, but dammit, I wanted to see the Torah!

For a reason still unbeknownst to me to this day, my family and I attended services for Simchat Torah when I was five or six years old. Simchat Torah (שמחת תורה, literally “Rejoicing of the Torah”) is a holiday, during which time the annual cycle of public reading of the Torah is completed. Jews read the last section of Dvarim (דברים, Deuteronomy – the last Book) and started again with first section of Bereshit (בראשית, Genesis – the first Book). A particularly happy occasion among the Jewish people which this year starts Monday night, Simchat Torah is a holiday of merriment, drinking, and dancing in the streets with the Torah as we celebrate the Torah’s presence and the blessing to learn from it every day. It’s not as well-known in popular media as Chanukah, nor as religiously compelling as Yom Kippur, but it’s a holiday nonetheless.

Anyway, I did not know it was Simchat Torah at the time, or if I somehow did, I was unaware of the customs and significance of the holiday. Like most kinderlach in shul, by the end of the service, I was spaced out and eager to finally hear and end to the rabbi’s long-winded speech, when suddenly, all the adults stand up. It is utter chaos, and not the expected “quickly-head-to-the-parking-lot-to-beat-everyone-in-traffic” post-service chaos I have come to love. Several people ascend the bimah, and my mom and dad instruct me to stand in the aisles with them. The Torah scroll was unwound in its entirety like the infant who learns to pull toilet paper in one, long chain throughout the house. The congregation gathered through the aisles and out through the main doors of the synagogue, carried in their hands the parchment of the Torah by its edges, and the longest strip of text I have ever seen in my life continued to be fed to congregants all the way into the streets.

“This is it! I will finally see the Torah!” I remember thinking, as the parchment found its way towards my family…and right over my head…and away from me. WHAT?! NO!! The adults were holding the parchment of the Torah well above me, and despite jumping up and down and my very best tippy-toes, I could not see anything! My dad yelled at me to “be careful!!” For did I “not realize this was the Torah?!” I was utterly distraught to have come arguably as close as ever to seeing the holy text and be denied once again. One congregant, a man I know not from Adam, must have seen my vertical struggle, and asked the adults around him holding the parchment to lower their stance so I could have a look-see.

My eyes beheld the sight of the Torah for the first time that day. It was but for a second, but so beautiful were the inked letters, some long, some anointed with decoration! I had no idea what any of it said, but the connection was made. I was finally a member of the Jewish community respected enough to view G-D’s beautiful word, close enough to the Torah to appreciate its contents, and inspired so greatly by the sight of the text to listen intently to the reading of Bereshit. From there blossomed my interest in Hebrew, my attention to traditions, my faith, and my identity. 

[Poetry] הנני

הנני
אני מדבר

...אבל לפעמים תוהה אם

...אתה מקשיב...ו

אם אתה לא

?אז מי

!אדם ... אני רק אדם

אנא

?איפה אתה

-

אותך מצאתי
 דלת של חוכמה בבלבול שכאשר

  נפתח, הדרך נראית כל כך ברורה

.יתום מהעולם הזה - אבל אני שלך

With Liberty and Justice for All – It’s Holy, and It’s in the Bible [חקת / Numbers 19:1-22:1]

B”H

This week’s parshah (Torah portion) is Numbers 19:1-22:1, or חקת (Khukat, Statute). Perhaps the most memorable and well-known event of Khukat is the story of Moses striking the rock without faith in G-D and thus disallowing him and Aaron to enter the Holy Land. But before we delve into the meat of this section, I wish to turn attention to one interesting verse of the parshah, Numbers 20:1, which reads:

ויבאו בני ישראל כל העדה מדבר צן בחדש הראשון וישב העם בקדש ותמת שם מרים ותקבר שם   

My translation [and commentary]: “And they came, the children of Israel, the entire community, to the desert of Tzin in the first month, and the people sat [settled] in Kadesh. Miriam [Moses’ sister] died there and was buried there.”

The story immediately continues after Miriam’s death with the story of the stone. Compare her death to Aaron’s death at the end of the same chapter, Numbers 20:28-29, which reads:

ויפשט משה את אהרן את בגדיו וילבש אתם את אלעזר בנו וימת אהרן שם בראש ההר וירד משה ואלעזר מן ההר ויראו כל העדה כי גוע אהרן ויבכו את אהרן שלשים יום כל בית ישראל

My translation [and commentary]: “And did remove Moses Aaron of his clothing, and did he [Moses] place them onto Eleazar, his [Aaron’s] son, and did die Aaron atop the mountain. And Moses and Eleazar descended from the mountain. And saw, the whole community, that Aaron did fade [die], and the entire House of Israel, wept Aaron for thirty days.”

Moses endures the death of his beloved siblings in this parshah, but the Torah paints a different picture of community bereavement for these two critical figures in the story of the Bible. Miriam receives no proper mourning – just a single Biblical verse posthumously to consecrate her memory, whereas shloshim (the thirty days of mourning following burial of the loved one) appropriately accompanies the death of Aaron.

I call foul play and for a new interpretation of the message of the parshah. I argue that the sin of Moses and Aaron, which prevented their entrance into the Holy Land, was perhaps not a misstep somewhere in the process of striking the rock but their unjust, unholy, and unequal treatment of their own sister, a woman, and a community member.

Miriam was denied communal mourning by her brothers Moses and Aaron. There is not a single rabbi or Biblical scholar who can find a way to expunge their sin, for their mourning is blatantly absent - especially in juxtaposition to the mourning of Aaron in this parshah. However, G-D remembers her and punishes Moses and Aaron for their actions. 

How can I claim this, you ask? Immediately following Miriam’s death, the Israelites suffer without water. Without literal or Biblical transition, a mainstay of the structure of the Torah, one is ultimately pressed to link her death to the drought. Moses cryptically learns of his sin in Numbers 20:12, which reads:

ויאמר ה' אל משה ואל אהרן יען לא האמנתם בי להקדישני לעיני בני ישראל לכן לא תביאו את הקהל הזה אל הארץ אשר נתתי להם

My translation [and commentary]: “And said G-D to Moses and Aaron: “Thou hast not had belief in Me to sanctify Me in the eyes of the Children of Israel. Therefore, you shall not bring this community into the Land which I have given them.”

Despite their pleas, Moses and Aaron cannot convince G-D to reverse the decree. In fact, G-D restates the sin and commands Moses, Aaron, and Eleazar (Aaron’s son) to ascend Mount Hor, where the transference of garments results in the death of Aaron. After mourning Aaron, venomous snakes subsequently plague the Israelites, but are no match for Moses, and the Israelites are again saved.

So to recap: death without mourning – drought and death; death with mourning – protection. The only difference here was in who received proper mourning and who did not. The importance of both Miriam and Aaron is certainly gleaned in previous Torah passages, but it is as if Moses and Aaron forgot the life of their sister. Mind you this is the same Miriam to whom Moses owes his very life as a vulnerable newborn male to be otherwise killed in the time of Pharaoh. They stripped Miriam of a piece of her humanity in denying her continued memory in mourning. Does she not deserve memory because of her status as a woman? Even then, in the society marred with such disparity in the treated of men and women, G-D deemed her nefesh (soul) worthy of memory, just like Aaron, the High Priest.

Death and memory are quintessential and inseparable from Judaism. But more than that, one must also realize that the act of mourning is deeply holy. If you need any assurance of such assertion, look no further than the Mourner’s Kaddish, a prayer so intimately woven into the ritualistic ceremony of remembrance in Jewish tradition. Jews worldwide recite this prayer in heartfelt emotion in recollection of their deceased loved one. But, the words of the prayer do not involve death or dying, but instead have the reader simply praise G-D. There is a beautiful communal element to this prayer in that those in active mourning are instructed to rise amid an otherwise seated congregation. The beginning of the prayer is read publically by those standing in mourning, and mid-way through, the community and the mourner together acclaim G-D’s blessed Name. Death is thus a social function, a beautiful social function in which the mourner is supported by the community, as the congregation, together, celebrates the memory of the deceased in arguably the holiest of ways: sanctifying G-D. Reread Numbers 20:12, and the sin of Moses and and Aaron is clear: they did not sanctify G-D in the mourning of Miriam.

Each person is a member of a community and deserves the respect to be treated as such, in life or in death. Especially in the tides of this week’s landmark decision to legally ensure the right for same-sex individuals to marry in the United States, I hope that this message of honoring, respecting, and loving all people translates across genders, sexes, sexual preferences, races, identities, religions (or lack thereof) … pick your favorite social label.  Ultimately, we are all people, and to deny any shred of humanity to any person, be it proper mourning or a marriage, is the real abomination which G-D judges most harshly. Sing and praise your fellow human in life and in death, for it is an act of memory most holy unto G-D. 

Congratulations to all my friends who can now be legally married - this ruling is well-overdue, and there is much work to still be done to ensure rights for all, but in the present moment, I wish to celebrate with you as did Miriam with her timbrel.

On Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day)

Никогда больше || Nie Wieder || Nigdy Więcej || לעולם לא עוד || קיינמאָל מער || Mai Più || Never Again

---

In honor of יום הזיכרון לשואה ולגבורה (Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day, commonly “Yom HaShoah” or “Holocaust Remembrance Day”). Written in the languages of my extended family and ancestors and in loving memory of the millions of victims of the Holocaust.

---

Just this afternoon before the start of Yom HaShoah, I read an article which reported violent attacks against Jews worldwide were up forty percent in 2014. Forty percent…and that’s just the violent ones, for how can one begin to tabulate the nonviolent attacks? I was the intended target of nonviolent anti-Jewish attacks multiple times last year; one particular event made me genuinely fear expressing publically a HUGE part of myself - my Jewishness. I felt coerced to hide my identity because of someone else’s deep-rooted hatred. And I certainly cannot imagine I am the lone Jew in America who was a ‘nonviolent target’ of direct discrimination on the basis of his faith. The worldwide anti-Jewish sentiment is alive and well.

I can speak only for myself, an American Jew several generations removed from the horrific events that took place during the Second World War. However, I find it quite disturbing that I do not have a memory of a single Yom HaShoah without someone mentioning any of the following to me:

1)     “Y’know, it wasn’t ONLY Jews that died in the Holocaust. Why are the non-Jews forgotten?”

2)     “When you look historically, the Jews did kinda set themselves up for it. They could have just left, y’know…”

3)     “Why do you capitalize the H in ‘Holocaust’? There were other holocausts, y’know? The word existed before 1945…why do the Jews try to own the word ‘Holocaust’?

4)      “The Jews need to get over the Holocaust already! The Holocaust happened, and Germany’s been paying it off for decades. It’s been ___ years.”

5)     “Well, what about the killing of people perpetrated by Jews today, huh?”

6)     “The Holocaust is a lie.” (Yes, I have been told this many times directly to my face in earnest, even by “educated” people holding PhDs from regarded universities).

Now, I do believe that people say some of these things to me without the intent of coming across as discriminatory, but it hurts just the same.

The Holocaust has been an inseparable element of the modern Jewish soul, ‘modern’ of course being a relative term here, as Jews have been around for quite some time. Admittedly, the subject is rather consuming even to generations removed between its effects on the prayers we recite in synagogue, Jewish education classes, our spirituality and connection with G-D (if one at all exists…many survivors and Jews today have lost their religious faith in light of Holocaust), our political mindset, the stories we hear from our grandparents…the list goes on.

To address the statements lobbied my way during Yom HaShoah, I say:

1)     Yes, I am indeed aware that is was not only Jews that died in the Holocaust…millions of other innocent people of countless “undesired” demographics per Hitler’s criteria were systemically targeted and slaughtered alongside Jews, may the millions’ collective memory be a blessing unto the world. The non-Jewish victims are certainly not lost in my memory among me and Jews worldwide. However, we do also remember our own who perished, and its impact on our faith, culture, and religion.

2)     Historically, the Jews were kicked from one country to the next and were allowed limited power and resources to leave. Plus, their entire livelihood was invested in this area. Starting over in a new country is not so simple when your history is dotted with country after country killing you or forcing your people out for whatever the reason du jour by a given political ruler. Asking a group with little power to simply vacate is highly unreasonable and passively attempts to legitimize the murder of so many Jews…which is highly troublesome.

3)     This Holocaust is the Holocaust of the Jewish people. It’s not about ownership (please, I think I can speak freely when I say the Jews do not and would not want to “own” this event in history…we’d would be quite happy to revive our millions killed if it meant not supposedly “owning” a historical event). But, a very significant percentage of Jews were systemically killed in the Second World War, and for Jews, that is a grave loss. We view this event as a solemn tragedy in our Jewish history. For us in OUR history, it is not simply a holocaust, but the Holocaust. And Jews will continue to capitalize the H in Holocaust in recognition of this event in our history.

4)     An event in which so many people were systemically slaughtered for their identity is not simply forgotten. The mass discrimination and annihilation of a people becomes an integral element of their collective history, Jewish or otherwise. It debases their existence, shapes their interactions with others…not to mention the internal cultural, economic, social, and political disruption it causes. Specifically, with regard to Germany and the Holocaust, Germany has taken many praiseworthy strides towards righting Her historical wrong in ways other countries who have killed Jews have not (despite the most recent reports of a sharp rise in violent attacks on Jews in Germany last year). Our (Jewish) memory of the Holocaust is not, and has never really been, to debase Germany, but to remember our lost loved ones.

5)     This is a particularly pervasive and difficult statement to hear, as it attempts to delegitimize what is perceived as a significant event in collective Jewish history by means of faulting the victims, usually with ties to current events happening in the Middle East (my comments on which I withhold purposefully as they are not important to this conversation). Such an utterance tries to erase history by casting the victims as the perpetrators. In any other setting in which the victim is made to feel guilty, this sentiment would absolutely not be tolerated. However, it is particularly omnipresent in discussions of the Holocaust in the targeted redirection of our grief, devaluing of our suffering, and blaming of (one of many groups of) victims of such a heinous event.  

6)     It is amazing what circulates the Internet these days. Holocaust deniers are blossoming in numbers claiming the Jews all fabricated their tattoos (which are strictly forbidden by Jewish custom and were instituted partially FOR such devaluing of our traditions), the numbers “claimed to have died” aren’t real, the camps didn’t exist, etc…For these deniers, some of the leaders of whom are well-educated and highly regarding in their communities, I have no words.

For me, Yom HaShoah is a time to remember the millions of Jews killed by Hitler’s regime; to say otherwise is a lie. But, to stop there is to lose so much of what the Holocaust has meant to me and to many Jews with whom I am quite close. Since the Holocaust has affected my identity in that a palpable loss was felt to my people (and by connection, my identity), I have used it as a means to shape my views on humanity and social justice. The Holocaust is one of countless attempted eliminations of groups of “othered,” “lesser” people. Genocide persists to this day, and, as a Jew who feels the history of the Holocaust as a burden on his shoulders, I refuse to stand by as Jews, or ANY OTHER DEMOGRAPHIC, is targeted and murdered for their identity. The Holocaust, in its personal effect on my being, is my best understanding of the worst of humanity, the darkest of the dark that we can become, and I carry a pledge to fight against genocide. But, I recognize that genocide stems from hatred and discrimination, and thus, I also must be vigilant in removing hate and discrimination from the world, for these are the roots of evil.

This is why I remember the Holocaust, year after year, and will continue to for the rest of my life. May the world never know another Holocaust. And so I say, in whatever language one may think, feel, act, or pray, may we find the true meaning of these words to fight against genocide, discrimination, and hatred worldwide in the present day...because the world has still not internalized them as yet another Holocaust Remembrance Day comes and will inevitably set with the sun.

"Never again" is never again. For all people.

Within the Blood and Guts [ויקרא/Leviticus 1:1-5:26] and [החודש/Exodus 12:1-20]

B”H

This week, we begin Book Three of the Five Books of Moses with Leviticus 1:1-5:26 or Parshat Vayikra (ויקרא/ "And he called"). Despite its notable presence at the beginning of Leviticus, Vayikra is almost unforgivably dry, as G-D and Moses have one of their famous lengthy chats in the Tabernacle. Now, mind you, when I say lengthy, I certainly mean it; I learned a few days ago that Vayikra is one of the longest parshiyot in the entire Torah! A gantse megillah (Yiddish saying for an overly drawn-out story), as my late bubbe (z"l) would say...

And, what do the Jews even learn from Vayikra anyway?  Answer: the laws of korbanot (קרבנות/ "sacrifices") with special attention to animal sacrifice!! Woohoo!! Get excited!!

Hello? Um...anyone? Anyone at all excited about animal sacrifices? <<Is this mic on?>>

Yeah, I know. After such vivid and grandiose tales in recent weeks such as the assembly of the Tabernacle, the story of Purim, and the like, the religious legality surrounding animal sacrifice is rather lackluster. Reading perhaps with a bit more creative imagery than a law textbook, G-D outlines in this parshah five categories of offerings:

1) Olah (עלה) - sacrifice of the whole animal at the altar

2) Minkhah (מנחה) - sacrifice of a special flour/oil mixture

3) Sh'lamim (שלמים) - sacrifice of animal blood/fat/kidney/liver 

4) Khatat (חטאת) - sacrifice on behalf the High Priest or any Jew of various types

5) Asham (אשם) - sacrifice with 20% additional compensation to the priest

Actually, there are six offerings this week, for this Shabbat, Jews also read Exodus 12:1-20, or Parshat HaKhodesh* (החודש/ "The Month") in which we remember:

6) Pesakh (פסח) - a sacrifice of a lamb and the spread of its blood on door posts remembered in the Passover season.

With all the instructions for animal offerings this week, who's ready for some kosher barbecue...do you want lamb, goat, or bull?

But, in all seriousness, why are there SO MANY different offerings, each of which with the various exceptions, approved substitutions, and gory preparatory minutia generously explicated? Especially as an animal lover, I am put off by the very subject of this week's literature. Furthermore, I joke in reading about these rituals because, in modern-day Judaism, these sacrifices are no longer part of tradition and have been replaced by prayer. Between not keeping my attention in the sea of legal mumbo-jumbo, not aligning with my personal ethics of the treatment of animals, and not representing Judaism of the current era, it would seem that Vayikra would have no place in my mind for contemplation and personal internalization.

Not so fast. 

Let's unpack this question of the quantity of different offerings a bit further by taking a linguistic approach, starting with the roots of the six offerings:

1) Olah is ע-ל-ה (elevate/rise). 

2) Minkhah, to me, is most readily from מ-נ-ח (gift; also: lead/supervised). [Although, for completion sake, it is worth mentioning I have read very rich commentary about the argument for the more active root נ-ח-ה (leader/supervisor), and the duality of the leader-follower relationship in the word minkhah. A subject for another day.]

3) Sh'lamim is most certainly ש-ל-מ (peace). 

4) Khatat is ח-ט-א (sin). 

5) Asham is א-ש-מ (guilt/fault). 

6) Pesakh is פ-ס-ח (pass over/skip).

Thus, we have: Elevate, Gift, Peace, Sin, Guilt, and Passing Over. 

Suddenly, it becomes so very clear why the great rabbis and Jewish religious scholars could replace the acts of animal sacrifice with prayer. In its essence, the sacrifices were means of connection with G-D - a special avenue through which a direct line could be established albeit for atonement, praise, or other circumstances. The breakdown of the details of animal sacrifice provided a mechanism for the communication with the Divine Moses and the Israelites sought so desperately. 

So, too, do people pray for many reasons: for elevation (to enter a better place in this world or the world to come), for gift-giving (to praise the good G-D bestows), for peace (to celebrate good times or to usher in the good when times are bad), for sin (to directly repent), for guilt (to reflect upon and internalize suffering and strife), and for passing-over (to ask for miracles when the world seems bleak).  Among these six categories exist perhaps every impetus for prayer. 

Each category requires a unique personal mindset, diction, thought process, organization, and emotional basis, but even within these six divisions, t'filah (תפילה/ "prayer") is not generic - it is lovingly and personally crafted by the individual who offers it. Every soul has a different way to pray, different reasons to pray, different times to pray, and even different places to pray. In the minutia of the animal sacrifice rituals, I see G-D's acceptance of all prayer from anyone and in whatever form it might be presented, for in Vayikra, G-D allows any and all to sacrifice: individual or community, rich or poor, king/priest or peasant, scholar or fool. 

How beautiful is it, then, to know that G-D awaits (and even commands) us to start a line of communication. All we need to do is pray. So very fitting is such a message at the very beginning of one of the Books of Moses!

Shabbat Shalom, and may your prayer always be heard and answered. 

--

*[N.B.: Parshat HaKhosdesh also revisits how our lunar calendar came to be, with the first month assigned as Nisan (ניסן). This parshah evokes a fabulous discussion of the duality associated with of the beginning of Creation in the month of Tishrei (תשרי) and the beginning of Judaism in the month of Nisan. I encourage readers to search for very enlightening thoughts on these two "beginnings," for such is the subject of many other commentaries of this parshah].