[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].

Finding Oneself Beyond the False [כי תשא / Exodus 30:11-34:35]

B”H

To my Jewish readers, Chag Purim Sameakh (חג פורים שמח / Happy Purim Holiday)! May it be a joyous time of celebration of the good in the world, of renewed strength in the retelling of the Megillat Ester (מגילת אסתר / Book of Esther), and of mischloach manot (משלוח מנות / Purim baskets) filled with hamantaschen (המן טאשן/ cookies) and other sweets. To my friends partying the night away, please stay safe and arrange an Uber/taxi/DD…and drink a few for me; I’ll be cramming for my neurology block examination.

This week’s parshah is Exodus 30:11-34:35 - Ki Tisa (כי תשא / “When you take”), one of the more famous parshiyot in the Torah. Every Israelite contributes some money to support the internal architecture necessary for the functioning of the religious sanctuary, and the project will be supervised by master craftsmen Betzalel and Aholiav. The story then cuts abruptly to the handing of the tablets barring the Ten Commandments to Moses, who has been delayed in his journey back to his kin. Back home, the Israelites have turned to Aaron, Moses’ brother, for advice since Moses has been awhile on Mt. Sinai. He instructs the people of Israel to gather their golden earrings, from which Aaron melts and sculpts a golden calf, a false god who is now declared to have delivered them from Egypt. Aaron constructs an altar for the calf, and a festival is arranged the following day.

It does not take an astrophysicist to realize that G-D is perhaps not so keen on the whole false idolatry thing. G-D tells Moses that his people are “stiff-necked,” for they have turned against G-D, and must be annihilated. Moses does some quick thinking and pleads mercy by reminding G-D of all the good G-D has done for the people of Israel and the promise G-D made to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to allow their people to grow. Good thing for Moses, because G-D decides to back off on his plans. Moses carries the tablets down the mountain, sees the joyous celebration of the Israelites for their new-founded deity, and, in a rage, drops and breaks the tablets at the base of Mt. Sinai. Moses’ rage continues as he destroys the calf, mixes the powdery remains in water, and forces the Israelites to drink their false idol. Aaron comes clean, and Moses forces the idol worshippers to kill one another – indeed brethren killing brethren – for their heinous sin.

I pause here from retelling the story with some personal commentary, for I find this part of the parshah very unsettling. I get that making and worshipping a false idol is a SUPER big no-no, but did such sin truly justify all these deaths? ESPECIALLY when half the reason G-D did not smite the Israelites when Moses was on Mt. Sinai was because Moses remembers G-D’s promise to make a populous nation!! Then, Moses goes and subsequently has 3,000 people killed, and in a violent manner of friends and kinsmen stabbing one another. Perhaps, he was just caught up in the moment in trying to drag the Israelites back to G-D, but I wonder if Moses has indeed himself sinned gravely for inciting such a travesty without any repercussions.

Anyway, some food for thought. Back to the story:

The next day, Moses arises with the hope of garnering G-D’s forgiveness. And he is successful, but G-D promises that the effects of their sin will be felt for several generations. G-D agrees to lead the Israelites and instructs Moses to allow for a revelation of G-D’s presence (which was G-D’s back, but not G-D’s face, for humans cannot live and see the face of G-D). Over the course of 40 days, Moses reconstructs new tablets, is told the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy, and is given a variety of commandments including holiday celebrations and the famous line (among many in the laws dictating dietary customs) from Exodus 33:26:  Lo t’vashel g’di bakhalev imo” (לא תבשל גדי בחלב אמו/ “Do not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk”). As Moses descended from the mountain once again, he had become physically radiant, and the Israelites feared him. Moses veiled himself from the Israelites except to speak with G-D and to teach the law to them.

Around the beginning of this year, I had some internal discord and mental separation from myself. Lately, I have been in a place of deep introspection and self-evaluation; Ki Tisa comes at an opportune time in my thought process. I am realizing that several elements of my life are built around that which is false. I have surrounded myself in an environment which simply does not value the human element necessary for medical practice – perhaps my primary motivation for choosing this career. I am coming to realize people have used and abused me under the deceitful veil of friendship and do not care for my personal wellbeing, but for what I can do for them. I have forgone my personal beliefs and given of myself to others so much that I have lost touch with a part of myself. In such ways, I have constructed false idols in my career/medical education, friendship, intimacy and relationships, physical and spiritual wellbeing. I am on a journey now to once again find my true self. I have found my voice, as Moses did before G-D, and strived for forgiveness before G-D and for self-forgiveness. In the words of the great sage, Hillel the Elder: Im ein ani li, mi li? U’kh’sheani l’atzmi, mah ani? V’im lo akhshav, eimatai? (אם אין אני לי, מי לי? וכשאני לעצמי, מה אני? ואם לא עכשיו, אימתי / If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And when I am [only] for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?)

As G-D revealed to Moses the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy, I reveal myself publically who I am: a Jew, a future physician, a giver, a faithful friend, an honest voice, a reliable person, an understanding force, a forgiving soul, a cheerleader in the best of times, a shoulder in the worst of times, a passionate man, a defender of empathy and human rights for all people, and a dutiful citizen of the world. I care so deeply for the troubles of people around me, especially when I am in a position to actually provide assistance, but I have come to see that my agency is better suited when my offerings are valued, for they forge stronger bonds between me and other people. It is actually detrimental to allow myself to mingle in such circles, for I dilute that which I wish to give to the world. The elimination of the burdens of falseness allows for truer expression of the very things that led me to construct such toxic situations in my life. This time of self-rebuilding is particularly difficult for me, as I muddy the waters of social status quo in defense of myself and construct a meaningful environment in which I will grow as a physician, a friend, a lover, and a person. But, in such way, I am finding happiness and a renewed sense of self.

I encourage you to seek out those elements of your life which serve you no purpose – your “false idols,” eliminate them from your life, and rediscover a deeper version of yourself. 

A Cry for Consciousness [תצוה / Exodus 27:20-30:10 and זכור / Deuteronomy 25:17-19]

B”H

This week, the Jewish people get a double dose of Torah, as we read from not one parshah, but TWO parshiyot in recognition of the upcoming holiday of Purim. For readers unfamiliar with this holiday, Purim (פורים / “Lots”) is a holiday commemorating the saving of the Jewish people of Shushan (Susa of the Persian Empire) during the reign of King Ahasuerus (presumed to be King Xerxes I) whose grand advisor, Haman, plotted to kill all the Jewish inhabitants. [Quick aside: it is tradition to blot out the name of Haman with noisemakers and loud jeering during the traditional reading of the story of Purim (i.e.: Megillat Esther (מגילת אסתר /“Scroll of Esther”)), so I will symbolically do so by striking out his name]. The story is so called because it was through the cunning resolve of the valiant Queen Esther (the King’s new wife who he did not know was a Jew) and some help from her uncle, Mordechai, the tables are turned on Haman, and the Jewish people are saved. Purim will be celebrated next Wednesday evening through Thursday, and it is a particularly beloved holiday especially among the youth with delicious holiday-specific shortbread cookies called hamantaschen­ (המן טאשן/ Haman’s pockets), costumes, partying, libations, and good cheer.

[For any Jews reading this blogpost, I must get on my yearly soapbox about hamantaschen. Mohn (מאָן/ Poppyseed) is the ONLY correct flavor…sorry not sorry for my insistence to tradition….twist my arm, and you MIGHT push lekvár (preserves) from prunes out of me as a kosher flavor. But, please, keep your strawberry, your raspberry, your blueberry, and ESPECIALLY your chocolate posers! A PSA and friendly reminder to do hamantaschen right this year].

Now that that’s out of my system, back to our regularly-scheduled Torah time.

I’ll begin with the weekly parshah - Exodus 27:20-30:10 or T’tzaveh (תצוה / “You Command”), in which, as the title implies, G-D instructs the Israelites in several commandments. Firstly, the Israelites must bring pure oil for the Ner Tamid (נר תמיד / “eternal flame”).  Next, the priests need to be in their best attire for their duties, and so G-D commands the creation of various priestly garments, especially for the Kohen Gadol (כהן גדול / High Priest). Then, G-D outlines the priestly ordination ritual, and finally, G-D requests the creation of an altar for incense and gives instructions for its proper use.   

The auxiliary parshah read on the Sabbath before Purim is Deuteronomy 25:17-19 or Parshat Zakhor (זכור / “remembrance”). It is the final three verses of a different section: Parshat Ki Tetzeh (כי תצא/ “When you go”), but it is relevant to the season of Purim and is thus read in addition to the normally scheduled parshah. Readers recount the tale of Amalek, an enemy to the Israelites who tried to destroy the Jews upon departure from Egypt. This verse is fitting, as a descendent of Amalek was none other than the villain of the story of Purim: Haman himself! The final verse rings clear a reminder of the charge to never forget the heinous actions of Amalek in Deuteronomy 25:19:

Timkheh et zekher Amalek mitakhat hashamayim; lo tishkakh  (תמחה את זכר עמלק, מתחת השמים; לא תשכח / “[You shall] blot out the memory of Amalek from underneath the heavens; do not forget.)

The commandments of lighting the eternal flame, to assume a particular dress, to follow a set ritual for priestly ordination, and to correctly light incense – such are the decrees from the weekly parshah. These tasks are seemingly mundane, routine, matter-of-fact…but G-D has outlined in detail the very elements necessary for each of these instructions. I see in this laundry lists of undertakings a greater message to break free from the seemingly mundane, routine, and matter-of-fact, and rediscover why we go through our own personal routines. For these commandments, the Ner Tamid must never to be extinguished as a reminder of G-D’s eternal presence. Such flames are mainstays in synagogues around the world found near the Arks which holds the holy Torah. Of the priestly garments, I turn the reader’s attention to the khoshen (חושן / breastplate) which is adorned with the stones representing the Twelve Tribes of Israel. The High Priest, who alone entered the Holy of Holies of the Tabernacle on Yom Kippur to communicate with G-D carried with him the People of Israel through the khoshen. The priestly ceremony unifies the kohanim (כהנים / “priests”) in a similar journey as the spiritual leaders of the Israelites. Lastly, the tight regulations of incense bring attention to one’s desire to give sincerest offers of praise to G-D. With this week’s addendum of Parshat Zachor commanding us actively to remember our history and to actively work to eliminate Amalek’s evil presence from the world, it becomes clear that G-D is commanding Jews to act with a sense of intention and of awareness.

Indeed, to simply complete mitzvot (מצוות/ commandments) without understanding their truest context, deepest symbolism, and fullest connotation, is as if you do not fulfill them at all. These chores, requirements, commandments, whatever you might call them – they serve a greater purpose. If we so choose to allow the purest meaning of the literal word penetrate our souls, perhaps we can strive to find such meaning in our daily interactions, and perhaps our daily grind will feel a bit more fulfilling.

A Mishkan in Unexpected Places (תרומה / Exodus 25:1-27:19)

B”H

This week’s parshah (Torah portion) is Exodus 25:1-27:19, or T'rumah (תרומה / “Gift”). We learn about the intricacy of the building of the Mishkan (משכן / Tabernacle), which was the structure of sorts serving as a sanctuary or dwelling-place of G-D for the Israelites in the desert. Surely any edifice claiming to house the very essence of G-D should be nothing short of perfect, and it certainly seems that the Israelites went all out. From the description outlined in the Torah, one can easily get lost in the various precious stones, luxurious metals, and opulent materials that were a part of the assembly of the Mishkan. All of the measurements are drawn out precisely, and the artwork and decorations is so clearly illustrated. Truly, the description is of a glorious construction that requires a vivid imagination to fully envision. The imagery in this week’s parshah is so fantastically alluring and enticing.  

However, it amazes me most that such a beautiful structure, the Mishkan, is meant to be disassembled and rebuilt at a new stopping point, for the Israelites were wandering the desert at this time. This concept of such an important place’s portability has always been quite difficult for me to grasp. The need for a religious center dedicated to various sacrificial offerings and spiritual connection with G-D is understandable, but did it have to be so ornate…so lavish? Everything is outlined so intricately in these chapters of Torah, and all for some structure that constantly needs to be rebuilt over and over again. I also get that the Israelites were in the middle of Exodus and all, so the need for portability is apparent, but to carry around the building blocks of such an elaborate and meaningful structure – indeed the very House of G-D – seems impractical, unreasonable, and so very wasteful of limited resources.

However, this time reading the parshah, I think I finally connected with T'rumah in thinking about my own Jewish journey. After my Bar-Mitzvah, my family grew disconnected from our synagogue, and so went my only source of connection to my faith and heritage besides passed-down familial customs. We changed synagogues, but I didn't really have time get acquainted with the new house of worship. I felt spiritually lost and religiously homeless between innumerous bouts of institutionally-supported anti-Semitism in grade school and the lack of a strong Jewish community with whom to connect. San Antonio was my Egypt: a barren place without food and water for my Jewish soul, and it is the starting point of my initial exodus. Somehow, though, I always found a way to carry a connection to my ancestors and to my faith, to my people and to my religious conviction. I just needed the right setting.

When I made the decision to go to GW for undergrad, I became eager to discover a vibrant young Jewish community on the East Coast, and I found a home in Hillel, a center for Jewish life for the college community. The actual place itself was … well … different – a converted building where the ceiling tiles were falling apart, the walls were slightly discolored from various unknown liquids, and the carpets desperately needed to be replaced. A few decorations, mostly handmade, adorned the bulletin boards with cute but schmaltz­-y jokes to convince the reader to go to next week’s themed Shabbat or go to a DC hotspot with fellow Members of the Tribe. Some random tenants lived on the floor above the Conservative prayer hub I frequented each week, and the building made all sorts of random noises (especially in the downstairs dining hall). However, in this very building, I found a place to finally nurture my religious soul, at the time so infantile in its development. In the company of other Jews, I finally found a place to freely grow as a Jew and felt comfortable to spiritually and religiously discover myself.

I was initially quite saddened to depart such a community when I uprooted for medical school in Dallas. But now through Makom, a Jewish community in Dallas which successfully takes away with synagogue and keeps the faith and customs in non-traditional locales, I continue to embrace my Jewish development. But forget Hillel…Makom’s personal building is literally nonexistent! For awhile, the rabbi held services and other functions in his backyard, and now that the community is growing so large, we now use a place meant to be customized and decorated by the renter of the space. Bleached white walls with dry-erase marker decorations and a few essentials allow one to create a new locus from scratch, and, in an indescribably awe-inspiring way, guests themselves create the entire ambiance. Through the community of other young Jews and the perhaps most basic of architectural structures, I continue to find immensely deep meaning in the development of my Jewish identity.

I am a wanderer. My traditions, cultural ties, religious practices, and spiritual connections have changed dramatically as I have entered adulthood. And honestly, I predict they’ll continue to shift further as I enter new stages of my life. I struggle in that I don’t identify firmly in a denomination of mainstream Judaism, or even in the Judaism of my own family anymore. Furthermore, from San Antonio, to DC, to Dallas, to wherever the National Resident Matching Program algorithm chooses to send me for my time in residency, I have multiple times had to pick up (and will continue to pick up) my faith and relocate….re-center…readjust. And yet, I do not fear the future transition, for I have survived and thrived in what are, objectively, the strangest of places. My growth has certainly not been found within the walls of the beautiful synagogues that define the traditional centers of modern Judaism.

T'rumah tells the story of the Israelites who are commanded to erect the ever-portable Mishkan, the spiritual center of religious activities, as fate carried them through the desert. But what if the Mishkan was truly with them all along? Perhaps the dwelling place of G-D was said to be the Mishkan because it is in the Mishkan where the Israelites opened the doors of their hearts to welcome G-D’s presence…just like an old, run-down building or a blank white room is where I have allowed G-D to enter my life. In such way, T'rumah gives me comfort that, wherever I may go in this life as a proverbial Wandering Jew, I carry with me my own mishkan where I can establish home base to reconnect with G-D and my faith...and it is a lot less stuff to schlep around. 

Dear Bubbe (Five Years Later)

Dear Bubbe,

I still can’t believe it has been five years. Mourning has gotten a bit easier as I have stayed busy in medical school, but I doubt it will ever dissipate entirely. You really have no idea how much you have shaped me, and how much you mean to me. I wish I were mature enough before you died to tell you and show you.

Writing these letters to you every yahrzeit has brought about a variety of feelings. Of course, I’m saddened that you aren’t able to be with me as I progress through my education and grow into adulthood. You were my rock, my dear friend, and my safe space. Guilt too … in that I should have written to you more often; I will carry that weight perhaps for a lifetime. But, I also feel reconnected to you as I remember so many fond memories: feeding the geese at Druid Ridge, visiting Zayde at the cemetery, and family reunions at the Suburban House (before they had the fire) or at Carol’s house for various chagim. Somehow, I can’t help but sense your presence when I’m writing. I feel as if I am having a conversation with you right now, and if I looked up from my computer, I would see you sitting on your beloved dark fuchsia chair with the heating pad doing a crossword in the guest bedroom of your apartment. I’m not sure how to describe it ... it’s like a mixture between hopeful innocence, fond nostalgia, and woeful regret … a sunken feeling in the chest, a heavy heart, all with tears of pride and love.

I still have that photo of you on my desk in my bedroom. Every time I see it, I am reminded of the time I was looking at that picture of you from your twenties in your apartment, and you turned to me and said, “Yeah, your Bubbe was hot stuff back in the day!” I still get a chuckle from that.

Writing these letters has made me try to stay connected with family and friends, although I am still figuring it all out in the craziness of medical school and my career path occupying the vast majority of my time.

It has been a rollercoaster of a year for me. Medical school has taken quite a toll on me, to be honest. I knew it would be hard, but I never in a million years imagined the struggle I am currently experiencing in school. But, I know someday, it will be worth every test, every page in my syllabus, the sleepless nights, and the truckloads of coffee I’ve needed just to survive. Stepping foot in a clinic or hospital re-energizes me. Talking with patients, realize their ailments, and finding solutions…it’s all still so meaningful! You told me to stay in school and pursue my dreams, and I have no intentions of stopping any time soon! I am still so very passionate about geriatric medicine as you know. Recently, I have toyed with the idea of becoming a medical director of a nursing home or hospice center. Perhaps I am truly meshugene, but I have deeply enjoyed learning about end-of-life care and non-hospital medical care systems (including the “old-fashioned” house call)! As I’m learning more about the American healthcare system, I have been struck with the combined realization of an ever-growing aging population and politicians who rather see the elderly die than meaningfully fund their health or long-term care. Someone’s got to fix this problem, as we all deserve to die with dignity. I hope you would be proud of the journey I am undertaking, as many people in medical school and around the country do not see its value.

I have also been doing a lot of thought about my ties to my Jewish faith and heritage as of late. I mean, I always am, but I guess moreso than normal it has occupied my mind. The meaning of certain prayers, considerations of adopting various traditions, the tragedy of the progressive loss of Yiddish, worldwide and local expressions of anti-Semitism combating my confidence as a proud Jew…I really don’t have many people in whom I can confide to discuss these difficult things. For one, my immediate circle of friends in medical school are either not Jewish or don’t have a similar connection to Jewish faith to really appreciate such issues affecting me. I have Mom and Dad, of course, but it can be very difficult to open up to them about such affairs…mostly because they are so concerned about my general happiness that they’ll placate my tsuris instead of talk about it. Going to services alone on High Holidays this year tore at me immensely, as it reminded me very poignantly how alone I really feel. Whenever I think about a person with whom it would be ideal to talk out these worries, you come first to mind. There’s just so much about which I don’t know, so much I never appreciated until now (like standing for Mourner’s Kaddish this time of year), and I have deep, unanswered questions. You were so wise...somehow, you always knew what to say.

In other news, the proverbial “lovebug” bit me, and now I am figuring out the dating game, looking forward to the blessings of being a devoted husband and a father someday, and figuring out what I want in a lifelong partner. I know…I know…you told me to wait until after medical school to find love, but what can I say? Towards the end of your life, we started to have a conversation about finding love that I now so desperately wish we could finish. It’s hard reaching out to people, especially Mom or Dad, about love and women. But, from the few minutes we chatted, I learned so much that I am only recently appreciating. Thank you for your words of wisdom: as my Bubbe and as a strong, independent woman.

George is doing wonderfully as well! Oh Bubbe, your “buttons would pop right off your blouse” with naches for him, as you would say. His engineering project for school is really taking off—and he’s making waves in the job market…how exciting! (I’ll be honest with you though…if I had to tell you how his device worked, I would be farblunget. Your other grandson’s truly a genius, that one!)

Mom and Dad are alright too. They miss you so much.

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 you so very much, always and forever.

With all my love,
Herbert