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