This Week in Torah — Congregation Brit Shalom

March 11th: Pekude
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Scenes from the Infrastructure of Religion
Rabbi David E. Ostrich

The following story is told of the late Rabbi David Wolfe-Blank:

Reb David was ordained as a Chabad rabbi and specialized in working with young Jews who had strayed into Buddhism and Hinduism. He was able to convince many to return to Judaism. One day, he got a call from a mother who was desperate for her son to become Jewish again, and Reb David set out for the Zen monastery where the young man lived. As it turned out, the former Jew was no neophyte in Buddhism. He had been practicing it for a long time, and he was now the head of the monastery! The two spiritual teachers spoke of many things, but finally it got down to idolatry. How, Reb David protested, could a Jew practice the idolatry of bowing down before statues of the Buddha and praying to them? The Zen teacher explained that statues were not idols, and he proceeded to pick up a Buddha statue and toss it out the window. He then asked Reb David why Jews make the Torah an idol and bow to it. This question really challenged Reb David, and he began to doubt his own faith. He ended up leaving Lubavitch and entering Zen Buddhism.

A few years later, he happened to see a procession of Jews carrying their Sefer Torah from the synagogue to the Sofer, the Scribe who would fix the scroll and make sure all the letters were intact and distinct. They held their Sefer Torah with great affection and respect and with great feeling handed it over to the Sofer who received it and promised to take good care of their holy possession. The former Reb David noted this and thought about the idolatry they did not realize they were practicing. After the congregants left and returned to their daily routines, Reb David looked in through the window of the Sofer and saw something quite surprising. Though the Scribe had reverentially received the Sefer Torah from the congregants, he now unceremoniously plopped it onto a table filled with other scrolls waiting to be repaired. Reb David realized the difference between respect and idolatry—that our Torahs are not idols, and he returned to Judaism. He became a disciple of Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi in Jewish Renewal and a great and beloved teacher.

I was reminded of this story when I was visiting Safed, the city in northern Israel known for its mystical tradition. In the studio of photographer Yaacov Kaszenmacher, I saw a piece with a whole bunch of Torahs stacked on top of each other. I had to ask what it was, and here is what he told me. He was walking around in Safed one day and chanced into a synagogue while they were cleaning the Aron Hakodesh (the Holy Ark). They took all the Torah Scrolls out so they could go to work with cleaning supplies. They needed a place to put the scrolls, and a table seemed a good and safe spot. As holy as the Torah and the Ark are, they are physical items that need cleaning and maintenance. The spiritual value is paramount, but the physicality and practicality is necessary in order for the spiritual to be presented. (You can see this photograph in my office.)

In any spiritual endeavor, a lot of behind-the-scenes activity is necessary to keep things operating. In the case of our synagogue, there is much to do, and our whole religious enterprise depends on the officers and volunteers and employees who devote themselves to making sure that this holy place is open and ready for (holy) business.

I know all this from the Jewish perspective, but several years ago, I got a glimpse of the workings of another religion’s infrastructure. I was attending a funeral at an Episcopal Church, and it was extremely crowded—standing room only! In fact, the crowd had spilled out of the sanctuary into vestibules and storage rooms. I found myself in a group huddled in a side room with a bunch of cabinets. At one point in the service, they ran out of wafers and wine for communion, and they had to hurry through the crowd into this little storage room to get more Eucharistic materials. So, in addition to mourning for the deceased and trying to feel the holiness of the Christian service, I also found out that they kept their communion wafers in Rubbermaid plastic containers and that they used Gallo wine in half gallon bottles. In order for the spiritual to take place, practical matters needed attention.

Our Torah portion this week gives us a glimpse of the ancient religious infrastructure. While the portion concludes with the Presence of God coming down and filling the Mishkan, the bulk of the portion tells about crafting the tent, its furniture and utensils, and the uniforms for Aaron and his sons. The final chapter has Moses personally assembling the Tabernacle, “placing its sockets, setting up its planks, inserting its bars, and erecting its posts…spreading the tent over the Tabernacle, placing the covering of the tent on top of it.” He puts the Ten Commandments (both sets) into the Ark of the Covenant and sets up the Menorah and the table with the showbread. It’s all got to be done—physically, and the stretching and straining and lifting and maybe even jamming his finger or scraping his arm are all necessary for the holiness to take place later. Indeed, this physical labor is holy itself because it is part of the holy process.

These k’lay kodesh (holy vessels/utensils/tools) Moses assembles and arranges have a dual quality—being both holy and practical. At some level, their ceremonial role has to be temporarily suspended as the physical functioning is addressed. Sacred silver needs polishing. The Menorah needs to be cleaned out and filled with oil. Aaron’s vestments need to be brushed and inspected. And yet, there is also an ambiance of holiness when doing this physical labor.

When we work with our k’lay kodesh—doing the things necessary to provide and maintain our synagogue, we can share in the holiness of Moses and the Levites who made the Mishkan ready for God’s entrance.

March 4th: Vayakhel and Shekalim
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich

There’s a sense of déjà vu in this week’s Torah portion—or more accurately, a sense of repetition. All those instructions for the Mishkan that God gave Moses up on Mount Sinai—the materials needed and the plans for the tent, its furniture, and holy utensils—are now being given by Moses to the people. In Exodus 35, we read: “Moses then convoked the whole Israelite community and said to them…This is what the Lord commanded: take from among you gifts to the Lord; everyone whose heart is so moved shall bring these gifts for the Lord: gold, silver, copper, blue, purple and crimson yarns, fine linen, etc.”

While it is repetitive to us, it is not for the Israelites. This is the first they are hearing of the plans for the Mishkan, and the appeal is successful. The people bring the materials because their hearts are moved: they want to make God welcome in their midst. The special reading Shekalim (Exodus 30.11-16) makes the same point: motivations in our hearts can only become real when we back them up with constructive behavior—in this case, the shekels needed to keep the worship system operating.

With the necessary resources in hand, the next job is constructing and crafting the Mishkan. For this, God inspires and Moses appoints the artisans led by Bezalel and Oholiab. In both cases—Moses relating God’s instructions to the people and the artisans working God’s plans into reality—we are looking at a chain of transmission. Does Moses repeat God’s words exactly, or does he express them in his own words—with emendations, explanations, or adjustments? The same could be asked of the craftspeople. Do they do exactly as Moses and God instruct, or is there some adjustment—practical or aesthetic—that the actual crafting requires?

Most of us find it hard to follow instructions. Sometimes, it is our hard heads: we don’t like being told what to do. Often, however, it is a matter of having to adjust the theoretical instructions to the realities of the project at hand. To follow the military model, the general gives general orders and trusts the people down the chain of command to make the specific decisions that will make the general order a reality. Ultimately, I have been told, it is the sergeants who make or break any mission.

One of the biggest challenges in large organizations is for decisions in the upper echelons to be communicated effectively throughout. This challenge also operates in reverse: sometimes the realities of the workers are not properly understood up the ladder, and instructions and policies may not be as good as they need to be. This was the point of W. Edwards Deming and his Total Quality Management: people at all levels of the organization have knowledge of how the operation works, and their opinions and insights need to be factored into decisions.

My point is that not everything desired at every level can reach fruition. Not every dream or plan gets fulfilled. The chain of transmission results in changes, and the difference between drawing board and execution inevitably causes some level of disconnect.

Some commentators suggest that this is behind one of the first koshi’s (difficulties) in the Torah. Notice how Genesis 1 and Genesis 2 each tell a different version of the Creation. Modern scholars point to two separate and disagreeing sources, but some literalists speak of Genesis 1 (the Six Days of Creation) as God’s theoretical construction of the universe—the Divine drawing board—and Genesis 2 (the Garden of Eden) as being the actual execution of the plan. The differences are results of the move from design to construction.

One can see a similar dynamic in Genesis 3, with the story of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Though the Garden was designed as a place of permanent habitation, the humans could not follow the instructions (which, given our nature, may have been impossible), and God had to resort to Plan B. Not every intention goes according to plan.

I find this important to remember during the current political season. Politicians say all kinds of things during campaigns, but the reality of governing is often a mitigating factor. Many people expected President Obama to get rid of the Patriot Act’s security measures that some considered “a tyrannical assault on civil liberties pushed down our throats by the evil George Bush.” However, once in office and responsible for the security of our nation, President Obama oversaw not only a re-approval of the Patriot Act but a significant enhancement of it. Was the President a liar, or did his perceptions or perspective change? Was it the generally inevitable disconnect between plans/aspirations and practicality, or was it a nefarious betrayal? The same questions could be asked about the President’s current efforts to close the detention center at the Guantanamo Bay naval base. Was he lying when he said he would close it? Are the Republicans just playing politics? Or, is the problem just really hard to solve—really and truly hard? I remember reading remarks by both President Lyndon Johnson and Justice Lewis Powell about how their opinions on many issues changed once they assumed the mantle of power. Speaking for themselves and their peers was significantly different from acting on behalf of the whole country.

What about the promises being bandied about by the current Presidential candidates? Can Bernie Sanders’ utopian vision find any kind of expression beyond the rhetorical? Can the Republicans really push back the clock on Roe versus Wade and abortion rights? (A hint would be to look at Ronald Reagan’s record. Fervently anti-abortion and armed with two terms and lots of congressional support, he did nothing to stop abortion rights.) Will any of the other promises—both outlandish and reasonable—see fulfillment? Should they be filed under the label Hyperbole or perhaps the label Aspirational, and thus relieve us of any real hope or real concern? Will the craziness of the current campaign be matched by craziness in the Oval Office, or will the realities of governing mediate and bring the candidates back to earth?

Many Jewish commentators (and the Masonic Order) speak of the construction of the Mishkan and Solomon’s Temple as being an allegory for the construction of God’s Kingdom on earth. Jewish mystics speak in terms of making the earthly Jerusalem as perfect as the heavenly Jerusalem. There are dreams, and there are realities. May we keep our dreams realistic and work toward the godly here on earth.