This week we read the double portion of Acharei Mot and Kedoshim. Every year these Torah readings fall around the period of memorials: Yom Hashoah, the remembrance of the Holocaust and Yom Hazikaron, the remembrance of those who have died protecting the land of Israel and in acts of terror. Our portion begins with the phrase, “after the deaths of Aaron’s sons,” and then it continues to describe the rituals of atonement and the rules for living in and creating a holy community. If the passages are describing, in the main, the rules for atonement and community, why mention the death of Aaron’s sons? We have had several Torah portions between the occurrence of the deaths and these rituals, so why link them with the mention of Aaron’s sons’ deaths?

After trauma and suffering, pain and loss, it is sometimes difficult to move forward, to continue with life. We can become paralysed with grief, laden with the burden of the memories and the tragedy of our loss. This portion highlights that with Aaron’s loss of his two sons. When they die, the Torah tells us Aaron was silent, he had no words, he could not put into language the depths of his sorrow, there was nothing he could say. He separates himself from community and spends time alone. But now the Torah tells him: “turn back to life, it is time. Now you must be enfolded back into the arms of your community, you no longer walk alone. The rituals and structure of communal life will bring shelter, comfort, strength, you cannot remain in that place of intense sorrow, now is the time to allow the community to be with you, to support and love you and to help you on your journey back to the world.”

After the Shoah, after the horrific losses of loved ones in acts of violence, war, terror, there are often no words, there is silence, shock, and pain. The weight of the loss can seem insurmountable. But then we, like Aaron, are called upon to slowly return to life, to allow community to be there with us and for us. There can be strength and comfort in community, in knowing others have walked a similar path, that they too have struggled and from the depths of that place, a hand will reach down to pull us back to our home. For Aaron in our parasha, as well as others who have suffered trauma or loss, there is a need to be together in community, to be surrounded by others who care, who are with us in our pain, in our struggle as well as our happiness and times of blessing.

At the end of the funeral service we say to the mourners: “now go forth to life.” We acknowledge that it is a life changed forever by our loss, our struggle, but healing and comfort can come from connection with others, the structure of rituals, communal life and being part of something greater than ourselves. I hope that we can all find the strength of community with us, the beauty of connection with others and we can be there for one another always.

This week, in the parasha Tazria-Metzora, we encounter a strange phenomenon, the rash, many times mistranslated as leprosy. There are many instances of it occurring in the text, from Miriam when she gossips about Moses’s wife, to mysterious occurrences on buildings or clothing. What we never get is a clear reason for why it occurs. The rabbis have tried to tease out rationales and almost universally use gossip as the culprit. There are a few issues with this explanation; number one being that there is no clear indication in the text that gossip is indeed the cause. Furthermore, it is important to remember that tzarat (the rash) is not a physical ailment and cannot be transmitted through the normal means of contagious diseases. It is a ritual affliction.

A very interesting possibility is raised in the midrash, a very early collection of rabbinic explanations of the Torah.

Rabbi Avin said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: The verse says ‘And if her means do not suffice for a sheep [she shall take two turtledoves or two pigeons] (Lev. 12:8), and what is written immediately after it? ‘When a person has on the skin of his body [a swelling, a rash or a discoloration] (Lev. 13:2). What does one have to do with the other? Said the Holy One of Blessing, ‘I tell you to bring a sacrifice for childbearing and you don’t do it; on your life, I will make it necessary for you to go before the Kohen, as it is written [about tza’arat diagnosis], ‘It shall be reported to Aharon the Kohen’ (Lev. 13:2)….(Vayikra Rabbah15:6).

The rabbis are putting forth an idea that we get afflicted with tzarat, not because of anything we did, but because of the things we did not do. We want to assume that we have control over our lives, but how many times has it happened that events prove to us otherwise? An illness or unexpected surprise? An accident? Any number of things that continue to illustrate conclusively that we are not always in control. Yet, the rabbis are not simply showing us that we are not the active agents in our lives. True, there are events that we cannot control, but there are also many elements we do control. The rabbis are forcing us to accept that our reactions to those events are absolutely within our control. The way we speak to, or act towards our neighbors is absolutely within our power. The manner in which we cope with sudden changes in our lives is under our direction.

This idea is probably best illustrated by the serenity prayer:

          God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

          The courage to change the things I can,

          And wisdom to know the difference.

I pray this week that we accept that there are things we have no control over, but that is not license to abdicate control over everything. Using the gifts we have been granted, let us continue to act in such a way that brings us closer to one another and to the almighty.

This Shabbat falls before Yom HaShoah, which begins Saturday night. At the end Survivors came out from hiding, from the forests where they had been fighting in the resistance and from the camps of horror from which they had been liberated. While finally free, they were not fully safe – thousands were murdered upon return to their homes. Liberation led them to discover the losses they had suffered, often the only ones left alive from hundreds of members of their families. To this day, we struggle how to process this tragedy, this affront to humanity – six million innocents brutally murdered solely because they were Jews. The heights the Jewish people reached in Germany in the 19th and beginning of the 20th century added to the shock of the Shoah.

With these contemporary thoughts, we read Parasha Shemini, telling of events that occurred just one year after the Exodus from Egypt. In that time after liberation from slavery, our people stood at Sinai, experienced the presence of God, heard words of Torah, and erected the Tabernacle exactly according to the instructions given to Moses. The book of Exodus ends on a glorious and harmonious note echoing the beauty and order of the story of creation with which the book of Genesis opens, similar to the heightened status of our people at the beginning of the 20th century in Germany. Leviticus, the third book of the Torah opens with a discussion of the service of the priests in the Tabernacle, with our Parasha Shemini telling of the ordination of the priests and the dramatic dedication ceremony of the Tabernacle. This is the pinnacle of our people’s experience since the time our ancestors have been promised to be a great nation in the holy land. It is the moment where “the glory of God” will appear to them.

Just at the height of the ceremony, being conducted by Aaron’s four sons, two of them, Nadav and Abihu, die suddenly. The community is in shock. Some try to blame, some try to explain. In fact, for thousands of years there has been much rabbinic commentary analysing the event. Some blame Nadav and Avihu for doing something wrong, for being transgressors who have been punished with death. And others speak of them as being so holy that at this exquisite moment they leave their bodies behind, their souls ascending directly to God. Aaron remains silent.

Silence is sometimes the best and most authentic response. After the Shoah, as with the death of Nadav and Abihu, there were also many who jumped in to offer their explanations of the event. There were rabbis who said punishment occurred because of the sins of the people; there were others who said “God was dead”, and as time passed, others extolled the victims as holy martyrs. Perhaps more than an explanation of “why” horrible events happen it is important to remember the book by Harold Kushner, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. When tragedies occur, it is better not to explain with words, but to respond with deeds.

We think with gratitude of all who gave their lives and all who served to defeat tyranny. At this time when recall the horror of the Shoah and see to this day horrific deeds continually perpetrated by humanity, we should recall our obligations: to comfort those who are bereaved and to protect with justice those who are still persecuted. There is a time to speak with deeds, not words.

This Shabbat we are in chol hamoed Pesach and the Pesach story has a large focus on women. So many pivotal moments during our people’s liberation from slavery hinged on the actions of women: Israelite and non Israelite, courageously stepping forward, doing what was right, being beacons of justice in a dark and cruel world.

Our first encounter is with the midwives, Shifra and Puah. These women stood up to the Pharaoh, the highest authority in the land and refused to follow his decree to kill the male Hebrew babies. Their resistance, even when called before the Pharaoh, is a model of strength, courage and defiance.

Next came Yochevet, Moses’ mother. She made the impossible choice that so many women have faced through history, giving up her child to save his life. Placing him in a basket of reeds, hoping and praying that someone would take pity on him and give him a chance at a future which she could not provide. That future was ensured by his adoptive mother, the Pharaoh’s daughter. The Torah does not give her a name but the tradition calls her Batya, daughter of God. She knew that she was taking a Hebrew child into her heart and her home. She knew that by rescuing and raising him she was defying her father’s decree but she reached out anyway and did what was right. She saved a life, and much of the man that Moses became, the man who fought for justice for others, who was moved by the oppression of the taskmasters and who felt compassion for the slave people, was because of the influence of his mother, who she was, the values she taught him. And finally Miriam, Moses’ sister, beloved by her people, the nurturing presence, the one who celebrated freedom by leading her people in song and dance, filled with joy and gratitude. These women are each role models for us of the values of Torah, living a principled life no matter what the challenges, standing up for what you believe and creating a better world.

And also this Shabbat we commemorate Yom HaGevurah, the Shabbat before Yom Hashoah where we remember all those who were murdered during the darkest days of humanity. We think of those who like Yochevet, had to make impossible choices, those who suffered and all those who were killed at the hands of the most evil of regimes. We remember those like Shifra and Puah and Batya who defied the laws, who reached out and helped, saved, rescued, those who refused to comply, who risked so much to shelter others, to fight the forces of darkness and to create a different reality. We remember this Shabbat the millions who were murdered, whose lives were cut short: men, women, children, all still in our hearts, here with us as we remember.

Zichronam livrecha May their memories be for a blessing

This week’s Torah reading discusses the role of the priests with regards to sacrifices of animals and grains in the Sanctuary. The voice of the prophets is brought in to remind us that, even in ancient times, the emphasis needed to be on doing acts of kindness and compassion rather than dwelling on the external façade that sanctuary sacrifices could become.

Amos the Prophet said in the name of God, “Even though you bring Me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them… But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never failing stream.” Jeremiah the Prophet quoted God, saying: “I am God, who practices kindness, justice and righteousness on the earth; it is in these things I delight.”

The sacrifices were important however they needed to be done in the right spirit, with authenticity. They also needed to be done by people who were genuinely endeavoring to bring goodness into the world as well as performing rituals.

This is connected to the importance placed on intention behind actions and the importance of backing up good intentions with actions in the world.

The word for sacrifice in Hebrew, korban, is connected to the word for closeness, karov. The sacrifices of ancient times were designed to give people a way to experience closeness with the divine. Sacrifices were also an opportunity to give something up – an animal or part of a harvest – and in so doing, renounce ownership of something. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that this was an opportunity for each person to understand the ephemeral nature of ownership and that we are “no more than trustees or guardians” of the things we “own”.

After the Temple was destroyed, other forms of renunciation were substituted: giving charity, learning and prayer are all opportunities to become closer to the divine if done with a pure intention. But, closer to the divine does not just mean feeling holiness, it means bringing holiness and goodness into the world, each person in their own way. This week we are invited to consider what we sacrifices we make in our lives and whether we are willing to make more sacrifices for the sake of improving ourselves and the world.

With Pesach only a few days away, we think about the Festival of Freedom and the number of people who have limited freedom at this time.

May each of us be inspired to help others and ourselves gain new levels of freedom, knowing that true freedom comes with responsibilities and limitations.

This week, we begin a section of the Torah that many find difficult to relate to. Many relate easily to the stories of the first families in Bereshit (Genesis), or the soaring triumph of the Exodus, but in our lives today, what possible connection can we have with the idea of animal sacrifice? Our disconnect possibly is rooted in the misunderstanding of the word sacrifice.

Rabbi Gunther Plaut, in his commentary on Vayikra, writes the following: Today the word “sacrifice” means an act of self-deprivation. We give up something of value for the sake of a greater value:

we may sacrifice a vacation to make more money, or sacrifice luxuries in order to educate our children, or sacrifice life for nation or faith. Such a sacrifice is deemed regrettable, even though necessary; if we could attain the larger end without the sacrifice, we should do so. Prudence therefore counsels us to make a sacrifice only after careful deliberation and to sacrifice no more than is needed to attain our goal.

That is not what the ancients meant by sacrifice. To them it was a religious rite, most often a joyful one. The offering was as large and choice as the worshiper could afford to make it. It was always a sacrifice to some deity or power – not – as in our usage – a sacrifice for some end. The sacrifice might indeed be offered in the hope to obtain a favor, or warding off disaster, or of achieving purification from ritual defilement or sin. But just as often, perhaps more often, it was an expression of reverence and thanksgiving.

We should note that the term sacrifice comes from the Latin word meaning “to make something holy. The most common Hebrew equivalent is Korban, “something brought near” i.e. to the altar.

This beautiful connection, to bring closer to, or to come closer to, is the actual purpose of the rituals described in such detail in the book of Vayikra. The method today obviously has changed, but the ultimate goal is an attempt to bridge the gap between God and us.

We give of our time and energy, to our loved ones, to our friends, and to our community, not as an expense to be paid or a burden to shoulder, but something we joyously and freely choose to do.

By altering how we perceive the idea of sacrifice, and all it entails, we hopefully can connect to our history and tradition a bit more, by understanding the motivations, and seeing that today, we practice in much the same manner as our ancestors did, in thought, if not in deed.

At the very beginning of Vayakhel, in the 2nd verse of chapter 35 we read:

Sheishet yamim tei’aseh melacha u’vayom hash’vi’ih yi’yeh lachem kodesh Shabbat Shabbaton la’Adonai … On six days, work may be done, but the seventh day shall be holy for you, a day of complete rest for God …

Shabbat is an integral part of our lives as Jews. It is the only ritual that is mentioned in the Ten Commandments, and it is mentioned more often in the Torah than any other mitzvah. Shabbat is a showcase for core Jewish values. It has a special place in our lives. After all, it occurs every week, whilst virtually every other holiday occurs just once a year. Shabbat is considered to be the most important day in the Jewish calendar, even more important than Yom Kippur.

The punishment for desecrating Yom Kippur is chareit (excommunication). As we read further on in the verse mentioned above, the punishment for desecrating Shabbat is death.

If we look at Shabbat from the point of view of observance and tradition, we see that the Shabbat has two tractates of Talmud (Shabbat and Eruvin) dedicated to it, as well as just under 200 chapters in the Shulchan Aruch, the Code of Jewish Law. However, it is the next verse (verse 3) that can be viewed as one of the greatest bases for debate about Shabbat, possibly more than any of the above sources. It reads; “Lo-t’va’aru aish b’chol moshvoteichem b’yom haShabbat.” (You shall not kindle fire in any of your dwellings on Shabbat).

This verse, which is then followed by all the details pertaining to the Mishkan, is one of the foundations used for the 39 categories of work prohibited on Shabbat, developed by the Sages. Included in these laws, are the prohibition against kindling or extinguishing a fire (as explicitly mentioned in this week’s parasha), and subsequently cooking and baking as a category, even if they don’t require fire, or even if the fire was lit before Shabbat. Very rigid, and very prescriptive.

However, not every commentator is in agreement with the extreme rigidity and lack of ability to interpret this verse.

Regarding this commentary in the Stone edition of the Tanach says the following; “The Oral Law makes clear that only the creation of a fire and such use of it as cooking and baking are forbidden, but there is no prohibition against enjoying its light and heat. Deviant sects that denied the teachings of the Sages misinterpreted this passage, so they would sit in the dark throughout the Sabbath, just as they sat in spiritual darkness all their lives.”

Perhaps what this commentary is saying is that it is unnatural for us to ignore the fire, as a natural source of light and warmth, and that those who do so, are depriving themselves of enjoying their Shabbat experience. They chose to focus on the negative and restrict themselves.

As Jews living in the 21st Century CE, we have the ability and authority to provide our own interpretation on these kinds of debates, to enhance our experience of Shabbat through the laws and commentaries provided to us. Just like Irving Stone has done in his commentary, we too should look to these laws as ways of enhancing our Shabbat experience in ways that are special to us. The Torah is a living document, it is up to us to allow it to enliven our world.