Rabbi Neal's Weekly Commentary

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger 

Copyright 2010 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Pinchas

In the Torah portion Pinchas, we begin with an accounting of families and tribes, continue with the changes demanded by the daughters of Zelophechad, set the stage for Joshua to succeed Moshe, and end with many laws regarding many of the ancient offerings: Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh, and the yearly holidays.

Greetings at the end of a beautiful week!

The end of this week’s Portion is a long list of special offerings- bulls, lambs, rams, wine and flour- made in the Mishkan, or portable Sanctuary, daily and on special occasions. The direct connection with our prayer service is in the musaf, or additional prayer, recited on Shabbat and the holidays. In the musaf prayer, we take the text describing the ancient offerings and recite it as if the words were the offerings themselves. Thus, on Shabbat, the core of the musaf prayer is the law of the Shabbat service in the Mishkan:

“On the sabbath day: two yearling lambs without blemish, together with two-tenths of a measure of choice flour with oil mixed in as a meal offering, and with the proper libation —  a burnt offering for every sabbath, in addition to the regular burnt offering and its libation.” (Bamidbar/Numbers 28:9-10)

When discussing musaf prayers, many commentaries bring a text from the prophet Hosea:  “Take with you words, and return unto the LORD; saying: ‘Forgive all iniquity, and accept that which is good; so will we render for bullocks the offering of our lips’ ” (Hosea 14:3)

This idea- that we offer words in place of agricultural sacrifices- allows us to have a direct historical and theological link to the ancient practices of our Biblical ancestors, and for many Jews, myself included, that sense of historical continuity is itself spiritually grounding and broadening. Other commentators say that the ancient offerings were expressions of gratitude for the blessings of the land, and while most of us may not have bulls and rams in our backyard, we are no less dependent on the blessings of the land than our ancestors were, and therefore no less obligated to cultivate an awareness of that interdependence with nature and express humble gratitude for it.

Yet musaf isn’t only about the past (our ancestor’s practice) and the present (our gratitude for our blessings.) It’s also about the future, since most traditional versions of the prayer include the hope that someday we will return to Jerusalem to once again make these offerings as before. Because of that, some prayerbooks omit, abridge or modify the musaf prayer; for example, the Conservative prayerbook Sim Shalom uses language of once again worshiping where our ancestors did, rather than how our ancestors did.

For me, the traditional language of restoring sacrificial offerings doesn’t pose a dire theological dilemma, because I understand the language of the prayerbook as poetic and evocative in its use of images. I don’t literally want to restore offerings of bulls and rams, but the image of doing so allows me to imagine that the pain and brokenness of two millennia in exile have been totally healed and our people fully renewed and made whole.

I experience musaf as a powerful expression of faith and hope, a theological commitment not to ancient offerings but to overcoming cynicism and despair. Reading the headlines, it’s often impossible to believe that someday Jerusalem will be a place of perfect peace and utter joy for all her children, yet that’s what musaf asks us to imagine. There is no hope without imagination, yet with hope and faith, the world will be made new again.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Pinchas

We’ve just entered the “Three Weeks” between the 17th of the Hebrew month of Tammuz and the
9th of the month of Av; these three weeks are a sad and penitential
period, culminating in the 9th of Av [Tisha B’Av], a memorial day of
fasting for the disasters of Jewish history.

As a way of evoking reflection in this semi-mourning period, the three
haftarot of the “Three Weeks” are prophetic texts which rebuke the
Israelites and call them to account for their misdeeds. This week’s
haftarah is from the book of Yirmiyahu, or Jeremiah, and comprises the
opening passages of the book, in which the prophet receives his
commission to preach difficult words to his people.

Like Moshe, Yirmiyahu doesn’t feel qualified to speak as a prophet,
but is given two visions: the branch of an almond tree and a “steaming
pot,” to impress upon him the importance and meaning of his task.
(Jer. 1:11-14) The “steaming pot tipped away from the north” seems to
symbolize the trouble that will come from the north, in the form of
invading armies (that’s not the only interpretation, but we’ll leave
further discussion for another day), but why would the prophet be
given the vision of an almond branch?

Let’s see the verse in context:

” The Lord put out His hand and touched my mouth, and the Lord said to me:

‘Herewith I put My words into your mouth.
See, I appoint you this day
Over nations and kingdoms:
To uproot and to pull down,
To destroy and to overthrow,
To build and to plant.’

The word of the Lord came to me: ‘What do you see, Jeremiah?’ I
replied: ‘I see a branch of an almond tree.’

The Lord said to me:
‘You have seen right,
For I am watchful to bring My word to pass.’ ” (Jer 1:9-12)

In Hebrew, the almond is “shaked,” which seems to be a pun on the word
for “watchful” (shoked) in the following verse. So on the most basic
level, the vision of the almond branch (or rod) is a kind of visual
metaphor: the prophet sees the branch and is reassured that God will
be “watchful,” that is, reliable or trustworthy, to bring about
accountability to the people.

However, this wouldn’t be the first time the rod of an almond tree has
appeared as an important symbol: recall Bamidbar/Numbers 17, where
Aharon’s staff blossomed with almonds as a sign that God had picked
him to become the priest. Not only that, but the Jewish Study Bible (a
great resource- go get it!) has a note in which we learn that
archaeologists found a pomegranate-shaped cap to a staff with an
inscription which indicated that it belonged to priests or Levites,
serving in the Temple. So with that piece of evidence, and the story
from Numbers, we might assume that the vision of the almond staff is a
way of signifying priestly authority, which in turn makes sense
because Yirmiyahu himself was a priest.

So maybe the vision of the almond staff is a way of telling the
prophet that his role as priest can no longer be merely ritual, but
must also include the moral message of repentance and return. Hirsch
points out that the word for staff or rod, “makel,” connotes not only
authority but also a means of correction or punishment, as when Bilaam
took his rod to strike his donkey. (Bamidbar 22:27)

Here’s how I put these interpretations together: as a priest,
Yirmiyahu was used to bringing people into the Divine Presence with
rituals and offerings. As prophet, however, he need to bring people
close with words of rebuke and a larger moral vision. The prophecy of
the almond rod means: you have just as much authority with your words
as you would with your rituals, as long as your words come from a
spiritual vision such that their true purpose is bring people back to
their Source.

Seen this way, the almond branch is itself a symbol of the richness of
a religious journey, which at times is contemplative or celebratory,
connecting with God in the manner of our ancestors and bringing great
beauty and depth to our everyday experience. Yet sometimes
spirituality requires great introspection, a “chesbon nefesh,” or
soul-accounting, in which we are called to examine ourselves and our
deeds and get back on the path if we’ve strayed. Both are good, and
neither is the sole component of spiritual growth. The vision of the
almond rod conveys to the prophet that sometimes a priest has to be a
prophet- sometimes we need deep rituals and sometimes we need bracing
words to connect to our Source.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Pinchas

This week we’re reading the Torah portion Pinchas, which has in its
latter section may commandments related to the Jewish calendar. Many
of these mitzvot are connected to the priestly rituals and thus no
longer operative but a few still are, including one which will be
familiar to many reading this:

“In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall
observe a sacred occasion: you shall not work at your occupations. You
shall observe it as a day when the horn is sounded.” (Bamidbar/
Numbers 29:1)

Seventh month, first day. . . hmm- sounds like Rosh Hashana, and this
verse is indeed one of the sources of the commandment to blow the
shofar on the New Year. (Cf. Vayikra/ Leviticus 23:24.) The textual
wrinkle is that our verse, above, doesn’t actually mention shofar- it
says that this day will be a “yom teruah,” or “day of horn-sounds,” as
it were. To connect “teruah” (a sounding of the horn) to “shofar” (the
kind of horn we use on Rosh Hashana), the rabbis rely on another
verse, Vayikrah 25:9, in which the two words appear together in
relation to the “Yovel” [Jubilee] year, in which servants are
released, debts are forgiven, and land is returned to its original
owners.

So right away shofar has positive associations: freedom, redemption,
justice. Another very interesting insight comes from Sefer HaHinnuch
(a medieval textbook of the commandments, which I’m paraphrasing a
bit), which points out that the shofar is a commandment based on a
particular physical object, but which has a spiritual purpose, that of
“arousing” or “awakening” [me’orer] a human being. Since human beings
are physical, embodied beings, we need a physical, tangible object to
awaken us, like soldiers being aroused for war by the sounding of
trumpets.

Sefer HaHinnuch goes on to say that we should be stirred up or
awakened on Rosh Hashana for the purpose of asking forgiveness for our
misdeeds and mercy from the Holy One. The shofar sound called “teruah”
is especially good for this because it’s “broken,” that is, a series
of short, quick sounds, “broken” like the broken heart of one who is
trying to do t’shuvah, or returning.

I think this insight is an important one: as humans, we are not
ethereal spiritual beings. If so, prayer and study itself might be
enough for Rosh Hashana. Everything we do is in our bodies- all our
acts of compassion and charity and caring and the baser deeds as well.
So we take a physical object- the shofar- and use it to speak to the
heart, thus integrating the senses and desires of the body with our
emotions and aspirations. It’s not one or the other, because we are
never spiritual beings without embodied existence. It’s always both
together, body and spirit, mind and heart, as one, always returning.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Pinchas

It’s summertime, and the leyning is easy. . . . well, only because
this week includes some passages which are often read in the synagogue
as the maftir (concluding Torah reading) on festivals and Rosh Hodesh,
the new month. Before we get to those passages, which describe the
daily and special offerings in the Mishkan, [portable Sanctuary], we
have the conclusion of the story of Pinchas, a genealogical review of
the Israelites, and the story of the daughters of Zelophchad and their
legal case to inherit from their father. After all that, including
instructions to Moshe on appointing his successor, the Torah turns
back to the regular operation of the Mishkan, where the hereditary
priests made offerings of animals, wine, grain and oil.

Chapter 28 begins with the daily offerings, called “tamid,” or
“continual” offerings, since they were done morning and evening, every
day:

“And you shall say to them: ‘This is the fire offering which you shall
offer to the Lord: two unblemished lambs in their first year each day
as a continual burnt offering. The one lamb you shall offer up in the
morning, and the other lamb you shall offer up in the afternoon. . . .
A continual burnt offering, as the one offered up at Mount Sinai, for
a spirit of satisfaction, a fire offering to the Lord.’ ”
(Bamidbar/Numbers 28 3-6, abridged.)

What’s interesting about this passage is the reference to Mount Sinai,
which seems a bit out of place and thus attracts commentary. The JPS
translation- found in the Conservative Etz Hayim Torah commentary-
solves the problem by translating “olat tamid ha’asuyah b’har Sinai”
as “the regular burnt offering instituted on Mount Sinai.” It is true
that the tamid was indeed “instituted” on Mt. Sinai- that is, we got
the instructions for it along with the other laws of the Torah- but
it’s equally plausible to translate the passage as it is above, which
would indicate that the daily offering in the Mishkan was like the one
done on or at Mt. Sinai.

So which one is that? Our friend Rashi offers two explanations (for
the price of one!) First, he says that this “tamid” offering was like
the one done at Mt. Sinai when Aharon and his sons were invested as
priests, way back in Exodus 29. Rashi’s second theory is that this
daily offering was like the one offered by Moshe and some young men at
the foot of the mountain, when the people all agreed to the Torah and
its laws- this is at the beginning of Exodus 24. Rashi actually thinks
this episode happened before the Torah was given, even though in the
text it occurs some four chapters later- that’s a discussion for
another day.

S. R. Hirsch makes the connection between the daily offerings, which
were consumed by fire, and the “consuming fire” which appeared on Mt.
Sinai when the Torah was given. (Cf. Exodus 19). Hirsch sees the
daily offerings as a kind of regular reenactment of the offerings at
Sinai, not only because of the symbolism of the fire, but also because
the people promised there to live by the Torah’s covenant- the daily
offerings are a tangible symbol of daily rededication to that promise.

I see all of these explanations as tied together by a common idea:
that the daily offerings were not only a reminder of what happened at
Mt. Sinai, but represent our desire to recreate as best we can the
experience of feeling the Divine Presence immanent to and transforming
our lives. Hence the symbolism of fire- fire transforms that which it
touches, for better or worse, and so too an authentic spiritual
experience has the potential to deeply change a person, should they be
open to it.

To put it another way, Sinai is the place where the Divine Presence
broke through to humankind and forever changed the course of human
history (imagine no Judaism, no Christianity, no Islam.) The daily
offerings were our attempt to reach back to God, to bring the Presence
into our midst, to keep the fires burning, as it were, so the insights
and spiritual energy of Sinai were not lost. (I also like the
implication of Rashi’s first theory that the daily offerings gave a
measure of priesthood to the entire nation.)

What was true for our ancestors is true for us: regular spiritual
practices of prayer, study, and compassion are the discipline which
enable us to stay true to the powerful, transformative “Sinai moments”
which leave us humbled yet energized. Dramatic experiences of the
Divine don’t always happen right when we need them, but small,
recurring acts of spiritual practice open us up to the Sacred
Presence, over time, in no less powerful ways. Our offerings are not
agricultural, but of the heart and soul. Our prayers may be said in
Poughkeepsie, but they raise us up and calls us toward the sacred, no
less awesome and holy as the offerings of Moshe and the dedication of
Aharon.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Pinchas

I send this to you on a day of mourning, the 17th of the month of
Tammuz, observed as a minor fast day in commemoration of the breaching
of the walls of Jerusalem a few weeks before the destruction of the
second Temple. Rabbinic tradition also associates other tragedies with
this day, but given the current events on the northern and
southwestern borders of Israel, we hardly need to add much to a day
spent in sadness over the “breaching of the walls.” May there be peace
in Lebanon, Israel, Gaza, and throughout the world, and may this
week’s Torah commentary be a prayer for peace for all peoples.

Unfortunately, Parshat Pinchas doesn’t start out in a very peaceful
way- Pinchas, the priest, is praised for an act of violent religious
zealotry, which we’ll discuss another time. (See also a commentary by
R. Alpert on myjewishlearning.com, linked below.) A census is taken,
some laws are straightened out with daughters of Tzlofchad, and then
Moshe is told that he won’t take the people into the Land because of
the incident of striking the rock at Meribah. Moshe then pleads with
God to appoint a worthy successor in his place:

“Moshe spoke to the Lord, saying: ‘Let the Lord, God of the spirits of
all flesh, appoint someone over the community, who shall go out before
them and come in before them, and who shall take them out and bring
them in, so that the Lord’s community may not be like sheep that have
no shepherd.’

And the Lord answered Moses, ‘Single out Y’hoshua son of Nun- there is
spirit in him – and lay your hand upon him. . . ‘ “(Bamidbar/ Numbers
27:15-18, modified JPS translation.)

The key word in these passages is “ruach,” or spirit- Moshe calls God
the “God of the spirit of all flesh,” and God replies by assuring
Moshe that there is “spirit” in Y’hoshua [Joshua.] “Ruach” can mean
“spirit,” in the sense of “soul,” as we’d use the word today, but can
also mean “breath,” as in the “breath of life” which God put into
humankind. Obviously, these are related meanings- what makes us human
is a spark of the Divine, our capacity for moral choice and spiritual
growth.

The true “breath of life” is not merely our biological existence- as
miraculous and awe-inspiring as that is- but also our ability to
become self-aware as spiritual beings, which to me means growing over
time in compassion, humility, awe, generosity, forgiveness, and
reverence. Those are among our “spiritual” or Godly traits, the spark
of the Divine within us.

So when Moshe calls God, “the God of the spirit of all flesh,” we can
understand this to mean: “appoint somebody who understands that they
have Your spirit within them, so that they will act in ways that are
worthy of of the spirit You have given them.”

Rashi’s interpretation of God’s reply fits with this context:

“there is spirit in him. . . As you requested, so that he [Y’hoshua]
will go with the spirit of each one [person]. ”

What Rashi implies is this: because Y’hoshua was a spiritually aware
person, he had the potential to treat other people as though they,
too, were unique spiritual beings, each entrusted with the Divine
capacity for choosing compassion and justice. That’s what true
leadership requires: somebody who will regard others as ends in
themselves, not as means to some other end, be it political, military,
or national. Of course, this is true on a smaller scale, as well:
precisely to the extent that we seek the Presence of God within
ourselves, we will see it in others, and treat them accordingly.
(The reverse is true too!)

My hope and prayer in this broken world of bombs and kidnappings and
conflicts of all sizes is that leadership will arise with spirit in
it- that is, women and men will be called forth by their communities
who see in themselves and all others the Image of God, linking every
human to every other. The spirit of God transcends our conflicts, but
only if we see it in ourselves and each other. Let’s open our eyes.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

PS- as usual, a summary and further commentary is found on the first
link, and the text of the portion and haftarah in the second link. The
commentary from Rabbi Alpert- my former Hillel boss in Philadelphia-
addresses some of the problems in the Pinchas story:

http://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Weekly_Torah_Commentary/pinhas_index.htm

http://www.jtsa.edu/community/parashah/index.shtml

For more about the 17th of Tammuz, the Three Weeks before Tisha B’Av,
and other minor fast days, go here:

http://www.myjewishlearning.com/holidays/Minor_Fasts/TO_Minor.htm

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Pinchas

Today is a wondrous day!

Why?

Because I’m a week ahead in bringing you some Torah
commentary, that’s why. (Those who know me well know that I
recklessly laugh in the face of the strictest deadline.) Today
you’re getting next week’s Parsha study, and sometime next
week you’ll get two for the weeks ahead, while I’m travelling and
packing up.

With that, Pinchas! (The parsha read during the week of July 23.)
Pinchas is the name of a zealot who took the law in his own
hands and killed a couple whom he deemed to be defilers of
Israel’s morality- that happens at the end of parshat Balak. In
what seems to be a strange reward for an act of violence, at the
beginning of this week’s parsha God gives him a covenant of
peace and a share in the priesthood.

Then there is another census of the tribes, and a legal appeal of
sexist inheritance laws, brought by the five daughters of
Tzelophechad. (Say THAT ten times fast!) Moshe is told he will
die without entering the Land, and he authorizes Joshua to
succeed him. The portion ends with a review of the holidays and
their specific rituals in the Mishkan (portable Sanctuary.)

Perhaps the most poignant moment of the parsha occurs when
Moshe is told by God to ascend the mountain to view the Land-
the very Land he will not enter. In the midrash (rabbinic
commentaries), Moshe protests greatly, but in the Torah text
itself, he merely asks that God appoint a worthy successor:

“Moshe spoke to the Lord, saying: ‘Let the Lord, the God of
spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation, who will
go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them
out and bring them in, so that the congregation of the Lord will
not be like sheep without a shepherd.’ ” (Bamidbar/Numbers
27:15-17)

Many commentaries have pointed out Moshe’s selfless
benevolence: even at this moment of crushing personal
vulnerability and disappointment, he thinks of the community and
their need to have a brave and inspirational leader. Notice, too,
that Moshe addresses God in a most unusual manner: he calls
God “Elohai Haruchot l’kol basar,” or “God of the spirits of all
flesh.”

Usually, Moshe is rather direct in his speech, both to God and
human beings, so it seems out of character to have him speak
in rhetorical flourishes. Our teacher Rashi brings a lovely
explanation from an earlier midrash, an explanation which
connects Moshe’s special way of addressing God to the content
of his prayer for a worthy successor:

Here’s Rashi’s question and answer:

“Why is this [God of the spirits of all flesh] said? [Moshe] said to
God, ‘Master of the universe, the character of each person is
revealed to you, and no two are alike. Appoint over them a leader
who will tolerate each person according to his individual
character.’ ”

In this interpretation, “God of the spirit of all flesh” means that
God knows and appreciates the unique spirit of each individual,
and the leader of the people should do likewise.

That’s a beautiful prayer! Wouldn’t it be great if all of our
synagogues and schools and community programs were run by
people who had great love for the individuality of each person?
To put it another way, Rashi’s commentary contains a profound
truth: if we truly believe that each human being is in the Image of
God [to me, a metaphor for each life being part of the sacred
Unity of all life], then we must also believe that each person is
worthy of being known and respected as an individual, with their
own unique dignity and destiny.

I love Rashi’s teaching and all it implies, but maybe we can learn
a more basic lesson from the way Moshe called out to God.
Remember, by this point, Moshe has seen a lot of death and
sadness, from babies in Egypt to the wars and plagues along
the way, and even the deaths of his two siblings.

Now Moshe is being made unavoidably aware of his own
looming mortality, and he calls out to “God of the spirits of all
flesh.” In the awareness of death, Moshe calls out to God as the
animating principle of life itself. Precisely at the moment when
he is most aware of life’s fragility and preciousness, he names
God as the difference between life and death, being and
nothingness.

Perhaps Moshe is reassuring himself that the God of life will not
abandon him in death, or perhaps Moshe is thanking God for the
daily miracle of his human existence. In my own experience, just
at those times when I have been most aware of death, I have
also been most aware of the wondrousness of life. Life itself is
the ultimate miracle, and in reacting with awe and gratitude, we
recognize the sacred in all living things. Can any reaction other
than wonder and love be appropriate when contemplating “the
God of the spirits of all flesh?”

with wishes for a bountiful summer,

rnjl