Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day, begins April 18. This year, we’re celebrating the 70th anniversary of statehood and the vision of Zionist women like Henrietta Szold and Rose Halprin, who played powerful roles in building support for Israel and the creation of the Jewish state.
Three Ways to Celebrate Yom Ha’Atzmaut
As part of our celebration, Hadassah will host a special Yom Ha’Atzmaut Seder led by Dr. Etti Serok of the World Zionist Organization. Join us online on Facebook Live at 11:00 am (ET) — and learn about the Zionist Seder plate, Hadassah’s contributions to building and helping the State of Israel flourish, and more.
To commemorate this major milestone, Hadassah is asking you to share with us a word (or two) that embodies what you love most about Israel. Email us your words, and you might just see yourself on our social media. Happy Yom Ha’Atzmaut!
In honor of Israel’s 70th birthday, consider hosting a Zionist salon. Bring together friends, decorate with blue-and-white flags, eat some hummus, shakshuka or other Israeli foods and use author-historian Gil Troy’s The Zionist Ideas: Visions for the Jewish Homeland—Then, Now, Tomorrow — featuring excerpts from Hadassah Zionists past and present. Our customized Hadassah study guide (coming soon!) gives you everything you need to host a lively conversation and make your celebration meaningful. These salons are a great way to introduce potential members to Hadassah’s special kind of Zionism.
Saturday morning at 9:30 we will have matzo brei followed by a Yizkor service. Please join us for this traditional memorial service on the 8th day of Passover.
Pidyon haben (Redemption of the Firstborn) is an unusual Jewish ritual that commemorates the birth of a family’s firstborn child, when that baby is a son. Originally, firstborn sons were inducted into God’s service because they had been spared from the Egyptian plague of the firstborn.
However, when the Jews – firstborns included – built the Golden Calf, the firstborns forfeited their status as servants of God. The priesthood was transferred to the only tribe that did not participate in the construction of the Golden Calf: the Levites, and particularly to the descendants of Aaron.
Ever since, it has been traditional for firstborn males – in a ceremony known as pidyon haben, which typically occurs 31 days after birth – to be “redeemed” from God’s service by a Kohen, considered to be descendants of Aaron.
Pidyon haben is perhaps the rarest of all Jewish life cycle rituals because it can occur only under a perfect storm of circumstances: The child must be male, must be the family’s firstborn child, and must not have been delivered via Caesarean section.
My husband and I welcomed our son, Alexander Dov, on December 4. Although Alex met all the requirements for a pidyon haben, we were torn about whether to have the ceremony for him. At first, the idea of redeeming a newborn son to a Kohen seemed sexist and outdated, but then we thought about how infrequently the ritual takes place and struggled to find a modern context for it. We decided to explore ways to put a present-day spin on the tradition and use the ceremony as an educational opportunity for my congregation.
Our sages offer much commentary for carrying out the pidyon haben ritual. For example, the redemption of the child is traditionally completed by the exchange of five silver coins. In Numbers 18:15-16 we are told that the child is to be redeemed for five shekels, “by the sanctuary weight, which is twenty gerahs.” Since we do not know for sure what amount the shekel of the sanctuary amounts to in modern currency, the Rabbis suggest using the equivalent of 100 grams of pure silver. In the U.S., the custom is to use five silver dollars.
The pidyon haben ceremony affirms that a newborn belongs to God and the Jewish faith. As progressive Jews working toward repairing our world (tikkun olam), our first child also signifies our desire to build a family with an eye toward social justice. In addition to the symbolic ritual of exchanging the five coins, we celebrated Alex’s birth by giving tzedakah (using money to do the work of world-repair or, literally, justice) to five Jewish organizations that are significant to us – one for each coin. We hope that doing so will highlight our devotion to family, education, Israel, and the arts as one facet of welcoming welcome Alex into the Jewish community.
Although pidyon haben is specifically a male ritual, some progressive Jews have created a pidyon habat, adapting the ceremony for a firstborn daughter. As a Jewish woman who is deeply devoted to egalitarianism and the belief that men and women share equal responsibilities in the Jewish community, I researched why the redemption of the firstborn has historically been a male-centered ritual. Although redeeming sons and not daughters may seem sexist, the biblical reasoning applies only to males because in Egypt, only the firstborn males were in danger, which was why only they were redeemed in later generations. Furthermore, a pidyon haben was necessary after the building and worship of the golden calf. Women did not take part in this event directly (nor in any worship during that period), so they did not have to be redeemed into the service of God.
When viewed this way, a pidyon haben does not necessarily represent male superiority. Just as women today wear tallit (prayer shawls), tefillin (phylacteries), and kippot (yarmulkes) during worship, there is no reason a family couldn’t choose to have a pidyon habat as a symbolic gesture for a baby daughter. It is for precisely these reasons that we chose to have a pidyon haben for Alex: to commemorate tradition, to take advantage of a rare opportunity for a mitzvah (commandment), and to lay a foundation for him to live a meaningful life within the Jewish community and beyond.
Cantor Lauren Phillips serves Congregation Beth Israel in West Hartford, CT. She was ordained from the Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in May 2013; before that, she received her BA in music with a minor in communications and media studies from Tufts University and her MM in vocal performance from The Boston Conservatory. She is a proud member of the American Conference of Cantors.
In the first half of Parashat Sh’mini (Leviticus 9:1-10:11), we read about the awful fate of Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu. As sons of the High Priest, we would assume that the boys would know their way around holy matters. But, Nadab and Abihu brought an eish zarah, an “alien fire” as an offering to God, and “fire came forth from the Eternal and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord” (Leviticus 10:1-2). The juxtaposition of their heinous act with what follows in Leviticus 10:8-9, “And the Eternal One spoke to Aaron, saying: Drink no wine or other intoxicant, you or your sons, when you enter the Tent of Meeting, that you may not die,” leads us to the conclusion that the boys were drunk when they entered the Tent of Meeting. It was an obvious offense, but it wasn’t the only one.
Rashi, citing Rabbi Eliezer (Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 63a), teaches us that Nadab and Abihu died “only because they gave decisions on religious matters in the presence of their teacher, Moses.” The Gemara (Talmud) asks:
Is the disciple not liable to receive the death penalty if he issues his ruling not in the teacher’s presence?
This is the defining issue, whether or not the sons erred in their judgment because they were — or were not — in the presence of their teacher, Moses. Rabbi Eliezer presents the issue for us:
The sons of Aaron died only because they issued a halachic ruling before Moses, their teacher? What did they expound in support of their conclusion that they must bring fire inside as opposed to waiting for fire to come down from the heavens? It is (already) stated in the Torah: ‘And the sons of Aaron the priest shall put fire on the altar and lay the wood in order on the fire’ (Leviticus 1:7), which led [the sons] to say: Although fire descends from Heaven, it is nonetheless a mitzvah to bring ordinary fire.
Rabbi Eliezer concludes that although the sons derived their judgment from what they were commanded to do, “put fire on the altar and lay the wood in order on the fire,” they were punished for deriving a ruling in the presence of Moses, their teacher. And, what if one rules not in the presence of one’s teacher? Rava taught:
When he is not in the presence of his teacher, the student is prohibited to issue a ruling, but he is not liable to receive the death penalty [from Heaven] (Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 63a).
After the boys were consumed by fire, Moses says to Aaron, “This is what was meant by saying, ‘Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, and gain glory before all the people.’ ” Then Torah records, “Aaron was silent” (Leviticus 10:3). Aaron’s stunning silence has astonished readers ever since. Perhaps it’s the finality of God’s decree. Perhaps Aaron’s grief over his sons is not recorded. Perhaps it’s the finality we’ve all felt at times in our life when “we didn’t see it coming” or “we should have known better.”
Today, the “fear of heaven” doesn’t prevent us from deciding how we will choose to observe mitzvot for ourselves. Even so, there is an underlying principle found in our parashah that still guides us to choose wisely and unambiguously. In Leviticus 10:9-11, we learn, “This is a law for all time throughout the ages, for you must distinguish between the sacred and the profane, and between the impure and the pure; and you must teach the Israelites all the laws which the Eternal has imparted to them through Moses.”
Forever choosing between the “sacred and the profane,” and the “impure and the pure,” distinguishes us from those who would choose it all. The separation we make by choosing wisely places us on a straight path in concert with God’s covenant. It isn’t a formula for safety or prevention from tragedy; but, it does contribute to our mindfulness about our sacred obligations to our covenant with God.
In Torah, we’re called an am kadosh, a “holy people,” and an am s’gulah, a “treasured people” (see Leviticus 19:2, Exodus 19:5). These honors are not claims made lightly; they’re based on obligations that place us in a trusted relationship with God. Dr. Eugene B. Borowitz (z”l) taught that our covenant with God can orient us toward deciding and choosing well. The benefit is right and good living. Even if we fail, an integral part of our covenant, today, is the permission to repair our way and try again. Borowitz taught:
When we seek God as a partner in every significant act we invest our deciding and doing with direction, hope, worth, and, in failure, the possibility of repair.1
Though the parashah sees Aaron and his sons as holding high positions with commensurate standards for sacred living, we are, thankfully, not a kingdom of priests. We are also not an Israelite camp set apart by divisions that are holier than others. We are a Reform Jewish community that invests in the well-being and inclusion of all people. Those who bind their fate to ours by studying Torah, worshiping Adonai, and supporting the people Israel, have an equal responsibility to observe ritual and perform ethical mitzvot.
This portion of Parashat Sh’mini highlights the standards by which we may choose to live our lives and the consequences of those choices. Blessings find us when we avail ourselves of good choices; but, tragedy falls even on the unaware and innocent among us. Rather than condemn the biblical story for its severity, we would do better to accept the fact that our choices always have consequences and — to the extent that we can — to choose well.
1. Eugene B. Borowitz, Renewing the Covenant: A Theology for the Postmodern Jew (New York: JPS, 1991), p.169
In my congregation’s Tanach study group, we recently focused on the story of Samson in the book of Judges. As we began our discussion, I played a clip of the song “If I Had My Way,” written by Reverend Gary Davis. As we moved into the text, it was clear that verse and song play a major role in this tale. Samson supposedly “said” his short rhyme (Judges 15:16) about picking up a donkey’s jawbone and using it to defend himself against the attack of 1,000 Philistine men. However, because in that moment “the spirit of the Eternal gripped him,” I wondered if Samson had sung those lines.
In the next chapter, Samson’s hair has been cut off thanks to Delilah’s power to persuade Samson to share the secret of his strength. His eyes have been put out and it seems he is at the mercy of the Philistines – but not completely. When the Philistines gather at the temple of their god, Dagon, to celebrate this great triumph over their Israelite adversary, they sing to their god who has delivered Samson into their hands (Judges 16:23-24). Our study group noted that the text would have been complete without the song of the Philistines. Why were these short choruses, chanted by the people, preserved in this passage? We concluded that the singing heightened the drama of the moment. It wasn’t simply a quiet sacrifice before the people, but a time to “make merry” at their victory over the supposedly powerless Samson. It is clear to the reader, but not to the unsuspecting Philistines, that as Samson’s hair begins to grow back, he will have the strength to get back at the Philistines after they’ve made him dance for them.
We know the rest of the story. The lyrics of the Reverend Gary Davis’ song declare, “If I had my way, I would tear this building down.” And so Samson does. Samson’s action stands in contrast to the Philistines’ celebratory singing and dancing (a misguided celebration, in the view of the biblical author). In a way, Rev. Davis’ song can be viewed as a long-delayed answer to the Philistine chanting against Samson – a midrash that gives the Israelite strong-man one last chance to sing with resolve and power.
Song is powerful as an expression of faith and spirit, adding an extra dimension to well-worded prose, whether in the Bible or other sacred texts, and even in our daily lives. We have just finished the celebration of Purim and are approaching the observance of Pesach. What would these holidays be without song? Imagine Purim with no music and no Purim spiel. Imagine a Passover seder with no singing of the Four Questions, “Dayenu,” the Hallel psalms, or “Chad Gadya.” And what would these holidays be without newly-composed melodies and new songs that add meaning for us? On Purim, one of my favorite additions to the ‘Purim spiel in several verses’ genre is Cantor Aviva Rosenbloom’s “Megillah,” set to the tune of the Beatles’ “Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da.” For Passover, Debbie Friedman’s “The Plague Song” and the Allards’ “Ten Plagues in Egypt Land” take a potentially difficult text and offer a perspective that includes learning the lesson that hatred and prejudice have a way of coming back to those who espouse such views.
In a recent class with my seventh graders, we took a look at Psalm 51. Each time we recite the Amidah (standing prayer) in our worship, we begin with the best-known verse from Psalm 51, “Adonai, open my lips, that my mouth may declare Your praise.” Psalm 51 is noted as King David’s personal plea to God to ask for forgiveness and to forgive himself for the episode with Bathsheba. Canadian singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen practically wrote his own version of Psalm 51 with the song “Hallelujah,” which refers to this biblical story. Cohen speaks of “broken” hal’luyah, which appropriately describes those moments when we may feel unable or unworthy to praise God or to look positively at our lives. At those times, we especially need song and the voices of others singing with us to lift us up and to help us return to the joy of our lives.
Psalm 4 reminds us that God has put joy in our hearts. Whether on holidays, in worship, at times of need, or in moments of celebration, may we always remember to look into our hearts and “open our lips” to sing of the joy that is always within our reach!
Rabbi Larry Karol serves Temple Beth-El in Las Cruces, NM. A Jewish singer/songwriter, he has released two CDs of original Jewish music and a songbook. Rabbi Karol blogs at RabbiLarryKarol.blogspot.com.
This year, Parashat Tzav is read on Shabbat HaGadol, the great Sabbath preceding Passover. It is so called because we find in this week’s haftarah, from Malachi 3:23, “Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the great (hagadol) and awesome (hanora) day of the Lord.” With only a week before Passover, and out of great concern for the meticulous preparation that the Festival requires, it was once common to use the pulpit on this Shabbat to deliver a lengthy sermon to outline the rules for Passover. Today, preparations and last-minute questions for Passover are easy to access online for those who are relatively familiar with them and for those who will be leading a Seder for the first time.
All of us are commanded to observe the Festival with a seder and Festival services on the first and last days of the seven-day holiday (Exodus 12:14-17). But, are we commanded just as God told Moses, at the beginning of this week’s parashah,Tzav, “Command Aaron and his sons … ” (Leviticus 6:1), or are we commanded differently?
While the parashah outlines details of the sacrifices (for example, olah and musaf) that are obligatory on Festivals, we should ask ourselves what it means to be commanded in our time and place. We simply can’t assume that though we are commanded to make Passover, that we hear the commandment in the same way that our ancestors did in previous generations. The following three rabbinic scholars, in their generation, laid the foundation for us to identify how we might hear the commandment, the mitzvah, which was spoken by the Commander, the Metzaveh.
Rabbi Herman E. Schaalman (z”l) wrote that the voice of the commanding God can be heard as the “Commander,” the Metzaveh behind each mitzvah. He writes, “It all depends on whether I am ready to live my life in relationship to God, in response to Him (sic), in my acceptance of His being Commander and of me as His covenant partner.” It is as if Schaalman, himself, stood at Sinai, and said as the Israelites did, “naaseh v’nishma,” We will do and we will hear; commonly translated as, “All that the Eternal has spoken we will faithfully do!” (Exodus 24:7). Schaalman emphasized, “The number of mitzvot I thus choose to perform is not nearly as important as is the fullness of my awareness and intention, for it is likely that in time I may hear the authentic ‘voice of God’ in many more mitzvot than at first I could have imagined.”1
Rabbi David Polish (z”l) found meaning in mitzvah through the history and shared experiences of the Jewish people. He explained, “When a Jew performs one of the many life-acts known as mitzvot to remind himself (sic) of one of those moments of encounter, what was only episodic becomes epochal, and what was only a moment in Jewish history becomes eternal in Jewish life.”2 For example, in the singular moment of the ritual lighting of the Sabbath candles or participating in the Passover seder, we’re connected with Jews everywhere in the world, today, and with those who came before us in the past.
Therefore, for Polish, the source of mitzvah flows not only from a single commanding voice, but also from the sheer power and enormity of history, which persists in the ways we continue to do what we do. He concluded, “We are called upon to be in the world. Mitzvot enable us momentarily to transcend the world and, strengthened, to return to it as we must.”3
Finally, Rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn (z”l) wrote from a naturalist’s perspective in his commentary on Schaalman and Polish. Gittelsohn didn’t deny a Metzaveh as the source of the mitzvah in historic encounters between the Metzaveh and the Jewish people, but he made room for the Metzaveh to be a “Spiritual Energy, Essence, Core, or Thrust of the universe; not a discrete Supernatural Being.” He asked, “For the religious naturalist, who is the metzaveh? Answer: reality itself.” For the naturalist, mitzvot represent “the difference between talking or philosophizing about Judaism and living it. They bind him (sic) firmly, visibly, to his people and his tradition. They speak to him imperatively because he is Jewish and wants to remain so.” 4
Still others might feel commanded by their personal duty, rather than by an Eternal Commander (Metzaveh) to demonstrate our people’s legacy of and duty to the cause of freedom. Whatever the source of one’s motivation, it is inextricably bound to a unique moment in our collective narrative. Giving it expression through traditional symbols at Passover, even when it’s woven into a modern context in contemporary Haggadot, enables us to continue seeing ourselves as though we were once “slaves in Egypt,” too; and, that our duty is to bring the power of that redemptive moment into moments in need of redemption, today.
The Book of Leviticus will always challenge us with the meaning of ancient rituals, prescriptions, and remedies. They were an ancient prescription for holiness found in the ways that the community responded to God’s command. That we are commanded, today, is an assumption we’re willing to embrace. What we hear is a matter of autonomy afforded us by Reform Judaism. How we respond to what we hear is also a personal part of being choosing Jews. In addition to the Four Questions at the seder, which ask and answer how Passover night is different from all other nights, we might also ask how this night is not different from what it has been for all the generations as we pause in our family’s seder to ask the familiar questions and to respond.
1. Rabbi Herman E. Schaalman, “The Divine Authority of the Mitzvah,” Gates of Mitzvah: A Guide to the Jewish Life Cycle, ed. Simeon J. Maslin [New York: CCAR Press, 1979] pp. 100-103
2. David Polish, “The Source of the Mitzvah,” ibid. pp. 104-107
3. David Polish, “The Source of the Mitzvah,” ibid. pp. 104-107
4. Roland B. Gittelsohn, “Mitzvah Without Miracles,” ibid. pp. 108-110
Rabbi David A. Lyon is Senior Rabbi at Congregation Beth Israel in Houston, TX. Rabbi Lyon serves on the Board of Trustees of the Central Conference of American Rabbis and chairs its professional development committee. He can be heard on “iHeart-Radio” KODA 99.1 FM, every Sunday at 6:45 a.m. CT, and is the author of God of Me: Imagining God Throughout Your Lifetime (Jewish Lights2011) available on Amazon.com