Ma'asei

The Book of Numbers ends with a list:  a recounting of the places the Israelites visited on their way from Mitzrayim to Canaan.  42 places in 40 years, each one an episode in the journey, each one described briefly:  “They set out from Marah and came to Elim.  There were twelve springs in Elim and seventy palm trees, so they encamped there (33:9).”  “They set out from Alush and encamped at Rephidim; it was there that the people had no water to drink (33:15).”  It’s a breezy, Cliff’s Notes version of the journey.

I am struck by what’s missing from the list:  the complaining, the golden calf, the angry pounding on the rock, the spies’ debacle.  The Torah, it seems, has white washed the story. 

Or perhaps the Torah is giving the Israelites a gift—helping them tell a different story.  This version allows them to see themselves not as rebellious whiners, but as travellers.  True, the Generation of the Desert was stiff-necked, but they were also adventurers who made the long trek from the Nile to the Jordan.   This new version allows the people not to see the failure, but rather the accomplishment.  It’s all in the telling.

The stories we tell have power over us.  They influence the way we see ourselves and the world around us.  When things aren’t working in your life, try changing way you tell your story.  Keep it truthful, but find a new emphasis—or re-discover a forgotten character.  Turn a drama into a comedy, or vise-versa.  A new narrative just might help you see things differently and shift your reality.  It’s all in the telling.

Matot

How many promises do you make in a week?  How many do you keep?

This week’s parashah opens with a discussion of the sacredness of vows.  They are to be inviolate:  “If a householder makes a pledge to YHVH or takes an oath imposing an obligation on himself, he shall not break his pledge; he must carry out all that has crossed his lips”  (Numbers 30:3).

And a woman, who had less power?  The Torah considers this case next and, importantly, gives her considerable ability to make oaths to God.  If she’s married or young (that is, under her husband’s or father’s custody), he may annul the vow but only on the day he finds out about it.  If he fails to do so, it’s binding.  If he never hears about it, it’s binding.  Vows of widows or divorced women, who are under no man’s custody, are binding.

So profound, so sacred are oaths that they are not to be violated at any price.  Recall the dreadful story of Jephtah in the Book of Judges: on his way to battle, the warrior Jephtah vows that, should he return home victorious, he’ll make a burnt offering of the first thing he sees coming out of his house.  To his horror, his own daughter comes out to greet him.    Jephtah’s response?  “He did as he had vowed,” Judges tells us, in language that cannot speak the unbearable truth.

In our day, we don’t make many oaths to God.  But we do make sacred promises.  Not the little ones, like “I’ll fill the tank” or “I’ll keep an eye on your house while you’re out of town,” but the big ones, the vows we make to ourselves:  “I’ll stop procrastinating.”  “I’ll look after my father better.”  “I’ll never take another drink.”  “I’ll be a better man.”

The moon is waning in the sky tonight.  Tamuz is almost done; it will shortly be Av, the month that leads us to Elul and the High Holy Day season.  It may be too soon to make vows for the coming year, but it is not too soon to consider the vows made for the year now fading.  What did you promise?  What did you keep?  What can you keep yet?

Pinchas & Aspirations

Through the desert, and the parchment, and the ages, Torah speaks to us clearly.  At once eternal and also precise, it blasts us with the voice of a shofar and whispers in our ear like a friend.  It is an ever-unfolding miracle, a rose revealing its mysteries to all who pause long enough to take a deep breath.

On my last Shabbat in Auckland, we read a description of the end of the Nazarite’s holy service in the portion Naso.  This week, as I take my place on Temple Emanuel’s bimah, we read Pinchas, including a description of new leadership.

Moses is reminded that he won’t enter The Land with the people, and he asks God to appoint a new leader for the community.  God names Joshua son of Nun, “an inspired leader,” to the role [Numbers 27:18].

What does it mean to be an inspired leader?  The Hebrew (“eish asher ruach bo”), just like the English, includes the idea of wind or spirit—a force that’s undeniable and yet intangible.  Moses has just called God “Source of the Breath/Ruach of All Flesh,” [Numbers 27:16] so it’s clear that the spirit isn’t generated within the leader, but rather by the Divine.  It’s something far greater than the leader, and that moves through him or her.  The inspired leader partakes of Inspiration well.

In my experience,

·         An inspired leader understands that she is not the source of all that’s worthy, but rather knows how to gather the ideas, energy, resources and contributions that can serve the community. 

·         An inspired leader makes sure everyone’s included.

·         An inspired leader stitches together a vision—or visions—for a community.  By sharing the vision and inviting others into it, he helps the community grow towards it.

·         An inspired leader asks good questions.

·         An inspired leader is able to see the macro and the micro, values the group’s needs and well as an individual’s, and holds them both at the same time. 

·         An inspired leader brings herself to the game, fulfilling the role and also being her fully-human self.

To be inspired, then, is to inspire:  to channel the flow of air and energy so that it catches the wings of others, helping them lift themselves to new heights.

Eloheinu v’elohei avoteinu v’imoteinu, Our God and God of our ancestors, Source of the Breath of All Flesh, be with me, please, as I become rabbi to this community.  Inspire me to become the rabbi I aspire to be.

10 THINGS I’M MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO ABOUT ARIZONA

1.    Meeting new people and sharing our lives with them.

2.    Jacob attending Temple Emanuel’s pre-school and my getting to work with a Jewish preschool!

3.    A MILD Winter.

4.    Owning a home.

5.    Reform Judaism being normative.

6.    Mexican Food.

7.    Professional colleagues and access to learning opportunities.

8.    Speaking Spanish again.

9.    Discovering a new region of my country.

10.  Living one hour from Los Angeles—getting to see family and friends regularly.

10 THINGS I’ll MISS MOST ABOUT NEW ZEALAND

1.    So many wonderful people.

2.    Our son’s babyhood.

3.    Beautiful bush walks (especially in the Waitakere Ranges!).

http://www.arc.govt.nz/parks/our-parks/parks-in-the-region/waitakere-ranges/

4.    Beth Shalom’s ark and sky light.

5.    Our home in Meadowbank—especially the spectacular view.

6.    Green parks and reserves everywhere.

7.    Ubiquitous birdsong—especially tui.

8.    Regular trips to Australia.

9.    Agapanthus sprouting like fireworks in Spring time; trees blossoming like cotton candy in Autumn.

10.  Flat Whites.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_white