Jewels on the Heart

On Sunday, my daughter Hannah (who’s almost three) had her first ballet class. When we arrived, Hannah was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, while all the other children wore pink leotards and tights. Hannah enjoyed the class and immediately asked for dance clothes. I thought we’d go buy them sometime during the week before the next class, but she wanted to go right away. Somehow, she sensed that the class was incomplete without the proper attire.

At the dance clothes store, she chose a lavender leotard — which she wanted to be sparkly. She tried on the outfit with a shiny hair band and ballet slippers. She smiled from ear to ear while spinning around and admiring herself in the mirror. Now, she was really a dancer.

Later that afternoon, I took my kids to the Purim carnival at our synagogue. Kids were dressed up in a wide array of costumes, and some adults were too. Our head security guard, who normally wears a suit each day to work, wore instead a basketball player’s outfit. Most adults wore jeans and casual attire, except the rabbi, who wore a button down shirt and slacks. Whether in dance class, at the Purim Carnival, or at our daily jobs, I wonder why the outfit is such an essential part of the experience.

This week’s parasha too is focused on outfits — the priestly robes including that of Aaron, the high priest. Aaron’s robe was purple (with shades of blue and crimson) and extremely sparkly. The robe, covered with gold chains and rings, was filled with gold embroidery, a gold breastplate with twelve colored stones, and complete with a headdress and sash to boot. (Hannah would love that outfit!)

The Torah almost never describes what people are wearing, and we don’t normally think of the Torah as appearance oriented. Whereas a modern novel will often give details of how the characters look and what they’re wearing on a given day, the Torah doesn’t typically tell us anything about the appearance or attire of the patriarchs and matriarchs. Why then does the text describe the outfit of the high priest in such inordinate detail? Why does the high priest need to wear such an elaborate getup to perform his duties? This practice seems at odds with the Torah’s general focus on humility.

Like the rabbi at the carnival, the high priest showed respect for his task through the clothes he wore. The unique uniform reminded Aaron that his work was a sacred duty of the highest magnitude. The most important part of the outfit was the breastpiece containing twelve colored stones to represent the twelve tribes of Israel. God instructed Aaron to carry the names of the tribes on the breastpiece over his heart “as a remembrance before God always.” Likewise, he wore a band on his forehead engraved with the words “holy to God.”

Earlier in Exodus, God instructs the people to be “a nation of priests and a holy people.” This verse teaches that each of us should be engaged in sacred work every day. Being a good friend, spouse or parent are sacred jobs. Everything we do — even what we wear — can remind us that our most mundane daily tasks are holy to God. Like the high priest, each of us carries precious jewels of the people we care for in our hearts. Surely the image of Hannah dancing in her tutu is one that I will keep in my heart forever.

The Gifts We Make

Sunday was my son Jeremy’s sixth birthday party, and I spent the few days prior baking his birthday cake. On Thursday, I bought ingredients and on Friday I baked four rectangular cakes. Saturday night, I decorated the cake. First, I made white, red and black frosting. I then assembled two layers, shaped the cake like The Cat in the Hat and frosted his striped hat, whiskered face and body — even adding a black liquorish for his tail.

I don’t cook much in general, and I’m not an artsy kind of person. But for some reason, for my kids’ birthdays, I become obsessed and feel compelled to make this elaborate cake. Every year, my husband asks: Why can’t we just buy a cake from the store? Wouldn’t that be easier? He’s right; it would be far simpler to buy a cake (which would take about 10 minutes rather than three days). However, my mom always baked our cakes with us as children, and even though baking the cake takes longer, I can’t imagine doing it any other way.

In this week’s Torah portion, the Jewish people also embark on a consuming art project. In the parasha, God gives extensive instructions on how to build the mishkan, the portable sanctuary which housed the ark and the tablets during the forty-year desert trek. These detailed architectural plans fill nearly the entire last third of the book of Exodus. Thirteen chapters of the Torah are devoted to this topic. By contrast, the creation of the world takes only two chapters!

The instructions for making the tabernacle are incredibly specific and frankly tedious to read. Why then does the Torah devote so much attention to this topic?

The reason God gives in Exodus is: “Let them make me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotsk (a 19th century Hasidic master) noted that God did not say, ‘that I may dwell in it’ meaning in the sanctuary but rather “that I may dwell among them,” — among the people. Kotsk explained that each person should build a sanctuary in their heart for God to dwell there.

The reason the Torah devotes so much attention to the mishkan construction is the same as why I feel compelled to bake the birthday cake each year. When cooking with my children, we create a kind of magic. The joy of the birthday begins not on the day of the party but in the anticipation of baking together. It’s my way to thank God for another year of life.

Likewise, after fleeing Egypt and entering the covenant at Mount Sinai, the people needed to do an art project for God. They longed to thank God for the covenant — not through words but by making something beautiful. They yearned to express their gratitude for their precious freedom and newfound relationship with the divine.

When we were finally done with the three day cake ordeal, Jeremy turned to me and said, “Wow, Mom, it looks like the real Cat in the Hat!” At that moment, I smiled and knew that all the effort was worth it. I imagine that my mom and God were smiling too from above.

Holy Indignation

Last year, my parents took my younger sister and brother to see Annie (one of my favorite musicals). My sister Mira (who was eight at the time) was terribly upset by the show. The show recounts the story of an orphan, who is adopted by a billionaire businessman. Mira was so disturbed at the idea of orphans and their mistreatment that she refused to see another play. This year, when Mira was offered to go see Mary Poppins, she initially burst into tears and adamantly objected. (Luckily, she was eventually persuaded to see the show and loved it!)

In this week’s Torah portion, called Mishpatim, God too is outraged by injustice to orphans. In the portion, God explains the rules for creating a just society. These laws cover a lot of territory – including civil and criminal stipulations, as well as rules for worship, and more. The ordinances are explained in a calm and straightforward manner – stipulating the penalties for not following each law. However, when God speaks of the widow and the orphan, God uses the strongest possible language, saying:

You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan. If you do mistreat them, I will heed their outcry as soon as they cry out to Me, and my anger shall blaze forth, and I will put you to the sword; and your wives shall become widows and your children orphans.

God’s indignation stems from concern about the most vulnerable members of our society. As Rabbi David Lieber of blessed memory explained: “the decency of a society is measured by how it cares for its least powerful members.”

On reflection, there seems to me something holy in Mira’s fury. Too often, we become accustomed to injustice and unwittingly develop a blasé attitude, when in truth we should be outraged by the brutality that surrounds us. Reading the morning paper or watching the evening news should disturb us and spur us to action. Walking by a homeless person should be so upsetting that we can’t go on with our day as usual. By seeing the world through fresh eyes, children remind us not to accept the “hard knock life” as it is but to strive for the world as it should be.

Indeed recently, I sensed an opening when news stations brought images of the earthquake in Haiti so powerfully into our homes. People from around the world were moved by the pictures of children who had been injured or orphaned and gave generously to help. People were also bewildered and outraged by the story of those accused of trying to take advantage of the orphaned children or impoverished families in Haiti.

Sometimes, there is a tendency to open a bit during a crisis and then close back up again when everything “returns to normal.” The Torah portion reminds us that the need to protect the vulnerable and seek justice is ever with us. As the text teaches, “You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

The Bible repeats this idea incessantly – like a mantra – hoping to ingrain the idea in our hearts. But in case we ever forget, we need only look to our children and discover God’s indignation reflected in their own.

All the Way

My two-year-old daughter Hannah developed an annoying habit recently. Whatever she wants, she asks be done “all the way.” To simply put on her socks is insufficient; she wants them pulled up all the way to her knees. If she asks for milk, she wants it poured all the way to the top of the cup (so it almost spills over). To put her shoes on, she insists that I first unbuckle the strap completely and then fasten it so that it covers the Velcro entirely – with none left showing. She frequently says: “All the way, mama, all the way.”

This week’s Torah portion contains a similar refrain. The word (kl) which means “all” appears 34 times in the just three chapters of the paraasha! The parasha recounts two main events. First, Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, heard of “all that God had done for Moses” and the people and so he came to visit (where Moses explained to him “all” that had happened.) Jethro then advised Moses about setting up a system of judges for the people so that he would not have to carry the full burden of leadership alone. The Torah recounts that Moses listened to his father-in-law “and did all that that he had said.”

The second major event of the portion is when the people arrived at Mount Sinai. God offered the people a special covenant and Moses gathered the elders and told them “all the words that God had commanded. And all the people answered together, and said, All that the Lord has spoken we will do.” Then God spoke the Ten Commandments directly: the text recounts, “God spoke all these words…”

This parallel, repetitive language is instructive. Just as Moses accepted Jethro’s advice and did “all that he had said,” the people agreed to do “all that God had said.” The rabbis teach that there are two main realms of action – bein adam l’chavero (between people) and bein adam lamakom (between a person and God). This parallel demonstrates that whether in our relationship with others and/or in our relationship with God, we should try to give our all.

Sometimes, when we embark on a large project, we may lose steam in the middle and not want to see it through. (The Israelites certainly had that problem as they often lost hope during their forty-year desert trek and pined to return to Egypt.) Also, we may try to do too much so that we don’t accomplish any of our tasks fully and end up doing our many activities half-heartedly. This week’s portion implicitly warns against these spiritual dangers.

The parasha reinforces the spiritual lesson that my daughter was trying to impart. When you do something, do it “all the way.”