PunkTorah

Independent Jewish Spirituality Online

Parshah Matot: When Commitment Means Breaking Vows

by

Trigger warning: this post contains important, personal references to eating disorders. If you or someone you love is struggling with an eating disorder, please visit the National Eating Disorders Association for information and referrals.

There are times when I sense within me a power of greater magnitude than any in this world. I feel grounded by an impenetrable core impervious to damage or decay. I am fused with infinity and armored by a certainty in all we cannot see. And yet, there are other times when I sense nothing beneath my feet. I fall through the sizzling crack between hello and goodbye, and wait terrified for loss to find me. Loss of love. Loss of self. Loss of meaning.

Trepidation and anxiety threaten to engulf me. For twenty years, my strategy for survival has proven simple, effective, and disastrous. Whenever I find myself gripped by anxiety, I restrict food. I play games with myself. What is the least amount of calories I need to make it through the day? What’s the maximum intensity I can reach during a workout having fasted for over 24 hours? I win when I achieve a new personal record lifting weights, while fueled solely by caffeine. I make commitments to myself. I will consume 700 calories today. I will enjoy three protein bars and nothing else. It gives me something on which to fix eagle eyed focus. It pushes the anxiety to the background and offers certainty in an uncertain world. It also sabotages my health, my relationships, and my sense of self.

The opening lines of Parsha Matot delineate the very gendered rules governing vows and obligations. At first reading, it’s another example of the lack of autonomy afforded women in our Torah. But I prefer to read it differently, omitting gender entirely (sort of like a Reform siddur).

My reimagined parsha reads, “If a person makes a vow to the Lord or assumes an obligation while still in the parents’ household by reason of youth, and that person’s parent learns of the vow or the self-imposed obligation and offers no objection, all the vows shall stand and every self-imposed obligation shall stand. But if the person’s parent restrains the person on the day the vow is found out, none of the vows or self-imposed obligations shall stand; and the Lord will forgive the person, since the parent restrained the person. If the person should marry while the vow or the commitment to which they have been bound is still in force, and the person’s partner learns of it and offers no objection on the day they find out, the person’s vows shall stand and the self-imposed obligations shall stand. But if the person’s partner restrains the person on the day the vow is found out, the partner thereby annuls the vow which was in force or the commitment to which the person was bound; and the Lord will forgive the person” (based on Numbers 30:4 – 10).

Recently, I found myself besieged by anxiety. Mixed up in that beast was a boatload of insecurity, the sting of past wounds, and a fear of loss so dense as to be suffocating. After a breakfast of oatmeal and a protein shake, I committed to consuming nothing else for the duration of the day. Immediately, I felt the anxiety recede. I floated through two parties bedecked with food. Hamburgers, hot dogs, onion rings, cupcakes, macaroni-and-cheese, cookies, fruit, beer. Despite my growing hunger, I was never tempted. The comfort I experienced each time I reminded myself of the vow to restrict calories was far too valuable to sacrifice. It was my secret weapon against the world. It was so easy.

Admittedly, I felt my thinking cloud and my mood descend. I grew extremely fatigued. My partner kept asking, “Aren’t you hungry? Don’t you want something?” What I want is to feel loved, valued and secure. I can write these words, but I cannot say them. What I shared instead was my rock solid commitment to caloric restriction. I attempted to articulate my finely-tuned and reliable strategy for managing anxiety. My partner responded, “That doesn’t seem healthy.”

Eventually, buoyed by my partner’s gentle guidance, I found my way to a balanced meal. I do not always struggle in this way, but when I do I need support and assistance. The vows I make must be broken because they do not serve my wellbeing. I am grateful for someone in my life who can intervene with compassion and sensitivity.

Parsha Matot references vows we make to God. I am certain more than a few of us attempt to bargain with the divine towards ends that are not always in our best interests. I am also certain we all make decisions harmful to ourselves. Food, alcohol, sex, exercise, shopping… We all have our go-to methods for eliminating anxiety, numbing pain, and distracting us from truths we’d rather not acknowledge. How fortunate we are when we have a loving and supportive parent or partner to help us break those cycles.

Relationship are challenging not because love is difficult. Honest, substantive relationships to which we bring ourselves fully are hard because they force us to confront the darkness in ourselves. Parsha Matot reminds us that sometimes we all need an ally to investigate the shadows. We all need a comrade to conquer the demons. This is love in action and no small measure of what commitment entails.

Akiva Yael is an enthusiastic participant in all that is holy, including Torah study, powerlifting, and the beauty of our world.

Death, Wholeness and Cleanliness (Parshah Chukat)

by

Yahrtzeit_candle
Death comes to us in many guises. Our dreams wither, our relationships falter, our work comes to an end. We witness those we love leave this world, while we remain behind. Death alters us. We are not the people we once were and certain treasures may never be reclaimed.

Any kind of death may leave us lost, adrift in the terrifying tides of uncertainty. It is possible to survive uprooted for a while, though just barely and devoid of the sustenance only an openhearted embrace of life provides. Death is necessary for new growth. We learn this from the seasons. We know this in our bones. Yet, we struggle to live through it. We have no instructions by which to make our way back.

It is not that we need to ignore death or transform it into something shining and beautiful. It is valuable as it is. But what do we do when we feel ourselves consumed by the nihilism that death sometimes incites? How can we cleanse ourselves of the rage that erupts within us after a death? What do we have to move us through the experience, so that we emerge purified and whole?

Parshah Chukat addresses ritual purity, a fact relevant to worship in Temple Judaism, but far less so today. For the Israelites, their worship involved tangible offerings and animal sacrifices. Ours looks much different. At its essence, worship is about stepping forward to meet the divine, infinite and unfathomable. Sincerity of such an encounter requires us to be fully present, perfectly attuned to the moment. In the words of Devarim, “you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might” (Deuteronomy 6:5). These words are simple and they are hard. Being present with God can be impossible when death has us hamstrung.

The ancient Israelites understood what it means to be fit for worship in an entirely physical sense. In this week’s parshah, they are told that anyone who comes into contact with a corpse is automatically unclean, preventing them from participating in the ritual worship of God. They were also provided a rite by which to cleanse themselves.

“…This is the ritual law that the Lord has commanded,” our Torah reads, “instruct the Israelite people to bring you a red cow without blemish, in which there is no defect and on which no yoke has been laid. You shall give it to Eleazar the priest. It shall be taken outside the camp and slaughtered in his presence. Eleazar the priest shall take some of its blood with his finger and sprinkle it seven times toward the front of the Tent of Meeting. The cow shall be burned in his sight – its hide, flesh and blood shall be burned, its dung included – and the priest shall take cedar wood, hyssop, and crimson stuff, and throw them into the fire consuming the cow. The priest shall wash his garments and bathe his body in water; after that the priest may reenter the camp, but he shall be unclean until evening. He who performed the buring shall also wash his garments in water, bathe his body in water, and be unclean until evening. A man who is clean shall gather up the ashes of the cow and deposit them outside the camp in a clean place, to be kept for water of lustration for the Israelite community. It is for cleansing. He who gathers up the ashes of the cow shall also wash his clothes and be unclean until evening” (Numbers 19:1-10).

Anyone rendered unclean through contact with the dead could be cleansed with the “water of lustration.” They could, once again, become fit to meet God. We are not told why being in the presence of the dead causes one to be unfit to worship. We do not know the relevance of the red heifer, or why those preparing the water of lustration become unclean through the process. The rabbis tell us to take it on faith. Much like death itself.

In our western culture, most of us endure a relentless barrage of information. From Facebook to CNN to Game of Thrones to Pandora, we bombard ourselves with data. It’s a 24/7 experience that leaves no space for silence or stillness. We stuff our days to overflowing with errands, events, meetings, shopping, exercise, cooking, gossiping. We offer ourselves no breathing room to acknowledge our experience, and name the certain kind of death that may be dragging us under. Unlike the Israelites, we have no means to guage our fitness for worship or method by which to right our spirits.

Each of us will know many varieties of death. It is up to us to identify the practices we need to pull us into the present, when our hearts and our minds are caught elsewhere. When we cannot find our footing, when darkness surrounds, we may ask ourselves if we are fit to meet God. When we grope for meaning and come up emptyhanded, we may challenge ourselves to consider what we need in order to love God fully. In so doing, we may spark the internal process of healing. We may begin the work necessary to recover and live freely. Perhaps by consciously striving to bridge the gap between our own small lives and the infinite divine, we may emerge from many deaths whole and clean.

Akiva Yael is an enthusiastic participant in all that is holy, including Torah study, powerlifting, and the beauty of our world.

Charting A Course (Parshah Korach)

by

Compass_align

I am always challenged by this week’s parsha. Not in comprehension or interest, but because I find myself siding with the bad guys and identifying my own experience in their rebellious rhetoric. Adversary to Moshe Rabbeinu is not a space I’m entirely comfortable occupying, and yet I can’t help but recognize the validity of the opposition.

Parashat Korach tells the story of a renegade band of Levites, disgruntled with the status quo. They question Moses’ leadership and their compelling arguments have persuaded others to join their attempted mutiny. “Now Korach, son of Izhar son of Kohath son of Levi, betook himself, along with Dathan and Abiram sons of Eliab, and On son of Peleth – descendants of Reuben – to rise up against Moses, together with two hundred fifty Israelites, chieftains of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute. They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, ‘You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s congregation?” (Numbers 16:1-3)

Theirs is a valid question. If all of Israel is holy, why is Moses elevated as messenger of God and captain of the people? Why does he alone have the authority to make decisions that effect all? These are questions with modern resonance, particularly where women continue to be excluded from the rabbinate, the study of certain texts, and the opportunity to pray publicly while wearing tallit or tefillin. If all of Israel is holy, why are gender-based roles proscribed and why do they continue to be enforced? Wherever our opinion lands on the spectrum of modern Jewish observance, the analysis is worthwhile and can lead us to a richer understanding of our shared tradition.

Of course, the brazen Korach and his band of insurgents are unsuccessful. Not only do they fail to gain power, they and their families meet a spectacular demise. “… The ground under them burst asunder, and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach’s people and all their possessions. They went down alive into Sheol, with all that belonged to them; the earth closed over them and they vanished from the midst of the congregation. All Israel around them fled at their shrieks, for they said, ‘The earth might swallow us!” (Numbers 16:28 – 34)

A commitment to fairness and equality leads many of us to cheer for the underdog. Especially as Jewish women, it’s often easy to see ourselves as the ones who are excluded, the ones attempting to effect change and challenge those in power. Across every industry, women remain egregiously underrepresented in positions of leadership. We continue to earn less than our male counterparts. We are the primary victims and survivors of sexual and domestic violence.

So, I get Korach. I’ve experienced the same frustration with leadership and struggle to create space for all voices. But, I’ve also had my values tested and been compelled to make decisions that weren’t always popular but which I believed were right. I’ve given gratitude to God and asked for guidance. Sometimes, I’ve received it. In these pieces of my story, I am reminded of Moses.

Instead of identifying with Korach, what if we choose to see ourselves in Moses? A leader of his people, humble and deeply connected to God, Moses was not swayed by the pressure of a dissenting tribe, or the monumental responsibility of being a messenger of the divine. His decisions were not always popular. The commandments he relayed were not always simple or easy. Yet, Moses was resolute.

Too often, we compromise our convictions. We worry about how we might be judged, whose feelings we might inadvertently trample, and whether or not the conflict is “worth it.” We fear upsetting the balance of our lives, we fear failure or we fear the responsibilities that come with success. Ultimately, we demonstrate less faith in ourselves than we do in a system or situation we know to be askew.

Yet, we have it within us to chart a course with our own moral compass and stick it out. If not completely bulletproof, we are resilient. We can detail all we’ve endured and marvel at our strength, wisdom, and tenacity. We can lean on whatever relationship we have with God to remind ourselves of what we know in our guts to be true. We can inventory our values and take action to improve our world. If we all viewed ourselves a little more like Moses, and a little less like Korach, imagine what we could accomplish.

Akiva Yael is an enthusiastic participant in all that is holy, including Torah study, powerlifting, and the beauty of our world.

Moving Forward: Parshah Shlach

by

1053937_83398103

Long ago, a Jewish scholar inventoried all of which the heart is capable. She or he examined our Torah meticulously, seeking every mention of the human heart. The elements of individual experience chronicled include desire, love, grief, fear, pride, rebellion, hate and awakening. The actual list is much longer and seems to exclude little. It is an effort of conscientious tenderness preserved for us in the Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) Rabbah, an aggadic midrash whose author and motivation remain a mystery.

Such an accounting confirms the universality of human emotion, but does not provide a map as we make our way through all the swampland, desert, and jungle of feeling that life delivers. Perhaps this week’s parshah, Sh’lach Lecha, can act as compass.

After trekking innumerable miles, the Israelites take respite, camping in the wilderness of Paran. There, Moses receives a divine command to dispatch scouts into Canaan and selects men from every tribe for the task. The instructions were explicit. “Go up there into the Negeb,” Moses tells them, “and on into the hill country, and see what kind of country it is. Are the people who dwell in it strong or weak, few or many? Is the country in which they dwell good or bad? Are the towns they live in open or fortified? Is the soil rich or poor? Is it wooded or not? And take pains to bring back some of the fruit of the land” (Numbers 13:17-20).

As leader of his people, Moses is on point. He understands what the Israelites need (an end to their wandering), and what they want (a peaceful homeland, rich in resources). Quietly evaluating a potential site for permanent settlement is a reliable strategy and he is thoughtful in his selection of operatives for the mission. In short, he knows what he wants and he knows how to get it.

The scouts return laden with tales of a countryside abundant in natural resources. As proof, they display a cluster of grapes so deliciously gargantuan two men are required to carry it. Canaan is, indeed, a land of “milk and honey.” However, the scouts also share their fears. They have observed heavily fortified cities, powerful tribes outnumbering their own, and as a result do not believe it possible for the Israelites to make Canaan their home. They greatly fear their own annihilation.

Of course, the divine is disappointed in their lack of faith and admonishes the Israelites. “How long will these people spurn Me,” God demands of Moses, “and how long will they have no faith in Me despite all the signs that I have performed in their midst?” (Numbers 14:11).

For the most part, we all know at least some of what we want. We all can gain clarity about what it is we need. We ache for connection and mutually fulfilling relationships. We aspire to success in our careers, we understand the value of physical fitness, and we set goals we have every intention of achieving. Yet often, we fall short. We just can’t seem to reach what we say we most want.

Our conscious mind is like Moses. Motivated by purpose, we are focused on tactics and strategy. But those scouts, ever vigilant to potential danger, are what truly drive us. Those scouts are the attributes of the human heart our enterprising sister or brother compiled centuries ago. They represent the forces within that either support us or sabotage our efforts.

Yes, getting that promotion would be amazing. It means greater impact, a bigger salary, and maybe more vacation. “But,” asks those feelings of inadequacy, “do you really think you have what it takes? You haven’t been at this game all that long, what makes you think you can be CEO? You’ll probably just fail.” Much safer to say where you are.

You love someone deeply. You’ve always wanted a partner and a family of your own, but your last relationship didn’t turn out as expected. You may have experienced significant loss. Grief tells you, “don’t invest too much. Don’t count on this working out. Always be prepared for the end.” Much safer to stay where you are.

Everyone you know admires your art. “Incredible,” they exclaim, “you should share it with the world!” All you see in your latest piece is what’s flawed. When they say, “gorgeous,” you think, “defective.” A wider audience would just mean more critics. Who needs the angst? Much safer to stay where you are.

Though our scouts believe themselves to be acting in our own best interests, they are misguided and almost always absolutely wrong. We encounter so much in this life that cultivates negative messages about who we are, the nature of the world, and the intentions of others. Untangling those sentiments takes work. It means confronting the pain we would rather suppress, expressing the anger that we’ve silenced, and acknowledging how we’ve been harmed – by others and by ourselves. It means making amends for our own mistakes and extending forgiveness to those whose actions have proven painful. It is not easy. But doing so is the only means of silencing the scouts and moving forward.

Ultimately, the Israelites conquered their fears and, after getting right with the divine in the classic style of offering, they made their way into Canaan. We must learn to trust in ourselves, in others and in the divine however we choose to define it. In order to live fully and freely, we must embrace every part of our ourselves- the light and the dark. We must immerse ourselves in all of which the heart is capable.

Akiva Yael is an enthusiastic participant in all that is holy, including Torah study, powerlifting, and the beauty of our world.

Parshat B’haalotkha: Girls to the Front!

by

il_fullxfull.323133335

Miriam is a badass. Elder sister to both Moses and Aaron, she emerges in our Torah as a respected community leader and is defined by our tradition as a prophet. Limited details in the Torah portray Miriam as action-oriented and outspoken. And where her story falls silent, midrash howls speculation.

In parshah B’haalotkha, Miriam confronts Moses, objecting to his marriage with a “Cushite woman.” Aaron provides backup, but Miriam does the talking. Exactly who the Cushite woman is or why the marriage is problematic remains a mystery. Our sages brainstormed at length and offer a variety of interpretations. Rashi argues the Cushite woman is Tzipporah, named earlier as Moses’ wife from his time in Midian. He suggests that the dispute between Miriam, Aaron and Moses arose from Moses’ separation from Tzipporah. Rashi’s grandson, the Rashbam, provides a different explanation culled from midrash. The Cushite woman married Moses while he was King of Cush, prior to his time in Midian. The marriage with the woman from Cush had never been consummated, and Miriam simply finds the woman unsuitable for her brother.

Regardless of the specific circumstances, Miriam and Aaron defend their position by reminding Moses that they, too, are messengers of the divine. “They said, ‘has the Lord spoken only through Moses? Has He not spoken through us as well?” (Numbers 12:2).

Moses does not respond, ostensibly because of his monumental humility. But, do you really need to fight back when you have the most powerful heavy in the world? “The Lord came down in a pillar of cloud, stopped at the entrance of the Tent, and called out, ‘Aaron and Miriam!’ The two of them came forward and He said, ‘Hear these My words: When a prophet of the Lord arises among you, I make Myself known to him in a vision, I speak with him in a dream. Not so with my servant Moses; he is trusted throughout my household. With him I speak mouth to mouth, plainly and not in riddles, and he beholds the likeness of the Lord. How then did you not shrink from speaking against My servant Moses!’ Still incensed with them, the Lord departed. As the cloud withdrew from the Tent, there was Miriam stricken with snow-white scales!” (Numbers 12:4 -10).

As punishment for her sin of slander, Miriam is afflicted with a skin disease and exiled from the community for seven days. Aaron escapes punishment, presumably because his sister was the ringleader. Notably, the entire community awaits Miriam’s return before continuing their journey.

Across the pages of my JPS Tanakh, Miriam’s frustration is palpable. As the oldest sibling and only girl, she’s had a hand in raising her brothers. Indeed, it was Miriam who devised a plan to save Moses and orchestrated an encounter ensuring their mother remained close to him while raised by Pharaoh’s daughter. A midrash tells the story of the divorce of Miriam’s parents and her point-counterpoint debate with her father that fostered reconciliation. It was Miriam who rocked her timbrel and organized the Israelite women. Miriam’s voice was strong and carried considerable weight. So respected was she that the entire community refused to depart without her.

I like to think of Miriam as the original Riot Grrrl. Exiled from her community, she might spend the week venting her indignation through visual art and composing monologues on the true costs of patriarchy. Perhaps, she would practice persuasive speeches in support of gender equity and tear apart her clothes to create new, hip fashion statements. From what I read in the Torah and midrash, I suspect Miriam would find some resonance with Kathleen Hanna’s words, “…I don’t know if being nice is my legacy.” At the least, the Bikini Kill command, “girls to the front,” would surely have made her smile.

Akiva Yael is an enthusiastic participant in all that is holy, including Torah study, powerlifting, and the beauty of our world.

Image from Cakeeater on Etsy

PunkTorah Inc.
PO Box 1641
Midlothian, VA 23113

questions@punktorah.org
YouTube
Facebook

Read our DMCA notice

What We Do