Parashat Tzav, Leviticus 6:1-8:36, Shabbat HaGadol

Holiness is maintained by a combination of attitude and action.

Some twenty-five years ago the city of New York was the testing ground for a social experiment called the "Broken Windows Theory." This experiment was developed by a movement that believes that environmental design can impact criminal behaviour. According to the Broken Windows Theory, if the community pays attention to small things such as fixing broken windows or removing graffiti, this will have a ripple effect and lead to a lessening of crime. Changing the environment sends a message that results in changed behaviour. New York started out by cleaning graffiti from all its subway cars, a project that took six years. It also arrested fare jumpers and others who committed misdemeanors. Fixing the small problems prevents the bigger ones. First proposed in the March, 1982 issue of The Atlantic, the Broken Windows Theory remains controversial today, even though it has been subject to testing.

The mindset of Leviticus may be viewed as an ancient precursor of the Broken Windows Theory with a slight twist. To understand it, we need to go back to the story of Creation When God began to create heaven and earth —the earth being unformed and void (Genesis 1:1-2). As God creates, structure is imposed on the world and chaos is brought under control. Yet, to the ancient mind the primordial chaos can reenter this world, as it threatened to do in the story of Noah when All the fountains of the great deep burst apart, /And the floodgates of the sky broke open (Genesis 7:11).

What do the events in Genesis have to do with Leviticus? Leviticus addresses concerns on a communal level. As with the Broken Windows Theory, the idea is to keeps society functioning properly by addressing problems in the environment as soon as they occur. The concern in Leviticus goes beyond graffiti or fare-jumping, it deals with kedusha, sacredness or holiness. If all functions as it should, chaos is kept at bay. The presence of sacredness in the here and now means that the world is functioning as it should, otherwise chaos could seep in and that would be dangerous.

As we see in this week's portion, Tzav, Leviticus sets boundaries separating the sacred from the profane and prescribes appropriate actions to correct situations when things go wrong. It comes down very hard on things that from our perspective appear to be trivial, such as a sacrifice that is eaten after its "use by" date: If any of the flesh of his sacrifice of well-being is eaten on the third day, it shall not be acceptable; it shall not count for him who offered it. It is an offensive thing (piggul), and the person who eats of it shall bear his guilt (Leviticus 7:18).

The Hebrew word piggul, "offensive thing" or "abomination," is a technical term referring specifically to the infraction of consuming this particular offering on the third day. This doesn't mean: "Oops, I forgot to burn the leftovers." Rather, as Rashi points out, the intention was to take home a doggy-bag with leftovers from the very beginning. It is the original mindset that invalidates the sacrifice. The wrong attitude is a threat to holiness.

Another threat to holiness is contact with impurities; such contact destroys protective boundaries and contaminates that which is sacred. Hence, there are grave consequences to these particular infractions:

Flesh that touches anything unclean shall not be eaten; it shall be consumed in fire. As for other flesh, only he who is clean may eat such flesh. But the person who, in a state of uncleanness, eats flesh from the Lord's sacrifices of well-being, that person shall be cut off from his kin. When a person touches anything unclean, be it human uncleanness or an unclean animal or any unclean creature, and eats flesh from the Lord's sacrifices of well-being, that person shall be cut off from his kin.       

Leviticus 7:19-21

Holiness is maintained by a combination of attitude and action. It is so important that even the smallest infraction cannot be overlooked. Just as a minor cut can lead to a serious infection if not treated, or a broken window ignored can eventually lead to a crime-ridden neighborhood, the smallest transgression can erode sacredness.

While we no longer offer sacrifices, traces of the levitical worldview are reflected in our preparations for the upcoming holiday of Pesach. Hametz (leaven) was forbidden as part of the meal offerings in biblical times, and remains the central prohibition on Pesach. Hametz is a particularly virulent "contaminant," which the rabbinic sages symbolically associated with yetser ha-ra, the evil inclination.

The search for hametz must be extensive and intensive, for even the smallest particle of hametz in no matter how large a food mixture will corrupt. Similarly, no matter how small or deeply hidden the evil inclination is within us, it will fester and grow and eventually poison everything else. The process of removing hametz from the home is meant to arouse us to remove those negative inclinations within us as well.

The Jewish Holidays: A Guide and Commentary, Michael Strassfeld, pp. 40-1

Here too, sanctity is maintained by action and attitude. Talk about spring cleaning! The ritual of cleaning our home results in a cleansing of our souls. The end result of thinking and doing the right thing is described in the haftarah for this special Shabbat, Shabbat HaGadol: I will surely open the floodgates of the sky for you and pour down blessings on you (Malachi 3:10).

Shabbat shalom and chag kasher ve-sameach,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1-5:26

This week's parsha sponsored in loving memory of Alan Newman by Joi Guttman-Young.

Our ancestors were stuck with an instruction book for obsolete tools.

On a foggy New England morning in January 1909, the RMS Republic collided with the SS Florida. As would happen on such tragic occasions in the future, the Republic sent out a distress call by wireless transmission: CDQ. This was the message that the Marconi International Marine Communication Company had put into effect five years previously, in 1904. Interestingly, just one year later, the German government adopted a distress sign more familiar to us, SOS, which would become the international standard six months before the Republic's transmission.

Confused? Full speed ahead to April 14, 1912, where in the darkness of night the RMS Titanic hits an iceberg. Sitting at the radio was Jack Phillips, who began to send out the distress signal used by British ships: CDQ. His junior operator suggested he use the newer "SOS," joking that this might be his only opportunity to use the new signal, and so Phillips alternated between the two.

Both the CDQ and SOS distress calls were received in New York City at a wireless office in the Wanamaker Department Store. Over the next few days, this small office would receive numerous bits of information in Morse Code, detailing casualty lists and other information about the doomed Titanic.

For most of the twentieth century, Morse Code was the fastest way to convey information, especially for those at sea. All this came to an end in 1999. Satellites, radio, and GPS made the system obsolete and it was replaced by the Global Maritime Distress Safety System. That's not to say that Morse Code is dead. It is still popular with ham radio operators and, in fact, a new sign was added in 2004 to represent @, so radio operators could exchange email addresses in Morse Code.

From our modern vantage point, it is hard to believe that Morse Code was at one time not only revolutionary but a necessity that could literally spell the difference between life and death. While it was available to all, in reality it was used by a few who acted as intermediaries between the sender and receiver. These intermediaries were trained in the correct language and procedure. They knew the code and the accompanying ritual.

This week we begin to read Vayikra (Leviticus), which—for the most part—is a code book we no longer understand. This central book of the Torah gives detailed instructions regarding the sacrificial cult, the proper occasions for the various sacrifices, and the correct rituals for cutting and dividing the animal, for wave offeringsand the sprinkling of blood in particular rites. This was essential information for our ancestors; it was a form of direct communication between them and God.

When any of you presents an offering of cattle to the Lord, he shall choose his offering from the herd or from the flock.
If his offering is a burnt offering from the herd, he shall make his offering a male without blemish. He shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, for acceptance in his behalf before the Lord. He shall lay his hand upon the head of the burnt offering, that it may be acceptable in his behalf, in expiation for him. The bull shall be slaughtered before the Lord; and Aaron's sons, the priests, shall offer the blood, dashing the blood against all sides of the altar which is at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting. The burnt offering shall be flayed and cut up into sections. The sons of Aaron the priest shall put fire on the altar and lay out wood upon the fire; and Aaron's sons, the priests, shall lay out the sections, with the head and the suet, on the wood that is on the fire upon the altar. Its entrails and legs shall be washed with water, and the priest shall turn the whole into smoke on the altar as a burnt offering, an offering by fire of pleasing odor to the Lord.

Leviticus 1:2-9

Well, that was great as long as the sacrificial system was the mode de jour for getting God's attention. That line of communication was cut when the Second Temple fell. Our ancestors were stuck with an instruction book for obsolete tools. So what did they do? They reinterpreted. Nechama Leibowitz has a wonderful study comparing how some of the medieval heavyweights viewed Vayikra.

In one corner is the great 12th century philosopher Maimonides (Rambam) who saw the sacrificial system as being a transitional method of communicating with God. According to Rambam, this system was actually more restrictive than the sacrificial cults of the cultures that surrounded our ancestors. The long-term plan was to eliminate sacrifices all together. The sacrificial system was a weaning away from one mode of relating to God to a more mature mode.

Not so according to Nachmanides (Ramban), the heavyweight champion of 13th century Spain. The sacrificial system concretized abstract concepts. You placed your hands on the animal and transferred your sin.

Seeing that human conduct is expressed in thought, speech and action, God instituted that a person who has committed a transgression and offers a sacrifice, shall place his hands on it—symbolizing the deed, make a confession—as a reminder of the misused power of speech, and burn with fire the bowels and kidneys—which are the organs of thought and lust, and the legs—symbol of the human hands and feet, instruments which serve man in all his activities. And the blood shall be sprinkled on the altar—representing his life-blood. All this should make him realize that having sinned against God with his body and soul, he would deserve to have his blood spilled and his body burned. However, God in his infinite mercy, accepts this substitute for an atonement, and its blood in lieu of his, its main organs in place of his, the portions (of the sacrifice eaten by the priests) so as to sustain the teachers of the Torah that they may pray for him. Accordingly, the daily sacrifice is offered up because of the masses who are constantly caught up in the web of sin.

Nachmanides on Lev 1:9, translation in Nechama Leibowitz, 

New Studies in Vayikra, vol. 1, pp. 8-9

Think of the emotional effect of this ritual if you were able to so today. You would truly be removing a burden! What's more, Ramban believed that there was also a mystical aspect to the sacrifices, which is beyond the understanding of most of us.

Fast forward to our time: For the modern liberal reader Vayikra has gone the way of Morse Code. We know about it, although we never really understand it. For some it is quaint, for others somewhat embarrassing. There are many in the liberal denominations who devote little time to the early parts of Vayikra, because we cannot "relate" to this book. Rather, they focus on chapter 19, the Holiness code, or on chapter 23, which gives us the Jewish calendar, or on the end of the book, which discusses the land of Israel.

But the beginning of Leviticus is just as holy as the end, despite the fact that we no longer bring offerings to God nor look forward to the restoration of the sacrificial system. Our challenge is to find new meaning in the text, so it will resonate with us today. We must grapple with Vayikra, bringing it from the days of Jewish Morse Code to the Jewish internet age. It may no longer serve its original purpose, but we can find meaning in it that our ancestors could not have imagined. It is an ancient tool that can be used to express modern thoughts, just as Morse Code can be used to communicate email addresses.

This is not something new to us. In less than two weeks we will be observing Pesach (Passover). Interested in the Paschal sacrifice? You'd have to go to a Samaritan Pesach to see that. The central feature of the ancient Pesach observance was reinterpreted in Judaism long ago. A symbol of the sacrifice remains on the Seder plate and mention is made of it in the Haggadah, there is no lamb in the backyard that will end up on the holiday table. Changes in circumstance necessitated changes in approach and observance.

If we manage to read the Haggadah, why do we tend to struggle our way through Vayikra? Our first step is to accept the fact that Leviticus is unlike any other book of the Torah and must be approached with a different mindset. The very word for sacrifice, korban, comes from the root k-r-b, to bring close. The book of Exodus ends with the construction of the Tabernacle, which is meant to bring God into our midst. Leviticus begins with sacrifices, a way of drawing us closer to God; it is a guidebook for drawing near to God. What is the approach we need to have in reading this book?

If we say that Genesis and most of Exodus create a cascading river of narrative, then Leviticus is a still deep pool. Here, as at the end of Exodus, the Israelites remain camped in the Sinai wilderness, where they worked together to construct a portable sanctuary ( "Tabernacle" or "Tent of Meeting"). Nearly all of Leviticus presents itself as taking place at that sanctuary—where God spoke to Moses, giving instructions to be conveyed to the people of Israel.

The Torah: A Modern Commentary, revised edition, W. Gunther Plaut, p. 658

As we proceed through the book of Leviticus, forget about diving into the text, sit on the water's edge and contemplate the ripples.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei, Exodus 35:1-40:38, Shabbat HaChodesh, Ex. 12:1-20

Society objectifies, God individualizes.

1974 was a significant year, although I did not know it at the time. A mistake in a lab that year would eventually change the way we took notes. Nowadays, I don't know how I could survive without those technologically simple little yellow sticky pieces of paper. I have a to-do list stuck on the mirror, an appointment list on my pocket calendar. I no longer write notes in books, rather I have enough Post-it notes to make a new book. As I get older, I find that more and more of my house is wallpapered with these little informational storage units. What did people do before this unassuming little invention? They repeated things to themselves. That's a great way of committing items to memory. It is also a great way of stressing the importance of an item.

This is something to keep in mind as we look at this week's double Torah portion.
Vayakhel-Pekudei takes us to familiar territory: the building of the tabernacle, its implements, and the priestly garments, In fact, Vayakhel is pretty much a repeat of Exodus 25.

 … Repetition occurs in ancient Near Eastern texts also in epic literature and certain poetic genres. …The biblical passages under consideration are largely of the archival type. Their meticulous method of accounting appeared like epic and poetic repetition and was equally familiar as a literary pattern.
We caution the reader not to approach these passages with modern stylistic prejudices. Repetition of words and terms, let alone whole sets of details, is nowadays considered tedious or unimaginative. However, a person of the ancient Near East—who was primarily a listener to and not a reader of traditional material—found repetition a welcome way of supporting familiarity with the text. In an age of relatively few written records, it gave added assurance that the tradition was transmitted as faithfully as possible.

The Torah: A Modern Commentary (Revised Edition), W. Gunther Plaut, p. 621

The end of the second book of the Torah contains more than words and repetitions. It follows a pattern that hearkens back to the very beginning of the Exodus. Eileh sh'mot, these are the names, are the very first words we read in Exodus (1:1), a list of the Israelites who made their way to Egypt. Now, in the very last portion of this book of the Torah we read (Exodus 40:21) eileh pekudei, these are the records, a detailed list of the items used in the construction of the Tabernacle.

The word pekudei can be translated in a number of ways. The root p-k-d is used to form words meaning to reckon, muster, count, recall, command, appoint, call to account, entrust, and attend to. While it appears here as "records," in last week's portion (Exodus 30:12) the same root was translated as the "enrollment" of the Israelite people for the census. Pikudei as "enrollment" is also found in the book of Numbers (see especially 1:44-49).

Despite popular belief, accounting was one of the oldest professions. This even extended to divine recordkeeping.

The idea of God recording the names of people in a book is part of a general Near Eastern belief in heavenly ledgers. The popular conception of such records no doubt is rooted in the practices of record keeping in the political and economic realms. Because census lists determined certain aspects, such as taxes and military service, of the fate of the individuals listed in them, they are likely to have been the models for the record books of deities, who were considered the deciders of destiny. References in cuneiform documents to celestial ledgers can be traced back to Sumerian times. These documents refer variously to "tablets of life" or "tablets of destiny." …
The Hebrew Bible shares this tradition. More than a dozen texts refer to heavenly ledgers, of which there are three different kinds: a book of divine decrees, in which God records the destinies of people (e.g., Psalm 139:16); a book of remembrance which keeps track of what people do (Malachi 3:16) and a book of life, or of the living.

Exodus, Carol Meyers, p. 261

For us this certainly calls to mind the recordkeeping associated with the High Holy Days when God notes and weighs the actions of each individual. As was noted in last year's study on this parashah, the root p-k-d is used in the Torah when God "takes note" (Genesis 21:1) or calls to account (Exodus 34:7).

Taking inventory appears to us to be an impersonal task. As it relates to the building of the tabernacle it is a record of the amount and type of items used in its construction. Jumping ahead to the book of Numbers, Sforno points out that the inventory of the same items found in Pekudei is presented differently: you shall list by name the objects (Numbers 4:32).

 …each one of them (the articles counted) was worthy to be considered as important and to be called by its private (individual) name, not only as part of a generic group (category). This is certainly justified (regarding) each one of the holy vessels…

Sforno on Exodus 38:21, translation from Sforno: Commentary on the Torah, 

Rabbi Raphael Pelcovitz

If within a category of inventory the individual item is not lost, how much more so with a human being than with an inanimate object. We often worry that society treats us as just another number, classifying us by common denominators. Not so with God. Society objectifies, God individualizes. With this comes the notion of God "keeping tabs" on each one of us; while it may make us uneasy, it should be comforting.

At the beginning of the Book of Exodus we were treated as objects in Pharaoh's inventory. God's redemption restored our humanity. To Pharaoh we were numbers in generic categories; to God we are holy vessels with individual names. This transformation carries a responsibility that should be used for the benefit of community and for service to God. Isn't it time we each took inventory of our abilities and put them to use for a holy purpose?

Shabbat shalom
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11-34:35, Shabbat Parah, Numbers 19:1-22

Parasha sponsored by the Sacks Family in honour of their father and grandfather –Morris Gainen

Moments of revelation are times of trepidation.

Art has often engendered controversy, sometimes deliberately, sometimes accidentally. There are people who question whether abstract painting can be called "art" because it departs from a realistic representation of objects. Then again, realistic depictions have also been contentious. Even today some question whether photography is art. Is the technology controlled by the artist, or does the technology make someone with passable talent and skill into a master?

Can a painting be too good? Dutch artist Johannes Vermeer had an amazing ability to capture the play of light in his paintings, as can be seen in the accompanying picture. The clarity of his work has been at the center of a dispute: Did technology help him achieve these brilliant results? Vermeer is believed to have viewed his subject matter with the aid of a camera obscura. A precursor of the modern camera, the camera obscura box allows light to enter through a small opening. The light rays focused on the opposite side produce an upside-down but accurate image of an object or scene; the smaller the opening, the sharper the image.

More familiar to some would be the pinhole camera, which many of us have used to view solar eclipses. Since it is dangerous to stare directly at the sun, viewing an eclipse with a pinhole camera allows you to see a shadow image of what is taking place. With both optical devices it is a case where less is more. The smaller the aperture, the greater the focus and detail. (Think of a magnifying glass that, in focusing rays of light, can start a fire.)

The idea of these devices, though not the objects themselves, can help us understand a curious situation that arises in Parashat Ki Tisa. When we encounter the intrepid Israelites this week, they are panic-stricken because Moses has not come back after spending weeks on Mount Sinai. In desperation they ask Aaron to create a god they can worship. The end result is the Golden Calf. With perfect timing, Moses arrives, Ten Commandments in hand, just as our ancestors have whipped themselves into an idolatrous frenzy. The end result is a slaughter of those who committed idolatry and a shattered set of commandments.

After the headache of the Golden Calf, Moses goes back up the mountain to take two more tablets, or more accurately, to make two more tablets. Here is where the curious incident takes place. Moses asks to see God but is told this is not possible: "you cannot see My face, for man may not see Me and live." (Exodus 33:20) God has a solution to this problem: "Station yourself on the rock and, as My Presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft of the rock and shield you with My hand until I have passed by. Then I will take My hand away and you will see My back; but My face must not be seen." (Exodus 33:21-23)

Moses' situation is comparable to the person experiencing a solar eclipse. There is great danger in exposure but the experience itself is still possible; Moses, squeezed into the narrow opening of the cleft, will see the "back" of God, the shadow image. This is the safe way to do it; being wedged into this tight space helps focus the experience.

As we can well imagine, this close encounter with God changes Moses forever. It is a visible change: So Moses came down from Mount Sinai. And as Moses came down from the mountain bearing the two tablets of the Pact, Moses was not aware that the skin of his face was radiant (karan)…(Exodus 34:29) Rashi, drawing on Midrash Tanhuma explains the source of Moses' radiance. Call it a Divine facial if you will, according to Rashi the radiance is a result of God's shielding Moses with the Divine "hand" as Moses was in the cleft of the rock. Furthermore, says Rashi, this radiance (karan) was actually in the form of horn-like (keren) rays of light.

Rays are the expression of a narrowing and intensifying of light, piercing through a crack, for instance. In the crevice in the rock, with God’s hand shielding his eyes, he achieves a moment of oblique vision. The nature of such a ray-like perception emerges most powerfully from the proof-text quoted in the midrash: “It is a brilliant light which gives off rays from His hand; and there His glory is hidden” (Habakkuk 3:4). God’s light is hidden, and that obstruction creates brilliant rays. Indeed, quite prosaically, human vision becomes possible only by a limiting of vision: too close, too bright, too total a light simply dazzles and blinds. A fissure in the rock yields piercing fragments of illumination which are not merely seen, but absorbed in the very fabric of Moses' being

The Particulars of Rapture: Reflections on Exodus,

Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, pp. 445-6

This "fissure in the rock" is Moses' camera obscura, making it possible for him to see and therefore experience things as never before. In the Torah tight spots are the ones that provide these revelatory close encounters. Another example is the Sea of Reeds is. Wedged between an advancing Egyptian army and a foreboding body of water, this situation illuminates the necessity of action: Then Moses held out his arm over the sea and the Lord drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night, and turned the sea into dry ground (Exodus 14:21). Trudging through a soggy seabed between two walls of water, the people went in as slaves and came out as free people. Sinai as experienced by Israel is not a Rocky Mountain high. These folks are at the bottom and in the shadow; similar to Moses holed up in the wedge of the rock. No wonder midrash states that the mountain is threateningly held over the people. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place! Moments of revelation are times of trepidation.

Elsewhere we have talked before about how obstacles provide opportunities we could not have imagined. This is not to present a rosy Pollyannaish point of view. I personally hate the cliché about one door closing and another one opening. Sometimes a door closes and you're just stuck in a dark room unable to find your way out.

This was Moses' situation. The traumatic condition of the people reflected his personal need as well; stuck between an idolatrous nation and the God they spurned he strengthened the connection that could have been broken forever. And he did this by getting into an even tighter space: the cleft of a rock as God's glory passes by. It changed him forever.

Those times when life wedges us in the cleft of the rock change us too. Today, more and more people find themselves caught in the crevice between rock-solid unyielding forces. Tight spots put things in focus just like the camera obscura or the pinhole camera. They illumine what is important in our lives. Let us hope and pray that those experiencing such travail will, like Moses, experience God's caress, and emerge luminously changed.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Picture Credit: Johannes Vermeer, Milkmaid, Rijksmuseum,Netherlands
Image from: wikimedia.org

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20-30:10, Shabbat Zachor, Deuteronomy 25:17-19

This Shabbat we struggle with two forms of memory.

Music has always had a mathematical component, but now it looks as if mathematics is shaping music. First there a musical intelligence software program that analyzes the likelihood of a song becoming a hit based on some thirty different factors. Now, for a small fee, you and your struggling band can submit a song to a number of companies for analysis. They can then advise you where to make changes that will result in a hit-producing mathematical pattern.

Currently, these cookie-cutter tune treatments only deal with the music. I've always been more of a lyrics person, and I'm waiting for the day when the focus will shift to dissecting the words of hit songs. "Love" is sure to be the most popular choice, but to my algorithmically challenged mind it is too obvious. Were I to try my hand at popular songwriting I would probably choose "remembering" or "memory" as a theme. There are nearly as many songs about remembering as there are about love, and it is a theme that is more diverse and subtler. It is found in words sung by Elvis Presley:
Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind
Memories, sweetened thru the ages just like wine
(Written by Bill Strange and Scott Davis)

As well as the poetry crooned by a cat:
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
(Written by Trevor Nunn and Andrew Lloyd Webber, based on T.S. Eliot's "Rhapsody on a Windy Night")

Or echoing in the Oscar-winning Barbra Streisand hit "The Way We Were": 
Memories,
Like the corners of my mind
Misty water-colored memories
Of the way we were
…Memories, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
(Written by Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman and Marvin Hamlisch)

We all know that memory can play tricks on us. Perhaps that’s what the Bergmans meant when they wrote: What's too painful to remember/We simply choose to forget. Really?  What would it be like to have no memory? Would it be a blessing or a curse? Two recent examples from the media lead to the conclusion that it would be both. Last December, Henry Gustav Molaison died at the age of 82. Over half a century ago he underwent surgery for a seizure disorder. The operation left him unable to form new memories.

For the next 55 years, each time he met a friend, each time he ate a meal, each time he walked in the woods, it was as if for the first time.
And for those five decades, he was recognized as the most important patient in the history of brain science. As a participant in hundreds of studies, he helped scientists understand the biology of learning, memory and physical dexterity, as well as the fragile nature of human identity.

H. M., an Unforgettable Amnesiac, Dies at 82, Benedict Carey, 

New York Times, December 5, 2008

Memories may be beautiful, but Henry Gustav Molaison was unable to know that.

Then there's the experimental use of the beta-blocker Propranolol, which has been found successful in treating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Should it be used to erase painful memories, specifically those of elderly Holocaust survivors?

Simply put, how can we help those who have suffered in war, end their lives in peace?
In their extreme age, with the decline of short-term memory and the ravages of dementia, some survivors who enter hospital believe they are back in the camps.
In an institution, routine elements of care can trigger horrors from the past. They may be afraid of showers, suspicious of staff in uniform, even the sharp click of heels in a hallway prompted one woman to shout "heil Hitler" from her room. They resist injections, remembering the numbers tattooed on their arms. They refuse haircuts, because their heads were shaved in the camps.
What brings this issue to the fore is that drugs, which can blunt the force of an emotional memory, are now available and have been tested on rape and accident victims, war veterans and others who suffer post-traumatic stress disorder.

War memories raise ethical dilemma, Leslie Scrivener, 

Toronto Star, November 10, 2008

How can we fail to ease the trauma of elderly survivors? Have they not had enough of remembering?

Ironically, this is Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat of Remembrance, when we are admonished in the additional Torah reading to Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt — how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when the Lord your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget! (Deuteronomy 25:17-19)

The commandment to remember is incumbent upon the community. Certainly we can shoulder the burden of those who have spent their entire lives not only remembering but reliving. Zachor, remembering, is about transferring the responsibility from one generation to the next.

This week's parashah, Tetzaveh, is not about memories, though it hints at things that are or will be tantalizingly out of reach. It is the one parashah in the last four books of the Torah that does not mention Moses by name. Where elsewhere we find instructions to the people beginning with the form Adonai spoke to Moses saying, this structure is absent in Tetzaveh. As the twentieth century Bible scholar Umberto Cassuto points out regarding the beginning of the parashah: "This paragraph contains three allocutions to Moses, all of which begin with the word ve-atta… followed by a verb in the imperfect or imperative." (Translation: Israel Abrahams) 

While he is not named, the use of ve-atta, "and you" certainly implies that Moses is to initiate what is instructed and then transfer the duties to others.

The portion is very much about the taking on of responsibility. All the preparations by the unnamed Moses are for the priestly ordination of Aaron and his sons that takes place at the end of the parashah: Thus you shall do to Aaron and his sons, just as I have commanded you. You shall ordain them through seven days…(Exodus 29:35). The unnamed Moses has a critical but temporary role:

For seven days, before "the eighth day" (Leviticus 9:1) on which Aaron and his sons took over the ritual duties, Moses would set up the tabernacle each day, bring the offerings, and in the evening he would take it down. On the eighth day – the 1st of Nissan – he set up the Tabernacle permanently, as described in [Exodus] 40:17-33. From this point on Aaron and his sons performed ritual duties.

Rashbam on Exodus 29:35, translation from The Commentators' Bible: 

The JPS Miqraot Gedolot, Michael Carasik, translator and editor

Moses isn't gone. He has delegated responsibilities as per God's instructions. Omitting his name from this parashah allows the focus to be on others who must also play a crucial role in the community.

This Shabbat we struggle with two forms of memory. First, there is the longing for that elusive memory just over the horizon, so near and yet so far. It is the memory on the eighth day, as the priests take up their duties, of all that went on for the seven days before. This is the memory of Moses who performed these rituals until the priests were ready to do so; the same Moses whose presence is felt in the parashah, but whose name is absent. This is akin to the memory we feel on birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays when we gather for celebration, but there are empty seats at the table. We may now be sitting at the head of the table, leading the seder, or making the matzah balls, but the voice of a beloved parent or grandparent whispers the ritual instructions in our ears. These memories are beautiful, painful to remember, yet we would never forget them.

Then there is the memory that pierces us like a cold howling wind. This is the memory of what Amalek did to us. We must brace ourselves and remember. This ugly memory we may wish to forget, but tradition teaches us to do otherwise.

Jewish memory is communal. It is at once breathtakingly beautiful and hideously painful. Memory reminds of us of who we were, affirms who we are, and shapes who we will be. Jewish memory is our Yizkor (memorial) candle; it is also our ner tamid (eternal light) and we provide the clear oil of beaten olives to keep the lamp lit continually. (Exodus 27:20)

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel