CHECK IT OUT – Sh’lakh l’kha – Num. 13-15, by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

CHECK IT OUT – Sh’lakh l’kha – Num. 13-15, by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         You get a call from your friend, or an employee, or a member of your family, advising you of an opportunity.  A home for sale in a neighborhood you like.  You are interested.  So you suggest: check it out.

         Depending on how that person goes about checking out the prospective purchase, you may or may not want to make an offer on it.  For example, here’s one kind of report:

“The house looks solid enough.  Roomy, too.  It has a big yard  with fruit trees.  In fact, we picked a couple of lemons and this avocado – not bad, eh?  Can’t get in to see the inside because the agent demands an accepted offer first.  It’s been painted recently, so the price is very firm.  Questionable neighborhood.  Right down the street we saw some grafitti.  Kids strolled by wearing their hats backwards.  May be gang infested.”

And here’s another:

“Got talking with the lady next door.  Found out the owner is very anxious to sell.  Open to any offer.  Just modernized the kitchen and redecorated, and then got transferred to the east coast. So he has no cash on hand to put down on a home there.  Anyone with a large down payment can write their own ticket.  Neighborhood Watch is very effective; no major problems.”

Are these two people talking about the same house?  Sure they are.  Just as the two groups of spies we can read about in this Torah portion, and in its Haftorah, the corresponding prophetic reading in the book of Joshua.  They were both talking about the same country.  An important difference is how they “checked it out.”

         The 12 spies Moses sends out are princes. Executives.  Commissioned officers.  They follow accepted procedures – sample the fruit, assess the strength of the fortifications, take note of the appearance of the local population. If they only had video, maybe they could bring back picture and sound to back up their report of 50-foot-high walls and men of giant size.  By a vote of 10 to 2, they convince the people that Canaan can’t be conquered.

         The 2 spies Joshua sends are different.  One is 80-year-old Caleb – the only surviving member of the original checker-outers and one of the dissenting minority (Joshua himself being the other dissenter).  The second spy is a youth of 18.   One chosen for courage, the other for wisdom.  They don’t take notes and they don’t bring samples. They spend the night with Rahab. Her occupation is innkeeper, providing accommodations to travelers.  From the Hebrew word zonah we gather that she provides other comforts too. Either way, she has ample opportunity to gauge the spirit of the population.  She trades her inside information for a guarantee of safety, and the two spies return with a message: Piece of cake.

         Chances are, neither report is 100% accurate.  But the contrast is phenomenal.  The negative report here in Numbers brings on 40 years in the desert.  The positive report in Joshua empowers the people and they proceed to take over Jericho in a week.

         How do we go about checking out our opportunities?  Do we suffocate them by overanalyzing the difficulties?  And does that make them look insurmountable?

         Am I too old to learn to use a computer?  After all, I’m not even a good typist, and computer science is as foreign to me as Swahili.  I don’t have money to spend on computer software that can become obsolete in half an hour – let alone the furniture that goes under all that equipment. I’d better stay in the lead pencil desert for another 40 years.

         Do I have the discipline to change my health habits? After all, those exercise machines are really no better than a good walk around the block, are they?  Didn’t you hear about the fellow that lost big pounds and built up his muscles – and died anyway?  I don’t trust these diets either.  I’d better stay in the Aspirin and Alka-Seltzer desert for another 40 years.

         Can I really patch things up with my sister?  So much time went by.  She’ll consider me stupid for trying.  Whatever happened between us isn’t even the issue any more.  We just have different lives now.  We build 50-foot walls between us.  Our antagonism is too gigantic.  Better stay in the breygez (angry) desert for another 40 years.

         Let’s take another look.  Check it out again.  Maybe we can turn part of our future around.  Take a message from your friendly “innkeeper:” A computer is just a tool, and a few simple functions of it can make your life easier and more interesting. The first cream puff you forego, and the first stationary bike ride you take, can be the first step to feeling better. And as for your sister, maybe you and she can both conclude that time wounds all heels.  Take the first step.

         Like Joshua at Jericho, blow the shofar loud enough and the walls come tumbling down.

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AARON’S LIGHT – B’haalot’kha – Num. 8-12 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

AARON’S LIGHT – B’haalot’kha – Num. 8-12 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         Of all the Mitzvot – the commandments, duties, responsibilities – that Aaron had to fulfill as High Priest, the one that opens this reading is easily the most symbolic.  Possibly also the most significant.  Distinguishing its value in the very first line of this section, is the word that gives its name to the entire portion: B’haalot’kha – literally, “when you lift.” 

         What did Aaron lift?  He lifted a 7-branch candlestick, known as the Menorah.  In constant use ever since Aaron’s time, it now graces synagogues the world over, and its figure appears on documents and treasured jewelry, on buildings, products and stationery. 

         It also appears on an arch in Rome to symbolize Israel’s defeat.  Capturing the Menorah made the Romans believe they had indeed ended the Jewish nation. How wrong they were.   

         What is so special about this candlestick?   One distinction is the way it is made.  This was not put together piece by piece, a base, then attach a shaft and six branches.  This, we learned in the text of the Book of Exodus, elaborated by the Talmud and the commentators, was formed from one block of gold.  “Of beaten work shall the candlestick be made.  Its base, its shaft, its cups, its knobs and its flowers shall be part of it.”  One block of gold, beaten into shape.  Three branches extended on each side, and one in the center.  And the cups were shaped so as to project the light forward, not just straight up.  The Menorah should spread Divine light to the world.

         Of course Aaron had to light those flames, but that was only part of the Mitzvah.  The message he gets here does not say “when you kindle the flames,” it says “when you lift the flames.” 

         The 7 burning cups of the Menorah are shaped so that the flame does not burn just straight up, but also outward.  Spread the light.  Yes, it is for G-d, and it is also for people.  All people.

         Our commentators note details about the cups on the Menorah that add to the visual engineering.  Of the three cups on the east side, says Rashi, the two outer ones are angled just slightly so they all shine toward whoever is directly facing the middle light; and the same way on the west side.  The innermost of the three on each side, and the center light, (number 4 if you count from either end) are not angled at all, but shine up and straight out.

         From the various laws, observances and travel experiences we will read in these 5 chapters, and from the centuries of history that followed, we can learn something of the value of the light Aaron kindled, and raised.  Our Menorah indeed shines upward toward Heaven, and forward on all who face it. 

         Did it shine on the group of tribesmen who missed the first Passover, and convinced Moses to get them the opportunity to celebrate their freedom a month later?   Of course it did.

         Did it shine on Miriam when she spoke against her sister-in-law?   Maybe it did, and maybe she wasn’t facing it.  She got punished, and she atoned.  In effect, she turned around and accepted the light.

         Our candlestick represents the light of Torah. Like the Menorah of Aaron the High Priest, that light shines both upward and outward.  When we accept it, it can light up our lives.

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BLESSINGS AND MUSIC – Naso– Num.4:21–7 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

BLESSINGS AND MUSIC – Naso– Num.4:21–7 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         Of all the topics discussed in this reading, one that comes near the end is easily the most familiar, and perhaps most important for our generation.  It is identified as the Priestly Benediction, pronounced by Aaron’s sons in the ancient Temple, and    by their descendants in traditional synagogues ever since.  In many liberal congregations, the rabbi replaces the cohanim for the blessing.

         It consists of 3 brief Hebrew sentences.  Quite familiar, and often quoted – by Jews and non-Jews – at solemn ceremonies and at weddings and even at the inauguration of a president of the United States. 

        The first sentence, just 3 words long, vouchsafes physical safety.  It drops to us as if from on High, like a gentle rain, as we are blessed with Divine protection.  “May G-d bless you and guard you.”

          The second one, in 5 words, lifts us to a level where Divine light can shine straight into our lives, where G-d will be kind to us as we can be kind to our friends, our equals.   It inspires spiritual awareness: “May G-d’s presence shine on you and be favorable.” 

            And the third one’s 7 words promise peace.  Says the great commentator the Klee Yokor —  shocked at his own Chutzpeh – this lifts us to an even higher level. As if G-d was lifting His face toward us from below and establishing peace for us.  “May G-d’s presence rise into your life and bring you peace.” That wonderful line asks for much more than the absence of armed conflict.  It is addressed to each individual.  It asks for peace of mind, and peace of spirit.

           Verse 27 ties up the experience of the Priestly Benediction.  “They (the Cohanim) shall put My name on the people of Israel,” says G-d, “and I will bless them.”  The priest is reminded that he is a vessel, not the source.

            A special occasion for this blessing occurs at the Western Wall on the third day of Passover.  One year in Jerusalem my sons and I participated in this mass blessing.  And it is a mass blessing, being a partial reenactment of the ancient pilgrimage that took place on festivals – Passover, Shavuos, Succos, when people travelled to Jerusalem from all parts of the country. The day I was there, I would estimate 100,000 Jews at the Wall.  Cohanim lined the Wall, three rows deep, facing the crowd.  My sons and I were among the later arrivals, so we were in the front row of Cohanim.  Somewhere further down the Wall the cantor for the day  — the only one with a microphone – began to cue us.

             Now you must remember that the cantor always gives the cue for each word.  This facilitates the Cohanim staying together as they chant, of course.  But there is a religious reason too.  By saying the words tothe Cohanim, the cantor in effect invokes G-d’s blessing on them first, and they then proceed to communicate that blessing to the people.  As the commentators explain, you can’t pour anything out of an empty pitcher.

               From under the tallis (prayer shawl) that I held in front of my face as all the Cohanim did for the blessing, I could see the first row of people packed in front of me – from the waist down.  The only face I could see was a little boy about 4 years old.  Wide-eyed with wonder, he took in the scene.  As we began to chant the blessing, his father’s hand came around and covered the little boy ‘s eyes.  Mustn’t look.  In fact it is a universal Jewish custom not to look at the Cohanim during the blessing – even though their faces are covered by the tallis.  Some people even turn their backs so they won’t be tempted to look.  Why? Because the Cohen does not bless. The benediction is only his to deliver. G-d is the  Source.

          The Priestly Benediction, whether pronounced by descendants of Aaron or by clergymen, calls for an accepting answer from those being blessed.  And in synagogue practice it also includes music.   

         Rockdale Avenue Temple in Cincinnati was a model of Classical Reform as I remember it in the ‘30’s.  Among the minimal uses of Hebrew in its festival services came the Priestly Benediction, recited by the rabbi in stentorian tones (remember this was before the days of most microphones.)  After he said the first line, we heard the four church singers in the choir loft in perfect harmony: “The Lord bless thee and keep thee.” Each line got a corresponding answer. Three lines.  Three angelic-sounding musical responses delivered in a classical major cadence.  A spell was cast.

         At the other pole of observance, at the Chabad synagogue where, along with other cohanim, I now take part in the blessing on festival mornings, the prayer leader gave us a melody to introduce each word, excepting only the Divine Name.  Two trademark Chabad melodies alternate, and the cohanim all have to know what phrases to repeat.  At the end of each line, some 150 voices in the congregation chant “Amen” – in some 150 keys—with spirit.    When we conclude the blessing, congregants shake our hands to show their appreciation.  

         Between these two poles we find musical expressions ranging from medium to minimal to missing.  Many synagogues have the cohanim sing a melody just before the last word of each line.  Others have the cohanim do a plain repetition of the cantor’s chant on each word, and the congregation responds with the words Ken y’hee ratzon – “May it be G-d’s will.”  All traditional synagogues, and any liberal ones who follow the custom, have the cohanim repeat each word that the cantor chants, symbolizing the idea that they are not the source of the blessing.  They are the conduit.  Musically, physically and conceptually, we ask Divine blessing on each other.  And by our positive answer we express the confidence that we will succeed.

         The process of cohanim blessing the congregation is called dukhenen, from the word dukhan which means the low platform where the priests stand.Experience it, next chance you get.  And join in singing the response.  Hear the music.  Feel the echo.

 

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COUNTING IN THE DESERT – Bamidbor – Numbers 1-4:20, by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

 

COUNTING IN THE DESERT – Bamidbor – Numbers 1-4:20, by Rabbi Baruch Cohon
​This week’s reading gives its name to the entire book which it opens. But the English name seems to bear no relationship to the Hebrew name of the same book. “Numbers” is not a translation of “Bamidbor,” which means “In the desert.” Actually, the Hebrew name sets the scene for the whole history described in this book, which follows the ancient Hebrew tribes through the desert, in their slow and perilous progress toward the Promised Land. The English name is appropriate to this week’s reading, however, since here we see the completion of the census Moses conducted just a couple of months earlier when the Tabernacle – the mishkan – was built. Then, every male Israelite of military age had to bring a contribution of half a shekel toward the construction of the first Jewish house of worship. By counting the coins, the people’s leaders knew the total number of potential fighters: 603,550.
​“603,550…and counting.”
​Doubtful that Moses ever said that, but he might have. That’s what opens this book of the Torah – a census. Counting is a serious process, and nowhere more serious than among Jews. We treat it with great respect. Reluctance, in fact. Traditionally we avoid counting people. The good Yiddishe Mama would tick off her children saying “not one, not two, not three…” because only G-d should count us, and the Malakhamoves (angel of death) just waits for some careless human to usurp that prerogative.
​In the super-observant section of Jerusalem called Meyah Sh’arim (100 Gates) we are told that it is considered a sacred duty to oppose and thwart the Israeli Government Census. Census takers are seen as violating Divine law.
​And yet, as countless Jewish accountants can testify, we are heavily into counting other things – assets, liabilities, even time. In fact, when we count time we do it as a religious rite. The seven weeks between Passover and Shavuos are counted ceremonially, day by day.
​Why? Why, now when we are deluged with printed calendars, should we still consider it a Mitzvah to count time? And why is it a Mitzvah not to count people?
​“Teach us to number our days,” says a Psalm of David, “so we will acquire a heart of wisdom.” Nowhere does he say “teach us to count each other.” This despite the fact that King David himself conducted an unauthorized census that cost him dearly.
​Are the numbers themselves important? How many Jews left Egypt? Various schools of interpretation come up with different versions of the Biblical figures. The accepted total of fighting men ranges from 5,500 to over 600,000 depending on whose analysis you follow. And the total Hebrew population in the desert? Anywhere from 20,000 to 2 million. If in fact 2 million Jews left Egypt plus the “mixed multitude” that followed them, there is a plausible theory that the wanderings of such a huge population spread beyond the Sinai peninsula into the whole Arabian subcontinent. Intriguing idea, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why so many Arabs look like Jews? In Spain maybe they didn’t expel the Hebrews quite soon enough…the Semitic features survive on some Spanish faces too.
​Those are the uncounted. What about the ones who are counted? And what about the counting we still do, despite the taboos? This section reminds us that Moses took his census in the desert. G-d spoke to him, and through him to the entire Israelite people in the desert. Facing danger on every side, our ancestors received the Torah, and built the Mishkan — the portable sanctuary that would serve as their spiritual center for 40 grim years – in the desert. There Moses counted them. There they made their lives count. There they became a nation.
​Some deserts bloom today because the descendants of that nation make them blossom. And some of those descendants face challenges today that equal those of Moses’ time. In a way we’re all in the desert. Like the nation that marched into Sinai, we need to learn the Torah’s message – and earn that message – to implement it in our lives. It can strengthen us to achieve victory over enemy violence and self-defeating doubt. We can do it. And in that action we can make our lives count. So, counting people is important, after all.
​Equally important, if not more so, is counting time. When you count time, though, aren’t you in fact measuring your own life? “Today is the umpteenth day of the Omer.” That’s not all. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” The truth is, no one else can count that day for you.
​In a very real sense, no one else can count you either. Not even Moses. There he was, numbering the Israelites in the desert. Could it be that Moses, to whom the whole past and future Torah was revealed, didn’t know the profound teaching yet to become a cliché: “One who saves a single life of these is considered as saving a whole world, and one who destroys a single life of these is considered as destroying a whole world”? Each life has infinite value. Once you have counted infinity, how can you add to it?
​Perhaps that’s the answer to the riddle of Jewish counting. Numbering our days is positive because it reminds us that life is limited. Count your days, to make your days count. And counting people is negative because it’s like a vaudeville performer counting the house. The quality of his act will be in direct ratio to the size of his audience. Real quality performers don’t work that way. As people who sang in my choirs can testify, I always told them: “Never mind the empty seats. Sing for the people who are here.”
​The individual facing you – friend, stranger, relative or adversary – is at this moment the infinity matching your infinity. That individual counts. You count. And this day counts because it, like you, is irreplaceable.
​In the desert or the suburbs, at sea or on land, today or tomorrow, to build a better future, count me in.

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DESTINY OR DEBATE –Behukosai– Lev. 26:3-27:34– by Rabbi Baruch Cohon   

DESTINY OR DEBATE –BehukosaiLev. 26:3-27:34– by Rabbi Baruch Cohon   

         This reading, Behukosai – “In My Statutes” – details the results to be expected from following Torah principles.  And from violating them.  Make those principles our guide, we will read, and we can relish the joys of peace and prosperity.  We will even read about future victories, that if we must go to war “five of you will chase a hundred enemies, and a hundred of you will chase a thousand.  Your enemies will fall before you.”  Speaking in G-d’s name, the Torah predicts: “I will walk among you, and you will be my people.”

         But then we will also read about the reverse effects. If we forget about our mutual concern, despise the Mitzvos, exploit the land and each other?  Then “I will let your cities be ruined, and your holy places destroyed…”   This full list of curses, called the tokhakha, goes on and on – and is a mere preview of the list in Deuteronomy.  Both lists hardly anticipate our history.

         Considered from the vantage point of the 20thand 21stcenturies, we can draw a distinct parallel.     

          The Six Day War of 1967 brought a miracle to Israel and to World Jewry.  We thought that the miracle was military victory. What it really was, was the spirit of national unity that made victory possible.  Secular kibbutzniks and religious yeshiva students joined forces to defeat their smug enemies.  But they all served under assorted leadership.   During the battle for Jerusalem, General Motta Gur radioed headquarters with a historic 3-word message: Har habayit b’yadeynu – “The Temple Mount is in our hands!”  And a single soldier climbed the Dome of the Rock and attached an Israeli flag, signaling Jewish return to the holy hilltop after 19 centuries.  But no less a hero than Moshe Dayan ordered it taken down.  By the following week, national unity began to dissolve.

         Over the succeeding decades, appeasement groups appeared within our communities both in Israel and worldwide, Jewish pressure on the left.  And we see opposing efforts on the right, supporting Israeli power.  Neither national unity nor Torah principles can prevail.  From the Middle East to the committees of the UN, enemies threaten the Jewish future. Do we have something to learn?  Definitely.

         In the very last chapter of Leviticus, we will review the laws about how each individual participates in the work of the Sanctuary, by contributing the value of his labor – his own, and that of other members of his family, including males, females, adults and children.  When the contribution of sacred work is made economically rather than physically, the value of an individual is stated in an amount of shekels, and a fifth of that amount is added.  The additional 20% covers the cost of hiring someone outside the citizen’s family to do the job.  Supporting the community as detailed here is not a matter of voluntary charity.  It is a sacred duty, one of the tithes that are every citizen’s responsibility. Biblical statutes built a nation. 

         Some ancient problems keep happening, don’t they? Solving those problems challenges us in our generation.  We must learn from the past.             

         This reading completes this year’s review of Leviticus – the book of priestly statutes.  Next comes the Book of Numbers, in Hebrew called Bamidbor – “In the desert.”  In many ways, that’s where we are.   We need to find our way out of this religious and historic desert where we find ourselves.   This reading offers us one strong guide:  Help each other; remember that we are one people.        

                              

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