Parashat Va'etchanan - Tisha B’Av Reflections and the Shema

רפואה מן התורה

Healing from the Torah

Parashat Va'etchanan

Deuteronomy 3:23-7:11
By Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

     Jonathan Haidt in his book “The Righteous Mind” writes about what he calls the “Rider” and the “Elephant,” two aspects of moral psychology that I feel can be supported from the words of Torah. In short, morality prior to the 1960s operated on a Darwinian model that was about superior intellect, the strongest ruled, whereas after the 1960’s the emotive part of mankind should also be held in equality (heart and head).  Through his own study Haidt would come to recognize that contrasting the categories of cognitive intellect and emotions was pointless, although he continued to see morality as a matter of cognitive judgment.  In this case Haidt would come to hold that cognitive judgement is about the partnership of reason and intuition as opposed to the intellect and emotion being just related.  The cognitive that is “moral” operates as reason and intuition, the former speaking to processes while the latter is reactionary based on innate values.
     These two, reason and intuition, also represent for Haidt the “Rider” and the “Elephant” that are two separate cognitive pieces that must work concurrently.  Here the elephant functions in reaction to its animal intuition whereas the reason of the rider functions to guide the elephant for the best outcome.  Regarding Torah we read, נַעֲשֶׂה וְנִשְׁמָע (na’aseh v’nishma), “we will do and hear,” and בְּצַלְמוֹ (b’tzal’mo), mankind is created in “God’s image.”  נַעֲשֶׂה וְנִשְׁמָע has to do with “reason,”  we hear and therefore think before we act, whereas בְּצַלְמו is tied into “intuition,” or mankind’s sense of existence and inner convictions on a profound level that must also be guided.  In the end the rider and the elephant according to Haidt are two separate cognitive pieces that must work in tandem, just as “we will do and hear” and being created in “God’s image” must also work in tandem.  What we will learn from the relationship of reason and intuition is that they are foundationally operative in the words of the shema from this parsha in Deuteronomy 6:4; “Hear (שְׁמַע, shema), O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one (אֶחָד, echad).”
     Expanding on the connection to reason and intuition, while the shema is understood to be the Jewish declaration of faith, it is also about social bonding for a healthy community.  We will return to that in just a moment but first let’s look at the shema itself.  The word Shema (שְׁמַע) is an imperative, or command, which is why some will interpret “shema” to mean “obey” as opposed to just “hear,” or as my Rabbi says “listen up Jews” given that the passage in context is speaking to Israel.  In the Aramaic Targum, like in the Hebrew, the word used is also שְׁמַע (shema) with the added meaning “to understand.”  Certainly as an imperative that would seem obvious, but later on we find the word לְהַקְשִׁיב as well (l’hak’sheev, cf. Proverbs 2:2), which conveys the idea of needing to pay attention.  This is a causative form of a word that means to “incline” or “attend,” perhaps suggesting that the word shema alone was not enough in certain situations so l’hak’sheev was used to reinforce that active listening went beyond just hearing.  The Zohar teaches that when we say the shema we unite the upper and lower worlds, meaning that when we accept what we hear we have indeed listened; or per Haidt, it is when our reason (saying the shema is an act of  intellect) works together with our [spiritual; my addition] intuition (or higher values).  Then there is the word “one” (אֶחָד, echad) that is often translated as “alone,” more than likely as a way to affirm there is only one God in Judaism.  The word “alone” is not in the Hebrew while in the Aramaic the word is חָד, chad, aside from meaning “one,” can also mean “particular,” which tells us that early on “one” in this context was understood to mean “alone.”  But it has to be more than just a theological statement about the nature of God, therefore it should also be read as a statement about community.  Dr. Carol Ochs (Dir. of  Graduate Studies at HUC) draws that conclusion by looking at the relationship between Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5:6-18 from this parsha.  As such, in Exodus 20 we read the “ten words,” the basis of all laws, which is then restated here in Va’et’chanan and has an intrinsic communal purpose.  Ochs speaks to the relationship between the parents and grandparents who stood at Mt Sinai and their children and grandchildren who are about the enter the land, forever linking them together via those “ten words,” or L’dor vador (from generation to generation).  This would then make sense why Moses, also from this parsha, recounts the Exodus and Mt. Sinai  (see Dt. 5:1-6), thus the shema is saying that you are one with those who went before you, one with those who come after you, and one with those whom you stand here with today, notwithstanding differences.
     This is why the shema is also about social bonding for a healthy community, which is furthermore why the shema means that hearing and listening must also work in tandem. We also are a community, one people together from diverse backgrounds, Jews and gentiles, black and white, liberals and conservatives, and so forth.  Over this past couple of months in particular I have come to realize even more so than before that only hearing is not good enough.  The social rage that is inescapable right now (violence and/or verbal, political and/our social) has forced me to become better educated about ideals that may differ from how I see the world.  Reading Martin Luther King’s work from 1963, “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” it is quite obvious that he burned with rage over what was happening to the black community of his time.  It could even be easily read that he advocated for violence to further the cause of civil rights, but that would not make any sense given the larger corpus of his writings and spoken words that always sought peaceful means for change.  MLK understood why, but he did not advocate for violence more so than he asked others to listen as opposed to merely hearing.  Do not get me wrong, I am not condoning of, nor turning by back, on the hate and/or violence, chas v’chalilah, God forbid, but with the help of others I am seeking to a better listener beyond just hearing even if my initial reaction does not fully comprehend and/or agree.
     Per the words of Bob Dylan, I am not trying to sound the battle charge or remake the world at large, yet I am advocating for just not hearing the convictions of intuition but with reason also listening carefully to the words and concerns of others, dismissing the cacophony of noise that may interfere with truly needed change.  On Wednesday night into Thursday of this week we observe Tisha B’av, where according to Jewish tradition the second Temple was destroyed because of “sinat chinam, senseless hatred of one Jew for another" (BT Yoma 9a), which is why this is also Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of comfort.  Both in the Jewish community and in the larger community If we do not listen we may have to remember that hate spoke louder than love, and it is love that seeks and accomplishes tikkun (repair) as opposed to hate that just wants to dominate.  May we always aspire for our hearing (intuitive) and listening (reason) to work together as one.

Shabbat Shalom                     

Parashat Devarim - Handle with Care

רפואה מן התורה

Healing from the Torah

Parashat Devarim

Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22
By Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Handle with Care 

    Deuteronomy is a book about Moses’s own final words to Israel before they entered the land.  It differs from Numbers because of its instructions for Israel’s success instead of primarily recounting their flawed humanity.  In the very beginning we read “These are the words which Moses spoke unto all Israel” who spoke “according to all that the LORD had given him to command them” (Dt. 1:1-3).  In the Aramaic Midrash, Targum Yonatan, it reads, “these are the words of admonition (אוכחותא),” or words of “reproof, a word that is not in the original Hebrew Torah.  Rashbam (grandson of Rashi) taught that the words of Moses were an elaboration of what had gone before, with Ibn Ezra teaching that the words of Moses reflected the correct understanding of the commandments.  But I think Moses should be understood as speaking words like a parent attempting to instruct a child.  Moses just spent 40 years in the wilderness, watching what seemed bad more than good, such as with betrayal, rebellion, murder, death, revenge, deceit, unfaithfulness, and slander, not to mention watching their fear, broken trust, panic, impatience, aimlessness, and dissatisfaction.  It wasn’t all bad of course, that would be unfair, but it was like Moses said, “Listen (shema), I have seen what people can be like so you need to hear my words so that you’ll have success in the land!” Is says in Sefer Mishlei (Book of Proverbs) that there is wisdom and safety in listening to others; well you know, people have always struggled to do that.  Anyway, when I hear “these are the words of admonition,” I hear words to succeed as opposed to words of punishment for past wrongs, although past wrongs have consequences.

     In the parsha itself you would think the words of Moses would reflect on the Exodus, the defeat of Pharaoh, the manna that fed the people while in the wilderness, or the cloud by day and the fire by night that led them, not to mention that incident of the Golden Calf.  Instead Moses begins by speaking about their immediate battles and a reminder to Israel that God promised their ancestors the land which they were to enter.  Moses painfully reminds them about the complaining and quarrels he experienced with the generation that died in the wilderness and ultimately brings up the appointed leaders, and in particular, the failure of the spies who went into the land.  If you want to reread that account just look in Numbers 13 and 14, but here he simply says, “So I spoke to you, and you did not listen; but you rebelled against the commandment of the LORD, and were presumptuous …” (Dt. 1:43).  The word presumptuous in Hebrew is va’ta’zidu (ותזדו), which can also be translated as “willful,” although the Aramaic translation of the Torah called Onkelos uses the word va’ar’sha’toon (וארשעחון) that carries a like meaning but also has a root that means evil or sin (rasha, רשע).  So while the Hebrew further says v’lo sh’ma’tem, “they did not listen,” we read in the Aramaic, v’la ka’bel’toon, “they did not receive,” meaning that it was not just merely hearing words but receiving them.  In the Aramaic, the result of just hearing potentially could be evil if the hearer does not truly listen.
     Every day we say and listen to a prayer that is a meditation on words called the “Baruch Shemar,” the opening of the P’sukei D’zimrah in Jewish morning prayers. The prayer speaks of God who spoke the world into being, creating the world and its occupants with a mere word simply at the command to do so.  The mystical nature of this prayer aside, it’s about the power of words and therefore the power of our words, both received and spoken.   In this prayer we also read, Baruch gozayr oom’kai’yaym, “Blessed is God whose decree endures,” a decree of course is a word.  Commentary on this prayer found in My Peoples Prayer Book suggests that this enduring decree is more so for the worshiper as opposed to just an instruction by God.  Referring to Rabbi Abraham Jacob Freidman, the decree is to endure for a person’s stay in the world rather than to evoke fear because its purpose is punitive.  Rav Cook refers to the words chai, “lives,” and kayyam, “exists,” also from the Baruch Shemar, something that can teach us about the relationship between a decree and its benefit.  The word “exists” (kayyam) is the same root-word as “endures” (kai’yaym) although a different verb form.  In this case Rav Cook says “one who exists rather than lives, has been stripped of their humanity, to which I will add, to live means to endure.  Per those words I will further add, one who hears but does not listen fails to grasp the power of words, and therefore struggles to endure.  Going back to the spies, the power of their words lead the people to endure wrongly with an unfortunate result.  Next week is Tisha B’Av, a fast day where we remember many Jewish disasters, most notably the destruction of both Temples in Jerusalem, but also the crusades, Jewish massacres, and the Holocaust.  But the first such tragedy of Tisha B’Av is the misfortune of Israel’s wandering through the wilderness for an additional 38 years, which resulted from the people hearing the inflammatory words of the spies, instead of listening to the words of instruction from Moses. In this case Israel chose to hear and act upon words that did not benefit them.
     It is said that the Torah is made up of black fire and white fire, the black fire being the words on the page and the white fire being the space between the words, or how people interact with its teachings and stories.  Often the problem comes with the white fire since it is the place of interpretation.  In general all words are like black fire, they are merely words, but the white fire is how they are interpreted, communicated, and heard, but also how they are explained and listened to.  Words that are only heard (and spoken without thoughtfulness) can lead to immediate actions that are not always the best, whereas when listened to or thought out, there is a better opportunity to weigh meanings and therefore actions.  Think about the words of the spies and what it cost the people who heard them.  Words that are not thoughtful and balanced can be harmful, thus we read in Perkei Avot “be careful with your words, lest from them they learn to lie,” ultimately reminding us how the power of words can lead others (and ourselves) wrongly.  After walking with Israel for 40 years in the wilderness Moses wanted his words to simultaneously warn and better them.  Words are powerful, they can destroy and give life, therefore given the amount of words we hear daily and the need to process them ... handle with care.

Shabbat Shalom

Parashat Matot/Massei - This Land is Our Land

רפואה מן התורה

Healing from the Torah

Parashat Matot/Massei

Numbers 30:2-36:13
By Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

This Land is Our Land 

     Matot/Massei is a double parshiyot that concludes the book of B’midbar, or Numbers.  Numbers has been a book about human flaws and choice, and this parsha is no different.  In Numbers we have seen betrayal, broken trust, subversion, murder, attempted political coups, divisions and so on, human acts that we continue to see in our day. But we have also met Joshua who would be Israel’s leader in the future as well as the daughters of Zelophehad who’s peaceful but determined protest yielded positive results.  Now the 40 year journey is about to end, and Israel is standing just outside of the land of Canaan about to cross the Jordan river.  Perhaps providential, or maybe just mere coincidence, but the social upheavals that Israel encountered on their journey that we have been reading about have been in backdrop to our own social issues.  As such, last week we encountered a new dynamic where the Israelites now have to contend with neighbors who are not like them, which we see in the illicit relationship between the Israelite man and a Midianite woman.  In this case it was the Midianite woman who lured the Israelite man into an idolatrous web that ended with the loss of life.
     Regarding the Midianites in general the Zohar teaches “come and see that everything stemmed from Midian,” meaning that the Israelites attacks on the Midianites were just not arbitrary or malicious.  After being hired by Balak the King of Midian Balaam’s prophecy failed to curse Israel, only to be followed by the Midianite women capitalizing on the weaknesses of Israel’s men with acts of cultic sex, a plan to destroy Israel’s existence before they entered the land.  In the Haftarah we read in Jeremiah 1:5, “Before I formed you in the belly I knew you, and before you came forth out of the womb I sanctified you; I have appointed you a prophet unto the nations,” the a bigger picture being that Israel was God’s first (not only) born nation who was given the job to be a priest for the entire world (see Ex. 4:22 and 19:6).  Even with its human flaws Israel was a nation that sought to bring redemption to the world as opposed to forcing others by coercion to be like them or extermination if the former failed.  Just like the Egyptians before them, the Midianites wanted to wipe Israel off the face of the planet so Israel opted for self-preservation.  Rashi wrote of  “God’s vengeance” on the people of Midian who were like “one who stands against Israel (the Jewish people) is if they are standing against the Holy One, Blessed be God” (see. Rashi Num. 31:3).  The Israelites had the right to protect themselves against enemies who wanted to destroy them and that was their reality as they entered Canaan.
     Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asks, “Can they build a society that is both free and ordered?”  How can Israel undo the systemic hate that they continue to encounter in order to be a people who are free to build their lives, have homes, and raise their families?  Well in part it had to do with communal unity as opposed to the constant divisions that we have been reading about.  In Numbers 32 we read that the tribes of Gad and Rueben make a request of Moses to settle in the plains east of the Jordan instead of crossing into Canaan.  In response Moses said, “Shall your brothers go out to battle while you settle here?” (Num. 32:6).  Moses wants to know why the rest of the people should put their lives in jeopardy for the new land while the tribes of Gad and Ruben seemingly separate from the greater cause?  Rashi writes of the community reaction, “for they (Israel) will be under the impression that you (Gad and Ruben) were afraid to cross because of the war and the strength of the towns and the people.”  In the end, Gad and Ruben settled east of the Jordan, but their fighting men (no women fought back then) crossed with the rest and did not return home until Israel settled the land for everyone else.  In the teachings of Mussar this is the middah of אחריות, acharayut, or responsibility.  This word can be broken down into a verb and an adjective, the verb being achar meaning to “remain behind” to the adjective achayr that means “another,” or standing behind another person.  Israel needed unity to settle down and be free from the litany of enemies that wanted to destroy them.
     This parsha clearly reminds us that the battles we are facing right now require a joint effort in order to defeat them.  For us Jews and the Jewish community here in America  just look at the recent murders in a Pittsburgh synagogue, the Kosher market in New Jersey or the synagogue in San Diego as a reminder, never mind the Holocaust. We need to also recall that it was not too long ago that Jews were called termites or that (yet again) we control the banks implying that we therefore control the money.  The feelings that were provoked in me are sadness because it still happens, Jews are slandered and killed simply because we are Jewish, as well as abandonment because too often the voices of outrage and protest are short lived or silent.  As Jews we have to be like the tribes of Gad and Ruben, going into battle for the sake of others regarding the hate that they encounter.  You see since we know of hate and racism personally, morally and ethnically we have to be in unity with those who also fight against racism, which is why black lives have to matter.  This is not about an organizational movement but about the dignity of people.
     In this parsha the Midianites who wanted to destroy Israel represent the hate and racism that wants to destroy humanity.  As Jews our history of being denied human rights, not allowed to own land, vote, go to universities, shunned from society until emancipation should make us both aware and outraged, even more so because we still pay the price of anti-Semitism.  But in America we do not suffer the ills of the past, yet we watch the black community that has gone from slavery to segregation to overwhelming incarceration fight for their rights before our own eyes.  We can’t deny that those from the same community have become doctors, lawyers, business owners, professors, supreme court judges, and even the President of the United Sates, but we can’t also deny that their emancipation is ongoing.  Just like with us Jews it does not stop the systemic hate that is embedded in mankind, but it is about being able to build their lives, have homes, and raise their families in the freedom they deserve.  We can't keep watching unnecessary killing or persecution without stepping in. 
     I know there will be people out there who will not like what I am about to say,  yet it would also be a mistake to think that this reflects a lack of support for the cause, but black lives matter only because all lives matter or in the end no lives can matter.  At the end of the day, hate, discrimination, and murder are equal opportunity sicknesses, meaning that we all have acharayut, or responsibility to be like Gad and Ruben by standing up for each other and/or to fight for another’s freedom, which is the Jewish way!  You and I fight the way we must for human rights, properly but with persistence, or we rob each other of our God given right to be fully human.  This is not simply my land or your land, but this land is supposed to be our land.

Shabbat Shalom!                             

Parashat Pinchas - Mourning the Power of Peace

רפואה מן התורה

Healing from the Torah

Parashat Pinchas

Numbers 25:10-30:1

By Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Mourning the Power of Peace

     Thursday of this week is the 17^th of Tammuz, a day that commemorates the start of a three week annual mourning period.  A date that is not really observed, let alone remembered, mourns the destruction of the Holy Temple and the Jewish launch into exile. The period begins with a dawn to dusk fast that marks the day when the walls of Jerusalem were breached by the Romans in 69 CE.  We learn in the Talmud, Yoma 9, that a reason why the Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed and was followed by exile is because of שנאת חינם, sinat chinam or gratuitous hatred between one Jew and another.  Well, while it was between one Jew and another regarding the Temple, in the bigger picture this is a hatred that causes a variety of societal ills between all people regardless of race, color, religion, sex, politics, economic status, of what have you.  In this week’s reading, Parashat Pinchas, we meet the first real direct violence between members of Israel’s wilderness community.  Like the sinat chinam that contributed to the Temple's demise, do we, can we, or should we understand Pinchas’ behavior in the same light?

     Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes about the two Zealots in the Tanakh, Pinchas and Elijah, who were considered “religious heroes.”  In the case of Elijah there is a dialog between he and God in the Midrash regarding what happened on the mountain with the prophets of Ba’al.  Here, God asks Elijah, “Is it your covenant,” a response to Elijah who justifies his actions because of the “Israelite's (who) have broken your (God) covenant” (Songs of Songs Rabbah 1:6).  In 1 Kings 19 we read how Elijah is gently corrected because he misunderstood the power of God that informed his zeal.  R’Sacks identifies this rebuke by saying “that God expects his prophets to be defenders, not accusers.”  In other words, Elijah getting the people to stop following Ba’al was not to be done, per R’Sacks “through violent protest.” Regarding Pinchas, the zealot of this parsha, he killed an Israelite brother and a Midianite woman to stop a plague that enveloped Israel because of Idolatry (Num. 25:11), but was it out of hatred or just misguided?  In response to this act God affirmed the motivation but could not condone the deed itself, something that for R’Sacks is embedded in the “Covenant of Peace” (בריתי שלום, b’ree’tee shalom; lit “My covenant of peace”).  God wants peace in Israel, not violence in the camp, and while Pinchas and Elijah are considered heroes in the “spiritual life,” R’Sacks goes on to say that from God’s point of view their actions were “enough.”  In conclusion, Elijah’s role as a prophet changed by delivering words of God’s mercy (see 1 Kings 21) whereas Pinchas’ role as a Priest would yield to his role as a diplomat years later by averting civil war in Israel (see Josh. 22).  After Pinchas killed the Israelite man and Midianite woman, as already said, God made a “Covenant of Peace” with Pinchas.  For Rashi, “My covenant of Peace” is not a covenant of peace per se, but that God’s covenant "expresses peace."  Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin suggests that this “Covenant of Peace” is really a blessing for the “attribute for peace” and that Pinchas should have not been so “quick tempered or angry” when he acted in a perceived  justification of God’s righteous wrath. We must remember that Pinchas had an important role in the community, and although he did want to make peace between God and mankind, it was not how God wanted it from a Priest.  Here, the covenant was conferred upon Pinchas regarding his role to be an arbiter of peace even while standing up for justice.  We have to remember that Pinchas and Elijah are from another word with different standards that eyes of modernity cannot comprehend. Murder as a tactic of negotiation or to establish a person’s rights is never okay, not even then.
     I think this is exactly why the story of the daughters of Zelophehad (ze’lopf’chad) are in this same parsha.  Dr. Judith Baskin, the Director of the Jewish Studies Program at the University of Organ, presents these daughters as “canny and competent women who trusted that divine mercy would translate the mutable norms of a human society which women were subordinate beings.”  In the narrative itself the daughters stood up for their rights as their fathers only children, he had no boys, pertaining to the rights to his land.  Moses heard their request, a request that was made by women who according to the Midrash opposed the Golden Calf, rejected the doubt of the fearful spies and in this case knew about the divine promise regarding the land (see Numbers Rabbah, 21).  In the Talmud, Bava Batra 119b, the Sages praise the daughters of Zelophehad as women who spoke with intelligence about Torah while showing comprehension of Jewish Law, women who in the end were rewarded as exalted women in Jewish history, something that for Dr. Baskin is because they ultimately impelled Moses to seek divine help to clarify the “succession of the land.”  Perhaps this is why the writers of Torah were inspired to put the story of Pinchas and the story of the daughters of Zelophehad next to each other.  Both were compelled by a sense of justice and both we going to act out from deep seated convictions. While their stories cannot be compared I think the difference lay in how they acted upon their sense of right.  For us moderns Pinchas’ actions are unacceptable, but from the view of Torah he carried out this one time righteous act wrongly that demanded a rebuke from God.  The daughters of Zelophehad were lawyers and diplomats, they stood their ground and peacefully persuaded beyond the protest, for them the “Covenant of Peace” reaped the rewards/results of their efforts.  Let’s recall the words of Martin Luther King who wrote,

“But in spite of temporary victories, violence never brings permanent peace. It solves no social problem: it merely creates new and more complicated ones. Violence is impractical because it is a descending spiral ending in destruction for all. It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate the opponent rather than win his understanding: it seeks to annihilate rather than convert. Violence is immoral because it thrives on hatred rather than love. It destroys community and makes brotherhood impossible. It leaves society in monologue rather than dialogue. Violence ends up defeating itself. It creates bitterness in the survivors and brutality in the destroyers.”

     Think beyond the protests and violence that we have been watching, or the political agenda that suffocates our country right now, but think of how we as people go about the business of seeking change in both small and large ways.  We mourn because the “Covenant of Peace” is often hidden, but it is there for the taking.

Shabbat Shalom!                  

Parashat Chukkat/Balak - Recalling the Music of Miriam's Heart

רפואה מן התורה

Healing from the Torah

Parashat Chukkat/Balak 

Numbers 19:1-25:9

By Rabbi Adam Ruditsky

Recalling the Music of Miriam's Heart

     Last week we read about the tragic end to Korach of the Kohathite Levitical clan and the 250 families that followed him because of a rebellion against Moses and Aaron.  The Korach rebellion followed on the heels of the spies debacle that was proceeded by the people who wanted to turn on Moses because they wanted meat instead of manna.  In part of this reading, Parashat Chukkat, we come to the symbolic end of the wilderness generation with the deaths of Miriam and Aaron, but also the news that Moses will not make it out of the wilderness.  Yet, in the middle of this narrative that began in the previous parshiyot the Torah relays the funky ritual of the Red Heifer, the parah adumah (פרה אדומה).  The Rabbis taught that this is a “chukkat,” a Law without an obvious reason, just like Kosher laws regarding milk and meet, shaatnez (mixing wool and linen) or kilayim (mixing two types of grain).
     Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes that on the outside the law of the parah adumah belongs in the book of Leviticus where the laws of purity are discussed in length.  But calling on Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, a dead body never defiled a person and water never purified a person until the law said so,  R’Sacks further saying that this law “created a new reality” for Israel in the wilderness that teaches something about death itself.  In this case, Israel is about to meet the death of their leaders head on, and the parah adumah becomes something much bigger than a cow who is burned and its ashes are put in water to be sprinkled on a person contaminated by some kind of contact with a dead person/animal (cf. Rashi), as if it were some magical healing formula (Num. 19:12). On the contrary it is not about magical ashes but about the continuation of life itself, thus “we die, but life goes on,” R’Sacks writes.  In the end, R’Sacks says that the parah adumah is a reminder that there is “continuity” in death between “the dead, the living and those yet not born,” the reminder being that “the dead live on is us” (the living).  Does this ring true; the symbolic nature of the parah adumah serves the purpose to tell us that life is a continuous cycle between the living, the dead, and those not yet born?
     Regarding the deaths of Miriam and Aaron that followed this ritual of the parah adumah there are two things that stand out.  First, the death of Miriam receives no attention or ritual, although her death caused further contention for the people (Num. 20:1-13).  And second, whereas Aaron’s death is ritualized for 30 days, nothing else is mentioned (Num. 20:24-29).  In the case of Aaron the High Priest, his son Elazar takes his place, but when Miriam dies her “well” that provided nourishment for the people in the wilderness dried up (BT Shabbat 35a).  In the text, the people contented with Moses and Aaron because there was no more water, so Moses hit’s the rock with his staff (instead of speaking to it) and water comes forth.  Just like the chukkat itself, a momentary outburst of frustration costs Moses a lifetime of hard work and effort to enter the land of their journey, a decree by God that is not obviously clear, and debated by many.  We read in the Talmud that there were, “three great leaders … Moses, Aaron and Miriam. In their merit they received three great gifts: the Well [Miriam], the Clouds of Glory [Aaron] and the Manna [Moses]” (BT Taanit 9a), yet here we can conclude that Miriam was the most prominent among the people.   
       Miriam was one of the midwives according to tradition that made sure that little Jewish baby boys did not die in Exodus, and she made sure her brother Moses would be saved from Pharaoh’s decree.  After Israel and the mixed-multitude crossed the sea it was Miriam, the prophetess, that lead the women in a song of thanksgiving to God, and at the end of her life, her absence made the biggest impact on the people.  In short, Miriam was the heart of the three, even her words that spoke out regarding Moses’ wife reflected the passion that drove her, something that was an unspoken gift to the people.  Although difficult for Judaism to swallow, Miriam’s death was looked at as an atonement of sorts which is why the story of the parah adumah proceeded her loss.  So why the parah adumah provided atonement for the Golden Calf, Miriam’s death also has merit in the same way (see BT Mo’ed katan 28a).  It was the 13^th century Rabbi, Menachem ben Meiri, who taught that the atonement provided is not one to forgive sin but to inspire people toward introspection and self-assessment of wrongdoing.  In other words, Miriam’s life provided “living waters” of moral melodies that when gone caused the people to seek what was lost.  Family values were the work of Miriam according to the Midrash, her legacy was in the lives of the people as opposed to Elazar who took over for Aaron regarding Priestly concerns and Joshua who would take over for Moses as the leader of the community.  Yeah, Elazer and Joshua had important roles, but Miriam left a void in the lives of the people like no other.  Still each had a role, and in their lives “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it” (Perkei Avot 2:21).
     How does Miriam’s work continue on although she dies before it was completed?  You have to wonder, if Miriam’s’ life were ritualized and celebrated maybe Moses would have been able to mourn his sister instead of being frustrated leading him to hit the rock, or the community would have not been out-spoken against the leaders yet again?  The generation was ending, the journey was coming to a close, and the heart of the people just died, but they had to go on in the right way by finding a new heart; maybe even their own now that it was their turn to take up the work itself.  The parah adumah for R’Sacks taught, “we die, but life goes on,” thus for the community as they enter their new land the heart of Miriam was their gift.  During turbulent and uncertain times we must recall the hearts of those who went before us to give us what we have today, yet even if still in process, we must find our heart along the way as we continue our work. Death and life are circular, but it is what happens in-between, and how we handle it, that defines us.

Shabbat Shalom.