Any Central Valley almond farmers here today? If so you’re in luck! After the incident with Korach, God’s new deterrent against the Israelites’ complaining is to take 12 staffs, 1 from each tribe, and put them in a pile. The staff of the person God will choose will sprout almonds (ויגמול שקדים). Aaron’s staff blossomed.[1] God then said, “put Aaron’s staff back before the community, to be kept as a lesson to the rebels, so that their mutterings against Me may cease, lest they die.”[2]

          Rashi points out that the word ויגמולused for sprout or ripen is the same as the word for wean when Isaac is weaned from Sarah.[3] I love this image. When Isaac was weaned, Abraham threw a big party to mark this life transition.[4] Today most of us do nothing to mark this independence of a child being able to eat on his/her own, yet biblically it was of great significance. Similarly, the “weaning of almonds” from Aaron’s staff symbolizes a transition that maybe now the people will independently recognize Aaron as the High Priest rather than as a usurper of power, as Korach claimed. Sure enough, Aaron is never challenged again as the priest-especially at the end of next week’s double parsha when his grandson Pinhas took matters into his own hands.[5] Rashi also asserts that almonds ripen more rapidly than other fruit.

          This also brings extra meaning to the almonds which blossomed. Almonds can represent breasts, the source of sustenance. Chizkuni uses the term “gamal” (to ripen) as alluding to maturity and diligence. The ripe almonds representkohanim shokdim al avodatam—priests who are watchful and dedicated in their Divine service.[6] It is like the line in our daily liturgy אשירה ליי כי גמל עלי “I will sing to God for God bestows kindness onto me,” using a third definition of the verb גמל, which we also see in the Amidah (גומל חסדים טובים) and in the prayer about being saved from danger (ברכת הגומל)

Rabbi Menachem Mendl Schneerson, whose Yahrzeit was 2 days ago, addresses a deeper question: Why was this miracle even necessary, given that G‑d had already demonstrated that Korah was in the wrong?

He explained that the earth swallowing Korach and the fire that consumed his followers proved that dissent against G‑d leads to harsh punishment. But those events did not resolve the people’s doubts about Aaron’s legitimacy or clarify why he was chosen.

The miracle of the blossoming staff answered that question by revealing Aaron’s uniqueness in two powerful ways. First, a dry, dead staff has no potential for life or fruit; its sudden blossoming could only have come from G‑d’s will, proving that Aaron’s appointment was not the result of Moses’ favoritism or political maneuvering, but a direct act of Divine selection: “The man whom I shall choose.”    

Second, the miracle didn’t happen all at once. The staff followed a natural growth process—first a flower, then a bud, then ripe almonds. This demonstrated that G‑d’s choice was not just a miraculous imposition but something that became internal and lasting. Just as the staff behaved like a living tree, so did the priesthood become something woven into the very essence of Aaron and his descendants—not a temporary role, but an enduring spiritual identity that is part and parcel of who they are.[7]         

As we reach the summer solstice, many strive to take a break from hard work, and one should take breaks from time to time. At the same time, I’d like you to think about who or what are you blossoming into right now? Are you learning a new skill? Are you working on an aspect of yourself? I hope we will use the summer as a time for self-reflection and growth, in addition to appreciating all that life has to offer us.

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[1] Numbers 17:16-23

[2] Numbers 17:25

[3] Rashi on Exodus 17:23 ד”ה ויגמול שקדים

[4] Gensis 21:8

[5] See Numbers 25:7-8

[6] Chizkuni on Exodus 17:23 ד”ה ויגמול שקדים

[7] Likkutei Sichot vol 23, p 113.

        Have you ever felt that you were not worthy? Maybe it was for being given an honor or being promoted to a position. If so, you’re not alone, as that is how our ancestor Aaron felt when he was chosen to become the High Priest.

       When Aaron was going to go offer sacrifices at the tabernacle as High Priest, he was ashamed. Aaron was embarrassed and so When he was told “approach the altar…and atone on your own behalf and on behalf of the people,”[1] the medieval commentator Rashi speculates that he did not move.[2]

        Why didn’t Aaron move forward to approach the altar? Perhaps because one of the sacrifices he was to offer was a calf [3] as a purification offering to atone for the sin of the golden calf. This is the only time a calf is offered on the altar. The Midrash asserts that Moses had to reassure Aaron, saying “come forward-it is for this reason that you were chosen.”[4]

       Why was Aaron chosen to lead Israel as High Priest despite his making the golden calf? Noam Elimelech, the second century Hasidic commentator, asserts that this is the mark of the Tzadik-to “Always see in his eyes sins on every aspect that leads towards sin (places where it is easy to sin) and always submit and lower himself and in front of the masses.”[5] Because Aaron saw the imperfections within himself and recognized the mistake he had made, he was precisely the right person to become High Priest.

The point of Noam Elimelech’s teaching is that Aaron being mindful of what he did wrong prepares him for being the High Priest. Unfortunately, we see that Aaron’s sons-Nadav and Avihu-were not so mindful and underwent a terrible fate, offering a “foreign fire” and being consumed by fire.[6]

Of course, there is a shadow side of this-being so focused on one’s imperfections that it paralyzes you from taking constructive action. The early Mussar movement, especially from the school of Khelm, focused on self-improvement through being critical of all one’s mistakes and limitations. That approach can cause shame and fear of making a mistake and the consequences that would bring. When one is constantly afraid of messing up, it often becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Rather, if one is hesitant because of past transgression, like Aaron, yet moves forward with gentle encouragement, like that given by Moses, they are more likely to succeed. While fulfilling the maxim of being careful before we act or speak, we cannot forget the reason we are here in the first place and the Hasidic ideal that each of us has a special mission to carry out.[7]

As we come out of Passover, it is my hope and prayer that each of us channels any feelings of shame, inadequacy as to our capabilities or whether we can fulfill our role, into living our lives with the feeling that we have been chosen for a special purpose. Aaron had trepidation in not feeling that he was the right person to lead Israel as the High Priest. His hesitancy coupled by his coming forward to atone for his past mistake and turn over a new leaf, is precisely the reason why he was the right choice.

[1] Leviticus 9:7

[2] Rashi on Leviticus 9:7 ד”ה קרב אל המזבח

[3] Leviticus 9:2. See Rashi there.

[4] Rashi on Leviticus 9:7 based off Sifra Miluim 1:8

[5] Noam Elimelech, Shemini Comment 1

[6] Leviticus 10:1-2

[7] See Netivot Shalom Lech Lecha

God is a man of war-God is His name.[1] This verse from the Song at the Sea showed God’s power in this battle. Often, we think of war as an external thing. At times, however, war can be a battle against our inner demons. Like my favorite interpretation between Jacob and the angel, most of our wars are not against an external force but rather what is going on inside of us.

Dr Aaron T. Beck, founder of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, identified that the best way to fight our negative thoughts is by acknowledging, understanding and processing them rather than battling them. Through modifying these negative, automatic thoughts he treated depression.

I think about this in light of Moses’ initial struggle to move forward. He seemed paralysed, the sea in front of him and the Egyptian flank behind him. God’s response was מה תצעק אלי? דבר אל בני ישראל וישאו

why are you crying out to me? Speak to the children of Israel and move forward!”[2] Moses was stuck as many of us are during difficult situations or through debilitating thoughts. He needed God’s help to push him forward.

The same is true for us. When we are stuck, or in the midst of uncertainty, at times we need to ask for help. This is so challenging to do yet it is necessary in order for us to take a step forward. It also takes time and relationship building to be able to move, as well as confidence that at times we will relapse or take a step back along the way and that’s ok. Moses needed to know and feel that God, the Man of War, was on his side and would help him lead the people across to the other side. Through having patience, understanding and knowing that we are not alone, we can conquer our inner demons, cut through the paralysis and break on through to the other side.

Of course, this is easier said than done and we need resources, especially when the pain feels too great to bear. Enter the medieval mystical poet, Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī, who provides us with the poem The Guest House. I hope it will comfort you as it has for me when facing inner demons. This version is translated by Coleman Barks.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

[1] Exodus 15:3

[2] Exodus 14:15

God is a man of war-God is His name.[1] This verse from the Song at the Sea showed God’s power in this battle. Often, we think of war as an external thing. At times, however, war can be a battle against our inner demons. Like my favorite interpretation between Jacob and the angel, most of our wars are not against an external force but rather what is going on inside of us.

Dr Aaron T. Beck, founder of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, identified that the best way to fight our negative thoughts is by acknowledging, understanding and processing them rather than battling them. Through modifying these negative, automatic thoughts he treated depression.

I think about this in light of Moses’ initial struggle to move forward. He seemed paralysed, the sea in front of him and the Egyptian flank behind him. God’s response was מה תצעק אלי? דבר אל בני ישראל וישאו

why are you crying out to me? Speak to the children of Israel and move forward!”[2] Moses was stuck as many of us are during difficult situations or through debilitating thoughts. He needed God’s help to push him forward.

The same is true for us. When we are stuck, or in the midst of uncertainty, at times we need to ask for help. This is so challenging to do yet it is necessary in order for us to take a step forward. It also takes time and relationship building to be able to move, as well as confidence that at times we will relapse or take a step back along the way and that’s ok. Moses needed to know and feel that God, the Man of War, was on his side and would help him lead the people across to the other side. Through having patience, understanding and knowing that we are not alone, we can conquer our inner demons, cut through the paralysis and break on through to the other side.

Of course, this is easier said than done and we need resources, especially when the pain feels too great to bear. Enter the medieval mystical poet, Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī, who provides us with the poem The Guest House. I hope it will comfort you as it has for me when facing inner demons. This version is translated by Coleman Barks.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

[1] Exodus 15:3

[2] Exodus 14:15

          “My god, your pride will be the death of us all. Beware, it goeth before the fall!” This line, spoken by Aaron Burr to Alexander Hamilton in his play Hamilton is based on Proverbs לִפְנֵי־שֶׁ֥בֶר גָּא֑וֹן וְלִפְנֵ֥י כִ֝שָּׁל֗וֹן גֹּ֣בַהּ רֽוּחַ׃ “Pride goes before ruin; arrogance before failure.”[1] The short reading we did today begins between the episode of the golden calf and the carving of a new set of tablets.

          How could the Israelites succumb to this calf? The answer is simple: hubris. They believed that they were above the law that they had been given at Sinai 40 days earlier and could do what they wanted. They missed the test of patience and resilience in waiting for Moses’ return.

          A Hasidic Master, Meshullah Feibush Heller of Zhbarazh, write about this in chapter 2 of his work Yosher Divrei Emet. wrote as follows:

          “In reality, we humans are naturally ingrained by birth to have prideful hearts, as our Sages of blessed memory stated, ‘There are four prideful creatures, (the lion, ox, eagle, and human), and the human is more prideful than all of them.’[2]

          The Blessed One granted me a credible parable related to this. Let’s say we’re travelling on the road in a wagon and we fall asleep. The wagon driver is accompanying us and drives up a high mountain. But when the driver reaches the top of the mountain the path is flat, for we have already passed the upward slope. If we were to wake up thereafter and someone were to tell us that we’re on a mountain, we wouldn’t believe them because we can’t see any evidence to that effect. If we had initially witnessed the slope we’d ascended, we would know the truth. But now that the road is flat, on what grounds can we possibly conclude that we’re on a mountaintop? How can this reality be made known to us? Subsequently, when we descend the opposite slope, which dips into a valley, we will discern that we had been on a mountain.

          In reality, our pride is like a high mountain. If we could feel and truly know that our heart is growing prideful within us, we would certainly discern that we are experiencing pridefulness and hubris and that we’ve ascended a mountain. But we were born on this mountain, which is our pride…which is why it seems to us that we have no pride and that we’re not on a mountain at all. How can we possibly discern this to be the case if we don’t fully descend to the foot of the mountain by habituating ourselves to surrender and humility in heart and deed-and especially in heart-so that the truth will become known to us?”

          A Hasidic ideal is בטול היש, nullification of the ego. The example from our tradition is that the golden calf was burnt, grounded into powder, strewn into water and drunk by the Israelites.[3] The very thing in which Israel took pride gets destroyed and consumed by them.

This does not mean self-effacement. Rather it is recognizing the things that we do not control, that the “I” in the story, is not nearly as significant as we give it credit for. That way, when unfortunate things befall us, our world doesn’t collapse on us but rather we have the resilience to continue. As Mona Fishbane said, “It’s time to stop being the victim and become the author of your own life.”[4]

When we are on top of the mountain, let us remember that we can descend. When we on at the bottom of the mountain, let us remember that there will always be an ascent later on. The journey might be long and bumpy like a roller-coaster, but if we stay with it, we will merit seeing many vistas over the course of our lifetimes.

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[1] Proverbs 16:18

[2] Exodus Rabbah 23:13; Bavli Hagigah 13b

[3] Exodus 32:24

[4] Told to me at the Rabbinic Training Institute 2017

     With Appreciation to My Mentor Rabbi Mitch Chefitz z”l   

  What does it mean to sacrifice something? According to the on-line Miriam Webster Dictionary it means one of the following

1: an act of offering to a deity something precious

Especially: the killing of a victim on an altar

2: the act of giving up or losing something of value for the sake of something else

          I’m going to put 1 aside and focus on 2. What is the “something else” for which we sacrifice? In Judaism it is getting close to God, לקרב or קירוב, which was talked about in last week’s Bat Mitzvah speech. Something of value from one’s flock is freely given in order to strengthen one’s relationship with the Holy One.

          Parshat Tzav discusses the same 5 korbanot, or sacrifices, that we discussed last week with VaYikra. I’d like to focus on a specific verse from the guilt offering, or asham.

          “With loaves of leavened bread he should bring his offering, with his feast thanksgiving peace-offering.”[1] Now leavened bread might be the last thing on our minds right now. There is a story I learned from my teacher, Rabbi Mitch Chefitz z”l, who learned it from Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach z”l who would often spend time at Mitch and Walli’s home in Miami. It is entitled “The Baker and the Janitor.”

Not all Jews left Spain after the expulsion in 1492. Many converted to Catholicism and remained. Some converted only on the surface but observed Jewish customs in secret.

Among them were Joseph, a baker, and his wife Maria (Miriam). They left Spain and settled in Safed, Israel.

Joseph was a knowledgeable and diligent baker, but a simple and ignorant Jew. He desired earnestly to learn Jewish practice and serve the Holy One in a Jewish manner. He attended services regularly. One Saturday morning he heard the Rabbi deliver a teaching that changed his life.

The Rabbi taught about the implements within the Tent of Meeting – the Ark of the Covenant, the Altar, the Menorah – and lastly the Table for the Showbread. Every week the Cohen (the priest) put fresh bread on the table.

Joseph returned home from the synagogue ecstatic. “I know what God wants,” he told Miriam. “He wants bread!”

The next week he chose his two best loaves of Shabbat bread to bring to the synagogue on Friday afternoon. The synagogue was empty. Joseph approached the aron kodesh – the Holy Ark – with trepidation, unsure if what he was about to do was appropriate. “Holy One,” he said aloud, “I’ve learned you desire bread. I’ve learned that every week fresh loaves were brought before you. I am just a baker. I don’t know Jewish law. But I do know how to bake bread, and these loaves are the best of the batch that just came from the oven. I want to give them to you.” With that said, Joseph opened the curtain of the ark and deposited the loaves. He closed the curtain and returned home to Miriam’s Shabbat table.

That night he was filled with apprehension. Had he behaved correctly? Had he offered the loaves properly? Would his gift be accepted?

He did not know that soon after he left the synagogue, the janitor entered and approached the ark. The janitor was crying. He said, “Holy One, I don’t complain much. But my wife is hungry. I’m hungry. The Rabbi doesn’t pay me enough to provide food for an entire week. Shabbat is coming. We have no bread to put on the table. Can You help me, please?”

With that, on impulse, the janitor opened the ark and saw – two loaves of bread! They were still warm when he took them. He closed the curtain, backed up as he bowed again and again, saying, “Thank You, thank You, thank You.” He returned home with the loaves to celebrate Shabbat with his wife.

The next morning the baker came to the synagogue anxious to know if his offering had been accepted. Imagine his joy when the time came for the Torah reading and the ark was opened. The loaves were gone! The Holy One had accepted his gift!

Now – if our story ended here, that would be enough. But the story continues. This pageant was played out the next week, and the week after – loaves deposited, loaves received – week after week for years.

At last came a week when the baker, much older now, came with his loaves on a Friday afternoon and didn’t realize he was not alone. The Rabbi, now an old Rabbi, heard the baker and observed him open the curtain of the Ark to put in the loaves of bread.

“What are you doing?” the Rabbi asked. The baker told him he had been doing this for years because it was what the Holy One wanted, and that every week his offering had been received.

“Nonsense! Let’s step aside and see what’s going on.”

After some time, the janitor, now stooped with age, came forward to the Holy Ark, “Holy One,” he began. “Again I need your help…” He opened the ark and withdrew the loaves. “Thank You,” he said, backing up. “Thank You, thank You, thank You…”

“What are you doing?” the Rabbi interrupted him.

The surprised janitor said, “Every week the Holy One provides me two loaves for Shabbat.”

“You idiot! It isn’t the Holy One! It’s this baker here who puts the bread into the ark.”

At that moment the door of the synagogue burst open and an emissary of the great Rabbi Isaac Luria stood framed in the light. “The Master wants to see you right away,” he said. “He wants you to come with me now.”

All three followed the emissary to the study hall of the Ari – that great Lion of Faith– Isaac Luria. Luria said first to the Rabbi, “It’s time for you to die. Go home, make your confessions, and prepare yourself.”

“But why?”

“In truth you were scheduled to die years ago. But because you initiated this ritual of the baker and the janitor, you were permitted to live. Each week the Holy One derived great joy from this process of giving and receiving, but now that you’ve brought it to an end, there’s no longer reason for your life to continue.”

The Ari turned to the baker. “As for you, continue to choose the best loaves on Friday afternoon, but you no longer need to bring them to synagogue. You and Miriam together bring them to the home of the janitor and his wife and present the loaves to them. But know this – you are not placing them in the hands of the janitor. You are placing them in the hands of God.”

He turned to the janitor. “And you, receive the loaves in gratitude as if you were receiving them from the hands of God.”

For years after, the baker continued to present loaves to the Holy One, and the janitor received loaves from the Holy One saying over and over again, “Thank You, thank You, thank You.”

This is the ultimate act of sacrifice-getting close to God. May each of us find ways over Passover to get closer to God through the offerings of our hearts.

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[1] Leviticus 7:13