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Chag Sameach

Shavuot rebranded: The Pregame to the High Holidays

Sherre Hirsch_Headshot

Sherre Hirsch is the first female senior rabbi of the largest Conservative congregation on the West Coast, a bestselling author, and a recognised voice on The Today Show, Oprah, and in Vanity Fair.

Reflections by Sherre Hirsch

 

I came from a traditional-ish household that celebrated Shabbat and most of the holidays, but somehow Shavuot was never really one of them. For my parents, it was essentially filed under: the one that falls into that awkward space after Hebrew school ends but before Jewish summer camp begins — and the one with no good rituals.

Which is both true and ironic.

Because Shavuot is actually central. It celebrates the giving of the Torah — that singular moment that lays the foundation for our entire peoplehood — and yet, ritual-wise, it does feel a little light. Beyond eating blintzes and cheesecake, and trying to stay up all night learning, sounds spiritually invigorating, the holiday can feel somewhat under-marketed.

So this year, I suggest giving Shavuot a bit of a rebrand.

Rather than selling it only as one of the Big Three — Passover, Sukkot, and Shavuot — and therefore obligatory, or simply as the culmination of counting the Omer, try framing it as the pregame to the big show: the High Holidays.

We all know the High Holidays are about reflection — the work of awareness, awakening, and what Judaism calls תשובה (teshuvah): the courageous return to our truest selves.

But I would argue that Shavuot invites self-assessment: the work of accountability and moral inventory, what Jewish tradition calls חשבון הנפש (cheshbon hanefesh) — an accounting of the soul.

When Moses came down from Mount Sinai the first time and saw the people worshipping the Golden Calf, he was devastated. He shattered the tablets and ascended the mountain again. I imagine that in that painful space of waiting once more for Moses to return, the people — both as a community and as individuals — had to take a long, hard look at themselves. They had to ask: How are my choices impacting others? How am I taking responsibility? Who are we becoming?

So this year, whether you are up all night learning — or, in my case, asleep halfway through because a full tikkun is spiritually aspirational at best — imagine yourself standing at Sinai because, according to the midrash, we were.

Take time to assess: How did I behave this year? How did I contribute? Did I live up to the expectations I set for myself? Where must I change my behavior to become the person God imagines me to be?

Then Shavuot is no longer the forgotten holiday of the Jewish calendar. It becomes the opening act for some of the most important spiritual work of our year.

The Book of Ruth: A book of grafters and shafters

Warren Sher

Warren Sher is an Orthodox Rabbi and Engineer. He is the current Johannesburg Chair of Limmud and will also be presenting a session on “Freeing the Widow of Lieut. Billy Gesundheit”.

Reflections by Warren Sher

 

When I was in Grade 11, I was privileged to be selected for A-guard at Bnei Akiva Machaneh with 160 of my best friends. I saw it as my mission to help set up the Camp Site and ensure that it was ready for when all the Channichim would arrive a week later. Many of the others had no such intentions.

One of my madrichim, who was in charge of A-guard that year, taught me and a few of my dedicated friends a life lesson. “In life, there are Grafters and Shafters: If you are going to be remembered, you need to be a grafter”.

The meaning was plain for all of us to see. Had all 160 of us decided to work, we could have pitched the campsite in a day. But, it took the 60 dedicated grafters 3 or 4 days to complete the work while the rest chilled, sunbathed and engaged in water fights.

When I reflect on the book of Ruth and its various characters, we see the same split. The grafters look for opportunities to serve and are rewarded with their names being remembered for posterity. The shafters, those who choose to run away from their responsibilities, are vanquished to the footnotes of Jewish History, some not even earning the right to have their names mentioned at all.

The book is set in the days of the Judges. Like the book of Judges, our Rabbis teach us that it was authored by the Prophet Shmuel, whose motivation for writing both books was to teach us what sort of leadership the Jewish People need and what leadership doesn’t work.

Each character in the book fits into one of these two categories.

The Shafters

Elimelech was a leader in Judah. Rashi describes him as a very wealthy man and leader. At the time of famine, when the community most needed him and his resources, he decided to take his family and leave the land. This left the people of his community to fend for themselves. Why did he leave? He was distressed by all the destitute people knocking on his door (Rashi, Shoftim 1:1). By chapter 1, verse 3, this deserter has died, leaving his wife and children in a foreign land to fend for themselves.

Machlon and Kilyon. Their names literally mean disease and destruction. It is highly unlikely that these are the names that their mother and father gave them. They seem to be pseudonyms. They followed their father out of the land and, even after his death, never returned to assume their responsibilities. They too perished within 2 verses.

Ploni Almoni was a pseudonym for Elimelech’s closest relative. He was a man prepared to take his brother/nephew/cousin’s land but not to assume responsibility for the two widows or to maintain Elimelech’s family name. This pseudonym has been adopted for posterity to denote any person who does not have a name or whose name is not important. This is still true today in modern-day Hebrew. 

Orpah was the widowed wife of one of Na’omi’s sons. She was good to her mother-in-law, but when pressed by Na’omi, she chose to go her own way to try to rebuild her life. Calling her a shafter might be a bit harsh. She may fit into a more neutral category of someone who is a good person but doesn’t go out of their way for others. I suppose this can be debated …

The Grafters

On the other hand, we have people who show dedication to each other and the cause and teach us about the moral fibre that makes up the leadership of the Jewish People. It is the people who put up their hands and take responsibility.

Rut was a Moabite princess who, once widowed, was completely dedicated to her mother-in-law. She followed her back to the land of Israel, subjected herself to abject poverty (which I am sure was not on her shidduch resume) and was even prepared to glean the dropped ears of wheat in the field like the peasants of Judah. She was rewarded to be the grandmother of David, the founder of the Royal Family.

Na’omi, the wife of Elimelech, embraced her daughters-in-law and always looked out for their best interests, even at great cost to herself. She remained committed to Rut and coached her on how to build a relationship with Boaz and ensure her survival.

Bo’az, a distant relative of Elimelech, felt responsible for helping the two widows in the family. He instructed those working in his field to purposefully drop extra wheat for Rut to collect, and eventually took responsibility to redeem the field and marry Rut. He, too, was rewarded with being the great-grandfather of David.

The message of the Megillah is clear: if you want to make an impact and be remembered, you need to put up your hand, take responsibility and make things happen.

Shavuot calls us to resist polarisation

Meesh

 

Meesh Hammer-Kossoy is an Orthodox Rabbi and Rosh Beit Midrash at the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, a beit midrash that brings Jews from across the religious spectrum and globe together for intensive and empowering learning experiences, in-person and online.

Reflections by Meesh Hammer-Kossoy

 

Our diversity is our great strength. Rather than pull to extremes, the Jewish people must amplify their centripetal force.

For many years, I have spent Friday mornings reading through a stack of newspapers reflecting a wide spectrum of editorial positions in Israel. It used to be amusing to count the differences in news coverage between them, as if each newspaper came from a slightly alternate reality. Recently, however, these differences have grown into chasms of ill will, cynicism and dehumanisation of “the other,” making it difficult to understand how all streams of Israeli society might continue living together. This problem is not unique to Israel—more than ever, polarisation plagues societies throughout the world—yet in Israel, it seems that this development threatens our very existence.

Even in the shadow of war, polarisation remains one of the greatest problems facing Israeli society today. Despite our multi-party tradition, in recent years Israeli political society has succumbed increasingly to the demonisation of the other. The current governmental embrace of extreme parties, opinions and policies that until now have been taboo in Israel has provoked horror and alienation, as well as suspicion of anything that reflects the Jewish character of the state on the left.

Fortunately, our Jewish tradition provides us with an approach to resist and overcome the grave dangers of polarisation, one that is particularly resonant as we approach the holiday of Shavuot. The key, I believe, is to replace binary identities with multiple identities and to recognise that all of these identities, while they may compete, ultimately also serve a singular purpose.

The balance between singularity and plurality can be traced to Sinai. The Midrash relates that at the moment of revelation:

“When the Blessed Holy One was revealed on Mount Sinai, twenty-two myriads of angels descended with God. … Once Israel saw them composed of flags and flags, they themselves started desiring flags. They declared, ‘My God, we want to have flags like them.’” — Bamidbar Rabbah 2:3

Like a small child at the Grand Canyon enthralled by a bug or a small rock, when God appeared to the Israelites at Sinai in that moment of direct revelation, and they heard God’s voice “face to face in the mountain out of the midst of the fire” (Deuteronomy 5:5), their attention was actually drawn to the colourful flags that angels were waving. 

According to the Midrash, rather than becoming frustrated by our lack of attention, the Blessed Holy One grants our request: “The Blessed Holy One said, ‘Just as you have desired to make flags, on your life, I will fulfil your request’, as it says, ‘God will fulfil all of your requests’ (Psalm 20:6).”

Flags have played a central role in our internal conflicts, maybe more than our international ones, sometimes in a weaponised form. Flags are a stand-in for identity. Angels descend to accomplish a single mission (GR 50:2 and Rashi Genesis 18:2). To wave a flag is to know precisely whose team we are on and what our mission is in the world.

Each of the tens of thousands of angels was waving their own flag, and yet what characterised us at Sinai was unity and singularity—we were like a single individual with a single heart (Rashi).

This apparent tension between plurality and singularity is resolved in the opening of the book of Numbers in which the Israelite encampment is described: “each individual on his flag according to their family” (Numbers 2:2). Each tribe, like any modern army, has its own flag, fight song, and skill set. There may be rivalry and competition between the units, but never polarisation. All of the flags are carefully arranged around our shared core mission—the tabernacle holding the holy ark, which emblemises the recreation of Sinai and the continued Divine presence among the Israelites.

As we begin to read the book of Numbers and immediately afterwards celebrate the revelation at Sinai, we would do well to remember that just as each flag in the desert represented a distinct and critical aspect of the overall mission in the journey of the Israelites to the Promised Land, so, too, do each of our “tribal” voices play an essential role in sustaining Israel and protecting the singular mission that resides at its core. Our multiple identities compete with but must also complement one another in order to help us resist polarisation and work together, each of us with a unique and necessary mission.

Our current world has succumbed to centrifugal force—the magnets are pulling us to the extremes, causing us to experience our identities as binary rather than complex, as “us vs. them,” as threatening rather than mutually enriching. We feel it in our world, we feel it in our country, and I feel it in my work at Pardes—an institute that brings Jews together from across the religious spectrum to learn from the Torah and one another. Resisting that pull is incredibly challenging on a national and a personal level. However, our diversity is our great strength. Rather than pull to the extremes, we must amplify the centripetal force, centre ourselves symbolically around the ark, and see our critical identities as contributing to the whole, united around a central mission. This is precisely the holy work that the festival of learning, Limmud, does–bringing together Jews from across South African Jewish life. I am honoured and excited to learn with and from you this coming August at Limmud South Africa. In the meantime, may we use this season as an opportunity to rededicate ourselves to that task.