Spiritual Heavy-lifting

Vayikra, this week’s portion, details some aspects of the sacrificial system, the central part of Jewish spiritual life from Antiquity until about 70 C.E when the Romans destroyed the second Temple. Some branches of Judaism still offer prayers in the daily T’fillah for a restoration of the sacrificial cult, as it was practiced in the first and second Temples, some 2000 years ago, at its most recent. I find it intriguing that Jews have now survived for longer without the sacrificial system than we did with it.

But as I noted, this week’s portion conveys how some of the sacrifices were to occur. I’ll spare you the gory details—and believe me, they are really gory in some places—so I can point out one thing about the old system: it was really a hands-on, time- and energy-intensive process. Ok, I know I said I’d spare you the details, but in broad strokes, some sacrifices involved preparing, slaughtering, carving, and burning to ash a full-sized bull. Tell me that didn’t take more than a little bit of effort.

Since the destruction of the Second Temple, many scholars have pointed out that the term for sacrifice in Hebrew can also mean “to draw near,” implying that God does not so much desire sacrifice as God desires us to bring ourselves closer to God; prayer, therefore, has taken the place of sacrifice as the chief method of drawing near to God. The external, hands-on approach to sacrifice transforms into an internal, thoughtful process of prayer.

Now, I don’t believe that we need to restore the sacrificial system, but I think that system offers an interesting comparison point to our time. I don’t think it’s uncommon for people to go to a prayer service expecting to be moved, or to be rejuvenated, or to be brought closer to God. It’s not that easy, however. Perhaps prayer doesn’t require the same visceral level of effort as sacrifice; at the same time, praying with sincerity—true, meaningful, in-depth prayer—can be even more difficult to achieve. There’s too much fighting for my attention, and it’s too easy for me to get distracted or for my mind to wander.

It’s not physical heavy lifting, but meaningful prayer requires work. For me, it comes to this: do not go into prayer thinking you will come out unchanged—but do not think the change can happen by itself. The words alone can only guide us so far; at best they can only take us part of the way. It is the intention, the words of the heart that make prayer successful.

Pray Tell!

This week’s Torah portion repeats the instructions for and the events concerning the building of the Mikdash; as Rabbi Plaut points out, while this repetition might feel tedious to modern readers, it would have been reassuring to ancient listeners: the more clearly version A and version B connect, the more likely those facts were to be true.

The repetition also underscores the importance in the building of the Mikdash of a partnership; God cannot live among the people if the people don’t create a place for God. Moreover, the children of Israel can’t build the Mikdash individually. It’s up to all of them to work together to create the Mikdash. Partnership therefore works two ways: on the one hand, it takes a partnership of Jews to create a sacred space, and the relationship between Jews and God also requires a partnership.

What is it that makes a partnership successful? No matter what sort of pairing we’re talking about, communication forms the most important aspect of partnership. You can’t work together if you don’t know what the other party wants, right? Certainly the relationship between B’nai Yisrael and God might not be an equal partnership, but we still need to communicate with the Divine. To me, that’s where prayer comes in.

To pray with sincerity, as the Talmud exhorts us to do, is to pray with the belief that God hears us. Prayer is therefore an inherently affirmative, optimistic act: the very act of praying implies that we believe someone is listening—that God is listening. So pray with sincerity. Converse with God. Communicate with your partner. Allow prayer to be transformative. God is listening, so you might as well have something to say.

l'shem mitzvah tzitzit

Tzitzit are the ritual fringes that we put in the corners of our tallitot, our prayer shawls. The fringes are knotted in a prescribed manner, depending on your custom, and they end up looking like this:



A few months back I decided to tie my own tzitzit for the first time. I'd hesitated in the past, thinking surely this would be a very difficult thing to do, but as is so often the case with things of this nature, it really wasn't that hard at all. I'm in the habit now of tying tzitzit whenever they fray, which thin tzitzit seem to do a LOT (either that or I'm hell on an arba kanfot; either way I've switched to thicker tzitzit string). Taking out the old tzitzit takes almost more time than tying the new ones.

Wearing tzitzit is supposed to remind the wearer of the commandments, but I found that in tying the tzitzit themselves, I also came my own little homely understanding. As I said, the tying and winding isn't too hard by itself; it just requires focus and concentration, much like doing mitzvot: Not so hard when you're paying attention.

So last night I was replacing several frayed tzitzit, and a flat-out lovely thing occurred. While I sat in the family room tying, my kids came in, sat down, and proceeded to read. Their reading is not uncommon, but this quiet moment in the middle of a hectic life, that's uncommon. So there I was, tying my tzitzit, focusing on the task, and what occurred? Quiet family time together, all anchored around a mitzvah.