Five Books Ed Halmagyi

The twenty-sixth portion of Torah is a forward looking and remarkably insightful piece of text, a set of instructions that echoes modern best practice in terms of managing infectious diseases and securing the wellbeing of the community. In an era when medicine was non-existent, and most cultures practices cult rituals to deal with outbreaks of disease, the early Israelites recieved word from G-d that gave them a unique insight and capacity to secure the general health of the nation. In the last few years we have all lived through Covid, and the measures outlined in this parashah will sound very familiar. It's yet another example of how Torah, in its many forms, remains so vital and relevant today.

The Twenty-fifth porthion of Torah tells three separate, but probably related stories. Aaron and his sons are ordained as priests for the Tabernacle, and G-d appears to bring holiness to the occasion. Then, two of Aaron's sons, with good intention but bad execution, bring an offering of incence that G-d did not instruct, and they are swept away by Divine fire. Finally, G-d gives instructions to the Israelite people about which animals they may eat, and which ones must be avoided at all costs. All three are powerful but strange narratives, giving voice to some of G-d's more insistent themes, yet leaving no small measure of confusion in its wake. There is, it seems, no substitute for faith.

The twenty-fourth portion of Torah takes us on a a journey into ritual and custom. These are very different things, even when they are framed as being one and the same. The Parasha begins with a description of how the priests (Aaron and his family) should approach the sacrifices brought to the MIshkan, and also lays out rules for what portion should be set aside for their upkeep. But then, in an odd turn of events, G-d decrees that fat, blood and certain organs were henceforth to be rejected as a source of food. No real explanation is given, except to say that some things belong to the Divine, and others are, well, just do it...... This is the beginning of a series of mitzvot in Leviticus that will shape Jewish identity and culture through millenia, even shaping us now. For this reason, even if no other, Parashat Tzav is core to our Jewish learning and our understanding of ourselves.

The twenty-third portion of Torah begins our journey into the book of Leviticus. Where Genesis was a grand narrative about where we come from, and Exodus is a grand narrative about how our Jewish nation came to be, Leviticus is, well, a bit of a rule book. But just because it doesn't have the literary flourishes that we find in some of the other books, that doesn't stop it from being remarkably important, especially when we try to work out how we, as Jews in a far more modern age, should approach our faith, or world, and our relationship with G-d. We simply have to dive a bit deeper, and think a little harder. Parashat Vayikra describes how our ancestors should approach the act of making offerings of many types, and while those forms have faded into history, we still make offerings all the time in service of our community, and in service of how G-d expects us to live. Finding those more modern references isn't too hard, and is really worth your time and attention. It will change how you think about your plce in G-d's plan.

The twenty-second and twenty-third portions of Torah are read in a single week as part of our need to compress an occasionally cumbersome Bible into a calendar year. This won't be last time we have to make this accomodation, but fortunately most are pairs that work as menaingful and insightful couples. Here at the end of Exodus, Torah is mostly concerned with the final stages of completing the Tabernacle. The fixtures and fittings, the construction and overlays, the garments and decorations, and how they shold be produced. But at the heart of the story is the idea that 'all Israelites whose heart so moves them' should contribute to this project. We can never lose sight of this essential truth at the heart of Jewish religious practice - it is, and always was, an entirely voluntary undertaking. In so many faiths throughout the world's history, identification and custom were demanded, not suggested, and the consequences of non-participation were grave. In fact, that social construction continues in many parts of the world even now. In essence, more than a place of worship and devotion, Moses and the Israelites were building a place of light - a beautiful, if occasionally blinding, beacon that would ward these early Jews from shoals, and guide them towards their destination in the Promised Land.

The twenty-first portion of Torah contains one of Judaism's most iconic moments - the sin of the Golden Calf. Despite the work of the Divine, the salvation and the promise that G-d has made, they fall prey to their own fears of abandonment, and turn to the pagan ideas which they had known while in slavery. As a part of the Torah narrative this passage is both intriguing and important, while as a clever encapsulation of what lies at the heart of the Jewish ideal it is essential, and worthy of all the attention it commands. Sin is part of being human - our mistakes, our errors and our conscious mis-steps are always there. What this week's parashah teaches us is that we can find within our own shortcomings the roadmap we need in order to set things right. Made in G-d's image, we hold the power to become righteous within ourselves.