The second section, Bechukotai, deals with the ways that we are required to treat other Jews and other people: we are commanded not to wrong each other, especially in financial transactions. Failure to abide these commands would result in exile and oppression, and are couched as a warning, where they are described in terrifying terms of suffering.

I often consider how I’d define Judaism. I’ve come to believe that our religion can be defined in one word: Shabbat. G-d commanded that we observe Shabbat above all other ‘holidays,’ and to remember and sanctify this day as a reminder that G-d rested after creating the heavens and the earth. Our labors are rewarded with rest in order to enjoy the fruits of our efforts and prepare ourselves to begin the cycle again.

The concept of a day of rest, where one is not required to perform the obligations of the other six days of the week, I see as a gift rather than a series of restrictions. We perform daily tasks and rituals to survive and we are blessed with a day of rest; similarly, we are commanded to allow the land bequeathed to us to also rest, so as to be nourished and re-fertilized before it must provide the bounty of grains, vegetables, and fruits that sustain us and all other beings on this planet.

My kavanah for this week is an invitation to look at our meditation practice as a little taste of Shabbat that we perform to center and restore ourselves in small measure before we enjoy Shabbat at weeks end. How will you use this opportunity to center and reflect on this day as you prepare for the next? What gifts come from this practice and ultimately, from the observance of a full day to enjoy the fruits of our labors?

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

This week’s Torah portion is called ‘Emor’, which means “speak” — and the portion deals with three general areas: First, G-d tells Moses to instruct Aaron and the rest of the priests on levels of priesthood, separation, and ritual defilement; Second, Shabbat and the other the holy days of the year and how we are to observe them are enumerated; Finally, a miscellany of topics is covered, which includes the process for lighting the menorah, displaying the twelve loaves of “show bread” at the altar, and dealing with a blasphemer.

And at first blush, parsha Emor seems to be a miscellany — random topics lumped together with no connection, as if G-d was an important executive taking a summer Friday, leaving the office early to go off to the Hamptons and dictating a laundry list of random tasks to a hard-pressed personal assistant.

But the essence of a living Torah is to to “live with it” — to find relevance, meaning, and applicability to everyday life, and so I need to find the uniting theme, which i can express as this week’s kavanah.

To me, the theme of the disparate sections is “differentiation” and “separation”; that we have boundaries and limitations ourselves as individuals, as does time — the marker of our existence. For example, the light of the menorah is described as creating a continuous light, but the process was a daily activity of cleaning and refilling each individual cup before re-lighting it. There is nothing that exists that does not have parts, and those parts themselves have parts. By naming something, by defining its borders, we come to grips with what a thing is and what it is not. And with this border in place, we can define larger aggregations to establish the concept of belonging, allowing us to become bigger than our physical limitation, and to out-live our lifespan: what is the week without a day?  Where is the forest without a tree? Where is the JMC without its meditators?

We sit this week — a self-selected group, in this place, at this time, in this manner, for this specific purpose — to sit quietly in meditation; like priests, having prepared ourselves for this task, having each separated ourselves from our daily concerns and having made time in our schedule, and later, when getting up, holding on with reverence to the insights of the sit and lighting up the world around us with that insight.

My kavanah for this week is to celebrate our differences, to exult at the limitations that make us larger, and in the infiniteness of the passing moment: that by acknowledging our separateness we find completeness.

First you wake in disbelief, then
In sadness and grief and when you wake
For the last time, the forest you’ve been
Looking for will turn out to be
Right in the middle of your chest.

Harvest: You have heard the story of how the JMC came into being. I have been lucky to be involved from the very beginning. I remember when Alison was meditating in her apartment with her co-founder and shared with me their idea to build the grassroots Brooklyn-based community they were so desperately seeking. And I remember when they gathered a small group of us as a “board” in their living room on a fall day in 2009 to put our heads together on how this idea could become a reality. The seeds that were planted then are being harvested now. The idea became reality! You are the community they envisioned! The harvest of this seed gives us the opportunity to be thankful for the community we have created together. The JMC community sustains me as it sustains many of you, whether this is your primary connection to Jewish life or a complement to your Jewish spiritual practices. The next step is to make our “harvest” sustainable so we can all reap the rewards we get from this community going forward.

Every day counts: As we move through the Omer, another important message is that every day counts. We spend this time accounting, counting, and preparing for revelation on Shavuot. And that is so true of the JMC in this moment. I’ve told you that we are accounting for our financial picture and counting what we need to sustain the JMC Brooklyn. The board and Alison has been taking stock and reflecting on what we need to do to ensure stability not just for this fiscal year ending in June but beyond. Our immediate goal is to raise $5,000 by June 30 2012 to meet our budgetary needs. Every day from now until then counts and we need to make the most of it to reach our goal.

Transformation: To that point, the Omer is a fertile period for transformation, both personal and community. It has been said that “Passover is the time of liberation, and only on Shavuot are we given the tools to reach the destination.” As we share with you our vision for what sustainability could look like, take a moment to look at your relationship with the JMC. What can you do to help the community transform and build capacity to ensure sustainability? What are you going to do differently to take a stake in the future of the JMC? I’m not talking only about dollars and cents (although if you’d like to give a donation now, click here!) I’m also talking about your ideas, your input, how you plan to step up, and how you think about your commitments to the community.   We are on a journey to find the tools we need. Your ideas, your participation, and your contributions in this transformational moment are necessary in order to make it to our destination – a financially sustainable Brooklyn community.

The harvest is now. Today counts. I encourage you to use the remaining days of the Omer as a time to reflect on your role in this communal transformation and how you personally will strengthen the JMC community.

You have to let things
Occupy their own space.
This room is small,
But the green settee

Likes to be here.
The big marsh reeds,
Crowding out the slough,
Find the world good.

You have to let things
Be as they are.
Who knows which of us
Deserves the world more?

If you work at a steady rate
you may reach the river by nightfall
and if you have the will

a canoe will be waiting
by the ash factory
for you to take upstream

to the takoyaki shack
where you can eat delicious food
and drink as much beer as you like

until late into the night.
In other words you have
your whole life ahead of you

and no one can tell you
what to do or how to act
or what to say or anything

said the machine in the wall
before dispensing my receipt
in a tiny wadded ball.

According to the parsha, Aaron and his sons conduct various sacrifices on the altar, and these sacrifices are consumed in fire by G-d. Everything seems to be going according to plan and in accordance with the how-to-sacrifice instructions that they recently learned. Then, Nadav and Avihu, Aaron’s two eldest priestly sons, come to the altar and offer a “strange fire before G-d,” one which “[G-d] had not commanded them” to bring. So what happens next? There was again fire… but this time, it consumed Nadav and Avihu and they died.

Like many other instances in the Torah, there are varied explanations of why this happened. Interpretations span from their flaming deaths representing punishment for sacrificing while drunk (an S.U.I.?) to the reward of a “holy-kiss” from above (beware of “first-base” with G-d) for being so eager in their worship, with many explanations in between.

Despite this passage already being loaded with potential interpretive meaning, it is what comes next that stopped me in my tracks. In response to this event, the Torah tells us that Aaron, the High Priest, the father of these two taken in flame by the very One they are all honoring through sacrifices, is silent. A father watches his sons die in front of him and his response is silence?! This gave me pause.

How can a father witness his sons’ deaths, whether as punishment or reward, and not say or do anything? How can we understand this image that seems to go so counter to human emotions and reactions?

It was in this questioning that I considered how easily and often I react to things that happen during my day. Most of the time, I am reacting to stimuli in my environment, not being fully conscious of the thoughts, memories, and emotions that are all contributing to what I do next. My meditation practice is an avenue to become more aware of the various voices and impulses in my consciousness that lead me to take a certain course of action. By making the space to be with whatever comes up, I am practicing not reacting. I am practicing being mindful of what is happening in the moment so I can better choose how best to act next.  I am pausing, I am breathing, I am silently witnessing.

For me, Aaron’s silence after this tragedy is like the breath I take to bring me back to my focus when I become distracted during my meditation. It is like the moment I try to take to ground myself in the present moment before reacting to an overwhelming situation. It is the pause between the stilumus and my impulse. It is the space that can transform reacting to responding.

Reading this story, I have no doubt that Aaron must have felt many strong emotions when he watched his sons die, but he chose to remain silent, possibly breathing with the swell of thoughts and feelings that were kicked up by this event. And in this, I am inspired to strive towards Aaron’s example: when faced with difficulties, whether on or off the meditation cushion, let us have the kavanah (intention) to take a silent breath, pause for a moment before we react, and witness what is coming up. Maybe then, we will wisely choose our next move.

Exegesis by Paul Hostovsky