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TORAH PORTION: KI TISA

Parashat Ki Tisa

March 2, 2024 | 22 Adar I 5784

Torah: Exodus 30:11–34:35 Triennial: Exodus 31:18–33:11

Haftarah: I Kings 18:1–39

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In this week's Torah Sparks, you'll find a D'var Torah on the Torah portion by Bex Stern-Rosenblatt called "Stuck In a Moment", Rabbi Daniel Raphael Silverstein asks shares insights from Hassidut in a video titled "Title", and Rabbi Joshua Kulp continues his series of essays on the Halakhot of Pesah in a piece called "By the Light of the Lamp".

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D'VAR TORAH

Stuck In a Moment

Bex Stern-Rosenblatt

Parashah




The first thing we learn how to do in the Torah is count. Over and over again, God enjoins us to keep Shabbat. God commands us to keep the seventh day. God gives us order. God gives us something to be looking forward to, a moment of peace, a moment that separates and delineates all other moments. 


Our parashah starts again with counting when we take the first of many censuses. Counting runs through our parashah as God once more exhorts us to keep Shabbat, to count the days. To let our counting for Shabbat be “an eternal sign” or perhaps “a sign of eternity.” Just as after the flood God gave us the rainbow as a sign that the natural world would never cease, so too do we find the language of signs here. Our counting is a sign. We create eternity by numbering each day, by counting towards each Shabbat, towards a rest from all this counting. Shabbat as a sign of eternal covenant needs us. We need to do the counting. We need to do the keeping of Shabbat. By counting days, we continue the work of creation. We keep chaos at bay. 


We fail most spectacularly when we forget to count. Sitting at the bottom of Mount Sinai, we know that Moses has been gone from us for a long time. A really long time. However long it has  been, it feels that with an absence of that length, surely Moses will not be coming back. It’s been long enough for us to lose ourselves. Long enough for us to forget the rhythms and reality of a life that included Moses. He has gone and we feel we must move on. Sitting at the bottom of the mountain, we have unmoored ourselves from time. We have gotten lost in the eternity of waiting. We stopped counting. We gave up our Shabbatot, our tool that made us masters of eternity. Time became our master, crushing us with its relentlessness. Tim continued to pass and we could not impose order or meaning on it. We abandoned ourselves into wild feasting, the ecstasy of animals, a return to a primordial state in which there is no moment besides the current moment, no plan for the future or reflection on the past. 


Moses comes back. We get a second chance. But first, we need to be reestablished as masters of time, as keepers of eternity. After the smashing of the tablets, the Levite slaughter of thousands, and the drinking ritual, Moses returns to God and picks up his conversation. Bizarrely, the two of them discuss Moses’s desire to know God, to see God’s face or panim. In a long series of interactions, Moses witnesses or fails to witness God’s face. We read of Moses speaking with God face to face, just as a person speaks with his fellow. We read of God responding to Moses's request for knowledge of the way by saying, “My face will go before you.” Moses needs confirmation and asks to see God’s kavod. God refuses at first, saying that no one can see God’s face and live. But then God comes up with a safe way for Moses to witness God’s kavod. God will use his own hand to shelter Moses and then remove his hand so that Moses may see God’s ahor but not his face.


Usually, the word ahor is translated as “back” in this context. Moses gets a glimpse of God’s body. However, the words ahor and panim also function in the Tanakh as words to describe time, to indicate after and before. (For more on this check out Diana Lipton’s fantastic article, “God’s Back!”)  Moses longs to see God’s face, to see the before, to know what has already happened. In the wake of the Golden Calf, Moses wants to unravel how we got here. Instead, God invites Moses to glimpse his back, or the future. God invites Moses to start counting again, to give order back to days. We may not know what day it is, we may have forgotten when the last Shabbat was. But we can start counting again. We can turn our waiting into meaning.

HASSIDUT

Making Space for Each Other Rabbi Daniel Raphael Silverstein

Insights from Hassidut

Rabbi Daniel Raphael Silverstein on Ki Tisa

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Rabbi Daniel Silverstein teaches Hassidut at the CY and directs Applied Jewish Spirituality (www.appliedjewishspirituality.org). In these weekly videos, he shares Hassidic insights on the parashah or calendar.

HALAKHIC ESSAYS ON PESAH

By the Light of the Lamp

Rabbi Joshua Kulp



My four year old daughter had long hair. My six year old son was a five year old boy–you know what I’m saying. The year I’m imagining is about 2005, our third child was still too young to understand what we were doing–although he could run around pretty well for a one year old. Up until that year, we had been doing bedikat hametz the way I grew up doing it. With a candle, feather and bowl. Either I or my wife would hide the hametz, the kids would fight over who got to hold the candle, and we would go from room to room looking for the hidden hametz. It was fun—for them. For me this was traumatic. As I said, my daughter had long hair and my son was six. Don’t worry, there were no disasters, but I was worried. So around that time, I began to rethink some of my treasured rituals.


Mishnah Pesahim begins with, “And on the night (at twilight) of the fourteenth, they examine [their homes] by the light of the lamp.” Tosefta Pesahim 1:1  justifies this practice in two distinct ways: 


On the evening of the fourteenth, we check for hametz by the light of the lamp, not by sunlight, not by moonlight, but rather only by the light of the lamp, since the light of the lamp is greater. Even though there's no explicit proof for this, there is a hint for it, "And in that time I will look through Jerusalem with lamps" (Zephaniah 1:12) and it says, "The lamp of God is a human soul” (Proverbs 20:27). 


We can immediately note a tension in this halakhah and its justification for using the lamp to search at night. At first, the Tosefta claims that lamp light is better than any other light. We should acknowledge that this was probably true in their reality. Homes had few windows and it might have been quite dark most of the time inside, even during the day. A lamp at night might have provided more light than sunlight during the day and certainly more than moonlight at night. It would have been especially effective for looking into the holes and crevices in the walls and floors, as the Talmud states.  


However, the Tosefta finds Scriptural proof that provides a more spiritual justification for the practice. When God searches Jerusalem with a lamp, God is not searching for God’s lost keys. God is examining the deeds of human beings, as others say, “trying to find out who’s naughty or nice.” The poetic verse in Proverbs implies that lamps are a symbol of holiness, of our own souls, a holy gift from God. These verses lend to an idea that gains prominence later–hametz is the symbol of evil and of our inclinations. We search for hametz as a symbolic means to root out the more troublesome aspects of our own character. 


How we understand the preference for a lamp has ramifications in cases where bedikah would be more effective if performed by a different, non-symbolic, source of light. Bavli Pesahim 8a contains one hint in this direction–Rava states that a parlor of sorts (אכסדרה) is examined by its own light, i.e. sunlight and not lamp light. 


Practical concerns about the problems with a lamp already began to proliferate in medieval Europe. For instance, R. Asher (14th century Germany and Spain) insists that the bedikah be done with a wax candle. Lamps using animal fat and oil could fall on plates and clothes causing all sorts of problems. At the same time, as I wrote in an earlier article, the idea that one could completely remove all of the hametz from one’s home on erev Pesah was already out of date by the medieval period. As we do today, people were cleaning their homes earlier, leaving the bedikah on erev Pesah to be largely ceremonial. 


Poskim were left with a tension. On the one hand, Talmudic law views the bedikat hametz done on the night before Pesah as a “real examination.” One is supposed to really search for hametz and not just play a game of hide and seek with the kids. There is no doubt that an electric flashlight is in every way more effective than a candle, and a lot safer. On the other hand, traditional Jews have been using lamps and candles sincde the time of the mishnah. A 2000 year tradition is not easily dismissed. So which is more authentic–adherence to the purpose of the bedikah or to its traditional accouterments? 


Rabbi Melamed, the author of the modern halakhic guide Peninei Halakhah, writes the following: 


In practice, each person may choose how to conduct the bedikah – with a candle, as Jews have done for generations, or with a flashlight, whose light is better for the bedikah. One may even begin with a candle, in keeping with tradition, and continue with a flashlight, which is better for searching. In places where the searcher is concerned that the candle will cause a fire, or if one does not see well by candlelight, it is preferable to search with a flashlight.


In my home, we use a flashlight. I began to do this when the kids were young, mostly for safety reasons and due to the massive drips of wax all over the floor. As the kids grew older and the danger diminished, this had already become the family’s custom. And we do try to make this a “real check”--we look in drawers, I try to see if there are any bags that were not checked, etc. But I acknowledge that there is a loss in using electricity for what used to be done without it. Would I say that God’s flashlight is the human soul? Is the light on the back of my phone really appropriate for a spiritual activity? I would not use an electric Hannukah menorah, even though there are poskim that allow this. On the other hand, I have picked up my phone at the end of a concert and turned on the light on the back and raised it in the air as a sign of my love for the band (probably the Grateful Dead)–safer and more effective than the old lighter system. Effectiveness and tradition can clash, and how we combine them in our practical and spiritual world is one of the challenges of modernity.

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