| What Are You Dressed For?Vestis virum facit is a 16th century Latin proverb meaning “clothes make the man.” Although that might be true in certain contexts, we need to ask a deeper question; what are clothes for? This week’s parsha describes in remarkable detail the garments worn by the Kohanim, and especially by the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest. His magnificent clothing was elaborate, woven with fine threads, decorated with gold, adorned with jewels engraved with the names of the tribes of Israel. Hashem tells Moses that these garments are to be made for glory and splendor. They were meant to be dignified and impressive, reflecting the importance of the role. But when Moses is instructed to speak to the artisans who would craft these garments, the Torah shifts the language. G-d tells Moses to tell the craftsmen that the garments are to be made to sanctify him, to minister to Me. The emphasis moves from beauty and grandeur to holiness and service. Why the change? One can view clothing in two distinct ways. One way focuses on appearance, status, and honor while the other focuses on purpose and responsibility. The garments of the Kohen Gadol were visually stunning but their true function was not to elevate the man’s ego, it was to elevate the mission he carried — to remind him, and everyone watching, that he stood in service of something far greater than himself. A powerful story illustrates how external markings can carry radically different meanings. A Long Island rabbi attended a taharah (ritual ceremony to prepare a deceased Jew for burial) for an individual whose background was rooted in a Chasidic community. Chevra Kadishos (burial societies) are often immune to the emotions, trauma and dread that would normally accompany a dead soul on a table. The Chevra did their job almost perfunctorily, with hardly a word spoken; years of working with cadavers can numb the senses of even the toughest men. All of a sudden, a murmur bounced back and forth between Chasidic members of the Chevra. Er hut a visa? (He has a visa?) and then they began to mumble about a first-class ticket. The rabbi became concerned. Why was anyone talking about travel plans during this most sacred of rituals; it was neither the time nor place? Immediately the room became silent; Er hut a visa! (He has a visa?) exclaimed the senior member of the group. The entire Chevra nodded and the atmosphere suddenly transformed. They continued to prepare for the funeral as if the deceased had been a great sage or Chasidic Rebbe. The rabbi was unable to understand the sudden change in atmosphere until the eldest man said, come here, I want to show you something. The old man lifted the arm of the deceased to reveal seven numbers crudely tattooed on the deceased man’s forearm. Do you know what they are? Of course, replied the Rabbi, they are the numbers that the Nazi’s tattooed on every prisoner in the concentration camps. No, the old man said, these numbers are the first-class ticket to Gan Eden (Heaven). They are the visa and they are the tickets. Period. What the Nazis had intended as a mark of degradation and dehumanization was seen instead as testimony of suffering endured with faith intact. Those numbers, which were meant to erase identity, became a sign of covenant that could not be erased. The meaning of a “garment” is not always what the eye sees. The priestly garments could be seen simply as symbols of rank and prestige, but the Torah insists their deeper purpose was sanctification and service. The tattooed numbers could be seen as marks of humiliation, but they became, in the eyes of faith, marks of sacred endurance. Every generation wears its own garments. Sometimes they are literal but often they are symbolic. Some of us wear the ‘garments’ of our titles, our achievements, our public image, or even our struggles. They can become sources of pride and status or they can become instruments of responsibility and purpose. Parshas Tetzaveh does not reject glory and splendor. The Kohen Gadol’s garments were meant to inspire awe, but awe is not the goal. It is meant to lead to awareness that we are here to serve, to elevate, to sanctify. The Kohen’s clothing did not make him holy, his service did. The numbers on the survivor’s arm did not define his worth, his faith did. Each of us is clothed in roles and identities that can revolve around honor…or around mission. The Torah’s subtle message is that what we wear— whether seen or unseen—can become holy but only when it is used in the service of something higher than ourselves. The question is not how we dress; the question is what we are dressed for. Good Shabbos The War Against Indifference: Your Actions Matter This Shabbos we read Parshas Zachor, the command to remember Amalek and to wipe out his memory. On a simple level, Amalek was a nation that attacked the Jewish people shortly after we left Egypt. But our sages teach that Amalek represents something deeper and ongoing. Amalek is not just an ancient enemy; Amalek is an attitude. When the Torah describes Amalek’s attack, it uses the word karcha, he “happened” upon you on the way. Rashi explains that this word also means “cooled you off.” Amalek cooled us down. What does that mean? When the Jewish people left Egypt, we left with urgency and excitement. The Torah describes how we rushed out so quickly that our bread did not even have time to rise. We were running toward freedom, toward purpose, toward Mount Sinai with passion and faith in our future as a nation that would influence the course of world history. And Amalek attacked that fire.Our tradition teaches that Amalek’s strategy was not necessarily to convince us to abandon Judaism altogether because that would be unrealistic and too overt. Instead, Amalek tries to drain the energy from it. Continue to observe, pray, and identify as a Jew—just do it without enthusiasm or joy or meaning. Be cold; that is Amalek. Sfas Emes (Parshas Zachor 5634) explains that in this week’s Parsha the Torah’s uses the word tzav (command), also implies zeruz (alacrity) and passion. When a person does something with energy and excitement, it lasts not just for the moment but for generations. Passion is contagious but so is indifference. If Judaism feels alive to us, it will feel alive to our children and others who see our enthusiasm. If it feels dry and mechanical, that will also be passed on, and this is why this Torah reading, Parshas Zachor, is so relevant today. Amalek is not just a historical figure, it’s the voice that says, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not that important—df . Just go through the motions. Amalek wants to destroy us; the antidote to Amalek is not anger, it’s joy. Sfas Emes teaches that the root of zeruz (alacrity)—spiritual energy—is simcha, joy. But not the joy of superficial happiness, rather, the joy of knowing that your actions matter. One of the greatest spiritual truths in Judaism is that every action has significance. Every mitzvah, every act of kindness, every word of prayer, every moment of self-control creates real impact. It is easy to feel small in such a large world. There are greater scholars, more righteous people, more accomplished individuals. What difference does my one act make? Judaism answers that every act makes a difference. G-d chose to place you in this world at this moment. Your choices, your kindness, your growth, your effort — they matter and bring what our tradition calls nachas ruach, deep satisfaction, to the Almighty. To say, “I’m insignificant; my actions don’t matter,” may sound humble but it is not faith because true faith means believing that your life has purpose and your actions carry weight. When a person truly believes that what he does matters, joy follows; when joy enters the picture, energy follows and Judaism becomes alive. That is how we erase Amalek. Amalek tries to cool us off by having us think in a cynical, detached, and numb way. Parshas Zachor calls us to remember that the Jewish story is fueled by passion and by belief in the significance of our actions. The real battle with Amalek is fought in the heart. Every time we choose to approach Judaism –and life—with meaning instead of indifference, we erase a bit of the Amalek inside of us.Remember Amalek. Wipe out the coldness and live with the quiet but powerful conviction that what you do truly matters. |
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