Parashat HaShavua - Tzav

אֵ֗שׁ תָּמִ֛יד תּוּקַ֥ד עַל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֖חַ לֹ֥א תִכְבֶּֽה

In this week’s parasha, the priests are given instruction about their role in keeping the fire burning in the ohel ha moed, the Tent of meeting.  They are told by Moshe that the fire on the altar must be kept burning at all times.

A fire that is always kept burning is a powerful symbol of the collective values that we as a school and as a community work to pass on to our students.  Fire is the anger we feel at the injustices we are witnessing in the world — the searing images of people being murdered in Ukraine and families that are now refugees, as well as the testimony of parents of transgender kids facing the prospect of being investigated for child abuse (thankfully averted for the moment)  and teachers in Florida facing the real possibility that they will be forbidden to teach about being gay.  

At the same time, fire is also the hearth, the warm center that brings a community together.  Fire is the flame dancing in the candles before the family comes together for Shabbat dinner, or at the center of a circle when friends gather for havdalah.

To fulfill their responsibilities in relation to this fire, the priests must make a quick costume change.  They begin by offering the עֹלָ֑ה, the daily sacrifice, dressed in their fine linen garb.  Then they are told to take those clothes off for their next responsibility, which is to bring the ashes outside of the Tabernacle, so that the ashes do not become an impediment to the fire continuing to burn. Rashi explains that the reason for this quick change is that you should not use the same clothes to cook dinner in the kitchen as you use to serve wine in the fine dining room (a rule I regularly break on Shabbat due to lack of time, thank God for aprons).  There are different ways of serving God and they have to be approached differently, all the way down to what you wear.

Just like the priests, our building also did a quick costume change this week.  On Wednesday, students and staff put on their jeans, rolled up their sleeves and came to the Roanna Shorofsky Theater to pack up many dozens of boxes of clothing and bedding that will be sent to Ukraine by the Ukrainian embassy.  For me personally, the packing felt in equal measures proud and heartbreaking.  I was so happy we were able to do something, happy to imagine the possibility of a child with a warm coat, but at the same time, I felt acutely how small the gesture was in relation to the magnitude of the violence and destruction that is being perpetuated.  I wonder if, as the priests took their turn bringing the ashes outside, they ever asked themselves, “is this small action really of service of God?”

Then on Thursday, we dressed in brighter colors and that same theater was transformed from a place of hesed to a place of magic, a place for costumes and megillah readings and spiels and singing and much, much laughter.  We celebrated and basked in the warmth of being together, in person, to celebrate Purim, just as we grieved together exactly two years ago.  There was a sense of satisfaction among the teachers at having done things כפי שצריך – the way it is supposed to be – having successfully shared with our students the warmth and joy of Jewish life.

Both days, we entered into our sacred service with the hopes that we are teaching the students about the different fires at the heart of our faith.   The fire of passion for justice that will not allow us to capitulate to evil and to suffering, or in Rabbi Heschel’s words, the fire that will keep us
“maladjusted” to the way of the world.  The fire of the hearth, the fire of the Jewish celebrations that give meaning to the year and to our lives.  May we continue to be granted the possibility to tend to these fires as a school and as a community.

Rabbi Anne Ebersman