The summer after I finished my first year of rabbinic school in Israel, I worked as a limousine driver taking people from the Philadelphia area to one of the New York airports, mostly JFK. Once at Kennedy, I would usually pick up arrivals to take back to Philadelphia. One morning at JFK I had a sole passenger who had returned from Bosnia. He was a friendly gentleman appearing to be in his 60’s. We had this conversation.
“Wow, Bosnia must have been interesting.”
“Yes it was.”
“Your first time?”
“No, actually this was my fifth time.”
“Really, what keeps bringing you back to Bosnia?”
“Well,” he replied, “Perhaps you’ve heard that the Virgin Mary has been appearing in Medjugorge, Bosnia. All of my trips have been pilgrimages to there.”
Yes, I had read an article about the general increase in the sightings of Virgin Mary. Thousands were flocking to Medjugorge at a time to witness this vision. It struck me this was the kind of “calling” so typical of the Christian experience, a divine communication to see a holy vision. So I had to ask him.
“Did you actually see the Virgin Mary?”
“No,” he said, “but I felt her presence within.”
This week’s Torah portion is the very first in the book of Leviticus. Here is the first verse.
וַיִּקְרָ֖א
אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר יְהוָה֙ אֵלָ֔יו מֵאֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵ֖ד לֵאמֹֽר׃
Vayikra el Moshe vayedabeir Adonai elav m’ohel mo’ed leimor
“God called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting saying…”
It is a seemingly straightforward sentence. God is calling Moses to engage in the kind of encounter that to us Jews feels more Christian than Jewish. In what manner does God actually call to Moses, to me, to any of us? What would be the purpose of such a calling? Another question, why is God calling to Moses before speaking to him? In the overwhelming majority of the Torah God simply speaks a command and Moses listens. Why in this verse is the addition of “calling” before “speaking.”
Nachmanides points out that Moses is not called each time that God wants to speak with him. But in this instance God’s presence filled the ohel mo’ed, the Tent of Meeting, so intensely that Moses was afraid to enter. So God did a gentle calling of his name, “Moses, Moses,” to express God’s encouragement and affection. Moses needed the call to be aware he was supposed to enter the Tent of Meeting.
Rashbam teaches that this calling is connected to the very end of the book of Exodus, chapter 40 verses 34 and 35. The cloud of God’s presence settles on the Tent of Meeting and fills it so Moses is not able to enter. Yet God calls on Moses to enter just a few verses later, the very first one in Leviticus. What commentators do not say is how Moses could enter if God’s presence fills the tent so completely. God must have done an act of tzim tzum, contracting just enough so Moses could participate in their interaction within the Tent of Meeting. Perhaps the lessening of God’s self is an ultimate act of love for Moses and the people of Israel, as it contributes to Moses growing as a leader and a teacher while God contracts. The example of God self contracting to make room for someone else is a potential lesson for everyone.
In a kind of contrast to Nachmanides, Rashi comments that God spoke in a loud, thunderous voice. But the voice only reached Moses’s ears. The voice would cease and not go beyond the Tent of Meeting. This implies the call was for Moses only. Rashi says that the use of the word elav, “to him,” is proof of the privacy of the calling. But why the loud voice? Because moments in the Torah are not only horizontal in time, but vertical as well. Just as all future Jewish souls are to feel that they were at Sinai, so too are we to know that the words spoken to Moses reverberate throughout time. They are ours as well.
What are the words God shares with Moses? At first glance we would wonder why these words should be eternal. They are about the responsibilities of the priests, and about sacrifices. This appears to be a meaningless model for today’s world. However, the underlying theme of Leviticus is not the superficiality of just sacrifices, but the necessity to act in a way that invites God’s presence to increase in our community. In looking at the details of the next few verses, it is clear that responsibility does not just lie on the priesthood, but all members of the community. If someone brings a sacrifice, for example, they must lay their hands on it. The priest is not a proxy for them. In other words, all members of the community must work to increase God’s presence. That underlying lesson is “vertical” in time, i.e. eternal, not just meant for the Israelites in the Torah, but for every generation.
But we can get to an even deeper, more personal meaning. Somewhere in the depth of each of our souls is an ohel mo’ed, a Tent of Meeting in which we must face our hopes, our fears, our selves and our God. We might actually feel something beckoning us. Perhaps it is loving and gentle. Perhaps it feels loud and frightening. What we feel in the depth of our soul stops at the edge of our own ohel mo’ed. Rather than letting our fright prevent us from entering, we must enter. Upon entering we might sense not only God, but ourselves, not as we are but as we should be. We might sense the world, not as it is, but as it ought to be. At first it is frightening to confront our responsibilities, our shortcomings, our vanities, but after a while we can become aware of our abilities, our strengths, our caring for others. We can each grow.
Think of the passenger I had in the limousine. His experience, his sensing the presence of Mary, was in the midst of a community of thousands of fellow believers. His intensely private moment actually connected him to a much larger community, and not necessarily a physical one. His experience was within the context of a shared tradition.
May all of us enter our own deep souled ohel mo’ed. May each of us connect to the Divine, and thus in a meaningful way to each other. Amen.
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The Jewish Observer 
Entering the Depth of Our Souls
Posted in Torah commentary, tagged The Tent of Meeting on March 23, 2020| Leave a Comment »
The summer after I finished my first year of rabbinic school in Israel, I worked as a limousine driver taking people from the Philadelphia area to one of the New York airports, mostly JFK. Once at Kennedy, I would usually pick up arrivals to take back to Philadelphia. One morning at JFK I had a sole passenger who had returned from Bosnia. He was a friendly gentleman appearing to be in his 60’s. We had this conversation.
“Wow, Bosnia must have been interesting.”
“Yes it was.”
“Your first time?”
“No, actually this was my fifth time.”
“Really, what keeps bringing you back to Bosnia?”
“Well,” he replied, “Perhaps you’ve heard that the Virgin Mary has been appearing in Medjugorge, Bosnia. All of my trips have been pilgrimages to there.”
Yes, I had read an article about the general increase in the sightings of Virgin Mary. Thousands were flocking to Medjugorge at a time to witness this vision. It struck me this was the kind of “calling” so typical of the Christian experience, a divine communication to see a holy vision. So I had to ask him.
“Did you actually see the Virgin Mary?”
“No,” he said, “but I felt her presence within.”
This week’s Torah portion is the very first in the book of Leviticus. Here is the first verse.
וַיִּקְרָ֖א
אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר יְהוָה֙ אֵלָ֔יו מֵאֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵ֖ד לֵאמֹֽר׃
Vayikra el Moshe vayedabeir Adonai elav m’ohel mo’ed leimor
“God called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting saying…”
It is a seemingly straightforward sentence. God is calling Moses to engage in the kind of encounter that to us Jews feels more Christian than Jewish. In what manner does God actually call to Moses, to me, to any of us? What would be the purpose of such a calling? Another question, why is God calling to Moses before speaking to him? In the overwhelming majority of the Torah God simply speaks a command and Moses listens. Why in this verse is the addition of “calling” before “speaking.”
Nachmanides points out that Moses is not called each time that God wants to speak with him. But in this instance God’s presence filled the ohel mo’ed, the Tent of Meeting, so intensely that Moses was afraid to enter. So God did a gentle calling of his name, “Moses, Moses,” to express God’s encouragement and affection. Moses needed the call to be aware he was supposed to enter the Tent of Meeting.
Rashbam teaches that this calling is connected to the very end of the book of Exodus, chapter 40 verses 34 and 35. The cloud of God’s presence settles on the Tent of Meeting and fills it so Moses is not able to enter. Yet God calls on Moses to enter just a few verses later, the very first one in Leviticus. What commentators do not say is how Moses could enter if God’s presence fills the tent so completely. God must have done an act of tzim tzum, contracting just enough so Moses could participate in their interaction within the Tent of Meeting. Perhaps the lessening of God’s self is an ultimate act of love for Moses and the people of Israel, as it contributes to Moses growing as a leader and a teacher while God contracts. The example of God self contracting to make room for someone else is a potential lesson for everyone.
In a kind of contrast to Nachmanides, Rashi comments that God spoke in a loud, thunderous voice. But the voice only reached Moses’s ears. The voice would cease and not go beyond the Tent of Meeting. This implies the call was for Moses only. Rashi says that the use of the word elav, “to him,” is proof of the privacy of the calling. But why the loud voice? Because moments in the Torah are not only horizontal in time, but vertical as well. Just as all future Jewish souls are to feel that they were at Sinai, so too are we to know that the words spoken to Moses reverberate throughout time. They are ours as well.
What are the words God shares with Moses? At first glance we would wonder why these words should be eternal. They are about the responsibilities of the priests, and about sacrifices. This appears to be a meaningless model for today’s world. However, the underlying theme of Leviticus is not the superficiality of just sacrifices, but the necessity to act in a way that invites God’s presence to increase in our community. In looking at the details of the next few verses, it is clear that responsibility does not just lie on the priesthood, but all members of the community. If someone brings a sacrifice, for example, they must lay their hands on it. The priest is not a proxy for them. In other words, all members of the community must work to increase God’s presence. That underlying lesson is “vertical” in time, i.e. eternal, not just meant for the Israelites in the Torah, but for every generation.
But we can get to an even deeper, more personal meaning. Somewhere in the depth of each of our souls is an ohel mo’ed, a Tent of Meeting in which we must face our hopes, our fears, our selves and our God. We might actually feel something beckoning us. Perhaps it is loving and gentle. Perhaps it feels loud and frightening. What we feel in the depth of our soul stops at the edge of our own ohel mo’ed. Rather than letting our fright prevent us from entering, we must enter. Upon entering we might sense not only God, but ourselves, not as we are but as we should be. We might sense the world, not as it is, but as it ought to be. At first it is frightening to confront our responsibilities, our shortcomings, our vanities, but after a while we can become aware of our abilities, our strengths, our caring for others. We can each grow.
Think of the passenger I had in the limousine. His experience, his sensing the presence of Mary, was in the midst of a community of thousands of fellow believers. His intensely private moment actually connected him to a much larger community, and not necessarily a physical one. His experience was within the context of a shared tradition.
May all of us enter our own deep souled ohel mo’ed. May each of us connect to the Divine, and thus in a meaningful way to each other. Amen.
Read Full Post »