Think about your relationship with food. Are you thrilled by trendy restaurants? Do you post food pictures on Instagram? Do you watch weight-loss competitions on TV?

Another way to pay attention to food is how we choose what we eat. Judaism teaches mindfulness about eating animals. Jewish dietary practices (kashrut) seek to raise our consciousness about holiness in our food choices – not only about animals we eat but also how our food choices impact the world.

Parshat Shemini lists animals to be eaten (“clean”) and animals to be avoided (“unclean”). Torah urges us to make those choices with the explanation that “I the Lord am your God: you shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I am holy. You shall not make yourselves unclean.” With those words, Torah teaches that our food choices are really about holiness.

Today, I find myself asking questions about holiness beyond “did this animal make the list in Parashat Shemini.” Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi z”l identified a second layer of questions as “eco-kosher.” Was the animal treated well while alive? Was the animal slaughtered in a “humane” way? Animals that made the list are “clean” and thus available for food, but we also must consider the ethics of how we raise and consume these animals. These, too, are questions about holiness.

Here’s another: “Can my food choices be holy if the Earth suffers as a consequence?” Americans eat eight billion chickens each year: consider the impact on fouling waterways and farmland. And don’t get me started how much methane cows release, raised by the tens of millions each year for dinner tables – a top contributor to greenhouse gas emissions and climate change. Cows and chickens make Torah’s “clean” list, but Mother Earth isn’t so “clean” as a result.

I haven’t given up meat and chicken yet, and I’m not advocating strict vegetarianism. But Judaism asks me to consider how my food choices impact the environment. Accordingly, I reduced the amount of meat I consume.

This quest for holy food choices requires everyone’s engagement if we are to better protect the Earth through mindful eating. If we can make our choices in animal consumption a moral value across the globe, then the Earth can breathe a little easier – and so can we.

What about you? Can you occasionally substitute a veggie burger, be satisfied and take on a bit more holiness? Pass the ketchup and let’s try.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Do we design spaces for our purposes or do we choose what we do because of the space? Does the space have good energy? Good lighting? Planners are always asking these questions, and they come to mind as we move from the end of the book of Exodus with all of the design details of building the mishkan (tabernacle) to the details of the sacrifices that begin the book of Leviticus.

The purpose of the mishkan was for God to have a dwelling place among the people. This tangible abode was to assure the people that God was with them, was protecting them, and keeping the covenant. And what was the purpose of the sacrifices? While they have names such as burnt offering, guilt offering, or sin offering with very particular instructions for the priests in the performance of the sacrifice, that tells us “what” more than “why”. Why did people offer animals and grain as sacrifices?  The why is really about the relationship itself between the people and God. The sacrifices were to keep the relationship whole – if someone strayed, a sacrifice could bring him back into oneness with God. If someone had a great harvest, a sacrifice could express gratitude. The mishkan was the place to offer the sacrifice and thus designed to embody the inter-connectedness of God and the people.

More than 2000 years have passed since the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. and we seem to be both glad to have progressed beyond offering animals to God. Yet, we also feel disconnected from God, striving to feel God’s presence in our lives. The synagogue has replaced the mishkan while prayer and acts of lovingkindness replaced the sacrifices. As the question goes, “How’s that working for you?”

The Jewish Studio, as part of its operating philosophy, has thought programmatically first and space second, choosing spaces based on their ability to enhance the program. To facilitate connection to God, we look to programming in nature as most people more easily feel a spiritual connection when outdoors. To create a sense of intimacy and connection with each other, we design opportunities for easy interaction and exchange in small groups. Music and food (which were also plentiful in the ancient Temple) are essential elements to add in order to achieve communal connection and feel God’s presence. And we offer open hearts and open minds in our personal encounter seeing the divine in each other.

Synagogues communicate many things: A Jewish presence, a financial commitment and ability to support the Jewish community, the importance of worship, of celebration, of education. If we think about the architect Louis Sullivan’s approach of “form follows function” when it comes to Jewish space where does that take us? Might we change the form or the function? How do these buildings help us to seek and feel God’s presence? And the most challenging question for architects, builders and fundraisers – isn’t God’s presence best noticed outdoors? Let’s continue to experiment with the relationship between spaces and spirit.

JoHanna Potts

Pretend you’re designing and building a new state Capitol. Imagine in precise detail the stones, woodwork, glass, tools, glue, joints, wiring and metalwork you’d need: such immense architectural plans could fill books. Now imagine getting the materials – not with tax revenue or apportioning needs directly to people able to fulfill them, but simply by saying the public, “Anyone whose heart moves them to donate, please do.” Could you imagine building anything that way, much less a Capitol building whose architectural plans depend on fulfilling each exacting step that depends on the one preceding it? How could anything get built?

But that’s exactly what our ancestors did to build the Mishkan, their first traveling Capitol in the desert – and their experience offers us a lesson in how we can build trusting hearts in spiritual community.

In this week’s Torah portion (Vayakhel), the stones, jewels, wood, fabric and ornaments needed to build the Miskhan – physical focal point for God’s indwelling presence – were sought directly from the people, not in any fixed amount but from all who were n’div lev (had a willing heart). So important was the voluntary and unaccounted measure of asking the people that Torah repeats it over and over (once in Ex. 35:5, again in Ex. 35:21, a third time in Ex. 35:32). Even though nobody was told how much to bring, together they brought so much that they had to be stopped: “don’t bring any more” (Ex. 36:5-6). The Mishkan then was built from not only their physical donations but also the trusting hearts of the people who donated them.

Surely we couldn’t imagine running a modern government this way, when basic effectiveness depends on making and fulfilling plans in a complex world. Could we build adequate roads depending only on voluntary gifts of concrete? What would happen if too few pipes meant insufficient fire hydrants to help bring water to extinguish fires? If everyone paid only the taxes they wanted, if every government decision depended on voluntarism, could government fulfill its basic social contract?

American society debates these matters regularly. Economists know that all societies struggle to provide public goods that benefit all amidst the free-rider problem that people can (and do) consume public goods without paying for them, which imperils their efficient provision. This is one reason that government exists and collects taxes, and it’s one reason that synagogues and other spiritual communities charge  dues. Taxes (for governments) and dues (for synagogues) are traditional measures to ensure a predictable minimum level of financing to achieve important public purposes. This idea is so obvious, it makes such wise business sense, that it’s almost beyond dispute.

And yet, dispute it we do. My teacher, Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi z”l, zeide (grandfather) of the Jewish Renewal movement, famously quipped that it’s okay for Jewish spiritual community to be a business – so long as we know what kind of business we’re in. Ideally revenues and costs will balance, but if that’s the goal rather than the means, then what are we? Maybe it can’t work for government, but n’div lev (giving of the willing heart) maybe can work – and must be tried – for all who care about Jewish spiritual community. It was precisely God’s trust of the people, and the people’s trust in God, that allowed the Mishkan to be built out of the trusting heart that, by being given the trusting space to be free, naturally responded with generosity sufficient to build the Mishkan. Maybe it’s precisely that inner spaciousness of trust and inwardly-felt mutual dependence that is the best possible space for the holy presence we call God to dwell among and within us.

Maybe voluntary dues for synagogues and Jewish spiritual communities, the subject of a 2014 Federation study of 26 congregations that tried it, is exactly the way to go in an era when all of us are Jews by choice. That’s why The Jewish Studio events have been free to all, depending entirely on voluntary contributions to prime the pump of continuous community innovation.  Maybe n’div lev – trusting others to have giving hearts – is precisely the spiritual purpose of the “business we’re in.” Perhaps that’s the only way to be sure we have something truly precious – a people of trusting hearts – to building for. In Torah’s spiritual language, that’s how trusting hearts can send into the world the treasures of all kinds that we need to build a Mishkan for us and God to dwell together.

It’s up to you.

Rabbi David Evan Markus

Twitter: @davidevanmarkus

Facebook: www.tinyurl.com/fbdem1

The key to a happy life? Being able to ride that sine curve of life’s ups and downs.  Happiness comes from modulating our awareness between the abundance of life and our fear of death. Like walking away from a car crash or getting a cancer free diagnosis, facing mortality brings mindfulness about what life has to offer. Contrasts serve as a reminder to live our lives more fully.

Religion is crucial in helping us to navigate that space between enjoying life’s pleasures and fretting over our precarious existence. The accoutrements of the Jewish religious tradition remind us of the balance needed to enjoy our lives. Yet, the experience of being Jewish often tips towards the anxiety of threats and traumas rather than its pleasures.

How does Judaism address the contrasts between life’s richness and risks? It begins with Torah focusing our attention both in grand stories of miracles and details of clothing designs. For example, the pattern around the hem of the High Priest’s robes serves to remind us of the contrast of life and death.

On its hem make pomegranates of blue, purple, and crimson yarns, all around the hem, with bells of gold between them all around: a golden bell and a pomegranate, a golden bell and a pomegranate, all around the hem of the robe. Aaron shall wear it while officiating, so that the sound of it is heard when he comes into the sanctuary before the Lord and when he goes out — that he may not die.  Exodus 29:34 – 36.

Pomegranates are a traditional image of fertility and the richness of life.  By contrast, bells are a signal of death. The repeating pattern of pomegranates and bells around the robes of the High Priest remind us that the full experience of living is a roller coaster ride (said the grandmother in the movie Parenthood).

As the history of Judaism unfolded, rabbis replaced the High Priests in leadership and prayers replaced sacrifices in our practices. Accordingly, the reminders of fecundity and mortality moved from the hem of the priests’ robes to a repeating pattern in our prayers. The contrast is highlighted from morning prayers of gratitude for bodies that function until evening prayers requesting protection from harm. Interspersed are blessings offered for rescue and redemption and an occasional verse from psalms about the joy of dwelling in God’s abode. In garments or prayerbooks, the sine curve of life is on display.

Yet, I worry that our experience of being Jewish tends toward the perils and does not successfully emphasize the possibilities. Jewish leaders are adept at tolling bells of warning. Life’s fragility is often the Jewish experience’s dominant theme. For some, Jewish identity is focused on responding to anti-semitism, fighting anti-Zionism or anticipating the next holocaust (God forbid).

Not so for many of the younger generations. In a safe and secure America, millennial Jews have no deep connection with such fears. Their tenuous attachment to Judaism will improve if they are offered positive Jewish experiences. While we must be persistent in confronting anti-semitism and anti-Zionism in the world, we must also give attention to the richness and joy in the Jewish experience. A healthier Judaism would operate with equal parts of sweet life affirming pomegranates and bells that toll danger.

What gives balance to your experience of being Jewish? Here’s an idea: try really having a great time next shabbat with family or friends. Celebrate being Jewish. Perhaps start by adding pomegranate seeds to your bitter arugula salad! And enjoy being Jewish with the Jewish Studio.

Rabbi Evan Krame

Do you remember being a child and the feeling of waking up in the morning to discover that school was closed and being “gifted” a snow day?  An unscheduled release from the routine and especially the chance to play outside until your fingers froze through your gloves rather than be sitting inside working at school.

Snow days and Shabbat have a great deal in common. Both are special, “out of the norm,” both give us special things to do, both have things we cannot do, both have increased value in contrast to the everyday norms of our life, both are temporary, both have the possibility of different types of family time, and often both are times of joy, and yet there may be an aspect of Shabbat for some that, like too many snow days, feels confining rather than refreshing.

The recent snowstorm gave us several snow days and plenty of time to consider work, family, community, life balance, and most especially time itself because it changed from a “get-to-have-a-snow-day” to “stuck-in-the-house-day.” For those who teleworked, the boundaries between home and work became even blurrier than they usually are and work seemed unending, making it more difficult to en-joy being home with kids and spouses. On the other hand, it was often the technology that kept some entertained and sane as the time snowed-in continued on and on.

Which actually brings me to how to create meaningful, authentic Shabbat experiences for ourselves – A Shabbat that refreshes, relaxes, nourishes our souls, reconnects us with family as “beings” not as “doers” or “tasks,” gives us time to reflect and rebalance our priorities, a day to let go of the stress that may have built up during the week, a day that feels very different from the everyday.

For these purposes, an authentic Shabbat needs to reflect what it is we want Shabbat to be at this time. It may also be that not every Shabbat needs to have the same experiences. It may be that over time our Shabbat changes. So how does one begin to choose what to do or not do from the array of possibilities? This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim (Exodus 21:1 – 24:18), includes the phrase “N’aseh v’nishmah” which is sometimes translated as “we will do and we will understand.” Doing and understanding was the core of John Dewey’s educational philosophy of hands-on and experiential learning, still being espoused by many today. It can be the same with Shabbat, it is by experiencing Shabbat that we can best understand the gift of Shabbat each week.

Marie Kondo, the de-cluttering guru, advises that the question to ask when contemplating our material stuff and whether to keep it or not is, “Does it spark joy?” This is a terrific question to be applied when looking at our activities and designing Shabbat. What could you do that would bring you and/or your family joy? Is it possible to only do that on Shabbat so that it becomes a special Shabbat experience? Do you love chocolate? En-joy some on Shabbat. Do you love pizza? En-joy some on Shabbat. The trick is to not have these things on other days so that Shabbat is full of anticipation and different. Do you resent the omni-presence of your cell phone? En-joy taking a break from it on Shabbat (for as long as you want – an evening, a morning, etc). Are there baskets of laundry waiting to be washed or put away? Prepare for Shabbat by getting it out of the way so that you can en-joy relaxing without guilt.

How can your engage all five of your senses in cuing you for Shabbat? What would make your house look like it is Shabbat? Is there a special tablecloth that could be the Shabbat tablecloth? A special center piece for the table or the entryway? A Shabbat Shalom banner that is hung up for Shabbat? What about getting flowers for Shabbat for the centerpiece and the fragrance? What would make your house smell like it is Shabbat? Does it smell like cinnamon and cloves? The smell of challah is a wonderful smell that can be achieved with frozen challah dough, not just making challah from scratch. If week after week, the house smells like baked challah, your nose and the rest of you will be primed for Shabbat.  Smell and taste are closely linked, what taste would make Shabbat special for you? Is it chocolate, challah, wine, risotto, lox and everything bagels? What does Shabbat sound like in your house? Is it the sound of laughter, of singing, of your favorite music, or the sound of book pages turning? How can you bring those sounds into your Shabbat experience? Is this the time to reconnect with family and friends and share a meal or a walk or tea? And what does the special touch of Shabbat feel like? Is it hugs and kisses? Is it the feeling of fresh air on skin?

I have left the religious and spiritual aspects of Shabbat for another week. It is not that they aren’t important, rather that they deserve sufficient space for exploration.

The tradition has Shabbat last for 25 hours each week, during that time there are so many different things that occur that planning for this 25 hour weekly occurrence can be as exciting as planning a vacation, yet it happens 52 times each year. What are they things you do or want to do on Shabbat to refresh your soul?

JoHanna Potts