When walking through a new neighborhood or city, I enjoy counting the mezuzahs I see on doorposts along the way.  Most Jews put this beacon of holiness on the entranceway to their homes. The parchment inside includes the instruction to teach the words of our tradition to the children. As you enter your home, we are reminded that holiness is created through passages, like doorways.

Rituals make sacred our life cycle events, like birth or moving into a new home.  During those events, we move through a portal. In this way, narrow spaces and transition events help us in building a spiritual life.

When we move into a new home, we mark the doorpost with a mezuzah.  A couple getting married enters the chuppah for kiddushin, a portal to begin the marriage ceremony. Even the birth canal through which life begins is a doorway, marked with a brit or circumcision for a boy and simchat bat or baby naming for a girl. Parshat Tazria begins with a cleansing ritual at the time of giving birth. The mother was cleaned of blood and purified spiritually.

In a similar episode, at Exodus 12:7, the children of Israel neared the end of their enslavement. They painted blood on the doorposts and lintels of their homes. The bloodied doorposts conjure up an image of birth. After the first Passover night, the Israelites emerged through bloody portals. They began their exit from Mitzrayim–literally, “the straits,” the narrow place – birthed into being as a free people.

Putting blood on the doorposts and lintels gave their doorways the status of an altar. Upon their portals, they sacrificed their slave identity. Through those entryways, the people attained freedom.

Also, the bloodied doorposts resembled an altar used as an atonement for sin. Blood atones for sins. What sin had the Hebrew slaves commited? Perhaps losing connection with the God of their ancestors or following Egyptian ways. Even in redemption from slavery, the people had to account for their behaviors. In that way, each regained a measure of dominion over their identities.

In a little-noticed text, Pesikta Zutreta (Lekah Tov, Exodus, Parashat Bo, ch. 12.7):  reads “Thus we learn that our ancestors in Egypt had four altars, the lintel, the two doorposts, and the doorstep, as said by Rabbi Ishmael.”  As one’s foot lands on a doorstep and propels the body forward, it becomes a place of restoration of the soul and reclamation of faith.

Similarly, each newborn, emerging through a bloodied portal, is like a step that propels us forward. That mindfulness starts when we witness the moment a baby pushes its head from the womb and takes its first gasping breath.

As we enter the month of Nissan, and approach the Passover festival of freedom, it is an opportunity to rededicate ourselves as if through a portal. Passover is a reenactment of the altar upon which we can again build our world.  We emerge through doorways determined to expand freedom and spread holiness in this world.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

In the State of the Union, the President acknowledged the hard-working middle class of our country. He thanked the Americans whose labor builds our nation. Appreciating workers is a Jewish value. I found it in the final verses of Exodus.

In the concluding passages of Exodus, God provided Moses with instructions for building the Tabernacle. The generosity of the people led to an abundance of donated materials, prompting Moses to halt further contributions. Skilled artisans then crafted the intricate structures and decorations of the Tabernacle. The narrative concludes with Moses offering his blessing upon witnessing the completion of their tasks. “And when Moses saw that they had performed all the tasks—as יהוה had commanded, so they had done—Moses blessed them.”

This seemingly overlooked passage holds a profound lesson for us. When individuals perform their work diligently and take pride in their contributions, they warrant our gratitude and blessings. Whether it’s the chambermaid in a hotel or the attendant cleaning an airport bathroom, acknowledging their efforts is a Jewish value.

While Judaism draws us into a relationship with God, our tradition also teaches the importance of our relationship with each other. For example, Talmud tractate Mishnah Peah begins with the requirement that farmers leave the corners of their fields for poor people to glean. The Mishnah continues with these words: “The following are the things for which a person enjoys the fruits in this world while the principal remains for them in the world to come: Honoring one’s father and mother; The performance of righteous deeds; And the making of peace between a person and their friend.”  Essentially, our treatment of others dictates our fate in both this world and the world to come.

In this context, Moses serves as a role model for our conduct in the world. When we recognize and appreciate the labor undertaken for our benefit, we spread godliness everywhere. Let’s emulate Moses’ spirit of acknowledgment, gratitude, and blessing, fostering a world where the divine and the human intersect harmoniously.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

I have been in emotional and spiritual confinement. I am a senior-aged man and I have an older mother living nearby. Each day begins with worrying, continues with caring, and ends with anticipating. My “detention” is not about being an attentive son. My jailer is an inability to address my emotional health and spiritual resolve. In a sense, I feel like a hostage. My frustrations, disappointments, and fatigue constrain me. As I read the Torah this week, I may have found a key to unlock my imprisonment.

Parshat Ki Tisa opens with a census. Each man paid a half-shekel as ransom to God for himself. How odd this directive is, as typically we pay ransom to free a captive. How can we be captive to God? Perhaps, we are spiritually and emotionally hostage when we displace our sense of Divinity. Here are some examples. Either we are cursed by rain-quashed plans or grateful for abundant water. Either we are disappointed by our failings or encouraged by what we learn from failure. Perhaps we are troubled by our health challenges, or we appreciate the abilities we retain. In these ways, we can either be hostage to our spiritual and emotional expectations or we are freed by paying a ransom of gratitude.

The payment of a half-shekel for freedom is merely a symbolic act. The ransom is a physical demonstration of our appreciation for the gifts given by God. Of course, God does not need our shekels. Rather, the community benefits when we ransom ourselves from self-doubt, longing, anger, and fear. We engage better with family and friends as we focus on appreciation rather than dissatisfaction. When we are grateful we are willing to give more of ourselves – not just shekels. Gratitude is the key to unlocking our emotional and spiritual prison cells so that we can better engage with others and in the community.

Only a handful of my friends still have parents alive, often nonagenarians. Along with advanced age comes great challenges, for both the parent and their mature children. In my 60’s I’m already confronting my issues of an aging body and even my mortality. All the while, I ransom my sanity and spirit with gratitude for the gifts of having my mother nearby and the blessings of what I can continue to achieve. I regularly provide a half-shekel of patience, kindness, and dedication to my mother. The greater challenge is “Can I do that for myself?”

For myself, I often struggle against my aging process. Poet Dylan Thomas urged that we “rage against the dying of the light.” As we age, Thomas railed that we “not go gently into that good night.” Alternatively, I can pursue gratitude. My teacher, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, understood mortality as an instructor so that we might grow in generosity and gratitude. I am not a shadow of my younger self but rather I am a glowing beacon of acquired wisdom and demonstrable love.

Without a practice of redeeming ourselves, we are groping in the dark, feeling confused and lost. We cannot escape from our captivity unless we continue to ignite meaning in our lives. For me, the meaning that informs my life is a Divine inspiration to improve the world. As Psalm 142 says: “Free me from prison, so that I may praise Your name.” The key to our freedom is to pay a ransom of gratitude to God.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

This century is a heyday for the cardboard industry. Nearly every delivery on your doorstep comes in a cardboard box. Wood pulp and cellulose combine to form cardboard. Accordingly, the cardboard craze exacerbates deforestation. The environmental impact of cardboard boxes is just one example of the holiness of choosing the right packaging.

A seemingly mundane fact from Parshat Tetzaveh, Chapter 25 of Exodus, describes the construction of the ark out of Acacia wood. In the Sinai wilderness, there might not be many trees of any kind. I wondered, where did the Acacia wood grow and why was Acacia selected?

Acacia trees are common in Israel. The trees grow quickly in tropical and subtropical climates and in the desert. Three varieties of acacia grow in various regions of Israel. The wood is quite hard and very durable. Given that the trees grow quickly and many species are healthy, acacia wood is a sustainable source of wood.

Most importantly, the tablets of the ten commandments were placed into the ark made of acacia wood.  God did not choose bronze, silver, or gold for the ark. Neither was the ark chiseled out of stone. God selected the acacia tree as the primary source of wood; a sustainable, fast-growing tree.

Torah is teaching us to be mindful of the materials we use as containers. Whether holding holy objects or creating homes for people, we can choose sustainable, natural materials. Cork, bamboo, recycled plastics, stone, and reclaimed wood are better choices for building and decorating homes.

When we make environmentally friendly choices, we are upholding the values we learn from the Torah.  You express your desire to save our planet when you eliminate gas stoves, buy an electric car, or cut down on red meat. And the next time you buy something on Amazon, select the option to have all of your purchases delivered in just one cardboard box!

Rabbi Evan J. Krame