Writing Your Own Jewish Story
Rabbi Deborah Wechsler
From the first parashah in the book of Shemot, of Exodus, Moses appears or is mentioned in every single parashah until the very last verses of the Torah. He is written in to every account, every interaction, and every command. Except for this week in Parshat Tetzaveh. This is the only week from the moment Moses is born until the moment he records the story of his own death that Moses neither appears nor is mentioned. The Sages suggest two reasons for this omission – one is that this parashah is always read the week of 7 Adar, which was yesterday. The 7 of Adar is the traditional date of Moses’ death so for this one week we feel acutely Moses absence. The second reason is that that Moses willingly stepped aside and removed himself from the text to allow his brother Aaron a week to shine in the description of his priestly responsibilities.
The notion of Moses writing himself into or out of the Torah is intriguing. That any person could choose to place themselves into the narrative or into the Torah is a powerful comment on our faith’s expectation that we see ourselves in the Torah. According to the Rambam the 613th commandment is a positive commandment that each person should write a sefer Torah. It is taken from a verse in Deuteronomy which reads, “ve atah, kitvu lakhem et ha shirah ha zot” And now, write for yourselves this poem.” (Deut 31:19) There are many mitzvot that we will never be able to perform. No matter how many years we live, there are certain mitzvot which will always remain out of reach to us for a variety of reasons – life circumstance, physical ability, financial resources, or simply practicality. But this one mitzvah, the very last mitzvah, is available to each of us.
It is a powerful gift, the ability to have a hand in writing our own Jewish story. Buried in the Book of Numbers, in the midst of what would otherwise be a dry recitation of law and code we come upon a brief story, known affectionately as the daughters of Tzelofhad. During the narratives of the wilderness, the Torah speaks of a man named Tzelofhad who was blessed with five daughters and no sons. While we all know what a great blessing it must have been to share his home with five daughters, it left his daughters at some disadvantage because in the Biblical system of primogeniture, only sons could inherit land. These women advocated for themselves, and Moses brought their case all the way up to the heavenly court. God decided that their case was just and gave them their inheritance so that they too would have their own stake in the land of Israel. This outcome is extraordinary enough, but the great Biblical commentator Rashi adds an even more extraordinary outcome.
Tradition tells us that the entire Torah was written by Moses. Dictated or inspired by God, it was Moses himself who wrote each word and each story in the Torah. But here Rashi tells us that even though it would have been appropriate for Moses to write in the form of law the story of the daughters of Tzelofhad as he had written the entire Torah, the daughters of Tzelofhad were privileged with writing their own story in narrative form. That was considered the ultimate reward – the privilege of writing your own Jewish story.
Like Moses and the daughters of Tzelofhad, we too have the opportunity to write our own Jewish story. This year, as part of the celebrations surrounding the 140th anniversary of Chizuk Amuno, we are writing our own Torah scroll. Together as a congregation, each of us as individuals and families, are invited to literally write a letter in the scroll of our congregation and help shape the way the story of our people is told.
When writing a Torah, we write it the same way that a Torah been written for centuries, the same letters the same words, the same labor of love. Twice now I have had the privilege of writing a letter in a Torah scroll. They were incredibly powerful Jewish moments in my life. We like to joke that because we are so much apart of it, Rabbis always think we won’t be touched by ritual. Let me tell you, both times I was moved to tears by the emotion and meaning of what I was doing.
I was nervous where to put my hand, and that I might cause the sofer make a mistake. As I sat down next to him, he spoke softly to me and gently showed me how to place my fingers on the quill. He whispered to me to take a moment to clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. I remember the letters that I filled in. The first time, when it was my turn to go up to the scroll the next letter was ayin, with its pointed ends and soft curve in the middle. It is a letter of joining together (eem), of flowing springs (ein), of hard work (avodah), and it was mine. The sofer told me it was the ayin tov, the good eye with which he blessed me that I be able to live my life with discernment and vision.
The second time, when it was my turn to go up to the Torah the next letter was koof, with its two parts making a whole, one line rounding into the strong base of the other. It is a letter of closeness (karov), of holiness (kadosh), of community (kahal) and it too was mine. The sofer showed me its place in the text, embedded in the phrase yad hazakah, the strong arm of God and the sofer blessed me with strength to be a rabbi of this congregation and as mother to my son with whom I was pregnant at the time.
The Talmud teaches that if you write a Sefer Torah it is as if you received it at Mount Sinai. (Tractate Menahot 30a) That’s what it felt like those two times when I wrote a letter in the Torah; that I was coming before God to have an intimate audience and that it was a new beginning. I wish for each of you that you be blessed with this experience and this mitzvah.
It is why this time I will bring my children to take part in writing a letter in our new Chizuk Amuno Torah – that they become the next link in a chain stretching back to Moses and the daughters of Tzelofhad; that they fulfill a mitzvah that they might not have a chance to do any other time in their lives, but perhaps even more importantly so they can begin to write their own Jewish story, in their own hand, in their own community. That together as family we stand at Sinai to begin a new Jewish journey in our lives. I hope you’ll join us.
