This past week I experienced a tragic loss. While I don't think any of you knew this person, I know from sitting with you, that many of us have experienced unexpected losses this year. 

A friend from Boston died very unexpectedly and my entire Boston community has been grieving virtually on Facebook. It has been both intense and comforting to bear witness to our loss, sharing broken heart emojis and treasured photos of this person. One of their dearest friends, wrote a poem about them [shared in its entirety at the end of this email]. This is how it ends:

"And over time, they continue to offer their Sight - 
unabashedly knowing the wholeness of our hearts better than we know our own– 
and seeing us and loving us as we truly are. And little by little through these daily radiant acts of love, sharing silliness, joy, doubt or sorrow, we start to see ourselves through their Sight and come to the astoundingly simple truth they seem to have always known that we worthy of receiving these gifts – 
And in that knowing, we See that this Seer has entrusted us – US – with their own heart. With their Sight. And We are called upon to hold and know and see the wholeness of their golden heart when they cannot. This is a healing blessing. 
This is self and love retethered as it was meant to be. 
An open curtain, the sunlit air, 
queer medicine to our broken hearts and the pain of our ancestors,
remembering love as instinct." 

Without any names or pronouns (which is how it was written), and with intended capitalizations, it reads like a poem written by Rumi or Hafiz. Somehow capturing the spirit of this person in the form of mystical love poetry. And in an instant, it made me realize something new about what it means that we are made b'tzelem elohim, in the image of the Divine. That we have the capacity to see each other through a Divine light. And that seeing is truly transformative. It is healing and connecting. 

Rabbi Arthur Green writes, "The faith that every human being is created in God's image is the part of Judaism that has taken the deepest root in what may be culturally characterized as the "Jewish soul." Ironically it continues to exist even in Jews who are not sure if they can still use the word God or soul in any other part of their vocabulary. But they still affirm the lesson of tzelem elohim, the truth that every human life is sacred" (15). 

I have felt for a long time that the concept of b'tzelem elohim affirms the worth of each human being. What this loss is teaching me is that b'tzelem elohim also means we have the capacity to see each other in a way that changes how we see ourselves. That the many roles that we might attribute to the divine (and the list is long!) -- Healer, Loving Companion, Rock, Supporter, Teacher, Gardener -- we might also experience in each other. And that can return us to a kind of love, for ourselves and each other, that is at our core. 


Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Ari Lev

[The full poem is shared below]

To the we who find ourselves 
walking a path of longing, the 
many we who have been broken, distorted, profoundly
shaken from ourselves 
by the pain of our ancestors, 
hands from which we sought protection,
soil upon which we may have once stood by instinct and not intention
heart open, eyes lifted to the sun 
and learned the hard and many ways
the world holds to have us believe 
we are unworthy, shameful, imperfect, and empty.
This we – we walk many paths sometimes drinking deep shame in many colors
of what we fear may be the Truth of our spirits behind the curtain to the room
with the sunlit air we seek but fear we will never find.
Other times fighting for the joy and love we are told by pundits we deserve
- not quite believers – but dedicated to the creation of a life 
that has markers that it has been of our own choosing while
wrestling away the demons that threaten to reveal us as imposters 
empty of the life we so queerly desire. 
And in this distracted longing, some of us – perhaps many more of us that we may know– are found by a seer. And this seer too walks in the pain of a
self that has been left untethered from love.
And they come to us – US – entering our lives one magical day
offering unassuming acts of care, nourishment, rest, laughter, light masonry, the holding of our children –and we are left astounded by them wondering why and how -- and in those shrouded depths of old wounds -- what they could possibly see in US but for our lonely, unworthy selves. 
And over time, they continue to offer their Sight - 
unabashedly knowing the wholeness of our hearts better than we know our own– 
and seeing us and loving us as we truly are. And little by little through these daily radiant acts of love, sharing silliness, joy, doubt or sorrow, we start to see ourselves through their Sight and come to the astoundingly simple truth they seem to have always known that we worthy of receiving these gifts – 
And in that knowing, we See that this Seer has entrusted us – US – with their own heart. With their Sight. And We are called upon to hold and know and see the wholeness of their golden heart
when they cannot. This is a healing blessing. 
This is self and love retethered as it was meant to be. 
An open curtain, the sunlit air, 
queer medicine to our broken hearts and the pain of our ancestors,
remembering love as instinct.

As you prepare for Shabbat, I offer you this poem:

Instructions on Not Giving Up by Ada Limòn 

"More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all."

​
It seems that the pink-frosting flowers that lined the sidewalks last week have dissolved into the slate sky Spring rains. And now everywhere I look, I see a canopy of bright green leaves ready to offer shady respite on the hot summer days just around the corner. 
This has been a rainy, painful week. Regardless of how we understand its root and resolution, the violence in Gaza and Jerusalem has been heartbreaking. Among many things, this shabbat comes as "a return to the strange idea of continuous living despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty."

For each of us, I hope that Shabbat and Shavuot will be a much-needed chance to unfurl; to experience ourselves as receptive; and to notice the new growth like revelation all around and within us.

Tomorrow morning we will be celebrating Shabbat and all of the amazing KT leaders that sustain our community.

shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Ari Lev

It is in this week's parsha, Emor, that we find the earliest instructions around sacred time and the cycle of the Jewish year. Verses so important they have been incorporated into the blessings we say at festival meals:
אֵ֚לֶּה מוֹעֲדֵ֣י יְהוָ֔ה מִקְרָאֵ֖י קֹ֑דֶשׁ אֲשֶׁר־תִּקְרְא֥וּ אֹתָ֖ם בְּמוֹעֲדָֽם׃
"These are the set times of the LORD, the sacred occasions, which you shall celebrate each at its appointed time" (Lev. 23:4). 

Leviticus 23 includes a relatively complete list of times which we would now call Jewish Holidays. The Torah begins with instructions about Shabbat and then journeys through the pilgrimage festivals of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot, and concludes with Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. (Note: Despite contemporary popularity, Hanukkah and Purim come much later.) 

This week's parsha always reminds me that these sacred times are literally ancient. Once primarily known by different names, like "Feast of Unleavened Bread" and "The Day of the Shofar Call," it is amazing to imagine how too our observance of them has evolved. I am sure the Torah's authors never could have imagined matzah made in factories. More so, the idea that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, once last on the list, have become the major gathering days in modern times. And they certainly never conceived of Shavuot, the 50th day of the period of the Omer, as a time connected to the revelation of Torah. 

And yet, I think they always meant for us to find our own way of marking these appointed times. Which is why the rabbi's emphasized the word אֲשֶׁר־תִּקְרְא֥וּ אֹתָ֖ם - literally meaning, "that you shall call them..." We have agency in our observances. We are called to give texture to time; to prioritize community and connection; to share festive meals; to cultivate an inner life and a connection to the natural world. 

As shabbat nestles in to the evening, I invite you to remember that we are the ones that declare time holy. Whatever joy and sorrow has filled your week, I invite you to connect to one thing that was very good, and to savor it.  

Looking forward to singing and studying with many of you tomorrow:

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Ari Lev