The Power of Personal Invitation
We are living through an incredibly tough and volatile moment. This is a hard time to be an American, a hard time to be Jewish, and a hard time to be human! I hope you're all hanging in there.
As we navigate this swirl and seek groundedness, of course my instinct is to look to our Jewish tradition for guidance. And this week, as it happens, we are marking two important transitions (in addition to the first day of spring today, which is a lovely turning point in and of itself). First, the month of Nissan started just yesterday. Nissan is technically the first month of the Hebrew calendar year, and is the month in which we celebrate the festival of Pesach. Second, this Shabbat, we and Jewish communities everywhere will begin reading the book of Vayikra (Leviticus). Both Nissan and Vayikra usher us towards the pursuit of order in the face of chaos. Through both our Passover observances and the Levitical/priestly book of sacrifices, ritual helps us to hold large and unwieldy human emotions and experiences.
I'm struck this week, though, not only by the ritual aspects of Passover and Leviticus -- although of course it is true that both are known for their detailed rules -- but also by the fact that in each case, ritual acts are encased in an intimate encounter that features a personal invitation.
So many aspects of our Passover observance underscore this idea. The seder ritual is intended to be celebrated around the table, in intimate home settings. We pre-invite seder guests, and then also declare in invitation, "Let all who are hungry come and eat." The megillah associated with the Pesach festival itself is Shir HaShirim, the Song of Songs -- the poetic biblical book that features a dialogue between lovers, a hide-and-seek kind of dance between the Jewish people and God.
When it comes to Vayikra, the rabbis find evidence of this theme of intimacy and invitation in the opening words of both the parasha and the book: "Vayikra el moshe," "And [God] called to Moses." One of many midrashim offered by Vayikra Rabbah opens with the statement that "Moses was called by ten different names..." This midrash then offers proof-texts for Moses's many nicknames, pseudonyms, and monikers, before continuing: "The Holy Blessed One said to Moses: As you live, from all the names that you were called, I will call you only by the name that Bitya daughter of Pharaoh called you when she said, 'She called his name Moses' (Exodus 2:10). Therefore, our text says '[God] called to Moses.'"
It's a beautiful midrash... one in which God sees Moses, not in the many ways that other people see and name him, but for who he actually is. God calls Moshe by the name given to him, intimately, by Pharaoh's daughter, way back in his infancy at the bank of the Nile River, when his leadership and redemption story was first set into motion. The entire book of Leviticus and all of its priestly rules are contextualized, then, inside of this personal invitation from God to Moses.
This theme of intimacy and invitation -- being seen and recognized, and specifically named and invited in -- rings true for me at so many different levels right now. On an organizational level, over recent weeks, one of the big projects I've been working on with the Kavana staff, board, and partners is the mining of the data from our community survey (back in the fall) and our focus groups (over this winter). In analyzing all of this Kavana data, conversations keep returning to the idea of the relational nature of our work, the importance of face-to-face encounters between human beings, and the power of personal invitations.
In a different way, being seen is something that I've (thankfully) felt in the wake of the awful attack last week on Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan. In the hours and days immediately following, I received emails and text messages of solidarity and support from several elected officials (King County Executive Girmay Zahilay, King County Council Member Jorge Baron) and from fellow clergy members at some of our partner churches. SPD sent a patrol officer from the West Precinct to check in with our Kavana staff team and ask what kind of support might be helpful to us. Each of these reach-outs felt like an invitation to connection and relationship, and I was personally grateful for them (and am happy to be able to share about them with all of you).
In the face of the swirl of news and noise, I hope that you, too, will find your way towards rituals that ground you in tradition and supportive structure. The pathway towards all of these elements -- whether we're looking to Passover or to Leviticus for inspiration -- begins in a personal invitation that leads to enduring relationship and connection.
Practically speaking, I invite you to join us at Kavana... whether for Shabbat services tomorrow morning or for a learning event next week. I hope that you are all making plans to celebrate the Passover holiday with others; I am so grateful to all of those hosts in our community who are walking the walk by opening up seats at their upcoming Passover seders to other guests from our community!
Lastly, as we move into Nissan and Vayikra, I invite YOU to be the one to reach out and extend an invitation from a place of seeing and care. Invite someone to take a walk and appreciate the spring blossoms together next week, or invite someone to share a meal with you and break bread together (whether leavened or unleavened!). One way or another, turn yourself into the host -- emulate God's call to Moses at the beginning of Vayikra -- and make or deepen a personal connection.
In the face of a world that feels like it's careening out of control in so many ways, these threads of connection are something... or maybe, they are everything.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum
