KI TEITZEI
parasha KI TEITZei,
deuteronomy chapters 21—25
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and thoughts…
ki teitzei
when you go out
Making sense of the incomprehensible.
If two men are fighting and the wife of one tries to rescue her husband by grabbing the private parts of the other guy, you shall cut off her hand. Excuse me?
If a man refuses to marry his brother’s widow, she shall take off his shoe, spit before his face, and say to him, "Thus shall be done to the man who will not build up his brother's household!" And that family shall be called in Israel, "The family of the one whose shoe was removed." Huh?
You shall obliterate the remembrance of Amalek from beneath the heavens. You shall not forget! Okaaay.
On the surface these verses are unfathomable.
Who would do that?
What’s the deal with the shoe?
Which one—remember or forget?
Our sages and rabbis have given many explanations of these passages, from the simplest to the most esoteric. But today I have no mind with which to engage them. Today I am lost in the land of the incomprehensible.
Today, I buried my closest friend of 55 years. Incomprehensible.
Ellen and I faced it all together. From going to Macy’s with our moms for our first “training bras” to the aches and pains that are becoming de rigeur as we enter our “golden years,” through marriages, divorces, births, and deaths. We held each other up through days that were so hard we thought we couldn’t survive and we laughed and danced exuberantly on days of extraordinary joy.
Less than a month ago, we learned that she was sick. Very sick. She felt fine.
Unfathomable.
And now she’s gone. Incomprehensible.
All those plans of what we were going to do when we were white-haired old ladies…
We, the survivors, the ones who loved her best, sat up all night, drinking Manhattans, reminiscing and dissecting her life—the person that she was—needing to understand what had happened, needing to create a space for this unimaginable event in our minds.
She was complicated. Brilliant. Insightful. So full of possibilities never embraced, opportunities never grasped. She could have done anything but she did nothing. Crippled by fear, unhappy, jealous of those who she perceived to have more, who had it better, she just sat—while what she had—her home and her life—deteriorated around her.
Ellen wasn’t afraid to die. She was afraid to live.
Does that sound harsh? Maybe. But it feels like a time for honesty, not platitudes.
I’m not the only one who claimed her as their best friend. She was the best friend. She was the one who listened. She listened and remembered every word you said. She remembered the details and never neglected to ask how this one was doing, or how that situation was going. Because she cared. She took an analytical approach towards your problems and offered advice when she had some to give. And when she didn’t, she just held your hand. She was faithful, loyal, and forgiving. She loved with her whole heart, holding nothing back, and yet she struggled to trust the love she received.
She’d had a complicated childhood.
She had a temper. If she felt she’d been slighted you would feel her fury. And if someone was dishonest or disloyal towards her, it crushed her. But when someone showed her love, concern, solidarity, she was happy, she was at peace.
My kids loved her, called her aunt, and all three phoned her repeatedly, one of them from Europe, over her last weeks. She never stopped raving to me about how grateful she was for that, how wonderful they were. Because, ultimately, all she wanted was to be loved.
And we loved her. Because of, and in spite of, everything she did or didn’t do, everything she was or wasn’t.
My extraordinarily insightful daughter raised an interesting point today.
Our tradition teaches that we can aid the journey of the souls of those who’ve passed by doing mitzvot and giving tzedakah in their names. Nice.
But, my daughter said, maybe the real thing we should be doing to honor her, to aid her soul journey, is to do the stuff she couldn’t do. In her name. To let go of our own fears, the ones that hold us back from reaching our potential. To rise above the expectations of others. To know when it’s time to change course and not be afraid to start again. Again. To not be afraid to live.
Ki Teitzei is really about justice.
It’s about how to behave when you go out in the world.
It’s about doing right by others.
One person should not be held responsible for the actions of another.
Don’t cheat your customers in business.
It’s about justice entwined with kindness. Don’t muzzle the ox that’s threshing your grain, let him help himself to a nibble while he works for you.
It’s about justice entwined with compassion. Don’t take a mother bird’s young out from under her.
It’s about justice entwined with respect.
If a man has two wives and loves one but despises the other, he must treat the one he despises with the same respect that he shows towards the one he loves.
It occurs to me that it’s respect that separates compassion from pity. Pity insults and demeans, compassion respects and uplifts.
Ki Teitzei bangs out life instructions, dos and don’ts, one after the other. And every one of them comes down to justice, compassion, kindness, and respect.
We are to do right by others. Our humanity demands it.
Everything in creation praises its creator by the very act of being, and so everything—humans, animals, the earth we walk upon—deserves justice, compassion, kindness, and respect.
And you’re part of that, too. You deserve it. Because you’re human.
Do right by others, and also do right by yourself. Treat yourself with justice, compassion, kindness, and respect. That means reaching for those things that are meant to be yours, even if you have to stretch really hard. Use your gifts. Live up to your potential.
And if you can’t find the motivation in yourself to do that, then do it in the name of someone you love.
Because when you do it for someone else, you do it for God.
You sanctify The Name.
So what shall we eat?
My friend, Ellen, was a wonderful cook, but when I think about her in the kitchen, the first thing that comes to my mind is her Sweet and Sour Braised Red Cabbage. It’s a simple, homey dish, but no one else’s compared. So that’s what I’m making. I’m going to serve it with a roast chicken—a simplified version of a fancy dish that I often make for the High Holy Days. For the vegetarians, I’m going to keep it simple and cook up a pan-full of Impossible™ Bratwurst, because the cabbage will be glorious with these sausages.
Scarborough Fair Stuffing contains, you guessed it, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Fresh herbs, woodsy mushrooms, and tender roasted chestnuts make it fragrant and delicious. A splash of Gran Marnier makes it fabulous.
No recipe is needed for the green beans that I’ll serve on the side. I’m going to quickly blanch them and then finish them in a pan with a bit of olive oil and crushed garlic.
Of course, we’ll start with a gorgeous Golden Shabbat Challah.
For the first course, I’m going with a creamy roasted mushroom soup. Check out the secret ingredient that makes it rich and creamy without dairy or non-dairy milks.
Dessert will be my Orange Blossom Crunch Cake. It’s light, it’s fast and easy, and everyone loves it.