Inclusion in the Book of Exodus: Two Models for Community

The Breastpiece: Who Do We See?

Akeidah

The breastpiece of judgment (Ex. 28:15)... The "breastpiece of judgment" atoned for faulty judgments (Rashi). Some of the stones in the breastpiece were precious while others were inexpensive. This is a hint to judges that every case, whether it is for a small sum or for a large fortune, must be treated the same way.

The Breastpiece: Who Is the "We?"

Ma'ayanah Shel Torah on Ex. 28:30

Many have had difficulty in understanding how the Urim and Tummim worked, and how they were used. Ramban gives a very good explanation (based on Yoma 73b). According to him, the Urim and Tummim were the holy names of God, engraved on the breastplate by Moses. Some of these holy names were known as Urim and others as Tummim. When the high priest came to consult with the Urim and Tummim, he would fix his thoughts on the Urim, and certain letters would light up. But this was insufficient, because the letters were in a haphazard order, and different messages could be spelled out with those same letters. The high priest then fixed his thoughts on the Tummim, and this directed his thoughts in how to arrange the letters correctly. This involved Divine Inspiration.

The Gaon of Vilna uses Ramban's explanation to explain the dispute (I Sam. 1:13-15) between the high priest Eli and Hannah, who would become the prophet Samuel's mother. We are told that Eli saw her lips moving but heard no sound, and he thought that Hannah was drunk. Hannah, though, answered, "No, my lord, I am a woman of sorrowful spirit." On this, the Talmud (Berakhot 31) comments: "She told him: 'You are not a master of this matter, and you have no Divine Inspiration concerning it, seeing that you suspected me of this.'"

The explanation of this is as follows: Eli sensed that there was something unusual about Hannah's prayer. He therefore consulted with the Urim and Tummim, and four letters lit up: heh, kaf, resh, shin. He assumed that this spelled shikorah - shin, kaf, resh, heh - "drunk" - but she answered him, "No, my lord" - you have no Divine Inspiration - "I am a woman of sorrowful spirit." What the letters spelled out was kesherah/keSarah - kaf, shin, resh, heh - "worthy" - just as our mother Sarah, who had difficulty in conceiving and having a child.

"Tetzaveh: When the Fabulous is Holy," Marla Brettschneider, Torah Queeries

ed. Gregg Drinkwater et al (New York, 2009), pp.106-8.

How many times have I heard queers sneer some version of "those texts just don't speak to me" or "there is nothing recognizable" or "there isn't anything in the Bible that relates to the world as I know it." Yet Parashat Tetzaveh, in its exquisite attention to detail and ritualizing of the beautiful, is a queer text that speaks to me. One might say that its resonance to queer life for me is based on stereotype, given the text's flamboyance. Yet the flamboyant is a slice of queer life that is real to me, and much beloved. Though flamboyance is commonly associated with excess and negatively valenced, in Tetzaveh we find an alternative framing of flamboyance as the site that brings G-d nearer to us as (a) people.

...There is a breastpiece deemed an "instrument of decision" far more awesome than powdered wigs and the flowing robes of Supreme Court justices. It is mounted in elaborate design with sapphire, turquoise, amethyst, emerald, and other richly colored precious stones

...Preparing stunning attire is therefore a prayer. Wearing a magnificent frock is an aspect of one's love for God. A pleasing sight is a divine offering. These clothes and fabulous accoutrements are ordered for no other reason than "dignity and adornment" (28:40). Yves St. Laurent would be proud...

...Why were the events and people in this textual moment so flamboyant, and how does this flamboyance connect to queerness - in a contemporary sensibility - and the public presentation of self?... Often it is through clothes and related components of affect that we push boundaries... Frequently it is through pushing boundaries that we connect to the present and the holiness of what is before us and how we are situated... It is often in the extreme that we encounter ecstasy, bits of the divine.

The extravagant clothes, rituals, meals, sacrifices, and anointings are central to the creation of the priesthood. Reading Tetzaveh from within a contemporary culture that associates queers with flamboyance and flamboyance with ruin, the parsha offers up a sigh of relief and a moment of validation. By providing a glimpse into a world that creates flamboyance and then marks it as holy, Tetzaveh opens up an opportunity to appreciate the fabulousness of contemporary queer culture. In the text, this space of excess is named not as some hedonistic den but as the Tent of Meeting - the dwelling place of the divine. Queers have heard endless rants about the godlessness of our most prized sites and practices of pleasure, meaning, and relationship. As a counterpoint, in Tetzaveh it is here - in this place of lavish beauty - that God will meet with the Israelites, speak to us, and abide among us.

Inclusion: Building Sacred Space Together

7 Reasons Why LGBTQ+ People Don’t Want to Go to Your LGBTQ+ Inclusive Church

Nathan A. Kennedy, Nov. 6, 2018, www.bookishbearblog.com

So your church is LGBTQ affirming. Congratulations, your denomination has most likely endured years of internal strife and division, and come out on the side of inclusivity. This isn’t something to be taken for granted – entire denominations have split over this question, and still others seem not at all willing to budge on their centuries-worth of LGBTQ intolerance. Yet, as you go to church week after week, you ask your gay or trans friends to join you and you receive a bewildering response. They’re just not interested...

“We’re not those kinds of Christians!” you reassure them, in vain. “We welcome everybody!” That may be the case, and your church may have made great strides attaining inclusivity and ally-ship. You might march in the Pride parade, and you might be versed in the contributions of queer theology. You might celebrate same-gender weddings regularly. But I speak as a queer person whose relationship with church communities has always been described as “it’s complicated:” at the end of the day, you’ll still find that many LGBTQ+ persons just aren’t interested in going to church, of any kind at all, and you probably won’t know why that is or what to do about it.

So let’s start with listing the reasons why LGBTQ+ individuals might not want to go to church at all. This isn’t to tell you in every case what to do about it, but to get you to understand and think a little deeper about the perspective of queer people in the face of religion, Christianity in particular. The more you understand that position, the more dialogue you can foster with us...

2. As inclusive as yours may be, churches are overwhelmingly cisgender, heterosexual spaces

Your church may be doing well on the question of LGBTQ+ inclusivity, but two millennia of erasure, discrimination, violence, and outright hatred do not simply go away. Churches as organizations are not just filled with cisgender, heterosexual ways of thinking, but in history were specifically built and developed as cisgender, heterosexual spaces.

Imagine a developer who’s taken an old automotive garage and wants to turn it into a bistro. Think of the structural, aesthetic, and functional changes they’re going to have to make to the space. It’s not enough to move some tables in and start serving customers – all the old equipment, all the junk, the oil stains, the rusty tools, all of it are going to have to go, and habitable fixtures are going to have to take their place.

Likewise, if you take an institution that has structurally and theologically opposed LGBTQ+ inclusion for centuries, you’re going to have to do more than just change your theology. You’re going to have to change the very atmosphere of the church itself. You’re going to need to look at the language, preaching, unspoken yet strictly enforced social norms–practically every aspect of your church’s life–and address how they might exclude LGBTQ+ persons.

Do you overwhelmingly design your programming for families with children?

Do you have separate Bible studies for men and women?

Does your church’s social and devotional life presume marriage to be a goal of every person?

Does your church’s youth program have and enforce anti-bullying, safe space policies?

Does your church specifically address and discuss the “texts of terror” found in the Bible, Catechism, and/or institutional documents?

These are just a few of the questions that are important to discussing ways to make the church LGBTQ+ friendly, and dealing with the transformations needed for that process.

Pamela Rae Schuller, "My Tourette Syndrome and I Are Not Your Mitzvah Project," www.ReformJudaism.org

(JTA) — I have Tourette syndrome, a neurological disorder characterized by involuntary movements and noises called “tics.” My Tourette’s is relatively mild at this point, but I went through a turbulent adolescence when Tourette’s was the most defining thing about me. Between the constant movements and the loud, uncontrollable noises, it was incredibly disruptive.

I now work in the Jewish community as an inclusion advocate, as well as in youth engagement. So I have this cool opportunity to see the Jewish community both as someone with a disability and as one who is supporting congregations and communities in creating more inclusive spaces for all people.

Sometimes I hear people talking about how much of a “mitzvah” they are doing by opening their doors to people with special needs in their community. Maybe they allowed a child with autism in their youth group or religious school, or hosted an “inclusion” service.

But here is the thing: It is not a mitzvah to let me in the door. It’s not. Opening your door to those with disabilities is not enough. Because there is a critical difference between tolerance and full inclusion. If we are practicing full inclusion, our communities should be celebrating each person and what they bring to the community, not just what they demand of it.

Many times throughout my life, I have felt like I was the mitzvah project of the week, like the community didn’t really want me there, but knew including me was what they were supposed to do. I always felt like we were one step away from my face being on the community bulletin with a story reading something like “We did it! We included somebody with special needs! Be proud everyone. Be real proud.” OK, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But feeling like my presence was another’s mitzvah made me feel even more like an outsider.

People keep telling me their community is really working on their “tolerance” of those of us with special needs. I tolerate the weather in the winter. I tolerate the neighbor who is learning the drums. I tolerate going to the dentist. But none of these are things I like; they are things I know I have to deal with. But every person — whatever their unique gifts, whatever their limitations — has value, and no one wants just to be tolerated.

It is so important that we are aware of those who feel on the outside (disability or otherwise), and are putting programs and services in place to ensure that everyone has the opportunity to feel engaged and valued. It means doing things like tailoring the b’nai mitzvah experience to cater to children of varying needs, and instilling in the community a mindset that being inclusive is everyone’s role, not just those who have it in their job description. It’s using preferred gender pronouns and celebrating families of all shapes and sizes. It’s making sure we are constantly reevaluating our communal offerings, so we never become complacent.

Let’s think about how we talk about inclusion – and make sure we are never “othering” anybody, be they people with disabilities or their families. Getting in the practice of “yes and-ing” as much as possible is a great way to start. That is, saying that yes, we want you and your family to be part of this community, and we want to partner with you to make sure that not only are your needs met, but that this is a place where you are cherished and can fully participate. It’s creating partnerships of synagogue leadership, teachers and families, and sometimes stepping outside our comfort zone to try something new.

Because when we have a community that appreciates each person and what that person brings to the table, the entire community benefits. A fully inclusive community is celebrating the unique qualities that everyone brings to that table, creating a safer and stronger community — one of trust where people can be uniquely themselves.

Just opening your door is not a mitzvah; it’s a start. What happens after the welcome is what really matters. It’s the critical difference between being tolerated and being valued — that difference is everything.

Daniel Juday, "Inclusion Isn't 'Being Asked to Dance'"

www.danieljuday.com, Jan. 18, 2018

There's a popular phrase about diversity and inclusion making its social media rounds recently:

Diversity is being invited to the party; Inclusion is being asked to dance.

I get it. It's an effort to distinguish two terms that, for many, mean the same thing.

To this end, the statement is helpful. It articulates (though somewhat abstractly) that diversity is about representation, and inclusion is about involvement. Those are really different things, and it's important to help people understand that.

At the risk of reading too deeply into something not built to be analyzed, though, I have a problem with this phrase... The issue is that, at its heart, this is an oversimplification of complex ideas, and doesn't authentically represent what inclusion really could/can be. Both of these statements, the "diversity" and the "inclusion" one, are passive constructions. That is, there is an implication of someone else (not referenced directly in the statement) doing the inviting, and doing the asking... The one being asked remains a responder, both in the dance, and after.

It seems to me that espousing this idea that inclusion means being asked to dance is not only overly simplistic, it's dangerous. It allows that there is, and will be, a specific group that controls the "pace" and "space" of the dance floor.

What seems to me to be a better vision for this work is to create a sense where marginalized or underrepresented peoples are no longer dependent on an offer of brief "inclusion," but where they are equally able to be askers...

Perhaps a better version of this statement might be:

Diversity is being invited to the party; Inclusion is dancing.

Or, better:

Diversity is being invited to the party; Inclusion is choosing the music.

Or, maybe at its best:

Diversity is going to a party; Inclusion is being a member of the party-planning committee.

I don't know. Maybe I'm way over-thinking it. But if I'm going to cast vision for, and be engaged in, a pursuit of something, it might as well be for something really worth chasing.