Rabbi Deborah Bodin Cohen
This week’s Torah portion is Tetzaveh: Exodus 27:20 – 30:10
Like so many, I follow the plight of the hostages closely. Their names and stories have become part of my consciousness. Liri, Hersh, Oded, Doron, Itzik, Shiri, Kfir … I’ve been struck by the different ways that people have made sure we don’t forget the hostages’ names, from T-shirts and placards to murals and pins and necklaces. So many people, myself included, hold on to the hostages’ names, carrying them with us wherever we go, either figuratively or literally.
This “carrying of names” is a tradition that dates back through the millennium in Judaism. We are currently reading from the Book of Exodus or Shemot (Names) in the Torah. In the parsha, it explains that Aaron, the high priest, carried the names of tribes of Israel two places on his priestly garments.
The names of tribes, which were also the names of Jacob’s sons, were etched into stones both on his shoulder and on the breastplate over his heart. When he stood in front of the altar, it was not just him but the entire community of Israel. As it is written, “Aaron shall carry the names of the sons of Israel on the breast piece of decision over his heart, when he enters the sanctuary, for remembrance before God at all times.”
Exodus 28:29
The rabbis asked why the repetition. Would it not be sufficient to have the names just once? They looked toward the locations chosen. Aaron wore the names on his heart, the source of emotion and, in the Biblical understanding, the source of intellect and thoughts.
The names of the community were part of his decision making on a deep and essential level. But he also wore the names on his shoulders, a joint that controls action and the movement of the hands. He not only thought with the community in mind; he acted with the same consciousness. The repetition also reminded Aaron to keep his thoughts, emotions and actions aligned.
I have always been struck by the weight of the outfit that Aaron wore. The names were etched onto stones that adorned Aaron’s chest and shoulders. This was not light matter. He would literally feel the weight of his ancestors and community. And, yet, like a weighted blanket, there would be a certain comfort to carrying the community with him. The names might weigh him down but they would also bolster him and give him comfort and companionship. He was not in this alone.
In our tradition, our name, our shem in Hebrew, is essential. In fact, the word shem is said to be related to the word neshamah, or soul. When we carry the names of the hostages, it is a weight that does not leave us. Nor should it. It’s part of being a community, a people. We carry each other’s names, we etch them onto our hearts, minds and actions. That way, we never forget.
Rabbi Deborah Bodin Cohen is the rabbi of Beth Chai, the Jewish humanist congregation of Great Washington.
