By Rabbi Jim Egolf
I always find that ashes cause my internal reflection to ask, ‘what was this?’ There is something about ashes that invites my curiosity. What clues are there of an object or place and is now reduced to something charred?
Ironically in Judaism ashes can often be a sign of the holy. Think of melted candles of Hanukkah or the olah offering where the animal was totally consumed by fire. Even the ashes of the Red Heifer can sanctify the impure Kohanim so they may once again serve in the Temple.
Yet we also know about ashes being the evidence of destruction. At 11:36pm a text message interrupted my sleep in January. The message was from a friend who lived in Jackson, Mississippi telling me that the synagogue I had served over thirty years ago was firebombed. One of the rooms gutted was the library where we had my eldest son’s bris. For the community the loss was great. Two sifrei Torah were in the library which was often used as a second chapel. I looked at the pictures and was increasingly saddened. The blue green carpet of the room now turned to black. The aron hakadosh, now nothing more than a charcoal-colored brick alcove in a wall. This community which struggles to make Judaism work for so many in a remote part of our country absorbed a second attack on its sacred home.
When I turn to the Torah portion we will read from tomorrow I am reminded of something unique about us as a Jewish community. There the text tells of an unusual practice. Using ashes from the sacrificial alter the Divine Name would be inscribed and then deliberately dissolved into a cup of water. This water (known as Sota) held the ability to condemn or exonerate a woman whose husband suspected her of adultery. A midrash, V’yikrah Rabbah recounts the uniqueness of this practice:
Rabbi Yishmael taught: Great is peace, as the Holy One blessed be He said that the great name that is written in sanctity should be erased in water in order to institute peace between a man and his wife. – (The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022)
As a Jewish community we often face challenges both big and small. As I approach this Torah portion and I look around at my Jewish community, I hope we remember one thing. As Jews we have stood and looked out over ashes too many times. We have witnessed cities crushed, worlds destroyed and hopes betrayed. In spite of it all (and those who would see us not be) we find a way to turn ashes into the sacred and holy. This time in our history is different only due to the place and source of the ash, and our gift is the ability to take such destruction and return to life and the holy.
Rabbi James (Jim) Egolf, MAHL, D. Min., D. Div. is the Supervisor of Spiritual Care and Education at Rochester General Hospital. He is a Certified Educator through the Association of Clinical Pastoral Education and is a Board-Certified chaplain through Neshama (NAJC).