Tag: Rabbi Lauren Tuchman

Exodus: Moment and Movement

The Torah reading calendar, in these early weeks of 2026, brings turmoil, oppression, distrust of leadership, and all kinds of violence to the environment and to humans. The first four portions of the Book of Exodus (chapters 1-17) lead us from one form of uncertainty and distress to another…. Not unlike the news, most years, with 2026 working harder than usual to parallel the text…. Meanwhile, the overall Exodus story appears to applaud a turbulent upheaval, one with unacknowledged trauma for everyone involved. Yet, through it all, Torah in these weeks also calls forth healing and possibility….

Story

Decades ago, Michael Walzer concluded Exodus and Revolution with this adage about “what the Exodus first taught,” which has since found its way into countless essays, sermons, and Passover readings:

“…first, that wherever you are, it is probably [Mitzrayim]; second, that there is a better place, a world more attractive, a promised land; and third, that the way to the land is through the wilderness. There is no way to get from here to there except by joining together and marching.” — Exodus and Revolution (Basic Books, 1985)

This perspective is still pretty common. But some voices, like that of Aurora Levins Morales, have been calling instead for a view that insists: “We cannot cross until we carry each other / all of us refugees, all of us prophets….This time it’s all of us or none.” And I am still among those looking for yet another way to read the Exodus story so that there’s no need of violent parting of people at all: Isn’t there a possible future in which all the people suffering from tyranny get out from under and build something better that uplifts all?

Last year (5785/2025), for the season between Passover and Shavuot, I explored ideas relating Passover to Sefer Yetzirah (the Book of Creation) and to dance, or “following in someone’s footsteps,” as the creative heart of the Exodus story. This year, these pre-Passover weeks are leading me back to dance in the Exodus story.

Movement

Dr. Anathea Portier-Young teaches about movement and the Exodus story:

  • at the end of 430 years, the people go out [ yatzu, יָצְאוּ ] from Mitzrayim, Ex 12:41;
  • Miriam leads and the women go out [ vateitz’an, וַתֵּצֶאןָ ] in dance, Ex 15:19-21;
  • the people go out [ vayeitzu, וַיֵּצְאו ] into the wilderness, Ex 15:22;
  • in addition, the people are in motion — walking, coming through, crossing — in many spots, such as Ex 14:16, Josh 4:22; Neh 9:11; Ps 66:6.

Exodus is movement, Portier-Young says, and “God is the one who sets the people in motion…” The covenant is not just celebrated through movement, including dance, but shaped by it: “…God’s and the people’s very being — identity, awareness, and capacity for action in relation to one another — these take shape in the dance.” (from her 2022 lecture)

Portier-Young also focuses on the healing role of dance, with particular reference to the dance in Exodus 15: “Their bodies carry the memory of enslavement, state violence and terror, and maternal bereavement….their dancing enacted freedom in community, awakened bodily memory and knowing, and created opportunity for integration, connection, and healing” (from her 2024 paper; more on her teaching in text and lecture).

Moment

Practice:

In a recent exploration of the portion Bo (Ex 10:1-13;16), R’ Yael Levy, A Way In: Jewish Mindfulness, noted the portion opens in the midst of “raging plagues” and “hardened hearts,” brutality and cruelty: there is no getting around that the liberation of this story “comes through hardship and pain.” So, R’ Yael asks: “Can we begin to do this differently? How do we meet the onslaught of violence?” She suggests this practice:

The portion opens with God saying, “Come [bo].” This seems to be telling us, R’ Yael says, to move toward God, to be found, already, in the mess: “…the devastation and chaos and turmoil that is the result of a hardened heart, to seek healing somehow, here, in this place….” We can approach the news and the needs around us by sending out rachamim/compassion to those in need, thus seeking to fill the world with more compassion, and seeking to ensure that our own hearts are not hardened (Torah Study for Bo — A Way In Torah studies are available on SoundCloud)

Vision/Prayer:

Discussing the portion Beshalach (Ex 13:16-17:16) this week, World to Come Twin Cities talked about exhaustion in the midst of trauma, the need for healing — in the story, in the congregation’s home cities, and in the wider world today — and the way God and the people seem to be learning together about human needs and how to meet them: “Oh you’re hungry? Oops! I guess you-all do need food,” God seems to be stumbling toward awareness in Chapter 16.

Reflecting on the manna introduced after the people’s complaints, one participant envisioned places in crisis having simple needs met, such as “bread for everyone, every day, for as long as needed,” so folks can heal and figure out what’s next. (WTCTC Torah study is virtual and open to all interested).

New Year

R’ Lauren Tuchman teaches many places and posts at “Contemplative Torah.” One of her recent teachings focuses on the New Year for Trees (Tu B’shvat, Feb 1, 2026). In the northern hemisphere, where Judaism began, this holiday is celebrated while the ground is still frozen and trees are not apparently thriving. So, R’ Lauren says, Tu B’Shvat is a reminder that “the future is undetermined, possibility exists, even when we cannot see it, touch into it, feel it, sense it in some way…”

These days, R’ Lauren adds, “there is a lot of despair and a lot of feeling like we have no idea what’s coming, what the future will hold. We cannot imagine the possibility for an abundant, co-creative future. It’s almost as if our spiritual imagination has been cut off at the roots. Tu B’shvat offers us an opportunity to re-root ourselves, to re-root ourselves in our own soil, to water ourselves, to care for ourselves. …. can we trust that blossoming will happen?”

This particular teaching is open to subscribers (paid and unpaid subscriptions available). A related teaching on the portion Beshalach is available at My Jewish Learning:

“…On the other side of the Reed Sea, the Israelites find a wilderness without sustenance; the people collectively crash. Overcome by fear and hunger… they would rather have died enslaved but sated than starving in this place of scarcity. When we feel a sense of destabilization in our own bones, as our ancestors did, we too have to slow down and intentionally take in all that surrounds us that is nourishing, supportive, even when the world around us is replete with tremendous challenge.” — R’ Lauren Tuchman, “Manna for the Soul“

Story, Moment, and Movement for THIS YEAR

As we continue through Exodus readings and pause to celebrate Tu B’Shvat, this particular year, perhaps we can move toward some new co-creative, intra-actional ways of approaching the story. We cannot overlook the violence and trauma and uncertainty in the story, but we need not be stuck there; the Exodus story also contains seeds of healing:

  • it’s also about listening to one another needs;
  • it’s about bread for everyone and noticing where there is sustenance;
  • it’s about doing what we can, in the midst of confusion and violence;
  • it’s about bringing rachamim/compassion into the world and avoid more hardening of hearts;
  • it’s about possibility at an impossible time;
  • it’s about using our bodies

And, perhaps, like Miriam with her dance, we can use our bodies in new ways — refugees, prophets, divinity together — to reshape it the Exodus story and our futures in the retelling.

The amateur colored-pencil drawing here shows robed figures with raised timbrels, some of whom are labeled: #BlackLivesMatter, #Dance4Justice, and Silence=Acceptance. Larger text reads: "...and all the women followed her." -- Exod 15:20 DANCING FOR JUSTICE.

“Dancing for Justice” poster created for informal Black Lives Matter action in 2015 and given to the organizer at the time.

Alt Text: “DANCING FOR JUSTICE” amateur colored-pencil drawing: robed figures with raised timbrels, some of whom are labeled: #BlackLivesMatter, #Dance4Justice, and Silence=Acceptance. Larger text reads: “…and all the women followed her.” — Exod 15:20




Some Say 400 Cubits: Slow Dancing with Talmud

I first learned the story of “The Oven of Akhnai” (B. Baba Metzia 59a-59b) in the context of Imma Shalom, wife of Rabbi Eliezer, and her teaching about “the gate of wounded feelings.” I learned more about Rabbi Eliezer’s life, post-Akhnai, from a class on one of the Nine Talmudic Readings of Emmanuel Levinas. In addition, I’ve seen and heard the text referenced in many a commentary emphasizing that “Torah is not in heaven.” (See notes below on Akhnai, Imma Shalom, and Levinas.) For the first time, however, I am now reading the story in a small community of learners grappling directly with the text as it appears in the Babylonian Talmud…

…word by word,
sometimes syllable by syllable,
through Aramaic and Hebrew,
without relying on previous translation,
until we’ve discerned, at least tentatively,
each word’s root and tense,
gender, number, and possible meanings.
We learn how the words work with one another,
how “technical” expressions like “it is taught,” add clues,
how we, together with our study partners,
and then as a group with our teacher,
can work together to explore
what the text might be saying
and what that says about Jewish thought….

For this “Contemplative Bet Midrash,” taught by SVARA Fellow Rabbi Lauren Tuchman, we are asked to set aside any previous meetings and encounter the text as though for the first time. (For more on SVARA: The Traditionally Radical Yeshiva, visit their website.)

We are encouraged to look up every word, even ones we (think we) know, in order to consider a variety of possible definitions.

SVARA-Inspired Slow Dance

The opening line of our text, for example, tells us “they cut it into pieces,” without explaining who cut what or why. So, we test out “circle” and “dance” and “everyday” before settling on “sand” as the best definition for “חול (chol),” the substance between these unexplained pieces.

We learn that these pieces and sand are “the oven of Akhnai,” and then ask, right along with the voice of the Gemara: “What is this, Akhnai?”

We experience as passing strange the introduction of a carob tree as a point of proof in this argument. Our studies paused this past week right after “they” tell Rabbi Eliezer, “we don’t take evidence from carob trees.” And from this cliff-hanging perspective, I notice things I previously missed.

I’ve never noticed before how this story begins with an image of brokenness — “they cut it into pieces” — and then introduces Rabbi Eliezer already in opposition to the Hakhamim (“Wise Ones,” that is, scholars holding the majority opinion in this case). Previous passes through this material made clear there was a dispute of some magnitude, but I never noticed the extremes of response here, even before we reach the carob tree and what follows:

  • Rabbi Eliezer does not just argue but brings “all the responses (or refutations or arguments) in the world [כל תשובות שבעולם (khol teshuvot sh’ba-olam)],” while
  • the Hakhamim refuse to accept (any) arguments from him, [ולא קיבלו הימנו (v’lo kivalu heimenu)],” rather than simply disagreeing.

“They refused to accept (anything) from him.”

When our learning for one week paused at this point, that phrase just seemed so stark. (Despite attempts to meet the text anew, I’m sure my reaction is influenced to some extent by previous encounters. Still.)

BabaMetzia1

You are There

Along with feeling the starkness of Rabbi Eliezer’s rejection, I understood the frustration of a community that had made a decision and still heard “all the refutations in the world” from one individual. After all, I’ve been there often enough: watching participants in a community meeting come to a difficult decision while one person — for better or worse in the long run — just cannot get on board….

…Some readers might remember when Walter Cronkite (1916-2009) did those “You Are There” reports, like this one when he speaks from the midst of the Chicago Fire on October 18, 1871. There is a big difference between such a “report,” however contrived, and more distant approaches to history….

One of the effects of the SVARA-inspired slow pace through the material, I’m realizing, is a little like those Cronkite reports: I am there in a way I had not been before.

Learning unfamiliar jargon — or “technical terms” — of the Talmud, as SVARA-inspired spaces encourage, also promotes the “you are there” experience. Some other Talmud studies have included such terms, but I’ve never before been in a group where the practice is to stick with one bit of text until we all have the basics of how it arrived. I now know, for example, that “we learned there” [t’nan hatam] doesn’t reference something taught elsewhere in Babylon or in Jerusalem: instead, it means “elsewhere in the text” (and I am now able to locate the citations on the page). Rabbi Tuchman teaches us to recognize shifts from Mishnah to Gemara and back and make sure we know who is speaking to whom and when. Being asked to constantly orient ourselves within the text makes for a different experience of it.

When the carob tree gets up and moves 100 cubits for Rabbi Eliezer’s proof, the rabbinical report includes the expression, “but some tell it” [v’amri lah], and the alternative recollection: “400 cubits.” In the past, I’ve read this, without giving it much weight, as two variants of a fantastic tale. But, in this word-by-word, step-by-step shuffle with the text I hear two sets of witnesses telling me that they were there. Now, so am I.

Another Cliff-Hanger

Rabbi Lauren Tuchman’s Contemplative Bet Midrash left us all, at the end of our last session, in the midst of a dispute about cooking that has spiraled into strange realms. A group of Hakhamim have made their decision, while Rabbi Eliezer, so convinced of his own point of view, moves from verbal arguments to calling on supernatural “proof.” Witnesses saw the carob tree move 100 cubits, though some say it was 400 cubits. But the Hakhamim don’t accept that as “evidence” in this oven dispute.

Where will the frustration, anger, pride, arguments and magic lead? How will community kashrut standards be effected? What will be the result of those decisions in terms of holiness? What will be the effect on the community?

I confess to an inclination to read ahead or binge watch to the conclusion. But one of the things this slow dance teaches is that any such conclusion would be meaningless. The real goal is not to “finish” the story, maybe choosing to be #TeamEliezer or #TeamHakhamim along the way. The goal — at least as I understand things this week — is to consider the story together with others, sharing insights and concerns, and to experience together real fears for how this will all turn out for the individuals and the community involved. And that includes us.

It’s uncomfortable, even a little scary, up here on this cliff. But we won’t get down on our own.




NOTES on the Oven of Akhnai, Imma Shalom, and Women in the Talmud NOTES:

  • Akhnai
  • Imma Shalom
  • Levinas and The Akhnai Story
    • Levinas, Emmanuel. Nine Talmudic Readings. Annette Aronowicz, trans. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1990. Lectures 1963-1975 in French
    • Rabbi Goldie Milgram, Reclaiming Judaism, offered a series of classes on the Levinas chapters at National Havurah Committee Summer Institute
    • The chapter, “Desacralization and Disenchantment,” looks at Sanhedrin 67a-68a, which describes the end of Rabbi Eliezer’s life. (It was this chapter I had the opportunity to explore in a long-ago week-long class at the Institute.)

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