Like many parents, I spend a lot of time in the car with my children. And, like many parents, that means that I spend a lot of time listening to the music that my children request. Recently, and positively (compared to some of the other songs that we listen to on repeat), that playlist has included a few songs by popular Israeli singer, Hanan Ben Ari. Each time, “cholem kemo Yosef” comes on, I find myself with an earworm, singing the chorus on repeat:
וגם אני חולם כמו יוסף כן גם אותי זרקו לבור גלגל חוזר בתוך תחפושת וכמו דוד אני עושה מזה מזמור עושה מזה מזמור“And I also dream like Joseph,
Yes, they also threw me into the pit,
A cycle that repeats inside a costume,
And like David, I make it into a psalm,
Make it into a psalm.”
This week, we read Parshat Tetzaveh which describes all of the special garments that the kohanim wore to perform the avodah in the Mishkan. Seemingly out of place, the Torah includes one single vessel at the very end of the parsha—the Mizbeach Haketoret, the altar of the incense. It seems strange that all the other vessels were included in last week’s parsha while this one appears here in Tetzaveh. Why is it included with the Kohanim instead of the other vessels?
At first glance, this mizbeach might appear diminutive; only one cubit long, one cubit wide, and 2 cubits high. Yes, it was made of gold, but that quality hardly seems remarkable considering that many of the Mishkan’s keilim and accessories were also made of gold. The Mizbeach Haketoret did have one special feature, though. Hashem commanded that the incense altar must be adorned with a “zeir zahav saviv, a golden crown all around” (Shemot, 30:3). This crown was a distinguishing characteristic because there were only two other vessels wearing such crowns: the Shulchan and the Aron. The crown on the Shulchan was the crown of royalty, since the bread symbolized wealth and physical sustenance. The crown surrounding the Aron was the crown of Torah, since the luchot were housed inside. What was the crown that surrounded this little altar? The crown of priesthood. Since the kohanim would offer up the ketoret on this altar, it earned crown status.
Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt”l, has a beautiful explanation as to why this vessel wears the crown of priesthood, as opposed to any other vessel. When the kohanim were not “on call” in the Beit Hamikdash, they took on the job of teaching Torah to all of Bnei Yisrael. Any teacher can design a lesson, but a master educator will make a lasting impression on her students. This was the effect of the ketoret, which the Torah calls, “reiach nichoach—a pleasing scent.” Chazal teaches that the scent of this incense permeated the entire city of Yerushalayim, reaching out beyond the walls of the Beit Hamikdash. When visitors left the temple, they would bring the scent of their avodah out with them. It followed along, as they entered the city and began new experiences. Truly, this seemingly small altar created a powerful impact.
Ever since moving from the classroom into administration, I have had the pleasure of reconnecting with past students. Together, we reminisce about memories from the year I was their teacher. Most students don’t remember how I taught them what a trapezoid is, or how to identify character traits in a fiction text. Instead, they remember experiences and feelings. I was actually surprised when—more than once—a student recalled times that I felt vulnerable and made a mistake, or shared a personal story from my own life and experiences. My goal at the time was to bring my lesson to life, or connect with a student in a particular moment or situation. I had no idea it would resonate so deeply! As teachers in any capacity—professional educators, parents, or role models to the children in our lives—we must realize the way our actions, emotions and experiences can have a lasting impact on others far into the future.
The song that so often sticks in my head is more than a catchy melody, it has a deeper meaning for teachers and parents. Sometimes, we are also dreamers like Yosef, when we have the world figured out and dream big about the future. At our low moments, we feel like we were thrown into the pit, where we aren’t at our best and things aren’t turning out the way we had hoped. Through all of these experiences, we can make a psalm, a story or a prayer—a lesson to share with our students and children. As educators and parents, we give over our own psalms and stories in the hope of inspiring the next generation.
Much like a psalm or story will connect our past experiences with future generations, the Mizbeach Haketoret appears in Tetzaveh to remind the kohen that getting dressed for work is only the first step. His avodah had to be more than a series of tasks to complete. Rather, the kohen is charged with facilitating a lasting spiritual connection. Just like the ketoret left a strong impression with its pleasing scent, an aroma that carried beyond the Temple walls and permeated the streets of Yerushalayim, so too, an appointment with the kohen must leave its mark on the life of a Jew. After donning all of the special garments described in our parsha, the kohen must remember this mission and use his role to make an impact on those he would serve. Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch famously taught that the root of the word “korban’’ spells the word “karov,” meaning “close.” This feeling of closeness was the mission of a kohen. In order to help Bnei Yisrael connect with Hashem, the kohanim first had to reach out and connect with Bnei Yisrael.
Unfortunately, we don’t have a Beit Hamikdash in our time. The keilim are not with us, and we don’t have the special garments for our kohanim to wear. We don’t bring sacrifices, and we’ve never smelled a real ketoret. But, we do have our teachers. These superstars are modern day kohanim, who go above and beyond to facilitate a connection with Torah and HaKadosh Baruch Hu. They share more than just their knowledge and expertise as they go the extra mile to create meaningful relationships. A teacher’s work day might end at the final bell, yet our mission as educators is truly fulfilled long after our students leave the classroom. We believe they will go on to write their own psalms and share their own stories, and we hope they will feel close to us when they do.
Aliza Strassman is director of special services at BPY.
