Sometimes it takes a crisis to remind us of the transience of life. It might be an illness, the death of a loved one, an accident, a shocking and tragic news report. At these crisis moments, we suddenly and starkly remember that we are mortal, that life on this earth is temporary.

When people confront their own mortality, they often come to the realization that time is precious; that life is too valuable to be frittered away on nonsense; that it is self-destructive to engage in petty feuds or egotistical competitions. It can take a crisis to help us live on a higher, happier level. Facing the transience of life, we take our living moments more seriously.

This week’s Torah portion begins (Bemidbar 22:2): “And Balak the son of Zippor saw all that Israel had done to the Ammorites.” Interestingly, the Torah doesn’t tell us at this point who Balak is!

The passage then continues with two verses describing how the Moabites feared the advent of the large contingent of Israelites. Only at the end of verse 4 are we informed that “Balak the son of Zippor was king of Moab at that time.” Wouldn’t it have been more logical to tell us from the outset that Balak was king of Moab?

In ancient times, one who came into contact with the dead body of a human being was considered to be ritually impure and needed to undergo a purification process involving the ashes of a red heifer. It should be remembered that it is a mitzvah to care for a dead body and to participate in a proper funeral and burial. Thus, becoming ritually impure was a “normal” fact of life which occurred to almost everyone.

Since it is praiseworthy and a mitzvah to come into contact with a dead body for the purposes of burial, why does one become ritually impure in the process?

(This week’s Angel for Shabbat column is excerpted from my book, “Rhythms of Jewish Living,” chapter two.)

Jewish religious experience is intimately linked to the rhythms of the natural world. The rhythms of the sun and moon govern our times of prayer, our religious festivals, our meditation of the universe. The phenomena of nature evoke within us responses to the greatness of God, the Creator, and we recite blessings on witnessing the powers of nature.

Centuries of Westernization and urbanization have profoundly affected Jewish religious sensitivity. There has been a steady and increasing alienation between Jewish religious observance and the natural world, with a parallel diminution in sensing the awe of God as Creator of the natural universe.

“You shall make no idols for yourselves, nor shall you raise for yourselves a graven image or a pillar; nor shall you place any figured stone in your land to bow down unto it; for I am the Lord your God. You shall keep My Sabbaths and reverence My sanctuary: I am the Lord” (Vayikra 26:1-2).

The Torah juxtaposes the prohibition of idolatry with the positive commandments to observe Sabbath and revere the Sanctuary. What is the connection between these themes?

The essence of idolatry is to render a false representation of God. Idolatry, at root, is a lie. It purports to limit God to a physical image. It has people worship an image—but not the real God. It focuses on physical image, not on eternal spirit.

Ruth Calderon, a new member of the Israel Knesset, has a Sephardic father and an Ashkenazic mother. She was raised outside the Orthodox religious establishment in Israel, but has earned a doctorate in Talmudic literature from the Hebrew University. She works to bridge gaps among all segments of Israeli society.

In her inaugural speech in the Knesset, she made an impassioned plea for all Jews to draw on the wisdom of Torah. The Torah heritage does not belong to one segment of the Jewish population, but to all Jews.

A story is told about Rabbi Yitzhak Elhanan of Kovno, one of the great rabbinic sages of the 19th century. He was held in high regard among the Jews of Lithuania; even the “enlightened” Jews thought him to be progressive and broad-minded.

On one of his travels, his train stopped briefly at Vilna. Hundreds of Jews came to the train to see the famous rabbi. A certain maskil (“enlightened” Jew) decided to enter the train in order to meet the rabbi in person. He found Rabbi Yitzhak Elhanan wrapped in talit and tefillin, reciting his prayers. The rabbi had a long beard and was dressed in the “old fashioned” garb of religious traditionalists of those days.

The Torah devotes many verses to describing the building and dedication of the Mishkan, the Israelite’s sanctuary during their 40 years in the wilderness. The Mishkan and its service served as the prototype for the later Temples built in Jerusalem in ancient Israel.

The emphasis on the Mishkan underscores an important aspect of religious life. While God cannot be limited to a particular space, yet, human beings can set aside a place and recognize it to be sacred, a point of connection between humans and the Almighty. Human understanding cannot confront the vastness of God without being overcome with overwhelming fear and trembling. But a sacred space, being limited and comprehensible, enables us to feel a sense of personal connection with God.

The Torah indicates that the Holy Ark of the Mishkan was covered by Keruvim, angelic figures. “And the Keruvim spread out their wings on high, screening the ark-cover with their wings, with their faces one to another; toward the ark-cover were the faces of the keruvim” (Shemot 37:9).

In describing Solomon’s Temple (Chronicles II 3:13) the Bible reports that the countenances of the Keruvim “faced the house” i.e. the Temple. This seems to indicate that the Keruvim’s faces were not looking at each other.

The funeral of my Uncle Dave Romey was held in Seattle on Sunday April 7, 2013. For many years, he taught Spanish language and literature—at the University of Vermont, Temple University, and Portland State University.

Wise people have commented on the juxtaposition of the names of the two Torah portions we will be reading this Shabbat. Aharei Mot means “after the death”; Kedoshim means “holy”. My interpretation of the juxtaposition of these words is that we often don’t appreciate the greatness of a person until after he/she dies. After the death, we come to think more carefully about the person’s life, and we come to a deeper recognition of his/her unique qualities.