Devarim (Deuteronomy) 5778
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The penultimate mitzvah in the Torah is that of Hakhel. This requires that every seven years, on the Succot after the Sabbatical year, the Torah should be publicly read in front of the whole people, men, women and children. The question can be asked: what is the point of bringing children, especially those who are too young to understand the reading or even what the event is about. The answer given by Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah is in order to grant a reward for those who bring them.
This enigmatic statement can be understood in various ways. In bringing their children to this event of Torah learning, parents are demonstrating their commitment, not only to their own religious life but to that of their offspring. It can also be understood in another way. The consequence of the children attending such an event will be that they absorb some of the atmosphere of Torah at an early age, something that will inculcate them with a love of Judaism. When they grow older this formative experience will serve to help imbue them with a commitment to the Torah.
This interpretation should guide us when we think about the role of children in the synagogue. Rather than being a source of disturbance, children attending services provides a crucial link in the chain of tradition and a hope for the future. This idea reaches wider than children, however. It is not surprising that it is Rabbi Eleazar who makes this statement. When he became head of the Sanhedrin he opened the House of Study to everyone, in contrast to the restrictive policies of his predecessor. This lead to an explosion of learning and many outstanding Halakhic issues were resolved.
His expansive educational policy should serve as a model for the modern synagogue. We should create synagogues that are welcoming to everyone, whether or not they are observant, knowledgeable or even have any idea of what is going on. Even if a Jew comes to the synagogue for the first time, doesn't understand a word, and might even not open a siddur, the experience can be a transformative one. If by the way we treat him or her, they feel welcomed, accepted and part of the community, then the very atmosphere of the occasion could be enough to make them want to come again and learn more. That was the successful policy of Rabbi Eleazar, which he learnt from the mitzvah of Hakhel in our Parshah, and it is one we would to well to emulate.
'The secret things are G-d's but the revealed things are ours and our children's forever in order to fulfil all the words of this Torah'. This verse in our Parshah explains to us that there are matters that are secret and only G-d's business but also matters that are not only our concern but things that we are required to act upon. Rosh Hashanah also has at its heart this same dichotomy. On the one hand it is Yom Hazikaron, a Day of Remembrance, which by definition implies concerning ourselves with issues, some of which we may have forgotten. Yet Rosh Hashanah is also called B'Kese, the Concealment, implying that it is a day on which certain things shouldn't be revealed.
Traditionally, these two contrasting ideas are linked to our hope that G-d will remember our good deeds on this day while concealing our sins. Yet, as we engage in our annual personal audit during this period, what lesson can we learn from this dual nature of the day. The verse in our Parshah posits that there are things we should concern ourselves about and things that are none of our business. Conventionally, this has been connected to the issue of mutual responsibility, postulating that we are only held responsible for public behaviour but not for what people do privately. That in itself is an important lesson to internalise. Too often we are overly interested in people's personal affairs: who they are married to, what they observe and the like. We are unfortunately less interested in how we can assist them or what they can contribute. In behaving in this way we are led into the trap of negative speech, something we should certainly be trying to correct at this time of year.
Yet we can take this idea even further. The root of the problem is that we are frequently far too interested in other people's behaviour and far less frequently concerned about our own. We look to criticise others rather than reproving ourselves. Instead of looking in the mirror we prefer to use binoculars to examine what does not concern us.
This can be the lesson of the dichotomy in this week's Parshah and of Rosh Hashanah. We should reveal are own shortcomings and cover up the faults of others. If we can resolve to do that during this year, we will indeed make the word a better place in the year to come.
One of the more well known mitzvot in this Parshah, with the most mitzvot in the Torah, is that of letting go the mother bird. The Torah mandates that if you want to take either the chicks or the eggs from a nest you need to first chase away the mother bird. Many commentators explain that this is to prevent pain to the mother who sees her children being taken away from her before her eyes. The Torah goes on to promise a reward for fulfilling this mitzvah, that of long life.
The Torah, as rule, doesn't normally specify a specific reward for the fulfilment of a mitzvah, though Deuteronomy is full of general promises, such 'it will go well with you'. If the Torah provides a specific reward for a particular mitzvah it is because the reward has has a thematic connection with the mitzvah and, is indeed, an intrinsic consequence of fulfilling the mitzvah. What then is the connection between this mitzvah and long life? There is only one other mitzvah in the Torah for which the stated reward is long life. That is, famously, the mitzvah of honouring parents found in the Ten Commandments. It appears, therefore, that there is a connection between honouring the parental bond of both humans and animals and longevity.
According to the Jewish view of the world the essence of the universe is relationship. The very existence of the universe is based on G-d's desire for relationship. Thus relationships, between G-d and humans, friends, employers and employees, spouses is at the heart of the legislation of the Torah. The most basic relationship of all, however, is that between parents and children. It is the only naturally mandated relationship and the basic context in which we learn the meaning of and ability to, relate to others. Thus those that respect this fundamental relationship, either by honouring their parents or respecting the parental bond of a mother bird, are strengthening all relationships.
And as relationship is at very heart of human happiness and the essential building block of a successful society, respecting these basic relationships provides us with the tools for longevity. Conversely, disregarding these bonds diminishes both our own life and weakens society. By promising long life as the reward for respecting the parental bond, the Torah explains to us the fundamental importance of relating properly to others. If we want to live long and prosper we need to work on our relationship both with G-d and other people.
'Who led you through the great and terrible wilderness.......in order to afflict you and to test you, to benefit you in the future'. Several times in Moses discourse he returns to this point. The privations and challenges of the wilderness journey were designed to test the Jewish people for their future well being. The dangers and deprivations of the wilderness strengthened the people readying them for life as a nation in their own land. These trials also served to ultimately bring them closer to G-d. The recurrent crises of faith and their resolution, reinforced the peoples believe in G-d and his ultimate concern for them.
These observations are not merely of historical interest but have relevance to each of us in our daily lives. We all face crises of various sorts and of varying intensity. Why we would rather do without them, that is unfortunately mostly not under our control. What is in our hands, however, is how we react to them. We can merely feel sorry for ourselves and bemoan our fate. This attitude has its place and can provide an important psychological release. Yet if we stay there we in the end will get nowhere and miss an important opportunity.
The crises we face in life can also be a chance to strengthen ourselves, our relationship to others and to G-d. If when facing these challenges we also ask ourselves how we can learn from what is happening to us and how what we can going through can be used for our ultimate good, we can turn tragedy into renewal and despair into hope. This can be extremely difficult and does not always seem possible. Yet engaging in this process can by itself help give us the strength to cope with our adversity and emerge from it. We can then look back at what we went through not only as a terrible experience but also as one that ultimately made us into better people.
This is the message that Moses at the end of his life is giving to the Jewish people .A message of hope in adversity that enables us to experience in our own lives the wonderful words of Micah the prophet:'when I have fallen, I will rise; when I sit in darkness, G-d is my light'.
A strange aspect of this week’s Parshah, is the interposition of a historical note in the midst of Moses’ speech. This section relates that Moses set aside three cities of refuge in Transjordan. The commentators puzzle over this insertion and its relation to the rest of the Parshah. Some see it as a historical sequence: Moses set aside these cities at the time he started on his exposition of the mitzvot, found in the rest of the Parshah.
Others reject this assertion as far fetched and posit a thematic connection with what comes before and after. Having just exhorted the people to follow G-d and observe His commandments, Moses leads by personal example, setting aside three cities for of refuge as commanded at the end of Numbers. Even though they would not come into operation until the conquest of the rest of the Land and the establishment of three cities in western Israel, Moses took the opportunity to do what he could.
This understanding of the text provides us with important religious lessons. Firstly, it shows the importance of leadership by example. It is not enough for religious leaders to simply exhort or even educate their flock in the ways of G-d. They must show by their own behaviour how a religious person is meant to live. Personal example provides the best moral education.
Moses also teaches us another important lesson. He knows that he will not cross into the Land and thus will not be able to complete the mitzvah of establishing cities of refuge. Yet he does what he can, trusting that others will complete the work. Judaism does not require us to be perfect; neither to do what is beyond our capability. It does require us to do what we can and to observe and perform what is within our grasp. We are not allowed to use the excuse that we cannot perfectly observe everything to observe nothing.
A corollary of this is the understanding that sometimes we cannot achieve all we wish. We are not G-d and cannot single-handedly save the world. Some things may indeed be beyond our grasp. That does not mean we should despise or despair of what we have. That does not mean that what we do have or achieve is worthless. It after all takes seven full weeks to go from the despair of Tisha B’Av to Rosh Hashanah. Yet each stage by itself is important and brings us closer to the ultimate goal.
At the beginning of Deuteronomy the Torah delineates the place and time Moses delivered his valedictory address. Unfortunately, many of the places cannot be identified and don't appear in the list of encampments that we read last week. There are three approaches taken by the commentators to this question. The traditional approach, is to see these not as place names but as veiled references to the various sins committed by the people during their journey in the wilderness. Others see these simply as place names and seek to identify them. A third approach also regards these as real places but also connects them to the various misdeeds of the people that occurred in those places.
What is clear, however, from the continuation of the text is that the first third of Deuteronomy is indeed intended to be a reproof to the people. Moses mentions both the sin of the spies and the sin of the Golden Calf, as well as other mistakes and transgressions, in addition to admonishing the people to act correctly in future. If this is the case, then one may ask those who see the geographical references at beginning of the book as a veiled admonition, why it was necessary to be so oblique? He could have simply given it to them straight from the start.
An answer lies in the Torah's emphasis that Moses gave his speech after the conquest of the land of Sihon and Og, giving the timing of the speech a seemingly redundant statement. The commentators explain that only after the people had seen the results of his efforts in the conquest of this territory, did he feel able to admonish them. There is no point in chastising someone if they are going to reject your words. For this reason Moses didn't start his speech with a tirade but with hints. He was endeavouring to jog the memory of the people as to their own past misdeeds, awakening in them a receptiveness to his words.
This teaches us an important lesson. We often feel we should be criticising or reproving others, all with the best motives. Often this is not necessary and merely a reflection of our own ego. Yet if, even after serious consideration, we still think this is justified and worthwhile, it is vitally necessary to be careful how we reprove others. It is not normally wise to go straight in with trenchant criticism or direct rebuke. Rather we should seek to gently remind the person of what they have done and get them to feel sorry for their actions. It is also helpful to also praise the person being rebuked and to show your genuine concern for them.
Many of us fail in this area in our daily lives. But if we reflect that even Moses felt the need to be circumspect when administering criticism, surely we should try and do better.
Bamidbar (Numbers) 5778
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Bearing responsibility for our actions is a basic principle of Judaism. Without it there can be no truly moral life or society. But what happens if we are not in total control of our destiny or our environment? To what extent does the control of others over us mitigate or restrict our personal responsibility.
The Torah, this week, seems to give two conflicting answers. In the first section of the Parshah it discusses the laws of vows. While it stresses the importance of fulfilling what you vowed, most of the section deals with circumstances where this is set aside. This primarily concerns the status of women who are regarded as being under the authority of either their father or their husband. In such a case the male authority in their lives can annul their vows. In other words, the circumstances that women in those days found themselves mitigated their responsibility for their deeds. As they were not totally free actors, so they were not held totally accountable for what they said or did.
Yet, in the very next section, the Torah seems to ignore this rubric. With regard to the Midianite women, who were responsible for the 'Sin of Peor' that led to 24,000 Israelite deaths, they are held totally accountable. Even though, according to ancient rules of warfare, women were not generally killed, Moses orders their destruction, precisely because they were key players in the attack on Israel. Yet there is no evidence that these women were less under the control of their men than the Israelite women.
So why was there no mitigation in this case? One obvious answer is that not fulfilling a vow is a passive action, while the Midianite women actively took part in subverting the Israelites. Yet not fulfilling a vow is still an extremely serious affair, not to be taken lightly.
A possible explanation is the difference between something that is personal and something that effects others. In both cases the women in question are doing as they are told but the consequences are very different. In one case no one is hurt by the woman not fulfilling her vow, except possibly herself. The Midianite women, however, caused by their actions real damage to others. In such a case, following orders is not an excuse and they had to bear the responsibility for their deeds.
In both cases, the circumstances the Torah is talking about are far removed from our reality. Yet we can still learn basic moral guidelines from these cases. We often excuse are questionable life choices by reference to our circumstances. Sometimes this may be justified; often not. Yet the most important distinction we need to make concerns the consequences of our actions. If our bad choices effect only ourselves, then maybe we can make excuses. If they negatively effect others, then excuses are not in order and we need to fully own up to our responsibility.
As a reward for his action in killing Zimri and Kozbi and stopping the plague, Pinchas is given by G-d an eternal priesthood. This raises a difficulty, however, as Pinchas was the son of Elazar, the son of Aaron. As his father was High Priest surely Pinchas was also automatically a priest? This problem is traditionally resolved by stating that only children born after Aaron and Elazar were inaugurated into the priesthood were automatically priests but those, like Pinchas, born beforehand were not. Pinchas thus only became a priest following his righteous action.
This, of course, leaves open the question as to why this should be the case. A simple answer is that at the time of the Exodus Pinchas was a child and thus by definition couldn't be inaugurated as a priest. Yet there could be a deeper understanding. The initiation of Aaron and his sins as priests was a transformative event. They were fundamentally changed by the experience, ceasing to become normal Jews and becoming a tribe apart, complete with there own special rules and restrictions. Just as the transformative event of Divine revelation at Sinai was necessary in order for the Jews to accept the laws of the Torah, so the ceremonies surrounding the inauguration of the priesthood were required to place upon Aaron and his sons the privileges and responsibilities of their special status. Pinchas, who as a child could not take part, thus was not transformed into a priest.
Until, forty years later, he saved Israel by his actions. His actions served the same function in changing his nature as his father's and grandfather's initiation had performed for them. What Divine instruction and ritual had done for his ancestors, Pinchas' own deeds achieved for him. In a true sense then, unlike his father, Pinchas was a self-made priest.
This narrative illustrates an interesting phenomenon in human life. Some people are successful because of the start they have been given in life. They go to best schools and universities and their parent's support them to buy a house and other amenities. Others have none of these advantages and are successful by their own efforts alone. Elazar received everything from his father while his son Pinchas, initially excluded from his father's position, achieved the same status by his own actions.
This teaches us that not everything depends on were you come from and who your parents are. No one should feel that because they came from a poor background or a deprived neighbourhood that they cannot achieve as much as anyone else. The Jews are a prime example. The poor children of the tenements of the Pleasance or the Gorbals, went on to become doctors, lawyers and professors. They didn't let their background stand in their way. Other groups could learn from their example.
The tale of Bila'am and his curses turned to blessings, complete with a talking donkey, has always fascinated commentators and lay people alike. The story, unlike many others in the Torah, is told at length and takes up most of the Parshah. It contains several important lessons, including the importance of words and their effect on reality. What Bila'am was seeking to do in cursing the Jews, how G-d dealt with it and how Bila'am himself was temporarily transformed in the process, are key to understanding the story.
Bila'am is introduced as someone whose blessings and curses are rendered effective by means of 'kesem' or some sort of magic. This is not the illusionary tricks we expect from modern magicians but an attempt to manipulate reality by controlling spiritual forces. The kosem seeks, by means of sacrifices and key words, to influence the spiritual forces of the universe to do his will. He is not interested in any moral principle or connection to the Divine, rather achieving a certain aim by using these forces. Like a technician in a laboratory, he hopes that by using the right formula he will achieve the desired result.
So Bila'am hopes to curse Israel. G-d however informs him that all this is not desirable or effective. Blessings and curses are determined by G-d who is beyond such technical influences and blesses those that seek to do His will, not force Him to assist them. Bila'am however, doesn’t get the message and seeks to use his skill to bring a Divine curse on Israel. G-d however simply overpowers him and instead of G-d being manipulated by Bila'am to curse Israel, he is coerced by G-d to bless them. But in the process Bila'am himself is transformed. After two attempts to use his magic skill fail he gets the message and surrenders himself to G-d's will thus being temporarily transformed into a true prophet.
This story thus teaches us important religious concepts, that are also relevant today. While we are not kosmim in the style of Bila'am, we often act as if our religious practice was a way of getting G-d to do what we want. This is especially true of prayer, where we sometimes treat G-d as some sort of slot machine, where we put in the appropriate prayer and G-d arranges the desired result. This is not the appropriate attitude.
The Jewish approach is that of Joab, king David's army chief. He urges his soldiers to be strong and trust in G-d and 'G-d will do what is good in His eyes'. In the end, we cannot manipulate G-d to do our will. Rather we can merely trust that if we seek to do His will He will assist us. That is the correct way we should relate to prayer and the true meaning of Judaism.
In the Parshah, we find the Children of Israel asking the Edomites for passage through their land. They promise not to damage anything and pay for their sustenance. The Edomites brusquely refuse and threaten violence and Israel detours elsewhere. What the Israelites are effectively asking for is the Edomites to make room for them in their space, in a similar way that G-d makes space for us. Just as G-d is not diminished by making room for us, so the Edomites will not be hurt and indeed benefit by making room for the Israelites. Unfortunately, they see the request as a threat and believe that any contraction of their space to make room for others diminishes and hurts them.
All of this teaches us an important moral lesson on how to deal with others, especially if we sometimes have conflicted claims. Mostly, people in such situations act like the Edomites, seeing making way for others as weakness and a threat. This attitude is a major contributor to situations of conflict. But the concept of Tzimtzum shows us another way. Created in G-d's image we have the possibility of imitating His actions. We can make room for others without diminishing ourself. In situations of conflict or completing claims we don't need to take up a position of hostility or fear. Rather, we can appreciate that by making room for the claims and rights of the other we both benefit. In, as it were, giving up some of our space, we actually gain rather than lose.
This is a very hard thing to appreciate as our instinct is to hold on to what we have. Yet by following the Divine example, we can resolve conflict, increase peace and be partners with G-d in perfecting the world. If G-d can give up some of His space to make room for us to exist, surely we can do the same for others.
This nice piece of advice seems merely to be saying that it is wise for underlings to steer clear of fights between their superiors but it actually holds a deeper critique of the whole stated basis of the rebellion. Korach accuses Moses of lording it over the people and contends that 'all the people are holy'. He seems to be arguing for some type of radical equality or even anarchy. Because G-d dwells among them and they all heard Him speak at Sinai, no one should have a position above another.
Yet what On ben Pelet's wife points out is that this is a deceptive argument. If Korach wins it will not mean that everyone will be equal. Such a scenario does not exist in human society. Differences in temperament and ability will always mean that some people will take leadership position even in supposedly egalitarian societies. The real choice on faces, his wife, points out to him, is not between hierarchy and complete equality, but what sort of leadership he wishes to live under.
This is in fact Moses' argument to the rebels. He not only proves literally by trial by fire the dangers of everyone taking on specialised leadership roles, but defends his own leadership by pointing out that he has derived no benefit from his position and hasn't harmed any of them. Rather than the anarchic egalitarianism seemingly proposed by Korach, that history proves leads to dictatorship and authority, Moses defends his own rule based order.
Yes certain people will be in leadership positions but they will be constrained by the very order that enables them to rule. That is the Torah's prescription for a society that upholds the human dignity of all its members and it is that vision that Moses was ultimately defending against Korach and his followers.
Jews don't believe in original sin in the way it is traditionally understood. But if there is an original sin of Jewish history it is the sin of the spies. When the spies return from their mission with an unfavourable report, the people lift up their voices and cry. According to tradition that night was Tisha B'Av, the date of the future destruction of the temples and numerous other disasters of Jewish history. G-d declared that as the people had cried for no reason He would establish for them a 'weeping for generations' on that date. Several of the commentators point out that this idea is actually found in Ezekiel where the sin of the spies is directly linked to future exile and dispersion.
In Judaism, however, all punishment is rehabilitative. If G-d set us a 'weeping for generations' as a consequence of the sin of the spies, this is designed to correct that mistake. Jews weeping every year for the loss of the Land serves to atone for the original rejection of the Land by the spies. Today, of course, when we have merited a Jewish state in the Land we can physically right the spies historic error by actually embracing the land and going to dwell in it. But even those that feel unable to move can still stay connected and engaged and show their love for the Land in other ways.
Unfortunately, some times the opposite happens. In order to explain away their own inability or unwillingness to make aliyah, people denigrate Israel, thus repeating the sin of the spies rather than correcting it. While criticising this ot that policy of the Israeli government is acceptable and even necessary, criticising Israel as a concept or living in the Land is a serious sin, one for which the Jewish people have suffered through the ages.
This is especially important at this time of year. This story of the spies is normally read the Shabbat before the 29th Sivan, the date the spies set out on their fateful journey. For forty days until Tisha B'Av they saw only negatives, leading to their disastrous defamation of the land. During this period, it is therefore especially important to speak only good of Israel and the Land, correcting the spies error.
For the next forty days, at least, let us endeavour to see and discuss the great things about Israel, the beauty of its land and the strength of its people. Let us right the wrong of the spies and atone for their sin and thus bring redemption to ourselves and the world.
These two qualifications to the basic career period have a lot to teach us about age and employment. On the one hand, it takes time and maturity to be trained for an important task. It is fascinating that in an age when people didn't live as long as they now do, that the Levites didn't begin training for their main career until they were twenty five. Young people need to be able to experiment with various career possibilities before they are pressured to 'settle down'. How many of us are working in careers that are directly related to what we learnt in university?
On the other hand, people need to be able to change careers during their lifetime and especially in their later years. Rather than merely pensioning off the Levites after their main career finishes at fifty, the Torah enables them to flourish in different roles. Their wealth of experience is not lost but merely transferred to a different field of endeavour.
These are lessons that our society still needs to absorb. Young people need to be given a chance despite their lack of experience in a specific field. Knowledge can be learnt, enthusiasm and commitment are often far more important. More mature workers need to be valued for their experience, not rejected because of the colour of their hair, or lack of it. They carry with them skills learnt over a lifetime that can make an invaluable contribution to position, even if it is in a different field to their previous career. In this, the Torah shows us a path, that if we follow it, will serve to make our society both richer and more contented.
'A person's holy things shall be his, a person that gives to the priest, it shall be his'. From this rather ambiguous verse the Sages learn an important principle. The Torah commands that part of the harvest called terumah, must be given to the priests. One might think that you would need to give it to the nearest priest or that the priests themselves would decide who got what. From this verse we learn that this is not the case. Rather it is up to the owner of the crop to decide which priest he will give his tithe to. Thus, while the farmer is obligated to give part of his wealth to the priest, he has control over its distribution. Rather than create a feudal culture where the priests use their power to take from the rest of the population, the Torah instead mandates a society of mutual dependency and respect.
This law can teach us a lot about the proper relationship between religious leadership and communal relations. Jewish society needs Rabbis. While the study of and engagement with the Torah is something that is for everyone, not everyone has the time or the inclination to be a scholar. Judaism needs a group of people with the ability to teach and interpret the Torah and ultimately to decide matters of Jewish Law. Just as the Torah created the priesthood, so the needs of Torah study and interpretation created the Rabbis. Yet, as with the priesthood, the question is what is the relationship between the Torah scholars and the rest of society. Is it one of feudal lordship or mutual respect?
This has always been an issue and both scenarios can be found in the sources. The Talmud relates varying attitudes of the Sages to the rest of the population, and Rabbi Akiva is reported to have said that before he was a scholar if he met a Rabbi he would have wanted to bite him!
This issue is especially acute in our generation when large sections of the Jewish population are not traditionally observant. This situation can lead to Rabbis having an attitude of disdain for those they are meant to be leading. They are often regarded as being ignorant and rather than be gently taught to understand traditional Jewish norms are dictated to in an often arrogant manner. This further widens the gulf between the observant and those they regard as less observant, increasing the divisions within the Jewish people.
The Torah teaches us that this is not the way. Just as the priests are forced to treat the rest of the nation with respect, otherwise they will starve, so should Jewish religious leaders learn to respect and cherish all Jews, regardless of their knowledge or level of observance. That way the Torah, rather than being a source of discord, will be a catalyst of unity.
The Book and Parshah of Bamidbar begins with a census of the Israelites. Rashi gives several reasons for taking a census, one of which is that when G-d came to cause his Presence to dwell among the Israelites, He caused them to be numbered. 'On the 1st of Nisan the tabernacle was dedicated and on the 1st of Iyar the people were numbered'.
There is, however an inherent contradiction in this statement. If the justification for the census was the Divine Presence coming to dwell in the Tabernacle, then surely it should have taken place on or before the 1st of Nisan, not a month later. A simpler explanation of the census is therefore that this was intended to nember the people in preparation for their impending journey to the Land, which began on the 20th Iyar.
Yet we still need to understand Rashi's statement. One way of understand this it to say that while the dedication of the Tabernacle, complete with the physical manifestations of the Divine Presence, took place on 1st of Nisan, the actual indwelling of G-d among the Israelites only took place later. It was only when the Tabernacle and its ceremonies had been in operation that its spiritual benefit was felt. The daily sacrifice, observance of Pesach and the other ceremonies are what entrenched G-d's Presence among the people. G-d was felt not in a one off event but in the regular observance of the mitzvot.
This teaches us an important lesson as we celebrate Shavuot. As we commemorate the Giving of the Torah, it is helpful to reflect on the meaning of the commandments. The mitzvot at heart are ways of us coming close to G-d. While special days like Yom Kippur or Pesach are important, they have only limited effect. The heart of Judaism is the regular observance of the mitzvot. It is through their practice that we achieve going appreciation of G-d's Presence in our life.
The mitzvot infuse every day and every hour with something of the Divine and enable us to live our lives on more than a merely material level. This is the true meaning and opportunity of the Torah and it is this gift that we celebrate on Shavuot.
Vayikra (Leviticus) 5778
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Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of the Jewish Calendar year. The number of the year changes and mitzvot concerning the Sabbatical year begin on that date. Except that in one case the year begins not on Rosh Hashanah but on Yom Kippur. The Torah mandates that the proclamation of the Yovel or Jubilee year begins on Yom Kippur. Indeed, the special Musaf, including the blowing of the Shofar, said every year on Rosh Hashanah is said in a Jubilee also on Yom Kippur. Remembering this practice is one of the reasons we today blow the Shofar at the end of Yom Kippur. What is the reason for this juxtaposition and what can it teach us about Yom Kippur?
The basic mitzvot of the Yovel, other than being a Sabbatical year, is that slaves go free and land returns to its original owners. The Jubilee year is thus one of restoration and renewal. People have gone astray on the path of life. They have lost their financial independence, their family farm or even committed a crime for which they are sold into temporary slavery. The Torah provides a remedy for this situation in the Jubilee year. People are given a second chance. They are released from slavery and restored to financial independence.
We can therefore understand the connection to Yom Kippur. We too may have strayed from the path and got into trouble in our life. Yom Kippur gives us the chance to change direction and start again. It is thus also a time of restoration and renewal, a fitting beginning for the year of restoration and renewal.
Yet the Yovel takes us a step beyond the yearly Yom Kippur. While Yom Kippur is a communal experience with, for example, the confession in the plural, it is still mostly an individual experience. I examine my life and change direction; return to G-d and am forgiven. The Jubilee year provides the opportunity for a national realignment. All slaves go free, all land is returned to its original owners. It thus enables a reassessment of national, not merely individual, behaviour. It effects not just individual relationships between people but the whole, social and economic system.
This is something extremely valuable that we are in dire need of, especially in Israel. According to tradition the Jubilee only operates when we have 50% or more of Jews in Israel. At the moment it is 43%, so we have a little way to go. Even so, maybe we can start having that national accounting and realignment also on a normal Yom Kippur, thus turning each Yom Kippur into a Jubilee.
The Seforno explains that there are two introductions because they refer to two different types of festivals. Shabbat is proclaimed by G-d, occurring every seven days, irrespective of human action. The proclamation of the new moon, on the other hand, depends on our sighting of the new moon and the proclamation of the new month by the court in Jerusalem. Maybe, looking again at Rashi, we can say that while the inter-calculation of the year is dependent on natural phenomena, such as a late spring, the sighting of the new moon is totally dependent on us. Thus he connects one to Shabbat and the other to the festivals.
If we look deeper at this distinction we can see that there is an interesting difference between the two processes. When you come to decide whether to inter-calculate the year you merely confirming what has occurred naturally. Whether spring is late that year or not is not in our hands, we just observe the signs. The appearance of the new moon, however, is qualitatively different. We know that the new moon appears approximately 29 ½ days after the last new moon. Yet that does not effect the day of the new month. Only if we ourselves see the new moon can we proclaim the new month on the 30th day. If, for whatever reason, no one sees the new moon, then the month cannot begin that day and begins on the 31st day. Indeed, a court that for any reason doesn't want to have the month begin on the 30th can simply take an extended lunch break and refuse to examine the witnesses until it is too late.
This difference between the two types of festivals teaches us an important lesson. There are things that we can know and things that are beyond our understanding. There are things within our control and others only in the hands of G-d. Often we err in distinguishing the two, causing anxiety to ourselves and others. One of our challenges as people of faith is to differentiate between them and thus act appropriately.
One of the most difficult things in religious life is relating to G-d. How we finite beings can relate to the infinite has troubled thinkers through the ages. In the Parshah we find an interesting dichotomy. On the one hand the Torah warns us against getting too close to G-d. Following the death of his sons for unauthorised entry to the Holy of Holies, Aaron is warned only to enter this most sacred space on one day of the year, Yom Kippur, and given precise instructions on how to do so. In contradistinction, the very next section warns in the strongest terms against sacrificing animals outside the precincts of the Tabernacle. So you should neither come too close nor go too far. Our relationship with G-d, it appears, is meant to be somewhere in the middle.
Incidentally, this rubric may serve to explain a strange comment of the Ibn Ezra, the great Spanish commentator. He appears to explain the sending of the scapegoat on Yom Kippur as a sacrifice to the demons of the wilderness, something specifically prohibited in the following section. For this he is roundly criticised by other commentators. Yet if we understand the two sections as presenting two extremes of approach to G-d, his comment becomes intelligible. If on Yom Kippur we go to one extreme, that of closeness, it may be necessary to balance this by on that same day going to the other extreme, sending a sacrifice out of the Tabernacle into the wilderness.
Looking at these two ways of approaching G-d, Rabbi Kook interrogates their common source and their inherent danger. In both cases the person wishes to understand and relate to the absolute being of G-d, as one would relate to another person. As G-d is, however, beyond our human perception this can lead to one of two negative outcomes. Seeking to totally understand G-d we are bound to fail and so may come to the conclusion that there is nothing there. G-d's essence is so beyond us that we end up becoming atheists. This is the case of Aaron's sons entering the Holy place and being consumedby fire. They simply couldn't endure the reality of G-d and so were extinguished. On the other hand, we can go in the opposite direction. Not being able to comprehend the totality of the Divine, we seek to make it manageable by anthropomorphising G-d, leading to idolatry. These are the Israelites who overawed by the divine presence in the Tabernacle seek to worship by sacrificing to the demons of the wilderness.
How then do we avoid falling into this trap, which on one side leads to atheism and on the other to idolatry. What we need to approach, suggests Rabbi Kook is the ideal of G-d as He reveals Himself to us. We perceive G-d's personality not by trying to relate to Him as we would a human but by connecting to His attributes. By connecting to His bounty, knowledge, compassion, justice and so on we can have a relationship with the Divine without it overwhelming us and G-d becoming either non-existent for us or us creating Him in our own image. This middle way suggested by Rabbi Kook can lead us to a relationship with G-d that is both healthy and satisfying.
The various diseases that we read about in this week's Torah reading have traditionally been seen as not merely physical afflictions. Rather they have been seen as symptoms of a deeper spiritual malady. The person who is afflicted thus not only needs medical care but also spiritual reassessment. It follows that there is are also moral lessons to be found in the various symptoms and prescriptions in the Parshah.
One of the intriguing regulations found in the Parshah is that if the leprosy has spread to all of the person from 'head to foot in the whole sight of the priest', the person is clean. This seems a strange prescription. After all the spreading of the disease would normally be seen as evidence of the person's worsening condition not that they are cured! Various explanations are given by the commentators but none seem to really fully explain the phenomenon. However, if we understand that the Torah is in these sections giving us moral rather than merely medical lessons, then an explanation becomes apparent.
If we regard the diseases described as evidence of moral failing, then the spread of the disease to the whole body as evidence of a complete lack of spiritual worthiness. Neither the 'head', thoughts, or 'feet', actions Furthermore, the Torah adds the requirement that this is in the sight of the priest. If the priest sees nothing healthy in the person, it appears from the outside that the person has no redeeming features.
This however, the Torah tells us, is not possible. Everyone has some redeeming features. If it appears to us that someone is completely without merit and has no good qualities whatsoever then the problem must lie with us not them. If all the priest can see is a diseased body with no healthy areas at all his diagnosis must be wrong, and thus the Torah instructs him to pronounce the patient healed. If all we can see in someone is negative qualities, it is obvious that we our perception is askew and thus we need to regard the person in a positive light.
It often happens that in personal or political life we hear people totally denigrated using extreme language. Listening to the report we are led to believe that the person is completely evil or useless. In such a case, the Torah instructs us, we should realise that the report cannot possibly be true and we should dismiss it out of hand and rather look suspiciously at the person presenting the negative report. While it is sometimes necessary to criticise people and everyone has faults, no one is without merit and if someone tells you they are, don't believe them.
Parshat Tzav, in a non leap year always occurs the week before Pesach. A connection between them is found in the fact that the Parshah is one of the two places in the Torah where we find the laws of the kashering of dishes, something extremely relevant to Pesach.
The Rabbis learnt from these verses a general principle when it comes to making dishes kosher: 'kblo'o kach polto', or as it goes in, so it goes out. This basically means that you kasher a dish the way it is used. If it is used with boiling hot food it needs to be kashered by boiling water, if it is used in fire, by fire. This principle, however, can teach us an important general lesson.
What is being expressed here is the idea that in order to remove a negative influence, one must counter it with a corresponding positive influence. Just as if a dish has absorbed non-kosher food by boiling you need to remove it by kosher boiling water, so if you have 'absorbed' a negative trait or action, it needs to be removed by a diametrically opposite action. Thus if someone is prone to pride, they need to go to an extreme of being humble or if they have been miserly they need to give liberally. This going to the opposite extreme, like kashering the vessel, enables an equilibrium to be restored and is thus merely temporary, but necessary.
It is interesting that a similar dialectic exists with regard to Hametz and Matzah. Both Matzah and Hametz can only come from the same five grains. Only what is kosher to be Matzah can become Hametz and only a grain that can become Hametz can be used to make Matzah. We thus see that in many ways Matzah is the antodote to Chametz. We 'kasher' ourselves from Chametz by eating Matzah.
Indeed, the Rabbis saw in Hametz and Matzah the symbols of negative and positive traits and saw the getting rid of Chametz as also a process of removing our negative attributes. In the same way as we need to throughly clean a vessel before kashering it, we need to remove all the Chametz before eating Matzah. So when we clean in preparation for Pesach, let us spend time cleansing ourself.
This week we read about sacrifices. The Parshah wholly consists of the different types of sacrifices offered in the Tabernacle/Temple. The additional readings discuss the Rosh Hodesh and Pesach sacrifices respectively and the Haftorah looks forward to the offerings that will be brought into the Third Temple.
Among the many types of different sacrifices one stand outs. That is the Doubtful Guilt offering. This is a sacrifice brought when one is not sure whether you have committed an offence for which you would normally bring a sin offering. Even though you are not sure whether you have sinned you still bring an offering asking for forgiveness.
The fact that the Torah specifically prescribes a sacrifice for cases of doubt teaches us a profound lesson. One could argue that if we don't know whether we did anything wrong we should be exempt. The Torah doesn't agree. The very fact that we don't remember if we sinned is in itself a problem.
If we take the classic Talmudic case of eating something which we are afterwards not sure was kosher, we can illustrate the point.
We don't say it doesn't matter as we don't remember. Rather we need to bring an offering because we should have focused on what we were eating. If kashrut was important we would have checked that what we were eating was acceptable before we eat it. This applies with even more force to our relationships with others.
Few people deliberately seek to hurt others. Most often we cause pain to others by our thoughtlessness or lack of sensitivity. We simply didn't think. We might not even be sure we did hurt them. By requiring us to bring an offering in doubtful cases, the Torah demands that we do think about how we act and speak to others.
It is not good enough to live our lives insensitive to the world around us and to the needs or feelings of others. We are not the centre of the world and everything doesn't just revolve around what we think or feel. This special offering teaches us to be aware, sensitive and most of all to think about what we are doing and how we behave.
Shemot (Exodus) 5778
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This week the Torah returns to the subject of the building of the Tabernacle. Recounting the actual building of the Tabernacle, it recounts all the details stated earlier. Last week we ended our detailing of the instructions for the Tabernacle with a warning to keep Shabbat. This week, before beginning the actual work of construction, Moses again admonishes the people to keep Shabbat. It appears that there is an intimate connection between the Tabernacle and Shabbat.
The simple explanation is that the work of the Tabernacle is to be stopped for Shabbat. Indeed it is from this connection that we learn what activities are prohibited on Shabbat: those used in constructing the Tabernacle. On another level the Tabernacle is a microcosm of the universe whose creation ceased on Shabbat. In fact the same word, melacha, is used for the work of creation, the building of the Tabernacle and the activities prohibited on Shabbat.
Yet if we look at the two concepts conceptually we can uncover a more profound message. The Tabernacle is an attempt to create holiness in space. It is the site of the revelation of the Divine Presence; in many ways a perpetual site of the Revelation at Sinai. Many cultures and religions have sacred places; indeed the concept sacred space was prevalent throughout the ancient world. Shabbat on the other hand seeks to create holiness in time. This was the unique invention of the Jewish people, and one that has been only imperfectly imitated by others.
What the Torah comes to tell us at the beginning of this week’s Parshah, is that holiness in time trumps holiness in space. Shabbat takes precedence over the Tabernacle. The reason for this is a profound understanding of human nature. The Tabernacle or Temple is external to us; it is something we come to, or worship in. Shabbat, on the other hand, is something we experience. It exists primarily inside us; it effects a change in our soul. The external restraint from work is the vehicle which allows us to experience the extra spirituality Shabbat has to offer.
The Tabernacle was built in order that G-d would dwell, not in it, but in the hearts of the people. Shabbat is precisely the vehicle for this to happen. Rather than Shabbat detracting from the building of the Tabernacle; its observance is essential for its function. The true home of G-d is not in a building but in a place in our lives called Shabbat.
'And they shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them'. Famously the Torah doesn't say G-d will dwell in the Tabernacle but among the Jewish people. This emphasis serves to disabuse the idea that the Tabernacle is somehow needed as a 'home' for G-d. G-d dwells not in a building but in people's hearts. Yet this understanding doesn't detract from the fact that the Tabernacle is necessary to achieve this aim. In order that G-d may among the people, they must build a physical structure.
One may ask why is that necessary? If the aim is spiritual why does its fulfilment have to take a physical form. The answer goes to the heart of not just the meaning of the Tabernacle but of the whole Torah. Humans are composed of both a body and a soul and placed in a physical world. According to Judaism, our task here is not to seek to escape that world, like we are trapped in a prison. That would seem to indicate that our being here was some sort of mistake. Rather our souls are precisely put in a material body able to act on the physical world, in order to elevate it. That is the purpose of the Torah.
When we perform mitzvot using physical objects, we raise them to a spiritual level. For example, the skin of a cow is nothing special, just part of a carcass. But when we use it to write a Torah scroll or tefillin, we turn it into something holy. We have taken something material and elevated it to a spiritual level.
The highest expression of this was in the Tabernacle and later the Temple. By building a structure dedicated to G-d in the way the Torah commanded we take normal space and materials and turn it into the epitome of holiness. Before its completion the Holy of Holies was just a space. Afterwards, it rose to a level of spirituality that generally makes it impossible to even enter.
This understanding of Torah is vital for our practice of Judaism. People may think it is enough to be Jewish 'at heart', not bothering to observe very much. It is enough that they feel Jewish. The Torah tells us that this is missing the whole point. The basic intention of being Jewish is to act Jewishly. If we don't perform Jewish actions which spiritualise the physical we are failing in our purpose. That is the lesson of the Tabernacle.
Among the many laws that make up our Parshah, we have the concept of the 'four guardians' or four different types of ways that you can legally be in possession of someone else’s property. The Torah details the differing level of responsibility of each one, depending of the circumstances.
A person who looks after something for free has the least level of responsibility, being merely required not to have used it inappropriately. The next level is the person paid to look after an object. He is liable for normal damage or loss (such as theft) but exempt from extraordinary damage (such as armed robbery). The person who borrows an object in order to use it, however, has the highest level of responsibility, being liable for everything.
In the fourth case, however, the law is less clear. This is the situation when someone hires something paying something for its use. The Rabbis here dispute what level of responsibility is entailed by such a transaction. Some say that the fact that the borrower has paid for his hire puts him into the category of a someone who looks after something for free, and is thus only liable for inappropriate use. Others say that this case is more like that of someone who is paid to look after an object.
These discussions throw an interesting light on human relationships. It is clear that if you do someone a favour you are given the benefit of the doubt while if someone does you a favour you are liable to the highest degree. If money is involved the case falls somewhere in between. If we extrapolate this principle to civil society, we could argue that those serving gratis in voluntary organisations should be least liable for their actions, while those paid to run them should be examined more strictly. Most people would disagree with this proposition, however. All organisations may have assets or employees that need to be managed properly.
However, there is also a danger that placing too many burdens on volunteers will cause them not to be involved. This is especially true today of people working with children where the weight of regulation and indeed suspicion, has caused a severe shortage of people willing to work with young people. Children need to be protected but also need youth groups and other activities in order to thrive. If we achieve the one while destroying the other, we may be doing more harm than good. The Torah's principle is thus still valid today.
Most of the mitzvot in the Torah do not have a specific reward attached to them but some do. One of the those is of course the fifth of the Ten Commandments, the mitzvah to honour your parents. Here the Torah specifically states that you should do so in order to lengthen your life in the Land. Being that the connection of a particular mitzvah to a specific reward is unusual it behoves us to ask in each case the reason for this connection.
One rubric helpful in doing so is found at the beginning of the Parshah, in the words of Jethro. In his reaction to the story of the Exodus he states that now he knows that 'G-d is greater than all the other gods, in the way that they sinned against them'. The commentators understand the last phrase to mean that, in the manner that the Egyptians offended against the Israelites, so were they punished. For example, they sought to destroy the Israelite males by drowning and similarly the cream of male Egyptian society was drowned at the Red Sea.
This idea is called in Judaism 'measure for measure' and is regarded as a basic component of G-d's just management of the world. The punishment is made to fit the crime. This, however, can also be used in a positive sense. The reward for a good action is connected to that action or its consequences.
If we now return the mitzvah of honouring parents, we can ask how this fulfilment of this commandment contributes to longevity? How is the reward commensurate to the deed? A possible thought is that in honouring our parents we respect the traditions that they stand for, prolonging the vitality of Jewish culture into the future. Similarly, honouring parents strengthens the bonds of the family unity, connects the generations and thus helps create a healthy society. All these things enable a nation to prosper in their Land, overcome the challenges threatening it, and prolong their tenure on it.
But maybe most simply, in honouring parents we make them happy. We prolong their lives by our care an affection. If we do so, the Torah promises us that we will share a similar destiny. Our children seeing our actions will follow them and we will also merit a secure and happy longevity.
Imagine the following scenario: a Principal of a school has had problems with a pupil that is bullying others. After many warnings and punishments, the parents are called in, and the pupil’s behaviour seems to significantly improve.
The Principal, however, is convinced that the boy is a troublemaker and a habitual bully and would like to expel him; thereby also showing that he is tough on bullying at his school. He therefore sets up a trap; encouraging the formerly bullied children to deliberately provoke this pupil who had bullied them, in order to create the conditions for his expulsion. Unfortunately, the ruse works; the pupil reacts and is expelled.Many of us, even those that have to teach occasionally difficult pupils, would feel profoundly uneasy with this scenario. Whatever the pupil in question had done in the past, he had now ceased his aggressive behaviour. To deliberately trap him into misbehaviour seems profoundly unfair and even immoral.How then should we relate to the Crossing of the Sea and the destruction of the Egyptians therein? This is an event we not only celebrate by a Yom Tov, the Seventh Day of Pesach, but recall in our prayers every day. Yet it presents the exact same scenario outlined above. The Egyptians have, finally, done what G-d demanded and let the Jews go. G-d then instructs Moses to lead the Israelites into a situation in order that the Egyptians will believe they are trapped , in order that they will chase after the Israelites, in order that they will be destroyed. This, in order that G-d’s power will be evident to all. Is this a moral course of action? Should G-d not behave justly?The answer is not simple or easy. The fact is that there are times when such a ruse is justified. If Pharaoh’s armies had not been destroyed at the sea, the Jews would never have been safe. No one actually provoked Pharaoh to chase after the Israelites; rather G-d led him to believe he could get away with it. It is as if the Principal had put a hidden camera in the bully’s room, while pretending to befriend him in order to disarm his suspicions.Yet the moral question still remains. This episode is morally troubling. That the Torah does not hide the truth from us and we are left with more questions than answers is the true greatness of its story.
In refusing Moses’ demand that all the Jewish people: men, women, children, be allowed to leave, Pharaoh makes the comment that ‘evil is before your face’. This curious comment can be simply held to mean that the fact that Moses is demanding that everyone leaves, puts the lie to his claim that his purpose is only a temporary religious pilgrimage. Yet a strong midrashic tradition sees a more sinister intent in Pharaoh’s words.
The phrase can literally be translated as: ‘evil is before you’. In other words, the journey you are embarked upon will end in tragedy. This is a fear that, in fact, runs like a dark undercurrent beneath the whole story of the sojourn in the wilderness. Moses himself, when G-d threatens to destroy Israel for their disobedience, uses the argument of: ‘what would the Egyptians say’, to persuade G-d otherwise. In other words, by destroying the Israelites, you will prove Pharaoh right.The Jews themselves, in a moment of despair, express the thought that: ‘because G-d hated us, He brought us out of Egypt’. What is the basis of these dark premonitions? Is it not, that the Exodus is nothing if not a revolution; and revolutions are a dangerous business. We have seen how the French and Russian revolutions betrayed their ideals and consumed their own people. Pharaoh would have heartily agreed with the bleak scenario of Animal Farm. What was to stop the Exodus ending in similar tragedy? Could Moses not turn out to be simply another Stalin?The antidote to these dangers is a midrash quoted by Rashi on this very verse. The blood of the Jewish people, that Pharaoh foresaw in the wilderness, was transformed by G-d into the blood of their circumcision by Joshua. How are we to understand this analogy? Circumcision is an individual act that creates a covenant between each individual Jew and G-d. It emphasises the importance of the individual person in the totality of the nation and the sacredness of every life in G-d’s greater purpose. This is the heritage of Abraham who fought for the righteous individuals of Sodom and would not let G-d’s greater purpose trample on the right of the individual.It is this concern for the individual that can rescue a revolution from tragedy. It is thus that Moses refuses G-d’s offer of starting afresh with him, and argues that a revolution based on the destruction of a generation, can never fulfil its ideals. He thus frustrates Pharaoh’s prophecy of doom and makes his revolution a true success.
On Seder night we drink four cups of wine. The number four is traditionally connected to the four expressions of redemption found at the beginning of our Parshah. G-d promises the Israelites that He will bring them out of Egyptian oppression, save them from their bondage, redeem them with an outstretched arm and take them to Him as a people. Yet the Torah continues with another commitment. G-d also promises to bring the Jews into the Land which he promised to their ancestors. Shouldn't there therefore be five cups of wine, rather than four?
Indeed there is precisely this discussion among the Rabbis, with some authorities holding that we should indeed drink five rather than four cups of wine. Our practice is to drink only four cups of wine but to fill a fifth cup at the end of the Seder for Elijah.This discussion touches on a basic discourse within Judaism. What should be the role of the Land of Israel within Jewish life. It is clear from the whole of the Torah that Israel is a pillar on which Judaism rests. But is it essential to the existence of Judaism, especially when the Jews are in exile.That is precisely the discussion that we find concerning the four cups. Those who mandate drinking only four cups see the essence of Pesach as the liberation from Egypt. The promise of the Land is an important commitment for the future, but not essential for the maintenance of the Jewish people. This is the view of people like Rabbi Hirsch who advanced the importance of Jewish life in the Diaspora.On the other hand, those who say we should drink five cups of wine regard the promise of the Land as an essential part of the Redemption. Without Israel there is essentially a second class Judaism, lacking a basic component. This is the central component of the philosophy of Rabbi Kook, for example.Today at our Seders we drink four cups but fill a fifth for Elijah. In doing so, we are maybe taking a middle position. Judaism can exist without Israel but not without the hope of, and connection to the Land . We live with the reality of the four cups of the Diaspora but look forward to the fifth cup of redemption. Let us therefore hope for the final redemption when we will all gather in Israel to not only fill a fifth cup but drink it.
Pharaoh decrees that all the new born Jewish boys should be thrown into the Nile. The Torah then relates how a man from the tribe of Levi married a woman from the same tribe and they had a male child. Thus begins the story of Moses. Behind this seemingly simple introduction the Rabbis discern a more complicated story. After all, Moses already had a brother and sister, so why does the Torah tell us about the marriage of his parents? The midrash relates that in fact they had separated in order to avoid having more children and have them killed by Pharaoh's henchmen. Their daughter Miriam, however, did not approve of this course of action. She accused her parents of being worse than Pharaoh who only decreed against the birth of male children, while they were seeking to prevent any children being born. Her parents listened to her, go back together and the rest is history. This story highlights a real dilemma faced by Jews throughout history. How do we respond to severe persecution? Moses' parent's action have a stark logic. If indeed all the boy babies are being killed, surely it is better to cease having children? Yet Miriam exposes the falsity of this position. She is in effect accusing her parents of assisting Pharaoh in destroying the Jewish people. He wants Jews to cease to exist and by refusing to have children they are hastening that end. It is true that it is dangerous to continue to procreate but that is the precise way that Pharaoh's schemes will be frustrated. After the destruction of the Temple there was a council of despair that similarly thought it might be better to stop having children and let the Jewish people die a natural death. Yet the Rabbis rejected this course and chose a different way that adapted and strengthened Judaism in this new harsh world. It is striking how many people in the concentration camps risked their lives in order to perform mitzvot. Surely it was better to be safe and concentrate on survival? But, like Miriam, they instinctively understood that when someone is trying to destroy the Jewish people the correct response is to stop being Jewish but to strengthen Judaism. Every time an inmate lit Hanukah candles or blew the Shofar it was another nail in the coffin of the Nazi's ambitions. The story of Miriam and her parents teaches us that even when faced with the darkest hour and the forces of destruction, the Jewish way is not to give up but to chose life.
Bereishit (Genesis) 5778
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We are well aware of the term the 'Twelve Tribes of Israel'. The idea of Jacob's twelve sons forming the basis of the Jewish people is mentioned several times in the Torah. Yet are there really only twelve tribes? Having achieved the desired number and gathered them all in Egypt, Jacob then does a strange thing. He creates more.
As a final gift to Joseph he states that the two sons born to him in Egypt before Jacob arrived, will be equal to his other sons. Jacob, in effect adopts Ephraim and Manasseh, increasing the number of tribes to thirteen. Yet, the concept of twelve tribes remains. Both in Jacob's, and later Moses' blessings the treat Joseph as one tribe. Yet in the political, social and economic make up of the nation, Ephraim and Manasseh are treated as two separate tribes.The number twelve, of course, is maintained by taking the tribe of Levi out of the equation and giving them a special status in the spiritual life of the nation. Yet the interesting thing is that this is not mentioned by Jacob. Indeed, the Levites are not appointed to the second year of the Exodus. This thus left the identity of the 'special' tribe in abeyance.This status, could have been theoretically acquired by any of the tribes. It didn't have to be Levi. This tribe achieved their status by their actions, especially during the sin of the Golden Calf, when they alone remained loyal. Yet, according to the Sages, this loyalty went back to Egypt. The tribe of Levi were the primary preservers of Jewish identity and tradition, during the oppression in Egypt and they kept the Jewish people intact during this first exile.Thus while Jacob, didn't designate a specific tribe to be exceptional they achieved that status by their actions. They made themselves worthy of carrying that mantle. This teaches us an important lesson concerning the interplay between destiny and choice. While many things that happen to us are out of our control we do have the ability to shape our destiny. While some things may be determined by our genes, more is determined by our choices.Levi had no say in his father's decision to create the need for an extraordinary tribe, but his descendants by their choices ensured that they would be the ones to become it. We should never believe that our destinies are fixed. Our future is frequently in our own hands.
The world has been disturbed this week to hear of the entry of the far-right into government in Austria. While, the far-right has also made gains in Germany, and elsewhere, it is difficult to imagine any German party contemplating inviting them into the government. The difference between the two countries lies primarily in hour they responded to their role in the Holocaust. While Germany faced up to its past, Austria didn't.
This issue is interestingly highlighted in the Parshah. Joseph, finally, reveals himself to his brothers and they have the opportunity to honestly deal with their treatment of him. Yet Joseph forestalls such an accounting by immediately exonerating them. They should not worry that they sold him into slavery, he explains to them, because it was all part of G-d's plan to save the family, and the region, from starvation. When the brothers, after their father's death, again seek accounting for their crime, he again uses the same argument.The brothers are thus never permitted by Joseph to actually face the full consequences of their actions. It is true that they may have behaved badly, but they can also regard themselves as pawns of a Divine plan, not fully responsible. They themselves were manipulated.A similar scenario occurred with regard to Austria after the war. In the words of a title of a book on the subject the Austrians became 'guilty victims'. They were themselves 'occupied' and so not fully responsible for their actions. Like Joseph's brothers, the Austrians were told that they were instruments of Germany, coerced into what they did.In both cases the consequences of such an attitude were extremely damaging. Joseph and his brothers never genuinely dealt with the issue and Jacob's family never truly reconciled, with disastrous consequences for later Jewish history. Similarly, Austria never faced up to its active role in the Holocaust, allowing for the wide retention of racist and fascist ideas that we see reflected in contemporary Austrian politics.The lesson is clear. Judaism believes in Teshuvah, or return from evildoing. But the first and crucial step is fully acknowledging what you have done. Failure to do so means nothing will ever really change.
These two names expose the contradictory impulses and alienation that Joseph feels at this moment. On the one hand, he is glad to forget his 'father's house'. He seemingly has no homesickness but only bad memories of what was done to him. He can't break through the barrier of the trauma of his betrayal by his brothers. On the other hand, he has ambivalent feelings towards his adopted country. Even though he has reached the pinnacle of success he can still refer to Egypt as 'the land of my sorrow'. His life as a slave and his years in prison have also left their mark.The remainder of Genesis, among other things, will explore the resolution of these issues. Firstly, he needs to rediscover his family. The arrival of the brothers negates his attempt to forget his father's house and he is forced to confront what happened to him and how that effects the relationship with his family. That resolution is the story of this week's Parshah and the beginning of the next. Afterwards, he needs to decide how he relates to Egypt: as his home or a temporary haven. This he does at the end of Genesis, starting with the arrival of his family in the country and ending with his request to be buried in Israel. He makes a clear choice. Egypt can never be home, his place is in Israel.This dilemma, is in some ways the predicament of all Diaspora Jews and in some ways the heart of the story of Hanukah. How do we relate to the dietetic between our Judaism and our host culture; between the country we live in and Israel. Unless we make a clear choice by living in Israel, there is no easy resolution. We, like Joseph, must struggle to come to terms with a dual identity.The question can be phrased by the letters on the dreiedel. In Israel they have a pey, 'a great miracle happened here', in the Diaspora a shin 'a great miracle happened there'. Each of us must resolve the dilemma: are we here or there or somewhere in between.
This week we have the first appearance on the stage of Jewish history of the tribe that will be central to Jewish leadership. We have already, of course, read the of the birth of Judah two weeks ago but it is in this week's Parshah that he begins to take centre stage.
We encounter him in two incidents in the Parshah and in each he plays a different role which sheds a light on a facet of his character. During the sale of Joseph he is the most influential figure. Reuben intends to rescue Joseph but doesn't succeed, while it is Judah that by his suggestion of selling him, saves him from certain death in the pit. Judah just shows both decisiveness and an ability to discern the possible rather than just the desirable.
In the second incident we find Judah unwittingly having a child with his widowed daughter in law, whom he has mistaken for a harlot. This incident brings out two important characteristics of Judah, both of which are vital for good leadership. Firstly, despite engaging in activity that he might wish to cover up, he makes sure that he fulfils his promise to Tamar and endeavours to send her the correct payment.
Secondly, when the whole incident is revealed he immediately not only admits his role but vindicates his daughter in law's actions, that he states were more correct than his own. In this he displays another of the necessary ingredients of good leadership: a sense of honesty and an ability to admit mistakes. Furthermore, by legitimising Tamar's children as his own he turns a rather sordid incident into something positive, in effect beginning the Jewish royal family. These same characteristics are on display in his later actions and in the actions of his descendants.
It is interesting that the royal house of Judah has what could be called questionable antecedents. Not only does it begin in the disreputable incident this week but is carried forward through the even worse story of David and Bathsheva. It is fascinating that the royal line is carried on through Peretz, one of Tamar's children, not through Shelah his oldest son. Likewise, it is David's son by Bathsheva that become king and is the ancestor of the Messiah.
This teaches us that Jewish leadership is less about lineage that about character. For G-d what is important in a Jewish leader is not that he is perfect or pure but that he can admit his mistakes and learn from them. We sorely need such leaders today!
One of the features of the Torah is that we often learn positive lessons from negative events. For example, the mitzvah of burial is learnt from the case of an executed criminal. In our Parshah we have two terrible incidents: the rape of Dinah and the massacre of Shechem by Jacob's sons and Reuben sleeping with Jacob's concubine. Can we learn positive lessons from these events?
If we look closely, we can see that there is a common theme that links these two events, one that is of relevance to us. Whether or not the actions of Jacob's sons were justified, and the Torah is ambiguous on this point, they were based on an important principle; collective responsibility. The people of Shechem were responsible for not punishing their prince's reprehensible behaviour. As such, they themselves took on responsibility for his actions and in the eyes of Shimon and Levy, could share his punishment. The people of Shechem are not regarded as separate individuals but as a community that has responsibility for each other.
The second negative incident in the Parshah teaches from the opposite direction. Reuben sleeps with his father's concubine. Immediately afterwards the Torah informs us that 'the sons of Jacob were twelve', and proceeds to list them, starting with Reuben the first-born. The Rabbis note this juxtaposition and comment that despite his sin Reuben was still part of the family and the twelve tribes of Israel. The strength of the mutual bonds that bound them together was stronger than the disruption caused by Reuben's action. Again we have the idea that the members of a community are responsible for each other in good times and bad.
That is a crucial lesson for us all. As members of a community we need to look out for each other. Coming to a minyan or a communal event is not merely a function of our personal religiosity or preference but an act of solidarity with other members of the community, for whom it is important. When people in the community have a simcha or Yarhtzeit or are giving a Dvar Torah or leading the davening, it is important to come to support them. Likewise, even if you feel too young, it is important for those eligible to come along to the Lunch Club and support those for whom it is a vital part of their week. We are all part of a small community and only by supporting each other will we endure and thrive.
We read this week of two sisters: Leah and Rachel. In many ways we can sympathise with Leah more than with Rachel. She is the one that is forced into marriage with her sister's prospective husband, thus earning the enmity of both. Despite giving Jacob six children, she still feels estranged from him and, according to tradition, even after Rachel's death Jacob took up with Rachel's handmaid, not her.
Yet Jewish tradition sees things otherwise. Rachel is regarded as the tragic figure. Her love for Jacob is sullied by her sister, she has trouble bearing children and in the end dies prematurely and, unlike Leah, is not even buried with Jacob. Significantly, it is Rachel that Jewish tradition sees as the true mother of the nation, pleading with G-d for their redemption and rejoicing in their return. How did she achieve this status?
I believe it was because, more than Leah, she learned to surmount her situation. Rachel, at first, does not seem to be a sympathetic character. She has he husband's love, yet reproaches him for her not having children, even though the problem clearly lies with her. She appears self-centred and unable to appreciate what she has.
Yet that changes with one incident. Desperate for children she asks her sister for her son's mandrakes, a fertility drug. Leah replies, that is it not enough that she stole her husband, she also wants her mandrakes. Rachel could have replied that who stole whose husband? But she doesn't. She offers a night with Jacob in return for the mandrakes.
What is really happening here is Rachel is for the first time realising her sister's tragedy. She is transcending her own sorrow at not having children and feeling her sister's pain of being married to a man that didn't want her and, whatever she does, always being second best. By giving her one of her 'nights' with Jacob Rachel is raising her sister to her level of importance in Jacob's eyes. This action both opens her own womb and makes her the eternal advocate for the Jewish people.
This provides us with a wonderful lesson. We can often be caught up in our own sorrows and become self-centred and trapped in a vicious circle. But like Rachel we can break free by feeling the pain of others. In helping others, even when we are in trouble, we can find our own redemption.
One of the puzzles of the Torah is why Isaac wanted to bless Esau. From our perspective it seems are morally deficient decision. If we want to solve this conundrum we need first to look at the respective characters of Esau and Jacob as described in the Torah.
Esau is described as a 'hunter and a man of the field', while Jacob is a 'simple, dwelling in tents'. If we de-construct these descriptions we could describe Esau as more of a materialist and Jacob as an intellectual. So they question needs to be asked, why did Isaac prefer the more practical side of Esau.
Some of the commentators have understood that he thought that a practical person should lead the family. He would provide the material needs that would enable Jacob to pursue his intellectual pursuits. His mistake was putting Esau first.
A famous dialectic in the Torah is that between Joseph, the practical man of action and Judah the spiritual leader. This later comes to the fore in the split between the northern kingdom of Israel, materially successful but spiritually deficient, and the southern kingdom of Judah, less wealthy but more loyal to Jewish values.
The symbols of these kingdoms David and Jerobam (the first king of Israel) are addressed by G-d. Jerobam is told that if he will return from his evil ways, he David will walk with G-d in Paradise. Jerobam asks who will go first and when he is told it is David he refuses the offer. The message of this story is clear and elucidates Isaac's error. We need both practical people who provide society's material needs. We also need intellectuals and spiritual visionaries. But it is the spiritual that must lead the material not the opposite.
In seeking to give precedence to Esau Isaac was inverting the proper order and thus Rebecca acted to remedy the situation, something Isaac in the end seems to have understood. In Jewish society spiritual leadership comes first.
The Torah goes into much detail about the negotiations behind this purchase and the dialogue between Abraham and his Canaanite neighbours. One statement of Abraham's excites a rabbinic comment that has great relevance for us in considering the meaning of the events of 1917 and the intervening century. At the beginning of the negotiations Abraham describes himself as a 'stranger and an inhabitant among you'.
The Rabbis pick up on the inherent contradiction between these two terms, one denoting someone who is a guest, the other someone there of right. They explain that Abraham used both terms to make a point. If the Canaanites would treat him fairly he would be a stranger, acting as a supplicant.
However, he reminded them that G-d had promised him all the Land and if necessary he would act as an inhabitant who could take it by right.
The Rabbis here are illustrating a tension often faced during the long Jewish attachment to the Land of Israel. On the one hand G-d has given the Land to us as an inalienable right. On the other, we often in practical terms, need to act as a supplicant in actualising that right. In doing so, however, we need to be careful not to confuse practical politics with principle. The fact that we may need the goodwill of various people and nations in realising our possession of Israel, does not mean that this is the source of our claim. That lies in 3000 years of Jewish history and the Divine promise.
The Balfour Declaration or the United Nation's resolution we commemorate this month, did not give us the right to the Land of Israel. That always existed. It merely confirmed that existing right in the realm of practical politics. As such, whatever statement British or other politicians might make concerning the events of a century ago are irrelevant to the legitimacy of Israel. That was established long before. The true source of Israel is not Balfour and his declaration but Abraham and the Torah
This week we read about the birth of two children. One is Isaac the son of Sarah. The other is the son of the Shunamite woman. In both cases the children were born to women who had given up hope of having children and whose doing so was regarded as miraculous. In both cases the announcement of the impending birth was met with disbelief and resistance by the prospective mothers. In both cases the child then finds themselves in a life threatening situation that is only resolved by Divine intervention. Finally, in both cases the saving of the child is met with silence by the parents. Obviously something is going on here that has deeper meaning.
I believe that the story behind these stories tells us a lot about the Jewish attitude to miracles and has relevance for the way we should live our lives. The underlying tension contain in both of these incidents is illustrated in a fascinating dispute found in the Talmud. There, it is told of a man whose wife died leaving him with a nursing baby. He had no money to pay for a wet-nurse but miraculously he grew breasts and was able to nurse his son. Rabbi Yosef thinks that this man is great that such a miracle happens to him. Abaye (one of the greatest Talmudic sages) disagrees. The man is to be despised as because of him the order of nature was changed. One could spend a whole lecture just discussing the source and implications of this dispute but I believe Abaye's attitude underlies the reaction of the two mothers we read about this week.
They instinctively understand that what will happen to them is not normal but an upsetting of the natural order. They suspect that this 'changing of creation' comes at a price, and they are right. Both these children almost die and even though they are in the end saved, the women are still uncertain if it was worth the price. Indeed, according to tradition Sarah herself dies because of the shock of almost losing her son. This theme continues in the Torah, with the Israelites always unsure whether the miracles of the exodus are really a good thing or a diabolical plot that will destroy them. Indeed they come close to destruction several times, demonstrating that their fears were not unfounded.
Judaism does celebrate miracles but is also wary of them. G-d created a natural order and it is better to exists if possible without miracles that disturb it, unless they are really needed. This is also a lesson for our lives. We sometimes wish that G-d would intervene in our humdrum existence and we would, for example, win the lottery. Yet many people to whom this has happened have ended up less happy and in worse straits.
It is better to make do with what we can achieve by our own efforts than rely on extraordinary help that may have a price attached. As the women we encounter this week instinctively understood, you should be careful what you wish for. You many end up regretting it.
Parshat Lech L'cha
One of the principles used by the Rabbis to understand the stories of the Patriarchs is that 'the actions of the fathers are a sign for the children'. There are several ways of understanding this rubric but a simple interpretation is that we are meant to learn from these stories lessons for our own lives.
A recurring feature of the lives of the Patriarchs is conflict and its resolution. These occur both between the Patriarchs and external actors and within their own families. The classic solution for these disputes is simple to walk away. Rather than trying to solve the roots of the conflict they are resolved by the parties, as much as possible, simply having nothing to do with each other.
The classic case is found in this week's Parshah with regards to Abraham's nephew Lot, who tagged along with him on his quest. There is a dispute over grazing rights between their respective shepherds that is in danger of damaging the whole enterprise. Abraham doesn't try and resolve the actual dispute but merely suggests to Lot that they should go their separate ways. 'If I go to the left you go to the right and if I go to the right you go to the left'.
This same technique is used in solving the issue of Ishmael and in resolving the dispute between Jacob and Esau. There is little or no attempt made to patch things up. Rather, it is understood that only by separating the protagonists can peace be restored. In some instances, notably in the case of Ishmael, G-d specifically approves this resolution.
On the basis of the rubric that we can learn from the Patriarchs' actions for our own lives, this paradigm can teach us an important lesson. Making peace is an important value in Judaism. Indeed Aaron the priest was noted and praised for this trait. But making peace at any price can be dangerous and self-defeating. There are disputes and circumstances where it is simply not appropriate to try and bring the parties together. Rather, the best solution is to separate them.
Trying to patch up a marriage when one partner has behaved inappropriately or abusively is clearly wrong. The only sensible and moral solution is for the couple to divorce as soon as possible. People, who in such cases, try and bring people together are causing untold harm and often creating a serious injustice.
From our forefathers we learn that while unity and peace are important, sometimes its better simply to walk away and leave.
Noah, who is the hero of this week's Parshah, is often compared to his descendant Abraham. There are instructive descriptive links between them. Both are described as tamim or whole/perfect and the relationship of both with G-d is described in terms of movement or walking. It is precisely here, however, that the significant differences lie. Noah is described as being tamim (at least in his generation) and walking with G-d. Abraham is told to walk before G-d and become tamim.
There is a world of difference between these two descriptions. Noah relies on G-d's support to maintain his present state while Abraham is encouraged by G-d to go it alone and grow into something greater. This discrepancy can be seen in the respective actions of these two men and their relationship to G-d. Noah does as he is told. He is told to build an ark and he does so. He goes in when he is ordered and leaves when he is instructed. The world is destroyed around him and he expresses no recorded reaction.
In contrast Abraham has a dialogue with G-d. He is told he will inherit the Land and asks how, advised he will have a son by Sarah and protests that Ishmael is enough. Most famously, when informed of the impending destruction of Sodom, he bargains with G-d on their behalf. This is the difference between someone for whom G-d is a crutch or an inspiration, between reliance and dependency.
Jewish tradition is very clear about which model we should follow. In the Musaf service of Rosh Hashanah we mention both Noah and Abraham and Isaac. We mention Noah as an example of G-d's protective remembrance, but when we pray for salvation we invoke Abraham and Isaac. Being Jewish is not about slavish dependency that stifles our initiative and sees G-d as a staff to lean on. Rather, it is about mature trust, making moral decisions before G-d, in the confidence that He is behind us. We pray not in a position of subservience like a helpless dependent but standing in a posture of dialogue.
That then is the challenge of the Torah to the Jew. Do we need to walk with G-d or can we find the courage to stride before him? Is Judaism our crutch or our inspiration?
The festival of Shemini Atzeret marks the end of several cycles. It is the last Torah mandated festival in the cycle beginning on Pesach. It is also the last of the four Tishrei festivals. Finally, of course, Simchat Torah marks the end of the yearly cycle of Torah readings while also on Simchat Torah, we also begin a new cycle.
The idea of a cycle of festivals, events or seasons, carries within it the idea of time as a circle that returns on itself. This is in turn based on the natural progression of the natural world of spring, summer, autumn and winter. The idea of cosmic cyclical time is a feature of the Eastern religions, especially Hinduism. Yet Judaism, broke with that model and introduced a new concept of time, linear time. For Jews history is not a series of recurrent events repeating themselves in the course of cosmic cycles but a progression to an ultimate goal, designed and guided by a Creator.
There is a world of difference between these two concepts. In cyclical time nothing ultimately changes, leading to a view of a fixed universe, and often a hierarchical society. Linear time sees change and progression as the essence of the historical process, leading to innovation and revolution.
How, then, does this linear concept of time fit in with a cyclical year? It does so by means of the intricacy of the Jewish calendar. It is true that our festivals follow the seasons, following the earth's progress round the sun. But not exactly. The dates of the festivals are determined by lunar months meaning that they can fluctuate as much as thirty days. Thus Pesach can fall anywhere between the 27th of March and the 25th of April. This ensures that each festival is not an exact copy of the one the year before. For example, Yom Kippur last year ended at 19.12. next year it ends at 20.12, a significant difference if you are fasting. In a deeper sense this means that each month or festival is not simply a repeat of last year, but a renewal of it, like the renewal of the moon that determines it's date.
Thus as we come to the end of the cycle of Torah readings and begin anew, we can be confident that our reading of Bereishit this year will not be the same as last year. We will gain new insights and understand new meanings. A symbol of this is that Shabbat Bereishit is always also Shabbat Mevarchim, when we bless the New Moon and its message of renewal. Thus as we read again of the creation, we are reminded that our world is not a cyclical machine but, in the words of our prayers, renewed each day by G-d. As we progress through a new round of Torah readings may we be likewise renewed.
Devarim (Deuteronomy) 5777
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
Succot is a double barrelled festival in several ways. Firstly, most festivals have one central mitzvah: for example eating Matzah on Peasch, blowing the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah. Succot has two: dwelling in the Succah and taking the Four Species. The Succot period is also made up of two distinct festivals, Succot itself and the Eighth Day which is known as Shemini Atzeret. The reason for this is simple: Succot is part of two distinct festival cycles: the Three Pilgrim Festivals and the Tishrei Festivals. Each of these two sets of festivals has a distinct and differing focus. The Three Pilgrim Festivals focus on agriculture and history, each celebrating both an agricultural season and commemorating an historic event in Jewish history. They concentrate on nature and the nation. The Tishrei Festival cycle is in contrast individual and internal. It centres around the Jew's relationship with G-d and his own personal spiritual development. Succot, is both the last of the Three Pilgrim Festivals and the third of the Tishrei festivals. It thus partakes of both the agricultural/national and individual/internal themes of the Jewish year. Succot, is firstly, the festival of the harvest, a thanksgiving to G-d for His bounty. It also commemorates G-d's protection of Israel, during their wanderings in the wilderness. In addition, it follows Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and complements them. After the days of introspection and repentance we have days of rejoicing and intimacy with G-d. The two mitzvot of the festival reflect this. The Succah commemorates G-d's protection. By leaving our homes and dwelling in the Succah we show our trust in G-d and demonstrate that material possessions are not the centre of our lives, thus continuing the process of spiritual rejuvenation begun on Rosh Hashanah. The Lulav and the other species symbolise the bounty of the Land and are a symbolic prayer for rain as we approach the winter. Succot, however, has one other feature that combines these two characteristics. The Three Pilgrim Festivals each symbolises one of the three main pillars of Judaism. Pesach focuses on the People of Israel, Shavuot on the Torah and Succot on the Land of Israel. It is in Israel that the motifs of these two festival cycles are combined. The Land unites the individual and the national; the spiritual and the agricultural. Like dwelling in the Succah, in Israel everything you do is a mitzvah. It is here that we can best achieve the unity of the spiritual and physical that is the hallmark of Succot. As we celebrate Succot in the Diaspora we should understand that it is a pointer to the experience of living in Israel, where every day can be Succot.
This year, Yom Kippur falls on Shabbat. Despite fasting being normally prohibited on Shabbat, Yom Kippur takes precedence. In this connection, it is interesting to note that Yom Kippur is itself designated with the term Shabbat. The word Shabbat is derived from the root shavat, meaning to rest from or desist. While on a normal Shabbat this refers to refraining from melacha or creative work, with regards to Yom Kippur this has a double meaning. The same word is not only used about desisting from melacha on Yom Kippur but also about fasting. We are enjoined to rest from eating and drinking on this day. This designation, can teach us a lot about the purpose of fasting on Yom Kippur. When we refrain from melacha on Shabbat we are acknowledging that the world is not ours to do with as we wish, but created by G-d who holds us accountable for our stewardship of it. By refraining from nourishment on Yom Kippur we are essentially doing the same thing with our very existence. We are acknowledging that our bodies and our life are the creations of G-d, Who designed them for a purpose. They are not ours to do with as we wish. Just as Shabbat teaches us that we are not in charge of the world, Yom Kippur teaches us that we don't control our personal destiny, neither our life nor our death. By resting on Shabbat we learn to appreciate the world around us, understanding that we are not in control of nature, despite our technology. By fasting on Yom Kippur we learn the same about ourselves. Despite the best medical technology, we have limited power of our body's function, and in the end it will betray us. Our lives are, ultimately not in our hands. But just as Shabbat is a day of joy, so is Yom Kippur. The knowledge that we are ultimately not in control liberates us to concentrate on what is really important. The understanding that both the universe and our own lives have purpose, enable us to strive for meaning and act in a way that makes our existence worthwhile. Just as those who keep Shabbat appreciate its restrictions as creating something wonderful, so, if we approach it properly, fasting on Yom Kippur can become not a burden but a priceless opportunity.
Parshat Ha'azinu / Shuva
The central aspect of Rosh Hashanah, as mandated in the Torah, is the blowing of the Shofar. We are required to blow three notes Tekiah, Teruah, Tekiah, three times. However, we are uncertain about the nature of the Teruah, whether it is what we now call Shevarim or what we now call Teruah or both of them together. So we do all three, thus covering all the bases.
The commentators have puzzled over this strange situation. How is it possible to forget how to perform this important mitzvah, which we perform annually? Some see this as the result of persecution or exile but others give another explanation entirely. Rather than there being a doubt about nature of a Teruah, there are simply three different traditions about the matter, all of which are valid. The Sages, however, didn't want different communities to do different things on this important day, so mandated that everyone follows everyone else’s custom as well as their own. Thus the whole Jewish people blows the Shofar in the same manner.
This narrative contains within it important messages for us at this time of year. Firstly, it is possible to forget important things, even who and what we are. In the bustle of life and challenges we can lose our real identity. Parshat Ha'azinu describes such a phenomena affecting the whole Jewish people. These days are an opportunity to think about our true identity and who we really want to be.
Furthermore, this uncertainty concerning the Shofar sounds and its resolution, teaches us two important lessons concerning Jewish unity. Firstly, it is possible for people to observe the Torah in different ways and still to be legitimate. All the ways of blowing the Shofar. could fulfil the mitzvah. We need to respect differences between different communities and see them not as a threat to Jewish life but as enriching Judaism.
It also teaches us, however, the importance of Jewish unity. According to this explanation, the Sages respected the validity of the various customs but thought it important that on Rosh Hashanah the Jewish people should be united. On the day we celebrate the unity of the universe as the creation of G-d, it was not right that we should, in our observance of the day, be divided. While diversity is important it should not be allowed to be a cause of dissonance or division.
Thus, the Shofar calls us to return to ourselves, respect the uniqueness and diversity of others while also striving for unity. Let us endeavour to fulfil these ideals in the coming year.
'The secret things are for the L-rd our G-d's but the revealed things are ours and our children's for ever in order to do all the words of this Torah'. This enigmatic verse has given rise to various interpretations. Commentators have puzzled over what is secret and what is revealed.
The traditional explanation connects this verse to what has gone before. There we saw individual sin seemingly leading to national catastrophe. It appears that everyone is responsible for others behaviour. According to this interpretation the Torah here limits this responsibility to revealed actions, specifically excluding secret beliefs.
This has always been a feature of Judaism. While we do care about beliefs we don't investigate them. Provided people act correctly, what they think is less important. Indeed, the Talmud has G-d Himself saying that He would rather people kept His commandments even if they didn't believe in him.
Conversely Judaism has always rejected the notion that belief without action is enough. The famous philosophical book the Kuzari is predicated on this principle, with the king of the Khazars dreaming that his intentions are good but his actions are not.
But I think there is a plain explanation of this verse than can have much value for us. There are things that only G-d knows and things that are our responsibility. We may not understand everything that goes on in the world but it doesn't mean we don't have moral responsibility. We may not be able to stop hurricanes and earthquakes from devastating nations but we can prevent poverty and injustice from blighting peoples lives.
Just because we can't solve every problem in the world doesn't mean we don't have the responsibility to help where we can. We may think that our revealed actions have little meaning but g-d knows the secret of how far they can reach. What we may think of as insignificant and futile may have an effect we can't even imagine. We need to leave things we can't change to G-d and concentrate on altering the things we do have the power to effect.
As The Ethics of the Fathers, which we finish reciting this week, puts it:'it's not for you to finish the work but neither are you free to absolve yourself from it'.
Parshat Ki-Tavo is a Parshah of three parts, each with a different focus. The first part is the conclusion of the list of mitzvot that we have been reading during the last few weeks, with the mitzvah of First-Fruits and the Tithe Declaration. The middle section of the Parshah talks of the various covenantal ceremonies that were to take place when entering the Land: by the Jordan and at Shechem. Lastly, the Torah details the blessings and punishments that will come upon Israel dependant on their observance or non-observance of the mitzvot respectively.
One surprising theme that links all these three sections is the idea of joy in the service of G-d. Famously, in the punishments it is stated that the Jews will penalised for not serving G-d with joy. Also, when talking about the mitzvah of bringing the First-Fruits we are commanded not only to bring them to the Sanctuary and declare our gratitude but to rejoice in all the good that G-d has done for us. Even, when detailing the ceremony of the ratification of the covenant in Shechem, the Torah commands that they should bring offerings and rejoice before G-d. Thus it seems that the idea of rejoicing is an important part of the observance of the mitzvot.
Why this is, goes to the heart of the Jewish idea of life. For a Jew, observance of the Torah is not opposed to a satisfying life in this world but an integral part of it. Jews are not to despise the physical world and its pleasures but to seek to infuse them with spirituality and raise them to the Divine.
We can only do that if we actually enjoy what we are doing. If we either reject physical enjoyment as debased, or regard the mitzvot as a burden that gets in the way of life, then we cannot fulfil our function. Only by enjoying the performance of the mitzvot in both their spiritual and physical aspects can we truly serve G-d.
For example, if we either regard the mitzvot of Shabbat as a hindrance to our enjoyment of the weekend, or conversely, perceive the nice meals of the day as detracting from our spirituality, we have missed the point. Only by enjoying what Shabbat has to offer do we truly observe the day.
Judaism rejects both hedonism and asceticism. Rather it calls on us to enjoy life in a kosher manner and thus to elevate ourselves and the world.
This week's Parshah contains the most mitzvot of any Parshah in the Torah. The lists of mitzvot can often seem disjointed, with little connection to each other. The commentators have endeavoured to find a thematic connection between them, often with a moral message.
For example, at the beginning of the Parshah we have three mitzvot dealing with the captive bride, a dysfunctional family and a delinquent child. The Rabbis connect these three topics, pointing out that if you marry a woman captured in war you will end up having a bad marriage and producing troubled progeny.
On a more positive note, the commentators link mitzvot concerning kindness to a mother bird, making a fence for your house and not wearing wool and linen: if you fulfil the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird, you will merit to have a new house and nice clothes and fulfil the mitzvot associated with them. The Rabbis summarised this idea under the rubric of 'a mitzvah leads to a mitzvah and a sin leads to a sin'.
These ideas teach us two important lessons. One is that what we have is often related to how we use it. In Judaism wealth or power are not given to us for there own sake but for a purpose and according to the way we utilise them they will be given or taken away.
This rubric also supplies us with an important psychological insight. We are creatures of habit. When we start down a path, whether positive or negative it can often be hard to get off it and change direction. It is therefore important to strengthen our good habits and weaken our bad.
This is especially important in the area of character traits. If we are constantly angry, upset or bitter, for example, this will cause us to be unfriendly, constantly criticise others and generally be unpleasant to be around. On the other hand, if we are happy and satisfied in ourself we will be able to treat others in a positive manner.
The same is true of organisations or community. If everyone within an organisation is constantly negative this will just lead to constant criticism, lack of motivation and become a self-fulfilling prophecy. On the other hand, if we are positive about ourselves then we will be motivated to do things, create a good atmosphere and achieve much.
As we approach a new year, let us take this lesson to heart and resolve to be positive about ourselves and our community.
At the beginning of the Parshah the Torah talks of person who 'went and served other gods.. or the sun and moon, which I did not command'. Concerning this last phrase Rashi comments 'to worship them'. This expression is rather strange. Throughout the Torah G-d commands us not to worship other gods so why would there be a doubt that G-d might have commanded us to worship them?
The answer, I think, provides an important insight into the idolatrous mindset and contains an important lesson for our time. The fact is that one may think that G-d did command us to pray to forces other than Him. The belief in an Ultimate Being or High G-d was universal in the ancient world. But so was the belief that he was unapproachable and therefore it was permissible and even desirable to pray to intermediaries.It is this belief that the Torah comes to negate. For Jews, it is only permitted to pray to G-d. He is approachable without any mediator. This idea is so radical, that even today, with the exception of Jews and Muslims, most religions don't accept it. Even with Judaism, and Islam, people still pray to angels (Shalom Aleichem on Friday night, for example) or at the graves of the righteous. G-d is so awesome and inconceivable it is very tempting to try and find an indirect way of approaching Him.
But in doing so, we essentially replace G-d with something that is not G-d, and thus demean are own spirituality. We lose the chance to connect directly with the centre and meaning of the universe and replace it with something to serve are own selfish needs.
We also do something similar when we attach ourselves to ideologies, movements or leaders and follow them blindly. We replace the ultimate loyalty we owe to G-d with an attachment to humans. We replace faith in G-d with faith in flawed political or social movements that will in the end let us down.
Of course we should be involved in such organisations, if we believe that they will better the world and they are compatible with our understanding of Torah values. However, when we put all our hope in them and believe that they are the answer to everything, then we begin to serve other gods, that G-d did not command. If we replace G-d with something else, in the end we will be disappointed.
Among the various laws concerning idolatry in the middle of the Parshah, we have that section dealing with a false prophet. In this portion Moses warns the people that if a prophet will arise who will seek to lead the people away from G-d and persuade them to worship other gods, he is a false prophet and is not to be listened to. This is true even if he seems to perform miracles to prove his case. Incidentally, this is a different scenario that the prophet mentioned in next weeks Parshah who prophesies in the name of G-d. There, the truth of his prophecy is connected to whether his predictions come true.
If we look more closely at this section we will see that it contains an important principle of Judaism. Miracles by themselves do not prove anything. After the Revelation at Mt Sinai, when the whole people experienced the Presence and Voice of G-d, no prophet can come along and contradict the Torah and claim G-d or another deity spoke to them, no matter what wonders they perform. This principle has been vitally important in Jews resisting the claims of daughter religions that claim that they are the true will of G-d, but negate the laws of the Torah and contradict basic principles of Judaism.
But Maimonidies takes this principle further. He rules that a false prophet is not only one who encourages idolatry or contradicts the Torah. Even someone who claims that a certain interpretation of the Torah is valid not because that is how he reasons or has learnt but because G-d told him so, is a false prophet and not to be listened to.
To use an example. If a Rabbi comes along and rules that brain death is a valid criterion of establishing the end of life, because that is how he understands the sources, he is perfectly entitled to do so. Others may disagree, but in expressing his opinion, he is in accordance with acceptable Jewish practice. If, however, he expresses the same opinion, but claims that he is correct because G-d told him so, according to Maimonidies, he is a false prophet and is liable to the appropriate penalty.
This understanding is extremely important. Because of it Judaism has avoided the sharp turns of direction caused by charismatic personalities which have plagued other religions. Judaism is based on three principles, revelation, tradition and reason. Only by basing ourselves on the Divine Torah, respecting its traditional interpretation and using our reason to interpret Jewish law for our generation, does Judaism flourish. Miracles are dodgy, uncertain and unnecessary and Judaism works very well without them.
In detailing the praise of the Land of Israel, the Torah says that it is a land which G-d's eyes are on from the beginning of the year until the end of the year. On this verse the Rabbis comment that G-d decides at the beginning of the year what will be at the end of the year. This is the basis for the idea that on Rosh Hashanah our fate for the coming year is decided. With regards to our financial well being the Rabbis further state that: 'a person's income is set on Rosh Hashanah for the year, except for what they spend on honouring Shabbat and Yom Tov and on the education of their children'.
This idea contains two important messages for us. The first is that our income is set by G-d. No matter what different methods we use to maximise our wealth, in the end, one way or another, we will end up with what we are meant to have. We might think that we have a certain amount of money and then be hit with an unexpected expense or we may be struggling and win get a windfall.
While this does not obviate our need to work to obtain income and to make prudent financial decisions, it does mean we shouldn't make it our whole existence. Some people waste their lives in pursuit of wealth. The Torah tells us that in the end we will have what we deserve, so we shouldn't spend a lot of time worrying about it.
The second message from this idea is that it matters what we do with our wealth. We might think that if we don't work on Shabbat then we will be poorer or that if we spend extra money to send our children to a Jewish school or summer camp, we will loose out. The Torah tells us the opposite is true. The more we spend on worthwhile causes the more we will, end up having.
The Torah thus sets forward a basic principle. Wealth is there for a purpose not just for our enjoyment. It is a gift from G-d which we should use for good purposes. If we do so we merit more. Judaism thus teaches that the one who gives more will, in the end, have more.
We begin this week to read the book of Deuteronomy. The final book of the Torah is traditionally called Mishneh Torah or the repetition of the Torah, a name that is mentioned in the book itself. This idea also features at the beginning of the book where, after providing the context of time and place, the Torah states that Moses 'began to elucidate this Torah'.
One would therefore expect this to be followed by some explanation of a part of the Torah or some mitzvot, but in fact this does not occur until several chapters later. The beginning of the book is taken up with a historical retrospective that basically lasts for three Parshiot. Only in Parshat Re'eh do we get to lists of mitzvot. How do we explain this dissonance?
It seems to be obvious that we have to look again at the word Torah. Rather than meaning simply a book, or the mitzvot, it appears to have a far wider meaning, for Moses history is also Torah. The record of Israel's relationship with G-d is as much a part of Torah as the mitzvot. Indeed, the structure of the Torah itself bears this out. The book of Genesis contains only three mitzvot and it is only in the third Parshah of Exodus that we encounter more. The rest is history.
But it is possible to take this idea even further. In Deuteronomy it is possible to understand how the history in the book supplies the context for the mitzvot. The wanderings in the wilderness and the imminent entry into the land provide the framework around the lists of mitzvot that make up the central portion of the book. Again, the same can be said for the Torah as a whole.
In other words, the mitzvot need to be seen both as eternally relevant but also in their historical context. But one should not regard one as more important than the other. Both serve the central purpose of the Torah, which is to create a structure for our relationship with G-d. We relate to G-d both by performing mitzvot and by remembering and learning Divinely directed Jewish history and its meaning for us today.
Thus when we mourn on Tisha B'av, reading Eicha and saying Kinot, we are not only contemplating the past but engaging in an act of learning Torah and relating to G-d.
Bamidbar (Numbers) 5777
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
It is an interesting feature of the Jewish calendar that Matot and Masei are generally joined, even in a leap year. Sometimes this means reading different portions in Israel and the Diaspora for three whole months. Why is this so important. One answer, is that the Rabbis wanted the parshiot of Pinchas, Matot and Masei to be read during the three weeks preceding Tisha B'Av.
These Parshiot contain the ideas of the inheritance of the land and its division among the tribes. This is especially true of Parshat Masei, which contains the borders of the Land of Israel. In modern times, the issue of the borders of Israel, is of course a live topic. To what extent should the borders of the modern state correspond to the biblical boundaries?
This question is often at the heart of discussions of trading 'land for peace' and the possibility of territorial compromise with Israel's neighbours. The issue is further complicated by the fact that the boundaries delineated in the Parshah are themselves often unclear and a subject of dispute among the commentators. While, the biblical borders clearly encompass more than those of modern Israel, (as well as excluding parts of the modern state, like Eilat), the northern border especially could be anywhere from the Litani river in South Lebanon to the southern tip of Turkey.
The fact is that the various Jewish states throughout history have had differing boundaries, from stretching into Lebanon and Syria to being merely an enclave around Jerusalem. This being so, how should we read these borders in the Parshah? Do they have any relevance for us or are they merely an historical footnote. I think we must reject the view of both those who ignore these boundaries as well as those who regard them as a political manifesto.
I like the idea put forward by Hertz that these are maximum borders that delineate the focus of Jewish political aspirations. Jews are not imperialists and Judaism, unlike Christianity and Islam, is not an imperial religion. Our sights are firmly set on a relatively small part of the globe, within the boundaries set out in the Torah. Even if Scotland, for example, became a Jewish state, like a modern day Khazaria, it would not be the Land of Israel and not be holy. Other than the fact that it might have a Jewish majority or government, we would have no moral or religious claim to it.
Thus, reading the delineation of the borders of the Land this week, we should see them as a statement to the world that in this small piece of land our ambitions are centred and end. We have no designs on the rest of the world; they should leave us alone.
At the beginning of the Parshah, G-d blesses Pinchas for his role in averting the disintegration of the Jewish people, during the incident at Shittim. He is given two blessings, one of peace and the other of a perpetual priesthood.
The latter blessing has puzzled the commentators. Surely, Pinchas, as a grandson of Aaron was a priest already. They give two answers. One is that only those of Aaron's son's descendants after the inauguration of the priesthood automatically became priests. Pinchas was born in Egypt, and thus did not qualify. Only when he killed Zimri did G-d extend to him the privileges of the priesthood.
The other explanation regards all of Aaron's descendants, including Pinchas, as automatically priests. What Pinchas was being offered was the right to the High Priesthood, and indeed most of the high Priests in Jewish history were descended from him.
These two explanations can be seen to provide two differing understandings of the nature of Pinchas' act. Those who regard this act as entitling Pinchas to the priesthood, see his main attribute as loyalty. He staid steadfast when everyone else went to pieces. In this he is similar to his whole tribe, whose elevation to Divine service was based on the loyalty of the Levites during the sin of the Golden Calf.
On the other hand, if the gift being given to Pinchas is that of the High Priesthood, it is telling another story. Pinchas' merit consisted not so much in his loyalty as in his initiative. He showed the attributes of leadership that qualified him for the top position.
These two qualities, loyalty and initiative, are needed in any endeavour. Without loyalty to the cause trust is eroded and common purpose and action becomes impossible. Without initiative nothing will be accomplished and the endeavour will wither and die.
Any organisation needs both. There will have to be the people that stay the course and stick with it no matter what. There also have to be people that will provide ideas and be prepared to take them forward. It is essential that they work together, one providing continuity, the other a future. The ideal is the person who combines the two.
Looking at the explanations of Pinchas' blessing, it is possible to understand that both are correct. Pinchas was both loyal and innovative and thus eminently suited for leadership.
The story of Bilaam and Balak and curses turned into blessings is one that has fascinated readers throughout the generations. Commentators and psychologists have examined his motivations, while commentators and children have respectively been puzzled by and delighted over, the incident of the talking donkey. Behind all of this lies the question of who was Balaam and why G-d thought it important to have him bless Israel.
Balaam is described in the Torah as someone who knows how to use the power of words for both good and evil. He understands that speech can be just as potent as action, and uses it to his advantage. Using him, G-d shows us how to combat evil speech and engage with negative stereotypes.
The rabbis see Balaam as a negative character possessed of the 'evil eye'. At its simplest this concept describes looking at things in a negative manner. Balaam constantly cast a baneful eye over everything he surveyed and wanted to do the same to Israel.
G-d however had other plans. He turned Balaam's curses into blessings. He didn't allow him to get away with his negative comments but forced him to look at things in a different way. It appears, that in the end, this approach changed Balaam himself. Ultimately, he looks at Israel with different eyes and breaks into rapturous praise. His negative attitude has been transformed, at least temporarily.
The story of Balaam can teach us how to deal with people who are constantly negative in their approach and speech. There exists a distressing phenomenon of people who seem to delight in negative comments even about their own family, community or country. The way to combat this is the method used in the case of Balaam.
We don't let them set the agenda but constantly counter their negativity with positive alternatives. If they criticise, we praise; if they run down we build up. Despair needs to be countered by hope; disparagement by vision. The purveyors of darkness can only be defeated by those who provide light. If we do this, then ultimately, like Balaam, the constant nay sayers may find a more positive vision.
A major conundrum in the Torah is the exact nature of Moses' sin which resulted in his exclusion from the Land. A simple reading of the Torah indicates that he showed a lack of faith in G-d. Indeed the wording of the accusation levelled at Moses is similar to that levelled at the people during the sin of the spies. In both cases the punishment is the same: exclusion from the Promised Land. Yet Jewish tradition has generally been reluctant to place Moses in the same category as the wilderness generation.
A possible solution lies in a discussion about the timing of this incident. Rashi states that the incident at Marah took place at the end of the forty years of wandering. Ramban, for various reasons, rejects this view. The timing is important as it determines with which generation Moses was interacting. Did Moses lose his temper with the new generation, treating them in a way that made it clear he was out of touch with their needs and capabilities. Or was he speaking to the previous generation, and he regarded the incident at Marah as simply a continuation of the series of rebellions that had gone before, such as that of Korach.
If we take this latter view we can more easily understand Moses' harsh designation of the people as rebels, something that seems out of place with the new generation. In light of this we can maybe better understand Moses' sin. He is leading a generation condemned to die in the wilderness. By his words we can understand that he has in fact given up on them. They are merely rebels, with no chance of redemption and no future. Whether he strikes the rock or speaks to it is irrelevant, as these people will never change.
In taking this attitude Moses, in effect, doesn't believe that G-d's educational demonstration of speaking to the rock, will work. He thus not only doubts the people, but G-d. As such, he demonstrates that he is no better than they are and renders himself liable for the same punishment. Their failure becomes his failure and ultimately their fate his fate.
This teaches us an important lesson. We should not give up on people characterising them as bad or useless. This is especially true of children. Giving youngsters a feeling that they are no good or not capable, can blight the rest of their lives. Whatever someone has done they can still reform and need to be encouraged to do so, not told they can't.
In the third chapter of Pirkei Avot or the Ethics of the Fathers, which we learn around the time of Parshat Korach, we have an interesting statement. 'Pray for the welfare of the government for without it people would eat each other alive'. This injunction is one of the reasons Jews throughout the world have a prayer for the government during Shabbat morning service. This statement meeds elucidation. The government that is being talked about here is the Roman empire which destroyed Jerusalem and oppressed the Jewish people. Yet we are instructed to pray for it. Indeed Jews throughout the ages have prayed for governments, such as that of the Tsar, that have persecuted them. This does not mean that we are masochists or believe in being nice to our oppressors. It means, as the statement above makes clear, that Judaism believes that a bad government is better than no government. The Roman government may have been dreadful but anarchy was far worse. The Rabbis knew this from bitter experience. As bad as Roman oppression was, it was nothing compared with the mayhem and murder under the anarchy that prevailed in Jerusalem before the destruction. Josephus gives us a graphic account of the chaos and bloodshed that caused the greatest Jewish leader of the time, Rabbi Jochanan ben Zakai, to see defecting to the Romans as the only way to save the Jewish people. This is the lesson of the Parshah. Korach states that 'all the people are holy' and not only Moses but everyone should be in charge. The Parshah goes on to show the consequences of such a course of action. Moses allows non-priests to offer incense and they are consumed by fire. Korach and his company are killed in an earthquake and the people visited by a plague. All this leads ends with the strengthening of the priesthood, as the people understand the dangers of Korach's vision. The Parshah that begins with the claim that 'everyone is holy' ends with the fear of the people that 'we are all doomed' and a demand for protection. They learn the hard way that the chimera of everyone being in charge is a dangerous delusion. We may not agree with the government or even disagree with our political system as currently constituted. But to think that having no government at all would be better is simply madness. Just listen to the stories of those who lived through it.
One understanding sees our mourning on Tisha B'Av as a rectification of the mistake of that generation. They wept because they didn't want to enter the Land; we will weep because we were exiled from the Land. Our longing for the Land atones for there rejection of it.
There is also a psychological understanding of this statement. The Rabbis use the expression 'wept for nothing'. In doing so they are maybe pointing out the essence of the sin of the spies that merited the harsh Divine punishment. The people wept for no reason. The false analysis of the spies led them to be unjustifiably anxious about their future and stress unnecessarily.
If we look at the narrative presented by the spies and the counter-narrative given by Joshua and Caleb, we can see that the facts were basically the same. It was how to interpret those facts that was the key. In choosing to believe the negative assessment of the spies the people showed there underlying lack of confidence, not only in G-d but in themselves.
Someone who lacks confidence will generally worry about insignificant things that someone with more self-assurance would dismiss. The converse is also true. If you encounter someone who is always stressing about the little things, it is probably a good indicator that they have a basic lack of confidence. G-d is saying to the Jewish people that if that is the case then they not only cannot enter the Land but this trait will have historical consequences. Their weeping in the present will be matched in the future not as a punishment but because this very lack of self-assurance will be the cause of future catastrophes.
If we worry about nonsense we might soon have more serious things to confront. If we dismiss the insignificant we will also be able to overcome actual challenges.
The incident of Miriam is one of the most puzzling in the Torah. For some reason Miriam had a problem with Moses' Cushite wife and spoke negatively about him. For this she was personally chastised by G-d and punished with leprosy. Her case became a classic example of the dangers of L'shon Hara or negative speech.
This theme continues in next week's Parshah with the Sin of the Spies. Here also slander leads to dire consequences. While the motivation in both cases is unclear and the subject of much discussion among the commentators, the nature of their offence is more intelligible.
Whatever the reasons for Miriam's objection to Moses' marriage it is clear from G-d's response that she made a serious error of judgement. She criticised Moses without knowing all the facts, publicly finding fault without bothering to ascertain the true situation. The ten spies make a similar mistake. They disparage the Land after a cursory inspection and spread half truths and distortions concerning the true situation.
In both cases, it would appear, they didn't actually lie outright. There was a basis to some of their claims. But they completely perverted those facts, either intentionally or by not bothering to investigate properly. In both cases the consequences were dire. In Miriam's case a debilitating disease and in the case of the spies, their own death and catastrophe for their whole generation.
The lesson of these stories is clear. We need to be careful not only not to tell or spread lies but not to report stories that we do not personally know to be true or verified. Unsubstantiated rumours that may have a grain of truth can be more dangerous than straight-out slander that can be more easily disproved. Stories that are inaccurate and misrepresent the reality can spread quickly and become regarded as truth, doing tremendous damage.
As the stories of Miriam and the spies demonstrate such activity not only hurts the person involved but can debilitate a whole nation. The Torah thus demonstrates that 'fake news' is not a new phenomena and one as damaging now as it was then.
Parshat Naso, with 176 verses, is the longest Parshah in the Torah. It is always read immediately after or occasionally before, Shavuot, symbolising our dedication to the Torah given on that festival. Other than the length of the Parshah is there any other connection to the Giving of the Torah?
In one way they contain opposite concepts of our relation to G-d. At the end of the Parshah, we read about the Dedication of the Altar by the Princes. Here we bring gifts to G-d. On Shavuot G-d gave us the gift of the Torah.
Yet that very same section of the Torah teaches us a profound lesson about the nature of Torah and our relationship to it. Famously, each Prince brings an identical offering which is faithfully repeated by the text twelve times. Yet each Prince's name is stated not only at the beginning of his section but at its end. Each offering, while identical, is thus also specific to the Prince who gave it, bearing his personal input.
The same is true of the Torah. Each person that received the Torah on Sinai seemingly heard the same thing. But at the same time G-d spoke to each person individually. Everyone connected to Revelation in a distinct way suited to their personality. So it is with the study of Torah. While we all may study the same text what we learn from it and how it affects us is different for each individual. The Torah of every Jew is thus unique.
We have been privileged this year to occasionally hear from different people giving us their own take on the Parshah. This Shavuot our learning is led by three members of our community each discussing a different topic. We will thus be privileged to hear their own aspect of Torah. Anyone that can come and hear them should certainly take to opportunity to do so.
Our Parshah teaches us that the Torah revealed on Shavuot belongs to all of us together but also to each of us in our own unique fashion.
The beginning of the book of Numbers deals with the organization of the Israelite camp in preparation for the journey from Sinai to Canaan. One of the structural changes that were implemented in this week's Parshah, was the replacement of the religious establishment. Formerly, this consisted of the first-born of each family, a common feature of tribal societies. With the creation of a nation, however, a more formalised structure was necessary and they were replaced by the tribe of Levi.
This change, however, was not merely a practical measure but contained within it a profound political and religious statement. The Rabbis tell us that the first-born were replaced by the Levites because the latter didn't take part in the sin of the Golden Calf. On the contrary, they stood by Moses and assisted him in dealing with the situation. They thus became worthy to become the ministers of G-d.
If we examine this incident we can perceive a profound ideological change. The essence of the rights of the first-born are hereditary. They are the first male born in the family and thus have special rights and responsibilities. The Levites, on the other hand, were chosen because of their actions. Even though, chronologically only the third of the tribes, they proved themselves worthy of pre-eminence. Thus, a choice based on the concept of hereditary right was replaced by one based on merit.
This is a common theme throughout the Torah. Abel, Isaac, Jacob and Moses all replaced there older siblings as the lead personality in the family by dint of their actions. The same is later true of David and Solomon. While it is true that once established both the Priesthood and the Monarchy was, for the sake of continuity, based on birth, but even this was often challenged and compromised by errant behaviour.
The Torah thus sets forward an important principle that should underlie Jewish society. It essentially rejects a hierarchical system based on birth or seniority in favour of one based on merit and integrity.
This is especially true of the Torah. The Talmud explains that great Rabbis often have delinquent children precisely in order to demonstrate that the Torah is not an inheritance but open to all. As we approach Shavuot this a lesson worth remembering.
Vayikra (Leviticus) 5777
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
At the end of the Parshah we have the restatement of the rule of 'an eye for an eye'. This appears also in Exodus and later on in Deuteronomy, each time in a separate context. Jewish tradition has always interpreted this principle as referring to monetary compensation, with the sole exception of murder. Many modern scholars explain that in fact, in the context of other ancient Near Eastern law codes, that is the literal meaning of the term.
On the other hand this verse has been used to denigrate Jews and Judaism, especially by Christians who compare it with there so-called 'religion of love'. In modern times critics of Israel have accused the Jewish State of literally applying this rule in its military policy, something Jews normally vigorously deny. But is there in fact a place for a literal application of 'an eye for an eye', precisely in the Israeli context?
In his famous essay on the religious meaning of the State of Israel, 'The Voice of My Beloved Knocks', Rabbi Dov Soleveitchik comes close to such a proposition. One of the most important modern Jewish philosophers, a doyen of Modern Orthodoxy, considers that one of the momentous changes brought about by the creation of Israel is that Jewish blood is no longer cheap. Those wishing to attack Jews now know, that unlike in the Holocaust and the centuries preceding, Jews will fight back and exact a price from their enemies.
He states that if anti-Semites describe Israel's military approach as 'an eye for an eye' we will agree with them. While upholding the traditional Jewish interpretation of the verse, he goes on to state that 'with respect to the Mufti and Nasser I would demand that we interpret the verse in accordance with its literal meaning – the taking of an actual eye!' The same could be said today with regards to Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran.
This might sound harsh or even extremist to some of you put his point is well made. Much of the criticism of Israel is based on precisely the premise that Jewish blood is somehow less important than that of our enemies. The condemnation of Israel for doing what every other nation would do in the circumstances, is consciously or subconsciously, founded on the premise that Jews shouldn't really defend themselves.
As Rabbi Soleveitchik points out one of the important tasks of Israel is to disabuse the world of precisely this notion. When we sometimes apply the principle of 'an eye for an eye' literally, we are putting our enemies on notice that if you attack Jews you will pay a price, a heavy price.
Parshat Aharei Mot-Kedoshim
The Parshah begins with the service of the High Priest on Yom Kippur. The rest of the Parshah deals with various laws concerning daily Jewish life and forms the centre of the Torah, both literally and thematically.
We are so used to this juxtaposition that we don't think about it. But it is actually quite strange. Why is what is essentially a sacrificial festival service placed in the section on laws concerning daily life? It would seem to be more sensible to have placed it either at the end of the details of the sacrificial service in the first half of the book or in the section on festivals later on.
The answer is that the Yom Kippur and its service is no ordinary service and no ordinary day. It contains an important message whose place is precisely amongst the laws of our Parshah. The laws we read this week have as their ideal the idea of holiness in every day life. This is a concept that is emphasised several times in the Parshah. By means of the mitzvot we observe we are to introduce a connection to G-d into our daily lives. And this is where Yom Kippur comes in.
The essence of Yom Kippur is a simple idea that is basic to Judaism. If you make a mistake, you can correct it; if you are on the wrong path you can change direction. This idea is called Teshuva which is often translated as repentance but really means return or coming back. This is essential to the subject matter of the Parshah.
The Torah, in the mitzvot we read to today, seeks to make us holy and a fundamental component of holiness is the ability to recognise and correct our mistakes. The ideal sought by the Torah is not someone who never sins but someone who sins and repents. Only angels never err and Judaism believes humans are more important than angels. G-d created us to fail and correct our failures; to fall and rise again. That is what it means to be Jewish, that is what it means to follow the Torah.
If so, we can understand that the day of the year that encapsulates this idea should be placed at the very beginning of the Holiness Code of Leviticus. Yom Kippur is where it is in the Torah because the return it enables is the basis of everything that comes after. Only someone prepared to stumble but also ascend can truly be holy.
The plague of leprosy mentioned in the Torah is regarded as a punishment for slander, or saying bad things about others. This is learnt from a couple of places in the Torah, primarily from the incident of Miriam. As a consequence of speaking about Moses, Miriam was stricken with leprosy. The disease is also seen as a fitting punishment, as it entails separation from human contact or friendship, the very thing the slanderer hoped to inflict on their victim.
But do the symptoms of the disease themselves have anything to tell us about the sin of slander? The basic symptom of the disease as described in the Torah is that the skin or hair of the sufferer change colour. The job of the priest is to come and decide whether this change of appearance is harmless or the sign of an affliction. The priest's then decides, based on the person's outward appearance whether the person is declared leprous.
This contains within it an important message. Often, when people speak badly of others they believe that they have justification. They see something wrong in the behaviour of the person and regard this as sufficient reason to publicly criticise them. They don't necessarily take the time to investigate the reasons for the person's behaviour or whether this necessitates or permits speaking negative things about them. They make a judgement only based on superficial appearances.
Their punishment is to get a disease that requires them to be examined according to their appearance. The priest has to make a decision about them based on the way they look. They learn what is to be judged by others in the way they judged others. They experience the trauma of being criticised for merely how they appear to be. Thus they are led to an understanding of what they have done to others which will hopefully cause them to refrain from doing it in the future.
It is generally advisable to endeavour to only to speak positively about people. It may, sometimes, be necessary to criticise or negatively discuss others. Before we do so we should be very clear that we understand what is really going on and not reach superficial judgements that, like leprosy, are only skin deep.
In the Parshah we read of the tragic death of Aaron's sons. One can imagine his feelings at such a time. Yet Moses seems to compound his suffering by instructing both Aaron and his surviving sons not to mourn. They are not allowed to show any outward sign of mourning but must carry on with their appointed task.
At first sight this seems to be a case of putting public interest before private need. They must subsume their personal feelings in order not to disrupt the celebrations surrounding the dedication of the Tabernacle. We have an echo of this in Jewish practice today, where the public rejoicing of a Torah festival cancels or postpones the mourning period for an individual. Yet I think we can discover a deeper meaning in Aaron's actions. Aaron is told that he is not to mourn but everyone else will mourn over this tragedy. So the issue is not the mourning itself but the example that Aaron is meant to set. What might that be?
Aaron is High Priest and his children are priests. They hold the most exalted positions in their society. Yet this tragedy could have derailed them. The very position they held was the source of the tragedy. They could have become bitter and angry, losing their ability to carry out their duties and forfeiting their advantages. Moses is telling them that while mourning is appropriate for such a tragedy, they themselves must rise above it. They need to accentuate the positive nature of their position rather than dwelling on the tragedy. In short Moses is telling them not to allow themselves to become victims.
The lesson they can teach by refraining from public mourning is that while others may victimise us, only we decide whether we thereby become victims. It is our decision whether we let tragedy define us or we define it. We read directly after this that Aaron is able to receive direct communication from G-d and even to correct Moses. This is because instead of letting his tragedy drag him down, he used it to raise him up.
We are not on Aaron's level or hold his position and for us in such situations mourning is appropriate. But the lesson he taught by his actions is still relevant to us. As individuals and as a nation we should never allow ourselves to become victims. We are should never be defined by what others have done to us but by what we have done and who we are.
Parshat Shabbat Pesach
We relate on the 7th Day of Pesach the Crossing of the Sea. This, the culminating miracle of Pesach, seemed to have even less audience participation than the Exodus itself. On the night of the final plague the Jews had at least performed the mitzvot of the Seder; while here the people seem to be only passive observers.
Yet that is only superficially. If we examine the story more carefully we can see that the Israelites were required to perform a great act; one that required both courage and faith. It is true that G-d parted the sea for them but the people still had to go forward between the walls of water. Indeed, according to the midrash, only when they moved forward into the sea did the waters part. But even according to the plain meaning of the text it took great fortitude and belief in G-d to advance along a path that at any moment could become a fatal quagmire.
On Shabbat Pesach we read the Song of Songs. In this love story there exists an interesting episode. The lover knocks on the door of his girlfriend’s lodgings but is already ready for bed. When he asks her to come out with him she procrastinates, saying that she has to get dressed and put on her makeup. By the time she is ready her lover has already gone and she is forced to roam the streets searching for him.
The Rabbis compared this to the Jewish people and their Divine suitor. G-d calls on the Jews to follow him in order that they He can redeem them. He knocks on their door begging them to leave what they are doing and go after him. Yet they procrastinate, not sure of how to respond; preferring the comfort of the familiar to the unknown path G-d is calling them to. By the time they make up their mind it is to late and they have to spend years searching for G-d. This was the fate of the Jews at the time of the return from Babylon; not supporting the return they lost the chance of inaugurating the Messianic age. Unlike their fathers at the Sea they did not have the faith to follow G-d and so we are still waiting for the Redemption.
The last days of Pesach are traditionally days of anticipation of the final redemption. In reading the story of the Crossing of the Sea we see how we should respond to G-d’s call. In reciting the Song of Songs we learn the dangers of procrastination. We ask G-d to redeem us but are we heeding the Divine knock at the door. It could be that rather than us waiting for G-d, G-d is waiting for us.
One of the interesting features of the list of the various types of sacrifices found in our Parshah is the guilt offering or Asham. This sacrifice is brought to atone for three types of misdemeanour: not bearing witness, being ritually unclean and not fulfilling an oath. What is interesting about this list is that the last two are clearly sins between humans and G-d. Becoming unclean and entering into the temple or eating holy things is a ritual offence. Swearing to G-d to do something and not doing it, compromises the relationship between that person and G-d.
The first offence, however, seems to primarily affect other human beings. Someone that knows evidence in a case and does not come forward can either cause the innocent to be convicted or the guilty to be acquitted. This being the case, why is this sin included in this offering and not in the sacrifice later on that deals with offences against other people? The answer could be that refusing to give testimony is in a direct manner a sin between someone and G-d. Of course, all injustice also offends G-d and disturbs our relationship with him but refusing to come forward and testify is in a profound way a betrayal of our relationship with G-d.
Why does someone not want to bear witness? There can be many reasons but most often because they are afraid of becoming involved. They may fear the retribution from the guilty party or simply not want to be in the public eye. This attitude shows a lack of courage, a deficiency stemming from a lack of trust in G-d.
If one has a deep relationship with the Divine, then you are not afraid of doing the right thing. You may be fearful of the consequences of your action, but your respect for G-d and your trust in his ability to protect you outweighs this worry. Someone who refuses to testify is in effect saying that they are more afraid of people than of G-d. A person who steals or lies may have had a moment of weakness, but someone who refuses to testify has a fundamental problem in his attitude and relationship with G-d.
They are thus more in the category of someone who is willing to take an oath and not keep it, than someone who simply commits an isolated crime. Their whole approach to life is wrong and they need a special sacrifice to help them correct it.
Shemot (Exodus) 5777
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
If we examine the list of the donations to the Tabernacle, we find that the precious stones and the ingredients for the oil and incense were donated last. The text specifically states that they were donated by the Princes. The rabbis comment that they decided to stand back and let everyone else give what they could and then they would contribute what was lacking.
This would seem to be a praiseworthy attitude. Yet the Rabbis also noticed that the text spells their name defectively, leaving out the 'yud' that normally would be there. This was, they explain, because they were dilatory in bringing their donations. Being, that there intentions were seemingly honourable, why should they be criticised for this delay?
The answer lies in a verse in the special Haftorah we read this week. In discussing the service in the rebuilt Third Temple, Ezekiel talks of the Prince's offerings. As part of this he mentions that when the Prince goes to the Temple he should enter and leave among the people. In other words, he shouldn't have his own private visit but should worship G-d with the rest of the congregation. The Prince should be a part of the people not stand apart from them.
This, then, was the issue with the Princes' donations to the Tabernacle. However well intentioned their actions, the fact that they waited to the end and didn't contribute with the rest of the people showed that they regarded themselves as separate from the congregation not part of it. They thus fundamentally misunderstood the nature of Jewish leadership.
In the Haftorah which we read the week following Pesach, Michal the wife of King David criticises his rejoicing with the people when the ark was brought to Jerrusalem. Because of this, the text informs us, she never had children, which seems a bit harsh. But it criticising David's actions she showed that she didn't understand the nature of Jewish monarchy, thus proving unfit to bear a future king.
It is significant that when we read the Torah the person layening stands in the middle of the congregations and the person leading the prayers, prays with the congregation not apart from them. This is a crucial component of being a Rabbi or other Jewish leader. You are a part of the community, not apart from them.
One of the shocking features of the sin of the Golden Calf is the role of Aaron. This had serious consequences. The Rabbis connect the death of Aaron's two sons during the Dedication of the Tabernacle to his participation in this incident. Various defences have been given for his conduct, such as he was seeking to preserve the peace or was afraid for his own safety. These explanations, while genuine in themselves, don't satisfactorily justify the his harsh punishment.
I believe an explanation may be found in the excuse he gives to Moses. He begins by saying 'you know the people that they seek after evil' or 'are always doing bad things' (the Hebrew is ambivalent). Aaron seems to exculpate his own lack of leadership by denigrating the people. Instead of admitting that he panicked and went along with the people's demands rather than seeking to dissuade them, he puts all the blame on them. Rather than lead he was led, but instead of owning up to his failure he exacerbates it by defaming those he was in charge of.
Unfortunately, this is not uncommon. It often happens that people who are unhappy with the state of the organisation they belong to, instead of realising their own role in the issues involved, choose to criticise the organisation to others. This, of course, just makes matters worse and ends up denigrating the defamer.
Our Parshah, however, shows us another way to behave. When Joshua hears the commotion in the camp he doesn't immediately assume the worst of the people but thinks someone has attacked them. Moses, who knows the truth, acts with anger when he perceives the gravity of the situation, but then is prepared to put his own life on the line in order to save his people.
In consequence, Moses is vouchsafed an intimate vision of G-d while Joshua becomes his ultimate successor. They didn't react to a difficult situation, for which they had no responsibility, by denigrating the people but by working positively to change the situation. That is the way to positively influence people and achieve your aims.
So, if you are unhappy with what is happening in a family, organisation or community, you have two choices. You can chose to evade responsibility by denigrating your organisation to all and sundry, in the end demeaning yourself most of all. Or you can take responsibility and positively work to change things for the better.
An interesting feature of the instructions for the building of the Tabernacle is the place of the Altar of Incense. In the account of the actual building of the Tabernacle. The Altar of Incense appears, as one might expect, with the other interior furniture: the Ark, Table and Menorah. However, in the plan of the Tabernacle it appears at the end of this week's Parshah, after the data on the clothes of the priests, not with the other furniture in last week's Parshah.
What is the thematic connection that causes this displacement? The incense is made up of various ingredients. Famously, one of the them is not sweet smelling. This is not an accident. The Rabbis explain that this is to emphasise to us the importance of including in our prayers and ceremonies those they may not always live up to traditional Jewish standards. A similar idea can be found in the materials used for the priestly garments. While the mixture of wool and linen is strictly forbidden in normal garments, we find that it is exactly of such a mixture that the priestly garments are constituted.
Thus both the clothes of the priests and the Altar of Incense teach us the importance of not seeing things in black and white and, especially, of not rejecting people because they don't measure up to our idea of perfection. While we have the right or duty to expect the best from ourselves, we shouldn't expect perfection from others. One of the greatest misuses of religion is the division of the world into black and white, us and them.
This also applies to how we look at ourselves, especially when it comes to Israel. Some Jews seem to feel that Israel has to be perfect in order to exist. A letter in last week's Chronicle stated that:'Judaism should strive for the highest standards if we wish to justify a Jewish state'. The first half of the statement is undoubtedly true; the second half dangerously false. Jews have an intrinsic right to a state irrespective of the behaviour of that state. We may expect the best from Israel but to link that expectation with its right to exist is to use double standards and is a form of anti-Semitism, even when expressed by Jews.
Today's world is full of groups that want to divide everything into good and evil, with the results that we can see. The Torah teaches us a better way. The world is not black and white and there is no 'them', only 'us'.
We begin this week the first of the four and a half Parshiot that deal with the building of the Tabernacle. The whole last portion of the book of Exodus, except for the narrative of the Golden Calf, is concerned with this topic. Many other passages in the Torah also refer to the Tabernacle, and it's successor Temple in Jerusalem, was a central feature of Jewish life.
Right at the beginning of the project the Torah makes an interesting observation. G-d commands the Jewish people to build a Tabernacle, in order that: 'I may dwell among them'. Famously it does not state that G-d will dwell in the Tabernacle but among the people.
We can understand the reason for this emphasis by reflecting on the slogan of the Glasgow City Council 'People make Glasgow'. What this is saying is that, possibly in contrast to Edinburgh, it is not the physical infrastructure or historic landmarks of the city that makes it great but the quality of its people.
The Torah is making the same point. The Tabernacle may be an important feature of Jewish life, symbolising the Presence of G-d, but what makes it important is the place of G-d in the hearts of the people. The prophets disabused those who believed that the of the Temple by itself would save the Jewish people. If they didn't follow G-d the Temple was merely a burden that could be done away with, not a talisman that would save them from destruction. The rabbis stated that when Titus boasted of destroying the Temple, a Divine voice stated 'you have destroyed a destroyed building'. He merely burnt bricks and mortar: G-d was no longer there. The Temple no longer had meaning.
This is a very important point to remember. People can get hung up on buildings thinking that they are the most important thing, and forgetting that buildings exist to serve people, not the other way round. A community without a building is still a community; a building without a community is useless. Looking after the physical infrastructure may be important; investing in the people is vital. As they might say in Glasgow: People make Communities.
Judaism is often called a legalistic religion, and the Parshah this week with its many and multifaceted laws would seem to bear that out. There are laws covering various aspects of human relationships from property rights to marriage, commercial relationships to helping your neighbour with their burden.
This reflects the Torah view that through Law we can properly regulate human behaviour and create a just and prosperous society. Especially, when dealing with the most vulnerable in society only the structure of divinely sanctioned legislation can protect the weak and sustain the destitute. Yet the Torah does not therefore believe that Law is the sole basis of society or that its strict application is the sum of human relationships.
A different facet is elucidated in the special Haftorah we read this Shabbat. Recounting the Temple restoration project of King Joash, the Bible tells us that he made chest into which the people put their donations. This money was then handed over to the workmen. The narrator then makes a point of noting that this money was not strictly accounted for, 'because they worked with integrity'. In other words, the basis of the relationship between those paying for the work and those doing it was that of trust.
Here we have a different perspective on how Judaism perceives human interaction. Law is not enough. It is merely the framework which guarantees peoples rights. But for society to really work we need something more, that people trust each other. When people act with integrity then the Law, while not redundant, is less prominent. When trust breaks down in a society, even strict application of the law might not save that society from disintegration. That, the Rabbis tell us, was precisely what happened in the last years of the Second Temple, leading to its inevitable destruction.
In our society we have many laws that guarantee our rights and freedoms. But as we are beginning to see, if our leaders stop acting with integrity and there is a breakdown in trust, all the laws in the world won't prevent destructive forces from coming to the fore.
Rashi then quotes a saying that one should not insult non-Jews in front of a convert. This seems to be a rather surprising suggestion, that there is some special racial sensitivity in converts to negative Jewish attitudes to the non-Jewish world.
Yet another comment of Rashi puts a different slant on this idea. Jethro no sooner arrives than he starts giving Moses advice. The way he administers justice alone is not good, with people waiting to be heard from morning to night. Here, Rashi comments that Jethro's specific concern was with 'the honour of Israel'. It was intolerable that the Jewish people should have to suffer the indignity of waiting all day for justice, and for this he reproved Moses.
Putting these two cases together, we can see a somewhat different picture emerging. It is not that Jethro as a convert has a special concern for the honour of non-Jews. It is that he has a special sensitivity in general for human dignity, something that may be less obvious in those born Jewish. Why should this be so?
Jews are born into a religion but also an ethnic group. Like members of other ethnic groups, we can sometimes be self-absorbed in our own story, and less sensitive to the needs of others. Yet Judaism is also a faith with a universal vision. On Succot, we offer sacrifices for all the nations of the world.
We are meant to be a light to the nations, yet sometimes that light is hidden by our preoccupation with ourselves. Converts, who join us from outside our insular ethnicity, bring with them something very special. They both remind us of our universal mission and often inject a needed sensitivity to the needs and opinions of others.
This is what Jethro brought to Moses. That sensitivity was a necessary prerequisite to the giving of the Torah, given to the Jews but, through our observance of it, also a light to all the nations
‘See that G-d has given you the Shabbat therefore he gives you bread for two days; sit everyone in his spot, let no one leave his place on the seventh day’. With this statement G-d in our Parshah rebukes the Israelites for attempting to gather the manna on Shabbat. In it He lays out His manifesto with regards to the meaning of the Shabbat.
First of all Shabbat is a gift. G-d has not ‘commanded’ or ‘ordered’ us concerning the Shabbat rather He has ‘given’ us this day. It is not a burden to be carried but a present to be treasured. Furthermore, G-d has given us the ability to keep Shabbat. No one has ever starved by not working on Shabbat. Throughout Jewish history observant Jews have believed that G-d would not let them suffer economic loss for keeping Shabbat and that is even truer today when it is easier than ever.
But what precisely is the nature of this gift which G-d provides for us? The answer is found in the second half of the verse. The concept of techumim – or Shabbat boundaries is hard to understand. What is wrong with using ones Shabbat rest to go visiting friends or contemplating creation simply because it’s more than a kilometre walk away. Why are we essentially meant to stay at home?
The answer is that Shabbat is about more than simply ceasing from creative activity in order to rediscover G-d’s ownership of the world. That is not a gift. Shabbat is also, and maybe primarily, intended to enable us to rediscover G-d in ourselves and in others.
Shabbat is above all a time for us to think. Not to watch television or use the internet which fill our minds with the noise of the thoughts of others. Not even to go on a long hike to rediscover nature. We are meant to stay in our home environment in order to rediscover ourselves and connect with those around us. To refrain running away from ourselves but rather embracing who we are. That is the gift of Shabbat. The gift of self-knowledge that is our greatest treasure.
There is nothing better than sitting in the peace of a Shabbat afternoon and simply thinking. Stay put and find yourself; who knows what you will discover.
The dialogue between Moses and Pharaoh reaches its climax this week. It was never going to be an easy relationship. Coming from two entirely different world views it was hard for them to find common ground. Yet while they were still negotiating there was a chance of some sort of resolution.
That ends this week. After the ninth plague and Moses' demand that the Jews leave with not only their families but also their livestock, Pharaoh tells Moses that if he dares to approach him again, he will be killed. Moses retorts that indeed they will not meet again and, after announcing the final plague, storms out in a huff. This climatic confrontation is quickly followed by the catastrophic destruction of the first-born, including Pharaoh's son, and Pharaoh's frantic plea for the Jews to immediately leave before further disasters occur. When they do meet again it is far too late.
What we see in this sequence of events is the price of not talking. As long as the two sides were in dialogue with each other it was possible that the final calamity could be avoided. There was a relationship between them that could be exploited to work through the problem. Once Pharaoh refused to even see Moses only overwhelming force could resolve the situation. The lack of dialogue created a dead end that made a peaceful resolution impossible, and made a violent outcome inevitable.
This teaches us an important lesson in disputes resolution, whether at a personal or national level. Dialogue may not always lead somewhere but it keeps the lines of communication open and generally prevents a deterioration in the situation. Once people stop talking, however, things can only get worse. With no contact to moderate the worst suspicions of the other, the actors increasingly believe that only forceful measures will solve the problem and increasingly become more belligerent and threatening, leading to a downward spiral that can only end badly.
Negotiation preserves hope; a hostile silence expunges it. Winston Churchill once said that 'jaw-jaw is better than war-war'. The Parshah teaches that when jaw-jaw stops war-war is not far away. Far better a noisy war using words than a silent conflict using weapons.
This week we read of the series of plagues that G-d brought upon Egypt. As well as a device for forcing Pharaoh to release the Israelites, the plagues were also punishment for the oppression inflicted upon the Israelites.
This was foreshadowed in G-d's promise to Abraham that his descendants would be persecuted in a strange land but that in the end their persecutors would be punished for their behaviour. From this prophecy given to Abraham arises an important moral question. If it was G-d's will, and indeed prediction, that the Israelites be enslaved and suffer, how could they then be punished for doing so?
The commentators give various answers to the question but the one I think is most reasonable and relevant is based on an important Talmudic dictum: 'there is no messenger for a sinful act'. In practical terms this means that if someone tells you to steal something or vandalise someone's property, you are held responsible, not the person who told you to do it.
The Talmud explains this rule by another dictum phrased as a question: 'faced with the opinion of the pupil or the opinion of the teacher, who should you follow? In other words if G-d told you not to steal and your friend told you to steal, surely you should follow G-d, not your friend.
Judaism, by these statements is declaring that we are independent moral actors. We have the ability to make our own moral judgement, independent of the opinion of others. G-d didn't tell the Egyptians to enslave the Israelites. The fact that He predicted to Abraham that the Jews would be oppressed didn't mean that they had to be the ones to do it. If they had acted morally and not persecuted the Jews, G-d would have found another way to fulfil His plan.
Whatever else is going on around us and whatever others may incite us to do, we are required to make our own ethical decisions and will be held accountable for them. The story of the Exodus teaches us that we don't have to do anyone else’s dirty work, even G-d's.
In the Parshah we talk about the enslavement of the Israelites. This begins with a special tax and ends with genocide. What can we learn from this episode for our lives today?
Today we have both traditional slavery in places in Africa and Asia and virtual slavery in some areas even in developed countries. Zero hours contracts, for example, especially if they are exclusive, can be seen as a form of modern day slavery.
This brings out an interesting point, that is also highlighted in the Parshah. It is noteworthy that the Egyptian bondage started with work that may have been paid. It was a discriminatory burden placed only on the Israelites but wasn't necessarily unpaid labour or it was labour as a form of taxation, not outright slavery.
As seen with zero hours contracts, therefore, slavery can include, and often begins with, paid labour. The roots of bondage lie in the attitude of employers to their staff. How workers are treated is an indication of how society looks at those who do the labour that keeps us all alive and comfortable.
Do we say that because people are paid for such labour we don't need to acknowledge them and it doesn't matter how we treat them or do we honour the Divine image in each person and treat them with consideration and gratitude?
Do we say thank you to the people that clean our houses and businesses, keep our streets tidy and service our supermarkets? Or do we think that simply because they are paid for what they do we don't need to show our appreciation?
Saying thank you to a bus driver when leaving the bus or to a checkout assistant shows them that we value what they do, see them as a personality not merely a tool to serve us and can really make their day.
So let's not be Pharaohs believing people should serve us, but next time we leave a bus, exit a supermarket or use the services of a cleaner, let's show our appreciation.
It makes all the difference.
Bereishit (Genesis) 5777
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
In the Parshah Jacob blesses his sons before his death. To each he gives a blessing in accordance with their character and some he chastises rather than praising. Two of those he rebukes are Shimon and Levi, mostly about their massacre of the people of Shechem.
The Rabbis note that when reproving them for their actions he doesn't curse them personally but only their character traits: 'Cursed be their anger for it was strong'. This teaches us that when confronting someone’s negative actions we should endeavour to not denigrate them personally but concentrate on what they have done.
Jacob does this for another important reason that is seen in what he decrees for them in the future. As a consequence of their behaviour they are destined to be scattered among the other tribes: 'I will divide them in Jacob and scatter them in Israel'. This, however, was fulfilled in very different ways for each of them. Shimon lost his distinctiveness as a tribe and was absorbed into the tribe of Judah. Levi, on the other hand, was scattered among the people as honoured teachers and priests, and thus became the most honoured tribe.
The reason for this different outcome is how they used their propensity for anger. Shimon used it negatively, rebelling against Moses and G-d in a flagrant breach of morality with a Moabite woman. Levi, on the other hand, used this emotion to fight for Moses at the time of the Golden Calf and indeed to defuse the rebellion of Shimon.
Thus Jacob's prophecy was fulfilled for each of them in accordance with their subsequent actions. By not cursing them personally but rather reprimanding what they chose to do with their anger he gives them the opportunity to turn this trait into something positive.
This teaches us an important lesson. We all have character traits that can be seen as negative. Yet they are not blind determiners of our actions. We have the choice of what to do with them and whether to use them for positive or negative ends. What ever our personal make up it is up to us whether we become a Shimon or a Levi.
The Dilemma of Exile.
The Torah states that when the Israelites moved to Egypt they lived in the land of Goshen. It is interesting that three different reasons are given for this decision. Both Pharaoh and the Torah narrative indicate that this was the best land in the country. Joseph tells his brothers that it is in order that his family would be close to him. However, when describing Pharaoh's offer to representatives of the brothers the Torah states that it is because they were shepherds and the Egyptians abominated all shepherds.
We thus have differing rationale for the Israelites all living together in one place: economic benefit, family and cultural solidarity and external hostility.
These three perspectives have influenced Jewish life in the Diaspora ever since. Do Jews live where there is most economic opportunity even though there may be less Jewish life or do they prioritise Jewish community over economics? Do they seek to integrate into the surrounding culture by geographical dispersion or do they congregate together for added security?
The last issue is perhaps the most interesting. It is often thought that Jews congregating together in voluntary or compelled ghettos serves to isolate Jews from wider society serving to increase hostility towards them. The Torah provides a different perspective. It specifically notes that they lived together in Goshen in order to lessen hostility to their presence and different culture and mores. Furthermore, the Torah at the beginning of the period of oppression, makes a point of noting that the 'land was filled with them'. The Sages understood this as indicating a reason for increasing hostility towards them leading to persecution.
Thus, when we discuss the issue, for example of Jewish schools, it is often said that they decrease integration and encourage alienation from society. Even those supportive of the idea defend it in terms of its value for Jewish identity, not its effect on integration. Yet the Torah seems to challenge this idea. Talking of the first Diaspora, it contends that it is precisely by sticking together that Jews lessen external hostility and gain the respect of their neighbours.
Something important to bear in mind when contemplating the Jewish future.
The Connection to the Land.
After being appointed Viceroy of Egypt Joseph proceeds to prepare for the seven years of famine he predicted. The Torah tells us that he does so by storing the produce of each area in its local city. On this verse Rashi comments that he placed a bit of the earth of the region the crop was grown in along with the produce to prevent it from decaying.
Whatever the actual scientific basis for this practice, it has an important message to impart to us. Crops uprooted from the soil need to take with them some of that soil to stay fresh and not decompose. In the same way a people uprooted from its land need to take a memento of that land with them in order to survive.
The prime exemplars of this are, of course, the Jews. While Judaism created structures that enabled it to survive without a land without the basic connection to the Land of Israel Jews would have assimilated. Only the expectation of return kept us alive and united as a people. This hope is expressed on virtually every page of the siddur.
This is also the importance of Hanukah and its difference from Purim. Purim, the quintessential diaspora festival, teaches us how to survive as a distinct, powerless entity amongst other nations. Hanukah with its emphasis on both the military victory and the Temple in Jerusalem teaches us how to remain a nation. Before the long exile following the destruction of the Second Temple, Jews were given a last short period of independence, a memory and a festival to take with them.
When we commemorate the victory of the Maccabees we remember that we are not only a religion but a nation that was capable of fighting for its distinctive culture. The emphasis on the Temple as the centre of the Maccabees' aspirations reminds us that we are united not only by a religion and culture but by a geographical location. The Hanukah lights we carried with us into every nation connected us to our history, our land and our Temple.
If you want to explain to people about the connection of Jews to Israel the best way is to do it is to do two things. Show them the siddur and tell them the story of Hanukah.
We begin this week the story of Joseph that takes up the last third of Genesis and covers four Parshiot. In the middle of this week's Parshah, however, we have the story of Judah and Tamar. This is not an anomaly. In fact the story of Joseph is in many ways the tale of two brothers: Joseph and Judah. It traces their character development from unruly youth to leaders of the clan. If we examine their stories in parallel we see that this personal evolution is achieved through both tragedy and suffering and challenging moral situations. Joseph's story is well known. He begins as a precocious favourite child, showing off to his brothers. He suffers exile and slavery and the moral challenge of Potiphar's wife before rising to greatness. He uses this greatness not for revenge on his brothers but in order to effect reconciliation. Judah's younger years are also problematic. It seems that he was the motivating force behind Joseph's sale. He too suffers exile from his family and personal tragedy with the death of two of his sons. He faces a difficult moral trial in the incident with Tamar but rises to lead the family and offer himself instead of his younger brother as a slave to Joseph. He thus also enables the reconciliation of the brothers. If we are looking for the crucial incident of these two lives that show their positive character development it lies in their interaction with determined women. They have to decide how to respond and both do so in a moral way even though this seems to contradict their own best interest. For Joseph it would have been far more profitable to give in to Potiphar's wife's advances. Judah had been given the perfect pretext to get rid of the troublesome woman that he at least partly blamed for the death of his children. Yet neither surrender to selfish motives. Rather, their adversity has transformed them into men capable of being sensitive to others and their needs and rights. Indeed it is this sensitivity that enables Joseph to interpret the dreams of Pharaoh and his servants and Judah to provide guidance to his father at a critical moment. Their moral growth throughout the story is apparent. Hardship and sorrow have transformed them. This is one of the lessons we are meant to learn from the story. Disappointment, adversity and even tragedy are unavoidable facts of life. Yet they can also be catalysts for moral transformation. The question is what to we do with these situations. Do we become angry and disillusioned or do we like Joseph and Judah use them to change ourselves for the better.
As Jacob gets ready to meet Esau the Torah mentions his wives and sons. Dinah, his daughter, is conspicuously absent. A midrash quoted by Rashi provides the explanation. Jacob hid her in a trunk so that Esau wouldn't lay eyes on her and 'for this he was punished because he withheld her from him, for maybe she would have improved his behaviour, and she fell into the hands of Shechem'. This midrash is disturbing on several levels. Firstly it completely ignores the wishes of Dinah. Whether she would of wanted to marry Esau or not seems to be irrelevant. Even worse, it completely instrumentalises her. It is Jacob who withheld her from Esau and it is Jacob who is punished by her rape. Dinah does not exist as a independent entity but solely as an instrument of her father. While one can explain the midrash as reflecting the attitudes of the time, they are totally unacceptable to us today and we can query whether we can learn anything from it. I think we can. If we leave aside the instrumentalisation of Dinah and examine the actual message of the midrash, a powerful idea emerges. Jacob his criticised for withholding Dinah from Esau who could have been improved by her. Underlying this is a premise that Dinah indeed had the potential as Esau's wife to make a positive difference in his life. Jacob, however, showed a lack of compassion for his brother and withheld from him this possibility. In contradiction to the underlying assumption of the midrash, Jacob did not believe that Dinah could change Esau because he did not believe Esau could change for the better. For this he was punished with the incident in Shechem. In this case as well Jacob's sons show a lack of belief in the possibility of changing the people of the city. Having Dinah marry Hamor and creating a relationship between the people of Shechem and Jacob's family was not seen as a positive opportunity. Despite the willingness of the people of the city to undergo the painful procedure of circumcision, Jacob's son repudiated the possibility that this new relationship could bring the city closer to the ideas and morals of Abraham's legacy. Rather, as in the case of Esau, the people of Shechem were regarded as irredeemable and dealt with in a hostile manner. Here too Jacob's sons withheld a possible catalyst for betterment from people they regarded as incapable of transformation. The fact that the Rabbis made such a point, in however unpalatable manner for us today, shows they believed that such an attitude is a serious character flaw. To deny the possibility of someone changing for the better is a denial of the basic Jewish belief of Teshuvah. To withhold that possibility from someone is to deny their Divine image and essentially to negate their humanity. The midrash is telling us that everybody, no matter what the have done, can turn over a new leaf and improve themselves and therefore everyone deserves to be given that chance: even Esau.
A puzzling episode in the Parshah occurs when Jacob arrives in Haran. As was normal for a stranger seeking information, he goes to the local well. There he meets three groups of shepherds whom he questions about Laban and his family. He then, however, questions why they are seeming to pack up in the middle of the day and not watering the flock. Despite their explanation of waiting for everyone in order to open the well, when Jacob sees Rachel and Laban's sheep he opens the well and waters them without waiting for everyone else. For a stranger coming to town it seems an extraordinary way to behave. Not only does he presume to give advice to the locals on how they should behave but then totally ignores their conventions and does his own thing. One explanation is that the shepherds were hired men which he was used to ordering around in running Isaac's estate. Yet it still seems a bit of a chutzpah. It is possible, however, that Jacob behaved in this manner because he saw something morally wrong. He may have regarded the refusal to open the well as an unwarranted burden on other shepherds and when Rachel came refused to let her wait and opened the well himself. Or, as Rashi hints, he may have thought that the hired hands were simply being lazy and using an excuse to hang around gossiping rather than doing their work. Either way, Jacob demonstrates a readiness to interfere when he sees something happening he regards as wrong. This is a trait that is also seen in his descendants. Moses twice acts like this when he sees Jethro's daughters being mistreated and the Hebrew slave being beaten. David also was known for this trait. Being ready to interfere to right a wrong, even at risk to yourself, is a sign of a person with moral values. It is far easier to simply ignore what is happening and say that it is none of your business or that you will be ineffective, than stand up for what is right. How many of us if we saw a school kid being bullied by his peers would step in and do something, even though the very fact of our adult intervention would probably be effective. If we see something clearly wrong happening in public are we prepared to interfere or leave it to the police who will almost certainly arrive too late. In our society most people simply ignore something if it doesn't directly effect them. Yet davka in a Jewish society things are different. In Israel it is far less common for people to simply ignore public disturbances. A nice example is what happens when a child is upset on a bus. In Scotland either they would be ignored or given a nasty stare for disturbing the peace. In Israel, people will intervene trying to calm the child as well as giving unsolicited advice to the mother on how to raise her child. In Israel people care and act on there concern. That is the inheritance of Jacob.
A difficult episode in the Torah is the taking of Esau's blessings by Jacob. On the one hand this seems to continue the process of selection begun with Isaac and Ishmael, leading to Jacob carrying on Abraham's legacy. On the other it seems an immoral trick to be condemned. How does the Torah itself view the episode? Does it convey approval or condemnation of Jacob's actions? The Torah seems to contain both perspectives. It does not openly condemn Jacob's actions and one could see in the fact that we are told that just as Jacob left Esau arrived, indicating that things were arranged by Divine providence. Both Isaac and G-d later bless Jacob conferring on him the mantle of Abraham. It appears that Jacob's actions, if not entirely straightforward, receive post-facto approval. Yet if you look deeper another story emerges. We see that Jacob is punished for his actions in specific ways that indicate strong disapproval of his actions. Jacob, deceived his father by pretending to be his elder brother. He himself is later deceived by Laban by receiving the elder daughter instead of the younger. Indeed Laban's retort to his remonstrations that: 'it is not done here to give the younger before the elder' can be seen as a direct reference to Jacob's previous deception. This theme also appears in the story of Joseph. Jacob deceived his father with the skin of a goat he pretended was Esau's arms. He himself was deceived with the blood of a goat that his sons pretended was that of Joseph. We see then that while the Torah seems to retrospectively accept Jacob's actions it still regards them as morally repugnant and points out how he suffered for them in later life. How should we understand this nuanced attitude? It is possible to say that the Torah sees things from two perspectives. On the one hand, Jacob not Esau was meant to carry on Abraham's legacy. He was the true inheritor of Isaac. Yet this could of come about in several different ways, which didn't necessarily entail Jacob deceiving his father. Indeed, it is not clear from the text whether there is any real connection between the blessings, as distinct from the birthright, and the Abrahamic legacy. They are totally concentrated on material benefits. Even if the end result of Jacob's deception was necessary the method that was used was reprehensible and the Torah, as illustrated above, expresses its disapproval. This should teach us an important lesson. Simply because we pursue a worthy goal does not give us license to behave in an immoral way. Even if we end up achieving a desirable result we will be held accountable for the unacceptable methods we used. Looking at what happened to both Jacob and Joseph's brothers following their objectionable behaviour is clear that the Torah does not accept that the end justifies the means. We may in the end achieve a worthy goal but if we get their by unworthy methods we are still tarnished.
Parshat Haye Sarah
The Sages tell us that there are three things that are acquired only by difficulties: Torah, the Land of Israel and the World to Come. With regards to Israel, this can be clearly seen in the biblical record. In three places in the Bible it is stated that the Jews specifically bought land in Israel and in each case the occasion of the purchase was a tragic one. In our Parshah the first outright purchase by Jews of land in Israel is occasioned by the death of Sarah. This spurs Abraham to buy a family burial plot, the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron, the second holiest site in Judaism. The next purchase was made by Jacob when he brought land in Shechem, an area that became the focus of the tribes when they entered into the Land under Joshua. Here, as well, this became the occasion for tragedy, the interaction with the city leading to the rape of Dinah and the massacre of its inhabitants by Jacob's sons. Finally, the holiest place in Judaism, the Temple Mount, was purchased by David from its non-Jewish owner. This time also the background was a terrible plague that afflicted the country and only ceased when David saw an angel with a sword standing on that very plot of Land. Furthermore, despite the fact that all three of these places were specifically purchased by the Jews, they are today the most contested areas in Israel. How do we explain this difficulty in acquiring land in Israel and keeping it? Why couldn't the Jewish homeland have been in a less problematic place? The answer is that Israel is meant to be difficult if not impossible. The creation of a Jewish homeland in this Land is not meant to be easy or natural. From Abraham being promised the Land for his descendants when he didn't yet even have children, until the improbable if not crazy vision of Herzl in our time, Israel has seemed an impossibility. Which is precisely the point. Jewish life in Israel is possible only because of Divine intervention. Jewish nationalism is achievable only with the support of G-d. It thus testifies to the hand of G-d in world affairs. The prophet Zechariah states the re-establishment of Jewish sovereignty will seem impossible to people at that time. But asks G-d rhetorically, will it seem impossible to Me? According to all logic Jews shouldn't exist and certainly Israel shouldn't exist. The fact that, despite all those who try to obviate their existence, they do exist and indeed thrive, is the greatest testimony to G-d's role in the world, which is why so many people can't stand them. Too bad for them; G-d has other ideas.
Parshat Lech L'cha
This week we begin the story of Abraham, the first Jew. The stories of the Patriarchs give us an insight into their character and thus enable us to better understand our own identity as their descendants. Their actions, both positive and negative, often foreshadow the later characteristics of the Jewish people. The central portion of this week’s Parshah is taken up with recounting, in some detail, the story of Abraham’s involvement in a regional war. Lot, Abraham’s nephew had quarrelled with Abraham and settled in Sodom. Sodom was then on the losing side in a war that seems to have encompassed much of the Middle East. Lot being taken prisoner, Abraham then gathers together a group of followers and manages to rescue him along with the other spoil of Sodom. On his return he refuses the Sodomites offer of a reward and gives a tithe to the Priest-King of Jerusalem. This rather strange story contains within it clues to Abraham’s character and thus to that of the Jewish people as a whole. When Abraham hears of Lot’s capture, he unhesitatingly gathers his men and races to the rescue. Abraham is a visionary but no dreamer. He does not prostrate himself in prayer but makes ready to fight. He relies on G-d to help him; but only if he is prepared to act himself. This trait is characteristic of the Jews throughout the ages. When faced by injustice and enemies that seek to destroy them the Jewish people have realised the moral imperative of taken up arms against evil. When Moses sees his brethren being oppressed he takes immediate and violent action to remedy the situation. Jews are no pacifists. Furthermore they take action even against tremendous odds; believing that morality, not might, will in the end triumph. Abraham did not way up the odds before taking on a much larger opponent; just as the Maccabees did not engage in a cost-benefit analysis before opposing the Greeks. In both cases the moral imperative overrode any such practical calculations. This is the character of Abraham; a man of G-d but also a man of action. Seeking peace with his neighbours but prepared to fight against oppression. This has been the character of the Jewish people throughout the ages, and it is this that gives us the strength to endure against our enemies today.
It is the custom throughout the world for a prayer to be recited on Shabbat morning for the government of the country. One of the sources of this practice is the statement in the Ethics of the Fathers that one should: 'pray for the welfare of the government, because if not for the fear of it, people would eat each other alive'. The government referred to in this statement was the Roman empire that was at the time occupying Israel. Indeed Jews had prayers for various regimes, including that of the anti-Semitic Tsarist regime. The belief that a bad government is better than no government can be seen to have its origin in our Parshah. The Rabbis attribute many sins to the generation of the flood but the one they say sealed their fate is the sin specifically mentioned in the Torah -Hamas. This is often understood as violent robbery but in its widest sense compasses the breakdown of order and its consequences. The effects of this were found in many areas detailed by the Rabbis: religious, sexual and economic. It can be seen in the curious story, found in last week's Parshah, of the 'sons of god' taking wives from whom they chose. Based on the reading that sees these characters as human rulers, this story details the degeneration of human society to a state when women were taken by force by those who had the most power. This chaos is reflected in the flood itself, punishment measure for measure. Human society did not respect the boundaries of people's persons or property and was destroyed by an inundation that obliterated all boundaries. This theme can also be seen in the fact that the rain fell for forty days and nights, an inverse parallel to Moses' sojourn on Mt Sinai to receive the Torah, the epitome of order. The remedy to this situation is found after the flood in the concept of covenant, an agreement that sets boundaries between and imposes obligations on two parties. G-d makes an agreement with humans to respect the boundaries of nature. This is preceded by the offering some of the 'clean' animals that Noah had taken along in sevens. This again reinforces the fact that there are distinctions between 'clean and 'unclean', right and wrong. According to the rabbis humans also pledged themselves to respect the sexual and economic rights of the individual. We thus find, for example, later in Genesis that various non-Jews see forced sexual relationships as a 'sin against G-d'. All this teaches us the importance of order and respect within society. This of course can be carried to extremes and lead to totalitarianism and oppression. But as the story of the flood teaches us and events in Syria and elsewhere demonstrate, a tyrannical government may be bad for the majority; no government is far worse for everybody.
The word Torah is often translated as law. This is true for some parts of the Torah but not for others. This is especially so of the book of Genesis that traditionally contains only three mitzvot. It contains stories of various types of relationships. Between people and between them and G-d. I would suggest that the underlying theme of the book is free-will and responsibility. The Torah begins with the exercise of free-will by Adam and Eve and then by Cain. In both these cases they make the wrong choice. Adam and Eve chose to disobey G-d and eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Cain chooses to let his passions get the better of him and murders Abel. By the end of the book things do not seem to have improved. Joseph's brothers chose to see him as a threat and cause him to be sold into slavery. If we look at the theme of responsibility it is also a sorry story. After being confronted by G-d about their sin, Adam and Eve each blame someone else. Cain, as well, refuses to take responsibility for his actions and merely moans about the consequences. Later on in the book, when Avimelech is confronted by Abraham over his servants theft of wells, he again seeks to evade responsibility, denying knowledge and blaming Abraham for not telling him. Yet there is a positive progression throughout the book. Joseph's brothers committed a heinous offence by selling him but they also take responsibility for their actions. Both before and after Joseph reveals himself to them they admit their guilt and understand what is happening to them as a justified punishment. Indeed the final chapter in Genesis deals with another confession on their behalf and Joseph magnanimous reply. By the end of the book, therefore, we may not have learnt how to always make the right decisions but we do learn how to take responsibility for our mistakes and attempt to correct them. Adam and Eve may have blamed everyone but themselves; Joseph's brothers blame only themselves. As the prelude to the laws of the Torah, Genesis teaches us the fundamentals needed for a moral life. It sets out the belief that we have free will and can make good or bad decisions. Even more importantly it teaches us that making a mistake is not the end of the story. We can take responsibility for our actions and seek to correct them. In the coming weeks as we follow the characters in the timeless stories of Genesis, let us learn from them the important lesson that we might all make mistakes but the real question is will we have the courage to take responsibility for them?
Devarim (Deuteronomy) 5776
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
On the Shabbat of Hol Ha'moed we read the section containing the Thirteen Attributes of G-d, revealed after the sin of the Golden Calf. This may seem a strange choice for the happiest time of year but is actually very fitting. The theme of all the Tishrei festivals, including Succot, is reconciliation between G-d and Israel, the exact theme of this section of the Torah. Indeed making up with someone generally contains an aspect of celebration, the motif of Succot. This combination is best expressed on the days that conclude Succot, the separate festival of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. These days are dedicated to two simple ideas: the prayer for rain and the rejoicing over the Torah. Both of these subjects mesh well with the Tishrei themes of judgement and reconciliation. The giving or withholding of rain will determine our lives in the coming year. On Simchat Torah we show our love for G-d's word, showing appreciation for His most precious gift. We may have lost trust in G-d's ability to provide our needs; asking for rain restores that aspect of our relationship. We may also have become estranged from the Torah. Simchat Torah gives us the ability to reconnect and to renew our commitment through the weekly Torah readings we begin again. This repairing of arguably the most important aspects of our relationship with G-d is thus the cause for the greatest rejoicing. Furthermore, while all the Tishrei festivals are meant to leave their mark on the whole year, this is especially true of Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah. While on Rosh Hashanah we learn honest introspection, Yom Kippur teaches us the ability to change and Succot the importance of trust in G-d, their influence is mostly in the residue they leave in our souls. Simchat Torah however, begins the cycle of Torah readings that guide us throughout the year. In a very real sense, therefore the influence of this festival stays with us throughout the year. It is therefore not only the culmination of the festival cycle but rightly the apex of our rejoicing.
At the end of the Song of Moses that forms our Parshah this week, Moses calls on the nations to rejoice because G-d will avenge the blood of the Jewish people. This seems a somewhat strange request. Even if it is fitting for Jews to rejoice that they have finally received justice for their persecution, why should the other nations rejoice? The answer is that the nations are not rejoicing in G-d's vengeance as such but in the fact that G-d has done justice and the world is being put right. The nations are also rejoicing that they are doing the right thing and atoning for their treatment of the Jews. Doing the right thing as a source of joy is a very Jewish concept. Our happiest occasions are those such as b'nei-mitzvah or weddings when a person is taking on added positive obligations. This is exemplified by Succot. No festival has more mitzvot associated with it than Succot and it is Succot that is designated in our prayers as 'the season of our rejoicing'. There is no greater joy than that that comes from performing constructive actions. After Yom Kippur, we are resolved to be better and to act more positively. Succot comes with an opportunity to do just that and we are filled with joy. Succot enables us to be happy ourselves but also to bring joy to others by inviting them to our Succah and giving them both food and company. It is no surprise that when the prophet envisages the nations turning to G-d at the end of days, it is specifically Succot that they are obligated to celebrate. By rejoicing on Succot we strengthen our resolve to act constructively the rest of the year. By being happy in doing good we are encouraged to do so more often, changing the tenor of our life. Just as Yom Kippur enables us to reflect on the true meaning of life, Succot teaches us how to live it. Let us enjoy the satisfaction that we are basically good people doing our best to do what is right. This conviction will give us happiness not only on Succot but throughout the year.
After the review of the Torah and the prophecy of exile and return, the last three parshiot in Deuteronomy deal with the last day of Moses' life and his final instructions to the people. In our Parshah, Moses, following G-d's instruction, predicts two things. One is that the people will sin in the future and be punished and therefore the poem of Ha'azinu will be a witness that they were warned. Secondly, he promises that the Torah will never be forgotten by the people of Israel. While we can understand the reason for the second promise, it seems poor pedagogics to begin by telling people they will misbehave. Maybe the answer lies in a famous biblical passage that brackets the Ten Days of Penitence. Well known to us from Tashlich on Rosh Hashanah the last section of the book of Micah is also read, after the book of Jonah, in the afternoon of Yom Kippur. In the last verse the prophet promises that G-d will 'give truth to Jacob and kindness to Abraham'. Truth and kindness can be seen to be at the heart of these days of introspection. The first requirement for changing our lives is to be honest about the way we are now. That can often be a disheartening process. Indeed, from a Jewish point of view, anyone who thinks they have nothing to improve is seriously misguided. Yet this realisation can often lead to depression and paralysis, actually inhibiting positive change. Therefore, we also require kindness. We need the assurance that we can improve and that G-d appreciates our frailties and will assist us to change our lives. These two aspects of truth and kindness or reassurance are contained in Moses' words in the Parshah. He tells the people of their propensity to misbehave. Based on past experience it is likely they will indeed stray from G-d's path and be punished. It is necessary for them to come to terms with this truth in order to correctly appraise their future. Yet Moses does not end there. He also reassures the people that the Torah will never be forgotten by them. No matter what they do or what befalls them in the future there will always be a way back and a promise of redemption. That is the significance of these special days. We are called on to be both brutally honest and earnestly optimistic. That is the way to truly change our lives for the better, during this period when G-d speaks to us with both truth and kindness.
' You are standing here today, all of you, before the L-rd your G-d'. so begins the Parshah. The concept of standing before G-d is an important theme of Rosh Hashanah, so it is worthwhile examining this statement more closely. Rashi connects this verse to the preceding Parshah with its dire warnings of the consequences of disobedience. The Israelites were shocked by what they heard and wondered how it was possible to live under such a threat. Moses reassures them by giving them two messages of encouragement. One 'you are standing here'. Despite all the times they had angered G-d in the wilderness and the various crisis that beset them, they still existed and thrived. Furthermore, you are here 'today': just as the day gives you light so G-d gives you light and will continue do so in the future and the warnings and curses serve to strengthen you and ensure your survival. On the day when we stand before G-d in judgement in is worth contemplating these words. Firstly, the fact that G-d expects a certain standard of behaviour doesn't mean that He is always seeking fault and trying to trip us up. The opposite is true. G-d alone knows our motivations and our potential and while He expects much from us He also understands our frailties. After all, despite all our imperfections and mistakes we still around after another year. Furthermore it is precisely the fact that G-d evaluates our lives and assesses our deeds that gives our lives meaning. How we behave is important and our actions have consequences. That may be sometimes a burden but it is also a privilege. Rosh Hashanah is a day that not only emphasises the sovereignty of G-d but underscores the importance of humans. We are partners with G-d in His enterprise of perfecting the world and as such he sets aside a yearly period to assess how we are doing and how we can do better. Rosh Hashanah, therefore, should not be a day of gloom or despondency but a day of sincerity and promise. For this reason it is not enough that when we sound the shofar we blow a tekiah and a teruah. Rather, each broken sound of a teruah must also be followed by a tekiah. Introspection and uncertainty must be followed by resolve and hope. As we stand before G-d on Rosh Hashanah let us see the day as not only a challenge but an opportunity.
Parshat Ki Tavo
Our Parshah begins with the mitzvah of bringing the First Fruits. We may ask why this commandment appears here, at the end of the legislative section of Deuteronomy. We might have though it would appear in Parshat Re'eh, with the other ceremonies connected with the Central Sanctuary. The answer may lie in the central portion of the declaration said when bringing the First Fruits. These four verses are well known to us from the Haggadah and are a synopsis of the story of the Exodus, ending with the fact that G-d had brought them into the Land. The Torah, from the story of the Exodus onwards, is full of references to this seminal event in both its narrative and legal sections. Yet, it is interesting to note, that after this section is is virtually not mentioned at all. It thus appears that this section is in many ways a bookend, bracketing the story of the Exodus and journey to the Land and beginning the new chapter of the future life in the Land with which the remainder of the Torah is concerned. This section and the following one also end the legal section of Deuteronomy. These three themes, the historical narrative based around the Exodus, the legal content and the expectation of life in the Land run throughout the Torah but are especially concentrated in various portions. The books of Genesis and Exodus contain the main historical narrative, supplemented by parts of Numbers. Leviticus is almost total legal and Deuteronomy, even in its legal sections, looks forwards to life in the Land. These three motifs are also connected to the festivals especially the three Pilgrim Festivals. Pesach deals with the historical narrative: the Exodus, Shavuot commemorates the Giving of the Torah: Jewish law, and Succot celebrates the Land of Israel. Our yearly Torah reading is organised appropriately to this schema. We read of the Exodus in the late winter leading up to Pesach. The period between Pesach and Shavuot is concentrated on the legalistic book of Leviticus and we read the book of Deuteronomy, which prepares the people for life in the Land in the weeks preceding Succot. These three ideas of a common history, a Divine set of laws and a holy land are thus basic to Judaism. They are often expressed in terms of the People of Israel, the Torah of Israel and the Land of Israel. The ideal of Judaism is a holy people keeping a holy Torah in a holy land. Not all of us may be able to be fully part of, observe or even connect to all three of these concepts. Not everyone may feel totally connected to other Jews, fully observe the Torah or live in Israel. Yet all of us should understand that this threefold consummation is the goal to which we should all aspire.
Parshat Ki Tetze
Our Parshah contains the source for the mitzvah of burial. As is often the case, the Torah uses an extraordinary example to emphasise a general principle. In this case it demands that even a condemned criminal be buried on the same day because 'a hung body is a curse to G-d'. The precise meaning of this phrase is a matter of discussion among the commentators. Most follow the Sages in connecting to humans being created in the Divine image. Leaving a human body dangling dishonours G-d in whose image it was made. This is compared to a king who had a twin brother who was executed. People seeing the body might think that the king is dangling there. This analogy, however, is hard to understand. We are not physically created in the image of G-d, Who has no form that people could confuse the criminal with. While it is certainly disrespectful to the Divine image of humans to leave their bodies unburied the precise comparison seems not to really work. I would like to bring another explanation of this phrase that can also serve to elucidate the Sages' explanation. The Rashbam explains the word elokim as not referring to G-d but to the judges, a use found elsewhere in the Torah. Thus, the explanation would be that people who see the body of the criminal hanging from the tree would curse the authorities that sentenced him to death. I would suggest that this perspective can also elucidate the more common explanation that G-d is being referred to in this verse. People seeing the tragedy of a person executed for a crime might come to curse G-d. The person could be known to them and might have a social background that caused or led to a propensity for a life of crime, leading to his tragic end. They could ask what sort of world we are living in where such things could happen and where was G-d's compassion and justice in this sorry saga. Furthermore, if a human being can come to such an ignominious end, what does it mean to say we are created in the Divine image. These are questions that we can all ask ourselves. In a world where large numbers of people live in poverty, and are displaced or killed by conflict where is the Divine image? But rather than cursing G-d, we should ask ourselves what we are doing using our own Divine image to remedy the situation. We are not created to look like but to imitate G-d. If we live in a world the Divine image in people is constantly trampled it we who are responsible and we who must work to remedy the situation.
Various transgressions in the Torah theoretically are punishable by death. When discussing the imposition of this penalty the Torah requires proper evidence provided by reliable witnesses and subject to rigorous examination. In several places, when referring to the application of this punishment the Torah demands that 'the hand of the witnesses should be upon him first' and only then 'the hand of the people afterwards'. This is an extremely important provision. The Torah insists that if you are going to come forward and give evidence that convicts someone you must be prepared to follow through on your conviction. You cannot simply accuse someone and then run away from the consequences of that indictment. You need to be able to look them in the eye and complete what you started. This law teaches us an important lesson. If we wish to accuse someone of something or if we are upset or angry with them, we must confront them directly. It is not good enough to simply go round telling other people what you think they have done wrong or how they have aggrieved you. If you want to criticise someone do it to their face. That gives them an opportunity to defend themselves and, if necessary, put the record straight. Furthermore, if you can't look them in the eye and tell them exactly what you think of them, then your opinion is probably flawed. If you don't have the guts to confront them directly it probably means that you are not really sure that you are justified and, also, probably don't want a resolution. It is easier to nurse a grudge when you avoid actually talking to the person concerned and don't have to hear their side of the story. The people that I respect most are those that when I have done something they don't like have told me directly. That has enabled an apology or explanation and ended the matter. The people I respect least are those who I know are upset at something I have done because they have gone round telling everyone else, but never had the guts to tell me directly. Those issues tend to hang around in the background like an unpleasant odour. In telling us that 'the hand of the witnesses shall be upon him first', the Torah is instructing us in an important moral principle that unfortunately is too often observed more in the breach.
A recurring message of Deuteronomy is that we should 'do the good and proper in the eyes of the L-rd your G-d'. This statement is given various interpretations by the commentators, often changing dependent on the context. Rashi, for example, brings several different interpretations which he usually connects to the topic under discussion. In this week's Parshah he interprets the verse as signifying that one should do the 'good' in the eyes of G-d and the 'proper' in the eyes of people. It is easy to understand this distinction. 'Good' refers to the morality of an action while 'proper' more naturally connects to human perceptions of the correct way to behave. What is fascinating, however, is the context in which this interpretation is given. One would expect such an understanding to be appropriate for a theme that dealt with relationships between humans, such as justice, marriage or economic relationships. Yet Rashi makes this comment on a verse that comes at the end of a whole section dealing with only ritual matters: the institution of centralised sacrifice and the prohibition of the consumption of blood. These would not seem to be appropriate topics for emphasising the need to both please G-d and humans. Yet this interpretation, coming where it does, is teaching us the opposite. It is precisely in ritual and narrowly 'religious' matters that we need to take care that what we do is accepted by others. It may be obvious that in human relationships we need to act properly but less clear that also refers to synagogue life. Yet it is just as important that when we fulfil are ritual obligations we do so in a way that is acceptable to others and enhances Judaism in the eyes of those around us rather than the opposite. For example, when travelling on a plane how do we deal with davening. Praying with a minyan is certainly extremely important, but if it comes at the expense of inconveniencing other passengers and crew and the safety of everyone we might think that 'the loss is greater than the reward'. It is also certainly important that there is a level of decorum in shule, so people can pray with concentration. Yet when people make a fuss about children crying or making a little noise, thus upsetting the children and embarrassing the parents, we may wonder which G-d they are praying to. It may be indeed more fruitful for the adults to concentrate on talking less rather than worry about a few noisy children. Our personal ritual requirements should not come before the needs of others. It is both possible and necessary to be punctilious in one's observance while at the same time being sensitive to the needs of others. That is indeed fulfilling the Torah's command to 'do what is good and proper in the sight of the L-rd your G-d'.
In this week's Parshah Moses recounts the lessons of the journey in the wilderness especially the privations involved. This is often referred to as a test. This is especially true in regard to the Manna. It's purpose is to see whether the people will keep the Torah or to remind them that humans don't live on bread alone. This test can be seen in two diametrically opposite and seemingly contradictory ways. On the one hand the trial is occasioned by the privations involved in desert travel. They often travelled through areas with no natural resources and were completely dependent on G-d for their existence. Would they have the ability to trust in G-d or would they lose faith because of their situation. Another perspective is taken by the Seforno among others. The test for the Israelites in the desert was not one of privation but of ease. Everything they needed was provided by G-d without them having to work for it. Would this easy life cause them to take what they had for granted, without appreciating where it came from. This, indeed, is what Moses warns them against after they have inherited the Land. We therefore have two differing spiritual dangers when it comes to our livelihood. On the one hand, great poverty can cause someone to abandon G-d. They become despairing and angry and can completely lose hope. The alternate danger is that easy prosperity can cause people to become arrogant, overconfident in their own abilities and insensitive to others. Yet, the key trial that Moses seems to be talking about, of which the Manna is the paradigmatic example, is that of dependence. The Jewish people were totally dependent on G-d for their needs in the wilderness. How would they react to that dependence? Would it lead to apathy or resentment or gratitude and initiative? This, indeed, is the question for every person who believes that, in the end, our prosperity is dependent on G-d. Do we sit back and do nothing in the belief that G-d will provide? Do we become arrogant when things go well, believing that this signifies that we are righteous? Or do we realise that our lives are a partnership with G-d and work to make our own future, while realising that everything is ultimately dependent on the Divine will? It is the answers to these questions that determine what sort of life we will live.
One of the most puzzling verses in the Torah occurs in our Parshah. While warning the Jewish people not to worship any image, including the sun, moon and stars, Moses adds 'which the L-rd your G-d has apportioned to all the nations under heaven'. Various interpretations have been give of this verse, both neutral: to use for light, negative: in order to deceive them, and positive: as a statement of religious tolerance. I would like to offer an other explanation based on a verse earlier in the Parshah. When talking of how observing the Torah would enhance the reputation of the Jews with the other nations, Moses talks of the Israelites being like no other nation in having G-d close to them whenever they call on Him. This statement encapsulates a cardinal principle of Judaism, one that is still not fully shared by many other religions, both then and now. That principle is that G-d, while transcendent is also immanent and available to everyone. It is not necessary to engage in any special ceremonies or have any intermediary in order to approach G-d. One only has to reach out to Him and He is available. This idea was radical at the time and is not fully accepted today. Many religions believe in the necessity of having a go-between, either divine or human, to mediate between the infinite Divine and the finite human. Often these mediators are heavenly beings, such as demi-gods, including in ancient days natural phenomena, such as the sun and moon. As it is difficult for such faiths to accept the possibility of direct access to G-d, G-d has enabled them to use intermediaries. The Jewish people, who heard G-d's voice directly at Sinai, understand that this is not necessary and are forbidden to use any mediator between them and G-d. This is the import of what Moses is saying in this verse. It is, in many ways, a statement of tolerance. It accepts the validity of other methods of approaching G-d, while forbidding them to the Jews. Because Jews have had a direct revelation from G-d and accepted the Torah, they are not vouchsafed the concessions given to those that have not. What may be acceptable for others is strictly forbidden to Jews. In this, as in much else, being a chosen people is not a license to be superior but an obligation to be better.
There is a well-known joke that talks of a new Rabbi who comes to a community. The first week his sermon is about the importance of Kashrut. The President comes to him after the service and complains. 'you know that most of our congregants don't keep kosher, so its not really appropriate to speak about kashrut'. The next week he talks about Shabbat. Again he is told that he shouldn't have, as many of the congregation work on Shabbat. The next week it is Family Purity and the Mikveh, which is even worse as virtually none of the ladies visit it. In exasperation the Rabbi asks the President what he should talk about. 'Judaism, of course' he replies. This joke is funny because it points up the ignorance of the President, and possibly the congregation, of the essential precepts of Judaism. Yet it also highlights their ignorance of the role of the Rabbi. They think that the Rabbi's sermons should lie within their comfort zone. The opposite is sometimes true. A Rabbi sometimes needs to challenge his community's preconceptions and even make them feel uncomfortable. This is what Moses points out in this week's Parshah. Instructing the people he appoints as judges he tells them: 'do not be afraid of anyone, because the judgement is G-d's'. When a judge or a Rabbi is performing their duties they need to be aware that they are serving G-d as well as the people. They are not necessarily imparting what people want or like to hear but what they need to hear. A Rabbi or a judge who is constantly looking over his shoulder and afraid of what people might think cannot do his job properly. Community leaders must be fearless in doing what is right for the community, whether or not it makes them popular. In constantly bowing to popular pressure they are in fact betraying the community they are serving. Of course, they must also be in tune with the nature and needs of the people they are seeking to lead. This is indeed one of the reasons given for the appointment of people to assist Moses in his task. The 'leaders of thousands and the leaders of hundreds' will be keyed in to the make-up and hopes of those groups. A Rabbi must therefore be sensitive to the community and its desires but at the same time willing to speak his mind when necessary. Indeed, the two are often complimentary. As the old adage goes: a rabbi who most of his community don't like is not a mensch, but a Rabbi who everyone agrees with is not a Rabbi.
Bamidbar (Numbers) 5776
Just click on the Parshah name to see the text.
Parshiot Matot / Masei
The double Parshah this week deals with women's issues at the beginning and at the end. It begins with the laws of women's vows and ends with the inheritance of the daughters of Tzelophchad. Indeed, underlying the whole Exodus, the story of which effectively ends this week, is the role of women. This role was often different, and often more positive than that of the men. For example, it was the women who preserved the vitality of the Jewish people in Egypt and afterwards were not involved in the sin of the Spies but cherished the Land. It was Miriam that saved Moses and the wife of On ben Pelet that saved him from destruction during the revolt of Korach. This narrative underlies the special role that Jewish women have always played in Jewish life and history. While it may seem that women have been subservient to the masculine dominance of Jewish religious life, this is not the whole story. Parallel to this male religious world existed a female religious world, which had its own form of Jewish spirituality and approaching G-d. An important feature of this phenomenon were the many tehinot or supplications written by women and for women. There were traditionally female prayer groups where the women would meet to say Psalms and prayer for the welfare of their families and the community. Freed from the constraints of fixed public prayer that obligated the men, women were able to approach prayer and spirituality in a more fluid and intimate way. In our days there is a movement among many women to have a more prominent public role in Jewish life commiserate with their role in wider society. In general this is a positive phenomenon that can serve to enrich Judaism. Clearly, it is important that women be Jewishly educated to a high level, and with that erudition begin to play an important role in Halakhic decision making. In regards to the synagogue, it also seems right that ways should be found for women to have the spiritual experience of reading from the Torah. When it comes to formalised public prayer, however, one can ask whether in wanting to take on the obligations of daily prayer in a minyan, women are not making an error. As mentioned above, women have traditionally had their own way of approaching G-d and unique methods of prayer. In seeking to exchange those for the male way of doing things they may be losing more than they gain. While the idea that men need the obligation of fixed prayer while women are more innately spiritual is often seen as an excuse for chauvinism, nevertheless it is my experience that it contains a large amount of truth. The fluid, intimate nature of Jewish women's spirituality has been a great boon to the Jewish people, as we see from the Exodus stories. In seeking to join themselves to male structures and practices, Jewish women may be in danger of losing something very precious.
An important issue in inter-community relations, especially in situations of conflict or tension, is whom to talk to. With whom is it worthwhile to have a dialogue, even though we may have deep differences, and with whom is dialogue meaningless or even harmful. A hint is given at the beginning of our Parshah. G-d commands the Israelites to smite the Midianites as punishment for their involvement in the seduction of the Israelite men, leading to a plague that killed twenty four thousand. Interestingly, though, we were not commanded to punish the Moabites, even though they were also involved in the same incident. One reason given, is that something good would emerge from the Moabites, namely Ruth, the matriarch of the Davidic dynasty. Yet a more substantial reason is also given. While what the Moabites did was wrong and caused harm to Israel, they had an excuse for their actions. The Torah tells us that after the Israelite defeat of the Amorite kings, the Moabites feared that they were next, and thus had a genuine, if mistaken, reason to try and injure the Israelites. Midian, on the other hand, had no fear of Israel and were not threatened by them, and so had no excuse for their actions. They were solely motivated by their hatred and loathing of the Jews. This gives us an insight in how we should behave. If we are in conflict with people that have an authentic, if erroneous, grievance against us, there is great benefit it starting a dialogue with them, discussing the issues and trying to remove the misconceptions. Even if we don't end up agreeing we can create a new, more respectful, relationship. With people however, like the Midianites, who have no real quarrel but are solely motivated by hatred, there is nothing to discuss. Talking to them is a waste of time and, furthermore, gives them a legitimacy they don't deserve. Thus in our situation today, we should absolutely be in dialogue with Palestinians and the Muslim community in general. The tensions between us are caused by real differences about vital issues. We may not end up agreeing but we can at least discuss the issues and learn to respect each other. With the various Scottish 'pro-Palestinian' groups, however, we have nothing to discuss. Motivated by hatred of Israel and a desire to 'have a cause', there is no benefit at all in dialogue. They just exploit such contact to legitimise their actions and pretend they are not ant-Jewish. With Muslims we should and must be in dialogue and friendship. The various Palestinian 'solidarity' groups we should avoid like the plague.
The character of Bila'am has always fascinated the commentators who have painted various images of his personality. The traditional view sees him as someone with perverted potential that could have been as great as Moses but used his abilities for ill. If we carefully study the Parshah we can notice inherent contradictions in his character and actions. As the Rabbis highlight he claims to be able to defeat a whole nation with his oratory but needs to threaten his donkey with a sword. His greatest ability, therefore, turns out to be severely limited. Bila'am is indeed a great orator but his oratory is not enough to achieve practical results. He himself, at least when it comes to his personal safety, doesn't trust in his oratory to convince even his talking donkey. This is, indeed, seems to be a feature of great demagogues, past and present. While they seem to be able to stir the masses by their speeches, in order to maintain control they resort to repressive and violent measures. While they can excite the emotions of the people they are themselves afraid of the passions they have stirred. A second contradiction of Bila'am concerns his vision. While he seems to indicate that he has great vision and can prophesy the future, the Rabbis say that he was in fact only partially sighted. This is clear from his belief that he could somehow trick G-d into allowing him to curse the Jewish people. He in fact does have great potential vision but allows himself to be distracted by pride and avarice. In the same way many leaders have a long term vision of what they want to do but are diverted by short term considerations. Moses, on the other hand, uses his oratory to actually transform the world and despite severe setbacks never loses sight of his ultimate goal. Today, unfortunately, many of our leaders are closer to Bila'am than Moses. They are carried away by their oratory but prove unable to actually deliver on anything they promise and often seem not to really believe it themselves. They have good intentions and programs but they are watered down or abandoned because of political exigencies. This is a major reason for the breakdown of trust in the political system. To restore this faith we need less Bila'am and more Moses.
After the disasters recounted in the last few Parshiot, this week things take a turn for the better. We skip thirty eight years of wandering and begin again in the fortieth year. Though there are still a detour, some kvetching and poisonous snakes to contend with, in general the Parshah is a record of success. The Israelites crush the Aradites who attack them and conquer the kingdoms of Sihon and Og. However, for Moses this Parshah is not so great. He loses both his brother and his sister and is barred from entering the Land. Moses is left without support and knowing the he will not live to see the completion of his task. What is important, however, is how Moses reacts to this situation. He does not succumb to despair or give up. He doesn't decide that because he is not going to be able to bring his life's project to a successful conclusion that he will not bother with it. Rather, he dedicates himself to its ultimate success. He carries on leading the people and devotes himself to preparing them for life in the Land. His greatest contribution in this regard is his farewell orations contained in the book of Deuteronomy. These contain some of the most inspiring passages in the Torah. They show someone that realises that his time is short and much remains to be done and who endeavours to achieve as much as possible. We can discern a similar attitude at the beginning of the Parshah. One of the paradoxes of the mitzvah of the Red Heifer is that everyone who is involved in its preparation become impure. While they enable the purification of others they themselves then require purification. They facilitate others success while not achieving it themselves. All this teaches us an important lesson. Truly great achievements cannot be attained by one person but require the co-operation of others. Furthermore, it is often the case that we strive towards ends that we may not see carried through. Yet just because we cannot complete the project ourselves doesn't mean we should abandon the task. Rather we should do what we can and leave it to others to complete our work. As the Sages told us 'it is not up to you to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it'.
The Korach crisis which forms the basis of this week's Parshah, has two denouements. After Korach and his followers are destroyed one would have thought the crisis would be over. Instead it intensifies, with the people accusing Moses of murdering them. How can we understand this extraordinary turn of events. According to some commentators the people accused Moses of deliberately devising a test, the offering of incense, that he knew would result in their destruction. How should we answer this charge? One explanation is that Moses did indeed devise this test because of its serious consequences. The Korach revolt had as its rationale the will of the people. Korach was arguing for complete democracy. Moses, by challenging them to perform the priestly functions, was demonstrating that democracy has its limits. In a religious community the will of G-d, not the will of the people, is in the end supreme. While within such a society there can exist a large degree of democracy, in the end it is the Divinely given Torah that has the final word. Like in the United States the constitution, as interpreted by the Supreme Court, can overrule laws made by Congress, so in a Jewish society the Torah, as interpreted by the Rabbis, trumps democratic decision making. Of course, this generally applies only to cases when the democratic will conflicts with the constitution or the Torah, but in such cases the decision of the judges or the Rabbis is supreme. The same is true in Orthodox Jewish communities today. A major distinction in the administration of Reform and Orthodox communities lies precisely in this area. In a Reform community, while the Rabbi is the spiritual leader and may have great influence, it is the community that is the ultimate arbiter of religious issues. In an Orthodox community, on the other hand, it is the Rabbi that ultimately decides on matters of religious practice. In choosing to be a community governed by Halacha an Orthodox community limits its democratic rights in areas concerning the religious functions of the community. An Orthodox community where the community, not the Rabbi, decides on such matters is by definition not an Orthodox community and a Rabbi that would accept such a situation not truly an Orthodox Rabbi. The Torah warns us not to be like Korach and his followers and that means, ultimately, accepting limits on what we can do and who determines it.
The Parshah contains the sin of the spies. This decisive episode in the nation's history raises many questions. What exactly was the issue of the spies and why did the nation so readily accept their report? If their intent all along was to slander the Land, why did they say it was flowing with milk and honey and why did they bring back some of the fruit to prove it? Was the Land really inhabited by giants or did they make this up? I think the crux of the story lies in the enigmatic statement by the spies that 'it is a land the eats its inhabitants'. The meaning of this statement can maybe be best understood by the explanation of Rashi as to why the spies brought back fruit. They wanted to demonstrate that 'just like its fruit is abnormal, so are its inhabitants abnormal'. In other words this land is different from other places. It poses special challenges for people living it and does not provide a normal existence. This idea is reiterated by Joshua, one of the two loyal spies, at the end of his life. In a speech whose beginning is known to us from the Haggadah, he traces the history of the Israelites and then places before the people the choice of serving G-d or the local gods. He warns them that serving G-d is not easy and maybe they should take an easier option. In other words, national existence in the Land is not simple. The Torah emphasises time and again that Israel's tenure of the Land is dependent on their behaviour. Unlike Egypt or Mesopotamia the Land of Israel is not fed by rivers but by rain that can be withheld. Instability, drought and the threat of exile are constant features of the biblical story of Israel in its Land. In last week's Parshah we saw how the Israelites were punished by G-d for their disobedience. They may have thought that this was only a temporary phenomenon and when they enter the land they will be able to lead a more normal existence. What the spies saw disabused them of this notion. Even in the Land they would be held accountable and their prosperity and security would depend on their behaviour. This was not a life they felt able to endure and so rejected it and sought to return to Egypt. Joshua and Caleb, on the other hand, were prepared to rise to the challenge and merited to see the Land. When it comes to being Jewish, are we like the spies who find it to difficult and so reject it or like Joshua and Caleb who embrace its challenge.
The Book of Numbers consists of three parts: the preparations for the journey, the journey of the second year and the events of the fortieth year. This week marks the transition between the first and second section. After setting up the camp and preparing for travel the Jews get moving. However, things do not go according to plan. The original move towards the Land ends in abject failure, with the people condemned to wander in the wilderness for forty years. From the excitement evidenced in the description of the preparations at the beginning of our Parshah we descend to the exclamation found in Parshat Korach: 'we are all doomed'. How and why did such a disaster occur? If we read the narrative in the next three parshiot carefully we can see a parallel and symbiotic deterioration in two key components that are essential for any group of people: dialogue and trust. In this week's Parshah we start with the fact that the people were 'evil grumblers' which means that they complained in a negative rather than constructive way. This behaviour continues with disrespectful discourse both towards Moses and even G-d, culminating in the people accusing Moses and Aaron of murder in the Korach incident. Even Moses' own sister and brother join in. This absence of dialogue is accompanied by a breakdown in trust. The people don't trust G-d, Joshua doesn't trust Eldad and Medad, Miriam and Aaron lose trust in Moses. By the end no one trusts anyone else’s' motives, leading to the collapse of whole project for a generation. These two processes feed off each other. If there is no dialogue there is no trust, if trust is absent dialogue becomes impossible. This sorry narrative is written in the Torah for a reason. We are meant to learn from it. Human co-operation and success is based on dialogue and trust. When a society or organisation loses these two components they are in deep trouble. If people cease to have faith in each other and are unable to civilly interact with each other that society or people likely has no future. One can argue without being nasty, disagree without impugning other's motives. Jews not only accept disagreement but thrive on it. It is not disagreement that is the problem but the way we disagree. Respectful dialogue and acceptance of the sincerity of the other leads to constructive outcomes. Contemptuous behaviour and perpetual suspicion leads to dissension and disaster. The Torah narrative in the next three parshiot serves as a cautionary tale of what happens when we don't interact with each other decently. It is a warning we ignore at our peril.
The Torah this week commands the removal from the camp of certain types of impure people. The Rabbis explained that the three groups mentioned in the section: the leper, the man with seminal emissions, and one who touched a dead body, are each excluded from specific areas of the camp. The leper is excluded from the whole camp, the one with emissions from only the Levite encampment surrounding the Tabernacle and the impure by the dead is only forbidden to enter the Tabernacle precincts. This division has a lot to teach us. Leprosy is regarded as punishment for slander and is something within our control. Sexual emissions are only sometimes problematic and only partly under our control, while death is completely negative but totally out of our control. The person involved in actions that are negative and their responsibility is wholly excluded from the camp, while the person effected by an extremely negative incident over which they have no control is only excluded from the most holy part of the camp. It is thus not principally the nature of the action or event that determines the status of the person but the responsibility for the incident. The greater the responsibility the greater the deficiency and the correction needed. One can also look at this hierarchy from the vantage point of society. The leper who is a menace to the community needs to be totally removed from it until he mends his ways. The person touched by death, on the other hand, is through no fault of his own not capable of fully participating in the religious life of the community and so must be barred from the Tabernacle precincts but is still a valued member of society and part of the community. This commandment thus partially establishes a hierarchy within the mitzvot of the Torah. While ritual offences are certainly not viewed lightly transgressions against other people are regarded as even more serious. The Torah thus teaches us the importance of taking responsibility for our actions, especially in our interpersonal relationships.
We have the custom on Shavuot of eating milk products. There are several reasons given for this. One, is that it is not permitted to eat the same loaf of bread at both a milk and meat meal. As we normally eat meat on Yom Tov, having a milk meal in close proximity necessitates another loaf of bread, recalling the two loaves of bread brought in the Temple on Shavuot. Another popular reason is that the Torah is compared to milk as in the verse 'honey and milk are under your tongue'. A further reason often given is that when the Jews received the Torah they received the mitzvah of eating kosher, making all their previously prepared food not kosher. As preparing kosher meat takes time (slaughtering, kashering ect...), they could only eat milk products. If we examine the last two explanations we might consider that they are actually contradictory. One commemorates the sweetness of the Torah: like milk or honey it is easily digestible and a pleasurable experience. The other reminds us of the burden of the Torah, the fact that for example we can't eat what we want and keeping kosher isn't always easy. The same dichotomy can be seen in the actual story of the Revelation. On the one hand the Jews enthusiastically embrace the Torah promising to do all G-d commands them; on the other they are frightened and want Moses to mediate between them and G-d. Of course, however, these two aspects of the Torah actually compliment each other. The demands the Torah makes on us are precisely what makes it so valuable. True happiness is not based on only doing what we want but on doing what is right. In enabling us to lead worthwhile lives the Torah enriches our existence. Things worth doing are generally not easy. It is precisely this difficulty that makes them worth doing. The self-control needed to follow the mitzvot of the Torah is what enables us to improve our character and live purposeful lives. When we celebrate the Giving of the Torah on Shavuot we are celebrating both the demands and rewards of Torah observance, both the sweetness and burden. Something to contemplate when eating your cheesecake.
Vayikra (Leviticus) 5776
The Torah contains two sections of Tochecha or admonition, one in this week's Parshah and one in parshat Ki-Tavo at the end of Deuteronomy. They have important differences, many of which are remarked upon by the commentators. One striking example of this is that in Deuteronomy no specific sin is given as the reason for destruction and exile, only general disobedience to the Torah. The admonition we read this week, however, singles out a specific sin, not observing the Sabbatical year, as the reason for deportation from the Land. Indeed the seventy years of exile in Babylon are specifically seen as a 'measure for measure' punishment for the non-observance of Shemitah, Rashi bringing the exact calculation. This of course connects what we read this week to what we read last week and indeed, in a non-leap year, the two parshiot are read together. There is thus a thematic connection between them, summed up by the statement in last week's Parshah that, 'the Land is Mine; you are strangers and sojourners with Me'. Both the sabbatical year and the threat of exile for disobedience to the Torah, reinforce the lesson that the Land belongs to G-d and we are his guests in it. If we don't behave ourselves we will be turfed out. This serves to answer a puzzling question. Why does G-d chose such a difficult place as the Promised Land. Why do the Jews constantly have to fight for it, creating serious moral dilemmas, and defend our title to it? This has been a problematic issue throughout Jewish history. Would not it have been easier for G-d to have given the Jews a non-contested land in a place no one else particularly cared about? Jewish history could have been so much more peaceful. The answer, based on these weeks' parshiot, is clear. Living in an easy, uncontested land Jews would forget a most basic lesson: the Land is not ours. By forcing the Jews to fight for their land and defend their title to it, we are constantly reminded that Israel belongs to us because G-d gave it to us. In the end, it is G-d's home in which we are but guests. That is what makes Israel such a difficult place to live in and hold on to. And that is what makes it so amazingly worthwhile.
The Torah, when it introduces the topic of Ona'ah, not defrauding others, says: 'when you sell something to your friend or buy from your friend'. The Rabbis pick up on the seemingly superfluous phrase 'your friend' and make it into a principle. 'When you sell you should sell to an Israelite your friend and when you buy you should buy from an Israelite your friend'. This seems to be a very inward looking and tribal attitude and appears to contradict the many exhortations in the Torah that there should be one law for the Israelite and the stranger. An explanation may be found in an ostensibly even more limiting statement of the Rabbis, that in giving charity your family comes before others and the poor of your city are given precedence over the poor of another city. This statement, while on the surface extremely restrictive, actually teaches us an important truth. What the Rabbis are really saying is not that we should not care about or assist people who are outside the circle of our family, city or religion. What they are talking about are priorities. They are telling us that our first obligation is to those closest to us and we cannot help others at their expense. They are warning us not to create grandiose projects to save the world while people are homeless on our streets. More than one leader or benefactor have achieved great things for humanity at great cost to their own family. Many have helped the children of the world at the cost of the physical and emotional well being of their own children. These statements caution us that such a person is actually a failure. They have failed in their most basic duty to those closest to them and that, in the eyes of the Torah, overshadows their other achievements. We need to care about everyone, not just our 'tribe' and endeavour to make the world a better place. Yet the test of our intentions and the first step in achieving our goals is how we behave to those closest to us. Seen in this way, the aphorism 'charity begins at home' is not a selfish excuse not to help others but a call to reform the world by starting where we can be most effective, with our immediate environment and going on from there to fix the world.
This week's Parshah contains the 'section of the festivals', listing the various festivals of the Jewish year. At the beginning of this section we have the command to keep Shabbat. Interestingly, this is not actually included under the heading of the other festivals. It begins with its own introduction about these being the appointed seasons of G-d, a phrase that is repeated a few lines later as an introduction to the festivals proper. The command to keep Shabbat can therefore be understood as a preface to the listing of the other festivals. What is the purpose of this preface. One interpretation could compare this section to that of the building of the Tabernacle. This is also bracketed with commands to keep Shabbat. There, this is understood to indicate that the building of the Tabernacle doesn't override the observance of Shabbat. Maybe here, as well, the preface of the festivals by Shabbat is meant to convey that the various mitzvot of these days don't supersede Shabbat. This would accord with the view that the prohibition of blowing the Shofar or taking the Lulav on Shabbat is of Torah origin. However, the accepted opinion is that this is a Rabbinical decree and, furthermore, the reaping of the Omer, contained in this section, does defer Shabbat. A simpler explanation is that intimated by the Rabbis who said that the placing of Shabbat with the festivals signifies that whoever keeps Shabbat it as if he kept the festivals and visa versa. In other words, the weekly Shabbat and the special occasions of the year are of equal importance. This is a message that is especially relevant in our context. Many people chose to attend services or other such occasions only for special events, such as an important festival or a yarhtzeit, neglecting the weekly Shabbat. They will turn up to a Seder or Hanukah lighting but not to a normal service. By prefacing the list of the special days of the year with the weekly Shabbat, the Torah informs us that this is not the way it should be. Judaism is not about particular days or events but about every day and every week. Those that are interested in a living community cannot just turn up when it suits them. If everyone behaved like this, there would be nothing for them to turn up to. Rather we need to commit to regular participation in order to ensure a living Torah and a sustainable community.
This week's Parshah contains one of the largest collections of mitzvot in the Torah. It can be debated whether the various mitzvot have a connection to each other or are arranged in a random order. However, when you have two mitzvot in one verse, one would assume that they are connected in some way. One such example is the verse that states: 'don't go round as a talebearer among your people; you shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbour'. Indeed various commentators connected the two mitzvot in this verse. The Hizkuni gives two interpretations. One is that telling someone that so and so is spreading tales about them, may lead to violence between them. He also explains that if you hear about someone wanting to kill someone you should warn them about it. The Ibn Ezra gives the simpler explanation that by spreading rumours about someone you can lead to their death, giving the case of Saul and the city of Nob in the Bible. Yet, according to tradition, the mitzvah of 'not standing by' implies positive action, not merely not doing something. I therefore believe that you can explain this verse is another way. The Torah forbids us to spread slander about others and enjoins us to defend those that a slandered. People whose reputation or even lives are being endangered by false rumours or slanderous stories need our protection. We need to stand up to those that engage in such destructive behaviour, whether it be tabloid newspapers, internet trolls or school bullies. We have unfortunately seen how, especially in the case of young people, this type of tale bearing can literally lead to people dying. We thus need to take the injunction of the Torah very seriously indeed. Slander, tale bearing and abuse damage us all, even the perpetrators, and it is our duty to oppose it with all the means at our disposal and uproot this evil from our society.
The Parshah this week details the High Priest's service in the Tabernacle on Yom Kippur. An important feature of this service is the necessity for the High Priest to bathe various times during the day, traditionally a total of five times. These immersions take place at the time he changes his clothes from his normal splendid gold vestments to the simple white garments he uses for Yom Kippur. What is fascinating is that the High Priest is required to immerse himself not only when changing from his normal garments to the white Yom Kippur ones but also when changing back into his regular vestments. One can understand purifying yourself when you are about to perform the most important parts of the ritual in the special garments assigned for that purpose. It is less comprehensible why he needs to do so when he is finished. This, however, reminds us of another similar case. The Torah commands that we should remember the Shabbat. The Rabbis understood this to mean verbally sanctifying Shabbat, something we perform by saying Kiddush at the commencement of the Shabbat meal. We can understand the need to mark the fact we are now encompassed by the holiness of Shabbat. Yet the Rabbis also required us to sanctify the end of Shabbat by making Havdalah, signifying the beginning of secular time. It appears that not only does the transformation from secular to holy need to be marked but the transition from holy to secular also need to be sanctified. This requirement tells us a lot about Judaism's view of the world. Judaism divides the world, physical, spatial and chronological, into holy and secular. One might think that this signifies a denigration of the secular world, similar to that in Augustinian Christianity. This is, however, not the case. Both holy and secular are important, serving different, equivalent purposes. The Torah, according to the traditional interpretation, commands us both to labour six days and rest on the seventh. The two are of equal importance. For this reason we sanctify not only the beginning of Shabbat but also the beginning of another week of work. The High Priest purifies himself not only when donning his special Yom Kippur vestments but also when dressing himself in his regular garments. For Judaism, a spiritually healthy life requires a balance of both holy and secular.
Parshat Pesach 8th day
As we come to the end of Pesach we enter the period of the Counting of the Omer. Every night we count one day from the first day of Pesach until Shavuot on the fiftieth day. If we look at the formula we use when counting the Omer we will discover something interesting. We count both days and weeks. We don't simply say that 'today is the eighth day of the Omer' but 'today is the eighth day making one week and one day of the Omer'. The simple reason for this extended formula is that the Torah commands us to count seven weeks until the fiftieth day, seemingly instructing us to count both days and weeks. But there is another deeper reason for this double accounting. Days and weeks represent two different perspectives on marking time. A day is a 24 hour period based on the earth's rotation and is the most basic natural division of time. The week, in contrast, has no basis in nature but is a spiritual division of time based on G-d's timetable of creation. All days are essentially the same simply following one after the other. A week, on the other hand, leads somewhere, up to the special spiritual day of Shabbat. Unlike the passage of the days, a week has a destination and a purpose. We thus live according to two parallel timetables. A secular timetable, one day after the other and a spiritual timetable from one Shabbat to the other. One is concerned with simply physically living while the other gives our lives' purpose. In some ways the festival of Pesach parallels this pattern. We concentrate on the first days on our physical redemption from slavery, while on the concluding days we look forward to the ultimate redemption of 'the Pesach to come'. By counting the Omer according to both timetables we discern that both are necessary. A purely spiritual timetable can lead to an unhealthy detachment from the physical world, while only focussing on the here and now causes us to lead a life devoid of purpose and spirituality. We need a spirituality grounded in and relevant to, the real world around us, enabling us to lead successful and purposeful lives. We need to count both days and weeks.
One of the best beloved parts of the Seder is the section on the Four Sons. It is the source of both amusement and contemplation, play acting and family dynamics. It has also been possibly the most fruitful and inventive field for illustrators of the Haggadah. Less attention is paid to the section immediately preceding it which blesses G-d for having given us the Torah which speaks of four different types of sons. The purpose and placing of this part of the Haggadah is curious. Why do we specifically in the Haggadah thank G-d for having given us the Torah? If it is because of being this the culmination of the Exodus we already mention that in Dayenu. Even if intended as a benedictory introduction to the Haggadah, which is an exercise in Torah study, surely it should have come at the beginning. The answer lies in the very connection to the Four Sons. If we are blessing G-d for the Torah as a prelude to talking of the Four Sons, it clearly indicates that we are blessing G-d specifically for having included the concept of four different children in the Torah. As we sit down to the Seder we are engaged in fulfilling a mitzvah of education. The Torah specifies that the purpose of the night is to explain about the Exodus, especially to children. A parent might feel daunted by the task. After all not every child is the same and how is a parent to properly explain to all of them and thus fulfil the mitzvah. In addition, maybe there is a proper interpretation that should be given, that they are not fully cognisant with. How do they know that educating in the right way. The answer of the Torah is that there is no right way. The story of the Exodus will have different meanings to different people. Each generation will find its own meaning and write its own interpretation of the story. What the preceding blessing informs us is that this plethora of interpretation and meaning is fixed in the Torah itself. It is not merely an educational tool but the way the Torah should be read. The differing questions and answers of the Four Sons that appear in the Torah teach us not only how to only how to conduct the Seder but how to learn Torah.
The special Haftorah for Shabbat Hagadol ends on the hopeful note of the coming of Elijah before the Great Day of G-d, the verse that gives this Shabbat its name. Elijah will come and 'turn the hearts of the fathers to the sons and the sons to the fathers'. Except that the Haftorah doesn't actually end there but continues with a warning 'lest I come and strike the land with the sword'. This seems out of sympathy with the words immediately preceding that talk of reconciliation. How are we to understand this challenging ending? If we study the rest of the Haftorah we will see that it sets up a conflict between different groups of people. We have those that fear G-d and the others who do not or who even hate those that do. The 'G-d fearers'; complain that G-d doesn't seem to make a distinction between them and those who don't fear G-d. G-d replies that the day will come when it will be clear to all who fears G-d and who doesn't. It is easy to see this scenario as a simple case of the religious against the anti-religious or the good against the bad, with G-d in the end rewarding one and punishing the other. Yet the last verse doesn't fit in with the script. It seems to hint at some sort of reconciliation, though ending on a note of warning. It is interesting that the prophet doesn't specifically spell out who are those that fear G-d and who are those that don't, except for listing a few unsavoury practices. G-d merely says that we will in the end discern who is who but also doesn't define them. I would suggest, therefore, that the Haftorah could be talking about two groups of people both of whom believe that they are doing the will of G-d. A hint as to who these may be is given in the last verse that talks about fathers and sons. This may refer to different generations or generational ways of thinking, with the 'sons' wanting what they see as progress and the 'fathers' wary of changing things. Both sides believe the other to be wrong and even hate each other. G-d doesn't choose between them. Rather He urges them to reconcile, each seeing the good in each other. He will even send Elijah to help achieve this. But He also sends a warning. The consequences of carrying of both sides continuing to hold fast to two irreconcilable positions will not be that one wins and the other loses but that both will lose. The whole edifice will come crashing down, a divided house cannot stand. The Haftorah thus gives us a stark choice. If we work together to reach a consensus we can even bring the Messiah, if we continue fruitless arguments we bring only destruction.
An important feature of the laws of leprosy, which form the subject matter of our Parshah, is the central role of the priest. It is the priest that examines the person and deciphers the various symptoms of the sufferer. It is the priest who pronounces someone pure or impure and it is the priest who can delay the onset of the lepers fate by choosing not to examine someone during a festival or the bridegroom during his festivities. In short, while it is the Torah that delineates the criteria of leprosy the actual application of those criteria is down to the officiating priest. The Torah prescribes, but we decide. The same is true of the subject of our special readings today. The Torah commands special offerings on Rosh Hodesh and the festivals and prescribes months based on the moon. But according to our special Maftir it is the Jewish people who decide on the application of these regulations. 'This month shall be to you the first of the months', states the Torah and the Rabbis emphasise the word you. It is the Sanhedrin that examines the witnesses to the appearance of the new moon and decide whether to proclaim a new month on the 30th or 31st day. It is they who decide what years should be leap years in order to ensure Pesach falls in the spring. The Torah provides the framework and the basic parameters but it is at our discretion how they are applied. The same is true for other mitzvot in the Torah. This tell us something important about the Jewish approach to the Torah. The Torah does merely consist of a series of commands which we are expected to passively obey. Rather the Jewish religion is one where we are encouraged to play an active part in the understanding, interpretation and application of the Torah. G-d prescribes festivals but we determine when they are. He dictates rules for the management of leprosy but we decide whom they apply to and when. We are partners with G-d in the Torah, not merely recipients. This, however, imposes upon us an obligation. If we are participants in the Torah system, for that system to work we need to participate. For that we need knowledge. If we neglect to engage with the Torah, it cannot fulfil its full potential either in our lives or in the world. It increasingly ceases to be a living Torah and can turn into a stultifying or even irrelevant burden. So let us learn Torah and engage with Torah and become partners with G-d in making it come alive.
The Rabbis tell a story of a man travelling with his son to another city. The child is impatiently asks when they will arrive. The father tells him that when they see the cemetery then they will know that the city is close by. This story presents a profound truth that cemeteries are a testament to life, which is why they can often be fascinating places. It is also true that how we approach death says a lot about how we live life. The same is true about Judaism. How Judaism deals with death reveals its attitude to life. This week we read a lot about death. We have the death of Aaron's sons, the impurity of animal carcasses and the ritual of the Red Heifer that purifies someone that had contact with a dead body. If we look at the death of Aaron's sons we see something interesting. Despite the terrible tragedy that has befallen him, he is forbidden to carry out any of the practices of mourning. Indeed we learn many of the rules of mourning from what Aaron and his remaining sons are told not to do. The general consensus among the commentators is that this command was to prevent Aaron's private grief with interfering with the public rejoicing at the inauguration of the Tabernacle. A similar rule applies today to someone who becomes a mourner during a festival. He is not allowed to begin the mourning period till after the festival in order not to interfere with the public rejoicing. This may seem unfair but it is based on a profound Jewish understanding of life, death and mourning. This is seen in the other instances of death we encounter this week. Our Parshah tells us that death is defiling. Judaism treasures life rather than glorifying death and the needs of the living community must before the private grief of the individual. Furthermore it is precisely the community that enables the mourner to transit back to life. In the ceremony of the Red Heifer it is the priest who purifies the mourner, even at the cost of himself becoming impure. Yet in order to effect this purification you need a community of people undefiled from impurity. In a similar way, in order for the community to comfort the mourner they themselves must be in a different frame of mind. Enabling the community to continue with their celebrations creates the strength in that community to draw the mourner back to life. As Moses tells Aaron: 'the whole house of Israel will mourn the fire which G-d has kindled'. Precisely because Aaron refrains from disturbing the communal celebrations, he can be assured that the whole community will later unite to comfort him. When tragedy strikes we need the community, but the community also needs us not to drag them down into our sorrow, so they can ultimately draw us from darkness to light.
Parshat Tzav in a normal year occurs on the week before Pesach and has a direct relevance to Pesach as it is from this Parshah that we learn of the necessity and method of kashering dishes used with forbidden food (like Hametz on Pesach). In a leap year, however, our Parshah occurs in proximity to Purim, to which it is harder to find a link. Yet there is in fact an interesting hint of Purim in that very section. When describing the method of kashering metal dishes the Torah uses talks of scouring, morak. In explaining this word Rashi says that it is similar to the phrase tamrukai nashim or women's cosmetics in the Megillah. The connection between them seems to be that just as we scour a vessel to remove its impurities and restore it to its original state, so cosmetics 'scour' the skin of women to restore it to what is seen as its perfect smooth condition. This idea of removing the dross and getting to what is beneath is at the heart of Purim. The Megillah itself does not mention the name of G-d and it is necessary to scour it for the underlying Divine hand controlling events. Some explain the custom of drinking to excess as a way of revealing our true uninhibited selves. It is interesting that Purim is seen as the first rabbinic festival, symbolising the interpretative tradition that looks beneath the literal meaning of the Torah to discover its different meanings. This also links into the Parshah which, perhaps, has the most glaring examples of complete disregard of the literal meaning of the text. The Torah seems to clearly state that the various priests who offer a sacrifice are the ones that get to consume it and acquire its skin. Yet the Rabbis declare that in fact any suitable priest is able to partake of these offerings. It is clear that there was an ancient tradition in the Temple that this was the case and the Rabbis therefore interpreted the Torah accordingly. All this teaches us that things are not always what they seem and everything should not be necessarily taken at face value. We often need to 'scour' things in order to reveal their true meaning.
'If you should bring an offering of First Fruits'. This verse in our Parshah leads to an intriguing interpretation. The Rabbis found the language strange as the bringing of First Fruits is an obligation. They thus read the word if as meaning when. In other words the Torah expressed an obligation in terms of a preference. The same is true in to other cases; 'if you should build an altar of stone' and 'if you should lend money to My people'. In both cases the verse is speaking of an obligation, whether to lend to the poor or build and altar, and yet expresses this in terms of a choice or preference. In these cases as well the Rabbis read the word if as when. Yet the question still remains. If these three mitzvot are an obligation why is the Torah using the word if to introduce them, a word that every else signifies choice? The answer must lie in the nature of these mitzvot themselves. I would suggest that while these mitzvot are indeed a clear obligation they contain within in a necessity for choice and a willingness to do the mitzvah. If we take the example in our Parshah, for example, the giving of First Fruits is an action that is meant to express the gratitude of the farmer for his prosperity. That aspect of the mitzvah cannot be commanded but must be felt. If a farmer brings First Fruits only because he has to but does not do so with feelings of gratitude them something essential is missing in the performance of the mitzvah. The same is true of the other two cases. One can build an altar and offer sacrifices but if they are merely external actions without spiritual content they become empty of meaning. If you begrudgingly lend to the poor but feel no connection or empathy with them, your action lacks an essential element. The same can be said of the other mitzvot. The Torah places obligations on us but also expects us to be spiritually engaged and enriched by them. If they are merely done mechanically we are missing out on the essential ingredient. The Torah by expressing itself in this way is teaching us the importance of not does performing the mitzvot but living them.
Shemot (Exodus) 5776
A sense of excitement pervades this week’s Parshah. This may seem a strange idea as the Parshah seems to repeat much of what has gone before. Still more design instructions for the Tabernacle. The excitement lies in the tenor of the text itself. The detailing of each stage in the erection of the Tabernacle until it reaches its crescendo in the last verses. The Tabernacle has been completed as G-d commanded and now the Divine Presence fills the Tent; so that even Moses cannot enter. The great project is completed; the project that has at its heart the indwelling of G-d among the Jewish people. It is this spiritual excitement that we sense as we read this week’s Parshah. This excitement and commitment was institutionalised by the giving of the half-shekel that we commemorated last week. That money was used for the daily sacrifices; thus connecting the whole people with the ongoing service of G-d in the Tabernacle they had created for His dwelling. It is this sense of spiritual excitement, of the desire and possibility of experiencing G-d; that is so lacking from our synagogues today. It is this gaping hole at the very heart of our communities that is the cause of so much of the apathy and cynicism that seems to bedevil British Jewry. When synagogues become mere venues for social interaction they have lost their primary purpose. When it is a struggle for someone to get a minyan for a Yartzheit something is seriously wrong. A real and urgent question must be asked about the future viability of places of worship where people come to do everything and anything; except worship. We need reintroduce spiritual excitement into our synagogues. We need to look at how we can make our services relevant and more inclusive. We need to educate our members about the spiritual nature of Jewish ritual. There are synagogues, even in this country, where the excitement we find in the Parshah is present. Where people come to shule to find G-d. If our communities are to have a future we must no longer shirk this challenge. It can be done. It must be done.
This week the Torah returns to the subject of the building of the Tabernacle. Recounting the actual building of the Tabernacle, it recounts all the details stated earlier. Last week we ended our detailing of the instructions for the Tabernacle with a warning to keep Shabbat. This week, before beginning the actual work of construction, Moses again admonishes the people to keep Shabbat. It appears that there is an intimate connection between the Tabernacle and Shabbat. The simple explanation is that the work of the Tabernacle is to be stopped for Shabbat. Indeed it is from this connection that we learn what activities are prohibited on Shabbat: those used in constructing the Tabernacle. On another level the Tabernacle is a microcosm of the universe whose creation ceased on Shabbat. In fact the same word, melacha, is used for the work of creation, the building of the Tabernacle and the activities prohibited on Shabbat. Yet if we look at the two concepts conceptually we can uncover a more profound message. The Tabernacle is an attempt to create holiness in space. It is the site of the revelation of the Divine Presence; in many ways a perpetual site of the Revelation at Sinai. Many cultures and religions have sacred places; indeed the concept sacred space was prevalent throughout the ancient world. Shabbat on the other hand seeks to create holiness in time. This was the unique invention of the Jewish people, and one that has been only imperfectly imitated by others. What the Torah comes to tell us at the beginning of this week’s Parshah, is that holiness in time trumps holiness in space. Shabbat takes precedence over the Tabernacle. The reason for this is a profound understanding of human nature. The Tabernacle or Temple is external to us; it is something we come to, or worship in. Shabbat, on the other hand, is something we experience. It exists primarily inside us; it effects a change in our soul. The external restraint from work is the vehicle which allows us to experience the extra spirituality Shabbat has to offer. The Tabernacle was built in order that G-d would dwell, not in it, but in the hearts of the people. Shabbat is precisely the vehicle for this to happen. Rather than Shabbat detracting from the building of the Tabernacle; its observance is essential for its function. The true home of G-d is not in a building but in a place in our lives called Shabbat.
The majority of our Parshah consists of the episode of the Golden Calf and its aftermath. One of the most difficult things to understand in the story is the role of Aaron. Generations of students have puzzled how it was that this towering figure, who was the role model for all the priests that followed him, played a leading role in enabling this terrible incident to occur. Most of the commentators seek to extenuate his actions by explaining that at every stage he was trying to divert the impetus of the people in a better direction. Proof of this is found in the text, where following the making of the Calf, Aaron declares to the people that 'there will be a festival to G-d tomorrow'. Aaron was convinced that the making of the Calf would not lead to idol worship but through Moses' return or another occurrence lead the people back to G-d. Aaron also seems to be surprised by the making of the Calf, saying to Moses in extenuation that he put the gold in the furnace 'and this Calf appeared'. All of this leads to the conclusion that Aaron, perceiving the mood of the people, tried to reassure them by methods he thought would be consistent with the Torah and bring them back to G-d. At every stage he believed he was doing the right thing and that his actions would strengthen rather than weaken the Torah. He was tragically wrong and thus unfortunately created a precedent that was repeated throughout Jewish history. Great Jewish leaders have been lead astray by movements they thought would bring redemption but in the end brought tragedy. Rabbi Akiva thought Bar Kokhba was the messiah and so supported the disastrous revolt against Rome. Many important rabbis supported the false messiah Shabbatei Zvi, whose movement caused untold damage to the Jewish People. Even today some people believe that the late Lubavitcher Rebbe was the messiah, something totally opposed to Jewish tradition. All this should serve as a warning to us to be extremely sceptical concerning new religious movements in Judaism, which seem to promise heaven but end up delivering purgatory. If someone like Aaron could be so mistaken, how much more do we need to be cautious.
In Parshat Tetzaveh we read of the special clothes worn by the High Priest. One of the more obscure items are the bells on his robe. The Torah states that these are so that 'his voice may be heard when he enters the holy place ... and not die'. It is not clear for whose benefit this is. Some have wanted to explain that it refers to the assembled people who know that he is going into the Tabernacle and behave accordingly. Yet the plain meaning seems to be that it is G-d who hears his approach. The bells are thus a device for protecting G-d's privacy. This is not a simple concept. However it is basic to our understanding of the Divine relationship with the world. No one can directly experience G-d as He is and live. His presence is thus hidden and not overwhelmingly obvious. There are places, such as the Tabernacle, where the Divine Presence is less hidden. These, however, are also restricted to human access, thus the necessity of the High Priest's bells. This concept of the hiddeness of G-d is of course a basic idea of the festival of Purim. Yet here the concept is taken to a new level. On Purim we have the concept of Hester Panim or the hiding of G-d's face. This is, to a certain extent, the withdrawal of G-d's protective involvement in the world and is conceived of in the Torah as a punishment. The Jews have gone away from G-d, so G-d withdraws from them. On Purim the Jews tried to assimilate, forgetting G-d, so G-d withdraws his protection from them Thus the assault of Haman. Yet it is precisely the negative consequences of G-d 'hiding His face' that cause the Jews to seek G-d, reversing the process. So on Purim the Jews, faced with the threat of Haman, seek G-d and are saved. Indeed the underlying story of the Megillah can be seen in large part as the attempt to restore the relationship between the Jews and G-d, thus again revealing G-d's hidden presence. The lesson of Purim, and of the Parshah, is that while G-d's presence in the world may be hidden we can by our actions cause it to be revealed. As a famous Hassidic Rebbe once said 'G-d is found where He is let in'.
'And you shall make me a Mikdash and I will dwell among you'. Thus the Torah begins the instructions for the building of the Tabernacle. The word Mikdash, often translated as Sanctuary has at its heart the word kadosh, meaning holy. The commentators have given various explanations of the word. Either it is a place where G-d communicates with His people or it is a place for the Divine Presence to dwell. Rashi explains that it is 'a house of holiness'. This is quite a striking image. G-d calls upon us to make a house or a home where holiness or spirituality can dwell. This is reminiscent of the famous answer given by a hassidic rebbe when asked where G-d dwells: 'G-d dwells where He is let in'. This is a very profound concept. The Rabbis state that 'G-d is the place of the world but the world is not His place'. According to Jewish mysticism G-d 'contracted', made room for something to exist other than Himself, in order to create the universe. Thus we live in G-d's house but one which He has given us permission to live in. G-d, however, does not overly intrude on our tenancy. He doesn't barge in uninvited. Rather he waits to be invited in by us. We are called upon to make a place for the Divine Presence in this world by creating a home for holiness. When we perform mitzvot, support each other and the less fortunate, or generally strive to make the world a better place, we create a home for holiness. Every Shabbat, by refraining from our own creating, we make a place for G-d in His creation. That was the central purpose not only of the Tabernacle but of the whole of the Torah. The Israelite camp with the Tabernacle in the centre symbolised the role of Jews in the world, creating a place for the Divine. As we read the account of the construction of the Tabernacle let us reflect on this question. G-d made a home for us, do we have a place for Him?
In warning us against oppressing or harassing the stranger the Torah, in this week's Parshah, reminds us that we were strangers in the land of Egypt. What is the motivation behind this admonishment and the precise lesson we are meant to learn from it, is a matter of dispute among the commentators. Rashi states that 'a fault that you have don't criticise others for'. Ibn Ezra and others explain that as we were a stranger in Egypt we know what is like. Ramban rejects both these position and understands the reminder as a warning. We saw what G-d did to the Egyptians because they mistreated us, so we should not mistreat others. These three opinions can actually be seen as complimentary. They refer to three common reasons for our bad treatment of others, especially those weaker or more vulnerable than ourselves. The first is arrogance. We believe that we are superior to the other person and thus have a right to treat them differently. The Torah reminds us that such distinctions are not set in stone and highly subjective. Just as we may now think ourselves superior to others others may think the same about us and no position in society is necessarily permanent. The second reason for our mistreatment of others is insensitivity. We have no empathy for the person in a less fortunate position to ourselves because we cannot imagine ourselves in their place. By reminding us of our slavery in Egypt the Torah is trying, on the basis of our own historical experiences, to instil in us sympathy for the less fortunate. Finally, we often persecute or bully people because we think we can get away with it. Our victims are weaker than we are and often not popular, so no one will stand in our way. The Torah reminds us that Pharaoh thought the same thing and admonishes us to take pay attention to his fate. As is stated several times in the Torah G-d sees our behaviour, hears the cries of our victims and will call us to account for it. Thus with regards to our relations with those less fortunate than ourselves the Torah warns us against arrogance, bids us cultivate empathy and reminds us that if we treat others badly it will in the end come back to bite us.
A plain reading of the Torah suggests that the covenant between G-d and Israel was freely entered into by both sides. G-d proposed and Israel accepted, declaring that everything G-d had said they would do. One of the Jewish people's finest hours. The Rabbis however muddy the waters somewhat. They firstly declare that the Jews were coerced into accepting the Torah. G-d held the mountain over them and popped the question. More a shotgun wedding than a love romantic proposal. They then further complicate matters by declaring that the Jews did indeed accept the Torah willingly, but a thousand years later, at the time of Purim. How are we to understand these curious comments? Despite their seemingly mythical nature, they do in fact reflect the real circumstances of Jewish history. A cursory reading of the Bible will demonstrate that it indeed did take until the return from Babylon, about the time of Purim, for the Jews to fully accept the Torah. For a thousand years Jews often if not mostly served idols, ignored the mitzvot and generally tried to assimilate into the surrounding culture. Only after the searing experience of destruction and exile did the Jews fully embrace the Torah and its commandments, as related in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. Maybe the Rabbis by these statements are telling us that the original acceptance of the Torah was overawed by the experiences of the Exodus and the awe of Revelation and that the people didn't fully internalise the Torah till much later. They are also telling us that when it comes to education there are no quick fixes. In order to instill new ideas or change attitudes patience is required. We should be suspicious of people who claim to have changed overnight and of those who claim to be able to effect such change. The experience of the Jewish people teaches us that only by patient constant education, with many backward steps and pitfalls can true and lasting change really occur.
The Rabbis said that at the time of the crossing of the Reed Sea, the Jewish people's fate was in the balance. It had to be decided whether they would be saved or destroyed with the Egyptians. How should we understand this strange statement? Surely G-d brought them out of Egypt to save them rather than to destroy them. We can begin to understand this by unpicking an enigmatic verse later in the Parshah. When the Israelites came to Marah they were unable to drink the water. Moses threw a branch into the water and it became drinkable. G-d then proclaims to the people that if they obey Him all they will be spared all the diseases that plagued the Egyptians. Rabbi Hertz explains that in this incident the Jews were confronted by one of the plagues of Egypt – undrinkable water. After remedying the situation G-d explains that just as the plagues afflicted the Egyptians because of their disobedience to G-d, so the Jews would be spared them if they were obedient. This is the idea that is found above. The Egyptians were condemned to drown in the sea because they opposed G-d's will. The fate of the Israelites depended on the same variable. Would they be judged worthy to be saved from this penalty or not? Thus the punishment of the Egyptians was not only a lesson to them but also a warning to the Jews what would happen to them if they didn't follow G-d's commandments. This idea is found throughout the Torah. While the Israelites are informed that they will destroy the Canaanites and inherit their land because of their heinous behaviour, they are at the same time warned that if they behave likewise they will meet a similar fate. Thus the miracles done for the Jews were in order that they should keep the Torah. Failure to do so can result in those same miracles being turned against them. While the covenant between G-d and Israel is eternal, how that covenant plays out in every generation depends on our behaviour. Being chosen is a double edged sword and which way it turns is dependent on how we relate to the Torah. For Jews there is no free ride.
There are two mitzvot that are called otot or signs. One is Shabbat and the other is Tefillin. For this reason Tefillin are not warn on Shabbat as two signs are not considered necessary. Both also have a double rationale. Shabbat remembers creation and Tefillin reminds us of our duty to serve G-d. Yet both also are explained as serving to remind us of the Exodus from Egypt. With regards to Shabbat it can be seen how a day of rest for everyone is a reminder of our liberation from slavery. What is less clear is how Tefillin are connected to the Exodus, something specifically stated at the end of our Parshah. We can maybe begin to understand this by going back to the rationales for Shabbat. It can be explained that the fact that G-d created the world mandates the common dignity of all His creations, including slaves and animals, thus necessitating there common participation the rest of Shabbat. If we look at the rationale for Tefillin in the Shema, we can see that it is connected to the service of G-d. Indeed, the Rabbis saw the binding of Tefillin on our arm and head as subordinating our physical and mental powers to G-d's will. How does this relate to the Exodus? It would, indeed, seem to be directly contradictory to the freedom gained by the Exodus. That, however, is precisely the point. Judaism believes that by accepting the 'yoke of heaven' we in fact liberate ourselves. Someone that only follows their material desires without reference to spiritual values, is in the end enslaved by them. The rules of the Torah, on the other hand, serve to liberate us from this slavery and enable us to be in control of our desires, rather than them dominating us. Thus by wearing Tefillin as a reminder of the Exodus we state that true liberation is not based on only doing whatever we want but by living on the basis of the spiritual values that make us truly free.
Our Parshah contains seven of the ten plagues. It is worth considering the purpose of these afflictions inflicted on the Egyptians. Why was it necessary to have ten plagues? Surely the final plague, the killing of the first-born would have sufficed to cause Pharaoh to liberate the Israelites. It can be answered that the series of plagues, each more severe than its predecessor, served to warn the Egyptians of the consequences of their actions and endeavoured to induce them to change course. However, this can only be said of the first five plagues where Pharaoh hardened his own heart. With regards to the last plagues it is stated that G-d hardened Pharaoh's heart. However you interpret this statement Pharaoh was not totally open to heeding the message of the plagues. The Torah itself seems to indicate that the purpose of the plagues was to teach both the Egyptians and the Israelites about G-d's power and supremacy over matter. Yet the last plague surely achieved that. Indeed, except for the last plague all the others could be attributed to natural phenomena. I would suggest, however, that here lies the crux of the matter. The purpose of the plagues is to demonstrate G-d's control over nature. The series of plagues target various aspects of the natural world, both animal, mineral and climatic, to demonstrate that G-d can use natural phenomena for His purposes. The earth is not merely a by product of Divine activity but something that G-d is intimately involved in. G-d has created and continues to oversees natural phenomena. The world is not ours to do with as we wish. Rather we are custodians of the Divine creation called upon to act justly towards both humans, animals and the environment. If we fail to do so, as in Egypt, nature itself will be used to inflict our punishment. In our time, when the negative effects of our despoliation of the environment are becoming daily more evident, this lesson of plagues is one we urgently need to pay heed to.
'A man went from the House of Levi and took a daughter of Levi'. Thus the Torah introduces the story of Moses. The context is dire. Pharaoh has just decreed that all male children are to be thrown into the Nile and we have a couple deciding to begin a family. The Rabbis pick up on the fact that the Torah bothers to tell us of the marriage of Amram and Jocheved, rather than simply stating, in the normal manner, that Moses was born to Amram. The postulate a remarriage, one where their daughter Miriam places a crucial role. According to the Midrash, because of Pharaoh's harsh decree Amram had decided to separate from his wife reckoning that is was wrong to have more children in those circumstances. Miriam persuades him otherwise, complaining that he is worse than Pharaoh who's decree only referred to boys while he is giving up on all children. This Midrash raises interesting questions on how we respond in times of crisis. Would Miriam's argument apply in all cases, for example even in the Holocaust, where indeed such dilemmas had to be resolved? Can we not only have faith in G-d but act on that faith in the face of impossible circumstances? Maybe Miriam's subsequent actions provide an answer. Famously, she not only gave the advice that led to Moses' birth but was instrumental in saving him after his birth. Both Miriam and Jocheved were not passive observers in the face of Pharaoh's decree but actively and successfully worked to thwart it. They didn't simply trust in G-d to save them but acted to save themselves. Nevertheless without Miriam's original leap of faith nothing would have been possible. Faced with overwhelming oppression or evil we are not required to act suicidally, simply because of our faith. What we are required to do, and what Jews have done throughout history, is to take what action we can to resolve the situation, even in unfavourable circumstances, trusting in G-d to help us. Thus the Maccabees in taking on the mighty Greek army were neither being suicidal or delusional. They rather did what they thought might work, trusting that, if they acted to save themselves G-d might provide assistance. Thus the Jewish response to dire circumstances is neither despair or delusion but taking reasonable action inspired by faith.
Bereishit (Genesis) 5776
At the beginning of the Parshah Jacob effectively adopts Joseph's sons, making them equal to the other tribes. He then diverges into explaining that Rachel died on the way and was buried there. The reason for this diversion is not clear. A common explanation, brought by Rashi, is that Joseph was upset about his mother being buried by the wayside, so his father explains that this was done in order that she would weep for her children as they passed her on the way to exile, as envisioned by Jeremiah. Yet there are two other explanations given. The Ramban believes that the real reason that Rachel wasn't buried alongside Jacob and Leah was that the Torah forbids marrying two sisters. Even though Jacob did this before the Torah was given it is still would be a source of embarrassment to have them buried together. The Seforno understands that Jacob is explaining to Joseph why he had no more children, thus leaving the way for the adoption of his sons. After Rachel's death he was so heartbroken it was impossible for him to even consider having more children. It is possible to see how the last two explanations can serve to explain why Rachel was chosen to intercede for her exiled children. In marrying two sisters Jacob had broken the rules. He only did so because he was already committed to marrying her before he was deceived with Leah. Rachel thus serves as a reminder that sometimes the rules need to be bent in aid of a higher purpose. Thus, just as Jacob ignored the prohibition of marrying two sisters in order to keep his promise to Rachel, so should G-d ameliorate the punishment of the Jewish people because of his covenant with them. In a similar vein, just as Jacob's love for Rachel was so strong that after her death he could not even contemplate further relationships, so Rachel serves to remind G-d of his love for the Jewish people and thus the impossibility of leaving them languishing in exile. Thus this passage serves to remind us of the power of both love and obligation, which meet in the person of Rachel crying for her children.
When Joseph's family arrives in Egypt he plans how best to present them to Pharaoh. He instructs them exactly what they should say in order to achieve the outcome he desires. The brothers should tell Pharaoh that they are shepherds in order that Pharaoh will isolate them in Goshen, away from the main Egyptian population, and close to him. In other words Joseph wanted his family all together and in an Israelite ghetto in Goshen rather than dispersed throughout Egypt where there was a fear that they would assimilate into Egyptian society. Interestingly, Joseph does precisely the opposite with the general Egyptian population itself. In the last aliyah we read how, as part of Joseph's land reforms, he transfers the population from one end of Egypt to the other. This was probably to loosen their tie to a specific piece of land and create a more homogeneous population. This was precisely the opposite of what he sought for his own family. This dichotomy exists throughout Jewish history. What is good for Jews is not necessarily what is beneficial for everyone else. Even today when most Jews are supportive of globalisation and supra-national institutions and suspicious of nationalism, we are strongly supportive of the right and necessity of Jews to have their own state. This paradox has existed most starkly in terms of the rise of the daughter religions of Christianity and Islam. Especially with regards to Christianity, Jewish history would have been a lot happier had the Roman empire, and thus Europe, remained pagan. Traditional Christian teaching is at the root of most historic and even contemporary anti-Semitism. Yet Jewish authorities, even in the Middle Ages, have regarded the rise of Christianity as a positive benefit to the world and part of the Divine plan for humanity. Despite the historical suffering it caused Jews it was beneficial to the world as a whole. This attitude demonstrates the Jewish ability to be both particularistic and universalistic at the same time and illustrates the paradox that is a feature of Jewish history. With the improvement of Jewish-Christian relations over the last fifty years and even more positive developments recently, we can hope that with regards to this issue at least, the paradox could be resolved, and we could see Christianity as not only being good for the world but also for the Jews.
In the Parshah it is written that Joseph brought the evil report about his brothers to his father. The Rabbis elaborated on this data by stating that he reported that they ate flesh from a living animal, insulted the sons of the maidservants calling them slaves and played around with unsuitable woman. They further state that Joseph was punished in a similar manner for all three reports. His coat was dipped in animal blood, he was sold as a slave and he was pursued by Potiphar's wife. Looking at this Midrash more closely a paradox becomes apparent. It would appear from the wording in both the Torah and the Midrash that Joseph did not simply make things up. His reports, however coloured, were based on the fact that his brothers did indeed engage in these three activities. Thus he was basically telling his father the truth. Yet he was punished severely for doing so. This begs the question why what he did was wrong. Surely it can be reasoned, his father had a right to know about the delinquent behaviour of his children. It could even be argued that it was Joseph's duty to report their activities. Yet this is not the attitude taken by Jewish tradition. Joseph was wrong to defame his brothers, even if what he said was true. Even if the story were correct it was still slander. By making this assertion the Midrash is imparting to us an important lesson. It is easy to justify telling tales about people by convincing ourselves that the recipient of our slander has a right to know what the person is up to or what he is really like. Judaism disagrees. If one wishes to tell someone something derogatory about someone else you need to be convinced that the recipient will be materially damaged by withholding the information. If someone is about to conclude a business deal with someone you know to be seriously dishonest you may have a duty to tell them. But if someone has been slandered, for example, you need to ask what good it would do to the person concerned to be told about it. Normally it would just lead to further trouble and it is often better that the person doesn't know what the other person really thinks of them. Joseph's reports to his father didn't serve to improve his brothers behaviour, rather merely made them hate him. A desire that everyone should know the truth is, as Joseph found to his cost, not excuse enough for slander. Better to keep silent.
In our Parshah this week we read of the mysterious struggle between Jacob and an unknown assailant, who seems to be some sort of supernatural being. The exact identity of this entity and the purpose of the encounter are unclear. What is clear is the outcome of this encounter, the changing of Jacob's name to Israel. It is thus to this new designation that we must look in order to better understand the episode. Jacob is called Israel because he has 'struggled with G-d and Man and prevailed'. The precise intention of this verse is again not apparent, and has been interpreted in various ways. However, looking at the incident from the perspective of Jewish history we can possibly suggest an intriguing interpretation. If Jacob's assailant is seen as the prototype of the enemies of his descendants through the ages, we can perhaps understand the struggle with 'G-d and Man'. Jews have faced two types of opponents, those as on Hanukah that wished to destroy the Jewish religion and those like Haman that wanted to annihilate the Jews physically. We have struggled both with 'G-d', spiritual opponents and with 'Man', physical opponents and prevailed. Yet the Torah also tells us that Jacob was injured in this struggle. In light of the above we can see that this wound is both physical and spiritual. We have not only lost millions of people to the onslaught of our enemies, we have been also wounded spiritually. Taking into account those who decide to give up and assimilate or even join the ranks of our enemies, we have also paid a heavy spiritual price. Like Jacob we have prevailed but been left limping, spiritually and physically. Yet the Torah tells us that the sun rose over Jacob as he limped, a phenomenon linked by the commentators with the 'sun of healing' mentioned by the prophet Malachi, signifying that Jacob was healed of his wound. In the same way we can hope that the sun of healing will shine over the Jewish people and heal us of the wounds, both spiritual and physical we have sustained in prevailing over G-d and Man.
At the end of this week’s Parshah we have heated argument between Jacob and Laban. Jacob has been pursued and searched by Laban, who found nothing of his among Jacob’s possessions. Jacob remonstrates with Laban concerning the whole of their troubled relationship, including reminding him how he faithfully worked for him. Laban however replies that all that Jacob owns is really his, as Jacob has obtained it from his original stock. Beyond evidence of the troubled relationship between the two men, we have here a fundamental argument. Jacob regards the wealth he made from the livestock originally given to him by Laban, as legitimate profit. Laban regards it as a form of stealing what is legitimately his. This argument goes beyond a dispute about the legitimacy of certain business practices and the validity of certain types of profit. Jacob obtained this increase in his flock by an early form of genetic engineering. He manipulated the sheep in his care in order that they gave birth to the type of sheep that were contractually his, and not Laban’s. Laban strongly objects to this scientific innovation, seeing in it an illegitimate form of trickery he doesn’t fully understand. Their dispute, seen in this light, seems very modern. Fear and misunderstanding of new scientific discovery is as old as science itself. Unfortunately, much of this prejudice has been formed and encouraged by religion. Rudyard Kipling wrote an amusing story of a monk who brings back from his travels an early microscope. This is promptly destroyed, lest its owners be burned by the Church for seeing what man was not meant to discover. We no longer burn people at the stake for scientific discoveries, but some of the religious attitudes to science today are not far off that of a lynch mob. Especially in areas connected with genetic engineering and research, religious and political leaders often make ill informed and incendiary statements. Religion has an important role in providing an ethical basis for scientific research. As in other areas of life it sometimes needs to create moral barriers to safeguard basic values. But these must be based on a proper understanding of what is going on and its ethical dilemmas, rather than on ignorance and fear. Judaism has always been good at doing this; religious authorities obtaining scientific opinion before pronouncing on such issues. It is thus important that our distinctive voice be heard, carrying on the tradition of Jacob the geneticist.
Parshat Hayei Sarah
Our Sages made quite an amazing statement. The said that it is better to live in Israel in a city full of idolaters than outside Israel in a city full of Jews. This statement may seem counter-intuitive but its roots go right back to Abraham. In the Parshah he instructs his servant to find Isaac a wife from his family in Haran and not from the local Canaanite girls. Yet when Eliezer asks him whether if the girl refuses to move to Canaan, he should take Isaac to Haran. Abraham's answer is unequivocal. Under no circumstances should Isaac return to Haran, even if the alternative is a marrying a woman from Abraham's Canaanite neighbours. We can see in this discussion an ambivalence between two types of influence. On the one hand, ones family, and especially ones spouse, can be an important determinant in defining what values you will hold and how you will live your life. On the other, the overall environment that you live in can also exerciser a persuasive influence on your behaviour and belief. It is this conundrum that Eliezer's question places before Abraham. He comes down firmly on the side of the overall environment. If the choice is to live in a pagan leaning household in the Promised Land or in a more conducive family outside it, the land triumphs. Abraham instinctively understands that when G-d told him to go to Israel and promised his descendants its possession, he is clearly stating that this piece of real estate is the most conducive place for Abraham and his descendants to fulfil their divine mission. Even if they will be surrounded by idolaters they will still be more spiritually attuned than living in a foreign environment, even if encompassed by Jews. A late Chief Rabbi of Israel made the same determination when he used more lenient criterion for conversion for candidates living in Israel. They, influenced by their environment were likely to become more Jewish over time while those living in the Diaspora were more likely to be enticed the other way. The message is clear. Boro Park or Golders Green are not Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. For Jews there is no place like home, and home is Israel.
The Haftorah generally has a connection to the subject matter of the Parshah. The Haftorah this week deals with the miraculous birth of the son of the Shunamite woman at the word of the prophet Elisha. This connects to the birth of Isaac in the Parshah. Yet we can find a deeper thematic connection between the two. In the Haftorah the woman's son dies and has to be revived by Elisha. When Elisha initially promises her a son she tells him not to deceive her. When she rushes to him after her son's collapse she throws back at him the same words. She obviously connects her son's death with the original promise of his birth. She seems to be saying to Elisha that she was right all along to be suspicious of such a promise. She is profoundly suspicious of supernatural interventions. She has reconciled herself to the fact that she is naturally unlikely to give birth. Along comes Elisha and, using his prophetic abilities promises her a son. The Shunamite woman essentially regards such a miraculous birth as a dangerous disruption of the natural order which can only have bad results, a premonition she now sees fulfilled. Looking at the Parshah, we can see a similar scenario concerning the birth of Isaac. Two aliyot later G-d demands that Abraham sacrifice him. While both affair's have a seemingly happy resolution they still involve serious trauma. It is as if there is a price to be paid for miraculous interventions, and that price can be high. The natural order, itself a creation of G-d, is not to be disturbed lightly. It is interesting that another miraculous mother, Hannah, dedicates her son to service in the Sanctuary. Maybe, knowing the story of Sarah and Isaac she is giving him to G-d in a less traumatic way, before something worse occurs. The lesson appears to be that miracles come with a price tag attached, so if you are praying for one be careful what you ask for.
One of the three mitzvot in Genesis which is found in our Parshah is that of circumcision. The Midrash comments on this commandment that there is nothing more precious to a man than his son, yet he circumcises him in order to fulfil G-d's commandment, and does so with joy. Furthermore he even makes a party to celebrate, which was not commanded. This Midrash teaches us some basic verities about Judaism. Very few parents look forward with equanimity to the circumcision of their son. I have yet to find a mother, especially, that is overjoyed at the prospect. Yet even normally non-observant Jews will take the trouble to have their sons circumcised. Despite being one of the most difficult commandments to carry out it is specifically this mitzvah that is almost universally observed. Judaism, this teaches us, is not meant to be easy. It is supposed to be challenging. The whole idea of the mitzvot is to bring us close to G-d by enabling our personal growth. By giving us challenging tasks to perform G-d facilitates our spiritual development and strengthens our moral character. Looking for an easy or light Judaism, misses the point. The Midrash goes on to make a further point. The parents of the child being circumcised not only fulfil this difficult commandment but make it an occasion of celebration, something that was not commanded. They go beyond the basic requirements of the Torah and add another dimension vital to a living Judaism, the emotional connection to the mitzvah. Someone may feel obliged both to pay their taxes and buy a present for their spouse for an anniversary. Both involve the outlay of money, but one would hope that there is an emotional commitment to giving to the spouse that is not present in paying tax. It is this that the Midrash is talking about. The parents that make a party on circumcising their son are adding to the realm of obligation the dimension of love. That is the challenge for us all but especially Jewish educators. How do we inject passion into our performance of the mitzvot and how do we inspire others to do the same. The Midrash teaches us that it is not enough to merely feel obligated by Judaism, we also must love it.
When Noah is commanded by G-d to build an Ark he is told to put a 'Tzohar' in ark. There are two Midrashic opinions as to what this was. One says that it was a precious stone that gave off light; the other that is was a window. The latter opinion seems to be supported by the text, as later on, at the end of the Flood, it is related that Noah opened the window that he had made. On the other hand, the word used in that context is 'Halon' not Tzohar, suggesting it was something different. The essence of the discussion seems to focus on whether the window referred to is transparent and thus letting in light or a wooden panel that needed to be opened. This difference can tell us a lot about the state of mind of Noah and those with him in the Ark. As the storm raged outside, from where did they receive their light? Was it from an internal light source or the meagre external sunlight? Did they close themselves off from the catastrophe occurring around them or were they forced to confront it by the light emanating from outside? Was their response to the extinction of the rest of humanity to ignore it, huddled in the safe cocoon of the Ark or face up to the horror of what was happening around them? Perhaps the answer lies in the designation of Noah as walking 'with' G-d in contradistinction to Abraham that walked 'before' G-d. Noah needed support and unlike Abraham, was not able to confront the evil around him. Abraham after pleading for the people of Sodom has the courage to watch their destruction. Noah who utters not a word of protest concerning the annihilation of humanity, we can imagine huddling around his artificial light source, ignoring the cataclysm outside. The same question that faced Noah and Abraham faces us today. How to we respond to present world calamities. Are we shocked for a moment and then go back to our comfortable lives or do we seek to do something about it? Do we raise up the drawbridge to those in need, huddling in our fortress or to we open our doors to the hopeless? Are we a Noah or an Abraham? What sort of Tzohar illuminates our home and society: a lamp or a window?
Ever since the advent of modern scientific enquiry, the first chapters of Genesis have been seen to contradict the findings of science. The universe is billions of years old rather than six thousand, humans evolved rather than being 'created' and the world as we know it took millions of years to develop rather than being made in six days. There have been traditionally three approaches to this issue. One dismisses the biblical account as mere fantasy, the other dismisses the scientific explanation as a deception and a third seeks to read science into the biblical story. All three miss the point. The Torah account is not trying to give an account of how the world was created but why. It is using existing 'scientific' notions to convey a moral message. The scientific accuracy of the account is besides the point. Just as we don't dismiss the philosophy of Kant or Hegel because they held outdated scientific views or the painting of Michelangelo or Botticelli, because they didn't know about the genome, we should not dismiss the Bible because it didn't use modern science terms. We need to approach the Torah in a different way, learning from its moral message rather than investigating its scientific or historic accuracy. What we should take from the beginning of the Torah are several important ideas. Firstly, the universe is created. It is not a blind collection of atoms but has a purpose and direction. Secondly, it is not a disparate collection of phenomena but a unity whose parts make up an integrated whole. Thirdly, human beings are both related to other living beings and also have a special status and responsibility. Lastly, the lesson of Shabbat: creation has a spiritual purpose which humans can partake in and so rise above a merely material existence. If instead of worrying about scientific accuracy we read the Torah as it was meant to be read, a moral story, we can gain much insight from our first Parshah.