One of the features of the commentaries on the legislative portions of Deuteronomy, is how the commentators link the various mitzvot together. A famous example of this is found at the beginning of the Parshah where Rashi connects the laws of the female captive, the firstborn and the rebellious son. If you marry a woman captured in war, you will end up hating her and having a rebellious son. However, if we look slightly wider, we can see connections between the whole series of laws that feature in the beginning of the Parshah, starting with the regulation concerning unsolved murder at the end of last week’s reading.

All of these laws concern situations that stem from a lack of the correct moral attitude or education. The elders declare the innocence of the actual murder because they may not have done enough to create a society that protects the stranger in its midst. The very fact that the Jewish soldier thinks it’s acceptable to capture an enemy woman for his use, is a failure of moral education, as is the lack of harmony within the family unit and respect for parents. This in the end will lead to serious crime, symbolised by the regulation concerning the burial of the executed criminal which follows these laws.

Yet if we go further into the Parshah we can find a series of mitzvot which in many ways are the antidote to the failures outlined in the preceding paragraphs. The lack of responsibility for others shown by the murder of a stranger is countered by the laws concerning returning other people’s lost objects and relieving their burdened animals, as does inculcating the duty to protect life, by making a parapet for your roof. The law against cross dressing, understood to be an activity undertaken for dissolute ends, serves to curb the tendencies that may lead to the abuse of women in wartime. While the law concerning sending away the mother before taking chicks should create an atmosphere of respect for parenthood that prevents the disruption of the family described in earlier passages.

Thus the various laws we find at the beginning of this week’s Parshah both warn us against the educational failures which can lead to difficult outcomes that disrupt society while also showing the way to educate our families and communities in order to avoid these situations. In this, as in many other aspects of Deuteronomy especially, education is the key.

In repeating the prohibition of consuming blood in this week’s Parshah, the Torah uses an interesting formulation: ‘Only be strong not to eat the blood’. This unusual emphasis is the subject of a dispute between two Talmudic sages. Rabbi Judah maintains that eating blood was common among the Israelites at that time, therefore the Torah had to especially warn them against transgressing this prohibition. Rabbi Shimon ben Azzai takes the opposite point of view. If the Torah emphasises the necessity of observing the prohibition against blood, which is easy, as people generally recoil from eating it; how much more so must we be careful to observe the other mitzvot.

 We can see in this discussion something more than a mere historical dispute concerning the dietary preferences of our ancestors. Underlying the two opinions is a possibly fundamentally different approach to the observance of the Torah. According to Rabbi Judah, the Torah is generally easy to keep. It is something natural for the Jewish people to keep the mitzvot and not an overly cumbersome burden. Therefore, in the case of not consuming blood, which is more difficult owing to previous dietary predilections, the Torah provides extra encouragement and warning. Not so, holds Rabbi Shimon. The Torah is not easy at all. It is hard to keep the mitzvot and requires a constant struggle. Therefore, the Torah has to warn us even about an easy mitzvah, like not eating blood, which people anyway don’t normally do.

These two viewpoints concerning our relationship to the Torah are found throughout Torah literature and influence everything from Halakhic decisions to the policy on conversion. Do people need to be coerced into doing something they won’t do naturally or merely encouraged to find their real self? How high do the walls protecting the Torah have to be and how much can we trust the natural moral instinct of the Jewish people? Can we trust the desire of converts to live a Jewish life or do we need to absolutely make sure of their total commitment without doubts.

These are disputes that have resonated throughout Jewish history, from Moses’ time to ours. Their resolution will depend on the personalities of those making the decision but also needs to take into account the needs of the generation. In our time there is clearly in general a need for the more open and lenient approach, in order to unite and strengthen both Jewish unity and observance.

The Parshiot in the book of Deuteronomy are arranged in such a way that each one has a unifying theme. For example, last week’s Parshah dealt with the basic tenets of Judaism, including the Ten Commandments and the Shema, while next week’s reading centres around the importance of the Central Sanctuary. This week we focus on the Land of Israel. Even the main historical retrospective in the Parshah, the retelling of the narrative of the Golden Calf, is linked to the need not to take the Land for granted and think that we have it because we are better than others. It is also connected to the danger of being tempted by Canaanite idolatry when they live in the Land.

Another interesting feature of the Parshah is the linking of the wandering in the wilderness to life in the Land. The people are reminded of how G-d cared for their needs in the wilderness and how they should therefore not forget Him when they are seemingly looking after themselves in a settled agricultural existence. But the connection between the two has a deeper message. Moses points out that the travails of the wilderness years had as their purpose the lesson that humans do not only exist physically but also spiritually and that our material needs are also ultimately provided by G-d.

That lesson is also true in the Land and, indeed, is more apparent in Israel than anywhere else. For this reason the Torah goes to great lengths to delineate the difference between Egypt, where water is obtained by human effort, and Israel where it depends on rainfall. This description is directly followed by the 2^nd paragraph of the Shema which warns that this rainfall is in turn dependant on the nation’s behaviour. In other words, unlike the wilderness experience, you may believe that your prosperity is dependent on your own efforts, but actually it is no less dependent on G-d than during your wanderings.

This is the uniqueness of the Land of Israel that makes it suitable as a homeland for G-d’s people. But this uniqueness goes even further. Not only in economic matters is Israel singular but also politically and historically. As the Shema points out, the very political existence of the Jewish people in the Land is dependent on G-d. As with economic prosperity, we have an important role to play, but the course of events, more than anywhere else in the world, is dependant directly on G-d’s will and our behaviour. This uniqueness of Israel, both economically and politically, is an especially important lesson to internalise, particularly in these turbulent times.

The observance of Shabbat is given two rationales in the Torah, both of which are found in the Kiddush we say on Friday night. There, Shabbat is described as remembrance of both the Creation of the World and the Exodus from Egypt. The source of these two reasons is of course the two versions of the Ten Commandments found in Exodus and Deuteronomy respectively. One may however question why the rationale of Creation is given in Exodus and that of the Exodus in Deuteronomy. Surely, the Exodus should have been mentioned following the events of the Exodus and not forty years later?

The answer lies in the central themes of each book. The underlying rationale of Exodus is to build a people; the main object of Deuteronomy is to prepare the people for independent sovereignty in their own land, to build a state. Thus the laws in Exodus emphasise more individual interpersonal relations in society and the individual worth of both nature and humans, based on G-d’s creation. In Deuteronomy, the emphasis is more on the correct power relations in the state and thus it is the Exodus which is stressed as the rationale for Shabbat, the day when the distinction between masters and slaves is obliterated and all become equal citizens of the Jewish polity.

This emphasis on the use and misuse of power is central to Deuteronomy and basic to the Torah’s world view. The Torah is in general extremely suspicious of political and economic power and acts to circumscribe its reach. This concept is found throughout the Torah but comes to the fore in Deuteronomy. Whether the monarch or the judge or the parent or victorious soldier, all are restricted in their use of power over others. Power is never absolute and must always be exercised responsibly and humanely. The structure of a state, including the apparatus of coercion, are vital for the security and success of the society envisaged by the Torah. But equally vital for the ultimate well-being of that society is their circumscription and responsible application.

The misuse of that power was a major factor in the fall of the Jewish state which we commemorated on Tisha B’av. And, interestingly, many of the things we celebrate on Tu B’Av concern the corrections of those abuses and the appropriate use of power. Thus both the Parshah and Tu B’Av remind us of the importance of responsible and moderate use of power by those placed in positions of authority, something some of our leaders urgently need to learn.

The introductory section of the book of Deuteronomy has puzzled commentators, traditional and modern alike. It seems to delineate the geographical locale where Moses delivered his final orations but the names are not recognisable from other places in the Torah or anywhere else. This has led most of the traditional expositors of the Torah to see these names as not actual physical place names but allegorical hints to incidents which happened during the wandering in the wilderness. Specifically, they are seen as a hidden rebuke concerning all the times that Israel rebelled, complained and generally misbehaved over the previous forty years. These incidents are, however, only hinted at because of ‘the honour of Israel’, as Rashi puts it. In other words, Moses only intimated his real intention in order to spare the people embarrassment.

Yet this interpretation, especially the idea of Moses being gentle in his rebuke, presents an obvious serious difficulty. Later in the book, Moses does openly and trenchantly rebuke the people, especially concerning the sins of the Golden Calf and the Spies, which are understood as only hinted at in this section. Indeed, at the end of a whole list of Israel’s misdemeanours over the previous forty years, Moses baldly states that the people have been insubordinate as long as he has been involved with them. How are we to understand this paradox which seems to throw into doubt the standard interpretation of the beginning of the book.

I think the resolution is very profound and important for us today. Moses begins his oration by only intimating at the rebuke he wishes to impart to the people. By only hinting at the various incidents he wishes to address he gives them time and space to understand and reflect upon their behaviour themselves. Only later on does he spell out the full extent of their misdeeds in a clear and unambiguous manner. By treading gently at the beginning he is able to have them internalise their own history and thus make them receptive to his later, more unsubtle approach. Like a good therapist, he gets his patient to understand their own issues and thus later is merely reflecting back their own understanding of the narrative, as it were. Thus, by the end of the book, he is able to state that they now truly desire G-d and finally give them his wholehearted blessing.

This process should teach us how to approach rebuking someone, if it is unfortunately necessary. It is often better not to go in with all guns blazing rather to gently intimate the issues involved, enabling the other person to understand the problem with their behaviour by themselves. Only then can one have a frank conversation about the situation with a reasonable hope of a positive outcome. Too often, especially using social media, we do precisely the opposite with predictably negative results. Moses shows us a better way.

The narratives of the Torah exist in several dimensions: chronological, contextual, geographic and calendric. When we examine a story, we approach it by understanding when it took place and in connection to what other event or events. We also want to consider where it took place, and at what time of the year we are reading about it. All of this helps us to interpret the meaning of what we are reading.

At the end of this week’s Parshah we have a lengthy section that seems out of place. This deals with the additional offerings to be brought on the special days of the year. One would have thought this would be found in Leviticus, most credibly in the section dealing with the festivals. Yet it is found here in the latter part of the book of Numbers, along with the various preparations for entering the Land. If we analyse when we read this section, we can discover that, interestingly, this Parshah falls exactly halfway between Pesach and Simchat Torah, thus the middle point of the period of the year when these additional offerings were brought. Yet we would hope to find a deeper reason for the unusual position of this passage.

The narratives of the Torah occur in a variety of different geographical locations, but it is interesting to note that the last four Parshiot of Numbers and the whole of Deuteronomy occur in just one place, on the banks of the Jordan opposite Jericho. The Israelites, as it were, have arrived at the end of their wanderings and pause before crossing the Jordan for the conquest of the Land. It is at this point, along with regulations about dividing up and ordering the Land, that the Torah talks of the additional offerings for the festivals. It is possible, at this juncture, that the Torah is teaching us an important lesson about change and continuity. As they are about to leave the formative period of the wandering in the wilderness and cross over into a different period full of new challenges and opportunities, the Torah hands them the tools they will need to keep on an even keel. By promulgating, at this point, rules concerning the daily, Shabbat, monthly and annual festive offerings, they are being given a structure that they can adhere to in the midst of all the coming upheaval.

Even if everything else is in flux the daily, weekly and annual rhythm of Jewish life provides an anchor with which to steady ourselves and focus on what is important. For us, living in a period where every week, if not day, seems to bring another upheaval, the stability of the rhythm of Jewish life is even more important than ever.

A well known conundrum about the story of Balaam concerns the reaction of G-d. When Balak first  seeks to hire him to curse the Israelites G-d forbids him to go, saying the people are not to be cursed as they are blessed. However, when Balak sends other messengers with a renewed request G-d allows him to go with them, as long as he speaks as G-d wishes him to. Then when he actually begins his journey G-d is annoyed and sends an angel to stand in his way, though eventually allowing him to continue provided he says what G-d instructs him to say.

There are many different interpretations of this narrative but it is instructive to examine the two main ones. Rashi explains that Balaam all along wished to curse them even though he knew that G-d did not wish this. However he thought that he could trick G-d into allowing him to curse them. G-d seeing his determination to go allowed him to proceed but warned him from the beginning that he would not succeed. G-d’s seeming change of mind is explained by the rabbinic dictum that ‘a person is allowed to go in the way he wishes to go’. In other words G-d allows a person to proceed with an erroneous or detrimental course of action if he really is determined to do so. Ramban gives a different explanation of this narrative. He postulates that once Balak persisted in his request G-d did wish Balaam to go with him but only in order to do His bidding and bless them. Balaam, however, hid from his interlocutors both that he could only say what G-d wished and that it was forbidden to curse the Israelites. G-d was angry at this deception and sent the angel to remind him to be faithful to his instructions.

Looking at these interpretations we could say that according to Rashi, Balaam’s problem was that he sought to deceive G-d while for Ramban he sins in his deception of the messengers and ultimately Balak. One could however say that these two deceptions are really one. Someone who seeks to trick G-d will also deceive his fellow human and those who betray their neighbour often also are deceitful towards G-d.

More than this, in seeking to deceive both Balak and G-d, Balaam really deludes himself. This delusion is symbolised by the incident with the donkey, when by showing Balaam, who prides himself on his insight, that he can’t even properly understand what is right in front of him, G-d unmasks his delusions for the deception they really are. Thus this story can serve to teach us that we may seek to deceive people around us or even think we can deceive G-d but the greatest deception is often the one we practice on ourselves.

The Torah moves on this week to the narrative of the events that happened in the final year of wandering in the wilderness, before entering the Land. Having failed to enter the Land from the south due to the Sin of the Spies the new generation will enter from the east, opposite Jericho. This route brings them into contact with the various nations that inhabit the eastern bank of the Jordan, the first of which is Edom, which lies in the south east. The Israelites seek to cross the territory of Edom in order to approach the east of Canaan but are refused and threatened with war if they persist. Unlike their approach to the Amorites further north the Israelites do not force the issue and make a detour round Edom. One reason for avoiding conflict with the Edomites is that they are related to the Israelites through Jacob’s brother Esau. Indeed, the Israelites preface their original request by referring to ‘your brother Israel’.

It is thus instructive to examine the Torah’s approach to the Edomites in light of their decidedly non-fraternal answer to this petition. In the legal section of the book of Deuteronomy the Torah lists various nations with whom it is forbidden to marry and those that can be accepted but only after three generations. Among the latter are the Edomites, and it is clear that this delayed acceptance is a consequence of their hostile attitude to Israel as related in our Parshah. Yet it is fascinating that the reason given for their ultimate acceptance (in contrast to the Moabites and Ammonites), is that ‘they are your brother’. One would have thought that the opposite would be the case. Their hostile attitude to Israel, despite their fraternal ties, would seem to be a reason to bar them altogether, precisely because they are brothers but acted like enemies. What is the reason that this is used as a reason for embracing them?

One important reason is a basic principle of the Torah. Just because someone acts in a certain way towards us doesn’t give us permission to respond in kind. This ruling can indeed be seen as a practical illustration of the injunction against taking revenge. Just as we are forbidden to take revenge as individuals so we should refrain from this on a national level. Self-defence and deterrence are legitimate, simple revenge is not. If we go down that path we lower ourselves to the level of our enemies, which can hand them the ultimate victory. Revenge is often a natural response to wrongdoing but it is the wrong one. Defending ourselves and punishing those who harm us are necessary and just but must be divorced from actions taken simply out of revenge that in the end harm ourselves more than our enemies.

The incident of Korach, though it may seem straightforward on the surface, is actually quite complicated and difficult to follow. There appear to be at least three different groups involved all of whom have their own agendas and who are dealt with in different ways. There is Korach himself and his followers who appear to be Levites, 250 leaders of various sorts from the general populace and Datan and Abiram from the tribe of Reuben. Korach seems to object to Moses’ leadership or more specifically to himself being passed over. The 250 leaders seem to want to restore the priesthood to the firstborn and Datan and Abiram concentrate their complaint on the fact that that generation will not, after all, enter the Land. The 250 men attempt to offer incense and are consumed by fire while it appears that all the other groups, including Korach, where swallowed up by the earth.

What is interesting is how Moses initially confronts each of these groups separately. He offers the 250 leaders complaining about being deprived of the priesthood the test of incense, while confronting the Levites with their already existing special status. Datan and Abiram he attempts to negotiate with and is scornfully rebuffed. The intervention of G-d then follows and eventually leads to the demise of the rebels. This however does not solve the issue and Moses is then confronted with a wider rebellion which is only halted by a Divinely mandated outbreak of plague, halted by Aaron waving incense. What we can conclude is that despite Moses’ stature all his attempts at dealing with the rebellion whether by negotiation or confrontation comprehensively fail and Divine intervention is needed.

If we examine this failure we can see that Moses’ attempts to respond to the specific grievances of each group of rebels but this simply does not work. This is because these stated grievances were merely the cover for a far deeper disenchantment with the situation that the people found themselves in after G-d’s decree that condemned that generation to die in the wilderness. Korach, who was the classic populist leader, understood this and used these various arguments to feed off this disaffection and turn the people against Moses. The actual specific issues, however, were not the point and others could have been utilised. The fundamental issue was of a basic and widespread dissatisfaction, and it was this that Moses’ response to the specific issues failed to address. The only way to deal with this issue was to provide an alternative positive vision, and after the divine decree of death in the wilderness, that was very difficult. Thus all that was left was the forceful Divine suppression of the rebellion.

This teaches us an important lesson concerning the nature of populism and how to confront it. Because populism feeds on deep general dissatisfaction trying to rationally confront it with specific arguments against whatever complaints are raised will fail. In the end, they are not the issue. Instead a positive alternative vision must be articulated to replace the angry resentment of populism with a more hopeful affirmative program that people can buy in to.

One of the greatest challenges facing the contemporary Jewish people is how to argue civilly. How do we contain strongly held but divergent views within one people, state or community, without tearing ourselves apart? This is made especially difficult by the fact that some of the issues we are arguing about are seen as existential, with each side of the debate believing that following the alternative path will be not only mistaken but potentially catastrophic.

This idea, of course, is not fantasy and has a basis in historical reality going right back to the Torah. When we read of the Sin of the Spies and its consequences we may ask why the people were punished so harshly. G-d forgave the people’s idolatry in the Sin of the Golden Calf but their reluctance to enter the Land resulted in that whole generation being condemned to die in the wilderness. The simplest answer is also the most stark. In worshipping the Golden Calf the people were making a mistake, however serious, while in refusing to enter the Land they were rejecting the whole project of the Exodus. Just as, according to a rabbinical tradition, those Jews not wanting to leave Egypt died during the plague of darkness, when the whole generation refused to go forward there was no alternative to them dying out and beginning again with a new generation.

The same idea can be found in two diametrically opposed prophecies of Jeremiah concerning staying in the Land. Before the destruction of the Temple he makes it very clear that the future of the Jewish people lies in Babylon. While he never specifically tells people to leave and go to Babylon he emphasises that those in Israel will face death and destruction while the Jews living in Babylon will have G-d’s protection and experience security and prosperity. After the destruction, however, he does a complete about face. Following the assassination of Gedaliah, when the people ask him what they should do he is very clear. Stay in the Land and don’t go down to Egypt. If you stay in Israel you will be secure, but it you try and flee to Egypt thinking you will be safe, war and destruction will follow you there and you will be wiped out. They did not listen and later perished in the Babylonian invasion of Egypt.

The lesson of these narratives is clear. G-d has a certain destiny planned for the Jewish people. Opposing or trying to thwart that destiny by doing the opposite will lead in the end to catastrophe. The historical / political decisions we make are thus indeed critical and following the wrong path can indeed be fatal. It is still absolutely necessary to debate these issues in a way that is respectful and not divisive and preserves underlying Jewish unity. But, in doing so, we also need to understand the often existential nature of the issues at stake.

The beginning of the Parshah completes the initiation of the Levites and their replacement of the Firstborn in the service of the Tabernacle. The Torah again lays out how the Firstborn were acquired by G-d when He killed all the firstborn sons of Egypt and saved those of the Israelites. He was now exchanging these Israelite Firstborn for the Levites.

Yet this simple story requires a deeper look. Firstly, the acquisition of the Firstborn by G-d is not so clear. We are so used to the idea that when G-d killed the Egyptian firstborn he saved those of the Israelites, a rescue commemorated by the Fast of the Firstborn on Erev Pesach, that we don’t question why they were in danger in the first place. The Egyptians were punished for their continued oppression of the Israelites but what had the Israelite sons done to deserve death, other than also be firstborn?

The answer lies in the target and purpose of this plague itself. The Firstborn were targeted because they were the symbols of an oppressive system based on nature and right of birth. In every household the firstborn was son supreme because of his size, strength and first place in the family. This system led to the oppression of the weak by the strong as a natural matter of right. It is this idea that the last plague was meant to destroy by annihilating its prime progenitors. It is now understandable why the firstborn Israelites, by virtue of their similar place in their society, were also in the line of fire, had not G-d spared them.

This concept also explains why, having acquired them, G-d was anxious to replace them in His service with the Levites. Having the Firstborn serve in the Tabernacle would only reinforce the idea of the importance of nature as the determinant of role and rule. By replacing the Firstborn with the Levites G-d seeks to bury this idea with a far more noble one, that of service. It is notable that the verb l’sharet or ‘to serve’ appears numerous times in the designation of the Levites. Not primogeniture but service is the basis of choice of the priests and their assistants.

 The Torah is making a clean break between the oppressive society of Egypt based on natural right to rule with a law and morals based society based of the idea of service. Not rule by natural right but rule for service.

The festival of Lag B’Omer normally occurs in the week when we read the Parshah of Emor. This is   appropriate for several reasons. The most obvious connection between the two is that the Parshah contains the mitzvah of Counting the Omer, of which Lag B’Omer is the most prominent date. But  if we look slightly deeper we can find another important connection between what we read this week and the festival.

At the beginning of the Parshah we learn of the special rules that apply to the priests: who they can marry and whose dead body they can and cannot attend to. These laws are over and above what is required from the ordinary Jew. This emphasises a theme that is repeated throughout the Torah: the more important a person is the more restrictions which are placed upon them and the better they are expected to behave. The priests, who are the original elite of Judaism, are held to higher standards than the rest of the people. With more status comes more responsibility and less acceptance of misbehaviour. From the death of Aaron’s sons, through the punishment of Miriam for slandering Moses, till Moses himself being excluded from the Land, this is a lesson the Torah emphasises consistently. The leaders of the people have a special duty to behave with integrity.

This is also a lesson we can learn from the events connected to Lag B’Omer. While the precise reason for singling out this date is unclear, everyone agrees it is connected to the death of Rabbi Akiva’s students during the Omer period. This tragedy, which occasioned the semi-mourning we observe at this time of year, was traditionally caused by their showing a lack of respect for each other. These great scholars, which constituted the elite of the people, failed to live up to the high standards expected of them and brought tragedy to themselves and others. This fits in with the general pattern of events that led to the catastrophe of the Temple’s destruction and the failure of the Bar Kochba revolt during this period of history. It is clear from the Talmudic narratives seeking to explain this catastrophe, that the sins of internal dissension and lack of responsibility were primarily, if not exclusively, the provenance of the elite of the people. It was this failure of unity and accountability in the leadership of the nation which led to Jewish people to disaster.

It is this tragedy we commemorate during the Omer period. Unfortunately we face the same challenges of dissension and lack of accountability today and thus urgently need to take to heart the lessons that the Parshah and Lag B’Omer seek to teach us.

This year, unusually, the 5^th of Iyar falls on Shabbat. As is the case in the more frequent occurrence of this date falling on a Friday, Yom Ha’atzmaut is brought forward and celebrated on the Thursday, this year two days earlier than the original date. It is important to remember, in this regard, that the original Declaration of Independence was also brought forward to Friday afternoon, to avoid it clashing with Shabbat. Thus in celebrating Yom Ha’atzmaut on the Thursday we are honouring not only Jewish sovereignty but its intimate connection to traditional Jewish life.

In this regard it is instructive to compare the bringing forward of Yom Ha’aztmaut (or the Megillah Reading) in order not to break Shabbat with the rule, learnt from the beginning of the Parshah, that a circumcision on the eighth day takes place even on Shabbat. This difference is accentuated further by the fact that transferring the date of Yom Ha’azmaut or Purim, is based on a mere concern that people might break Shabbat in seeking to celebrate those holidays, while the physical act of circumcision is a direct violation of Shabbat and yet is nevertheless performed on Shabbat. The simple reason for this dichotomy is that Yom Ha’atzmaut and Purim are of Rabbinical origin while the necessity of performing a circumcision on the eighth day, even on Shabbat, is mandated by the Torah itself. But there is a deeper concept at play here, one which has direct relevance to how we understand the purpose of a Jewish state.

Yom Ha’atzmaut celebrates the rebirth of Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel, which is itself of religious importance, but it can be seen to be devoid of meaning if such a state tramples on basic Jewish values. Declaring Jewish independence while at the same time desecrating Shabbat was, even for the secular Zionist leaders, seen as a contradiction in terms. Circumcision, on the other hand, is a basic foundation of Jewish identity and our relationship with G-d. It preceded the command to observe Shabbat and is considered so fundamental that it must be performed even on Shabbat. The same is true of the other fundamental ritual of Jewish belonging, the Pesach sacrifice. Unlike all other sacrifices brought by the individual, it must also be brought even if, as occurred this year,  the 14^th of Nisan falls on Shabbat. Circumcision and Pesach are intrinsic to Jewish life and thus performing them on Shabbat serves to reinforce rather than undermine Judaism.

The Land of Israel is also fundamental to Jewish life but sovereignty over it is predicated on observance of the Torah. A Jewish state that is merely another secularised materialistic country on the shores of the Mediterranean, is missing its fundamental raison d’etre. Thus transferring the celebration of Yom Ha’atzmaut when it falls on Shabbat serves to remind us that while Jewish sovereignty is important it is not an end in itself but must be connected to our Divine mission in the world.

Many nations have an Independence or National Day and many also have a Memorial Day to commemorate those who have sacrificed their lives for their country. Some, like Australia, New Zealand and the US, have both. Generally those that have both separate them. So Australia and New Zealand have their National Days in late January / early February respectively, while sharing a commemorative day on the 25^th of April. The US has its Memorial Day at the end of May, while celebrating Independence Day on the 4^th of July. Uniquely, Israel places these two seemingly conflicting days side by side, Yom Hazikaron being the day before Yom Ha’atzmaut.

This idea has an echo in our Parshah. The seminal event following the Revelation at Sinai was the dedication of the Tabernacle. It was an occasion of great joy which set the structure of Jewish worship for the next thousand years. Yet it was marred by tragedy, the death of Aaron’s sons. Moses, in his reaction to this circumstance certainly appreciates the contradiction between the two events, instructing Aaron and his remaining sons not to mourn, so as not to spoil the festivities.

Yet he also intimately connects the two events. ‘This is what G-d has said: with those closest to me will I be sanctified’. He seems to be saying that on such a great occasion as G-d’s Presence coming to dwell in the Tabernacle, the people needed to be ready to sacrifice themselves. The Rabbis have Moses comforting Aaron by saying that he understood that something like this would happen but thought it would occur to him or Aaron. However, Aaron’s sons were obviously more worthy than either of them.

Great achievements often seem to require great sacrifices from us, including the readiness to sacrifice our lives.  The creation and defence of Israel is sadly no exception. This has unfortunately been brutally reinforced by the events of the last eighteen months and the terrible price they have exacted.  Many people this year may find the conjunction of these two dates especially difficult. But by remembering those who died for the sake of Israel the day before we celebrate its independence we intimately connect the two. Just as the Tabernacle was given deeper meaning by the death of Aaron’s sons, so Yom Ha’atzmaut is made more meaningful by following on directly from Yom Hazikaron.

As we celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut we may indeed reflect on having been privileged to see a Jewish state in our generation. But thinking of those who sacrificed themselves to make it possible, we may indeed use the words of Moses: ‘they were more worthy than us’.

As we begin the Book of Leviticus we again confront the perennial modern difficulty in comprehending the need for animal sacrifices. What is the need for all this slaughter and blood? In order to understand anything the place to start is at the beginning. How did this thing come about and what can its origin tell us about the meaning behind the practice? The first sacrifices recorded in the Torah are those of Cain and Abel. These were both a vegetable sacrifice and an animal sacrifice, and it is, interestingly, the animal sacrifice that is found acceptable. The motivation for both these sacrifices seems to have been gratitude for the success of the respective endeavours of the brothers. The preference for Abel’s offering seems to have been related to the manner in which it was given, rather than any divine preference for blood. The main concept was the importance of giving back to G-d something of what He had bestowed.

A more intriguing passage relating to the origin of sacrifices concerns the offerings of Noah after the flood. This is immediately followed by a Divine blessing and promise which includes the permission for the first time to eat flesh. The eating of animals was forbidden to Adam and his descendants and is only now allowed. There is clearly a connection between these two things with one seemingly dependent on the other. If humans are now going to be allowed to consume their fellow sentient beings they are also going to be required to sanctify that consumption by offering some of it to G-d.

Indeed, if we examine the various types of offerings we can see that most are consumed by humans with only the blood and some small internal organs being burnt on the altar. Only a very limited type of mostly public offerings are totally consumed by the altar. The majority of sacrifices are seemingly a joint meal between G-d, the priest and often the person bringing the offering. Indeed the optimal fulfilment of the mitzvah to rejoice on the festivals is to bring such sacrifices and rejoice with our families and ‘G-d’s family’, the less fortunate members of society. The ultimate example of this is of course the Pesach sacrifice, which is almost wholly consumed by the people bringing it and is replicated in the sanctified meal of the Seder night.

Thus we can understand that the main purpose of the sacrifices, as of Judaism in general, is to sanctify our physical existence. By offering as a burnt offering the produce of the herd and the field we sanctify our labour and by eating of the other sacrifices we sanctify our consumption of food. Whilst today we have replaced these sacrifices with the words of the various prayers and blessings, the actual physical offering of what we earn and consume is so much more real and intense than simply reciting words can ever be.

In the description of the making of the vessels of Tabernacle the Torah mentions that the lave and its stand were made from the bronze mirrors of the women who gathered at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting. This rather cryptic remark leaves unclear who these women were and what was the exact nature of their presence at this site. However, the midrash reports an interesting dialogue between Moses and G-d concerning this contribution. Moses is reluctant to accept these mirrors as he regards them as being things of vanity which are not suitable to be used to make holy vessels. G-d disagrees. He explains that these mirrors are the most precious material of all. While enslaved in Egypt the Jewish women used these mirrors to increase their attractiveness to their exhausted husbands, enabling the relations that ensured the continuity of the Jewish people. Thus, rather than being useless frivolities, these mirrors actually served a holy purpose and were a vital component in the survival of the Israelites in Egyptian bondage. G-d is teaching Moses that one should not simply dismiss an object or a method because it may be used for a negative purpose. The very same thing could also be used positively and, may indeed, be the best tool to be utilised for this purpose.

The same lesson can also be gleaned from the special Haftorah which we read this week. In it G-d  promises to redeem the Jewish people not because they merit it but because to leave them in exile would be to further damage his reputation. Rather than waiting for the Jewish people to be worthy of redemption by fully returning to G-d, He will firstly return them to the Land and then effect the process of regeneration and improvement that is necessary. G-d, in order to achieve His aim, is prepared to use a process that may at first seem flawed and contrary and yet is vital for the future of his plan. Based on this understanding, Religious Zionist thought understood the return of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel in our generation as part of the process of Redemption, even though it was led by Jews who rejected Jewish observance and were often openly antagonistic to religion.  This was the main dispute between this strand of Orthodoxy and the Haredi or Ultra-Orthodox world, who could not understand how a Divine process could be effected by non-religious Jews.

You could see this as the continuation of the discussion between Moses and G-d in the Parshah.  While Moses’ position seems to make more sense, G-d has a more profound way of seeing things. Vessels, methods or movements that may seem to our human eyes as unworthy or unsuitable may be in the eyes of G-d precisely what is needed.

This year there is a rare convergence of Parshat Ki-Tissa and Shushan Purim, the day of Purim that is celebrated in Jerusalem (and also originally in Shushan). Reflecting on this unique occasion we may ask what connects the Parshah and this day. If we read the Megillah we see that Shushan Purim was the day the Jews in Shushan celebrated their deliverance because they were still fighting on the 14^th of Adar, when everyone else celebrated. This was specifically in response to Esther’s request that the Jews in Shushan be given an extra day to finish off their enemies, and they killed three hundred more foes as well as publicly displaying the bodies of Haman’s sons. Thus Shushan Purim in particular is connected to the war the Jews fought against their enemies at the time of Purim. If we examine the Parshah we see that Moses also resorts to violence, killing three hundred revellers in order to restore order after the sin of the Golden Calf.

This leads us to contemplate the uses of violence and their legitimacy. There are two opposite extremes when it comes to this issue. Some people regard violence as the primary source of control and the first resort in any dispute. Others regard any use of violence with abhorrence. If we examine the career of Moses we will see that, while his initial foray into politics ended with killing the Egyptian overseer, as the leader of the Israelites he only resorts to violent methods twice. One is in our Parshah in the aftermath of the sin of the Golden Calf and the other is during the rebellion of Korach. In both cases the Jewish people were threatened with disintegration and the violence, while extreme, was of short duration.

If we turn to the story of Purim we see the same thing. The war the Jews waged on their enemies was short, comprising one day (two in Shushan), but intense, killing, at least 75,000 people. And, as Yoram Hazoni so brilliantly explains, it was vitally necessary. With a mercurial and somewhat unstable monarch on the throne (not unlike some leaders today), who could at any moment again turn against the Jews, an object lesson needed to be made of those who would destroy them. It needed to be made crystal clear that opposing the Jews was extremely unhealthy and really unwise, and the extreme violence of the 13^th of Adar as well as the extra demonstration given in the capital served exactly that purpose.

It is also important to note that in both cases the violence, though extreme, was not only of limited duration but targeted. Moses’ action targeted only those intimately involved in the debauchery surrounding the Golden Calf incident, while Mordechai’s war spared the dependents and property of the Jews’ enemies. What we learn then from the Parshah and Purim is that violence, limited and targeted, is sometimes required, if not desired.  While resorting to violence as the preferred instrument of policy is wicked, not using it when absolutely necessary is misguided and dangerous.        

After detailing the structure of the Tabernacle and the vessels contained within it, the Torah continues this week to discuss what is meant to occur within its precincts. It lays out in great detail the clothing to be worn by the priests, taken from one family, and sets out the daily offering to be offered on the altar. As we will later discover in Leviticus, no area of life is covered in more detail than the Tabernacle and the sacrificial service. In studying the Rabbinic texts we can also see how in no other area of Jewish law did the Rabbis seek to meticulously connect each rite to the words of the Torah. It is also noteworthy that no other part of the Torah contains so many possible capital punishments for the infraction of its regulations.

It seems that in this area of life the Torah was extremely concerned that things be done in a certain way and no other. This is because in seeking to approach G-d, especially through ritual and sacrifice, humans can climb to great heights but also plumb to great depths. We can achieve the exaltation of Yom Kippur but also fall into the abomination of child sacrifice. Therefore the Torah insists, in the words of the great medieval philosopher Judah Halevi, that we serve G-d as He wishes to be served, not as we think or imagine He wants to be served. Indeed this is the whole purpose of the mitzvot of the Torah, to remove our service of G-d from our individual or communal choice and place it upon a Divinely ordained path.

This may seem to our modern mind authoritarian and demeaning but, as the issue of sacrifice illustrates, actually essential. While today we recoil from child sacrifice, for many people across many different cultures and centuries it made perfect sense. What greater gift could a person give to the Divine than their most precious possession, the fruit of their loins. Or we may imagine that the worship of a great leader such as Pharaoh or Haman is the best way to approach the Divine. All other manner of ideas or rituals may seem to us to be pleasing to G-d.

And that is precisely the point. In serving G-d as seems reasonable to us we are actually creating G-d in our image rather than fulfilling our potential as creatures created in G-d’s image. Only by serving G-d as He wishes, according to His instructions, are we really connecting to G-d as He is, or at least how He wishes to be known to us. In contrast, in creating our own individual or communal path to G-d, we can actually end up worshipping our own imaginings with deleterious results. While not all that we do in following the Torah may seem readily intelligible to us, we can be confident that in doing so we are actually connecting to the Divine, not merely a creation of our own desires.

A fascinating law, among the many found in the Parshah, is that concerning the theft of an ox or sheep. The Torah provides that the thief has to pay fivefold the value of the ox and fourfold the value of the sheep. Unlike most such cases, where the tradition sees ox or sheep as generic terms, the sages here considered the Torah to be referring specifically to these two animals, and not others. Furthermore, interesting explanations were advanced by the Rabbis to explain the difference in penalty between the two. This was not simply that an ox is worth more than a sheep. Rather two sociological explanations were advanced.

Rabbi Yochanan considered the honour of the thief. Because he needed, when stealing a sheep, to carry it on his shoulders, he is required to pay less than for an ox he could simply lead away. We take into account the degradation of the thief’s human dignity. Rabbi Meir looks at the intrinsic value of the animal itself. Because an ox works for a living, ploughing and the like, his theft is regarded as more injurious than that of a sheep that does nothing. The Torah here is upholding the dignity of work.

If we look at these two concepts we may consider whether they are in fact really contradictory or actually complement each other. On the one hand we have the importance of the dignity of a human being, even a thief. The fact that he has had to degrade himself in the course of his theft is a reason to lighten his punishment. This is an intrinsic dignity, irrespective of the situation or actions of the individual. Yet the Torah also believes in another type of dignity, conferred on the person by their actions. The importance of work is based in rabbinic literature on the concept that it confers dignity on the human being, enabling him to be a partner with G-d in creation. These two concepts can be seen as the basis for two different types of human rights. We have human rights based in actuality; those that protect our right to life and freedom, and prohibit torture, starvation or degradation of our humanity.

Yet we also have human rights based on our potential. The right to education, work and responsibility. The right to be an active and valued member of society Above all, the right to moral responsibility and the expectation of consequences if we fail to live up to that responsibility. That is no less important. Taking away our ability to act in a moral manner by treating us as if we had no responsibility for our actions is just as damaging and discriminatory as removing other basic human rights.  We hear lots of talk about rights balanced by responsibilities, as if they were two opposing ideas. Yet according to our reading of our Parshah, they are in fact the same thing. For, in fact, one of the worst rights you can deprive someone of is the duty to behave responsibly.

The Parshah relating the Revelation at Sinai and the Ten Commandments begins with, and is named after, the visit of Moses’ father in-law, Yitro. There is, famously, a dispute among the Rabbis as to the timing of Yitro’s visit. Specifically, did it take place before or after the giving of the Torah? A large part of the argument hinges on the fact that, in typically Jewish fashion, no sooner has Yitro arrived than he starts interfering. He disapproves of the way that Moses is single-handedly administering justice and proposes a proper judicial system to administer the laws. This is duly accepted and implemented.

The question is what laws were being administered? If Yitro arrived after the Giving of the Torah, they were the laws contained within it. If he came before, these were the existing laws, administered for the good of society. We should not be surprised by this. Law is fundamental to human society; without a legal system, we would be no more than barbarians and society would fall apart. Indeed, the establishment of a legal system is one of the ‘seven laws of Noah’ or basic perquisites for a civilised society. The story of Yitro is written before the Torah is given, in order to demonstrate that Judaism did not invent law; it rather sanctified it.

This is an important point, as Judaism is often accused of being a legalistic religion. This is negatively contrasted with other more ‘spiritual’, religions. Yet this is a badge we should wear with pride. The portion of Yitro teaches us that law is a basic prerequisite of human society. Our lives are governed by it, even in a modern liberal democracy. Everything from how we drive to what children are taught at school is governed by rules and regulations. Surely then, a religion that seeks to be a religion of life, relevant to our daily existence, should be a religion of law. What Judaism does is take this legal framework that governs us and uses it as a vehicle for equity, impartiality and spirituality. Everyone is to have easy access to the protection of the legal system and, as various biblical narratives illustrate, the law is to be applied equally without reference to wealth or status. There is to be no two tier legal system or the use of the law as an extension of political power.

Jews should, therefore, be especially concerned at the undermining of legal norms whether at an international or local level. Widespread suspicion of politically motivated ‘two-tier’ enforcement of legal norms undermines faith in our legal system and the use of international legal frameworks as an extension of conflict or ‘law-fare’ threatens to undermine the whole notion of universal legal principles. Jews should be at the forefront of opposing these developments, not because they often negatively affect our community, but because they undermine the fundamental commitment to justice which is our inheritance from Sinai.

The foundational event of Judaism is the Exodus from Egypt and the primary means prescribed by the Torah of commemorating this event is the slaughter, roasting and eating of a lamb. While today this has been replaced by a symbolic bone on the seder plate and the eating of the matzah of the afikoman in place of the lamb, we still anticipate the restoration of the original ceremony. This ritual of course memorialises the actions of the Israelites at the time of the Exodus, with two significant details which are not replicated in perpetuity. The Israelites were commanded to take the blood of the lamb and smear it on their doorposts. They were also commanded not to exit their houses until morning. Both of these restrictions were connected to the final plague of the death of the first born. The blood on the door would mark that house as an Israelite dwelling that was to be spared from death and staying indoors would protect the inhabitants from the plague raging outside.

One can question why these precautions were necessary to protect against a blow specifically sent by G-d and designed to zero in on the Egyptian first born. The answer is given by the Sages in a maxim brought by Rashi’s commentary on this very narrative ‘once the destroyer is given permission to destroy it doesn’t distinguish between the righteous and the wicked’. In other words, once G-d had let loose the powers of destruction, even if focused on the Egyptians, Israelites who were not specifically protected were also in danger. On the one hand, this fits into a larger midrashic tradition that postulates that the Israelites were not really worthy to leave Egypt, and only through a special act of Divine mercy were they not included in the disaster that overtook the Egyptians. A similar midrashic narrative exists with regards to the Crossing of the Red Sea and reminds us of Lot being rescued from Sodom only because of Abraham’s merit. There too he was instructed not to look back at the destruction of his neighbours.

Yet this idea holds an important wider application. What the Sages are in effect saying is that once you let forth the forces of violence you cannot necessarily control where they will lead you. If even G-d, as it were, has to use special measures to protect the Israelites from the forces of destruction He has unleashed against the Egyptians, how much more must humans be wary when we unleash force, however justified. You can begin a war but you have no control on how it will unfold, let alone finish, While war is sometimes necessary and just, it should never be undertaken lightly and always with acknowledgement of the grave and often unknowable consequences.

We read in the Parshah this week of the first persecution of the Jews as a people by the ancient Egyptians. There are various features of this story that recur throughout Jewish history. Firstly, this oppression is instigated from above not below, by the government rather than the people. It is begun first of all by denigrating the Israelites, making them seem undesirable and dangerous in the eyes of the Egyptian people. This is then followed by various means of oppression which grow more severe and end in outright genocide. All of these stages can often be found in the various persecutions that have littered Jewish history.

But there is another very important feature of the story that is also often found in the narrative of oppression of Jews throughout the ages. That is the motif of the righteous non-Jews who bucks the prevailing trend and, often at considerable danger to themselves, take the side of the Jews. We see this in two cases in our Parshah. Firstly, the midwives, whose identity is uncertain but according to the plain meaning of the text were not Israelites. Faced with the decree of Pharaoh to kill all the Hebrew male children at birth, they refuse to do so, covering their tracks with a seemingly disparaging comment on the animal nature of Jews. These women had no incentive to take the side of the Jews other than basic human decency, yet despite the dangers they chose to do so.

The other person who helps defeat Pharaoh’s evil purpose is his own daughter who famously rescues Moses from the Nile and adopts him. It may be that she was childless and motivated by her own need or simply that she again acted out of basic human empathy. She certainly was well aware of the identity of the child and yet even so acted contrary to her father’s decree. The example of these women has been replicated throughout Jewish history. In moments of crises courageous non-Jews have stood beside Jews, even when facing down the majority of their own society. It is also instructive that these friends have come from both the top echelons of society like Pharaoh’s daughter and from among ordinary people, like the midwives.

All of this contains an important message for us in our current crisis. Despite the fact that we seem to be surrounded by enemies we in fact have many friends, both silent and those willing to be speak up. They exist both among ordinary people and the political class. In the Parshah we see how Miriam was on hand to help Pharaoh’s daughter save her brother. Without her advice and support the story may have turned out differently. This also contains an important lesson for us today. We must not simply ignore or be apathetic to those who support us. On the contrary we need to work with them, to strengthen them in their endeavour and to add our voice to theirs. Working together, we can, as in Egypt, defeat those who would destroy us.

This week we read of the descent of Jacob and his family to Egypt. They immigrate to the country as honoured guests of Pharaoh but, of course, this move is the beginning of the fulfilment of G-d’s promise to Abraham of exile, oppression and redemption. It is instructive therefore to contrast Pharaoh’s instructions to Jacob with what Jacob actually does. After promising Joseph’s family the ‘fat of the land’, Pharaoh continues his invitation by sending wagons to transport Jacob and his family. He continues by saying that Jacob should not worry about taking his possessions with him as the resources of Egypt will be at their disposable. While this commitment can be seen as commendable it also means that Jacob’s family will be dependent on Pharaoh’s largess, which is probably exactly where he wants them.

Jacob, however, wasn’t born yesterday and sees through Pharaoh’s generous offer. When he descends to Egypt, the Torah informs us that he not only transports himself and his family but also takes with him all the possessions he had acquired in Canaan. Pharaoh’s generosity notwithstanding, Jacob is taking no chances. Rulers are notoriously fickle and always have their own agenda. He would rather have his own resources to fall back on than be beholden to a foreign ruler, no matter how seemingly friendly.

In this action he sets an example to his descendants, one which they unfortunately didn’t always heed. The Prophets are constantly warning Israel against entangling alliances with foreign powers who in the end may not be so reliable and always follow their own agenda, which is often not ours. It was the failure to heed this advice that led to the ultimate destruction of both previous Jewish commonwealths. Playing off Egypt against Babylon in the end proved disastrous for the Judean kingdom and Judah the Maccabee’s dalliance with Rome eventually led to similarly catastrophic results.

The same lesson that applied then is just as relevant for today. While it is good to have friends, we should remember that all other nations, no matter how supportive, have in the end their own interests to pursue. Those interests may be often congruent with ours but they can also often not be. We thus need to be able, in the end to fall back on our own resources and not be dependant on others. First and foremost as the People of Israel, we must rely on G-d before any earthly power and that is our surest defence and the message of all the prophets. Based on this trust we should strive to become as self-reliant as possible. We should heed Jacob’s advice. Relying on others is chancy; for Jews relying on ourselves and trusting in G-d is the more appropriate path.

We begin this week to again read the story of Joseph. Most of the rest of the book of Genesis will be taken up with this story. It is interesting, therefore, that in the middle of this week’s Parshah we have the story of Judah and Tamar, which forms the longest aliyah of the Parshah. There are various  reasons given for the inclusion of this story in the narrative of Joseph. For example, Judah plays an important part in the sale of Joseph showing leadership qualities that are further accentuated in his resolution of the issue of Tamar.

I would suggest that this story also highlights how to deal with the divisions caused by actions in the past, in contradistinction to the only partial resolution of the issues surrounding Joseph’s sale. Faced with the evidence that he is the father of Tamar’s unborn twin children, Judah famously confesses that ‘she is more righteous than me’. But interestingly this confession does not concern their illicit sexual encounter but the fact that ‘I did not give her to Shelah my son.’  He thus not only admits that he is responsible for her pregnancy but justifies her actions and also takes full responsibility for her needing to act in such a manner in the first place. He thus goes right to the heart of the matter and directly confronts the misdemeanours of the past which led to the issues of the present.

If we then look at the reconciliation of Joseph and his brothers which we read about in a couple of weeks, we see a less clear picture. It’s true that there is indeed a reconciliation, at least on the surface. But the incompleteness of this process can be seen by the fact that after Jacob’s death, the brothers fear Joseph’s revenge, even after many years have passed. If we examine the Torah’s description of the original issue we see that both parties were to blame. Joseph was not only a pain but also openly dreamed of dominating the brothers, while the brothers’ actions were obviously cruel and unacceptable.

Yet when Joseph reunites with his brothers he never really deals with the inhuman behaviour of the brothers, rather simply explains everything as the will of G-d, seemingly absolving his brothers of any actual responsibility for their crime. Needless to say there is no mention by either party of Joseph’s behaviour that was the cause of the discord in the family. So, while there is a reconciliation, it doesn’t properly deal with the issues that led to the problem in the first place. As a consequence these problems in the family are never really resolved and echo in problematic ways through later Jewish history.

In contradistinction, in the book of Ruth, Judah and Tamar are held up as examples to be followed. For this reason, it is Judah and not Joseph who becomes the ultimate leader of the Jewish people. The lesson of these stories is clear. If you want to effect true reconciliation and build a different future, you must first properly deal with the problematic issues of the past.

Jacob, on his return to the Land of Israel is faced with confronting his brother Esau. He takes several steps to protect himself, including dividing his family and possessions and removing them to a safer position. These activities engender a puzzling midrash. The Rabbis, noting the absence of Jacob’s daughter in any mention of the disposition of his family ask where she had got to. The answer they give involves Jacob hiding her in a trunk in order to prevent her being seen by Esau who might take a fancy to her. Jacob is then criticised for this action, as maybe allowing Esau to marry Dinah would have improved his behaviour and proved a positive turning point in his life. They then state that because Jacob showed a lack of kindness to his brother in this action, Dinah later fell into the hands of Shechem.

This midrash is quite extraordinary. Not only would any normal father have sought to protect his daughter from a delinquent relative such as Esau, but the Rabbis themselves state elsewhere that a scholar who allows his daughter to marry an ignoramus is like putting her before a lion. How are we to understand this midrash? On the one hand it is possible that the Rabbis were interrogating Jacob’s attitude to his brother and finding it lacking. They saw in his action of hiding his daughter the same lack of consideration he showed years earlier when he took advantage of Esau’s hunger to buy the birthright from him. Maybe, they are postulating, it is Jacob’s lack of empathy for his brother that is at is at least partially responsible for his delinquent behaviour. The midrash is thus teaching us that if we are disturbed by the behaviour of others in our family or circle of friends we should maybe start by examining whether our own behaviour towards them contributed to the situation.

Another understanding of the midrash concerns Jacob’s propensity to try and totally control his own destiny. We see this in his various dealings with Laban as well as in his preparations for meeting Esau. In all these cases he is then taken by surprise by unexpected events. Despite his planning Laban still manages to deceive him and in preparing to confront Esau he is suddenly surprised by an assault by an unknown assailant. The midrash describes a similar scenario. He seeks to protect his daughter by hiding her from Esau only to have her later taken by Shechem, something he was not able to plan for. Our Sages see in this desire of Jacob for total control of his destiny, a lack of faith and understanding of Divine Providence unbefitting to the progenitor of G-d’s people. He is thus constantly faced with unexpected happenings that upend his carefully laid plans. The lesson for us, as individuals and as a people, is that the idea that we can fully or even mostly control our fate is an illusion and we would be far more content if we accepted this and stopped trying.

The relationship between Rachel and Leah is one of the more complicated in the Torah. Two sisters who are both married to the same man, with one being loved and the other not, and conversely, one having children and the other initially without. Both sisters can be in their different ways be seen as victims but the way they deal with their situation is very different.

Leah is married to a man who never wanted to marry her and resents her coming in-between him and her sister, whom he did want to marry. Leah, however, is blessed with children. While still longing for the love of her husband, she doesn’t wallow in pity but understands her many children as a way of becoming closer to her husband and acts accordingly. We are never informed that she is jealous of her sister, and only hear of her inner turmoil when Rachel asks for her mandrakes.

Rachel, on the other hand, despite having the love of her husband, openly expresses her frustration at not bearing children. It is specifically stated that she is jealous of her sister and she unreasonably demands of Jacob that he should give her children or she will die. Despite already having to share her beloved husband with her sister she then offers him her maidservant in order to have children by proxy. One can imagine how Jacob, who gave up fourteen years of his life to work for her, felt about her willingness to act in this manner. In giving up her ‘night’ with Jacob for her nephew’s mandrakes she again shows her willingness to give up what she does have for what her sister has and she doesn’t. Even when she finally gives birth to Joseph, his very name signifies her desire for more.

It is maybe apt therefore, that Leah who never gave up on seeking her husband’s love is buried besides him in the Cave of Machpelah, while Rachel who never seemed to appreciate her husband’s devotion was fated to be eternally separated from him, buried on the way. In many ways we have here the classic love triangle, where is no one is satisfied. Jacob loves Rachel but she cares more about having children than their relationship, while Leah loves Jacob but Jacob really only cares about Rachel.

Looking deeper, however, teaches us an important lesson about how, and how not, to respond to disappointment and tragedy. Leah’s real hurt at Jacob’s indifference to her is expressed in her outburst to Rachel ‘is it not enough that you have taken my husband’, yet she doesn’t let this ruin her life. While still hoping for a better relationship with her husband she is still able to rejoice in her growing family. Rachel, on the other hand, is consumed by her need for children to the extent that she is unable to appreciate what she has, the passionate love of her husband, in the end dying in childbirth and separated from him forever.

Both individually and nationally we face disappointment and tragedy. The question then becomes how to we react? Do we, like Rachel, concentrate on what we have lost or are lacking, forgetting to appreciate what we do have and thus putting even that in danger. Or do we like Leah learn to appreciate what we do have, building on that foundation to better our situation.

Both Abraham and Isaac occasionally had disputes with their neighbours, especially over water rights. It is interesting to note the different approaches they took in resolving these disputes. When the servants of Abimelech steal a well that Abraham had dug he uses the occasion of Abimelech’s request for a treaty of friendship to reprove him for his actions. In a similar situation Isaac merely moves on and digs other wells until he manages to dig a well that is not disputed. We see a similar scenario when, like Abraham, his designation of his wife as his sister causes Abimelech to take her into his harem. While Abraham answers Abimelech’s pained innocence with a lengthy justification, Isaac merely replies that he was afraid.

These narratives illustrate the differing approaches of Abraham and Isaac when dealing with people with whom they disagree or are in conflict. Abraham is more willing to face them head on and try and work through to a solution while Isaac normally chooses to walk away and not engage. This certainly reflects their different characters, with Abraham being more expansive and outgoing while Isaac is more retiring and unassuming. Yet it also expresses the different situations that they found themselves in. Abraham was already a well known figure by the time of his confrontation with Abimelech. He was someone who was respected and to whom Abimelech would listen. Abimelech had, after all, come to him with a request for a treaty.  Abimelech responds, for example, to Abraham’s rebuke over the stealing of the well not by claiming it was his but by making the excuse that nobody had informed him of the crime until then.

On the other hand, Isaac was the new untried son whom the Philistines were testing to see what they could get away with. Their intentions were made clear by their actions in filling in all the wells dug by Abraham after his death. Having a full on confrontation with them is not going to work. He simply doesn’t yet have the stature for him to be taken seriously. When he finally does confront the actions of the Philistines is the time when Abimelech approaches him also for a treaty. Then he lets rip asking why they bothered to visit if they hated him so much they sent him away. Beforehand, confrontation would have led nowhere, now it leads to a rapprochement. Rather Isaac simply carries on in his own path, doing what is right and necessary until his opponents come to him.

These stories teach us an important lesson. There are different types of opponents and you have to vary your approach depending on who you are dealing with. People who may respect or listen to you or who are open to persuasion should be engaged with in an effort to modify their opinion. On the other hand those who are totally closed minded and hostile should not be engaged with. To seek dialogue with them is simply a waste of time and energy and may even be dangerous. In such cases we just need to continue to do what we need to do and, as in the case of Isaac, our ultimate success may at the very least silence them or if not bring them round. There is a time for dialogue and a time to refrain from dialogue.

This week we read of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the rescue of Lot and his family from the doomed city. An interesting feature of the narrative is the instruction to those fleeing that they should not look back. When Lot’s wife does look behind her at the destruction of the cities she is turned into a pillar of salt. Various explanations have been given for her fate including her sodomite behaviour beforehand and the fact that Lot’s family were only saved because of Abraham and so not worthy to witness the destruction of their compatriots.

A different understanding can be discerned by comparing their behaviour to that of Abraham. After he does witness the destruction of the cities he leaves his abode in Hebron and moves south to the land of the Philistines. Lot and his daughters on the other hand are firstly reluctant to leave at all, then ask to be able to flee to a nearby city that is temporarily spared. Only afterwards do they leave the area of the cities and then only to hide out in caves in the nearby mountains. Abraham thus makes a clean break with the doomed cities and their culture while Lot seems reluctant to do the same. Abraham looks forward to a different existence while Lot keeps looking backward to the life he had.

Their different approaches also lead to different consequences. Abraham, moving forward to a new life, finally has the progeny he has hoped for from Sarah and ensures the future of both his family and his life project.  Lot, looking to the past, stays stuck in a cave with his daughters who then have children by him, ensuring a very different and far darker future.

We can now understand the original instruction to Lot’s family not to look back. Sodom and its culture had been found wanting and destroyed. Looking back to a past that could not be recovered would maroon them in that past and prevent them moving forward. Lot’s wife, who looks behind her, is literally stuck in place, but the rest of the family are also metaphorically stranded, unable to proceed.

This story contains an important message for our time. We live in a situation that is radically different from the one we lived in only a year or so ago. We are likely faced with even more uncertainty and upheaval. In facing this situation we have two choices. We can look backwards, bemoaning the loss of what we had and endlessly analysing what went wrong. Or we can accept that the world has changed, that it is impossible to go back and look to the future. Leaving the past behind we can not only face the challenges of the new and unpredictable world we live in but also embrace its opportunities. As children of Abraham, not Lot, we must progress to the future not remain stuck in the past.

The foundational mitzvah of Judaism is circumcision. It is one of only two positive commandments that has a punishment, excision, attached to it and being uncircumcised bars one from bringing the Pesach sacrifice, Even Jews who may not normally be observant will ensure their sons are circumcised and Jews throughout history have risked their lives to circumcise their sons. It was of course given to Abraham the father of the nation as the basis of his and his descendants’ covenant with G-d.

It is interesting to note, therefore, that it does not appear at the beginning of Abraham’s career but relatively late on, and in fact at the very end of the Parshah. Before he is commanded concerning this fundamental act he travels to Israel and is forced to leave it for Egypt where he has trouble with Sarah. Returning, he is forced to separate from Lot, then fight a battle to rescue him from captivity and have a child by his handmaid which causes discord in the family. In the middle of all this he receives from G-d promises of progeny and the Land, but only at the price of first enduring exile and suffering. Only after all this does G-d command him to circumcise himself and the male members of his household. Why does circumcision come at the end rather than the beginning of this story?

If we examine the act itself we can see that it involves pain and blood, however minimal.  Philosophically it could be interpreted as symbolising that Abraham’s future descendants will be required to lose something in order to be Jewish and that will entail a certain amount of suffering. A central component of the covenant of circumcision is the promise of the Land and as we have already seen that promise contains within it the necessity of previous exile and persecution. The mitzvah of circumcision thus comes at the end of Abraham’s career because it is both the culmination and continuation of what has gone before.

It institutionalises one of the foundations of Jewish life as exemplified in Abraham’s experiences, that being Jewish is not an easy option. Abraham’s life, of course, also consists of great triumphs, spiritual, material and even military. He dies in a good old age, well satisfied. Yet all this came at a cost. Similarly, in a famous passage, the Rabbis marvel that the parents of a child celebrate the occasion of his circumcision, despite the underlying painful nature of the event. Thus each time we initiate a new child into the Jewish people we convey a double message. Being Jewish is good and worthwhile but certainly not necessarily easy.

The Parshah this week can be divided into three distinct portions. The first deals with the prelude to the flood. The second narrates the course of the flood itself. The last portion of the Parshah deals with the aftermath of the deluge. If we examine this last section we can discern three different approaches or reactions to catastrophe and tragedy. The first is exemplified by Noah. Faced with a destroyed world and the guilt of maybe not having done enough to prevent it, Noah chooses the path of oblivion and escapism. He plants vines, harvests their fruits, makes wine and gets drunk. He has no more children and seems, despite G-d’s promises, to despair of the future of the world. At least it’s a world he can only live in by forgetting what came before and his responsibility for the catastrophe that overwhelmed it.

The second approach is exemplified by the builders of the Tower of Babel. Their way of dealing with the catastrophe is to resolve to use all means to prevent such a disaster or any similar even recurring. They thus build the Tower specifically to prevent a future dispersal or devastation of humanity. This is obviously a more positive approach than the path of escapism, yet it is also seriously flawed. In seeking to prevent similar disasters they create a totalitarian society where, according to the Midrash, the value of a brick is worth more than that of a human. Thus in seeking to prevent future tragedy they create an ongoing tragedy of oppression and inhumanity.

The third approach to dealing with the disaster of the flood can be seen in the actions of two of Noah’s sons, Shem and Yefet. When the universal calamity is compounded by a family tragedy they act to limit the damage by showing respect to their father, even in his degraded state. They cannot undo what has been done or even necessarily prevent it from happening again but they can seek to minimise the effect and provide some succour. This thus leads into the story of Shem’s descendant, Abraham, whose life is characterised by such actions and the ability to face challenges and tragedy with equanimity and responsibility, something he bequeathed to his descendants.

As we also find ourselves in an ongoing tragedy the Parshah thus has an import lesson to impart to us. We should not respond by seeking to escape from the harsh reality or to forget what has occurred. Neither should we seek extreme or simple solutions to complicated problems, where often the cure is worse than the disease. Rather we should act responsibly to seek to minimise the consequences of the tragedy, give assistance and comfort where needed, and work to change the reality in which we find ourselves by doing what is possible even it is less than what we hope for. That way we will build in our day both resilience and hope for the future as did Noah’s sons in their day.