The Possibility of Reconciliation

Vayigash

Genesis 44:18 - 48:27

Précis: We approach the end of the extended tale of Joseph. Benjamin is being held by Joseph as the alleged thief of a gold cup. Judah comes near (vayigash) Joseph, and begs for his brother’s life, offering himself as a substitute. Joseph is overcome and reveals himself to his brothers, forgiving them for selling him into slavery, stating that it was all part of God’s plan. Joseph sends them back home to bring Jacob and their families down to Egypt in order to survive the famine. They comply, and Joseph arranges for them to reside in the land of Goshen, living off “the fat of the land” at Pharaoh’s insistence. During the remainder of the famine, Joseph purchases land and cattle for Pharaoh, even making the Egyptians serfs to Pharaoh, in exchange for the grain stored during the seven years of plenty. The Israelites prosper and multiply.

Genesis 45:4 “Then Joseph said to his brothers, ‘Come close to me.’ When they had done so, he said, ‘I am your brother Joseph, the one you sold into Egypt!’”

Joseph reveals himself to his brothers in this incredibly dramatic and moving scene. From a literary perspective, there is a wonderful bookmarking of the word “brother”. In the very beginning of the Joseph story, when sent by his father to find his brothers, Joseph encountered a “a man” to whom he said, "I am seeking my brothers" (Gen. 37:16).

When Joseph looked for his brothers at the outset, his simple statement might have been viewed as merely a request for directions or information. In light of the rest of the story, however, we can infer that Joseph’s quest was really one seeking reconciliation with brothers, from whom he had already been estranged on account of his father's favoritism. Now, at the end of the story, when Judah volunteers to take the place of Benjamin, Judah demonstrates that he understands what it means to be a “brother’s keeper.” Reconciliation, hinted at the outset, now becomes a reality at the story’s dramatic denouement.

I draw a lesson of the importance of interpersonal, familial, and even national reconciliation. Those who know us best (our family or closest friends) have the greatest ability to inflict the most hurtful pain. They know the buttons to push. The Joseph story tells us that even in the face of the most terrible actions, families have the ability to overcome pain and regain lost love. Seen from this point of view, the story of Joseph becomes a commentary on the potential for renewal, reconciliation, and reemergence of love between people. Since this is a weekend for making secular New Year's Resolutions, let me suggest that we resolve to overcome interpersonal issues we face and hold up Joseph as our role model. Shabbat Shalom and Happy New Year.

No "buts" About It

Mikketz

Genesis 41:1-44:17

Précis: At the end (mikketz) of two years of Joseph’s imprisonment, Pharaoh dreams of cows and ears of corn. The butler who had shared Joseph’s cell now remembers him and calls him from prison. Joseph predicts seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of famine. Pharaoh is so impressed that he appoints Joseph as his chief vizier and Joseph goes about storing grain during the times of plenty.
     Joseph marries Asenath and they have two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh. When the famine comes, Jacob sends his sons to Egypt to purchase food. Joseph has them brought in while he remains in cognito. Joseph accuses the brothers of spying, and sends them home after they leave one brother hostage and promise to return with their youngest brother, Benjamin. Upon their return, the brothers (including Benjamin) meet the still-revealed Joseph. Joseph has their bags filled not only with grain but also with the money used to purchase the grain and has a gold cup hidden in Benjamin’s belongings. When they are “caught” by Joseph’s men, they learn that whoever stole the cup would become Joseph’s slave, while the others return to their homeland. On this cliffhanger, the parasha ends.

Genesis 42:21 “‘Oh, we are being punished on account of our brother [Joseph]! We saw his soul’s distress when he pleaded with us, but we didn’t listen; on that account this distress has come upon us.’"

     Sometimes a single simple word has very significant importance. Writing in Ten Minutes of Torah (12/14/09), Rabbi Evan Moffic suggests that the sin of Joseph’s brothers is made clear in the use of the word “but” (in Hebrew, “aval”). They knew when they sold Joseph into slavery that their action was wrong, “but” (aval) they refused to listen to his cries of distress. We can imagine that they knew that their father Jacob would be devastated, but (aval) the brothers felt that Jacob never really loved them anyway. As they are forced to review their actions years later, the brothers recognize that they could have acted differently, but (aval) they didn’t.
     The use of “aval” reminds us that rationalizing is one way we avoid responsibility for our inevitable shortcomings.
      In the cited verse, the brothers confess their wrongdoing (at least to each other). As we know from the High Holiday liturgy, confession is a profoundly Jewish activity, and is the first necessary step towards t’shuvah (repentance). Joseph’s brothers demonstrate the three steps of t’shuvah: they confess, they seek forgiveness, and when faced with the same circumstances, they act differently.
     This Shabbat, when we celebrate the rededication of the Temple during Chanukah, it might be a good time to rededicate ourselves to overcoming the inclination to say “but.” If we are successful, our efforts as Jewish professionals, as family members, and as part of our greater communities are more assured of success.

Finding God in the Details

Vayeshev

Genesis 37:1 - 40:23

Précis: The story of Joseph begins with the words, “And Jacob dwelt (vayeshev) in the land of his father’s travels.” We learn that Joseph is Jacob’s favorite son who receives the coat of many colors, and dreams strange dreams and relates them to his brothers and father, creating additional concern (jealousy) on their part. The sons conspire to do away with Joseph, but before he dies, they sell him into slavery. Jacob is devastated when the sons present evidence of Joseph’s “death.”
     We then have an intervening story about Judah. He marries off his first son to Tamar. The son soon dies, and, the next son is married to the widow (“levirate marriage.”) The second son (Onan) dies, and Judah is loath to offer the third son. The widow dresses as a harlot, seduces Judah, becomes pregnant, and reveals herself to Judah as a woman wronged. He acknowledges her as a rightful daughter.
     The scene shifts back to Joseph, who is now a servant in the household of Potiphar, an Egyptian official. Potiphar’s wife attempts to seduce Joseph but he refuses her advances. She accuses him nonetheless of rape, and Joseph is tossed into prison. There, he meets jailed servants of Pharaoh, for whom he interprets dreams successfully. When the chief butler is restored to his post, he promises to “remember” Joseph, but the parasha ends with the words, “but he forgot him.”

Genesis 37:14-17 “And he (Jacob) said to him (Joseph), ‘Go and see how your brothers are and how the flocks are faring, and bring me back word.’ So he sent him from the valley of Hebron. When he reached Shechem, a man came upon him wandering in the fields, the man asked him, ‘What are you looking for?’ He answered, ‘I am looking for my brothers. Could you tell me where they are pasturing?’ The man said, ‘They have gone from here, for I heard them say: Let us go to Dothan.’ So Joseph followed his brothers and found them in Dothan.”

The difficulty of reconciling the concepts of free will and God’s omniscience is on display in this week’s reading. In the cited verses, Jacob sends out Joseph to check up on his brothers. On his way he meets “a man” who is able to direct him to the correct destination. The sages tell us that this unidentified "man" was God’s messenger. At the very end of the Joseph saga, Joseph tells his brothers that “it was not you who sent me here, but God" (Genesis 45:8). These two statements seem to bracket God’s presence in the story of Joseph, and in between them we find examples of God being “with” Joseph at various stages of his journey.

Just as Jacob voluntarily decided to wrestle with “a man” on the fateful night his name was changed to Yisrael, Joseph’s story seems to be the unfolding of God’s plan, step by step, through what on the surface appear to be voluntary steps by human beings (Jacob, Joseph, the brothers, the actions of the fellow prisoners in the jail cell, Pharaohs’ elevation of Joseph, etc.). This plan will lead to the slavery of Egypt, the Exodus, and Revelation at Sinai.

In this light, we can even see that the story of Judah and Tamar, often viewed as an incidental insertion into the story of Joseph, reinforces the theme of God acting through humans; the offspring of Tamar by Judah are the ancestors of King David, and by tradition, the Mashiach as well.

So how do we reconcile free will with God’s plan? Perhaps we can view ourselves as partners in the developing story. God may “know” how “things will turn out” but each individual must make his own decision about how he or she will react to circumstances, whether it is wrestling with someone, accepting or rejecting directions, or being caring or compassionate to others.

Life is a Struggle

Vayishlach

Genesis 32:4 - 36:43

Précis: As he nears his return to his homeland, Jacob sent (vayishlach) messengers to Esau to ascertain Esau’s state of mind after their 20 year separation. While he awaits a reply, Jacob encounters an “adversary” (most assume an angel) with whom Jacob wrestles through the night. As dawn breaks, the adversary announces that Jacob’s name is to be changed to Israel: “He who wrestles with God.” On the following day, Esau approaches, and despite Jacob’s fears, there is a happy reunion.
     We then read the story of how a local prince rapes Dinah, Jacob’s daughter, and then asks to marry her. Jacob agrees on condition that all of the men of the city are circumcised. While the men are recovering, Jacob’s sons Simon and Levi attack the city and kill all of the inhabitants in revenge for the insult to their sister.
     Jacob soon travels to Beth-el (the site of his ladder dream), and on the way, Rachel gives birth to Benjamin and dies following her labor. Thereafter, Isaac’s death is noted, as is his burial by Esau and Jacob. The parasha ends with a genealogy of Esau and his descendants.


Genesis 32:25–30 “Jacob remained alone. A man struggled with him until dawn. He realized that he could not overpower him, so he struck at his hip-joint, dislocating it during the struggle. The man said, ‘Let me go, for dawn has arrived!’ Jacob replied, ‘I will not let you go until you bless me.’ He asked him, ‘What then is your name?’ ‘Jacob.’ He said, ‘You shall no longer be called Jacob, but rather Yisrael, because you have struggled with gods and with men and prevailed.’ Jacob said, ‘Tell me your name.’ The man replied, ‘You must not ask my name!’ He then blessed him.”

Since the Jewish People are by tradition descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, we can wonder at times about why we most frequently refer to ourselves as the “children of Israel.” ("bnai Yisrael”). This verse is an important clue to the answer.

As Jacob is about to face Esau in a potentially fatal encounter (which the text implies with its description of Jacob’s careful defensive preparations), Jacob has a fight with a “man” that results in the change of his name from Yaacov to Yisrael.

The text reveals an echo of a prior story. By asking for the adversary’s name, Jacob repeats his father Isaac’s question about who was bringing him food before the bestowal of the blessing. For a second time, Jacob (Yaakov) seeks a blessing. The first blessing provided by his father gave Jacob the primacy in the continuity of Jewish tradition. Here, the “blessing” is not in itself specific, but is rather a name change from Yaakov to Yisrael (translated as “struggles with God”). We observe in the text that the result of hand-to-hand combat between Yaakov and the mysterious “man” is actually a struggle over peoplehood. (Parenthetically, this may be why some commentators suggest that the "man" is actually Esau himself!) Until this dramatic scene, we could not be certain which of Isaac's sons would become Yisrael, but with this story, it is clear that it will be Yaakov. Yaakov had the birthright and his father’s blessing, but it was not until he wrestles with the adversary that he is renamed Yisrael. This renaming through struggle is the origin of our People’s own name.

To be an inheritor of Yisrael means that we ourselves must engage in struggle: struggle with text, struggle with God, and struggle with others, whether within the family, the congregation, the community, or among nations. We can only hope that like Jacob, our struggles bring lasting achievement.

We Can't Stand Idly By

Vayetze

Genesis 28:10-33:3
Précis: As Jacob travels towards the household of his uncle Laban, he dreams of a ladder (some translate it as a ramp) to heaven, with angels ascending and descending. He vows to build a great house for God on the spot (identified by some as the same site as the Akedah and the site of the future Temple). Jacob meets and falls in love with Laban’s younger daughter, Rachel. Laban agrees to the match, provided that Jacob works for him for seven years. Laban switches the older daughter, Leah, for Rachel; Jacob works an additional seven years for Rachel’s hand. After the 14 years, Jacob works for Laban for another six, and acquires great wealth and flocks through shrewd husbandry. During the stay with Laban, most of the children of Jacob are born. At the conclusion of the parasha, after tense negotiations with Laban, Jacob leaves with his possessions and family.


Genesis 29:7 “And he [Jacob] said [to the shepherds at the well], ‘Lo, it is yet high day, and it is not time to round up the cattle; water the sheep, and then go feed them.’”

Because of recent events at Penn State, I felt it appropriate to repeat in part an analysis I originally presented in a weekly d’var torah in 2006. Sforno, the 16th century Italian commentator, states that in this story, Jacob, a stranger, chastises the workers for quitting early and thereby depriving their employers of a full day's work for a full day's pay. From this, Sforno draws an ethical mandate: a righteous man objects to a wrong that is being done before his eyes, even though the wrong is done to others. Thus, one can't stand idly by when a wrong is being done to another just because one is not personally affected.

The connection to the allegations of inaction by officials at Penn State who observed or learned of sexual assaults on children by a staff member is clear. One must stand witness to protect the lives and health of others, and one is obliged to demand that those who commit the most heinous of crimes are not protected by inaction, silence, or by simply turning one’s eye away.

Of course, this ethical demand transcends any single institution or situation. It is certainly a principle inherent in the Jewish values of family, congregational and communal life.

Family Togetherness

Toledot



Genesis 25:19-28:9

Précis: The introductory phrase to this parasha is “These are the generations (“toledot”) of Isaac.” What follows is the birth of the twins, Esau and Jacob. Their childhood is omitted from narrative. We learn that Jacob was a quiet man while Esau was a cunning hunter, that their mother Rebecca preferred Jacob, and that Isaac preferred Esau. We then have the story of the sale of the birthright by Esau to Jacob for a bowl of porridge (or lentils). A famine takes place, and Isaac journeys to the land of the Philistines where he claims that his wife Rebecca is actually his sister (as Abraham did with Sarah in Lech Lecha) and again, the woman escapes unharmed. The story then turns to the “great deception” where Jacob pretends to be Esau in order to obtain the primary blessing from his father Isaac. Esau hates Jacob and threatens him; Rebecca urges Jacob to escape to her family in Haran, to where he sets off at the conclusion of the parasha.

Genesis 25:22 “And the children struggled together within her; and she said: 'If it be so, wherefore do I live?' And she went to inquire of God.”

This year, we read the parasha on Thanksgiving weekend, a time when many families gather together. There is in fact a connection between the parasha and the holiday. It’s become a worn-out comedic trope, but Thanksgiving is a time when rivalries and animosity between siblings can re-emerge (as in the movie Avalon: “You cut the turkey without me!!!”). So too with the story of this parasha.

The inability of brothers and sisters to live peaceably and agreeably together is far from surprising. “Sibling rivalry” existed before it was recognized by Freud. The struggles of Jacob and Esau described here is not even the first example in the Bible. This tale can be viewed as a reprise of the fight between the first brothers, Cain and Abel, and as a harbinger of future sibling animosity (among Jacob’s sons and Joseph; between Moses and Aaron, among King David’s sons, etc.).

The emphasis on sibling conflict in our texts can be viewed on many levels. Most simply, we observe a simple story of a natural fight for dominance between brothers of different abilities and outlooks. The stories are also allegories for religious, political, social or economic battles. In this week’s reading, Esau is described as the man of action eager for the hunt and the field. Jacob is the quiet man of the tents, who even learns to cook. The differences causing their rivalry are brilliantly portrayed in the sale of the birthright scene (25:29-34), when Esau returns from his hunt, ravaged by hunger, gulps down his food, and sells the birthright. The man of instinctual urges has lost his primacy to the man of thoughtful (cunning?) planning. (Aside: Is this sale relevant? Can one actually sell one’s birthright? Esau is the first born, and his “sale” cannot negate this fact. On the other hand, the “sale” certainly shows the motivations of each brother.)

In more modern psychological terms, we might think that Esau represents the id, ruled by instinct. Such a life was castigated by the Sages. The Mishnah asks, "Who is powerful?" It answers, "One who conquers his own impulse." It is not surprising to find that their collective opinion of Esau was negative, seeing him as evil and filled with hate. Jacob can represent the ego or super-ego, where complex thought leads to considered action. Even though he prevails in his quest for his father’s blessing through trickery and disguise, the rabbis see him as a man of learning, morality, and the appropriate conduit of tradition.

What is the basis for this estrangement and struggle between the brothers? Some have suggested that the rejection of primogeniture in this story is evidence of God’s intervention. When the “natural order” is upset, we may be glimpsing at God’s involvement in the narrative. On a strictly human level, the enmity between the brothers may be rooted in parental favoritism. What is the rationale for this favoritism? Perhaps Isaac, who has never himself been a man of action, and whose singular experience (the Akedah) was notable for his role as object, sees in Esau the man he always wanted to be: strong, powerful, able. (Second aside: is it possible that Isaac sees in Esau the memory of his lost half-brother Ishmael?) Rebecca’s devotion to Jacob may be a reaction to Isaac’s favoritism of Esau; perhaps she saw that Jacob needed the love and attention his father was unable or unwilling to offer. In addition to the evident harm to the sons, we see that displays of favoritism among offspring can poison the relationship of the parents as well. After all, it was in the end of the previous parasha that Isaac was comforted by Rebecca on the loss of his mother; now, she is plotting against him to secure the blessing for Jacob.

It’s not hard to find lessons in this story, many quite negative. I prefer to take from this story two positive thoughts. First, while the text shows us the apparent shortcomings of our founding family, it gives them human faces. Their weaknesses are ours, and if they could overcome, there is hope for us as well. Second, while this parasha ends with death threats and a getaway, next week’s reading tells of a reunion after they have grown, matured, and have found a way to reestablish a bond. If brothers with such enmity can learn to live in peace, there is hope for all of us to overcome the interpersonal disputes we face within our workplaces and families. Let peace reign over your household this Thanksgiving.

Burial and Honor

Chayye Sara



Genesis 23:1-25:18

Précis: The parasha begins with the counting of the life of Sarah (chayye Sarah) - and with her death. It continues with a detailed description of the purchase of the cave of Machpela by Abraham for a family burial site. Abraham orders his servant to go to Abraham’s ancestral home to obtain a wife for Isaac, and after a series of fulfilled signs, the servant finds Rebecca. Rebecca returns with the servant; she and Isaac meet, fall in love at first sight, and become man and wife. The parasha ends with the death of Abraham, and his burial by Isaac and Ishmael in the family burial cave.

Genesis 23:2-18 “Abraham arose from beside his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying, ‘I am a resident among you; sell me a burial site…’ And the Hittites replied, ‘Hear us, my lord…bury your dead in the choicest burial spot; none will withhold his burial place from you’…And Abraham bowed low…and said to them… ‘Let Ephron sell me the cave of Machpela…for the full price, as a burial site.’ Ephron...answered Abraham… ‘No, my lord, hear me: I give you the field and the cave…’ Then Abraham spoke…saying ‘Let me pay the price of the land; accept it from me’…And Ephron replied… ‘A piece of land worth 400 shekels - what is that between you and me? Go and bury your dead.’ Abraham accepted Ephron’s terms, and Abraham paid out the money…”

Burying the dead appears to be one of the most ancient of human rituals. Archaeological evidence points out that this practice is ancient indeed, that Neanderthal and even earlier humans engaged in burial practices which suggested a belief in life after death.

Why do we bury the dead? The act suggests a belief in survival after death, or even of physical resurrection (a belief which is part of Jewish thought, although not universally accepted). We bury the dead and mark their graves as another way in which Jewish tradition reminds us to remember. As we know, Judaism is much about remembering.

Abraham’s negotiation for a burial plot for Sarah ties burial to land ownership. While we know very little about Jewish burial rituals before the era of Rabbinic Judaism, we do know from this story and others in the Bible (Rachel, Jacob, Joseph, et al.) that it was important for individuals to be buried in ancestral lands with their family ancestors. As a result of the Babylonian and subsequent exiles, this was often impossible. Abraham’s story became a template for subsequent Jewish purchases of burial plots, and his descendants would face the same issues he faced as a "resident alien."

What do we learn from this story? First, the grave site needs to be purchased and not merely accepted as a gift. This is a sign of real ownership that cannot be revoked by the donor. Second, the grave site should be “permanent” (held “in fee”). Third, the fact that Abraham’s request was not seen as odd by the local citizens implies that they, too, engaged in burial and plot purchase, so we learn that Abraham was adopting (or at least sharing) the customs of those among whom he lived. Similarly, Jews throughout history shared some of the customs of the surrounding cultures (the use of ossuaries in Second Temple times; wooden coffins; grave stones and markers, etc.).

Throughout our history in the Diaspora, we have purchased land for burial whenever we were able to do so. Among the first items on the Jewish agenda when establishing a new community was the creation of a burial society (for both chevre kadisha and the purchase of burial land). When Jews were expelled from a state or principality, records indicate that the cemeteries were among the property sold off with other Jewish possessions. The subsequent desecration of Jewish cemeteries became a symbol of a faith’s victory over another, whether Christians or Muslims were the ones doing the desecration, and whether it took place in the 10th, 15th, or 20th centuries.

While, like Abraham, we have tried to find secure and tranquil places to bury our dead, we have learned that buying grave sites gives neither the living nor the dead any real security. If the purpose of burial rituals, as suggested at the outset, is to remember, then we today face an additional challenge: the dispersion of families across the country and around the world. The new mobility means that unlike Abraham and his earliest family, the responsibility for the preservation of burial sites and cemeteries is no longer a familial responsibility, but has become communal responsibility. Thus, those of us in communal positions have a special role to play. It is a duty both solemn and laden with mitzvah.

Survival

Lech Lecha


Genesis 12:1 -17:27


Précis: This parasha, “get you up” or “go yourself” (lech lecha) begins with “the call” of Abram to leave his home and journey to a new land. At God’s command, Abram and Sarai journey to Canaan. When famine strikes, they travel to Egypt, where Sarai is taken into Pharaoh’s harem after Abram calls her his “sister,” but she escapes without harm. They then leave Egypt, with Abram now a rich man. To avoid family squabbles, Abram separates himself from his nephew Lot (who moves to Sodom), but Abram is forced to rescue Lot in the first military action described in the Bible. Abram reaches a negotiated settlement with the locals, and God promises him an heir. Because Sarai is barren, she offers Abram her servant (Hagar), and Hagar gives birth to a son, Ishmael. Abram is then promised a son through Sarai, to be his true heir. Abram’s name is changed to Abraham, and Sarai’s to Sarah, in recognition of the new Covenant with God, which is then symbolized by circumcision.

Genesis 15:4-7 “Then the word of God came to [Abram]: ... ‘a son who is your own flesh and blood will be your heir.’ He took him outside and said, ‘Look up at the sky and count the stars, if indeed you can count them.’ Then He said to him, ‘So shall your offspring be...'”


This parasha focuses on the creation of the Jewish nation. How is it that we have survived for the 3.5 millennia since Abraham’s time, while most (if not all) other peoples were dispersed, conquered, or simply disappeared? This story of our origin provides important clues to our ongoing survival.


Jews have survived not because we were isolated at the edge of the civilized world, but rather because we maintained our identity while living within the dominant cultures in which we found ourselves, be it Babylonia, Greece, Rome, Spain, Poland, Russia, America, or any other of the “homes” in our history. The Jews survived not once, but multiple times.


In the cited verses, God promises Abram prosperity, progeny and land ownership. Yet, this promise is never fulfilled within the stories of Genesis. Even the ensuing story of the Exodus is not properly a story of restoration to the land, because the Jewish People had never really possessed it.


It is something other than prosperity and the land (mostly lacking throughout Jewish history) which have ensured the survival of the Jewish People. I would maintain that there are two rationales to explain this most unique story of survival. The first is a traditional, theologically based one: the Covenant between God and Abraham (and his descendants). This Covenant is real and abiding. Whether one believes that God intervenes directly in human affairs or not, one is hard-pressed to deny that something (or Someone) has had a role in the survival of the Jewish People through the 35 centuries since Abraham. It defies the laws of mere chance that the Jewish People has survived.


A second rationale for our mutual survival is the development of Jewish institutions, particularly of Torah study and a complex ritual life, which together formed a cultural collective sense of identity. Viewed in this light, Torah is a Jewish survival handbook.


As the inheritors of this tradition, and as descendants of Abraham, it is an obligation, accepted by each succeeding generation, to maintain the Covenant as we best understand it. We do this through observance, study, and support of Jewish communal institutions, and by our support of Israel as well. This is the meaning of the promise made to Abraham, and the rationale for the phrase “Am Yisrael Chai!”.

We are all children of Noah

Noach
Genesis 6:9-11:32

Précis: The story of Noah and Flood appear in this parasha. Noah, called by God, builds the Ark and collects the animals (two by two, except when he collects seven couples). Then it rains for forty days and nights. Noah and his family are saved; they leave the Ark, build an altar, and make sacrifices to God. God sets a rainbow as a promise not to destroy mankind again. Noah plants a vineyard, and becomes drunk. The story of the Tower of Babel is included, and the parasha ends with a genealogy of the ancient peoples of the Bible, ending with Abram.

The first chapters of the Bible show that the earliest days of humanity were far from smooth. In fact, God seems surprised by how badly things are going. (The fact that the omniscient God can be “surprised” is the subject for another d’var.”) Adam and Eve are expelled from the garden after failing to abide by “park rules.” Cain kills Abel. The subsequent generations become so depraved that the world is destroyed, save for Noah in his Ark. And the subsequent generations decided to build a tower which threatens God’s hegemony, so they are scattered. It is only at the end of this parasha that we are introduced to the First Family of the Jewish People (Abram and Sarai) and the implicit hope of some improvement.

Midrash tells us that God created a single man and a single woman so that all descendants would be equal; none could claim more honorable forebears than another and therefore none could feel superior to another. We are all related to each other, first as descendants of Adam and Eve, and then as descendants of Noah and his wife.

Of course, as we see first with the case of Cain and Abel, and later with the stories of Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers, having common ancestors or parents is no guaranty of peace among families or between nations. One can argue quite effectively that the basic question of the Book of Bereshit is “How can I live with my brother?”

Noah’s time was filled with corruption and violence. Yet Noah resisted the urges of his society and “walked with God." All of humanity, this parasha tells us, are descendants of someone who lived a better life than those around him, who stood out by his faith in God and who treated others not only as if they were related, but also as being created in God’s image. If we look at it this way, then the phrase "b'nei Noach,"(literally "children of Noah" but used colloquially to mean non-Jews) serves as a reminder that the Bible teaches us that all of humanity are descendants of people who had the ability to rise above the conditions which made their societies evil and troubled. This is a remarkably hopeful and positive view and one which can spur us individually towards those acts of loving kindness - in our families, in our work places, or in our communities - which make our society a better place in which to live. Once we’ve accomplished that little task, perhaps we can move on to solving the problems of nations around the world. One step at a time.

Giving Ourselves the gift of Time

Bereshit

Genesis 1:1 - 6:8
Précis: The first Book of the Torah, Bereshit (Genesis, literally “in the beginning” or “When God began to create”) begins with the familiar story of creation: the world is created in six days, with God resting on the Seventh. The story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden are included in this weekly reading, as is the story of Cain and Abel. We begin again the annual reading of the Five Books of Moses immediately upon its conclusion. Why? With each passing year, our understanding changes as we experience more of what life has to offer. Yochanan Ben Bag Bag said, "Turn it, and turn it, for everything is in it. Reflect on it and grow old and gray with it. Don't turn from it, for you have no better standard of conduct." (Avot 5:25).

Genesis 2:3 - “And God blessed the seventh day, and made it holy; because that in it He rested from all His work which God in creating had made.”

The centrality of Shabbat is underscored by the fact that it is the culmination of Creation. While many of us assume that the creation of human beings is the high point of God’s creative processes, the text tells us that the Shabbat and its rest created on that day was an essential part of the entirety. In other words, existence of everything we see and feel was incomplete until Shabbat was created.

As Thomas Cahill suggests in his book The Gift of the Jews, among the great contributions made by the Jewish People to the world was the ability to see time as linear, with beginnings and endings and stops along the way. The concept of a rest day every seven days was revolutionary and pointed out the potential of breaks in an endless cycle of work. Time has a beginning, carefully described in this parasha. It is a process with an arrow pointing ahead, from Adam and Eve to Abraham and Sarah, from Joseph and Moses to Joshua and the Judges, from the Kings of Israel to the Prime Minister of Israel.

Despite this continuity, the creation of Shabbat provides us with islands out of time, when we separate ourselves from the on-going efforts of life and, like God, rest from our creative endeavors. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel writes in The Sabbath that the word “kadosh” (holy) is used for the first time in the verse quoted above. He notes that there is nothing in the text which associates the characteristic of holiness to anything else found in the story of creation. As Jews, our religion and our ritual life is one in which the holiness of time is a keystone. We observe the holiness of each life cycle event, from birth to death. Our holidays throughout the year are another set of time markers. Most importantly, we have the opportunity each Shabbat to reconnect with what is holy, and thereby appreciate the rest of God’s blessings.

Joy and Thanks for Sukkot

Lev. 23:39 “On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you have gathered in the yield of your land, you shall observe the festival of God to last seven days.”



Sukkot is a holiday which can almost slip our minds, given its close timing to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. And yet, we begin the building a sukkah immediately following the conclusion of Yom Kippur, moving from one mitzvah to the next. Sukkot, of course, is a significant milestone in the Jewish calendar, marking one of three times yearly (along with Pesach and Shavuot) when the Jewish People made pilgrimage to Jerusalem for festival sacrifices.

The holiday is more than merely “dwelling” in a sukkah, or waiving the 4 species, although there is certainly delight in each of these rituals. The Torah portion we read on the holiday includes the verse cited above to remind us of the connection between the harvest and God’s blessings through nature’s bounty. Few of us (other than the hobby gardeners) have a connection to food production, so Sukkot is a reminder that we need to be mindful of where (and how) our food is produced. And because this holiday takes place during the time of the fall harvest in Israel, there is another connection to the land.

The second major theme of Sukkot is one of happiness, a reminder of the Torah command for us to rejoice before God for seven days (Lev. 23:30). It is for this reason that Sukkot is referred to as z’man simchatenu, the time of rejoicing (or happiness). In these difficult economic times, we may not feel in a particularly joyous mood. Perhaps those of us who are fortunate enough to be able to “keep on keeping on” can think of this command to be joyous as a spur to helping those who are not faring so well, with a kind word or deed.

Taking off the Masks

A Special Message for Yom Kippur:

One of the most interesting words in the Hebrew language is “ki.” It can mean because, since, as, or like, among other idiomatic usages too numerous to mention.

We are about to observe Yom Kippur (or, as the Hebrew usually states, yom ha-kipurim). Is this a way of saying, a day “like” Purim? At first, the suggestion seems absurd, but not so absurd as to have escaped the notice of the sages (Tikkunai Zohar 57b). There, the Day of Atonement is described as a day (yom) like (ki) Purim. How could the holiest day of the year be linked to a holiday of joy and even excess?

Yom Kippur is a fast day when we deny ourselves bodily pleasures (and even necessities). We refrain from eating, drinking, washing, wearing leather, sexual relations, etc. We spend the day in shul, engaged in the deepest personal introspection, striving for the difficult recognition and acceptance of our own faults, omissions, and errors.

On Purim we engage in feasting and drinking, perhaps over-indulging. We dress in costumes; we enjoy frivolity and clowning around, lowering our inhibitions in song and dance.

What do these two days share? Why did the sages call our most holy day Yom Ki-Purim?

One answer is that masks are central to both days. On Purim, we not only wear masks, but the story of Purim is the story of Esther, who “masks” her Jewish identity until the denouement of the tale when she dramatically reveals her “true self” to the King and to Haman. On Yom Kippur, we strive to remove the masks we wear all year long, and face our “true selves” without lies, deception, or cover-up; we try to see ourselves without the pretense we rely upon all year long. We stare into a mirror and see who really looks back. We may hide from ourselves and from others all year long, behind our professional or family masks, but on Yom Kippur we try to remove the masks and see what lies beneath.

At least this is the goal. Take off the masks of self-deception. Remove the mask of personal myth. See what lies beneath, and resolve to make the coming year one in which the need for protective masks is lessened, and a year in which we can feel free to honestly share our true selves with those we love.

Shabbat Shalom, Shanah Tovah

Haazinu

Deuteronomy 32:1 -52

Précis: The parasha begins with the “Song of Moses,” a hymn of joy sung by Moses within sight of the Promised Land. The song contrasts God’s fidelity to the faithlessness of the People, and the need of the People to learn from their history under God’s care. Moses predicts that Israel’s enemies will be overcome. Moses is told to climb a mountain to see the Promised Land he will not to enter, as he prepares for his death. This is the last parasha read on Shabbat in the annual cycle: the final parasha (V’zot Habracha) is read traditionally on Simchat Torah.

Deut. 32:7 “Remember the days of old, consider the years of ages past.”

This Shabbat, we read parasha Haazinu. Coming as it does between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the special Shabbat is called “Shabbat Shuvah” (the Sabbath of “returning”), its name coming from the opening words of the Haftarah, “Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God ... Say to Him: 'Forgive all guilt and accept what is good ...’” (Hosea 14:3-4).

When we talk about a “return” we must, of course, focus on remembering. On Rosh Hashanah and on Yom Kippur, we remember those actions we have taken or failed to take. On Yom Kippur, we also recite the Yizkor service, the liturgy focusing on our departed.

Our tradition is filled with commands to remember. When we are commanded to act as God would act, we can’t fail to notice the plethora of occasions in the narrative when “God remembered...” We are commanded to remember Amalek, to remember the creation, to remember the Exodus, to remember Sinai.

But at the same time, there is no doubt that forgetting is also a part of our heritage.

The builders of Babel forget; Laban forgot about the work of Jacob; a pharaoh forgot about Joseph. Repeatedly, the Israelites forget God’s blessings on their behalf. In this very parasha, Moses reminds the People that they all too often forgot about God and His blessings (See, e.g., Deuteronomy 32:18).

In the 21st century, even as we recite the prayers of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, is it possible that we have once again “forgotten” God? Based on our current public discussion, to argue that we have “forgotten God” seems absurd. The word “God” appears more than ever in public debate and discourse. Vast stretches of humanity are decried because of how they perceive God and His commandments. Political candidates are assessed (by many) based upon their belief in God and how they might pray to Him. Some politicians feel confident that they seek election based upon a “call” from God.

On the other hand, is it really absurd to suggest that in the midst of all of this “God talk” that we have forgotten the essence of what we are praying about? During the days of prayer ahead, perhaps it is a good time not only to consider our own actions, but to focus on our own beliefs. What is the purpose of prayer, and to whom are we really praying? Are we forgetting or are we remembering?

Choosing a Path for the New Year

Nitzavim - Va Yelech

Deuteronomy 29:9 -31:30

Précis: This week we read two parshiot together. In Nitzavim, Moses continues to address the People: You stand (nitzavim) this day before God. In his final words to the People, Moses recounts the wonders God has done for the people, and calls upon them to remain loyal to God through the covenant. The extent of the covenant relationship is explained: it will survive exile and captivity with a return to the Land. The Torah is an “open book” that is accessible to all the People. A blessing and a curse have been set before the People, and they are to choose their path. Moses urges them to choose the blessing, to choose life, so that they may inherit the Land which God has sworn to their forefathers.

In Va Yelech, the death of Moses approaches, and he transfers his mantle of leadership to Joshua as his successor. Moses orders regular reading of the Law, and then transfers the written Torah into the hands of the Levites for safekeeping in the Ark of the Covenant.

Deuteronomy 30:11-14: “Surely, this instruction which I urge upon you today is not too baffling for you, or beyond reach….No, it is a thing that is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.”

This week, we approach the end of one year and the beginning of the next with Rosh Hashanah. Every year, we ask ourselves, essentially, “where do we go from here?” The answer suggested in this verse is that the Torah (and our tradition) can offer us a road map.

Amy Perlin (Ten Minutes of Torah, 8/30/10) points to a Talmudic story about Rabbi Joshua ben Chananiah (Eiruvin 53b). Rabbi Joshua was walking on an unfamiliar road and came to a crossroads, finding a young boy. He asked for directions to the town. The boy, pointing to the left and said, “This road is near but far” and then gestured to the right, saying “That road is far but near.” The Rabbi chose the route that was “near but far” but soon found an impenetrable barrier of thorny bushes and fences blocking his way to the town. When he retraced his steps and upbraided the boy, the youngster responded that he had acted innocently: “Didn’t I say that this road is near but far? It is the nearer road if you ask about distance on a map, but because of the barriers, it is the farther in time. I said that the other way was far but near. It is further on the map, but nearer because the path there is clear.”

This verse I chose to focus on this week reminds us that the Torah is “close to you.” Too often, we are like Rabbi Joshua. We ask for directions but we don’t listen closely to the response. Even more, we may not ask the key follow-up question. We don’t think things through, we jump to conclusions. This is true in our workday lives and in our interactions with family and friends.

This Rosh Hashanah, we have a choice we are faced with every year: do we take the easy route or do we take the path that will actually help us reach the desired goal? Indeed, we ask ourselves, “What is that goal?”

One answer is, “To live a life worth living.” To reach that goal, we need to take the path which is far but near. It may take a long time to follow such a path, and it may take prayer, contemplation, observance of mitzvot, care for others, and study. This path may be far, but it is near. Shabbat Shalom and Shanah Tovah.

What goes on behind closed doors matters, too

Ki Tavo

Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8
Précis: The parasha contains numerous religious mandates regarding the formation of a civil and moral community (including tithes of first fruits and tithes to support the Levites). The People are promised that if they follow God’s instructions, they will be transformed into a “holy people.” They are further instructed that they have a choice in their own destiny: there are blessings and curses (the “Admonition”), and they must to choose between the two - and take the consequences. The parasha ends with Moses reminding the People about all that God had done for them in bringing them from Egypt, providing sustenance, defeating their foes, and giving them the Land.

Deut. 17:15-26 “‘Cursed be the man who makes a carved or cast metal image, an abomination to the Lord... cursed be anyone who dishonors his father or his mother.... cursed be anyone who moves his neighbor's landmark.... cursed be anyone who misleads a blind man.... cursed be anyone who perverts the justice due to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.... cursed be anyone who lies with his father's wife... cursed be anyone who lies with any kind of animal.... cursed be anyone who lies with his sister.... cursed who lies with his mother-in-law... cursed be anyone who strikes down his neighbor in secret.... cursed be anyone who takes a bribe to shed innocent blood... cursed be anyone who does not confirm the words of this law by doing them."


The list of curses in these verses is interesting. All relate to things that someone could do when they think they are alone, without other people to observe their behavior. The first and last of the curses deal with a person's relationship with God (do not make idols, observe God's commandments). The other curses deal with family relationships (do not insult your mother or father) and with moral behavior (sexual impropriety, do not misdirect a blind person on his way). According to Rabbi Plaut, these particular activities leading to curses were chosen because they were "unpunishable by human courts" since they were acts committed in secret.

There is a story about what Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai said to his disciples when they asked him for a blessing before he died. "May you fear God as much as you fear other people," he told them. "Only that much?" his disciples asked, clearly disappointed by his response. Rabbi Yochanan responded, "You fear the disapproval of other people so much that you refrain from doing in public that which you readily do in private.” (Berakhot 28b). Our tradition is suggesting through this story that the mark of great character in an individual is that he or she refrains from improper actions even when unobserved.

As we approach the Yamim Noraim, many of us know that it is our responsibility to ask forgiveness from others we may have harmed during the prior year. These are public sins for which repentance is required. Now is also an appropriate time to consider those acts we may have taken in private for which repentance is also due. This requires real introspection, and perhaps more than a bit of courage.

Honoring the Laborer

Ki Tetze

Deuteronomy 21:10 - 25:19
Précis: The parasha might be subtitled “entering society” because it describes the creation of a just and moral society.It begins with the phrase “when you go forth” (ki tetze) to battle. This parasha, according to Maimonides, contains 72 mitzvot (commandments). Although they seem unrelated, they all deal with the morals and values that God wanted to be deeply implanted in the Israelites' society. They cover a wide variety of topics, from family life, human kindness, respect for property and animals, the safety of others, sexual relationships, escaped slaves, financial loans and charging interest, keeping promises, and remembering to blot out the name of one of Israel's greatest enemies. This assortment of commands included requirements that there be sex-distinct clothing; that mother birds not be separated from their eggs; that roof-tops have parapets; that seeds not be mixed in a field, and that “tzitzit” (fringes) be worn on garments. 

Deuteronomy 24:14 “You shall not abuse a needy and destitute laborer, whether a fellow countryman or a stranger in one of the communities of your land.”
     In verses such as the one quoted here, the Torah made clear an employer's obligations to his or her employees.
     In recent times, the role of organized labor in the United States has been under sustained attack. Some of the criticism is merely naive (“We don’t need unions any more, the law protects us”), and some politically based (some see the labor movement the as “shock troops” for the Democratic Party). Other criticism comes from those with a 19th century view of constitutional rights (unions violate an employee’s fundamental right to contract under the constitution), and some attacks come from the craven self-interest of employers who simply want to keep their costs of doing business as low as possible, at whatever consequence to their employees. While Jewish law itself is largely silent with regard to unions, there is little doubt that the dignity of the worker is an important part of our tradition. Our texts remind us that even the great Sages worked in what today we would call “gainful employment” while they studied and learned and taught.
     It is also worth recalling that 2011 is the 100th anniversary of a key event in the history of the American Labor Movement. On March 25, 1911, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in New York City took place. It was, until the destruction of the World Trade Center on 9/11 90 years later, the deadliest disaster in the history of New York City, causing the death of 146 people, mostly young Jewish and Italian women. Many could not escape because the doors were chained shut by the employer. Images of young women leaping to their deaths to escape the flames were printed in newspapers around the country. The tragedy led to the rapid growth of the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union, which fought for employees and against sweatshops, and helped in the creation by the State of New York of the first modern labor law code. This state law in turn set the stage for important federal statutes, including the Fair Labor Standards Act (regulating minimum wages and hours) and the Wagner Act (protecting the right of employees to join together in “concerted activity” for their mutual benefit).
     While we can legitimately debate the appropriate role of organized labor in American society today, we cannot and should not ignore the significant contribution made by the Labor Movement to our society. Whether it is minimum wage, the right to bargain, occupational safety, Medicare, Medicaid, social security, or the private pension system, none would have emerged without Labor’s advocacy. And while we consider Labor’s role in our history, we should also remember and take pride in the Jewish roots of the Movement and in the leadership of individual Jews in this historic American movement which has done so much to help define and achieve the American Dream.

With all your heart

Shoftim

Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9

Précis: The parasha Shoftim (literally, “judges”) is devoted primarily to various themes of justice, and includes warnings against false testimony, idol worship, and the dangers of mortal kings. The parasha includes regulations for rulers, and also warns the people against false prophets, magicians, soothsayers and witches. It establishes requirements for cities of refuge in the Promised Land. In short, the parasha is devoted to ways to create a just society in the Land of Israel.

Deuteronomy 18:13 “You must be wholehearted with Adonai your God.”

The Hebrew word “tamim” is here translated as “wholehearted.” It has also been translated as being undivided (in loyalty). Nahama Leibowitz notes that the opposite of wholehearted is a disharmony between the inner and outer man, a separation between words and deeds. Elsewhere in the Bible, the word is used to describe Noah and Abraham, and usually given the translation of “blameless.” Rabbi Harold Kushner suggests that to be wholehearted means to “Know what is good and what is evil, and when you do wrong, realize that that was not the essential you.” (How Good Do We Have to Be? p. 180).

Some of the sages suggest that being wholehearted connotes a sense of “meaningfulness,” an intention which involves both the body (action) and the mind (thought). If we are not wholehearted, we allow a barrier between ourselves and the kind of person we hope to be (or perhaps between ourselves and God). To act in an appropriate and proper way is good, in and of itself. But to act well with the proper intention is more meaningful and impactful on our future actions.

It's Up to Each of Us

Re’eh

Deuteronomy 11:26 - 16:17

Précis: Moses begins by quoting God, saying “Behold (re’eh), I set before you a blessing and a curse this day.” The outcome will depend on whether or not the people obey the commandments. A concern with idolatry permeates the ensuing verses. The parasha explains that there will be only one site for sacrifices. A test for a false prophet and the punishment of an idolatrous city are included. The parasha then shifts to other subjects: the prohibition against self-mutilation, the biblical basis of the laws of kashrut, tithing so that the Levite, the "stranger, the fatherless, and the widow” are taken care of. Remission of debts, freeing of Hebrew slaves, and the dedication of firstborn cattle are discussed, as are the commandments for the observance of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot.

Deuteronomy 11:26–28 “Behold I set before you a blessing and a curse this day; a blessing if you obey the commandment…and a curse, if you will not obey the commandments…”

As Nahama Leibowitz has suggested this verse is the fundamental expression of the Jewish idea of free will. This concept has been a gift of the Jewish People to all of humanity. Without free will, there can be no justice, because no individual could be responsible for his or her actions unless free will exists. We would, like other ancients, simply blame the “gods” or other outside forces for the impacts of the choices we make.

We have free will, this verse declares, but the gift carries consequences with it in the form of blessings or curses. Each one of us has the burden of choice and the knowledge that we are responsible for the outcomes.

In the first decade of this new century, Americans are bitterly divided. We are divided between Republicans and Democrats and Tea Party adherents. We are divided between those who think government is to blame for our society’s problems and those who think that only government can solve them. Perhaps not since the late 19th century have we been so starkly divided between rich and poor. We remain divided by class and by status. Perhaps most troubling, we are divided between those who have hope and those who have lost the ability to hope.

Because of these divisions, it has become easy to blame others. “It’s their fault” we say, and point fingers at each other. It is so easy and so tempting to lay the responsibility off on others.

The verse I am looking at this week stands in stark contrast to the blame-game. Each of us has free will, and each of us can make the right choices. We Jews have a rich ethical heritage which we can call upon to help us see the proper path to follow. According to Thomas Jefferson (or perhaps it was H.L. Menkin or maybe Eldridge Cleaver) “the people get the government they deserve.” Perhaps if we each make more correct choices, the government we “get” will be better than the one we have.

It's in our own hands

Ekev

Deuteronomy 7:12 - 11:25
Précis: Moses continues his recapitulation of the commandments to the people, reminding them to be obedient to God’s laws in their forthcoming struggle with the Canaanites. Moses describes in detail all of the blessings which God had already provided them, and reminds them to bless and thank God for the bounty they receive. On the other hand, they should learn the lesson of rebelliousness of their fathers, including the incident of the Golden Calf. Moses reminds the people that he brought down a second set of tablets, which require their continued obedience to God.

Deuteronomy 10:1–2 “Thereupon the Eternal One said to me ‘Carve out two tablets of stone like the first, and come up to Me on the mountain; and make an ark of wood. I will inscribe on the tablets the commandments that were on the first tablets that you smashed, and you shall deposit them in the ark.’”

Jonathan E. Blake, writing in Reform Voices of Torah (8/18/08), cites Nachmanides to explain the importance of the second set of tablets. The first set was the work of God, and ‘the writing was God’s writing’ (Exodus 32:16). The second set was inscribed on tablets made by Moses, a mere mortal. Nachmanides concludes that while God inscribed the first set of tablets, Moses, a mere mortal, carved the second set.

Moses’ action has an important implication for us. While it is our obligation to learn and study what has transpired before (what we call “tradition”), we still need to create our own “copy” with our own “mortal hands.” While some may suggest that we human beings have no right or power to “tinker” with what has been handed down from Sinai (whether by hand of Moses or as part of an oral tradition), I suggest that the Judaism of today (regardless of how observed) is substantively different that the Judaism practiced 1,000, 1,500, or 2,000 years ago. Change has happened, and continues to happen.

Whether these changes in practice are human invention or Divine guidance ("continuing Revelation”) I leave others to discuss.

Words

D’varim
Deuteronomy 1:1 - 3:22

Précis: The Book of Deuteronomy (D’varim - "words") takes the form of a series of lectures by Moses to the People as they prepare to enter the Land. Together, these instructions constitute Moses’ farewell address. D’varim is sometimes called the “Mishneh Torah”, literally, the “second teaching of the Torah” (this is where we get the Greek name of the Book) because it contains repetitions of previously enunciated matters. The Book has a strong focus on the centrality of the Temple in the Promised Land, as well as many of other rituals found at the center of Jewish life: recitation of the Sh’ma, birkat ha’mazon, Shabbat observance, wearing tallit and t’fillin, reciting kiddush on Shabbat, and placing mezuzot on doorposts.
     The Book is what modern analysts call a “foundation account.” It is a story that sets out the archetype that future generations are expected to understand. Our account focuses on inner struggles: the dangers of lacking faith, of not trusting in God and of being willing to quit the struggle.
     The first parasha recounts the four decades of travel through the wilderness, the story of the spies, the appointment of judges, victories in the wilderness against enemies, and how the conquered land is to be divided. This parasha is read every year on Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat prior to the fast of Tisha B’Av. Since looking at history is a major theme of the parasha, it is certainly an appropriate reading prior to this holiday.

Deuteronomy 1:34–37 “The Eternal heard your loud complaint and, becoming angry, vowed: ‘Not one of this ....evil generation, shall see the good land that I swore to give to your fathers...’ Because of you the Eternal was incensed with me too, saying: ‘You shall not enter it either.’”
     Moses bitterly accuses the Israelites of denying him his dream of entry into the Promised Land. Just imagine his frustration and disappointment. How human Moses is! (And how unique is the Bible to reveal the weaknesses of its heroic figures.)
     When things don’t turn out the way we had hoped and dreamed, we have a tendency to blame others, and from time to time we all lash out at them. Like Moses, we may feel the bitterness that comes with unfulfilled dreams.
     Moses’ greatness is found in the fact that he places the importance of others above his own desires. He understood the concept that “expectations are planned disappointments.” He seeks the welfare of the community when he advocates for a new leader for the People who must “go out before them and come in before them.” This is the mature and wise counsel of Moses: find a leader who is unafraid to look forward to the future, despite its inevitable setbacks and disappointments. Look for a leader who is also secure enough to recall, without ego, the lessons of the past.

A Jewish View on the Death Penalty

Masei
Numbers 33:1-36:13

Précis: The Book of Numbers ends with this parasha. “These are the stages (masei) of the journey” which the Israelites made through the desert. In what amounts to a recapitulation, all of the stops along the way are identified. The Israelites are reminded to drive the Canaanites from the Land. Most of the parasha deals with plans for entry into the Promised Land, and the first steps to establish their home, including the division of the Land among the tribes. The Levitical cities are described, as well as the cities of refuge. Just prior to their entry into the land, the laws differentiating murder and killing are repeated. The parasha ends with a summary of the commandments and ordinances.

Numbers 35:31 “You may not accept a ransom for the life of a murderer who is guilty of a capital crime; [a murderer] must be put to death”

The parasha mandates the creation of six “cities of refuge.” When a person is accidentally killed, the perpetrator can find sanctuary from vengeance-seeking relatives in one of these designated cities. Even if a court finds him innocent of murder, the malfeasor must remain in the city of refuge until the death of the reigning high priest (when a sort of Jubilee takes place, releasing the individual).

On the other hand, in the case of a premeditated murder, the text is clear. It constitutes a clear and unequivocal statement in support of capital punishment for intentional murder.

Nevertheless, the rabbis over the centuries tried time and again to limit the application of the death penalty. Ultimately, rabbinic law virtually abolished it. The Rabbis declared that the death penalty could not be imposed in the absence of a “proper” tribunal, or because the killer was not warned (perhaps even twice!) before committing the act, or because (at least two) witnesses had to testify to the event and the testimony of all witnesses had to agree on every detail. What we today call “procedural due process” became a central focus in the rabbinic effort to circumscribe capital punishment. Evidentiary rules (today some call them “loopholes”) became firmly embedded in Jewish law.

As recorded in the Mishnah Makot 1:10, “A Sanhedrin that puts a man to death once in seven years is called a murderous one. Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah says ‘Or even once in seventy years.’ Rabbi Tarfon and Rabbi Akiva said, ‘If we had been in the Sanhedrin no death sentence would ever have been passed.’”

What does this say about the Jewish view of capital punishment today? If all are made in the image of God, even the malfeasor merits life. Our tradition describes a steady journey which began in a culture where vengeance killings were common enough to require the creation of cities of refuge. The journey continued with rabbinic limitations on capital punishment to the point of its eradication. As such, this “journey” is a fitting conclusion to the Book of B’midbar.

In the here and now, Amnesty International reported in 2010 that the United States ranked 5th in the world in the number of executions carried out, behind only China, Iran, North Korea, and Yemen, and followed by Saudi Arabia, Libya, and Syria. I submit that this is a "moral neighborhood" in which the United States should not feel comfortable.

Moses and the Art of the Critique

Matot

Numbers 30:2 - 33:42

Précis: The parasha begins with a speech to the heads (matot) of the tribes concerning the importance and sacredness of vows. The parasha then returns to the war with the Midianites, including the purification of the warriors and division of the booty. The tribes of Reuben, Gad and half of Manasseh express their desire to dwell east of the Jordon, and are permitted to do so, after promising to enter the Land to help the rest of the People defeat the Canaanites.

Numbers 31:13 – 14 “Moses, Eleazar the Kohen, and all the leaders of the assembly went out to meet them outside the camp. Moses was angry with the commanders of the army, the officers of the thousands and the officers of the hundreds, who came from the legion of battle.”

A war commanded by God against the Midianites has taken place. Moses angrily confronts the war leaders for failing to obey and fulfill the specific commands of God while waging the war, including slaying of all but the virgin girls.

The text tells us that Moses was angered by the leaders’ failure. Why? Moses stresses the importance of leaders in following instructions properly. If they fail to do so, how can they expect the common soldiers to follow their orders? At the same time, Moses exhibits an important leadership trait here, namely preserving the dignity of those he chastises. The Sages make note of the fact that Moses spoke angrily to the war leaders “outside the camp” (by implication, out of earshot of others). When it is necessary to reprimand someone (a co-worker, a congregant, or family member or friend), doing so quietly and out of the hearing of others is much more likely to lead to serious consideration of the critique by the offender.

It is a sad state of affairs when those in positions of authority feel a need to publicly display their power over others. Taking things behind closed doors, where one can explain quietly and clearly anothers’ miscue, shows a more mature and effective way of dealing with the matter.

The best leaders understand that people want to do well and want to do right. Good managers understand that public humiliation never enhances performance.

How can we "settle"?

Pinchas

Numbers 25:10 - 30:1

Précis: This parasha begins with a reward for Pinchas’ zealotry in slaying the offending adulterers at the conclusion of the previous parasha. (His reward: the hereditary High Priesthood for his family). The parasha continues with a second census conducted by Moses, with war being declared against Midian. The laws of inheritance are amended to provide, at least in certain cases, for daughters to inherit their fathers’ estates. Joshua is appointed the successor to Moses as leader of the People. The parasha then shifts to details of daily sacrifices, offerings for the new moon, and Festivals.


There are times when the separations between parshiot appear to be less than understandable. For instance, last week’s parasha (Balak) ends with the slaying by Pinchas of an Israelite man and a Midianite woman caught fornicating in public. The beginning of this week’s parasha (Pinchas) begins with God’s praise of Pinchas for the action, and confirming his line as hereditary High Priests. Why the separation? Some rabbinic tradition states that the separation teaches us that we need to be more deliberate between judgment and action than the way Pinchas acted in the text itself.

There is yet another odd disparity. Israel reached its final stop before entry in the land (Shittim) last week as well (25:1), where we read that they “settled" (“vayeshev”) in Shittim, and they began to engage in the immoral actions which ended with Pinchas’ action.

The use of this particular verb in the text (“vayeshev”) is quite important. Its p’shat (plain) meaning implies the end of a difficult journey, suggesting that undisturbed rest is next to happen. But as noted by the great sage Rabbi Yohanan, when the Torah uses this verb, the following narrative is quite to the contrary. For example, when Jacob returns from exile with Laban he settles (vayeshev) in the land of his fathers, but then the loss of Joseph and strife with his sons result in a life he calls “bitter” at its end. Here, Israel arrives at Shittim, and instead of quiet and peace, they become enmeshed in immorality with the women of Moab, leading to war and to plague.

Think about the “settling” of the modern State of Israel. While we continue to pray for peace, we and they live through a seemingly never ending conflict. They arrived looking for tranquility and respite from oppression, and instead endure generations of strife.

We can also consider how the Jews have “settled” in America. Jews arrived full of a desire to “vayeshev” – to settle in peace after a difficult journey. America has, almost uniquely in Jewish history, fulfilled the promise of “vayeshev” by offering the Jews unparalleled freedom and equality. Nevertheless, can we see within our freedoms of “vayeshev” in America precisely the dangers encountered by the Israelites in Shittim? Like the Israelites at Shittim, the Jews of America are challenged to maintain their cultural and religious identity in a land which seems ready to absorb us entirely. What are the strategies that we, as American Jews, can adopt to maintain our own identity in an increasingly multi-cultural America? How can we adapt our tradition into the 21st century? I'm just asking the questions.

Getting Passionate about God

Balak

Numbers 22:2 - 25:9

Précis: Balak, the King of Moab, is fearful because of the success of the Israelites against other Canaanite peoples. He hires a local magician named Bilaam to place a curse upon the Israelites. Bilaam begins the journey riding upon his ass, which refuses to proceed and actually talks to Bilaam, protesting Bilaam’s foul treatment of the poor beast. Bilaam sees an image of an angel, and he refuses to complete Balak’s mission. Balak reiterates his command to Bilaam to curse the Israelites, but instead Bilaam pronounces a blessing, frustrating Balak.

The parasha ends with an interesting narrative episode: Pinchas, the grandson of Aaron, sees an Israelite having sexual relations with a Midianite woman (a violation of a commandment not to fraternize with the Canaanites), and he slays both of them and, in the process, staves off a plague that had been threatening the Israelites.

Numbers 25:1-9 “While they were staying at Shittim, the people began to commit harlotry with the Moabite women….Just then one of the Israelites came and brought a Midianite women over to his companions…in the sight of the whole Israelite community….When Pinchas…saw this, he left the assembly and, taking a spear in his hand…stabbed them both…”

Aaron’s grandson Pinchas slays a fornicating couple at the conclusion of the parasha. At the beginning of the following week’s reading (25:10-13), Pinchas is rewarded with the hereditary High Priesthood.

Some commentators applaud Pinchas’ actions, while others condemn him as an out of control zealot who appoints himself judge, jury and executioner. While we will probably never come to a conclusion one way or the other, we can all agree that the story of Pinchas is about a passion for God.

As Rabbi Eric Yoffie has pointed out, the Jewish tradition has always struggled to find the correct line between opposites: between study and action, between ritualism and faith, between justice and mercy. We need the contemplative ability to calmly and meticulously study Torah, but we also strive for the ecstatic kavanah in prayer.

Today, we are all too intent on the “contemplative” and far too afraid of “passion,” particularly as it relates to God. Why? Part of it is the intellectualizing of society; part is a distrust of those who take horrid actions in the name of religion or faith. But we must come to terms with this dilemma, because if we lack a spiritual fervor, our Jewishness becomes mere intellectual curiosity and habit.

The importance of a big sister

Chukat


Numbers 19:1 - 22:1

Précis: The parasha begins with a discussion of the Red Heifer, used for ritual purification after one comes into contact with a dead body. The story then shifts to the death of Miriam, and the mourning by the entire people for her in the wilderness of Zin. With her death, the well of water which had accompanied their travels disappears, and Moses strikes a rock to provide water to the People, and learns that as a result he will not enter the Land. Soon thereafter, Aaron also dies and the Israelites engage in warfare with the Canaanites in a series of battles which end the parasha.

Numbers 20:12 "Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people, therefore you shall not lead this congregation into the land that I have given them."

One might think that the Bible would tell us more about the crisis which suddenly puts an end to the leadership of Moses. For what appears to be little reason, he is denied entry into the Promised Land. His twice striking of a rock to produce water needed by the Israelites (instead of speaking to it as God had ordered him to do) seems wholly inadequate to justify his most cherished ambition.

As is often the case, when the text itself offers little explanation, the rabbinic literature seems to rush in to fill the void. As noted by Ismar Schorsch, writing in the Chancellor’s Parashah Commentary (6/16/99), paying attention to the sequence of events can give us clues to what is not explicitly stated.

In our parasha, in rapid-fire order, the people arrive at the Wilderness of Zin. Miriam dies, and is buried. The people demand water, and Moses strikes a rock, with the dire consequences we observe. The Sages saw a connection between Miriam’s death and Moses’ actions: the lack of water came about because she had died. While Miriam lived, God providing a travelling well to accompany the People. When she died, the well disappeared, and Moses was forced to find an alternative source, leading to his downfall.

Imagine, for a moment, how important Miriam must have been to Moses. He owed life to her, since it was she who protected him in the Nile and persuaded Pharaoh’s daughter to allow his birth-mother to serve as his baby nurse. She helped lead the celebration at the Sea. When she died, his capacity to lead the People, based on his unlimited love of the People, disappeared. He bitterly calls them “rebels” as he strikes the rock that will bring his doom. As Rabbi Schorsch reminds us, “Prophecy is as much about defending Israel before God as it is about delivering God's will to Israel.”

Lessons? I see that there is room in our tradition to revere the role of women in our lives, not only in the background, and not only in ways limited to their gender. We also learn here that the “feminine” attribute of unreserved love is a necessary to attain prophetic status. Speaking as a male, since we seem to be fairly short of prophets these days, we’d certainly all be better off if we sought to fashion our actions after Moses, who himself was best guided by his sister.

A Journey of a Thousand Miles.....

Korah

Numbers 16:1 - 18:32

Précis: Korah foments a rebellion, claiming that Moses and Aaron have taken too much power upon themselves. Dothan and Abiram also attack Moses’ leadership, claiming that Moses has brought them from a land of milk and honey (Egypt!) only to let them die in the wilderness. A test of fire offerings is arranged, and Korah and his followers are destroyed as the earth opens and swallows them. The People continue to complain, God threatens to destroy them once again, but Moses and Aaron intercede, ending a plague which had slain 14,000 people. A final test – that of staffs – is performed, and when Aaron’s staff miraculously blossoms on the following morning, it is clear that his status as High Priest is secure.

Numbers 16:3: “They came as a group to oppose Moses and Aaron and said to them, “You have gone too far! The whole community is holy, every one of them, and God is in their midst. Why then do you set yourselves above God’s assembly?”

The figure of Korah gives us pause: while a rebel, his rebellion is not, at least on the surface, unreasonable. While he himself is slain, his descendants earn honor. Moses doesn’t try to disagree with his assertions directly. While Moses may not be all that upset, the text tells us that God is certainly angry, a point of view shared by most traditional commentators.

In Korah’s argument for a share of power, we hear echoes from Exodus 25:8, when the People are commanded to “make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them (“b'tochem"). Korah knows this verse when he says “The Eternal is in their midst (uv’tocham") in the verse we cite here. If the People are holy enough for God to dwell amongst them, Korah argues, they certainly deserve a measure of authority.

Korah understands the phrase to be descriptive: the people are already holy, each one, and the presence of God is within each one. On the other hand, Moses (and Jewish tradition) sees the matter in a very different way: the Jewish People are on a constant journey to achieve holiness. Seen in this light, the conflict between Moses and Korah is not one of power or of authority, but one of theology. Moses understands that ongoing spiritual growth is necessary, while Korah feels that holiness already has been achieved. Our tradition has sided with Moses. We are obligated to continually strive to merit God’s presence among us.

On a personal level, the lesson can be drawn that the path to professional achievement and to success in our interpersonal relationships is never completed - it is an area in which must continually strive.