Thursday, December 27, 2012

December 29, 2012

Vayechi, Genesis 47:28–50:26

Seeing The Bigger Picture


Joseph reminds us that our perspective of reality is limited compared to the ultimate meaning that God perceives.


Remember the Midrash of the blind people and the elephant? Each one touched a different part of the animal and then described the elephant based on their own particular perceptions.

One compared the elephant to a long, powerful tube. A second portrayed the elephant as an enormous barrel. A third, feeling the elephant’s ears, depicted it as resembling large drapes. Each person described what they knew--accurate as a characterization of part of the elephant, but completely misleading as a representation of the entire animal.

That same discrepancy between individual perception and objective reality recurs every day. All of us view the world through our own eyes, listen to its sounds through our own ears, and analyze what we see and hear through our own blend of personality, culture and training. The world we live with--a filtering of external fact through subjective perception and collective history--is literally one of our own making.

As a result, we often do not recognize the larger import of events because we are chained to our own particularity. The truth is that we plan our behavior from our own perspective, and we analyze the consequences from our own perspective.

The Larger Picture
The result is that we often fail to perceive the larger picture. We become blind to the harmony and unity that links everything that exists to each other and provides coherence by reference to the source of all existence.

That same inability to see the larger picture is exemplified by the fears of Josephs’s brothers. Recall that the entire family--the patriarch Jacob and the eleven remaining sons had moved to Egypt upon Joseph’s recommendation. They settled in Goshen and busied themselves with shepherding sheep. Throughout this time, the courtier, Joseph, treated his family with great honor and love.

But with the death of Jacob, Joseph’s brothers become terrified that there are no longer any restraints on their powerful sibling. Perhaps, they reason, Joseph was kind to us and protected us for our father’s sake, out of respect for his feelings. Now that our father no longer lives, our brother will seek revenge on us for all the evil we did to him.

From the perspective of the brothers, what they did to Joseph was certainly unforgivable. After all, they discussed killing him, and only later decided to sell him into slavery. All of Joseph’s suffering as a slave in Potiphar’s house and in the Egyptian prison was the fault of his brothers back in Canaan. From their perspective, and from him, Joseph had every right to be furious with them.

Response to Their Fear
Yet Joseph’s position as a religious role model emerges from his response to their fear. Rather than restricting his perspective to his own subjective position, Joseph struggles to understand what happened from God’s vantage point. So he says,

"Have no fear! Am I a substitute for God? Besides, although you intended me harm, God intended it for good, so as to bring about the present result--the survival of many people. And so, fear not. I will sustain you and your children.”

According to Rashi (11th-century France), Joseph is struck by the fact that although his father may no longer be living, the God of Israel still lives, and still commands moral behavior. The standards of Israel’s God, embodied in the Torah and in later rabbinic sources, retain a commanding voice because Israel’s commander still speaks.

From the human perspective, Josephs’ brothers sold their brother into slavery. From the divine perspective, they initiated a process that would assure the survival of countless human beings many years later.

We cannot know the consequences of our deeds. Like Joseph’s brothers, we must be responsible for our own actions from our own perspective. But like Joseph himself, we also need to look to a higher, more encompassing vision of what life can be. Joseph’s response is an articulate reminder that we do not assign ultimate meaning; God does.

May your perspective reflect God’s vision of a world redeemed.

Monday, December 17, 2012

December 22, 2012


Don't Be Quarrelsome On The Way

Joseph's warning to his brothers not to quarrel on their way instructs us as well in our relationships with our families and the larger Jewish community.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson
In Parashat Vayigash, Joseph finally reveals his true identity to his brothers. He loads them with all sorts of riches from Egypt and tells them to return with their families so they can settle in Egypt and survive the famine under Joseph's supervision.

In the midst of their new found wealth and security, Joseph gives them a strange piece of instruction. "Do not be quarrelsome along the way." Why would Joseph say that? And why, especially, in the midst of a joyous reunion, amidst unexpected wealth and success? 

Blaming Each Other

Rashi suggests that each brother would blame the others for having sold Joseph into slavery. Joseph, understanding how guilt and denial operate, anticipated his brothers' need to blame each other, and he therefore instructs them not to engage in recriminations about the past. In effect, Joseph tells his brothers that they will never agree about the past, but they can still live in harmony despite that disagreement. That advice is no less precious today.

Conflicts within families are often magnified by our human propensity to remember the past in a way that makes us look best. As a result, two loving relatives end up not only disagreeing about the meaning of what happened, but even about the facts themselves. By focusing on those areas of disagreement, we lose sight of a shared desire to be part of each other's life.

Joseph's advice still rings true--in such times, it may be best simply to agree to overlook the past, to start afresh in the present. A second possibility, also raised by Rashi, is that Joseph instructs his brothers "not to engage in arguments of Jewish law (divrei halakhah), lest the road become unsteady for you."

We Jews have always argued about our beliefs, and we have always mined out sacred traditions to articulate our visions of how the world is structured, and how we should live our lives.

According to Rashi's second understanding, Joseph's brothers, like Jews throughout time, would spend their time on the road arguing about questions of Halakhah (Jewish law). Caught up in the passions of their discussions, they would lose their way religiously as well as geographically.
Obsession With Ideas

Our Jewish obsession with ideas contains a potential danger--that we will become so excited by the ideas themselves that we will lose any sense of a connection to reality. The ideas will justify themselves, regardless of how they work in the world, regardless of whether or not they conform to what we know of reality.

Judaism has always reflected this tension--adherence to timeless standards, but always renewing those standards in the light of developing communal understandings and ongoing social need. We must take care never to stop our passion for ideas, but we must also be on our guard, lest our ideas cease referring back to reality, to questions of how to live a more moral, more holy, more fully human life.

A third possible reading of Joseph's warning is that Joseph sees that his brothers are now wealthy because of his gifts. And wealth brings tensions that are often unexpected. Worried that his brothers might feel the pressures of their wealth and therefore begin to quarrel about how they live together, Joseph urges his brothers not to allow money to divide them.

We, too, face that challenge. American Jewry is a comfortable community. As one consequence of our wealth, we have raised up a large number of different organizations, movements and institutions, all vying for our attention, our energy and our resources.

Can we see those different movements and institutions as complementing one another, contributing to a communal life that is multi-layered and profound? Or will those movements and institutions perceive each other as competitors, in which case a great deal of energy will be wasted on trying to impede the growth and health of each other's ways of being Jewish?

As we travel on the road, we do well to remember Joseph's advice: "Do not be quarrelsome on the way!"

Monday, December 10, 2012

December 15, 2012


Mikeitz, Genesis 41:1–44:17

Two Kinds Of Intelligence

To be fully educated and human we must study a range of disciplines--humanities and sciences, secular and Judaic.

 

Pharaoh has endured a night of terrible dreams. To make matters worse, neither he nor any of his ministers understood what the dreams were about. The only person able to interpret those dreams is a Hebrew prisoner in an Egyptian jail. That person is Joseph.

Seven Years & Seven Years


After hearing the dreams described, Joseph announced that Egypt would enjoy seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of universal famine. In advance, Joseph argues that Pharaoh should appoint someone "navon ve-hakham," discerning and sage, who will store enough food to ensure the survival of the population.

Why did Joseph use both words, discerning and sage? Wouldn't either one have sufficed to describe what type of person was needed? Our traditions regard each word of the Torah as necessary. Any apparent redundancy must be there to teach a specific lesson. Each of these words, our Rabbis taught, refers to two different kinds of knowledge.

Rabbi Moses ben Nahman, the Ramban (13th Century Spain) comments that the two types of knowledge apply in different spheres of learning. "Discerning" refers to knowing "how to support the people of Egypt from his hand with bread" and "how to accumulate wealth and money for Pharaoh."

In other words, the first category of knowledge pertains to social policy. A government official must understand how to develop programs that will actually accomplish their stated goals (without bankrupting the government in the process). Discerning, in this case, reflects the ability to match goals with the appropriate means of achieving those goals.

Good intentions are not enough; nor are mere pronouncements. A vision of how to relate policy with purpose is the key qualification for any level of leadership.

The second category--"sage"--refers to knowledge of "how to preserve the produce so that it should not rot." According to this standard, the prospective bureaucrat had to know more than just how to govern. He also had to have an expertise in his field--in this case, how to store the grain for seven years without any loss of grain during the intervening years.

Continue reading.

Monday, December 3, 2012

December 8, 2012


Anger Management

The brothers could not speak peacefully with Joseph because they allowed their anger and resentment to control them, rather than asserting their control over their anger.

 
By Rabbi Neal J. Loevinger


Parashat Vayeshev begins the concluding drama of the book of Genesis, the story of Joseph and his 11 brothers, their estrangement and eventual reunion. Joseph is the favored son, and acts like it, so his brothers conspire to throw him in a pit, then sell him into slavery, then tell Jacob that Joseph was attacked by an animal. He ends up in Egypt, as the servant of a powerful man, Potiphar.

Meanwhile, his brother Judah is having problems of his own; his sons die childless, and he refuses to give his daughter-in-law Tamar to his youngest son so he may have children. She dresses like a prostitute, entices Judah to sleep with her, and she is vindicated as having acted correctly in the end, and bears children.

angry fist punching a wall Potiphar's wife desires Joseph, and when he refuses, he is thrown into prison, where he ends up interpreting the dreams of Pharaoh's servants, which will eventually bring him to the attention of Pharaoh himself.
In Focus

"His brothers saw that it was he [Joseph] whom their father loved more than all the brothers, and they hated him, and they could not speak with him peaceably." (Genesis 37:4)
Pshat

A familiar pattern in the Book of Genesis repeats itself in the story of Joseph and his brothers: one son is favored over the others, and there is tension, jealousy, and eventual estrangement within the family. In this case, Joseph brings "bad reports" about the brothers to their father, and they see Jacob giving Joseph special treatment, such as his ketonet passim, [a striped or more likely an ornamented/embroidered] coloured cloak. The brothers are angry, jealous, and resentful, and thus alienated from each other. 

Drash

What struck me about this verse is the Torah's description of the emotional state of the resentful brothers: "they could not [lo yachlu] speak with him peaceably." It's not quite clear what that last phrase means.

Rashi says they didn't speak with him at all, whereas other commentators say that they spoke to Joseph resentfully, or spoke amongst themselves in non-peaceful ways against Joseph. Rashi at least tries to give the other brothers a little bit of credit by pointing out that at least they weren't hypocrites: they didn't pretend to love him while hating him in their hearts, but rather avoided him altogether.

Continue reading. 

Monday, November 26, 2012

December 1, 2012


Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4–36:43


The Question Is The Blessing


By asking Yaakov his name, his wrestling adversary challenges him to examine himself and whether he is ready to enter a new phase of his life.


At the beginning of this week's parashah, Jacob sends messengers ahead to his estranged brother Esau, who has a large assembly of men coming toward Jacob and his family. The night before he meets his brother, Jacob wrestles with the angel who changes his name to Yisrael. The meeting with Esau goes peacefully. When Jacob and his family arrive at the town of Shechem, his daughter Dinah is sexually assaulted by the prince of the town, and Jacob's sons go on a violent rampage in retribution. Both Rachel and Isaac die and are buried. The parashah ends with a review of all Yitzhak's descendants.

In Focus
"Then he said, 'Let me go, for the dawn is breaking.' He [Jacob] replied: 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.' He said to him, 'What is your name?' He answered, 'Jacob.' He said 'No longer will your name be Jacob, but Israel, because you have fought with God and with men and have prevailed.'" (Genesis 32:26-28)

Pshat
All alone the night before he is to finally meet up again with his estranged brother Esau, Jacob is approached by a mysterious stranger, who wrestles with him until the dawn. The text says this figure is a "man," but most of the commentators assume it was some kind of angel or a holy vision. Jacob holds on until he can reach some understanding of the moment; at the end of the struggle, the mystery wrestler announces that Jacob, like his grandfather Abraham, will receive a new name.

Drash
There have been many, many interpretations of Jacob's "God-wrestling." (A term coined by Arthur Waskow, I believe.) Some commentators, as noted above, understand this as an encounter with an angel, and some, especially Rambam, understand Jacob as experiencing some kind of holy vision, rather than an actual wrestling match.

While most of the commentators focus on the homiletical meaning of Jacob's change of name, they tend to gloss over the passage before it, presumably assuming that it's just a rhetorical setup for the announcing of the name Yisrael. By asking Jacob's name, and getting the reply "Jacob," the messenger can more dramatically announce the new name by which Jacob will be known.

Along these lines, Radak (R. David Kimchi, a 12th century French commentator) seems to explain the angel's question as just a formality:

This question is an opening to the conversation, like "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9) and "What is that in your hand?" (Exodus 4:2), and other similar places, because he knew his name when he was sent to him.

The first example Radak offers of a rhetorical question is from story of the Garden of Eden. After the man and woman eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they become self-conscious of their nakedness, and attempt to hide from God in the Garden. God asks--knowing full well the answer!--"where are you?"

Radak's second example comes from Moses' experience at the burning bush. When Moses doubts that the people will believe that God has sent him, God turns Moses' staff into a snake, prefacing the miracle with the question "what is in your hand." Again, both Moses and God knew exactly what was in Moses' hand, just as the wrestler knew Jacob's name.

What's going on here? We might say that God was just striking up a good conversation, but Torah stories of encounters with the Divine tend to be terse and focussed. In each of the three stories Radak offers as an example of a rhetorical question, the main character is about to begin a new chapter in life--Adam is about to leave the Garden, Jacob is about to meet his long-estranged brother, and Moses is about to confront Pharaoh.

Perhaps the question is not merely a conversation-opener, but the main point of the conversation. In the case of Jacob, the messenger seems to want Jacob to think deeply about the meaning of his name, which we learned at his birth would represent the depth of his troubled relationship with his brother. (Cf. Genesis 25:25-27 and 27:35-37.)

The messenger knows not just Jacob's name, but his history--he's asking if Jacob has wrestled sufficiently with his own identity. "What is your name," in this context, can be understood as "are you still Jacob, the deceiver, or are you ready to become Yisrael, the person of conscience?"

What's so striking about our passage is that Jacob receives a question in response to his demand for a blessing--it seems to me that the question itself is the blessing he receives.

The right question, at the right time, from the right person, can change a person's life, enabling them to see and understand themselves in an entirely new light. When God asks a question, it's not for the sake of an answer, but for the sake of an inner response, a change in the person.

Who am I? What is the name I have made for myself, and what is the name I am capable of achieving? Just to ask the question can move us towards a better answer--just to ask the question, and thus demonstrate our capacity for growth and introspection, is one of the greatest blessings we have as human beings.

Monday, November 19, 2012

November 24, 2012

I Have A Dream...

Jacob's response to his dream teaches us to turn our dreams into visions and our visions into reality.


By Rabbi Ed Rosenthal
Q: What do you get when you cross Martin Luther King and Led Zeppelin?

A: The dream of a stairway to heaven or....this week’s Parashah.
Parashat Vayeytze begins:

"And Jacob went out from Beer Sheva and went toward Haran. And he lighted upon the place, and stayed there all night, because the sun was set. And he took of the stones of the place and put it under his head and lay down in that place to sleep.

“And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth and the top of it reached to heaven and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it. And behold the Lord stood beside him and said:

“'I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father, and the God of Isaac. The land on which you lie to you will I give it, and to your descendants. And your descendents shall be as the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south. And through you and your descendents shall all the families of the earth be blessed. And behold, I am with you, and will keep you wherever you go and I will not leave you, until I have done all that I have spoken of to you.' And Jacob woke up out of his sleep and said: 'Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it.' And he was afraid and said, 'How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God and this is the gate of heaven.'"

The story of Jacob's dream has inspired countless paintings and poems over the millennia. What is it about this passage which has made it so personal for so many throughout the ages? Is it the dream itself (something which every person does)? Or perhaps it is the angels (which provide a source of comfort)? Is it the image of God as an imminent force so near to us and watching over us wherever we may be? Or is it the promise of redemption and blessing for all humankind?

Continue reading.

Monday, November 12, 2012


Rebekah's Spiritual Crisis

Like Rebekah, we should turn toward God, not away, in our moments of spiritual crisis. by Rabbi Jordan D. Cohen 

Overview Toldot is the only parashah in the Torah that puts Isaac at the centre of the action. Yet it jumps right into the next generation. The portion begins with the birth of Isaac and Rebekah's twin sons Jacob and Esau. Like Sarah before her, Rebekah is deemed to be barren, but then miraculously gives birth later in life. It's a difficult pregnancy. She "inquires of the Eternal" and finds out that she's carrying twins.

The first child emerges all red and hairy, and is named Esau. The second boy comes out holding onto his brother's heel. He is named Jacob, from the Hebrew root meaning "heel." When they grow up, Esau becomes a hunter, "a man of the field." Jacob is described as a "mild man," who preferred to remain back in the camp. Isaac favoured Esau. Rebekah prefers Jacob.

This context of parental favouritism and sibling rivalry serves as the backdrop for the complex relations and tragic events that follow. Jacob takes advantage of a weakened Esau and gets him to sell his birthright for a bowl of lentils.

Later, famine forces the family to leave Canaan and travel to Gerar. Isaac and Rebekah repeat (third time--second with Abimelech) the wife/sister confusion of Abraham and Sarah, and then they must deal with some issues of water rights left over from Abraham. Now wealthy, they end up settling in Beer Sheva, where God appears to Isaac, and Abimelech, the King of Gerar, established a treaty with him. This section ends with the news that Esau, at the age of forty, married two Hittite women. They are described as being a "source of bitterness to Isaac and Rebekah."

The story continues some time later when Isaac is old and blind. Fearing the end of his days is near, he called his oldest son Esau to receive his final blessing. But first he asks Esau to hunt and prepare him some game. Rebekah overhears this request and, while Esau is out is the field, she prepares the food and dresses Jacob like his brother and sends him in to receive the special blessing in Esau's place. Esau comes in later, and it is then that he and his father Isaac realize they have been tricked. Isaac offers Esau a secondary blessing, but it is not enough. Having now been tricked out of both his birthright and his blessing, Esau declares his hatred for Jacob and his intention to kill him. Rebekah hears of the plot and arranges for Jacob to flee to Haran, to the home of her brother Laban.

In Focus But the children struggled in her womb, and she said, "If so, why do I exist?" She went to inquire of the Eternal." (Genesis 25:22)


Monday, November 5, 2012

November 10, 2012


Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1–25:18

Prayer: Service Of The Heart 

Abraham's servant teaches us the power of spontaneous prayer, a concept that challenges our contemporary focus on consistency and conformity.


One of the universals of human culture is the need to commune with something larger, something that extends beyond ourselves. We all feel the desire to speak, to create, to perform. One aspect of the human urge to communicate is worship--the simple act of noticing the awe of existence, the staggering marvel of the world and its order. Awe moves us to a silent expression of gratitude and wonder. Awe moves us to worship.

What is Worship?

For many Jews, worship means the formal ritual of reading from a printed Siddur (prayer book), listening to the chanted words of the Torah and the Haftarah (weekly reading from Prophets or Writings), and absorbing the insights of the rabbi's sermon. Worship is public, planned, and cyclical. What we did last week we will do again next week.

Today's Torah portion illumines another aspect of Jewish worship, one sadly neglected by too many Jews today. While most of us are familiar with reading the stirring words of prayer composed by other, earlier Jews, few of us are comfortable approaching God with the simple outpouring of our own hearts. The whole notion of just speaking with God sounds strikingly un-Jewish.

Yet consider Abraham's nameless servant, given the assignment of traveling to a distant land to find a bride for the Patriarch's son. Overwhelmed by the gravity and seriousness of his mission, the servant creates a new religious form. Without the possibility of sacrificing an animal, unable to summon a special revelation, the servant simply sits and speaks.

Without any elaborate introduction, stripped of the appropriate formula or poetry, the servant just shares what is on his mind:

O, LORD, God of my master Abraham, grant me good fortune this day, and deal graciously with master Abraham.

The servant speaks to God with directness borne of necessity. Filled with a sense of the uncertainty of his task, aware of his own limitations, he turns to the Source of Life and shares his fear.

Note also that the servant establishes criteria for judging the successful accomplishment of his mission, and then prays that his standard should be God's as well. Those standards are themselves an insight into the human heart--he asks for a woman who is generous, compassionate, and willing to act on behalf of others. Such a person is indeed a fitting mate.

Modern people are no less in need of pouring out their hearts than were our ancestors. We, too, are daily sent on missions which test our limits, which force us into territory we have not previously explored, and for which the stakes are very high indeed. Sustaining a marriage, cultivating a friendship, raising children, or pursuing a career all test us every day.

With as great an emotional burden as Abraham's servant faced, with no less a need to cry out (and to absorb the comfort of having been heard), we have nonetheless cut ourselves off from God's listening ear.

Are We Just Superstitious?


We worry that speaking to God is superstitious. We feel that God doesn't answer prayer. Or, that God doesn't hear prayer. Or that there is no God. Or that we simply dare not address God for fear of being hypocrites.

Part of the price we pay for living in our age is that we are plagued by the illness of consistency and weighted down by the power of conformity. Both would have us deny a need simply because we don't always feel it.

Our discomfort with spontaneous prayer does a disservice to our sacred tradition, to our deepest needs, and to our relationship with God.

Prayer is not philosophy--it need not justify itself at the bench of reason, consistency, or sophistication. Prayer, what the Talmud calls "the labor of the heart," is answerable to the heart alone.

Our discomfort with spontaneous prayer can lead us to the very first prayer we need: "Help me, Lord, to pray." Or, in the words preceding the Shabbat Amidah (the silent, standing prayer), "When I call upon the Lord, give glory to our God. Open my mouth, Lord, and my lips will proclaim Your praise." If you are uncomfortable praying with words teach yourself to sit with silence. Let your awareness of your need become your prayer, let your awareness of God's love be your answer.

If you need to pray, if your sorrows or your joys move you to speak--from a simple "thank you" to an elaborate speech--then pray. If you rise from your prayers a more sensitive and aware person, then your prayer was worthwhile.

Monday, October 29, 2012

November 3, 2012


Seeing The Ram

The miracle of the ram caught in the bushes was that, in the final moment, Avraham was able to perceive it as an alternative to sacrificing his son.

Overview
Continuing the story of Abraham and Sarah, our Torah portion this week opens with Abraham sitting in his tent, recovering from his circumcision, and being visited by three mysterious men, apparently messengers from God, who visit and tell Abraham and Sarah that Sarah will indeed bear a son. She doesn't believe it, and laughs.

God decides to warn Abraham that Sodom and Gommorah, two sinful cities, will be destroyed. Abraham argues with God for the sake of the righteous ones in those cities, but there aren't enough good people to save them. A crowd in Sodom tries to force Lot to turn over his guests; he escapes the destruction with his two daughters, who sleep with their father when they think the whole world is destroyed.

Abraham and Sarah travel to Gerar and Sarah enters the house of the king there. Sarah does have a son, Isaac, and she expels Hagar and Ishmael when she thinks they threaten Isaac, but God saves them and makes them a promise that Ishmael too will be a great nation. Finally, Abraham hears the call from God to take Isaac and offer him as a sacrifice; at the last minute, Abraham's hand is stopped by an angel, and a ram is offered instead.

In Focus
And Abraham raised his eyes and saw--behold, a ram!--afterwards, caught in the bushes by its thorns; so Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up instead of his son.
(Genesis 22:13)

Pshat
The story of the binding and (almost) sacrifice of Isaac is complex and troubling; one possible reading that the Torah seems to support is that God was testing Abraham's faith, and when he passed by showing his willingness to sacrifice even his son for God, God gave him an alternative, the ram.

Drash
Pirkei Avot (Sayings of the Ancestors), a section of the Mishnah (rabbinic compilation of legal material) devoted to advice for ethical and reverent living, quotes a list of special, miraculous things that were created on the last day of Creation- i.e., things that can't be explained in any normal or rational or scientific manner except that somehow God created these things as exceptions to the rules of nature and history. (Pirkei Avot 5:8). On this list of specially created things was "the ram for Abraham our father."

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

October 29, 2012


Lech L’cha, Genesis 12:1–17:27 

Go From Your Land

Before we embark on our journeys in life, we should go to ourselves and reflect on our potential and our missions and goals.

In this week's Torah portion, Lekh-L'kha, the third portion in the book of Genesis, God speaks for the first time to our ancestor Abraham (whose name was still Abram at the time). The first sentence of this Parashah (Genesis 12:1) draws much attention from the commentators. "God said to Abram: 'Go from your land (Lekh l'kha m'eretzcha), from your relatives, and from your father's house to the land that I will show you.'" Thus begins the journey which will lead Abraham to find the land of Canaan, the Land of Israel that is the destination of the Jewish people throughout the Bible and even today.
A look at the Hebrew in this sentence, however, reveals a peculiarity. The word "Lekh" is the command, second person form of the word, "L'lekhet"--"to go." The next word, "l'kha," is an article which tells us that the previous word is meant to be in the second person (for example, "Ten l'kha" would mean "give to you"). Since the form of the verb "to go" the Bible uses is already in the second person form, the word "l'kha" is superfluous. Commentators offer various meanings of this extra article, translating the sentence as "Go for yourself," "Go by yourself" or "Go to yourself."

Rabbinic tradition teaches that God's commandment to Abraham to leave his home is one of the ten tests he is presented during his life. Some of the other tests, such as the binding of Isaac and the commandment to circumcise himself when he was 99 years old, seem to be the defining moments in Abraham's life. However, when Abraham is referred to later in this week's Parashah (14:13) as "Ha-Ivri" (literally, "The Hebrew"), our sages teach us that the word "Ivri" is a reference to the word "avar," from "l'avor" - "to cross over;" the Bible is referring to Abraham as "The one who Crossed Over."

Here, it seems Abraham's defining characteristic is that he crossed over the Euphrates to go to Canaan as God had commanded him.

Your Torah Navigator

1. Why do you think God's first commandment to Abraham is to leave his home? How will this help him fulfill his mission as the spiritual founder of the Jewish people?
2. How does the meaning of "l'kha" in the first sentence change the sentence in each of its possible meanings (Go for yourself, Go by yourself, Go to yourself)? Can you make an argument for each of these possibilities being a "correct" reading?
3. Why would some of our sages consider this step in Abraham's life even more defining than some of the other climactic moments he experiences later?

Monday, October 15, 2012

October 20, 2012


Noach, Genesis 6:9–11:32 

God Of Jews, God Of Humanity

The seven Noahide commandments mediate God's love for all of humanity and God's unique relationship with the Jewish people.

Is Judaism a particularistic religion, concerned only with the well-being and sanctity of the Jewish People, or is it also one of the universalistic faiths, expressing a concern for all humanity in every region of the globe? To the enemies of our people, Judaism is portrayed as a narrow, legalistic and particularistic religion.  By focusing on the Chosen People--defined as the Jews--and their needs to the exclusion of everyone else's, Judaism seems to show an indifference to the rest of the world.
By its own admission, Judaism doesn't actively try to seek out converts--those who are attracted to our ways are welcome, but there is no burning drive to "Get the word out."
The God of the Bible is one who liberates the Jews from slavery, who gives them a path of life, who provides them with a Promised Land.  Doesn't that focus make everyone else peripheral, indeed negligible?
On the other hand, the God of the Bible is also the Creator of the Universe, the planet Earth, and all that it contains.  The Bible explicitly speaks of God's covenants with other people too--the Assyrians and the Egyptians to name just two.

Does God Have The Same Relationship With Everybody? 

If God is the God of the whole world, then wouldn't God have the same relationship with everybody?  The Torah presents that paradox to us--God is the God of the Jewish People, and also the God of all humanity.  That dual set of concerns are mediated through the Laws of the B'nai Noah, the Children of Noah, a way that Judaism and halakhah (Jewish law) incorporate God's sovereignty and love for all people with God's unique mission for the Jews.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

October 13, 2012


For Every Thing, A Purpose

We should view the diversity of creation as existing to reflect the grandeur of God, not to serve the various needs of humans.

The following article is reprinted with permission from University of Judaism. 
One of the great debates within the environmental community is the proper human posture toward the preservation of diverse species. On the one hand, there are those who argue that extinction is the normal method through which nature keeps itself trim. Throughout the eons, a great many species have gone the way of the Dodo bird and the stegosaurus--no longer able to compete successfully for a habitable niche in a difficult world. 

This constant cycle of evolution and extinction may be unfortunate from the perspective of the individual Dodo, but represents a real strength of natural adaptation to changing conditions.
It is through extinction that life remains vital. While that may be true, it is also now the case that human beings have become a significant factor in deciding which species survive.  The High Holy Day prayer, "who shall live and who shall die," emits an eerie pall when seen in the light of our own excessive impact on other species. 

In the past, extinction embodied the slow reconciliation between living things and their environment. Now it is the rapid--sometimes only a few decades--intrusion of human thoughtlessness upon the natural order. Many species that are fully capable of surviving in the world cannot cope with what people are doing to our planet. As we overfish our seas, deplete our forests and tropical jungles, pollute our air and water, destroy the ozone, and pile up mountains of non-degradable garbage, we need to re-focus our attention, to stop and inquire about the worth of all living things. Are animals and plants simply tools for humans to use as we choose, or is there a purpose to all things under the heavens? 

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

October 6, 2012


This week's Dvar is not for the Shabbat parasha reading for Chol Homoeid Sukkot but rather for V'zot Habrakha, Deut. 33:1-34:12, which is read on Simchat Torah.
Parashat V'zot Habrakha

If Not Now, When?

Rashi understands Moshe's final words to the people as an expression of Hillel's philosophy of self-examination, quoted in Ethics of the Ancestors.

Overview

Moses addresses the Israelites one last time, recounting the giving of the Torah and blessing them tribe by tribe. The Israelites are standing on a mountain overlooking the Jordan Valley from the east, but Moses will not be allowed to enter the Land of Israel with the rest of the people. He dies, and is buried; the story of the Torah is now finished, and the story of the judges and prophets begins.

In Focus

"And this is blessing by which Moses, the man of God, blessed the Israelites before his death." (Deuteronomy 33:1)

Pshat

The penultimate chapter of the Torah contains a very condensed history of the Israelites since Sinai, and a specific blessing for each of the 12 tribes.

Drash

I want to focus on the subtle observations of the greatest darshan (commentator) of them all, Rashi. I've tried to show how close readings of the Torah text enable us to find layers of meaning that a quick glance cannot reveal--and nobody does this better than our friend from medieval France. Rashi notices every word: in the verse above, he seems to be picking up on the apparently unnecessary phrase, "before his death." (After all, could Moses have blessed the people after his death?) Thus, Rashi's explanation, based on earlier sources:

"before his death"--"before" [Hebrew lifney] means close to his death, for if not now, when?
In his usual terse manner, Rashi hints at the urgency of Moses blessing, imagining that Moses felt that his death was imminent and this was his last chance to impart any final words of wisdom to the people he had shepherded for forty years. Moses could put off no longer any words which he longed to speak, for this opportunity was fleeting.

Now, if we stopped right here with Rashi's midrash, we'd have a powerful reminder that words between intimates cannot be postponed indefinitely, for no one knows the day of his or her death. If you want to bless your loved ones, or say anything else of significance, do so now, for you might not have the warning that Moses received that his days were soon ending. This is solid wisdom, often repeated, and still true for the repeating.

Yet Rashi hints at something else, as well. The phrase "If not now, when?" was almost certainly known to him as part of a larger statement in the name of Rabbi Hillel, from the section of the Talmud called Pirkei Avot ["Ethics of the Ancestors"]:

If I am not for myself, who is for me? When I am for myself, what am I? If not now, when? (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

Monday, September 24, 2012

September 29, 2012


 Parashat Ha'azinu, Deuteronomy 32:1–52

The Times Are A-Changing

In his final poetic speech to the Israelites, Moshe encourages them to understand the potential for change in every generation.

Rabbi Neal J. Loevinger

Overview

Parashat Ha'azinu is Moses' last speech to the Israelites--it is a powerful poem recalling the sacred history since the Exodus from Egypt, and warning the Israelites in the strongest terms not to stray from the path that God has commanded. At the end of the parasha, God tells Moses that he will be able to see the Land of Israel, but will not be able to enter it.

In Focus

"Remember the days of old, understand the years of the generations. . ." (Deuteronomy 32:7).

Pshat

At the beginning of his long, poetic, theological discourse, Moses asks the current generation to consider the past, when the previous generations had done things that brought about God's anger. Presumably Moses is referring to the people's complaining in the desert, the building of the Golden Calf, and other acts of apparent rebellion. As we make our choices in life, it's important to consider and be open to learning the lessons of history.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

September 22, 2012


Parashat Vayelekh, Deuteronomy 31:1–30

The Song of Humanity

Song can remind us of our authentic selves and our genuine power.

By Rabbi James Jacobson-Maisels

Provided by American Jewish World Service, pursuing global justice through grassroots change.
We often read Parashat Vayelekh on Shabbat Shuvah, the Shabbat of repentance between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Fittingly, this parashah deals with sin and repentance, with becoming lost on our way and returning to our true selves.

In the parashah, God foretells Israel's future sins and their consequences, how they will turn to other gods and then be overtaken by suffering, leading God to say, "anokhi haster astir panai--I will surely hide my face (Deut. 31:16-18)." The hidden face of God, the classic theological expression of the presence of suffering and evil in the world, here seems to be a response by God to the sins of Israel, a punishment for their misdeeds.

The Hasidic master, Rebbe Ephraim of Sudylkow, understands this passage differently. Carefully re-reading the Hebrew, Rebbe Ephraim separates the phrase into two sections and reinterprets the implications of God's actions. When anokhi haster--the I-ness of God--is hidden through our entering the slumber of self-deception and idolatry, then astir panai--[God's] face will be hidden.
When we forget our values and our humanity, we obscure God's holiness from the world; then God's face, God's true presence, is hidden from us. When we pervert what is just and right through the pursuit of that which is not the true center, we cause God's presence to disappear, not as punishment, but as consequence.


Wednesday, September 12, 2012

September 15, 2012


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Parashat Nitzavim, Deuteronomy 29:9-30:20

On This Day God Calls To You

Parashat Nitzavim teaches us the importance of viewing ourselves as partners in a dialogue with God.


Some look to religion to transmit a sense of the majesty of the past. Traditions, because they come to us from a purer time, embody fragile vessels carrying remnants of a lost insight.
Such a view of Judaism correctly perceives the treasures of our ancestors' seeking and recording their relationship with God. But it errs in transforming the record of that search into a type of fossil, a brittle relic that can only be passed from hand to hand, without any direct contribution from the viewer.
Such an idolization of the past removes God from the theater of our own lives, and threatens to trivialize the worth of our own continuing journeys, to ignore the harvest of our own insight and response. The Torah itself rejects this excessive veneration of the past.
In clear terms, Moses tells the Jewish People, "You stand this day, all of you, before the Lord your God . . . to enter into the covenant of the Lord your God, which the Lord your God is concluding with you this day . . . that He may establish you this day as His people and be your God."
Three times, Moses stresses the phrase, "this day," emphasizing the contemporaneity of God's outreach to the Jewish People. Rashi notices this repetition, and comments that the chorus of "this day" indicates that, "just as this day enlightens, so will God enlighten [the Jewish People] in the future."
God's relationship to humanity is a permanent expression of love, an ongoing fact no less than gravity or sunrise. It undergirds the laws of nature, unifies human enterprise and the rhythms of nature. To center one's faith in the past is to imprison God within a book or a set of books. Such a faith makes idolatrous even the most sacred of inheritances. To center one's faith in the living Source of life, the God of creation and of Revelation, however, is to liberate one's spirit to the continuous abundance of God's 'chesed' (love, grace).

September 8, 2012


Love Is Not The Opposite Of Hate; Law Is

Law is essential to Judaism, establishing an external set of moral guidelines.


Human beings never seem able to express all their hatred for each other. Men and women war against each other; blacks and whites, gay and straight, liberals and conservatives, city-folk and suburbanites--there is no end to stereotypes, hostility and mistrust. In response to this propensity to hate, Nobel laureate Elie Weisel organized an international conference on hate in Oslo, Norway. The glittering list of invited participants included four presidents, and 70 writers, scientists and academics.
The two questions which shaped their deliberations were, "Why do people hate?" and "Why do people band together to express hatred?" Although the speeches were beautiful and the resolutions were firm, the entire event was fairly predictable, except for their primary conclusion, which seems so at odds with common sense. Ask anyone what the opposite of hate is, and they will tell you it's love. But the consensus of these most accomplished, powerful and thoughtful people was that, "Only the belief in and execution of the law can defeat hatred."
In other words, the opposite of hate is law. The Prime Minister of Norway even bolstered that claim by quoting from the statesman/philosopher Edmund Burke (18th century England) that, "When bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall one by one." While this insight might be news to the largely-Christian west, it merely confirms the age-old conviction of Judaism that law is the indispensable expression of love and decency. A people abandons law at the peril of their own character, justice and survival.
 Posted by judy@jvillagenetwork.com at 9/4/2012 1:24 PM

Thursday, August 30, 2012

September 1, 2012


 Ki Teitzei/Deuteronomy 21:10–25:19 

Let's Get Physical!

The commandment to remove a corpse from the stake on which it is impaled teaches us the importance of respecting the holiness of the body.

The definition of what is "religious" shifts throughout the ages. In antiquity, being religious meant offering sacrifices (of children, women, prisoners taken in war) and making regular gifts to the gods. In biblical Israel, it meant being aware of God's presence, by bringing animal sacrifices to the Temple in Jerusalem at the designated times.

By the Second Temple period, a new emphasis, one of ritual purity, ethical rigor, and obedience to a growing oral tradition became the defining feature of pharisaic religiosity, which the Rabbis of the Talmud extended into an emphasis on the performance of mitzvot (commandments) and study as religious acts.
In the medieval period, study and ritual purity remained important, but they were refocused through the lenses of kabbalah, Jewish mysticism. Finally, in the early modern age, social justice (for some) and celebration through song and dance (for others) often competed with the earlier identifying features of religiosity.

Jews today have inherited this range of different ways of being religious--from offerings to social justice, from prayer and study to dance, from purity to the performance of mitzvot.