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)

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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.

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."

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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?

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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.

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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? 

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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)

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