I ain’t no role model, I am a basketball player!. I suspect that just about everyone in the sanctuary this morning has heard of this comment by Basketball power forward, Charles Barkley who played for Philadelphia, Phoenix and Houston and retired in 1999. He was one of the best players ever in the NBA and in fact, he wasn’t such a great role model: spitting, fighting and gambling; he didn’t show the greatest of sportsmanship and was no stranger to indiscreet commentary on basketball and life. To be fair, his point about basketball players and role models, in context, meant that he didn’t think basketball players should be considered role models: most kids aren’t going to the NBA --great fame and tens of millions of dollars are unrealistic and inappropriate goals for children.
But Barkley said it and it got a lot of people thinking about the role models we have in this society. Barkley may have denied it, but he was a role model whether or not he was comfortable with the role. So much so that kids began going around saying, “I aint no role model either, just like Charles.”
Well, if sports figures are role models, then they have a huge responsibility to which many of them are ill equipped to manage. Tiger Woods learned a painful lesson as we watched his mea culpa on television just a few weeks ago. His behavior off the golf course does matter to us ---and especially to the companies that use him in their ads. Tiger Woods admitted in an interview to what many politicians and leaders of industry have admitted to: they thought that all the love, adulation, money and fame somehow made them exempt from the moral norms that applied to everyone else in society. And of course, they all learned in a painful and humiliating way that this is generally not the case. We love and admire our role models --but we also expect them to be people whose behavior we can respect in and out of the spotlight.
I think a part of what we enjoy so much about the Olympics is that the athletes, perhaps with a lot of coaching, act on camera in a sportsmanlike way. It makes us feel good. The skier Bode Miller embarrassed himself and all of us when he acted poorly in Torino where he won no medals, and made us all the more proud of him in showing some humility this year in games at which he won several medals. Those in the limelight are role models: there is no escaping it. They can do a lot of good if they come to realize this early in their careers.
We see an indication of this in the parasha this morning. Most of the parasha deals with what the Cohanim, the Priests are supposed to wear. The description of the priestly vestments is in excruciating detail; as if Priestly holiness is dependent on appearance. Yet one cannot imagine God concerned about clothing: the vestments aren’t for God, they are for the people. Priests must appear to the people in a certain way; they are role models --they show the people of Israel what it means to be distinct, dignified, respectful in a way that is worthy of approaching God in His sanctuary. Both what they wear and who they are watched carefully by the people; their behavior will determine the integrity and vitality of their religious community. Needless to say, the Priests have a big responsibility in their role as Israelite leaders.
We come upon another figure head and leader of the Jewish people, this weekend, as we read the Book of Esther. The Megillah is a funny book, but it has a side to it that we might consider deadly serious. The central figure in this story is most certainly Esther. All the other characters in the book are unidimensional; King Achashverosh is a simpleton, Haman is wicked, Mordechai is clever. But Esther, she is more complex; she is beautiful, assimilated (she becomes a Persian King’s wife), and perhaps even seductive. But when we first meet her, we don’t really know what to make of her. She becomes the queen and you suspect from the text, that the Jews of the land must be proud that one of their own could reach such heights in the Persian court. Then comes chapter 4 and now we learn what this lady is made of. Haman has declared the death of all the Jews and Mordechai sends Esther a message asking her to intervene with the King. She refuses saying that the King hasn’t summoned her and if one approaches the King without being summoned, that person will die. And she doesn’t want to die.
Then Mordechai teaches her a lesson in loyalty. He writes to her: “Do not imagine that you, of all the Jews, will escape with your life by being in the King’s palace. On the contrary, if you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter, while you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crises.” Now Esther has a decision to make. Does she step up for her people or take care of herself? We wait in anticipation; we wait for her to realize that her high position is not one of entitlement but one of responsibility. She is in the public eye; she is the queen; she has the power, will she do what is right? And then she says: “then I shall go to the king, though it is contrary to the law; and if I am to perish, I shall perish.” The queen becomes a hero that day.
Esther becomes a true Jewish leader in this chapter as soon as she realizes that her life is not as important as the life of her people. Charles Barkley didn’t see this. Back then, he never asked himself the question, “perhaps I have attained success and fame for some deeper purpose.” To help inner city kids, to fund a youth sports league, to contribute to education or to promote exercise and good health. He, like every other leader, every other role model, has the power and influence to do good in ways most of us simply can’t do. You may have noted that Canadian Olympians Jennifer Heil who won a silver in women’s moguls and Alexandre Bilodeau who won the gold in men’s moguls pledged $25,000 each to charity and challenged the other medal winners in the games to do the same. Very impressive, I think, for a 26 and 22 year old. Everyone is watching them; everyone admires and respects them: everyone wants to be just like them. And this is precisely the time for them to be gracious and generous and do something that has lasting meaning. We all might believe that we “ain’t no role model,” but we are. Someone is always watching us; our kids, our students, our friends, our co-workers and we can’t let them down. We are all role models so let’s be role models for the good.
Shabbat Shalom
Friday, February 26, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Adar and Joy
Mishe’nichnas Adar Marbim B’simcha. We read in the Talmud: when the month of Adar arrives, simcha, joy, increases. We announced the coming of the month of Adar in our service this morning, and according to tradition, this brings with it a sense of excitement and anticipation to celebrate, act silly and very simply, have a lot of fun.
Purim comes on the 14th day of this month. The celebration is based on the book of Esther, the careful reading of which cries out “farce.” The story is silly, filled with exaggeration: a six month feast, a 7 day drinking bacchanalia; a beauty contest in which the women primp and powder for a full year for their single night with the king. And of course, there is the pledge by a Persian official to annihilate all the Jews in the kingdom because a single Jew didn’t bow down to him in the street. The bad guy gets tricked and his evil plan foiled and the Jews celebrate their salvation without a single reference to God, a bit odd for a Biblical book but perhaps not so odd for this type of story.
We read the Book of Esther because it’s fun. We dress up in costumes, we gragger enthusiastically with mention of the name of Haman, we eat sweets, we feast and drink and joke and put on silly plays. It’s all about joy: mishenichnas Adar, marbim b’simcha: when Adar arrives, joy increases.
We use the word “simcha,” all the time in Judaism. It is a Hebrew word that almost every Jew knows: we are celebrating a simcha today, with the Bar Mitzvah of Spencer Soicher. Last week, we had three “simchas” on the bema: anniversaries and birthdays. We sing siman tov and mazal tov: we celebrate. The birth of a child, a Bar Mitzvah, a wedding. Every chance we get in Judaism, we smile and have a good time. With a history of persecution and stress, we don’t want to miss even a single opportunity to feel and express joy.
Purim has four mitzvoth: four observances that we are obligated to perform. Each of them legislates, in a sense, the enhancement of simcha. The first is the reading of the Megillat Esther itself. We can’t do this alone: we have to be together with other Jews to read the Megillah --the more the better. In the text, Haman says to the king regarding the Jews, “there is a certain people who are scattered and dispersed amongst the people in the states of your rule.” The commentators seize on this statement ---the people are scattered, which means that they are distant from one another, there is no sense of community with them, no unity. So the Rabbis require that the community in the present, now, does the opposite; we come together for the reading of the Megillah: and create a celebration together. There is a sense of power and a sense of belonging to something greater than the self, when the community assembles. Unity and connection to others feels good. The Rabbis in the Talmud knew this; when we come together, we experience joy.
The second mitzvah: matanot l’evyonim: giving to the poor. Here again, the enhancement of joy: certainly in the life of the needy recipient of tzedakah whose burdens are eased, at least for the moment. But joy also in the life of the giver as well. Nothing feels better than giving to those in need. To help another gives one’s life a sense of meaning and purpose. If you want to feel better about yourself, give of yourself. Giving tzedakah, increases joy.
The third mitzvah: mishloach manot. This is giving gifts to your friends. One of the plagues of our society is alienation from others. If we so desired, we would never have to leave our homes. Most everything in our lives need not be personal --we can shop, bank, work and be entertained, with virtually no human interaction. But there is a much better way, of course and that is to reach out and connect with others, to enhance friendships. In our community, there are couples that meet each other at a program called Baby University: which is a prenatal Jewish lamaze, of sorts. It is Jewish education and planning for the coming of a new baby. Couples in this program, perhaps most importantly, meet at the class and make friends at this formative experience in their lives and many of them remain friends for decades. They celebrate the bris or baby naming together; they send their kids off to preschool together; they join synagogues together; they celebrate holidays, and life cycle events, together, and so on through their lives. And it makes them happy! Friendships are the lifeblood of community and it brings joy to our lives. Mishloach manot: at Purim time, we increase joy by sending gifts to our friends.
And finally: the seudat Purim: the Purim feast. During Purim: we eat together. Purim is the story that defines the joke: at Jewish holidays, “the bad guy wants to kills us, we win and then we eat.” This Purim, the synagogue is sponsoring a community dinner: we will all come together to feast on great food, to watch a Purim speil, to laugh and joke and have a lot of fun. Jewish eating has never been about nourishment; it’s about building relationships and transmitting our culture and our values. The Purim feast does just that in an atmosphere of simcha: of joy.
With all of that in mind, I have to confess that I am uncomfortable with the phrase: mishenichnas adar, marbim b’simcha: when Adar arrives, joy increases. And I am uncomfortable with it because it implies that joy is somehow unique to Adar, only one of the twelve months of the year. But it’s not. We read in one of the zemirot, one of the songs traditionally sung at Shabbat dinner on Friday night: menucha v’simcha, or l’yehudim: “the rest and joy of Shabbat, illuminate the Jewish people. The deep spiritual rest of the Sabbath brings joy, perhaps an even deeper and more abiding joy than the celebrations which come in Adar. Shabbat is the foundation for the spiritual existence of all Jews who observe it.
There are about 350 of us here in our synagogue community that understand this; we are here every Shabbat morning for a spirited service and we remain, sometimes for hours, at our kiddush: connecting with friends and building our community. It’s very simply, fun and people do it each week. But we have a little over 2000 adults in our congregation and we are concerned about them too. We want to bring to at least some of them the deep joy that comes from Shabbat prayer, services and community.
As most of you know, the Cantor and I went to New York this past Shabbes to see some shuls that are doing innovative Shabbat services that attract hundreds of worshippers of all ages on Friday nights. In particular, we went to a congregation called B’nai Yeshurun, on the upper west side of Manhattan, to see what they do on Friday nights. They have a very soft and soulful service with voices accompanied by a variety of instruments that bring a full and joyous sound to the traditional prayers. Everybody in the congregation sings and sings loudly. The congregation has come to know the prayers and the melodies by coming often and their voices fill up the sanctuary: as do ours here at the Alliance on Shabbat morning. I had the sense as I sat there at B’nai Yeshuran, at this Friday night service, that my prayers were carried heavenward with the power and presence of the whole community singing as one. If one were to use just one word to describe the service, that word would be “joyful.”
As you might imagine, we were impressed. We want to bring that sense of joy to our Friday night experience, for all of you to come and for those in the congregation who might not feel that the Shabbat morning service is accessible to them, but are searching none the less for a deeper connection to the shul and to Shabbat. Perhaps what makes this service accessible to many is not only the great music and spirit in the sanctuary, but also the fact that Friday night services last just one hour.
We will call our service, “Nashira,” which means, “let us sing.” We will use instruments to accompany our voices for Kabbalat Shabbat until we come to the prayers that begin Shabbat proper and then we will put our instruments aside and chant the prayers together a cappella. The first service will be on April 9th and more information about “Nashira,” can be found in the March Highlights.
“Mi shenichnas adar, marbim b’simcha: Adar is upon us and we focus on the joy of living as a Jew. We will enjoy Adar and Purim this year, but we will continue with on simcha on Shabbat as well. We invite you all to this new service so that joy in our community will increase for us on Shabbat and indeed, all year round.
Shabbat Shalom.
Mishe’nichnas Adar Marbim B’simcha. We read in the Talmud: when the month of Adar arrives, simcha, joy, increases. We announced the coming of the month of Adar in our service this morning, and according to tradition, this brings with it a sense of excitement and anticipation to celebrate, act silly and very simply, have a lot of fun.
Purim comes on the 14th day of this month. The celebration is based on the book of Esther, the careful reading of which cries out “farce.” The story is silly, filled with exaggeration: a six month feast, a 7 day drinking bacchanalia; a beauty contest in which the women primp and powder for a full year for their single night with the king. And of course, there is the pledge by a Persian official to annihilate all the Jews in the kingdom because a single Jew didn’t bow down to him in the street. The bad guy gets tricked and his evil plan foiled and the Jews celebrate their salvation without a single reference to God, a bit odd for a Biblical book but perhaps not so odd for this type of story.
We read the Book of Esther because it’s fun. We dress up in costumes, we gragger enthusiastically with mention of the name of Haman, we eat sweets, we feast and drink and joke and put on silly plays. It’s all about joy: mishenichnas Adar, marbim b’simcha: when Adar arrives, joy increases.
We use the word “simcha,” all the time in Judaism. It is a Hebrew word that almost every Jew knows: we are celebrating a simcha today, with the Bar Mitzvah of Spencer Soicher. Last week, we had three “simchas” on the bema: anniversaries and birthdays. We sing siman tov and mazal tov: we celebrate. The birth of a child, a Bar Mitzvah, a wedding. Every chance we get in Judaism, we smile and have a good time. With a history of persecution and stress, we don’t want to miss even a single opportunity to feel and express joy.
Purim has four mitzvoth: four observances that we are obligated to perform. Each of them legislates, in a sense, the enhancement of simcha. The first is the reading of the Megillat Esther itself. We can’t do this alone: we have to be together with other Jews to read the Megillah --the more the better. In the text, Haman says to the king regarding the Jews, “there is a certain people who are scattered and dispersed amongst the people in the states of your rule.” The commentators seize on this statement ---the people are scattered, which means that they are distant from one another, there is no sense of community with them, no unity. So the Rabbis require that the community in the present, now, does the opposite; we come together for the reading of the Megillah: and create a celebration together. There is a sense of power and a sense of belonging to something greater than the self, when the community assembles. Unity and connection to others feels good. The Rabbis in the Talmud knew this; when we come together, we experience joy.
The second mitzvah: matanot l’evyonim: giving to the poor. Here again, the enhancement of joy: certainly in the life of the needy recipient of tzedakah whose burdens are eased, at least for the moment. But joy also in the life of the giver as well. Nothing feels better than giving to those in need. To help another gives one’s life a sense of meaning and purpose. If you want to feel better about yourself, give of yourself. Giving tzedakah, increases joy.
The third mitzvah: mishloach manot. This is giving gifts to your friends. One of the plagues of our society is alienation from others. If we so desired, we would never have to leave our homes. Most everything in our lives need not be personal --we can shop, bank, work and be entertained, with virtually no human interaction. But there is a much better way, of course and that is to reach out and connect with others, to enhance friendships. In our community, there are couples that meet each other at a program called Baby University: which is a prenatal Jewish lamaze, of sorts. It is Jewish education and planning for the coming of a new baby. Couples in this program, perhaps most importantly, meet at the class and make friends at this formative experience in their lives and many of them remain friends for decades. They celebrate the bris or baby naming together; they send their kids off to preschool together; they join synagogues together; they celebrate holidays, and life cycle events, together, and so on through their lives. And it makes them happy! Friendships are the lifeblood of community and it brings joy to our lives. Mishloach manot: at Purim time, we increase joy by sending gifts to our friends.
And finally: the seudat Purim: the Purim feast. During Purim: we eat together. Purim is the story that defines the joke: at Jewish holidays, “the bad guy wants to kills us, we win and then we eat.” This Purim, the synagogue is sponsoring a community dinner: we will all come together to feast on great food, to watch a Purim speil, to laugh and joke and have a lot of fun. Jewish eating has never been about nourishment; it’s about building relationships and transmitting our culture and our values. The Purim feast does just that in an atmosphere of simcha: of joy.
With all of that in mind, I have to confess that I am uncomfortable with the phrase: mishenichnas adar, marbim b’simcha: when Adar arrives, joy increases. And I am uncomfortable with it because it implies that joy is somehow unique to Adar, only one of the twelve months of the year. But it’s not. We read in one of the zemirot, one of the songs traditionally sung at Shabbat dinner on Friday night: menucha v’simcha, or l’yehudim: “the rest and joy of Shabbat, illuminate the Jewish people. The deep spiritual rest of the Sabbath brings joy, perhaps an even deeper and more abiding joy than the celebrations which come in Adar. Shabbat is the foundation for the spiritual existence of all Jews who observe it.
There are about 350 of us here in our synagogue community that understand this; we are here every Shabbat morning for a spirited service and we remain, sometimes for hours, at our kiddush: connecting with friends and building our community. It’s very simply, fun and people do it each week. But we have a little over 2000 adults in our congregation and we are concerned about them too. We want to bring to at least some of them the deep joy that comes from Shabbat prayer, services and community.
As most of you know, the Cantor and I went to New York this past Shabbes to see some shuls that are doing innovative Shabbat services that attract hundreds of worshippers of all ages on Friday nights. In particular, we went to a congregation called B’nai Yeshurun, on the upper west side of Manhattan, to see what they do on Friday nights. They have a very soft and soulful service with voices accompanied by a variety of instruments that bring a full and joyous sound to the traditional prayers. Everybody in the congregation sings and sings loudly. The congregation has come to know the prayers and the melodies by coming often and their voices fill up the sanctuary: as do ours here at the Alliance on Shabbat morning. I had the sense as I sat there at B’nai Yeshuran, at this Friday night service, that my prayers were carried heavenward with the power and presence of the whole community singing as one. If one were to use just one word to describe the service, that word would be “joyful.”
As you might imagine, we were impressed. We want to bring that sense of joy to our Friday night experience, for all of you to come and for those in the congregation who might not feel that the Shabbat morning service is accessible to them, but are searching none the less for a deeper connection to the shul and to Shabbat. Perhaps what makes this service accessible to many is not only the great music and spirit in the sanctuary, but also the fact that Friday night services last just one hour.
We will call our service, “Nashira,” which means, “let us sing.” We will use instruments to accompany our voices for Kabbalat Shabbat until we come to the prayers that begin Shabbat proper and then we will put our instruments aside and chant the prayers together a cappella. The first service will be on April 9th and more information about “Nashira,” can be found in the March Highlights.
“Mi shenichnas adar, marbim b’simcha: Adar is upon us and we focus on the joy of living as a Jew. We will enjoy Adar and Purim this year, but we will continue with on simcha on Shabbat as well. We invite you all to this new service so that joy in our community will increase for us on Shabbat and indeed, all year round.
Shabbat Shalom.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Vaera 2010
This past Shabbat at Musaf, I taught a class about Moses Maimonidies’ principles of faith. The Rambam, living in the 12th century, created the ideal of a religious Jew; one who believes in God, the Torah, reward and punishment, the coming of the messiah, with what he called, perfect faith. The students in the class, along with their teacher, had significant problems with the concept of perfect faith: we all have doubts --we live in a modern world where religious belief is often seen as irrational: as an emotional crutch, in some cases, just plain silly.
There is science, today, that threatens the truth claims of religion. There is even the science of religion.
Biblical archeologists, for example, have searched for clues to the historicity of the Bible. After decades of exploration, most of them contend that the characters in the Bible from King |Solomon on, that is, from about 930 BCE forward, definitely existed as historical figures. But before King Solomon, there is little archeological proof of the Bible’s stories: and that leaves the existence of our main character today, for example, Moses, in doubt. Apparently, there is no real proof of the Israelite’s enslavement in Egypt, no proof of the plagues, no proof of the crossing of the sea of reeds, or of a people wandering in the desert for 40 years, or of the existence of a person named Moses.
For the faithful, the claims of the archeologists can be very distressing. For fundamentalists who believe that every word of the Bible is literally and historically true, it can be devastating.
How do we deal with the Biblical archeologists? Here is my approach: I believe with a perfect faith, that all the stories in the Bible are true, but some are true both spiritually and historically; and some are true, only spiritually, which I believe, is more than good enough.
So we come to the miracles of the ten plagues that begin in our Torah portion this morning. Blood, frogs, lice, boils and so on. Did they happen just this way in Egypt? Were there Jews suffering from the yoke of a evil Egyptian king who made them build pyramids? To me, that really isn’t important; what is important is the moral lesson we learn from the story, and here, I think, is that e lesson.
God told Moses to go the people and tell them about God and tell them about freedom. But the people didn’t get it.
We read in the text, “v’lo sham’u el moshe mikotzer ruach v’avodah kasha” the people of Israel did not listen to Moses because of impatience of spirit caused by hard servitude. (Exodus 6:9).
The people didn’t listen to Moses and they could not hear God because their lives were filled with spiritual darkness. They had been enslaved: they were victims of tyranny, they were victims of fear. The evil ways of Egypt had enslaved them both physically and spiritually: God had become too remote: their false god had become the Pharaoh: who was also the false god to all the Egyptians. The one true God heard the cry of His people, but the people could not hear God crying for them.
So God decided to intercede in human history and create dramatic and miraculous displays of physical power to get the Israelites’ attention. Most people think that the plagues were to impress Pharoah and the Egyptians. Not so. God could have leveled the Egyptians with the blink of an eye. God was not concerned with the spiritual state of the pagan Egyptians because they would eventually come to disappear from history leaving nothing to western civilization but a few pyramids and some hieroglyphics. God didn’t create the plagues for the Egyptians, He created them for the Israelites because God was desperate to connect with his suffering people. For God had a plan for the Jewish People. According to God’s plan, the Jews would make an everlasting contribution to the world; they would be God’s partners in bringing light, and goodness and justice and righteousness to the people of the world.
So we have the plagues. The plagues themselves are very interesting: they were created to educate. As any good parent knows, a parent displays parental power and discipline not to overwhelm their children which just leads their children to one day rebel. Rather, parents discipline with power to educate and teach their children the proper path of behavior.
So it was with God. The slave people could not help but be impressed with Egyptian power, so God would bring the plagues upon Egypt to show the Israelites that Egyptian power was all facade. For the Egyptians, the river Nile was the source of life: it flooded each year leaving silt on the earth which fertilized the ground from which the Egyptians grew their crops. The Egyptians worshipped the Nile: it’s power, beauty and grandeur. The Nile no doubt impressed the Israelites too. So God turned the water to blood. In a single stroke, He killed the Nile. Human beings are not to worship rivers. Water and crops and sustenance come from the grace of God, not from the grace of pagan river gods. So God killed the river to teach this lesson.
Similarly, the second plague of frogs. The Egyptians saw their pagan rites, their temples, their dwellings, as clean and pure. Despite the tyranny, the slavery, the lack of concern for human life, the Egyptians saw themselves as righteous and clean. So God showed the Israelites the truth about the Egyptians. They were not clean and pure; their culture was morally corrupt, rancid, and spiritually filthy despite the wondrous dwellings they lived in. So God brought the frogs with mud and muck on their feet to fill the dwellings of the Egyptians with filth. The frogs covered everything. The houses, the people, the beds. Through this plague, God showed in external form, the internal truth about the moral decay of Egyptian society.
And each plague showed something similar. The gnats, the beetles, the boils, the hail: every aspect of so called Egyptian greatness was attacked and revealed to the Israelites for the facade that it was. The Egyptians were nothing without God. Their grandeur rested on a foundation of straw. With the mildest of divine winds blowing upon it, the whole wondrous Egyptian structure began to teeter on the brink of total destruction. And hence, the Israelites were impressed with how truly unimpressive the Egyptians really were.
Then we come to the ninth plague, the plague of darkness. Here was the penultimate lesson for the Israelites. We read in the morning prayers, psalm 30: “histarta panecha, hayiti nivhal,” when you hide your face from me, oh God, I am terrified.” The ninth plague of absolute darkness revealed the whole truth about the spiritual state of the Egyptians. There was no divine light in their society. God’s presence did not penetrate the evil and corruption of a culture that would enslave and debase human life. And the darkness was terrifying. Life without God’s light is a living hell of randomness, evil, meaninglessness, and emptiness. When the Egyptians saw the truth in the ninth plague, even they were terrified. God’s light does not shine into the lives of people who are unwilling to receive it. Evil keeps God away: goodness and justice bring God in. The Israelite dwellings had light during the ninth plague. And the light that they had allowed them to prepare to leave: to leave the evil, to leave the spiritual slavery, to find their way to freedom. Even in the midst of great evil, God’s light can penetrate to those whose eyes are open to see. And that light can redeem them. That light can guide them to freedom.
It took a great deal of effort, but God finally impressed the Israelites. He reached them, finally, and they ultimately saw the greatness of God.
So what can we say to the biblical archeologists who cannot find the historical proof for the exodus from Egypt? From my perspective, I say to them, so what? The historicity of Moses and the exodus is of little importance to the Jewish people and to the people of the world. What is important to us is what the Torah is telling us from the story; what the Torah is telling us about the nature of the world, and our place in it; what the torah is telling us about good and evil, about tyranny and freedom. The truth of the story is in its powerful moral lesson. And once we grasp the lesson, despite what the archeologists say, the story can transform our lives and indeed, change the world. And from my perspective, that is whole point; it’s what we are doing here; it’s why we are a people of faith.
Shabbat shalom.
There is science, today, that threatens the truth claims of religion. There is even the science of religion.
Biblical archeologists, for example, have searched for clues to the historicity of the Bible. After decades of exploration, most of them contend that the characters in the Bible from King |Solomon on, that is, from about 930 BCE forward, definitely existed as historical figures. But before King Solomon, there is little archeological proof of the Bible’s stories: and that leaves the existence of our main character today, for example, Moses, in doubt. Apparently, there is no real proof of the Israelite’s enslavement in Egypt, no proof of the plagues, no proof of the crossing of the sea of reeds, or of a people wandering in the desert for 40 years, or of the existence of a person named Moses.
For the faithful, the claims of the archeologists can be very distressing. For fundamentalists who believe that every word of the Bible is literally and historically true, it can be devastating.
How do we deal with the Biblical archeologists? Here is my approach: I believe with a perfect faith, that all the stories in the Bible are true, but some are true both spiritually and historically; and some are true, only spiritually, which I believe, is more than good enough.
So we come to the miracles of the ten plagues that begin in our Torah portion this morning. Blood, frogs, lice, boils and so on. Did they happen just this way in Egypt? Were there Jews suffering from the yoke of a evil Egyptian king who made them build pyramids? To me, that really isn’t important; what is important is the moral lesson we learn from the story, and here, I think, is that e lesson.
God told Moses to go the people and tell them about God and tell them about freedom. But the people didn’t get it.
We read in the text, “v’lo sham’u el moshe mikotzer ruach v’avodah kasha” the people of Israel did not listen to Moses because of impatience of spirit caused by hard servitude. (Exodus 6:9).
The people didn’t listen to Moses and they could not hear God because their lives were filled with spiritual darkness. They had been enslaved: they were victims of tyranny, they were victims of fear. The evil ways of Egypt had enslaved them both physically and spiritually: God had become too remote: their false god had become the Pharaoh: who was also the false god to all the Egyptians. The one true God heard the cry of His people, but the people could not hear God crying for them.
So God decided to intercede in human history and create dramatic and miraculous displays of physical power to get the Israelites’ attention. Most people think that the plagues were to impress Pharoah and the Egyptians. Not so. God could have leveled the Egyptians with the blink of an eye. God was not concerned with the spiritual state of the pagan Egyptians because they would eventually come to disappear from history leaving nothing to western civilization but a few pyramids and some hieroglyphics. God didn’t create the plagues for the Egyptians, He created them for the Israelites because God was desperate to connect with his suffering people. For God had a plan for the Jewish People. According to God’s plan, the Jews would make an everlasting contribution to the world; they would be God’s partners in bringing light, and goodness and justice and righteousness to the people of the world.
So we have the plagues. The plagues themselves are very interesting: they were created to educate. As any good parent knows, a parent displays parental power and discipline not to overwhelm their children which just leads their children to one day rebel. Rather, parents discipline with power to educate and teach their children the proper path of behavior.
So it was with God. The slave people could not help but be impressed with Egyptian power, so God would bring the plagues upon Egypt to show the Israelites that Egyptian power was all facade. For the Egyptians, the river Nile was the source of life: it flooded each year leaving silt on the earth which fertilized the ground from which the Egyptians grew their crops. The Egyptians worshipped the Nile: it’s power, beauty and grandeur. The Nile no doubt impressed the Israelites too. So God turned the water to blood. In a single stroke, He killed the Nile. Human beings are not to worship rivers. Water and crops and sustenance come from the grace of God, not from the grace of pagan river gods. So God killed the river to teach this lesson.
Similarly, the second plague of frogs. The Egyptians saw their pagan rites, their temples, their dwellings, as clean and pure. Despite the tyranny, the slavery, the lack of concern for human life, the Egyptians saw themselves as righteous and clean. So God showed the Israelites the truth about the Egyptians. They were not clean and pure; their culture was morally corrupt, rancid, and spiritually filthy despite the wondrous dwellings they lived in. So God brought the frogs with mud and muck on their feet to fill the dwellings of the Egyptians with filth. The frogs covered everything. The houses, the people, the beds. Through this plague, God showed in external form, the internal truth about the moral decay of Egyptian society.
And each plague showed something similar. The gnats, the beetles, the boils, the hail: every aspect of so called Egyptian greatness was attacked and revealed to the Israelites for the facade that it was. The Egyptians were nothing without God. Their grandeur rested on a foundation of straw. With the mildest of divine winds blowing upon it, the whole wondrous Egyptian structure began to teeter on the brink of total destruction. And hence, the Israelites were impressed with how truly unimpressive the Egyptians really were.
Then we come to the ninth plague, the plague of darkness. Here was the penultimate lesson for the Israelites. We read in the morning prayers, psalm 30: “histarta panecha, hayiti nivhal,” when you hide your face from me, oh God, I am terrified.” The ninth plague of absolute darkness revealed the whole truth about the spiritual state of the Egyptians. There was no divine light in their society. God’s presence did not penetrate the evil and corruption of a culture that would enslave and debase human life. And the darkness was terrifying. Life without God’s light is a living hell of randomness, evil, meaninglessness, and emptiness. When the Egyptians saw the truth in the ninth plague, even they were terrified. God’s light does not shine into the lives of people who are unwilling to receive it. Evil keeps God away: goodness and justice bring God in. The Israelite dwellings had light during the ninth plague. And the light that they had allowed them to prepare to leave: to leave the evil, to leave the spiritual slavery, to find their way to freedom. Even in the midst of great evil, God’s light can penetrate to those whose eyes are open to see. And that light can redeem them. That light can guide them to freedom.
It took a great deal of effort, but God finally impressed the Israelites. He reached them, finally, and they ultimately saw the greatness of God.
So what can we say to the biblical archeologists who cannot find the historical proof for the exodus from Egypt? From my perspective, I say to them, so what? The historicity of Moses and the exodus is of little importance to the Jewish people and to the people of the world. What is important to us is what the Torah is telling us from the story; what the Torah is telling us about the nature of the world, and our place in it; what the torah is telling us about good and evil, about tyranny and freedom. The truth of the story is in its powerful moral lesson. And once we grasp the lesson, despite what the archeologists say, the story can transform our lives and indeed, change the world. And from my perspective, that is whole point; it’s what we are doing here; it’s why we are a people of faith.
Shabbat shalom.
Shmot 2010; Moses and Leadership
Shmot; Birth of Moses and Leadership
Our Torah reading this morning deals with the towering character of Moses. It is an unusual story, akin perhaps to the stories of Joseph. As a narrative, it stretches the bounds of plausibility: for Joseph, a slave in Potiphar’s household becomes a viceroy of Egypt. And in the case of Moses, a slave baby becomes a prince of Egypt. Clearly, both texts are implying that the hand of God is involved. It is God that makes sure that the people have just the leaders they need at just the right time.
Moses in particular. For the Torah, Moses is the quintessential leader; the most important, the most central: the savior and the law giver, from military leader to wilderness guide. Moses takes on the Pharoah, deals with a cranky stiff- necked people, stands down a dangerous rebellion, brings God’s rebuke to the people and delivers their salvation. In the case of Moses, God is directing history, as He does in all the other stories of the Bible.
But Moses is unique. There is something more to Moses; something different from all the other characters in the Bible. For Moses has a distinct personality: we can learn from his central place in the history of our nation, but we can also learn from his well defined and compelling character. Moses, as a man, can teach us how to be leader. And ultimately, Moses, as a man, can teach us how to be a complete human being. Let’s take a look.
We learn the most about the young Moses in his first interaction with God. God says to this one time prince and now simple shepherd: “I have seen the affliction of My people in Egypt…and now go, I will dispatch you to Pharaoh and you shall take My People, the Children of Israel, out of Egypt.” And Moses’ famous reply, “Who am I to go to Pharaoh and that I should take the Children of Israel out of Egypt.” Rashi paraphrases Moses, “ma ani chashuv ledaber im melachim,” Moses asks God, “ am I important enough to speak with Kings?”
Moses, of course, grew up as the son of a King --why wouldn’t he think himself important enough? The text tells us why in the Book of Numbers: “v’ha ish Moshe anav meod mikol ha adam asher al p’nai ha adamah.” The man Moses was the humblest man on the face of the earth.
Humility, the first and most important character trait in a leader. The great Musar master Rabbi Bachya Ibn Pekuda, 12th century Spain, wrote in his work, “Duties of the Heart,” that “All virtues and duties begin with humility.” Proverbs 18: “Before destruction the heart of man is haughty, and before honor goes humility.” Moses seemed more than comfortable with his lot as a shepherd: sheep don’t rebel, for the most part, they don’t whine and complain. For Moses, even growing up as a prince of Egypt ---he did not see himself as the savior of God’s chosen people; in fact, he did not see himself special at all.
Humility requires that a person take an accurate assessment of the self. Moses knew himself quite well, Chapter 4, verse 10 “Please my Lord, I am not a man of words….for I am heavy of mouth and heavy of speech.” Moses argues with God about his ability to fulfill this Divine mission; Moses is not engaging in self-abasement, here; he challenges God’s choice in him because of a recognized lack of skills. God is not deterred; God will be with him, Aaron will be with him: God essentially says, “ you don’t have to be perfect to be a perfect leader.” But you do have to be humble.
Humility leads into the next essential quality of leadership. The Pharaohs of Egypt built great monuments to themselves. Go to Cairo and visit the great Pyramids which cost thousands of lives to build in order to entomb one, single Pharaoh after he dies. The Pharaoh’s looked out at the world and saw them. Their concern was their honor, their glory, in fact, what they considered to be their divinity. Moses grew up in the Pharaoh’s household but was different. And this is how he was different. The text says, “it happened in those days that Moses grew up and went out to his brethren and observed their burdens; and he saw an Egyptian man striking a Hebrew man of his brethren. He turned this way and that and saw that there was no man, so he struck down the Egyptian… “
What I find important about this verse is the phrase, “observed their burdens.” After he grew up --matured, became an adult, he went out and observed the burdens of his people. There is a saying: “if you want to truly know me, you have to see and understand what it is that causes me pain.” The Pharaoh looked out over his kingdom and saw no one but himself; his own needs and desires. Moses looked out over the kingdom and saw the injustice: saw human beings with heavy burdens; he saw his brethren in pain. A true leader focuses away from the self and witnesses and responds to the pain of those he presumes to lead.
And finally, a leader must honor incertitude. Moses was unsure how the people of Israel would respond to his mission to lead them out of Egypt. He asked God, “behold when I come to the Children of Israel…..and they say to me, what is [this God’s]Name? What shall I tell them?” “ And God answers Moses, I shall be what I shall be. And[God] said, “so shall you say to the Children of Israel, “I Shall Be has sent you.” Well, one might rightly ask: what kind of name is that? It doesn’t sound like a name; it doesn’t make sense. Moses is launched into his mission with uncertainty. He doesn’t understand how he is going to achieve his goal. He is unsure about the Pharaoh, he doesn’t trust his own people and now, the God who sends him is incomprehensible. Moses begins his prophesy with more questions than answers and must tolerate that uncertainty. Here is the ugly truth about leadership. No leader knows exactly what he is doing. No leader can predict the future and know what will happen as a result of any decision that is made. A true leader must fully understand that and share that with those he leads and yet remain focused on his goal. A leader or anyone else who purports to know the whole truth regarding anything is a deceiver. And if he believes it himself, he is naïve and even worse, dangerous. Leadership is a messy business. Moses understands that, shares that with his people and yet succeeds despite the uncertainty.
When I speak about Moses as a model for leadership, I am really speaking about all of us. We are all leaders in some part of our lives. At work, in the shul, as parents. We all must stand before others at some time or another and express our ideals, our vision, our goals. So the character traits of Moses: humility, a concern for others even at the expense of our own needs and accepting the fact that we don’t know everything --these characteristics are important for us in our everyday lives. They are the necessary characteristics of leadership, but they are also the necessary characteristics for being an adult; for being a mentch.
Shabbat Shalom
Our Torah reading this morning deals with the towering character of Moses. It is an unusual story, akin perhaps to the stories of Joseph. As a narrative, it stretches the bounds of plausibility: for Joseph, a slave in Potiphar’s household becomes a viceroy of Egypt. And in the case of Moses, a slave baby becomes a prince of Egypt. Clearly, both texts are implying that the hand of God is involved. It is God that makes sure that the people have just the leaders they need at just the right time.
Moses in particular. For the Torah, Moses is the quintessential leader; the most important, the most central: the savior and the law giver, from military leader to wilderness guide. Moses takes on the Pharoah, deals with a cranky stiff- necked people, stands down a dangerous rebellion, brings God’s rebuke to the people and delivers their salvation. In the case of Moses, God is directing history, as He does in all the other stories of the Bible.
But Moses is unique. There is something more to Moses; something different from all the other characters in the Bible. For Moses has a distinct personality: we can learn from his central place in the history of our nation, but we can also learn from his well defined and compelling character. Moses, as a man, can teach us how to be leader. And ultimately, Moses, as a man, can teach us how to be a complete human being. Let’s take a look.
We learn the most about the young Moses in his first interaction with God. God says to this one time prince and now simple shepherd: “I have seen the affliction of My people in Egypt…and now go, I will dispatch you to Pharaoh and you shall take My People, the Children of Israel, out of Egypt.” And Moses’ famous reply, “Who am I to go to Pharaoh and that I should take the Children of Israel out of Egypt.” Rashi paraphrases Moses, “ma ani chashuv ledaber im melachim,” Moses asks God, “ am I important enough to speak with Kings?”
Moses, of course, grew up as the son of a King --why wouldn’t he think himself important enough? The text tells us why in the Book of Numbers: “v’ha ish Moshe anav meod mikol ha adam asher al p’nai ha adamah.” The man Moses was the humblest man on the face of the earth.
Humility, the first and most important character trait in a leader. The great Musar master Rabbi Bachya Ibn Pekuda, 12th century Spain, wrote in his work, “Duties of the Heart,” that “All virtues and duties begin with humility.” Proverbs 18: “Before destruction the heart of man is haughty, and before honor goes humility.” Moses seemed more than comfortable with his lot as a shepherd: sheep don’t rebel, for the most part, they don’t whine and complain. For Moses, even growing up as a prince of Egypt ---he did not see himself as the savior of God’s chosen people; in fact, he did not see himself special at all.
Humility requires that a person take an accurate assessment of the self. Moses knew himself quite well, Chapter 4, verse 10 “Please my Lord, I am not a man of words….for I am heavy of mouth and heavy of speech.” Moses argues with God about his ability to fulfill this Divine mission; Moses is not engaging in self-abasement, here; he challenges God’s choice in him because of a recognized lack of skills. God is not deterred; God will be with him, Aaron will be with him: God essentially says, “ you don’t have to be perfect to be a perfect leader.” But you do have to be humble.
Humility leads into the next essential quality of leadership. The Pharaohs of Egypt built great monuments to themselves. Go to Cairo and visit the great Pyramids which cost thousands of lives to build in order to entomb one, single Pharaoh after he dies. The Pharaoh’s looked out at the world and saw them. Their concern was their honor, their glory, in fact, what they considered to be their divinity. Moses grew up in the Pharaoh’s household but was different. And this is how he was different. The text says, “it happened in those days that Moses grew up and went out to his brethren and observed their burdens; and he saw an Egyptian man striking a Hebrew man of his brethren. He turned this way and that and saw that there was no man, so he struck down the Egyptian… “
What I find important about this verse is the phrase, “observed their burdens.” After he grew up --matured, became an adult, he went out and observed the burdens of his people. There is a saying: “if you want to truly know me, you have to see and understand what it is that causes me pain.” The Pharaoh looked out over his kingdom and saw no one but himself; his own needs and desires. Moses looked out over the kingdom and saw the injustice: saw human beings with heavy burdens; he saw his brethren in pain. A true leader focuses away from the self and witnesses and responds to the pain of those he presumes to lead.
And finally, a leader must honor incertitude. Moses was unsure how the people of Israel would respond to his mission to lead them out of Egypt. He asked God, “behold when I come to the Children of Israel…..and they say to me, what is [this God’s]Name? What shall I tell them?” “ And God answers Moses, I shall be what I shall be. And[God] said, “so shall you say to the Children of Israel, “I Shall Be has sent you.” Well, one might rightly ask: what kind of name is that? It doesn’t sound like a name; it doesn’t make sense. Moses is launched into his mission with uncertainty. He doesn’t understand how he is going to achieve his goal. He is unsure about the Pharaoh, he doesn’t trust his own people and now, the God who sends him is incomprehensible. Moses begins his prophesy with more questions than answers and must tolerate that uncertainty. Here is the ugly truth about leadership. No leader knows exactly what he is doing. No leader can predict the future and know what will happen as a result of any decision that is made. A true leader must fully understand that and share that with those he leads and yet remain focused on his goal. A leader or anyone else who purports to know the whole truth regarding anything is a deceiver. And if he believes it himself, he is naïve and even worse, dangerous. Leadership is a messy business. Moses understands that, shares that with his people and yet succeeds despite the uncertainty.
When I speak about Moses as a model for leadership, I am really speaking about all of us. We are all leaders in some part of our lives. At work, in the shul, as parents. We all must stand before others at some time or another and express our ideals, our vision, our goals. So the character traits of Moses: humility, a concern for others even at the expense of our own needs and accepting the fact that we don’t know everything --these characteristics are important for us in our everyday lives. They are the necessary characteristics of leadership, but they are also the necessary characteristics for being an adult; for being a mentch.
Shabbat Shalom
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Power and the Maccabbees
Power and how to use it. The Jewish people’s relationship to power is ambivalent. We see that clearly from the sacred texts we access during the holiday of Hanukah: the last day of which we celebrate today.
We light candles, exchange some presents; we have parties during Hanukah, seeing this time of year as focused mainly on children. As the sun goes down early in December, we use the Hanukiah to light our homes and bring a bit of holiday cheer to our lives.
Interesting to note, however, that this holiday is based on a deadly serious historical event and since this event, the Jewish people, particularly the Rabbis in the Talmud, have not known what to make of it.
What was the event? It happened in the second century BCE. The Syrian Greeks, led by Antiochus Epiphanes IV, trying to shore up control over his kingdom which included the Land of Israel, sacked the Temple in Jerusalem, desecrated it with pagan idols and outlawed Jewish practices. He thought by doing so, he would break the will of the Jews, pacifying them. Just the opposite happened. The Jews of that time were furious and led by a rebel of the Hasmonean household, named Judah Maccabbee, a small band of soldiers, took on the Greek army and by virtue of their prowess, and a lot of luck, beat the army of Antiochus and regained control of the Temple. Many died in this battle and most of the Hasmonean household including Judah Maccabbee would die in subsequent battles. As for the Temple, the Maccabbees cleaned it up and rededicated it on the 25th of Kislev in the year 165 BCE. The Hasmoneans would have sovereign control over the land of Israel for the next 100 years.
The first book of Maccabbees, written more than likely by a court reporter of the Hasmonean household, focuses almost entirely on the military successes of the family. If there was a miracle that happened there, it was that a small group of soldiers beat a large foreign regular army. No mention of oil. No miracle with the Temple Menorah.
So then came the Rabbis of the Talmud writing more than 200 years later, during a time of an iron-fisted occupation by the Roman Empire. They looked at the military victory of the Maccabbees and it caused them anxiety. They had seen the results of Jewish rebellion in their era, the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and the disastrous Bar Kochba revolt of 132 CE. The last thing the Rabbis wanted to see were more Jewish rebellions, leading to more slaughter, so they played down, even ignored the Maccabbean battles. In the Talmudic tractate Shabbat we read a passage about the meaning of Hanukah which discusses the of oil that should have lasted one day but ended up miraculously lasting eight. The miracle wasn’t military, it was ritual. And in the Haftorah of Shabbat Hanukah, again, selected by the Rabbis, we read the verse “Not by might and not by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord.” Military might is not necessary, implies the Talmud. God will fight for us and send us the messiah and perfect the world and our job is to believe and wait.
And this has been the Jewish way up until the 20th century. Jews lived in other countries, Jews kept to themselves, Jews did not rebel but followed the laws and the will of their host countries. There was almost 2000 years of Jews keeping a low profile and hoping for the best.
Of course, the best rarely happened in the Diaspora. Crusades, Inquisition, isolation, persecutions, massacres, expulsions and genocide. But the Jews waited none the less, as directed by the Talmud. It was just too dangerous, they thought, to fight back.
The last time, before 1948, that the Jews were in sovereign control of the Land of Israel was in the second century BCE, during the time of the Maccabbees. The last time before Zionism, with just a few exceptions, that Jews fought back to defend themselves to save their own lives, was in antiquity. How long would it be before Jews took their own fate into their own hands?
In 1980, I spent a year in Israel, taking classes at Hebrew University. Interestingly enough, our history teachers would cancel classes around Hanukah as they were all called up for reserve duty in the army. Why were they called up during Hanukah? Because during Hanukah, they would lecture to the Israeli army troops about the Maccabbees and what happened when Jews fought back. In Israel, there is a different ethic regarding the military which has influenced Jews around the world. Since 1948 and especially since the Six Day War in 1967, Jews have felt differently about themselves. We still wait for the messiah, but when necessary, we deploy an army to protect ourselves. Jews in this country become political activists to protect the interests of our people. Jews act in the world now, like the Macabbees did in their time. We are no longer passive in the face of our enemies. It is a different world now for the Jewish people.
President Obama gave what I believe to be the most important speech of his presidency thus far. When he received the Nobel Peace Prize, he did not hesitate to mention the irony of a war time president receiving a prize for peace. And he said the following, “we must begin by acknowledging the hard truth that we will not eradicate violent conflict in our lifetimes. There will be times when nations –acting individually or in concert –will find the use of force not only necessary but morally justified.” He said, “make no mistake, evil does exist in the world.”
I believe this speech is so important because it goes to the anxiety felt by the Rabbis in the Talmud and by Israel and the world Jewish community today. There is evil in this world and our people and all people must protect themselves from it consuming them. It has happened before and we must never let it happen again. Israel, as do all Democratic nations, wishes to be able to lay down their arms, dismantle their missiles, and send their soldiers home to their families. But to do so today would be an act of unforgivable naiveté and national suicide. As the President implied in his speech, this dream of world peace will probably not come true in our lifetimes.
The Rabbis in the Talmud knew that Jewish rebellion during the times of Roman occupation and repression was a lost cause. But Jews had no power then and remaining passive was good policy. That is not the case today nor must it ever be the case again. The world is very harsh on the State of Israel when it seeks to defend itself from its enemies. Perhaps the world is more comfortable with the idea that Jews are victims; they were victims for two millennia and so it should remain today.
And to that, we say no. The Maccabbees, not the rabbis, should be our model in modern times. Sometimes the careful, moral use of power is necessary and indeed, according to Jewish law, obligatory to defend one’s life. I think that is clear to our President and it is certainly clear to the State of Israel and the Jewish people. As it should be.
Shabbat Shalom and Happy Hanukah
We light candles, exchange some presents; we have parties during Hanukah, seeing this time of year as focused mainly on children. As the sun goes down early in December, we use the Hanukiah to light our homes and bring a bit of holiday cheer to our lives.
Interesting to note, however, that this holiday is based on a deadly serious historical event and since this event, the Jewish people, particularly the Rabbis in the Talmud, have not known what to make of it.
What was the event? It happened in the second century BCE. The Syrian Greeks, led by Antiochus Epiphanes IV, trying to shore up control over his kingdom which included the Land of Israel, sacked the Temple in Jerusalem, desecrated it with pagan idols and outlawed Jewish practices. He thought by doing so, he would break the will of the Jews, pacifying them. Just the opposite happened. The Jews of that time were furious and led by a rebel of the Hasmonean household, named Judah Maccabbee, a small band of soldiers, took on the Greek army and by virtue of their prowess, and a lot of luck, beat the army of Antiochus and regained control of the Temple. Many died in this battle and most of the Hasmonean household including Judah Maccabbee would die in subsequent battles. As for the Temple, the Maccabbees cleaned it up and rededicated it on the 25th of Kislev in the year 165 BCE. The Hasmoneans would have sovereign control over the land of Israel for the next 100 years.
The first book of Maccabbees, written more than likely by a court reporter of the Hasmonean household, focuses almost entirely on the military successes of the family. If there was a miracle that happened there, it was that a small group of soldiers beat a large foreign regular army. No mention of oil. No miracle with the Temple Menorah.
So then came the Rabbis of the Talmud writing more than 200 years later, during a time of an iron-fisted occupation by the Roman Empire. They looked at the military victory of the Maccabbees and it caused them anxiety. They had seen the results of Jewish rebellion in their era, the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and the disastrous Bar Kochba revolt of 132 CE. The last thing the Rabbis wanted to see were more Jewish rebellions, leading to more slaughter, so they played down, even ignored the Maccabbean battles. In the Talmudic tractate Shabbat we read a passage about the meaning of Hanukah which discusses the of oil that should have lasted one day but ended up miraculously lasting eight. The miracle wasn’t military, it was ritual. And in the Haftorah of Shabbat Hanukah, again, selected by the Rabbis, we read the verse “Not by might and not by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord.” Military might is not necessary, implies the Talmud. God will fight for us and send us the messiah and perfect the world and our job is to believe and wait.
And this has been the Jewish way up until the 20th century. Jews lived in other countries, Jews kept to themselves, Jews did not rebel but followed the laws and the will of their host countries. There was almost 2000 years of Jews keeping a low profile and hoping for the best.
Of course, the best rarely happened in the Diaspora. Crusades, Inquisition, isolation, persecutions, massacres, expulsions and genocide. But the Jews waited none the less, as directed by the Talmud. It was just too dangerous, they thought, to fight back.
The last time, before 1948, that the Jews were in sovereign control of the Land of Israel was in the second century BCE, during the time of the Maccabbees. The last time before Zionism, with just a few exceptions, that Jews fought back to defend themselves to save their own lives, was in antiquity. How long would it be before Jews took their own fate into their own hands?
In 1980, I spent a year in Israel, taking classes at Hebrew University. Interestingly enough, our history teachers would cancel classes around Hanukah as they were all called up for reserve duty in the army. Why were they called up during Hanukah? Because during Hanukah, they would lecture to the Israeli army troops about the Maccabbees and what happened when Jews fought back. In Israel, there is a different ethic regarding the military which has influenced Jews around the world. Since 1948 and especially since the Six Day War in 1967, Jews have felt differently about themselves. We still wait for the messiah, but when necessary, we deploy an army to protect ourselves. Jews in this country become political activists to protect the interests of our people. Jews act in the world now, like the Macabbees did in their time. We are no longer passive in the face of our enemies. It is a different world now for the Jewish people.
President Obama gave what I believe to be the most important speech of his presidency thus far. When he received the Nobel Peace Prize, he did not hesitate to mention the irony of a war time president receiving a prize for peace. And he said the following, “we must begin by acknowledging the hard truth that we will not eradicate violent conflict in our lifetimes. There will be times when nations –acting individually or in concert –will find the use of force not only necessary but morally justified.” He said, “make no mistake, evil does exist in the world.”
I believe this speech is so important because it goes to the anxiety felt by the Rabbis in the Talmud and by Israel and the world Jewish community today. There is evil in this world and our people and all people must protect themselves from it consuming them. It has happened before and we must never let it happen again. Israel, as do all Democratic nations, wishes to be able to lay down their arms, dismantle their missiles, and send their soldiers home to their families. But to do so today would be an act of unforgivable naiveté and national suicide. As the President implied in his speech, this dream of world peace will probably not come true in our lifetimes.
The Rabbis in the Talmud knew that Jewish rebellion during the times of Roman occupation and repression was a lost cause. But Jews had no power then and remaining passive was good policy. That is not the case today nor must it ever be the case again. The world is very harsh on the State of Israel when it seeks to defend itself from its enemies. Perhaps the world is more comfortable with the idea that Jews are victims; they were victims for two millennia and so it should remain today.
And to that, we say no. The Maccabbees, not the rabbis, should be our model in modern times. Sometimes the careful, moral use of power is necessary and indeed, according to Jewish law, obligatory to defend one’s life. I think that is clear to our President and it is certainly clear to the State of Israel and the Jewish people. As it should be.
Shabbat Shalom and Happy Hanukah
Friday, November 27, 2009
Vayetze 5770; Jacob and Personal Growth
One of the most famous dreams in all of Jewish history is described in this week’s Torah portion. If you remember from last week, Jacob and Esau had a terrible falling out. Jacob tricked his brother out of his father’s birthright and blessing and Jacob just assumed now that Esau wanted to kill him. So Jacob takes off by himself. He is headed towards Haran to take refuge with his mother’s family.
As he approaches the border of Israel, he makes camp. And he lies down presumably to sleep. He has a dream of a ladder with angels of God descending and ascending the ladder and when he wakes up, he is surprised and says, “God is in this place and I did not know it.”
The language of this story has the rabbis of the Midrash perplexed. The text says that Jacob, “v’yishkav b’makom ha hu,” he laid down in that place, and then he dreams the dream. He laid down, but it doesn’t say whether or not he actually fell asleep. Perhaps this dream was more like a vision, a waking dream.
In verse 16, the text says, “v’yikatz yaakov mi’shenato,” that Jacob arose from his slumber” to be astonished by the dream and the holiness of the place. But the Rabbis even challenge this verse as they question how Jacob could have even slepthel at all with all that was happening in his life.
Rabbi Yochanan in the Midrash says “me shenato” does not mean, from his slumber. Because even though the Hebrew word “shana” means sleep, the Aramaic word “shana” means something else. Shana in Aramaic is similar to the word mishna which means to study or to teach. So for Rabbi Yochanan, Jacob was studying Torah all night when he suddenly realized that he was in a holy place and that God was speaking to him directly.
The great Hasidic master, Rav Nachman of Bratzlav played on the words “me shenato” as well by saying that it means an “awakening” as it relates to the heart and soul. Jacob had been asleep spiritually up to that point in his life and suddenly, as he is about to lose his home and family, he wakes up to the presence of God and realizes that God is in this place; that God was with him all along and he simply did not know it.
Jacob is my favorite character in all the Bible because through the stories of the Torah, we watch him grow up. We watch him change over the course of his life. He improves himself; he grows both emotionally and spiritually. It is gradual growth; it is painful growth, but it is a genuine and lasting growth that we can all relate to and learn from.
My colleague Rabbi Michael Graetz makes a wonderful point in his writings. He says that rabbi Yochanan’s statement in the Talmud reveals a profound truth. Jacob was aroused from his studies. He was so immersed in study that he failed to see God’s presence. Even if we assume that he was studying torah, his total immersion in God’s word almost caused him to miss the presence of God Himself.
In the Talmud, we read, “ha omer, ein lie eleh torah, afilu torah ein lo” “the one who says all there is to me is Torah, misses the point of Torah and is a risk of losing the Torah all together” (Yevamot. 109b). The point of Jewish study is to tease out the will of God from sacred texts. If there is no God in one’s study, then one’s study is pointless, an intellectual exercise that bears no fruit.
And I think there is one more point one can make from this. The text says that Jacob was aroused, “mishnato,” which could also be translated that Jacob was aroused from that which he had learned, from all that he had come to believe, from his sense of certainty.
One of the great misconceptions of adulthood is that when a person becomes an adult, he or she should already knows everything there is to know. Adults hate to admit that they are unsure about something, that they have their doubts, that they just don’t know something, for certain.. And the more insecure the adult, the more that person is likely to cling desperately to claims of certainty, to, in fact, claim that he or she knows the truth and will not hear arguments to the contrary.
How many people do we know like this? Perhaps we ourselves are like this. When I started at the Alliance, a member of the congregation came up to me and said, “I have to tell you the truth rabbi. I just don’t believe any of this stuff. I know my own mind and I think Judaism is fine and all, but the religious stuff, I don’t believe in it and that is just who I am and hope you can accept me for who I am.”
I remember feeling a bit surprised by this declaration. The man was in his 40’s. He sounded to me as though he had never changed his mind or learned anything new in 20 years. How could he be so certain about Judaism? How could he be so certain about his own mind? How could he be so certain that he wouldn’t learn something new about his faith and actually change?
Jacob was a crafty fellow as a young man. He had incredible chutzpah and probably thought of himself as very clever. But his cleverness caused his family to break apart and it caused him to flee into exile. And in our parasha this morning, he suddenly wakes up. He learns something new about himself. He learns something new about God and he is astonished. God was in this place and he just never realized it.
We are all Jacob. The young men and women among us and the seniors among us, we are all Jacob. We all have more to learn and understand about God and our relationship to God. We are all asleep to God’s presence in some way. Our eyes are closed. Our minds are made up.
But the Torah knows better. We are human beings and human beings can learn at any age. We can wake up to God’s presence at any time, in any stage of our lives. We often open our eyes to God’s presence at the most astonishing times, the birth of a child, an insight during Torah studies, feeling well again after an illness, our child’s wedding, holding a grandchild for the first time. These are occasions that give us windows into God’s presence. They are times that make us certain of one thing, that we don’t know everything, that life is mysterious and will always continue to surprise us.
This is what Jacob learns as he arises from his slumber. He opens his eyes for the first time and sees God and it changes him forever.
The Torah this morning urges us not to be so sure. Don’t be so certain. There is always more to learn, always more to grow, astonishing things to see, if we would only awaken from our slumber.
As he approaches the border of Israel, he makes camp. And he lies down presumably to sleep. He has a dream of a ladder with angels of God descending and ascending the ladder and when he wakes up, he is surprised and says, “God is in this place and I did not know it.”
The language of this story has the rabbis of the Midrash perplexed. The text says that Jacob, “v’yishkav b’makom ha hu,” he laid down in that place, and then he dreams the dream. He laid down, but it doesn’t say whether or not he actually fell asleep. Perhaps this dream was more like a vision, a waking dream.
In verse 16, the text says, “v’yikatz yaakov mi’shenato,” that Jacob arose from his slumber” to be astonished by the dream and the holiness of the place. But the Rabbis even challenge this verse as they question how Jacob could have even slepthel at all with all that was happening in his life.
Rabbi Yochanan in the Midrash says “me shenato” does not mean, from his slumber. Because even though the Hebrew word “shana” means sleep, the Aramaic word “shana” means something else. Shana in Aramaic is similar to the word mishna which means to study or to teach. So for Rabbi Yochanan, Jacob was studying Torah all night when he suddenly realized that he was in a holy place and that God was speaking to him directly.
The great Hasidic master, Rav Nachman of Bratzlav played on the words “me shenato” as well by saying that it means an “awakening” as it relates to the heart and soul. Jacob had been asleep spiritually up to that point in his life and suddenly, as he is about to lose his home and family, he wakes up to the presence of God and realizes that God is in this place; that God was with him all along and he simply did not know it.
Jacob is my favorite character in all the Bible because through the stories of the Torah, we watch him grow up. We watch him change over the course of his life. He improves himself; he grows both emotionally and spiritually. It is gradual growth; it is painful growth, but it is a genuine and lasting growth that we can all relate to and learn from.
My colleague Rabbi Michael Graetz makes a wonderful point in his writings. He says that rabbi Yochanan’s statement in the Talmud reveals a profound truth. Jacob was aroused from his studies. He was so immersed in study that he failed to see God’s presence. Even if we assume that he was studying torah, his total immersion in God’s word almost caused him to miss the presence of God Himself.
In the Talmud, we read, “ha omer, ein lie eleh torah, afilu torah ein lo” “the one who says all there is to me is Torah, misses the point of Torah and is a risk of losing the Torah all together” (Yevamot. 109b). The point of Jewish study is to tease out the will of God from sacred texts. If there is no God in one’s study, then one’s study is pointless, an intellectual exercise that bears no fruit.
And I think there is one more point one can make from this. The text says that Jacob was aroused, “mishnato,” which could also be translated that Jacob was aroused from that which he had learned, from all that he had come to believe, from his sense of certainty.
One of the great misconceptions of adulthood is that when a person becomes an adult, he or she should already knows everything there is to know. Adults hate to admit that they are unsure about something, that they have their doubts, that they just don’t know something, for certain.. And the more insecure the adult, the more that person is likely to cling desperately to claims of certainty, to, in fact, claim that he or she knows the truth and will not hear arguments to the contrary.
How many people do we know like this? Perhaps we ourselves are like this. When I started at the Alliance, a member of the congregation came up to me and said, “I have to tell you the truth rabbi. I just don’t believe any of this stuff. I know my own mind and I think Judaism is fine and all, but the religious stuff, I don’t believe in it and that is just who I am and hope you can accept me for who I am.”
I remember feeling a bit surprised by this declaration. The man was in his 40’s. He sounded to me as though he had never changed his mind or learned anything new in 20 years. How could he be so certain about Judaism? How could he be so certain about his own mind? How could he be so certain that he wouldn’t learn something new about his faith and actually change?
Jacob was a crafty fellow as a young man. He had incredible chutzpah and probably thought of himself as very clever. But his cleverness caused his family to break apart and it caused him to flee into exile. And in our parasha this morning, he suddenly wakes up. He learns something new about himself. He learns something new about God and he is astonished. God was in this place and he just never realized it.
We are all Jacob. The young men and women among us and the seniors among us, we are all Jacob. We all have more to learn and understand about God and our relationship to God. We are all asleep to God’s presence in some way. Our eyes are closed. Our minds are made up.
But the Torah knows better. We are human beings and human beings can learn at any age. We can wake up to God’s presence at any time, in any stage of our lives. We often open our eyes to God’s presence at the most astonishing times, the birth of a child, an insight during Torah studies, feeling well again after an illness, our child’s wedding, holding a grandchild for the first time. These are occasions that give us windows into God’s presence. They are times that make us certain of one thing, that we don’t know everything, that life is mysterious and will always continue to surprise us.
This is what Jacob learns as he arises from his slumber. He opens his eyes for the first time and sees God and it changes him forever.
The Torah this morning urges us not to be so sure. Don’t be so certain. There is always more to learn, always more to grow, astonishing things to see, if we would only awaken from our slumber.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Toldot 5770
There is a certain satisfaction in having a good guy and a bad guy. Those of us who grew up watching television know this quite well. Think of the westerns we watched when we were kids: you had the sherrif of the town and you had the bank robbers. The sherrif was good, the bank robbers were bad and more often than not, the sheriff would catch the robbers, put them in the local jail and then more bad guys would come to break them out of the jail and so it went, western after western. Bonanza, The Rifleman, even the Lone Ranger; good and bad, clear as a gun fight at high noon.
You might think that the stories of the Torah, written almost three thousand years before the first western ever hit the big screen would portray its characters in a clear good and bad guy format. But this is not so. Our parasha this week is a good example of just that.
We have a struggle going on between Jacob and Esav , twins in the womb of their mother. Rebecca conceives and carries these twins who are causing her great pain and strife in utero as they struggle with one another to be born first. We find the rabbinic commentary on this story trying to make it into a western. Esav is portrayed as the evil one and Jacob can do no wrong. The midrash imagines that when Rebecca passes the yeshiva of shem and aver, Jacob struggles to emerge, from the womb, presumably to study some Torah. When Rebecca walks by a pagan idol, Esav tries to emerge, to worship the false gods. The midrash continues in this vein throughout the story. Jacob good and Esav bad.
But I’m not sure the rabbinic approach to this story is so accurate. These characters are both good and bad and I contend that these characters are symbolic of two sides to the human personality. And in order to be a complete human being, we need to allow expression to both aspects of who we are.
Let’s take a look at Jacob and Esav. Esav is born first “admoni kulo k’aderet se’ar,” he was earthy and hairy, “ish yodea tzayid, ish sadeah, “a man who knows how to hunt, a man of the field.” Now this immediately makes us feel ambivalent about Esav. A hunter? A man’s man; a guy who camps out in the woods and lives close to the earth as his description indicates “admoni,” a man of the earth. And Yitzchak loves him more because he enjoyed eating the meat Esav brought home to him.
And then there is Yaakov; born clinging to the heal of Esav, presumably trying to pull Esav back into the womb so he can be born first. His name Yaakov means heal; even in the womb, he tries to get the advantage over his brother. He is called, “ish tam, yoshev ohalim,” a smooth skinned man, who sat around the tents,” presumably with his mother.
When I think of these two characters, I think of Esav as Daniel Boon or Hoss Cartwright. Jacob, I see as, well, Woody Alan.
Now the story in our parasha goes on. Esav comes out from hunting in the field, famished, and Jacob, true to form, is cooking. Esav is consumed with his hunger and believes he is going to die without something to eat and sells his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of red lentil soup: again, red, like the earth. So the text then says: “v’yochal, v’yesht, v’yakom, v’yelech, v’yivez” These are five action verbs in a row: he ate, drank, arose, walked away and spurned his birthright. Esav is a man of action. He’s out in the world doing things. Conventional niceties are of no concern to him. He does was he feels is right; he is a man full of passion.
Then as the story goes, Jacob, in cahoots with his mother, tricks Yitzchak into giving Jacob the blessing of the first born that should have gone to Esav. And in a heartbreaking scene, Esav approaches his father and “cried out an exceedingly great and bitter cry, and said to his father,’Bless me too, Father” And then Yitzchak says, “Your brother came deceitfully and took your blessing.” . And Esav says, “have you but one blessing, father. Bless me too father” and Esav rasied his voice and wept.”
A man of action, a tough guy, a hunter and a man of the earth, pouring out his heart to his father whom he loves and who loves him, asking for a simple blessing. Esav is out in the world, but he cares deeply about his family.
To my mind, Esav gets a bad rap by the rabbis. What is there in the story to criticize in Esav’s behavior. He is who he is, and if any character is behaving poorly in this story, it is Jacob who is a sly trickster, deceiving both his brother and his father. And we know that Jacob is the one with questionable moral character as Jacob receives his punishment in the next parasha. He tricked his father as his father was blind and could not see. And in the next parasha, Laban tricks Jacob into marrying Leah instead of Rachel by sending Leah into Jacobs dark tent. Jacob is blind in the tent and is tricked by Lavan, just as Jacob tricked his father.
So what can we make of this story? As I see it, Jacob and Esav are two sides of one personality. All of us have both characteristics in us; we are like Jacob, smooth, sensitive, intellectual,people who create homes and use our wits to get by. But we are also like Esav: people of action; strong, passionate, trying to make a difference out in the world.
The rabbis of the Talmud favored Yaakov because they were, at the time, under the thumb of the Romans (who they attributed as descendents of Esav). The rabbis knew from experience that rebelling against the Romans would bring upon themselves, certain death and destruction. They wanted the Jews to be pacifists and live by their wits, not their brawn. And it is this Rabbinic preference which characterized the Jews throughout history; even to a certain extent, to this very day.
But I believe we need to rehabilitate Esav and express this aspect of our people’s personality, as well. Since the Six Day War in 1967, we regained our confidence as a People that we could physically protect ourselves from our enemies. No longer would we depend on others: emperors, kings, czars or the like. We created an army in Israel and for the first time since the Maccabees two thousand years earlier, we took our physical destiny into our own hands. Alan Dershowitz calls this “chutzpah.” We need no longer cower and keep quiet lest our enemies see us and persecute us. In Israel and in this country, Jews can and must act like Jacob and Esav. We can think and plan and work towards peace in our homeland and in our lives. But if it comes to self defense, particularly in the State of Israel, we must protect ourselves in whatever way is necessary.
We, as a people, are Jacob and Esav: the thoughtful and the physical. For Jews to live in this world with meaning and in safety, we need both. Shabbat Shalom.
You might think that the stories of the Torah, written almost three thousand years before the first western ever hit the big screen would portray its characters in a clear good and bad guy format. But this is not so. Our parasha this week is a good example of just that.
We have a struggle going on between Jacob and Esav , twins in the womb of their mother. Rebecca conceives and carries these twins who are causing her great pain and strife in utero as they struggle with one another to be born first. We find the rabbinic commentary on this story trying to make it into a western. Esav is portrayed as the evil one and Jacob can do no wrong. The midrash imagines that when Rebecca passes the yeshiva of shem and aver, Jacob struggles to emerge, from the womb, presumably to study some Torah. When Rebecca walks by a pagan idol, Esav tries to emerge, to worship the false gods. The midrash continues in this vein throughout the story. Jacob good and Esav bad.
But I’m not sure the rabbinic approach to this story is so accurate. These characters are both good and bad and I contend that these characters are symbolic of two sides to the human personality. And in order to be a complete human being, we need to allow expression to both aspects of who we are.
Let’s take a look at Jacob and Esav. Esav is born first “admoni kulo k’aderet se’ar,” he was earthy and hairy, “ish yodea tzayid, ish sadeah, “a man who knows how to hunt, a man of the field.” Now this immediately makes us feel ambivalent about Esav. A hunter? A man’s man; a guy who camps out in the woods and lives close to the earth as his description indicates “admoni,” a man of the earth. And Yitzchak loves him more because he enjoyed eating the meat Esav brought home to him.
And then there is Yaakov; born clinging to the heal of Esav, presumably trying to pull Esav back into the womb so he can be born first. His name Yaakov means heal; even in the womb, he tries to get the advantage over his brother. He is called, “ish tam, yoshev ohalim,” a smooth skinned man, who sat around the tents,” presumably with his mother.
When I think of these two characters, I think of Esav as Daniel Boon or Hoss Cartwright. Jacob, I see as, well, Woody Alan.
Now the story in our parasha goes on. Esav comes out from hunting in the field, famished, and Jacob, true to form, is cooking. Esav is consumed with his hunger and believes he is going to die without something to eat and sells his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of red lentil soup: again, red, like the earth. So the text then says: “v’yochal, v’yesht, v’yakom, v’yelech, v’yivez” These are five action verbs in a row: he ate, drank, arose, walked away and spurned his birthright. Esav is a man of action. He’s out in the world doing things. Conventional niceties are of no concern to him. He does was he feels is right; he is a man full of passion.
Then as the story goes, Jacob, in cahoots with his mother, tricks Yitzchak into giving Jacob the blessing of the first born that should have gone to Esav. And in a heartbreaking scene, Esav approaches his father and “cried out an exceedingly great and bitter cry, and said to his father,’Bless me too, Father” And then Yitzchak says, “Your brother came deceitfully and took your blessing.” . And Esav says, “have you but one blessing, father. Bless me too father” and Esav rasied his voice and wept.”
A man of action, a tough guy, a hunter and a man of the earth, pouring out his heart to his father whom he loves and who loves him, asking for a simple blessing. Esav is out in the world, but he cares deeply about his family.
To my mind, Esav gets a bad rap by the rabbis. What is there in the story to criticize in Esav’s behavior. He is who he is, and if any character is behaving poorly in this story, it is Jacob who is a sly trickster, deceiving both his brother and his father. And we know that Jacob is the one with questionable moral character as Jacob receives his punishment in the next parasha. He tricked his father as his father was blind and could not see. And in the next parasha, Laban tricks Jacob into marrying Leah instead of Rachel by sending Leah into Jacobs dark tent. Jacob is blind in the tent and is tricked by Lavan, just as Jacob tricked his father.
So what can we make of this story? As I see it, Jacob and Esav are two sides of one personality. All of us have both characteristics in us; we are like Jacob, smooth, sensitive, intellectual,people who create homes and use our wits to get by. But we are also like Esav: people of action; strong, passionate, trying to make a difference out in the world.
The rabbis of the Talmud favored Yaakov because they were, at the time, under the thumb of the Romans (who they attributed as descendents of Esav). The rabbis knew from experience that rebelling against the Romans would bring upon themselves, certain death and destruction. They wanted the Jews to be pacifists and live by their wits, not their brawn. And it is this Rabbinic preference which characterized the Jews throughout history; even to a certain extent, to this very day.
But I believe we need to rehabilitate Esav and express this aspect of our people’s personality, as well. Since the Six Day War in 1967, we regained our confidence as a People that we could physically protect ourselves from our enemies. No longer would we depend on others: emperors, kings, czars or the like. We created an army in Israel and for the first time since the Maccabees two thousand years earlier, we took our physical destiny into our own hands. Alan Dershowitz calls this “chutzpah.” We need no longer cower and keep quiet lest our enemies see us and persecute us. In Israel and in this country, Jews can and must act like Jacob and Esav. We can think and plan and work towards peace in our homeland and in our lives. But if it comes to self defense, particularly in the State of Israel, we must protect ourselves in whatever way is necessary.
We, as a people, are Jacob and Esav: the thoughtful and the physical. For Jews to live in this world with meaning and in safety, we need both. Shabbat Shalom.
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