Weekly Torah from Jeremy Rosen

Vayeshev

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 22:59:00 +0000

The conflict between brothers is a recurring theme in the Torah. It starts with Kayin and Havel, continues with Yitzchak and Yishmael, re-emerges with Yaakov and Esav, and now comes to a climax with Yosef and his brothers.

Yosef is his father's favorite, as indeed was Esav, but this time we know that the favorite is designated for greatness because of the dreams he gets. His father must surely have realized how much Yosef was hated by his brothers, because he knew that Yosef was talking to everyone about his dreams.

So why did he send him off alone, a long way away from home to them? Surely he might have guessed that he was putting him in an invidious position, that something might happen. Or did he, as most parents do, fail to recognize what he would rather not have seen? In other words, is the conflict between brothers something built into them? Is it their fault? Or could you say that it was the fault of the parents?

In the case of Kayin and Havel, there is no textual basis for suggesting that Adam and Chava contributed. But in the case of Esav and Yaakov there certainly was. The Torah says that Yitzchak favored Esav whereas Rivkah preferred Yaakov. And in the case of Yosef it is clear that the colored coat was a sign of favoritism.

Was this favoritism blind in Yitzchak's case? It seems so, both literally and figuratively. But what of Yaakov? The Torah says that his reaction to the dreams of Yosef was to "mark" the situation. Perhaps he felt that Yosef had a special mission and was merely carrying out a Divine plan--in which case he might have felt that God would protect him.

There is another issue however. If it is clear that one child is indeed suited to a specific role, shouldn’t a parent encourage him or her, even if it means showing some favoritism (so long as this favoritism is balanced by showing love for the other children in equal measure)?

Vayishlach

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 22:42:00 +0000

Yaakov seems to be on the run constantly (though this is tens of years after his flight from Esav). He has escaped from Lavan even though he was pursued by this acrimonious father-in-law, and now he faces his brother Esav. He had no option. He could not have stayed where he was. Now, terrified, he moves his wives and children across the river Yabok to meet Esav. He divides them up into two separate camps in the hope that if one camp is massacred the other will survive. And he is found on the other side of the river, the wrong side.

What was he doing there? The Midrash says he was collecting some pots and pans that had been left behind. But it makes just as much sense to think that he might have been having second thoughts, even possibly thinking of fleeing.

An angel grapples with him. They fight till dawn. Yaakov is "fouled", but he hangs on and only lets the angel go with a promise of a blessing. The angel tells him his name should now be Yisrael, meaning "he fights with God and God and wins". It seems that this gives him the confidence to go back and face his brother, and happily everything is settled amicably.

Some commentators talk about this incident as involving an encounter with a real angel; others see it as a dream. In modern psychological terms we can see Yaakov wrestling with himself, his own anxiety, and finally overcoming his fear. But isn't it interesting that the name Yisrael, Israel, actually implies that we are constantly in a state of conflict, spiritually and physically. Isn't this precisely the state of the Jewish people now, at odds with ourselves and at odds with our enemies? Yet this story tells us we should have the confidence that we can sort things out.

Vayeitzei

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 23:59:00 +0000

Yaakov runs away from Esav his brother. His mother (Rivkah) has told his father (Yitzchak) that the reason he is leaving is to find a wife back home, where Rivkah came from, even though we know that Esav is the problem. But of course, it is possible to combine both reasons in such a way as to repeat the experience of the previous generation. Then Eliezer, sent by Avraham, had gone back to Aram and straight to the well to find a wife. This time too Yaakov ends up at the well, but not as a wealthy man carrying camel-loads of goodies. He is poor, with only his physical strength to offer. He arrives towards evening and strikes up a conversation with the local shepherds. He enquires after Lavan, his uncle, and at that moment Rachel appears with her sheep (women had careers back then too!)

Yaakov is smitten. You might have thought that he was a weakling, for this is the image we have of him as a "tent dweller ". But he is strong enough to roll a heavy stone off the well to enable the shepherds to water their flocks, and he personally waters Lavan's sheep, in a reversal of the earlier roles.

Once again Lavan runs out to the well, but this time he is disappointed--no money, no gold ornaments--and he takes Yaakov in to work for his keep. Very different. But the similarity of the well is no coincidence. Water is the source of life and fertility. It is also the community center and the natural meeting place for strangers, as well as locals. But in practice it is a very reliable place to test character.

The Talmud says people can be judged by the way they drink, spend their money, and do or do not control their anger. When a person is thirsty, or competing for attention, the baser inner characteristics emerge. If you are thirsty and tired and can still be considerate and use what resources you have left to help others, then this is as much a sign to Rachel that Yaakov is a good man as Rivkah showed her goodness to Eliezer in a previous generation.

Toldot

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 05:04:00 +0000

This is where we are introduced to the character of Esav, the all-time baddie. The rabbis accuse him of violence, rape, murder, cruelty, and almost any crime you care to mention. We know that "Esav" or "Edom" was used in the Midrash and Talmud as a code for Rome, and they had plenty of good reasons to be anti-Roman at the time, given the aggressive way the Romans dealt with the Jewish insurrections.

But if you look carefully at Esav’s character as it appears in the Torah, he does not seem to be quite as bad as he is made out to be. It is true that he doesn’t seem to care about his birthright, but then most people when they are totally exhausted might want to revive first and think later. It is true that he threatens to kill Yaakov, but then there were extenuating circumstances. He is clearly upset when he does not get the blessing. He cries, hardly the response of a hard, bad man.

The case against Esav is that he is a man of uncontrolled impulse, a dissembler, and religious hypocrite. The very characteristics that Yaakov has, being calm and calculating, even single-minded, are qualities that suit leadership far more than emotional explosiveness.

One might think that the qualities that differentiate Yaakov from Esav would be the ones that the Talmud might have admired in Rome. The Jewish rebels seem to have exhibited the qualities of Esav rather than Yaakov. Based on the gemara in Gittin, they actually killed other Jews who disagreed with them, put violence above negotiation, and tried to bully their way over the wishes of the majority. And if you take Josephus's version of Masada, they went in for mass suicides, against halacha.

But remember that most of the religious leaders at the time of the great rebellions against Rome were not in favor of violence. Like Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai, they wanted accommodation because they saw Torah and spirituality as being more important than land and politics. It seems to me that those same lessons apply today.

Chayei Sarah

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 23:48:00 +0000

This week, the subtheme seems to be the way we speak with forked tongue! Sometimes to good effect and sometimes not. Avraham wants to buy a cave to bury Sarah. He approaches Efron the Hitite, who says that he will give it for nothing. "Besides," he says, "what is a field worth four hundred shekels between friends?" So Avraham weighs out the money and pays him. Efron was not being honest when he said he would give it for free, otherwise he would not have mentioned the exact valuation of the property. Here is a negative example of doublespeak.

Then Eliezer is sent to find a wife for Yitzchak. Avraham tells him specifically to go back to his homeland and birthplace to look for a wife, but he says nothing about going back to the family. After he has found Rivkah, he says to her family that "my master made me swear that I would not take a wife from the local tribes amongst whom I live, but to go back to my father’s house and to my family to take a wife for my son."

Did Eliezer accurately report what Avraham had said? On the face of it he did not. He clearly made out that Avraham had mentioned his family to make it seem all the more appropriate and amazing that the kind qualities he was looking for could be found in Avraham’s family. Yet Eliezer went to the well where anyone might have been, not just family. So he was slightly distorting the truth in order to persuade her family that Rivkah was the Divinely ordained wife for Isaac.

On the other hand, maybe Eliezer was reading deeper into Avraham’s intentions than the text lets on. Perhaps the art is to read between the lines and to try to understand what is being said to you on more than a superficial level. The Torah provides guidance. It is not just a book of laws and customs, but also one that helps us understand human nature better.

Vayeira

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 21 Oct 2010 23:43:00 +0000

God appears to Avraham as he sits at the opening to his tent. He looks up and he sees three men. He runs to meet them and says, "My Lord, please do not go away from your servant. Let me get some water and wash your feet and rest under the tree."

The simple meaning of this is that God appears to Avraham in the shape of three men who he sees and invites in. When he says, "My Lord, please do not go away," he is addressing the leader. And later it transpires they are messengers from another world. From this we might learn that angels are really humans acting in such a way as to actualize some Divine plan. We can all be agents of God in some way or another. Avraham clearly saw them as humans, because he offers them creature comforts.

But the Midrash puts a very different spin on this narrative. The Midrash sees the following sequence. God appears to Avraham and they are communicating spiritually, when Avraham looks up and sees three men. He turns to God and says, "My Lord, please do not go away." And then he turns to the three men and says, "Let me get some water," etc.

The idea here is that, however important God is, there are certain types of human crises or obligations that are so important that one can actually tell God to wait. Important as God is, as spirituality is, in the end it must enhance our relationship with other humans. This world we are in is predominantly a human one. This must determine our priorities. Of course, if we do not have a spiritual base to our lives to begin with, we might be inclined to a more selfish outlook. But in the end, being a good person is what God really wants of us.

Lech Lecha

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 02:35:00 +0000

This week we read about Avram, emerging as the first monotheist, the founder of our tradition. He is the first character in the Torah whose relationship with God seems to make him a better, more caring person. It is this that distinguishes him from, say, Noach.

There is a well-known tradition, not in the Torah itself, that Avram’s father, Terach, was an idol maker, and that one day Avram smashed the idols and put the hammer into the hand of the largest idol. When Terach returned, Avram said that the idol with the hammer must have done it, and Terach realized how ineffectual his job was!

Maimonides says that they were not that stupid. After all, both in Ur and Egypt massive engineering projects and sophisticated calculations were common, even before this period. The error was in the symbolism, not the reality. Even making a symbol for God can be misleading, just as endowing humans with supernatural power, the Superman Syndrome, can be dangerously illusory. So was Terach a goodie or a baddie?

If you look at the text, it seems that he, rather than Avram, started the migration out of Ur and moved up the great rivers towards Charan, which was where he dies. This is all mentioned before God appears to Avram and tells him to go to the new land he will show him. Indeed, at the end of the previous chapter it actually says that Terach left in order to go towards Canaan, and that he took his son and nephew Lot with him.

Yes, you can say that the Torah does not go in chronological order. But you can also say that although Terach might not have been as great as Avram, he did have some merit. He did start the process. And Avram does want to back to his roots for a wife for Isaac. Maybe Terach was not so bad after all and even inadequate fathers can still have a positive impact on their kids.

Noach

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 02:33:00 +0000

Noach's Flood. God decides He has made a mistake and mankind needs to be recast in a different mold. Isn't it strange that things went so completely wrong so quickly with humanity? Didn't God know in advance?

The fact is that right from the start, when Adam was told not to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge, humans disobeyed God. Of course we were given the freedom to do so, yet this does not mean that we have to make the wrong decision every time. What happened in the Garden of Eden was not usually taken by Jewish commentators to indicate "original sin", that humanity is essentially bad. Yet we do seem to keep on getting things wrong. The narrative of the Torah is trying to teach us how to do a better job.

But it is also teaching us some other principles. One is that God is patient. That He tried to see if we could manage without a detailed constitution, but slowly it became clear we humans need something more than a few simple "dos and "don'ts". Ultimately this will lead to the need for a full program for human behavior, as reflected in the Sinai revelation.

What has always intrigued me is that, for all the mistakes, God really only reacts against violence. He intervened directly with Kayin and established the principle that violence is unacceptable. Even if Kayin might have thought it nothing terrible to hit his brother, and even if he might not have realized what he had done (as he said in excusing himself later on), he and his descendants knew full well that violence was the ultimate sin. So when God decides to destroy the world, it is not because of idol worship. It is not because people aren't eating kosher or keeping Shabbat. It is because of violence (Bereishit 6:13). Or perhaps in our modern mind we might think of the end of the Neanderthals and the beginning of another human race.

But then if God saves mankind through Noach, and he was a good man, why is he not the founder of the Jewish tradition? The fact is that, good as Noach was, he seems to have had little impact on anyone else. He did not persuade one person outside of his family to join him on his "cruise". Now you might argue that God hadn't asked Noach to try to influence anyone else. But Avraham didn’t need God to tell him to argue for the lives of the men of Sodom. Clearly Noach, before and after the flood, is wrapped up in himself.

This is the issue. To help deal with aggression and violence, we must go out to try to stop, to try to educate, to try to do something before it is too late. That is one of the morals of the Noach story!

But the impact of the flood and the ark does not end there. Noach built his ark with the dimensions given in seemingly precise detail. It had three levels, and was three hundred amas long (an ama is about a foot and a half, but there are plenty of arguments about the precise measurement in our terms), fifty amas wide, and thirty amas high. Proportionally speaking, the long flat boat actually is replicated in the dimensions of the Tabernacle that would be built in the desert. So the narrative intentionally links one era to another, later one, the general human condition to the later, specifically Jewish one.

The flood is described in precise time spans. Seven days warning to get inside; Noach was six hundred years old when the flood began; the rain started in the second month on the seventeenth day; the rain lasted for forty days and forty nights; the water remained at its height for one hundred and fifty days. The ark rested on Ararat in the seventh month on the seventeenth day again. The water sloshed around until, on the first day of the tenth month, the mountaintops appeared. Then another forty days and Noach opens the ark window.

Out goes the raven and does not return. Out goes the dove and comes back. Then another seven days and the dove goes out and comes back with an olive branch. Another seven days and out goes the dove and does not come back. So in the hundred and first year of Noach’s life, on the first day of the first month, Noach takes off the covers of the ark. And in the twenty-seventh day of the second month, the earth is dry. The flood is over. One year and ten days.

It seems no coincidence that the forty days and nights echoes Moshe up on the mountain receiving the Torah and then the forty years of wandering to correct the mentality of those who were not ready to accept it. One important thread of opinion amongst the Biblical commentaries sees the Tabernacle as a direct response to the Golden Calf. Like Noach's boat, it too represents the benevolent presence of God.

So here too our scientific and religious minds get to work. Are these numbers meant to be literal, and as scientific as we like to think? Or do they contain other messages? Do we have to assume that when Noach thinks of the "whole world" it was in the same way as we think of the world today? Or should we be looking for the real, the hidden messages that numbers give us, the association of numbers with spirituality, not just science?

Bereishit

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 01:36:00 +0000

The first chapter of the Torah is a description of the creative process that brought our world into existence. The whole of the Torah was written in a language that an average person would have understood. "The Torah spoke in human language", says the Talmud in Brachot 31b. We should not be surprised if our modern mind finds difficulties in understanding words that seem modern but might have meant something different once. A "day" can have several meanings. What was a day before the cycle around the sun was established on the fourth day? And would they have understood the notion of the earth revolving around the sun thousands of years before Galileo?

But there is another important paradox in the opening chapters. In the first chapter God creates the plants and the trees, but in the second it says that there was nothing on earth because it hadn't yet rained and man was not there to till the ground. In the first chapter man and woman are created together, while in the second man is made first, is presented with animals as potential partners, and only then is Eve fashioned from the rib.

There are six creative days of chapter one, but only one in, "This is the story of the heavens and the earth on the day they were created." I understand the first chapter to be talking about the ingredients of creation and the second to be talking about relationships--humanity to nature and the animal world, relations between man and woman.

You often find an idea or a narrative in the Torah is too complex to be described fully in one version or that it requires two different viewpoints to fully describe the process. You have two versions of the Tabernacle; the first contains the basic elements, the second talks about how they function. There are two versions of the Ten Commandments, two different justifications for keeping Shabbat, the Song of the Sea is repeated in condensed form, the narrative of the Golden Calf is given twice, and Eliezer's journey to find a wife for Isaac is reported and repeated. Here the first chapter of Creation describes the contents of the world. The second describes the interactions and relationships.

Sometimes the many facets of an idea are conveyed sequentially, each new description adding an extra and important dimension. It is not that there is a contradiction, simply an expansion.

Nitzavim & Vayelech

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 01:23:00 +0000

God tells Moses that he must hand over the leadership of Children of Israel to Joshua. He then goes on to say that after Moses’ death "this people will be seduced after the strange gods of the land that it is entering, and it will desert Me and renege on the agreement I made with it ... and I will hide My face on that day"(Deuteronomy 31:18).

This simple phrase disguises a major theological issue. The Torah is not a theological document in the way that Greek philosophy would have understood theology, or indeed in the way Christian theology developed. It is not a system based on pure logic or rational reasoning. Logically, a nonphysical, supernatural force cannot have a body or moods like humans. I know there is a heated debate about whether some great Jews of the past did actually think God had a body, but we now all accept, as we sing in Adon Olam, “He has no material form and has no body.” So on that level, we do not take the Torah literally.

However, within Torah there are a series of statements about God’s relationship to humanity that have come to influence Jewish thinking. This idea of "Hester Panim", hiding of God’s "face", is one of these. Superficially, it implies that God engages with humanity on a reciprocal level. Our increase in spiritual activity acts as a sort of magnet that attracts Divine Intervention. Mystically, God interacts all the time with humanity. The problem we have is that we often do not see it or realize it. To hide a face is not to remove it, but to disguise it. So God is there all the time. It is just that we do not know how to experience God. While we live Jewish lives we have a chance to break down the barriers, through religious experience. But if we do not live a religious life, even if only superficially, then we will be less likely to establish any kind of contact. Pagan or secular life is so focused on physical targets and goals that it has no room for the spiritual.

The Kabbalists argued that God, in the absolute sense, is not subject to change. But for humans to interact with God, God has to find a way of "diluting" or "filtering" into a form that humans can relate to. This is the system of the Sephirot, the ten "Attributes" or "Emanations" that enable the absolutely infinite Ein Sof to "transform" to Shechina, the Divine Presence that we experience.

But whichever way we try to look at it, as Maimonides says, we simply cannot describe God in human terms. So "God hiding His face" should not be taken as theology. Rather it is an analogy, just as the "Hand of God" implies no dirty fingernails or the "Anger of God" implies no rise in blood pressure.

To hide one’s face can also be understood as an act of despair, of God’s "pain" at not wanting to see what stupid things we humans are capable of doing.

Ki Tavo

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 23:59:00 +0000

The whole of the forty-year experience of exodus and then wandering in the desert was intended to be a preparation for entering the "Promised Land". We know only too well what a difficult, trying, and occasionally disastrous experience it was. Nevertheless, it was a tremendous feat, holding the people together and forging a new constitution and a new national character. Finally arriving and beginning the process of settlement brought with it other challenges.

Initially an invading force reaps the benefits of what others have planted or built. But in time new crops and new buildings spring up, as the old is slowly overtaken and forgotten.

The ceremony of bringing the first fruits is designed to get the settlers to appreciate their good fortune and, at the same time, to remember the past. These two ideas complement each other. It is a principle of Jewish law that one should actually try to enjoy life. We are commanded many times to rejoice. "God does not come to a person through sadness or depression or laziness, but through joy." But it is also a principle not to enjoy anything without first thanking God.

Thanking for what? It is so easy to take things for granted. If we normally enjoy good health, only sickness makes us fully appreciate our good fortune. Unlike in other traditions, there is no concept that suffering is necessary (of course it happens and often without any clear reason) or that only through suffering can one come to appreciate good things. In Judaism one can manage pretty well without suffering or evil, if one is lucky enough to be able to live without them. But then the only way to really appreciate our good fortune is to see it as a gift from God and to be grateful for it.

The formula that we recite when we bring the first fruits is one specifically designed to get us to appreciate our good fortune. Only by referring to the past can one appreciate the present. A bit like enjoying the rewards of graduating after remembering how hard you studied beforehand. Sometimes one needs to appreciate how far one has come materially since earlier generations struggled to survive. This is as true of post-war generations as it was of post-Exodus generations. Some things haven't changed over four thousand years.

Ki Teitzei

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 19:08:00 +0000

"The Torah recognizes the power of temptation." This is one of the responses of the rabbis to the law about a captive woman. War brings out the worst (and occasionally the best) in us. So the Torah allows for a soldier under conditions of war to take a woman captive. But then there is a whole procedure to go through before he can give in to his lust (some disagreement as to whether first time or second) and finally he must marry her and make "an honest woman" of her.

The next episode concerns a man with two wives--one beloved and the other not. He cannot favor the sons of the preferred wife over the seniority of the children of the hated one. And this is followed by a law about a son, out of control, who threatens his parents.

Rabbinic tradition sees these as sequential for a good reason. If marriage is based only on lust then the relationship is bound to falter and may indeed turn into hatred. Check out the story of the rape of Tamar, King David’s daughter, by her half-brother. A loveless marriage is bound to affect the children, and this in turn leads to loss of respect, rebelliousness, and a breakdown in normal family life.

The Torah does indeed recognize human frailty. But at the same time emphasizes that there are consequences. Our actions and their motives certainly have an impact, for better or for worse!

Shoftim

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 15:00:00 +0000

In this week's Torah portion, there is the commandment to appoint a king. It is only mentioned here, not previously in the Torah, and it is phrased in an unusual way.

"When you come into the land which the Lord your God gives you, and you inherit it and settle it, and you may say, 'I want to appoint a king like all the other nations around me', then you may indeed appoint a king whom your God will choose."

The Torah then goes on to lay down conditions. He mustn't have too many wives (in case they distract him), or too many horses (lest he take people down to Egypt in search of more wealth), and he should always be subject to the Torah and not "above the law".

The question is whether monarchy is a necessary requirement of halacha. If so, why did Samuel get so angry when the people asked him to appoint a king? The usual reply is that the motive was wrong. Samuel argued that having God as the Supreme King was enough. Why want a human figurehead? Yet here in the Torah it says very clearly that even if the motive is the most non-Jewish motive of wanting to imitate pagan nations round about, they may still go ahead.

Actually, the motive of wanting to be like the other nations is relevant here specifically. The issue then becomes simply one of self-defense. They felt that having a supreme military commander might help them deal with the outside world better. Of course after the Saul failure it worked for awhile, but then descended into petty rivalry after Solomon. So why do we want to see King David and a monarchy restored?

I think it is just nostalgia, the dream of a time when we controlled our own destiny and King David was the boss and no one else. But now? I do not approve of the hereditary monarchy and would not want to see one. Either Elijah will come and decide we don't need the monarchy or I will have to change my mind.

Re'eh

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 00:46:00 +0000

Amongst the fascinating laws in this week's Torah is one that is particularly relevant. If a prophet or a dreamer emerges from amongst the Jewish people and performs miracles and uses these to get the Jews to abandon their God, then one is not allowed to listen or to pay any attention to the miracles themselves. This is simply a test to see how loyal we are to God and to the set of commands given to us through Moses. There in Chapter 13 is as clear a message as one could possibly wish for to refute any claims by Christians or "Jews for Jesus" that we can fulfill our spiritual destiny as Jews by rejecting or abandoning our tradition or by accepting a false prophet.

Interestingly, the passage does not say that magic might not work, just that we should not pay any attention. Miracles function to reinforce a prior commitment, not establish a new one. The message is the medium, tricks have their roles but they are secondary. Indeed the whole function and nature of miracles is downgraded by this passage. All our prophets sought to reinforce commitment to the full range of Torah principles--ethical, spiritual, ritual, and civil.

This does not mean that ours is the only religion and the only way that God communicates with humanity. There were other prophets amongst the rest of the world, and prophets from our tradition to the nations. The Torah assumes that other nations and traditions will coexist with ours, from Ishmael onwards. Even before Sinai, Avraham relates positively to Melchizedek of Shalem, a Priest to El Elyon. There are indeed many paths to God, and others may have equally high ethical and spiritual traditions.

But our tradition is our heritage and anyone trying to attack that fundamental cannot possibly have anything of value to say to us or to add to what has already been given.

Ekev

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 18:48:00 +0000

This week’s reading sounds just like our worst nightmare of a cheder teacher. "Do this, because if you don't God will punish you and your family and lightening will strike you down as soon as you break the laws of the Torah." I guess many of us were threatened with force or punishment by parents or teachers or both and so we react very negatively when we are threatened. It is the worst possible way of getting us to do something. So why does the Torah try this tactic? Is it just for the poor, simple barbarians who would not understand any other language? Surely we should do things because we want to and because they give us pleasure or meaning or something important to our lives, not because we are scared.

I certainly agree we should serve out of love rather than fear. But fear really should mean respect. In fact "fear" is the wrong word, the wrong translation, and sends the wrong message. But "respect" is an altogether different issue. If I really love someone I should respect him too. It should be automatic. If I know that something is offensive to someone I care for, then I should try to avoid it.

Moses is so profoundly committed to Torah, not just because he has experienced God, but also because he has come from a different world and has experienced other societies and civilizations. He has seen what Egyptian society has done to the Hebrews and to others. Despite its scientific and industrial achievements, it was a morally sick society where human life was disposable.

The more passionately Moses felt about the new religion and the new constitution, the more he felt he needed to stress its importance. It was out of his passionate love that he threatened. It was his way of conveying what he cared about. His words were ways of showing how much he cared, and as a result how much he wanted his people to care too. And if they cared for him or wanted to remain loyal to his memory, what was expected of them. The threats were simply ways of conveying to them how much it all mattered to him.

Va'etchanan

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 15:21:00 +0000

This week’s reading includes the second version of the Ten Principles (misleadingly called the Ten Commandments). If you remember, Moshe came down from Sinai the first time, saw the Golden Calf, smashed the tablets of stone, and eventually went back up and received a second copy. This version differs in several relatively minor ways from the first. The principles are the same but there are interesting variations in the wording.

The most interesting one is that in the first version the instruction to keep Shabbat is phrased as "Remember" the Shabbat because God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. In the second version, read this week, the instruction is to "Keep" the Shabbat because we should remember that we were slaves in the land of Egypt. Why the differences?

One explanation of the two words "Keep" and "Remember" is to suggest that they were identical and meant the same thing. The word "Remember" should involve "keeping" and vice versa--otherwise what is the value of remembering? And indeed what is the value of keeping if not for a greater and Divine purpose?

But in truth there is a similar parallel between Creation and the Exodus. Creation implies that there are two levels to life--the active, working, material six days, which need to be combined with a spiritual dimension. The concept of withdrawal from society, not becoming dependent on the material alone, is essential for a balanced life, being part of the material world but having something more.

Slavery means being entirely at the beck and call of another human. It is another side of a material world, dominated by work and the absence of self-determination. Being free means that we are able to control more of our lives.

Of course we are all determined and controlled to some degree. But the measure of spirituality is the extent to which we can add another dimension and be fuller humans, precisely because we can combine work with spirituality.

So in fact both explanations add up to the same idea. Participate in society and be part of the material world, but try to add something more. Try to express freedom by living a fuller life. For that is what we were created for, the maximum self-expression, not just the physical.

Devarim

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 15:02:00 +0000

The last book of the Torah is a sort of last will and testament by Moshe before he dies. It is a repetition of the essential message of the Torah, its laws and the spiritual content of Jewish life.

Moshe starts by describing the sequence of events that led from Egypt to this moment, when, overlooking the Promised Land and knowing that he will not lead the people into it, he prepares the people for the future.

Why the need go over the events that they had lived through? The last time the people were about to invade, forty years earlier, there had been a major crisis. The people were clearly not ready. Moshe wants to make sure that the same thing doesn't happen this time.

But then why the need to repeat and to add some extra laws that were not mentioned the first time round? One could argue that it was just a matter of emphasis and shifting priorities. In the light of Moshe's experience over forty years, it is natural that he should focus more on matters of kingship, leadership, organization, and administration than he did in Exodus, when there were other priorities.

There is nothing wrong in shifting emphasis. Consider the phases Judaism has gone through: kings, prophets, and priests. We have worshipped in Tabernacle, Temple, study houses, and synagogues. We have been exiled to the four corners of the earth and lived under different regimes, religions, and cultures. Different aspects of Torah have assumed greater or lesser significance. The crucial issue is that the tradition remains faithful to its essential spiritual and ethical message.

And that is why Moshe keeps on reiterating in his final speeches the importance of the words tzedek (righteousness), tov (good), and yashar (noble), all words which emphasize that, important as the law is, there are moral, ethical values that underpin it, that if we forget them we will have lost our mission and our true soul.

Matot-Masei

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 14:12:00 +0000

The Midianites presented a major threat to the Children of Israel. They had rejected any form of compromise or accommodation. Balak of Moav, an ally, had brought Bilam the magician to try cursing. When the supernatural did not work to stop the advance of the Children of Israel, the Midianites turned to sexual tactics.

Actually, there is a tradition that they did so on the advice of Bilam, which would be another mark against him but doesn't seem to follow the text which has Bilam accepting that what God wants, He should get. Having experienced the special relationship between God and Israel why should he try challenging the clear will of an Almighty power he accepted? Unless you assume that, like Satan in the Book of Job, he had been "given permission" to test the Hebrews.

The Midianites sent in their sexy women. And they were hugely successful, not just sexually but in seducing many of the Hebrews into idolatry and the worship of Baal Peor. "Peor" literally means defecation. The orifices of the body were used as part of religious worship. Defecation and sexuality coming from a similar physical source are then equated within the framework of religious worship. Peor is known for its temple whores and the requirement that every woman be prepared to prostitute herself as an act of religious submission.

Of course, this approach to life fundamentally contrasts with a spiritual one in which the physical is restrained and combined with a different dimension. The fact that chieftains, the most senior level of the Hebrew hierarchy, were seduced to the point of publicly defying Moshe meant that the threat was a very real one. But does this justify the extent to which in this week's reading the Children of Israel were commanded to purge themselves of this evil influence? Even to the point of having to purify the vessels and cutlery of the Midianites?

This indeed is the origin of our custom of kashering and toveling (immersing in a mikvah) vessels and implements used for food. This origin underlines another important dimension of kashrut; we need to combine the physical with the spiritual.

We do not reject physical pleasures, but our tradition requires us to see them as part of wider, deeper, spiritual world.

Pinchas

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 23:02:00 +0000

This sedra includes the approach of Tzelafchad's daughters to Moshe regarding the matter of female inheritance. Their father had died and there were no sons. This meant that when the allocation of land was going to be made in Israel their father's family would lose out, because land was given through the males. (We may argue that this was unfair, but bear in mind that in Britain females were allowed to inherit only in late Victorian times, and in Switzerland they were given the vote barely thirty years ago).

Moshe does not know how to respond, so he consults God. This is interesting in itself because it implies that there were laws that Moshe did not know about even after the Sinai revelation. Moshe returns with a ruling: Where there are no male descendents, then women may inherit.

However, the law was qualified to restrict marriage to someone within the tribe. The reason was that otherwise the land would then follow the tribe of the husband and could create an imbalance in tribal property. This way each tribe would retain the proportion of the original allocation. The Torah does not specify this. What is made clear is that any tribal land that was sold outside of the tribe could be redeemed by a member of that tribe within the Sabbatical or the Jubilee periods. Otherwise, the land would automatically return with the 50 year Jubilee. (It seems originally that everyone was supposed to marry within the tribe. The Mishnaic festival of the 14th of Av is the anniversary of a decree allowing "intermarriage" beyond the tribal boundaries.)

There is an implicit principle in all this that no one should acquire too much of or a monopoly over lands. Of course this applied at a time when tribal land was relevant, which ended with the first exile. Similarly, the function of the Jubilee required conditions--the Sanhedrin, the Temple--that no longer apply, so we are left with the concepts and ideas that can have relevance even though the commercial world has changed.

Balak

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 23:02:00 +0000

Bilam is a fascinating character, reviled in the Midrash and yet described as a prophet of the nations of the world. On the face of it, he has a relationship with the Divine which seems to be a positive one. When Balak sends representatives to ask him to go and curse the Children of Israel, he makes it very clear that he must get permission first. God appears to him and has a conversation. Asks who the visitors are and tells Bilam not to go with them. It looks as though there is a pretty close relationship. And Bilam does as he is told.

Then more important messengers come back with a higher offer and again Bilam demurs and goes even further, "Even if Balak would give me his house full of silver and gold I could not go against the word YHVH, my God." Seems pretty conclusive. Indeed, he uses the name YHVH unlike Melchizedek who used EL ELYON.

That night God appears again and this time tells Bilam to go with the messengers, but only to say what is put into his mouth. Bilam gets up to go, but on the way an angel blocks the road, and only Bilam's donkey can see it. Bilam can't see the angel, so he doesn't know why the donkey has stopped. Finally, the donkey opens its mouth and explains why it can't go on. This time it appears the donkey is closer to the forces of Heaven than is Bilam.

The angel finally appears to Bilam and tells again to go on but only to speak as he is told.

On he goes. He gets to Balak, he asks for seven altars to be built and sacrifices offered. God puts words into his mouth that praise Israel rather than curse. Later on God appears to Bilam directly (using a rare word VAYIKAR which could also imply ACCIDENT) and again tells him what to say.

Finally, "Bilam saw that it was good before God to praise Israel, so he no longer turned to the spells he had before…and the Spirit of God rested upon him."

Here lies the clue to Bilam's negative side. To begin with, God was just one of the "forces" he used, related to, or served. God played with him the way he played with Pharaoh, and finally Bilam was able to see the difference.

Chukat

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 18:59:00 +0000

The notion of purity in the Torah is a very complex one. In Western Society we associate notions of purity with physical purity. Impure means "dirty", pure means "clean". But this is not how the Torah sees the idea. After all, in this week's reading the agency of purity is the ashes of a red heifer and yet anyone involved in preparing them becomes impure. This doesn't make sense.

Firstly, it must be said that the purity we are talking about is simply being in an appropriate state to participate in Temple ritual. In the ordinary way of things, most Jews would have carried on a perfectly normal existence throughout the year and across the world while being in a state of "ritual impurity". This would have had no effect whatsoever on, say, the daily life of say a rabbi in Babylon or a rebbetzin in Rome or a Dayan in Worms. The fact is that most humans are in a state of ritual impurity all the time, and indeed at one stage the rabbis actually made a law to the effect that the soil of the Diaspora was ritually impure. (Louis Finkelstein argued that this was to protect the Israeli pottery industry! Reminds one of current commercial practices.)

It was only if one were a priest that this would be a daily problem, because you couldn't eat tithes or other sanctified food in a state of impurity. But for the common and garden Israelite it was only relevant if you wanted to go and visit the Temple. Yes, three times a year there were mass pilgrimages, and tourism existed in those days too. So the real issue was not a negative one of suggesting that we were all dirty, but rather a positive one that suggested that if one wanted to elevate oneself, to go up to the Temple, then one had to go through a very serious process of preparation and purification. Perhaps "elevation" would have been a better word to use, but the effect is the same. The symbolism is what really counts.

Korach

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 23:34:00 +0000

Most people remember the Korach story for the earth opening up and swallowing up the protesters. The "grave" consumed them, and I guess this must be one of the origins of the notion of Hell being a place down in the pit of the earth where bad people end up.

But there is another amazing event associated with the rebellion. One of the objections was that Moshe had given the best jobs to members of his closest family. So Divine instructions were given. Every prince of each tribe was given a wooden staff and the name of each tribe was written on the staff. Aharon presented the staff on behalf of the tribe of Levi. The staffs were placed in the Tent of Assembly overnight. The following day only the staff of Aharon had sprouted blossoms and almonds. The idea of the supposedly dry and "dead" wood coming alive, so to speak, was confirmation that Aharon's appointment had a higher authority than Moshe. Of course this would not have completely satisfied Korach, because he too was from the tribe of Levi. Nevertheless it was a pretty impressive confirmation.

This image of the "shoot" sprouting is used much later on in the Bible by Isaiah in Chapter 11: "And a branch shall sprout from the stock of Yishai and blossom from its roots." Here of course he is referring to the House of David whose father was Yishai. He is looking forward to a new king emerging who will impose justice and fair government. The quote goes on with the famous phrase, "And the wolf will live with the sheep and a leopard will play with a kid."

Jewish commentators always assumed this was a reference to King Hezekiah, who brought about a religious revival not, as Christians suggested, to someone coming six hundred years later. Virtually all prophetic predictions were relatively short-term. The wolf and the lion are symbols of aggression, and the sheep of a passive or quieter person. No one was expected to believe that lions would actually change their eating habits to consume straw. But, differences apart, the flowering staff became a symbol of Divinely approved leadership. Perhaps this where scepters originated.

Shelach Lecha

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 20:03:00 +0000

The signs of trouble were there all along. Everyone has been organized in marching formation ready to invade. We know soon they are going to panic and ask Moshe to send in spies. But at this moment there is no challenge to the invasion scenario. Moshe asks his father-in-law, Yitro, to come with them into the new territory and to merge; the famous phrase that is used in our synagogues when we open up the Ark, is the signal to advance.
Then things go wrong.

People start complaining and fires start burning around the edge of the camp. They cry out to Moshe and in he steps as the fire chief to damp things down. Then they start grumbling about their diet and get nostalgic for the wonderful food they had back in the Egyptian work camps. This time Moshe has had enough. Public office in the Jewish community is getting to him. He calls on the seventy elders to help. Eldad and Medad start prophesying independently and then Miriam and Aaron complain as well.

Clearly morale is low. It is not surprising that they want reassurance. God’s word is not enough. However religious we may sometimes feel, we are practical people. The project of the spies was doomed from the start because the circumstances under which they were sent were unstable. The people needed reassurance. But the reassurance they needed was that they would have an easy ride, no hassle. And life just isn’t like that; even the easy things need working at.

So if you are thinking of going on aliyah, you’ll get help and some very favorable concessions. But don't assume it will all go simply and easily without a few hitches. All good things are worth fighting for and it helps if you have the right attitude, a positive one, before you go.

Beha’alotecha

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Thu, 27 May 2010 23:11:00 +0000

The command is given to make a candelabrum of seven branches in the Tabernacle. A detailed description has already been given to Betzalel much earlier in Exodus and now that the Priesthood has been established and Aharon and his sons have been "dedicated", they are commanded to make sure that lights should burn on this "menorah" perpetually.

The Seven Branched Candelabrum became the national symbol and was far more widely recognized, and for longer, than the Star of David. Historians and archaeologists still argue as to the origin of the Star of David, but the candelabrum is certainly our earliest recognizable national symbol (as opposed to the symbols of the individual tribes).

Yet even here there is plenty of disagreement. Most of us were used to the representation of the menorah from reproductions of the sculpture on Hadrian's Arch, which depicts the victorious Romans carrying off booty from the sacked Temple in Jerusalem two thousand years ago. The branches are curved and the base is solid, as opposed to the Biblical instruction for there to be "legs". And in recent years Lubavitch has made a feature of using the straight angular-branched version that Maimonides mentions "though the vast majority of the other commentators and experts disagreed.

Then there is the issue of how many lights and for how long they were lit. The Torah is ambiguous, on the face of it. The full seven lights were lit to coincide with certain public ceremonies. The wicks were arranged so that they all pointed towards the center. But the western most light alone kept burning all the time and this is the origin of the Ner Tamid, the Eternal Flame, that burns in front of the ark in synagogues today.

Chanukah is the commemoration of the period under Greek rule when the Temple was desecrated and only Judah Macabee's interventions allowed the Temple to be rededicated and the menorah to be relit.

But of course on Chanukah we have an eight branched candelabrum. There has always been a ban on trying to replicate Temple artifacts. As a result some people do not call this eight-branched Chanukah candelabrum a "menorah", but a "Chanukiah".

The eight-branched is the most popular; most Jewish homes have one. But the seven-branched one is the one and only authentic original.

Naso

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Jeremy Rosen) — Fri, 21 May 2010 04:20:00 +0000

One of the stranger laws of the Torah is that of the Nazir. A person could decide to be stricter than the law required and take on extra burdens, like Samson who let his hair grow and never had it cut (until he fell for the wrong woman).

The most common act of self-denial was to give up alcohol (you couldn't go against the Torah in your vow, so giving up sex, supposing you were married, was not an option and your wife could sue for divorce if you did). The reasons for self-denial could vary but it was a personal decision. You could decide in advance how long you wanted this period of abstinence to last and then you had to stick to it because it was a very serious religious obligation.

Nowadays we do not take too much notice about the vows we make. "If I pass this exam, I promise to a) be nice to my parents, b) give up smoking, c) eat kosher." Or, "If this deal comes through I’ll give 10% to charity." And even if we do begin to keep the vow, we rarely keep it up. Almost no one takes commitments seriously any more.

After the Nazir finished his (or her) period of denial, he had to bring a Sin Offering to the Temple. Why a Sin Offering? After all, he has just come through a period of being better and holier than the Torah requires--he should be rewarded not punished. But the Talmud says that it is not automatically a good thing for a person to deny himself a pleasure that is allowed in the Torah. It is hard enough keeping those basic rules we have been given without trying to be over-strict.

I've always been amazed by this. Most people think that being more religious is automatically better. But the Torah seems to indicate that it is a rather risky business to be too pious. Besides, the pleasures of life are there for us to enjoy (obviously, with moderation). The message is that life should be enjoyed and the truly religious person should take pleasure from life rather than being somber, self-denying, and negative.