On Beit Shemesh, Values, Gender, and Violence

We always cause the problems from within.  Yes, that is true of us Jews.  We are often our own worst enemy.  But realizing this does not make it any less painful when you are in the midst of it occurring.

The violence and protests currently going on in Beit Shemesh, a religious community outside of Jerusalem, is frustrating and terrifying.  I am terrified of the violence that is going on.  And I am frustrated at the negative press towards religious Jews and, by extension, Judaism.  But mostly, I am saddened by the way my Jewish brothers, religious Jewish brothers are acting.  Violence towards Modern Orthodox elementary school girls?  Throwing stones at police for allowing women a place in the public sphere?  Setting fire in the streets to show your anger at immodest women?

Where is this in Judaism?  Where is this in Pirkei Avot?  Do the Rabbi's endorse this behavior?  The ethics and morals that Judaism introduced to the world - where are they in your actions, my Hareidi brethren?

Just a few short weeks ago we read of the Rape of Dinah in the Torah.  She was treated as a possession.  She was to be "given" as a wife for a bribe and had no say in the matter, according to Shechem and Hamor.  But her brothers stuck up for her!  Shimon and Levi in particular - a mere two men! - stood up for her and struck down those who had taken advantage of her.  Why today, when just a few of many are protesting, acting violently, mistreating and suppressing women, why today can not the many stand up against the few?  Why are the leading rabbis of these communities unable to stand up in the face of intolerance?  Why is the man next door unable to tell his neighbor what he is doing is wrong?

I think, perhaps, this is hitting home a bit harder than normal for me because of an experience my sister had this summer in Mea Shearim while visiting me in Jerusalem.  Typically, I would be one to point out the positive aspects of the Hareidi community; I would remind everyone that this group is indeed a minority; I would show how much good religious Jews have done in the world.  But, for some reason, I don't feel that way anymore.

"If I am not for myself alone, who will be?  And if I am only for myself, what am I?  And if not now, when?"

I feel, as sad as it is, that if I don't speak up, who will?  Not the rabbis at Eda Chareidit in Israel who oppose government, military, and secular-job participation of Orthodox Jews.  Not the rabbis of Agudath in America that tell abused children to consult their rabbi rather than going to the police to avoid publicity.  Unfortunately, not many yet in the communities where the violence is taking place.  And it is not just the violence against women in Beit Shemesh, but also the sexual abuse of children in Burrough Park, and the rock-throwing in Mea Shearim, and the degradation of homosexuals throughout

So here I am, for what it is worth, here to remind whoever will listen that Judaism is a religion of tolerance.  Yes there are laws and standards, yes we are obligated by the mitzvot.  But life and safety and human dignity are vital to the core of Judaism.  Without this, even a Hareidi Jew is but an empty shell.

Parshat Vayigash: Messiah vs. Messiah

<Unfortunately a busy week has left this thought under-developed.  I hope to return to it more in the future.>

Last week’s Torah portion left off in an awkward position.  A cliffhanger, to say the least.  (Were the Rabbi’s the first ones to use this device to get an audience to come back?)  We were in the middle of a conversation between Yosef and his brother Yehuda.  This week’s parsha, Vayigash, picks up right where we left off.  The two opposing parties, the two brothers, continue their confrontation – a confrontation of the progenitors of the two Moshichim (messiahs) that we are awaiting in the future.  According to the Vilna Gaon, Moshiach ben Yosef will bring about Tikkun Olam, a rectification of the world, and Moshiach ben David (a descendent of Yehuda) will bring about Tikkun Adam, a rectification of one’s self/the spirit of man. 

In the interaction of the two biblical figures in Vayigash, we can see different elements of the messiah surfacing in each of them. 

First we have Yosef, the man whose descendent will bring about a rectification of the world.  He has been called “Yosef the dreamer,” he has been praised for recognizing God indiscriminately throughout all his highs and lows, and remaining a man of God in a place of idolatry.  With all of these attributes of Yosef, it may seem odd that the more physical of the two messiahs is destined to come from Yosef.  But Yosef himself recognizes this, after revealing himself to his brothers:

It was to save life that God sent me ahead of you.  It is now two years that there has been famine in the land, and there are still five years to come in which there shall be no yield from tilling.  God has sent me ahead of you to ensure your survival on earth, and to save your lives in an extraordinary deliverance.  So it was not you who sent me here, but God.  (Bereishit 45:5-8)

It is physical hardship that God sent Yosef to guard his brothers, Egypt, and many other lands against.  Joseph, a spiritual person, was not destined to spend his life learning in yeshiva or reciting psalms.  He was meant, in addition to maintaining his devotion to God spiritually, to show his devotion through physical measures.  In Yosef we can see a merging of Rav Soloveitchik’s Adam the First and Adam the Second, which are, after all, just two personifications of one being.  Yosef is naturally inclined toward the spiritual nature of Adam the Second, but is able to engage the Adam the First, the physical necessity within him, when it is needed and meld the two together.  Unleashing the Adam the First within him does nothing to diminish his Adam the Second nature – it only adds to his entire being.   

In Yehuda we also see this melding, but in reverse.  Yehuda – the ancestor of Moshiach ben David – seems more inclined towards Adam the First.  But, if Adam the Second is suppressed, this can be dangerous.  Yehuda doesn’t allow Yosef to be killed, but he proposes he be sold into slavery.  He is the first brother the Torah tells us “sees” a woman and marries her.  And after she passes away, he sleeps with Tamar who he takes for a harlot on the side of the road.  He gives in to his physical desires more so than his brothers, seemingly leaving the path of the righteous by forsaking his spiritual side.  But between last week’s parsha – where Yehuda takes responsibility for his younger brother Benjamin – and this week’s parsha – where he makes good on his promise to Ya’akov to look after Benjamim – Yehuda has a spiritual awakening.  Adam the Second comes to life, reigning in the Adam-the-First-gone-wild part of Yehuda.  And so Yehuda leads the redemption of himself and his ten brothers, who have finally repented and felt true remorse for their actions against Yosef and shown that they have changed their ways. 

There is a Jewish idea that two individuals in every generation have the potential to be the Messiah, but there is a piece of the Messianic capability within each of us.  Based on Yehuda and Yosef, our potential is not wrapped up in what inherently emanates from us, but locked up in what is, at first, a less natural part of us.  But in fact what remains hidden is oftentimes what constitutes our essential selves – our goal is to discover what that is and use it in our work to perfect our self and do our part in bringing about a better world. 

Parshat Mikeitz: to Understand and to Act

There are many ways to connect the dreams of Ya’akov and Yosef, but I saw an interesting idea pointed out by Moshe, blogging on the parsha at ToratMoshe, that was particularly interesting for me.  He notes that Yosef, unlike his father, actually saw his dreams come to fruition.  He was given a clarity that Ya’akov never was.  But with this clarity was also an obligation to bring it about.  Moshe writes the following:

The Zohar says that a dream un-interpreted is like a letter unopened: the message is there, but has no effect until it is read.  But even Prophecy is merely a signpost.  It says: if you take this road, this will be your destination.  But it requires that we actively take the road.

How does Yosef embody this?  How does he actively “take the road?” 

Moshe proposes one answer: he sees his own dream from parshat Va-yeishev come true when his brothers bow down to him on their trips to Egypt.  After Yosef confrims that, indeed, his dreams are a reality, he realizes that he does have a level of prophecy and insight into the future.  And he decides to take an active role in setting up the long term history of the Jewish nation.  How?  By imprisoning Shimon.  Why is this necessary?  Because Shimon and Levi are the closest of the brothers.  They are bonded in a way the others are not; it is they who schemed together against Shechem and Hamor; it is they who most care for the well-being of their sister Dina when she was raped; and it is only by separating them that Yosef can be assured all the brothers will return to Egypt to redeem the brother he takes captive. Yosef knows that Levi would not abandon Shimon.  [I like this interpretation, but am not sold on its validity.  After all, it is Reuven and then Yehuda who stick up for Shimon and take the responsibility for their brothers later in the story.  That does not mean Levi did not play a role, as obviously not everything is recorded in the Torah, but it might imply that Levi’s role ranked third at best.] 

I have another answer in addition to Moshe’s: Yosef actively takes the road with Pharaoh’s dreams as well.  Moshe points out elsewhere that the Torah doesn’t say Yosef was the only one that could interpret Pharaoh’s dream.  On the contrary, the dream was understood by Pharaoh and all his advisors.  The phrase the Torah uses – ein-potar – means in a Talmudic sense that the advisors couldn’t resolve the difficulty.  They knew a seven-year famine was coming but didn’t know how to stop it.  That is what was unique about Yosef – he interpreted and acted on the dream.  So we see in regards to two different dreams, Yosef can be seen to interpret and actively involve himself in creating the necessary (good) outcome. 

Based on this understanding, it can also be understood why the same three Torah portions (Yayeishev, Mikeitz, and Vayigash) are always read around Hanukkah.  As Rav Mordecai Elon describes, Hanukkah is the precious jewel (my words, not his) of the Oral Torah.   It is where Talmudic logic and the innovation of the Jews is at its finest.  Hanukkah is a completely Rabbinic holiday, codified nowhere in our bible.  Even Purim – with Megilat Esther – is in the bible.  But the book of Macabees…it is not found in Tanakh.  Rather, it is an innovation of Torah by the Rabbis.  Hence, we say a bracha (blessing) when we light the Shabbat candles: Blessed are You Lord, King of the Universe, Who has commanded us….  We say “Who has commanded us” despite that fact that it was in fact not God, but the rabbis who created the mitzvah of Hanukkah, because it shows the active role that we must take in the evolution and creation of Torah.  Perhaps these rabbis learned this important lesson from our forefather Yosef in this week’s parsha, when he took an active role in preventing mass starvation and in helping his brothers learn to stick together as one. 

But it is also important to remember a balance of innovation and faith, of submitting to the fact that, quite frankly, we often just don’t understand so many things that take place in the world that we live in:

The tribes were involved with the sale of Yosef;

Yosef was immersed in mournful thoughts about his separation from his father;

Reuven was involved with mourning over his sin;

Ya’akov was mourning for Yosef;

Yehuda was busy taking a wife for himself (Tamar);

And the Holy One, Blessed be He, was busy creating the light of Mashiach (the messiah).

-          Bereishit Rabbi 85:2

No matter how bad or crazy or wrong things seem, God is still there and God still is watching over us.  And somehow, someway, in the end we will realize that yes, indeed, everything that we might not understand today is, nonetheless, a part of His plan. 

Take an active role in what you can.  Creatively apply and innovate the Torah; create your own chiddush (insight) just as Yosef and the Rabbis of Hanukkah did.  But also humbly recognize that we simply can’t know everything.  Nor, I might add, would life be nearly as rewarding if we did. 

Hanukkah & the Lights of Judaism

I am very fond of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s analysis of the two personalities of man (from Lonely Man of Faith), as represented by the two Adams in the two different stories of creation.  “Adam the First” is oriented towards dominating his environment: he is commanded to ‘fill the earth and subdue it’ and his goal is to ‘harness and dominate the elemental natural forces and to put them at his disposal.’  This manifests itself in the professional, political, and physical side of us.  “Adam the Second” is of a more spiritual nature.  He needs a faith community where he can have an internal connection with his self, other people in his community, and God.  Both of these desires are inherent in all of us and we can only reach our potential if we recognize both.

I am going to focus on our spiritual half, the half that is more of our essence, by focusing on the aspect of candles in Judaism, as the week of Hanukkah is the only Shabbat in the Jewish year that we light two different sets of candles – the Chanukkiah and the Sabbat Candles.  I would also like to combine these two lights with a third, always burning light: the Ner Tamid, or Eternal Light that is above every Aron Kodesh (ark containing a Torah scroll).  I believe that if we understand the significance of these three physical lights in spiritual terms, we can understand a part of the essence of our religion. 

Beginning with the Ner Tamid, it is our modern representation of the continually-burning Menorah in the Temple; this Menorah was traditionally seen as the symbol of Judaism.  This light represents the eternal nature of the Torah.  While everything in this world fades away or comes and goes in cycles, the Eternal Light communicates to us that the light of the Torah never dies – the Torah has a timeless importance.

But what is the deeper meaning, the true significance, of the Ner Tamid?  The majority of our observances are to some extent symbolic, and the Eternal Light is no different.  It has a much more important and practical significance.

This significance is highlighted by the lighting of the Shabbat candles.  The relationship between the two lights – the Ner Tamid and the Sabbath candles – is simple, yet of deep importance to us as Jews.  The Torah is the foundation of Judaism: in it, we can find our beliefs, our values, our lifestyles, our customs, and our traditions.  And the Ner Tamid represents the eternality of the Torah.  This light is never rekindled because its flame never dies.  Shabbat candles, however, must be lit every week and last for only so long.  But they represent a beautiful moment when we are transitioning from our hectic week in to the tranquility of Shabbat.  And this moment provides us the ability to connect to the Ner Tamid, to the Torah, to our tradition.  The Torah is the light of the world, but the way it enters the world is through our mitzvoth, through our deeds.  The lighting of the Shabbat candles represents this connection, and is a sign of the power that we have to bring the Torah into our lives, and into the world, through our positive actions.

We have a saying from our sages that says “Ki ner Elokim nistmat adam – the candle of God is the soul of man.”  Shabbat is the one day every week on which we get to light candles and physically depict the light of our soul.  But this week, we also get to light an extra set of candles for Hanukkah.    

The Hanukkah candles call us to remember the miracle of one-day’s worth of oil lasting eight days, but what is the meaning?   We are supposed to place our menorahs in our windows to publicize the miracle, but do we really just want everyone to remember that oil lasted longer than expected?  Hanukkah is also a story of religious freedom, of the ability to maintain one’s culture and values.  I would say that when we reflect upon the Hanukkah candles, we should also be remembering the importance of freedom from persecution and be gratefully for where we are today.  (For other interpretations, wait for my next post.)  Yet the candles do not merely recall the past.  They also call upon us to look inward.  They beckon our souls, our own inner flame, to fight against oppression that is going on in the world, in America, and even in our own communities today.  I believe the light of the Hanukkah candles can represent our calling to be a “light unto the nations.”  At the time of Hanukkah, we are called to remember the oppression we were put through, and have been put through many times throughout history.  But we also must use this memory to fight against it happening again – not just from happening to us, but from happening to anyone.  When we lead this fight, we will be fulfilling a part of our duty to be a “light unto the nations.”

But what about the rest of the year, other than Shabbat and Hanukkah, when we do not have these candles?  As modern Jews, we must struggle to maintain our identity, and many of us even struggle to understand what our identity as a Jew means, or what we want it to mean to us personally.  Ultimately, it is up to us individually to decide how we practice and indeed, if we practice.  But this struggle that we go through of how to practice our Judaism and how to maintain a commitment to Judaism is our challenge as Jews in the modern world.  It is a challenge largely of identity, a challenge similar to a major theme of Hanukkah: are we acculturated Jews or assimilated?  Where do we draw the line?  How important is Judaism to us?  And each of us will probably have a different answer to that question.

But this Shabbat, as we are worshipping in front of all three types of candles, we can understand some of the fundamental values of Judaism which, I believe can help us to better understand and connect to Judaism.  Ki ner Elokim nishmat adam – the candle of God is the soul of man.  These three lights are meant to awaken our soul.  It all begins with the Ner Tamid, the eternal light representing the timeless wisdom and value to be learned from and built upon the Torah.  Secondly, we have the Shabbat candles, which in their ideal state represent a culmination of our week.  A culmination of all the work we have accomplished and, we can hope, the value we added to society, the tikkun that we took part in during the week.  Thirdly, the Hanukkah candles evoke our memory of suffering and joy of religious freedom, while also reminding us of the importance to not let persecutions persevere today.   

We are all blessed with a divine spark, a spiritual side.  As Rabbi Soloveitchik says, we cannot deny this part of our existence or relegate it to a secondary role, if we are to achieve our full potential in life.  In Judaism, when we light candles we are embracing this spiritual side of ourselves by calling God, the Torah, and generations of Jewish teachings into our lives.  By embracing this side of us, we transform our otherwise mundane life into a holy life.  The candles symbolize the release of our divine spark into the world.  Ki ner Elokim nishmat adam – the candle of God is the soul of man.  But only we have the power, though our everyday actions, to elevate our soul and to manifest it within the flame of the candles we light. 

Shabbat Shalom v’Chanukkah Sameach .

Parshat Vayeishev: The Man That Changed Our History

At last year's Koach Kallah - a conference for college Jews based in the Conservative Movement - we were asked to discuss our favorite biblical character as part of an icebreaker.  It was part of a creating and fun activity, and to be honest I don't even remember my own answer to the question.  But I have not forgotten the answer of the rabbi leading the ice breaker.  His favorite man in biblical Judaism was someone without a name, some simply call "Ish - a man."  This character seems to be of little importance, he is only mentioned once and a mere three verses of the Torah (in this week's parsha) include him.  So why is he so special to this rabbi?  Because it shows you the power of each individual.  This one nameless man both changed the course of history and showed a sense of compassion for his fellow man that we can all strive for. 

A man found him [Joseph], and behold - he [Joseph] was blundering in the field.  And the man asked him saying: What do you seek?

And he said: I seek my brothers.  Tell me, I pray thee, where they are feeding the flock.

 And the man said: They are traveled from here, for I heard them say: "Let us go to Dothan."  And Joseph went after his brothers, and found them in Dothan.  (Bereishit 37:15-17)

This man, a random man with no connection to Joseph, just happening to be in the same place at the same time, noticed Joseph was lost.  He wasn't oblivious to the people he was passing, nor did he ignore them when he noticed they needed help.  What do you seek?  Nothing earth-shattering, just a simple sense of awareness and caring for someone that was "blundering in the field."  The simplicity of this act, the rabbi said, was something that had always touched him.  How different our world would be if everyone was able to notice what was missing in the people around us - to take a moment to help make it better, to set someone back on the right path.  To listen to what they need instead of telling them what they need.  Such small things that change someone's life, and in the case of this ish, it also changed the course of Jewish history.  In a way, it even led to Judaism's existence: the ish told Joseph where to find his brothers for whom he was searching, and they sold him into slavery in Egypt after he found them.  Joseph's life was radically changed; and so the foundation of our path toward redemption and matan Torah - the giving of the Torah, began.  What would have happened if ha'ish had not crossed paths with Joseph?  If he had not taken the time to see if he could help Joseph?

It is really amazing how much of a difference such a small act can make.  The Talmud says (Sanhedrin 4:5) that "whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world.  And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world."  We are all a world unto ourselves, we are all our own living and breathing Torah.  We can use it to be a blessing or a curse, as we are repeatedly told by Moses after the scene of the giving of the Torah later in the Torah.  We can make someone's life whole or shatter it, and we may not even know it as we are doing it.  But with this in mind we must realize the impact that even our small actions can have - both positively and negatively - and strive to always be a blessing, to always do our part of make someone's world whole. 

Parshat VaYishlach: When Prayer's Collide

Bereishit (Genesis) 32:25-32

And Jacob was left alone and there a man wrestled him until the break of dawn.  When he [the man] perceived he could not overcome him, he struck the socket of his hip.  So Jacob's hip-socket was dislocated as he wrestled with him.

Then he said: Let me go, for dawn has broken.

And [Jacob] said: I will not let you go unless you bless me.

And he said to him: What is your name?

He replied: Jacob.

He said: No longer will it be said that your name is Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God (Elokim) and with men, and have prevailed.

And Jacob asked him, and said: Tell me, I pray thee, your name.

And he said: Why is it that you ask after my name?

And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: For I have seen God (Elokim) face-to-face, yet my life was preserved.

And the sun rose upon him as he passed over Peniel, and he limped upon his thigh.

  Wow.  How much is there contained in these eight short verses!  Like Ya'akov's dream last week, there is so much mystery and yet so much meaning.  The mystery, in a way, even creates the meaning.  It allows our tradition -- from the Sages until today -- to interpret and reinterpret the story in ways that are always relevant, always able to speak to the spirit of the age.  Artist and poet Charles Baudelaire said during the formative years of Modern painting: One must be of one's time.  This is one aspect of Judaism I particularly love -- our ability to take old verses and apply new meaning.  The ability to be constantly relevant is certainly, in my mind, one of the greatest uniquenesses of Judaism; one of the key factors in our ability to rebound and thrive no matter how much we have been held down by the rest of the world throughout history. 

Back to the parsha.  Who is this man that Jacob wrestled with?  Our sages say an angel, but if so, which angel and why?  What does it mean that Jacob wrestled with God and men?  Based on the confrontation of Jacob and Esav that was set up in the preceding verses and finished in the succeeding verses, I will give an answer to these questions.

And the messengers returned to Jacob, saying: We came to thy brother Esav, and moreover he cometh to meet thee, and four hundred men with him.  (Bereishit 32:7)

This caused Jacob to fear for the life of all those traveling with him.  He had fled from Esav twenty years earlier and based on his entourage it appears that Esav's desire to murder his brother remains.   So Jacob takes action.  He strategically separates his camp so that if attacked, not everyone will be killed, not everything will be lost.  At least some have hope of surviving.  Only after doing this does Jacob turn to God in prayer:

And Jacob said: O God of my father Avraham, and God of my father Yitzchak.  O Lord, who said to me, "Return unto thy country, and to thy kindred, and I will do good with you."  I am not worthy of all the mercies, and of all the truth, which Thou hast shown unto Thy servant; for with my staff I crossed the Jordan and now I have become two camps.  Deliver me, please, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esav.  For I fear him, lest he come and smite me, the mother with the children.  And Thou said, "I will surely do thee good, and make thy seed as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude."  (Bereishit 33:10-13)

I have heard Jacob's prayer criticized for the first sentence -- not stating that it was also his God -- and for not taking place before he made arrangements for his camps.  But I don't understanding this reading or interpretation.  Jacob humbles himself before his God.  He admits an error he may have made.  He speaks out of fear for his life, for the uncertainty of what will happen next.  How can we criticize the genuine prayer of someone that is praying from a spot that we have not been in ourselves?  And, just like Avraham going to Egypt, we must exhaust the resources God has put in front of us to help ourselves instead of relying on blind faith; Jacob did so.  The way that Jacob's prayer is read, however, is of little relevance to what comes next -- for certainly Jacob's prayer reached the gates of heaven and was received by God.  And that night, came Ya'akov's struggle.  Why did it come that night, just after his prayers?  Perhaps because he was not the only one praying.  Perhaps because his prayers were in conflict with another's.  Perhaps because while Ya'akov was praying for his camp's safety, Esav was praying for success in his 20-year old mission to murder his brother.

There is, of course, a big variance in the moral worth of these two prayers.  But that does not mean that both were not directed to the God of Isaac and Abraham, the father and grandfather of both pray-ers.  Certainly God hears all prayers -- those of Jews and those of non-Jews; those that are selfish and those that are caring; those of the righteous and those of the wicked.  All prayers are received in heaven - those like the prayer of Ya'akov and those like the prayer of Esav.  [Could this be similar to the prayer of the Jews for peace in Israel today vs. the prayer of the Muslims for the destruction of the Jewish state and people?]  And what happens when the prayer of the two twins collided?  Esav was destined to be a great man, a man of the field but a man who feared God while working in the field.  He was supposed to marry Leah (see Rashi's commentary).  Jacob was supposed to be a man of study, the spiritual compliment to his brother.  He was destined to marry Rachel.  The two were supposed to live in harmony, but things did not turn out that way.

"And Jacob was left alone and there a man wrestled him until the break of dawn."  The mysterious man was an angel - the angel created by Esav's prayer.  And the prayer of Jacob collided with the prayer of Esav.

"When he [Esav] perceived he could not overcome him, he struck the socket of his hip.  So Jacob's hip-socket was dislocated as he wrestled with him."  And Esav realized that he would never be able to overcome his brother, Jacob.  So Esav, gathering his remaining strength, inflicted what damage he could unto him.

"Then he [Esav] said: Let me go, for dawn has broken.
"And [Jacob] said: I will not let you go unless you bless me."  And Jacob wanted his brother to recognize that he had not just won a physical victory.  'Not by might, and not by power, but by [God's] spirit' (Zecheriah 4:6).  Jacob had won a victory endorsed by the heavens. 

"And he [Esav] said to him: What is your name.
"He replied: Jacob.
"He said: No longer will it be said that your name is Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God (Elokim) and with men, and have prevailed."  No longer shall your name be called Jacob, for you have not only physically overcome me when you took my birthright (Bereishit 25:29-34) and when you took my blessing of the firstborn (Bereishit 27).  You have also beaten me spiritually, in heaven, with the approval of God.

"And Jacob asked him, and said: Tell me, I pray thee, your name."  Why did Jacob ask the name of his own brother?  For he could hardly recognize him, for it was not until now that Esav recognized the Divine will.  It was here that Esav recognized and accepted that he would never overcome Jacob; and he blessed Jacob, recognizing his brother's righteousness, and began the process of teshuva (a "return" to a God-driven life).

"And he [Esav] said: Why is it that you ask after my name?"  And he said, 'Please do not gloat over me.  I have submitted before you, recognized that you are to be destined for greatness over me.'  So Jacob did not inquire further.

"And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: For I have seen God (Elokim) face to face, yet my life was preserved."  And Jacob was grateful for the blessings he had received, for the fulfillment of his prayer, for being favored in the eyes of God.

"And the sun rose upon him as he passed over Peniel, and he limped upon his thigh."  And as the day came Jacob still carried with him the limp - the sadness - that victory had to come at the expense of his brother.

Parshat Vayeitze: Jacob's Ladder

Our third patriarch, Ya'akov (Jacob), has always been my favorite.  No matter how one approaches the Torah he is a fascinating character.  His surface actions, the family drama, his wives as sisters, the mystery hidden behind it all.  He is the (grand)son of the "first Jew" and the father of the twelve tribes of Israel.  In all the detail we have about him, this week's parsha, Vayeitze, contains one of my favorite visuals:

And he (Jacob) dreamed, and behold, a ladder set upon the earth and the top of it reached to heaven.  And behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.  And, behold, the Lord stood beside him and said, I am the Lord, the God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac.  The land whereon though liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed.  And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread out to the west and the East, and to the north and the south.  And in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed.  And, behold, I am with thee, and I will keep thee wherever though shalt go, and will bring thee back into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of.

And Jacob awakened out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not!  And he was afraid, and said: How full of awe is this place!  This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven."  (Bereishit 28:12-17)

The innermost chamber of Jacob's soul seems to have been released; it pulsates through his being - body, mind, and soul - giving him the ability to see and feel a deeper reality than the physical one in which we live.  According to some sages this vision is one of ideal prayer, which has the ability to raise us to the heavens for a time before settling us back in our earthly reality.  "Prayer is the utmost.  Without God in sight, we are like the scattered rungs of a broken ladder.  To pray is to become a ladder on which thoughts mount to God to join the movement toward God which surges unnoticed throughout the entire universe" (Heschel, Man's Quest for God, 7).  It is this 'unnoticed' force that suddenly and unexpectedly hit Jacob.  The Lord is in this place, and I knew it not!  Jacob, our forefather, the man who emanates tiferet (spiritual beauty, the combination of loving-kindness and justice; see here) didn't realize God's presence.  Yes, of course he knew of God through his family, he understood his existence and lived his life in awe and fear of God.  It was finally here as a grown man, that Ya'akov actually felt the presence of God in the world.  How often do we, too, go through life knowing something, believing something, but without taking time to feel it?  Or how often do we focus too much on a lack of belief, the ridiculousness of belief, that any chance to feel is sacrificed?  Those overwhelming, precious moments are often quick, few and far between, but they can hit in the most unexpected circumstances as they did with Jacob.

[As an aside, it is interesting to note that Jacob may have been the first person to have an experience that millions upon millions have since experienced: that of being at the Kotel/Western Wall.  Of course the Wall wasn't there at the time, but that is where Jacob was - the site of the future Temple in Jerusalem.  The innate holiness of the place was not created by the Temple being built; it was much older.]

 And, our Sages ask, why is it that the angels are ascending and descending?  Don't they start in heaven, in which case they would be descending and ascending?  To Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, we are the angels in Jacob's vision.  "Prayer is a ladder and we are the angels."  We, like the angels, can reach the gate of heaven.  We can reach spiritual heights that take us there.  But we also start with our feet on the ground.  Our aspiration is to rise up, to stretch upward and experience moments where we feel as if we are in the heavens.  Perhaps in these moments we really are in the heavens, spiritually.

Yet the ladder is not just a route to heaven, but also a route to earth.  This is a circular ladder and those upon it are in continuous motion (Ibn Ezra).  Angels of God were ascending and descending on it.  Or, perhaps, the ladder is not a route to both, but rather represents the length at which a human can be stretched.  "Our feet touch the earth because we are undeniably human and should have no illusions that our spirituality will separate us from all beauty and suffering our humanity brings.  But, without negating for an instant the realities of our humanness, each of us is endowed with the gift of spirit, so that we can climb the ladder of the soul to reach its heavenly heights" (Alan Morris, Climbing Jacob's Ladder, 24-5).

And we must not forget: no matter where we are on the ladder -- high or low, ascending or descending -- God is beside us (Bereishit 28:13).  Where is God?  Wherever you let Him in (Kotzker Rebbe).  He is always waiting.

Parshat Toldot: Valuing Our Blessings

As is common in the book of Bereishit, we have another sibling rival begin in the weekly parsha, Toldot, between Ya'akov and Eisav (Jacob and Esau).  The differences between them are many, both on a physical and spiritual level.  And the differences are not just based on how these two figures morphed into characters in Jewish tradition, through the mouths and minds of our sages and midrashic authors.  Yitchak and Rivka (Isaac and Rebecca), the parents of these twins, are expanded upon in Jewish tradition but the Torah itself has relatively little to say about them.  Ya'akov (and Eisav), however, have much more ink devoted to them in the Torah itself.  I think this is important for many reasons, the first being the God Himself found everything in the Torah to be worthy of being put to paper.  Additionally, Ya'akov is the first person to have all monotheistic (Jewish) offspring - a key aspect to all generations of Jews.  He is also able to embody the greatest elements of his father and grandfather, gevurah (strength/judgement) and chessed (kindness).  Ya'akov is associated with the attribute of tiferet (beauty), the union of gevurah and chessed.

In this week's parsha, Toldot, we are introduced to Ya'akov and learn a lot about him through his rivalry with his twin brother, Eisav, and the way he interacts with his mother and father.  What I would like to focus on is the different values of Ya'akov and Eisav as seen through how they value the blessings of their father.

In the first few verses of the Torah portion, Rebecca feels pain from the twins struggling in her womb and she asked God about it.  God responded with a prophecy for Rebecca: 

Two nations are in your womb, two separate peoples shall issue from your body; one people shall be mightier than the other, and the older shall serve the younger. (Bereishit 25:23)

It is not until the end of the portion that this prophecy comes to fruition, when Rebecca takes action to ensure that the younger son gets his father's blessing (which was supposed to be reserved for the firstborn Eisav).  In the meantime, however, we learn about the birthright of the firstborn, which Eisav sells to Ya'akov for a bowl of soup.  It is often translated that he bought it because he was "hungry" or "famished" but the Hebrew - ayeif - also means "tired."  He sold his birthright for a bowl of soup because he was too lazy to prepare something for himself.  According to the Midrash HaGadol, it was also not just any bowl of lentils -- it was food that  Ya'akov was preparing for his father, Yitchak, who was mourning the death of Avraham.  It was this bowl that Eisav greedily asked for, and Ya'akov reluctantly sold for the birthright and then prepared another for his father.   

Eisav cried out (25:32): 'Why do I need the birthright?!'  

The Heavenly Voice echoed: '...Why do you need the blessing?'  (Midrash HaGadol 25:32)

The disregard, the lack of value, which Eisav showed to the birthright is contrasted very strongly with the importance it had to Ya'akov.  The birthright was the right (and obligation) of the firstborn to look after his family -- his parents when they were old, his siblings when needed -- and carry on the family name in good standing.  But Ya'akov was the one in the home, consoling his mother and father, not Eisav.

At the end of the parsha, however, the situation is quite a bit different.  Eisav does not give up his father's blessing; rather, Rebecca and Ya'akov deceive the now-blind Yitchak into giving it to Ya'akov.  So Yitchak blesses Ya'akov:

May God give you of the dew of heaven and the fat of the earth; abundance of new grain and wine.  Let peoples serve you, and nations bow to you.  Be master over your brother, and let your mother's sons bow to you.  Cursed by they who curse you, blessed be they who bless you. (27:28-9)

And with that, Rebecca's prophecy from the beginning of the parsha comes true.   But Eisav does not respond with the same "who cares" towards losing the blessing as he did when he sold the birthright.  [Note that many commentators do recreate Eisav's words as of an evil nature; I do not think this is the natural reading from the text itself.]

'Bless me, even also me, my Father!' he cries (27:34).  'Is he not rightly named Jacob, for he hath supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright and behold, now he hath taken away my blessing...!'  Hast thou not reserved a blessing for me?!' (27:36).  And when Yitchak does not seem to have reserved a blessing, Eisav weeps (Midrash Tanchuma 2): 'Hast thou but one blessing, my Father?  Bless me, even also me, my Father!' (27:38)

Yitzchak does indeed have a blessing that he gives to his elder son.  But what I think is more important is the sense of despair we can sense in Eisav when he realizes that he has lost what was his.  We hear the echo of the Heavenly Voice...Why do you need the blessing?...and realize that it was a culmination of Eisav's past actions and slighting of the birthright that led to the blessing being taken from him.  It was not so much stolen as lost; Ya'akov and Rebecca didn't take it out of spite for him and greediness for themselves.  Rather it was because Eisav did not deserve it and Ya'akov had proved he did deserve it.  Yet I can still sympathize with Eisav in this moment.  Only when he has lost everything does he realize how valuable it was.  Like Adam and Chava in Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden), only once they ate from the forbidden tree did they realize how precious the life they had truly was.

This is something we can all conceptually understand but it is hard to really implement in our lives: we know the most important things in our lives, what is the "right" or "best" way to live.  We know that family and religion and friends are the highest priority in our life.  But during our day-to-day lives it is not so easy to always make choices that reflect what we know is ultimately the way we should be.  Work and school get in the way; we let our temper overtake us too often, get annoyed by those who only mean well.  Ya'akov, however, (like his grandmother Sarah),was always focused on the blessing in his life - his family and God.  Even when he later was manipulated into seven extra years of servitude to Lavan in order to marry Rachel he did so without complaint.  He focused on the blessings in his life, and those to come in the future.  For this reason Ya'akov was deemed worthy of the birthright and the blessing.

As an addition this week: in honor of this 17th yartzeit (anniversary of his death), I'd like to mention Reb Shlomo Carlebach.  He was another, more recent, figure that embodies a Ya'akov-like person.  He emanated inner tiferet, beauty.  His spirit and energy brought so many people closer to God; lifted up so many souls that were down.  'His message was Torah and his vehicle was music,' his daughter said.  His music transformed the Jewish world and helped bring thousands upon thousands of Jews closer to Judaism.  His reach didn't end there, though.  Hundreds upon hundreds of homeless people crowded the streets of New York for his funeral, showing their respects to someone who made their lives meaningful when most people wouldn't even spare them a second glance.  In the words of his other daughter, he showed that "it wasn't just the religion, Judaism was everything, God was everything.  And by allowing God into your life you allow yourself to open up."  The starting point is Shabbat: Mizmor Shir l'Yom haShabbat.

Parshat Chayai Sarah

Rather ironically, what I found most interesting in this week's parsha, Chayai Sarah - the Life of Sarah, was the related commentary about Hagar...Avraham's "other" wife, the mother of Ishmael, and Sarah's former maidservant. 

I know admittedly little about her, and quite frankly, she is not a huge focus of the Jewish tradition.  She is mostly known today as the "mother of the Arabs."  In other words, not exactly someone to be associated with positive things.  But after Sarah's death she returns to Avraham's life. 

Then Avraham again took a wife and her name was Ketura.  (Midrash HaGadol 25:1)

And the sages tell us that Ketura is Hagar.  Sarai and Avram were not the only biblical figures who merited a name change.  Hagar became Ketura after she was expelled from Sarah and Avraham's house because, according to Pirkei d'Rav Eliezer:

1. She had refrained from being with other men after leaving Avraham (the root of her new name, koof-tet-reish, is also the root for lock, as in "she locked herself up")
2. Her deeds became as sweet as incense, ketoret.

What is most interesting, however, is how Ketura and Avraham were reunited. 

"And Isaac came from coming."  And where did he go?  To the well of the living One who sees me he went, to bring Hagar, the one who was sitting near the wel and said the One who lives forever has seen my shame.  (Genesis Rabah, 70)

It appears, according to at least one interpretation of this verse, that the well is the one which Hagar found in the desert after fleeing from Sarah's house.  Isaac went to bring Hagar back to his father to atone for his mother, Sarah's, wrong treatment of Hagar when she threw her out of the house she had lived in for so long.  I think that these teaching from our sages have a very important impact on us today.  They show that even our non-predecessors (non-Jews) have good traits that we should admire and recognize.  They also show that even our most vaunted forefathers and mothers (as in this case) did in fact make mistakes; we should not rationalize away or ignore these mistakes but recognize them as such and learn from them as Isaac and our Sages did.

Parshat Vayeira

My initial reading of this week’s parsha, Vayeira, left me with a weird feeling based on some intriguing similarities to Lech Lecha, last week’s Torah portion.  Could it be that Avraham, our great forefather, the founder of monotheism, had areas of weakness where we can learn as much from his mistakes as his virtues?  Here are the three big similarities between the two Torah portions:

1. Sarah and Avraham tell people they are brother and sister, resulting in a king “taking Sarah” – Pharaoh last week, Avimelech this week.  Why didn’t Avraham learn from last week?
2. Avraham has a cattle/land/water dispute – first with Lot and now with Avimelech.  Is he careless in doing business with others?
3. Avraham saves his nephew, Lot.  This is a virtuous act both times, no doubt about it, showing loyalty and care for others. 

The majority of our tradition explains and rationalizes any seeming faults in Avraham’s behavior; but this is not satisfactory for me this week.  Last week is understandable: Pharaoh and Egypt represent a lot of impurity and immorality.  I can reasonably believe that Avraham was the better man, he was the man in the right and Pharaoh was running a corrupt society, with he himself leading the immoral actions that people there committed.  But this week is different: in Vayeira, Avraham is not dealing with Pharaoh or Egyptians, but with Avimelech of Gerar – the king of a land that seems to be just and righteous  - the land in which Avraham will raise Isaac.  So why, again, does Avraham call Sarah his sister so that she is, again, the object of a king’s affection?  (As an aside, I'm guessing Sarah didn't wear a hair covering because that would've made it obvious she was married.)

I struggled to understand this, and I was not able to dig up a lot of comparisons between the two parshiyot.  But I did come across some comments of the Ramban, who (alone among the great Torah geniuses we study today) has same very harsh woods about Avraham.  In Lech Lecha, he comments on the following verse:

If the Egyptians see you and think “she is his wife,” they will kill me and let you live.  Please say that you are my sister, that it may go well with me because of you, and that I may remain alive on your behalf.  (Genesis 12:12-13)

Ramban: Know that our father Avraham sinned grievously, albeit inadvertently, in placing a sinful obstacle in the path of his virtuous wife because he feared for his life….  He should have trusted in the Lord….  Also, his departure from the land (of Canaan) because of the famine was a sin [because God didn’t command it] and therefore it was decreed that his descendents would be exiled to Egypt by Pharaoh.”

According to the Ramban, Avraham made two big mistakes: leaving Canaan, where God had led him to; and putting his wife in an awful situation.  So what does the Ramban say when the incident with Sarah happens a second time:

Avraham said of Sarah his wife, “she is my sister.”  So King Avimelech of Gerar had Sarah brought to him. (Genesis 20:2)

Ramban: [Avimelech was] innocent and just and his people as well are good, but Avraham suspected them and would say to everyone ‘She is my sister.’

According to Ramban, Avraham doesn’t pay attention to his moral surroundings but suspects everyone to be as lowly as the Egyptian culture.  But the Torah text itself does not appear demeaning of Avimelech.  He did nothing wrong.  And not just did he do nothing wrong, he was a man who knew God.  God came to him in a dream to tell him of his sin and pending death for taking a married woman.  Avimelech replies to this claim: O Lord, will You slay people even though innocent?  He [Avraham] said to me ‘She is my sister!’  And she also said, ‘He is my brother.’  When I did this, my heart was blameless and my hands were clean.”  And God agrees that he was innocent!  Avimelech is not an immoral, sexual monster without regard for a woman’s well-being.  As Keren Yishai points out the text says that “Avimelech arose early in the morning” to return Sarah to her husband…just as Avraham “arose early in the morning” to sacrifice his son Isaac, to God.  Just as Avraham wanted to do God’s will as quickly as possible, so did Avimelech want to do what was right in the eyes of God with haste. 

But where does this leave us?  What do we make of Avraham’s actions?  Or, maybe, we are putting too much emphasis on Avraham.  Sarah is also an integral character.

Immediately after the story with Avimelech concludes, we read:

The Lord took note of Sarah as He had promised, and the Lord did for sarah as He had spoken.  Sarah conceived and bore a son to Avraham in his old age, at the set time of which God has spoken….  Sarah said, ‘God has brought me laughter; everyone who hears will laugh with me.’ And she added, ‘Who would have said to Avraham that Sarah would suckle children! Yet I have borne a son in old age.’ (Genesis 21: 1-2, 6-7)

God gave Avraham ten tests, the final one being to sacrifice Isaac.  Could it be that Sarah, our foremother, also had her faith tested?  Could it be that one (or two) of her tests was how she dealt with being in the house of Pharaoh and Avimelech, in danger of committing adultery? 

I am not aware of this stance being taken by any Torah commentaries, but I would like to propose that it was not just Avraham that was tested before being granted a son through which the Jewish nation would begin.  After all, Avraham alone could not father and raise the would-be Isaac.  An equally faithful, upright, smart and caring woman was needed.  Sarah too was tested: being uprooted from her homeland, her generosity in preparing for guests, the pain of seeing her maidservant give birth to her husband’s child, the fright of being taken to the houses or Pharaoh and Avimelech.  Sarah and Avraham both needed a superhuman amount of internal strength to live through the ups and downs that God dealt them.  We, the Jewish people of today, do not come solely from an extraordinary man but also from an extraordinary woman. 

Good Shabbas Everyone!

And for the most mind-blowingly awesome discourse ever (literally!!), see this awesome essay that takes a different route in understanding why Avraham said “she is my sister” in both of the last two Torah portions.