Sunday, October 24, 2021

From Text to Tradition: A History of Second Temple & Rabbinic Judaism (Lawrence Schiffman)

According to Jewish legend, the First Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed in 586 BCE and the Second Temple in 70 CE, on the same day of the Jewish calendar. 

We Jews mark that day, Tisha B'av, every year, in memory of the two destructions, as if nothing happened in between. 

That elision is certainly consistent with how I learned Jewish history. In my education, there was a big blank between the return from the Babylonian Exile and the conquest of Jerusalem by the Roman general Titus. 

Only the Maccabean revolt was stuck in the middle (the way Chanukah is stuck in the middle between the fall holidays and Pesach in the spring).

For someone like me, then, From Text to Tradition : A History of Second Temple and Rabbinic Judaism does a great service.

I picked up this book while I was taking part in a 929 daily discussion of the Tanach. We had reached the biblical books of Ezra and Nehemiah, and I was confused. Who were these people, and how did they relate to some of the figures I'd read about earlier in Zechariah (Zerubabel and Joshua ben Jehozadak)? Who were the Jews who never went into Babylonia? What were people from other countries doing in Judea now? And who were the Samaritans, and why was there (what seemed like) sibling rivalry between them and the Jewish leaders?

Schiffman clarifies many of these points and makes me want to learn even more about them. He goes on to talk about Jewish life during the age of Alexander the Great and his successors, especially the Ptolemies in Egypt and the Seleucids in Syria, not only in the holy land but all around the Middle East. In Judea itself, he briefly addresses the conflicts between high priests and Hasmonean monarchs (descendants of the Maccabees)--and among the members of the royal family themselves. 

An aside: Why, I wonder, have there not been as many novels about the Hasmoneans as about the Tudors, or the Medici? The rivalry in the court of Salome Alexandra is certainly as dramatic as the politics under Elizabeth I. There is fertile ground here for fiction writers!

Schiffman purports to be writing a history of Judaism, not Jews, during this period. Repeatedly, however, he makes the point that you cannot understand how Jewish thought and practice evolved without paying attention to the social and political pressures that shaped it. 

This seems especially true for the period just before the destruction of the Second Temple. Knowing what was going on between different "political parties" in Judea and their relations to Hellenism, to Roman rule, and to nations fighting against Rome (like the Parthians) is vital to understanding Jewish sects like the Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, the people at Qumran, and the Jesus-followers who eventually became a separate religion.

There are some texts that were written by Jews that have played a more important part in Christianity and in historiography than in Judaism. These include the Septuagint, the apocrypha, the pseudepigrapha, the philosophy of Philo Judaeus, and the history written by Josephus. Schiffman explains that the Greek-speaking Jews of the diaspora might at one time have been familiar with these, but they increasingly were absorbed either into the Greek-speaking Christian world or into the Hebrew-speaking, Palestine-centered Jewish sphere. 

Then he goes on to explain the texts that did become central to rabbinic Judaism (which with very few exceptions is Judaism as we know it today): the Mishnah, the baraita, the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds, the books of midrash.

Whew! I see I cannot discuss this book without doing a lot of name-dropping. If you are not at all familiar with this history, perhaps Schiffman is not the best one to introduce you to it. 

If you're in a similar place as I am however--very familiar with some of these people, places, and things and only vaguely familiar with others--then he may be a good teacher to put them together into a more complete picture.

I note, however, that this book was published thirty years ago, and the author was already hoping that recent discoveries and studies would fill out the picture more. If you know of a more up-to-date book that compares to this, would you please suggest it to me?

Monday, July 5, 2021

Jewish Holy Day Calendar, 2021-22

 


Here's a guide to scheduling around the Jewish holy days that I thought you might find useful.   I didn't write it, only edited it slightly and updated it each year, but I vouch for its accuracy.

Category I.     MOST JEWS PARTICIPATE.  Please do not schedule meetings around these dates.

ROSH HASHANAH (Jewish New Year) begins at sunset Monday, September 6, 2021 and continues through Wednesday, September 8.

YOM KIPPUR (Day of Repentance) begins at sunset on Wednesday, September 15, 2021 and continues through Thursday, September 16.  While Yom Kippur is a fasting day, meals are prepared in advance for the breaking of the fast at the end of 27 hours.

Typically, even some of the least religiously observant members of the Jewish community do not work on Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashanah.   Please keep in mind that even though the holy day may begin at sunset, these are home ritual centered holy days, so a great deal of advance preparation is required.  In other words, please don't schedule a meeting for the afternoon preceding the holiday because I will be cooking!

PASSOVER (Celebration of Freedom from Slavery in Egypt) begins at sunset
on Friday, April 15, 2022; continues through nightfall on Saturday, April 23.   THE FIRST TWO DAYS (through Sunday evening, April 17, 2022) require refraining from work.    LOTS of cooking and preparation before this holy day.

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Category II.   Many observant Jews refrain from work.  I count myself as observant.

SUKKOT (Festival of Booths, or Tabernacles) begins at sunset Monday, September 20, 2021 and lasts through Monday, September 27.  THE FIRST TWO DAYS (through Wednesday, September 22, 2021) traditionally require abstaining from work.


SHMINI ATZERET (Eighth Day Assembly, ending Sukkot) begins at sunset on Monday, September 27, 2021 and lasts through Tuesday, September 28.


SIMCHAT TORAH (Rejoicing with the Torah) begins at sunset on Tuesday, September 28, 2021 and lasts through Wednesday, September 29.

The LAST TWO DAYS of PASSOVER begin at sunset Thursday, April 21, 2022 and last through Saturday, April 23.

SHAVUOT (Festival of Weeks, or Pentecost to our Christian friends) begins at sunset on Saturday, June 4, 2022 and continues through Monday, June 6

 

TISHA B’AV (fast day marking the destruction of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem) begins at sunset on Saturday night, August 6, 2022 and continues through Sunday, August 7.


-----------------
Category III. Observance doesn't require refraining from work.


HANUKKAH
(Festival of Lights) begins at sunset on Sunday, November 28, 2021 and
continues through nightfall Monday, December 6.  Every night, candles on the
Hanukkiah (eight-armed candelabra, sometimes called "menorah") are lit.

PURIM - Begins at sunset on Wednesday, March 16, 2022; continues through Thursday, March 17.

 


And a few other seasonal and historical holy days that I won't mention, because enough already!  If you want to know more about the meaning of these holidays, you might consult
www.jewfaq.org or the book Seasons of Our Joy, by Arthur Waskow.

[Dennis] A final note which I thought worth adding from my own experience: Even if someone (who might be Jewish) tells you "It's no big deal" to schedule meetings and
conferences on these days, doesn't mean that that's true for all Jews.   People maintain different levels of observance, and a more secular Jew may work on a day when I would not. 

 

When in doubt, please ask!  I can't speak for other Jewish consultants, staff, board members, and interns, but I know I always prefer to be asked.

Thank you!

Thursday, March 11, 2021

Arguing with God is Sacred (Parshat VaYakhel-Pekudei)

In this week's parshah, the first one I ever chanted from the Torah scroll, there are two very different ideas about our dialogue with God. The first: that there are things we cannot figure out for ourselves and can only learn through being divinely inspired. The second: that we have some things to teach God, too.

God Teaches Us 



"And Moses said to the Israelites: See, the Lord has singled out by name Bezalel, son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. He has endowed him with a divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge in every kind of designer's craft...." (Exodus 35: 30-31)

According to Avivah Zornberg, drawing on Rashi's commentary, the Hebrew words used here for "skill" (or "wisdom") and "ability" (or "understanding") are qualities a human being can possess innately or can learn. The word da'at, here translated as "knowledge," goes beyond that. It is an intimate kind of knowledge: in her words (p. 470), "the mystery of a gift that can be explained in no other way than as 'taught by God.'"

So, when Moses says that God has given da'at to Bezalel, it goes beyond conferring legitimacy on Bezalel's direction of the project of building the Mishkan (and let us not forget his assistant, Oholiav, because the #2 is often the person who makes everything work!). Moses allays the people's remaining fear that a building project--like the Golden Calf--that is not supervised moment to moment by Moses himself can lead them away from God, toward plague and death. 

On this, first, reading, human initiatives can be dangerous, and only a "divine spirit" can lead us in the right direction. Our job is to listen.

We (or at least, Moses) Have Something to Teach Too

The link between the Golden Calf and the Mishkan has been implicit throughout the later chapters of Exodus. The midrashic commentary makes the link explicit. 

One commentator marvels that the Israelites can be so generous both for a misguided effort and for a well-guided one. For the building of the Golden Calf, they tore off their gold earrings, and for the Mishkan, they brought so much gold and other gifts that Moses had to call the capital campaign to an end! (Exodus 36:4-7) "The Holy One, Blessed be God then said: 'Let the gold of the Mishkan atone for the gold they brought toward the making of the Golden Calf." (Shemot Rabbah 51: 6)

But did God reach this conclusion by God's self, or did God have a little help? In the midrashic literature, Moses makes a sly argument to drive God toward a position of forgiveness. I quote:

"R. Nehemiah said: When the Israelites committed that sin, Moses began to appease God. He said: 'Master of the universe, they have provided you with help, and You are angry with them! this calf that they have made will help you: You will make the sun rise and it will take care of the moon; You will bring forth the stars and it the planets...'

God answered: 'Moses! Are you, too misled like them! For there is nothing in the idol!' And Moses replied: 'If so, why are you angry with Your children?'"

Moses is saying to God, in effect--what do you have to complain about? We all know the Calf has no power. Given that, what is there to be jealous of?

It is with arguments like these--teasing, cajoling, intimate--that Moses time and again wins God's forgiveness for the people. And Moses is standing in the footsteps of the first father of the Jewish people, Abraham, who tries to save even the people of Sodom and Gomorrah by arguing with God on their behalf. His ultimate failure doesn't take away from the greatness of his example.

On this alternative reading, it would be folly, wickedness, a dereliction of duty for Jews to accept God's instructions passively. As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, God is "in search of Man." God seeks the active partnership of humanity in repairing and perfecting the world. If we make it worse through some of our actions, that is no excuse for not striving to make it better.

With our hands and our craft, or with our hearts and our words, we build the sacred in our lives.

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I've been reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights, and I cannot begin to do it justice. To keep on track, I have been posting at least one insight weekly for the last ten weeks, and (thanks to God and my study partners) I have now finished the book.  If these reflections have been interesting to you, my blog reader, so much the better!

Sunday, March 7, 2021

Did Moses Do the Right Thing? (Parshat Ki Tisa)

Moses Smashing The Tablets Of The Law by Rembrandt

This past week, I have been coming back over and over again to two images: Mookie throwing the trash can through the pizzeria window, in Do the Right Thing, and Moses smashing the tablets he brought down from Sinai, in the Torah portion Ki Tisa.

Mookie's action comes out of frustration with the continued wrongs being done to his Black community. It expresses his anger boiling over, and it leads to more destruction. Yet as I look at the scene, it seems to me that his violence against property prevents worse violence, against people. 

Moses' action also clearly comes out of frustration with the continued wrongs being done by his own people, the Jews. It expresses his anger, too: they have seen God plague the Egyptians for them, part the waters for them, and speak to them from the mountaintop in lightning and thunder, and they can't stand not hearing from God, through him, for forty days? 

Not only are they worshiping God through a visible symbol (which was expressly forbidden), but they're dancing ecstatically while doing the wrong thing!

Yet as I look at the scene, it seems to me that Moses is also identifying with the people. Perhaps even the apparent violence of smashing the tablet is a wake-up call, to snap them out of their trance. Certainly, whereas Moses used to speak for God to the people, now he starts speaking more to God on behalf of the people. He even tells God, in so many words, that he will stand with the people Israel and live or die with them.

He also seems to be recognizing that the people's sins are partly his own fault. 

"That Man Moses..."

What is the biggest lesson that Moses has been trying to teach the people, ever since Egypt? That God--the invisible One, with the unpronounceable name YHVH--is God.

Pharaoh is not God, even though he claims to be. The Nile is not God, even though it gives Egypt life by making the ground fertile and capable of growing food. The sea is not God, even though Yam, or Sea, is one of the gods worshiped in the Middle East at that time. YHVH, the real God, triumphs over them all.

The most important lesson, however, is that Moses is not God. And they have failed to learn that lesson--which means he has failed to teach it.

"And the people saw that Moses was delayed in coming down from the mountain, and they gathered against Aaron and said to him, 'Come, make us a god who shall go before us, for that man Moses, who brought us up from the land of Egypt--we do not know what has happened to him." (Exodus 32:1)

Come again? Who was it that "brought us up from the land of Egypt"?

It may have been some comfort to Moses to know that this people, which did nothing but complain about him for most of the preceding chapters of the story, misses him so much they need to console themselves with a Golden Calf that stands in for him as their channel to God.

But oh, what a dismal realization of failure for Moses to know that they are "idolizing" him!

A New Pedagogical Approach

From that point on, Moses approaches the Jewish people in a different way. No longer is he concerned to overawe them. Instead, he seeks to instruct them.

 * He grinds up the Golden Calf and, diluting it in water, makes them drink it. Thus, they literally internalize the memory of what they did wrong.

* He sets them to work on building the Mishkan, the physical location where they can turn for a sense of God's presence...at appropriate times. And he puts other people, skilled craftsmen Bezalel and Oholiav, in charge. That way, no one can say it only works because of Moses.

* He gives them more instructions about Shabbat, holidays, sacrifices and offerings, what not to worship and what not to eat. This Torah--the word literally means "instruction"--is what they are to study from now on.

Moses the prophet and lawgiver becomes Moshe Rabbeinu, "Moses our teacher." And that is a good thing. You might even say, the right thing. 

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I'm reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights. To keep on track, I will post at least one insight weekly between now and mid-March, when (God willing) I finish the book.


 


 


Tuesday, March 2, 2021

Quick thoughts on Moses, Aaron, Garments, and Parshat T'zavveh

Last week, my wife and I each worked hefty part-time jobs: figuring out how to place my mom, Faye Fischman, in a skilled nursing facility where she's likely to spend the rest of her life. So, I did not have the time or the brain cells to spare for writing an organized blog post. Here are some thoughts from reading last week's parshah with Zornberg's commentary:

1. I was talking about the parshah with my friend and study partner Lisa Andelman, and I said, "I am so much more like Aaron than Moses, and I'm glad. Moses has to stand up to the full weight of talking with God all the time, making it up as he goes along. It wears on him, and he gets angry with the people he's leading."

"Aaron, as High Priest, has a defined role. He can innovate--there's a lovely midrash that says that every day for Aaron was like his first day on the job, and he approached it with that kind of freshness and enthusiasm! But he innovates within a structure. And Zornberg says the bells on his garments stand for the ecstasy he feels in the Holy of Holies, in direct contract with God, but the pomegranates stand for the fullness and fruitfulness of daily life in the material world. Aaron is the reconciler and the peacemaker."

But Lisa pointed out, "There's a way that I wouldn't want to be like Aaron. His children have to follow in his footsteps, whether or not they're capable of doing so, and regardless of whether it's the right thing for them. As a mother, I wouldn't want to put that on the shoulders of my children."

2. Literally on the shoulders of the priests are the precious stones engraved with the names of the twelve tribes. They're carrying the weight of the nation on their shoulders--and they're carrying other representations of the Jewish people next to their hearts.

Garments are symbolic. When I was a teenager, my mother made a tallit for each of her children, by hand, embroidering on linen. (My father had the steadier hand with a pencil, so he sketched her design on the material and then she worked the needle and thread.) Recently, my beloved wife Rona Fischman repaired it for me, so all the lines look colorful and new.

Because I am the oldest son, like Aaron, and because originally it was the first-born sons and not the tribe of Levi who were supposed to serve in the Mishkan, the design that my mother made for me includes those bells and pomegranates that Aaron wore. But it also includes the tablets that Moses brought, and the Tree of Life to which the Torah is compared. I cherish her wishes for me: leadership, service, life, and study.

3. I envy people who can praise God with the work of their hands, as my mother did.

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I'm reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights. To keep on track, I will post at least one insight weekly between now and mid-March, when (God willing) I finish the book.

Monday, February 22, 2021

Letting God In: Parshat T'rumah

 Terumah: I Love My Partner | Torah In Motion

 

When you long for God, what's the relationship between failing and succeeding? This past week's parshah, T'rumah, offers an answer.

"And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell [shachanti] among them. Exactly as I show you--the pattern of the Tabernacle and the pattern of all its furnishings--so shall you make it." (Exodus 25: 8-9)

The Mishkan is what often gets called the Tabernacle, which (besides being a swear word in French!) is a wholly inadequate translation of an amazing concept. Mishkan is from the same root as Shekhinah, and that root means to be present, to dwell...even, to be a neighbor. 

The Shekhinah is God's indwelling presence on Earth. The Mishkan is its mailing address.

But the people of Israel sent a letter to the wrong address before!

Golden Calves and Golden Earrings Cannot Mend This Love of Mine

According to Rashi, the great medieval Biblical scholar, the story of the Golden Calf (Exodus 32) is out of chronological order in the text. It actually occurred before this week's instructions on how to build the Mishkan. In some ways, it's a failed attempt to do the same thing.

Why did the Israelites build the Golden Calf? 

Not because they had suddenly become idol worshippers! They didn't think God was the statue, or was captured in the statue. Rather, they build the Calf as a throne for God's presence to descend upon and live among them. 

(Building, as my friends in #ParshaChat on Twitter have pointed out, is what Israelites do. In Egypt, they built entire store cities for Pharaoh. It's tribute, and it's putting their talents into action.)

And why did they need reassurance that God was in their midst?  

Because after Sinai, they had been overawed by God's voice, to the point where they implored Moses to listen to God for them and bring back the message. And at this point in the story, Moses had gone up Mount Sinai and hadn't been seen for forty days and forty nights (the biblical expresssion for "it seemed like forever").

So, on this reading, the Israelites built the Golden Calf out of the same longing for God that would later lead to their building the Mishkan. What's more they build it out of one of the key ingredients called for in this week's parshah: gold, taken out of Egypt. In their eagerness to feel God's presence among them, they rip off their gold earrings and tell Aaron to melt them down to make a place for God.

It doesn't work. It's a disaster. Moses, when he comes back down the mountain, ends up grinding the Golden Calf to powder and making them drink it--like a colonoscopy prep--to flush the impulse out of their system.

No Calf, No Mishkan?

Why does Rashi rearrange the order of the stories? It's not necessary: as Avivah Zornberg points out, other commentators like Nachmanides see the sequence in the text as just right. What's the point of saying that first the Israelites built the Calf and only later the Mishkan?

Sometimes, it seems, it's necessary to try what doesn't work in order to attempt what does.

Sometimes, we aim to slake our longings by having a Lover we can control, who will always be there for us even when we are not ecstatic about them. We build the image of our Lover out of our own imaginings and not what pleases them. But that is self-love, born of fear, and we grow up: we learn better.

A wonderful midrash says that when God commands "And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them," those words among them don't mean in the midst of the camp. The words mean in the midst of each person. 

Building the Mishkan according to instructions means taking the same longing for God and fulfilling it in a way that doesn't try to keep God there, but rather, lets God in.

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I'm reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights. To keep on track, I will post at least one insight weekly between now and mid-March, when (God willing) I finish the book.

Thursday, February 11, 2021

We will do what? And hear what?

One of the most famous quotations from the Torah comes up in this week's parshah, Mishpatim. Most of the parshah focuses on the follow-up to the Ten Commandments, the nitty-gritty of what God wants the Israelites to do in everyday life. Toward the end, though, we read in Exodus 24:7:

Then he [Moses] took the record of the covenant and read it aloud to the people. And they said, "All that the Lord has spoken we will faithfully do!"

The Hebrew here is na'aseh v'nishma: literally, "we will do and we will hear." You can see that the translation I quoted chose not to give us the word-for-word meaning, and I can't blame them. Because honestly, what does that mean, "We will do and we will hear"? And why in that order?

Bring it on!

One answer might be that the Israelites have heard the commandments and they're all fired up to do them. Hearing from God face to face at Mount Sinai just blew them away. If that was the end of the conversation...it might have been the end. 
 
But hearing from Moses, in detail, how they could act from day to day in a way that pleased God--that excited them. It made them feel it was humanly possible.

On this reading, "We will do" all of the commandments given us in parshat Mishpatim. But is that all? Does God want more from us? We're ready for more: "we will hear" whatever God still wants to require from us. Bring it on!

We've been doing what good people do. We want to do what good Jews do.

Rashi, the great medieval commentator, interprets Exodus 24 in a surprisingly different way. He says it's out of chronological order and that it actually happened before the revelation at Sinai. 

In that case, what covenant did Moses read to the people? His answer: the books of Genesis and Exodus, up to that present day. And what covenant? The Noachide Laws that (according to Jewish tradition) apply to all human beings, Jewish or not. (This is the Jewish idea of Natural Law, by the way: deduced not by logic but from the text!)

So, on Rashi's reading, na'aseh means that we will keep on doing those things that were a normal part of being a decent person before. V'nishma means that we, the Jewish people, will do those things that make us distinctive, too, which are just about to be revealed to us at Sinai, in last week's parshah and in this.

First we commit, then we understand.

There's yet one more reading, and this one appeals to me. Imagine that Rashi is right, and the conversation between Moses and the people takes place before they stand at Sinai, not after. Then "We will do" is a pledge for an uncertain future. Before we hear what God wants us to do, we commit to the relationship with God. Only then are we in the right state of mind to hear and appreciate it.

What's more, "we will hear" is not a one-time event. As history goes on, we will continue to hear the word--by studying Torah in light of current circumstances and hearing what it has to command us today.

Whenever Jews gather in synagogue on a Saturday morning and chant the weekly portion from the Torah scroll, one by one, seven of us come up to say a blessing. That blessing thanks God "who gave us God's Torah and also "who gives the Torah." Right here, right now. Because a committed people cannot let the words lie on the page. Over and over, we must find new ways to understand.


 

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I'm reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights. To keep on track, I will post at least one insight weekly between now and mid-March, when (God willing) I finish the book.

Sunday, February 7, 2021

Loving Words


 

When the Israelites stand before Mount Sinai, in Parshat Yitro, they are attracted and repelled by God's word.

Attracted

"All the people answered as one, saying, 'All that the Lord has spoken we will do!' And Moses brought back the people's words to the Lord." (Exodus 19:8)

It is very strange that the people are so bold, so willing, so eager to be overcome by God's commandments that they send Moses back to accept God's proposal right away. Previously, they doubted Moses. Previously, even in the face of miraculous displays of power, they doubted God. And they will again. 

But in this moment, the Jewish people as a whole commit themselves: not to the commandments, which they have not heard yet, but to the relationship. "Now then, if you will obey me faithfully [literally: listen, listen to my voice!] and keep my covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all the peoples." 

God speaks words of love to us, we listen, and we fall in love with God.

Repelled

But when the Israelites get to the foot of the mountain and they hear God's voice, they cannot stand it.

Literally "cannot stand," according to a couple of midrashic interpretations that Avivah Zornberg cites. 

One midrash says that the sound of God's voice actually kills the Jews, and it is only the words of Torah that revive them. (I wryly note how this is the opposite of Christian teaching: it is the Spirit that kills, and the Letter that brings life.)

Another reading (Rashi on Exodus 20:15), says they cannot stand in place, and "they recoiled twelve miles to the rear--the whole length of their camp--and the ministering angels came and helped to restore them to their place." (Zornberg, p. 263)

Longing and running away

And what is it that overpowers them? Another famous midrash answers: they could not stand to hear the entire Decalogue, because God's voice was too much for them. Hearing God say "I" threw them into an abnormal state. Some say they could not hear the whole word anokhi, "I"--only its first letter, aleph. But the aleph is silent!

God's attention to us is overwhelming. We long for it, and we cannot stand it. We say. "All that the Lord has spoken we will do," but God parts God's lips and we begin to quake.

On this midrashic reading, God speaks to us and we must run away, like in the Song of Songs: "I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had turned away, and was gone. My soul failed me when he spoke."

Loving God's Words

What can we do? From Sinai to the present day, the Jewish people are madly, passionately in love with God, but (except for Moses) we cannot listen directly to God's voice. We cannot live without it. We cannot live with it. What can we do?

We listen to God's words, instead.

The very next week after we read the story of standing at Sinai, in Parshat Yitro, we read the many detailed instructions on how to live, in Parshat Mishpatim. 
 
We turn from what Zornberg would call "rapture" to what she would call "particulars."

We listen to Moses listening to God and telling us the story of what God said.

This is how Judaism as we know it came to be: through a sacred obsession with the meaning of God's words, as written in the rest of the book of Exodus and in Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, too, until Moses dies. Yes, Judaism has always included mystical experiences as well, but they are not necessary and not desirable for most people, most of the time.

Language is the Jewish love language.
 
 

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I'm reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights. To keep on track, I will post at least one insight weekly between now and mid-March, when (God willing) I finish the book.



Tuesday, February 2, 2021

The Bigger Miracle (Postscript on Parshat Beshalach)

A couple of months ago, it was Chanukah, and we learned that the bigger miracle in the time of the Maccabees was not that the oil in the menorah lasted for eight days when it was physically only enough to last for one. 

No: the bigger miracle was that someone had the courage and the faith to light it, that first day.

Now, we have just read Shirat ha-Yam, the Song at the Sea. The bigger miracle was not that the waters split open and the Israelites walked through dry-shod, nor (God forbid!) that the Egyptians drowned. The bigger miracle was that someone (Nachshon ben Aminadab, may he be remembered for good) had the courage and the faith to take that first step into the sea, before the waters parted.

I am not Nachshon. I am not a Maccabee. For better and for worse, I think about things before I do them, and if I cannot see a way that rationally leads to success, or even survival, then I choose another course of action.

But my prayer is that when someone takes that first step and the waters split, then I can be one who encourages the crowd to move together, as a group. Singing.

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Thursday, January 28, 2021

"What" is this thing that nourishes us?

 The Test Of The Manna - My Jewish Learning

In this week's Torah portion, Beshalach, there's a key word that repeats over and over: Mah, meaning "What?" Sometimes it means, synonymously, "What for?" (One of the Hebrew words for "Why," which is lamah, literally translates syllable by syllable as "for what?") 

    What for did we let those Israelites go? (Pharaoh and the courtiers ask themselves)

    What for did you bring us out of Egypt if we are going to die in the Sea, or in the wilderness, of hunger. or of thirst? (the Israelites ask Moses)

    What for are you quarreling with me, and testing God? (Moses asks them in return)

And perhaps most puzzling of all: food falls from the sky, and the people ask Mahn hu? "What is it?" (It's from mahn that we get the name for the food from that day until now: manna.)

What is it with all this "what"?

The Torah, the Haggadah, and the Simple Child

Every year in synagogue, we read the story of the Exodus once from the Torah. But every year at home, we read it at least once--in my family, more than once--in the Passover Haggadah. And in the Haggadah, "What" is the hallmark of the Simple Child.

Mah zot? "What is all this," the Simple Child asks? Unlike either the wise or the wicked child, who want to understand the Why, and unlike the child who doesn't even know how to ask a question, the Simple Child is stuck on What.

This week, I learned from reading Aviva Zornberg that certain rabbis thought the Simple Child in the Four Questions was more objectionable than the one who doesn't know how to ask. Those rabbis, she says, interpreted the Simple Child's question, "Mah zot?" (What is this?) as a request for a simple answer that would end the conversation. Those rabbis--and she, and I--think that what God wants is a search for more complex, nuanced answers that continue the conversation. 
 
But I think those rabbis had the Simple Child wrong, and this week's parshah shows where they went astray.
 

Look again at those questions from Parshat Beshalach. 

These are not conversation-enders. They are questions that engage in conversation and carry it further: precisely the kind of conversation we think and Zornberg thinks God wants us to engage in! (and far preferable to holding our feelings in silence)

So, if the "Mah questions" in this week's portions are not a search for what Humpty Dumpty in Alice calls a nice knock-down answer, a once and for all, why on earth should we think the Simple Child is asking for that kind of finality? 

It seems to me that the "Mah" in both this week's portion and in the Haggadah could be an open-ended question, inviting the kind of dialogue that it is not a challenge but more like a caress. It seems to me that it's the kind of word that has a different flavor each time you take it in, like manna.

God bless the simple child who's got his own...question.

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I'm reading through Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg's amazing commentary on the biblical Book of Exodus, The Particulars of Rapture. Each chapter expounds one of the portions we read in the synagogue weekly. It's slow going because it is so rich with insights. To keep on track, I will post at least one insight weekly between now and mid-March, when (God willing) I finish the book.