Free will is a fundamental concept in Judaism. We are free to make our own decisions and to choose right or wrong as we see it. Why then does God harden Pharaoh’s heart? If we read the text carefully we see that for the first five plagues, it is not God who hardens Pharaoh’s heart but Pharaoh himself, every time he promises to let the Israelites go and then reneges on his promise. It is only after these five choices that God begins to harden Pharaoh’s heart. Resh Lakish, a second century rabbi, said of this, ” Since God warned him five times and Pharaoh refused to pay any attention and continued to harden his own heart, God told him, ‘I will now add more trouble to what you have made for yourself’.” (Exodus Rabbah 13:3) In other words, Pharaoh sets himself on a path of personal destruction by refusing to change his mind, even in the face of the plagues. Building on this theme, in Shabbat 104A Resh Lakish teaches, “If a person seeks to do evil they will find a way. If they seek to do good, to improve themselves, or to make society better, God will help them.” We are free to choose. But the choices we make define who we are. We establish patterns and habits, for good or ill, based on the choices we make. May we all choose wisely and do good in the world.

Judaism is a religion of relationships: between human beings and each other and between human beings and God. This week marks the second week of the seven Haftarot of Consolation: seven special selections from Isaiah that are read each Shabbat between Tisha b’Av and Rosh Hashanah. If Tisha b’Av is the day of destruction and furthest alienation and Rosh Hashanah is the day of closest connection, then one of the purposes of these haftarot is to remind us that the opportunity for connection with our deepest, truest selves, with others, and with the sacred and the holy is always present.

This week’s Torah portion reinforces that theme; after repeating God’s promise to place the Israelites in the Land of Israel with all its bounty Moses gives this warning, “When you have eaten your fill, and have built fine houses to live in, and your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold have increased, and everything you own has prospered, beware lest your heart grow haughty… and you say to yourselves, ‘My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.’ Remember that it is the Lord your God who gives you the power to get wealth, in fulfillment of the covenant that He made on oath with your fathers, as is still the case.” (Deuteronomy 8:12-18) We live in a society that values individuals and their achievements above all. Judaism has a very different message—that everything we have and everything we accomplish we do with the help of others, whether divine or human. It makes no difference, from our particular inborn talents to the support and aid provided by a strong and stable society and country. That is why Judaism values relationships so highly, for it is in relationship that we truly find ourselves and in isolation that we are truly lost.

This week’s Torah portion is about fanaticism and the dangers of fundamental truth. Last week, the Israelites are cohabiting with Midianite women and Zimri and Kosbi, an Israelite leader and a Midianite woman blaspheme in front of the entire congregation. God has called down a plague on the Israelites. Moses and the elders are paralyzed but Pinhas, the priest, grandson of Aaron, runs them through with a spear, killing both of them. God is pleased and the plague ceases. Now, in this week’s portion God rewards “a covenant of peace” on Pinhas and the priesthood. But our rabbis were not so pleased with Pinhas’ behavior. How do we know this? They set up the annual cycle of the Torah reading and they split Pinhas’ act – the killing of Zimri and Kosbi – from the reward. It is as if they wanted to break up the narrative to force us to think about the limits of a claim of absolute truth and the permission to kill that it can convey. Passionate zealotry maybe necessary at times, for defense, but without restraint it can lead to mass killing, as we have seen all too often in this and the past centuries. Is there an antidote? The portion ends with a description of the holidays and how they are to be observed. Perhaps if we focus more on our own spiritual lives and less on the failings of others we will learn to be more kind and humble and less judgmental and zealous.

Chapter 11 of this week’s portion begins with the Israelites complaining, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. Now our gullets are shriveled. There is nothing at all! Nothing but this manna to look to!” (Numbers 11:4 – 5) The Israelites’ need for food is met daily. All they have to do is go out and gather the manna. But it is not sufficient to satisfy their needs. Perhaps it was the repetitiveness of the same food, day in and day out. Yet they seem to long for Egyptian slavery, with a nostalgic memory of the great food they used to eat. How selective their memory was; they have already forgotten the brutal suffering they endured. In Pirkei Avot it asks, “Who is rich?” and the rabbis answer, “The one who is satisfied with what they have.”  We live in a society that always pushes us to desire more. The lesson of this week’s portion is that satisfaction comes from valuing what you already have.

This Shabbat we begin reading the fourth book of the Torah. In Hebrew it is called Sefer Bamidbar, the Book of the Wilderness, from the first verse which, says “Adonai spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai.” In the Christian tradition it is called The Book of Numbers because it begins with God commanding Moses to take a census of all men suitable for military service. Counting people is problematic in Judaism. Here it is commanded by God to provide to meet the essential need of mutual defense and so is acceptable. On the other hand in 2 Samuel 24, King David takes a census which leads to a plague that kills 70,000. This is taken even farther in some Jewish communities where people are never counted, even for a minyan; rather they are “not counted,” as in “not one, not two, not three…” or are counted using ten words from a verse in sacred text. Another expression of this point of view is, “Things are counted but never people.” In other words, a census denies our unique individuality and our humanity, by placing us in an undifferentiated mass. But perhaps there is a way to resolve this seeming contradiction. To make a community function, we each need “to stand up and be counted.” That is, we each need to contribute our own special gifts and unique talents to build and sustain our congregation. We don’t need to count each other; we need to count on one another to make community

There used to be a bumper sticker that perfectly expressed our society’s obsession with material possessions—“The one who dies with the most toys wins.” In this week’s double-portion we read the counter argument to materialism, “But the land must not be sold beyond redemption, the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me.” The idea that we own anything is an illusion. There is a Hasidic story about two men fighting over a piece of property. They can’t resolve their conflict so they go to their rabbi. The rabbi listens to each of them and still can’t resolve the issue, so he asks them to take him to the land. He lies down and puts his ear to the ground. After a few minutes he stands back up. “What did the land say?” the two men ask. The rabbi responds, “The land spoke to me and said, ‘Why are these two arguing about who owns me? Some day I will own both of them.’” The message of this week’s portion is that we are just temporary residents, with a short-term lease on the Earth. Torah teaches that what we own isn’t important; what we do with our lives is.

Parashat Emor is almost entirely about sacrifices. The sacrificial worship system focused on exacting detail and set procedures. For example, Emor begins with what qualifies a priest for sacred service, or a sacrificial animal to be offered. In both cases they must be physically perfect, without blemish. It then goes on to list the major holidays—Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot–with their particular sacrifices. Then in the middle of this long list of sacrificial details it says, “And when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God.” (Leviticus 23:22) What is this line doing here? Perhaps it comes to teach us that Judaism is a combination of both careful religious ritual and a commitment to work for social justice. To focus only on one or the other is to miss Judaism’s message: to be a religious person requires sustaining our connection to God and to each other.

Parashat Kedoshim, the second of this week’s double Torah portion, begins with these words, “You shall be holy, for I, ADONAI your God am holy.” (Leviticus 20:2) What does it mean to holy? The parasha doesn’t say, but it does give some examples of how one can be holy: by honoring parents, worshipping God, not reaping all crops but leaving some for the poor, not stealing, being an honest witness, paying a worker fair wages on time, not insulting anyone – even a deaf person. To be holy, that is Godlike, occurs when we treat one another decently, fairly, with respect, and avoid exploitation. The way we treat each other paves the way for our connection to God.

~Rabbi Dean

This week’s double Torah portion is about “cooties,” the ritual impurities caused by childbirth, skin diseases and molds in houses. There are times when Torah gets very strange and this is one of them, as we read this ancient view of disease and its impact on the individual and the community. With text like this, we always have three choices: accept them at face value, reject them or try to find a way to make some sense out of them. Rather than focus on the understanding of disease, look at how the Torah describes a ritual for separation and quarantine of the infected person and the ritual for inclusion. So often in our society, disease sends us into a limbo state, scared, isolated and lonely. Our tradition understands that ritual has deep psychological power and can ensure that even in the most difficult moments we will feel connected to community.

~Rabbi Dean

This week we read of the death of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Abihu, when they bring “alien fire, which He had not enjoined upon them.” In response God kills them as we read, “fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord.” There are two traditions about these deaths. One suggests that Nadav and Abihu were drunk and could not properly fulfill the order of sacrifice and were therefore killed. However, a Chasidic teaching says that Nadav and Abihu were both so intense in their love of God that their passion erased the barrier that separates Earth from Heaven and God took them to be with him. It is often possible to give another person’s behavior either a positive or negative motive. Disrespect or passion for God—how we view another often says more about ourselves than it is does about others.

~Rabbi Dean