Drashot

On Wednesday we inaugurated Joe Biden as the 46th President of the United States marking, once more, a peaceful transition of power from one administration to another. Two weeks prior, a mob descended on the Congress of the United States, disrupted its certification of the Electoral College vote, and attempted through violence to prevent this peaceful transition. 

In our Torah portion this week we begin the Exodus from Egypt. Pharaoh continues to resist God’s will to free the Israelite slaves. He believes that might makes right and that his will and vision can trump reality. God visits three final plagues on Egypt: locusts, darkness and the death of the firstborn. Before the Angel of Death passes through Egypt, on the night of the Passover, Moses instructs the Israelites, “Take a bunch of hyssop, dip it in the blood that is in the basin, and apply some of the blood that is in the basin to the lintel and to the two doorposts. None of you shall go outside the door of his house until morning.” In this manner the Israelites mark their houses and remain in them to avoid death. 

But why is this action even necessary; can’t an omniscient God discriminate between Egyptians and Israelites? Commenting on this passage, Rashi (12th Century Germany) comments, “once permission is given to the destroying angel to kill, he makes no distinction between righteous and wicked.” 

Rashi is teaching us that there are forces that, when unleashed, are indiscriminately destructive. There are those in our society–politicians, social media platforms, news networks, and individuals–who have stoked a politics of resentment and grievance for years as a way to acquire and maintain wealth and power. They may not have imagined that their actions would lead to a democratic crisis in our country or an attempted coup d’etat but, as this week’s Torah portion teaches us, we can never understand the potential for destruction even for a good cause, like human freedom. 

How much the more so resentment and grievance are cultivated in the service of racism, anti-Semitism and authoritarian government. Our Torah teaches us that lies and self-deception are dangerous and destructive. Redemption is achieved by seeking truth and maximizing human dignity. 

This week we begin the struggle between Moses and Pharaoh for the freedom of the Jewish people. Moses, the reluctant leader of a broken and enslaved people, with a stutter, and Pharaoh, the leader of the most powerful nation on earth, with his hard heart, his lack of empathy. 

Of course we know how the story turns out. Pharaoh, terrified by God’s mighty power as demonstrated by the plagues, promises over and over to free the Israelites, but as soon as the danger passes he goes back on his word and reverts to his cruel and arrogant nature. 

Moses, despite his stutter, never gives in. In Chapter 6 we read this interesting verse, “It was they who spoke to Pharaoh king of Egypt to free the Israelites from the Egyptians; these are the same Moses and Aaron.” (Exodus 6:27). What a strange line, “these are the same Moses and Aaron.” Commenting on this verse, Rashi (12th C. Germany) writes, “THESE ARE MOSES AND AARON — they remained always the same in carrying out their mission and in their integrity from beginning to end.” 

Moses is a man of integrity and commitment. Unlike Pharaoh, who changes with circumstance, Moses, the leader with the stutter, stays true to his mission. 

As we transition in a few short days to a new President with a stutter, let us pray that he will have Moses’ integrity and commitment. We have had enough of Pharaoh’s hard hearted, inconsistent and selfish leadership.

Jewish history is filled with stories of suffering: the Babylonian Exile in 586 BCE, the Roman Exile in 120 CE, the Expulsion from Spain in 1492, oppression at the hands of Christian Europe for centuries, the Holocaust. Yet it is also a history of Jewish resilience and achievement: the Golden Age of Muslim Spain, the great religious scholarship of medieval Judaism, the Jewish impact on Western society since in the 19th Century and the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. 

This template, of struggle, suffering, and redemption, is first revealed in the book of Exodus, which we begin this week. To what can we attribute the Jewish ability to overcome the challenges and suffering we have faced as a people? In Chapter Two of Exodus, we read, “A certain man of the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman.” (Exodus 2:1) With this seemingly innocuous sentence we begin the story of Moses’ life. 

Commenting on this verse, Chizkuni (14th C. France) shares a Talmudic midrash: “We had been taught that when Amram, eventually Moses’ father, heard of the decree [by Pharoah] that all male babies had to be drowned, he divorced his wife so that he would not produce a child that would be drowned. When his daughter Miriam heard of his reasoning, she accused him of being worse than Pharaoh who only wanted to kill male Jews, whereas he would prevent the birth of any Jews if the people were to follow his example.” 

In Chizkuni’s understanding Miriam, Moses’ older sister, refuses to give up hope for a better future for the Jewish people and confronts her father, demanding that he remarry her mother, continue to have children, and not break the chain of the Jewish people. She reminds us that if we act in the right way we will find our way forward.  

As we go through our own difficult times now it is important to remember Miriam’s example and never give up hope for a better future, and to never give up working for it.

This week’s Torah portion brings the Book of Genesis to a close and with it the story of the Jewish people’s first family with all its conflicts and traumas. A central challenge for our ancestors, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob, Rachel and Leah, mirrors our own: how do we pass on our most important values, particularly our Jewish values to our children and their children.
Here is one possible answer. A central Jewish religious commitment is the Shema: the assertion of singularity and unity of the Jewish vision of God. It is first found in Torah in Deuteronomy 6:4. But according to our sages in a midrash in Devarim Rabbah 2:35, it is first recited by Jacob’s sons as they surround him on his deathbed. In this week’s Torah portion, Jacob instructs his children, “Assemble and listen, O sons of Jacob; Hearken to Israel your father (Genesis 49:2).
Interpreting this verse, our sage said that, while lying on his deathbed, Jacob feared that his sons and their offspring would turn away from the God of Israel and worship other gods. “Maybe once I pass away, you will bow to another power?” he asked them. To reassure him, his son’s responded, “Hear O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is one.” Jacob responded in relief and gratitude, in a whisper: “Blessed be the glorious name of God forever.” Rabbi Levi said: “And what does Israel say to this day? ‘Listen our forefather Israel, the same thing that you commanded us still abides among us, Adonai is our God, Adonai is one.'”
This midrash, written over 1,500 years ago, reminds that across the millenia Jewish parents and grandparents have been teaching their children the unity and the centrality of God. Even if a Jew is not religious, they can recognize the power of this message of unity of all things and the centrality of a moral vision as the foundation of a good life.
This Shabbat, and in the new year, it is good to be reminded by the example of Jacob: what do we value most and what do we want to pass on to our progeny?

I have wondered why Joseph is called Yosef ha Tzadik, Joseph the Righteous. He certainly does not start out his life that way.
Throughout his childhood, he is the pampered and spoiled favorite son of his doting father, Jacob. He has little empathy, or at least no understanding of how his father’s treatment makes his brothers hate him. In their jealousy, they sell him into slavery, and he disapears into Egypt. There, he falls even lower, ending up in prison until Pharaoh calls him out of the depths to interpret a dream. Joseph then enjoys a meteoric rise to the peak of power as the Pharaoh’s advisor.
Now, many years later, Joseph’s brothers come to Egypt seeking food during a famine. Joseph faces them for the first time since they betrayed him. They do not recognize him and see a powerful Egyptian, not their younger brother. In this confrontation, when Joseph’s older brother Judah demonstrates that he has changed, and will not betray Benjamin as they did Joseph so many years before, Joseph reveals his identity and forgives his brothers. “Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come forward to me.” And when they came forward, he said, “I am your brother Joseph, he whom you sold into Egypt. Now, do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me hither; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you.” (Genesis 45:4-5)
On the most basic level, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers and forgives them. On a deeper level, by having the capacity to forgive his brothers for the horrible wrongs they committed against him, Joseph reveals who he really is. Not the egotistical child he once was, but a man who has grown wise and compassionate through his life experience and can see a greater pattern in his experiences.
Perhaps that is why he is called Joseph the righteous, because he has developed the ability to forgive and to serve.
And there is this lesson too. When Joseph attains power, he uses it to serve others and to save lives. This would be a good example for our leaders to emulate. To use their power to serve; then they too might be called righteous.

Hanukkah ends today. For eight nights we made light, with candles, or oil, or even with an electric Hanukkiah. We are commanded to place our Hanukkiot in the window to “publicize the miracle.” 

What miracle are we broadcasting? The traditional answer is the miracle of faith, that the Maccabees had the faith to rededicate the Temple even if there was not enough oil to keep the Ner Tamid, the eternal light over the altar, burning. Yet, they lit the flame and it did not go out. 

This week’s Torah portion suggests another miracle, vision, or hazon, in Hebrew. Pharaoh has an upsetting dream, of seven lean cows devouring seven fat cows and none of his court seers or magicians can provide an interpretation that rings true. So he calls for Joseph, a young Hebrew, whose life has been a series of disasters that have taken him from being his father’s pampered favorite child to a prisoner in Pharaoh’s dungeon. Joseph understands Pharaoh’s dream, that seven years of famine will follow seven years of plenty. He also provides Pharaoh with a plan to store grain from the good years to help Egypt survive the lean ones. 

But, Joseph does not claim the vision (hazon) or the wisdom (hochmah) is his; rather, he says, “Not I! God will see to Pharaoh’s welfare.” (Genesis 41:16) 

This is a statement of profound faith and humility. Joseph has acquired these traits through his years of suffering and struggle. Now, they enable him to understand Pharaoh’s dream and see a way to save Pharaoh’s people. 

This week’s Torah portion, like Hanukkah, comes at the darkest time of the year to remind us of the value of these humble but essential human virtues, particularly in a leader. In our own times, when self-promotion, willful ignorance, a lust for power, and a lack of empathy or care in many of our political leaders has led us to the worst public health disaster in a hundred years, 

Joseph and the Maccabees are examples of what real leadership, one grounded in faith and humility, can accomplish.

This Shabbat is the Shabbat of Hanukkah. We mark this Shabbat with a special maftir (Numbers 7:18-29) describing the sacrifices for the dedication of the Tabernacle, since Hanukkah celebrates the dedication (hanukkah) of the Temple after the Macabean victory. 

We also read a special haftarah, Zechariah 2:14-4:7. It ends with this inspiring verse, “Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said the LORD of Hosts.” (Zechariah) This is an interesting verse for Hanukkah which is both a celebration of the military victory of the Macabees over their Hellenistic overlords and the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days. 

This verse helps us reconcile the seeming contradiction between these two very different stories of Hanukkah. Hanukkah is an eight day holiday because, we are told, the one cruse of oil that was suitable for lighting the eternal light in the Temple would only last for one day. Nonetheless, the Maccabees lit it and it burned for eight days. 

However, simple math tells us that there was nothing miraculous about the first day. The oil was supposed to burn for one day. The seven days that followed were a miracle. Why then do we celebrate an eight day holiday. 

Rabbi David Hartman (z”l) answers the question with this, “The miracle of the first day was expressed in the community’s willingness to light a small cruse of oil without reasonable assurance that their efforts would be sufficient to complete the rededication of the Temple. Hanukkah celebrates the miracle expressed by those who lit the lamp.” He goes on to say, “The “miracle” of Jewish spiritual survival throughout its history of wandering and oppression may best be described by our people’s strength to live without guarantees of success and to focus on how to begin a process without knowledge of how it would end.” 

Thus, Hanukkah may have been a military victory, but the “miracle” of Hanukkah was the willingness of our ancient ancestors to challenge the Hellenistic empire without any guarantee of success. But succeed they did. 

It is the Jewish commitment to its mission that has sustained the Jewish people across time and space. Not might, not power, but spirit. Hanukkah reminds us to have faith and act on that faith.

The central story of this week’s Torah portion is the competition between Jacob and Esau for the mantle of their father’s leadership. In the climactic scene, Jacob, with his mother’s help, deceives his father Isaac by pretending to be the favorite first born Esau. 

Our sages teach that Esau was deeply flawed, a man controlled by his appetites for food and women, and thus not worthy of carrying on his family’s mission to bring the word of God to the world. But Isaac cannot see this, blinded as many parents are by their love for their children. 

Perhaps, Isaac also cannot see what is going on in his family because his eyes have been trained on heaven since he was a young boy laid on the altar as a sacrifice by his father. 

Jacob and Rebekah’s deception of Isaac is necessary because Isaac cannot see what is best. His decisions are flawed because of his biases. 

This is often true for us: our biases and prejudices prevent us from seeing the world as it is or making the right decisions. 

This week’s Torah portion is a cautionary tale. That we must check ourselves, to make sure we are seeing reality as it is, not as we wish it to be. 

Recently, we have seen the high price our country is paying when we are not willing to see the world as it is. There are few flaws worse than self-deception.

How deep are the Jewish people’s roots in the Land of Israel? Where does the connection begin?

For much of the last three parshiot, we have followed the lives of Abraham and Sarah as they leave Ur in Mesopotamia, make their way to the Land of Israel, live a nomadic life wandering the land and raise their family. 

But their mark on the Land is like that of the wind. Had they died, their memories might have been erased. 

But in this week’s parsha something changes. Sarah dies and Abraham buys a burial place for her, the Cave of Machpela, from Ephron the Hittite. He is offered the site for free, but Abraham demands to pay. He wants to establish his claim, not to accept it as a gift, but rather to take possession for all time. 

This cave becomes the burial site of our patriarchs and their remains establish the Jewish people’s roots in the land for all time.

How do we treat the stranger, the alien, the person who comes to us? This is the issue that frames our Torah portion begins this week. 

Abraham is resting beneath a shade tree, recovering from his circumcision (at the age of 99) when he sees three strangers approaching. Despite his recent surgery, the heat of day, and his fatigue, he runs to greet them (Genesis 18:2), invites them to join his camp, has Sarah prepare a generous meal, and serves them. 

We know that the virtue of hospitality is an essential part of the culture of many nomadic peoples, where, in a harsh environment, water, shelter, and food can be the difference between life and death. In Hebrew this virtue is called hachnasat orchim or welcoming guests; perhaps it comes from our origins as a nomadic people. 

But Abraham shows grace and hospitality for another reason; he sees the holiness, the divinity, in his guests. It turns out that they are in fact divine messengers, and for their openness and hospitality, Abraham and Sarah will be rewarded with a son, Isaac. 

But in the moment, Abraham knows none of this. All he sees are three travellers and he welcomes them to his tent. In this act, he reveals his true character and his goodness. 

So it is with us, as individuals and a nation. How we treat the stranger, the alien, and the one in need reveals our true character. And, as in Abraham’s case, it may hold the key to our future.