Drashot

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.

The Jewish story begins with this week’s Torah portion and the introduction of Abraham. Until now, Genesis has explored the creation of the Universe and the story of all humanity. 

Abraham is said to have walked before God: “When Abram was ninety-nine years old, ADONAI appeared to Abram and said to him, “I am El Shaddai. Walk before me and be blameless.” (Genesis 17:1) This is in stark contrast to Noah, whose story we read last week. Noah is said to have walked with God. (Genesis 6:9) 

What is it about Abraham that makes him special? Noah, when he learns of God’s plan to destroy all life on earth, obeys God and builds an Ark to save his family and animal life. But he does nothing to limit God’s decree to persuade his fellow humans to change and avert disaster. 

Abraham, on the other hand, when he learns of God’s plan to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, confronts God and tries to persuade God to spare the cities for the sake of even one righteous person. 

When we compare Noah and Abraham, one of the lessons we learn is that taking care of yourself and your family, as Noah did, is important, but not sufficient to be considered righteous. 

A righteous person cares about others in addition to themselves. Individual welfare is tied to our collective welfare. 

If we don’t care about both, we are falling short of our moral commitments. 

How we see our world and what is going on depends on our point of view. Are we in a time of great potential change, or a time of chaos? Is the issue before us one of a few bad police officers who need to be weeded out, or a policing system that is fundamentally violent and racist? Should the whole system be torn down or can it be reformed and changed? 

How you view this most recent outbreak of police violence and the demonstrations and demands for change that it has sparked depends on where you are coming from. In this week’s Torah portion, Moses sends 12 scouts (one from each tribe) into the Land of Canaan to explore it and bring back intelligence on what lies ahead. On their return, 10 of the scouts report, “We came to the land you sent us to; it does indeed flow with milk and honey, and this is its fruit.” (Numbers 13:27) and a few verses later they continue, “We cannot attack that people, for it is stronger than we… and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” (Numbers 12:31 and 32) 

Commenting on this verse in the Talmud, “Rav Mesharshiyya says: The spies were liars. Granted, to say: “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes,” is well, but to say: “And so were we in their eyes,” from where could they have known this?” (Sotah 35a) 

The lesson of our sages is that it is one thing to have self doubt. But it is another thing altogether to assume that our own doubts are real. 

This self-doubt projected outward led to a lack of faith and will among the Israelites and their failure to go up and conquer the land. For this, they are condemned to 40 years of wandering in the desert. 

How will we see this moment? Will we see it as an opportunity for great change or will we think the problems as too great? Will we consider ourselves grasshoppers and lose our faith or will we have the faith that we can make a difference?

This coming Shabbat is one of those times when the Jewish world diverges. In Israel and in Reform communities outside the Land of Israel it is a regular Shabbat, so we read the first half of the Torah portion Naso. For other Jewish communities, outside the Land of Israel, it is the Second Day of Shavuot, so they read a special holiday Torah portion, Deuteronomy 15:19 through 16:17 and Numbers 28:26 through 28:31. 

These Torah portions describe the special sacrifices for the Shavuot holiday. Naso 1 describes special sacrifices for guilt offerings and the ritual of Sotah, when a man accuses his wife of adultery but has no witnesses. 

If we look closely, we can find a connection between these seemingly different themes. The first one is the value of sacrifice. It was how our ancient ancestors mediated their relationship with God. They gave up the best of their flock or crop to ensure their continued connection to God, whether atoning for doing wrong or celebrating a sacred day. 

The Sotah ritual reminds us of the power of jealousy and unsubstantiated allegations to corrode and destroy a marriage, a family, and even a society. The Sotah ritual was designed to contain and expose that corrosive jealousy. Sacrifice promotes closeness and unity, while jealousy promotes division. 

In these difficult times, we need more sacrifice and less jealousy. A Chinese proverb goes, “If you want to be happy for a day, buy something. If you want to be happy for three months, get married. If you want to be happy for a lifetime, serve others.” 

Our tradition teaches that one of the three pillars that supports the world is acts of loving kindness. If we want to make a better world we must serve others (sacrifice), not turn against them (jealousy). 

May we all apply this lesson to build a better world going forward.

Disruption and making reality conform to our vision of how things can be is one of the hallmarks of entrepreneurs and the high tech industry. An individual imagines how something could be, or how an industry or a process could serve people more simply and cheaply. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t, spectacularly.  For example, the blood testing company Theranos, which evolved from a vision of changing medicine into a fraud perpetrated on investors and the public.

Vision (hazon in Hebrew) is a powerful quality. Some of our greatest entrepreneurs have had it and changed the world. But, sometimes people think they have it and what they really have is an inability to see reality.

This is the case of King Balak, after whom this week’s Torah portion is named. He fears the Israelites and hires Bila’am, a mercenary prophet, to curse the Israelites so he can defeat them in battle. Twice Balaam tries and twice Balaam is visited by God and prevented from doing so. Each time he informs Balak and Balak orders him to do it again. Finally, Balaam blesses the Israelites and Balak’s plan is foiled.

We often see this behavior in business or among our political leaders. They envision a result they want. They come up with a strategy. The strategy fails, but they keep trying, and they continue to fail–just like Balak, who may have had vision, but he could not see reality.

Perhaps vision is not enough; motive matters as well. Balak was driven by fear; that is why his plan failed. Whether as individuals or a society, when we are driven by our fear we fail. When we are motivated by love, we succeed.

Religion is strange, and religious practice is not rational. People commonly say that religion is how ancient people explained how the world works, and now that we have science we don’t need religion.

This point of view insults ancient people and confuses the difference between religion and science, debasing the meaning of both. Science is the human attempt to explain how things work. Religion is the human attempt to explain why things are.

The difference is huge. At its core, science is rational and based on evidence. Religion, on the other hand, is non-rational and based on belief or faith that there is a mystery to existence that is beyond rational understanding.

This week’s Torah portion addresses this with the ritual of the Red Heifer. A Red Heifer, without blemish is slaughtered and completely burned. Its ashes are mixed with water to make a solution that cleanses anyone who becomes ritually impure.

If it sounds strange, it is. It was strange to our sages of blessed memory as well. In the Pesichta de Rav Kahana (5th or 6th century) Rav Yohanan Ben Zakai explains that this is a hok (a mitzvah without rational reason) commanded by God that simply must be obeyed. In other words, some religious rituals make no rational sense.

Perhaps that is their power. That is, by performing them we are taken to a place where we engage with the mysteries of existence, like fasting, or prayer, or meditation, or kashrut. None have a rational explanation, but all can help us connect to the deeper meaning of life.  For, as Hamlet said to Horatio, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

What makes a great leader? What makes a leader legitimate? These are questions we grapple with daily as our political life becomes more fractured and confrontational.

So-called populism is on the rise, and its leaders and its members question the foundations of democratic government. These governments, they argue, do not truly reflect the will of the people. Only the populist leaders do.

Moses confronts the same challenge in this week’s Torah portion, when he is confronted by Korach over who is the legitimate leader of the Israelites. “For all the community are holy, all of them, and the LORD is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the LORD’s congregation?” (Numbers 16:3-4) This would seem to be a reasonable question, for all of Israel is holy.

In the midrash (the stories our Sages of blessed memory tell about the Torah text) they write that Korach went around the camp telling lies about Moses’ actions and turning the Israelites against Moses.

Further, Moses did not seek to be the leader of the Israelites, God appointed him… against his will. Moses’ model of leadership is one of humility and service. Korach’s model is one of lust for power and fulfillment of ego.

As we celebrated Independence Day on Thursday, this week’s Torah portion seems particularly appropriate. It teaches us to look at our leaders’ motivation and their character, not just their words, when we evaluate whether they are worthy of leadership.

Last Sunday we celebrated Shavuot, which our sages called Hag Matan Torateinu, the Holy Day of the Giving of Our Torah. The Torah reading for Shavuot is the story of Sinai, the awesome spectacle when God revealed Torah to the Israelites. It is a peak experience of mystical connection between the Israelites and God.

This week’s Torah portion begins with a seemingly trivial description of the Levites and their responsibilities to pack up and transport the Mishkan, the Sacred Tabernacle, whenever the Israelites resumed their march.

Many of us seek the peak experience of Sinai, the direct connection with God and the reception of Divine insight. But this week’s Torah portion teaches us that this is a rare occurrence, one that we may never experience. But, we can experience holiness if we, like the Levites, are willing to take responsibility for the mundane, day-to-day work of building and sustaining our congregation.

It may seem trivial, but God is consecrated in community, and it takes each of us to do our part to keep our synagogue thriving.

When does ambition stop being a healthy motivator and become an exercise in abuse of privilege and power? The lessons of this week’s Torah portion have much to teach us on this subject.The portion, Shemini, opens with Moses’ instructions to his sons on the manner of bringing offerings to the sanctuary. Aaron performs the ritual perfectly. His two other sons take it upon themselves, without consultation, to bring offerings of their own. These “alien fires” were not commanded, and God punishes Nadab and Abihu with death.

The sages have struggled with this story for millenia. What did Nadab and Abihu do that was so wrong as to merit this deadly consequence? The early Rabbis argued that it wasn’t that they offered the wrong kind of incense or fire, but rather the evil intent behind the offerings. They contended that the sons were trying to wrest power from Moses and Aaron with this self-aggrandizing act. It was not ambition, but rather arrogance that led them to take matters into their own hands. Here were children of privilege, sons of a leader and prophet, born into the priestly class. This was not enough for them, they felt themselves above the law.

Rabbi Samson R. Hirsch (important 19th century German scholar) criticizes Nadab and Abihu saying, “ …Judaism is a tradition of laws and commandments given to bond the community together as a sacred people. When individuals act out of their own zeal to change or break the law, they end up disrupting community expectations and unity.”

When individuals, or groups of people, either by arrogance or feelings of entitlement place themselves above everyone else, they threaten the very fabric of society. We, unfortunately, see evidence of this today whether in the actions of our current leaders, or in the arrogance and entitlement of wealthy parents who bribe and cheat their children into good schools. Judaism teaches us to put the needs of society above our own. No one is above the law. There is an old Yiddish proverb that says “Look for cake, and you lose your bread.”

–Cantor Fran Burgess

Psychologists tell us that their research shows that people who express gratitude are happier and live more fulfilling lives than those who do not. Gratitude shifts emotions from negative to positive and makes ones life feel better, even if the objective conditions have not changed. It contributes to psychological flexibility.

This is not news to Jews. We have been taught this wisdom for over 2,000 years.One of the sacrifices commanded in this week’s Torah portion is the Thanksgiving sacrifice, which one brings in moments of gratitude.  “If he offers it [the sacrifice] as a thanksgiving offering, then along with this thanksgiving offering he is to offer unleavened loaves mixed with oil, unleavened wafers spread with oil, and loaves of fine flour well-kneaded and mixed with oil” (Lev. 7:12).

Even though sacrifices ended 2,000 years ago, we still find this practice embedded in Jewish ritual. The first prayer we are taught to recite when we open our eyes in the morning is, Modeh Ani, where we thank God for giving us consciousness and life for another day (literally for returning our souls to us).

We also demonstrate this ritual in the Gomel prayer, when we give thanks for having come through a dangerous situation. Or even the everyday blessings (berachot) that we recite over food before we eat are examples of expressing gratitude for the blessings we enjoy in our life.

It’s a practice we can all strengthen and cultivate. After all, psychologists tell us it is good for us… even if we’ve known if for thousands of years.