Drashot

There is a story, probably apocryphal, about the Alter Rebbe, the founder of Chabad Chasidim. He was arrested and imprisoned by the Russian authorities, in a cell with no clock and no calendar. After a number of months he was released and he amazed his jailors by telling them the correct day and date. He explained that the small window of his cell was next to a synagogue. Each day he could hear the congregation praying. By paying attention to the nusach (the melodies) of the prayers he knew whether it was a weekday, or Shabbat, or a holiday. By paying attention to the Torah readings he knew when it was a Monday, a Thursday, or Shabbat, the days on which Torah is read. By paying attention to the melodies, the prayers and the Torah readings he could identify each Jewish holiday. If we pay attention, the Jewish calendar guides us through the year and leads us on our spiritual path. This coming Shabbat is called Shabbat Shekalim. It comes approximately six weeks before Pesach, on the Shabbat before Rosh Hodesh Adar, the beginning of the month of Adar. It is one of special Shabbats that lead up to Pesach. There is a special maftir (extra) Torah reading that describes the half-shekel every Israelite had to pay to sustain the sacrificial service. In the later ancient period, after some Jews had already been dispersed to Babylonia and Egypt, Shabbat Shekalim reminded them of their obligation to continue to support the Temple in Jerusalem by collecting funds and sending them to the land of Israel. The Zionist movement, in the 19th Century, instituted the half-shekel, as the minimum dues a member had to pay to belong, thus connecting the ancient polity of Israel and Judah to the modern movement to reestablish Jewish sovereignty. For us today, Shabbat Shekalim can remind us of our obligation to support our local Jewish community, our bonds with Jews everywhere in the world and our need to engage with Israel, in good times and challenging times.

Rabbi Wayne Allen wrote, “Almost all religions begin with some epiphanic experience whereby an individual or a group feels a direct, personal, intimate, and transformative encounter with the Divine.” For we Jews that experience is Sinai, when the entire people of Israel stood before God, not just those who left Egypt, but also all generations that had come before and all the generations that were to come. Thus the revelation at Sinai is happening continuously and each of us experiences it. Our Torah says that God recited the Ten Commandments, or as we say in Hebrew, the Ten Utterances (Asseret Ha Dibrot). According to our tradition, God did not just speak the Asseret Ha Dibrot, God revealed the entire Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh) and not just that but the entire Oral Torah as well, all the rabbinic interpretations of Torah, even those that have not yet been revealed. So all Jewish thought is a continuing unfolding of the revelation at Sinai. Jewish mystics say that God spoke to each person individually in the language they best understood. Further, they say that God revealed all this through the recitation of one letter, Aleph, which is a letter that has no sound. In other words. The problem with religious revelation is that it happens once. But the Jewish view is that Sinai is always happening, to each of us, in a language we can understand. Our challenge is to be present so that we can hear it.

As individuals and as a society there are times when we face moments of change or transition. These may be moments when our old habits no longer serve us or in fact they now hurt us. Perhaps we overthink things. Or we freeze up in a moment that requires action. 

That is what happens this week to the Israelites. They have been finally allowed to leave Egypt by Pharaoh. But now Pharaoh has sent his army in pursuit to bring them back and re-enslave them. In front of the Israelites is the Sea of Reeds; behind them is Pharaoh’s army. In this week’s Torah portion we read, “Then יהוה said to Moses, “Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward.” (Exodus 14:15) 

There is a midrash in the Mekhilta de Rebbe Ishmael (3rd Century Israel) that tells a story related to this verse, “While the Israelites were taking advice/debating/arguing (over which course of action to take), Nachshon ben Aminadav jumped (into the Red Sea), and his tribe [Judah] followed him into the sea.” In this midrash, as mortal danger approaches the Israelis are paralyzed, by debate and talk. But one of them, Nahshon, acts. Believing in his people’s right to freedom he takes a leap of faith and jumps into the sea. It is at that moment that the miracle occurs, when Nahshon acts. Theodor Herzl, the founder of Zionism said, “If you will it, it is no dream.” Sometimes, we need to plan and discuss and sometimes we need to act to make change. The trick is knowing when.

This year in our adult education class we are studying suffering and evil in the Jewish tradition. The problem of suffering is a fundamental challenge for Jews as we believe there is only one God who must be the source of everything: good and bad, joy and suffering. The fancy word for this problem is theodicy, from the Greek theos or god and dike justice. The problem of theodicy is that if God is all-knowing (omniscient), all powerful (omnipotent) and all good (omnibenevolent), then why is there suffering in the world and why do good people suffer particularly when evil people seem to prosper? Our tradition has grappled with this issue for millenia and provides few, if any, satisfying answers. One of them, according to our sages-of-blessed-memory comes from this week’s Torah portion, Bo, which describes the final four plagues visited on the Egyptians, the ultimate one being the death of every first born Egyptian. In Exodus 12:22 we read, “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 your house until morning.” Commenting on this final phrase the Mekhilta d’Rabbi Yishmael, a midrash on the book of Exodus compiled around the third century of the Common Era in Israel, reads, “‘and you shall not go out, a man from the door of his house:’ We are hereby taught that once permission has been given to ‘the destroyer’ to destroy, he does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked.” In other words, much of what happens to people is a result of universal phenomena: natural disasters, disease, famine, and human-created disasters like war. No one is safe from these events, whether righteous or evil. God’s sparing the Jews from the death of the first born was a miraculous exception, not the general rule. In our world suffering is part of life.

We are living through a time of great turmoil and change and the outcome is unclear. Climate change seems to be accelerating. Russia‘s  (or perhaps more accurately Putin’s) invasion of Ukraine has caused untold suffering, has upended the world food and energy markets, and pits the forces of freedom against those of despotism on the battlefield once again. At home our political system seems increasingly unresponsive to the challenges of our time, and there are many in our country who question the basic values and underpinnings of our democracy. 

The Book of Exodus explores another time of great social upheaval and conflict – the struggle of an enslaved people to overcome tyranny and oppression to become free. This week’s Torah portion finds Moses and Aaron, as the representatives of the Israelites and God, locked in a battle of wills with Pharoah, the strongest ruler of the most powerful country of that time. All of Moses’ efforts to liberate the Israelite slaves only lead Pharoah to treat them more brutally, which leads them to lose faith in Moses’s leadership. Heartsick, Moses cries out to God, “The Israelites would not listen to me; how then should Pharaoh heed me, me—who gets tongue-tied!” (Exodus 6:12) God replies, a few verses later, “When Pharaoh does not heed you, I will lay My hand upon Egypt and deliver My ranks, My people the Israelites, from the land of Egypt with extraordinary chastisements.” (Exodus 7:4) 

God is reminding Moses that he must not lose faith and must keep working toward God’s goal of freeing the Israelites. So it must be with us –  we cannot lose sight of God’s goal of a just and fair society, where every human being has the opportunity to live lives of dignity and peace. Having just come out of Hanukkah, we should remember the words of the Alter Rebbi (19th C. Poland) that a little light drives out a great deal of darkness, or the words of Rebbi Tarfon, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it;” Pirkei Avot 2:16. Just as God reminded Moses, we must remind ourselves to keep working to make the world a more just place.

Perhaps our greatest task in life is to learn who we are, our authentic selves, and to then live our lives accordingly. This is the basis of teshuvah, the Jewish concept of repentance, which is closer to “return” than to repentance. In other words, in Jewish religious thought, we are supposed to live  in alignment with our authentic, God-created self. This Shabbat we begin the Book of Exodus. In Hebrew it is called Sefer Shemot (The Book of Names) as it begins, “These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob” (Exodus 1:1). There is a midrash (a rabbinic story) based on this verse that says that one of the reasons God found the Israelites worthy of liberation from slavery is that they never forgot their Hebrew names. In other words, despite their oppression and suffering at the hands of the Egyptians, the Israelites never forgot who they were; they clung to their identity, symbolized by their Hebrew names. At the end of this week’s Torah portion Moses meets God at the Burning Bush and God commands him to be God’s agent and help free the Israelites. Moses responds by explaining that he has a  disability, “Please, O my Lord, I have never been a man of words, either in times past or now that You have spoken to Your servant; I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” (Exodus 4:10) Moses knows his authentic self too, his weaknesses as well as his strengths; though perhaps he over emphasizes his disability, for God responds, “Who gives humans speech? Who makes them dumb or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, ADONAI?” (Exodus 4:11) From this we learn that each of us, with our particular gifts and weaknesses, has a part to play in God’s world. The key is to know who we are and then live in the world guided by that knowledge. Imagine what our world would be like if we all lived that way and embraced the uniqueness of each individual.

Where is home? What does home mean to us, as individuals and as a people? This week’s Torah portion, Vayechi, brings the Book of Genesis (Sefer Bereshit) to an end. Jacob senses his life is ending, as we read “And when the time approached for Israel to die, he summoned his son Joseph and said to him, ‘Do me this favor, place your hand under my thigh as a pledge of your steadfast loyalty: please do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my ancestors, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial-place.’ He [Joseph] replied, ‘I will do as you have spoken.’” (Genesis 47:29-30) Jacob has lived in many places, he was born and raised in the Land of Canaan, lived 20 years with his uncle Laban in Padan Aram (modern day Iraq), returned to Canaan, and the last 17 years of his life in Egypt. But at the moment of his death the most important thing is that he be returned to Canaan, where he was born and where his ancestors are buried, the land promised by God to Abraham and his descendants, to be buried in the Cave of Machpelah, near Hebron, where his father Isaac and his grandfather Abraham were buried. For Jacob, this is home. Commenting on this verse, Ramban (14th C. Spain) wrote, “the exile prolonged itself upon Jacob and he died there, and his bones ascended from there accompanied by all the elders and courtiers of Pharaoh,… and the exile has exceedingly prolonged itself over us, with its end, unlike the other exiles, … But in the end they will bring us from all the nations [and return us to the Land of Israel].” Ramban wrote these words over 500 years ago, when the exile of the Jewish people had already lasted over 1,400 years. For all that time we have viewed the Land of Israel as our ancestral home, even if many Jews had never seen it. That connection is an essential component of Jewish identity and has been since the beginning of the Jewish story. Where do you feel at home? What does home mean for you?

As we approach the end of the end of the secular year and the beginning of the new one, it is traditional to make resolutions, the expressions of a desire to change in the new year. For many of us it is usually to exercise more, or lose weight, or drink less, or eat less sugar, junk food, whatever. These are expressions of a desire to be healthier. For others, the resolution may be to be kinder, more understanding and less judgmental. To be a better spouse or partner, a better parent or a better friend. Resolutions contain within them a hint of regret and a desire to grow. 

In this week’s Torah portion we see how we can change in the actions of Judah before Joseph. Joseph’s brothers have come to Egypt for food, to save their family from starvation from famine in the land of Canaan. They do not recognize Joseph, who looks like an Egyptian noble, which he has become. 

Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his brothers in a fit of jealous rage, has set up a test for them by demanding that his brother Benjamin, the other son of Rachel, be left with him as a slave. The situation is similar to what befell him 20 years earlier, when he was betrayed by his brothers. 

In that moment Judah steps forward and says, “Now your servant has pledged himself for the boy to my father, saying, ‘If I do not bring him back to you, I shall stand guilty before my father forever.’ Therefore, please let your servant remain as a slave to my lord instead of the boy, and let the boy go back with his brothers.” (Genesis 44:32-33) In that moment, seeing the change in Judah, Joseph breaks down and is able to be reconciled to his brothers. 

Judah has demonstrated genuine change or teshuvah (return to the right path in Hebrew). Maimonides (12th C. Egypt) summarizes true change in four steps: 1. Recognizing you have done wrong and feeling remorse, 2. Apologizing to the one you have harmed (even to yourself) 3. Taking action to make things right by repairing the damage or harm you have caused, 4. When faced with the same situation again, not repeating the harmful behavior.

 In this season of resolution and change, if we can remember Judah and Maimonides perhaps we will have a chance of keeping our resolutions and building healthier habits and stronger relationships.

We witness people deal with incredible difficulties, or great suffering – Holocaust survivors, soldiers, victims of a terror attack, or someone struggling with a deadly disease – and we wonder where they find the strength, the internal fortitude, to move forward with their lives. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Joseph has gone through profound suffering and trials. He has fallen from being Jacob’s favored son to a slave and then a prisoner in Pharoah’s dungeon. He has fallen deep into the pit. Suddenly he is called before Pharaoh to interpret his dream. 

From this moment forward Joseph begins his spectacular rise to the heights of power in Egypt. Yet Joseph now is not the brash, arrogant young boy, but a humble man. He does not claim that he can interpret dreams, but rather that God gives him the power to do so: “It is just as I have told Pharaoh: Pharaoh has been shown what God is about to do.” (Genesis 41:28) This Shabbat falls during Hanukkah, so we have a special Haftarah reading (selection of Prophets) Zechariah 2:14 – 4:7) which reinforces this theme, “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said the LORD of Hosts.” 

The holiday of Hanukkah celebrates two improbable (miraculous) events: the rebellion of the Jewish people against the Selucid Greeks in the 4th Century BCE and the oil that lasted for eight days when it should only have lasted for one. That the Jewish people, a small group of farmers and shepherds could prevail against one of the strongest empires of their time is miraculous in itself. The miracle of the oil (a later interpretation) is less martial, but still improbable. 

What both events share is the faith to do something impossible because you have faith it will turn out right. That is one of the essential messages of Hanukkah– that our strength comes from faith – in God, in our values, in our ideals – and that if we hold fast to them we will come through difficult times to better ones. “Not by might, not by power, but by spirit alone.”

The Amida, or standing prayer, also called Ha Tefillah (The Prayer) in our siddur, Mishkan Tefila, ends with with a prayer attributed to the Fourth Century sage, Mar of Ravina, It begins with these words, “My God, Guard my tongue from evil and my lips from deception. Before those who slander me, I will hold my tongue. I will practice humility. The word-for-word  translation of that last line is, “And let my soul be like the dust to all I meet.” The saga of Joseph begins in this week’s Torah portion, Yayseshev, and forms the final part of the Book of Genesis. In this story, Joseph will be sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. He will suffer humiliation and imprisonment, but will ultimately rise to become second in power only to Pharaoh and be in a position to be reconciled with his brothers and save his family. The saga of the Jewish people begins in Joseph’s story. But, before all this plays out, Jacob sends Joseph out to find his brothers and report back on how they and their flocks are doing. On the way Joseph becomes lost. Our Torah portion continues, ‘a man came upon him wandering in the fields. The man asked him, ‘What are you looking for?’ He [Joseph] answered, ‘I am looking for my brothers. Could you tell me where they are pasturing?’ The man said, ’They have gone from here, for I heard them say: Let us go to Dothan.’  So Joseph followed his brothers and found them at Dothan.” (Genesis 37:15-17) Rashi (12th C Germany) says that this stranger was the angel Gavriel, which means God is my strength. Nahmanides (Ramban 14th C. Spain) says further “this ‘man’ was sent by God to guide Joseph on his way.” Without his help, Joseph would never have reached his brothers and who knows how the story, our Jewish story, would have turned out. We never know when someone important crosses our path or when a word or two someone says will change our lives. There is a traditional belief that Elijah the Prophet, the harbinger of the Messiah, always disguises himself as a poor beggar. Those who treat him with kindness and respect hasten the coming of the Messiah, while those who treat him with disdain (a common reaction to the homeless, the mentally ill and beggars) prolong our wait for redemption. Imagine, if we all had the humility to be “like dust” to everyone we met. With true humility, openness and curiosity could we transform our world for the better?