Drashot

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?

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” Thus Juliet declares that Romeo’s identity as a Montague will not interfere with their love, despite her being a Capulet and their families’ deadly feud.  In her mind names are irrelevant. But we know otherwise; names have profound meaning. They are how we identify ourselves and how other’s first come to know us. As Jews we have two names, a secular name and a Hebrew name. What does each tell us about who we are? Does one name ring more true than the other? In this week’s Torah portion Ya’akov receives a new name. Up till now he has been known as Ya’akov (Jacob in English). In Hebrew Ya’akov is related to the word akev, which can mean one who follows. As the second born of the two twins, Ya’akov followed Esau and hung on to his heel (akev). It can also mean “deceiver” as Ya’akov deceived both his brother and his father to claim the blessing that was meant to go to Esau, as the older son. This is who Ya’akov has been his whole life. Using tricks to get his way, deceiving others, and living in the shadow of his father, mother, brother and father-in-law. But, in this week’s Torah portion Ya’akov, returning to the Land of Israel and facing a confrontation with his estranged brother, spends the night alone in the wilderness. In the darkness he is confronted by a Divine being. Is it an angel? Is it a manifestation of God? Is it his own conscience or the deepest, truest part of himself? We don’t know, because the text does not say. But as dawn breaks the mysterious figure asks, “What is your name?” He replied, “Jacob.” Said he, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven* with beings divine and human,*and have prevailed”. From this moment forward a new Ya’akov emerges. One who struggles with God, not one who lives in fear. We are known as B’nai Yisrael, the Children of Israel, not B’nai Ya’akov, the Children of Jacob. We are the inheritors of that struggle, with God and with ourselves.

It seems that we often have our deepest insights in moments of profound personal crisis, when everything we know about ourselves does not help us cope. Jacob is on the run. All his life he has been a trickster who manipulates others to get the outcome he desires. Having betrayed his brother, Esau, one too many times Jacob is now fleeing his home for unknown territories where he hopes he will find safety. He must leave everything he knows and loves behind. The place where he lies down to sleep in the midst of his flight is on the boundary between the Land of Israel and the lands beyond. He is in a liminal space, a place of transition, emotionally, spiritually and physical. Jacob dreams of a ladder connecting heaven and earth and sees holy beings descending and ascending. He sees God’s presence beside him and receives this blessing, “Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants. Remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” (Genesis 28:14-15) Jacob who deceived his father and stole his brother’s blessing now receives a blessing from God, for who he is, not for who he is pretending to be. Each of us has an authentic self, seeking expression. But we often repress or distort it, until the circumstances of life force us to confront who we really are. I hope we do not have to suffer as Jacob does, but that each of us in our own “dark night of the soul,” can find the support and guidance that Jacob did so long ago.

The history of the Jewish people can be seen as one long relay race beginning with Abraham and Sarah, where each generation takes the torch from the previous generation and carries it forward. In this week’s Torah portion Sarah, Isaac’s mother, dies and Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for Isaac. Our Torah portion begins with this verse, “Sarah’s lifetime—the span of Sarah’s life—came to one hundred and twenty-seven years.” (Genesis 23:1)

Commenting on the repetition of the words lifetime and life in this verse, Rashi (12th C. Germany) wrote that Sarah was as free of sin at her death then she was at age 20. Sarah was righteous her entire life. At the end of this week’s Torah portion we read,  “Isaac then brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he took Rebekah as his wife. Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death.” (Genesis 25:67) Commenting on this verse, Rashi wrote, “He brought her into the tent and she became exactly like his mother Sarah — that is to say, the words signify as much as, For whilst Sarah was living, a light had been burning in the tent from one Sabbath eve to the next, there was always a blessing in the dough (a miraculous increase) and a cloud was always hanging over the tent (as a divine protection), but since her death all these had stopped. However, when Rebecca came, they reappeared” (Genesis Rabbah 60:16). Sarah’s character was described as sinless. Rebekah’s character was defined by kindness. But each of them sustained the flame of Jewish life in their own special way.

We are now the inheritors of the torch of Jewish life, how will each of us keep the flame burning to pass it on to the next generation.

Abraham is a paragon of Jewish virtue. While Noah is said to have “walked ahead of God,” Abraham “walked with God.” In this week’s Torah portion we have two examples of his character. The first is at the beginning of the Torah portion, when Abraham welcomes three mysterious strangers to his camp and treats them with hospitality and generosity, feeding them despite his convalescence from surgery. (Genesis 18:1-8) As recognition of his behavior Sarah and Abraham are promised a child. The second episode happens a little later (Genesis 18:20-33). God is outraged over the immortality of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. It is worth noting that according to our rabbis their sin was not sexual immorality but treating strangers cruelly. In this instance Abraham argues with God over his plan to destroy the cities, killing the innocent along with the guilty. Abraham challenges God saying,  “Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” (Genesis 18:22) Then he negotiates with God trying to get God to spare the cities for the least number of innocent people. Here again Abraham takes the side of people he does not know. This is one of the Jewish views of leadership, hospitality, generosity of spirit, sharing our resources with others and defending others for the sake of justice. It may run counter to the spirit of the moment, but our tradition teaches that these values are timeless and lead to a healthy and just society.

Joseph Campbell (z”l), the professor of literature at Sarah Lawrence College, popularized the idea of the hero’s journey in his book “The Hero With A Thousand Faces.” In it he posited a universal human story of growth and transformation from human being to hero through overcoming a series of seemingly  impossible challenges. He argued that the hero’s journey always began with a call.

In this week’s Torah portion, Abraham, the first hero of the Jewish people, receives his call, “God said to Abram, ‘Go forth (lech-lecha) from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.’” Abraham  is called by God to leave everything he knows behind and journey to a new place, based simply on faith.

Commenting on this verse Rashi wrote, “Lech-lecha literally means, go for yourself, for your own benefit, for your own good” From this command and Abraham’s answer to the call, all Jewish history begins. God calls Abraham out of his complacency, and his life, and world history, is changed forever.  As our portion continues, “I will make of you a great nation, And I will bless you; I will make your name great, And you shall be a blessing.”

I believe that each of us are called at different times in our lives. Whether we answer the call or not decides whether we will be a blessing to others or not. Have you been called? Have you answered the call? What is holding you back?

What is our obligation to our neighbor? This is one of the fundamental moral questions any society faces and is a question that is central to Jewish moral thought. Our sages have grappled with this issue for millennia. Are we obligated to help our neighbors turn away from destructive behaviors? Must we step in to help those who are suffering or in need? Can we interfere to right an injustice or prevent one from happening? In all these cases our Torah and our rabbis answer with an emphatic yes.

 This week’s Torah portion begins with these words, “Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age; Noah walked with God.” (Genesis 6:9) Rashi (12th C. Germany) asks, why does the text add the modifier “blameless in his age” to Noah’s righteousness? Why didn’t it simply describe him as righteous? He answers by bringing a discussion from Talmud Sanhedrin 108a, “Some of our Rabbis explain it to his credit: he was righteous even in his generation; it follows that had he lived in a generation of righteous people he would have been even more righteous owing to the force of good example. Others, however, explain it to his discredit: in comparison with his own generation, he was accounted righteous, but had he lived in the generation of Abraham, he would have been accounted as of no importance.” While Noah may have been righteous for his time he would never have measured up to Abraham. 

When God tells Noah to build an ark to escape the flood and save himself, his family, and select animals, he follows God’s command but does nothing to help his neighbors. Abraham, on the other hand, when informed by God of the plan to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, argues with God to save these communities, as sinful as they may be, to save the innocent from being killed along with the guilty. In other words, one of the measures of righteousness, of moral behavior, is to follow God’s commands, but just as important is standing up for our neighbors. In our time are we more like Noah or more like Abraham? Are we righteous for our generation or are we simply righteous? Our actions make all the difference.

After all the spiritual and emotional ups and downs of the four weeks of holidays, beginning with Rosh Hashanah, through Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and ending with Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, we find ourselves back at the beginning of the annual Torah reading cycle with the first six chapters of Genesis (Bereshit). 

It seems appropriate to come back to the beginning after all that we have gone through since the last new year. But the beginning is never the same. Each year we are changed, a year older, a year wiser, perhaps with greater sadness or greater joy than the year before. 

But we find ourselves engaging with the same text, “When God began to create* heaven and earth—” (Genesis 1:1) Rashi (Germany 11th Century) asked why the Torah begins with the creation of the universe, rather than the first commandment “This month shall be unto you the first of the months” (Exodus 12:2) 

Rashi’s answer is to show the nations of the world that God created everything and chose to give the Land of Israel to the Jewish people. 

But perhaps another reason is to show us that God is the source of all existence. Without God, there can be no life. So let us begin the new year with deep gratitude for the gift of life and the opportunity to grow to become better people and do good in the world.

This Shabbat is a moment of respite from the intensity and deep introspection of the Days of Awe, which concluded with Yom Kippur on Wednesday as we transition into the Joy of Sukkot. 

If Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are days when we confront our fallibility and mortality, Sukkot is z’man simchateinu, “the season of our joy,” where we express gratitude for the Earth’s bounty that sustains our lives. 

Spending as much time as we can in sukkot, simple booths that are open to the stars and provide some – but not too much – shelter we experience and the simple joy of being alive. The Sukkah strips away all the “things” that we acquire and reminds us life is a gift. 

There is a debate between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva in the Talmud over what the Sukkah represents. R’ Eliezer says the sukkah represents the Clouds of Glory (Ananei HaKavod) that God provided to protect the Israelites during their wanderings in the Wilderness, while R’ Akiva says that God provided the Israelites with actual shelters (sukkot) during their wanderings. Each idea represents a different aspect of God’s care for human beings, sometimes that care is spiritual, like the Clouds of Glory, and sometimes that care is physical, like the Sukkah. 

What matters most about the holiday of Sukkot is that we should recognize our own fragility and take joy in our relationship with God. 

This week’s Torah portion grapples with this too. As we approach the end of the Torah, Moses promises the Israelites that even when they stray God will ultimately take them back in love. Then he leaves the Israelites to ascend Mt. Nevo, where he will die and appoints Joshua to succeed him. The High Holy Days are a time of transition, just like the story in our Torah portion this week. They all remind us that life is always in transition as well. We are always changing and evolving. Let’s give thanks for that opportunity and keep changing for the good.

This Shabbat, the one that falls between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, is called Shabbat Shuva. The name comes from the first verse of the Haftarah (Prophetic) reading on this day, Hosea 14:2-10, which begins, “Return (shuvah), O Israel, to ADONAI your God, For you have fallen because of your sin.” (Hosea 14:2)
This is the reality of our lives, as human beings: we will always fall short of the mark. Teshuvah (repentance) and shuvah (return) share the same three letter Hebrew root: ש-ב-ה (sh-v-h) and are thus grammatically linked. To repent, in the Jewish sense, means to return to God and to return to our best selves.
Later, in Verse 5, Hosea continues, “I will heal their affliction, generously will I take them back in love; for My anger has turned away from them.” This Shabbat’s prophetic reading is a reminder of the promise that if we do teshuvah, turn toward God, then God will turn toward us and take us back in love. As the Prophet Ezekiel wrote, “Is it my desire that a wicked person shall die?—says the Lord GOD. It is rather that he shall turn back from his ways and live.”
The promise of the High Holy Days is that change is always possible; we can continue to grow and become better people.
This week’s prophetic selection reminds us that God is always there to receive us and forgive us. Are we willing to do the work? Are we willing to forgive ourselves and others? God’s door is always open; is ours?