Parashat Re'eh: Worshipping Gods You Didn't Know vs. Just Not Worshipping Other Gods

Boker tov and chodesh tov and Shabbat shalom. It's me, again, with another look at the weekly Torah portion from my favorite place in Jerusalem: the shuk!

This week's parashah is Re'eh (Devarim 11:26-16:17), and it's chock full of blessings and curses we've all heard before. But one thing I've noticed though is the repetition of a phrase: 

(singular you) אֱלֹהִ֣ים אֲחֵרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁר֙ לֹ֣א יָדַ֔עְתָּ

 (plural you) אֱלֹהִ֥ים אֲחֵרִ֖ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר לֹא־יְדַעְתֶּֽם

Gods who you didn't know/haven't experienced

This phrase is used again and again in requests to not listen to others who try and pull you into worshipping "gods you didn't know." The dangers around worshiping "gods you didn't know" or "gods you didn't experience before." All usages are past tense, as well. 

This line appears in Devarim 11:28, 13:3, 13:7, and 13:14.

My immediate thought here is ... does this mean we can worship gods that are new to us? So no idols of Avraham's father but yes to all the others?

Why not just say clearly and definitively, "Don't worship other gods"? Period. Full stop. 

Why the "lo yadata" and "lo yadatem" ... that you didn't know? 

Let's say that the idea here is that the Israelites are supposed to focus on the Gd they do know rather than gods they didn't or don't know. This may be the point of the language because the whole of Sefer Devarim is one big reminder of all the things HaShem did for the Israelites. There is one Gd, HaShem, and He's the end-all, be-all. 

I took you out of Egypt! 

I fed you manna!

I kept you! 

I'm giving you this land!

I promised you'd be numerous as the stars in the sky! 

Look at all I did for you! 

You know me. You didn't know them. You don't know them. 

Maybe? 

It still doesn't sit well with me. There's something uncomfortable about this line that I just don't like or love. Something uncertain and unnecessary. 

What do you think? Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Parashat Eikev: Are Jews really better than everyone else?

Happy Friday! I am happy to say these words are coming to you from the comfort of Machane Yehuda, aka the shuk, in Jerusalem, Israel, Planet Earth. Let's dive in. 

This week's Torah portion (aka parashah) is Eikev, which I've written about quite a few times before (including here and here). There are so many compelling events in this week's portion! This portion comprises Devarim/Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25 and includes Moshe's final words to the Israelites and retells the infamous story of the Golden Calf. 

Are the Jews better than everyone else? 

It also includes a verse often cited as troublesome for how the world thinks Jews understand themselves in the expanse of humanity. In Deut. 7:14, the Torah says

ברוך תהיה מכל העמים

Baruch t'hiyeh m'kol ha'amim. 

This often translates as "You will be blessed above all people." This is just one of the places where the antiSemitic trope that Jews believe they're better than everyone else comes from. But that's a mistranslation. There is so much nuance with translation, and this translation misses the mark. The Hebrew uses a mem (מ), which means "from" not "above." Mem is a comparative preposition, and when you compare two things, you're setting them apart from one another. 

The better translation here is "You will be blessed when compared to all people." It's an indicator of a different status of blessing, not a status of being above or better than others. And it makes sense. Jews are viewed by the world as distinct, separate from. Even the most non-religious Jews are still considered as different and separate. This was the blessing from HaShem. 

You can embrace that blessing of difference and celebrate it or view it as a negative and something to fight or battle against. 

What's the deal with the different versions of the Golden Calf story?

Later, the parashah retells the sin of the Golden Calf but changes up a major portion of the story, which makes me wonder. If you recall, the scene here is that Moshe went up on the mount to get the Torah from HaShem. He was gone "too long" for the people, so they panicked and fell back on their old "we need an intermediary to check in with HaShem and see what's doing with Moshe" ways. Thus, they built a calf (not to worship, but to serve as an intermediary to their Gd). 

In Deut. 9:21, Moshe says:

"As for that sinful thing you had made, the calf, I took it and put it to the fire; I broke it to bits and ground it thoroughly until it was fine as dust, and I threw its dust into the brook that comes down from the mountain."

But in the original incident in Exodus 32:20, it says:

"He took the calf that they had made and burned it; he ground it to powder and strewed it upon the water and so made the Israelites drink it."

What's missing? The people drinking the water, of course. Why isn't this brought up in this week's portion? 

Ramban says it's because Moshe didn't want to humiliate them, but that doesn't seem to track. This entire portion is an extensive reminder of how the Israelites screwed up. Ramban also says he doesn't want to tell the people because he doesn't want them to know that he did to them what is done to wives accused of adultery. After all, Israel did cheat on HaShem, right? Sort of, anyway.

Okay, stop. Wait. What? Yes, when a woman is accused of adultery, she's forced to let down her hair and drink some sketchy water. In Numbers 5:17:

"And the priest shall take holy water in an earthen vessel; and of the dust that is on the floor of the tabernacle the priest shall take, and put it into the water."

So is what Moshe did in Exodus and what happened to an accused adulteress the same thing? The former involves burning something and putting the ashes into water. The latter involves some dust from the floor, which could be some ash mixed in with general dirt. The Hebrew word is the same in Deuteronomy and Numbers, but the version in Exodus doesn't use the word for dust/dirt or ash. But the two don't appear to be the same. Even if the ash on the tabernacle floor was from a sacrifice, those sacrifices are out of holiness. The burning of the calf has nothing to do with anything holy. 

All of that to say I don't buy the Ramban's perspective here. But when something in one place in the Torah doesn't match something in another place in the Torah, we have to explain it, right? 

The reality here is that the drinking that is explicitly called out in Exodus is merely implied in Deuteronomy. One can safely assume that there was a single source of water where the Israelites were camped. When Moshe says, "I threw its dust into the brook that comes down from the mountain" the implication is that the people were drinking out of this brook whether they wanted to or not. 

And that concludes this week's thoughts on Eikev. There are a bunch of other interesting sections in this portion, including gobs of talk about conquering and possessing the land, but I've covered that in previous years pretty thoroughly. Until next week ... Shabbat Shalom!

Chaviva on the Parashat Ve'etchanan: Aliyah, Changing the Law, Prayer, and more

Many moons ago, I sat down and studied the weekly Torah portion (parashah). I started this when I was living in Washington D.C. right after college. I'd finish my shift at the Washington Post, head to a coffee shop in Dupont Circle, and dig into the portion to figure out "What's bothering Chavi?"

It's been a long time since I had the mental or physical space to do this. Being a full-time working parent means my week is filled with living on other people's timelines and managing other people's problems and needs. Now that we're living in Israel, I have Fridays off (for the most part), which means I'm trying to reclaim Friday mornings as my own. 

Sometimes, that will mean heading into Jerusalem to the shuk and sometimes, that will mean staying local and bumming it at an Aroma. Sometimes I'll drive around looking for plaques to understand what occurred in the lands around me and sometimes that will mean going to museums, and sometimes that will mean reading the weekly Torah portion to try and reclaim a me of a bygone era ... a me who learned voraciously. 

This week, it means the latter. This week's Torah portion is chock full of so many thought-provoking verses, but I'm going to try and stick to a few that sing to me at this moment. 

Devarim 4:1 Possessing the Land of Israel

 

וְעַתָּ֣ה יִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל שְׁמַ֤ע אֶל־הַֽחֻקִּים֙ וְאֶל־הַמִּשְׁפָּטִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֧ר אָֽנֹכִ֛י מְלַמֵּ֥ד אֶתְכֶ֖ם לַעֲשׂ֑וֹת לְמַ֣עַן תִּֽחְי֗וּ וּבָאתֶם֙ וִֽירִשְׁתֶּ֣ם אֶת־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֧ר יְהֹוָ֛ה אֱלֹהֵ֥י אֲבֹתֵיכֶ֖ם נֹתֵ֥ן לָכֶֽם׃ 

Now therefore hearken, O Yisra᾽el, to the statutes and to the judgments, which I teach you, to do them, that you may live, and go in and possess the land which the Lord God of your fathers gives you (Devarim 4:1).

Here I am, living in Israel, re-fulfilling a dream I had a decade ago. This life is, without a doubt, filled with struggles and challenges and incomprehensible stumbling blocks. And yet, I'm also fulfilling what the Ramban considers one of the 613 commandments.

There is a positive, biblical commandment to dwell in Eretz Yisrael, as it says, "You shall possess it and dwell in it" (Devarim 17:14, 26:1). (Sefer Chareidim, Mitzvot Asei HaTeluyot B'Eretz Israel, chap. I, sec 15.) 

Chazal (חז"ל acronym for Chachameinu Zichronam Livracha, or “Our sages, may their memory be blessed”) say that the mitzvah of living in the Land of Israel is equal to all the mitzvot of the Torah (Sifrei, Re'eh 28). 

I suppose, then, that it makes sense that it's so hard. If one mitzvah can be equal to all the mitzvot, then surely there must be challenges and feats to overcome. Imagine taking 613 steps versus taking just one. Imagine answering a test with 613 questions versus just one. 

(The truth is that the Land of Israel is easy. It's the State of Israel that is the challenge.)

The sun rises over Neve Shamir in Ramat Beit Shemesh.

Devarim 4:2 Waiting for Revelation, Not Change

 לֹ֣א תֹסִ֗פוּ עַל־הַדָּבָר֙ אֲשֶׁ֤ר אָנֹכִי֙ מְצַוֶּ֣ה אֶתְכֶ֔ם וְלֹ֥א תִגְרְע֖וּ מִמֶּ֑נּוּ לִשְׁמֹ֗ר אֶת־מִצְוֺת֙ יְהֹוָ֣ה אֱלֹֽהֵיכֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁ֥ר אָנֹכִ֖י מְצַוֶּ֥ה אֶתְכֶֽם׃ 

You shall not add to the word which I command you, neither shall you diminish from it, that you may keep the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you (Devarim 4:2).

When I was in graduate school at the University of Connecticut-Storrs, I had a fantastic mentor and teacher named Stuart Miller. He was an Orthodox Jew who was also a professor, striking a challenging balance between "this is what I believe" and "this is what the facts tell me." And he was so good and managing that balance without the friction so many academics suffer while knowing what the historical and cultural record says and what the Torah says. 

This week's parashah is V'etchanan in which the pasuk (verse) above says the laws of the Torah are set in stone and must remain as they are literally written, period, full stop. The challenge here, obviously, is that time changes people, technology advances, and the world has become a different place. 

So how do we reconcile and balance the seemingly archaic and outdated laws of Torah with the way we live our modern lives?

What I learned from Professor Miller was that we cannot change the law if we are living Torah-observant lives. 

The Torah doesn't bend to us; we bend to the Torah. Over time, aspects of the law are revealed to us and re-revealed to the point where we can apply Torah to our daily lives in this modern world. The Torah doesn't have to change; we have to look harder and understand better. 

This is where the gedolim ha'dor (the big rabbis or thinkers of each generation) play a vital role. They see how the law applies to modern situations and advise accordingly. It's why there are Shabbat elevators and Shabbat lamps and why we can use timers and hot plates and other things that rabbis of generations gone by would have scoffed at, surely. 

Instead of saying "We live in a new world, the laws of the Torah don't fit with this modern world," we say, "How do these laws apply in our modern world?" 

Obviously, not all streams of Judaism or all flavors of Jews hold by this. In the Liberal world, much of the law has become optional and in the Orthodox world, some groups have taken the law and changed it to be more oppressive and hateful. Neither are what this pasuk says.  

Devarim 4:7 Waiting for Answers That Never Come

כִּ֚י מִי־ג֣וֹי גָּד֔וֹל אֲשֶׁר־ל֥וֹ אֱלֹהִ֖ים קְרֹבִ֣ים אֵלָ֑יו כַּיהֹוָ֣ה אֱלֹהֵ֔ינוּ בְּכׇל־קׇרְאֵ֖נוּ אֵלָֽיו׃ 

For what great nation is there that has a god so close at hand as is the LORD our God whenever we call upon Him (Devarim 4:7)?

When I was a little kid, I used to pray every night. I'd beg Gd to help me love myself more, for people to like me more, to not feel so sad, to not feel so alone, to be thinner, to be smarter, to be different, to be better. I never asked Gd for things. I was never the type of kid who'd say "I promise I'll be good for the next week if you convince my parents to buy me x, y, z. I was the type of kid who'd say "I promise I'll be good forever if you promise to convince more people to like me."

I was a depressed and sad kid. I was fat and unhappy and my journals from childhood are incredibly upsetting to read. Even as I continue to struggle with so many of these same issues today, I wish I had been kinder to myself. I was just a kid!

The hardest part of those prayers and being that kid was that I was never answered. Gd never responded to me. At least, that's what I thought and felt. There was no booming voice from the sky saying I was going to be okay or asking me to do something different to make my asks come true. As a kid who knew the stories of Gd talking to the prophets and Moshe, I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd hear an answer. 

At some point over the past 10 years, I learned that we always get answers to our prayers; they're just not the answer format we expect, need, or want. They don't come in the timeline we demand either. I spent my childhood asking for self-love and it wasn't until I was a fully grown adult human woman that I started understanding what it means to love myself.  It took until I was in my late 30s to learn that starving myself wasn't the way to happiness and health. I'm still working on it, and not doing a super-great job all the time, but I'm working on it.

So this pasuk (verse): Is Gd close whenever we call upon Him? Does he answer when we call upon Him? The truth is the verse says that He's close, but not that he answers. What does "close" mean? It means that HaShem neither slumbers nor sleeps and is always available to hear our prayers, our cries, our requests. 

The beautiful thing about Judaism is that the revelation at Mount Sinai/Horeb happened before all the Israelites. Everyone saw and experienced those moments. It wasn't a private revelation to one person. It wasn't a setup that said you have to rely on a specific person or persons as a channel to Gd. In Judaism, we all have access. Constant access. Because HaShem is close at all times and, as this pasuk says, aren't we lucky? 

And, indeed, in this parashah, the next several verses talk about that moment when HaShem appeared before the people and what they saw and experienced to serve as a reminder of this very fact. 

What did you see in this week's Torah portion? Do you have any thoughts about anything in this post? Share with me in the comments! 

And if you're curious what my TaNaKh of choice is, it's the Koren's Magerman Edition. I love all of the extra goodies in the back, the easy tabs, the two bookmarks to keep tabs on the weekly Torah portion and the haftarah, and more. Get yours here!

What's Bothering Chavi: The Bereishit Edition

Yes, yes, I know that we just finished up the week of reading Noach and the flood narrative, but I'm still in last week for this newly anointed edition of ...

You see, I'm part of this amazing women's learning group every Saturday morning on Shabbat. There's roughly 6-8 of us who gather in a classroom and schmooze about our lives and families (occasionally while partaking of delicious home-baked goods and Trader Joe's chocolates) and talk about the weekly Torah portion. The aliyot (every weekly Torah portion is separated into seven different sections, or aliyot) are dished out to different women who do a bit of reading, studying, and then during our learning share their thoughts, ideas, and what's bothering them.

More often than not, there's a "What's Bothering Chavi?" that can't be explained, although I'm utterly elated when someone has an answer or idea to help me out.

This week, I was looking back at the first portion of the Torah, Bereishit. In this portion, after the creation narratives (of which there are two versions, by the way), Adam and Chava (or Eve if you prefer the English) eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and are booted out of the Garden of Eden. After being clothed by HaShem in animal hide, they have relations and Chava gives birth to Cain and Hevel (or Abel if you prefer the English).

What happens next, most people will tell you is that Cain and Hevel present an offering to HaShem that isn't met with the jolliest of responses, and then Cain kills Hevel, HaShem is none too happy, Cain repents, and so on.

Now, what no one seems to discuss is the fact that Cain and Hevel presented an offering to HaShem.

Jigga wah?!

We're pretty early on in the story of mankind and all of a sudden these two guys have the wherewithal, knowledge, and impetus to make an offering. So what's bothering Chavi?

• How did they know to make an offering?
• Was HaShem expecting offerings at this point?
• How did they know what to offer?
• If there was little to no knowledge of offering specifics, how could HaShem be unhappy with what they brought? (After all, most of the commentaries I read discussed the offerings' qualities, not why or how they decided to make said offerings.)

So, do you have any thoughts? Ideas? A quick Google presents some Christians sites discussing the matter, suggesting that HaShem actually made the first offering (to Himself?) on behalf of Adam and Chava when he fashioned their clothing out of animal hide. But ... this just doesn't sit right with me. How often does HaShem say, "Oh, guys, it's all good, let me take care of that for you" ...?

Also, the detailed list of the who, what, when, where, why, and how of offerings came much later, so this early rendition of giving seems odd, out of place, and uncomfortable to me.

Ready? Set? Chuck your thoughts at me!

What's the Deal with Chesed?

One of the things I've never understood about the Jewish concept of chesed or "loving kindness" as it's often translated is that in modern Judaism we treat the act of doing chesed as notches on a belt or ticks on our wall of proper, ethical living. 

Bar and bat mitzvah kids usually have to do a chesed project leading up to their big day, and many do great things like fundraising for wildfire victims or those suffering from the damages caused by hurricanes and flooding the world over. The concept of chesed is great, it's beautiful, and we learn from Pirkei Avot -- the Ethics of the Fathers -- that it is one of the three things that the world stands on.

Shimon the Righteous was among the last surviving members of the Great assembly. He would say: The world stands on three things: Torah, the service of G-d, and deeds of kindness. (Pirkei Avot 1:2)

What we learn from this is that beyond the obvious necessity of living a Torah life, there are two things we need: service of G-d and chesed, which relates to our fellow man. This is what separated Judaism from other Near Eastern Religions. Judaism was the first "religion to focus on ethical monotheism -- the monotheistic part related to G-d and the ethical part related to man. 

So what's my beef? My gripe is that the way we connect with HaShem matters, but it only matters between us and HaShem. The way we connect with fellow man works the same way. We shouldn't do things publicly or keep lists so everyone knows how awesomely kind and giving we are. Yes, we live in a world where billionaires throw money around at causes and get lots of mad props for it, but is it right? Is that what chesed looks like?

I've been reading, weekly, a little book that Mr. T nabbed for me at Pomeranz booksellers called A Portion of Kindness by Rosally Saltsman, which has weekly mini-assessments of verses from the parshah (portion) and how we can connect it to chesed. I really like her quick and witty take on the weekly portion, and she offers a lot of great tips on how to do chesed. This past week, for Va'yeshev, Saltsman commented on how there were so many good intentions in the parsha, but that most of the time the good intentions didn't really come to fruition (like the brothers who wanted to come back, rescue Yosef and return him to his father). She discussed how there's a concept in Judaism where if the intention is there and the follow-through falls through, the intention is what counts. So often we do something with the proper intention, and it doesn't always go according to plan (at least not our plan), and that's fine. HaShem knows where our intention is. 

Although I like her approach to taking away a lesson on chesed from the weekly portion, I have to gripe that Saltsman lays out a plan to keep a chesed chart, so you can keep tabs on all of the awesomely wonderful things you've done for your fellow man. It goes back to my issue with anonymity and doing something for the sake of it being good and kind rather than for the attention and spotlight on what a great person you are. There's no weekly or monthly or yearly accounting in synagogue of all of the various chesed you've done, is there? So why keep track of it? Feel good about doing it, and move on with your life. It isn't a competition. (For a conversation about the difference between tzedakah or charity and chesed, see this article, which discusses how chesed is "higher" than tzedakah.)

What do you think about chesed? If you're not Jewish, I'm curious if there is a similar ethical responsibility that is encouraged in Christianity or Islam or Buddhism and whether keeping tabs is encouraged or if it's about doing good, feeling good, and being good. 

Note: The book reviews I'm doing for Pomeranz are honest, as all of my product and book reviews are, but the books are being given to me at no cost for review.

Parshat Re'eh: To State or Not to State

On Thursday I had the pleasure of talking about this week's parshah in our weekly Stand Up staff meeting. This is the quick and dirty of what I talked about, and I hope it gives you some serious food for thought.

First, I offered up a quick summary of what is offered up in parshat Re'eh:

• Blessings & curses (shout it from the mountains!)
• But what about bechira hofshi (free will)? Rabbi Akiva in Avot 3:19 said, “Though everything is foreseen by G-d, yet free will is granted to man.” 
• Re’eh is singular -- "You see" -- putting emphasis on the individual.
• Rules for living in Eretz Yisrael (centralized worship)
• One note: When in mourning, you cannot physically harm yourself. 
• Don't become a Canaanite (false prophets and idols are not cool)
• Review of kashrut (you heard them at Sinai, so hear them again)
• Tithing (that's 10 percent of one's annual produce)
• Shmitah year (let the land rest, yo)
• Laws of Passover, Sukkot, and Shavuot (pilgrimage and sacrifice -- according to your means)

Then I got into the meat of what either Matters to Chavi or is Bothering Chavi. I started with Devarim 17:14-15,

When you enter the land the Lord your God is giving you and have taken possession of it and settled in it, and you say, “Let us set a king over us like all the nations around us,” be sure to appoint over you a king the Lord your God chooses. He must be from among your fellow Israelites. Do not place a foreigner over you, one who is not an Israelite. 

I tied this to something I actually posted here on the blog in this post from July 17 about the decision to make aliyah and the challenges I was facing.

There is a positive, biblical commandment to dwell in Eretz Yisrael, as it says, "You shall possess it and dwell in it" (Devarim 17:14, 26:1). (Sefer Chareidim, Mitzvot Asei HaTeluyot B'Eretz Israel, chap. I, sec 15.) 

Chazal (חז"ל acronym for Chachameinu Zichronam Livracha -- “Our sages, may their memory be blessed”) say that this mitzvah is equal to all the mitzvot of the Torah (Sifrei, Re'eh 28), and it is one of the 613 mitzvot according to the Ramban.

And then I posted The Big Question: What does this mean for the Land of Israel today? Are we rushing a good thing?

This question is based on the understanding of many Hasidic dynasties who have expressed anti-Zionist opinions because of the "Three Oaths" -- found in Talmud Tractate Ketubot 111a -- by which all Jews are bound.  This discussion comes from the book Vayoel Moshe written in 1961 by Satmar Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, who, by the way, was living in Israel at the time. The title of the book states very plainly the rabbi's stance in opposition to the State of Israel,

"And Moses agreed to stay ... an alien in a foreign land" (Exodus 2:21).  

Moses agreed to stay an alien in foreign land, so we should to, right?

So the "Three Oaths" discussion comes from a passage from Shir haShirim in which God made the Israelites promise "to wait for Him before arousing his love" as King Solomon pleaded -- three times -- with the daughters of Israel not to stir “his love” before the time is due. So what are the "Three Oaths" that dictate why we shouldn't have established a State of Israel (beyond, of course, the obvious statement that the State of Israel is a secular, heathen place failing in its Judaism):

1. Do not ascend to Eretz Yisrael as a group using force
2. Do not rebel against the nations of the world
3. The nations of the world will not persecute the nation of Israel excessively (guessing PEOPLE/Am Yisrael)

So, what do you think? Are we rushing things? How do we reconcile the knowledge that the Torah tells us to possess and dwell in the land but that it was meant, perhaps, for the most immediate of generations (aka those that actually did enter and possess the land)? Do Hasidim have footing upon which to stand with the whole "we're rushing it, and this is the reason Mashiach hasn't come yet" argument?

Balaam and the Place of Teshuva

This week's Torah portion is unique. It is the only parshah in which we have to take Moshe's word for what happened because no other Yisraelim were present. It's also one of the few parshiyot in which there is a non-Israelite prophet speaking on behalf of HaShem -- and he only has good things to say. (The rabbis say that there were seven non-Israelite prophets.)

In a nutshell: Balak the Moabite is freaked out, so he hires Balaam (a well-known sorcerer) to curse the Israelites. Balaam goes off to get his curse on, when HaShem interjects (through the talking donkey!) and fills his mouth with a whole bunch of positive prophecy. Balak sends a bunch of Moabite women to seduce the Israelites, it works for a bunch of them, resulting in their deaths and Phinehas doing something rockstar-like.

So what's interesting to me in this week's parshah? Well, there's the fact that Ruth -- Judaism's beloved convert and the line of the Messiah -- is descended from Balak (his great, great, great, great something or other granddaughter, to be precise). As the story goes, Ruth was blessed with becoming an Israelite because of the one thing that Balak might have done right (the 42 sacrifices he offered while trying to sway HaShem's opinion, even though Balak was using it as bribery rather than tribute). I guess, from my perspective, it appears that Ruth had to do some major teshuva for being descended from some pretty callous and hateful individuals.

No, to focus on the convert would be predictable (and not so interesting). Thus, I want to focus on the idea that HaShem is always with Israel.

"No harm is in sight for Jacob,
No woe in view for Israel,
The Lord their God is with them (יי אלהיו עמו)
And their king's acclaim in their midst." (Numbers 23:21)

On this, the Baal Shem Tov quipped,

"A Jew is never alone: Every place he goes and everywhere he stops -- Adonai, his God is with him."

So, what do you think? Is a Jew ever alone? The amount of mitzvoth to which we are commanded would suggest that if HaShem isn't always with us, then we sure as well better think HaShem is with us. It's a hyperconscious way of life, to always feel and know that HaShem is there. Women are gifted with tzniut and men with tzitzit. Physical incarnations of reminders. (And yes, there are many more, but those are the basics.)

Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotsk said in this regard,

"A person who goes through life with a commitment to the Godly, the Heavenly King resides with him; if he does act sinfully then the Holy One does not take a great note of it." (Rashi similarly said: "The Holy One does not see the sins of Jacob, - when they transgress His words, He does not investigate after them.") 

So, living a life committed to the hyperconsciousness of the ever-presence of HaShem in our lives grants us a little ... "get out of jail free" card? 

Rabbi Israel Rhizin said that even when a Jew sins, 

"even in the depths of depravity there remains within him a spark of godliness; a speck of the light of t'shuvah still flickers in his heart -- even at the time of sin. "

Basically, HaShem gives us a lot of credit, respect, and holds an eternal hope for us. You can always come back, Judaism says. HaShem has been holding out for us to get our you-know-what together for a long time. Don't we owe it already?

The idea of teshuvah is something that's very important to me these days. Like any Jew who has gone astray, I'm in a mode of hardcore teshuvah. I've made mistakes, I've made stupid stupid stupid mistakes that I knew were wrong. And yet, for some reason, HaShem stayed with me and guided me back and is gifting me with amazing happiness and insight into who I am and where I'm going. 

Even in my stupidest moments, HaShem was with me. So I would be inclined to take Balaam's prophecy with much truth and confidence. I can only hope that Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotsk was right and that my sins were put in Column Z and not Column A. 

To Prep You for the Parshah ...

This week's parshah is Acharei-Kedoshim, which is chock full of mitzvoth. When it comes to the commandments, there are huge discussions to be had about the laws from the Torah versus mitzvoth from the Rabbis, as well as the "fences" that the ultra-Orthodox build around the basic halachot (laws).

This story is my favorite example of the mitzvoth in Judaism:

As a seminary student in Israel, my wife and her friends had to cook their own meals. One evening, as my wife was about to broil a chicken, a roommate stopped her, horrified at what was happening. "Don't you know that you can't cook a chicken whole, that you must remove the legs first?" her friend exclaimed. 

My wife had never heard of such a thing, and neither had the few rabbis they spoke with about it the next day. So the roommate asked her mother why she cooked chicken that way. Her mother said that she had copied her own mother who was fastidious in the observance of kashrut laws. So they asked the grandmother: "Why did you always cut the legs off the chicken?" 

"Simple," she explained, "There wasn't enough room in the pan!"

Then again, when it comes to fences, as Vayikra 18:30 says, "guard my guardings" (וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם אֶת מִשְׁמַרְתִּי) ... which suggests, perhaps, HaShem wanted us to put up some fences. The question is: How many? How big are those fences?

Also: Every time I go to someone's house for the first time and observe their own minhagim (tradition) quirks, I wonder and ask where they came from. Often times, people don't know. It makes me wonder how easy it would be for me to simply create a tradition, to build a fence around a mitzvah and make it standard. Oh the options!

Thoughts on Parshah Eikev

I really like reading and writing about the weekly Torah portion, or parshah, but I know that it isn't a highly read thing here on the blog. I'm here to cater to my readers, but sometimes I just have to get some thoughts down on the page and hope someone appreciates them. No guilt or anything, of course, but I have some thoughts about this week's parshah, Eikev.

Eikev comprises Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25 and is a continuation of Moshe's final words to the Israelites in which he implores them to follow the word of HaShem and he reminds them of all of those ... missteps ... that they're so well known for, the Golden Calf incident among them.

In Deut. 7:14, it says

ברוך תהיה מכל העמים

Most would probably use this line as proof, especially with the English translation, that Jews view themselves as greater, holier, more special than other people. The English translation often reads "You will be blessed above all people." The Hebrew uses the preposition min (מן or -מ), which means "from." It's a comparative preposition, and it would be used to say "I am smarter than him" (אני יותר חכמה ממנו). A literal translation would be "I am more smart from him," but that's how Hebrew works. When you're comparing two things, you're setting them apart. Something is XXX from XXX.

Thus, this specific phrase from the parshah, which is found in a million other places in the Torah actually means that HaShem has made us different from other nations. Different, separate, unique. Remember that when you're eating a big plate of bacon with all of your non-Jewish friends. (I'm only half-joking here.) Is our uniqueness granted by HaShem inherent? Or must we act different?

In Deut. 9:9, Moshe tells the Israelites that he "neither ate bread nor drank water" during his 40 days and nights atop the mount in the desert when he was obtaining the commands from HaShem. Oddly enough, earlier, in Deut. 8:3, we read the following:

And He afflicted you and let you go hungry, and then fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your forefathers know, so that He would make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but rather by, whatever comes forth from the mouth of the Lord does man live.

וַיְעַנְּךָ וַיַּרְעִבֶךָ וַיַּאֲכִלְךָ אֶת הַמָּן אֲשֶׁר לֹא יָדַעְתָּ וְלֹא יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ לְמַעַן הוֹדִעֲךָ כִּי לֹא עַל הַלֶּחֶם לְבַדּוֹ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם כִּי עַל כָּל מוֹצָא פִי יְי יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם:

Bazinga! Intentional or not, there's a juxtaposition with a point here. Moshe knew that man does not live by bread alone, so his hunger upon the mount was met with the words of HaShem, and that was enough. I suppose this is a powerful lesson for those of us that struggle with food, eh?

Later on in Deut. 9 I find it odd that the retelling of the Golden Calf incident from Ki Tisa doesn't mention an important aspect of the narrative. When Moshe descends the mount and finds out what has happened, the Golden Calf is burned and its ashes are spread into the water that trickles down from the mountain. In Ki Tisa, the people are then required to drink the concoction of ashes and water, but in Eikev, there's no mention of this ritual. I find it interesting simply because this very ritual of ashes and water was a very common one in the Ancient Near East, which makes me wonder if when the writing of Deuteronomy was going on the ritual was taboo among the Israelites. (I've written about the Golden Calf a lot in the past.)

There's also a lot of talk in this parshah about going to "possess" the land that HaShem as given our forefathers. It makes me jealous of those who've been able to make aliyah (or moving to Israel) a real, tangible thing. And maybe what that nagging empty feeling that really strikes me at random intervals is. All I can say for now is, in time. Ultimately I'll be in Israel, I just don't know when. HaShem promised it to my -- OUR -- forefathers, so it's only right that we should make it happen. It's not a "maybe," it's a "must be."

And, of course, I would be remiss to not mention the following phrase from Deut. 10:19 to love the ger or stranger in your midst.

ואהבתם את הגר בי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים

I hate to argue that this doesn't mean convert, because I know that later, in the Talmud, anything related to ger is referred to as meaning convert. In the Ancient Near East, people did float from religious entity to religious entity quite freely, but I don't know how actually prevalent it was for one to truly "join" the Israelites. It is possible that there were those who lived among the Israelites out of admiration or a sense of justice, and it likely was a situation much like today in Israel where refugees flee because of this very sentiment -- love the strangers in your midst, don't shun them or treat them poorly because you know what that felt like once upon a time. The theory is that Jews do so well no matter where they are because they know what it's like to be the minority. Thus, the assumption is that we tend to be a little more forgiving to those unlike us because we know how it feels to be the odd man out.

But the way the parshah ends has me a little unsettled. From Deut. 11:22-25:

For if you keep all of these mitzvot that I command you to do, to love HaShem, to walk in all His ways, and to cleave to Him, then HaShem will drive out all of these nations from before you and you will possess nations greater and stronger than you. Every place upon which the soles of your feet will tread will be yours: from the desert and Lebanon, from the river, the Euphrates, and until the western sea, will be your boundary.

No man will stand up before you: the Lord your G-d will cast the fear of you and the dread of you on all the land upon which you tread, as He has spoken to you.

This sort of makes it sound like we're going to be some big scary force that the rest of the nations cower before, and I'm not sure I like the sound of that. There's no real "how" for this, and that also has me worried. And the word "possess" ...? Of course, I'm thinking of the physical, when perhaps HaShem really means possess in terms of possessing respect and acknowledgement. The verb is לרשת, which translates to inherit or succeed, so I suppose it's pretty clear that it's a physical take-over or succession.

But now I wonder ... back then, nations were small, nations were made up of peoples sharing a similar geographic boundary. Nations aren't like what we have today. The boundaries are clear in this portion, so perhaps, then, the claim has been satisfied -- almost. Maybe it doesn't mean world domination, but simply geographic domination over the specific land area that HaShem gave our forefathers. Does this mean we're just that much closer to redemption? It does say "HaShem will cast the fear of you and the dread of you on all the land upon which you tread," so perhaps it does intend something bigger, something greater, something more massive than the geographic boundaries of Eretz Yisrael. However, maybe that bigger, greater thing isn't domination in the sense of politics or military but rather a domination as I mentioned before -- one of the heart and mind, one of respect and acknowledgement.

Perhaps HaShem meant for us to have Eretz Yisrael, but perhaps he also meant for us to have the hearts and minds of the rest of the world. The children of Israel, set apart from all other people yet loving and caring for those unlike ourselves. Perhaps HaShem expected us to fight for mutual respect.

Rashi on Shaving: Ki Teitzei

I used to sit down, every week, in a coffee shop, and read the weekly Torah portion (aka parshah). I'd make notes in a notebook, which I still have, and then write up a blog post with some semblance of my thoughts made coherent. That ritual began when I was living in Washington D.C. in 2006, and it continued well into 2008 before I moved to Connecticut. But when I moved to Connecticut, I got busy with school and my weekly parshah study was replaced largely by my academic probes that translated into personal discovery with Talmudic and midrashic study, as well as Hebrew.

Something Elul has me thinking about and reflecting on is my devotion to weekly, if not daily, Torah study. Or examining the halachos or some other aspect of this Jewish life I carry so proudly. Thus, I give you, some thoughts on just a bit of the upcoming parshah, Ki Teitzei. 

(Deuteronomy 22:5, with Rashi commentary from Chabad.org)

5. A man's attire shall not be on a woman, nor may a man wear a woman's garment because whoever does these [things] is an abomination to the Lord, your God.

ה. לֹא יִהְיֶה כְלִי גֶבֶר עַל אִשָּׁה וְלֹא יִלְבַּשׁ גֶּבֶר שִׂמְלַת אִשָּׁה כִּי תוֹעֲבַת יְי אֱלֹקיךָ כָּל עֹשֵׂה אֵלֶּה:

A man’s attire shall not be on a woman: making her appear like a man, thereby enabling her to go among men, for this can only be for the [purpose of] adultery. — [Nazir 59a]

לא יהיה כלי גבר על אשה: שתהא דומה לאיש כדי שתלך בין האנשים, שאין זו אלא לשם ניאוף:

nor may a man wear a woman’s garment: to go and abide among women. Another explanation: [In addition to not wearing a woman’s garment,] a man must also not remove his pubic hair or the hair of his armpits [for this is a practice exclusive to women]. — [Nazir 59a]

ולא ילבש גבר שמלת אשה: לילך ולישב בין הנשים. דבר אחר שלא ישיר שער הערוה ושער של בית השחי:

because … is an abomination: The Torah forbids only [the wearing of] clothes that would lead to abomination [i.e., immoral and illicit behavior]. — [Nazir 59a]

כי תועבת: לא אסרה תורה אלא לבוש המביא לידי תועבה:

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Okay. What struck me about this particular verse is that it relates that a woman shouldn't wear the article, or as it is understood, clothing item, that belongs to a man, while a man shouldn't wear "a woman's dress" is what it says specifically. Does that rule out bras? I'm joking, of course. The reason for this command, according to the text, is that it is an abomination. Rashi understands this to be because it would lead a man or woman to commit adultery. The modern and commonplace act of wearing pants and button-downs among women aside, how does Orthodoxy understand this?

Women in the Orthodox community wear skirts, by and large, wear skirts, so pants aren't an issue. But what about shirts that could be understood as men's clothing. A button-down, for example. The "boyfriend tee" as many places call it. A simple, classic, professional button-down shirt, skirt or not ... would it make Rashi shudder? 

And how do we view the man who wears a skirt on Purim for kicks and giggles -- is it in the spirit of this simple command not to don the dress of a woman? You won't find too many women in the Orthodox community donning full male attire for Purim (that whole skirt thing, of course), but men. Men wear dresses and skirts and get their hilarity on with ease. What validates this, considering this command from Deut. 22:5? It does seem, at the end, with Rashi, that only if the act of wearing a skirt or men's button-down would lead to "immoral and illicit behavior" is it an abomination. The assumption, however, is that the clothing itself will result in an abomination (no free choice?), so donning it isn't even an option or consideration. Or, rather, it shouldn't be. The point: No good can come from wearing the clothing traditionally worn by the opposite sex, so don't do it. Stam. 

What I'm really taken with, I will say, is the mention of how women remove their pubic and armpit hair. I was always under the impression that this was very much a 20th-century thing to do, a modern insecurity with the hair of our bodies. Now I have to wonder whether this was a normative activity even back in the 11th century. It seems strange to me, considering how difficult it must have been to shave back in the day. There weren't easy-to-use BIC razors, after all. No bikini-line razors and what have you. Definitely no Nair. Does anyone have a good history of shaving (for women, that is, I know Alexander the Great made a big to-do out of being clean-shaven; way to go Alexander!)?

I'm sure there are plenty of interesting and curious aspects of this simple verse from this week's Torah portion that I'm missing, so feel free to share what you see in it, or what you think about this whole "women dressing as men" and "men dressing as women" command. It's such a strange and unusual concept to us in the 21st century, even within the Orthodox community where women wear skirts and head coverings and men sport suits on their way to shul. I wonder what this verse will mean to us in 100 years? 500 years? What happens when we all go Star Trek and wear body suits? 

Thoughts a'plenty over here!

A Little White Lie

I was delighted last week with the Torah portion, Acharei-Kedoshim. We were discussing it at shul when I met with the rabbi and during a discussion of the casting off of sins on the head of the goat, we got into the whole "scape goat derives from this" discussion. It wasn't so much of a discussion as a mention, but as the rabbi related more to the story about the red string tied around the goat's neck turning red after it was thrown off the cliff ... wait. What? I stopped the rabbi.

"This isn't in the Torah text, is it?" I inquired. "Yes, yes it is," the rabbi responded.

I didn't have a chumash handy, so I continued, thinking maybe I'd forgotten the text. After all, it had been a year since I last read the portion and was mostly going off memory. The rabbi explained that someone would take the goat out to a cliff, and chuck it over with a string attached to its neck. Once this red string turned white, the person could go back to the camp and tell the Israelites that they were kosher, their sins were atoned for. This got me thinking that if the text is where we derive the scape goat term, then maybe this is also where we get the concept of a "white lie." We discussed whether every year, without fail, the string turned from red to white. It was the messenger's duty to return to the camp from the cliff to say "Bravo! You passed the test! You're sin-free!" But what if it didn't turn white. What would the messenger do? Would he lie to the people? After all, it wasn't so much important that they were all clear and free, but rather that they kept believing in the idea of the act. So, it was suggested, maybe every now and again the messenger came back and had to tell a lie -- but it was a good lie, it kept the people strong, hopeful, and believing. It was, in essence, a "white lie."

I asked the rabbi what he thought about the concept, and he thought it was an interesting suggestion. So I've been waiting for about a week to look into it. Needing a break from my paper on the illustrious (not) Imma Shalom, I Googled the parshah to make sure the text was right.

Much to my dismay, this isn't a Torah narrative. The goat gets sent off into the wilderness, darn't. That's all the Torah says. I remember being frustrated originally when reading it. I mean, how do they know the goat hasn't wandered back around camp? Bringing their sins back to roost? I'd taken the rabbi's statement as gold, but I've come to find out that the embellishment of the cliff and the string comes from the later writings, not the Torah. .

Talk about a bummer. The differentiation, as an academic and as a Jew, really, is important to me. Either way, I think I've got a compelling case for where "white lie" really came from. What do you think?

Did Yitro Really Convert?

When I was meeting with the rabbi this morning, he mentioned this week's parshah, Yitro, in relation to conversion, and it got me thinking more about the portion.

Yitro, also known as Jethro, is Moshe's father-in-law, also known as the father of Tzipporah, Moshe's wife! Together, Moshe and Tzipporah have two children. In this parshah, Yitro brings Tzipporah and the two boys out to Moshe to be reunited with their father. Likewise, Yitro helps Moshe delegate some of the work that is keeping him overly busy (decision-making and what have you) so that he can spend some time with his family. The big thing about this parshah, though, is that Yitro supposedly converts to Moshe's and the Israelite's religion (not quite yet Judaism, but, you know).

When the rabbi was discussing this, he focused on Yitro's returning to his land in Exodus 18:27. We never hear about Yitro again, and the rabbi suggested that the reason we never hear from Yitro again is perhaps because he faded back into the way of the idolatrous land -- without community, he couldn't live as a Jew.

I've always had a difficult time accepting the fact that Yitro converts in this parshah. The basis for this assumption is that Yitro is talking to Moshe, telling him about all that he had heard for what G-d did for the Isarelites in Egypt, and goes on to say, in Exodus 18:11, that he now knows that G-d is the greatest of all gods. In some translations, it reads that "your G-d is the greatest of all gods" and in others merely "G-d is the greatest of all gods." There is a big difference between the two, but overall the argument remains. By simply stating that he believes that G-d is greater than all other gods, is this a basis for assuming that Yitro embraces the Israelite religion? As a pagan, perhaps Yitro had various gods, and Yitro recognized that G-d is the greatest, but that does not mean that he embraced YHWH as the ONLY god.

At the end of this passage, in Exodus 18:27, it says that Moshe sees his father off, and Yitro goes home to his own land. The parenthetical in my Gutnick Chumash adds "to convert his family" after this statement, which I find a little troublesome. (This derives from the Rashi commentary.) If Yitro had in fact left, converted his family to the Israelite religion, and went about his life, wouldn't they have joined the rest of the Israelites? This is pre-Diaspora, of course. Or if they had led their lives -- if Yitro had converted his entire clan -- wouldn't we have heard about them later in life?

It is, thus, believable that once Yitro left the Israelites he fell back into his old many-godded ways. Without the community, one can lose their sense of self, and this is absolutely true. I often find myself longing to be within the community -- if you're surrounded by observant people, people having kosher dinners and being shomer Shabbos and walking to shul and schlepping in the eruv, it's so much easier to really be a part of a community, to feel a sense of self within the community, and most importantly, to feel a sense of self within.

Yitro, having left the community, faded into the annals of the Tanakh, never to be heard from again. Did he become a Jew? Did he convert the masses? Did he die alone, without a sense of self, wondering if his grandchildren were helping to grow the nation of Israel? Who knows. But it's a fascinating commentary on the parshah.

I could write a lot more about this parshah and about conversion as a result, but it's for another time and another post. I'm looking forward to the upcoming parshah Ki Tisa -- the infamous portion with the sin of the Golden Calf! My tour de force! My first-semester's work! Prepare for a monsoon of good Torah-y goodness!

Parshah Bo: Reflected!

In an effort to reconnect with the weekly Torah portion, I've started looking through my old posts from when I was reading the portion each week and writing a d'var of sorts. Since I've gone back to school, I spend a great deal of time in texts, but I don't really spend a lot of time relating personally to them so much as I do academically to them. Being a Jewish person mastering in Judaic studies, I think this can be a common thing. It's one thing if you're learning in seminary or yeshivah, and it's an entirely different thing if iyou're studying in a public university, as I am. I prefer to learn in a public university, to be completely honest, but I think I miss out on the spiritual side of learning sometimes. With that said, I bring you some of my comments, with amendations, for Parashat Bo, which I wrote in January 2007 -- a whole two years ago, yikes! I have deleted some comments entirely, and you can read the full original post at the January 2007 link, and additional comments are in bold. There's nothing particularly profound here, so pardon the simplicity of my observations.

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In this parshah are the three final plagues: locusts, darkness and, finally, the death of the first born. The Israelites leave the land, matzot and thousands in tow.

+ Ex. 10:14 "Locusts invaded all the land of Mitzrayim ... never before had there been so many, nor will there ever be so many again." I appreciate knowing that never again will a swarm of locusts be brought upon the land. It's comforting. (Still comforting!)

Rashi's comments on this:

And the one [the locust plague] that took place in the days of Joel, about which it is said: “the like of which has never been” (Joel 2:2), [from which] we learn that it was more severe than that of [the plague in the days of] Moses-namely because that one was [composed] of many species [of locusts] that were together: arbeh, yelek, chasil, [and] gazam; but [the locust plague] of Moses consisted of only one species [the arbeh], and its equal never was and never will be.

+ Having never read through the Bible/Torah before, even in my youth (I was raised w/o religion, essentially), I was unfamiliar with some of the plagues. Perhaps the one I was most unfamiliar with is the Ninth Plague -- darkness. The sages surmise that it wasn't physical darkness, such as that brought by a sandstorm or eclipse, but rather that it was "a spiritual or psychological darkness, a deep depression." The Torah reads, "People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was" (Ex. 10:23). The commentary comments that people suffering from depression often lack the energy to move about or to concern themselves with others, focusing instead on themselves. (Deleted sections.)

The commentary reads: "The person who cannot see his neighbor is incapable of spiritual growth, incapable of rising from where he is currently." Amid the Ninth Plague, "People could not see one another." The Catch 22 of depression is that, oftentimes, one feels so absolutely alone that he or she is driven into the depths of darkness where it is most lonely. Yet, if the person is incapable of seeing his or her neighbor to begin with, and within darkness is also unable to see his or her neighbor, what is to release them so that they can attain spiritual growth? (Deleted sections.)

+ I cherish the explanation behind the creation of the Jewish calendar in Ex. 12:2 and why our calendar follows the moon, as opposed to the sun: "Just as G-d showed Noah the rainbow as a sign of the covenant, G-d shows Moses the sliver of the new moon as a symbol of Israel's capacity for constant renewal (Hirsch)." What a brilliant concept and explanation. So I have to wonder if this is why the Jewish calendar has persisted throughout all of these years, through the creation of the Gregorian calendar and the ever-changing calendar that we have today (I mean, if we can move Daylight Savings ..). How is it that we have managed to keep this calendar? It blows my mind at the persistence of our people, our traditions, our livelihood. The covenant, then, must surely be eternal. I see no other explanation for the continuity of the Jewish people! It's quite inspiring and motivating.

+ Ex. 12:24 "You shall observe this as an institution for all time" -- why do we no longer offer up the paschal sacrifice then? I think that my questioning of this at the time was quite juvenile. Tied to Temple worship, sacrificing was replaced by rabbinic Judaism at the Temple's destruction. There is a group -- the Samaritans -- that still fulfills the commandment of the paschal sacrifice, but the thing of it is, they aren't doing it in the Temple, and I'm pretty sure there are some halakhic issues involved. 

(Deleted portion, mostly because I have no idea what I was talking about!)

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Of course, if you'd like some more concrete, revealing, fascinating takes on this weeks Torah portion, I suggest you hit up Chabad.org, mostly because it's chock full of interesting bits about the portion. You can also find the portion with Rashi's commentary there, which I always appreciate. You can visit the OU.org website for parshah info, too.