ויקם מלך חדש על מצרים אשר לא ידע את יוסף
I have always viewed this verse as one of the most striking in this week’s parshah, parashot Shemot – and indeed in perhaps the entire story of the Israelites’ sojourn in Egypt; it marks a significant turning point in the narrative. How could this be that a new king wouldn’t have heard of Joseph? Recall just a few parshiot ago, Pharoah declared that none other than Joseph shall be greater in Egypt save for the throne itself. Responsible for Egypt’s extraordinary economic survival during great famine, Joseph was highly esteemed within the political structure of the Egyptian court. He was to quote Tim Rice’s wonderful libretto of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, “Pharoah’s number 2.”
So what happened between the end of Genesis when Joseph was still highly respected and certainly as well known in Egypt, one would imagine, as Rahm Emanuel is today, and the start of Exodus where apparently he is unknown?The midrash has a few thoughts on the matter that are informative.
One, that there was actually a new king. Accept the pshat, the stated text at face value. Accordingly, so much time has passed, that indeed, the previous leader’s chief side kick and all of his efforts have been long forgotten. A bit simplistic, but perhaps possible. Another, more realistic thought is that Joseph was not actually forgotten. Instead, this midrash argues, it was the same king but who succumbing to political pressure from his constituents issued new decrees as if he was not aware that Joseph ever existed. This view forwards the idea that it wasn’t just Pharoah who was capable of evil, but that the Egyptian people were so filled with fear and hatred of their neighbors that it didn’t matter that Joseph had saved lives. Moreover, this commentary suggests that despite their growing numbers, the Israelites had little or no say in the matter – no voice.
The midrash struggles with the text largely because it seems unlikely that Joseph would be so quickly forgotten following his death at the close of Genesis. It seems unlikely that all memory of that period of his influence would be gone from Egyptian consciousness. So unlikely that it demands an explanation.
The historians among us want to know exactly how much time has transpired: is the first opinion possible? Could it truly have been such a long time that Joseph and his policies were barely if at all memorable? Of course, this is a difficult if not impossible thing to assess. That being said, the question does keep academics busy, though hopefully not awake at night, and attempts have been made to historically place the Biblical narrative of Israelite descent into Egypt into the historical time line. A favored theory has the period of Israelite bondage coinciding with the overthrow of the Hyksos empire (one that was apparently favorable to the Israelites) and the rise of Ahmose I (who apparently was not). A compelling theory as archeological evidence indicates that Ahmose’s reign was marked by lots of ambitious building that demanded cheap – i.e., slave - labor. This timing would place the Israelites in Egypt around the 15-13 centuries BCE, a plausible time frame but one that frankly doesn’t fully line up with the biblical record. But, if this hypothesis is correct – which be clear is far from certain – than Ahmose I would represent that melech hadash who if he did ‘know’ of Joseph’s influence on the previous ruler, would have worked diligently to undermine it with new legislation in order to forward and strengthen his own regime.
Of course, the bible is not intended to be historically accurate. It presents at best a telescoped and elaborated version of history whose purpose is to offer a theological message. This is a natural phenomenon; aren’t we already condensing recent events into “the first decade of the 21st century” as if time is a concrete construct that can transform history into something larger? The uncertainty of the history of the bible actually helps the theology rise to the surface – the details are far less important than the story of the development of this chosen nation and where it is going.
This history, however unclear, though, is instructive particularly when coupled with a third view presented in the Midrash, namely that this phrase ‘who knew not Joseph’ should be understood as evidence that the Israelites had so fully assimilated into Egyptian society that they had willingly and completely given up their own identity and their commitment to the values of their ancestors. In essence, they allowed their unique and empowering voice to be lost and forgotten.
This pivotal verse that tells us a ‘new king who knew not Joseph’ follows immediately after the verse informing us that the Israelites had grown so in number that they filled the land. Numbers weren’t the issue. This verse in our Torah portion, vayakom melech chadash al mitzraim asher lo yada et yosef, should serve to remind us of the importance of making sure that we make a visible and audible presence whether we are present in large or small numbers. In large part, the Jewish community has succeeded in this effort throughout the modern period. Today the Jewish community is a remarkable minority representing only 2% of the American population and less than .02% of the world’s population. Yet, not only, as did Joseph, does the Jewish community maintain a vital presence on the governmental level representing this year 11% of congress as well as being represented by various lobbying arms such our own movement’s Religious Action Center, AIPAC, and the more recently formed J-Street, but Jews have made their voice known and have made a positive impact in virtually all areas of society. As a recent email that is circulating through our inboxes notes, Jews account for almost 129 of awarded Nobel Prizes since its establishment in 1895 in fields such as economics, physics, and literature as well as the highly esteemed Nobel Peace Prize. Such success requires a proactive effort and a desire to learn and promote one’s values in the community.
Perhaps the greatest failure of the Israelites in Egypt was their passivity. As their mass was growing, they somehow failed to become a functioning and integral part of Egyptian society. They remained separate enough to be identifiable, yet at the same time they failed to make a positive contribution to society which left them ultimately unknown, or at least not valued enough in order to retain protection by those in high office. The lesson of this verse and its accompanying midrashim is that it is our responsibility, not any one person’s – it wasn’t solely Joseph’s responsibility - it is everyone’s responsibility to make sure that our presence and voice is always heard so that when a new power does arise, it knows who we are and even more importantly sees us as a positive force in society. This requires us to be confident in our identity as Jews, to know the values for which we stand, and to be willing to work towards enacting them in this world. Whether it is our commitment to working towards social and economic justice, ensuring freedom from religious persecution, or working towards the eradication of poverty and abuse in this world, this is our mandate: to continue to recommit ourselves to the pursuit of Jewish values in this world – only then, can we ensure that a new king won’t rise up who doesn’t know us!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
Delivered Erev Shabbat Vayigash, 12/25/2009 by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
It is easy as a Jew, especially at this time of year when the Christian calendar so thoroughly consumes American culture (so much so that a Christian holiday is marked by an American national holiday), to wax poetic about living in Israel. As we’ve been reminded in past weeks, there are those who believe that Israel is the only homeland for the Jewish people. If you have had the opportunity to spend some time in Israel, you know the incredible feeling of living in a country that marks Jewish time. When main street is as quiet as today’s American streets, if not more so, but on Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, the major Chaggim, and even Shabbat. There is no question that there is an incredible sense of validation and comfort that comes from living in an environment that fully responds to Jewish time, when society and the culture generally moves according to our rhythm.
Yet, despite my love of Israel and my firm commitment to supporting Israel and demanding that her voice be present and heard in International dialogue and debate, and despite the challenges I sometimes face as a Jew living in a predominately Christian country, I would take up permanent residence nowhere else other than here, in America. That is not to say that I don’t hope to have many chances to visit Israel and to again perhaps have the opportunity to have an extended stay in the Jewish State, but I choose to remain solely an American citizen. I do not believe that Israel is the only home for Jews. As long as America remains fully committed to pursuing values of democracy, equal rights, and the separation of church and state, than as a Jew, this is my country; and I feel proud and fortunate to have the opportunity to hold citizenship here.
It is not easy to publically criticize Israel these days. Israel needs our support during this critical period of uncertainty. With Hamas becoming slowly but surely legitimized while Israel is increasingly vilified in the public eye, we must stand by her side even if at those times when we disagree with her. This is imperative. However that being said, while standing by her side, we can ask that Israel continue to work towards being the best expression of democratic and Jewish values in our world.
Last Friday, a group of close to 200 women gathered for prayer at the Kotel, The Western Wall, as part of their observance of Rosh Chodesh, the 1st of the Jewish month. This gathering has become somewhat of a ritual - the group having become known by the acronym ”W.O.W” - “The Women of the Wall.” This month’s gathering, however, was larger than usual due to events that transpired last month.
At their last gathering, a 25 year old medical student, and regular participant in these gatherings for 4 years, was arrested for wearing a tallis (a Jewish prayer shawl), an act that at The Western Wall is illegal for a woman. Nofrat Frenkel was among 16 women donning tallitot that early morning as is fairly typical at these regular gatherings. This month, however, she was the one carrying the Torah. At this particular gathering last month, upon concluding their public recitation of Hallel without, unusually enough, any disturbance, the group made the bold mistake of taking their Torah out of its carry-all-bag before heading out from The Wall to their sanctioned area at the nearby Robinson’s Arch. As the women were moving to The Robinson’s Arch, a nearby archeological site deemed ‘non-sacred’ and thus a place where they have been granted permission by the Israeli Supreme Court to read from Torah, the police chose to make an example of Ms. Frenkel. If found guilty, not only will Ms. Frenkel face up to 6 months in prison or a 10,000 shekel fine, but more significantly and far more lasting, she will be barred from the medical profession due to having been convicted of a felony. Ironic, isn’t it? Nofrat Frenkel may be restricted from being a doctor in Israel, the Jewish State, due to her commitment to Jewish life and its public expression.
Fast forward to this past Friday. In addition to having to endure the standard attacks, including verbal epitaphs, spitting, and often physical assault that often occurs at these gatherings, it happened to be raining, hard. When it was time to read Torah, the group began to make their way away from The Wall to the area where permission has been granted for them to read. Their procession drew in a couple dozen men who joined in solidarity. Upon arrival at The Robinson’s Arch, the men who wanted to read Torah were granted access and protection from the rain. The women carrying their Torah were left standing in the rain. Later that morning, Rabbi Shmuel Rabinovitch, the Rabbi of the Western Wall Heritage Foundation, the governmental agency which has been given full and sole authority over the Kotel, stated, “It’s not for nothing that the rain raged at that time, because the heavens are crying over women who try to harm the Western Wall and the feelings of those who pray there.”
In Israel, where separate of church and state is far from reality, Rabbi Rabinovitch’s words are upheld by the government. He is a government appointed official. While he has been quoted saying, “[the Western Wall] is run with gentle arrangement and great sensitivity to any world view” and that attendance at the wall reveals that “everyone feels connected to it,” be clear that Rabbi Rabinovitch is an Orthodox Rabbi who does not recognize any other branch of Judaism. He would not recognize any of the Reform, Conservative, or Reconstructionist Rabbis within or without his own country – certainly not us female ones! And, he is wrong in his view that every Jew feels comfortable at The Wall. Under current circumstances, I sure don’t!
Relative to all of the countries which surround this small nation in the mid-East, Israel is progressive in its expression of democracy and in its treatment of women, and for that we should be proud as we continue to demand change. However, and some may view this as a cop out, I will continue to hope and demand for change from here, as I prefer to live in a country which allows me, as a Jew and as a woman, the right to the full and public expression of my religion.
Living in America during the Christmas season can be unsettling for Jews. Either we can jump right into the festivities of the season feeling not only inauthentic as non-Christians piggy backing onto someone else’s holiday or worse yet perhaps insulting those Christians for whom this holiday still retains even a modicum of religious significance; or, we can choose to stand on the sidelines – as a guest at the party, enjoying the mandated day off without the enormous pressure that a grand holiday usually creates (I choose the latter myself). Yet until Israel validates all expressions of Judaism – until it becomes a nation that welcomes me – a proudly observant Progressive Jew – as eagerly and as openly as my Orthodox colleagues and neighbors, until then, I’ll stay put.
By the way, while staying put, I look forward to planning and leading the next Temple Emanuel trip & mission to Israel in the summer of 2012. I hope you will consider joining in on the excursion!
Yet, despite my love of Israel and my firm commitment to supporting Israel and demanding that her voice be present and heard in International dialogue and debate, and despite the challenges I sometimes face as a Jew living in a predominately Christian country, I would take up permanent residence nowhere else other than here, in America. That is not to say that I don’t hope to have many chances to visit Israel and to again perhaps have the opportunity to have an extended stay in the Jewish State, but I choose to remain solely an American citizen. I do not believe that Israel is the only home for Jews. As long as America remains fully committed to pursuing values of democracy, equal rights, and the separation of church and state, than as a Jew, this is my country; and I feel proud and fortunate to have the opportunity to hold citizenship here.
It is not easy to publically criticize Israel these days. Israel needs our support during this critical period of uncertainty. With Hamas becoming slowly but surely legitimized while Israel is increasingly vilified in the public eye, we must stand by her side even if at those times when we disagree with her. This is imperative. However that being said, while standing by her side, we can ask that Israel continue to work towards being the best expression of democratic and Jewish values in our world.
Last Friday, a group of close to 200 women gathered for prayer at the Kotel, The Western Wall, as part of their observance of Rosh Chodesh, the 1st of the Jewish month. This gathering has become somewhat of a ritual - the group having become known by the acronym ”W.O.W” - “The Women of the Wall.” This month’s gathering, however, was larger than usual due to events that transpired last month.
At their last gathering, a 25 year old medical student, and regular participant in these gatherings for 4 years, was arrested for wearing a tallis (a Jewish prayer shawl), an act that at The Western Wall is illegal for a woman. Nofrat Frenkel was among 16 women donning tallitot that early morning as is fairly typical at these regular gatherings. This month, however, she was the one carrying the Torah. At this particular gathering last month, upon concluding their public recitation of Hallel without, unusually enough, any disturbance, the group made the bold mistake of taking their Torah out of its carry-all-bag before heading out from The Wall to their sanctioned area at the nearby Robinson’s Arch. As the women were moving to The Robinson’s Arch, a nearby archeological site deemed ‘non-sacred’ and thus a place where they have been granted permission by the Israeli Supreme Court to read from Torah, the police chose to make an example of Ms. Frenkel. If found guilty, not only will Ms. Frenkel face up to 6 months in prison or a 10,000 shekel fine, but more significantly and far more lasting, she will be barred from the medical profession due to having been convicted of a felony. Ironic, isn’t it? Nofrat Frenkel may be restricted from being a doctor in Israel, the Jewish State, due to her commitment to Jewish life and its public expression.
Fast forward to this past Friday. In addition to having to endure the standard attacks, including verbal epitaphs, spitting, and often physical assault that often occurs at these gatherings, it happened to be raining, hard. When it was time to read Torah, the group began to make their way away from The Wall to the area where permission has been granted for them to read. Their procession drew in a couple dozen men who joined in solidarity. Upon arrival at The Robinson’s Arch, the men who wanted to read Torah were granted access and protection from the rain. The women carrying their Torah were left standing in the rain. Later that morning, Rabbi Shmuel Rabinovitch, the Rabbi of the Western Wall Heritage Foundation, the governmental agency which has been given full and sole authority over the Kotel, stated, “It’s not for nothing that the rain raged at that time, because the heavens are crying over women who try to harm the Western Wall and the feelings of those who pray there.”
In Israel, where separate of church and state is far from reality, Rabbi Rabinovitch’s words are upheld by the government. He is a government appointed official. While he has been quoted saying, “[the Western Wall] is run with gentle arrangement and great sensitivity to any world view” and that attendance at the wall reveals that “everyone feels connected to it,” be clear that Rabbi Rabinovitch is an Orthodox Rabbi who does not recognize any other branch of Judaism. He would not recognize any of the Reform, Conservative, or Reconstructionist Rabbis within or without his own country – certainly not us female ones! And, he is wrong in his view that every Jew feels comfortable at The Wall. Under current circumstances, I sure don’t!
Relative to all of the countries which surround this small nation in the mid-East, Israel is progressive in its expression of democracy and in its treatment of women, and for that we should be proud as we continue to demand change. However, and some may view this as a cop out, I will continue to hope and demand for change from here, as I prefer to live in a country which allows me, as a Jew and as a woman, the right to the full and public expression of my religion.
Living in America during the Christmas season can be unsettling for Jews. Either we can jump right into the festivities of the season feeling not only inauthentic as non-Christians piggy backing onto someone else’s holiday or worse yet perhaps insulting those Christians for whom this holiday still retains even a modicum of religious significance; or, we can choose to stand on the sidelines – as a guest at the party, enjoying the mandated day off without the enormous pressure that a grand holiday usually creates (I choose the latter myself). Yet until Israel validates all expressions of Judaism – until it becomes a nation that welcomes me – a proudly observant Progressive Jew – as eagerly and as openly as my Orthodox colleagues and neighbors, until then, I’ll stay put.
By the way, while staying put, I look forward to planning and leading the next Temple Emanuel trip & mission to Israel in the summer of 2012. I hope you will consider joining in on the excursion!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Shabbat Chanukah II, delivered by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman, Erev Shabbat Miketz 5770, 12/18/2009
Joseph has become an astute self-marketer, hasn’t he.
Last week’s portion paints him as a bit naive. It is one things to have dreams of grandeur where one’s elders are symbolically represented as bowing at your presence, it is quite another to share them with those very elders - Joseph’s brother’s and father - without any thought to the consequences. What was he thinking?
The story requires him to be thoughtless at that juncture. Being the subject of his brothers’ violent anger as well as a prisoner in a foreign land has apparently allowed him to mature. The interpreter of dreams who emerges in parshat Miketz is not the same idealistic dreamer of last Shabbat.
Last Shabbat, in parashat Yayeshev, Joseph announces his dreams boldly without thinking them through:
‘Joseph said to his brothers, שמעו נ֕א החלו֥ם הז֖ה אש֣ר חל֑מתי... – “Listen up! This is the dream that I have dreamed.” The Masoretic pointing - the use of the independent and forceful zakef gadol - underscores Joseph’s confidence, שמעו נ֕א! His brothers proceed to question him, ‘are you so sure of yourself? Do you really expect to rule over us?’ You’d think Joseph would have recognized the need for a more nuanced, less confrontation approach. But no, after his second dream, he again emphatically - hiney - pronounces it in the face of his family, “ה֙נה חל֤מתי חלום֙ עו֔ד והנ֧ה הש֣מש והיר֗ח ואח֤ד עשר֙ כוכב֔ים משתחו֖ים ליֽ:",” ‘hiney, I have dreamed another dream, and hiney the sun, the moon, and 11 stars are bowing to me!’
Hiney is one of those fabulous Hebrew words that put a wrench into translation. Frankly, there is no adequate translation. My most recent Biblical grammar teacher, Dr. Susanna Garfein, argues that hiney is often best left untranslated but rather is a dramatic marker than can be best reflected in the voice. Many translations use the unsatisfactory, ‘behold’ to emphasize its dramatic function: behold, I dreamed a dream... (sounds a bit too Man of the Mancha-esque, for me). The point is, Joseph’s use of hiney is significant. The sentence would make perfect sense without it. By using it, twice no less -- hiney, I dreamed, and hiney, here it is -- Joseph is clearly pushing the envelope, drawing added attention to himself and to what must have appeared to his brothers as a thoroughly self centered and delusional dream.
By this week’s portion, Joseph has developed a different approach, and one that serves him far better. He has learned to recognize and place God, a force beyond himself, at the center of the action. It isn’t all about him. Perhaps Joseph is finally getting an inkling of the reality that he is just one piece of the bigger narrative - the development of the Israelite nation.
In this week’s parashat Mikketz, Joseph recognizes immediately when called by Pharoah that בִלְעָדָי not me, but אלהים will answer regarding Pharoah’s well-being (Gen 41:16). Now Pharoah is no push-over. Our midrashic tradition, Genesis Rabbah to be precise, understands Pharoah’s statement, “I dreamt a dream and there is no one to interpret it” (Gen 41:15) as meaning not that there hasn’t been any attempts at interpretation but that there has been no interpretation yet to his liking!
So let’s see what was so compelling about Joe’s analysis (p. 237-8). Joseph frames his entire explanation as God, specifically Elohim, telling Pharoah what is going to happen. Moreover, before finishing, he adds: :כי־נכ֤ון הדבר֙ מֵ֣עִם האלה֔ים וממה֥ר האלה֖ים לעשתֽו, ‘this matter has been decided (in other words, its a done deal) by Elohim and Elohim is quickly making it happen. (Gen 41:32)’ Taking the traditional approach to text study that no word is superfluous, it is striking that Elohim is repeated here. If we look at the verses that lead up to it, the proper pronoun for God is not repeated but rather understood. Verse 28, for example, “this is the thing that I told Pharoah, that which God is doing,הֶראָה את פרעה ‘he’ has shown to Pharoah.” Verse 25 too, “היגיד לפרעה” ‘he’ has made known; but in verse 32, Joseph uses what 20th century biblical commentator Nahama Leibowitz calls the rhetorical device of repetition: כי נכון הדבר מעם האלהים וממהר האלהים לעשתו. Like the previous sentences, this sentence is fully understandable without the 2nd Elohim: it could just as easily read: כי נכון הדבר מעם האלהים וממהר לעשתו - This matter has been decided by God and he is quickly making it happen.
This ‘rhetorical repetition’ works! Joseph succeeds at convincing Pharoah that his interpretation is correct, and that God is in charge. Pharoah’s first words after Joseph’s recommendations to ‘find a man with the spirit of Elohim in him,’ is indeed, ‘since Elohim has made all of this known to you, (Gen 41:39)’ I pick you.
Joseph has brilliantly marketed himself on the shoulders of God.
Perhaps Joseph instinctively understood Dr. Rashkover’s remarks last week regarding how religious communities must be able to come to interfaith dialogue with far more than secular interests at hand. We must be willing to confront God and theology in our discussions. Notice that Joseph is able to foster relations between him, an Israelite, and Pharoah, an Egyptian, by plainly and boldly recognizing God. At this time of year, when we feel the greatest challenges of assimilation, when it is easy to feel pulled by outside cultural influences - namely the Christmas season, the retention of Elohim here in the text instead of that יהוה we identify as Adonai is worthy of exploration. Was reference to the uniquely Israelite יהוה too particularistic for this story to work?
A Biblical-Critical approach to the text, the study of how the text arises out of various textual traditions, reveals both, what we call, the J (yawist) and E (Elohist) strands throughout the Joseph story. One of the biggest (though not indisputable) cues of these strands is the use of יהוה (Adonai) vs. Elohim in referring to God. However, the text went through various redactions before final canonization. Many opportunities arose for editing, yet throughout Joseph’s interpretation and advice to Pharoah, Elohim is retained - the Adonai of the Jawist strand is never allowed into Joseph’s dialogue with Pharoah.
Joseph’s use of Elohim can be viewed as highly calculating. Perhaps he is striking a balance between what he must reveal about himself and what will be acceptable by the outsider. As Jews living in an America that is frankly saturated with Christmas, we too have to figure out how to respond.
Our individual responses will differ - perhaps even greatly - depending on the make up of our families, how we were raised, and on what values we choose to hold onto and pass forward into the future. The challenge, and not necessarily an easy one, is to be conscious about how we are responding. Turning Chanukah into a ‘Jewish Christmas’ as retail marketing forces would like us to do is an inadequate response. Displaying our chanukiyot in the windows of our home during these 8 days as a proud expression of our Jewish identity is however our mandate.
We are no longer in Egypt. Thankfully, we don’t live in the time of Pharoah. It behooves us to maintain our particularity and to resist any fear of expressing it, in how Dr. Rashkover framed it, the public square. This square is equally ours even if we are present in fewer numbers and even if it is covered with tinsel and jingle bells through all of December.
The greatest challenge of being a Jew in the modern world is finding that balance between particularism - asserting our unique identity, and assimilation - striving to fit in. In facing this challenge, we will be confronted with many attempts at blurring the boundaries, Christmas-kah cards and Chanukah bushes, for instance. Where and when do make sure that Adonai - our specifically Jewish culture and values - is not absorbed by Elohim requires tough and confident choices. Choices, though, that are worthy of the effort.
Last week’s portion paints him as a bit naive. It is one things to have dreams of grandeur where one’s elders are symbolically represented as bowing at your presence, it is quite another to share them with those very elders - Joseph’s brother’s and father - without any thought to the consequences. What was he thinking?
The story requires him to be thoughtless at that juncture. Being the subject of his brothers’ violent anger as well as a prisoner in a foreign land has apparently allowed him to mature. The interpreter of dreams who emerges in parshat Miketz is not the same idealistic dreamer of last Shabbat.
Last Shabbat, in parashat Yayeshev, Joseph announces his dreams boldly without thinking them through:
‘Joseph said to his brothers, שמעו נ֕א החלו֥ם הז֖ה אש֣ר חל֑מתי... – “Listen up! This is the dream that I have dreamed.” The Masoretic pointing - the use of the independent and forceful zakef gadol - underscores Joseph’s confidence, שמעו נ֕א! His brothers proceed to question him, ‘are you so sure of yourself? Do you really expect to rule over us?’ You’d think Joseph would have recognized the need for a more nuanced, less confrontation approach. But no, after his second dream, he again emphatically - hiney - pronounces it in the face of his family, “ה֙נה חל֤מתי חלום֙ עו֔ד והנ֧ה הש֣מש והיר֗ח ואח֤ד עשר֙ כוכב֔ים משתחו֖ים ליֽ:",” ‘hiney, I have dreamed another dream, and hiney the sun, the moon, and 11 stars are bowing to me!’
Hiney is one of those fabulous Hebrew words that put a wrench into translation. Frankly, there is no adequate translation. My most recent Biblical grammar teacher, Dr. Susanna Garfein, argues that hiney is often best left untranslated but rather is a dramatic marker than can be best reflected in the voice. Many translations use the unsatisfactory, ‘behold’ to emphasize its dramatic function: behold, I dreamed a dream... (sounds a bit too Man of the Mancha-esque, for me). The point is, Joseph’s use of hiney is significant. The sentence would make perfect sense without it. By using it, twice no less -- hiney, I dreamed, and hiney, here it is -- Joseph is clearly pushing the envelope, drawing added attention to himself and to what must have appeared to his brothers as a thoroughly self centered and delusional dream.
By this week’s portion, Joseph has developed a different approach, and one that serves him far better. He has learned to recognize and place God, a force beyond himself, at the center of the action. It isn’t all about him. Perhaps Joseph is finally getting an inkling of the reality that he is just one piece of the bigger narrative - the development of the Israelite nation.
In this week’s parashat Mikketz, Joseph recognizes immediately when called by Pharoah that בִלְעָדָי not me, but אלהים will answer regarding Pharoah’s well-being (Gen 41:16). Now Pharoah is no push-over. Our midrashic tradition, Genesis Rabbah to be precise, understands Pharoah’s statement, “I dreamt a dream and there is no one to interpret it” (Gen 41:15) as meaning not that there hasn’t been any attempts at interpretation but that there has been no interpretation yet to his liking!
So let’s see what was so compelling about Joe’s analysis (p. 237-8). Joseph frames his entire explanation as God, specifically Elohim, telling Pharoah what is going to happen. Moreover, before finishing, he adds: :כי־נכ֤ון הדבר֙ מֵ֣עִם האלה֔ים וממה֥ר האלה֖ים לעשתֽו, ‘this matter has been decided (in other words, its a done deal) by Elohim and Elohim is quickly making it happen. (Gen 41:32)’ Taking the traditional approach to text study that no word is superfluous, it is striking that Elohim is repeated here. If we look at the verses that lead up to it, the proper pronoun for God is not repeated but rather understood. Verse 28, for example, “this is the thing that I told Pharoah, that which God is doing,הֶראָה את פרעה ‘he’ has shown to Pharoah.” Verse 25 too, “היגיד לפרעה” ‘he’ has made known; but in verse 32, Joseph uses what 20th century biblical commentator Nahama Leibowitz calls the rhetorical device of repetition: כי נכון הדבר מעם האלהים וממהר האלהים לעשתו. Like the previous sentences, this sentence is fully understandable without the 2nd Elohim: it could just as easily read: כי נכון הדבר מעם האלהים וממהר לעשתו - This matter has been decided by God and he is quickly making it happen.
This ‘rhetorical repetition’ works! Joseph succeeds at convincing Pharoah that his interpretation is correct, and that God is in charge. Pharoah’s first words after Joseph’s recommendations to ‘find a man with the spirit of Elohim in him,’ is indeed, ‘since Elohim has made all of this known to you, (Gen 41:39)’ I pick you.
Joseph has brilliantly marketed himself on the shoulders of God.
Perhaps Joseph instinctively understood Dr. Rashkover’s remarks last week regarding how religious communities must be able to come to interfaith dialogue with far more than secular interests at hand. We must be willing to confront God and theology in our discussions. Notice that Joseph is able to foster relations between him, an Israelite, and Pharoah, an Egyptian, by plainly and boldly recognizing God. At this time of year, when we feel the greatest challenges of assimilation, when it is easy to feel pulled by outside cultural influences - namely the Christmas season, the retention of Elohim here in the text instead of that יהוה we identify as Adonai is worthy of exploration. Was reference to the uniquely Israelite יהוה too particularistic for this story to work?
A Biblical-Critical approach to the text, the study of how the text arises out of various textual traditions, reveals both, what we call, the J (yawist) and E (Elohist) strands throughout the Joseph story. One of the biggest (though not indisputable) cues of these strands is the use of יהוה (Adonai) vs. Elohim in referring to God. However, the text went through various redactions before final canonization. Many opportunities arose for editing, yet throughout Joseph’s interpretation and advice to Pharoah, Elohim is retained - the Adonai of the Jawist strand is never allowed into Joseph’s dialogue with Pharoah.
Joseph’s use of Elohim can be viewed as highly calculating. Perhaps he is striking a balance between what he must reveal about himself and what will be acceptable by the outsider. As Jews living in an America that is frankly saturated with Christmas, we too have to figure out how to respond.
Our individual responses will differ - perhaps even greatly - depending on the make up of our families, how we were raised, and on what values we choose to hold onto and pass forward into the future. The challenge, and not necessarily an easy one, is to be conscious about how we are responding. Turning Chanukah into a ‘Jewish Christmas’ as retail marketing forces would like us to do is an inadequate response. Displaying our chanukiyot in the windows of our home during these 8 days as a proud expression of our Jewish identity is however our mandate.
We are no longer in Egypt. Thankfully, we don’t live in the time of Pharoah. It behooves us to maintain our particularity and to resist any fear of expressing it, in how Dr. Rashkover framed it, the public square. This square is equally ours even if we are present in fewer numbers and even if it is covered with tinsel and jingle bells through all of December.
The greatest challenge of being a Jew in the modern world is finding that balance between particularism - asserting our unique identity, and assimilation - striving to fit in. In facing this challenge, we will be confronted with many attempts at blurring the boundaries, Christmas-kah cards and Chanukah bushes, for instance. Where and when do make sure that Adonai - our specifically Jewish culture and values - is not absorbed by Elohim requires tough and confident choices. Choices, though, that are worthy of the effort.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
In Memory of Jennifer Lynn Harris: b. 4/23/66 d. 5/23/1981
Among my most vivid childhood memories are the day Jenni Harris died and the following Monday when while sitting in the chair just behind her empty chair (Harrison always followed Harris in the seating chart), her death was announced over the PA system to the entire school. Losing a dear friend at such a young age leaves its mark. It was certainly my first close hand experience with death. I would venture to guess that Jenni’s death likewise left a mark on many of us, her Lower Moreland classmates.
Luckily I have many memories of Jenni’s life to offset the ones of her death. Her beaming smile and her incredible sense of humor are foremost. Cystic Fibrosis may have ravaged her body, but Jenni rarely if ever let it consume her incredible spirit. Even when the illness would flare up and hospitalization was required – as it too often was – she made the best of it with wheel chair and IV pole races up and down the halls of the peds unit at Holy Redeemer between therapies. That’s how Jenni approached life. With zest, eagerness, and a desire, like most kids, to have fun! Of course, as any kid would, Jenni hated the CF – she couldn’t stand being sick; she couldn’t stand being so skinny when all of her friends around her were growing up (and she certainly couldn’t understand when one of her friends was doing anything to fight the normal processes of puberty); and yet, despite the CF, Jenni was able to laugh through her struggles and engage fully with her life, family, and friends, for as short as it was, remaining active in all of the activities – which were many - that gave her joy really until the very end of her life.
Memory is an interesting phenomenon – two people can experience the same exact events and yet their memories of these shared events can be diametrically opposed. I could continue to share all of my personal memories of Jenni: such as playing the flute in band together or being picked on by her older brother, but each of us has memories of our classmate, Jennifer Lynn Harris, differing and varied memories for sure. Some crystal clear and others faded with the passage of time - yet, all of us who had the opportunity to know Jenni can share an important lesson from her life.
Jenni had 15 years in this world. That’s it. She lived them fully and made the very best of those few years she had facing each day with courage and all the joy she could muster. My fellow Lower Moreland classmates: we have all lived well more than twice the number of years that Jenni had -- we are nearing three times her lifetime. Let’s not take that for granted! Let’s be grateful for each and every day we have to share with our family and our friends and to be grateful for all that is good. In that way, perhaps, we can allow Jenni’s legacy to persist in this world.
In Judaism we offer the words: זכרונה לברכה (may she be remembered for a blessing) after the name of one who has deceased. Jennifer Lynn Harris, זכרונה לברכה –may Jenni’s memory survive in each of us and may she be remembered always as a blessing.
Luckily I have many memories of Jenni’s life to offset the ones of her death. Her beaming smile and her incredible sense of humor are foremost. Cystic Fibrosis may have ravaged her body, but Jenni rarely if ever let it consume her incredible spirit. Even when the illness would flare up and hospitalization was required – as it too often was – she made the best of it with wheel chair and IV pole races up and down the halls of the peds unit at Holy Redeemer between therapies. That’s how Jenni approached life. With zest, eagerness, and a desire, like most kids, to have fun! Of course, as any kid would, Jenni hated the CF – she couldn’t stand being sick; she couldn’t stand being so skinny when all of her friends around her were growing up (and she certainly couldn’t understand when one of her friends was doing anything to fight the normal processes of puberty); and yet, despite the CF, Jenni was able to laugh through her struggles and engage fully with her life, family, and friends, for as short as it was, remaining active in all of the activities – which were many - that gave her joy really until the very end of her life.
Memory is an interesting phenomenon – two people can experience the same exact events and yet their memories of these shared events can be diametrically opposed. I could continue to share all of my personal memories of Jenni: such as playing the flute in band together or being picked on by her older brother, but each of us has memories of our classmate, Jennifer Lynn Harris, differing and varied memories for sure. Some crystal clear and others faded with the passage of time - yet, all of us who had the opportunity to know Jenni can share an important lesson from her life.
Jenni had 15 years in this world. That’s it. She lived them fully and made the very best of those few years she had facing each day with courage and all the joy she could muster. My fellow Lower Moreland classmates: we have all lived well more than twice the number of years that Jenni had -- we are nearing three times her lifetime. Let’s not take that for granted! Let’s be grateful for each and every day we have to share with our family and our friends and to be grateful for all that is good. In that way, perhaps, we can allow Jenni’s legacy to persist in this world.
In Judaism we offer the words: זכרונה לברכה (may she be remembered for a blessing) after the name of one who has deceased. Jennifer Lynn Harris, זכרונה לברכה –may Jenni’s memory survive in each of us and may she be remembered always as a blessing.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Toldot: The Chain of History, delivered Erev Shabbat Toldot
As some of you know, this past Shabbat I had the joy of celebrating with my family as the son of one of my many cousins was called to the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah. I descend from a fairly sizable family. Growing up, it was a tight nit family: cousins from both sides would gather with grandparents regularly. Seders and Chanukah parties would draw 50 some odd relatives. My family got to host one night of seder each year and the large summer swim parties (‘cause we had the big, old sunken pool in the back yard). There are stark differences between the sides of my family - my mother’s side having roots in this country that extend back at least to the Civil War and possibly to the American Revolution, while my father’s parents each immigrated here separately and by themselves from Russia and Poland between the World Wars. My mother’s parents’ home depicted the traditional set up – my grandfather a business owner, my grandmother a school teacher who ‘retired’ in order to raise kids and volunteer in her synagogue and numerous other organizations such as NOW and Hadassah. My dad’s mom, on the other hand was a career woman, a partner in hers and my grandfather’s men’s suit business. And when left suddenly a widow in mid-life, she applied that tough immigrant work ethic and ran the family business single handedly. She was the rare business woman of her generation working hard to provide for her children and put them through college (Ivy League no less – which gave her immense pride). She was a tough woman. Those pool parties were the rare occasion I saw my Grandmom Irene in something other than a business suit. My mom’s mom was a fabulous cook who nurtured us with food and my grandfather a prolific gardener. My Dad’s mom, well her cookies were as hard as golf balls, and Shake n’Bake was gourmet at her place (though it was she who taught me how to make Kasha). Yet despite all the differences, everyone in the family came together often and en mass. Now, spread out occasions such as Bar Mitzvahs, 50th wedding anniversaries, significant birthdays, and the rare Rabbinical ordination, serve as our family gatherings. Each time we gather, I am struck by the aging of my parents generation…is that my aunt who is so bent over, when did my Dad start walking so slowly…as well as the aging of my generation’s kids: how is that little Julie is already in college! The one who celebrated his Bar Mitzvah this past Shabbat - I’m sure we just celebrate his 1st birthday.
While Torah portions take their name simply from their opening words, this week’s portion’s appellation, Toldot, generations, is fitting in that it underscores the power of family and specifically the patriarchal lineage that is presented in these early stories of Bereshit.
Parashat Toldot can serve to remind us each of our place in the historical chain of Jewish history. We’ve read a lot about Abraham in the past couple of weeks. From his willingness to follow the call of lech l’cha of going forth to settle a new land and seed a new nation, to his challenging God in the story of Soddom and Gomorrah, to his purchase of that first plot of land on the soil which God has promised to his progeny, the appointment of Abraham as a patriarch of the Israelite nation is obvious. We celebrate him as the father of the Jewish people - it all starts with him.
This week’s Torah portions jumps quite quickly to Abe’s grandchildren. And, the narrative throughout the next few portions inclusive of that famous wrestling match from which Jacob will emerge a physically and emotionally changed man will make Jacob’s place among the patriarchs clear. He emerges as none other than Israel.
But what about Isaac? We read of his birth, of his travels with his father to Mount Moriah where he finds himself bound for slaughter. We read of his servant’s travels to find him a wife, but what does he do? What actions does he take? The pshat doesn’t offer much; there simply isn’t much in the narrative to go on. Isaac doesn’t appear to do anything particularly astounding. In fact on the contrary, most view Isaac as a helpless character – unable to find his own wife, unable to even give the right blessing to the right son. Maybe his political negotiations with Avimelech, the king of the Philistines, are the source of his claim to patriarchal fame? Doubtful. Rather, I’d argue that it is his sheer presence and willingness to stay connected to the family that makes him an important link in our Jewish history.
We are wonderful at celebrating the success of the individual. We tend to celebrate achievements and accomplishments as if these are the key to our legacy in the world. Isaac’s presence in the chain of our patriarchs reminds us otherwise. He didn’t have to wrestle with God to get there. BUT, he does have to bear the responsibility of passing on the values that were central to his parents to his own children.
The Midrash, drawing on a text in Leviticus where our Patriarchs are listed in reverse order: Jacob, Isaac, then Abraham, teaches that all three were on par with each other. Their individual accomplishments are worthy and important, but they do not serve to elevate one individual over another in terms of their individual status within their family and by extension among the Israelites. Their yichus, as my immigrant grandmother would have called it, comes from being committed to the chain. If Isaac opted out there would have been no Jacob to wrestle with God and become Israel.
Each and every one of us is a vital link in the chain of history. Regardless of our accomplishments or lack thereof, our presence and involvement is essential – each of us matters. And the significant role each of us has to play is to make sure this chain of Jewish history doesn’t end with us. We should all strive to be like Isaac –a critical link through which Judaism lives and is passed to the next generation.
My cousin and her husband have done and continue to do their job. Witnessing the next generation of Harrisons/Cohens/Wolfes (and soon Silvermans!) step up to the responsibility of Torah, I am confident that like Isaac my cousins and I are doing our best to be a vital link in Toldot - in Jewish history – the link between our parents and our children. How about you?
While Torah portions take their name simply from their opening words, this week’s portion’s appellation, Toldot, generations, is fitting in that it underscores the power of family and specifically the patriarchal lineage that is presented in these early stories of Bereshit.
Parashat Toldot can serve to remind us each of our place in the historical chain of Jewish history. We’ve read a lot about Abraham in the past couple of weeks. From his willingness to follow the call of lech l’cha of going forth to settle a new land and seed a new nation, to his challenging God in the story of Soddom and Gomorrah, to his purchase of that first plot of land on the soil which God has promised to his progeny, the appointment of Abraham as a patriarch of the Israelite nation is obvious. We celebrate him as the father of the Jewish people - it all starts with him.
This week’s Torah portions jumps quite quickly to Abe’s grandchildren. And, the narrative throughout the next few portions inclusive of that famous wrestling match from which Jacob will emerge a physically and emotionally changed man will make Jacob’s place among the patriarchs clear. He emerges as none other than Israel.
But what about Isaac? We read of his birth, of his travels with his father to Mount Moriah where he finds himself bound for slaughter. We read of his servant’s travels to find him a wife, but what does he do? What actions does he take? The pshat doesn’t offer much; there simply isn’t much in the narrative to go on. Isaac doesn’t appear to do anything particularly astounding. In fact on the contrary, most view Isaac as a helpless character – unable to find his own wife, unable to even give the right blessing to the right son. Maybe his political negotiations with Avimelech, the king of the Philistines, are the source of his claim to patriarchal fame? Doubtful. Rather, I’d argue that it is his sheer presence and willingness to stay connected to the family that makes him an important link in our Jewish history.
We are wonderful at celebrating the success of the individual. We tend to celebrate achievements and accomplishments as if these are the key to our legacy in the world. Isaac’s presence in the chain of our patriarchs reminds us otherwise. He didn’t have to wrestle with God to get there. BUT, he does have to bear the responsibility of passing on the values that were central to his parents to his own children.
The Midrash, drawing on a text in Leviticus where our Patriarchs are listed in reverse order: Jacob, Isaac, then Abraham, teaches that all three were on par with each other. Their individual accomplishments are worthy and important, but they do not serve to elevate one individual over another in terms of their individual status within their family and by extension among the Israelites. Their yichus, as my immigrant grandmother would have called it, comes from being committed to the chain. If Isaac opted out there would have been no Jacob to wrestle with God and become Israel.
Each and every one of us is a vital link in the chain of history. Regardless of our accomplishments or lack thereof, our presence and involvement is essential – each of us matters. And the significant role each of us has to play is to make sure this chain of Jewish history doesn’t end with us. We should all strive to be like Isaac –a critical link through which Judaism lives and is passed to the next generation.
My cousin and her husband have done and continue to do their job. Witnessing the next generation of Harrisons/Cohens/Wolfes (and soon Silvermans!) step up to the responsibility of Torah, I am confident that like Isaac my cousins and I are doing our best to be a vital link in Toldot - in Jewish history – the link between our parents and our children. How about you?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
"Where is God?" delivered Shabbat Vayera 11/7/09 by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
I admit it. Those of you who know me well may not be too surprised, but those of you who don’t, well - hold on to your seats for a confession: I am not too sure I believe in God. Whew! There. I said it. I struggle with the concept of, the belief in God, particularly a personal God. And some days, I’m far less sure than others. I doubt I am alone in this. I know that I am not alone in this, but somehow to admit this as a Rabbi, a Cantor - a Jewish leader, feels heretical. “What do you mean YOU don’t believe in God?” You might be thinking. “If you, someone who has devoted her life to Jewish study, synagogue life, and the perpetuation of Judaism, who stands on this bema and offers prayers on behalf of the kahal; if you don’t have faith, then why should I?” A valid point.
However, it should be fully noted that while I struggle with the existence of a personal God, I firmly believe in Godliness! This week’s Torah portion Vayera certainly challenges us to delve into the question of God. And a close look at the text propels me to imagine that our Biblical ancestors also struggled with the nature of God. Immediately in our portion, the line between God and humanity is blurred:וירא אליו יהוה באלני ממרא God appeared to Abraham as he was resting outside his tent under the shady oaks of Mamre in the heat of the day, then immediately וישא עיניו וירא, Abe looked up and saw שלש אנשים נצבים עליו, 3 men standing there upon him. We are informed that God makes Godself known to Abraham, but when Abraham looks up, he sees men, human beings. Three humans that tradition views, not as ordinary mortals, but as מלאכים, divine messengers. It is unclear when Abraham comes to recognize their Godliness: is part of his eagerness to serve them a recognition of their divine status? One thing is clear, the Biblical author uses these אנשים almost interchangeably with God.
The division between man and God is no less clear in the fiery story of Sodom and Gommorah. The men ַאנשים)) went up from there and gazed down upon Sodom, Abraham going along with them to send them off. The Eternal [“Adonai”] then thought “Should I hide from Abraham what I am doing?...vs. 20) The Eternal One [“Adonai”] said, ‘The outcry in Sodom and Gomorrah - how great it is, and their crime - how grave it is! Let me go down and determine whether they are wreaking havoc in equal measure to the shrieking that is coming to Me. If not, I will know. vs22) The men now turned away and went toward Sodom...
It’s as if these human men are far more than messengers, but rather agents - the eyes and ears of God - as if they and God were instant messaging information back and forth [maybe the traditionalists are right that everything of import is indeed found in Torah - look a biblical precedent for IMing]! This encounter between Abraham, these אנשים and יהוה raises a key question: is there a line between divinity and humanity? And, if so, where is it? Clearly the Biblical text regards humankind as a vehicle of divinity. Regardless of our personal faith, or lack of faith in God, this is a lesson, a model from which all of us can and should learn. Furthermore, this text challenges us to ask who is truly offering the best representation of Godliness. Are these anashim, whom we readily recognize and understand as representations of God the best exemplars of Godliness. They appear to be the vehicle by which this Adonai sees and hears what’s happening; yet, it seems to me that Abraham’s behavior is far more worthy of emulation.
Our opening verses (which our Bat Mitzvah will discuss) of course remind us of Abe’s hospitality, literally we are told that he וירץ לקראתם, eagerly runs out to greet and attend to the needs of the stranger. But even more compelling is his behavior with regard to God’s announcement regarding the destruction Sodom and Gomorrah. While the men that tradition recognizes as agents of God stand and witness the wickedness of Sodom apparently accepting their boss’ (i.e., God’s) harsh judgement as deserved without question, it is the fully mortal Abraham who is willing to speak out, to argue on behalf of the innocent, working against what is understood as the most all-powerful force - namely GOD - in order to save life. He doesn’t succeed, and we are lead to believe that there was no innocent life worth saving; regardless of his failure, his efforts are valiant and by definition, godly.
The other difficult story in Parashat Vayera - the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac - a tale that is held up in much of Rabbinic folklore as a testament to the extent and extraordinary nature of Abraham’s faith in God. A midrash preserved in Sefer Aggadah, a wonderful collection of Rabbinic legends, however, could help us understand it differently. According to this legend, Abraham had repeated opportunities presented by the advisary to change paths, yet he determinedly (stubbornly?) continues on this terrible journey to sacrifice his son. In the moment that he raises the knife, however, Abraham demands of the messengers who call to him a conversation directly with God, calling out, “I...swear that I will not go down from this altar until I say all that I need to say!” The midrash imagines Abraham continuing with a confession; and it is this confession that is open to comment: “When You - God - commanded me to sacrifice my son Isaac... I restrained my impulse and did not reply as I should have.” Historically, this confession is understood as Abraham admitting to a moment of crisis in faith (a failure of faith), before saying yes to God’s awful demand; yet, his confession could just as easily be understood as a recognition, an admittance, that he was wrong to blindly trust this absurd request.
Perhaps we are to understand that God’s reward of a blessed and numerous progeny stems from Abraham admitting that he should have said no from the start. Let us not be so quick to demand of ourselves so consistent and unwavering faith in God that we then find fault in our doubt or worse in ourselves. If Abraham, a regular joe, just like any of us, has the capacity to question what he perceives as God, and in doing so is able to act Godly in this world, than certainly can we.
However, it should be fully noted that while I struggle with the existence of a personal God, I firmly believe in Godliness! This week’s Torah portion Vayera certainly challenges us to delve into the question of God. And a close look at the text propels me to imagine that our Biblical ancestors also struggled with the nature of God. Immediately in our portion, the line between God and humanity is blurred:וירא אליו יהוה באלני ממרא God appeared to Abraham as he was resting outside his tent under the shady oaks of Mamre in the heat of the day, then immediately וישא עיניו וירא, Abe looked up and saw שלש אנשים נצבים עליו, 3 men standing there upon him. We are informed that God makes Godself known to Abraham, but when Abraham looks up, he sees men, human beings. Three humans that tradition views, not as ordinary mortals, but as מלאכים, divine messengers. It is unclear when Abraham comes to recognize their Godliness: is part of his eagerness to serve them a recognition of their divine status? One thing is clear, the Biblical author uses these אנשים almost interchangeably with God.
The division between man and God is no less clear in the fiery story of Sodom and Gommorah. The men ַאנשים)) went up from there and gazed down upon Sodom, Abraham going along with them to send them off. The Eternal [“Adonai”] then thought “Should I hide from Abraham what I am doing?...vs. 20) The Eternal One [“Adonai”] said, ‘The outcry in Sodom and Gomorrah - how great it is, and their crime - how grave it is! Let me go down and determine whether they are wreaking havoc in equal measure to the shrieking that is coming to Me. If not, I will know. vs22) The men now turned away and went toward Sodom...
It’s as if these human men are far more than messengers, but rather agents - the eyes and ears of God - as if they and God were instant messaging information back and forth [maybe the traditionalists are right that everything of import is indeed found in Torah - look a biblical precedent for IMing]! This encounter between Abraham, these אנשים and יהוה raises a key question: is there a line between divinity and humanity? And, if so, where is it? Clearly the Biblical text regards humankind as a vehicle of divinity. Regardless of our personal faith, or lack of faith in God, this is a lesson, a model from which all of us can and should learn. Furthermore, this text challenges us to ask who is truly offering the best representation of Godliness. Are these anashim, whom we readily recognize and understand as representations of God the best exemplars of Godliness. They appear to be the vehicle by which this Adonai sees and hears what’s happening; yet, it seems to me that Abraham’s behavior is far more worthy of emulation.
Our opening verses (which our Bat Mitzvah will discuss) of course remind us of Abe’s hospitality, literally we are told that he וירץ לקראתם, eagerly runs out to greet and attend to the needs of the stranger. But even more compelling is his behavior with regard to God’s announcement regarding the destruction Sodom and Gomorrah. While the men that tradition recognizes as agents of God stand and witness the wickedness of Sodom apparently accepting their boss’ (i.e., God’s) harsh judgement as deserved without question, it is the fully mortal Abraham who is willing to speak out, to argue on behalf of the innocent, working against what is understood as the most all-powerful force - namely GOD - in order to save life. He doesn’t succeed, and we are lead to believe that there was no innocent life worth saving; regardless of his failure, his efforts are valiant and by definition, godly.
The other difficult story in Parashat Vayera - the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac - a tale that is held up in much of Rabbinic folklore as a testament to the extent and extraordinary nature of Abraham’s faith in God. A midrash preserved in Sefer Aggadah, a wonderful collection of Rabbinic legends, however, could help us understand it differently. According to this legend, Abraham had repeated opportunities presented by the advisary to change paths, yet he determinedly (stubbornly?) continues on this terrible journey to sacrifice his son. In the moment that he raises the knife, however, Abraham demands of the messengers who call to him a conversation directly with God, calling out, “I...swear that I will not go down from this altar until I say all that I need to say!” The midrash imagines Abraham continuing with a confession; and it is this confession that is open to comment: “When You - God - commanded me to sacrifice my son Isaac... I restrained my impulse and did not reply as I should have.” Historically, this confession is understood as Abraham admitting to a moment of crisis in faith (a failure of faith), before saying yes to God’s awful demand; yet, his confession could just as easily be understood as a recognition, an admittance, that he was wrong to blindly trust this absurd request.
Perhaps we are to understand that God’s reward of a blessed and numerous progeny stems from Abraham admitting that he should have said no from the start. Let us not be so quick to demand of ourselves so consistent and unwavering faith in God that we then find fault in our doubt or worse in ourselves. If Abraham, a regular joe, just like any of us, has the capacity to question what he perceives as God, and in doing so is able to act Godly in this world, than certainly can we.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Lech L’cha: Go Forth, delivered Shabbat morning 10/31/2009, Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
לך לך֛ These opening words of our parsha flow off the tongue beautifully in Hebrew. Any attempt at a literal translation, though, stumbles clumsily past our lips. Lech, that’s easy - “Go!”, but the l’cha raises a bit of difficulty. A word which, as is common in Hebrew, incorporates both preposition and pronoun together, it could be “to you” or “for you.” No combination of these words translated separately quite captures the essence of Lech l’cha. Rather, לך לך֛ is most accurately understand as a phrase evoking motion; the best definition, “Go forth!” implies an imperative 2nd person singular, with the ‘you’ understood rather than stated. Ah - the challenge and fun of translation, and from a Jewish approach to text, a source for rich comment.
Much of the commentary on this parasha focuses on the subject of Lech l’cha, the ‘you’ – which is, of course, Avram, who we will soon know as Abraham. The midrashim, the legends, explaining why Avram is the focus of this imperative lech l’cha are endless. The most famous, the one we learn so well as children in religious school that as adults many of us are surprised to find that it is nowhere in the Biblical text itself, may be the story about a young Abraham smashing his father’s idols and thus bravely and boldly displaying faith in a singular and invisible God. Another lovely midrash which seeks to explain why Abram is chosen to be the subject of the biblical ‘Go Forth’ imperative imagines God finding Avram from among the rest of humanity in the same way that a king finds his precious pearl buried in the dust of the earth. Still another has the Mesopotamian ruler Nimrod seeing Abraham’s rise as the father of numerous and blessed progeny predicted in the stars of the sky.
The focus of these legends are firmly on the ‘l’cha’ – an attempt to understand the choice of who. Why Abe? And, more honestly, as Jews who trace our lineage back to Abraham, what we are ultimately striving to understand is, “why us?” The tendency towards creating this apologetic explanation of why Abraham was chosen, and by extension the Israelites, for covenant in our biblical text - why us and not someone else or some other people - is rife with theological difficulty; and, Reform Judaism has openly struggled with this difficult concept of chosen-ness since its inception. I’d argue we are still struggling with finding that balance between particular- and universal - isms. By focusing on the l’cha of our command lech l’cha, however, we remain focused on this challenging question of chosenness which is frankly, in my opinion, ultimately unanswerable without a critical understanding of the historical context.
Instead, let us focus on the Lech, the verb instead of the subject. This instruction can give us clear direction, and here that English understanding “Go forth!” is extremely useful.
The opening lines of our text are filled with the promise of blessing. At first glance, it appears that we will be the passive recipients of blessing. ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה, “then they, all the communities of the earth, will be blessed through you” as if Avram’s actions will lead to all of us receiving blessing. This promise of future blessing appears in two other places in Genesis but with a slight emendation. In each place it reads, והתברכו בזרעך כל גוי הארץ, “then all the nations of the earth will make themselves blessed through your seed.”
The primary difference has to do with the verbal form of the word for “bless.” A brief grammar lesson. Hebrew verbs have roots that change meaning depending on their form, what we call in hebrew their binyan. In this week’s verse, the binyan is nifal, נברכו, which is generally translated as passive; hence, the translation ‘that the families/communities of the earth will be blessed through you.’ The later verses contain the hitpael verb form, התברכו, which is an active, reflexive form, ‘they shall bless themselves.’ So which is it? Do we receive blessing because Abraham was chosen; OR, do we create our own blessing because of actions we take?
Biblical scholar, E.A. Speiser argues drawing on those parallel verses that come later that even in our opening passage of Lech L’cha, the phrase should be translated in the active, reflexive form teaching us that in order to gain blessing, we each have to Lech l’cha, we have to ‘go forth.’ Ultimately this is a choice, but it isn’t God’s choice, or our ancestor’s choice. This is a choice that each and every one of us has to make.
A word to our Bat Mitzvah –
Sfat Emet, a late 19th century chasidic commentator viewed the command lech l’cha to be less about geographic movement than about being willing to carve out a new path separate from the past, being able to continually move forward, in his mind, to ‘keep walking.’ In modern psychological speak, we might call this ‘individuation’ - where an individual is able to take what she needs from what has been given her and is able to formulate her own path, make her own healthy decisions, and formulate her own opinions and unique ideas. May you, lech l’cha, go forth!, from today using all of the ideas and tools for life that you have been given so far, to hitbarech, to create your own blessing while remaining an active and full participant in our congregation and the extended Jewish community.
Much of the commentary on this parasha focuses on the subject of Lech l’cha, the ‘you’ – which is, of course, Avram, who we will soon know as Abraham. The midrashim, the legends, explaining why Avram is the focus of this imperative lech l’cha are endless. The most famous, the one we learn so well as children in religious school that as adults many of us are surprised to find that it is nowhere in the Biblical text itself, may be the story about a young Abraham smashing his father’s idols and thus bravely and boldly displaying faith in a singular and invisible God. Another lovely midrash which seeks to explain why Abram is chosen to be the subject of the biblical ‘Go Forth’ imperative imagines God finding Avram from among the rest of humanity in the same way that a king finds his precious pearl buried in the dust of the earth. Still another has the Mesopotamian ruler Nimrod seeing Abraham’s rise as the father of numerous and blessed progeny predicted in the stars of the sky.
The focus of these legends are firmly on the ‘l’cha’ – an attempt to understand the choice of who. Why Abe? And, more honestly, as Jews who trace our lineage back to Abraham, what we are ultimately striving to understand is, “why us?” The tendency towards creating this apologetic explanation of why Abraham was chosen, and by extension the Israelites, for covenant in our biblical text - why us and not someone else or some other people - is rife with theological difficulty; and, Reform Judaism has openly struggled with this difficult concept of chosen-ness since its inception. I’d argue we are still struggling with finding that balance between particular- and universal - isms. By focusing on the l’cha of our command lech l’cha, however, we remain focused on this challenging question of chosenness which is frankly, in my opinion, ultimately unanswerable without a critical understanding of the historical context.
Instead, let us focus on the Lech, the verb instead of the subject. This instruction can give us clear direction, and here that English understanding “Go forth!” is extremely useful.
The opening lines of our text are filled with the promise of blessing. At first glance, it appears that we will be the passive recipients of blessing. ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה, “then they, all the communities of the earth, will be blessed through you” as if Avram’s actions will lead to all of us receiving blessing. This promise of future blessing appears in two other places in Genesis but with a slight emendation. In each place it reads, והתברכו בזרעך כל גוי הארץ, “then all the nations of the earth will make themselves blessed through your seed.”
The primary difference has to do with the verbal form of the word for “bless.” A brief grammar lesson. Hebrew verbs have roots that change meaning depending on their form, what we call in hebrew their binyan. In this week’s verse, the binyan is nifal, נברכו, which is generally translated as passive; hence, the translation ‘that the families/communities of the earth will be blessed through you.’ The later verses contain the hitpael verb form, התברכו, which is an active, reflexive form, ‘they shall bless themselves.’ So which is it? Do we receive blessing because Abraham was chosen; OR, do we create our own blessing because of actions we take?
Biblical scholar, E.A. Speiser argues drawing on those parallel verses that come later that even in our opening passage of Lech L’cha, the phrase should be translated in the active, reflexive form teaching us that in order to gain blessing, we each have to Lech l’cha, we have to ‘go forth.’ Ultimately this is a choice, but it isn’t God’s choice, or our ancestor’s choice. This is a choice that each and every one of us has to make.
A word to our Bat Mitzvah –
Sfat Emet, a late 19th century chasidic commentator viewed the command lech l’cha to be less about geographic movement than about being willing to carve out a new path separate from the past, being able to continually move forward, in his mind, to ‘keep walking.’ In modern psychological speak, we might call this ‘individuation’ - where an individual is able to take what she needs from what has been given her and is able to formulate her own path, make her own healthy decisions, and formulate her own opinions and unique ideas. May you, lech l’cha, go forth!, from today using all of the ideas and tools for life that you have been given so far, to hitbarech, to create your own blessing while remaining an active and full participant in our congregation and the extended Jewish community.
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