Pareshath Ḥayei Sara

This week, Abhraham abhinu expresses his rather vehement preference that his son should marry a daughter of his lineage and avoid a local Kena'anith. Rav Hirsch asks on this point, why the distinction? These and those are both idolaters, so what makes one better than the other? His answer is that the Kena'anim are morally degenerate, whereas the family back in Ḥaran is simply misguided on an intellectual level; an intellectual error can be rectified much more simply through education, whereas moral development is much more deeply ingrained. Another classic answer to the same question relies on Abhraham's use of the phrase, "asher anokhi yoshebh bekirbo" (amongst whom I dwell), to say that the essential difference is isolation from the reinforcement of the idolatrous in-laws; without their influence, she can be brought to proper faith and piety, but surrounded by relatives who model the opposite and encourage her to do the same, the odds are not good. 

These answers are neat enough, but the question is off. There is a much stronger question that must be asked instead: we know that Naḥor and his descendants are idolaters, but we also know that Abhraham was a masterful proselytizer, and had many followers and disciples in Kena'an. Eli'ezer, the servant sent as shadchan (matchmaker), was a righteous man. 'Aner, Eshkol, and Mamre are called ba'alei berith Abhraham (either treaty-bound allies of Abhraham or members of the covenant of Abhraham), and they are considered righteous men. Melkhitzedhek was called kohein le-El 'elyon, priest to God most high, and is midrashically identified with Shem, son of Noaḥ. In Kena'an, unlike Gerar or Mitzrayim, Abhraham sees no need to dissemble from the lack of fear of God in the land. So, we are not left with a choice between two groups of idolaters, unsure what differentiates them, but between a strong community of monotheists and a distant group of idolaters. Indeed, Ramban explicitly and Rashi implicitly understand the above quoted phrase, "amongst whom I dwell", as coming to teach that Abhraham's instructions were specifically against taking a wife from these righteous local allies and disciples.
So, how are we to understand this choice? Ramban writes that current good behavior is not enough to overcome the curse of Ḥam, and Abhraham cannot countenance the marriage of blessing to curse. I do not see how he can take that position when Abhraham himself consents to be united with Haghar, herself a daughter of Ḥam. I would like to propose a different solution. Perhaps the issue is not, as it seems at first, the bride, but rather the groom. Abhraham has accepted the lesson from the last paresha, that the spiritual life of the nation is entering a new phase, and that his son is not suited to follow the model that served him so well. I think that the contrast between Abhraham's relationship to the surrounding nations and Yitzḥak's is best illustrated by their experiences in Gerar, so similar in so many respects, but fundamentally different. Abhraham dwells among the Pilishtim and is beloved by them, and they enter into covenant with him while he is in their midst. Yitzḥak also dwells among the Pilishtim, but he inspires envy and strife until he is driven out. However, after that, as he dwells apart, they come to recognize his Godliness and enter into covenant with him as well. 

This reflects a deep tension through Jewish history as we relate to the nations. How are we to be a light? Do we go out among them, teaching and preaching, building relationships and integrating? Or do we allow them to live as they please, focusing on ensuring that our own distinct community is a model ready for them to look to when they are ready to see it? As in most such tensions, each has its place and balance must be our end. Abhraham recognized that his strength was not his son's, and that Yitzḥak would need to live a life of much greater separation to realize his unique potential. As such, he sought a wife who would not perforce draw his son into the local community with all its mess and politics in which he would flounder. He sought a woman who would be as much an outsider as Yitzḥak, perfectly suited to join him in the wilderness, digging wells from whose living waters all people will eventually draw blessing.

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshath Vayera

I find the character of Yishma'el fascinating. He is often paired with 'Eisav, the two rejected sons of the avoth (the patriarchs) (benei Ketura notwithstanding), but his relationship with Yisrael is far less straightforward. 'Eisav is associated with Rome, that greatest oppressor of the Jews, combing the humiliation of Bavel (Babylon), the bald slaughter of Paras (Persia), and the assimilationist pressure of Yavan (Greece), managing to far outdo each of its predecessors in their own area of expertise; and he is further distinguished as the progenitor of 'Amalek, the ideological negation of Yisrael. Yishma'el, on the other hand, is one of those rare figures that the rabbinic tradition leaves as neither hero nor villain. Sometimes he is accused of great sin: Rashi connects the "mitzaḥek" that motivates Sarah to have him exiled to the three cardinal sins of 'abhodha zara (idolatry), giluy 'arayoth (illicit sexual relations), and retziḥa (murder). But then again, Ramban responds that it is outrageous to suppose someone raised in the house of Abhraham would act thusly, and even Rashi agrees that he repented later in life. He is the only person in the Torah called "adham" save for the progenitor himself, literally a mensch. We have a number of great rabbis who bear his name, despite the tradition to avoid the names of the wicked. Yet, despite all in his favor, he is not considered fit to remain a part of the trunk of the nation. Sarah says that he must go, and God supports her.

So, what does this ambivalent character represent? The three avoth are often connected to midhath haḥesedh, the outpouring of emotion that breaks down all barriers and flows toward oneness (Abhraham); midhath hagebhura, the analytic precision that puts everything in its proper place and orders creation (Yitzḥak); and midhath hatiphereth, the harmonious balance between the former and the latter (Ya'akobh). Interesting digression: Rav Matis Weinberg understands this whole paresha as providing a gradual transition for the spiritual life of the people from ḥesedh to din -- every time Abhraham runs, hurries, or wakes up to do something (almost everything he does this week), he finds himself a little closer to din, culminating in 'akeidhath Yitzḥak where Yitzḥak really becomes the dominant force, although the narrative transition waits until the next paresha.
By this understanding, both Yishma'el and 'Eisav are far more their fathers' sons than their younger brothers who are chosen to inherit. They represent the dangers of imbalance. They may also represent these midhoth to the nations; the Vilna Gaon has an interesting comment to God's promise to make a nation of Yishma'el, that there are traditionally seventy nations, and seventy already accounted for, but seventy often really means seventy-two, with two set apart and above, as is the case in the Sanhedrin, with seventy elders, one Abh haBeith Din (head of the court), and one Nasi (prince or president). Thus, there is room for Yishma'el and 'Eisav to father nations, and indeed a special place of leadership for them. This idea works nicely with the traditional identification of 'Eisav with Christianity and Yishma'el with Islam.
The dangers of excess gebhura seem clear enough, as stated in the first paragraph regarding 'Eisav. Every sort of tyranny and oppression. Yishma'el, the opposite figure, is described as the freest of men by Rav Hirsch, and full heir to those most typical gifts of Abhraham's ḥesedh: generous hospitality and a powerfully monotheistic intuition. Not so bad. But also dangerous. It means that "his hand shall be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and he shall dwell in the face of all his brethren." The generous spirit, untempered by din, is incompatible with society, order, and ultimately peace. Vehameibhin yabhin.

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshat VeZot HaBrakha

Turns out it is a little harder to learn in the sukkah amidst snacks and games than in the beit midrash, so this week will be on the short and simple side.

One thing that has always bothered me about this week's paresha is the absence of Shim'on. Surely, the Jewish people are not complete without every tribe, every sort of Jew. 

The Abarbanel notes that Moshe's brakha differs from Ya'akov's in its focus on the land. Ya'akov addresses each of his sons according to their characters, and the way in which that will affect their places in the nation. Moshe addresses the tribes according to their portions in the inheritance, which impacts their role in a different way. Ya'akov deems two of his sons, in their character, unworthy of such a portion, cursing them that they should be divided and dispersed. Those sons are Shim'on and Levi. And yet, despite sharing equally in Ya'akov's condemnation, Levi merits praise and blessing from Moshe. So really, the question is reversed; not, "Why is Shim'on excluded?", but "Why is Levi included?". Note that a significant portion of Levi's blessing consists of praise for the behavior of the Levites during the journey through the wilderness. The only other tribe whose actions are similarly mentioned is Gad, in an enigmatic verse extolling the tribe for being first to claim their portion, a decision that Moshe was far from thrilled by initially. The mepharshim explain that that verse was not so much a blessing as a personal expression of gratitude, for without that act, whether or not it was praiseworthy in itself, Moshe could not have died and been buried in the land. By their request to settle on the east bank, they extended the land to include Moshe's grave. So, Levi's accolades remain unique. I think that they can be read not as praises so much as conditions, or explanations. Levi's portion is to be Hashem, and their support the tithes, but not because they are denied a share of land, Devarim 10:8-9 notwithstanding. They were not to receive land in any case. They receive a portion because they acted properly when the people were tested. Shim'on, by contrast, are most noted through the time in the wilderness for being the main sinners in the matter of ba'al peor.

This brings out an interesting tension that plays out in many ways through Tanakh. To what degree are we shaped by our ancestors, and to what extent free to make our own decisions? We see that through righteousness Levi is able to transcend the limitations of their curse and transform it into blessing. We have the freedom to set our own courses. However, there is no blank slate. Shim'on and Levi are both, ultimately, scattered and divided through the nation. Shim'on may have sinned in the wilderness, but so did many others who were not subject to the same punishment, because their starting points were not the same. The actions of their forefathers echo down through the generations, affecting every generation to come. Interesting to muse on as a ba'al teshuva.

Mo'adim leSimḥa!

Shabbat Shalom uMevorakh!

Pareshat Haazinu

For those who heard this drash last year, sorry. I hope it will still be interesting.

We call Hashem by many names, relating to him in different ways. Father, King, Savior, Creator, etc etc. This week's paresha emphasizes one such name, found nowhere else in the Torah as a reference to Hashem, but relatively common in later works, particularly tehillim (psalms), and tefilot (prayers). That name is Tzur, Rock. It is not so immediately evident how we are to relate to God in this way -- how do you relate to rocks generally? We have two explanations given in the Yalkut Shim'oni for the name: First haTzayar, the one who gives shape and form to matter. Don't forget about that, I will come back to it. There are then several midrashic treatments of haTakiph, the mighty one, whose characteristic might Rav Hirsch describes as the overpowering sort. In this role, the midrash describes God meting out reward and, much more so, punishment. Indeed, we see this theme prominently taken up by the rishonim, the medieval commentators. Rashi and Rashbam both say that these words refer to the punishments that he will send against the Jewish people, and Ramban says that they hint at midat hadin, the attribute of judgment. Clearly an idea with strong traditional support, brought here at the first instance of this way to refer to Hashem. However, when we look at how "Tzur" is used later on, in seems difficult to see it simply as an expression of din. Even within the paresha, we see "Tzur yeshu'ato", the Rock of his salvation, and "Tzur yeladkha", the Rock that gave you birth, and the post-ḥumash uses tend more toward that vein. Not exactly language of yira, of fear and awe.

To resolve this tension, I will recall to mind the first midrashic understanding of that pasuk, and connect it to another place where we see the word "tzur", albeit not as a name for Hashem. Everywhere in Tanakh that an implement is mentioned for berit mila (circumcision), that implement is always called "tzur". What is the role of the mohel? He cuts us, inflicting pain, in order that we may be brought closer to perfection. What is our attitude toward the mohel? Do we ask to be spared from his blade? Certainly we would be greatly upset if he cut any more than need be, or if he took pleasure in our pain, but we put our trust in him. We say, knowing that there will be pain, please cut according to your knowledge of what is needed, because we know that the result is worth the pain. So it is with Hashem in his attribute of strict justice. When we pray that he circumcise our hearts, do we expect that to be a painless process? Through his punishments, we are able to grow, we are shaped and given the form that is truly suitable for us. So, through the name Tzur, we relate to him in his judgment, but through bitaḥon (trust) rather than yira.

Why, then, do we pray for raḥamim (mercy), pleading that we not be held to account through strict justice? Should we not wish for a full punishment that will perfect us all at once? We are taught that not even the greatest tzadik can stand before Hashem's justice untempered by mercy. To seek such a shortcut is to court destruction. Raḥamim is needed to give us time to slowly improve, to take our due punishment bit by bit, to do teshuva and obviate the need for further correction through trial and tribulation. But that which has been decreed for us, do not think that it is too much or that God takes pleasure in our suffering, trust in his wisdom and his love. Try to grow from every pain that you experience.

Along those lines, a nice little story from yeshiva life. I don't generally go in for spooky hashgacha pratis (direct divine involvement) stories, but at least this one is in the first person, not about my roommate's aunt's friend. For background, I have had a bit of a problem with shaḥarit (morning services), historically. Really, with waking up in general. Now, a few days before Yom Kippur, I started feeling rather poorly. Headache, a little feverish, a bit dehydrated, and a sharp pain behind my eyes whenever I moved them. Naturally, my response was to drink vast quantities of water and sleep even more. Everything got worse. The headache especially became very nearly debilitating. Then, the day before Yom Kippur, I find myself awake and alert in good time to easily make it to davening, and feeling pretty good. I go, get through seliḥot, and start learning a little for the ten minutes until shaḥarit proper was scheduled to begin. As the davening is starting, I am in the middle of something, and I think maybe I will just finish a paragraph or two, and skip some of the opening psalms to catch up. BAM. Headache back instantly, and not subtly. I put away the book and start to daven, headache disappears again. Whole thing was maybe 2-3 seconds. Don't know how to explain it. But I know I am planning to work at being there on time in the future.

Back to the Torah, I would like to close with a question that I have been unable to resolve on this subject: our paresha ends with a reference to Moshe's sin with the waters at Kadesh. Now, when Moshe first brought forth water from a rock, at Rephidim, it was a tzur, and he was not criticized (Shemot 17). The second time, for which he was denied entry into the land, was water from a sela', a different word for rock with less connotation of hardness or sharpness (Bamidbar 20). How does this bear on our understanding of Hashem as a Tzur? I don't think that Hashem is ever referred to as a sela'.

Shabbat Shalom uMevorakh!

Pareshat Vayelekh

This week's paresha continues the coming of age narrative for the nation, but this time from the parent's perspective. Moshe Rabbeinu knows, from the revealed word of God, that the time has certainly come for him to relinquish his role as leader of the people, yet he seems stricken by concern for what will befall his community when he is not there to guide them. The week's tractate of mishnayot, Demai, reinforce this message of uncertainty. Contained therein are the laws regarding buying and selling produce with 'amei ha-aretz, those who are not completely reliable in their observance of the laws, in this case particularly the laws of tithing. What precautions can be taken by those who are meticulous to ensure that both they and their brethren keep the laws as closely as possible, despite the fact that they cannot know or control what the unlearned Jews will do the moment they are out of sight? 

Again and again, Moshe exhorts ḥazak ve-ematz, be strong and steadfast, first to the people and then repeatedly to Yehoshua'. Ḥazal (the sages of the Talmud) teach in a baraita (statements contemporary with the mishna, but not included therein) that four things require ḥizuk: Torah, ma'asim tovim (good deeds), tefila (prayer), and derekh eretz ("the way of the world", some combination of making a living, courtesy, and common decency). They go on connect the first two to our paresha, ḥazak baTorah ve-ematz bema'asim tovim. Rav Diskin questions, what is the difference between ḥizuk and amatz, that Torah should be attached to the former and ma'asim tovim to the latter, and further in that vein, how can the sages connect the amatz in the pasuk to ḥizuk in the baraita? He explains that ḥizuk is to be strengthened by something beyond yourself, and that it carries an implication of continual growth, whereas amatz is the quality of endurance without faltering. Torah is something for which maintenance is not so applicable; if you are involved with Torah, it continually strengthens you, and if you are not, then whatever knowledge you have will grow stale in your memory. Ma'asim tovim, on the other hand, even when you are deeply involved, there is continual temptation to let things slide, and so amatz becomes primary. However, the baraita comes to say that even there, ḥizuk is also needed; we should not be content with our good deeds, but always seek to do better and thereby be strengthened.

But exhortation is not enough. It fades with time. This paresha also contains the last two mitzvot of the Torah, that the people should be assembled every seven years for a public reading of the covenant, and that every individual should write for themselves a sefer Torah. At every stage of life, we must renew and re-enter the covenant, from early childhood where little is retained but the sense of awe and solemnity to the greatest scholar who knows every word being read by heart yet must still pay close attention. The covenant remains eternally the same every time, but we change and we see it in new ways. Similarly, with the mitzvah to write a sefer Torah, we must involve ourselves personally in our study and make it our own, yet do so without changing a letter.

Are these precautions enough? Clearly not. God tells Moshe explicitly that the people will, in due time, fall into sin, and our history well bears out that prediction. No matter how carefully you tithe, someone, somewhere is probably going to eat tevel (produce that is liable to be tithed, very strictly unkosher). Even the best parenting will not prevent your children from making choices that you disapprove of. I think that part of the message of this paresha is that that is unavoidable. Even Moshe, acting with close instruction from divine wisdom, and operating within a framework of kol Yisrael areivim ze ba ze (every Jew is a guarantor for every other), was unable to stop everyone else from making mistakes. We do what we can. What more can we do?

Shabbat Shalom uMevorakh!

Pareshat Nitzavim

As I mentioned earlier, I am accompanying my reading of the weekly paresha with the readings of mishna and nakh established by the Ben Ish Ḥai, the Seder HaMishmara. Until now, the tractates of mishna have had very clear connections with the paresha. However, this week was maseḥet Me'ila, the laws regarding personal benefit from things dedicated to sacred purposes. I was confounded, until I saw a midrash in the Yalkut Shim'oni on the first phrase of the last pasuk of the paresha. "To love the LORD thy God, to hearken to His voice, and to cleave unto Him; for that is thy life, and the length of thy days;". According to the midrash, this phrase refers to the study and fulfillment of Torah, and is ordered to teach that love of God must come first, and so that Torah must be learnt lishmah, for its own sake. It is not fitting to study so that you may be honored as a scholar, or so that you can gain monetarily. Perhaps this midrash is what the Ben Ish Ḥai had in mind, that Torah learning is in some sense subject to the laws of Me'ila.

But I digress. This midrashic identification of this verse with fulfillment of the Torah also resolves another question I had had, this one from long before. The previous verse reads, "I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before thee life and death, the blessing and the curse; therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed;". Lovely, inspirational. Yet, as a teenage mored shamayim, I had a rather cynical take on that verse. How did I read it? I saw God playing the role of mafioso. Choose life, ie choose obedience lest I kill you. However, there are a number of textual problems that I missed at age fifteen. For instance, the Abarbanel notes that there are two Hebrew words generally used with regard to free will, ratzon and beḥira, with the former denoting will toward some freely chosen end and the latter denoting freely chosen means toward a given end. The word used here for choice is baḥarta, a form of the latter, and the sentence structure supports the idea that "life" is chosen as a means toward... life. Somewhat confusing. Also, in the choice presented, life and death precede blessing and curse. Looking at the blessings and curses from last week, one might be excused for thinking that blessing would enable continued life, and curse would quickly lead to death. Similarly in the choice several verses earlier between life and the good, and death and the bad. What is meant by life? The Malbim comments that life here means fulfillment of the Torah, and death means nullification of the Torah, perhaps basing himself on the midrash above. We also see this idea brought out in Psalm 34, verses 13-15, also connected by the mefarshim to these verses of life and death in our paresha: "Who is the man that desireth life, and loveth days, that he may see good therein? Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile. Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it." Many places in Tanakh, we find summaries of the Torah through general principles; these verses constitute one such place.

What does it really mean to be alive? In the Talmud in Brakhot, the sages teach that the wicked are called dead even during their lifetime. Titus is said to have been rebuked for taking pride in his triumph, for he did nothing but defeat a people already defeated and burn a Temple already burnt. When we do not fulfill our purpose in life, we take ourselves out of the world. 

On that note, it grows late, so I will simply note in brief and without further transition that this paresha contains one of the classic sources for the idea of teshuva in the Ḥumash, in particular parek 30 of Devarim, containing the few verses I have focused on as well as some other lovely specimens. Repent, repent, yom hadin draws nigh!

Shabat Shalom uMevorakh!

LeShana tova umetuka tikatevu veteiḥatemu!

Pareshat Ki Tavo

Sefer Devarim is sometimes called by another name, particularly in early rabbinical works: Mishneh Torah, the second Torah or repetition of the Torah. It is from this name (through Greek) that the English name Deuteronomy is derived. The reason for that name is most evident in this week's paresha. The Jews have been party to numerous britot with Hashem through the Torah to this point; brit bein habetarim, brit milah, shabbat that is called brit 'olam, and most significantly brit ma'amad har Sinai. Probably others that do not come immediately to mind. However, we now come to the final covenant, the crown and seal of all that came before. Brit 'aravot Moav. Why, here, does Moshe Rabbeinu say, "Keep silence, and hear, O Israel; this day thou art become a people unto the LORD thy God."? And later, in the 29th perek of Devarim, he goes on at even greater length on the same theme. Surely, we were already a people to Hashem, in covenant with him? If not from the avot, then from yetziat Mitzraim, and if not from that, then certainly from Sinai. And yet, seemingly not, according to these pesukim.

To answer the question, I would like to first look back to the tokhaḥa in pareshat Beha'alotkha, the set of blessings and curses that accompanied the covenant at Sinai as our more extensive list accompanies the renewal of the covenant. There are several differences between the two tokhaḥot, but I would like to focus on two. First, in the earlier portion, Moshe Rabbeinu pronounces the blessings and curses in the name of God upon the passive people. In our repetition, he describes the blessings and curses that the people are to pronounce upon themselves from har 'Eival and har Gerizim. Second, the first set are given in lashon rabim, the grammatical plural, whereas we are now addressed in lashon yaḥid, the grammatical singular. The meforshim are divided on the interpretation of this latter difference, in a way that at first glance seems directly contradictory. Some say that the first tokhaḥa adresses the people as a mass, and the second is needed to address the individual alone in case one might think that their sins will not be punished, relying on the righteous in the group to stave off the promised rebuke. Others understand that the first is addressed to a number of individuals all at once, whereas the second addresses klal Yisrael as a whole, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. I think that the two positions are actually reconcilable, with reference to the other aforementioned difference and the idea that this is the capstone of the covenant. In fact, what is being taught is that we cannot truly be a united people until each of us takes responsibility for his own actions.

What is the connection between a covenant of personal accountability and the imminent entry into the land? The time of open miracles may not be over for another millenium, but compared to the time in the midbar, it is certainly about abruptly become rather harder to detect. As Moshe reminds them, for the past forty years, they have been fed miraculously, their clothes and shoes have not worn out, etc etc. God has been an intensely visible presence in their day to day lives. The coming absence of that visibility brings two potential problems. The first is that they may come to attribute the good that they enjoy to their own effort and the laws of nature, failing to appreciate God's more subtle role in their continued subsistence. The second is that they may come to believe that they can freely violate the laws of the Torah, so long as they can avoid the censure of their fellow men. 

The first concern is the subject of the opening paragraphs of the paresha, where we are taught in more detail the laws of bikkurim and of the vidui ma'aser. We are taught to remind ourselves particularly when we bring in the harvest to joyfully give thanks to Hashem, remember all that he has done for us throughout our national history, up to and including the current harvest from the holy and bountiful land that he has granted us. We then declare that we do not pretend to have full ownership of the produce, and have dedicated a fit portion of it to holy purposes in recognition of that fact (the purposes of the various tithes is probably worth a post in itself). In this way, we guard against forgetting God's involvement in all that we accomplish positively.

The second concern is the subject of the brakhot and kelallot. Note that the particular commandments singled out for repetition here are those that are particularly easy to get away with, as far as human judgment goes. Several even specify that they are done in secret. The Maharil Diskin gives a good answer to the classic question, why are only the curses listed, and the blessings taught through negation? According to him, the real ḥiddush is that the people say, "Amen". Regarding the brakhot, this is not much of a ḥiddush. However, that is not the case with the kelallot. With God's presence less easily sensed, the temptation to violate these sorts of commandments can become overwhelming. The dor hamidbar were wise and learned; surely they knew that much of human nature. Never-the-less, despite the absolutely horrifying nature of the curses involved, every single one of them said, "Amen" bekol ram, with a loud voice. They take responsibility for themselves, even and especially where nobody else will hold them accountable. 

In short, this is not so much the Jews being made into God's nation through the covenant as the Jews maturing into their role as God's nation and becoming active coparticipants in the covenant. After all, what defines this generation, aside from Calev and Yehoshua? They were all below the age of accountability when the covenant was forged at Sinai. That was, to them, the covenant of childhood and adolescence, as individuals and as a nation. Now, we enter into the full covenant of adulthood. 

Shabbat Shalom uMevorakh!