Shabbat Re’eh: Torah Against Occupation

Even the devil can quote Scripture

This is the Third Shabbat of Consolation; as we move toward the High Holy Days of 5785, may we find the inner strength to believe in the possibility of positive change in ourselves, and in our world.

אֵ֣ת כׇּל־הַדָּבָ֗ר אֲשֶׁ֤ר אָנֹכִי֙ מְצַוֶּ֣ה אֶתְכֶ֔ם אֹת֥וֹ תִשְׁמְר֖וּ לַעֲשׂ֑וֹת לֹא־תֹסֵ֣ף עָלָ֔יו וְלֹ֥א תִגְרַ֖ע מִמֶּֽנּוּ

 Be careful to observe only that which I enjoin upon you: neither add to it nor take away from it. (Deut. 13.1)

Parashat Re’eh is full of alluring material: how to observe the Pilgrimage Festivals, rules for prophecy, even some kashrut tips. Most commentators can manage to completely ignore the more problematic topic covered in verses 12.29-31, in which we are warned about idolatry in the following context:

כִּֽי־יַכְרִית֩ ה’ אֱלֹהֶ֜יךָ אֶת־הַגּוֹיִ֗ם אֲשֶׁ֨ר אַתָּ֥ה בָא־שָׁ֛מָּה לָרֶ֥שֶׁת אוֹתָ֖ם מִפָּנֶ֑יךָ וְיָרַשְׁתָּ֣ אֹתָ֔ם וְיָשַׁבְתָּ֖ בְּאַרְצָֽם׃ 

When your God ‘ה has cut down before you the nations that you are about to enter and dispossess, and you have dispossessed them and settled in their land… (Deut 12.29)

For our homeless ancestors wandering through Europe and the Mediterranean basin, as far as India and Morocco, the idea of HaShem ethnically cleansing the land of Canaan so that Jews could live there in peace was either a long-ago legend or a reference to an impossibly distant future. To the extent that they suffered persecution in that Exile, it may have seemed an attractive dream, but unrealistic and unreachable dream it was.

In our own day we have witnessed the terrible cost of the idea that one people deserves to live in peace at the cost of another people’s existence. Survivors of the great Holocaust of our people are still living reminders. Because of our own still-recent history of oppression, before this Torah text we find ourselves nearly without precedent to refer to, with no Rashi to tell us how to interpret for our own day, when our own people attempt to apply such a text to our neighbors, the Palestinian people who also call the modern land of Canaan their ancestral home. Is it then a legitimate reading to assert, as some Jews do, that it is HaShem’s will that Jews occupy, displace and dispossess Palestinians? 

Yet this parashah also warns us, in the very next verse, about being “lured into the ways” of the nations around us, as the very definition of idolatry, which is to fall away from the righteous path. From this very verse the early modern scholar known as the Hatam Sofer developed his rule: hehadash asur min haTorah, “anything new is forbidden by Torah.” This offers us grounding, already, to ask how modern Palestinians could possibly be compared to the ancient “seven nations of Canaan.” Yet how might we respond to the rabbinic idea that ayn mukdam um’uchar baTorah, “there is no early or late in Torah” – that everything always is now, and always applies?

“The more study, the more life,” as our ancestors say: looking more deeply into the question of the seven nations of Canaan, we find that Maimonides, our Rambam, has done his Talmudic reading:

Rabbi Yehoshua said to Rabban Gamliel: Do Ammon and Moab reside in their place? [The Assyrian king] Sennakherib (destroyer of the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 BCE) already came and, through his policy of population transfer, scrambled all the nations and settled other nations in place of Ammon. Consequently, the current residents of Ammon and Moab are not ethnic Ammonites and Moabites, as it is stated in reference to Sennakherib: “I have removed the bounds of the peoples, and have robbed their treasures, and have brought down as one mighty the inhabitants” (Isaiah 10:13) – BT Berakhot 28a)

Rambam therefore teaches that although “it is a positive mitzvah to destroy the seven nations [of Canaan], as it is said: ‘You shall utterly destroy them’ (Deuteronomy 7:2), and anyone who encounters one of them and does not kill him has violated an injunction, as it is said, ‘Do not keep alive a soul’ (Deuteronomy 20:16),” it is also true that, because of Sennakherib’s policy of population transfer, “their memory has already been erased.” (Hilkhot Melakhim 5.4)

 Jews are like anyone else; when traumatized, we develop maladaptive behaviors. Abusers are most like those who have been abused. This is why some Israelis and Palestinians in the peace camp today recognized that intervention by the U.S. and Europe in the current conflagration might be the only way to help break the cycle of violence.

It is no wonder, given so many generations of brutalization, that some proclaim that Gaza should be “bombed flat” even as some call for Israel’s total destruction. Much violence has drained away the humanity from many suffering souls. But we need neither to “add to nor detract from” the message of our Torah to reclaim it.

כִּֽי־תִרְאֶ֞ה חֲמ֣וֹר שֹׂנַאֲךָ֗ רֹבֵץ֙ תַּ֣חַת מַשָּׂא֔וֹ וְחָדַלְתָּ֖ מֵעֲזֹ֣ב ל֑וֹ עָזֹ֥ב תַּעֲזֹ֖ב עִמּֽוֹ׃     

When you see the ass of your enemy lying under its burden and would refrain from raising it, you must nevertheless help raise it. (Exodus 23.5)

“Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19.18) is applicable only to those we consider as in some way like us (it was traditionally meant as an intra-Jewish obligation). In some distant messianic future we may find out how to love an enemy, but in our current benighted state it seems to be asking too much. Yet there are also rules, called derekh eretz, oftentranslated”common decency,” for how we are to behave toward an enemy!

If ancient non-Jewish reality (the invasion of Assyria) made the seven nations of Canaan mitzvah defunct, then modern reality can do the same. It has never been more important for us to assert that Jews do not follow the Torah word for word: we are not literalists, not fundamentalists, in that way. That would be a new and different way of reading for us, inspired by Western reading; and that is forbidden, directly by our Torah itself.

Shabbat Ekev: What If You’re Mistaken?

Getting all judge-y

אַל־תֹּאמַ֣ר בִּלְבָבְךָ֗ בַּהֲדֹ֣ף יְהֹוָה֩ אֱלֹהֶ֨יךָ אֹתָ֥ם ׀ מִלְּפָנֶ֘יךָ֮ לֵאמֹר֒ בְּצִדְקָתִי֙ הֱבִיאַ֣נִי ה’ לָרֶ֖שֶׁת אֶת־הָאָ֣רֶץ הַזֹּ֑את

And when your God ‘ה has thrust them from your path, say not to yourselves, “יהוה has enabled us to possess this land because of our virtues”. (Devarim 9.4)

This week is the second of Seven Weeks of Consolation, during which we are meant to focus upon self-improvement in the most important ways: how we get along.

The first step in any teshuvah, any act of return and repair, is to identify the mistake. In order to do this we must bring our best judgement to bear upon our actions. But, since our perceptual abilities are constrained by so many factors (mood, hearing, attention span, biases, and so much more), how do we know if we are judging our actions accurately?

 Our Western society encourages us to turn away from judgment with stock phrases like “it’s not up to me to judge” and the quote “judge not lest you be judged.” But that quote comes from someone else’s Bible – Matthew 7.1 – and it’s usually misquoted, anyway. The Jewish ethic is found more correctly here: 

לֹֽא־תִשְׂנָ֥א אֶת־אָחִ֖יךָ בִּלְבָבֶ֑ךָ הוֹכֵ֤חַ תּוֹכִ֙יחַ֙ אֶת־עֲמִיתֶ֔ךָ וְלֹא־תִשָּׂ֥א עָלָ֖יו חֵֽטְא

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kin but incur no guilt on their account.  (VaYikra 19.17)

We are called upon to keep each other in line – the line of the way of Jewish ethics, and to do so with care for each other. We are to be our “brother’s keeper”, to go even further back, to the original sin of humanity as Judaism sees it: not sharing fruit in a garden, but in ending a life and lying about one’s guilt.

Some of our ancestors, and some of our people at this time, argue that the land of Israel is given incontrovertibly to the Jewish people (even the lyrics of the old film “Exodus” make the claim). But our parashat hashavua clearly speaks against this idea. 

וְהָיָ֗ה אִם־שָׁכֹ֤חַ תִּשְׁכַּח֙ אֶת־ה’ אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ וְהָֽלַכְתָּ֗ אַחֲרֵי֙ אֱלֹהִ֣ים אֲחֵרִ֔ים וַעֲבַדְתָּ֖ם וְהִשְׁתַּחֲוִ֣יתָ לָהֶ֑ם הַעִדֹ֤תִי בָכֶם֙ הַיּ֔וֹם כִּ֥י אָבֹ֖ד תֹּאבֵדֽוּן׃ 

If you do forget your God ‘ה and follow other gods to serve them or bow down to them, I warn you this day that you shall certainly perish (Devarim 8.19)

The Torah indicates that believing that the land is ours beyond any other claim, that any behavior toward others is justified because of some sacred right, is an act of serving “other gods”, not HaShem: gods of fear and anger and trauma, gods of greed and the madness of power. 

If we are to judge ourselves and our acts, what will help up see beyond our own emotions – our own fears and hopes and needs – so that we can see ourselves accurately, and so judge correctly? 

The cost of judging ones’s acts incorrectly is merely that no progress toward becoming a happier, more complete human being is possible. This is why our ethical tradition advises that we seek out someone we respect to help us see past our own natural blind spots – a mentor, a teacher – someone who will be (hopefully gently) honest. 

Rather than be sure of your judgment of your relationship with another person, consider what might be if you are mistaken. And if you find that you are, may that moment of spiritual growth and promise bring you strength to see more clearly your ability to rise up, at any moment, to follow the path of becoming who, and what, you are meant to be.

Shabbat Nahamu: You Can’t Always Get What You Want

עֲלֵ֣ה ׀ רֹ֣אשׁ הַפִּסְגָּ֗ה וְשָׂ֥א עֵינֶ֛יךָ יָ֧מָּה וְצָפֹ֛נָה וְתֵימָ֥נָה וּמִזְרָ֖חָה וּרְאֵ֣ה בְעֵינֶ֑יךָ כִּי־לֹ֥א תַעֲבֹ֖ר אֶת־הַיַּרְדֵּ֥ן הַזֶּֽה׃ 

Go up to the summit of Pisgah and gaze about, to the west, the north, the south, and the east. Look at it well, for you shall not go across yonder Jordan. (Dev. 3.27)

Moshe Rabbenu is held up in song and story as the greatest of leaders and the most amazing human being as well, humble despite his unparalleled access to the Divine, and loyal to a fault to his people. But he is also a mere flesh and blood human being, and in this week’s Torah narrative,  he must face what we all, sooner or later, share in common; human limits. Or, by another name: mortality.

One of the prisms of interpretation through which we relate to the Torah is as the story of human birth, growth, and maturation. In her Biography of Ancient Israel Ilana Pardes presents the wilderness wandering as a people’s adolescent development in which we might see our own, and the death of Moshe in our present Book of Devarim symbolizing the inevitable loss of those who led the way for us in our youth.

Yet it is possible to grow old without growing up, and Jewish ethical tradition comes to answer the question: how might we, following in the footsteps of our ancient myths, avail ourselves of the learning implicit in this last book of our Torah? Especially this year, how do we of the Jewish community follow along with the arc of this next seven Weeks of Consolation, from Tisha B’Av to Rosh HaShanah? The fears and anxiety distracting us are overwhelming.

The answer is like all good Jewish answers: on the one hand and on the other hand. In one hand each of us is precious and worth the world, and on the other hand, each of us is but dust and ashes. And that neither of our hands is going to achieve what we are able to do when we find a way to join them with others.

On this Shabbat Nakhamu, we are invited to let ourselves be consoled, even in the face of much that is yet and will always be challenging to our peace of mind. To find consolation not from miraculous deliverance from without but because we can finally see that we’re not supposed to be perfect and conquer the world, nor can we save it. To find relief in seeing a bit more clearly the value in our limited lives, and learn to cherish the magical moments that shine forth from every human being when we encounter them as we ourselves wish to be encountered: not perfect. Not constant. But here, and capable of doing something.

We are not immortal; we cannot have it all; we will not always get what we want. On this Shabbat, as we gaze with Moshe across to the place we will never go, may we find the spiritual maturity to celebrate the day and its possibilities, even in the face of all our grief. And may we find a way to do it together; to lift each other up and in so doing find our own individual burdens lightened, as well.

May we find consolation in our place with each other, within the holy community we are building, learning by learning, mitzvah by mitzvah.

Shabbat Hazon: Facing It

With this week’s parashah we begin the last of the five books of the Torah, what our tradition also refers to as Torat Moshe, the Torah of Moshe. The entire book is a retrospective, a re-telling (the meaning of the word “deuteronomy”) of the epic myth of the Jewish people. 

We can tell it like a joke, that HaShem invites Moshe up Mt Nebo to see the land promised to the people before his death at the end of the previous Book of Numbers – and then it takes Moshe all of the thirty-four chapters of Deuteronomy to die. But when the time comes for each of us to look at our lives and consider the trace we left among our people, it will probably take each of us some undetermined – but longer than we might anticipate – amount of time, and devarim, “words” (the Hebrew name for this final book of the Torah), to come to understand ourselves.

In the second year of the Triennial Cycle, we begin the reading with Devarim 2.2-3:  

וַיֹּ֥אמֶר ה’ אֵלַ֥י לֵאמֹֽר׃ רַב־לָכֶ֕ם סֹ֖ב אֶת־הָהָ֣ר הַזֶּ֑ה פְּנ֥וּ לָכֶ֖ם צָפֹֽנָה׃ 

Then ‘ה said to me, “You have been skirting this hill country long enough; now turn north.”(Dev. 2.2-3)

It’s as if we are being told to stop beating around the bush. “Skirting,” avoiding, taking the long way around, is usually the way of putting off something both inevitable and unwanted. The prophet Jeremiah, who lived through those terrible days, warns, “From the north shall disaster break loose upon all the inhabitants of the land” (Jeremiah 1.14)

As we near the end of the Three Weeks that bring us to Tisha B’Av, the 9th day of Av upon which, 2610 years ago, the Jerusalem Temple was destroyed, our ancient tradition urges us to face it: not to look away any longer from the destruction, and from taking stock of how it could have happened. 

“North” refers in that day to the direction from with the enemy empire’s army descended upon our people to destroy us and our home. Geographically it is the direction in which the city of Jerusalem is most vulnerable; but we are taught that the direction in which we should be looking is ethical, not topographical.

Like nothing else, the clear call of our prophetic tradition insists that destruction of a city begins with its own internal moral rot. This is as true of Jerusalem then as Portland Oregon today, where I write these words. 

And we must face it: it is also true of Jerusalem today.

Many of us who come from an orientation of ahavat Yisrael, love of all things Israel – people, place, language, culture, spirituality – have been rising up to declare by our acts that the haftarah for this week is more relevant than ever: 

לִמְד֥וּ הֵיטֵ֛ב דִּרְשׁ֥וּ מִשְׁפָּ֖ט אַשְּׁר֣וּ חָמ֑וֹץ שִׁפְט֣וּ יָת֔וֹם רִ֖יבוּ אַלְמָנָֽה׃       

Learn to do good. Devote yourselves to justice; aid the wronged. Uphold the rights of the orphan; defend the cause of the widow. (Isaiah 1.17)

The leadership of our U.S. Jewish community, traumatized and torn, complicit and confused, will not face it. Those who call themselves the left in the U.S. cannot discern it through the fog of their own ignorance and antisemitism. And none of us can take any comfort in what we see when we turn toward this truth (partial though it is).

Our ancestors recorded their own conclusions in our Talmud, that Jerusalem was destroyed because of “Idol worship, forbidden sexual relations, and bloodshed.” 

שְׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים, דִּכְתִיב: ״וְגַם דָּם נָקִי שָׁפַךְ מְנַשֶּׁה עַד אֲשֶׁר מִלֵּא אֶת יְרוּשָׁלִַם פֶּה לָפֶה״. 

With regard to bloodshed it is written: “Moreover, [King] Menashe shed innocent blood very much, until he had filled Jerusalem from one end to another” (II Kings 21:16). – BT Yoma 9b

On this Shabbat Hazon, a time of apprehension for so many generations, we also find ourselves caught up in fear of evil from the north, this time Iran. We also are dismayed by bloodshed carried out by the rulers of Israel today. We, also, may find ourselves like Jeremiah, eyes streaming with tears for the people and land he loved, as it is brutalized by those who thrive on hate and fear.

It is not easy to face. But “facing it” in our English language should remind us of the Hebrew, panim, a word often encountered in relational terms, with HaShem: panim el panim, face to face.” This stance facing HaShem is a way to speak of undeniable, in-your-heart knowledge. The kind you don’t want to know, and will do anything not to admit.

It’s easier to lose oneself in anger, to deny complexity, to skip over facing and feeling and go directly to blaming. Even easier than that would be to avoid thinking about it altogether. But haven’t we been skirting this hill country long enough? Mourning must be faced; all that has been lost must be grieved. Only then might we together find a way forward toward redemption.

This is the hope our ancestors eked out of the horrors of their own day, building upon the final verses of that same prophet Isaiah, whose words will offer some small consolation next Shabbat:

כׇּל הַמִּתְאַבֵּל עַל יְרוּשָׁלַיִם — זוֹכֶה וְרוֹאֶה בְּשִׂמְחָתָהּ,

Whoever mourns for Jerusalem will merit to see her future joy. – BT Ta’anit 30b

Shabbat Pinhas: The Partial Nature of Knowing

“Oops. Good point; didn’t think of that.” – Moshe

“Me either. The women are right. Give them what they want.” – HaShem

Where does the idea that there is any such thing as an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing deity come from? Certainly not our Torah; this week’s parashah is one of many that show this. The description our Torah offers of HaShem is not perfect; it is, however, perfectly perfectible. 

Let’s dismantle a few assumptions here. The Torah does not support our view of G*d as perfect. That is a projection, probably via the Greeks, that some humans insist upon. They need it because they need to know that someone’s “got this” when they don’t, and can’t – such as in the case of senseless evil. Or they need it so that they can set up a “straw god” to reject.

Similarly, the Torah, meaning all Jewish sacred texts, are not revealed truth. That is a Christian assumption, and as such has become part of what we assume we are supposed to believe – and makes it easy to reject, all together and at once, when we find something offensive in it. Rather, our ancestors understood that our sacred texts offer a glimpse of what truths we might work our way toward.

This week’s parashah is a great example. The scene is this: in this particular text that clearly reflects a patriarchal assumption, there is a general discussion going on about inheritance, and it assumes a line of sons inheriting fathers. But there’s an unforeseen problem with that approach: sometimes offspring are daughters.

And thus it is with the daughters of a man named Tzelof’khad; there are five of them, with no brother to inherit. They argue:

לָ֣מָּה יִגָּרַ֤ע שֵׁם־אָבִ֙ינוּ֙ מִתּ֣וֹךְ מִשְׁפַּחְתּ֔וֹ כִּ֛י אֵ֥ין ל֖וֹ בֵּ֑ן תְּנָה־לָּ֣נוּ אֲחֻזָּ֔ה בְּת֖וֹךְ אֲחֵ֥י אָבִֽינוּ׃ 

Let not our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen! (Numbers 27.4)

In this moment, the assumption that the patriarchal approach is “enough” is disproved, and then the greater teaching moment occurs:

וַיַּקְרֵ֥ב מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־מִשְׁפָּטָ֖ן לִפְנֵ֥י ה.  ’וַיֹּ֥אמֶר ה’ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר כֵּ֗ן בְּנ֣וֹת צְלׇפְחָד֮ דֹּבְרֹת֒ נָתֹ֨ן תִּתֵּ֤ן לָהֶם֙ אֲחֻזַּ֣ת נַחֲלָ֔ה בְּת֖וֹךְ אֲחֵ֣י אֲבִיהֶ֑ם וְהַֽעֲבַרְתָּ֛ אֶת־נַחֲלַ֥ת אֲבִיהֶ֖ן לָהֶֽן׃ וְאֶל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל תְּדַבֵּ֣ר לֵאמֹ֑ר אִ֣ישׁ כִּֽי־יָמ֗וּת וּבֵן֙ אֵ֣ין ל֔וֹ וְהַֽעֲבַרְתֶּ֥ם אֶת־נַחֲלָת֖וֹ לְבִתּֽוֹ׃ 

Moses brought their case before ‘ה And ‘ה said to Moses, “The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them. “Further, speak to the Israelite people as follows: ‘If a householder dies without leaving a son, you shall transfer his property to his daughter.” (Numbers 27.5-7)

Moshe models his understanding of the revealed nature of the truth he transmits: it is partial and not completely understood. Then HaShem demonstrates that our awareness of what is holy is entirely incomplete. 

Maybe the best part of the Jewish approach to all this is from our Talmudic sages, so often assumed by our Western modern Jewish values to be hopelessly misogynistic:

תָּנָא: בְּנוֹת צְלָפְחָד חַכְמָנִיּוֹת הֵן, דַּרְשָׁנִיּוֹת הֵן, צִדְקָנִיּוֹת הֵן

The Sages taught: The daughters of Tzelof’khad are wise, they are interpreters of verses, and they are righteous. – BT Bava Batra 119b

The midrash explains what Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah understood, and helped their community to learn:

And then the daughters of Tzelof’khad approached (Numbers 27.1) “When the daughters of Tzelof’khad heard that the land was to be apportioned to the tribes and not to females, they gathered together to take counsel, saying: Not as the mercies of flesh and blood are the mercies of HaShem. The mercies of flesh and blood are greater for males than for females. Not so the mercies of the One who spoke and brought the world into being; HaShem’s mercies are for males and females (equally). They are for all! As it is written (Psalms 145:9) “HaShem is good to all, and mercy alights upon all of Creation.” 

The mystics of our tradition call our attempts to understand the reality of HaShem like “looking through a cloudy glass into a dark room.” We are not where HaShem is; we don’t know all of what’s right, and we can’t simply read it and understand it out of a book. Our personal impressions are not completely true and our hearts are not infallible. Not even our longing for certainty somewhere (which we often project unfairly upon HaShem) can ever, really, be assuaged.

Our parashat hashavua this week carries a clear message: 

The greatest leader is one who can admit that s/he hasn’t thought of that. 

The truest understanding of divine wisdom is that we can only partially see it. 

And learning can come from any place, any person, any time.

May we become comfortable enough with our ignorance to admit it, willing to give our curiosity more room than our need for certainty, and thus to move toward at least a partial enlightenment to illuminate the path we walk together.

Shabbat Balak: Some of My Best Friends are Anti-Zionists

Heading into the Three Weeks in 5784

וּמִפְּנֵי חֲטָאֵינוּ גָּלִינוּ מֵאַרְצֵנוּ – because of our sins we were exiled from our homeland. (Rambam, order of prayer, 3.6)

מַה־טֹּ֥בוּ אֹהָלֶ֖יךָ יַעֲקֹ֑ב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶ֖יךָ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃  – How fair are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel! (from this week’s parashah)

Rashi: How goodly are they even when they are in ruins, because then they are a pledge (משכון) for you, and the fact that they are in ruins is an atonement for your souls

This parashah is the source of a verse well known to every Jew who davens (prays), since it is quoted as the opening line of the song that begins our Tefilah (prayers): “How good are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places O Israel!” (Numbers 24.5). It’s a jarring juxtaposition to note that in a matter of days, next Tuesday, July 23, is 17 Tammuz, we will observe a twelve hour fast called Tzom Tammuz, commemorating the destruction of the first Jerusalem Temple.

On this Shabbat, as every Shabbat, we literally begin our prayers by praising our kehillot, our congregations and other sacred gatherings. But next Tuesday, we have to remember, and face, the trauma of the destruction of all those places we cherish – places of home, of safety, of belonging. 

For a century and more, the establishment of the modern State of Israel has been seen by many Jews as the longed-for resurrection of those tents mentioned in our parashat hashavua. Yet in our regular religious practice, we are reminded through the prophetic texts that our existence on that land is contingent upon the ethics we practice there: 

כִּ֤י אִם־הֵיטֵיב֙ תֵּיטִ֔יבוּ אֶת־דַּרְכֵיכֶ֖ם וְאֶת־מַעַלְלֵיכֶ֑ם אִם־עָשׂ֤וֹ תַֽעֲשׂוּ֙ מִשְׁפָּ֔ט בֵּ֥ין אִ֖ישׁ וּבֵ֥ין רֵעֵֽהוּ׃ 

Now, if you really mend your ways and your actions; if you execute justice between one party and another;  

גֵּ֣ר יָת֤וֹם וְאַלְמָנָה֙ לֹ֣א תַעֲשֹׁ֔קוּ וְדָ֣ם נָקִ֔י אַֽל־תִּשְׁפְּכ֖וּ בַּמָּק֣וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה וְאַחֲרֵ֨י אֱלֹהִ֧ים אֲחֵרִ֛ים לֹ֥א תֵלְכ֖וּ לְרַ֥ע לָכֶֽם׃ 

if you do not oppress the stranger, the orphan, and the widow; if you do not shed the blood of the innocent in this place; if you do not follow other gods, to your own hurt—  

וְשִׁכַּנְתִּ֤י אֶתְכֶם֙ בַּמָּק֣וֹם הַזֶּ֔ה בָּאָ֕רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר נָתַ֖תִּי לַאֲבוֹתֵיכֶ֑ם לְמִן־עוֹלָ֖ם וְעַד־עוֹלָֽם׃ 

then only will I let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave to your ancestors for all time.  (Jeremiah 7.5-7)

The heart of the present trauma that is tearing apart Jewish communities all over the U.S. emerges from precisely this ancient awareness: we do not deserve the land if we do not sanctify it with our ethical behavior. If we raise up Jerusalem above all other ethics, Jeremiah, Isaiah and Micah warn, we will lose it all – our self respect and our home.

We are about to enter the Three Weeks, a period of time that for millennia has been observed by Jews as a time of destruction apprehended and of mourning anticipated. For the next three weeks the Haftarah we chant during Shabbat morning prayers will be the ancient Jewish equivalent of doomscrolling. This period will conclude with Tisha B’Av, when we will sit on the floor to show our sorrow, and hear the haunting ancient words of Eykha, the lamentation for the destruction of Jerusalem.

These are the days of self-judgement for us Jews as a community, on all levels: as a People who stand before HaShem always, and as a kehillah that stands before each other. Another prophet,  Zekharyah, asks the key question about how we will make this special time of use:

אֱמֹר֙ אֶל־כׇּל־עַ֣ם הָאָ֔רֶץ וְאֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִ֖ים לֵאמֹ֑ר כִּֽי־צַמְתֶּ֨ם וְסָפ֜וֹד בַּחֲמִישִׁ֣י וּבַשְּׁבִיעִ֗י וְזֶה֙ שִׁבְעִ֣ים שָׁנָ֔ה הֲצ֥וֹם צַמְתֻּ֖נִי אָֽנִי׃ 

Say to all the people of the land and to the priests: When you fasted and lamented in the fifth and seventh months all these seventy years, did you fast for My benefit? – Zekharyah 7.5

The prophet means that only when we examine ourselves and our community from a position of self-transcendence, considering that we are to be a holy people and do our level best to follow the  blameless path of Abraham and Sarah, will we fulfill the mitzvah of fasting and prayer in response to the bad times. If all we do is look to judge others, our actions are useless.

I invite you to observe the Three Weeks with me this year by joining with me in study. This should always be the Jew’s first response: I need to learn the Torah that pertains to this. Or, as Rabbi Akiba once put it, “This too is Torah and I need to learn it.” (BT Berakhot 62a) Only when we truly know what our words mean to us as Jews can we call ourselves Zionist, post-Zionist, anti-Zionist, or (the newest term) Counter-Zionist. And more: if we cannot explore this question together, what are we as a community? Let the ancient words remind us of this whenever we hear them: we have to keep our tents fair, our dwelling places good.

the Torah of Anti-Zionism, Counter-Zionism & Post-Zionism

Thursdays by Zoom at 7pm: July 25, August 1 and August 8

The Reform movement of Judaism was originally anti-Zionist. The Neturei Karta, an ultra-Orthodox sect of Judaism, has always been.  What Torah and Talmud teachings inform such a stance? A lot of people are using the terms anti-Zionist, counter-Zionist, and post-Zionist these days. What do they mean?

Join Rabbi Ariel to learn the Torah and Talmud texts that inform opposition to Zionism as a political ideology. We’ll explore the definitions of Zionism in light of prophetic ethical teachings, and ponder the Jewish spiritual path of those opposed to the Jewish state.

Open to all Jews and the Jew-adjacent who seek to learn. As always, this is a compassionate space. No expressions of hatred or violence (other than in the texts themselves) will be tolerated.

Register here to get the Zoom link:  https://us02web.zoom.us/j/7937914126?pwd=OEpCU0RjL0w2OXBtUnRzODZwVStLZz09

Shabbat Shelakh L’kha: Israel Is Neither Here Nor There

This week’s parashah is a turning point for our people, and not a good one. Astonishingly enough, the journey from the foot of Mt Sinai to the edge of what the Torah calls the Land of the Promise is relatively very short: our ancestors began to journey in last week’s parashah and already they have arrived.

So what took so long? Why did it take forty years to make a trip of a few months, at most? (When I was in rabbinical school in Jerusalem in 1986 a few of my classmates and I took advantage of the relatively new peace with Egypt to travel from Jerusalem to Cairo: it was a 12 hour bus ride, with stops.)

The scene is this: the people are camped in the wilderness of Paran, and Moshe sends twelve leaders, one from each tribe, ahead to scout out the land. The scouts come back with a mixed report: some say the land looks inviting, and others share their fear of the local inhabitants.

At this moment the Israelite people seem to collectively lose their minds. All their fears, realistic or not, come pouring forth:

וַיִּלֹּ֙נוּ֙ עַל־מֹשֶׁ֣ה וְעַֽל־אַהֲרֹ֔ן כֹּ֖ל בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וַֽיֹּאמְר֨וּ אֲלֵהֶ֜ם כׇּל־הָעֵדָ֗ה לוּ־מַ֙תְנוּ֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם א֛וֹ בַּמִּדְבָּ֥ר הַזֶּ֖ה לוּ־מָֽתְנוּ׃ וְלָמָ֣ה יְ֠הֹוָ֠ה מֵבִ֨יא אֹתָ֜נוּ אֶל־הָאָ֤רֶץ הַזֹּאת֙ לִנְפֹּ֣ל בַּחֶ֔רֶב נָשֵׁ֥ינוּ וְטַפֵּ֖נוּ יִהְי֣וּ לָבַ֑ז הֲל֧וֹא ט֦וֹב לָ֖נוּ שׁ֥וּב מִצְרָֽיְמָה׃ 

All the Israelites railed against Moses and Aaron. “If only we had died in the land of Egypt,” the whole community shouted at them, “or if only we might die in this wilderness!” “Why is יהוה taking us to that land to fall by the sword?” “Our wives and children will be carried off!” “It would be better for us to go back to Egypt!” (Num. 14.2-3)

The midrash which expands the meaning of this account gets to the heart of the matter: there is no trust.

They [the people] said to them [Moses and Aaron]: ‘You are not trustworthy for us; our brethren [the scouts who shared their fear) are more concerned about us than you are,’ (BaMidbar Rabbah 16.21).

Torah here teaches us several truths: first, that trust in a community is not easily created, nor maintained, in the face of fear. Second, that a group of Jews (never mind the non-Jews, that’s a different teaching) can completely lose their mind – and destroy their community – over Israel without ever having set foot there.

And this is where we are this week ourselves: long before October 7 the actions of the State of Israel have been causing communities of U.S. Jews to experience divisiveness. Some Jews reach the conclusion that Israel is the least safe place for Jews rather than the haven the early Zionists sought to create; others side with feelings and center intergenerational trauma as if it excuses every act. Many Jews reject the idea that Israel should be given a pass on the occupation of Palestine, and some Jews seem to wish to “go back to Egypt” and forget there is a land to which all Jews will always be connected, since our culture comes from there.

Since World War II and the establishment of the State of Israel, the institutions of the U.S. Jewish community have known that the two reliable ways to rally any local Jewish community together was to invoke either the Holocaust or Israel. Over three generations, more and more of our inspiration and emotion was outsourced to these two historic events. And it was so easy. 

The story of the scouts teaches us that these days are testing whether we are a community worthy of the name.

אַ֣ךְ בּ-ה֮’ אַל־תִּמְרֹ֒דוּ֒ וְאַתֶּ֗ם …אַל־תִּירָאֻֽם׃ 

only you must not rebel against ‘ה’. … ‘ה will be with us. Have no fear!”  (Num 14.9)

A Jewish community can rest assured, and let go of fear, only when we act to keep the sense of the Presence of HaShem with us; this is what is meant by not rebelling. 

In other words: out of fear we may permit ourselves to commit lashon hara’, in that we become unreasonably angry and hurt each other with words. We may go further and practice cancel culture, cutting ourselves off  from those who don’t agree with us over Israel by leaving communities where we have long relationships and have weathered much together. And we may go so far as to commit what our ancestors called a crime akin to murder, ona’ah, oppression of others through words or acts, tearing down reputations and causing others to hate.

During my fact-finding mission to Israel and Palestine in March, I witnessed real community: Israelis and Palestinians who struggle together for shared trust and hope in a better common future, practicing the mitzvot of respectful communication, mutual caring, and the benefit of the doubt. Those Jews, Muslims and Christians who are there and suffering the most are demonstrating better than we at our comfortable distance what it means to build resilient community.

A community that falls apart over our homeland, a place where most of us have never been, is a sign that it is no community at all. Our ancestors were incapable of learning this lesson and so they died in a wilderness of meaninglessness and of failure. Nowhere in our Torah are we commanded to love the state of Israel more than we love each other; that is idolatry. 

The prophets call us out over and over again for being too willing to worship whatever our eyes and hearts find compelling. Israel is, literally, neither here among us in our community: nor there, for many of us who are still considered perfectly good Jews. In a healthy community we cannot excuse our behavior with the idea of intergenerational trauma, nor, comparably, should we excuse Israel’s faults in the same way. 

These are the days when we are offered the greatest test of all: do our acts have the integrity of our ethics? Only when we can say yes will we be able to go forth together, as a community that supports each other, toward whatever will be.

Shabbat BeHa’alot’kha: The Cloud Among Us

וּלְפִ֞י הֵעָל֤וֹת הֶֽעָנָן֙ מֵעַ֣ל הָאֹ֔הֶל וְאַ֣חֲרֵי כֵ֔ן יִסְע֖וּ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וּבִמְק֗וֹם אֲשֶׁ֤ר יִשְׁכׇּן־שָׁם֙ הֶֽעָנָ֔ן שָׁ֥ם יַחֲנ֖וּ בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃ 

And whenever the cloud lifted from the Tent, the Israelites would set out accordingly; and at the spot where the cloud settled, there the Israelites would make camp. (BaMidbar 9.17)

Our parashat hashavua this week invites us to reflect upon what it means to be a community on the move. The Israelites have passed through the first stage of their combined existence, that of formation. The year and a bit more since the Exodus from Egypt have been spent at the foot of Mt Sinai, fashioning religious and social systems to replace those that were left behind.

Someone called the three stages of group creation “forming, storming, and norming.” In this week’s parashah, the Israelites move from the first to the second of these universally human situations. The Book BaMidbar, Numbers in English, is full of “storming”: uprisings, arguments, and complaints against each other and against HaShem reveal the Israelite community as vibrant and passionate – great qualities if the energy can be wisely shaped toward group cohesion.

What keeps a group together long enough to reach stage three, “norming”, so that one day you find yourself saying “that’s just how we do it here”?

The mythology of our people enshrined in the Torah offers experience writ large, symbols and analogies to offer us a broader perspective than we might otherwise attain, when we are enmeshed in the daily experiences of a group and our emotional responses. In true mythological fashion, the Torah describes a mysterious Cloud of Glory that constantly hovered over the Israelite camp, a clear and everpresent sign of the protection of HaShem (and some nice shade in the trackless wilderness as well). 

We might dismiss the description in our parashah as in the sloppy use of the word “myth” by which some mean impossible and untrue; I mean it here in the anthropological sense of those simplified stories by which human cultures understand the deepest – and least given to articulation – human experience.

We no longer have a Cloud of Glory showing us the way – or do we? Over many generations of the development of ancient Jewish belief, the concept arose of the Shekhinah, a sense of the presence of HaShem as close and as reassuring as that ever-present, protective Cloud. This idea became a support for the minhag of wearing a kippah, or baseball hat or whatever,  but always covering the head.

רַב הוּנָא בְּרֵיהּ דְּרַב יְהוֹשֻׁעַ לָא מְסַגֵּי אַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת בְּגִילּוּי הָרֹאשׁ. אָמַר: שְׁכִינָה לְמַעְלָה מֵרָאשֵׁי. 

R. Huna son of R. Joshua would not walk four cubits bareheaded, saying: The Shekhinah is above my head.  (BT Kiddushin 31a)

On what did Rav Huna base his declaration? Not on a literal cloud that followed him around, but on the ancient sense (borne out by modern science) that when we are together, and focused upon that which makes us a sacred community, we can evoke a sense of something greater than us, that holds us. That focus is brought about by Torah study and prayer.

שְׁנַיִם שֶׁיּוֹשְׁבִין וְיֵשׁ בֵּינֵיהֶם דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, שְׁכִינָה שְׁרוּיָה בֵינֵיהֶם

if two sit together and there are words of Torah [spoken] between them, then the Shekhinah abides among them (Pirke Avot 3.2)

We as a community find our way by coming together to study and learn and consider what makes a Jewish community sacred, and in so doing we learn so much about how to be good human beings. Torah study reminds us that compassion is more important than achievement, that connection is more valuable than possessions, and that community is more than any one moment of upset, anger or even embarrassment. 

It’s hard to meet each other in all of our shared humanity right now; there’s a lot of stress all around us. But as we hold on to what is greater than each of us, that which we create when we are together as a sacred community that learns together about the world and ourselves, we will come to behold it ourselves. Almost as if we could see it: the Shekhinah that dwells among us, moving when we move and steadfast in those moments when we can’t. It’s in your eyes, my smile, and their offered hand.

Shabbat Naso: Use Your Words

חַיֵּ֣י בְ֭שָׂרִים לֵ֣ב מַרְפֵּ֑א וּרְקַ֖ב עֲצָמ֣וֹת קִנְאָֽה׃ 

A calm disposition gives bodily health; jealousy rots the bones. (Mishle 14.30)

If the Book VaYikra, Leviticus, was short on drama, the Book we are now reading, BaMidbar, Numbers, makes up for it. This week in our triennial cycle we are confronted with a text that has discomfited generations of commentators and ethicists.

The problem for us is this: a woman is labeled a sotah (from the Hebrew for “go astray” used in the verse), and made to go through an ordeal, not because of having done something wrong, but because her partner, a man, simply suspects her, with no evidence, nothing at all to justify his jealousy. He is not thinking: he is just feeling.

וְעָבַ֨ר עָלָ֧יו רֽוּחַ־קִנְאָ֛ה וְקִנֵּ֥א אֶת־אִשְׁתּ֖וֹ וְהִ֣וא נִטְמָ֑אָה אוֹ־עָבַ֨ר עָלָ֤יו רֽוּחַ־קִנְאָה֙ וְקִנֵּ֣א אֶת־אִשְׁתּ֔וֹ וְהִ֖יא לֹ֥א נִטְמָֽאָה׃ 

If a fit of jealousy comes over him and he is wrought up about the wife who has defiled herself, or if a fit of jealousy comes over him and he is wrought up about his wife although she has not defiled herself (Numbers 5.14)

This passage is one of the more destructive when taken out of its historical context. If among our ancestors were men whose emotions got the better of their empathy, this coerced ritual may have actually saved a defenseless woman from her husband’s private choice to beat her, even to death, on the basis of a suspicion, however untrue.

It is true that domestic abuse happened, and still happens, among all domestic partnerships. Twenty-two percent of all people in an intimate relationship will experience domestic abuse, according to the peer-reviewed Partner Abuse. 

Male and female IPV perpetrated from similar motives – primarily to get back at a partner for emotionally hurting them, because of stress or jealousy, to express anger and other feelings that they could not put into words or communicate, and to get their partner’s attention.

How much damage we do when we are stuck in our emotions! The Musar text Mesillat Yesharim comments:

הַקִּנְאָה גַּם הִיא אֵינָהּ אֶלָּא חֶסְרוֹן יְדִיעָה וְסִכְלוּת, כִּי אֵין הַמְקַנֵּא מַרְוִיחַ כְּלוּם לְעַצְמוֹ … וּכְמַאֲמַר הַכָּתוּב שֶׁזָּכַרְתִּי (איוב ה): וּפֹתֶה תָּמִית קִנְאָה. 

Jealousy also is nothing but lack of understanding and foolishness. For the jealous person gains nothing for himself …as the verse we mentioned states “jealousy slays the foolish” (Iyov 5:2). 

In our society we often find a person’s emotions being raised up to prominence. This is probably a necessary reaction to too much primacy being given to intellect and logic in the immediate past, but we can easily see that neither extreme serves us well. Subjective reality deserve respect, but it is only one of the factors that must be considered in any situation. The question, as always, is balance, and much thought must go into achieving it:

If I’m jealous and I put my loved one through the modern equivalent of a sotah ritual (where their emotions are demonstrated to be not as important as mine), what chance does our relationship have of achieving a better state afterward? 

Learning to balance the before and after, the me and the other, the cause and the effect, all are part of learning to consider the reality of having both emotions and an intellect. Bringing everything to bear rather than lashing out when we’re hurt is a form of integration of the self. In Jewish tradition, it’s how we polish the Image of Holiness that we reflect.

Alas, in our society we also often simply leave a relationship – with an intimate partner, with a friend, with a community – when our emotions are upset within it. Having been encouraged by a fee-for-service, drive-through, no one is the boss of me culture, we look to start over somewhere better, somewhere where we won’t be hurt. What we don’t realize is that being hurt is an invitation into truly coming to know our own self, our own strength, and our own part in all the relationships of our lives.

The next time you are hurt by someone, don’t withdraw. Bring forth your curiosity. Why do I feel this way? What might I learn, how might I grow, if I don’t walk away? If I don’t outsource my control over my emotions, and accuse someone else of being at fault for what I feel? 

Being a grown up is hard work. Being a good Jew can help. Come and engage in community,  even when you get your feelings hurt, and let it help you become your best self.

Shabbat BaMidbar: Guarding Ourselves

Is the Oregon Food Bank our enemy?

שְׂא֗וּ אֶת־רֹאשׁ֙ כׇּל־עֲדַ֣ת בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָ֖ם לְבֵ֣ית אֲבֹתָ֑ם בְּמִסְפַּ֣ר שֵׁמ֔וֹת כׇּל־זָכָ֖ר לְגֻלְגְּלֹתָֽם׃ 

Take a census of the whole Israelite company [of fighters] by the clans of its ancestral houses, listing the names, every male, head by head.  (Numbers 1.2)

This week we begin reading the fourth book of the Torah, called BaMidbar. The book is called “Numbers” in English, which refers to the counting of the people who were able to bear arms at the very beginning of the book. But the Hebrew name is much more interesting, for the word bamidbar is constructed of a preposition and a noun. The preposition is ba, “in” and the word midbar means “wilderness.” But! the letters of the word in Hebrew – מדבר – can be understood as medabeyr, “the one who speaks.” It’s the same word, and without vowels, one translation is as good as the other.

In Jewish tradition, human beings are called hai m’dabeyr, “the creature that talks”, that is to say, uses words in speech and in writing. Talmudic sources remind us that using words is a dangerous activity.  מָ֣וֶת וְ֭חַיִּים בְּיַד־לָשׁ֑וֹן – “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18.21)

Jewish ethical teachings warn us to be careful of our words in so many ways; to guard against embarrassing another in public, to avoid dissension among teachers, and – the most difficult – to avoid lying to oneself. We might understand this first topic in Sefer BaMidbar accordingly: first and foremost when guarding, to “guard my tongue from evil” as Rav Hamnuna Zuta prayed on Yom Kippur, according to the Talmud. The full prayer is instructive:

מָר בְּרֵיהּ דְּרָבִינָא כִּי הֲוָה מְסַיֵּים צְלוֹתֵיהּ אָמַר הָכִי: ״אֱלֹהַי, נְצוֹר לְשׁוֹנִי מֵרָע וְשִׂפְתוֹתַי מִדַּבֵּר מִרְמָה, וְלִמְקַלְּלַי נַפְשִׁי תִדּוֹם, וְנַפְשִׁי כֶּעָפָר לַכֹּל תִּהְיֶה. פְּתַח לִבִּי בְּתוֹרָתֶךָ, וּבְמִצְוֹתֶיךָ תִּרְדּוֹף נַפְשִׁי.

When Mar, son of Ravina, would conclude his prayer, he said the following: My G*d, guard my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking deceit. To those who curse me let my soul be silent and may my soul be like dust to all. Open my heart to Your Torah, and may my soul pursue your mitzvot.  (BT Berakhot 17a)

Given the ethical message as well as the prominence of this prayer (included in our daily meditations after the Amidah), it’s a rare moment when some of the leadership in our community take a stand that causes some of the other leadership to feel the need to publicly distance themselves from it. But the decision, rash and ill-considered in my estimation, of some rabbis and the Jewish Federation (a social welfare organization that raises money to support Jews locally and in Israel) in Portland to attack the Oregon Food Bank for its call for a ceasefire in the Israel-Hamas war, has brought the moment to bear. Rash, because they did not stop to consider the position they put the rest of us in, nor check in with us as a courtesy; ill-considered, because in their attack they have characterized the OFB statement in ways that are not, in my estimation, consistent with the statement.

Oregon Public Broadcasting reported the words of the organizations that attacked the Food Bank, that the statement was “one sided” and would add to antisemitism. This is unfortunate, partly because for the great mass of non-Jews hearing the report, they will not notice that this is the stance of only some Jews. They will take away from this report that the Jews are against an organizations dedicated to alleviating hunger now. And so in their response to a situation that they feel is causing antisemitism, they are as likely to be guilty of that act.

Is this guarding the tongue from evil? More likely it is encouraging it; not only beyond the Jewish community, but among us, as leaders of other organizations, appalled at this conduct, are pressuring their leaders to publicly oppose it. Is this opening the heart to Torah? Not if Torah shows us, again this week, that we must be counted together or we do not count at all.

The Oregon Food Bank is not our enemy. The Oregon Food Bank would have nothing to say that could be construed as hostile to Jews if Israel was not in the indefensible process of destroying Gaza. The Oregon Food Bank, and others who have spoken up, are simply saying words we do not want to hear. 

Is this the OFB’s business? As a member of Shir Tikvah noted to me, “it’s not as if hunger in the U.S. is not directly influenced by the amount of resources the U.S. puts into military spending.” Does a single hungry person in Oregon deserve less support because a Jew is upset about a political statement? Not in my opinion. Especially not when the statement is all too painfully true.

As long as Jews in the U.S. are linked to Israel, whether we like it or not, we would do best to recognize that association and all that it infers: we expect a certain standard of ethical behavior from each other, including the Jewish state. That does not include avoiding the question of self-determination for the Palestinian people until it, as every other dream deferred, explodes. And it does not include attacking others who, from their own carefully calibrated ethical stance, are doing their best to speak up for those who have no voice.