Month: January 2015

Parashah Ponderings

From Servitude to Servitude: What’s the Difference?

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Beshalach / פרשת בשל
Torah Portion: Exodus 13:17 – 17:16

During the Passover seder, we recite “Avadim hayinu. Ata b’nai chorin. We were slaves. Now we are free.” With these words we unite with our biblical ancestors and celebrate our release from subjugation to Pharaoh in Egypt. We are free!

But are we really? A look at the language in this week’s Torah portion and in earlier chapters of Exodus leaves no doubt that we are, in fact, still avadim, just to a very different master: God.

In Parashat Beshalach, moments after escaping Pharaoh’s chariots and right before our ancestors sing and dance after crossing the Sea of Reeds, the Torah says something rather curious:

“And Israel saw the great work which the Lord did upon the Egyptians; and the people feared the Lord, and believed the Lord, and Moshe avdo — God’s servant Moses” (Exodus 14:31).

How ironic that Moses takes the title “avdo — God’s servant” when, only 19 verses earlier, the Torah uses the same root word — avad — to harken back to Israel’s servitude to Pharaoh. Fearful that Pharaoh’s troops would overtake them, the Israelites cry out to Moses: “It would have been better to serve Egypt as slaves — ki tov lanu avod mitzrayim — than to die in the wilderness” (Ex. 14:12). The term that best captures Israel’s relationship to their former oppressors now describes Israel’s relationship to God!

In truth, the dual usage of the term avad appears much earlier in the story. For example, Moses refers to himself as an eved, or servant, to God in his encounter with God at the burning bush (Ex. 4:10). Additionally, God instructs Moses to tell Pharaoh to “let My people go that they may avaduni — serve me” (7:16). The message is that Moses and the Israelites are already servants to God even while suffering as slaves to the Egyptians. Once out of Egypt, however, Israel need only serve the One, Adonai Echad.

If, as the haggadah instructs, we are to view ourselves as if we, too, were freed from slavery in Egypt, then what does it mean for us now to be avadim to God alone, to have traded the bonds of slavery for the bonds of service to the Divine?

Each of us will answer this question differently. For many Jews, to vow allegiance to God and to serve God means to abide by the 613 mitzvot. In the most traditional communities, mitzvot are viewed as inviolable laws established by God at Mt. Sinai. For the Ultra-Orthodox and Modern Orthodox, to be a servant of God means to submit to all God’s commands, however stringently those commands are interpreted by individual sects.

Many liberal Jews, myself included, choose to view mitzvot as something other than laws and statutes imposed upon them by a Heavenly Ruler, who metes out rewards and punishments for either obeying them or violating them. For us, mitzvot are sacred folkways that guide us on a path of Godly living. To see myself as a servant of God and to walk that path of Godliness, therefore, I must allow myself to be guided by those mitzvot, even to some extent to feel bound by them ethically, morally, and spiritually.

Regardless of how one views mitzvot, mitzvot are certainly not shackles, and servitude to the Holy One is NOT slavery. True, from the outside mitzvot appear restrictive and sometimes they feel that way from within as well. More importantly, though, mitzvot remind us of our freedom to choose God as our sovereign, to receive God’s love, and to partner with God in furthering the work of creation. As Jews, we experience our freedom through the very mitzvot that hold sway over us in one way or another.

Speaking personally, being a servant to/of/for God means devoting myself to making the whole world a place in which Godliness prevails. Our liturgy refers to this process as “l’taken olam b’malchut Shaddai — to repair or perfect the world in God’s Kingdom.” Whether through prayer, through social justice or through simple acts of lovingkindness, I aim to bring into the world the goodness, compassion, and beauty that flow from the “Power that Makes for Salvation,” to borrow a term from Mordecai Kaplan, a prominent 20th century Jewish thinker. This Power, of course, is God, and it is to this Power that I give my allegiance and gladly direct my energies.

Let us be grateful that the experience in Egypt is but a distant memory. In Egypt, we were slaves to Pharaoh. Today, we are servants of the Holy One. In Egypt, we suffered in bondage. Today, our servitude provides comfort, joy, and empowerment. In Egypt, our avodah was senseless. Today, our avodah infuses our lives with holiness and meaning. Yes, we were avadim then, and we are avadim now. And, yet, today we are free.

Parashah Ponderings

From the Moment of Liberation, A Life of Watching

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Bo / פרשת בא
Torah Portion: Exodus 10:1 – 13:16

Our reading this week, Parashat Bo, marks the end of Israel’s enslavement in Egypt. We read about the final three plagues that God brings upon Pharaoh and his people: locusts, darkness and death of Egypt’s firstborn children and cattle; it is this final plague that finally prompts Pharaoh to declare: “Up, depart from among my people, you and the Israelites with you!” (Exodus 12:31). Though Pharaoh is caught by surprise by this final plague, the Israelites are well-prepared: they have marked their doorposts with the blood of the pascal lamb, the pesach offering, so the Angel of Death will pass over their homes. When they finally get the word from Pharaoh to depart, only their bread hasn’t risen; they, on the other hand, are up and ready to go.

This night of terror and liberation is referred to as “leyl shimorim,” “a night of watching” in our reading:

Leyl shimorim hu ladonai l’hotziam me-eretz mitrayim. Hu ha-laila hazeh ladonai shimorim l’chol bnai yisrael l’dorotam.

It was a night of watching of God to take them out of the Land of Egypt. That very night was to God one of watching for all the Children of Israel (Ex. 12:42).

Why does the Torah employ this term “leyl shimorim” to the night of Israel’s liberation? Whose watching is it: Israel’s or God’s? What exactly is God or Israel watching out for? As with most questions arising from a close reading of Torah, there is more than one answer. In fact, we learn here that the night of watching is both that of God and of the Israelites, each watching for something different.

On the face of it, it appears that the night of watching belongs to God. That’s the plain meaning of the Hebrew. God is watching over Israel, guarding and protecting God’s people. As the Angel of Death wreaks devastation upon the Egyptians, God checks the doorposts of the Israelites for the blood of the pesach offer, making sure that the Angel of Death stays far away from those homes. Thus, the leyl shimorim is one of God’s watching God’s own agent of destruction pass over the Israelites.

The medieval French commentator, Rashi, however, posits that the night of watching belongs to Israel. The Israelites had waited 430 years for this moment, so on this night they remain awake, eating their pesach offering with “loins girded and sandals on their feet” (Ex. 12:11). The Israelites eagerly anticipate God’s ultimate act of redemption. More accurately, they anticipate God becoming manifest through their own liberation.

On Passover, we are to emulate Israel’s readiness to be saved on that night of watching. The haggadah – the prayerbook we follow during the seder, the typically home-based evening meal and service – tells of five sages who stay up all night discussing the exodus from Egypt. As the sun begins to rise, their students interrupt their discussion and remind their teachers that the time to recite the morning prayers has arrived. The sages had become so engrossed in their learning that they lost track of time. Or, perhaps, they were reliving the night of watching experienced by their ancestors hundreds of years earlier, a night of anticipating Divine salvation. Perhaps they were modeling a vigilance that we should maintain all the time.

In our own day, not just during Passover but everyday, we are wise to put ourselves in the sandals of our biblical ancestors and to follow the lead of our rabbinic sages. Jewish religion aims to ingrain within us a readiness to behold God’s presence in our lives, to be aware of those moments of awe, majesty, and beauty that point to the One God, to witness God’s might. Judaism teaches that we are to say 100 blessings a day in part to keep us alert to God’s nearness.

Let ours be not a night of watching for a wondrous sign of God’s love, but a life of watching out for all kinds of manifestations of godliness in our lives, manifestations both magnificent and mundane. And may we do so with the faith that God continues to watch over us as God did for Israel during the night of our liberation.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashah Ponderings

Pharaoh Wasn’t Good with Resolutions. Are You?

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Vaera / פרשת וארא
Torah Portion: Exodus 6:2 – 9:35

Here it is, the second week of January, and some of us are still sticking to our New Year’s resolutions. Others of us, not so much. Two weeks into the year and some have been to the gym as they had planned — three times each week at 5:30 a.m, are still on their new diets — no fat, low carb, more veggies, and are being kinder to their loved ones — “That’s alright, Dear. Insurance will pay for a new car door.” Others, not so much.

It should come as no surprise that in the long run the “others,” the ones who fail to realize what they had resolved to do, far outnumber the “some,” the ones who actually succeed. The success rate after a year, in fact, is only about 8%, according to a study by the University of Scranton. (See: http://www.statisticbrain.com/new-years-resolution-statistics/. Surprisingly, the success rate after the first two weeks is actually 71%.)

Why such a high rate of failure over time? Here is one explanation, among many:

Timothy Pychyl, a professor of psychology at Carleton University in Canada, says that resolutions are a form of “cultural procrastination,” an effort to reinvent oneself. People make resolutions as a way of motivating themselves, he says. Pychyl argues that people aren’t ready to change their habits, particularly bad habits, and that accounts for the high failure rate. (See: http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/wired-success/201012/why-new-years-resolutions-fail)

In other words, no matter how much we want to become the people we’ve always wanted to be, unless we’re ready to change the way we do things, it simply isn’t going to happen.

Take, for example, Pharaoh, the same Pharaoh that appears in our current series of weekly Torah readings, the Pharaoh “who knew not Joseph,” enslaves the Hebrews, and not only refuses to let them ago upon Moses’ insistence but makes their lives increasingly miserable. It takes ten plagues from God before Pharaoh agrees to let the Israelites leave Egypt. During four of these plagues he promised Moses that he would let the people go and then reneges once the plague is lifted, each time he becomes stubborn and his “heart hardens.” Even if throughout the first nine plagues Pharaoh had wanted to let the people and avoid future calamities, he just couldn’t shake the hardness from his heart and become a more conciliatory leader. He wasn’t ready to change his habits.

Early in the narrative, Pharaoh convinces himself that the signs from Moses’ God are no big deal. Twice, he sees that his own magicians can do the same “trick” as Moses: They can change water to blood and bring frogs up onto the land. (The magicians tried to replicate Moses’ feat with lice, the third plague, but they could not.) Why should Pharaoh change if what Moses is showing him isn’t all that unusual? Perhaps, Pharaoh thinks his behavior is normal and acceptable. Thus, when Pharaoh promises to free the people if Moses can make all the frogs go away, he has little incentive to follow through.

Over time the plagues get worse. After insects attack humans and cattle, after hail obliterates all living beings out in the open, including grass and trees, and after the darkness falls and immobilizes all the Egyptians, Pharaoh promises to let the people go if Moses makes the plagues go away, but time and again, he become stubborn. His heart hardens. Even mounting pressure from his own courtiers, who have come to fear the God of the Hebrews, can’t convince Pharaoh that change is necessary, that Egypt’s very survival depends on Pharaoh’s letting the Hebrews go.

That the Pharaoh of Exodus is wicked and evil is without question. But who’s to say that, during some of those later plagues when he said he would let the people go, he didn’t actually intend to make good on the promise? Isn’t it possible that at least during the plague of darkness Pharaoh sincerely resolved to soften his heart and let Israel go, but when it came time to fulfill the resolution, he simply couldn’t because he wasn’t ready to change?

Far from suggesting that any of us are evil like, I believe the Pharaoh can be an effective metaphor for our own intransigence.  Despite all we know about the good that will come about as a result of changing our habits, we still very often don’t take the steps necessary to effect that change and bring about that good. With Pharaoh, all the evidence says that letting Israel go from Egypt will lead to a termination of the terror befalling Egypt and an overall improvement of conditions for all concerned. Despite the evidence, though, Pharaoh won’t or can’t have a change of heart. In our lives, we can know for sure that changing the way we eat or exercise or relate to the people around us or any number of lifestyle changes will significantly improve our lives, perhaps even extend our lives. There is science to prove it. Yet, when faced with a choice, we opt for the status quo. We won’t or can’t change our habits, even though our situation may worsen.

There is no magic pill for producing the change we desire. For Pharaoh, change came only after seeing the death of his first born, and even then change came reluctantly. To be sure, Pharaoh actively sought to undo the change he had permitted. Even Moses takes on the role of liberator assigned to him by God after much protest. He wasn’t ready to become the new person God wanted him to be.

Though Moses is hardly a perfect role model for all matters, (for example, I wouldn’t look to Moses as an exemplar of anger management or work-life balance), Moses’s process of transforming himself into a leader, liberator, and law maker is instructive for us as we seek to fulfill our resolutions. What did Moses do that Pharaoh didn’t? He opened himself to encouragement and feedback. God didn’t acquiesce when Moses pushed back against the call to free his people, but rather kept helping Moses see how he could overcome the obstacles that Moses believed would prevent him from being the person God wanted him to be. Moses listened when God spoke. In addition, God provided Moses with a network and means to maximize Moses’s probabilities for success: Aaron, Miriam, Jethro, Joshua and others all came to Moses’s aid at crucial times to help him lead Israel through difficult times. Moses accepted the help from people he loved and trusted. Pharaoh, meanwhile, neither listened to his trusted advisors nor would he have accepted their help if offered.

As we continue reading about our redemption from bondage in Egypt, let us be mindful of the ways we’d like to feel freer in our own lives. Let us resolve to loosen the shackles of habits that keep us from experiencing optimal health or realizing our full potential. Resolving to change, after all, is a necessary first step. More importantly, though, let us muster the will to bring about that change. Rather than harden our hearts and dig in our heals, let us hear that call to change that propels us forward. Let us be our own liberators, our own Moses-es, allowing those around us to motivate us and support us in our work. Let us grow in faith, as did Moses, to know that we can overcome the odds and truly make a difference.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Dan

Parashah Ponderings

What’s in Exodus? Lots!

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Shemot / פרשת שמות
Torah Portion: Exodus 1:1 – 6:1 

This week we begin the second book of the Torah, Exodus or Shemot. The first five chapters of this epic tale tell of the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt, the birth and rescue of Moses, the call from God to Moses to free the Israelites, Moses and Aaron’s initial confrontation with Pharaoh, and Pharaoh’s response to Moses and Aaron, which is to exact upon the Israelites even harsher, more oppressive measures. The reading ends, however, on this hopeful note: “Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘You shall soon see what I will do to Pharaoh: he shall let them go because of a greater might; indeed, because of a greater might he shall drive them from his land'” (Exodus 6:1). We all know what happens next.

Shemot, whether the book or the parashah, presents much for us to ponder:

  • What can we learn about gratitude from this story? The Pharaoh “who knew not Joseph” (Ex. 1:8) shows no hint of gratitude to Joseph for his critical role in helping Egypt survive a terrible famine years earlier. Moses, on the other hand, demonstrates deep gratitude for his lineage (2:11-13) and heeds God’s command to free his kin.
  • How remarkable are the heroines of the Exodus story who courageously defy Pharaoh through acts of civil disobedience! Two midwives, Shifrah and Puah, let Hebrew boys live, despite Pharaoh’s order to all the midwives to kill them at birth (1:15-17). Later, Moses’s place their 3-month old son in a sealed wicker basket and float him down the Nile, where, too, Pharaoh’s daughter acts heroically by recovering baby Moses from the river. Pharaoh’s daughter even heeds the advice of a Hebrew girl to summon a Hebrew woman to suckle the baby. Unbeknownst to Pharaoh’s daughter, the girl and the woman are none other than Moses’s own sister and mother (2:1-10)!
  • Does it matter that biblical scholars long ago deduced that the story of the Exodus is more story than history, that there is no archeological record of someone named Moses nor of a trek by over a million Israelites through the wilderness, and that the story itself points more importantly to Israel’s growth as a nation with God at its center?

These are just a few aspects of the Exodus story that should cause us to stop and think. In fact, the questions that arise and the lessons that emerge through a close reading of this book are without number. In the weeks ahead, I will share just a handful of observations in an effort to shed light on certain parts of the story and to make help the story as a whole more meaningful for my readers.

This week, though, let me refer you to two essays and a collection of essays that address the three items I highlighted above: gratitude, civil disobedience, and historicity. I am sure you will find all these pieces interesting and informative:

Enjoy your learning and feel free to be in touch with comments and questions. I look forward exploring Exodus with you.

Parashah Ponderings

Why Bless Our Sons as Ephraim and Manasseh?

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Vayechi / פרשת ויחי
Torah Portion: Genesis 47:28 – 50:26

Among the gems to be found in the final chapters of the Book of Genesis, Jacob’s blessing over Joseph’s sons has proven to be one of the brightest and most durable throughout Jewish history. Part of the blessing – May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen. 48:20) — continues to be heard in Jewish homes to this day as parents bless their children on Shabbat.

When I lead Shabbat dinner rituals for gatherings of Jewish families in synagogues and retreats, invariably someone will ask me: “Who are Ephraim and Manasseh and why do we want our sons to be like them?” These are excellent questions that deserve our attention. (The contemporary parallel blessing for girls asks God to make our daughters like our matriarchs Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. No one ever asks why we use this blessing. Who wouldn’t want their daughters to walk in the footsteps of these familiar and formidable women?)

First, here’s what we know about Ephraim and Manasseh: they are Joseph’s second and first sons, respectively, whom Jacob adopts as his own children shortly before his death[1]; their mother, a woman named Asenath, is the daughter of an Egyptian priest given to Joseph by Pharaoh (41:65); Joseph lives to see great-grandchildren from them (50:23); and they replace Joseph as a tribal leader among the tribes of Israel.[2] Beyond these simple facts, the Torah itself provides no more information.

On the surface, the information above tells us little about why Ephraim and Manasseh rise to such prominence in the development of Israelite religion and, later, Judaism. A little probing and a lot of imagination, however, reveal a number of reasons why we might chose to bless generations of Israelite/Jewish boys in their name. I offer the following explanations, but this list is probably not exhaustive:

1) Shalom Bayit – Family Peace

Ephraim and Mannaseh are the first pair of brothers to live together without fighting. Recall that Ishmael “mocked” (metzahek), Isaac (21:9), according to one understanding of the Hebrew metzahek, and that Jacob and Esau engaged in a struggle throughout their upbringing for their father’s attention and blessing. Thus, Ephraim and Mannaseh symbolize brotherhood and unity among the Children of Israel.

2) Yahadut – Jewish Identity

As Joseph rises from slavery and imprisonment in Egypt to a place of prominence in Pharaoh’s court, he sheds and/or loses any outward signs of connection to his ancestry. Though Joseph invokes the name of God (e.g. 45:5, 24; 50:19, 24), his brothers see him plainly as Egyptian royalty, having no reason to believe he is one of their own. Manasseh and Ephraim, however, seem to reclaim their identity as Israelites once their extended family joins them in Goshen. In fact, one midrash, in explaining why Ephraim receives the blessing of the firstborn instead of his older brother, Manasseh, by imagining Ephraim studying Torah with his grandfather, Jacob. Not only does Ephraim reclaim his identity as an Israelite, he actively learns about his people’s history, values and rituals. If Joseph represents a break from tradition, his sons, then, represent an eager return to and a proud association with that tradition.

3) Zechut – The Merit of Joseph

While Joseph may not have been a model Israelite, we as his descendents remember him for his righteousness and his achievements as Pharaoh’s. One commentator even sees the blessing of Manasseh and Ephraim as a kind of reward that Jacob bestows upon Joseph. Joseph merits becoming the progenitor of two tribes, rather than one. Therefore, when we think of Manasseh and Ephraim, we should recall the greatness of their father.[3]

4) Zachor — Remembering Joseph Absence

The same commentator who sees Manasseh and Ephraim as symbols of Joseph’s greatness also sees in them a reminder that Joseph becomes disconnected from his family and his tradition. We shouldn’t forget that sometimes Jewish history presents tremendous challenges to our survival as a people, challenges which we have overcome. Had it not been for Joseph’s children, Joseph’s lineage may have been forever severed from Israel.

5) Dor l’Dor / Hiddur P’nai Zaken – From Generation to Generation / Giving Pleasure to Elders

One of the greatest pleasures for a parent is to see his or her family prosper. Imagine the joy Jacob must have felt not only upon reuniting with his son, whom he thought he’d lost forever, but then living to bless Joseph’s children. Along these lines, imagine Joseph’s elation as he sits his great grandsons, the grandchildren of Ephraim and Manasseh, on his knees (50: 23). The names Ephraim and Manasseh, thus, evoke for us the values of passing Judaism on from one generation to the next and of giving pleasure to our elders.

6) Manhigut — Leadership

Joshua, Moses’ successor as leader of the Jewish people, is from the tribe of Ephraim. It is Joshua, a brave and resolute warrior, who leads Israel to successfully conquer and settle Canaan. Another military leader, Gideon, whose story is recorded in chapters 6 through 8 of the Book of Judges, hails from the Tribe of Manasseh. Gideon proves to be a man of faith as he destroys the symbols of Midianite worship to foreign gods (Judges 6:25) and then declines the popular call to lead the people as their king, reminding them that only God is their ruler (Judges 8:22). Ephraim and Manasseh produce two of Israel’s greatest leaders. When we use their names to bless our children, we express our hope that our children, too, will demonstrate leadership among the Jewish people.

As you can see, there’s more to Ephraim and Manasseh than first meets the eye. They names have come to be associated not only with a formative period of our history but also with core Jewish values. It is my hope that when Jewish parents bless their sons for “God to make you like Ephraim and Manasseh,” they will do so mindful of the values we have associate with these two otherwise common Israelites. Most of us, after all, are more like Ephraim and Manasseh than, say, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob or Moses. We are simply Jews. If nothing else, though, Ephraim and Manasseh remind us that even ordinary Jews stand for things that are quite extraordinary.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Dan

[1] “Intra-generational family adoptions are well attested in the ancient Near East…. A striking analogy to the present narrative is provided by an Akkadian legal document from Ugarit recording the adoption of a grandson by a grandfather who then makes him his heir.” Sarna, Nahum, JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis (New York: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), p. 325.

[2] There are actually two accounts of the 12 tribes. One includes both Levi and Joseph, but not Ephraim and Manasseh. In this case, the tribes represent the genealogical descendents of Jacob, each tribe corresponding to one of Jacob’s biological sons. The other, an undoubtedly later accounting, includes Ephraim and Manasseh, but not Levi and Joseph. Here, the tribes represent the religious, political and geographic confederation of the tribes seen in the arrangement of camps around the Tabernacle and in the division of territories in the Land of Israel. It is important to note that Levites were not exactly counted in this confederation as they were dedicated solely to the service of the Tabernacle and Temple and lived among and were supported by the other tribes.

[3] See excerpts from Unlocking the Torah Text by Rabbi Shmuel Goldin at https://www.ou.org/torah/parsha/rabbi-goldin-on-parsha/menashe_and_ephraim_tying_up_loose_ends/