Author: Daniel Aronson

Parashah Ponderings

Heartless people? Joseph has the remedy.

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Parashat Vayeshev 5786
Genesis 37:1-40:23

One pop song from my childhood that has been playing repeatedly in mind in recent months is the song from the 1967 rock musical Hair, “Easy to Be Hard”:

How can people be so heartless
How can people be so cruel
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold

How can people have no feelings
How can they ignore their friends
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no

And especially people
Who care about strangers
Who care about evil
And social injustice

Do you only
Care about the bleeding crowd?
How about a needing friend?
I need a friend.

How can we look around us today and not ask the question: How can people be so heartless and cruel? How can people who claim to be against social injustice and evil be so hard and cold? “Easy to Be Hard” is tackling the hypocrisy of people fighting for civil rights and opposing the war in Vietnam while abandoning the people closest to them. In today’s world, we might apply the song to people carrying the banner for Black Lives Matter, for LGBTQ+ rights, or for justice for Palestinian people. Too many Jewish progressives I know say they have felt ostracized over the past two years by their fellow progressives, with whom they share a commitment to social justice – even for the Palestinian people – because they also believe in and love the Jewish homeland. Too many Jewish progressives have noticed how easy it is for friends to become hard and cold.

On a personal level, we all have neglected friends in need from time to time and we all have felt neglected. As human beings, we have our blind spots. For whatever reason, we do not always recognize when people closest to us are suffering. We are in denial. We do not feel equipped to give our loved ones and friends what they need. We are preoccupied with the stuff of life. Occasionally, we all find ourselves both communicating and hearing “no,” when what we need to communicate and what we need to hear is an unqualified “of course.”

On a national level, we are witnessing the brutalization of immigrant communities by ICE and local law enforcement agencies who have signed contracts with ICE to arrest “violent immigrants who are in the US illegally.” The truth is that most immigrants who are being rounded up for detention and deportation by masked ICE agents or uniformed police are not violent people, are not threats to anyone, and are not criminals. Many of these immigrants have been working in the US with proper authorization for years and have been wending their way through the legal system to become naturalized, permanent citizens. Some of them have even been pulled out of line moments before they were to take the oath of citizenship! But even peaceful, hard-working immigrants who are, nonetheless, flouting our nation’s immigration laws and are in the US illegally –  people whose rights to stay in the United States are matter of legitimate debate – even they deserve due process and to be treated with dignity and respect. They hardly deserve to be disappeared or taken away by masked thugs in view of their children.

How can people be so heartless?

One answer to this question appears in the story of the biblical Joseph. Joseph’s brothers despise him. They despise him because their father Jacob coddles him and gives him wonderful things, like a beautiful coat. They despise him because Joseph tells them about his dreams, dreams in which Joseph lords over them. The brothers are both jealous and fearful of Joseph. Who could blame them?

But how do they come to degrade themselves to the point where they choose between killing their younger brother or selling him into slavery and then convincing their father that a wild beast devoured Joseph? The story itself gives us the answer.

The brothers can be cruel because Joseph appears distant to them. They see only the spoiled younger brother who has no filter. They do not see the reasons there might be a special bond between Joseph and their father. They do not see that Joseph has a gift that, one day, Joseph might use for great good. It is doubtful that his brothers see or care about whatever inner turmoil Joseph might be wrestling with.

This distance between Joseph and his brothers may be what the Torah is alluding to when it says, “They saw him from afar, and before he came close to them, they conspired to kill him” (Genesis 37:18). On the face of it, the Torah suggests the brothers, who are working in a field far from their home and upon whom their father has sent Joseph to keep tabs, hasten to plan Joseph’s demise before he gets close enough to catch on to what is about to happen. A deeper meaning, though, suggests that the brothers’ hearts were distant from Joseph, and it was in that distance that the brothers became capable of plotting to kill him.

The same verse foreshadows the story’s ending: the reconciliation of Joseph with his brothers and Joseph’s reunion with his beloved father. “He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to talk to him” (Genesis 45:15). Until the brothers could perceive Joseph as “close to them” physically or emotionally, they had no regard for his life or his very being. They could barely talk to him! The brothers could dehumanize and throw Joseph into a pit filled with snakes and scorpions — so the ancient rabbis imagined — only because the brothers detested Joseph as if he were a snake or a scorpion. Their heartlessness and cruelty dissipates only when they are no longer distant from their brother. In the end, they see him as a human being, as a family member, as someone who, like them, is created in God’s image.

All people who “care about the bleeding crowd” or who love another person or who honestly believe they are acting in their nation’s best interest are capable of being heartless, cruel, hard, and cold. The antidote to this malady is overcoming the distance between “us” and “them.” The antidote is coming close enough to one another to see the fullness of our shared humanity and to recognize that everyone is “a needing friend” who needs a friend. Let us work together to bring about that day when all humanity embraces, weeps, and talks face-to-face respectfully, lovingly, closely. That day cannot come soon enough.

Parashah Ponderings

Lessons from the Gettysburg Address

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Conflict, suffering, warfare. It seems that they are unavoidable. No sane person wishes for conflict, suffering or warfare, and though we may not have to accept them as inevitable, we do have to contend with them as a reality, as part of our existence. How we deal with their aftermath is entirely up to us. We can choose a path of darkness and live our lives in a constant state of despair, fear, or resignation. Or we can choose a path of light and resilience. We can mine our experiences with adversity for lessons that will make us stronger, and we can resolve to build a better world in which conflict, suffering, and warfare are less frequent, less costly, less deadly, or — in the perfect world we pray for — non-existent.

This week in history, President Abraham Lincoln exhorted the American people to choose a path of light, resilience, civility, and peace.

Between July 1 and July 3, 1863, the Union Army and Confederate Army fought a deadly and decisive battle in the fields of Gettysburg, PA. After the Union’s victory and after Robert E. Lee’s forces had retreated towards Virginia on the night of July 4th, 1863, over 50,000 casualties were to be counted among the estimated 170,000 soldiers who fought in that battle.

Four and a half months later, on November 19, 1863, the Gettysburg Cemetery Commission consecrated those fields, creating one of the earliest national cemeteries. Though he was not the keynote speaker at the dedication of the cemetery — that honor went to Edward Everett, the former president of Harvard College, former U.S. senator, former secretary of state, and one of the country’s leading orators, who delivered a two-hour speech by memory — it was Abraham Lincoln’s 275 words that we remember to this day:

“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 

“Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. 

“But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us,that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

Lincoln’s words call to mind the words of Pirkei Avot:

Lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor,
V’lo ata ben chorim l’hibatil mimena.

It is not your duty to complete the work.

But neither are you free to desist from it.

In other words, after the guns go quiet, the healing begins, and it is up to us to build a more peaceful world.

This week we read in the Torah about two brothers, Jacob and Esau, who were already at odds with one another in utero. The younger stole the birthright from the older, and the older, holding the younger in contempt and vowing to take his life, instilled a fear in Jacob that would only abate decades later. But, indeed, the brothers reconciled and eventually stood together at their father’s grave. 

The story of Jacob and Esau could be any of our stories. We could be either of the brothers, and we could find ourselves contending with family members, life partners, friends, co-workers, and total strangers. When we are not our best selves, we can cause pain in ourselves and in others. We then must find ways forward, ways of reconciliation and healing.

Also in this story, we read about the struggle over water rights between Isaac and the Philistines in the wadi of Gerar. This tension was eased when Isaac put some distance between himself and the Philistines and dug a well at Rechovot, a place of ample space. In some ways, this small episode foreshadows much of Jewish history. We’ve been a people unwelcomed in strange lands, strange lands that we’d prefer to call home. Here, too, we’ve searched for and found ways to move on.

In the larger world we live in today, we are forced to contend with war, authoritarianism, terrorism, religious nationalism, and other threats to our safety and ways of being. This is as true for us in the United States and in Israel as it is for many peoples over all over the world. Indeed, the message of the Gettysburg Address is as salient for us as it was for the Union in 1983.

What Abraham Lincoln taught us eight score and two years ago is that we should not let ourselves be defined by our conflicts, but rather by the meaning we make in their aftermath. We will fight if we must, but it is incumbent on all of us to work for the betterment of our selves, our people, our nation, and our world. We may not finish the task, but nor are we free to desist from it.

Shabbat Shalom

Parashah Ponderings

Life Happens. Count Your Blessings. Give Back.

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Vayechi
Genesis 47:28-50:26

This week we read the closing chapters of our founding ancestors’ story. Simply put, Jacob dies and is laid to rest in the Cave of Machpelah, next to Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, and his first wife, Leah, (His other wife, Rachel, was buried near Bethlehem). Then Joseph dies and is “embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt” (Gen. 50:26) after making his brothers swear to carry his bones to the Land of Israel at some time in the distant future. It’s a neat ending to a story filled with twists and turns.

As conniving as Jacob was earlier in his life, and as brilliant as Joseph was at interpreting dreams and saving Egypt from the ravages of a seven-year famine, neither was fully in control of his life. Jacob’s departure from his home was precipitated by the fear that his brother Esau would enact revenge upon Jacob for stealing the birthright and their father’s blessing, both of which were Esau’s by right. Later, his father-in-law kept Jacob in indentured servitude for 20 years while switching Leah for Jacob’s intended wife, Rachel. Joseph, for his part, fell victim not only to his brothers’ scheme to sell him into slavery but also to their lifelong ruse to convince their father that Joseph had been killed by wild beasts. Once in Egypt, Potiphar’s wife frames Joseph because he refused to sleep with her, and he lands in prison. Then a whole chain of events that leads to Joseph rising to viceroy of Egypt. For two characters who seemed to be so much in control of their lives, they actually had very little control.

It is the chain of unforeseen circumstances, however, that leads to the entire family thriving in Egypt. Had any one piece of the story not occurred, who knows how the story would have ended? The family might have perished in the famine that struck the Land of Israel as hard as it struck Egypt, and all of Egypt might have been reduced to dust. Instead, the Book of Genesis hands us a happy ending: the family is reunited, Jacob gets to “bless” his sons before he dies a natural death, and Joseph gets a state funeral, or so we imagine. The journey to this point might have been rough, but there are plenty of blessings to count at the end, at least until the beginning of the Book of Exodus, when “a pharaoh arose who knew not Joseph”(Exodus 1:8).

It is against the backdrop of this happy ending at the end of a series of unfortunate events that I share the following story of how my family and I were spared the horror of this week’s devastating wildfires in and around Los Angeles. And it is against the backdrop of our own good fortune that I appeal to you to aid those who suffered immeasurable losses. Read on.

In 2013, I was honored to be a finalist for the associate rabbi position at one of the world’s largest Reconstructionist congregations. My “audition” Shabbat service was on Friday night, April 19th. Earlier that week, two homemade pressure cooker bombs detonated near the finish line of the Boston Marathon in Copley Square, killing three, injuring hundreds, and leading to the loss of 17 limbs. I had spent much time in that area when I visited Boston as a child and again as a graduate student at Brandeis when I interned at the ADL’s New England office in downtown Boston. The horrific attack in what felt like my own backyard left me shaken, and it’s all I could think about as I composed the devar Torah (sermon) I would deliver that Friday night that would determine the course of both my professional life and the life of my family.

Adding to the emotional weight of the Boston Marathon bombing was a hellacious day of flying from Philadelphia to Los Angeles on Thursday, April 18th. Anything that could go wrong with our flights did go wrong due to a massive freak winter storm that shut down the entire middle part of the country. We arrived into Los Angeles very late at night. “Refreshed” is not a word I would use to describe how I felt after a short night’s sleep.

That Friday night, there was a bar mitzvah happening at the synagogue that would be hosting me, and the Torah portion was Acharei Mot-Kedoshim. This particular reading is exceedingly rich with material to teach about in a way that would be appealing to any congregation on the eve of a bar mitzvah. To give you an idea of how easy it would have been to hit a home run that night, picture a league-leading first baseman fielding a routine grounder to make an easy out. A real gimme.

Now, imagine that player missing a game-winning play, like the Red Sox’s Bill Buckner did in game six of the 1986 World Series when he let an infield grounder roll between his legs. The Boston Marathon bombing was top of mind for me as I composed the devar Torah but, in hindsight, the message of looking for light at a time of darkness may not have been the uplifting message expected on the eve of a bar mitzvah. The devar Torah was long and bleak. Immediately after the service, the senior rabbi said to me, “Too many words.” Nothing else. It was a humbling moment, and I knew I had missed an important opportunity.

Years later, as I reflect on this incident, I am struck by how unpredictable and fragile our paths can be. The congregation where I was auditioning on that Shabbat in 2013 was Kehillat Israel in Pacific Palisades, CA, a flagship Reconstructionist congregation, set in a stunning landscape outside of Los Angeles, and this week, located at the epicenter of the most destructive wildfire in the history of Los Angeles. The synagogue, built primarily of Jerusalem stone, has so far survived the fire, but all three of the rabbis — the senior, the associate, and the emeritus — two of whom are my colleagues in the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Associate, have lost their homes to the fire. (For Rabbi Emeritus Stephen Carr Reuben, this is the second time he has suffered a fire in his home in ten years.) Sadly, the rabbis are not alone. In the congregation of about 900 households, a full third — 300 households! — have reported their homes have been destroyed.

As St. Francis of Assisi said, “There but for the grace of God go I.” While Beth, Kro and I dealt with floods in Houston for almost eight years before moving to Keene, we were, nevertheless, delighted to call Houston home. Of course, it stung not to be hired to be rabbi to Billy Crystal and Adam Sandler and live with a view of the Pacific Ocean, but none of us can imagine a better life for ourselves than the life we had in Houston and, now, Keene. Had it not been for a human tragedy, foul weather, and a misstep during my visit to KI in 2013, we very well might not be living safely in Keene today, and we very well may have been left homeless at this very moment. Believe me, we are counting our blessings.

Profoundly aware of our good fortune, we extend our hearts to my colleagues at Kehillat Israel, to their congregants, and to all those people in the path of the Los Angeles fire — the tens of thousands of people — who have suffered loss of home, loss of irreplaceable possessions, and loss of life.

While many of the people at KI enjoy extraordinary wealth, all of them are ordinary people like you and me. Even though Pacific Palisades is home to the rich and famous, many people have suffered catastrophic losses and need financial assistance. We cannot turn our backs on any of them. We should trust that those who need assistance will receive it and those who can offer assistance will give it.

If you feel moved to help, I urge you to donate to one of the many relief efforts already underway, such as the KI Community Palisades Fire Assistance Fund (https://www.ourki.org/firefund) or the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles Wildfire Crisis Relief (https://www.jewishla.org/wildfire-crisis-relief). Additionally, Time Magazine lists several organizations doing relief work in the affected area: https://time.com/7205547/los-angeles-wildfires-how-to-help-victims/. You may also check online for other organizations you may feel more inclined to contribute to. Together, we can support those facing unimaginable losses.

Our lives are guided by forces beyond our control. Acts of terror, bad weather, a last-minute invitation to visit a friend, a chance encounter with a kind person — all these things and more can influence the course of our lives. While we must be grateful for the blessings that have graced our journeys, we must also remember the suffering of others who, by the same unforeseen circumstances, remained in harm’s way. Join me in sending prayers and offering a helping hand to a community I might have served, if not for the twists of fate that ultimately guided me here.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Dan

Parashah Ponderings

Advice for when one encounters a burning bush

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Vaera 5784 / פָּרָשַׁת וָאֵרָא
Torah Portion: Exodus 6:2-9:35

Here’s an article that I really enjoyed once I got past the title.

The gist is that antisemitism will never disappear so our energies are better invested in strengthening the Jewish people. I, for one, see many communities becoming stagnant in their educational, cultural, social, and religious programming because they are so focused on the threats — real and perceived — around them. We mustn’t stick our heads in the stand and pretend antisemitism doesn’t exist, but looking over our shoulders all the time prevents us from holding our heads up high.

As I wrote to the author, his advice would have emboldened Moses when Moses needed to be emboldened the most, i.e. at the burning bush!

When you read the article, be sure to read my comment at the end. I rarely comment on anything online, but this time, I couldn’t resist.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Dan

The Best Advice Against Antisemitism — From an Antisemite

It could just be that great Jews never bother about antisemitism.

Parashah Ponderings

The Reward of Truth

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Vayigash 5783 / פָּרָשַׁת וַיִּגַּשׁ
Torah Portion: Genesis 44:18-47:27

The news of late has been dominated by the unmasking of liars and cheats. What can we learn from them?

Remember Pastor Lamor Whitehead, who was robbed at gunpoint of the expensive jewelry he was wearing while preaching during a livestreamed service in his church’s sanctuary above a Haitian restaurant in Brooklyn? Before becoming a pastor, he had served time for swindling acquaintances of huge sums of money and this week he was taken into custody again on federal fraud charges. Among his alleged crimes was conning a parishioner into giving him $90,000 from her retirement account under the pretext of helping her to buy a new house. “I am a man of integrity,” he said, “and you will not lose.” He spent the money on luxury goods for himself, and when she asked for the money back, Whitehead said it was too late.

Then there’s the not so nice Jewish boy, Sam Bankman-Fried, founder of the crypto-currency trading platform FTX, who was indicted on multiple charges of fraud and conspiracy, defrauding customers, lenders, and investors of billions of dollars.

Even more unbelievable is the story of the nice, not-Jewish boy, George Santos, who won his race to represent New York’s 3rd congregational district in the U.S. House of Representatives by presenting himself as a well-educated, successful Wall Street investor, the grandson of Holocaust refugees “fled Jewish persecution in Ukraine, settled in Belgium, and again fled persecution during WWII.” It was all a lie, but he’ll still take the oath of office next week. Unlike with his friends Pastor Whitehead and Mr. Bankman-Fried, the victims of congressman-elect Santos’ charade seem to have zero recourse. New York has no provision for a re-call vote!

My heart goes out to all those voters, investors, and parishioners who were taken in by these three con-men. It just goes to show you how vulnerable we are, even the shrewdest among us. I’m pretty sure if you open the dictionary today and look up the word gullible, you’ll see pictures of all of us!

One biblical character who was a trickster in his youth is Jacob. Having coerced his brother Esau to renounce his birthright and then having masqueraded as Esau to receive his father’s blessing, Jacob ended up suffering under the weight of his misdeeds. You could point to his toil as an indentured-servant to his father-in-law or his bout with a messenger of God the night before reuniting with the brother he had wronged as karmic payback. But where Jacob’s character flaw really blows up in his face is the hoax perpetrated on him by his own sons, a hoax that resolves itself in this week’s Torah portion in a way that offers us hope.

You will recall that in a fit of jealousy Jacob’s oldest sons sold their younger brother Joseph into slavery. They then brought their father the fancy coat that he had gifted to Joseph — now torn and blood-stained — as evidence that Joseph had been devoured by a savage beast. Jacob then spent 40 years mourning the death of his favorite son, while doing everything he could to protect his youngest son, Benjamin, from a similar fate.

The cost of Jacob’s punishment becomes clear when he finally reunites with Joseph, now the viceroy of Egypt, and has this exchange with Pharaoh (Gen. 47:8-9):

Pharaoh asked Jacob, “How many are the years of your life?” And Jacob answered Pharaoh, “The years of my sojourn [on earth] are one hundred and thirty. Few and hard have been the years of my life, nor do they come up to the life spans of my fathers during their sojourns.”

While Jacob lived 130 years, his grandfather, Abraham, lived to 175 and his father, Isaac, lived to 180. Perhaps the stress caused by Joseph’s feigned death shaved 40 years off Jacob’s life. Perhaps, too, the hardships he endured sapped his life of joy and meaning. Could it be that the 130 years that Jacob did have on this earth were much less full of life than they could have been had he been a trustworthy mensch in his youth?

What are the consequences for individuals of wealth, power, and fame who lie and cheat? The story of Jacob suggests that pieces of their soul rot slowly away. Maybe that will happen to the men I wrote about earlier.

This week’s story doesn’t end with Jacob’s misery, however. It ends with his redemption. It ends with the redemption of knowing that his children have learned from their father’s and their own eros and that the cycle of lying and cheating has come to an end.

Before introducing his brothers to Pharaoh, Joseph counsels his brothers to say they are occupied as breeders of livestock, not as shepherds, which they are, because shepherds were held in low esteem by Egyptians. However, when Pharaoh asks them (Gen. 47:3) “What is your occupation?,” they respond, “We your servants are shepherds, as were also our fathers.” Not only do they “out” themselves as lowly shepherds, they also “out” Joseph as a descendant of shepherds! That took guts! It surely says as much about the pride they feel as shepherds as the growth they have undergone over 40 years since selling Joseph into slavery.

How does Pharaoh respond to the brothers’ revelation? Not how Joseph or we might have predicted. Rather than spurning them, Pharaoh rewards them! He says to Joseph (Gen. 47:5-6), “As regards your father and your brothers, the land of Egypt is open before you; settle your father and your brothers in the best part of the land; let them stay in the region of Goshen. And if you know any capable men among them, put them in charge of my livestock.” Pharaoh gives Joseph’s family the most fertile land in Egypt and offers them jobs caring for his livestock! 

Joseph’s fear that his family would become outcasts in Egypt was overshadowed by Pharaoh’s gratitude for all that Joseph had done to prepare Egypt for the impending famine and helping the nation survive the drought. The fact that these new immigrants were shepherds and that Joseph was related to them was a non-issue to Pharaoh, as it should have been. 

We have to wonder what would have become of Whitehead, Bankman-Fried, and Santos if they had told the truth all along. Maybe they would have lived as ordinary people, but they would have lived their years fully, with joy and satisfaction, with decency and dignity. They would have taught us that what is important is not how many years in your life, but how much life in your years!

May we all aspire to be the best versions of ourselves, staying true to ourselves and true to those who put their trust in us.

Parashah Ponderings

Not feeling grateful? Fake it ’til you make it.

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Ki Tavo / פרשת כי־תבוא
Torah Portion: Deuteronomy 26:1 – 29:8

This week’s Torah reading offers an important lesson on gratitude: put simply, “fake it ‘til you make it.” Even when we are not feeling grateful, sometimes we should act as if we are. We should say “thank you” as if we mean it, even if we don’t. After a while of “faking it,” we start to look at the world differently, and the gratitude starts to become real. It’s amazing how much we can deal with, even overcome, if we just remember to be grateful. It’s no accident that we begin each day say “Modeh ani lefanecha — I give thanks to you, Holy One.”

Speaking to the Israelites, Moses instructs them that, upon entering the Land of Israel, they are to bring some of the first fruits of their soil in baskets to the Levites at a place of God’s choosing. Once they have set their offerings on the ground in front of the altar, they are to recite these words, which have become familiar to us through the Passover haggadah:

My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, O Lord, have given me. (Deut. 26:6-10)

Through this ritual, the Israelites will express their gratitude to God for having brought them out of bondage to a place of safety in their own land. The words they will recite focus succinctly on the grace that God had bestowed upon them. With this gesture of thanksgiving, Israel will go on to thrive in the Holy Land. Given Israel’s history of complaining about hardships throughout during their 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, it is refreshing to read this narrative that focuses solely on Israel’s gratitude for the loving kindness that God has bestowed upon her.

Let’s face it, though: We don’t get the impression from the Torah that showing appreciation comes naturally to the Israelites. Indeed, before we credit the Israelites with taking on an attitude of gratitude, we should note that it’s Moses who prescribes the exact words they are to say. Moses doesn’t assume that his people will naturally set aside their troubles and wax sincerely in gratitude before God. He provides the script that he hopes will lead to the attitude adjustment that God desires of them. He is teaching them to fake it until they make it.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had such a script in hand at times when we’re inclined to rant on about all our suffering, to run through a litany of all that we lack? Sure, we’re raised to say “please” and “thank you,” but we aren’t always given the tools to see the blessings in our lives in those dark moments when we feel our lives lack everything except misery.

Every child at one time or another has melted down, proclaiming that they have the worst life of anyone in the world. After listening to what is upsetting them, affirming their feelings and then helping them put their misery in perspective, they eventually come to see that life is not nearly as bad as they imagined. With any luck, we help bring them to a place where they can actually feel grateful for all they have. We need not require them to lay a tenth of all their toys or a basket of fruit before the rabbi. It’s enough for them to acknowledge their privilege without introducing a ritual from the bible.

As the New Year approaches and we take stock of our lives, we should know that is alright to express our regrets and setbacks from the previous year. Sometimes, we too, feel like our lives are a mess, that we’ve really messed up or that the odds are stacked against us.

But the message this week is that we need to keep a sense of perspective. We need to balance the negative with the good. Should we be stuck in a dark place, unable to express gratitude for our bounty, we should seek out someone like Moses who can hand us a rosier script that is as true as the script we find coming out of our mouths. Sometimes we, like our ancestors, just need to be reminded how good life is in order to carry on and thrive in our own lands. Even then, we might need to fake it for a while. Eventually, we will make it to a place where we truly do feel grateful.

Parashah Ponderings

Set a king over yourself.

Daniel Aronson's avatarDaniel Aronson Leave a comment

Parashat Shoftim / פרשת שופטים
Torah Portion: Deuteronomy 16:18 – 21:9

(This is an updated repost of my words from August 21, 2015. As we head into mid-term elections, we might apply the questions about who leads our country, with which I conclude the essay, to all candidates for office — national, state-wide, and local.)

If, after you have entered the land that the Lord your God has assigned to you, and taken possession of it and settled in it, you decide, “I will set a king over me, as do all the nations about me,” you shall be free to set a king over yourself, one chosen by the Lord your God. (Deuteronomy 17:14-15)

Any child who has ever attended Hebrew school will tell you that King David is a hero. He slew Goliath. He wrote beautiful poetry. From David’s lineage will eventually come the messiah. So great a hero is David that we sing ecstatically about him: many Jews learn the song “David Melekh Yisrael – David King of Israel” early in their lives and remember the hand motions that accompany the song well into their upper years. Given what we learn about David and how much we celebrate him, one would think that his anointing was the greatest thing that ever happened to Israel.

Our reverence for King David and, to some extent, for King Solomon and other kings of Israel notwithstanding, according to the Torah God is actually quite ambivalent about Israel having a king at all. In I Samuel 8, the elders of Israel press the prophet Samuel to appoint a king over Israel, which displeases Samuel and causes him to pray to God. God responds, “Listen to what the people are saying to you; it is not you they have rejected, but they have rejected me as their king, as they’ve done time and again since I brought them out of Egypt. Listen to them, but warn them solemnly and let them know what the king who will reign over them will claim as his rights.” By appointing a king, Israel was rejecting God’s sovereignty and taking its life as a nation into its own hands. God acquiesces to the people’s demand for a king reluctantly, to say the least.

Our tradition’s ambivalence over the inauguration of an earthly king over Israel serves as a backdrop to Deuteronomy 17:14-20, which we find in this week’s reading. Because the Torah portrays God as not so keen on the idea of competing with an earthly king for Israel’s allegiance, God lays out four criteria by which Israel must determine who will be king. Paradoxically, while God guides the people in choosing whom to “set over them,” the king they choose will ultimately be “one chosen by the Lord your God” (17:15). If Israel heeds God’s directive in choosing a king, God will ultimately approve and things will go well with Israel. On the other hand, if Israel spurns God’s directive and chooses a king who doesn’t fit the criteria, God will let Israel know that this king was not one that God chose, and as a result, things won’t go so well for Israel.

What are the four criteria? First, the king cannot be a foreigner. A foreign king might not serve in the best interests of Israel and might even ensnare Israel into worshipping foreign gods. Second, the king must not have too many horses. A king obsessed with owning lots of horses might be driven to sell his own people to acquire more and more horses, thus returning Israelites to servitude in Egypt, which happened to be a great exporter of horses in the ancient near east. Third, the king must not have too many wives, lest his personal, familial concerns divert his attention from matters of governance. Fourth, he must not be a person of excessive wealth. Too much wealth might be corrupting. These criteria make perfect sense. Indeed, together they suggest something about the character of king that God would want to reign over Israel, namely loyal, humble, honest and clear-thinking.

Guiding Israel’s choice of a king, however, is insufficient to allay God’s concern over how the king will reign once on the throne. The king might measure up to each of the four criteria and still fail to govern Israel as God would like. Thus, God commands that once the king is seated on his throne, “he shall write a copy of the Torah for himself” to keep by his side, “to read so that he may learn to fear God, to observe faithfully every word of God’s Teaching” (17:18-19). This Torah was likely the book of Deuteronomy, “a repetition of the laws and history known from the earlier books of the Torah” and not the entire scroll of Torah that we read from today (Etz Hayim Torah and Commentary, New York, The Rabbinical Assembly, 2001, p. 1092).

We might be impressed that the king himself actually writes a book of Torah, which, to be sure, is a matter of debate. But what is truly impressive, to my mind, is the idea that the king studies and is guided by God’s teachings and governs not merely by whim or expediency. The king is expected to be learned of Torah and faithful to the God of Israel and the values that God represents. What a concept!

Now, this isn’t the place to go over the history of Israel’s kingship. I invite you to read the Books of Kings for an introduction. Suffice it to say that some kings knew their Torah and were men of faith and some did not and were not. Some kings tolerated idol worship, and other kings cracked down on it. God approved of the latter while bringing the former to terrible ends.

In the United States, some prospective candidates for president in 2024 have already started to hint on their intent to run. I wonder what it would be like to hold them to the criteria of character implicit in this week’s Torah reading. Can we find any candidates for president who are loyal, humble, honest and clear-thinking? I continue to hold out hope. They have two years to convince us, at least.

Moreover, I wonder what will become of the winner once he or she takes office. What book of “Torah” will that person read and study? The Constitution? The Bible? Which Bible? The newspapers? Which newspapers? What set of values will guide our president, if any? We cannot know these things for sure. Indeed, what we learn from this week’s Torah portion is that even when we we’ve elected the one person in whom we have the most trust, we have no assurance that the person will govern as we had hoped he or she would. Maybe we should expect our nation’s leader to do as the Torah literally suggests: sit down, write out a copy of “Torah,” and keep it by his or her side every day while under oath.

Parashah Ponderings

A Time for Love and Comfort

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Parashat Vaetchanan 5783 / פָּרָשַׁת וָאֶתְחַנַּן
Torah Portion: Deuteronomy 3:23-7:11
Shabbat Nachamu

This Shabbat, Shabbat Nachamu (“Sabbath of comfort/ing”), takes its name from this week’s haftarah, Isaiah 40:1-26, that speaks of God “comforting” the Jewish people. Comfort is what the people needed after the Temple had been destroyed, the people starved to death during the siege of Jerusalem, and tens of thousands of Jews taken captive and exiled to Babylon. The people had suffered unspeakable horrors as God punished them for their faithlessness. The message of comfort, thus, comes on the first Shabbat after Tisha B’Av, the commemoration of the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem and other tragedies that have befallen our people. 

נַחֲמ֥וּ נַחֲמ֖וּ עַמִּ֑י יֹאמַ֖ר אֱלֹֽהֵיכֶֽם׃ 

“Comfort, oh comfort My people, says your God,” begins Isaiah’s prophecy (Isaiah 40:1). 

The prophet imagines the God of judgment, whose wrath brought misery upon the people, now showing the Divine aspect of mercy and compassion. In Isaiah’s theology, the God that punishes their Beloved now offers the Beloved consolation. Soon, God and Israel will reconcile; several decades later numerous exiles would return to their land with renewed faith and faithfulness to rebuild a dwelling place in Jerusalem for their Beloved.

Shabbat Nachamu is the first of seven Shabbatot on which we read haftarot of consolation from the Book of Isaiah. These seven Shabbatot lead into Rosh Hashana and are followed by one chosen especially for the Shabbat before Yom Kippur. In this way, Shabbat Nachamu ushers us into a period of time of moving beyond suffering for our sins to being comforted by the knowledge that God’s love and compassion is always with us. While we often associate Elul as the month devoted to reconciling with God and those whom we’ve hurt, the Torah reading cycle would have us begin reflecting now on the rewards that come with self-examination, repentance, reconciliation, and healing. 

Coincidentally or not, this Friday is also Tu B’Av, a day on which our thoughts go to love among human beings and that always falls within days of Shabbat Nachamu. In traditional communities, Tu B’Av is a day on which many matches are made and many weddings are held. How fitting that these two moments fall so close to one another! Love is a central theme of both.

As if on cue, then,  the Torah portion for Shabbat Nachamu is Va-etchanhan (Deuteronomy 3:23-7:11), which offers us instruction on how to love others, whether the “others” be people or God:

וְאָ֣הַבְתָּ֔ אֵ֖ת יְהֹוָ֣ה אֱלֹהֶ֑יךָ בְּכׇל־לְבָבְךָ֥ וּבְכׇל־נַפְשְׁךָ֖ וּבְכׇל־מְאֹדֶֽךָ׃וְהָי֞וּ הַדְּבָרִ֣ים הָאֵ֗לֶּה אֲשֶׁ֨ר אָנֹכִ֧י מְצַוְּךָ֛ הַיּ֖וֹם עַל־לְבָבֶֽךָ׃ 

“You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day.” (Deut. 6:6-6).

In the context of the Torah, Moses is reminding Israel that if Israel will be faithful to God’s teachings, God will be with Israel as a loving partner. If they go astray, Israel will suffer under God’s mighty hand. But when read within the context of Shabbat Nachamu AND Tu B’Av, one hears an entirely different, if unintended message: When you love, love with all your heart, all your soul, and all your might. Love with commitment. Continuously make the choice to love people AND God.

This instruction to love with the fullness of one’s being brings me comfort and hope. What would our world look like if each of us kept love at the front of our minds at all times – like frontlets between our eyes, like a sign on our hand, like a sign on our entrance ways, when we rise up in the morning, when we walk out of the gates of our house, when we lie down to sleep at night, when we teach our children (Deut. 7:7-9)? It would be beautiful!

We too often forget to love one another because we feel anger, disappointment, fear, disinterest. Too often, our egos blind us to that which is worth loving in the other. We forget that the one we are angry at any given moment may very well be someone we love or could grow to love if we could otherwise see the fullness of their humanity. Not everyone is worthy or deserving of our love; for example, it is unrealistic, even absurd, to talk about love of someone who has abused us by stripping us of our humanity and attempted to gain power over us. With the exception of those cases, which are shockingly and lamentably commonplace, we might actually find comfort in letting ourselves (re-)discover in others a reason to love them. Love can lead to forgiveness and ultimately healing and reconciliation. On a global level, love might even lead humankind to civility and peace. May it be so.

I believe the qualities of people that draw us to love them are reflections of the Divine image in which our tradition says we are all created. Thus, when we love others with all our hearts, all our souls, and all our might, we love God, too. When we affirm our covenantal relationships to lovingly care for and respect our life-partners, children, parents, siblings, friends, co-workers, neighbors, strangers on the street, (fill in the blank), we affirm our covenantal relationship with the Beloved Holy One, as well. It’s not always easy to find the image of the Divine in the ones who are close to us, let alone complete strangers or people who get under our skin, but when we try and succeed and then allow ourselves to love them, the world becomes a safer, more comforting place. The challenge over the next several weeks for all of us who suffer under the burdens of just living in this world is to love and feel loved, to comfort and to feel comforted.

Parashah Ponderings

Hold the line

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Parashat Pinchas 5782 / פָּרָשַׁת פִּינְחָס
Torah Portion: Numbers 25:10-30:1

At what point does an act of passion cross the line from acceptable to unacceptable, laudatory to abhorrent? At what point does a zealot cross the line from hero to criminal? When someone crosses that line, how should we respond as a society? 

These questions come up too frequently because the answers, whether we like it or not, are relative. The answers depend on one’s worldview and value system. For those of us who live in a society that values the rule of law and the sanctity of life, any unprovoked action that would take a life is murder; we would condemn the action and see that the perpetrator is brought to justice. Sadly, not everyone lives in such a society, or if they do, they find reason to defy the law and commit any number of acts that the rest of us would identify as heinous. We often read about radical adherents to certain beliefs who routinely take lives in the name of a “higher cause,” whether or not their own lives are in danger. We call them terrorists. They call themselves martyrs or even patriots.

When I watch the hearings of the United States House Select Committee on the January 6 Attack, I am sickened by the callous abuse of power by our 45th president. It is clear by now that the individuals who stormed the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2020 thought they were performing their patriotic duty as determined and commanded by the President of the United States. To some of them, loss of life was a necessary means to ensuring their leader would remain in office. Our legal system is sorting out who among those people are criminals and is meting out justice accordingly. At the same time, too many supporters of the 45th president cling to the idea that those same criminals are heroes who had the “guts” to do what they thought was right.

A case of even greater moral ambiguity presents itself in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Pinchas. In last week’s Torah portion, we read that Aaron’s grandson, Pinchas, took it upon himself to kill a blazingly defiant Israelite man and a Midianite woman who, in the sight of Moses and the whole Israelite community, entered a nearby tent, presumably to engage in sexual activity. This action comes on the heels of God’s commands to Moses to have Israel’s military officers slay all those Israelite men who had been tempted by Moabite women to worship the Moabite deity, Baal-peor. In the case at hand, however, Pinchas slays not only the Israelite man but also the Midianite woman. The Torah spares no words: “(Pinchas) followed the Israelite into the chamber and stabbed both of them, the Isralite and the woman, through the belly” (Num. 25:8).

Despite the seemingly extrajudicial nature of Pinchas’s zealotry, God, in the conclusion to the story in this week’s reading, rewards Pinchas with a b’rit shalom, a pact of friendship. “It shall be for him and descendants after him a pact of priesthood for all time, because he took impassioned action for his God, thus making expiation for the Israelites” (Num. 25:13). As a result of Pinchas’s action, God lifted a plague from Israel that had by then claimed 24,000 lives.

When I read about Pinchas, I am appalled both by Pinchas’s disregard for human life and by God’s approval of Pinchas’s zealotry. I wasn’t so keen on the idea of Israel’s military officials slaying the lustful Israelite men, either, but what Pinchas did violated all norms of civility and decency as he acted in such a public and violent way. I am not alone in my feelings. According to Jacob Milgrom in the Jewish Publication Society Torah Commentary on the Book of Numbers (p. 215):

The rabbis were uncomfortable with Pinchas’s act. He set a dangerous precedent by taking the law into his own hands and slaying a man impulsively, in disregard of the law. Some argue that Moses and the other leaders would have excommunicated him were it not for the divine decree declaring that Pinchas had acted on God’s behalf. Regarding this, a recent commentator remarks: “Who can tell whether the perpetrator is not really prompted by some selfish motive, maintaining that he is doing it for the sake of God, when he has actually committed murder? That is why the sages wished to excommunite Pinchas, had not the Holy Spirit testified that his zeal for God was genuine.”

Clearly, the virtue of Pinchas’s action is open to debate. I wouldn’t say the same for the men and women who attacked the United States Capitol or for any other seditious actor or terrorist. Nonetheless, this week’s Torah portion should give all of us pause as we take stock of the events of January 6, 2020. The line between hero and criminal is thinner than we think. When despots appeal to the aggrieved and vulnerable with demagoguery, their fight soon morphs into a Holy War. Sometimes those holy warriors are rewarded, as was Pinchas. Sometimes they are punished, as is the case with those who attacked the Capitol on January 6th. The lesson for us is to constantly mind that line between virtue and villain lest the line disappear altogether and we lose all sense of right and wrong. Unfortunately, there are forces out there waiting for just such a moment. We must hold the line.