Parashat Ki Tisa

Exodus 30:11-34:35

In case we forget the story about the Israelites’ ill-advised creation of a golden calf at the base of Mt. Sinai, Jewish tradition provides a ritual flare to jog our memories. During the High Holy Days we blow a shofar to awaken our souls to take an honest accounting of our deeds and to work to make change in those areas where we’ve fallen short. What we often overlook is the fact that the shofar itself must come from a kosher animal, such as a ram or a gazelle, but there is one kosher animal from which we may not make a shofar: a cow. Why? Perhaps, this is because using the horn of a cow (or a bull) as a shofar might have the opposite effect of that which is intended. Rather than lead us on the path of righteousness, a shofar from a bull might remind us of the incident of the golden calf and stir within us thoughts of idolatry and licentiousness.

Perhaps, too, there’s another reason: to teach us patience. It’s not that we have to search longer and harder for a ram’s horn than for a cow’s horn, and it’s not that it takes more time to blow a cow’s horn. I suppose the former is not the case, and I know nothing about the latter. No, the lesson about patience emerges not from any practical concern but from the story of the golden calf itself: as the Israelites grow impatient waiting for Moses to return from his 40-day-long campout atop Mt. Sinai, they seek an immediate fix for their pent-up craving for a connection to their God. In so doing, they press Aaron into fashioning a familiar representation of a deity out of the men’s gold jewelry (Supposedly, midrash teaches, the women refuse to hand over their bling.), outraging God to the point of wanting to obliterate the people, causing Moses to smash the tablets of the Ten Commandments, and setting off a series of drastic punishments by God and Moses against the Israelites, not to mention having Moses go back up for another 40 days to inscribe a new set of tablets (with a different set of commandments!). Patience truly is a virtue lacking in this sad tale.

The 11th-12th century Spanish philospher Judah Halevi in his work The Kuzari writes that the real sin of the Israelites is, in fact, their impatience. It was not in making the calf itself and celebrating a festival to God afterward. Scholar and rabbi Harvey Fields summarzes Halevi’s take by stating, first of all, only about 3000 of the 600,000 people who left Egypt actually requested that Aaron build the golden calf. It was hardly a majority of all the people. Furthermore, by building a “tangible object of worship like other nations” around them, they weren’t really rejecting God. As a matter of fact, one could argue that elsewhere in the Torah, God is the one who commands the people to make an object, i.e. the ark with the cherubim on top, as a marker of God’s presence. Halevi, Fields contends, sees no substantive difference between a golden calf and the ark with the cherubim. On the real sin of the Israelites, Fields writes:

Having waited so long for Moses to return, (the people) were overcome with frustration, confusion, and dissension. As a result, they divided into angry parties, differing with one another over what they should do. No long able to control their fears, a vocal minority pressured Aaron into taking their gold and cating into a golden calf…. If the people made a mistake, Halevi says, it was not in refusing to worship God, but in their impatience. Instead of waiting for the return of Moses or for a message from God, they took matters into their own hands and acted as if they had been commanded to replace their leader with a golden idol. Fields, Harvey J. A Torah Commentary for Our Time. (New York: UAHC Press, 1991). pp. 81-82.

The modern bible scholar Nehama Leibowitz disagrees with Halevi’s assessment of the nature of Israel’s sin, but draws a conclusion that could very well have come from Halevi himself. Leibowitz sees in the story a failure of leadershp on Aaron’s part and great sin on the part of the Israelites, to be sure. But ultimately, she suggests, the story points to the need for a sustained, deliberate commitment to study of Torah, a commitment that requires extraordinary patience. Fields explains that Leibowitz:

…sees in the story of the golden calf… a deliberate warning that human beings are capable of acting nobly at one moment and ugly at the next. Leibowitz observes that ‘we should not be astonished at the fact that the generation that heard the voice of the living God and had received the commandment ‘You shall not make other gods besides Me’ descend to the making of the golden calf forty days later. One single religious experience, however profoud, was not capable of changing the people from idol worshipers into monotheists. Only a prolonged disciplining in the laws of Torah directing every moment of their existence could accomplish that.’ (Studies in Shemot, pp. 554-556)

The Torah relates the tale of the Israelits’ sin to teach that yesterday’s charity may be followed tomorrow by selfishness and insensitivity. Each day is filled with new choices. The role of contant Torah study is to keep an individual asking, ‘What is the next mitzvah I must do?'” Ibid., p. 82.

Just as Halevi points out that a number of Israelites grow restless in Moses’ absence and take matters into their own hands beyond what God had commanded them, so, too, does Leibowitz show that human beings in all generations grow restless, or more accurately, distracted and indifferent, and fall back into old habits. Had the Israelites been more patient, they would have soon received the original Ten Commandments in pristine form. If people in our own day allow themselves the opportunity to study Torah and to develop spiritual practices over time, they will be more likely to make their study and their practice routine and, ultimately, to experience God in a consistent way, without having to reinvent the wheel everytime they have a longing.

We live in a fast-paced world that seems to get faster daily. Our attention spans follow suit; our minds and bodies have become conditioned to move from idea to idea, from activity to activity. We’ve lost the art of waiting quietly for change to take place over time. Maybe we should come back to the story of the golden calf more often to remind us of the dangers of our impatience.

Patience is, indeed, a sacred virtue well worth cultivating. Remember that next time you grow antsy waiting for the final blast of the shofar at the end of Yom Kippur.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Dan

Parashat Tetzaveh / פרשת תצוה
Torah Portion: Exodus 27:20 – 30:10

This week’s lesson was written by Rabbi Joyce Newmark and first appeared in the New Jersey Jewish News, February 9, 2011. Rabbi Newmark addresses the very topic I was prepared to write about this week. I am grateful to Andrew Silow-Carroll, Editor in Chief of the New Jersey Jewish News, for granting me permission to reprint the article here. You may read the original article at: http://njjewishnews.com/article/3501/serving-god-with-ears-hands-and-feet#.VO_PmPnF_ng. Enjoy!

Parshat Tetzaveh continues the theme begun last week — instructions for making the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary, and its furnishings — dealing with the people who will serve in the sanctuary, the kohanim (priests). We read about the elaborate vestments that were to be made for Aaron, the kohen gadol (high priest), and the special garments that were to be made for his sons. And we also read about the ritual of the kohanim’s consecration.

The Torah tells us that on the day of their ordination, Aaron and his sons were to be dressed in their priestly vestments. Aaron was to be anointed with special oil and then sacrifices were to be offered on behalf of the new priests.

The Torah then says: “Slaughter the ram, and take some of its blood and put it on the ridge of Aaron’s right ear and on the ridges of his sons’ right ears, and on the thumbs of their right hands, and on the big toes of their right feet.” This marking of ears, thumbs, and toes is obviously symbolic, but just what does it symbolize?

Rabbi Joseph Hertz’s Torah commentary explains: “The ear was touched with the blood, that it might be consecrated to hear the word of God; the hand, to perform the duties connected with the priesthood; and the foot, to walk the path of righteousness.” In other words, this ordination ritual was intended to symbolize piety and devotion to God and God’s Torah.

But there’s another explanation, found in Itturei Torah, a compilation of commentaries by Rabbi Aharon Yaakov Greenberg: “These three, the ear, the hand, and the foot, are what the Kohen and every leader must have: an ear to hear the cries of the Jews, to know and understand their needs and requirements; hands, not only to accept the offering due the priests, but also to bestow a blessing on whoever needs it; and feet which hasten to run and help whoever is in need.” That is, the kohanim were never to forget that their mission was to serve the people, particularly those in need.

So which is it? It seems clear to me it must be both. The kohanim were ordained to serve God and their fellow human beings. Torah and mitzvot are not an end in themselves, but a means to building a just and compassionate society. As we are taught in Bereshit Rabbah 44:1, “Rav said, the mitzvot were given only in order that human beings might be refined by them. For what does the Holy Blessed One care whether a person slaughters an animal by the throat or by the nape of the neck? Hence its purpose is to refine human beings.”

This is more than a nice teaching. In recent weeks I have had to dig my car out of huge mounds of snow many times. On several of these occasions, young men from a nearby yeshiva walked by singly or in pairs, some of them actually turning their heads so they could pretend they didn’t see me. I wondered: What good are their long hours of Torah study if none of these young men was willing to take a few minutes to help a 60-something-year-old woman struggling with a snow shovel only a few hundred yards from their beit midrash? Isn’t the point of learning to help bring God into the world?

The Torah tells us that Aaron and his sons were installed in the priesthood through the marking of their ears, hands, and feet. Moreover, the Torah also tells us (Shemot 19:6) that God has called us to be a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”

Like the very first kohanim, we fulfill that destiny when we turn our ears, hands, and feet to the service of God and to the service of our fellow human beings.

Rabbi Joyce Newmark, a resident of Teaneck, is a former religious leader of congregations in Leonia and Lancaster, PA.

Parashat Yitro / פרשת יתרו
Torah Portion: Exodus 18:1 – 20:23

As a father and husband who is also a rabbi, balancing my dedication to my work, on one hand, and my dedication to my family and my personal well-being, on the other hand, is often tricky. When does my service to the Jewish people begin to encroach on the time and energy I have to devote to my family or myself such that I need to give less to the former and more to the latter? Alternatively, when must the demands of my family life give way to the responsibilities of my profession? Getting this balance right is crucial for all concerned. I take solace in knowing that this struggle is not mine alone; I am hard pressed to think of any adult who isn’t in this exact same position.

We find some guidance through our work-life challenge in this week’s Torah reading, Parashat Yitro. In Exodus 18:2-7, Jethro, a Midianite priest and Moses’ father-in-law, sets forth from his home in Midian to the wildnerness to reunite Moses with his wife, Zipporah, and their sons, Gershon and Eliezer. Earlier in Exodus (4:20), Moses had taken Zipporah and their sons with him to Egypt after God sent him to free the Israelite people, but at some point Moses sent them back to live with Jethro. Once the Israelites were free and in the wilderness, Jethro made sure his daughter and grandsons were reunited with their father.

We don’t exactly know when or why Zipporah, Gershon and Eliezer returned to her father’s house. Rashi, a medieval biblical commentator, speculates that Moses, upon Aaron’s advice, sent them back to Midian to spare them the distress of life in Egypt. Indeed, Moses had wanted to keep his family together so they could bear witness to God’s liberation of Israel and, later, to the revelation at Sinai, but to keep his family out of harm’s way Moses opted to part from them. Perhaps, Moses had faith that they would all come back together in this moment just before God gives Israel the Torah at Mt. Sinai.

No sooner does Jethro arrive with Zipporah, Gershon and Eliezer, however, than Moses gets back to the work of governing the people. Only one day after seeing his wife and children for the first time in a long time, Moses is described as “sitting as magistrate among the people, while the people stood about Moses from morning until evening” (18:13).  In response to what he sees, “Moses’ father-in-law said to him, ‘The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone…’ (18:17-18). Thus, Jethro advises Moses to set up a judiciary system and to share the responsibility of adjudication with a host of capable, fair-minded men, which is exactly what Moses does.

What is Jethro’s concern? It may be, as Rashi, suggests, that Jethro sees Moses as being disrespectful of his followers by having them stand all day while he sits. It may also be that Jethro envisions Moses failing as a leader because he is taking on more than he can handle as one person. Both are logical suggestions.

Nonetheless, I would like to suggest an alternate view to why Jethro speaks up when he sees Moses laboring as the sole judge of the Israelites: Jethro sees the potential for Moses to become consumed by his role as leader and prophet and to neglect his family. To be sure, this is what happens. Aaron and Miriam end up chastising Moses over Zipporah, “that Cushite woman,” in Numbers 12. One midrash on this encounter depicts Aaron and Miriam as calling Moses out on his treatment of Zipporah. They see that Zipporah feels abandoned by Moses, who refuses to engage in sexual relations with her. Unfortunately, sexual relations would render Moses spiritually impure and/or direct his focus away from God (Tanhuma, Tzav 13 at http://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/zipporah-midrash-and-aggadah). In essence, the demands of his job restricts Moses’ ability to please his wife, and he is either unable or unwilling to negotiate with God in order to maintain peace in his family. One commentator, Ibn Ezra, sees the problem as so severe that he even entertains the possibility of the marriage ending in divorce (commentary on Ex. 18:2). To his credit, Jethro realizes that unless Moses achieves better work-life balance, Moses won’t be able to make Jethro’s daughter and grandchildren happy.

Jethro has something to teach all of us. First, don’t leave your loved ones behind as you wind your way through the wilderness of life. Protect them from harm, as Moses was coached to do, but barring any extenuating circumstances, include your family in on your journey. Some of the journey will involve mundane tasks of daily life or schlepping from one spot to another. But some of the journey will entail spectacular, peak moments when you can all experience a glimmer of God’s radiance. Both the mundane and the spectacular are necessary for a family to grow together and, it is important to add, for an individual to thrive as well.

Next, Jethro teaches us to work smarter, not harder, for the sake of our families and ourselves. Jethro understands the gravity of Moses’ situation; he doesn’t tell Moses to find a new job so he can take better care of his family. Rather, he provides Moses with a strategy that will help Moses better execute his duties and, at the same time, conserve time and energy for his wife and children. Our task is similarly to devise a strategy that will enable us to excel both as professionals and as providers for those whom we love.

Moses carried the weight of Israel on his shoulders. I, for one, don’t envy him. As difficult as it is for me or any of us to find that perfect balance between time on the job and time with one’s family, for Moses this balance was truly elusive. Despite Jethro’s attempts to help Moses succeed in this regard, for Moses a work-life balance that would satisfy him and his family may simply have been impossible to achieve.

Fortunately, few of us are in Moses’ position. While work and life may fall out of balance for us from time to time, we are always capable of resetting the scales.

Parashat Vayeshev

Genesis 37:1-40:23

Parenting is never easy, but one cardinal rule of parenting is to not play favorites. Favoritism leads to a sense of entitlement on behalf of the favored and resentment on behalf of the unfavored. The parent, too, suffers in the long term as the unfavored children bear a grudge and distance themselves from the parent who didn’t love them fully. While it is tempting to tip the scale of affection toward one child for many reasons, parents must avoid going there lest they sew the seeds of ill will for years to come. Don’t believe me? Ask our patriarch Jacob.

Jacob fell into the trap. Jacob is the father who “loved Joseph best of all” and gifted Joseph with an ornamented tunic, the “amazing technicolor dreamcoat” made famous by Andrew Lloyed Webber. Both father and son paid a heavy price because of Jacob failed to show his other eleven sons the same affection he showed to Joseph. Joseph becomes full of himself, flaunting his dreams of triumph to his brothers adorned in his beautiful coat. As a result, his brothers conspired to kill him, but instead sell him into slavery, and then they dip Joseph’s coat in the blood of a slaughtered goat and have their father believe that Joseph was devoured by wild beasts. Imagine the pain they caused Jacob until the truth comes out years later.

Why did Jacob make the mistake of lavishing Joseph with such affection before his siblings? Rashi, the preeminent medieval commentator suggests two reasons. The first is actually found in the Torah itself: Joseph was “the child of his old age.” Moreover, Joseph was the son of Rachel, the favored wife, and was born to Rachel after years of being unable to conceive. Interestingly, Joseph was not the youngest of the sons; Benjamin was. Perhaps it is for this reason that Rashi goes on to offer a second reason why Joseph was the favorite one: Joseph reminded Jacob of himself. He looked like Jacob in his “spiritual essence” (The Stone Edition ArtScroll Chumash), if not in physical appearance as well. Joseph was special in many ways, and Jacob couldn’t restrain himself from revealing his preference for this son over all the others.

I am taken with the idea that Joseph “looked” like Jacob because earlier in Genesis (1:27) we read that “God made the human in God’s image. In the image of God, God created the human, male and female God created them.” When we read that God created humankind in God’s own image, we are to acknowledge that God’s image is both infinitely varied and without form. We are also to imagine that God shows abundant love to all human beings. God doesn’t play favorites, even though all of humanity is made in God’s image. Maybe we are all God’s favorites because we all resemble God. Perhaps it was inevitable that Jacob would love the one who resembled him the most. Unfortunately, Jacob had other children who didn’t resemble him as much and they weren’t loved as Joseph was.

What if Jacob could have loved all his children as God loves all God’s children? What if Jacob could have seen sparks of himself in all the children, or even elements of his being that never came to the fore, potentiality that laid hidden? When it comes to loving all our children equally, that may be the key: love as God loves and when we can’t see our image in our children search to find ways in which our children resemble pieces of us that never saw daylight.

On this Shabbat, as we begin to read the story of Joseph, let us be mindful of how we love all our fellow beings and strive to love in a Godly way, without playing favorites.

Shabbat Shalom