Parashat Mishpatim 5782 / פָּרָשַׁת מִּשְׁפָּטִים
Torah Portion: Exodus 21:1-24:18

Last week we read about God’s spectacular revelation directly to the People of Israel of aseret hadibrot, popularly translated as “the Ten Commandments” but more accurately translated as “the ten utterances.” Immediately upon witnessing this revelation, the people implore Moses: “You speak to us… and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die.” After calming the people down, Moses obliges their request and serves as the intermediary between God and the people for the delivery of the remaining 603 mitzvot (commandment). (Jewish tradition counts 613 mitzvot total.) The reading ends with God beginning privately to dictate those mitzvot to Moses.

The private dictation to Moses of the remaining mitzvot really takes off in this week’s reading as God reveals another 53 mishpatim (rules or laws).  These laws cover a vast range of legal territory: civil law, damages, family purity, ritual practice, criminal law, and more. Because of the legislative focus of these chapters, they are known in English as “The Book of the Covenant,” (sefer ha-brit, in Hebrew). 

Near the end of this parasha (Torah portion), Moses reads “The Book of the Covenant” aloud to the People of Israel, who respond with these famous words: “All that the Lord has spoken we will faithfully do (na-aseh v’nishma)” (Ex. 24:7). The phrase “na-aseh v’nishma” literally means “we will do and we will hear/understand/heed.” These words have been interpreted throughout the ages to mean Israel accepted God’s Torah unflinchingly, essentially saying: “We will first do whatever You command and only afterwards seek to discern Your intent or find meaning in your mitzvot.” 

There is a teaching in the Talmud that says that God lifted Mt. Sinai up and held it over the heads of the
Israelites to persuade them to accept the Torah. “Do this or else!” But there’s another, gentler, kinder midrash on the giving of the Torah in which the sages imagine God offering the Torah to all the nations of the world. Until God came to Israel, all the other nations had inquired “What is written in it?” When they learned that the Torah would require them to take on commandments that ran antithetical to their pagan beliefs, they rejected it. Finally, God came to Israel, who responded: “Na-aseh v’nishma.” To the rabbis, Israel was like “a lily among thorns” (Song of Songs 2:2). They accepted the Torah out of love of God, not out of fear.

Are we today supposed to just do things because we’re told to? The idea of acting before really knowing why seems anathema to our modern sensibilities. In an age of rational decision-making and limited resources, including our own time and energy, aren’t we inclined to justify our every move before taking action? One of the reasons that so few Jews are religiously observant is that they see no reason to observe mitzvot, especially those pertaining to ritual. Most Jewish ritual, after all, is meaningless to them and, therefore, not worth expending their resources on.

But here’s the thing. At least in my experience, I’ve found great meaning in rituals and mitzvot that I began to practice before really knowing why. Lighting candles on Shabbat is one example. As a kid, it was just something my mother did because, I thought, “That’s just what Jews do.” Now, as an adult with a maturing theology, with a need to step back from the week’s activities, and with children of my own, I see in the candles much more than a nod to Jewish Peoplehood. The candles symbolize a much-needed spiritual infusion at the end of the week. The lighting itself affords my family and me a moment of quiet and togetherness that we rarely experience on a workaday basis.

I could go on about other rituals and mitzvot that I first tried on because “That’s what Jews do” and which have become a meaningful part of my life: keeping kosher, wearing a kippah, feeding my pets before feeding myself, and on and one. But I’m sure you get the point.

I encourage you to take this test: 

Read about the 613 Biblical mitzvot at http://www.jewfaq.org/613.htm and the additional 7 mitzvot discerned by the rabbis in the Talmud at http://www.askmoses.com/en/article/411,429/What-are-the-seven-rabbinic-mitzvahs.html. Pick just one that you are not currently doing and just start doing it. Commit to taking on this one new mitzvah for six months and discover for yourself how the meaning and purpose of the mitzvah emerges for you. This process may require you to look up the mitzvah www.myjewishlearning.com or other sites because sometimes the meaning emerges from discussion with others or from the suggestions of our sages. 

If after the six months you still haven’t found a good enough reason to continue with the mitzvah, return it for a full refund. As for “no questions asked,” forget it. Asking questions is another meaningful thing that Jews just do.

Parashat Shemot 5782 / פָּרָשַׁת שְׁמוֹת
Torah Portion: Exodus 1:1-6:1

This year Shabbat Parashat Shemot falls on Christmas, a holiday that is not for or by the Jewish people, but one which we Jews in America observe in one of two ways: 1) as dispassionate observers, the way we might glance at merchandise in a store window while walking down the street without breaking stride. We see what’s there but don’t think about it much, if at all. Or 2) as interested, maybe even engaged observers, who stop and look at the merchandise, perhaps entering the store to get a closer look, maybe try it on, maybe even buy it and take it home! Either way, we are as dispassionate observers or interested consumers, we are still pedestrians relating to something that is not ours as we make our way through the world.

In our own community, we each relate to Christmas in our own way. Some don’t pay much attention. Some feel put upon by all the commercial trappings of the holiday. Yet some are uplifted by the joy of the season and are moved to participate in its festivities, perhaps as supportive, caring family members of people for whom Christmas carries great meaning. At most, we are resident aliens, paying deep respect for the tradition of our majority culture. We are sojourners with those who celebrate Christmas.

In many ways, our experience as Jews during this season is an extension of the experience of our ancestors that we begin to read about in Parashat Shemot this week. In Egypt we were outsiders, oppressed for four hundred years following the death of Joseph and the rise of a Pharaoh who didn’t know Joseph. Then we left Egypt and commenced 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, heading toward an unfamiliar destination. Eventually, we became a sovereign nation and would one day again, but for most of history, we were strangers in someone else’s lands. Even with the birth of the Jewish State in 1948, most of us have chosen to reside outside of our homeland. Maybe we are in a constant state of exile, or maybe we have come to call the place where we are “home.” In reality, these two possibilities are always present, always tugging at us, never letting us become too comfortable or complacent but also never letting us feel entirely rootless and out of place, either. That’s how it is today, and that’s how it has been for centuries.

As resident aliens and sojourners in Europe between the 16th and 19th centuries, our ancestors had their own response to Christmas. In the 17th century, they named it “Nittel Nacht” – the Night of the Nativity, but beginning with the Protestant Reformation in the early 16th century, they had already begun to refrain from studying Torah on Christmas eve. They also refrained from having sex, and they ate lots of garlic. In the beginning, they were doing what their Christian neighbors were doing, but for different reasons. Christians were getting rowdy and turning up the lights to ward off evil spirits and protect themselves from the walking dead. They refrained from sex, lest the children they conceive “be cursed and become tools of the devil”(https://daily.jstor.org/daily-author/matthew-wills/).

The Jews did these things partly to look as busy as their neighbors and protect themselves against pogroms. They weren’t concerned so much with evil spirits and the walking dead as they were with the spirit of Jesus that their neighbors were conjuring up. At one time the Jews had mourned the birth of Jesus on Tisha B’Av, when they also mourned the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem. After all, it was in Jesus’s name that their neighbors and the church made their lives a living Hell. They had reason to mourn. That Tu B’Shevat tradition eventually gave way to Nittel Nacht, a concretization of Jewish antipathy toward the Christian’s savior. 

Nittel Nacht faded away as a common observance in the 19th century as relations with Christians warmed, but it is still practiced in some communities to this day. In fact, once when my family and I were living in Houston, a local Orthodox synagogue held a night of studying about Jewish views of Jesus – a clear departure from the synagogue’s regular fare of Jewish learning.

Thank God the days of Nittel Nacht are mostly behind us, those days of fear and loathing. In many places and at many times, rioting, rape and death were constantly lying in wait. Our ancestors resorted to standing in front of the store window as they walked down the street and engaged in mockery as they sought to gird themselves against hatred and oppression.

On this Christmas Eve, as we remember the wanderings of our People, we give thanks for our Christian neighbors and the love they bestow on us as a community and as individuals. Such would have been unimaginable at other times and in other places throughout history. And just as our Christian family members sojourn with us on our sacred festivals, so, too, let us sojourn with them in their celebration of Christmas. As Jews, will most assuredly eat Chinese food, go to the movies and take advantage of empty ski slopes, but let us also be sure to bless those around us with joy and peace and wish them all a very Merry Christmas.

Parashat Vayishlach 5782 / פָּרָשַׁת וַיִּשְׁלַח
Genesis 32:4-36:43

Thanksgiving falls next week. Thanksgiving is supposed to be a joyous holiday — a time of feasting with family and friends and, of course, a time of giving thanks for our abundant blessings. For too many, though, Thanksgiving is anything but joyous. For them, it is a time of acute angst, a time of fear and loathing. I’m sure we all know someone who does all in their power to avoid “celebrating” this classic American festival with family members with whom they are all but estranged, people with whom they passionately disagree about everything from politics to table etiquette to the proper way of raising children to sports to — well, you name it! You or I may be one of these people who suffer from Thanksgiving angst. Sometimes we may be able to avoid the conflicts we dread by making plans that put us far away from those whose views and/or behaviors we despise. Sometimes, though, we suck it up and manage as best we can through several hours of confinement with those same people.

How sad that we let our passions separate us from our families. As one friend said to me recently, “Love them or hate them, they’re still family.” The family is as the most essential building block of our society. At it’s best, the family is where we learn to help one another, if not love one another. At it’s best, it’s the source of values that make for an orderly, compassionate society. When we become separated from that source of caring, of love, of learning, we are lucky if we can find another well to nourish us. Unfortunately, many of people who suffer from a rupture in their family relationships are left to flounder, to stew in misery and angst.

Our ancestor Jacob was one of those people who would have suffered from Thanksgiving angst were he alive in our own day. Imagine if Jacob’s reunion with Esau after 20 years would have taken place at Esau’s residence. Imagine Jacob receiving an invitation to join Esau and his family for Thanksgiving.

To help you visualize this encounter, consider what we read in Genesis 32:8-13:

Jacob was greatly frightened; in his anxiety, he divided the people with him, and the flocks and herds and camels, into two camps, thinking, “If Esau comes to the one camp and attacks it, the other camp may yet escape.” Then Jacob said, “O God of my father Abraham and God of my father Isaac, O LORD, who said to me, ‘Return to your native land and I will deal bountifully with you’!I am unworthy of all the kindness that You have so steadfastly shown Your servant: with my staff alone I crossed this Jordan, and now I have become two camps. Deliver me, I pray, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; else, I fear, he may come and strike me down, mothers and children alike. Yet You have said, ‘I will deal bountifully with you and make your offspring as the sands of the sea, which are too numerous to count.’”

In this moment, Jacob cares only about self-preservation, keeping himself safe as well as those in his immediate family. “What if Esau comes after me?” he says. “I better protect myself.” “Even the promises of You, God, give me little assurance that I’ll make it through this encounter.” If he were preparing to reunite with Esau on Thanksgiving, he’d be doing everything he could to steal himself for the encounter, to prepare himself emotionally just to survive.

Yet, he decides to move forward, to make the journey toward what he believes will be an unpleasant encounter. On the way, he encounters an angel with whom he wrestles. He emerges from the bout with a limp and a new name, Yisrael, “one who strives with God.”

Shortly after Jacob takes on a new gait and a new name, we find him approaching Esau (Gen. 33:1-5):

Looking up, Jacob saw Esau coming, accompanied by four hundred men. He divided the children among Leah, Rachel, and the two maids, putting the maids and their children first, Leah and her children next, and Rachel and Joseph last. He himself went on ahead and bowed low to the ground seven times until he was near his brother. Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept. Looking about, he saw the women and the children. “Who,” he asked, “are these with you?” He answered, “The children with whom God has favored your servant.”

He shows up on Esau’s “doorstep,” if you will, with his family. Instead of fending off arrows and swords, Jacob receives an embrace and a kiss. An embrace and a kiss from the brother he cheated, not once, but twice! The story here has a happy ending! We imagine they have their Thanksgiving meal. Maybe there’s even laughter, and singing, and lots and lots of story telling.

What happened? Why didn’t Esau attack Jacob and all that was his? Maybe it’s because Esau had years of really effective therapy. He remembered what Jacob had done to him, but he had learned to deal with it in a way that wouldn’t consume him or his sacred family tie. Maybe it was that after Jacob wrestled with the angel, a violent encounter with Esau seemed like child’s play. He wasn’t scared any longer. He showed up with an open heart.

The point is that we need not let our Thanksgiving angst keep us from the ones we should and will again, God willing, love. There certainly is some of Esau and Jacob in each of us. Let us let our best Esau’s and Jacob’s emerge this Thanksgiving.