Torah & more… תורה ועוד

After Judah’s speech, when Joseph finally reveals himself, he invites the brothers to come and live with him in plentiful Egypt. Egypt is the center of the world back then and Joseph is highly esteemed there, second only to the Pharaoh and at times, as high; and yet, when he invites his brother to join him, he tells them to “hurry, go up to my father and say to him… come down to me, do not delay” (Genesis 45:9).

“Come down”? It’s highly unlikely they meant “south”, as in down on the map, since maps in the ancient world faced east to the “orient” (hence “orientation”). If so what did he mean? The brothers are poor shepherds; Joseph is rich, owning lands, managing grain storehouses. The brothers struggle in a land that isn’t always hospitable towards them while Joseph’s children grow up in the palace. Heading to Egypt sounds like going “up”. However since time immemorial, like being called to the Torah, going to Israel has been called “aliya”, going up, and going away, is going down, even if one travels from the Himalaya’s to the Dead Sea. Further: Israel is described as a “good and wide” Land, while Egypt’s name, Mitzrayim, comes from the word tzar, narrow, tight. Could it be because in the vast desert, there is only a “tight” strip to live on along the Nile? Or perhaps because “down” and away, feels “tight” while home feel “good and wide”?
Joseph’s message is, there’s life outside of Israel. If we want to be a “light unto the nations”, we have to live there, while Judah believes in the Land; in our special connection to it and need to live on it.

Their conversation continued through the Talmud into our own days when it is as contemporary and relevant as ever. We all know Josephs who left Europe decades ago to come to America, the Golden Medina, only to find their grandchildren making aliya. We know Judahs who immigrated to Israel to dry the swamps and settle the Land, only to have their grandchildren relocate elsewhere. In a way, we are all part of the meet-up between Judah and Joseph, possibly taking on different roles in our own lifetime, knowing that at the end of the day, neither one could have stayed on history’s stage without the other.

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From my balcony I see Leviathan, not a large whale but a clump of lights in the middle of the water which turns out to be Israel’s natural gas field. This week Israel, Greece and Cyprus signed an agreement for a huge pipeline project to ship gas from the eastern Mediterranean to Europe, and I can’t help wonder: Some 80 years later, can our history get any more ironic than that??

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This weekend, Daf Yomi reaches one of its great milestones: the end of the 13th 7½ year cycle and immediate resuming of a daily page of Talmud learning. The fact that it’s happening is one thing; the fact that so many are involved is quite another. A few days ago, nearly 100,000 Jews, men and women, gathered in MetLife stadium in New Jersey to celebrate the “siyum” (finale), and this Sunday, for the first time, more than 3,000 women are gathering in Jerusalem, where I am planning to be as well. The Talmud is not only the base for Jewish law but the guide for how we think – creatively, analytically, broadly, compassionately, justly and so much more. It’s the spinal cord of Jewish thought. AS someone told me long ago, if the Bible is lost, we’ll be sad but able to reconstruct it; if the Talmud is lost, we’d be lost too. Whether that’s true or not, it gives us a feeling for how crucial the Talmud is.

This is a good time to take a moment and gaze around. We often look at the achievements of the Jewish people in the last 100 (or maybe even 2000) years, and count, first and foremost, the establishment of the State of Israel, which is indeed a grand thing. But / And… something else is happening, and that is the re-engagement in Jewish learning. No longer the property of the few, study groups, classes, schools, midrashot, yeshivot are everywhere. The revival is moving to tears. I attend a shiur (class) at a beit midrash (house of learning) for young women (18-20 years old), all joyful and studious around me, fully minded how impossible this was just a few decades ago; I visit a “combined school”, where religious and non-religious / secular students learn together with a “Judaica corner” in class, which was my parents’ “crazy” and “impossible” dream for me, never to imagine this; I read the newspaper where every other page there’s an ad about a seminar or program somewhere. There are links and aps and what-not to study the daf (and so many other things) at every level, language, accent possible, and I think wow, what a time and what an honor to be in this.

In honor of the daf, here’s a short section from this week’s pages. We are in the last tractate of the last order, Niddah, dealing with spiritual purity and impurity issues, primarily those of women, and along with that, the art of dipping in the mikveh. I love this line because I am partial to olive picking, but mostly because it’s such a picturesque way to describe something that can be complicated with so few words, you can literally see it (translation from Sefaria, an ap that is a must on everyone’s phone; the bold words are what the Talmud says in its succinct manner, and the regular font explains the text without damaging it):

אמר ריש לקיש האשה לא תטבול אלא דרך גדילתה כדתנן האיש נראה כעודר ומוסק זיתים אשה נראת כאורגת וכמניקה את בנה

Reish Lakish says: A woman may immerse herself in a ritual bath only in the manner that she grows, i.e., she may not force her arms to her sides or close her legs tightly. She is not obligated to spread her limbs widely, but simply stand in her normal manner. As we learned in a mishna (Nega’im 2:4): When a man has a leprous mark between his legs and stands before a priest for inspection, he should appear like one who is hoeing, i.e., with his legs slightly apart, and if it is under his arm, he should appear like one who is harvesting olives, with his arms slightly raised. If the mark is not visible when he is standing in that manner, it is not impure. By contrast, a woman with a leprous mark between her legs should appear like one who is weaving, and if the mark is beneath her breast she should appear like a woman who is nursing her son.

Here’s to continuous learning. Shabbat Shalom!

When she was 10 years old, R. accompanied her mom to a doctor’s visit because her little brother, M was not well. Mom was hesitant to make the trip from Tzefat to Tiberias by herself, and what’s more, she needed her almost sabra daughter to help with translation. Having arrived recently from North Africa, she heard stories and wanted her eldest with her, just in case.

“The baby needs some care, leave him here” said the nurse, bidding farewell to mom and daughter who left with a heavy heart, schlepping in buses back to their home in the hills. When they came back the next day, things were much worse. “The baby?” asked the nurse, “oh, he died”. What?? “We want to see him”, they demanded, realizing their worst fears might have come true. “Oh, we already buried him”. “Then we want to see the grave!” “Go away, we’re too busy here now; you’re being unreasonable”… The child was never seen again, which would be normal for dead people, but then, some 17 years later, a draft notice from the army appeared in their mailbox, implying that maybe he did not die at all.

Sadly, Israel is riddled with such tragedies, known as the “Yemenite Children”, and later realized this afflicted other Sefardi-Mizrachi groups as well. In the post holocaust era of newly established Israel, some people had no children, and some had “too many” and “won’t notice if one is given away to someone who really wants a child”… The government has not been forthright with the records and the archives remain closed as the stories continue to unfold privately. The depth and complexity of this saga is well beyond the scope of a dvar Torah. What is of interest to me this week, is the fact, that R. now in her 70’s never stops looking for her little brother, M. Everywhere she goes, she checks people closely: does he look like someone else? The eyes, smile, height, features? She sees him in her sons and grandsons. Never has she lost hope that one day, maybe on a bus or waiting in line; in the news or at a random event, she’ll see him. And no matter that 60 some years have gone by, she’s sure, she’ll know it’s him.

I think about this quite often and especially this week, because again and again I wonder, how come the brothers didn’t recognize Joseph?

I recently had the lovely opportunity of meeting up with my high school classmates. I was very nervous that I can’t remember and won’t be able to recognize half of them, but as they slowly walked in, it was obvious. It didn’t take long before the “Oh My G-d!’ followed by something along the lines of ‘you haven’t changed a bit!’ and while, of course, we have all changed, there is also something that is very much the same.

Joseph was not a baby when the brothers sold him to a caravan of merchants, traveling south. He was 17. Not quite fully grown, but definitely a young man with a unique look of his own. The caravan is described as “Yishma’elim” (Genesis 37:28), a term used for just about anyone living in Israel who is “not Jewish”, but originally, it should have been reserved for the descendants of Yishma’el and their kin. For Joseph, that meant that he was sold to his half-second cousins. Ok, “half second cousins” are not people we might have dinner with regularly, but this is not a big family. Surely, they knew at least that they were somehow related and who he is!? How come no one said anything to anyone, like, “hey, we dropped him off at…”? A man disappears for 13 years in the small region, roughly between Hebron / Be’er Sheva and Cairo, fully in the open, and no one knows his whereabouts?

Further, upon meeting him, the brothers don’t even begin to suspect that he looks slightly familiar! I know, I know: he had a different hair-do and new clothing, and maybe even make-up. He was out of context. And at least initially, he didn’t socialize with them and maybe stood at a distance (although later when they bring Benjamin he shared a meal alone with them). But seriously!! If anyone, they knew he was sold to someone going towards Egypt; they knew he was a dreamer, and then suddenly a “dreamer” who is a “foreigner”, “Hebrew”, no less as Joseph describes himself, shows up on Pharaoh’s side, the brother just yawn??

As I saw with R. usually people who have given a child to adoption or lost a relative with inconclusive ending, forever keep calculating what age might be this person, what could they be doing, where might s/he be… and here we have ten grown man, later 11, and no one sees anything? I can’t shake it: How come the brother didn’t recognize Joseph?

Add to that, that he immediately knew them. Of course, they were much more conspicuous; he waited for them; they didn’t know he was there. And yet the contrast is striking.

Perhaps the answer can be found in last week’s reading: “And when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably unto him”; (Genesis 37:4). And immediately in the next verse: “And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it to his brothers, and they hated him yet the more” (37:5), and if we haven’t yet quite understood how the brothers felt about Joseph, the text says again: “…And they hated him yet the more…” (37:8).

One of Joseph’s greatest qualities is that he “sees”. Joseph sees dreams, just like his father Jacob did when he was younger; Joseph sees opportunities, solutions and, mostly, he sees G-d wherever he goes. Whether he is in a pit, sold to slavery, a servant in a compromised situation, a prisoner or second to Pharaoh, he feels G-d is with him. The brothers, on the other hand, have trouble “seeing”. The last time the verb “to see” is mentioned with them, is when they see Joseph coming and they conspire to kill him (37:18). It takes a while before the verb to see shows up again, and it is when Jacob finally sees that “there is food in Egypt” (42:1). That “seeing” is what leads to the family’s meeting, resolution and ultimate reunion. Continue and hear Judah’s words when he asks their father to take Benjamin with them. Judah implores Jacob, telling him that Joseph said: “You shall not see my face, unless your brother be with you.” (43:5). And last, after the emotional meeting and revelation, coming up next week, Joseph says to them: “And, behold, your eyes (now) see…” (45:12).

Could it be that was blinded the brothers was the power of hatred? How much do we miss when we let ourselves be guided by negativity and hatred!

We don’t know what Joseph’s intentions were when he initially told the brothers his dreams. We “assume” he was a showoff but the ones who read ill-will into his words were his brothers, not him. Perhaps Joseph wanted to share his joy at the fact that he sees them all together in the future! After all, up until now, the younger one was always “chosen” and the older one went off to establish another nation. This is the first time all the father’s children continue to be the “Children of Israel”! Since one needs to be the leader, maybe it’s Joseph, son of beloved Rachel, and a dreamer like his dad?
But the brothers couldn’t stand him, and therefore couldn’t even imagine anything good in his words. Their hatred shut off their ability to see and hear him.
As is the case this year, Miketz, this week’s reading, is often read during Hanukkah. Again, there is darkness. Again, we have an opportunity to add a small light, to make a conscious decision to see.

Shabbat Shalom, Chodesh Tov  & Haukkah Same’ach.

Chag shel Hachagim – holiday of holidays, Haifa, winter season

Hanukkah starts this Sunday night with candle lighting, games and oily foods. There a discussion in the Talmud what happens if a hanukiya was lit and happens to get extinguished; does it need to be lit again? That is, is the mitzvah primarily, to have the light or is the lighting itself “it” and once that’s done, then we’re all good, even if the candles don’t last? (Tractate Shabbat, 21).

The discussion has practical implications (to paraphrase Shakespeare, ‘to light again, or not light again, that is the question’…) we well as spiritual ones. AS we say in the blessing, the mitzvah is lehadlik, “to light”. The “Zer Zahav” (nickname given to Chasidic rabbi Ze’ev Wolf Landa, 1807-1891 for the name of his book) explains that the teaching of the Talmud here is that we must begin; get off and do something. We don’t know and are not able to guarantee fully what the outcome will be, but just because we can’t complete the task, it does not mean that we are exempt from taking a stab at it (to paraphrase Pirkei Avot 2:21).
Likewise, about the famous “oil miracle”, we should ask, why aren’t we celebrating seven days? After all, there was enough oil for one day, so maybe there is no miracle in that day one, only in the ones after! But rather, the miracle there is the fact that someone even noticed the little oil can, and even bothered to use it. It was obviously not going to be enough! But a step forward, towards light was taken, into the unknown, in hope and prayer that somehow, something will open up, and that small beginning is already a great thing. Some days, the fact that we have hope, is a miracle in itself.

Not buying skirts for my boys. Every year when the Torah portion of Vayeshev comes around, with Joseph and his multi-colored coat, “righteous” parents post endlessly about how bad it is to discriminate between one’s children. “Not buying skirts for my boys” has been one of my repeated “parental sayings” trying to highlight how not discriminating between one’s children is just as bad if not worse. The statement has meanwhile become not p.c.: what do you mean?? You won’t buy skirts for your boys?! So I have to state that, of course, had my boys needed / wanted etc skirts, yes, I would buy those too. But the point is, that I, clearly, blatantly and at times proudly, discriminate between my kids. I don’t even make a fake effort to hide it, and worse yet, I believe it’s not only the norm, but the ideal. Attending to each child as an individual with his / her own uniqueness, and providing each differently, according to who this child is and what this particular child needs, is the most important parenting aspect. The idea that a parent would do otherwise, is absurd.
This is why reading the Joseph story in the “traditional” way, seems overly simplistic and does not quite make sense to me. There is no way that Jacob treated Reuven and Benjamin in the same way, and that verse describing Jacob’s love for Joseph “because” he was the youngest / born in his old age” and that therefore he made him a special coat (Genesis 37:3) must be misread and mistranslated. I am not arguing the special relationship between Jacob and Joseph but would like to qualify them slightly differently and then see where we can take it from there.
The first thing to notice is that Jacob in this verse is called Yisrael. Yisrael is his national, prophetic name. Joseph is described as “ben zkunim”, which is usually seen as a child born in a parent old age, usually the youngest. This presents at least two problems: 1. Joseph had two brothers, Yisaschar and Zvulun who were almost the same age as he was (not to mention Dina – the birth order is in Genesis 30:15-24). 2. He was not the youngest. He was also not the only one from beloved Rachel, to which we can say, that Benjamin reminded Jacob of Rachel’s death and therefore was less loved, but – we know from later parts of the story that this is simply not true. So, maybe there is a different way to understand “ben zkunim”?

Indeed, some of the commentators were bothered by the same issues. Onkelos, who brings us the Aramaic translation of the text, says it mean “ben zkunim” means ‘bar chakim’, a wise son, as in Jacob (the prophetic Jacob, Yisrael) noticed Joseph’s special intellectual and spiritual abilities. Rabbi Hirsch explains that the root for zaken, is ‘experience that brings wisdom’. Alternatively, according to Ramban (Nachmonides 1194-1270) it was the custom of older man – Jacob was 91 when Joseph was born – to have one of their boys stay back with them and help them with their needs. That’s why Joseph did not go with his brothers and the flock.
One more questionable word in this verse is “ki”, often translated as “because” but can also be “when” (as in Ki Tetze, Ki Tavo). If so, maybe – Prophetic Jacob loved Joseph as he (Joseph) was the one to serve him (Jacob). We can imagine the two spending many hours together, and as Rashi and others tell us, Jacob taught Joseph all he knew in spiritual learning.

It’s unclear why Jacob made Joseph a “striped coat” – some say he made it to cover the fact that Joseph was learning and growing spiritually; maybe Joseph too, was “smooth” (and beautiful) like his father, and anyway very different form his brothers. And if we want to stay really curious, it’s even hard to tell who made that coat (when it says “ve’asa lo” it’s unclear who is which pronoun). What’s more, up until now, only one child succeeded the father. This is the first time all the children become the “Children of Israel”. Clearly one has to be the leader and clearly (from past experience, it might be one of the younger ones. How exciting!

One thing is hard to argue: the brothers resented this whole scene, so much so that “they could not speak with him le’shalom – peacefully” (37:4). Communication was severed from both sides. The brothers’ inability to talk with him just made it worse. According to some commentators, had they only been able to talk with each other, even if they expressed their anger and upset-ness, they would have been able to make peace. But they did not develop a common language and listening ear. Joseph on his end, had the kind of social skills that leave a lot to be desired (which is what both gets him in trouble and saves him). It was one thing to tell his first dream, and quite another to tell the second, after the brothers’ displeasure was already obvious (some say, his “dreamer” quality is also a sign of his inability to stay focused in the present which is possibly what lands him in jail, maybe to connect him back to the here and now, and climb, symbolically, from the bottom / ground – up).

Joseph and his brothers represent different aspects of the Jewish people: the farmer and the shepherd; the Land and the world. This week’s Torah portion ends in suspense and there are more “episodes” to go, but suffice it to say that ultimately, it will not be an either or, but a “both”. This is still true today, and the sooner we learn it, the better.

Dina is Jacob and Leah’s daughter, and the 13th child of the bunch. Is that a hint that actually each son had a sister or that she’s the only female among them? Yes. Interestingly, until now, no one had daughters at all. Why? Is there something wrong about having daughters? Is there a preference to having sons? Further: Abraham and Isaac were both meticulous about who their sons would marry. Why did Jacob not send any of his children to Charan, or anywhere, to get the “right” wife? Are women “not important” to our forefathers?

Considering Rashi states that Sarah was greater than Abraham in her prophetic abilities, and that Rebecca is the (only) one who received the prophecy from Hashem about her pregnancy, the latter is unlikely. So how do we understand even a tiny bit of this awful and harsh story in front of us?

In Hebrew, male is known as zachar, literally meaning “remembered” and connected to memory, zikaron. If to generalize, the male is the one transmitting the outward, overt, aware natural and national identity, while the female is the one transmitting the subconscious identity. This is why in our tradition, the national-religious identity is trough the mother, while the tribal-ceremonial identity is through the father. In practical terms, Jewishness is through the mother while whether one is a Cohen, Ashkenazi or Sefardi is through the father.

For Abraham and Isaac, establishing the outward identity of this new path was critical. This struggle is reflected in each having one son who was a successor and one son who began a new religion and nation. By Jacob’s time, that identity was complete. The family was strong enough to accept and incorporate outside elements without diluting who they were. “Intermarriage” was not only tolerated by welcomed as a way to grow the family, be better established in the Land and integrate aspects that were lacking in the Jewish people. This is how we see later, that King David’s grandmother is a Moabite and more.

This meant that on top of the 12 “masculine” tribes, there had to be a 13^th tribe, a “feminine” one, one that accepts outside influence in, and enriches the people. Dina, like Leah, is described as “going out”. Many see it negatively, but it’s possible that this was intended as a positive quality: the ability to go out means one has a strong identity which can handle the outside world.

The Talmud (Brachot 60a) tells a fantastical story about Leah who was pregnant with a son, her 7^th. Knowing the total is 12 sons (through prophecy -), she realized that if that is so, Rachel will not even have as many sons as the handmaids. She therefore prayed for that son to be a daughter. Rachel then bore Joseph and Leah – Dina. Joseph and Dina are strongly connected, as both their tragedies – the rape of Dina and later sale of Joseph – happen in exactly the same place: Sh’chem, the heart of the Shomron, where, according to tradition, Joseph’s grave stands to this day. Joseph also represents Dina’s “outward” energy, the only one to make it in a foreign country.

And what about Sh’chem? This is where Abraham passed through on his way from Charan to Canaan. Some say, this is where his “souls” – converts – settled (Genesis 12:6). Jacob, after his struggle with the angel, doesn’t head to Hevron, where the family’s home used to be, but to Sh’chem as well (33:18). Perhaps he wants to see what happened with his grandpa’s students; can he find a suitable mate for his daughter among the people of the Land??

The rest is tragic. The midrash offers a – sort-off, half-handed  – consolation telling us that Dina’s daughter from that union, Osnat, was sent to be a servant at the home of the Egyptian priest, Potifera, later to be Joseph’s wife and mother of Menashe and Ephrayim from whom a messiah might be born. After all, the “right” things have happened and been fulfilled: we have a 13^th tribe! but Jacob is silent. Unable to praise or condemn, maybe he too is wondering, yes, the “right thing” but at what cost? Is any cost ok, just because the “end” will be “well” or are there things that are just too much? What are those? Where is the line?

From stormy-rainy Haifa, Shabbat Shalom.

One again, the complex three-way relationship between us, The Land and “outside the Land” come into play in this week’s Torah reading. Jacob runs away Esau, his brother, who was going to kill him for stealing his blessing. But then, there are so many places Jacob could go. Even the ancient midrash tells us that Jacob did not go directly but stopped on the way at a yeshiva to study for 14 years. What?! That sounds fantastical! A yeshiva? back then?? But the writers of the midrash might want to tell us something. One, that he was learned and seeped in spirituality, and the other, that there were other places where he could be safe. Indeed, this portion is not called Vayivrach, “and he escaped” but Vayetze -“and he went out” implying a deliberate departure.

So maybe he had to travel so far north in order to get himself a wife? But then, he too could have sent a messenger, like his grandfather did when it was time to marry his father to his mother, especially since it’s not like he is looking to marry a stranger. Chances are, someone could have brought him the right woman, and do so with much less trouble than he’s gotten himself into.
So why go?!
One of our earliest descriptions of Jacob (Genesis 25:27) is that he is “ish tam” – a totally dedicated man (Rav Hirsch’s translation); a quiet man (Mechon Mamre), wholesome (the Stone Chumash). Jacob is not restless, not running around in the field seeking game. He dwells in the tent (yoshev, as in “sitting”, being stable). He is wholehearted, complete. At a young age, he’s reached life’s goal of peace and tranquility, like a noble yogi. From here on, life should have been coasting for him.

This is when he is forced to leave that place where everything is “perfect” for him, and go; go live with a person who is deceitful, greedy, manipulative and evil, and still, not a faraway enemy but part of the family, as if emphasizing that all these qualities are not somewhere “else” far away but right at home, within. Jacob has to face this other world, learn to be “in it but not of it”; he has to learn to find G-d in everything, everywhere. Only then, he is ready to go back. Only then, he will become Yisra’el, the one who struggles with (hu)man and G-d and prevails.

Jacob’s journey begins with a famous dream about a ladder, a way to connect heaven and earth, with rungs. Some say that when we go outside of the Land of Israel, we go to a place where heaven and earth are separated, unlike in the Land where they are together. On the edge, he dreams of a way to connect the two wherever he is. The angels who climb up imply that there were angels with him, on the ground already. Some say that perhaps there were actually two ladders: one, reaching to the heavens and one – to the ground, and that the journey between them is like inside a giant “figure-eight”, we’re going up, almost touching the highest-highs, but then going-falling down, almost touching the lowest-lows, then back… the endless movement, and the magical meetings along the way, is what connects the worlds around us.

Shabbat Shalom.

In about one month we’ll celebrate an event that happens once every 71/2 years: Daf Yomi will come to the end of its current cycle, and, as with the Torah, a new one will begin. Daf Yomi, literally “a daily page” refers to a daily routine of learning one of the 2,711 pages of the Babylonian Talmud in sequence. Over 71/2 years one can, in this way, complete the whole Talmud.

The originator of the idea, Rabbi Moshe Menachem Mendel Spivak, born in 1880 to a family of Chasidim in a town near Warsaw, presented it already in December 1920. In 1923 it was accepted at the First World Congress of Agudath Israel. Initially it was intended only for yeshiva students and scholars, who focus on certain tractates and miss many others, as an encouragement to go through the whole Talmud at least once. Since, it has spread. Tens of thousands of Jews worldwide study in the Daf Yomi program, and over 300,000 participate in the Siyum HaShas, an event celebrating the culmination of the cycle of learning. The Daf Yomi programs have made Talmud study accessible to everyone, adding a unique unifying factor. During that Congress, Rabbi Shapiro, who is credited as its chief promoter, said (and you can hear the accent):

What a great thing! A Jew travels by boat and takes gemara Berachot under his arm. He travels for 15 days from Eretz Yisrael to America, and each day he learns the daf. When he arrives in America, he enters a beis medrash in New York and finds Jews learning the very same daf that he studied on that day, and he gladly joins them. Another Jew leaves the States and travels to Brazil or Japan, and he first goes to the beis medrash, where he finds everyone learning the same daf that he himself learned that day. Could there be greater unity of hearts than this?

Daf Yomi can be studied alone, with a chavruta (study partner), in a daily shiur (class) led by a rabbi or teacher, via a telephone shiur, CD-ROM, or audio and online resources. Classes are held in synagogues, yeshivas, and offices. They also take place in the United States Senate, Wall Street board rooms, and on the Long Island Rail Road, in the last car of two commuter trains departing Far Rockaway at 7:51 am and 8:15 am, respectively, for Manhattan. On my last flight to the U.S., I found the voice of my favorite Daf Yomi teacher, piped into the in-flight sound system.

Daf Yomi is not easy. Quite often my jaw drops as I listen to challenging Talmudic concepts which are hard to understand and absorb. For example, this past week, we find (Nidah 35:a): “And here they [the rabbis] disagree with regard to whether one interprets instances of the word “et” in a verse”. The topic itself doesn’t matter so much and is a bit disgusting. We’re talking about a variety of bodily discharges. In an effort to understand what is included and what are the consequences for coming in contact with them, the sages try to figure out which words in the sentence should we pay attention to. This gets complicated because in Hebrew, before a known direct object, we have a little word – et. It seems to serve no purpose short of grammatical confusion, but for some of the rabbis, since every letter and every word matter, there can’t be anything “useless”, and the “et’s” might mean something. Nowadays, we no longer deal with all the bodily discharges they did; we have no temple, no offerings, and no sacrifices. But we still wonder, to what resolution do we dive during a dialog? When I add a “seemingly useless word’, or the primeminister does, do we view it the same way? What weight do we give to “small, insignificant” things? That we do? That others do to us? When studying, I worry less about the discharges (for example) and rather, think of it as learning the language my people think. Slowly, a door opens and I’m home.

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Thanksgiving in Israel…

Thanksgiving in Israel? There are rumors that somewhere there is an area of “Americans” –  Jerusalem, Ra’anana etc, they meet to have a festive dinner which coincides with the “4^th Thursday of November”. Otherwise, largely no one heard about it. I’m “ok” with it. After all, I’m busy here, and at times, still pinch myself in disbelief. I’m actually here, and therefore, make no special plans. As my kids remind me, leaning vegan and vegetarian, we don’t have a tradition of “turkey”, and yet, there’s something: a lazy morning, a meal, togetherness, on the backdrop of a brisk fall day, maybe first snow on nearby mountains, and time to travel in the beautiful outdoors. And then it hits me.

Being in Israel, one is robbed of something incredibly Jewish, perhaps even incredible essential and needed, something one has everywhere else (Jewishly speaking), and that is, Longing. But once one’s kitchen sink is here, the ability to “long” for somewhere, to miss, to wish for that “wow” promised land which is elsewhere, far away, wrapped in memory and hope, is — gone. Is it possible to long for the longing? Then there’s Thanksgiving, a day when it’s “legal” to miss another place, and what a relief, it’s still possible to feel.

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Twins are born to us this week in the Torah portion of Toldot. Yitzchak loves Esau, and Rivkah – loves Yaakov. Esau’s name shares its letters with “asui” – עשוי = עשיו, complete, done, in a sense of – what you see is what you get. Yaakov’s name comes from follower, also crooked (והיה העקב למישור). Yitzchak loves Esau “for there’s hunting in his mouth” (Genesis 25:28).

Esau is worldly and capable, often called the “gadol”, the big one. Rivkah loves Yaakov, “the little one” for no obviously stated reason, Yet. Yaakov is smooth, as if “not done”, implying the need to grow, to move from “crooked” to “straight” (yashar – like yis’ra-el), and at times to be able to hold both. In all that, Rivkah “gets it”. She therefore brings a new dimension which Yitzchak, the boy almost sacrificed and now blind, does not have and so badly needs: not only her endless kindness and boldness, but a daring belief in the unknown, the hidden, the potential; an ability to see – and believe- in the “future”.

Shabbat Shalom & best wishes for the upcoming month of Hanu-Kislev.

Around the months of October to December there are extra traffic jams throughout the Galil. Shortly after sunset, long rows of cars meander through the winding roads, as those busy with the mesik – olive picking – unable to continue working in the dark orchards, hurry to the local beit bahd, where one’s olives can be turned into oil. People show up with anything from a truck load to a private sedan, sagging to the ground, proudly unloading their buckets and bags. The whole process is intense and exciting. No longer operated by horse or donkey who turned a big branch which gave the place its name (bahd being that hefty branch) and was tied to a big round rock that crushed the olives on another giant round rock, batei bahd are now modernized, run by sophisticated mechanical equipment. The olives are placed on a long conveyor belt to be sorted from leaves and small branches, then washed and cleaned, before transferred on (mechanically, no hands) to be crushed, then processed through centrifuges that further separate the water and “meat” in the olives from the oil in them. Finally, the sought out greenish-goldish thick liquid comes out, smelling like delicious freshly cut grass.

At times, the wait can be extremely long. If you’re after that truck, have a coffee. And maybe a shaky plastic cup overflowing with bubbly Coca-Cola. And how about another coffee. And maybe a piece of honey dripping, cheezie kenaffe (sweet Arabic dessert)? A number of the big batei bahd (plural for the oil-pressing places) are in Arabic villages. At times, the “conflict” and “situation” seem endless with no way out. And at times, Yishmael and Yitzchak are sitting together, drinking strong Turkish coffee, talking about this and that and nothing in particular, waiting for the noise to calm down and the oil to drip out.

The Torah in this week’s reading, reminds us that later in their lives, without “outside” input and when left to achieve a common task or goal, Yishma’el and Yitzchak get along peacefully and can easily get it done. It’s very possible they even like each other; that they learn to let each be who he is, appreciating their very different, though possibly complimentary, gifts. Olives and olive oil have always been symbolic of peace and pure light. Maybe that’s a place to start shining nowadays too.

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This week’s reading, Chayey Sarah – “The Life of Sarah”, opens with Sarah’s death, and Abraham seeking to conduct the first significant Land purchase in our history; that of a burial place for her, an achuzat kever. Rabbi Hirsch (19th century Germany) shares a beautiful explanation, and so he writes:
“To interpret “achuza” as “property”, because the object is held – ne’echaz (like the ram in the binding,which is from same root as achuza) is a mistaken interpretation. Achuza refers exclusively to land property, which is precisely what cannot be held. Further, in the instances the verb is used, the object (i.e. the land) is not held by its owner but rather – the owner is held by the object…. Land holds its owner, and he is bound in its chains… This is also the reason why a person cannot take an oath on the land. This is because land outlines the person; the person is subordinate to the land rather than the land being subordinate to the person. Hence, he cannot subordinate the existence of the soil to the truth of his word”…
Likewise, Abraham wants a permanent place in the Land, a place that will stay in the family long after he is gone. A place, that is not so much for her, as it is for him and future generations.

Shabbat Shalom.

Tuesday morning; restless, crowded Ashkelon train station. 6:33am, announcement: “All trains south are canceled due to the “situation”; trains north proceed as usual”.

6:38am: Blood curdling sharp siren cuts through the air. Another announcement: “we just heard a “real” siren (az’akat emet); everyone down to the underground passage for shelter”.

6:40am announcement: “The train to Ra’anana will leave at 6:42am as usual”.

6:41am: “The 6:42am train is canceled; next train is at 6:56am”

6:50am: A train enters the station, followed by an announcement: “please do not board the train”.

6:51am: People click the doors open, board and grab a seat.

6:56am: The train leaves the station, crawling north, among plowed fields, beautiful orchards, well-cared-for greenhouses, an “iron-dome” post, colorful bougainvillea decorating the fences, white buildings on the horizon… It’s painfully slow but moving. The passengers go back to their newspapers, books, phone-calls, computers. One person pulls out a siddur to daven Shacharit though I think she’s been praying all along.

8:00am: The train enters Tel Aviv. A deep sigh can be felt, then sirens wail through the air again. This time there is no shelter to go to. “Everyone away from the window”. People remain incredibly calm; some don’t even budge. I’m back home. Good morning, Israel.

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The Torah portion of Veyera is a favorite, with Abraham modeling hospitality and praying, pleading to save Sodom and Gamorah, and… oh well, a bunch of other stories we might skip: what is Abraham doing with his son? What’s going on between and him and Sarah? And what’s this strange story about Lot and his daughters??

Genesis 19:30-38 meets us after the destruction. Sodom and Gomorrah were not spared; Lots’ wife turned into a pillar of salt. AS far as Lot knows, and especially as far as his daughters know, there’s no one left in the world to parent children and beget future generations with them, except their father. The world is full of ashes and silence. One after the other, first the older one, then the younger one, they make him drink wine (which somehow they took in this hasty escape -?) to lie with him and “maintain their seed”. They both become pregnant and bare each a son: one names her son Mo’av and one – Ben Ami, father of the people of Amon.

There are many questions about this strange story, but perhaps one stands out: their father was drunk, asleep and unaware, and the two of them had a “secret”. Just keep it! Why tell?? And why tell is so loudly through the names of their children?? It was a s if they stood up to say, ‘look at me and look at what I did’! and, further: these are the families that, according to our tradition, were ancestors to the Messiah??!!

Rav Moshe Feinstein tells about a man in his congregation who “bad-mouthed” Lot’s daughters, to say there were a shanda / shame, and how dare they not even be embarrassed, shy and quiet about their act. Later than night, two old women showed up in his dream, and told him they were Lot’s daughters. They said, that indeed, they could have said that they were of Abraham’s family, and therefore, they deserved Divine intervention, so that they experienced a miraculous conception! But instead, they told the truth. They were forthcoming, proud and accepting of who they were and what they had to do. For all these reasons, these were the mothers of the Messiah.

And so it goes. Over the many centuries that passed, we could have cleaned up the story already; changed it to say what is PC and what will get more “points” and support, but we have not, and I hope we never will. Let there remain some weird stories we don’t fully understand; that force us to struggle to make sense of; that make us think on, and on.

Shabbat Shalom.

עשרה נסיונות נתנסה אברהם אבינו עליו השלום ועמד בכולם להודיע כמה חיבתו של אברהם אבינו עליו השלום
“With ten tests our father Abraham was tested” – The rabbis tell us in Pirkei Avot (5:3) – “and he withstood them all–in order to make known how great was our father Abraham’s love [for G-d]”.
The “tests” aim to answer some questions (why did G-d choose Abraham; why does it say ‘all of a sudden’ (in Genesis 22:1) that “G-d tested Abraham”) but leave many more unanswered. There is no agreement on what exactly are the ten tests, not to mention that we struggle to explain why would G-d “test” anyone, let alone Abraham, when, by definition, G-d already knows everything. Either way, although commentators differ on some of the tests, they all agree that the last one was the akeida, the Binding of Isaac.
After the akeida G-d doesn’t speak to Abraham again. Some say that this is because Abraham failed, and G-d doesn’t want anything to do with those who are willing to sacrifice their children; while others says that Abraham passed all the tests with flying colors, and therefore, G-d didn’t need to give him anymore personal instructions, worthy to be recorded in the Torah.
But, maybe there’s a third option.
it seems as if the first time we hear about Arbaham’s life is in the opening verses of this week’s Torah portion, with the famous “Lech Lecha” command and the beginning of Abraham’s journey, but in fact, Abraham is already introduced at the end of last week’s Torah portion, Noah (Genesis 11:26-32).

There we learn that Abraham is a Hebrew, as Joseph, his great-grandson will tell about himself much later, that he came from the “Land of the Hebrews” (Genesis 40:15). It seems like this (the Land of Israel / Canaan) is where the Hebrews lived before. And now, after years in the diaspora as well as a rough antisemitic spell that included throwing people into burning ovens (which is how his brother, Haran, died), the family is thinking about going back to their homeland. On the verge of annihilation, Abraham, then Abram, takes a wife, Sarai, and Nachor takes to a wife her sister, Milkah, both daughters of Haran, possibly to continue the family and / or because there was no one else to marry. At this point it seems that, of Abraham’s family, 1/3 died in the “ovens”; 1/3 stayed abroad, in “Aram-erika”, and 1/3 opted to “make aliya” and continue to the homeland… this might sound eerily familiar to what we’ve seen in the last century, when also, “coincidentally”, Abraham was born in 1948 of the Jewish calendar…

But what is perhaps most noticeable is that after an extensive list of begets, we are told that “Sarai was barren, she had no child” (Genesis 11:30). Is she is barren And has not child, how will the people continue? It’s as if an early hint was dropped: the story of this People is going to be miraculous; it’s going to proclaim the unnatural’s presence in the world, or – that of G-d.

This is perhaps, another reason why G-d only speaks to Abraham after he marries Sarah, and indeed, the last time G-d speaks to Abraham is at the akeida, which coincides with Sarah’s death. Which means, that G-d never speaks to Abraham without Sarah. In my metaphor, Abraham and Sarah can be likened to a radio and antenna. He might be the one doing all the talking, but without the antenna, there is no reception at all.

Abraham and Sarah don’t have an easy life. Theirs is not the peaceful ride into the sunset, with the “they lived happily ever after” caption shmeared across their screen. Once, even G-d Himself had to intervene in their disputes, but what it did have, was an almost constant dialog with G-d, and how to bring His presence into the world. Maybe this is something worth having an argument or two over.

Shabbat Shalom.

Noah 2019

“Journniversary”:

October 30, 1984. Goodbye hugs at the “old” Ben Gurion airport; a giant backpackers backpack towering over my head; sleeping-bag tied below; winter coat for trekking in Nepal; shorts for the islands of Thailand; malaria pills; cassettes with Israeli songs recorded off the 4 o’clock “best hour” on the radio; a Walkman; notes on the route; a journal.

Dear journal, it will be 8 months before I’m back here again; my stomach is in knots; I packed everything… did I pack everything? Why am I doing this, travel, leave? I love this place; I tour guide and teach teens to love it too… Dear journal, only 8 months to loop around the world and so much to see!! I’m so excited!! Soooo excited!! I can’t wait to get on the plane already and visit all these exotic sites I saw in pictures from the National Geographic! And take a break from this little “bathtub” where everyone knows who I am and what I could / should / would do since before I was born; ok, ok, enough with the teary goodbyes and sticky hugs; one more sandwich for the road… Only 8 months! less than a year!! I’ll be back before you know it….

The Jewish people celebrate their journey anniversary every year with lengthy stories, food, drinks… Mine, of course, was celebrated on a flight. 35 years later, and not a day older… I am back.

NOAH

Which is worse: actions of humans against humans or actions of humans against G-d? This week’s Torah portion allows us a quick comparison: Noah’s generation does excessive evil against each other, while the Tower of Babel story, tells of people’s actions against G-d and of their desire to be “bigger” than Him. At the latter events, G-d semi-smiles. Though saddened by the people’s idea and efforts to eliminate Him from their lives, He is confident enough about Himself and His abilities. In one “poof” He scatters everybody to different corners of the world, to live happily ever after – or not – on their own. But Noah’s generation is a different thing. The most “righteous” person who “walks with G-d” and “finds favor in Hashem’s eyes” can barely save himself and his family, and has no power – or interest – to save anyone else, ending up in a dull destruction of everyone, even the animals and plants who were left outside the ark.

Perhaps the Torah tells us that a world where people have “issues” with G-d, is manageable, but a world where people carelessly harm each other, is not worth keeping.

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The word for ark in this story, teiva, appears in the whole Bible only in two contexts; here and in the story of “baby Moses”. In both cases, a teiva is a life saving vessel, floating on the water (not a boat or basket-) and its purpose is survival rather than arrival somewhere. Interestingly, in Hebrew, the word teiva can also be used for “word” or syllable (as in rashei teivot). This would mean that G-d invites Noah to come into the “word”.

Which word is G-d inviting Noah into?

G-d’s name is yod, heh, vav, heh. Yod = 10; Heh = 5; Vav = 6; Heh = 5.

5X10=50

5X6=30

5X6X10 =300

What are these numbers? A fun coincidence: these are the measurements of the ark:

וְזֶ֕ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר תַּֽעֲשֶׂ֖ה אֹתָ֑הּ שְׁלֹ֧שׁ מֵא֣וֹת אַמָּ֗ה אֹ֚רֶךְ הַתֵּבָ֔ה חֲמִשִּׁ֤ים אַמָּה֙ רָחְבָּ֔הּ וּשְׁלֹשִׁ֥ים אַמָּ֖ה קוֹמָתָֽהּ׃

This is how you shall make it: the length of the ark shall be three hundred cubits, its width fifty cubits, and its height thirty cubits.

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On Rosh Hashana we say that G-d remembers Noah with love. G-d has a lot of issues with Noah. Noah is far from perfect. He “finds favor”, which means, some of his bad qualities were overlooked. But he was saved. Indeed, remembering someone is – love.

Shabbat Shalom.