Torah & more… תורה ועוד

I do not like TV, and there is no nice way to say it. yes, I know here and there, there are good shows, but on the whole… Last night, I wrote down what commercials we’re bombarded with in a supposedly 30 minutes show (really 20+). Depending on the hour, it might include – cars, internet service (“it’s good for your kids’ homework”, said in a squeaky voice), clothing (young kids around 7pm; cool high schoolers around 9:30pm), vacations, more cars, more “stuff” (“you can’t cook with this oven”), of course beauty products (if you use this shampoo, you’ll look like her) and even the joys of gambling.
I’ve trained my family to turn off the sound during commercials which sometimes, when I’m lucky, extends into the programs. Then I can examine only what we see. Alternatively, sometimes I sit with my back to the screen and treat the programs as if this is a radio. Try it: each one comes with its own oy as to what we’re exposed to day in and day out.
The Book of Deuteronomy continuously juggles between shma and re’e, listen and see, the two main senses we use to absorb the outside world. This week, our focus is on our eye sight.
We’re often not aware of the power of our eyes. We drive along and all of a sudden think, how did I get here… we read a full page, then realize, we don’t know what it says. The opposite happens too: we see things we don’t intend to, and those, undoubtedly, have an effect on us. Last night, along with my TV experiments, I tried to be a “good” and caring citizen and watched the news. I confess, usually I don’t and last night I remembered why. Who can sleep after watching bombing, a beheading, abuse, threats, death caused by an avalanche (in Tilden Park!), dangerous animals, drought, fires, bad weather and on and on. Makes one wonder, what do we use our eyes for?
Interesting, at the end of this week’s Torah portion, we’re told about aspects of the kosher laws (which animals we can eat). It hints that just as we choose what to put inside our stomachs, we should watch what we feed our eyes. One of the non-kosher birds is the ra’a (with an alef, spelled like re’e). We have a teaching that the forbidden animals are forbidden because of their internal qualities which we do not want to imbue. The Talmud says about the ra’a that, being a prey bird, “it stands in Babylon and sees a carcass in the Land of Israel”. This is the Talmud’s way of warning us from those times when we’re confused (Babylon, Bavel, related to the root for bilbul, confused) and we criticize things we don’t understand from afar. Simplistically, it can be “us” outside of Israel misunderstanding what’s going on there, but this goes way beyond the current “matzav” and politics, and is largely about any such situation where we hasten to condemn things we don’t fully understand. The eyes’ have the danger is being superficial, as opposed to the ears, which are more internal.
It is interesting to look into where the verb “lir’ot”, to see appears in the Torah. The first is G-d who checks what he created and “sees that it is very good” (Genesis 1:30). There are those who say that G-d did not just “see” the world like we would, but that He put the power to see the world as a complete, full picture. It is easier for us to see the world in separate, often unrelated pieces, but creation was one and we are called to see it as such.
A couple of other places to note the verb “lir’ot”: when Abraham took Isaac to the akeda, it says he “saw the place from afar” (Genesis 22:4). The midrash says that he asked Isaac what he sees, and Isaac said he saw a pillar of fire stretching from heaven to earth atop the mountain. Then he asked his servants, who said they saw nothing. Hence he said to them, “sit here (and wait) with the donkey” (22:5). Donkey in Hebrew is chamor, from the same root as chomer, materialism. Seeing then had nothing to do with what objectively was ahead; but with what was inside each one. This is not the only place where the Torah suggests that seeing a matter of choice; a matter of what’s in one’s heart (check Number 15:39).
And on the other hand, at the height of our closeness to G-d, at the Giving of the Torah, it says: “and all the people see the sounds”… We didn’t hear the sounds, but saw them. There was no separation. We were one and our senses were one.
And last favorite voice on this: Sforno, the Italian commentator of the early 1500’s, says that re’e here is a serious warning: “see, I set before you blessing and curse” – two opposite extremes. You might think, says Sforno, that there are more options in between, but don’t be fooled. There aren’t. The in-between is already a curse. The good news is that the choice is ours. Therefore, we don’t need to “hope” to see a blessing come our way. Just like we choose our food and even music, we can choose to see it, pursue it and thus bring it into our lives.
Shabbat Shalom.

Just today the U.S. Senate approved another aid package for Israel’s Iron Dome, and a UN representative immediately asked what about Iron Dome for the people in Gaza.  Well, well. Under the “twin siblings’ phenomena”, whatever mom gives the one child, she must right away give the other one too. If not, he might throw a tantrum and then who knows.
Don’t get me wrong: I wish there is a way to avoid civilian casualties in Gaza, but guess what, there is a way! Hamas can get its people out of harms ways. It can also stop threatening, stocking on ammunition, bombing, kidnapping, etc etc, and the shelling by Israel is likely to stop asap. As for the UN, I can’t help wondering if all things are equal, will they send aid for Israel so we too can build some explosive tunnels? Or maybe they want to send us an expert hijacker to help us kidnap a Hamas fighter?
I used to say, ‘I don’t buy skirts for my boys’, and people would look at me funny, as if dah… ? but so it goes: We often hear the saying, ‘it takes two to tango’, and yes, it does. But it does not take identical two. Each has different character, different values, different aspirations and thus different needs (which, by the way, are different from wants!). Failure to note that is at best overly simplistic and naïve,and right now more like stupid and dangerous.
Dr. Yair Caspi in his excellent article “The Secret Card of the Hamas” talks about what Israel contributes to the prolonged mess, echoing famous words of humorist Ephrayim Kishon (drawn by cartoonist Dosh): Slicha Shenitzachnu, So sorry We Won.
Accordingly, “the “secret” card Hamas has against us is the information it gets daily that Israel is not interested in conquering Gaza… it is our attitude towards this war like to any other deal: we want to know first what will we get and how much will it cost… We say out loud we don’t want to rule 1.8 million Palestinians in Gaza, even though we might have to, and even though this option might be much more humane than bombing Gaza from the air… (but) ever since the Six Days War we don’t fight to win; we fight to gain time, to fix broken cease fires… Zionism has grown fat and spoiled… we lost our inner truth, the one we so desperately need to navigate reality”.
Moshe in this week’s opening of the Book of Deuteronomy warns us about what happens when we forget that inner truth. Tradition has it that this is the last month of his life, and he will talk to us about everything that transpired with some frustration, very few regrets and a lot of love. Moses in this book seems to me like the parent walking his child to the bus stop on the youngster’s way to his own life. The child, half listening, barely grasping what the parent is trying to say, is eager to get going and be swept to the new, exciting future; the father, slowing down, dragging them back, takes another breath, repeating his words. Again.
Moshe speaks in the other side of the Jordan, at the entrance to the Land of Israel, like talking at the door to one’s home. Now the Land of Israel will take priority, so it’s important that we learn why we are going there. Not because it’s the emptiest or cheapest piece of dirt, nor because it is the greenest or the most desired tourists attraction, but because we have a job to do and, for many reasons, this is our place to do it. This job has been paraphrased before: to be a light unto the nations; to improve the world in accordance with certain values and ideals. It is a hard enough task, and it should leave us no time for wars, casualties, cemeteries, hospitals, endless pain and on and on. The latter just derails us from what we’re suppose to do. If anything, I am most angry that we allow the “teasers” to grab us. We win Nobel Prizes in creativity but in Gaza, we do what we’ve always done and what has never worked (I’m aging…), sending our best and finest to fight an impossible battle rather than implement creative solutions like, for example, flooding the tunnels with salty sewage water (not my idea, but I find it worth considering). It makes me want to scream!
Once upon a time, back in the 1960‘s, 70’s and 80’s, before the first Intifada, Gaza was a favorite tourist spot for many Israelis. The beaches are beautiful, the humus is delicious, the car repair shops are cheaper, the markets have great deals and you can negotiate in shekels, and in Hebrew. Throughout history, worse enemies, stretched across unbelievably tough borders, eventually made peace. Hopefully, one day, and not too far, we will be able to do so too.

Shabbat Shalom.

 When you’re on the road, time changes shapes and forms. It’s easy to lose count of days. Weeks seem like days. Days seem like weeks. One travels far in order to say, this looks like somewhere else’, said Yehuda Amichai. “It’s Monday”, we say, “so this must be Portland”; and also “it’s Portland so it must be Monday”…

It’s been more than three weeks since I started my current adventure, tour guiding with a group of teens through the Western States. In the day, we visit beautiful sites, trying to see more and more; in the evenings we review where we’ve been: “We traveled from point A to point B, and here is what we learned”.

The Torah (Num. 33:1-49) sets out a similar list of the stages of the Israelites’ route: “They journeyed from X and camped at Y”, over and over again. It’s poetic, and the effect heightens the tension and increased anticipation between being somewhere, settling down, unpacking, letting stuff scatter around the room, and getting to know a place, and between the endless urge to travel on, to see more, to check out what’s “behind the river bend”, to dream with the views passing by the bus window. The Torah could have just listed a long list of places, but it pauses at each site, as if to say, everywhere we stop at life has meaning to the journey.

Finally the journey draws to a close, and G-d tells Moses: “Take possession of the Land and settle in it, for I have given you the land to possess it” (33:53). According to Nachmanides, this is the source of the command to dwell in the land of Israel and inherit it. The end of the Book of Numbers emphasizes what we already know, that the Land is central to who we are.

The whole story has been about the promise and the journey to this place, and yet, the paradox of Jewish history is that though a specific piece of land is at its heart, Jews have spent more time in the diaspora than in Israel; more time longing and praying for it than dwelling in it; more time travelling than arriving. Much of the Jewish story could be written in the language of the closing Torah portion: “They journeyed from X and camped at Y”.

As Rabbi Sacks puts it (I think it’s he who said this. I found it in my notes unnamed and it’s too good to be me -): “On one hand, the G-d of everywhere can be found anywhere. He is not confined to this people, that place… He exercises His power in Egypt, in Nineveh, in Babylon. There is no place in the universe where He is not. On the other hand, it must be impossible to live fully as a Jew outside Israel, for if not, Jews would not have been commanded to go there initially, or to return subsequently”.

The sages shared two seemingly contradictory ideas. They said, “Wherever the Israelites went into exile, the Divine presence was exiled with them” (Mekhilta, Bo, 14). And they also said, “One who leaves Israel to live elsewhere is as if he had no G-d.” (Ketubot 110b).

Can one find G-d, serve G-d, experience G-d, outside the holy land? Yes. And – No. If the answer was only yes, there would be no incentive to return. If the answer was only no, there would be no reason to stay Jewish in exile. On this tension, Jewish existence is built.

This is highlighted when the two and a half tribes decide to stay on the other side of the Jordan. Moses eventually gave in to their request and allowed them to stay where pastures were greener but only when they agreed that should the people in the Land need help, they will be there for their brethren. Not that Moses had many choices, but what he set in place, is also etched into us.

This is what happens even on our bus, when 13 and 14 year olds show me their Jerusalem Post ap and updates regarding the “matzav” (current situation) in Israel. To paraphrase an old saying, you can take someone out of Israel, but you might not be able to take Israel out of them.

Just before Shabbat, we arrived at Zion National Park. “The settlers who came here named it after the Biblical Land”, says the shuttle driver by rote, but everybody in the group grows two more inches. “This is us”, calls one of the teens, proudly. This is us.

Shabbat Shalom.

Whoever divided this and last week’s Torah portion must be the spiritual great, great grandparent of modern day suspense movies. Last week, we left the Children of Israel in the middle of a turmoil. After Bil’am’s failure to curse the people, he advises king Balak to get the girls of Midyan and Mo’av to seduce the Israelite men and entice them to idol worship. There is a party, followed by a plague. Moses is confused at the scene, waiting for G-d’s instructions. As he’s trying to make the senseless sensible, Zimri, the leader of the tribe of Shimeon, approaches wrapped around one of the Midyanite princesses provocatively. The Midrash fills in for us what happened, accordingly, Zimri says to Moses, ‘you have a problem with this? Why, but you yourself took a Midyanite woman to be your wife! You can’t chastise us!’

Moses is dumbfounded, but Pinchas whose training has been in Temple matters, grabs a sword and skews both Zimri and his lady, Kozbi together. They die; the plague stops; last week’s parsha – ends and everybody takes a very deep breath.

Because the Torah wants to keep us hanging and leave us unclear: is Pinchas going to be named a hero or a dangerous lunatic?

G-d awards Pinchas the brit shalom, a covenant of peace. Pinchas, declares G-d, did the right thing for “he has turned My wrath away from the Children of Israel, as he was very jealous for My sake among them” (Numbers 25:11).

What is it about Pinchas, the grandson of Aaron, a high priest who engages in bloodshed, that merits this special brit shalom? Some say maybe because of the last two words in the above verse: “among them”. Pinchas did what he did, not for personal gain, but for the sake of the people and their wellbeing. Others suggested we should note the missing spelling of the word “shalom” (sh.l.m. – without a vav): Pinchas gets a covenant but it’s a onetime thing. Complete peace comes from a life filled with kindness, not one brief act. And perhaps, it is because he saw himself as personally obligated to sanctifying G-d’s name, not hiding behind greater leaders who here stood by silently. So often we pretend the commandments are said to an amorphous “everybody” and that “somebody” will do it. Pinchas knew better. He assumed responsibility. What a mensch.

Modern fanatics like to align themselves with Pinchas. And yet, from the somewhat forced explanations we can sense that the rabbis were not comfortable and definitely did not want to encourage this kind of behavior, and that they struggled to understand Pinchas and his reward. True, there are situations when there is no time; when one needs to act quickly and swiftly; when life must be scarified, but this is very (very!) rare and not our role model. We value life and its gifts. Therefore, they created a break between last week and this week. They also taught that even on years when we combine Torah sections due to changes in the calendar (as is the case in a leap year), the Torah portion of Pinchas is always read by itself. The zealots, they told us, might only very rarely be right in their actions, but let us be extra careful with it, and generally stay away from them and their ways.

Towards the end of the parasha, we meet Moses again, explaining how the land should be divided among the tribes, allocating it to men and their sons. Five sisters approach him: “Our father died in the desert… and left no sons. Why should the name of our father be done away from among his family, (just) because he had no son? Give unto us a (land) inheritance among the brethren of our father.’” (Numbers 27:1-11).

What would Moses do? Draw his sword? Hasten with a quick ruling? No. Instead, Moses “brought their case before G-d” (27:5), and G-s “uses it” to highlight an exception: “yes, the daughters of Tzlofchad are correct; you shall surely give them a possession of an inheritance among their father’s brethren” (27:7).

What if Moses acted like Pinchas, shooting from the hip, and what if Pinchas paused hesitatingly, submitting debatable legal questions to G-d? And mostly we want to know, we need to know, for us: which is which in our own life?

I think the Torah tells us that life is more complex and nuanced that what we think; that no matter how many laws, there is always going to be something that was not covered in the original material; something that will demand of us to stay awake, and make our own good choices.

Shabbat Shalom.

(published in jweetly.com)

A whole nation held her breath for 18 days, hopeful. “To be a realist in Israel, one must believe in miracles”, said Israel’s first primeminister David Ben Gurion, and this is how we grow up, this is what we teach: the worst can happen, but always remain “hopeful”. What is hope, this fragile line between reality and delusion?

In Hebrew, tikva, hope – and the name of Israel’s national anthem – comes from the same root as mikveh, the spiritual water pool. The same root is used in the description of the 2^nd day of creation – yikavu hamayim, let the water gather. The root k.v.h. therefore, implies, not a mere fantasy, but a purposeful gathering of energy. We hold on to it even when we know chances are slim.

Being under attack – sucks, but is nothing new. Already thirty five hundred years ago, our enemies devised different tricky plans to “get us”. A fearful and evil king. A wise yet greedy magician. Then as now, we are not bullet proof. Having faith or a special way of life doesn’t provide insurance that something bad won’t happen; it doesn’t shield us from pain, from vulnerabilities, from horrible events and terrible heartache. We are human. We get hurt. We can’t take every hit. But then, somehow we get up. The fact that we’ve been able to do so, gives us that hope, that purposeful energy to go on.

I’m on route to Mount Rainier National Park as we speak, spending this month tour guiding a Jewish youth group through the U.S. Western States. Needless to say, it’s beautiful. But the trip is not just about beauty. It’s a leadership program and therefore our itinerary includes working with a nature consortium and environmental organizations, getting our hands in the dirt (literally) and opening our minds to how we can make a positive difference in the world around us.

One of our stops was at the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Remember Tevya “If I were a rich man”? It’s fun to play a game of what would I do if I had a million, two, 10, 100. We usually think about all the things we’d like to do and get – mostly for ourselves, and at best, our nearest and dearest. What if we saw everybody as part of us, thereby realizing what we have / want is enough? Looking to care for others?

Bill Gates had a dream: to make computers accessible to all. Then he realized that while this is starting to happen, there are also still people in the world with no clean water to drink, no good medicine, no useable, healthy toilets. In dismay he noticed that the dream to connect people, might pull them apart. The experience made them come in touch with some of the gravest pain in the world. It’s the point where most people would stop and turn away because it hurts too much.

But as they share, they went after the pain, after what is lacking. Rather than turning away, they felt that davka where there is pain, there is an opportunity for positive action. Being at their foundation, is a truly inspiring stop.

It’s easy to get discouraged. It’s easy to become enraged. The Torah, never blind to the existence of evil, asks us to refocus. And in this week’s reading, the haftara, the section from the prophet Micha 6:1-8, also offers a different route. “For it’s been told to you, oh human, what G-d demands from you: to do justice, and loving kindness, and walk humbly with your G-d”.

“Katonti”’ said Jacob, “I’m too small for all the kindness You shower me”. I don’t understand everything. I want to know why. Especially when something horrible happens, I want to know why; I need to know why!

But turns out, why is not my question. Of course, I can ask it, but it will only take me so far. My question is – what. What can I do about it; what can I do at all; what is my task.

“Vehatzne’a lechet”, walk humbly, Micha’s words, was the motto of my school. It’s all that mattered. There will be bad. There will be good. It’s just what it is. Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn.t At some point, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t show off. Just do what’s right. On weeks like this, that’s all we got.

Shabbat Shalom.

The midrash tells us that the first human spent his time giving names to the animals. In Hebrew, of course, and he had fun playing with the letters and roots to convey their core essence. Take for example the dog, kelev, which literally means “like a heart” (ke-lev), portraying how loyal dogs are; or the arye, the lion, whose name is made of an alef – leadership and reish – head, emphasizing its role as king of the beast.
There are animals in this Torah portion and here’s a story about one. It’s a strange story so I’m bringing the text in full (Number 21:4-9; translation from Sefaria):

What’s with the snake? I had to go back finally check what does nachash (“snake”) means. The word shares its root with “lenachesh” (to guess but also as in divination), nichush (guess, as in a game), nechoshet (copper), and Nachshon (prince o the tribe of Judah). How do all these connect??
We all remember the first snake’s appearance who introduces death to the world; not just physical death, but finality, end, stalling the flow of life; separation in the truest connection there can be.
And here?
The Children of Israel complain; their “soul is short”, but unlike other times, when their complaints have a point – there is no bread or water, and they eventually get what they ask for – here they “loath this light bread”. The bread became flavorless, meaningless. It started feeling “light” (from kal), like it’s nothing. That is to say, there is bread; it’s just not up to par. They want an upgrade, taking the good they receive for granted.
Unlike the time when Miriam was sick, this time, Moses’ prayer doesn’t help. But neither does a stick with a snake on top.
Because the nachash (snake) can be both good and bad. It stands for everything uncertain, indecisive, squiggly, hard to grasp, sneaking away. The rest of the words? Nichush, guessing – is a… well, a guess, also uncertain. Divination is unreliable and even copper – the metal this snake on the stick is made of – is an especially soft and malleable metal. What does help is the focus and looking upward. We’re asked to consciously pick up our heads, look up and attach ourselves to what is steadfast, life giving and eternal; to not let our soul be “short”; to stay focused.

Shabbat Shalom!