Torah & more… תורה ועוד

Summer days in Jerusalem: There are just not enough senses to take it all in. The unique scenery stretches ever which way — the pinkish hills, stone houses, people of every color, clothing of every material and shape imaginable. Then you close your eyes, and the sounds engulf you — honks, shouts, laughs, music, conversations, prayers in every language and the wind in the trees, just before dawn.

It’s been told that Helen Keller was asked which of her senses she would rather have if she could choose, hearing or seeing. If chas vechalila (God forbid) we had to choose, which would we opt for?

The Torah, especially in the Book of Deuteronomy, constantly juggles between hearing and seeing. “Hear, oh Israel!” is our famous mantra. The Mishnah, likewise, opens its sections with ta shema, come and listen. On the other hand, the Zohar, the book of mysticism, calls on us to pook chazi, go out and observe, and this week’s Torah portion is Re’eh, or “see”: “See, I set before you today the blessing and the curse” (Deuteronomy 11:26). As we will learn, each word in this opening sentence is critical.

Like the other portions in Deuter­onomy, this one is packed with many topics, including a repetition and expansion on kosher laws; the obligation to give tzedakah and not forget how we treat those less fortunate; special laws regarding the land of Israel, the pilgrimage festivals and much more. Throughout it all, we’re told to use our senses so we can choose the correct path.

Re’eh, as noted, begins with the Hebrew word for “see,” conjugated in second person singular and the command form: You — look! But immediately after, the pronoun “you” appears in the word lifnechem, “before you,” this time in second person plural. Rashi, the 11th-century commentator, says this interchange comes to teach us that many are like one, and one is like many. What does that mean?

All of the Jewish people are likened to the body of one human being. Each organ in this body has its own importance and uniqueness, but it still can’t function properly without the others. Similarly, each one of us needs another, and all of us need the community to live a full Jewish life. Lifelong seclusion and detachment is not our ideal. Who would we talk, complain, argue, laugh and share with? While taking time off in various ways is welcome, the purpose should be to return to society as a better person rather than staying away forever in a remote cave.

There is one other significant word that hides in the first verse of this week’s portion: “See, I set before you today” (11:26). Lest we say, “I can’t do this,” or “This was given so long ago, it’s outdated and irrelevant,” or “Me, choose? I’ve already done so many transgressions, there is no hope for me.” Therefore the verse says, today. Each day should be new in our eyes to start on the journey, one day at a time.

The back and forth in this one verse among present, past and future, between the one and many, between hearing and seeing, runs throughout Judaism. We have a way of life that is thousands of years old and deeply rooted in its history. Daily prayers mention our forefathers and the Temple of old; we spend time studying our past.

One might think we’re all about ancient history. And yet, in the words of Mark Twain in his essay “Concerning the Jews”: “The Jew … is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and aggressive mind.” We are a forward-looking people. We sing about hatikvah, the hope. We have our feet in the past and the future at the same time!

Helen Keller said she would prefer to hear, because seeing is connected to outward, superficial, materialistic things, while listening is internal, lasting and much less subject to influences.

I’ve always liked this distinction, but despite its validity, the Torah rejects the temptation to “take sides.” Indeed, while our Torah portion begins with a call to see, the next verse immediately states: “The blessing that you may listen … and the curse, if you do not listen…”

Indeed, nothing is either/or. More than anything, the Torah prescribes a way of life that advocates balance and well-being.

In Pirkei Avot (5:25) we find, “turn her, turn her, everything is in her” – הפוך בה, הפוך בה, הכל בה. We knew this theory before coming to Pardes, but feeling it on an almost daily basis for the last three weeks has been a whole different story. Perhaps there is no better place to see this in action, than in this week’s Torah.

This Parasha includes the words “ve’achalta vesavata uverachta” – “and you’ll eat, and you’ll be satisfied and you’ll bless” (Deuteronomy 8:10), which provides the foundation for Birkat Hamazon, and for many of us in Talmud with Zvi this often overly familiar blessing will never be the same. The immediate practical implications came in handy when some us went for falafel at lunch and were joined by a stranger just because he wanted to be part of zimun. If we doubted the messages and cross-class connections until the last minute, Tova-Leah last class about relationship used Birkat Hamazon as prime proof text for being present.

The parasha is part of Moshe’s farewell speech, and we examined his leadership with new eyes in Alex’s class. The opening words are, vehaya ekev, a difficult phrase to translate, but regardless of midrashim and Rashi, ekev – shares its root with Ya’akov, and in Chasidut we learned that Ya’akov, Jacob, is the story of every person; our need to journey away in order to grow and be able to return with greater understanding to the home base. And, because he is each one of us, his other name – Yisra’el doesn’t quite stick, unlike others who went through a name change: for example, once Abram is called Abraham, and Sarai – Sarah – their name never changes back, but Jacob, like us, constantly travels the stretch between earthly existence and the Divine aspirations. In the parasha our chavruta noticed it when, though we begin with ekev, later we read, “shma Yisra’el” and also “va’ata Yisra’el ma hashem elokeicha doresh me’imach”. By the way, as fitting to the Chasidut class, we opted not to punctuate this verse. After all, is it really “ve’ata Yisrael! Ma hashem…?” OR – “ve’ata Yisrael ma? Hashem…”

It turns out that Ekev holds another recent hero. Said Noam, said Lotem per Yafa’s Talmud class: Akiva is Jacob’s Aramaic name- with the alef at the end. In hachi nami (yes, this too), Akiva also was a shepherd and married a Rachel, who waited for him for a long time.

Akiva is also the one who enters the Pardes is peace and comes out in peace. I was wondering if one of the reasons for the tragic outcome of their journey is the fact that we read about “arab’a who entered a Pardes” – four, as in four separate individuals, rather than “one group”, or “chavruta”. In our own Pardes, we saw over these three weeks that chavruta may enter where no individual wants to find him/herself – alone, and emerge not only safely but supportive, and therefore stronger and smiling. Indeed, more than anything we were reminded over these weeks about the power of relationship: internally, with ourselves; horizontally, with others around us; vertically, with our past and future; and with G-d whom we sometimes called “Bigness” because at the end of all the words, we learned that we don’t know what we’re talking about… Like in the parasha, we too were introduced to a new Land, which God inquires (doresh) of always, demonstrating a relationship not only with people but with the location and space around us. Personally I was especially honored to learn Torah with two of my children, which is kind of like being in Sinai. Then again, Sinai is in the parahsa too.

May we all have a Shabbat Shalom and may we meet again somewhere on the derech J

Shul is a wonderful thing. When you’re done fighting the ‘why am I supposed to be here’ and the ‘but I don’t believe in all this stuff…’, you realize that on many days, it’s not about any of this; it’s just a place to take a break and sit quietly for a few moments soaked in the hum around, letting things happen.

So this Shabbat, once again, I read about the daughters of Tzlofchad. We know the story: five, we assume young women, daughters of a man from the tribe of Menashe, pose a question to Moses: Their father died during the journey from Egypt and left no sons. They are about to enter the Land, where each male head of family will receive an inheritance, but they will not inherit, and their father’s name will be lost.

Moses doesn’t answer but rather, approaches God to get a clarification, and God agrees with the girls: ken bnot tzlofchad dovrot, naton titen lahem achuzat nachala… and sets a specific law going forward: if there is no son, then the daughters will inherit the father. If there are no daughters, then the land goes to the man’s brothers, uncles, or the nearest keen. (Numbers 27:1-11).

I read it again, and again, and then noticed an obvious detail I didn’t pay much attention to before. The daughter “stood before Moses, and before El’azar the priest (Aaron’s son) and before the leaders and the whole congregation at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting”, and it puzzled me, why did they go to Moses? I mean, they were orphans, which means their status wasn’t high, as there was no one to stand up for them, and they dependent on the community for food, and possibly shelter. They were women, asking for rights women until then never had. Ok, so they had an idea about what’s right. They should have gone to an uncle, or their grandfather – the lineage is all spelled out; and if one of them can’t help – maybe, maybe dare and go to the tribe’s leader.

But to Moses?! Even the Hebrew verb “vatikravna” – and they approached. I can see them coming, with their long dresses, heads wrapped in scarves, slowly they walk, hesitating, maybe giggling with each other: to ask or not ask? you ask! no, you ask! or maybe one of them, ignoring it all, marching straight forward to the tent of meeting, demanding an answer as the other huddle around.

I have to think that they didn’t wake up one morning and walked up to the Tent of Meeting, the place of the korbanot, the shchina, where God speaks to Moses, just because. I imagine that they listened to the speeches about the upcoming entry to the land and the division of the inheritance, and hoped that someone will notice them and their unique situation. But no one did. Maybe they raised the issue, whispering to each other at night, confiding in a relative – who shrugged, who said, ‘so sorry, that’s the way it is’, and didn’t take their case further.

And maybe they didn’t give up and brewed on it a little longer. And they hoped the tribe’s leaders will hear them. After all, Moses set up a hierarchical system, per Jethro’s advice, exactly for cases like this! Everyone should have had someone to talk to about legal matters, about disputes, about law; and if that person didn’t know the answer, he should have consulted his mentor, until finally, we would have heard about this because Joshua – or an elder – brought it before Moses. How did the girls get in the middle of this? That must have been so against procedures and protocol!!

But Moses turns around and – with the same verb used just a few verses earlier for the daughters, vayakrev – brings their case in front of God. He realizes they have a point, and without changing it or its energy – take up the case to Someone who can decide what needs to be done about it.

To the people he brings God’s words, mitzvoth, chukim, mishpatim; to God – he brings the people’s complaints, ideas, hopes and wishes. Even more than the brave daughters, this story highlights Moses, and this week I especially miss him.

When Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the precious tablets and saw the Golden Calf, he realized something had to be done. Carefully and ever so gently, he handed the tablets over the Joshua, his right-hand man who waited for him patiently and silently at the bottom of the steep climb. He then trotted over to the elders, greeted them all politely, and motioned to Aaron to come have a private moment with him. “Hey Aaron”, said the young brother, “What’s up? I really had a marvelous time up there. The view is mashehu-mashehu, maybe we should take on that peak together someday. How have things been here? I hear there is a party. And I think I saw an idol, well, I don’t want to make any false accusations, but you know me, kinda-of a stickler with the idol issue and don’t know if I’m very comfortable with it. I mean, if that is what it is. Any chance we can schedule a time to talk about it? Pencil us in for lunch next week between the korbanot”?

If this is not the story you remember from the Torah, or Midrashic literature– it’s because it’s not there.

We all know what happened. Moses Came down, saw the calf, smashed the tablets, ground the gold and mixed it in the water which was given to the people. Then there was also a massacre and an intense debate with G-d about whether there should be a Jewish people at all or not.

What if the Torah followed the Golden Calf incident with a Moses who “wants to talk about it” rather than a totally angry, out-there Moses? The calf would be there, but chances are we would not comprehend the weight of the act. Moses’ exhibition of great emotions, in this case great anger, conveys to us that things are serious. It is his reaction that makes us get the severity of what just happened. Had we had a well-measured lecture about the issue, we would have been asleep after the first 5 minutes. If fact, we did receive earlier information in the form of the commandments, but wow, until that very moment, we never thought it was that serious. Only now we really knew.

Yes, I know. the rabbis later wrote that those who succumb to anger are like idolaters, and I get that too, because anytime we lose sight of the fact that what happens to us is G-d given, and “ok” and a blessing, we are suspected of not truly believing and thus, worshiping something else. I get it. But, I also know that the rabbis who said that, lived during the time of the Romans, and getting angry with the Romans around was not pretty and not recommended. Further: I often use the rule (self-made?) that “the commentary teaches us more about the commentator than about the issue”, and therefore, I’m going to take this particular teaching of theirs re anger with a grain of salt, especially since we have quite the emotional bunch throughout the Torah, not only Moses and others, but G-d Himself too.

Which brings me back home.

My recent piece, “40 Plus and Screwed” got various feedbacks, mostly very positive which I appreciate and hope we can develop further (coming up). Some however opted to focus on “the tone”. “She sounds like an angry woman”, wrote someone, “she should have used different words”. I know it was raw, open, crude. But then, would it been heard otherwise?

We are also told in the Talmud that

בשלושה דברים אדם ניכר – בכוסו ובכיסו ובכעסו. ואמרי ליה: אף בשחקו

“A person is recognized in his cup (drinking), pocket (giving) and anger, and some say, in his laughter (playfulness or free time)”. I used to be told that this is about how we behave during these times, how we act when we drink, or when we’re angry. But an explanation I like much better is, that this is about who we are through these 3 (4) things: What do we drink for? What do we spend our money on? What makes us angry? What makes us laugh, or better yet: what do we do with our free time?

The bottom line is, We’re not told to not be angry, just wonder, what is it that gets to us. We’re allowed to have our emotions, which yes, we enjoy the longer we live and the longer we can be who we are, if nothing else because we are created in G-d’s image, and He, thank G-d, had lots of these Himself.

Where is the line, then, between venting, expressing, opening up issues, and between it becoming inappropriate and harmful on one hand, or being feared, stifled and silenced on the other? Obviously, if anyone has been hurt by what I wrote recently, then I haven’t quite figured it out. So I think it’s worth another conversation: can we afford anger? Can we afford being emotional? And then again, can we afford not to?