Which Name of God Will You Make Known?

Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2–25:9

Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

Bereisheet Rabbah, commenting on Genesis 28:11, refers to God as HaMakom—“The Place”—not merely a location, but the sacred space where heaven touches earth, where we encounter the Holy, and more than that, where we dwell with him.

In this week’s parasha, when Bil‘am exclaims, “How goodly are your tents, O Ya’akov,” he beholds more than the neat rows of Israel’s encampment. He sees a mystery unfolding before him—the quiet radiance of the Divine Presence, Shekhinah, nestled within the tents of ordinary life. In that moment, Bil‘am’s understanding of God transforms. Hashem is no longer just a transcendent Redeemer who shatters the chains of slavery, but the indwelling God who abides in the everyday, sanctifying it from within. One might even say that Bil‘am intuits a new Name of God: “The Tent of Jacob”—a God who is not only above us, but with us, and even among us. And in a twist of irony and grace, it is this name that he makes known in a blessing instead of a curse, the blessing that opens our morning prayers in the Siddur: ‘How goodly are your tents, Jacob, your dwelling places, Israel” (Num 24:5, Koren Siddur).

When Moshe stood before the burning bush, he was overwhelmed by awe and uncertainty. The voice from the flames declared: “I am the God of your forefathers, the God of Avraham, the God of Yitzhak, and the God of Ya’akov.” And then, this voice—the voice of Hashem—said something astonishing: “I have seen the plight of my people, and I am sending you.”

In that sacred moment, Moshe asked a curious question: “What if they ask me your name? What shall I say to them?”

Was Moshe ignorant of God’s name? Surely, he had heard of Elohim, El Elyon, El Shaddai. So why ask?

Ibn Ezra suggests Moshe wasn’t simply asking out of ignorance, but with a strategic pastoral concern—he wanted to know which divine name would truly resonate with the Israelites, convincing them that the God of their forefathers was still present and powerful enough to redeem them.

Ramban (Nachmanides) goes further—he says that El Shaddai would have been sufficient. But God offered something else. Something deeper. He replied, “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh”—I Am That I Am.” But like Bil‘am’s perception, Exodus Rabbah interprets this as “I have been with you in this exile, and I will be with you in all future exiles.”

It is this name—YHVH—that God ultimately gives Moshe. A name not just of identity, but of relationship and mystery. A name that speaks of covenant, of journeying together through time.

God was saying: I am the God you will come to know—not just in theory, but through experience, through history, through walking together.

As a people, we perceive God in the collective: not just an “I-Thou” but a “We-Thou.” The God of our ancestors is not merely a personal deity; he is the God revealed through covenant and community. Yet, at the same time, each of us experiences God uniquely.

That’s why Scripture speaks not just of “The God of Israel,” but names the ancestors separately: “the God of Avraham, Yitzhak, and Ya’akov.” Each encountered God differently.

Avraham met him as Adonai Yireh at Mount Moriah, when God provided a ram in place of Isaac, revealing himself as the One who sees and provides (Gen 22:14). In that moment, Avraham not only encountered divine provision but also the depth of God’s faithfulness to his promises. It was a revelation born of obedience, fear, and profound trust.

Yitzhak encountered God during a season of conflict and uncertainty. After facing repeated disputes over wells, he named the final one Rehovot, saying, “Now the Lord has made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land” (Gen 26:22). That night, God appeared and reaffirmed the covenant, and Yitzhak built an altar and called upon the name of the Lord. For Yitzhak, God was the One who brings peace after striving, the God who honors quiet faithfulness.

Ya’akov, after wrestling with the divine through the night, emerged limping but transformed. He named the place Peniel, saying, “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved” (Gen 32:30).

This continues on throughout the Torah and into the Besorah. Moshe raised a banner and named him Adonai Nissi after defeating Amalek. Gideon called him Adonai Shalom. David sang of Adonai Ro’i, the Shepherd. Hosea spoke of God as Ish—a husband. Shimon Kefa called Yeshua the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Mary Magdalene called him Rabboni, her beloved Teacher. Thomas declared, “My Lord and my God” after touching his wounds. Rav Shaul proclaimed him as the power and wisdom of God, revealed on the road to Damascus.

In the Besorah, Yeshua prays for his talmidim:

Righteous Father, the world has not known you, but I have known you, and these people have known that you sent me. I made your name known to them, and I will continue to make it known; so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I myself may be united with them. (John 17:25-26 CJB, emphasis added)

As I read that passage 30 years ago, the words leapt off the page. God whispered to my heart: “These verses are yours.”

That was my calling: to come to know God, and to make him known to others.

And, I am convinced, this is not just mine. It is our shared calling.

We are invited to seek him, to discover the Bush who quietly burns in our lives. We have to turn aside and look, as Moshe did. That means living lives of attentiveness, pursuing him through prayer, through study, through openness.

And just as Yeshua says, “I have made your name known,” we must ask: What name?

What name has God made known to you?

Sometimes the revelation of God’s name is inseparable from the revelation of our own. Avram becomes Avraham, the father of many nations; Sarai becomes Sarah, a mother of kings. Ya’akov becomes Yisrael after wrestling with God, forever marked by struggle and blessing. Shimon is renamed Kefa—the Rock upon which a community would be built. These moments are not just renamings; they are unveilings of true identity, given in the presence of the Holy One.

Each of us may carry a different name for God in our hearts—a name shaped by the path we’ve walked, the pain we’ve endured, and the grace we’ve received. For me, that name is captured in my Hebrew name, Yitzhak-Rephaiah. Rephaiah means “God has healed,” and Yitzhak means “laughter.” These are not just linguistic meanings—they are mile markers on my spiritual road. I began as someone weighed down with angst and inner wounds, but Hashem has gently rewritten my story: from a soul clenched in anguish to one able to laugh again, healed and held in divine love.

We live in a world that has not known Hashem. But we have. And now, we are called to make his name known.

So I ask you:

• Have you discovered your name for God?

• Have you discovered a new name for yourself as you have encountered the Living God?

• Have you shared that name with others?

May we turn aside to seek the quietly burning bush. May we come to know the Name that speaks to us. May we make that Name known in love. And in doing so, may we be united with Messiah Yeshua, with our brothers and sisters, and with our Beloved Father.

Bitter Water and Sweet Surrender

Parashat Chukat, Numbers 19:1–22:1

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

Parashat Chukat is one of the most enigmatic portions in the entire Torah. It seems to flow with contradiction: it begins with a mysterious ordinance, introduces a miraculous yet perplexing deliverance, and ends in what feels like a strange and tragic justice. Midrash teaches us that hidden within these paradoxes are holy lessons, if we’re willing to live with the mystery.

One way to remember the surreal themes of this portion is with a simple mnemonic: Three Children of Amram, Two Strange Cows, and a Rock with a Perpetual Stream.

Let’s begin with the two strange cows. Chukat opens with the decree of the Red Heifer—parah adumah—called not just a law of Torah, but the decree of the Torah. Why such a strange ritual? A completely red, unblemished cow, never yoked, is burned and its ashes used to purify those who have come in contact with the dead. But in a twist that reflects the whole spiritual tension of this parasha, those who prepare the waters of purification become impure themselves.

It makes no sense. And perhaps that’s the point.

The Sages tell us that this is the ultimate chok—a decree from God that defies rationality. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, when questioned by a Roman official about this rite, offered a quasi-scientific response about removing unclean spirits. But when his own disciples questioned him, he admitted the truth: “The dead do not defile, and the ashes do not purify. It is a decree of the King of Kings. We are not to question.”

Still, the sages tried to interpret. One tradition connects the Red Heifer to the Golden Calf. Just as a mother cleans up after her child, so the red heifer atones for the sin of the golden calf. And why a female animal? Precisely because she represents care, nurture, and sacrificial purity—responding to an earlier failure with a new redemptive act.

This is not the only paradox in the portion. The Talmud in tractate Niddah reflects that just as Torah forbids blood as food, yet a mother’s blood becomes milk to nourish her child, so too the process of purification is not always clean. Sometimes, holiness requires us to step into the mess. Sometimes, like the priests who prepare the ashes, we must become defiled in order to bring healing to others.

That brings us to the three children of Amram: Moses, Aaron, and Miriam.

Numbers 20 begins with Miriam’s death and ends with the fateful moment when Moses and Aaron strike the rock at Meribah—an act that costs them entry into the Promised Land (Num 20:12). These three siblings are called parnassim tovim, good and faithful leaders. Yet their lives reflect the paradox of the Red Heifer: they endure personal loss, sacrifice, and even divine rebuke, not for their own sin alone, but also to serve as atonement for the people.

The Midrash teaches that Yocheved, their mother, outlives them all. Since her children were the spiritual parents of Israel, it’s as if she becomes the matriarch to 600,000 souls who enter the land. There’s something deeply moving in this image—of lives lived not for personal fulfillment but for national redemption.

Then we come to the rock with the perpetual stream.

The aggadic tradition tells us that in Miriam’s merit, a miraculous rock followed the Israelites, gushing fresh water throughout their journey in the wilderness. It wasn’t just a miracle—it was a companion. A symbol of divine grace, unearned and ever-present. This rock, touched by Miriam’s faith and the echo of the Nile where she placed her baby brother, flowed with twelve streams—one for each tribe. Trees and flowers grew along its banks. Wherever Israel went, it followed.

When Miriam died, the water stopped. And in their thirst, the people complained bitterly. God told Moses to speak to the rock—but instead, Moses struck it. Twice. The sages say that only a drop came out at first. And when Moses struck again, it gushed blood. The people cried, “God is no longer with us!” Even the rock cried out, “Why have you struck me?” God wept too, saying, “You were meant to speak gently and lead with compassion. You were meant to teach faith, not provoke doubt.”

And then God healed the rock and commanded it to bring forth water again. The blood on the desert sand turned into roses, and the water reflected their color.

The Apostle Paul, Rav Shaul, seems to echo this tradition when he writes: “They all drank from the same spiritual drink, for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them—and that rock was Messiah” (1 Corinthians 10:4).

Just as water flowed from the rock, Paul sees in Messiah the ultimate paradox: the stone rejected becomes the source of life. God brings purification through a suffering servant, blessing through blood, resurrection through surrender.

This portion, with all its riddles, asks us to trust that God’s ways are not always meant to be deciphered. Like Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, we may give a polite answer to the world—but among ourselves, we embrace the mystery.

And yet, we are not passive. We act. We serve. We do mitzvot, even when we don’t understand them fully. Because through them, we draw near. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel put it best: “Perhaps the essential message of Judaism is that in doing the finite, we may perceive the infinite.”

It is in these strange, often small acts—kindness, service, observance, forgiveness—that we encounter the divine. We don’t have to solve the mystery to stand in awe of it. We just have to live faithfully within it.

So let us not seek only to understand. Let us also do. Let us speak to the rock rather than strike it. Let us draw sweetness from the bitter, water from stone, and light from ashes.

And may the Rock of our salvation, the One who follows us even when we forget him, continue to lead us with mystery, mercy, and grace.

Rebellion and Its Cure

Parashat Korach , Numbers 16:1-18:32

James Burling, US Navy Chaplain, Kehilat Ariel, San Diego

I'm honored to bring light through the word this week as global tensions continue to rise, particularly in Israel and the Middle East. As a chaplain in the US Navy, it's my duty to orient our warfighters toward God, despite the disorienting conditions that we face.   

This week's Torah portion opens with the Korach rebellion.

Now Korah, son of Izhar son of Kohath son of Levi, and sons of Reuben—Dathan and Abiram, sons of Eliab, and On son of Peleth—rose up against Moses and took 250 men from Bnei-Yisrael, men of renown who had been appointed to the council. They assembled against Moses and Aaron. They said to them, “You’ve gone too far! All the community is holy—all of them—and Adonai is with them! Then why do you exalt yourselves above the assembly of Adonai?” (Numbers 16:1-3)

Korach is of the priestly lineage along with Aaron, the high priest; both are Levites, sons of Levi. Korach along with some other chieftains, particularly from the tribe of Reuben, seek to confront and remove Moses from his position. This rebellious entourage of men seek to thrust themselves into positions for the sake of power, fame, and influence. From the beginning of creation, starting with Adam and Eve’s rebellion in the garden, rebellion has not yielded any positive outcomes, and this event is no exception.

It might seem rather hypocritical for an American to speak out against rebellion. After all, my nation's founding was predicated on rebellion against our British rulers. American colonists considered this justified because of undue taxation and seized the opportunity for independence. The preamble of the United States Constitution declares that such rebellion was necessary to create a more perfect union. In comparison, the Korach account shows us God's affirmation of His elect prophet Moses and disallows this rebellious action of Korach. 

A question that we should ask is this: did Korach and his rebel leaders seek or warrant a "More perfect union" with God than they already had? The early exchanges in Numbers 16 between Moses and Korach show us that the Levites, including Korach, were given a significant ministerial office as priestly laborers who regularly witnessed the interaction with the Glory of the Lord in the Tabernacle.  

We aren't told what Korach’s thoughts were that triggered his motivation for rebellion, but we can observe that he was discontented with God over what he was given. We aren't told if Korach prayed at all, but the text does indicate that he mounted accusers and accusations against Moses, so slander and gossip likely took place before the rebellious confrontation.  Note that Korach's discontentment is much like Cain's discontentment in the Genesis account in chapter 4 and how his rebellion played out.  

King David wrote in the opening of the 23rd Psalm “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want.” Not wanting or "Lo echsar" roughly translates to not perceiving oneself as lacking or suffering a decrease. Korach found himself lacking favor from God much as Cain did, with each character trying to save face.  Whether Korach lusted after the priesthood initially, he simply felt discontented and wronged with where God had him. The pathology is that if we can rationalize that we have been wronged in any way, then we can justify nearly any retributive action as recourse. We usurp God and his order and exalt ourselves as judge and jury or lord of the situation. Whether personal or corporate, every rebellion in the history of the world has started this way. In our world, there is no lack of wrong being done but there is an extreme lack of justice and mercy.  

The narrative of early nomadic Israel in this week’s Torah portion offers us an opportunity to inspect our personal motives in any circumstance. Sin is a triunity of rebellion—against God, self, and others. Rebellion is a default human posture and attitude, and even more so, it’s our condition. We continually fall short in our deeds and thoughts.  The cure is to turn, perhaps face down first, make repentance, and reverently seek God's face for forgiveness in all directions. James explains in his writings this conception and evolution of sin:

But each one is tempted when he is dragged away and enticed by his own desire. Then when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is full grown, it brings forth death. (James 1:14-15)

Korach was caught up in his own desires. Sin clouds our world and personal perception. It arises from the Yetzer hara, the evil inclination that we all battle, and leads us to fall short, then making us enemies of God with the help of pride. Pride ensures separation from God after we have sinned.  We notice that when Moses was confronted and accused by Korah and his clan, Moses didn't hastily defend himself or his position; he didn't explain himself. Rather, “When Moses heard this, he fell on his face” (Num 16:4). This action is synonymous with worship, repentance, reverence, and sincerity.  

By prostrating himself, Moses is denying his own face (vanity and pride) to receive the favor of the Lord’s face. It's also worth noting that the Aaronic priestly blessing in Numbers 6:24-26 is regarding our orientation toward the Lord and his face shining upon us.

The Lord bless you and keep you;

the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you;

the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

When we turn to the Lord and spend time with Him, our countenance changes. Exodus 34:29 shows us what happens to Moses’ face after interfacing with the Lord in receiving the Torah. “Moses did not know that the skin of his face was radiant, because God had spoken with him.”

The antidote to our fallen circumstance in any situation is disarming it through interfacing with God, just as Moses does in the Korach situation. Prayer must become our primary response. Unlike Korach, but like Moses, we must desire God more than any status, position, or outcome. Perhaps it's a shortfall, pun intended, that we prostrate ourselves only once a year, on Yom Kippur. We fall to the floor on behalf of our own intercession for atonement, but what about on behalf of others as Moses did for the Kohathites? Do we pray for our enemies and those that oppose us? Romans 5:10 is about this very intercession, by our permanent high priest. “For if, while we were yet enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved by His life.”  

The Korach rebellion often reflects the voices that are in our minds in our own life circumstances. It reminds us that we cannot seize favor from God by force but through prayer, reverence, and humility towards Him. To receive favor from God requires gentle submission to him and his will, not by force, but by His spirit. The Avinu prayer that Yeshua gives us in Matthew 6:9-13 frames the ideal posture before God in dealing with our rebellion. It addresses the Father who is holy. The One who is set apart sets us apart. We must desire His Kingdom and not our own lordship or glory. We pray for His will and not our own to prevail. We ask for our sins to be forgiven as we forgive those who have offended us. We ask not to be led into testing, but if we must be tested, we pray to be delivered from the evil one. In Matthew 5:7 Yeshua commands us to be peacemakers: “blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called Bene Elohim, sons of God.”

As children of God, we are obligated not to make rebellion, but to turn from our rebellion and make peace in every circumstance. For Romans 12:18 tells us, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” May the Lord bless you in all your peacemaking endeavors. Shalom in Messiah Yeshua.

The Battle Belongs to the Lord

Jerusalem bomb shelter, June 15, 2025

Parashat Shelach L’cha, Numbers 8:1–12:16

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT 

These are unsettling days. The headlines speak of endless violence in the Middle East, growing instability, and a troubling resurgence of antisemitism, not just on the fringes, but in the mainstream of public discourse and politics. It can feel like we are standing on the edge of something ominous. The words of the prophets echo in our minds: “In the end of days there will be wars and rumors of wars.”

But then again—when has that not been true? When has the world not been trembling somewhere? Perhaps what Scripture is really telling us is that our so-called “last days” may stretch on for generations. The question is not when the end will come, but how we are meant to live in such a time.

Today’s Torah portion, Shelach L’cha, along with its paired haftarah from Joshua, tells the story of two generations on the edge of the Promised Land. Each sends spies to assess the enemy and the terrain. Each is on the brink of a great battle. Each must decide whether to believe in their fears or in the faithfulness of God.

In Numbers 13, Moses sends twelve tribal leaders to scout the land. They all see the same geography, the same cities, the same adversaries. But ten of them return filled with dread: “We looked like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and so we appeared to them” (13:33). Their vision of themselves was so small that even the promise of God could not lift them up.

Forty years later, in the haftarah, Joshua sends two spies into Jericho. They find themselves in a precarious situation, hiding on a rooftop, pursued by the king’s men. But something surprising happens—they hear from Rahab, the Canaanite innkeeper, that the hearts of the people are already melting in fear: “We know the Lord has given you this land” (Josh 2:9). The difference is striking. The first group saw defeat, the second saw victory. Not because the situation had changed—but because they were looking through the eyes of faith, not fear.

Proverbs 21:30–31 says it clearly:

There is no wisdom, no insight, no plan that can succeed against the Lord.
The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but victory rests with the Lord.

Yes, we prepare. We advocate, we defend, we mourn, and we organize. We show up with truth and courage. But we do not place our trust in horses or headlines. We place our trust in the God who sees the whole battlefield and whose purposes cannot be overturned. The battle belongs to Hashem.

That knowledge should give us confidence—but it also raises a question: If God is the author of the outcome, what role do our choices play? The answer lies not in knowing every twist of the story, but in trusting the One who writes it with us.

Proverbs 20:24 reminds us, “A man’s steps are directed by the Lord. How then can anyone understand his own way?”

Life, as we experience it, often feels confusing or random. We can’t always trace the path, let alone control it. That can lead to discouragement, especially when we look back and see missteps, lost time, or wrong turns.

John Quincy Adams once confessed:

My life has been spent in vain and idle aspirations, and in ceaseless rejected prayers that something beneficial to my own species should be the result of my existence.

That aching desire to have made a difference—to have mattered—is something we all feel. But how we deal with that sense of regret or failure is crucial. And literature gives us two vivid examples: Oedipus and Raskolnikov.

Oedipus, the tragic king of Thebes, tries to outrun a prophecy that he will kill his father and marry his mother. Despite his efforts, he fulfills it unknowingly. When the truth emerges, he is devastated. Though he had no malicious intent, he takes full responsibility and blinds himself. His story is one of over-responsibility—bearing guilt for what he could not have prevented. It is a despairing view that leaves no room for mercy or divine grace.

On the other hand, Raskolnikov, in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, murders an old woman under the delusion that he is acting for the greater good. He then spends the entire novel trying to rationalize and deny his guilt. His is a story of under-responsibility—blaming fate, philosophy, anything to avoid owning the truth. Only when he finally confesses and repents does he begin to heal.

Oedipus is crushed by guilt for what was not truly his fault. Raskolnikov avoids guilt for what clearly was. And most of us, in our own way, oscillate between these two extremes—either taking on too much shame or trying to escape it entirely.

But Torah offers another way. A better way. It teaches us that we are not helpless victims of fate, nor are we autonomous authors of the world. Instead, we are co-authors with Hashem, responsible for our part, but never alone in shaping the story.

As Proverbs 16:33 teaches: “The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the Lord.”

Yes, we cast the lots—we make the choices, big and small—but God determines the outcome. That means we are never without agency, and never beyond redemption. God doesn’t erase our past, but he transforms it. He can turn even the broken chapters into a part of his greater redemptive arc.

Each of us is given the opportunity to write a story worth telling. That’s why we were born. And while we write it, we must remember that history itself is really His-story. When we acknowledge his authorship—when we trust that the battle is his, and yet take responsibility for our role—then we live with both humility and hope. We no longer fear our mistakes, nor deny them. We bring them before Hashem, and he sets us free to write something better with the time we have.

So yes, the world is frightening. The forces arrayed against the Jewish people and against truth and righteousness, can feel immense. But we are not grasshoppers in our own eyes—we are the beloved children of the God of Israel. We do not walk into this battle alone. We prepare the horse, but the victory belongs to the Lord.

Let us write the next chapter not in fear, but in faith. Let us believe that even now, Hashem is at work behind the scenes. And let us live with the confident knowledge that our stories—yours and mine—are still being written. And the best pages may yet lie ahead.

Ken yehi ratzon—may this be God’s will.

The Final Upgrade

Parashat Beha’alot’cha, Numbers 8:1–12:16

Haftarah: Zechariah 2:14–4:7

Rachel Wolf, Beth Messiah Congregation, Cincinnati

The historical record of Torah that has come down to us through untold ages is priceless! The Israelites slogged through—and Moses recorded—their messy walked-out demonstration of the eternal plan of God so that we can understand it. Nothing God commanded Moses was frivolous. All of it, if studied properly, can impart to us deeper knowledge of God.

This week’s Torah portion, Beha’a lot’cha means “when you raise” (the lamps for the tabernacle), and it emphasizes several crucial truths for our lives.

First, we see the ultimate purpose of all the fuss about the Mishkan (tabernacle).

In Numbers 7:1 “Moses had finished” the construction of the Sanctuary, the Mishkan. This was an enormous and lengthy task, using blueprints received directly from the Mountain of God. Then, in the last verse of last week’s portion, 7:89, we read:

When it was finished, Moses entered the Tent of Meeting and “heard the Voice speaking to him . . .”

This is the same Voice that spoke to Adam and Eve in the garden. The Voice that thundered from Sinai. It is the Voice that spoke to the Prophets of Israel. And the same Voice that spoke, “This is my beloved son with whom I am well pleased” (Matt 3:17). The Tabernacle, the Mishkan, is God’s self-described dwelling place that remains, even among the uncleanness of the people of Israel (Lev 16:16). Immanu-el, God with us. God’s ongoing plan, the plan he is continually upgrading, is that he will dwell amidst his people. Countless times God says to Israel: “So you shall be my people, and I will be your God.”

When Moses enters the Tent of Meeting/ Tent of Dwelling to speak with God, Moses hears the voice of the Lord from between the cherubim on the Kaporet, the gold lid placed on the Ark of the Covenant (Num 7:89). As we will see in chapter 11 below, God (with Moses) desires that, not only Moses, but all may hear his voice.

Second, we see that God has embedded deep meaning in Israel’s orderly rituals.

God himself elaborately delineates to Moses all of the jobs of the priests and Levites, and plans out where all of the tribes will camp around the Mishkan (Num 1:47-2:34). Israel is still encamped (since Exodus 19) in the Wilderness of Sinai. It is now the second month of the second year since they’ve come from Egypt (Num 1:1). Now God reminds Moses to keep the Passover celebration with all of Israel, for the first time as a memorial of the Exodus, one year before! (9:1-14).

In 10:14 the Israelites start out for the first time from Sinai, “at the command of the Lord; by the hand of Moses.” This departure from the camp is not modeled on the free-for-all buffet! It is, perhaps, modeled on a very strict catered affair in which tables are called one by one, and each one has a set place in line. But instead of the caterer’s microphone, God instructed Moses to make two silver trumpets that the priests would blow to signal the people.

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Try this at Home!

Maybe you’d enjoy making a diagram or diorama (complete with flags for each tribe) as I did, illustrating how the Israelites set out in God’s order. As you draw it out, it’s easy to see that one clear objective is to guard and protect the Mishkan and its holy objects. See Numbers 10:11-28.

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Third, we see that leading a bunch of rowdy people (called the congregation of Israel) is a burdensome job that cannot be done by one man.

Indeed, after the latest complaint of the people of Israel, Moses entreats God (11:15): “If you treat me like this, kill me right now!” Before that, Moses twice entreats Hovav, his father-in-law’s son, to stay with them to help (10:29). It appears that Hovav was well versed in wilderness camping. Moses, the city boy from the palaces of Egypt, needed him like the Lone Ranger needed Tonto!

God hears Moses’s plea, and instructs him to have the seventy elders gather at the Tent of Meeting. There, God comes down in the cloud, takes of the Spirit that was upon Moses, and places it on the seventy elders (11:25). Thus they are prepared to support and aid Moses.

Lastly, Chapter 12 makes it clear that, whoever you are, it is never a good thing to speak against a leader that God has anointed.

Aaron and Miriam speak against Moses and get called immediately to the Tent of Meeting. There Miriam becomes leprous, though God graciously heals her in a week.

Haftarah

The rabbis’ choice of Zechariah 2:14–4:7 for the prophetic reading emphasizes the first point above, namely, that God’s ultimate plan of plans is to scatter Israel’s enemies, and dwell eternally in the midst of Zion. Here we see that the Land is not only Israel’s inheritance, but, more primarily, God’s inheritance with Israel. The haftarah in Zechariah is a poetic and beautiful passage that rejoices in God’s eschatological choosing of Jerusalem.

“Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion! For behold, I am coming and I will dwell in your midst,” says the LORD. “Many nations shall be joined to the LORD in that day, and they shall become My people. And I will dwell in your midst. Then you will know that the LORD of hosts has sent Me to you. And the LORD will take possession of Judah as His inheritance in the Holy Land, and will again choose Jerusalem. Be silent, all flesh, before the LORD, for He is aroused from His holy habitation!” (Zech 2:10-13 NKJV [2:14-17 in Jewish translations])

Zechariah has a vision of God’s final upgrade, the fulfillment of God’s desire and plan to dwell in the midst of his people. We in Messianic circles hear this a lot. But take a moment to meditate on the astounding reality of this. This is the time of final redemption that we, along with Hashem, look forward to. Israel no longer will need to be afraid when God makes all things new and we dwell daily in his holy presence.

Naso: Make an Accounting

Parashat Naso, Numbers 4:21–7:89

Matt Absolon, Beth T'filah Congregation

And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Speak to the people of Israel, When a man or woman commits any of the sins that people commit by breaking faith with the Lord, and that person realizes his guilt, he shall confess his sin that he has committed. And he shall make full restitution for his wrong, adding a fifth to it and giving it to him to whom he did the wrong. But if the man has no next of kin to whom restitution may be made for the wrong, the restitution for wrong shall go to the LORD for the priest, in addition to the ram of atonement with which atonement is made for him.” Numbers 5:5-8

In our reading, God outlines the process of atonement for one who voluntarily realizes his guilt, and furthermore, wishes to make amends towards restitution and to ease his afflicted conscience.

While the Hebrew is slightly ambiguous as to the method of conviction, that is voluntarily or through public coercion, both the Sages and English translators treat the passage as guilt through voluntary admission.

In his exegesis of this passage, thirteenth century Rabbi Hezekiah Ben Manoah, known colloquially as Chizkuni, states:

"A trespass against the Lord": The Torah teaches that . . . the Lord is the One Who considers Himself as having been sinned against. (Chizkuni, Numbers 5:6. Emphasis mine)

What Chizkuni is pointing the reader to can be understood through the doctrine of God’s omnipresence. That is to say, because God is everywhere at all times, and because he is our father, when we sin against our fellow man, by proxy we also sin against God. Yeshua draws on this same idea in Matt 25 when he tells us, “When you do it to the least of these, you do it unto me.” When we are kind to each other, we are showing kindness to the Lord; and when we harm each other, we harm the Lord.

Returning to our opening thoughts; the miracle of this passage is not in the reminder of God’s omnipresence (as wonderful as it is), but in the act of voluntary admission of sin. The miracle of voluntary conviction of guilt stands as one of the premiere goals of the Torah. That we should “self-regulate” and voluntarily humble ourselves before the Lord becomes a sign of the work of the Torah in our hearts and minds. It’s a mysterious work that happens between us and the Lord. Why does one man become convicted of sin, whilst another remains heard-hearted; the timing of it all; the apparent randomness of conviction; it remains a mystery.

It’s important to note, that Yeshua himself was unable to convict a stubborn heart into repentance (Matt 23:37). With all the mystery around the process of conscience and guilt, one thing is for certain; those who feel guilty know that even if no one else saw it, God was watching.

Chizkuni follows on with some sage advice;

"And that soul shall be guilty, and confess": . . . this is a line that can be used universally for all such trespasses, that the first step in rehabilitation of the sinner must be his confession of having committed this trespass. (Chizkuni, Numbers 5:6)

The confession prescribed within the text has a very public face to it. The steps of restitution are condensed as follows; Realization of guilt, Confession of sin, Payment of the debt. Restitution of the trespass often takes the form of monetary value, much like legal damages in modern Tort Law.

Chizkuni concludes;

"And he is to add a fifth of it": (the value of the stolen property); if his confession is not the result of witnesses having accused him of his guilt, but it is simply an expression of his remorse, then he pays only this extra 25%, but if witnesses testified about the theft he is required to add a second 25% as a penalty. (Chizkuni, Numbers 5:7)

In his commentary on the following verse, Chizkuni outlines the contrast between the penalty levied upon voluntary remorse, as opposed to the penalty levied upon guilt by public witness. Chizkuni interprets this passage, in conjunction with the passage from Leviticus 5:16, to say that an added penalty would be meted out by the judges for the one who does not voluntarily admit guilt.

The challenge that we face in this passage is the paradox of humility. The pain of voluntary humility vs the pain of God humiliating us through witnesses and public accusations. Yeshua encourages us to voluntarily humble ourselves, and in return, we will be exalted. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted” (Luke 14:11 emphasis mine).

This process of self-reflection, self-conviction and self-humbling is at the epicenter of a healthy and functional psyche. The process of humility is an antibody to the slow fragmentation of our minds and eventually the total corruption of our spirits. This work, let’s call it “self-regulating-ethics,” begins with us as individuals, but it ends with us as the building blocks of a family, a community, and a culture. Solomon contrasts the integrity of the righteous with the fragmentation of the crooked: “The integrity of the upright guides them, but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them” (Prov 11:3).

Eminent Harvard Professor of Business Clayton Christensen, best known for his theory of “Disruptive Innovation,” theorized the importance of self-regulating ethics in the stability of our free market economy, and ultimately, the western way of life. In a 2012 TED talk he explained the greatest challenge in bringing free market economies to cultures that do not have a religious substrate of self-regulating ethics. Prof Christensen explains:

…if you go back 150 or 200 years ago, almost everybody in America on the weekend went to a synagogue or a church and they were taught there by people who they respected that they should voluntarily follow all the rules, because even if the police did not catch them, God will catch them. . . . If you try to put free markets and democracy into a country that doesn’t have that foundation, all you get is chaos. . . .

So my first concern about our system is that if you don’t have an instinct, generally born from a religious tradition, amongst the CEOs to voluntarily follow the rules, capitalism just doesn’t work. There is no way that you can police honesty if it doesn’t come instinctively for you.

Prof Christensen puts his finger on the pulse in diagnosing the breakdown of trust and confidence in the 21st marketplace. But more than that, he inadvertently puts his finger on the pulse of the success of our Jewish communities. Our commitment to Torah includes by implication, our commitment to personal integrity, which results in voluntary humility and self-regulating ethics.

This week’s portion offers the penitent a way to find restitution for their transgressions. It encourages that mysterious work of the heart that leads us to a place of transparency before the Lord and results in outworking of self-regulating ethics and integrity. In the final analysis this voluntary humbling is among the essential elements of a healthy psyche, a successful home, and a cohesive community.

My prayer is that we would all have the courage to follow the words of our master, to humble ourselves, and let God do the exalting.

Good and upright is the Lord;

therefore he instructs sinners in the way.

He leads the humble in what is right,

and teaches the humble his way.

All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness,

for those who keep his covenant and his testimonies. (Psalm 25:8 – 10)

Wishing you all a hearty Shabbat Shalom!

The Divine Romance

Week Seven of Counting the Omer/Shavuot 5785

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

When you enter the land that I am giving to you and you reap its harvest, you shall bring the first sheaf [omer] of your harvest to the priest. He shall elevate the sheaf before the Lord for acceptance in your behalf. . . . And from the day on which you bring the sheaf of elevation offering—the day after the sabbath—you shall count off seven weeks. They must be complete. (Lev 23:11, 15 NJPS)

For decades now the UMJC community has been following the custom Sefirat Ha-omer, or Counting the Omer, to trace the days from the offering of the first sheaf, or omer, in ancient Israel to the Festival of Weeks. We don’t count the seven weeks to make sure we celebrate Shavuot on the correct date, since we already know it falls on Sivan 6 every year. Rather, we count the days to express our yearning to relive the encounter at Mount Sinai, when we received the Torah amidst an unparalleled display of God’s awesome presence.

This encounter at Sinai is often compared in Jewish literature to a wedding ceremony, which is a creative expansion on the text of the Torah itself. The same analogy appears in Jeremiah 2:2. “Thus says the Lord: ‘I remember you, the kindness of your youth, the love of your betrothal, when you went after me in the wilderness, in a land not sown.’”

Likewise, Midrash Rabbah (a collection of early rabbinic commentaries) portrays the traditional four cups of wine at the Passover Seder as a reminder of the Lord’s four-fold promise of redemption for Israel in Exodus 6:6–7:

I am Adonai;

I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians,

I will rescue you from their bondage,

and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments.

I will take you as my people, and I will be your God.

The phrase “I will take you as my people” here reflects the universal language of courtship.

The culmination of this divine romance comes at Mount Sinai, under the cover of fire and cloud, the chuppah, or wedding-canopy, of glory (Exod 19:16–18). The chuppah is an essential element of the Jewish wedding going back to Talmudic times, and it’s natural to read it back into the wedding at Sinai. The chuppah connection is strengthened by Isaiah’s vision of the day of the Lord, when the glory-cloud of Mount Sinai will be resettled over Mount Zion:

Then the Lord will create over the whole site of Mount Zion and over her assemblies a cloud by day, and smoke and the shining of a flaming fire by night; for over all the glory there will be a canopy (lit. a “chuppah,” Isa 4:5 ESV).

In the same way, another early midrash portrays the Ten Commandments given at Sinai as another essential element of a Jewish wedding, the “document of betrothal” or ketubah:

Documents of betrothal and marriage are written only with the consent of the two parties, and the bridegroom pays the fee. And this we learn from God from His betrothal of Israel at Sinai, as it is written, And the Lord said unto Moses: Go unto the people and betroth them to day and to-morrow (Ex. 19:10). And who wrote this document? Moses. (Midrash Rabbah, Deut. 81)

The word kiddushtem in Exodus 19:10 is usually translated “sanctify them” or “consecrate them,” but this midrash interprets it in the later, rabbinic sense as “betroth them.” In this picture, the tablets of the Ten Commandments are the ketubah, just as the glory-cloud over Sinai is the chuppah. Moses represents God, the bridegroom, in providing the ketubah. Like a marriage, Israel’s encounter with the Lord at Mount Sinai includes a ketubah, a contract of requirements and stipulations, but cannot be reduced to that; it is also an experience of intimate union that promises to endure no matter what comes.

God’s betrothal to Israel is not a marriage of convenience, as it is sometimes portrayed in Christian readings, but of heartfelt devotion. God doesn’t rescue Israel from Egypt to accomplish some task within his divine agenda, but as God tells them, “to take you as my people.” Likewise, the Ten Commandments and the rest of God’s Torah or “Instruction,” which follows in Exodus 20–23, can be seen as “Law,” as a list of rules and ordinances to make Israel fit to be a holy nation. But to understand Torah more fully we must always keep in mind the romance, the union of God and Israel under the glory-cloud at Sinai.

This divine encounter is what we celebrate each year at Shavuot, and this is what we look forward to each year as we count the Omer.

This year’s theme for Counting the Omer in the Union community has been “Renew Us in Your Spirit.” We of course have in mind the great outpouring of the Spirit on Shavuot after the resurrection and ascension of Messiah Yeshua (Acts 1–2). But we’re also thinking of the original Shavuot at Mount Sinai, the unparalleled encounter with God under the glory-cloud, a visible sign of God’s Spirit.

When we call on God to renew us in his Spirit, we’re not asking for a one-time, once-and-for-all divine encounter, just as a marriage is not ultimately about the one-time shebang of the wedding day, as glorious as that might be. Marriage is about the sustained and sustaining life-long relationship of man and woman, a relationship both intimate and fruitful in many ways.

The glory-cloud may not be visible today, but the reality of our union with God through Messiah Yeshua should be. This union becomes visible as we actively seek—and depend upon—the presence of the Spirit, the gift of Shavuot, in our everyday lives. And how do we do that? We could devote a few more teachings to that topic, but our experience of Counting the Omer provides a vital element: yearning or expectation. We can practice eagerness for Torah, the word of God, and eagerness for the presence of God reflected in counting the Omer, not only in the days leading up to Shavuot, but every day. We can actively expect the Spirit to show up in our lives in fresh ways and we can keep ourselves ready to respond.

The promise “I will take you as my people, and I will be your God” isn’t just flowery language or a vision of a far-off future. The presence of the Spirit, the gift of Shavuot, will make that promise real every day as we remain open and responsive to him.

Ever Ever Land

Week Six of Counting the Omer

Parashat Behar-Bechukotai Lev. 25:1 – 27:34

Rachel Wolf, Beth Messiah Congregation, Cincinnati

The land of Israel, along with the people of Israel, is the centerpiece of God's eternal program. The two go together inseparably. The land comes into its proper purpose when the people of Israel are its custodians. Our double parasha makes it clear that the people do not own the land; Am Yisrael is merely its appointed steward and guardian. The Lord has appointed Israel as his priestly nation to care for the land just as the Levitical priests care for the Tabernacle. Each is dependent on the other.

In Leviticus 25, Israel is commanded that every seven years the Land is to be given a holy Sabbath rest. After seven periods of seven years, the fiftieth year is to be a super-Sabbath in which everything is restored to its proper place and proper relationships.

You shall consecrate the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a Jubilee for you; and each of you shall return to his possession, and each of you shall return to his family. (25:10)

The Land is to lie fallow for the fiftieth year. People are to return, each one, to their original land allocation from the Lord; and, if indentured servants, to return to their family.

The whole economy of Israel is based on the Jubilee year. There are many statutes in this portion about selling land ethically, based on the number of years left until the Jubilee. This means that the economy is built on the idea that nobody actually owns his land in the way we think of ownership today in the West. It is (in effect) a leasing system; when you buy land, you pay for years of use. The value of land depends on how many years are left until the 50th year Sabbath in which everything reverts to its primary status. The land belongs only to God and each tribe and family has a designated portion to inhabit and take care of.

The people of Israel do not own their time either! Their daily, weekly, and yearly time belongs to the Lord, and he has commanded, above all, to keep the Sabbath as a holy day unto God. In fact, the further we dig in, the more we begin to understand why the Shabbat is so important.

All of the various kinds of Sabbaths in this parasha link Israel’s holy purpose to the very beginning — to Creation. “Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it he rested from all His work which God had created and made” (Gen 2:3). The Sabbath is not only about physical rest. It is about laying aside land rights, time, goods, and every other thing to the Lord, as a way of expressing trust in God and in the future that is in his hands. 

The jubilee year is directly related to Yom Kippur. It is both Israel's super-Shabbat and Israel's super-Day of Atonement. The clock is reset; we get a new chance; our sins are covered and we can start anew. 

This double portion also makes it clear that the Shabbats for the land, including Jubilee, reveal God's future plans for Israel and the Earth. Israel is to model “the day that is all Shabbat,” when God will set up his king from among the brothers of Israel to rule for him, when swords will be beaten into plowshares, and no one any longer need be afraid. 

The problem we face with this beautiful biblical understanding is that the world does not see or understand God's purpose for the land of Israel. Most understand the tensions and wars in the area as economic or land-boundary based. Others of course see the Arabs as being oppressed by western powers for centuries. And they see the modern-day Jewish return to their land as Western aggression. 

I find myself wanting to explain the beautiful biblical narrative to people that don't even believe in the spiritual realm and don't believe there is such a thing as evil in the world. 

I want to tell them that God's program of settling Israel in the land is a program for the good of all the people of the world. It is for blessing to all the people of the world. The Jewish people are placed in the land so that God can bless the rest of the world through his special land that he created to be the place where his presence dwells. It is the Unique Place from which the priestly nation can bless the faithful of the world as Aaron and his sons were commanded to bless (“put his Name on”) the people of Israel (Num. 6:22–27). 

We can see this beginning in the very beginning of Genesis where God prepares the garden before he places the adam in it. He walks in the garden and communicates with his first creatures. He desires, as he says throughout the Torah and the rest of the scriptures, to dwell with his people. That is the purpose of the Mishkan. 

But there are those who do not want to be ruled by God and there are many who are also duped or confused about the international situation. Personally I don't know how to put all this together. But it is definitely a time in history in which we Jews have to stand together under the banner, Am Yisrael Chai—the People of Israel Live! 

And as Jewish disciples of Yeshua, we have the opportunity to express our strong faith in God's holy purposes for us as a people. And, even more importantly perhaps, to encourage our people by expressing confidence in God's faithfulness to the Jewish people, the people of Israel. We can do this through opening up the words of the Prophets and the Torah and through sharing our own experiences.

I have found that simply expressing my trust and confidence in God's ongoing faithfulness to our people has encouraged a number of my Jewish friends. The Jewish community talks a lot about resilience, and this is important. But I think there is also uncertainty about whether God is still there and still works on our behalf. We can be a light of encouragement and faith in this way to our people.

Even at the end of the very difficult recital of curses in Leviticus 26, God makes it clear that Israel is always, and will ever be, his dearly beloved people.

Yet for all that, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not cast them away nor shall I abhor them, to utterly destroy them and break my covenant with them; for I am the Lord their God. But for their sake I will remember the covenant of their ancestors whom I brought out of the land of Egypt in the sight of the nations that I might be their God. I am Hashem. (26:44-45)

He calls his own name by his people, namely, the God of Israel. He is invested in our future. He will never leave us nor forsake us. Now is the historical time of comfort for Zion. 

As we listen to his voice through the scriptures and through the spirit let us be a light and a great encouragement to our people that now is the time to favor Zion (Psa 102:13). Yes, the time to favor Zion has come. And God will act on our behalf.

Whatsa Manna For You?

Week Five of Counting the Omer

Parashat Emor, Leviticus 21:1-24:23

Rabbi David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

“Hello; welcome to Whatsa Manna for You? voted most consistent menu by Hebrew Happenings. How may I help you?”

“Yes, thanks so much. So, first time here, how does this even work?”

“Well, since we opened up across from Macho Macho Manna and Mind Your Manna, we’ve had to distinguish ourselves from those others with exceptional customer service, but beware: this is not your typical restaurant. You actually gather the food yourself, and it is prepared by our Head Chef, Hashem.”

“Oh wow. Okay, and how much do I gather?”

“That’s the best part. You gather exactly what you need, which is an omer.”

“An omer? What’s an omer?”

“It’s a unit of measurement, like a bushel, or a gallon.”

“Sounds anachronistic.”

“Well so is a Manna restaurant, and listen, nobody likes meta-humor in their Torah commentaries.”

“Yes, so, I gather an omer’s worth, but I also gather exactly what I need for my large family, and these are the same? How does that work?”

“Good question! We almost called this place ‘What's an Omer for You?’; You gather an omer no matter how much you gather, and it ends up being exactly what your family needs, no matter how big or small it is. It's kind of miraculous.”

“So, what happens if I'm worried about there not being enough for me and I gather more, trying to save some of it in case the Head Chef stops making it?” 

“It'll rot with worms.”

“Wow, ok. You've built that into the recipe.”

“Oh and one more thing: there’s nothing else on the menu, so don’t ask.”

“Really? Because I was thinking . . .”

“We tried it once with quail. It did not work out. Also, there’s one more thing. On Friday you are supposed to gather more (two omers) because Saturday there won't be any to gather. Saturday is Shabbat, a day of rest. And that extra manna will not rot because of this special day.”

“So you're closed on Saturdays?”

“You got it. . . . Some folks still try to gather on Shabbat, but hey, not everyone's a good listener like you.”

This week's parasha has no manna, but it does have the Omer. This is kind of cool, because the parasha describes the counting of the Omer leading up to Shavuot that we are doing right now in this season. It reminds me of the middle of the movie, Spaceballs, when the characters find the copy of the movie itself, and they fast forward to the part that they are in, so they are able to see themselves on screen. 

Colonel Sandurz: Try here. Stop.

Dark Helmet: What am I looking at? When does this happen in the movie?

Colonel Sandurz: Now. You're looking at now, sir. Everything that happens now, is happening now.

Dark Helmet: What happened to then?

Colonel Sandurz: We passed then.

Dark Helmet: When?

Colonel Sandurz: Just now. We're at now now.

But enough with the meta-humor. Three years ago (which was then) as I was counting up the Omer, I was expecting to meet my son. His due date was Shavuot. Each day we would set aside an offering, say the prayer, and pray for this new life that we were expecting joyfully. But as we prayed those 7 weeks, I grew to feel that there was a connection between counting the Omer each day and this new life that we were preparing to steward. One of the names of Shavuot is “Firstfruits.” This is because, as laid out in this week’s parasha, the measure of wheat (the “omer”) is laid aside and not eaten until the Lord gets the first offering.

Speak to Bnei-Yisrael and tell them: When you have come into the land which I give to you, and reap its harvest, then you are to bring the omer of the firstfruits of your harvest to the kohen. He is to wave the omer before Adonai, to be accepted for you. On the morrow after the Shabbat, the kohen is to wave it. . . . You are not to eat bread, roasted grain, or fresh grain until this same day—until you have brought the offering of your God. It is a statute forever throughout your generations in all your dwellings. (Lev 23:10-14, TLV)

The Omer is a reminder that there is enough when we put God first, when we encounter God in the now and trust the soon and then to him. The word “Omer” is a unit of measure and also a sheaf (bundle of grain), and the Omer stories in the Torah remind us of this very principle. 

In Exodus 16, before we even receive the Ten Commandments, we find this lesson about trusting God. The manna came down, and the Israelites were to gather more or gather less according to their family’s need, but it was always an Omer. Here’s Rashi’s take:

“Both the one who gathered much and the one who gathered little” [Exod 16:17]. Some gathered [too] much [manna] and some gathered [too] little, but when they came home, they measured with an omer, each one what he had gathered, and they found that the one who had gathered [too] much had not exceeded an omer for each person who was in his tent, and the one who had gathered [too] little did not find less than an omer for each person. This was a great miracle that occurred with it [the manna].

When they started to wonder, “What if there’s not enough for me? Let me hoard this manna!” that’s when it started to rot. Later, they put exactly an omer of manna in a very important place: 

Then Moses said, “This is what Adonai has commanded. Let a full omer of it be kept throughout your generations, so that they may see the bread with which I fed you in the wilderness, when I brought you out from the land of Egypt.”

Moses said to Aaron, “Take a jar and put a full omer of manna inside. Store it up before Adonai, to be kept throughout your generations.” Just as Adonai commanded Moses, Aaron stored it up in front of the Testimony, to be preserved. (Exodus 16:32-34)

Most rabbis took the phrases “Before Adonai” and “in front of the Testimony” to mean that the omer of manna would be preserved where the Ten Commandments would be, in the ark of the covenant, in the holy of holies. But why? What was so important that it would sit next to the symbol of the Sinai Covenant for all time? The key is the word “Omer.” God gave them enough because God is enough. We don’t have to hoard more for ourselves, and we can trust God by resting and not earning money on Shabbat. Remember God’s provision for all generations right before the Presence. In this week’s parasha, Leviticus 23:16 instructs us: “Until the morrow after the seventh Shabbat you are to count fifty days, and then present a new grain offering to Adonai.” We count up to the giving of the Ten Commandments at Sinai, to the outpouring of the Presence. These are all converging together: trust and commandments, putting God first and experiencing His presence. And right after the instructions about counting the Omer, we find this:

Now when you reap the harvest of your land, you are not to reap to the furthest corners of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Rather you are to leave them for the poor and for the outsider. I am Adonai your God. (Lev 23:22)

What’s the connection? If I’m not thinking about whether there’s enough for me, then what am I thinking about? I’m thinking about the other: the poor, the outsider, the one that’s not like me, the one without whom I am incomplete. Putting God first is connected to loving our neighbor and looking out for those often forgotten. And all of this is placed next to the Presence, and counting up to and expecting the Presence after counting 49 days of the Omer. The Omer represents all of this. So the question is: What’s an Omer for you? 

The Cup of Intimacy

Week Four of Counting the Omer

Parashat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim, Leviticus 16:1 – 20:27

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

You shall be holy to me, for I the Lord am holy and have separated you from the peoples, that you should be mine. (Leviticus 20:26)

Three weeks ago we all participated in the four cups of Passover. We read in the Gospel texts how Yeshua and the disciples partook in two of the four cups of wine at that last seder in the upper room. After we have told the story, recited the blessings of deliverance, and enjoyed a hearty meal, we then partake of the fourth and final cup, the Cup of Praise. We sing songs of praise as we draw close to one another, and close to our God.

This fourth cup is also known by another name, “The Cup of Intimacy.” In Exodus 6:7, the Lord says, “I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God.” When the Torah says “I will take you,” the text uses the same word as that used for a groom “to take” a bride, “v’laqakhti.” It is a word of intimacy and in this context invokes the picture of a groom carrying away his bride in marriage.

The Midrash speaks of this intimacy and its connection to salvation in its commentary on the Exodus 6 passage:

There are four expressions of redemption: I will bring you out, I will deliver you, I will redeem you and I will take you. . . . The Sages accordingly ordained four cups to be drunk on the eve of Passover to correspond with these four expressions in order to fulfill the verse: I will lift up the cup of salvation (yeshuah), and call upon the name of the Lord (Psalm 116:13). (Midrash Rabbah Exodus, VI.4 emphasis added)

In this week's portion, we see a continuation of this theme. God desires that we should belong to him, to sanctify us from among the nations, “that you should be mine” (Lev 20:26). God desires union with us. In fact, the assertion can be made that this is the entire goal of his work in the world: intimacy and union with his chosen people.

In his commentary on Pesach, the eminent Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov zeroed in on the fourth cup as the greatest aspect of redemption.

“I will take you . . . .” The greatest aspect of the redemption is that He brought us near to Him and granted us also spiritual redemption. – Eliyahu Kitov, The Book of Our Heritage 3 vols. (Feldheim, 1988), 2.269

One of the fruits of God's desire for relationship with his people is the restoration of the Jewish nation. As we recite every week in Shabbat services, “bring us back, Lord, and we shall come: renew our days as of old.” This renewal comes as a by-product of God's desire to take us, and our desire to be brought closer to him. As we read in this week's haftarah portion:

“In that day I will raise up the booth of David that is fallen,

and repair its breaches, and raise up its ruins,

and rebuild it as in the days of old. . . .

I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel,

and they shall rebuild the ruined cities and inhabit them;

they shall plant vineyards and drink their wine,

and they shall make gardens and eat their fruit.

I will plant them on their land,

and they shall never again be uprooted

out of the land that I have given them,”

says the Lord your God. Amos 9:11, 14 - 15

When God brings us near, when we are again willing to return to him and be taken by him, then he will “restore the fortunes of my people Israel.” As we focus on this season of renewal during the time of counting the Omer, we do well to meditate on the fourth cup of Passover, the cup of intimacy and praise.

Speaking as a Rosh Kehilah, it is vital for our hearts to focus on redemption, salvation, and deliverance. But in order to maintain those spiritual graces in our life, we must fully drink from the Cup of Intimacy. The goal of God's great deliverance is to be intimate with his people. With you and with me.

We must find time to be intimate with the Lord, to worship him in his beauty and strength, and to express our profound gratitude towards his redemption in our lives. To close in the words of our King David:

I love you, O Lord, my strength.

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,

my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield,

and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:1-2.