Human Becomings

Parashat Bereisheet: Genesis 1:1-6:8

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

In our parasha this week Hashem brings all of the animals before Adam and has him give them names (Gen. 2:19-20). We are taught to identify and categorize things. We say “This is a tree,” “That is a table,” “This is a dog.” Children do this as they learn to understand the world around them. When my daughter, Hannah, was little she saw a goat and said “Dog.” At her age everything with four legs was a dog.

This can lead us to think of these categories as unchanging. We place them in a box, well-labeled and properly stowed away. The fact is that everything and everyone is in process, ever-changing. A tree seems eternal, but if we look at it over time it grows from a seed and eventually dies. Even mountains, if watched over millennia, look more like waves, growing from tectonic collisions and shrinking from erosion.

This is supported by science. At the quantum level we are far from solid; in fact, our bodies are mostly emptiness. We are made up of particles that are in constant flux and exist in probabilities rather than fixed positions.

It is the same in Scripture. Mayim Chayim, living water, is water that flows, moves, and changes. A living body of water gives life to animals and plants. A mikveh, representing the waters of Eden, must be made from living water.

Adam is created as nishmat chayim, a living spirit (Gen. 2:7). He is not a static being, but full of potential. It is up to him to make choices that fulfill and shape that potential. He, obviously, did not always make the right choices.

This is also the genius of the Oral Torah. It allows for change and growth in the application of Written Torah as the centuries go by.

As children of Adam, so it is with us. We are not static, but a mix of potentialities. We are not really human beings, but “human becomings.” Our being is more like a snapshot or a movie still. It captures us in the moment. My son looks very different now than he did ten years ago (he is taller than me), but he is still my son. Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert said “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished.” The choices that we make form us into who we are. They build up our attitudes, values, world views, habits, and reactions.

This is one of the reasons why our Jewish tradition is orthopraxic rather than orthodoxic. What we do forms us into who we are. Consequently, our Sages encourage us to observe the mitzvot even if we do not feel like it, because through repetition our hearts will catch up. The mitzvot shape us in holiness.

God could have sent the Messiah as a fully formed adult. But for him to be fully human he had to grow and mature and make right choices. As the author of Hebrews tells us, it was through his obedience that he became our great Kohen Gadol and perfect sacrifice (Heb. 5:8–10).

We are in a new year. During the High Holy Days we primarily looked backwards in self-examination and repentance. Now we look to the upcoming year, a year of potential. What kind of persons will we be by the next Yom Kippur? What choices will we make that will further form us? What habits might we change, eliminate, or develop?

We are “human becomings” not “human beings.” We are not static, but dynamic, ever flowing, ever changing. May we not put ourselves in a box, without hope of change. May we also not place others in carefully labeled boxes, but allow them room to be the dynamic beings that they truly are.  May we enter this new year with kavannah; intention to grow in godliness. And thus we will ever grow in the image of our Father and his Messiah!

The Ultimate Etrog

by Jared Eaton, Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

Chag Sameach! After the often grueling experience of Yom Kippur, it’s a wonderful change of pace to gather with our families and communities to celebrate the festival of Sukkot. We harvest tree branches, pick gourds, string up lights, and build our sukkahs, our temporary homes for this happy week.

But building sukkahs is not the only way in which we celebrate Sukkot. We also observe a few other lesser known rituals. Among these traditions is the waving of the lulav and the etrog, collectively known as the Four Species.

The etrog is a citrus fruit, similar to a lemon, which grows in the Land of Israel, and the lulav is a kind of a wand made up of palm, myrtle, and willow branches.

Talmudic tradition teaches that these four species, with their different characteristics, represent the diverse nature of all of Israel. The sages equate a good taste with Torah learning and a pleasing scent with good deeds. They argue that in order to be a complete and fulfilled Jew, one must possess both of these qualities in abundance.

The Rabbis’ distinction between Torah learning and good deeds calls to mind the distinction made by New Covenant luminaries such as the Apostle Paul and Yaakov between faith in Messiah Yeshua and the living out of that faith through good works. Some may argue that Paul emphasized faith over works—“For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from works of the Law” (Romans 3:28)—while Yaakov upheld the opposite opinion—“What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?” (James 2:14). But both men would certainly agree that mature believers must have faith and works to truly live up to the example set by our Messiah Yeshua.

Recently, I had a conversation with a friend who, in a very astute allegory, compared Messiah Yeshua to “The Ultimate Etrog.” The etrog, with its pleasing scent and good taste, represents one with both Torah learning and good deeds, or in my New Covenant interpretation, Faith and Works. And indeed, who better embodied the qualities of the etrog than Yeshua, who taught and walked in perfect faith in his Father and lived a life exemplified by kindness and compassion and service to those who needed his help the most?  Yeshua truly is our Ultimate Etrog.

But if Yeshua is the Ultimate Etrog, who might be the ultimate representatives of the other three species? Consider the palm. It has a good taste (the date) but no scent, representing a person who has faith but no works to back it up.

How many Yeshua-believers fall into his category? How many of us claim to be followers of Yeshua and study the Scriptures, but don’t act out our faith in our everyday lives? How many of us have Jesus fish bumper stickers but still cut people off in traffic and curse other motorists? How many of us wear our tzitzit and our kippot out in public, but walk by without making eye contact with the hungry homeless person looking for a kind word and a little compassion?

Yaakov would not think highly of such a “palm-leaf believer.” When I think about who might be the “Ultimate Palm Leaf” Isaac comes to my mind. Loath as I am to pick on a beloved patriarch, Isaac is no one’s favorite Bible hero for a reason.

The Scriptures portray a man of great faith and spiritual merit, but have little to say about Isaac’s actions. In every story in which Isaac plays a major part, things are happening to him, not because of him. He wordlessly acquiesces to his binding. His father’s servant finds a wife for him while he stays home. He is manipulated by his sons and his wife in his old age. Rather than take an active part in his own story, Isaac remains a passive character, letting life happen around him.

Yeshua, on the other hand, was decisive and proactive. He sought out opportunities to live out his convictions and the way he lived his life was a testimony to his faith. If we are to follow him, we need to be active players in our own stories.

In contrast with the palm leaf, the myrtle branch has a good smell but no taste, representing a person with good works but no faith.

It’s entirely possible to do good, without being good. I think of the quote from the controversial central character of “The Wolf of Wall Street,” Jordan Belfort: “See money doesn’t just buy you a better life, better food, better cars . . . it also makes you a better person. You can give generously to the church or the political party of your choice.”

I can only imagine what the apostle Paul would have to say about Belfort’s idea of what makes a person “better”. What kind of a person are you if you donate $100,000 to cancer research but do it with money you made from cheating your clients? Are you really a better person if you fund an orphanage but come home and treat you own family with contempt?

These myrtle-branch believers may have a sweet smell, but anyone who gets close enough would find out that their taste is bitter.

For my example of the “Ultimate Myrtle Branch” I thought of the prophet Jonah. Jonah may be the most successful prophet in all of the Bible. Other prophets were met with scorn and persecution and saw their words fall on deaf ears, but Jonah’s message to the Ninevites was met with a city-wide call to repentance and the rescue of an entire nation. If we were to judge a man solely on the good he has done in his life, Jonah would be counted amongst the greatest in the kingdom.

And yet we read the book of Jonah as a cautionary tale. In spite all of his amazing gifts and talents, Jonah has a terrible attitude throughout his story. He scorns the task God has charged him with, he takes no responsibility for his calamity inside the fish and he repeatedly complains and wishes for death after he finally grudgingly does his job.

While his works are great, his faith in God’s plan is vanishingly small. Contrast his attitude with Messiah Yeshua’s. As much as Jonah might have disliked God’s plan, no one had a more bitter cup placed before him than Yeshua. Messiah knew that his road led to the cross, yet he went willingly and without complaint, even in the face of temptation to take an easier road. Yeshua had faith in his Father’s plan, and if we are to follow him we need to have similar trust to back up our good works.

Last and certainly least among the four species we have the willow branch. A plant with no taste and no smell, representing a person who lacks both faith and good works.

Sadly, the world seems to be full of willow branches. America has seen a dramatic decline in religious belief in recent decades, while the number of people claiming no religious affiliation or belief has risen inexorably. Indifference seems to be the default setting for humanity, as individualism is valued over community and the pursuit of material gain is valued over compassion for our brothers and sisters.

When I think of the “Ultimate Willow Branch” it’s easy to go for a traditional biblical villain. Pharaoh or Haman or Herod are all easy targets.

But I don’t think that most people who fall into the willow-branch category are inherently evil. Most willow branches just don’t know how to be any better than they are. They’ve never been given the opportunity to be anything but a plain old tasteless, odorless willow branch.

That’s why my choice for the ultimate willow branch is the tiny character of Zacchaeus. Not a great and mighty villain. Just a little, petty knave.

For those who need reminding, Zacchaeus’s story can be found in Luke 19. Zacchaeus was a tax collector who was very much disliked in his community. He was considered a sinner and a cheat and a collaborator with Rome. Truly a man with neither faith nor good works to his name.

And yet when Yeshua walks past Zacchaeus, he doesn’t see a willow branch. He sees a man who has the potential to become an etrog. Yeshua had every reason to ignore Zacchaeus, to treat him as a lost cause. But just as we don’t toss away the willow branches on Sukkot, but instead bind them together with the other four species that they all may bless each other, Yeshua saw the good that was inside of Zacchaeus and called him to become more than he was.

By the end of the story, Zacchaeus has pledged himself to make restitution for his past misdeeds and to continue to do the good works for which he has been made. Yeshua proclaims that salvation has come to Zacchaeus’ house because his faith has allowed Messiah to save that which had been lost.

This Sukkot, we are all challenged to enter our sukkahs and reflect on which of the four species we might be. But we can take comfort in the knowledge that no matter where we are in our faith walk, whether strong in works, faith, or neither of the above, Yeshua is always calling to us and giving us the opportunity to be more than we are today. With Messiah’s help, anyone can change their species.

Chag Sameach!

Note: this commentary originally appeared in October, 2016.

Jonah and the Wrong Sukkah

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Yom Kippur can be a long day, so it’s a welcome change of pace when we turn to the Book of Jonah in the afternoon. It’s a lively story with lots of fascinating connections to Yom Kippur.

God tells Jonah to go up to Nineveh and declare its impending doom; instead Jonah goes down to Jaffa and boards a ship headed in the opposite direction. God deals with him, but also shows him great mercy, and Jonah finally does what he’s told; he warns the Ninevites, and they repent en masse. The Yom Kippur themes are all in play – repentance, God’s sovereignty over the nations as well as Israel, and his boundless mercy over all. Toward the end of the story there’s also a subtle connection with Sukkot: “Jonah left the city of Nineveh and found a place east of the city, where he made himself a sukkah and sat down under it, in its shade, to see what would happen to the city” (4:5).

There’s a sukkah in this story, but it’s the wrong kind of sukkah, which I’ll call the Sukkah of Doom. Jonah is a prophet, someone who’s supposed to represent God, but his response to Nineveh, even after it repents, is to camp out and wait for God’s wrath, which he fears won’t come. Now we learn why Jonah didn’t want to warn the Ninevites in the first place. He knows how merciful God can be, because he needed a major dose of mercy himself, so he’s convinced that God is going to let the wicked city off the hook . . . and he just can’t stand it.

The problem is that we might imagine our own sukkah to be like Jonah’s – like an escape hatch from a world that’s hopelessly lost and awaiting judgment.

But the real sukkah isn’t an escape hatch. The Torah calls Sukkot Hag ha-Asif, the Festival of Ingathering or Harvest (Ex. 34:22). Surrounded by the abundant harvest of the Promised Land, we’re to remember what God has done to bring us here: “I made the people of Israel live in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt; I am Adonai your God” (Lev. 23:43 CJB).

And so the sukkah is a simple hut – outwardly humble, even shabby – but our custom is to decorate it within, to make it glorious, so we can really dwell, and not just hang out, in it. It reminds me of Messiah Yeshua, who comes among us in humility, unimpressive on the outside, but bearing within the glory of God. Likewise the sukkah of the harvest festival is glorified within to reflect the kingdom of God that is coming. It looks forward to what God will do, as well as back at what he had done. Therefore, in the age to come, “Everyone remaining from all the nations that came to attack Jerusalem will go up every year to worship the king, Adonai-Tzva’ot, and to keep the festival of Sukkot” (Zech. 14:16).

So, the right sukkah isn’t the Sukkah of Doom, an escape hatch from a world under judgment, but the Sukkah of Hope, an advance base of the Kingdom to come. The right sukkah shows that God isn’t going to abandon this world, but redeem it. It pictures God’s mission in the world, which isn’t to get us out of here, and safely tucked away in heaven, but to reunite heaven and earth, and us along with them, in the renewed creation.

Now, I started with the title “The Wrong Sukkah,” but we should focus instead on the right sukkah, the Sukkah of Hope. So, here’s a new title: “Are you building the right sukkah?”

The Lord poses the same question from a different angle to Jonah, who we left a minute ago sitting in his sukkah. Hashem provides a quick-growing vine to cover the sukkah and shade Jonah from the blazing sun, and then he provides a worm to kill the vine, and a scorching east wind to blast down on Jonah’s head. The prophet, who was probably just beginning to calm down after seeing the evil Ninevites repent, gets upset all over again and says for the second time, “I’d be better off dead!” (4:3, 8). The Lord responds with a question that ends the whole book: “You’re concerned over this vine, which cost you no effort; you didn’t make it grow; it came up in a night and perished in a night. So shouldn’t I be concerned about the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than 120,000 people who don’t know their right hand from their left – not to mention all the animals?” (4:11).

It’s a great ending, because it really leaves the ending up to Jonah, and up to us as well. Are we going to sit in the escape hatch, the Sukkah of Doom, or in the Sukkah of Hope?

Jonah’s problem is what Christian writer Eugene Peterson calls “a failure of imagination.” He is ready to see Nineveh destroyed because all he sees is a wicked city deserving judgment. In contrast, God desires mercy, because he sees “more than 120,000 people who don’t know their right hand from their left.” Apparently, just as Jonah got some comfort from the vine, Hashem derives comfort from humankind, even from wicked humans who are so lost they don’t even know their right hand from their left. Just as the vine is a comfort to Jonah, so is humanity a comfort to the Lord.

Failure of imagination: Jonah sees the Ninevites only as they are, an irritant to the righteous. But God sees their souls and cares about them. The moral: We need to join with God in seeking the souls of men.

I believe we Messianic Jews suffer at times from a failure of imagination. We distance ourselves from our own people, like Jonah on the edge of town. We forget about Yeshua our shepherd, who will re-gather us in the face of impending judgment. Instead, we either ignore our Jewish people (at least in practical ways) or imagine our people as totally other than us. Or we might take the opposite tack and idealize the Jewish people, forgetting that “we all like sheep have gone astray” (Isaiah 53:6), and need to be regathered.

The good news here is that I am not proposing a new program. People aren’t going to be restored through programs and methodology, but through the influence of friends and loved ones—through us.

The bad news, though, is that the longer we follow Yeshua, the less influence we seem to have on those outside his sheepfold. We reach unspoken agreements with family not to rock the religious boat, and we slowly lose touch with non-Messianic friends. Like Jonah, we build a sukkah, we try to get comfortable, we wait to see what is going to happen to this wicked world. . . and we long more for our own comfort than for the souls of men.

But there is still good news—the sign of Jonah. Yeshua said, “As Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth” (Mt. 12:40). Jonah announced the message God gave him, and the rest of the story unfolded. The simple message itself has power. Our message is the sign of Jonah: Yeshua the Messiah died and rose again. Our problem is that we often forget about those who need this message the most, or we adapt the message for their ears so much that we lose the simple truth of life and deliverance in Messiah.

Jonah in his sukkah reminds me of the older brother in the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), the brother who is uptight because his sinning, unruly little brother has come home and gotten totally forgiven. Yeshua tells this story because some of his religious opponents criticize him for hanging out with sinners. So he tells them that he’s like a shepherd who has 100 sheep and discovers that one has gone astray. He goes after the one lost sheep and rejoices when it’s found. He’s like a woman who has ten silver coins and loses one. She drops everything else and searches for that coin until she finds it. And then the punch line: “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents” (Luke 15:10).

The religious folk who argue with Yeshua probably figure that if you’re righteous, you’re going to get away from sinners as fast as Jonah got out of Nineveh. That idea is still popular today, but Yeshua teaches that salvation isn’t just about escaping the judgment that is hanging over this world. Don’t get me wrong, there is a reality of God’s wrath and Messiah Yeshua is the way of escape – but salvation is far bigger than that. The Sukkah of Hope isn’t an escape hatch; it’s an advance camp of the age to come, which has already broken into this age. In it we abandon any judgmental, get-me-outa-here approach to the world, and get ready to serve and prepare the way for the kingdom to come.

These stories make another point. God values people and counts each one as precious, even people who think he doesn’t exist, like the atheist who lives down the street, or people who might think God exists, but live like they wish he didn’t, like the latest high-profile adulterer to show up on the evening news, or the thief who broke in and stole your TV to pawn it for drug money. We’re to share not only God’s compassion for such folks, but also his desire to gather them in as something precious, to harvest the bounty that belongs to him.

So, as we conclude Yom Kippur and enter Sukkot, let’s be sure we build the right sukkah, the Sukkah of Hope. From there we can imagine the age to come, and get ready to go out and serve it in this age. 

Facing Our Other Side

Facing Our Other Side

Parashat B’reisheet, Genesis 1:1-6:8

Rabbi Paul L. Saal

Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, Bloomfield, CT

As we begin to explore the story of humankind outside the Garden of Eden, we should be uncomfortable with our first encounter being fratricidal murder. Yet if we are honest with ourselves, we need to admit that we walk away with less emotional investment into this narrative than we have into the average Super Bowl.  Lamentably, those of us who are most committed to the inspiration and historicity of the Genesis accounts often  accept a pale one-dimensional rendering of these stories that strips away the great complexity of human drama.

Why then does the inspired writer force us at the outset of the human journey to confront such a violent account of sibling rivalry?  I believe that the answer lies between the lines of the terse narrative found in Genesis 4. The sages engaged in a homiletic enterprise called midrash, which comes from a word that means “to search.”  By developing stories that filled in the missing details of the biblical narratives, they confronted the unanswered questions that arose. Far more important than the static details of the stories are the challenges that they pose to the hearer, and the lessons they teach about the divine-human encounter. If this form of exposition sounds familiar, it should.  The inspired authors of the Brit Chadashah, including Yeshua himself, used midrash, and engaged the existing midrash of their day.

If we read Genesis four with this approach, we’ll be challenged by some perplexing questions. What is the nature of Cain and Abel’s relationship? Why does God accept Abel’s offering but not Cain’s? What happened when the brothers confronted one another at the climax of the story?  Does Cain ever regret the killing of his brother? And does he ever experience the forgiveness and peace of Hashem? Tantalizing questions such as these invite us to respond personally to what is in many ways our own story.

Bonding with another bonds us to Hashem

Even the opening words beckon us to be immersed in the narrative.  V’ha’adam yada et-chavah ishto, “Now the man had known his wife Chavah (Eve).”  The verb yada, to know, is more than a mere idiom for sexual relations; rather it expresses a genuine intimacy that joins companionship with procreation. Only through such a relationship between man and woman can there be true reverence for the mystery, dignity, and sacredness of life.  Companionship is the primary end of the male-female relationship.  The Torah declares, “Hashem created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” This expression of primacy suggests that male and female are distinct, unique, and equal halves in the design of human totality.

One Midrash suggests that the first person was created androgynous, with a male and a female side, two faced and unable to see one another. According to Rabbi Samuel b. Nachman, Hashem severed the two sides so they might face one another and the one person might come to truly be able to truly come to “know” his/her other side. Torah states, “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and cleaves to his wife, and they become one flesh.” This midrash illustrates that a wife is a man’s other self, and visa-versa, all that nature demands for its completion, physically, socially, and spiritually. But the Creator is at the center of this wholeness and intimacy.

The narrative of Genesis 4 goes on to state that the woman conceived and bore Cain, saying, Kaniti ish et-Hashem, “I have acquired a man with Hashem.” What a strange expression. The great medieval commentator Rashi elaborates midrashically, “My husband and I were created by Hashem alone, but through the birth of Cain we are partners with him.”  So by this reckoning the Creator is the unseen senior partner in the intimacy, and the man and women are the junior partners in the work of sustaining creation outside the garden.  This is even illustrated in the spelling of man and woman. Ish and ishah are distinct because of the yod and the hay, the two letters which form the name of the Sovereign. When we take out the letter yod from ish (man) or the letter hay from ishah (woman) we are left with aish (fire).  This is indicative of how we lose the distinctiveness of our two sides and the fullness of our humanity when Hashem is taken out of our relationship.

Finding ourselves East of Eden

The sacred narrator remarks, “And additionally she bore his brother Abel.”  The birth of Abel is almost an afterthought, an asterisk in the story of Cain. Abel seems to have little inherent value apart from Cain. In fact his Hebrew name Hevel means a wisp or a shadow. He is a shadow of his older brother in this story. Though he brings the favored sacrifice, the mention of Abel’s sacrifice seems only to illustrate the failure of Cain. Abel neither speaks nor protests until his blood spilled by Cain cries out from the ground, and obvious alliteration; the dam (blood) of adam (man) cries out from the adamah (earth).

Immediately following the birth of the brothers the narrator informs us of their occupations. Like most people today the narrator seems more interested in the roles they play than in who they are. But they are the classic herder and farmer. Abel the herder would be the traveler, the one who would transverse the land.  Cain on the other hand is tied to the land, staid and stable. But upon the murder of Abel he and his voice are permanently tied to the earth. Cain is destined to wander the earth and essentially become his brother.

Responding to Adversity

It would appear then that our brethren are destined to bring out the best or the worst in each of us. The contrast between Cain and Abel is accentuated in the offerings each made, and Hashem’s response, acceptance of one and rejection of the other. All the inspired author tells us of Cain’s reaction are these few terse words: “Cain was very angry and his face was downcast.” If only Cain could talk to us now he might have said, “I’ve been wronged; I believed this world was created in goodness, but now I can see that good deeds are not rewarded. Hashem rules this world with an arbitrary power. Why else would he respect Abel’s offering and not mine?”

There may be no adequate answer to give to Cain. Perhaps the Almighty is communicating one of the most important lessons about living outside the Garden.  This world we live in is fraught with inequalities. There is simply no guarantee that our best efforts will be rewarded or appreciated.

Hashem again confronts Cain as his brother lies dead in the dust: “Where is Abel your brother?” He responds, “I do not know.” We began with the man knowing his wife, implying a certain intimacy and bonding. Here Cain replies “lo yadati” translated either I do not know or I did not know. Cain suggests that he had knowledge neither of what transpired nor of what was expected of him in relation to his brother. So Hashem gives him a last chance to face his actions and asks, “What have you done!”

The earth, which is the symbol of his stability, is taken from Cain and he becomes a wanderer, a drifter, a wisp like his brother. In killing his brother he becomes his brother. According to another midrash, Abel’s dog became Cain’s dog, wandering the earth with him (B’Reisheet Rabbah 22:13). Still another legend suggests that Cain shared Abel’s fate and was later killed by Lamech, a blood relative five generations removed. “Cain and Abel could be compared to two trees that stood side by side; when a strong wind uprooted one, it fell upon the other and uprooted it” (Jubilees 4:31).

Perhaps Cain might reflect on the lessons learned: “My brother and I are one, I can learn from his lesson. He is not my foil, he is my complement. Truly, if I do well the Creator, blessed be he, will reward my best efforts in kind! I am my brother’s keeper!”

A Better Word

We still live with the reality of human struggle and complexity. We live with the conflict between good and evil, and we wrestle with the apparent inequalities in our world. At times we bemoan our station and our fortune, as if to wave our fist in the air, as if challenging the design of the Master Architect.  Sometimes the challenge is within ourselves, as we sense the tug of war between our God-breathed inclination and our propensity to sin. At other times our brothers cover us like a reproaching shadow, replicating our own dark side.  The Eden of our dreams at times seems like a lifetime away.

But the promise of the letter to the Hebrews is that we can live in the light of the Age to Come.

On the contrary, you have come to Mount Tziyon, that is, the city of the living God, heavenly Yerushalayim; to myriads of angels in festive assembly;  to a community of the firstborn whose names have been recorded in heaven; to a Judge who is God of everyone; to spirits of righteous people who have been brought to the goal;  to the mediator of a new covenant, Yeshua; and to the sprinkled blood that speaks better things than that of Hevel. (Hebrews 12:22-24)

Cain, the son of the first person, is every person—human, vulnerable, sinful, even potentially violent; yet he is able to grow. As he reconciles himself with his past and moves on, we are challenged to confront ourselves, and our relationships with others and with Hashem.  Are we willing to receive the grace of the Creator through the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Hevel? Do we have the courage every day to allow the Spirit of Hashem make essential changes in ourselves, so we are not destined to live out our lives as we are today? Will we move beyond the inevitable pain of disappointments and rejection, and receive the healing, wholeness and peace of our Creator?

The First and Last Wedding

THE FIRST AND LAST WEDDING

Parashat B’reisheet, Genesis 1:1-6:8by Rabbi Russ Resnik

The family is the true ecumenical experience of all humankind. Edwin H. Friedman

Parashat B’reisheet tells of the beginning of all things, including marriage, which is the first of all human relationships, the foundation of every human family. God himself brings the first woman to the first man, and the man says, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” Therefore, “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh” (Gen. 2:23–24).

This foundational verse is loaded with real-life implications, and Messiah Yeshua himself cited it to define marriage as an inviolable life-time covenant (Matt. 19:4–5). I’ve always wondered, though, why it says the man shall leave his father and mother. After all, in the stories of betrothal in Genesis, it’s usually the woman who leaves her family and goes off to join the man and his family. That’s certainly the case in the beautiful story of the marriage of Isaac and Rebekah. And even in the story of Jacob, who has to leave his family and homeland to find a wife, the outcome is that he finally returns to his native land with his wives, and they leave “father and mother” to cleave to him. But this may be the exact point of Genesis 2:24. In the ancient world, everyone knows that the woman leaves father and mother when she marries a man. What’s less obvious, but equally, or perhaps even more, important is that the man must leave the nest as well—even if he stays put physically.

In counseling married couples (which I do both as a rabbi and also part-time as a clinical mental health counselor), I often find myself dealing with a husband who hasn’t left his father and mother. He and his wife may live a thousand miles away from the parents, but he’s still expecting from his wife the same sort of approval and support that he used to get—or couldn’t ever get—from his parents. Or, in the way he treats his wife, he’s still working out old unforgiveness and resentment against his parents. The recent Ken Burns documentary, “The Roosevelts: An Intimate History,” noted how Franklin Roosevelt, the only child of a wealthy and patrician family, was accustomed to the adoration of his mother, Sara Delano, which he never could get from his much more independently-minded wife, Eleanor. The distance between Franklin and Eleanor grew over the years and was compounded by his multiple affairs and dalliances.

In the terminology of Edwin Friedman, the rabbi and family therapist quoted above, Franklin—supremely confident leader that he was—failed to differentiate himself within his family. He hadn’t left father and mother enough to truly cleave to his wife, but kept his mother involved in what Friedman calls a “triangle” with himself and Eleanor the rest of his life.

There’s another revealing aspect to “leave and cleave,” which comes out in the letter to the Ephesians. It quotes Genesis 2:24 and then says, “This is a great mystery, and I am applying it to Messiah and the kehila. Each of you, however, should love his wife as himself, and a wife should respect her husband” (Eph. 5:32–33). Like Genesis 2:24, this brief passage has been a puzzlement to me for years. It applies “the two shall become one flesh” to Messiah and his body, but the whole chapter is talking about husband-wife relations, which seems to be a more direct application of the one-flesh terminology. Most of Ephesians 5:21-33 refers to the relationship between Messiah and the kehila to illustrate the proper relationship between husband and wife. But here, toward the end of the chapter, it seems like the opposite: the husband-wife relationship illustrates the relationship between Messiah and his kehila. To turn this verse around to match the rest of the chapter, I’d expect it to read, “This mystery is profound, and I am applying it to a man and his wife. Each of you, therefore, should love his wife as himself, and a wife should respect her husband.”

I’m sure you’ll all agree that my version of Ephesians 5 is an improvement on the original. But it misses a profound point. The one-flesh union of man and woman in the beginning is a hint of a more intimate and foundational union that came later—that of Messiah and his people. More specifically, the “mystery” of a man leaving father and mother to cleave to his wife is made fully known in Messiah Yeshua leaving his father to cleave to his people. When we see what Messiah did to accomplish this union with us, the community of his followers, and how he now nourishes and cherishes us as his own body, it shows us how marriage between man and woman was really meant to be all along. So Ephesians explores the mystery introduced in Genesis 2:24 as it applies to Messiah and his people, and then opens up that mystery to show how husband and wife are to live together in Messiah.

For those who are married, of course, the implications are manifold. For those who are not married—or feel stuck in a marriage without real intimacy or satisfaction—the implications are more indirect, but no less encouraging. In today’s fragmented society there are many reasons for remaining single, and many reasons for a marriage to fail, and it’s not cause for blame or stigma. Instead, remember that marriage between one man and one woman is a reflection of a greater intimacy, which is the birthright of every member of Messiah’s body, the body that he nourishes and tenderly cares for (Eph. 5:28-30). Marriage is secondary; Messiah-kehila is primary, and every Yeshua-follower, married or single, is included in that bond.

As we renew our cycle of Torah readings this week at Simchat Torah (Oct. 16-17), we return to intensely Messianic Jewish space. We’re in Jewish space, of course, because we share in the cycle of weekly readings along with the entire Jewish world, and join the Jewish discussion of these readings that’s been thriving for two millennia. It’s Messianic space too, because from the beginning, the Torah pictures the fulfillment to come in Messiah Yeshua. The first wedding, the origin of all human relationships and foundation of every human family, is a signpost of the greater wedding that awaits us at the end of the age.

Chag Sameach – Happy Simchat Torah!

Clothing the Naked Ape

Parashat B’reisheet, Gen. 1:1-6:8

by Rabbi Paul L. Saal

Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, Bloomfield, CT

In 2002 PETA initiated its “Holocaust on a Plate”, an advertising campaign intended to draw attention to the plight of animals raised in factory farms for the purpose of satisfying America and Europe’s insatiable appetite for meat. The campaign was tasteless and insensitive, and perceived by most to accomplish more in the way of whitewashing the particularity of the Holocaust, the targeting of one race for annihilation, than it did to raise awareness of the plight of animals. What was even more horrendous was that the leadership of PETA, which is largely Jewish, defended their indiscretions despite the ire and indignation of the Jewish community. This, of course, could be the introduction to a homily on a number of topics such as, Antisemitism, Jewish Assimilation, The Complicity of Jewish Intelligentsia in Antisemitism, or Is Another Holocaust Possible. But none of these is the issue that I wish to address here. My reason for mentioning the PETA campaign is to raise the idea that polarizing zealotry and ill-conceived approaches to concerns for the animal population has often distracted religious Jews and Christians from their ignorance of the first commandment in the Bible.

And God said, “Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: livestock, creatures that move along the ground, and wild animals, each according to its kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.” (Genesis 1:24-26 NIV)

Here the Divine injunctions for humanity to proliferate and to subdue the still chaotic creation cannot be separated from the pronouncement that humankind is to do so as the image bearers of the Creator in this world. Therefore how we understand and treat our “dominion” over creation and creature is directly related to how we imagine our Creator and ourselves.

In pagan cultures the pantheons of gods were understood to be selfish, cruel, and capricious, existing only to serve their own enormous appetites. Humankind was to live in fear of such gods, offering sacrifices to appease them. The scandal of the ancient world was that Israel claimed to be ruled over by a God who was the one and only Creator who cared for all of creation, and maintained loving and purposeful relationship with Israel. He was a benevolent king who served the best interests of His creation, subduing chaos and holding calamity in abeyance so long as his servants remained under His protective care. This becomes even more evident in the incarnation of Yeshua who took on the mantle of a servant king, reminiscent of the Divine purpose for humanity, which was created in God’s image.

The second divine command to humankind is to till the ground (2:15). The Hebrew word used here is l’avdah, which literally means to serve or worship. Humans were intended to image God as both kings and as servants of the creation. If Israel and by extension the Church is to be obedient to the commands and ordinances of Torah, they must image God as kings and priests, sovereigns and servants, harbingers of a renewed humanity, dedicated to God’s original purposes. Worship is our ritual performance of the primordial intention for triangulated service between God, humanity, and creation. Theologian Jon Levenson refers to this dual role as “an aristocracy of humility.” But what does this mean if those who claim to be dedicated to God ravage His creation with no regard for either Creator or creature?

In 2001 a plague of foot-and-mouth disease started in a British slaughterhouse and spread throughout Europe. Newspapers and news networks carried images of hundreds of thousands, and then millions of cattle being shot, thrown in burning pyres and bulldozed into unmarked graves. The horrifying fact though is that foot-and-mouth disease is fatal to neither animal nor human. It is a form of influenza, which is treatable with veterinary care and preventable by vaccination. Millions of these animals were not affected, but were killed rather because their trade value had been diminished and trade policies required it.

Across the country animals for market are raised in factory farms. They are held in seclusion in dark, stainless steel chambers, where they are better and more efficiently fattened for their time of slaughter.  From birth they never see the light of day, or play or run free as God created them to do. Apparently the only god that is being served by the meat industry is that of consumerism.  And yet where is the voice of outrage from the religious community?

Though insensitive and ill-conceived it is not difficult to understand how the folks at PETA were awakened to the imagery of the Holocaust. What is more difficult to understand is why those of us who claim to be God’s people seemingly care little to exhibit His mercy for His most vulnerable creatures. All too often, as a response to the “dominion” we have been given, we claimed the right to do what we wish, because we can.  The prophetic passages though evoke imagery of a time when all will be made right and justified on earth and Isaiah states that lion and the calf will lie down together. Are we to believe that when the entire world is in harmony only humankind will be the feared predators? Shouldn’t we who claim to be harbingers of a new humanity begin now to work toward this prophetic reality? Are we willing to subordinate some of our own desires in the process?

In every act of kindness we hold in our hands the mercy of our Creator, whose purposes are in life and death, whose love does not stop at us but rather surrounds us, bestowing dignity and beauty and hope on every creature that lives and suffers and perishes. Perhaps the animals’ role among us is to awaken humility, to open our hearts to that most impractical of hopes in which all creation speaks as one. For them as for us, if there is any hope at all then it is the same hope, and the same love, and the same God who shall “wipe every tear from their eyes; and there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the former things has passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

In the Beginning

“In the beginning” 

Parashat Bereisheet, Genesis 1:1-6:8

by Jonathan Roush

This week we are reminded of many different beginnings. Earlier this week we rolled the Torah scroll all the way back to its beginning, and each passage we read this week talks about the beginning of the world in some way.

Bereisheet (Genesis) opens with the beginning of the world:

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” (Gen. 1:1 ESV)

The passage from Isaiah also hearkens back to the beginning of creation:

“Thus says God, the Lord, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it…” (Is. 42:5 ESV)

Lastly, we read where John, referring to Yeshua, openly proclaimed:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1 Delitzsch Hebrew Gospels)

A few weeks ago on Rosh Hashanah we began the year 5773 and ten days later on Yom Kippur we repented of our sin and asked for a fresh start to this new year. We have been in a season of new beginnings and hopefully, this hasn’t escaped us.

So where does all of this focus on “beginnings” leave us?

Each of these beginnings is an opportunity to adjust or re-adjust the things in our lives that aren’t quite up to par. Perhaps we haven’t been treating those around us with the respect that they deserve, or maybe we haven’t been taking care of our bodies in the way we should. Maybe we haven’t been spending quality time in prayer or in reading the Scriptures.

Since we are once again beginning our yearly journey through the Torah, it’s this last point that I would like to focus on. Because we read through the Torah every year, perhaps there is a temptation to not pay as much as attention as you should. Of course, maybe it is just me, but I don’t think I am alone in this.  After all, we’ve read it before and we’ve heard it before too, right?

Let’s be honest: (meaningful) reading takes discipline. In our Technicolor world of bright lights and constant sound it can be especially difficult for us to quiet our own minds and focus.Readingdemands that you remove outside stimulus in order to really comprehend.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not kvetching. I like to read, so I don’t generally see it as a chore. I am not sure if I was born with an innate love of reading or if it was the “Read-a-thon” fundraisers at school, the Pizza Hut “Book It!” program, or the summer reading programs my parents made me and my sister sign up for every year. Regardless of the cause(s) I really love reading a good book. Even if this doesn’t describe you, we all live in an age in which it is easy to fall prey to distractions and fast transactions, an age that’s not really conducive to reading and taking time to study without making a deliberate choice. These things don’t just happen on their own.

So let’s be deliberate right now. You and I. Turn the TV off, ignore the text messages, and close Facebook. Let’s go back and read those opening verses of Genesis, and let’s not just breeze through them.

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.” (Genesis 1: 1-2 ESV)

The Jerusalem Targum translates verse 2 as:

“And the earth was vacancy and desolation, solitary of the sons of men and void of every animal, and the darkness was upon the face of the abyss; and the Spirit of Mercies from before the Lord breathed upon the face of the waters.”

Now, there is a picture! Vacant. Desolate. Cold. Things were in utter chaos until “the Spirit of Mercies” intervened. Ah, divine intervention establishing order in the midst of so much chaos. Once I read that it became much harder for me to mindlessly gloss over those verses. It made them much more alive and real to me. Are the Scriptures alive to you?

While I can’t tell you that it will ever be the easiest thing, I can tell you that, as with any discipline, deliberate reading and study of the Scripture does get easier as you carve out the time and the quiet needed. Is there a better time of the year than now to dedicate ourselves to real and life giving study of God’s word?

To study God’s word is to better know our Messiah, Yeshua, the living Word. After all he is indeed the living embodiment of the Scripture as John proclaimed in his gospel.

“He was in the beginning with God. Everything was made to exist through him, and nothing that was made to exist was made to exist except by him. There was life in him, and the life was light for the sons of men.” (John 1:2-4 Delitzsch Hebrew Gospels)

If we truly “live and move and have our being” in and through him, let’s commit ourselves to do better in our studying than we have before. As we restart our journey through the Torah let’s be careful not to squander this beginning.  Instead let’s focus with greater determination as we read, study, and learn, to follow our Messiah.

May we find God’s word more alive, vibrant and relevant than we have in the past and, through our study, may we find ourselves being transformed more and more into the likeness of Yeshua.

Jonathan Roush

Beth Messiah Congregation,Gaithersburg,MD

How to Mess Up Your Life

Shabbat B’reisheet—“How to Mess Up Your Life”

SHABBAT B’REISHEET—“HOW TO MESS UP YOUR LIFE”

By Rabbi Barney Kasdan, Kehilat Ariel, San Diego

How to Mess Up Your Life. As a rabbi, I usually don’t like to give this kind of counsel to people! But the famous story in this first parasha of the year begs the question.   

Shabbat B’reisheet is filled with some amazing revelation of the beginnings of the universe and mankind.  Sadly, it doesn’t take long for humanity to fall from God’s Paradise.  If that wasn’t bad enough, the next generation continued the downward slope as illustrated in the life of Cain.  Actually his birth was perceived as potentially a great blessing.  Not only was Cain the firstborn, but his mother Chava/Eve saw a possible fulfillment of even the messianic promise of Genesis 3:15 (the seed of the woman to crush all evil).  Immediately after giving birth, Chava exclaims, “Kaniti ish et Adonai! I have acquired a man with HaShem!” Literally the Hebrew is better translated “I have acquired a man, the Lord!” This is not only a play on words in the original language (kaniti / Kayin / Cain), but it makes sense that Chava thought her firstborn might actually be the predicted One, even the Mashiach.

Cain would in fact fall far short of such expectations as he brings an inferior sacrifice to the altar of God while his younger brother Abel brings the best from his flock.  Some speculate that the problem was that Cain brought a fruit offering while Abel brought an animal offering.  The text does not make that distinction but something is clearly going on.  A midrash says that Cain actually ate his animal offering and offered some low-grade flax to the Lord.  If that is the case then Cain was in disobedience.  Maybe it was more about attitude.  Whatever the case, the New Covenant states that Abel “offered a better sacrifice” (Hebrews 11:4).   Essentially Cain seems to run into problems because he is doing his own thing.  That is a great first step to messing up our own life, is it not?  Too often people create their own problems by following their own skewed decisions and not listening to God’s counsel in the Scripture.

In this parasha we are told another great way to mess up our lives.  This is by ignoring any loving correction by God.  After his rejected offering, Cain does not correct the situation but goes even further in the wrong direction.  His anger is evident even in his body language and demeanor as God asks, “why has your countenance fallen?”  Cain is offered a way of restoration and blessing but chooses to let the evil inclination take control of his life.  This leads to the tragic murder of Abel, the first recorded in history.  It didn’t have to be this way.  What started as a bad situation for Cain could have been corrected, especially with God’s help in his life.  But he chose the way of anger and resentment which in turn culminated in murder.  This is a sure-fire way to make any situation worse than it already is:  ignore any loving correction from God.  As our tradition says, the gates of repentance are always open.  It is the repeated story of human experience that we mess things up when we do our own thing.  Just look at the daily news!  But how doubly tragic when people not only do their own thing but continue down a road of not receiving loving correction from their Heavenly Father.  The story of Cain reminds us to keep on listening for God’s good direction for our life.

Believe it or not, Cain takes his tragic experience to an even deeper level of tzuris.  In the midst of doing his own thing and not listening to correction, he then proceeds to blame everyone else for his problems!  This seems to come out in two of his statements in the Torah.  First, he asks the famous question “ha-shomer achi anochi? Am I my brother’s keeper?” To paraphrase, “God, why did you put me in this position?” Second, Cain takes issue with the consequences of his actions by asking, “Is my iniquity too great?”  Evidently he questions God in the midst of his judgment.  The tragic spiral of Cain’s life has just hit a new depth.  After doing his own thing and ignoring God’s correction, he simply blames everyone else for his problems!  It seems a logical conclusion as the Torah notes that after all this, “Cain left the presence of HaShem.”  This was no doubt both a physical and spiritual departure.  How sad.  How unnecessary.  But such are some of the lessons from the life of Cain.

Maybe it is quite appropriate that this first parasha of the New Year reminds us all on how to mess up our lives?   If we received the message of the Holy Days correctly, then we have re-established a good relationship with God and with those around us.  It should be a little taste of Paradise restored.  Let’s not mess up our own lives by following the example of Cain.  Let us stay close and listen to our Messiah Yeshua to enjoy that abundant life he promised.   

Shabbat Shalom!

Joshua on the Margins

Shelach L’cha—Joshua on the Margins

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

This week’s parasha brings us to a climax in Israel’s story of deliverance. A few chapters earlier, the tribes of Israel finally departed from Mount Sinai, where they had camped for nearly a year to receive the Torah, build the tabernacle, and inaugurate the priesthood. Finally, the cloud of glory rose up from the encampment and Israel moved on, as Moses called out the words we repeat to this day when we take the Torah scroll out from the ark: “Kuma Adonai. Arise O Lord, and let your enemies be scattered! May those who hate you flee before You!” (Num. 10:35).

Now, in this week’s reading, Moses sends forth twelve scouts to spy out the territory beyond the Jordan and prepare Israel to take possession of the Promised Land. But, of course, ten spies return with an evil report that terrifies the Israelites, who refuse to go forward and take the land. The entire generation will die in the wilderness, except for Joshua and Caleb, the two spies who brought a report of faith and encouragement.

The conquest of the Promised Land must await a new generation, which we read about in the haftarah portion for this week, Joshua 2. There, Joshua, like Moses before him, sends spies to scout out the land. Unlike Moses, however, Joshua sends only two spies instead of twelve, reflecting the fact that only two of the original spies brought a positive report. Now, the two spies return and tell Joshua, “The Lord has delivered the whole land into our power; in fact, all the inhabitants of the land are quaking before us.” The haftarah concludes with these words, but let’s follow the story a little further. This time the Israelites do not lose heart. As the people mobilize to cross the Jordan, the waters of the river part and the Israelites cross on dry ground to set foot on the Promised Land. There they renew the covenant of circumcision, which had been neglected during the wandering in the wilderness. Then they celebrate Passover and begin to eat the produce of the land as the manna ceases and their wanderings are over.

We are ready for a complete reversal of the failure recorded in Shelach L’cha. But first, Joshua has an encounter that will mark this conquest as different from any invasion or military campaign in history.

• Once, when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing before him, drawn sword in hand. Joshua went up to him and asked him, “Are you one of us or of our enemies?” He replied, “No, I am captain of the Lord’s host. Now I have come!” Joshua threw himself face down to the ground and, prostrating himself, said to him, “What does my lord command his servant?” The captain of the Lord’s host answered Joshua, “Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy.” And Joshua did so. (Joshua 5:13-15, NJPS)

The man lets Joshua know that he’s not the center of the divine drama, that even Israel is not the center, but only God himself. When Joshua asks what he is to do, the man only tells him to remove his sandals in the presence of holiness. The encounter with the divine is inexplicable, totally other, and it transforms Joshua from a warrior, girded for battle, to a worshiper with bare feet, his face to the ground. Joshua will become a warrior again, but only after he takes a position in which he cannot conquer anything, at least by human means.

This place of holiness is also a place on the margins, a spot in no man’s land outside the camp of Israel and outside of Jericho. And so we learn that what is central in God’s geography may be marginal in the calculations of man, and what is central in man’s estimation may be marginal in God’s.

In Messianic Judaism, we see the man that Joshua encounters as a hint of the Messiah to come, the captain of the Lord’s hosts who has come to disclose the holiness of God and bring us into it. Joshua’s response—baring his feet and falling on his face—looks like weakness. Paradoxically, however, it reflects the true strength exemplified in the crucified Messiah, who tells us, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9). It’s as if, on the eve of Israel’s great victory and display of power, the Lord reminds Joshua that it’s not about power, not about victory through the means the dominant culture presents. Instead, the true power is to be found on the holy ground of the margins, in the irreducible, transformative encounter with God. Without this encounter all of our efforts will fail and fade away.

Joshua on the margins teaches us many lessons in addition to this essential one, and I’ll touch on one that pertains to the challenge of building Messianic Jewish communities. Joshua encountered the divine on the margins, not only geographically but also in terms of how things get done in this world. The 16th century Jewish commentator Abarbanel writes,

• By telling Joshua to remove his sandals, the angel was signifying that Jericho could not be conquered by physical means. The Land was holy, and Israel’s enemies would be defeated only through God’s miracles. And Joshua did so, not merely in the literal sense that he removed his sandals, but that he discarded any thoughts of triumph by mere force of arms. (Quoted in The Early Prophets Artscroll Pub., p. 25)

In our secular age, all congregations—church and synagogue—are marginal. Membership in mainstream groups is declining. It is no longer conventional, that is, expected and beneficial for social standing, but can actually be a stigma. This reality leads to membership that is intentional, where people join out of conviction, expecting membership to reflect their faith and commitment. Messianic Jewish groups have never become established enough to provide conventional reasons for people to join us. Hence, we can embrace our place on the margins, outside today’s dominant culture of consumerism and hyper-individualism, to become intentional congregations and sacred communities.

One prominent rabbi contrasts the dominant market community with sacred community:

• The everyday is what we use as means to ends. The sacred exists as its own end. . . .  Sacred community . . . is devoted to certain tasks, but these can be realized only in a sacred ambience, not in a market community where people weigh value by the list of limited liability deliverables that they think their dues are buying.1

Much good may proceed from a sacred community, but it is not constituted just to get a job done or to provide a collection of programs, projects, and benefits for dues (or tithe) paying consumers. Congregation is not a means to an end, but a gathering under Hashem in a shared vision of his holiness and purpose. In the Messianic world it is a gathering of those who have experienced the transforming encounter with the divine. When a member begins to ask, “What’s in it for me?” he or she is already turning away from sacred community to the cult of consumerism. Congregation as sacred community is inherently marginal to the dominant culture, but it becomes the place where a more profound marginality is overcome. It reflects the way of Yeshua, who met us on the margins to bring us into the heart of God’s story.

Joshua worshiping on the margins reminds us not to depend upon human power, particularly the power of individualism and self-satisfaction that is marketed to us every hour. Like Joshua, we may have to leave the holy ground to serve God’s purposes, but we return transformed. The challenge is to remember and continually count on the truth that all we do depends on God’s power and not our own-particularly in an age fascinated with human accomplishment and technology, and the quest for self-fulfillment.

Within this setting the word of the Lord is, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” Can we respond like Rav Shaul? “Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Messiah may rest upon me.”

Rabbi Russ Resnik: rebrez@umjc.org

Part of this commentary appeared earlier in “Hesed and Hospitality” by Russ Resnik, in Kesher: A Journal of Messianic Judaism, Issue 23, Fall/Winter 2009.

Wanted: Stonewashed Rugged Faith

Beshalach – Wanted: Stonewashed Rugged Faith

by Rebbetzin Malkah Forbes,

Seattle, WA

When the Baal Shem Tov was young, he lived in the mountains of southern Russia.

From time to time he would walk to the top of a mountain, and lose himself in thought.

Lost to the world, lost to himself, but found to G-d.Deep in this lostness and this foundness, he once began to walk where there was no ground to walk on.

As he put his foot down, he was stepping into an abyss.

But before he could hurtle downward, a nearby mountain moved, and closed the gap.

The Baal Shem, all unknowing, continued on firm ground:  lost to the world, lost to himself, but found to G-d.         – – Chassidic tale

Stonewashing is a process in the textile industry that is used to give a new denim cloth garment a worn-out appearance. This process also helps to increase the softness and flexibility of otherwise stiff and rigid fabrics such as denim.  This process entails what the name implies: washing the denim with large stones to roughen up and soften the cloth. As stones represent an obstacle or hardship, the denim is likened to B’nei Yisrael’s fabric of faith.  The challenges that Hashem places before B’nei Yisrael as they travel through the wilderness are meant to tenderize and increase their faith.  Moshe, Mashiach Yeshua and the Baal Shem Tov all prove to us that through this stonewashing comes a small seed of faith that can rise above the evil, chaos and doubt that prevail in our midst. Not only can we move mountains, but we can be a conduit of faith and possibility to those around us, even in the most impossible of circumstances.

A SEA OF DOUBT

Water.  It gives life to plants, fish, and humans.  Too much, we drown.  Too little, we die.  Both extremes lead to certain death.  But something in the middle brings life and a flourishing society.  As B’nei Yisrael approaches the Sea of Reeds and finds Pharoah’s army at their back, how do they make peace with the water?  The water is merely a test of their faith.  As the army of doom draws near, it is clear that the people have great doubt and are paralyzed with fear.

“Do not fear!  Stand fast and see the salvation of Hashem that He will perform for you today; for as you have seen Egypt today, you shall not see them ever again.  Hashem shall make war for you and you shall be silent.”  Shemot 14: 13-14

According to the Midrash, the sea would not part until the Israelites had enough courage to enter the waters first. However, one man by the name of Nachshon ben Ammindav from the tribe of Judah (and, according to the rabbis, Aaron’s brother-in-law), had faith greater than any seed of doubt.  He stepped forward and walked straight into the waters of the sea and thus they began to split. To this day, the rabbis attribute faith and courage to Nachshon ben Ammindav.  For him, the Sea of Reeds was like a stone in the stonewashing of his faith.  He allowed himself to be malleable to the divine will and submitted himself to the test in order to soften his will.  Rather than fall into despair, he used the moment to turn the sea of doubt into a moment to commune with Hashem.

As Hashem brings B’nei Yisrael though the wall of water, Egypt’s greatest warriors are consumed by the water.  As the multitudes stand on the shore and observe, they receive a great injection of faith.  But it won’t be enough as they encounter their next obstacle.  Their garments of faith aren’t finished being stonewashed. There are yet to be more stones to transform their faith.

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE AND NOT A DROP TO DRINK

As the parasha continues, we encounter B’nei Yisrael in the midst of the wilderness with the opposite predicament.  Instead of standing before a sea of water, they stand before a sea of sand in Marah and a pool of water that is bitter and undrinkable.

He [Moshe] cried out to Hashem, and Hashem showed him a tree; he threw it into the water and the water became sweet….He[Moshe] said, “If you hearken diligently to the voice of Hashem, your G-d, and do what is just in His eyes, give ear to His commandments and observe all His decrees, then any of the diseases that I placed in Egypt, I will not bring upon you, for I am Hashem, your Healer.”  They arrived at Elim, where there were twelve springs of water and seventy date palms; they encamped there by the water.                  Shemot 15:25-27

The Baal Shem Tov says that even with water before them, the doubt and bitterness within their souls after three days of wandering have spoiled the water and made it undrinkable.  Their own negativity and inability to see beyond themselves sour even their environment.   Moshe Rabbeinu, however, calls out in faith to sweeten the waters for the people, almost like giving a candy to a wailing child to sooth and assuage.  What is interesting is the use of the words chuq u’mishpat – literally decrees and ordinances.  Mishpatim tend to be easier to follow since in many cases they are logical.  Following the decrees – chuqim – which at times don’t always have a logical component, would be the litmus test.  Despite the decrees, would they possess even a shard of doubt that would hamper their ability to obey?

HAMAN OR HAMAN?

The next challenge B’nei Yisrael encounters is hunger.  Quickly forgetting the date palms and the water at Elim, they believe they are going to perish for lack of food.  Moshe again implores Hashem on their behalf and the manna falls from the heavens.  This food, spiritually necessary and easily assimilated, would be the key to purifying their souls and honing their ways.  They would gather a day’s worth of manna and enough on the sixth day to carry them through Shabbat.  How then could any doubt remain in their hearts if they were sustained daily with heavenly food in the harshest of conditions?  The answer is that when they gathered the manna, they did so with reservation.  They proved this when they disobeyed the decree not to gather manna on Shabbat.

It happened on the seventh day that some of the people went to gather, and they did not find.  Hashem said to Moshe, “How long will you refuse to observe My commandments and My teachings?  See that Hashem has given you the Sabbath; that is why He gives you on the sixth day a two-day portion of bread. “ Shemot 16:27-29

From here on, we see again the reservations of B’nei Yisrael as they continue on and camp at Rephidim.  Their doubt brings the absence of water as well as an adversary known as Amalek and his army.  This attack comes not because Hashem wanted to test them, but because B’nei Yisrael lacked the ability to trust in Hashem.  Their refusal to obey the commandment of manna showed that they lacked “spiritual water”, or Torah precepts, and this doubt brought about not only their physical lack but also their ultimate enemy.

HaShem maintains a war against Amalek from generation to generation.     Shemot 17:16

While Hashem could have certainly defeated Amalek, it is evident that this is not the job of our Creator.  As our rejection of manna continues on today through our flippant adherence to the Torah, Hashem will continue to allow our struggle with Amalek.  This is a stone to tenderize us for a lifetime.  Is it a coincidence that the word for manna – HaMan – is spelled the same way as Haman? Through our rejection of the decree of the manna we seeded something else quite disastrous.  As we received Haman, a descendant of Amalek,  during the time of Esther, so too have other figures in history come against B’nei Yisrael with the same spirit. Amalek is the representation of doubt and unbelief in G-d’s existence; his name is equal to 240 and is s ynonymous with the word doubt – safek – which also equals 240.   Amalek, and all who operate in his spirit, are the absence of faith in the miracles of G-d and also the denial of His authority in men’s affairs.  This is the stone that will continue to brush against our faith and either cause us to become stronger, or ultimately become our demise if we fail to trust in Hashem.

CLOSING THE GAP

Mashiach Yeshua declares that the smallest amount of faith is enough to accomplish even the greatest feats.

I tell you that if you have trust as tiny as a mustard seed, you will be able to say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move; indeed, nothing will be impossible for you.     Matthew 17:20

Then Kefa called to him, “Lord, if it is really you, tell me to come to you on the water.”  “Come!” he said. So Kefa got out of the boat and walked on the water toward Yeshua.  But when he saw the wind, he became afraid; and as he began to sink, he yelled, “Lord!  Save me!”  Yeshua immediately stretched out his hand, took hold of him, and said to him, “Such little trust!  Why did you doubt?”  Matthew 14:28-31

Just as Moshe stretched out his hand many times and was a conduit for miracles and faith, so too did Yeshua stretch out his hand and continues doing so to us today. While we are not the ones who experienced the miracles of our forbearers directly, we must believe the power of the Holy One and stamp out doubt.  For if we doubt, we grow weak and the spirit of Amalek has dominion in our lives.  Our faith needs to be like a pair of stonewashed jeans…. flexible, transformed and enduring.  May our faith be like the toughest Levi’s – up to the job, reliable and prevailing in all circumstances of life.

Yasher Koach and Shabbat Shalom…..