The Voice Never to Be Repeated

Parashat Va’etchanan, Deuteronomy 3:23-7:11

by Hana Guzman, Beth Messiah, Montgomery Village, MD

At the opening of this week’s parasha, the Israelite people are standing ready to enter the Promised Land as Moses reminds them of their covenant with God on Mount Sinai. Following the repetition of the Ten Commandments, Moses says:

These words Hashem spoke to your entire congregation on the mountain, from the midst of the fire, the cloud, and the thick cloud – a great voice, never to be repeated – and He inscribed them on two stone tablets and gave them to me (Deut. 5:19, Artscroll).

The Hebrew phrase velo yasaf, translated here as “never to be repeated,” is somewhat ambiguous and can also mean “which did not cease.” Our sages have therefore provided multiple interpretations for understanding these words:

• This event was a one-time occurrence – God would never again appear so publicly to the people.
• The voice was so intensely powerful, it spoke without interruptions.
• The voice continued to be heard for the entire forty days that Moses was on Mount Sinai.
• The voice did not repeat, or the voice had no echo.
• The voice continued to speak through subsequent prophets.
• The voice was not spoken just in the Holy Tongue, but in the languages of seventy nations.

What is the significance? A few thoughts.

When Moses introduces this retelling of God and the people at Mount Sinai, he says:

Ask now about the former days, long before your time, from the day God created human beings on the earth; ask from one end of the heavens to the other. Has anything so great as this ever happened, or has anything like it ever been heard of?  Has any other people heard the voice of God speaking out of fire, as you have, and lived? (Deut. 4:32-33, NIV)

The voice of God was so tremendous that it frames Moses’ entire conception of Israel’s particularity. This is the guarantee of God’s covenant to the people. The power and singularity of the event becomes the evidence that God will not forget his covenant with their fathers.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe taught that in times when our lives seem challenged or resistant to the mission given to us at Mount Sinai, it may seem that Torah or this covenant does not fit with the reality we face. And yet the sages teach that the voice of Hashem had no echo. An echo is created when sound waves meet resistance – instead of absorbing the waves, a substance repels them, bouncing them back. By this reading therefore, the voice of God permeates every object in the universe, so that any resistance or conflict we may feel is only superficial and temporary. Ultimately, as God created all things, so the essence of every thing is consistent with what its Creator desires. (chabad.org/parshah/in-depth.)

In recognizing this, we are better equipped to understand our relationship to both God and the world around us. The sages teach that the Jews were exiled among the nations to elevate the sparks of holiness there, and ultimately inspire all of Creation to know its Creator.

So too the Torah is relevant for more than just the Jewish people. The sages say that the voice was spoken to seventy nations, or to the entire world: they too received the word of God at Mount Sinai. The imagery of a voice being spoken out of the fire into seventy languages simultaneously is remarkably similar to the picture we have in Acts 2.

Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them. . . . When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken. (Acts 2:2–4, 6, NIV)

We know as believers in Yeshua that God’s word continues to be revealed to us, through the intimate relationship he has given us with the Holy Spirit. This is the continued reminder of God’s covenant with us, as well as of our mission to the world.

I’ll venture to add a final interpretation to the mix. Other publications have translated Deuteronomy 5:19 differently:

The Lord spoke those words – those and no more – to your whole congregation at the mountain (Deut. 5:19, JPS).

A pshat, or plain reading of the text might suggest that quite simply, God finished talking – and we are not to add or subtract from his narrative. This is consistent to prior verses:

Do not add to what I command you and do not subtract from it, but keep the commands of the Lord your God that I give you (Deut. 4:2, NIV).

We live in a society of post-truths and alternative facts, one that seems quite casually inclined to distort reality. Our God is El Emet, the God of truth. God’s voice is powerful, awe-inspiring, and fearful – with incredible promises for us. We cannot take it lightly, but must endeavor relentlessly to understand God’s words.

Each day, we encounter the Shema in our daily prayers; this week, we also read it in the parasha. This command to “hear” hearkens to our understanding of God’s voice. As we recite the Shema together with Jews across the world, let us hold fast to the promises assured by God’s voice to us. God, as the ultimate Creator, desires relationship with us. We in turn must truly listen for his voice.

The Voice of Our Words

Parashat D’varim, Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22

by Jared Eaton

This week’s Torah portion is D’varim, as we start the book of Deuteronomy. This week also falls in what is called the “Nine Days,” a period of deep reflection and introspection preceding the commemoration of Tisha b’Av on the 9th day of the month of Av (August 1 this year).

Tisha b’Av memorializes the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E., as well as the First Temple centuries before. It is a day of mourning, and on it we are forbidden from learning Torah (since the study of Torah gives us great joy). However, we are permitted to study texts that are relevant to the subject of mourning, such as Lamentations or Job. We are also permitted to read the Talmudic legend of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.

According to the sages of the Talmud, a Jew in first-century Jerusalem wanted to throw a party for all his friends. He drew up a guest list and sent his servant to invite all the people on it, including a man named Kamtza. However, the hapless servant accidently misread the name and instead invited a man named Bar Kamtza, who happened to be a man his master greatly disliked.

Bar Kamtza was delighted to receive the invitation, believing that his nemesis was finally looking to bury the hatchet. But when he arrived at the party, the host took one look at him and ordered him to leave at once.

Bar Kamtza was embarrassed to have to leave the party in such a way and offered to pay for the cost of his meal if he could stay. The host refused.

Bar Kamtza, then offered to pay half the cost of the party if he could take part in it. Once again, the host refused.

Finally, Bar Kamtza offered to pay for the entire cost of the feast, if only he would not be shamefully ejected from the party.

The host coldly rebuffed both Bar Kamtza’s generous proposal and his bid for friendship and sent him away. As Bar Kamtza left, disgraced, he saw the rabbis who had been invited standing silently, their inaction condoning their host’s unjust behavior.

Bar Kamtza left the party and in his rage and humiliation he went straight to the Roman authorities and delivered a slanderous report about disloyalty and rebellion among the Jews, laying the seeds for the destruction of the Temple.

And so, one of the greatest tragedies in the history of the Jewish people came about, not because of a long chain of inexorable geopolitical events, but because two men were unwilling to be kind to each other.

The Scriptures instruct us again and again how powerful our words are, how the things we say can build up and impart life or tear down and bring death.

The Book of Proverbs says:

 The tongue has the power of life and death,
and those who love it will eat its fruit. (Prov. 18:22)

The apostle Yaakov warns, “The tongue is a small part of the body, and yet it boasts of great things. See how great a forest is set aflame by such a small fire” (James 3:5).

And yet the sad tale of Bar Kamtza teaches us that it’s not only the things that we say that can cause harm, but the things that we leave unsaid as well. Had the rabbis who witnessed the baseless hatred of their host spoken against it, a great misfortune might have been averted.

Instead, they said nothing, and Bar Kamtza was left to interpret the meaning of their silence on his own. Perhaps the rabbis were embarrassed and didn’t wish to get involved. Maybe they were worried they would be thrown out themselves if they took Bar Kamtza’s side. Whatever the reason for their silence, Bar Kamtza read their intent as tolerating a great wrong.

The intention behind our words is just as important as the words themselves and holds the same power of life and death within it.

In this week’s parasha, Moses narrates the story of Israel’s long journey through the wilderness and recounts the sin of the spies in Canaan. In telling the story, Moses says a strange thing: “And the Lord heard the voice of your words, and was angry . . .” (Deut. 1:34, literal translation).

The Lord heard more than simply the words of the spies. Nothing the spies said was untrue. He heard the voice of the words. The intention behind the report. The words may have been true, but the intention was cowardly, mistrustful and treasonous.

We must be responsible not only with our words but also with the voice of our words. The rabbis in Bar Kamtza’s day may have said nothing, but the voice of their silence was so loud that it tore down the walls of the Temple. The spies in Moses’ day may have spoken no lies, but the voice of their words was so corrupting that it doomed a generation to die in the wilderness.

In the days of Moses, words had the power of life and death, but in these last days the words we have been given by Messiah Yeshua are the words of eternal life! How much greater is our responsibility to use those words to impart life, to encourage each other, and to build Yeshua’s kingdom?

May we always be good stewards of the words of life we have in Messiah Yeshua. And may the voice of our words be as sweet as the words themselves.

Back to the Essentials

Parashat Matot-Mas’ei, Numbers 30:1-36:13

Haftarah, Jeremiah 2:4-28, 3:4

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Those whom I love, I rebuke and discipline. Therefore, be zealous and repent. Revelation 3:19, TLV

Words of reproof are difficult to hear, and often unwelcome, but they’re essential to a life of knowing and serving the God of Israel. And so the cycle of the Jewish year makes sure that there are times when we can’t avoid such words.

This week we are in the midst of the Haftarot of Affliction, passages from the prophets read over the three weeks leading up to Tisha b’Av (August 1), anniversary of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. These passages are difficult—full of rebuke and admonition—but necessary if we’re to be genuinely prepared for Tisha b’Av and all it means. They’re also necessary for all of us as individuals and as a community if we’re to have a full-orbed, and not just a feel-good, relationship with God.

These prophecies are filled with warnings that Israel largely ignored in ancient times, which still demand our attention today:

Be appalled at this, O heavens!
Be utterly horrified and dumbfounded.

It is a declaration of Adonai.

My people have committed two evils:
They have forsaken Me
—the spring of living water—
and they dug their own cisterns—
cracked cisterns that hold no water. (Jer. 2:12–13, TLV)

It’s a powerful rebuke of the folly of abandoning the living God for the sake of man-made practices and pursuits that will never really fill our souls. Last week’s reading, however, concluded with a word of commendation for Israel, which also still applies today.

I remember the devotion of your youth,
your love as a bride,
and the way you followed Me in the wilderness,
in a land not sown.
Israel was holy to Adonai,
the firstfruits of the harvest. (Jer. 2:2–3,TLV modified)

From this high point of devotion to the Lord, Israel descended into the devotion to false gods, forsaking the living waters of Adonai for leaky tanks of stale water, tanks they found desirable because they were man-made. Jeremiah denounces this folly in words that ring out today.

I began writing this commentary on my way home from Chicago, site of our annual UMJC conference last week. The conference had multiple points of excellence, and the plenary messages stood out among them. It wasn’t hard to trace a continuous theme throughout these messages: our community has been raised up by the Lord with a share in His mission to all Israel and to the nations. This is a message of commendation, but it also contained, like Jeremiah’s message, a word of reproof and correction. Our community is nowhere near abandoning the living waters of Messiah, but are we overly attracted to waters that we can store and manage ourselves? Have we lost the devotion of our youth? Are we neglecting the mission that we should be sharing with God Himself?

The plenary sessions opened on Thursday evening with a message from our new Executive Director that framed the big vision of Messianic Judaism with three Shavuots: first, the giving of Torah on Mount Sinai, which launched Israel on its mission as a priestly nation; second, the outpouring of the Ruach after Messiah Yeshua’s resurrection and ascension, which launched the worldwide Yeshua movement that is still advancing today; and third, the Shavuot of June, 1967, immediately following the Six-Day War and liberation of Jerusalem, which launched a Ruach awakening that is at the root of today’s Messianic Jewish movement.

On Saturday morning, our new UMJC president brought a lively and engaging message from Parashat Pinchas with a profound insight: Pinchas is one of several characters in this parasha who took decisive action in the present for the sake of the future. Monique pictured our future, the convergence of the three Shavuots as all Israel embraces Messiah Yeshua and rises as a light to the nations; Jesse called on us to pay the price today to ensure that future. Our guest speakers, Canon Andrew White, the “Vicar of Baghdad,” and Wayne Hilsden, founder of King of Kings Congregation in Jerusalem, also brought words of encouragement, noting the presence of the Ruach among us, and our faithfulness over decades of serving Messiah. But their messages also held an element of correction, calling us back to simple devotion to the living God, and to the twofold mission of God described by Isaiah:

It is too trifling a thing that You should be My servant
to raise up the tribes of Jacob
and restore the preserved ones of Israel.
So I will give You as a light for the nations,
that You should be My salvation to the end of the earth. (Is. 49:5a – 6)

The servant here is ultimately Messiah Himself, but in his message Wayne Hilsden followed Paul’s example of including followers of Yeshua in the servant’s mission (Acts 13:47). Likewise, the Messianic Jewish community has a share in this two-fold mission to Israel and to the nations, and we do well to ask ourselves how well we are fulfilling it. The Haftarot of Affliction are meant to stir us, not to shame and self-doubt, but to refocused devotion as we prepare to meet God afresh during the Days of Awe later this year.

In accord with Jewish custom this week’s haftarah does not end with the rebuke of Jeremiah chapter 2, but with a note of hopeful invitation in a final verse added from chapter 3.

Will you not from this time call to Me,
“My Father, you are the guide of my youth.” (Jer. 3:4, literal translation)

Tisha b’Av is a day of mourning that’s essential preparation for the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur (September 20–30). In the same way the prophet’s reproof is essential for our renewed devotion to God and the two-fold mission that He shares with us as we follow Messiah Yeshua. Will we call on Him to guide us in the days ahead?

Pinchas Makes a Point

Parashat Pinchas (Num. 25:10-30:1)

by Dr. Jeffrey Seif

During my nearly thirty years as a Bible College and seminary professor I got asked a lot of questions. When a young ministry candidate in a Pentateuch class once asked me how he could launch his ministry, my answer was very simple and very direct. “Find a couple who are fornicating in a hotel room,” I said. “Grab a spear . . .” “Kick down the door . . .” “Barge into their room . . .” “And while they were getting to know each other, if you get my drift, take the spear and drive it through both of them!” To my utter surprise, the student said he was shocked by my answer and retorted it wasn’t quite the answer he’d expected. By way of response, I asked rhetorically: “Well it worked for Pinchas, didn’t it?”

Let me get to the point—literally. Those who work through this week’s Torah reading in Parashat Pinchas (Nu. 25:10–31:1), bump into the second half of this two-part story, wherein, in response to Pinchas doing exactly what I described (cf. 25:1–9, esp. vv. 7–8), the Lord says: “I am making with him [Pinchas] a covenant of shalom! It will be for him and his descendants after him a covenant of an everlasting priesthood—because he was zealous for his God” (Nu. 25:12-13).  His ministry was launched on the heels of his action, was it not? Last week’s Torah reading ended with Pinchas making a point, literally: “When Pinchas son of Eleazar son of Aaron the kohen saw it,” the “it” being the fornicating between an Israelite man and a Moabite woman (Nu. 25:6; cf. vv. 16-18), “he arose from the midst of the assembly, took a spear in his hand, and went after the man of Israel into the tent and pierced them through—both the Israelite man and the woman’s belly” (Nu. 25:7-8). Do you get the point? The Hebrew man, Zimri, and the Midianite woman, Cozbi, certainly did—literally. But what’s my point in all this—besides my wanting to start off with a catchy introduction, in the hope you’d abide my musings? Let’s consult some of the sages through the ages, first. I’ll weigh in afterward.

H. Hertz, former Chief Rabbi of the British Empire, said: “The Rabbis have a saying: ‘Pinchas is Elijah’ . . . a counterpart of the prophet of storm and fire.” He certainly was that, passionate as he was. Through the “covenant of peace” noted in v. 12, Rashi alights upon God’s friendly attitude toward him thereafter. This notation, in part, was said to have been articulated to stave off any thought of retaliation from Zimri’s clan—powerful as they were and minded to seek revenge, as some of them, no doubt, would be. On this point, the Complete Jewish Study Bible—a valuable resource for all of our libraries, I might add—is insightful, noting Pinchas’ summary execution could have sparked a civil war between the two prestigious families (p. 209, n. 25:14-15). The Masoretic text picks up on the oddity of the text and breaks up the third letter in “shalom” (from “Covenant of peace/shalom”); there, the broken letter indicates peace had been “reached by means of violence, which is not the ideal” (p. 209, n. 25:12). Save for a brief interruption in Eli’s days, the High Priesthood stayed in Pinchas’s family, till the Temple’s destruction, and with it the remembrance of the aforementioned moment. Hertz reminds that Pinchas is even remembered later in a psalm: “Pinchas stood up and intervened so the plague was stopped. It was credited to him as righteousness, from generation to generation, forever” (Ps. 106:30). Good insights, from all.

That Pinchas and his progeny are granted a perpetual High Priesthood says something to me. His enthusiasm, reckless though it may seem to be, is held to be worthy of merit and worthy of remembering. I began this brief journey with a story. How can I launch a ministry? was the student’s question. Odd though the professor’s response may be, know that I think all successful life-launches come on the heels of great enthusiasms that reside within the hearts and minds of life’s primary advocates. Coming to terms with those interior passions, and with our own selves in relation to them, is a great starting point to build a successful life. The word “vocation”—as in “my vocation is a rabbi, reverend, housewife, plumber or policeman”—comes from the Latin “vocatio,” or “voice.” The point is: people hear something within them personally beckoning them toward a particular life-task. Because the calling is intrinsic to them, i.e., interwoven into the fabric of their being, it is lived out with more resolve, with more enthusiasm. In the case at hand, Pinchas had a particular zeal for God’s wills and ways, one that was adjudged to be particularly meritorious. Pinchas made a point.

Rabbis and reverends are forever called upon to be what constituents want them to be. Hard as it is to find a friend and a dollar, we often succumb to the temptation, given that our livelihoods are predicated upon garnering others’ appreciation. Under the guise of “being all things to all men—and women” we bend to the wills of others to be what they want, hoping to get what we want out of the deal. While granting the need to make concessions, I’d here remind that success in life—and not just ministry life—is predicated upon us acting in accordance with our own passions; not others’. The Rabbi from Tarsus once said: “I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision” (Acts 26:19). May we be able to say the same, and have our lives undergirded with the same enthusiasm and thus the staying power of Pinchas and Paul. Get the point?

Master of the Moment

Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2–25:9

by Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 4a–b) discusses our Sages’ belief that God gets angry only once a day. The discussion revolves around the scene of God’s anger at the Golden Calf incident. Moses tries to appease God, and God tells him to wait until his anger passes. Moses had already affected reconciliation between God and Israel over the incident, so God still couldn’t be angry over that. So, the sages conclude that this means that God has an appointed time every day in which he is angry. Our Sages then ask, “How long does his anger last every day?” The answer is “a moment.” I am surmising that this is based on Psalm 30:6, which says “For his anger only lasts a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime.”

The Hebrew word for moment is rega. It means a wink, a motion so fast that one cannot actually see it. Our own English word, moment, has the same basis. It comes from the word momentum and has the connotation of the swift movement of the second hand on a clock. The Talmud goes on to define a rega in two ways. The first is that it is as long as it takes to say the word “rega”. But another authority defines it as 1/58,888 of an hour, basically one quarter of a second.

The Talmud continues to state that Bil’am knew when this moment was every day. It was because of this knowledge that King Balak sought him out so he could curse Israel at that precise moment and thereby bring God’s judgment down. It quotes our Haftarah reading from Micah, where God says to Israel, “Remember my kindness when Balak and Bil’am plotted against you” (6:5, paraphrase).

One could say that Bil’am was a Baal Rega, a Master of the Moment. But he was thwarted by Hashem and instead was forced to bless our people instead of cursing them (Num. 23:20, 24:12–13).

Yeshua, however, is the true Baal Rega, the true Master of the Moment. He dies at the precise moment of God’s anger and thereby takes on God’s judgment of Israel and the nations of the world. In Isaiah 54:8 God says to Israel, “In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment [rega], but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you.” While this is a message to Israel, we can view this midrashically to be a statement to Yeshua as the One-Man-Israel. Yeshua as he is dying is rejected by Hashem for a rega, a moment. And Yeshua cries out, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani” (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?). But then God elevates him with everlasting compassion to sit at his right hand and rule as King Messiah!

The Talmud also asks, “What could Bilam have said in an instant?” In other words, what curse could someone utter in such a brief span of time, a rega? The answer given is that he could have said “kaleim”, (chaf-lamed-mem), which means “Destroy them!” But it goes on to state that God thwarted him by reversing the letters to “melech” (mem-lamed-chaf), which means “king”. The Talmud references Numbers 23:21, where it says “and the shout of the king is among them.” The Hebrew translated as shout is actually the word teruah, which is one of the sounds made by blowing the shofar.

We can create our own midrash using this and Rav Shaul’s statement in 1 Corinthians 15:52, “It will happen in a moment [rega], in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet [teruah] is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.” At the end of time, Yeshua, our Baal Rega, will return as King with a shout, a trumpet blast, a teruah. And in an instant, a rega, will usher in the Messianic Age!

As we march towards Tisha B’Av (August 1 this year), when we commemorate the destruction of the two Temples and also—as is the practice in our congregation—Yeshua’s death, let us have gratitude for God’s mercies. Let us be grateful that he sent us his only son to be our Baal Rega, our Master of the Moment. Let us praise and worship Messiah Yeshua for his mighty act of redemption. In a rega he died for the sins of Israel and the whole world. In a rega he reversed Kaleim to Melech, Destruction to King. And in a rega, he will return as King with a trumpet blast, bringing all to its final consummation. May Hashem bring it speedily and in our days!

Shabbat Shalom!

Whoever You Are, God Can Use You

Parashat Chukat, Numbers 19:1-22:1. Haftarah, Judges 11:1-33

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann, Interfaithfulness

In this week’s haftarah we read about Yiftach, or Jephthah as he is known in English. He lived during the time of the Judges, an undisciplined time when everyone did what was right in his own eyes. Samuel, the last of the Judges, would anoint Israel’s first king, Saul. But Jephthah lived before Saul’s day.

Jephthah had been driven away from his own people, who despised him because he was the son of a prostitute. This culture was very particular about people’s conditions of birth and their family lines. At a young age, he was sent away from his home in Gilead to the lawless land of Tob. He grew up a raider, attacking the lands of Israel’s enemies.

In modern terms Jephthah has a gang, and a very successful one at that. Clearly he has great leadership ability. His life takes an unexpected turn when the elders from Gilead send for him and beg him to help them fight against the Ammonites, who have occupied their land. They recognize his capacities and are well aware of his reputation. Now they need his help.

Jephthah questions the elders’ motives, saying, “Didn’t you hate me and drive me from my father’s house? Why do you come to me now, when you’re in trouble?” (Judges 11:7). However, the leaders of Gilead give him an offer he can’t refuse when the elders promise, “Come with us to fight the Ammonites, and you will be our head over all who live in Gilead” (Judges 11:8).

Jephthah is no dope. He requires them to articulate clearly the nature of their promise to him—to go on record for why they needed him. Then he has them repeat the offer and its specifics. This is the equivalent of having someone put things in writing. Finally, he ratifies these things with them ceremonially, making the people and God himself witnesses of the agreement that was being made.

Then he goes into action.

First, Jephthah tries to solve the problem with diplomacy, but the king of the Ammonites falsely accuses Israel of stealing their land centuries earlier. Clearly, this king is looking for a fight. Jephthah responds that the Israelites had taken no land from the people of Ammon, but from other peoples around them who had been hostile to them. He is clear on his history, and simply cannot be bamboozled.

Then Jephthah foolishly pledges to God that he will sacrifice to him whatever first comes out of his house to greet him, if God will but give him victory. Jephthah leads an attack on the Ammonites and his attack is successful, resulting in the devastation of “twenty towns from Aroer to the vicinity of Minnith, as far as Abel Keramim” (Judges 11:33). But the first thing to come out of his house to greet him after the victory is his young daughter, whom Jephthah must sacrifice to God in order to keep his foolish vow.

Some people believe that he did not have to offer her up as a blood sacrifice, but rather that because of his vow, she never could marry and had to live as some sort of servant to God’s presence in the Tabernacle all the days of her life.

In other words, Jephthah made a stupid decision that totally affected the life of his daughter.

This passage teaches us important lessons for modern life.

First, God often brings victory through despised and marginal people, through outsiders.

Jephthah was rejected by his people because of his disgraceful birth. But when they needed his help they cried out for him to come back and he proved to be a capable leader and a victorious warrior.

So it is, in our day, God often provides renewal and victory through marginalized people.

Perhaps I am talking to some today who are people of little importance or standing in their family, job, or relationships. But God uses such people. This is the way God works so that no flesh should glory in his presence. “But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Co 1:27).

The second lesson for us is that we must know our history. People will try to pick fights with us in politics and in business. They will say certain things happened that never happened. They will deny certain things happened that did happen. This is called gas-lighting. This is what happens when the Ammonites want to pick a fight with Israel, claiming that Israel took land from them hundreds of years earlier. Jephthah knows his history very well, and the king of the Ammonites cannot confuse him. He answers by telling the king the true story. In business, people will tell lies about you, especially if you are influential or powerful. In politics, nations will look to pick fights. Therefore, it is important for us to keep good records, to know our facts, and to not be confused.

The third lesson is this: When we are successful we must be especially careful not to get foolish and presumptuous. Jephthah makes a foolish vow to God. And often, when we are successful, we too will do something foolish—we will get involved in sinful behavior, we will make promises to God we can’t keep, we will take advantage of the poor and needy. We must never do these things! When God grants us success, whether it is in business, in politics, or in spiritual service, we must stay humble, reverent and wise. We must continue to respect God and not begin to think that we ourselves have become important.

The only good things we have are what God gives us: if we stop honoring him, he has the power to take them away.

Therefore let us remember three lessons:

1. God uses peripheral people, weak people, to bring glory to himself, and to shame the wise.
2. Especially when we become powerful, people will attack us by distorting the truth. This requires us to keep good records, have good memories, and keep our heads on straight.
3. Finally, when we become successful, we must be careful not to become presumptuous. Especially at such times, we must walk in humility, wisdom and obedience before God.

May God help us all to do this!

The Mutiny on Moses

Parashat Korach, Numbers 16:1-18:32

by Dr. Jeffrey Seif

Ever heard the title Mutiny on the Bounty? On April 28, 1789, Lieutenant Fletcher Christian seized control of HMS Bounty, and set Captain William Bligh adrift in a small boat on the open sea. I mention it here, because we’re looking at one of the Hebrew Bible’s versions of a mutiny—in this case, against Moses not Bligh.

This week we’re told Korach (or Korah) “rose up against Moses” (16:1–2a, TLV). It wasn’t simply a personal dispute, however. It was political. With a mind to put checks on Moses’ authority, and garner more and more authority for himself and his associates, Korach “took two hundred and fifty men” with him, all of whom were “men of renown” (16:2, TLV). “You’ve gone too far! All the community is holy—all of them—and Adonai is with them,” was their battle cry. “Who do you think you are, Moses?” they exclaimed, and “We don’t need you telling us what to do” (paraphrase). The charge closes with a question: “Why do you exalt yourself above the assembly of Adonai?” (16:3, TLV).  Sounds like a mutiny to me—on the open sand, not the open sea.

The HMS Bounty left England in 1787. The crew had a five-month layover in Tahiti, during which time they settled and co-mingled with the islanders. Crew members became lax, prompting the captain to impose disciplines on his crew—adjudged to be his prerogative. Chagrined by Bligh’s (mis)management, Lt. Christian rebelled, and the better part of the crew with him. T’was a mutiny! As noted, Captain Bligh was put off on a small boat and set adrift on the open seas. That was Bligh’s situation. What of Moses’ back-story?

Moses had been walking down a rough stretch of highway for some time, before Korach actually took him on. In 10:11, the people left Sinai and disembarked for Canaan. In 11:1ff, their kvetching over lack of provisions invoked Moses’ ire. In 12:1-2, Moses’ sister Miriam expressed chagrin over her sister-in-law, Moses’ wife. Aaron was drawn into her consternation, and together they uttered a comment that appears later—on the lips of Korach: “Has Adonai spoken only through Moses? Hasn’t he also spoken through us?” (12:2, TLV). The Hebrews were restless while en-route to Canaan, and it only got worse when they arrived. Our last parasha, Sh’lach l’cha, told how a reconnaissance mission into Canaan, launched from Kadesh-Barnea, turned into a feasibility study—one with dire consequences (Num. 13:1ff). Spies assessed Canaan, and returned with various pieces of information. The spies processed the data but offered unsolicited advice along with it: “we cannot attack these people because, they are stronger than we,” was the upshot of their report (13:31, TLV). In sum, Israelites were disconcerted by circumstances they happened upon en-route to Canaan, and they were chagrined by their prospects for success in a soon-coming war with the intimidating Canaanites. “Enough already!” was Korach’s response. He and others believed political change was necessary.

I’ve never commanded a sea-faring vessel, and I’ve never led multiple hundreds of thousands of people through a wilderness. For my part, I’ve been involved in religious leadership for over thirty years. Incessantly taken aback by pressures and problems associated with the pastoral office, I’ve forever read myself as Moses in the Korach story, and Korach and his associates as vociferous associates disinclined to follow my lead. In sum, I refracted the narrative through the prism of my experience and used it to tacitly justify myself and vilify my detractors. Perhaps you have too. Is that fair, though?

Though there are congregational applications, to be sure, the problem I have with reading the passage through my experience now is that it betrays a core hermeneutical principle I hammered as a seminary professor for years: the first interpretation of a passage belongs to the first recipients of it—not the exegete. This is axiomatic. Never mind my context. What was Moses’ context?

Moses wasn’t a rabbi or a reverend attending to the personal one-on-one spiritual needs of one or two hundred people. He wasn’t a religious therapist/counselor. Moses wasn’t tasked with responsibilities associated with building communal consensus to chart paths forward, either. Congregational boards wrestle direction, personnel issues and expenditures, and interact with rabbis and reverends to get it all done. Unlike the reverends and rabbis and boards of today, Moses of yesterday was something of a political leader—much as he was a religious leader. The Mosaic economy he brought forth had a juridical component, one that dealt with a host of criminal and civil mandates. Reverends and rabbis have power to suggest a course of action—not demand it; Moses did, and he actually had power to even effect a death sentence. The Mosaic code imposed mandatory tax burdens, too, in order to support the Levites who were vested with responsibility to manage Israel’s civil affairs and oversee its criminal ones. Rabbis and reverends politely ask for a buck; Moses’ code taxed for it. The ancient world was driven by an agrarian economy, one regulated tightly in the Torah by various Mosaic promulgations. Do reverends, rabbis and boards regulate congregants’ economies? I think not. Some thought Moses took too much power. Korach said as much. Might you have thought or said so, too?

Alighting upon political issues as I close, and not pastoral ones, I am wondering if God’s people would do well to be a bit more respectful toward legitimate, political leaders. My reading of Korach prompts applications to congregational life, to be sure—it can’t help but do that. It also prompts me to advocate for better civil discourse and responsibility, reminding me that we do well to respect those in authority—and so heed the words of the Rabbi from Tarsus, who beckoned us to do just that (Rom. 13:1–7).

Clothes Make the Man

Parashat Shlach L’cha, Numbers 13:1–15:41

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Clothes make the man, or so it is said, but the Torah turns this principle around. Clothing cannot make us something we’re not, but it can remind us what we’re supposed to be. Moses instructs the Israelites “to make tassels on the corners of their garments throughout their generations, and to put a blue thread in the tassels of the corners. And you shall have the tassel, that you may look upon it and remember all the commandments of the Lord and do them” (Num. 15:38–39).

“Tassel” is tzitzit in Hebrew, and the traditional prayer shawl, or tallit, has a tzitzit at each corner, thus providing a way to fulfill the commandment.

In the ancient world, nobles wore garments with ornate hems as a sign of their status. “The more important the individual, the more elaborate the embroidery of his hem. Its significance lies not in its artistry but in its symbolism as an extension of its owner’s person and authority” (Jacob Milgrom, The JPS Torah Commentary, Numbers, p. 343). Thus, a husband would divorce his wife by cutting off the hem of her garment. A seer in ancient Mari would send his report to the king with a portion of his hem and a lock of his hair, to attest its authenticity. From this we can see why David’s heart troubled him after he cut a piece of the hem off Saul’s robe, and why Saul took it as a sign that David would succeed him as king (1 Sam. 24:6, 20; Milgrom, p. 343). Likewise, we  can see why a woman in need of healing grabbed the hem of Yeshua’s garment (Matt. 9:20).

“Thus the significance of the tzitzit lies in this: It was worn by those who counted; it was the identification tag of nobility” (Milgrom, p. 344). In Israel, the Torah decrees, it is not only the nobles, but every Israelite who is to wear such fringes on their garments.

The requirement to include a thread of blue in the tzitzit heightens its noble quality. Blue is the color of nobility, largely because of the cost of the dye in the ancient world. Indeed, the dye was so costly that the rabbis eventually decreed that the blue thread was no longer to be worn, and the fringe should be white, so that all Jewish men would enjoy equal dignity (Milgrom p. 345). Nevertheless, the original significance remains. Blue is the color of royalty. The single blue thread of the tzitzit reflects the single blue thread that held the golden head plate of the High Priest, on which were inscribed the words kodesh l’Adonai, “Holy to the Lord” (Exod. 28:36). Just as the priestly garment was made of both linen and woolen strands—a combination forbidden to the ordinary Israelites—so the early rabbis ordained that the tzitzit contain both white linen and blue woolen strands. “Thus the tzitzit, according to the rabbis, are modeled after a priestly garment that is taboo for the rest of Israel!” (Milgrom p. 346).

It is clear, then, that the tzitzit not only reminds the Israelites to obey the commandments, but also reveals that they receive these commandments as a holy priesthood. Obedience isn’t just a way to keep the Israelites in line. Rather, it expresses the holiness of their calling and the purpose of their redemption from Egypt. Hence, the Lord concludes the instruction of the tzitzit with the words, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: I am the Lord your God” (Num. 15:41).

This is indeed a lofty calling. Yet even more striking is its position in the text of Numbers. Parashat Shlach L’cha opens with Moses sending twelve men to scout out the Land of Israel in preparation for its conquest. Ten of the twelve scouts bring back an evil report. Only Joshua and Caleb encourage the people to take the Land. The people believe the majority, refuse to take the Land as God has commanded, and end up being condemned to perish in the wilderness. After the ordinance of tzitzit is given, things don’t improve at all. Korach joins Dathan, Abiram, and others to challenge the authority of Moses and Aaron. The Lord puts down this rebellion in the most drastic way, with the earth swallowing up Korach and his family, and fire from heaven striking down 250 other rebels.

So it’s clear that when the Lord clothes the Israelites as priests, he does so fully knowing their tendency to rebel. The holy garment is not a reward for faithfulness, because they have hardly been faithful. Instead, the tzitzit expresses the faithfulness of God. By it, he creates a holy priesthood out of the unqualified and unworthy.

Is it possible that God still views Israel as a holy priesthood, despite its corporate failure to acknowledge Yeshua as Lord and Messiah, and still has a holy destination in mind for the whole people? As Paul reminded the Gentiles who believed in Yeshua, “Concerning the gospel they are enemies for your sake, but concerning the election they are beloved for the sake of the fathers. For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (Rom. 11:28–29).

Clothes make the man. The tzitzit not only reminds Israel of the irrevocable commandments of the Lord, but of their irrevocable calling as a royal priesthood and a holy nation.

In our day, we are seeing a great move of reconciliation between Christians and Jews. Despite the corporate Jewish “no” to Yeshua, God still has a glorious plan for the Jewish people, which will ultimately be fulfilled in this same Yeshua. As the tzitzit is a reminder to Israel of their holy calling, so may it be a reminder to Christians, after centuries of anti-Jewish attitudes and actions, to love and honor the Jewish people.

In memory of Father Peter Hocken, 1932-2017

Adapted from Creation to Completion: A Guide to Life’s Journey from the Five Books of Moses, published by Lederer Books, Messianic Jewish Publishers, 2006,www.messianicjewish.net.

Are Jews Adorable or Deplorable?

Parashat Beha’alotecha, Numbers 8:1–12:16

by Dr. Jeffrey Seif

The word “deplorable” was bantered about in recent political discourse, was it not?

The word comes to us by way of Latin and French employments, and harks to something or someone that invokes shock, fear or disgust. By contrast, the word “adorable,” harks to someone or something being extremely charming or appealing. To “adore” speaks of inspiring great affection and delight. “Adoration” worked its way from Latin to English to reference being worthy of divine worship. So what’s the point, Jeffrey? Is this an English lesson? Are you offering a word on European liturgical traditions and theology? Where are we going here?

I want to wrestle with the question whether the Hebrews noted in this week’s Torah portion are deplorable or adorable. In Parashat Beha’alotecha, the Hebrews start moving toward Canaan and that’s when the trouble starts. “Murmuring” is noted in 11:1. “Grumblers” with “cravings” prompt “wailing” in 11:4, resulting in God’s anger burning “hot” in 11:10, and Moses being sorely “troubled.” Chagrined and depressed by it all, Moses asks God to “kill me” in 11:15. Forget Moses’ depression, get depressed with me and note how things go from bad to worse. Moses goes on to take on dissenters from his own family. In 12:1–2, his sister Miriam drags Aaron into a family dispute. Miriam is openly disdainful of Moses’ wife—her sister-in-law. Aaron is drawn into the disdain and it, in turn, translates into their both taking on Moses’ decision-making and spiritual authority. “Has ADONAI spoken only through Moses?” they ask rhetorically: “Hasn’t he also spoken through us?”

This week’s Torah reading ends with God settling the family dispute in 12:1–16. Though that problem is solved then, Israel’s troubles are far from over. In chapters 13 and 14 doubting spies are going to send the population into a tailspin, and in chapter 16 pouting elites will attempt to usurp control of the community, forcing God to stave off an outright mutiny, and reassert Moses. So I ask you dear friends: Are the Bible’s Jews adorable or deplorable? If you’re a Jew, are you adorable or deplorable?

Once upon a time, I was a garden-variety drifty Jewish guy, stumbling along and trying to find his way in life. After I accepted Yeshua, I learned I was part of the “Chosen People,” and was eventually socialized into an understanding that I enjoyed a special status, as such. How can I put it? I was simply adorable, special. People in church looked at me differently from others. I liked that. Because I was Jewish, some thought I had special insights into God, that I knew the Scripture inside and out, and that I could be counted upon to give correct perspectives on biblical history, basic theology and the finer points of eschatology. I was part of an elite and special class of human beings: I was of the “Chosen People” and, as such, I was especially beloved of God and especially endowed by God.

Personally, I appreciate the affirmation, but there seems to be a chasm between the romantic view that people have of Jews in the modern world of today and the real-world experience of Jews in the world of biblical yesterday. Readers of Parashat Beha’alotecha (Numbers 8–12) are taken back to yesterday’s world and, with me, are confronted with the fact that Hebrews aren’t all that good. That the situation doesn’t really improve is attested throughout the Hebrew Bible. The same God who leads Hebrews to Canaan in this week’s Torah portion will throw them out of Canaan in the Prophets and in the Writings. So I ask you dear friends: Are the Bible’s Jews adorable or deplorable?

For me, the lackluster and troubling performance of the Hebrews in this week’s portion is less about Jews than it is about humanity, on the whole. That there’s a problem with the entire human race is amply attested in the first few chapters of the Hebrew Bible. Jews are not singled out in Sacred Literature and chosen to demonstrate how great Jews are, much as Jews are chosen in order to demonstrate how great and kind God is.

Let’s revisit the Torah and note an adorable God at work in a deplorable world. In chapter 8 Levites are set apart to serve and intercede for wayward Israel (v. 14–16). In chapter 9, the mandate to celebrate God’s Passover—itself an attestation to a worthy God salvaging an unworthy people—is fixed, with provisions made for outsiders minded to celebrate it, so they can learn of God’s love through it (v. 14). Then in chapter 9:15–23, God presents as unworthy Israel’s guide. In chapter 10:9–10, trumpet sounds serve as a reminder of God’s greatness on their behalf. God’s faithfulness, despite their lack thereof, is further attested in 10:35, with a verse that’s heralded by Jews in synagogues today: “Arise, ADONAI! May your enemies be scattered.” My point is that there is beauty even in the ashes of Israel’s waywardness. In response to the grumblings in chapter 11, God gives assistance to the people and to Moses. In chapter 12, he comes to Moses’ aid and teaches his sister Miriam to mind her own business.

God works with the children of Israel, despite Israel’s failings. Unlike those who prefer casting aspersions on Jews—both the Jews of then and the Jews of now—God prefers demonstrating his grace toward humankind through the way he graciously acts toward the Hebrew people—then as now. For me, something in humanity is deplorable and something about God is adorable. The grace of God manifests so clearly in the Hebrew Bible, does it not?

B’Midbar: Wildfire, Water, and Wilderness

Parashat B’Midbar, Numbers 1:1 – 4:20

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

B’Midbar, the fourth book of the Torah, is so named since it begins “Vay’daber Adonai el-Mosheh b’midbar Sinai (And the LORD spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai).” Midrash Rabbah B’Midbar asks, “Why does Adonai give the Torah in the Wilderness?” It goes on to explain that Torah is given in fire, water, and wilderness. This is to teach us that just as each of these elements is free, so the learning of Torah is freely given.

Another interpretation of the Midrash is to understand fire, water, and wilderness as forces within man. Rabbi Shmuel Bornstein, for example, in his Shem MiShmuel, writes that fire refers to man’s heart, the inner fire that aspires to reach God; water refers to his mind, which adds an element of patience and reason in approaching the divine; and wilderness refers to the renunciation of worldly pleasures, which interfere with one’s spiritual pursuits. All three elements, he writes, are necessary for the study of Torah. I would like to extend this metaphor to examine the potential hindrances to our growth and our capacity to endure and overcome these obstacles.

Fire to Wildfire

It is no accident that pictures of fire representing the holiness and passion of the Creator surround the giving of Torah. In fact, when first confronting Moses, the Holy One appears in a bush that is ablaze, a “dress rehearsal” for the soon-coming denouement on the very same mountain. It therefore behooves us to meet Hashem with similar excitement and passion. What should not be lost on us, though, is that when Hashem appears amidst the flames of passion neither bush nor mountain is consumed. It does not take long, though, for Israel’s passions to turn from flame to wildfire, as evidenced in the debauchery around the worship of the Golden Calf. Hashem matches Israel’s fire (no pun intended) and the result is destruction. Lesson learned: fire works best for us when properly contained and not burning out of control.

Water to Deluge

If water is symbolic of the human mind, it also represents our capacity to meet our basic needs. It is the human intellect that allows us to farm and gather, build and preserve. Humans are the only species on earth that can communicate across the globe, or even know that we are on a globe. But it is also the pride of intellect that often keeps us from our Creator and puts us in a state of disharmony with him, other humans, and the earth that preserves us. While it is the cool waters of our intellect that are capable of controlling the fiery passions of our hearts, our minds also have the capacity of quenching the fire of our love for Hashem and others. Like unrestrained fire, a flood of hubristic intellect can cause unintended pain and also loneliness.

Wilderness to Wind

So it is in the wilderness of Sinai that Israel learns how to find balance between unrestrained passion for their God and over-reliance on their intellects. It is in the wilderness that humanity learns that “Man does not live by bread alone” (Deut. 8:3). As our ancestors had to transverse dry, arid terrain, so we too go through places and periods of barrenness, when it appears that neither head nor heart can prevail. We are often asked to forego the pleasures and assurances of this world upon which we have become reliant. It is in these arid places and silent moments that we are made aware that the true provision is “…every word that proceeds from the mouth of Hashem.” But how do we endure when the heat of the day feels greater than our capacity to go on? How do we remain diligent when our passion has burned out and our intellect dried up? How do we trust when all we can hear is the syntax of silence? This is when we must recognize a fourth element, the wind of the spirit. From the outset the very breath of Hashem animated our souls. When we choose to trust in the renewing life of Yeshua the wind of his Spirit ventilates the arid stretches of our lives like a cooling breeze.

With fiery passion and minds tempered by Torah, we can diligently continue through the wilderness of life empowered by the Spirit of Hashem.