Re-Righting Our Stories

Parashat Nitsavim-Vayelech, Deuteronomy 29:10 – 31:30

by Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, W. Hartford, CT

 I am now one hundred and twenty years old; I can no longer be active. (Deuteronomy 31:1)

With that surprising announcement, Moses begins his final address to the children of Israel. When Moses completes this address, he will have accomplished what few others take the opportunity to do. With the completion of Deuteronomy Moses gave Israel its code of law, ethics, and ritual practice, but also he recorded for posterity his own story. But not only did he write his story, Moses managed to right his story.

The life of Moses was like a three-act play in which each act had a forty-year duration. In the first act Moses thought he was somebody, having found himself a prince in Egypt, removed from the lowly plight of his brethren. In the second act Moses found out he was nobody, having been sent into exile in the wilderness of Midian and encountering the inscrutable God in a fire-retardant bush. Finally, in the last act, Moses learns what God can do with somebody who thinks he is nobody. Though Moses could not control the events of his life, he nonetheless took the opportunity through obedience to write and re-right the conclusion of his own story.

This reminds me of Alfred Nobel (1833-1896) the inventor of dynamite, who had the rare opportunity to read his own death notice. When his brother passed away a newspaper believing Alfred had died ran his obituary. They described him as the man who had made it possible for more people to be killed quickly than any person had had ever lived. It was not how he wanted to be remembered, so he began to re-“right” his own story. He created the Nobel Prize and his name is now tied indelibly to the peace process, and the advancement of the sciences and the humanities.

Though few will ever reach the level of renown of Moses, or even Alfred Nobel, each of us has the same opportunity to finish our own stories and to not only write them, but also re-right them. The process is called teshuvah, commonly translated repentance. Teshuvah is the process of turning our lives around, and reorienting our stories to the script that our Creator envisioned for us. Teshuvah is a good idea anytime throughout the year, but as we approach the yamim noraim, the ten days of introspection between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, our attention is especially drawn toward repentance. But how do we affect teshuvah without merely going through perfunctory motions? When my parents were in school they taught the 3R’s – reading, riting, and ‘rithmetic. If we want to do a re-righting of our own stories we must go back to school and learn the five R’s of repentance: Recognition, Remorse, Restitution, Reorientation, and Restoration.

Recognition – This is the act of separating what we are from what we have done. Shame is a heavy feeling associated with a sense of worthlessness, but when we recognize that we are created in the image of a loving God we can separate our mistakes and misdeeds from the litany of accusations we carry around as scars from living in a debased culture. According to a midrashic saying, “The moment a man is willing to see himself as he is and make the confession ‘I have sinned’, from that moment the powers of evil lose their power over him.”

It is imperative then that we recognize the wrongs we have done to ourselves, to God, and to our fellows. When we deflect criticism and externalize our difficulties it eliminates our own culpability and short-circuits God’s plan to liberate us.

Remorse – Though shame is inappropriate for a child of God, guilt can be altogether proper. Proper guilt is the nagging feeling that we are culpable for having done wrong. One of the reasons we don’t really repent, one of the reasons we don’t really change from year to year, one of the reasons Yom Kippur becomes for too many people an exercise in really bad play-acting, is that we have lost the capacity to feel badly about what we have done. We won’t even let God tell us how we are doing. In effect we can become immune to guilt, but are left to the dull aching pain of shame. True repentance requires that we cultivate sensitive spirits that ache when we are in unrepentant sin.

It is human nature to avoid feelings of remorse. Three common ways to dodge these feelings are:

• Confessing what has been already corrected. These are exercises in clever subterfuge and false humility, such as recovering alcoholics reveling in old war stories from their drinking days. Past victories cannot protect us from today’s spiritual battles.
• Blame shifting from ourselves to others. To make teshuvah we must focus on our own culpability.
• Indictment of others. By pointing out other’s deficiencies we can avoid criticism. After all the best defense is a good offense.

Restitution – making things right. Eliezer ben Azariah said, “For transgressions against God the day of Atonement atones, but for transgressions against a fellow man, the Day of Atonement does not atone, so long as the sinner has not redressed the wrong done and conciliated the man he has sinned against.” In the same way, the atonement of Yeshua has been accomplished once and for all, but we have a responsibility when we accept God’s forgiveness to make amends for the wrongs we have done against others. Yochanan asks, “How can you love God whom you have not seen if you don’t love your brother whom you have seen?” (1 John 4:20).

 It is not imperative that the other party forgives you, rather that you are willing to make amends.

Reorientation – This is the firm commitment to do things differently from now on. We can’t go back to where we have been, but somehow opportunities to change re-present themselves. “Let the wicked forsake his ways, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the LORD, that he may have mercy on him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon” (Isa. 55:7).

Restoration – There is no feeling like that of divine pardon. If shame is an unbearable burden, then God’s forgiveness is an incredible lightness, an enormous easing of burden:

• Like a huge burden lifted off your shoulders;
• Like a beautiful day after muggy, drizzly weather;
• Like coming home after being away for a long time;
• Like being able to scratch an itch you couldn’t reach;
• Like the exuberance that comes with falling in love.

All these are inadequate attempts to explain the kind of freedom of conscience you feel when you engage in teshuvah.

The rabbis of old said,

The Gates of Repentance are ever open. As the sea is always accessible, so is the Holy One, blessed be he, always accessible to the penitent. The person who has done wrong and repents is on a higher spiritual plane than the person who has not. Better is one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world than the whole life of the world to come.

Much of our stories were written before we were even aware how life had enveloped us. Yet there is much that we can take responsibility for. So, take the time to learn the five R’s of repentance, and write and re-right the best part of your story – the part that starts today. May this year be one of genuine teshuvah, and may the rest of your life be more abundant.

L’shana Tovah

Taking Our Place in the Story

Parashat Ki Tavo, Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8

by Jared Eaton, Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

The Torah often reads like an epic saga on a par with the Greek myths of Hercules, Perseus or Achilles. The Scriptures are filled with the exploits of larger than life heroes like the courageous Noah, the faithful Abraham, the valiant Joseph.

Sometimes reading the tales of these great and accomplished men makes me feel much less significant, less brave and less dedicated than I felt before. My story is much smaller. I have achieved far less. How can I take my place in such a star- studded line-up? How, in the face of such greatness, can I as a Jew compare?

That’s why this week’s parasha, Ki Tavo, is so refreshing. The protagonist of this week’s story is not a great prophet like Moses or a mighty warrior like Joshua. Our hero is a simple farmer, an unnamed future settler in the land of Israel.

The parasha begins by telling us about a first-fruits offering the people of Israel are to present to the Lord when they finally inhabit the land. On first reading, the mitzvahseems straightforward. This is simply a commandment to tithe, right?

This tithe, however, is different. There is an elaborate ritual involved with this offering. The Torah relates how the farmer is to collect the first fruits of his produce and bring them in a basket to the kohen. But he can’t just drop them off in the parking lot of the temple like a Goodwill donation! The farmer must present the offering to the kohen and then say . . .

I declare today to Adonai, your God, that I have entered the land Adonai swore to our fathers to give us. Deut. 26:3

After the offering is accepted, the farmer must then proclaim, “My father was a wandering Aramean . . .” and give a condensed version of the history of the Jewish people from the time of Jacob up until the present.

Why does he need to do any of this? The kohen must be sick to death of hearing it over and over again, and God already knows this story, probably far better than the farmer! Whose benefit is this story for?

It’s easy, in hindsight, to take the story of the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham for granted. But imagine how this story must have felt to the great heroes who actually lived it, our illustrious patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Abraham received this magnificent promise from God…

I will make you into a great nation,
and I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
and you will be a blessing.

 I will bless those who bless you,
and whoever curses you I will curse;
and all peoples on earth
will be blessed through you. Gen. 12:2–3

Abraham is expecting to have many children and to have a great land for them to dwell in, but at the end of his life he has only a single son and the only land he owns is a tiny burial plot.

Isaac must have believed that it was up to him to actualize God’s promise to his father. He spends his life digging wells to establish his family’s presence in the land, but by the end of his life his wells have been stopped up by the Philistines and have caused him nothing but grief. He is no more established in the land than his father was and he has only two children, hardly the great nation God promised.

Finally, Jacob seems to be the one through whom God will realize his promise. Jacob has twelve sons, a fine start to a great nation, but Jacob sees all of that promise slip through his fingers when Joseph is sold into Egypt. Eventually Jacob’s whole family ends up in Egypt and for hundreds of years they remain there.

God makes Israel into a great nation, but he does it apart from the land. The promise has been split up and the Jews will be in exile for a very long time. The book of Genesis ends with the promises unfulfilled.

The patriarchs, for all of their courage and faithfulness and spiritual strength, failed to realize in their own lifetimes the promises that God had made to them. They must have been so disappointed by the story of their lives.

Until the little farmer comes along. The protagonist of this week’s parasha is not a great prophet or a mighty warrior, but he is every bit as important to the Jewish story as Moses or Joshua.

That farmer is the fulfillment of Gods’ promise to Abraham. After countless years of exile and wandering and striving to return, this little farmer finally comes home to the land that the Lord swore to his fathers to give him.

And when he brings the first fruits of his first-ever harvest to the temple, he doesn’t just drop them off. He stands before the Lord and declares that he has entered the promised land and he is taking his place in the Jewish story alongside Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Ina few weeks, the Torah reading cycle will come to its end and the scrolls will be rolled back to the beginning. But the story of the Jewish people doesn’t end there. It’s an ongoing tale of the love God has for his people and new heroes are entering this story every day.

Today, many Jews are still not living in the land God promised and delivered to our fathers. But God promised more than just land and children to Abraham. God told Abraham . . .

All peoples on earth
will be blessed through you.

And all peoples have been blessed through Messiah Yeshua. When we partner with our Messiah in blessing the whole world, we too, take our place in the Jewish story and stand alongside our heroes.

Love in Action

Parashat Ki Tetse, Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19

by Jonathan Roush, Beth Messiah Congregation, Montgomery Village, MD

Our Torah portion this week is full of principles guiding how the people of Israel are to interact with each other in daily, civil life. These laws range from dividing up property and inheritance to how to treat corpses. It talks about treatment of slaves and prostitutes, safety in house building, and more. Rules and regulations abound, but I contend that they are an outworking of what the passage is really about. Ki Tetse is about love. There are all kinds of love, and I hope that you will come to see, as I have, that in this wonderful section of Scripture “Love” is actually at the core of what we read.

The passage reminds me of John 21:15-17 (Delitzsch Hebrew Gospels), where Yeshua instructs Peter: “Feed my sheep,” then, “Tend my sheep,” and finally, “Feed my sheep.”

These weren’t glib suggestions. He wasn’t saying, “Hey, if you love me here are some things you can do.” Instead this series of transactions needs to be read as “if/then” statements: ”If you love me then . . .”

Of all the things Yeshua could have told Peter, why these three? I hardly think that Yeshua’s record was skipping. He was making clear that love and devotion to Israel’s Messiah requires action. “If you love me, then you will do . . .”

What action(s) are we called to? Yeshua employs the analogy of the shepherd and sheep. A shepherd has to do certain things in order to take care of the sheep.

“Feed my sheep.” The Greek word bos–ko literally means “to feed”; much as the prodigal son fed the pigs in Luke 15:15.

“To tend” or “shepherd” my sheep is poi-ma-i-no. This Greek word carries more weight than the previous word, bosko, does. It implies a more holistic and full-bodied approach, not simply feeding someone, but caring for the entire person.

The third thing Yeshua says to Peter echoes the first thing: “Feed my sheep,” again bosko.

“If you love me . . . act.” Straightforward. “If you love me, feed my sheep,” “care for my sheep,” and once again, “feed my sheep.”

There are different ways to feed people. The first is literally to make sure that people have food. The second is spiritual nourishment.

Let’s see if we can put even more flesh on these ideas by looking at Matthew 25 (Delitzsch Hebrew Gospels).

In verses 35 and 36 what are the things that Yeshua says were done?

I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you have me a drink. I was traveling, and you took me in, naked, and you covered me, sick, and you visited me. I was in prison and you came to me.

This is the feeding, tending, and shepherding that Yeshua talks about in John 21, bosko and poimaino. Caring for the whole person, the tangible needs and the intangible needs, including spiritual ones.

Those who did the feeding and tending, those who acted, are told, “Come, those who are blessed of my Father and possess the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

What a temptation it is for us to talk loud and long about the problems we see in the world, yet here we see that it is the doers who are welcomed in.

The apostle Paul exhorted the Corinthians to “not be a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13:1). This applies to us. Don’t talk. Go do. Everyone talks, but a woeful few go and do.

Picking up at Matthew 25:41—

Go away from me those who are cursed . . . for I was hungry, but you did not feed me. I was thirsty, but you did not give me a drink. I was traveling, but you did not take me in: naked, but you did not cover me; sick and in prison, but you did not visit me.

These are those who spoke but didn’t do.

“Do you love me?” “Feed my lambs.” Make sure they have enough food.

“Do you love me?” “Tend my sheep.” Watch over their well-being, and make sure they are taken care of.

Again, “Do you love me??” “Feed my sheep.” Make sure they are being nurtured with the words and teachings of the Messiah.

A few years ago in The Set Table (an online study guide), Jen Rosner summed up the passage in John wonderfully. “Like Peter, we cling to a biblical narrative that is carried forward by decisive acts of G-d. And yet, G-d has not chosen to act alone in the drama.” Our “passage demonstrates anew that G-d has called us to partner with him in the ongoing work of redemption.”

Yes, we are active partners. Perhaps this responsibility can be a little scary.

In last week’s UMJC drash on Parashat Shof’tim Dr. Patrice Fischer rightfully pointed out that we must count the cost of discipleship. Our acceptance of Yeshua as Messiah is not and cannot be a passive thing. It is a call to us for decisive action in this world. It’s a command to each of us and for each of us to “do”.
However, we must still peel back the “Why all of these commandments?”

Once we do, we find that what we read in Ki Tetse is meant to mold and shape how we think about others in relationship to ourselves (not the other way around). We are shown how to love the other and to love each other through deliberate thought and action. We are shown a way of life where we take care of each other and where we are to be mindful of the consequences of our actions and our inaction(s). Ki Tetse is not about restrictions as much as it is about love for each other and treating each other with the sort of care that the people of God must be known for.

Let us be careful to walk in obedience to Yeshua, quietly leaving a wake of his love and care behind us for all those with whom we come into contact. And may we be less clanging cymbal as we remember the exhortation, “Children, let us not love with word or talk, but in deed and truth!” (1 John 3:18 TLV).

Counting the Cost

Parashat Shof’tim, Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

by Dr. Patrice Fischer, Congregation Ohr Chadash, Clearwater, FL

Shof’tim has dozens of passages of instruction: Don’t worship idols, how courts and kings should behave, the Prophet like Moses, etc. One particular section, Dt. 20:1–9, does not seem that memorable on the surface. It discusses some of the instructions for waging war against the various Canaanite city-states that the Israelites must oust from their Promised Land. Remember, these people are only one generation away from centuries of slavery in Egypt. Aside from one battle fought by the older, original generation (against the Amalekites—Ex. 17), they have no direct battle experience, much less military training. It is important to make sure that the army, which acts on the behalf of the whole people, does not go into battle before understanding what exactly the Lord expects them to do (and not to do).

It is the Lord your God who marches with you to do battle for you against your enemy, to bring you to victory. (Dt. 20:3)

The officers are to speak with the army, beginning with instructions about those who are not whole-heartedly committed to fighting directly with the Canaanite city-states; these particular fighting men need to go home.

Wait—what? Those that don’t want to fight can return home? How can this attitude win any war? Don’t we need all-hands-on-deck (to use an anachronistic metaphor)?

Evidently not. The Lord doesn’t need every single person who volunteers, including those who are “afraid and disheartened” (20:8). Those who volunteer need to think long and hard over whether they should participate in battlefield duty. After consideration, a soldier who could not put his whole heart into the battle could opt out.

These soldiers are not shamed into participating. The officers are to point out that some of them who have shown up to fight might think better about their decision (20:5–9).

There is no blame assigned to those who do not go into battle. They are not to be seen as cowards by the other troops—they have specific responsibilities elsewhere, e.g. a house, a new wife, a harvest. (Notice that these instructions are also aimed at future Jewish people who plant crops and build homes, something not done by the audience here being directly addressed.).

This is a foreshadowing of the methods that God will continue to use in the future—especially during the time of the Judges—to winnow out those volunteers who are less capable of surviving in the battles they will fight (see Gideon, in Jud. 7). In even later times within the nation of Israel we can see a specific part of the rationale behind God’s instructions. In the book of Zechariah the Lord says to Zerubbabel, “‘Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit,’ says the Lord of Hosts” (Zech. 4:6). In other words, the victory is not dependent upon the number of soldiers fighting the battle, but rather upon the soldiers’—and the nation’s—reliance on God. He is the one who has the strength, not the size of the army in the campaign.

We are also reminded of Rav Shaul’s words to the Corinthians: “God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong . . . so that no one may boast before him” (1 Cor. 1:27–28).

But before we leave the officers’ instructions in this passage, perhaps these instructions also remind us of one of Yeshua’s memorable teachings: that of counting the cost (Lk. 14:25-34).

Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will you not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? . . . Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand?”

In Yeshua’s specific context, he is discussing those followers that wish to be his true disciples. They also, like the soldiers involved in the conquest of the Promised Land, must count the cost of their discipleship before they give up everything to follow Yeshua. (Whether or not service to Yeshua should necessarily be seen in the terms of warfare needs to be left to a different discussion.)  Instead, it’s better to think about what that commitment will cost them before they jettison everything and everyone in their lives.

The point here is not to assume everyone should or must be this kind of disciple, but instead, to make sure that the cost is clearly understood before a commitment is made. What could be worse than turning your back on your family, etc., and then, not being able to keep an emotional commitment to your new life, drop out of that new commitment? Then you have nothing—no family, etc., that you gave up, and no new commitment, either. What a tragic state of affairs. This teaching of urges us to weigh our lives and our commitments carefully, whether it is the soldiers’ commitments before the Conquest, or our commitment to follow Yeshua.

How about the “salt” that Yeshua ends this passage with? “Salt is good, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored?” (Luke 14:34). This saying also refers back to an idea in this week’s Deuteronomy passage. The army that God will use to conquer Canaan does not need extra people. It needs soldiers who understand and wholeheartedly make a commitment to fight the battles. It does not need those soldiers whose minds are somewhere else, whose hearts are concentrated on other goals. It does not need those who are too afraid to be really useful in battle. Instead, they should go back to where they are useful, and there is no shame in doing this in this context.

By including the people who do not have their hearts and minds into fighting the battle, the army is “watered down”.  It’s better to let them do what their hearts and minds want to do, rather than fight in battles they are not able to win. Salt is not salty when it is watered down. It gets washed away. It doesn’t help what it is added to. It no longer can be used for anything useful, not even for animal waste, says Yeshua.

The concepts within this passage are well worth pondering this week, as we approach the New Year.

Moses' Last Stand

Parashat R’eh, Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17

by Jonathan Roush, Beth Messiah, Montgomery Village, MD

I’ve never really connected with Deuteronomy. I am not sure why. Perhaps it is because so much of it is a repetition of the Law which we’ve already read previously, and so I’ve glossed over it.

However, when revisiting this portion I felt the words leap off the page. I felt a sense of passion in I was reading. At first I couldn’t figure out what was causing it. Then I realized: this is Moses’ last stand.

There he stands in front of the people whom he has led for 40 years. The people he has loved and cared for . . . people he has been furious with . . . people whom he pleaded with God to spare. These people in particular are the ones whom he has witnessed growing up in the desert.

Here they stand on the precipice of the land promised to them long ago, of a brave new world.

Knowing that he won’t be going with them he gives one last discourse entreating the people of Israel to remember their covenant with Hashem; to not become lazy and to turn away from God’s commands.

Knowing that his death is imminent, this is his legacy to the Israelites. Deuteronomy therefore stands as his final address.

This week’s passage opens with a jolting exclamation: the word R’eh, which means “See!” In other translations it says “Behold!” or “Look!” This reminds me of the Shema, “Hear!”—and now we have “See!” or “Look!” The 19th century educational reformer Horace Mann once said that observation was an activity of both eyes and ears, and here we have Moses calling Israel to observe—to hear him as he speaks and to see, or recognize, what he is laying out to them.

See! I set before you (all) this day a blessing and a curse:”

Would that cause your ears to perk up? It certainly would mine. The blessing I like; what’s the deal with the curse?

. . . the blessing if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you today, and the curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Lord your God, but turn aside from the way that I am commanding you today, to go after other gods that you have not known.” (Deut. 11:26-28)

And what is that blessing?

He will give you rest from all your enemies surrounding you, and you will dwell securely.” (Deut 12: 10b)

This is later bookended in chapter 12:28:

Be careful to obey all these words that I command you, that it may go well with you and with your children after you forever, when you do what is good and right in the sight of the Lord your God.”

There are consequences for each choice: Rabbi Jonathan Sacks eloquently said that if the Jewish people obey, “then we can do great things. . . . We have been commanded to create a just society that honors human dignity and freedom . . . to create a just, generous, gracious society.” (http://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation-5772-reeh-the-politics-of-freedom/)

If Israel chooses to disobey the covenant they made with God then the rest and protection from their enemies mentioned in chapter 12 will be removed, leaving them to be subjugated and scattered by their enemies.

So the Jewish people must remember to keep the commandments given to them. For Jews, religious observances are a way of remembering and a way of turning beliefs into actions. It isn’t enough for intellectual assent to say “Yes! I agree.” Moses makes it clear that mere agreement does not satisfy the covenant, but rather that deliberate and thoughtful obedience is the only proof of the recognition of this holy covenant.

Moses was standing in front of the entire community of Israel, yet talking about things that pertain to the behavior of each individual.

Historically, this is unique. Never before had every person in a nation been given such a stark choice. On one hand they are presented with the ultimate freedom, being free individually to choose what they are going to do. But there is a catch!

Theologian Dorothee Sölle observed: “We are afraid of religion because it interprets rather than observes. Religion does not confirm that there are hungry people in the world; it interprets the hungry to be our brethren whom we allowed to starve” (The Inward Road and the Way Back, p. 26).

The portion this week addresses this example specifically:

The Levite, because he has no portion or inheritance with you, and the sojourner, the fatherless, and the widow, who are within your towns, shall come and eat and be filled, that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands that you do. (Deut. 14:29)

Each relies on the others to adhere to the commandments of the covenant either to mutual benefit or mutual suffering. This reminds me of the story of Cain and Abel in Genesis 4:

The Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?”

The answer is yes, I am my brother’s keeper, my sister’s keeper, as are you.

This extends not only to the Jewish people, but to all who claim to follow Yeshua. Each of us has entered into a covenant with God through Yeshua’s example, his life, his death and his resurrection. However, it is not enough to just “understand” this idea. Our future will be shaped by our choices.

Robert Kennedy once said: “Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation.” (http://www.rfksafilm.org/html/speeches/unicape.php.)

I would make one change: “in the total of all those acts will be written the history of the people of God.”

Even today, we each have a choice. To act on what we say we believe and to change the world around us, or to not act.

The choice is individually and collectively ours.

How Can We Please God?

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25

by Rabbi D. Friedman, Jerusalem

In this week’s parasha, Moshe is summarizing the things for Israel to remember before he dies and a new leader takes his place, before Aaron dies and a new leader takes his place, and before the people enter Land of Israel.

And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and to keep the commandments and statutes of the Lord, which I am commanding you today for your good?” (Deut. 10:12-13)

Moshe taught Israel: fear and love God by doing the mitzvot, with all our individual and collective hearts. This is a great summary teaching of all that Moshe had to teach Israel.

Throughout Jewish history, each successive generation of rabbis has attempted to boil the Torah down to its main principles, asking the question, What do we need to do to please God?

Shimon Ha-Tzaddik was among the survivors of the councils formed by Ezra; he used to say, The world depends upon three things: on Torah study, on serving God, and on kind deeds. The Torah sage Shimon, some 220 years before Yeshua’s time, understood that to please God, one had to study and do Torah, and carry out merciful deeds on behalf of others. (Avot 1:2)

R. Yohanan said: The reunion of the exiles is as important as the day when heaven and earth were created, for it is said, And the children of Judah and the children of Israel shall be gathered together, and they shall appoint themselves one head, and shall go up out of the land; for great shall be the day of Jezreel; and it is written, And there was evening and there was morning, one day.

To Yohanan, a 2nd century Israeli teacher, the most important way to please God is to fulfill the Torah, by being gathered back to Israel. He deduces this by the phrase “great shall be the day,” believing that God would redeem the world at this event.

The Torah academies of Babylonia asked this same question: how can we live a life pleasing God? They taught:

David came and reduced the guiding principles to eleven, as it is written, Lord, who shall sojourn in Thy tabernacle? Who shall dwell in Thy holy mountain? — [i] He that walketh uprightly, and [ii] worketh righteousness, and [iii] speaketh truth in his heart; that [iv] hath no slander upon his tongue, [v] nor doeth evil to his fellow, [vi] nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour, [vii] in whose eyes a vile person is despised, but [viii] he honoureth them that fear the Lord. [ix] He sweareth to his own hurt and changeth not, [x] he putteth not out his money on interest, [xi] nor taketh a bribe against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved. ‘He that walketh uprightly’: that was Abraham, as it is written, Walk before Me and be thou whole-hearted. —Makkot 24a

Later Torah academies wrote on the same question: How do we live to please God?

Isaiah came and reduced them to six principles, as it is written, [i] He that walketh righteously, and [ii] speaketh uprightly, [iii] he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, [iv] that shaketh his hand from holding of bribes, [v] that stoppeth his ear from hearing of blood, [vi] and shutteth his eyes from looking upon evil; he shall dwell on high. ‘He that walketh righteously,’ that was our Father Abraham, as it is written, For I have known him, to the end that he may command his children and his household after him.

 Torah academies continued to develop the question: How do we live to please God?

Micah came and reduced them to three principles, as it is written, It hath been told thee, O man, what is good, and what the Lord doth require of thee: [i] only to do justly, and [ii] to love mercy and [iii] to walk humbly before thy God.

This discussion continued throughout history: How do we live to please God?

Again came Isaiah and reduced them to two principles, as it is said, Thus saith the Lord, [i] Keep ye justice and [ii] do righteousness [etc.]. Amos came and reduced them to one principle, as it is said, For thus saith the Lord unto the house of Israel, Seek ye Me and live. But it is Habakkuk who came and based them all on one principle, as it is said, But the righteous shall live by his faith—Makkot 24a

Our rabbis understood Isaiah, Amos and Habakkuk, as well, to have guiding principles to their lives, and we learn of them here in Makkot 24.

Messiah Yeshua also took part in this ongoing Jewish and rabbinic discussion: What do we need to do to please God?

A Torah teacher asked Yeshua: “Rabbi, which is the greatest mitzvah in the Torah?” What was he asking him? “Rabbi, would you boil the Torah down to what we have to do to please God?” Not a bad question—a good one—one that lots of rabbis were asked and responded to throughout Jewish history until today. Yeshua responded:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Torah and the Prophets. (Mt. 22:37–40)

Now that we’ve heard the historical discussion on what we need to do, and the truth of Messiah Yeshua’s teaching on this, let us ask “How do we do what Yeshua said, in order to please God with our lives?” Messiah’s life in us gives us the empowerment and the desire, but what do I mean by “Messiah in us”?

When we believe in Yeshua as Messiah, our mind begins a transformation that God will direct (cf. Ro. 12:2). This powerful and dynamic transformation includes learning our true identity, which answers the question, “Who am I and why am I alive?” (cf. Ro. 8:16).

Putting our faith in the Messiah and serving God is a life that pleases God. As it is written, “This is the action that pleases God—to believe in the one he has sent” (John 6:29).

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?