The Lonely Place of Connection

Parashat VaYetse, Genesis 28:10-32:3

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

It’s a paradox: To find community, I have to find my individual self. Or turn that around: As I find myself in God, I find that I’m part of something much bigger than myself.

Our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, all encounter moments of intense solitude on their way to forming the vast extended family of Israel. After Jacob cooperates with his mother, Rebekah, in her plot to gain the paternal blessing for him, his brother Esau starts to harbor murderous thoughts. Isaac wisely sends Jacob away by himself, on a long foot-journey to the ancestral homeland to find a wife. Jacob’s journey contrasts with the way his father Isaac found a wife just a couple of chapters earlier in Genesis. Abraham had sent his trusted servant with a line of camels loaded with goods and gifts. Isaac could remain in his own tent, surrounded by family, as his future was secured. Jacob is on his own.

Ya‘akov went out from Be’er-Sheva and traveled toward Haran. He came to a certain place and stayed the night there, because the sun had set. He took a stone from the place, put it under his head and lay down there to sleep. (Gen 28:10–11, CJB)

The “certain place” that Jacob finds is remote. It's the sort of place you can imagine if you've ever done wilderness camping. It's not a campground filled with tents, RVs, and campfires. This is backcountry, far from machinery, pavement, utilities—off the grid and under the stars. It’s beautiful but lonely, especially if you are all by yourself, lying on the ground with minimal comforts, like a stone for a head rest (which in Jacob’s case was probably cushioned by his wadded-up cloak).

In this lonely place, Jacob dreams:

There before him was a ladder resting on the ground with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of Adonai were going up and down on it. Then suddenly Adonai was standing there next to him; and he said, “I am Adonai, the God of Avraham your [grand]father and the God of Yitz’chak. The land on which you are lying I will give to you and to your descendants. Your descendants will be as numerous as the grains of dust on the earth. (Gen 28:12–14a CJB)

Solitary, off-the-grid Jacob discovers that he’s not alone at all. He’s surrounded by angels, and then Adonai himself appears. Jacob connects with God in this lonely place. And there's more because when Adonai speaks directly to Jacob, he connects him with community past—citing his fathers Avraham and Yitzchak—and future—promising descendants beyond number.

Jacob's lone journey leaves everyone behind, but then it connects him with his community past and future.

The Barna study of Jewish Millennials that I cited a couple of weeks ago (umjc.org/commentary/what-makes-community-work) states, “While Christian Millennials lean heavily on individuals … in discerning their values, Jewish Millennials tend to rely on the collective” (cited in https://j4j.co/barnabonus). Contemporary Christian spirituality tends to be individualistic. When I have occasion to visit churches or Christian events, I’m often struck by how many of the worship songs are in first-person singular, speaking about God and his goodness in terms of my personal experience.

Pop Christian spirituality sometimes seems to be all about “me and Jesus,” and Messianic Jewish spirituality can follow suit. Instead of confronting the alienation and isolation of 21st century life, it softens it into a more livable version. It says that each one of us has had a personal, undeniable, transformative encounter with God, and community connection is optional compared with that. Thank God for our personal experience with him, but if you leave it at that, you miss a major component of spiritual life.

Jewish culture on the other hand, religious or not, tends to be more communally minded, with an emphasis on belonging before believing. This sometimes becomes belonging instead of believing. The reality of a personal, undeniable, transformative encounter with God can be neglected amid the riches of communal life and commitment. But in truth the two are inseparable. As I grow in personal spiritual development, I love, appreciate, and serve the community where I belong. For Messianic Jews, that community includes both the universal ekklesia, or body of Messiah, and klal Yisrael, the Jewish people.

Jacob wakes up from his dream to declare, “Truly, Adonai is in this place — and I didn’t know it!” (Gen 28:16). Jacob’s ladder has become an icon of individual, personal, transformative encounter with God. But the God Jacob encounters plants him in the midst of community.

If our private spiritual practice doesn’t inspire and strengthen our connection with a living community, it’s incomplete.

In my work both as a rabbi and a therapist, I often recommend the solitary practices like prayerful silence,  and slow and deep reading of Scripture, and I practice these myself. It can feel lonely with our Facebook friends tuned out and our media silenced, but that's where we connect with God, and with community as well.

I’ve been in Ephesians for weeks now, slowly reading and digesting its words. Starting in 3:14, Paul prays that we'll be strengthened in our inner being, that Messiah will dwell in our hearts, and that we’ll be rooted and grounded in his love. These requests all seem intensely personal and inward. But as I was contemplating this prayer recently, verse 18 jumped out at me: “So that you, with all God’s people, will be given strength to grasp the breadth, length, height and depth of the Messiah’s love” (emphasis added).

We don’t get the full dose of Messiah's love all by ourselves, but only alongside all of God’s people.

“Spirituality” remains a popular term in our increasingly secular culture, and it’s often used to sidestep tradition, community and commitment. Instead let’s follow our father Jacob, who found God in the lonely place, and also found connection with his community past and future.

The Power of Blessing

Parashat Toldot, Genesis 25:19–28:9

by Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, Simsbury, CT

We tend to think of people who lived long before us as primitive and less intelligent. Yet, contemporary Americans have made the alternative medicine industry a multi-billion-dollar throwback to the ancient craft of herbal treatment. Studies have shown that the age-old practice of therapeutic massage has amazing healing results. And despite the obvious benefits of e-mail, blogs, and social media, there truly is no substitute for the human voice and especially face-to-face contact. It would appear then that sometimes the old-fashioned way is the best way. It behooves us then to try to understand why both Jacob and Esau seemed to place such a high value on their father’s blessing.

Jacob so values the father’s blessing that he not only engages in a “trade” for the birthright, but develops an elaborate plot along with his mother to secure the blessing that went with it. On the other hand, Esau shows a lack of concern and disrespect for the birthright and the future it portends – “Esau ate drank, rose up, left, and spurned the birthright” (Gen 25:34). But we can still feel badly for Esau, for life without a blessing is but an imitation of life.

Though we often associate blessings with health, wealth, opportunity, and power, true blessing might better be described as a sense of wellness in the soul. The Jewish mystical tradition pictures the soul as the umbilical cord that connects our physical person with the spirit of Hashem and with all of the souls of collective humanity. I once spoke to a concert pianist who told me that he developed his soul by playing Mozart, and when he did so he thought of all of the renditions that he had heard, and imagined himself connected to the pain, triumph, and jubilation of each of these other musicians. When the soul is ,properly nurtured it enables us to fully experience life, but when it is damaged or underdeveloped, the person is cut off from other people, and from God, the true source of life.

Obviously then it is important to not inadvertently speak curses. How often do parents communicate scores of negative messages to children, messages that suggest they are not bright enough or adequate enough? Impatience can be damaging to the fragile soul. But the far greater problem is that so many people grow up without a sense of being blessed, having been ignored by parents, teachers, and peers who are just too busy or too self-involved to take the time to reach out. Or worse still, many children grow up having had human contact withheld as a subtle form of manipulation. Silence to a child communicates confusion and isolation, the absence of blessing, and the ultimate absence of God.

So it is important that we take the time to bless and be blessed, and though I believe it is in our DNA to be a blessing, it involves a skill set that we must practice and consciously cultivate. This week’s parasha offers us a very interesting model. In Genesis 27 Jacob comes before Isaac to be blessed, disguising himself as Esau, and in verses 26–29 he bestows the blessing. There are three major components to this blessing in Genesis 27 and a fourth that I believe is worth adding (see The Blessing by Gary Smalley and John Trent).

1.      Meaningful Touch – “Come near and kiss me, my son” (v. 26).  When words are inadequate or hard to come by, a hug is worth a thousand.

2.      Attaching High Value to the one being blessed – “Ah the smell of my son is like the fields that the Lord has blessed” (vv. 27–29). There is no substitute for letting someone know that you think they are wonderful.

3.      Picturing a Special Future for the one being blessed – “May God give you of the dew of heaven and the fat of the earth, abundance of new grain and wine. Let peoples serve you, and nations bow down to you; be master over your brothers, and let your mother’s son bow to you” (vv. 28–29).

4.      Active Commitment to fulfill the blessing – God has given us no greater blessing than to be participants with him in the restoration of creation. There is no better place to start than in the lives of those he has put in your path.

Blessing a friend is a bilateral gift. There is no greater blessing than bestowing blessing upon others. My friends’ words of kindness and blessing go deep into my soul. Twice a year I used to receive a phone call from a colleague in another part of the country. Professionally we have only limited interaction, and the busyness of life and geography keep us from being overly involved in each other’s lives. But a couple of times a year he would call me and let me know that he was thinking of me and praying for me. We would catch up, and at the end of the call he always blessed me. This went on for several years and I often wonder how he knew when I needed a blessing the most. I suppose any time someone wishes to bless me I can use it, and I am now convinced that he was as blessed as I was by the interaction. My friend has since retired and I do not often hear from him. But last week I ran into him at a conference, and he let me know that he has continued to pray for me! I was blessed!  

Each week at congregation Shuvah Yisrael we experience the blessing of the cohanim twice. First they bless the children before they are off to Shabbat school, and then at the end of the service they bless the entire congregation. But we also bless God many times throughout the service. Does Hashem really need our blessing?  Well, does a parent ever grow weary of being blessed by his or her children? When our children return our blessings it makes every dirty diaper worth it. Even as we are elevated in our soul by blessing from our children, so we understand our Father in Heaven to be overjoyed with our blessing. As we are elevated in our children’s sight by their blessing, so our blessing of our King seats him securely on the throne of our heart as we anticipate the time when the entire world will be blessed by the greater reality of his presence. So it is that we can declare Baruch haba b’shem Adonai, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.

What Makes Community Work?

Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1–25:18

by Rabbi Russ Resnik                           

The world rests on three things; on the Torah, on the worship, and on acts of loving kindness. (Pirkei Avot 1.3)                                                                

A new Barna survey on Jewish millennials commissioned by Jews for Jesus has attracted lots of attention, including stories in the Jerusalem Post and JTA. It's a fascinating and encouraging study, and we'll be discussing it more in the coming days. For now, I'll note one finding, which is the importance that millennials place on social connection and community. A deeper issue is this: what makes community work? A survey can’t really address this question, but this week’s parasha does, so let's take a look.

The stories of Abraham and his descendants seem to be written from a patriarchal perspective, yet the first death recorded among them is that of a woman, Sarah. Our parasha opens with a detailed record of her life span, as befits the mother of Israel: “And Sarah’s life was one hundred years and twenty years and seven years, the years of Sarah’s life” (Gen 23:1, literal translation).

Before Sarah died, however, Abraham learned of the birth of Rebecca, daughter of his kinsman Bethuel (Gen 22:23). “After Rebecca—who is fit to replace Sarah—is born, and Abraham is notified, Sarah dies. As our Sages tell us [b.Yoma 38b], ‘One righteous person does not die before another is born, as it is written, and the sun rises, and the sun sets’ (Eccles 1:5)” (Sforno).

When Sarah dies, Abraham must restore the essential feminine element in his family by finding a bride for Isaac. Indeed, the title of this parasha, Chayei Sarah, means, “Sarah lives.” It begins with a burial, but continues through the betrothal of a new matriarch. Sarah will live on through the wife of Isaac.

To find this woman, Abraham sends a servant back to his land and kindred. The entire story of the betrothal of Isaac hinges upon the actions of this servant, yet he is never named. He serves as best man, bringing the wedding party together, but never central to the event. His role is vital, and yet the attention is never on him. 

Instead, this story draws our attention to Isaac. With God’s help, the servant finds Rebecca, arranges the marriage with her family, and gains her assent to return to his master. When they reach the land of Canaan at last, Rebecca sees Isaac in the distance asks, “Who is this man walking in the field to meet us?” The servant says, “It is my master (adoni).” So she takes a veil and covers herself (24:65). In this story, the servant has called Abraham adoni, “my master,” sixteen times. Only now, as he escorts the bride whom Abraham sent him to find, does he apply the term to Isaac. Isaac becomes complete when he encounters his bride, as the sages say, “Any man who has no wife is no proper man; for it is said, Male and female created He them and called their name Adam [man]” (b.Yev 63a).

This saying reminds us of an earlier wedding. In Hayyei-Sarah, the unnamed servant serves as best man, but in that earlier wedding the best man was the Lord himself, who formed Eve from the side of Adam and brought her to him. Rabbi Abin said of this event, “Happy the citizen for whom the king is best man!” (Midrash Rabbah, Gen 18:3). And even before this, the Torah says that God blessed the man and woman that he had created (Gen 1:27-28). Commenting on these verses, Rabbi Abbahu said, “The Holy One, blessed be He, took a cup of blessing and blessed them” (Midrash Rabbah, Gen 8:13).

Helping to arrange a wedding and attending the bridal couple are acts of kindness, or gemilut hasadim, considered to be one of three pillars upon which the world rests. In the Torah, the Lord provides examples of such acts of kindness for us to emulate. Such acts of kindness form the fabric of community. Furthermore, they provide a foretaste of the Age to Come, when all human needs will be fully met, and there will be none who are naked or lonely or abandoned. Therefore we are instructed to support others in joyous events such as a wedding, and also in sorrowful events such as sickness or mourning: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” (Rom. 12:15). Such acts of kindness make community work.

By marrying Rebecca, Isaac receives comfort after the death of Sarah, takes on the legacy of his father Abraham, and ensures that the divine covenant will be passed on to another generation. This uniquely significant wedding highlights the significance of every wedding in the sight of God. Every time we attend a wedding we agree with God that it is not good for the man (or woman) to be alone, that the couple is to bear a divine blessing, and that their marriage is to be fruitful in many ways. At such events we are not to be a mere audience, but we are to be community, supporting the couple and adding our own blessing to the Lord’s blessing.

It is no wonder then, that early in his account of the deeds of Messiah, Yochanan records Yeshua’s attendance at a wedding, where he transformed water into wine (John 2:7-11). “This beginning of signs Yeshua did in Cana of Galilee, and manifested His glory; and His disciples believed in Him."

The phrase “beginning of signs” brings us back to B’reisheet, the beginning. There, “The Holy One, blessed be he, took a cup of blessing and blessed them.” Here, Yeshua, Son of the Holy One, ensures an abundant supply of wine for a Galilean wedding. Wine is not just refreshment, but the emblem of blessing and favor that will issue in fruitfulness for the new couple. It is not just a social inconvenience for a family to run out of wine, but a threat to the peace of the new couple, and to the continuity of the community.

The God of Torah is not an impersonal “First Cause,” but a God of compassion. He is not distant from the world he created and the human beings he has placed within it. Rather, it seems that he can hardly stay away from us. He is ready to enter our world, to feel our sorrows, and to share in our joys. He is the unseen reality in our community that makes it all work. And in Messiah, he steps fully into this community to embody the acts of kindness he has modeled among humankind since the beginning.

The Test We All Face

Parashat Vayera, Genesis 18:1–22:24

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Abraham’s decades-long dialogue with Hashem reaches its climax in Genesis 22, with the Akedah or Binding of Isaac. As at the beginning, the Lord sets Abraham on a journey with a simple two-word command: “Lekh l’kha—get going!” (Gen 22:2, cf. 12:1).

Rashi takes this phrase literally as “Go for yourself,” meaning “Go for your benefit and for your good”—although it’s hard to see how that’s going to work out when God is telling Abraham to “Go” and offer up his son Isaac. I’ll take the phrase even more literally and suggest, “Go to yourself”, that is, go to become the self God means you to be. Abraham is our forefather, our guide, and the first thing we learned about him in our last parasha was that he must journey. Now, in his later years he must journey again to fully be the self God made him to be. I call this the Essential Journey:

• It starts with a word from God.

This is not the “spiritual journey” of pop culture. It's not an expression of the Morality of Self-Fulfillment, which Barna.com calls "America's new moral code," with the credo, “the best way to find yourself is by looking within yourself.” No, the best way to find yourself—the essential way—is the journey of response to God’s word.

• This journey teaches you to trust God.

God doesn’t say—as we sometimes do—“just trust Me.” Instead, He repeatedly proves himself to Abraham. He appears repeatedly along the way to reassure and redirect him and finally, as our parasha draws to a close, to reiterate His promise of life and blessing (Gen 22:16–18).

• With this trust you can become who you're meant to be.

A while back my friend Chad Holland of King of Kings Congregation, Jerusalem, posted on his Facebook page, “We should realize that God tells Moses that His name is ‘I Am’ a few verses after Moses asked God, ‘Who am I?’ It is more important to know who God is than who we are, as our identity is in Him.” True enough, but it’s equally clear in Scripture that our God-given identity becomes character—who we really are from the inside out—through the journey of trust. Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, Moses and finally all Israel take this essential journey.

The stories of Genesis speak to us today because they trace this primal journey of identity formation. Family theorist Salvador Minuchin wrote, “Human experience of identity has two elements: a sense of belonging and a sense of being separate.” Our identity is a finely tuned balance between belonging and being distinct. The journey provides separation—“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house” —and it also brings us to where we really belong—“to the land that I will show you.” Remember, we’re not talking about the pop spiritual journey that’s so often rooted in hyper-individualism. Our journey supports connection and community, even as it explores new horizons. Abraham’s journey wasn’t about himself, but about forming a new family that would bear blessing for all.

As Chad points out, our identity is in God. It’s a gift to us through our union with Messiah Yeshua. But for lots of younger people that I know, the challenge is to own the identity they learned about from their parents and religious upbringing, and often they never do. That’s how someone can seem to be a strong and committed believer throughout childhood and adolescence, and then drop it all as a young adult. We embrace identity through the realities of journey, through walking with God as Abraham did. Identity tested through the journey becomes character.

That’s why this journey is essential, so let’s remember these three lessons from Abraham’s story:

1.      This journey starts with a word from God.

Messiah Yeshua calls us not just to sign up, show up on Shabbat, not even to do various good deeds in his name—all worthy pursuits—but to “Follow me.” This is faith—active trust in a God who actually communicates directly with us. God’s word can take us by surprise, but we can also seek it out by listening through prayer, contemplation of Scripture, and anticipation that God will speak (usually not audibly, but clearly enough). Hashem says Lekh l’kha twice to Avraham, once at the beginning of his journey, and again near the end. Hearing God’s directive isn’t a one-time thing, but a lifetime endeavor. Stay fresh, keep to the journey, listen for the word.

2.      This journey teaches you to trust God.

We won’t overcome our anxiety and unbelief by sitting in our rooms repeating, “I trust God; I won’t fear.” We learn to trust in God as we go forth “to one of the mountains of which I will tell you” (Gen 22:2). The journey depends on God showing us the way, and this grows our trust, which in turn grows our courage. The journey teaches us not to fear, because wherever it leads us, God is there.

3.      With this trust you can become who you’re meant to be.

In our families and congregations, we can reflect the anxiety and risk-aversion of the surrounding culture, or we can encourage exploration and boldness. If a younger person or someone you’re leading or mentoring asks tough questions, don’t freak out, shut down, or lecture. Let them be wrong, and even fail, now and then, and trust God to lead the way forward. Be not afraid! But trust . . . for yourself as well as them.

When Messiah Yeshua said, “Follow me,” he didn’t mean just this once, but from now on. If we have a walk with Messiah Yeshua that is risk-averse, predictable, too secure, we might really not be walking at all. On the other hand, if life in the Medicare years still feels a little shaky and insecure . . . this might be exactly what Hashem intends to train us in trusting Messiah.

Trust grows along the journey, as Avraham discovered in last week’s parasha. Now this trust is fulfilled through another journey.  

Wasn’t Avraham avinu declared righteous because of actions when he offered up his son Yitz’chak on the altar? . . . and the passage of the Tanakh was fulfilled which says, “Avraham had faith in God, and it was credited to his account as righteousness.” James 2:21, 23 CJB

The Aroma of Avraham

Parashat Lekh L'kha, Genesis 12:1 - 17:27

Dr. Vered Hillel, Israel

Hashem said to Avram, “Lekh L’kha — You go out of your country and your relatives and your father’s household to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12:1)

With this call, Avraham burst into history with surprising suddenness. For ten generations Hashem had been silent. He had not spoken to a human since Noah and, as at creation, the message was one of hope and blessing to humanity. Avraham’s immediate response to this call marks the beginning of his journey, through which he became the father of many nations through whom the nations of the world are blessed. There was no one like Avraham. He was a man of exemplary virtue.

So intriguing was Avraham that Rabbi Yochanan, a Tannaitic sage, inquires as to what he can be compared. Commenting on the phrase שֶׁמֶן תּוּרַק שְׁמֶךָ  (shemen turak shemekha) “finest oils (perfume) is your name” in Song of Songs 1:3, R. Yochanan explains that Abraham resembles a flask of spikenard, an oil scented from leaves, which was tucked away in a corner and its scent was not spreading. When someone came and moved it from that place, its scent began to spread. Hashem’s call and Avraham’s response were similar. He states, “It is as if Hashem said ‘Avraham you have many good works, you have many mitzvoth; spread yourself (like fine fragrance) in the world and your name will become great in the world. You go out.’ What is written after it? ‘I will make you a great nation’ (Gen. 12:2)” (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1.2 ג).

When Avraham chose to respond to Hashem’s call to go out from his country, extended family, and nuclear family (12:1), his fragrance began to spread. But, what is Avraham’s fragrance? It includes his belief, which Hashem reckoned to him as  צְדָקָה (tzedakah, righteousness, justice, charity; Gen. 15:6), and the things he did: welcomed strangers, extended hospitality, rescued his nephew Lot, prayed, waited for a child, and when commanded was willing to sacrifice him. Adjectives describing Avraham’s character are rare in the Tanakh, but his noble attributes are implicit in the narrative accounts. This week’s parasha reveals several of Avraham’s characteristics through his relationship with Lot.

We are told that Avraham returned from Egypt with great affluence. He was rich in cattle, silver, and gold (13:1), all of which were media of exchange in commerce, and afforded a pastoral nomad a measure of security and protection. Lot also had flocks and herds and tents, which indicate that he was an independent unit within the clan, whose limited affluence posed a threat to the family harmony and cohesion. Avraham demonstrated his magnanimous and peace-loving character when, despite his being the elder of the two men and the uncle, he choose not to enforce his rights of seniority or priority. Instead he selflessly offered Lot the first choice of grazing land and watering spots. In contrast, Lot displayed his selfishness by not deferring to Avraham (Gen. 13:5–13).

Avraham’s willingness to give way to Lot demonstrates the principle developed later in Judaism that we only truly own that which we are willing to give away. The principle is true universally, as the world belongs to Hashem. He made it, therefore, he owns it (Ps. 24:1).  It is also true in a particular sense in that Hashem gave the Land of Israel as an inheritance and with it the command that, “The land must not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine , you are but strangers and my tenants” (Lev. 25:23). The principle is expressed in the commands to share the produce of the Land with the poor, release slaves and debts every seven years, and return land to its original owners every fifty years. We are guardians of property and not owners. It is only when Avraham was willing to give part of the land away that Hashem tells him the whole land would be his (Gen. 13:14 –18). Avraham demonstrates that we truly only own what we are willing to give away.

The story of Avraham’s rescue of Lot (14:1–23) provides another glimpse into some of Avraham’s veiled characteristics. Upon hearing of the capture of his nephew Lot, Avraham immediately mustered an army and set out in pursuit in order to rescue his nephew. He attacked, accomplished his goal, and took considerable plunder. On his way home he was met and blessed by Melchizedek (vss. 18–20) and then paid Melchizedek a tithe from the plunder, but Avraham refused to take anything in return.

In Egypt Avraham appeared to be fearful and evasive, but in the Land of promise he was decisive and courageous. He exhibited skill and heroism in battle. He was a military hero, but was not glorified as such. Notice that Avraham did not initiate the war, he was drawn into it through self-sacrificing loyalty to his nephew, who earlier was estranged from him, but needed his help. The lack of detailed information about the war, e.g. nothing about the size of the opposing army, weapons used, number of casualties or details about the plunder, emphasizes Avraham’s virtues of loyalty to family, the redemption of captives, disdain of material reward, and faith in the power of Hashem despite the odds.

None of us can be Avraham, but we can take him as a role model. We can emulate his actions and his characteristics by being magnanimous and peace-loving, and loyal to family and community, by not imposing our rights of seniority or priority, by being undaunted by material reward and trusting in the power of Hashem despite the odds, and by recognizing that we only truly own that which we are willing to give away. May we all be a שֶׁמֶן תּוּרַק, a sweet smelling fragrance, throughout the world, for “God . . . makes known through us the fragrance that consists of the knowledge of him in every place. For we are a sweet aroma of Messiah to God” (2 Cor. 2:14–15).

Noah, Babel, and the Scriptural Narrative

Parashat Noach, Genesis 6:9–11:32

David Wein, Tikvat Israel Messianic Synagogue

God blessed Noach and his sons and said to them, “Be fruitful, multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 9:1, CJB)

What are we doing here on earth? What is our main purpose in life? Who are we? Genesis develops these themes in the first few pages, gives us our origin story, and helps frame our sense of identity and calling. In fact, the basic elements of most narratives (setting, characters, plot, conflict, and resolution) are all there in the first few pages of Scripture, last week’s parasha. The most fundamental origin story is there, the foundational unfolding of creation, from which we get the building blocks of our theology, which is a kind of narrative as well. 

Hashem tells Noach after the flood, “Be fruitful and multiply.” The first instruction given to the first humans, Adam and Havah, is reiterated here to Noach and his family. In other words, the primary calling of human beings, as described in the first chapters of the scriptural narrative, is this same instruction given to Noach. The p’shat (plain sense) reading would inform us: make some more people. As enjoyable as this is in itself, this instruction has been interpreted a little more deeply, in context of the Creation narrative, to mean: 

1)      Bring the knowledge and love of God throughout the earth.

2)      Bring all things in creation under dominion of the Creator King.

3)      Steward and co-rule (in a sense) over creation with God.

4)      Reflect his goodness and compassion because we are image-bearers of God.

5)      Reflect his actions through our actions, such as (pro)creation, resting on Shabbat, and affirming the identity and goodness of creation.

Here we are starting to approach the identity and calling of humanity, or character and plot in the narrative. Conflict is there as well, the sin problem from Genesis chapter three, despite the flood designed to clean everything out. The prototype of the sin problem is illustrated in the tower of Babel, or Bavel. The humans get hold of the latest tech wonder: the brick. Not so fancy to us modern folk with our i-tchotchkes, but a big deal back then. And the humans get to work with their newfound innovation:

Then they said, “Come, let’s build ourselves a city with a tower that has its top reaching up into heaven, so that we can make a name for ourselves and not be scattered all over the earth.” (Gen 11:4, CJB)

The kingdom of self, fueled by pride, is conceived. The Hebrew for “build ourselves” has the word lanu. Perhaps we could render it: “let’s build for ourselves,” or “let’s build ourselves up.” And the lanu is repeated: “Make for ourselves a name.” Shem, or name in Hebrew, implies reputation, character, and identity. We have the same idiom in English; humanity was making a name for itself. So, let’s build our name, identity, and reputation by reaching up to the very heavens, to the throne of God. This reflects the evil promise from that mysterious serpent in chapter three: eat the fruit, and you can sit on the throne of Hashem. Reading the Bavel tower narrative in light of Genesis chapter three, we can summarize the conflict in the human story against the identity and calling we’ve already seen:

1)      Let’s become like God, not in his goodness, but to overthrow his authority.

2)      Let’s reach up to the heavens and usurp the throne.

3)      Let’s redefine good and evil in our own terms.

4)      Let’s propose a new, alternative purpose: it’s all about me, making myself great.

 The word Bavel, universally translated as “Babel,” appears over 250 more times in the Tanakh, and is hereafter always rendered “Babylon”.

Babylon, or Bavel, is used as an archetype in the Scriptures of this kingdom of self, evil, rebellion, and the rejection of God’s kingship. It shows up in the kingdom of Pharaoh in the Exodus story, in the literal kingdom of Babylon, and even in the kingdom of Israel when we get off track. The kingdom of Bavel manifests as gross rebellion against Torah, murdering of babies, willful idolatry, oppression of the poor, sexual immorality, prideful worship of self, redefining good and evil, using others in a perversion of power, and hateful vengeance.

Nebuchadnezzar, the king of the eponymous Babylon, sums it up like this: “Bavel the great! I built it as a royal residence by my power and force to enhance the glory of my majesty!” (Dan 4:30 [27]), CJB).

And so we have setting, characters, plot, and conflict. But what about the resolution? In this week’s parasha, we have the first covenant made between Hashem and humanity:

“I will establish my covenant with you that never again will all living beings be destroyed by the waters of a flood, and there will never again be a flood to destroy the earth.” (Gen 9:11, CJB)

The grace and covenantal faithfulness of Hashem are established as a promise for the first time in the narrative of Scripture. God has covenanted with us, promised us, that his purpose is not just to bring judgment and correction like a mighty flood (confronting the kingdom of Bavel) but to bring healing, redemption, and blessing: that is, the kingdom of God.

This sets up next week’s parasha, Lekh L’kha, where the redemption and resolution plan unfolds even more. In Parashat Noach, God begins to resolve the conflict of the narrative by reiterating to Noach his purpose to Adam and Havah to be fruitful and multiply, and by addressing the Bavel problem through covenantal faithfulness to Noah. Next week, we will read how God calls out Avraham (from the realm of Bavel) to be a new, holy nation. God’s unfolding plan to confront the kingdom of Bavel finds fulfillment in his irrevocable calling of the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov to bless all the nations of the earth through them. But that, of course, is another parasha.

The Dust of Creation

Parashat Breisheet, Genesis 1:1–6:1

by Barri Cae Seif, Sar Shalom (Arlington, TX)

Then Adonai Elohim formed the man out of the dust from the ground and He breathed into his nostrils a breath of life—so the man became a living being. B’reisheet 2:7

When I was growing up, my father would often tell us children that if God had formed Adam from the dust, then we have a whole new generation being formed under our beds. We make it a point to remove dust from our homes and yet God took what was worthless and unwanted and made the most wonderful thing in creation, Man.

Creation was the most awesome event in the spectrum of time, other than Messiah Yeshua’s life, death, and resurrection. Rabbi Hertz’s commentary notes that “from every part of the habitable earth was dust taken in the formation of Adam.” It is thought that there are as many colors of dust as there are the colors of man. God created the whole human race for His own pleasure, as Revelation 4:11 says: “For You created all things, and because of Your will they existed and were created!” God made man, the whole human race, in His image: “Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, after Our likeness! Let them rule over the fish of the sea, over the flying creatures of the sky, over the livestock, over the whole earth, and over every crawling creature that crawls on the land’” (Gen 1:26). God sculpted man from dust. Dust was perfect at the time of creation.

Man, dust at that time, received God’s breath. This is such a profound moment that just reading it in English does not capture all the magnificence of the action. “He breathed into his nostrils a breath of life”וַיִּפַּח בְּאַפָּיו נִשְׁמַת חַיִּים  (Gen. 2:7b). God’s spirit, His ruach, the Holy Ruach, the Holy Breath, enabled Adam to come to life. God gave Adam heavenly CPR. First birth. Perfect birth.

God and man had close fellowship, face-to-face communication, and all was wonderful. Man had the life of God within, and became a living being, nefesh chayah. We are told in Ecclesiastes 7:29, “Only this have I discovered: God made mankind upright, but they went seeking after many schemes.”

Yes, man was made upright, close to God, and yet man chose to go his own way. God is sovereign and yet He allowed sin to enter the world through Adam and Eve’s act of disobedience. God gave man free will. All I need to do is look at a two-year-old after telling him or her not to stick a finger into the electrical socket or even come near. What is the first thing that the two-year-old will do? Go towards that electrical socket. That alone explains this first sin to me.

Before I became a believer in Yeshua, I had no moral compass. I was dead to anything that related to God. When individuals shared about being born again, I had no idea what they were talking about nor did I care. I was lost and I had no way to save myself.

In 1980, over lunch at my cousin’s delicatessen in Dallas, two businessmen shared with me  Isaiah 53:6, “We all like sheep have gone astray. Each of us turned to his own way. So, Adonai has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” I walked into that deli lost and astray and I walked out of that deli restored to God. I became a living being, I was born again!  

Almost 38 years later, the joy remains, but there are still times that this dust, our flesh, challenges us and weighs us down. David wrote in Psalm 119:25, “My soul clings to the dust. Revive me according to Your word!” The Hebrew word davak denotes cleaving and clinging, to be joined to the ground. Life becomes so burdensome that we don’t really know what else to do. A few verses later, that same Hebrew word is used in Psalm 119:31, “I cling (davakti) to your testimonies, Adonai, do not put me to shame!” The psalmist notes that revival through God’s word, His testimonies, is the answer.

Creation was the most awesome event in the spectrum of time, and it is brought to fulfillment through Messiah Yeshua’s life, death and resurrection. As Rav Shaul writes to the Corinthians, the first man is of the earth, made of dust; the second man is from heaven.

“Like the one made of dust, so also are those made of dust; and like the heavenly, so also are those who are heavenly. And just as we have borne the image of the one made from dust, so also shall we bear the image of the One from heaven.”

— I Cor 15:47–49

If God can bring forth humanity from dust, just imagine what He can do with your life!

All Scripture references are from Tree of Life Version (TLV).

Why Read Ecclesiastes During Sukkot?

By Rabbi Barney Kasdan, Kehilat Ariel Messianic Synagogue (San Diego, CA)

Our joyous celebration of Sukkot reaches a climax tonight during Hoshanah Rabbah, the seventh day. This day is named after the custom of circling the bima in the synagogue seven times, reciting verses that reflect the phrase Hoshana—“Save us, please!” Intermingled with the joy of Sukkot is a rather sober lesson in life. Customarily, we read from the scroll of Ecclesiastes (in Hebrew: Kohelet), which is a serious reminder of the realities of life. Solomon, the son of David, shares some of his vast experience with us every Sukkot.

The rabbis note that Solomon penned his three famous works at crucial stages of his own life. Song of Songs was penned as a young man in courtship.  Proverbs contains reflections of his mid-life. Kohelet contains his wisdom at the end of his days (Midrash Shir HaShirim 1:1). If that is the case, it is striking that the scroll of Kohelet starts with the exclamation "havel havalim/vanity of vanities!" Upon reflecting over his illustrious life, Solomon summarizes that it is essentially empty! What profit is a person's work?  Generations come and go. The sun rises and the wind blows but what really changes? Simply put, there are so many things beyond our control.

This could be very depressing or it could lead us to an entirely different direction. Now it becomes clearer why we read Kohelet every Sukkot. In the midst of the joy of the harvest and material blessings, we are reminded of the frailty of life. Who can control the twists and turns of life?  The sukkah reminds us that there is a much bigger picture than even our current situation.

Additionally, Kohelet acknowledges that any innovations of mankind are rather meager in their importance.  All things toil in weariness; the eye and the ear are never quite satisfied. Ultimately, "there is nothing new under the sun."

Our society is constantly looking for new gadgets to improve our existence. The incredible advance of technology impresses many. Yet, when a hurricane or Las Vegas tragedy hits, the world is suddenly shocked back into reality. For all our advances we are still so far from Paradise. How appropriate that we meditate on the lessons of Kohelet while we dwell in our simple sukkah. Whatever our blessings and technologically advanced society, we are called to reflect on the simple realities of life. This time of year we are to get back to the wilderness experience of our ancestors. Although they had none of the modern conveniences we enjoy, were they less advanced than us today? Maybe there are forgotten truths that our generation needs to rediscover at this season of Sukkot.

Solomon goes on for chapters about the vanity of much of life. It’s easy to get depressed while reading his words here. Yet, at the very end of the scroll, Solomon summarizes his secret to living a fulfilled and purposeful life. 

“The end of the matter, all having been heard: fear God and keep His commandments.”

Even though life is fragile and unpredictable, there is a purpose. Despite the fact that all the busy activity of mankind is so meager, we are all here for a reason. Perhaps one of the best secrets of life is revealed at this time of year during Sukkot. Ultimately, all is vanity unless God is in the picture. 

How fitting it is that it was on Hoshanah Rabbah, as the festival neared its climax, and the people gathered in the Temple cried out for salvation, that our Messiah spoke out:

“Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Yeshua stood and cried out, saying, ‘If any man is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in me, as the Scriptures said, from his innermost being shall flow rivers of living water.’ (John 7:37-38)”

Messiah came to give us that personal connection to the Heavenly Father and to a life of meaning.  The sukkah, while reminding us of the vanity of this life, also holds forth the meaning of real life. May we all have a blessed celebration as we continue to dwell in the sukkah. Hag Sameach!

Finding Shelter in a Transient World

by Rabbi Paul Saal, Shuvah Yisrael (Hartford, Connecticut)

Sukkot remembers that freedom came as the result of pitching tents over 14,600 days and honors the 43,000 meals prepared in the dessert. But more importantly, Sukkot reminds us that God is everywhere and undermines the idolatry of rootedness. This doesn’t mean that home and hearth are bad values; rather it serves as a dialectic reminder that we are first and foremost citizens of God’s kingdom, sojourners in this present reality. Our journey in the wilderness began at Passover when Hashem took us out of the land of Egypt and commanded us to eat our last meal there in great haste with “our staff in hand and our loins girded” (I am still a little uncertain and just a little scared of the alternative), an idiom which suggests that we are to be perpetual wanderers.

We look for shelter in our possessions, but they can only give us temporary comfort. We seek reassurance from our jobs, but they can't really protect us from uncertainty. We turn to hobbies, people and places to fill the emptiness, but ultimately, our souls cannot be filled from the outside.

The idea is to remind us of the fragility of the world that we occupy, a world that relies upon the sustenance and the benevolence of the Creator. This is why we add the following statement to the daily Amida between Sukkot and Passover; “Who makes the wind to blow and the rain descend”. It is wedged between two other affirmations in the prayers; “You resuscitate the dead and are able to save” and “Who sustains the living with loving kindness.” The placement creates the unambiguous suggestion that God’s provision of our agricultural needs that provide our daily sustenance is no less miraculous than the resurrection of the dead, and no less important than the care of our individual health. Therefore we are reminded that all that we are, all that we have and all that we need are in the hands of the one who created us.

This is not an absolute statement against materialism; Judaism is not a religion of asceticism. Instead the sukkah just reminds us that God will care for our needs in much the same way that he meets the needs of our souls. Maimonides wrote, “The general purpose of the Torah is twofold: the well-being of the body and the well-being of the soul. The well-being of the soul is ranked first, but the well-being of the body comes first.”

Sukkot gives us the opportunity to step back and find shelter for our souls, to fill ourselves up from the inside out and reconnect to the highest visions that we have for ourselves.

Here are six kinds of shelter we can find when we sit in our sukkahs.

1. The shelter of faith. The Hebrew root for the word faith also means to be loyal, to stay committed to something even in difficult circumstances. We believe in God's wisdom and goodness through the light and the darkness. When we sit in the sukkah we can also feel embraced by God's faith in us. Every new day that we are given God is telling us: I have faith in you. I believe that you can re-build despite yesterday's mistakes. I'm giving you a new day, a new chance, because I'm not giving up on you.

2. The shelter of gratitude. One of the reasons we sit in the sukkah is to remind ourselves of the "clouds of glory" that God used to guide us through the desert when we left Egypt. Each of us has different kinds of light in our lives that help us navigate through challenges. The light of our friends. The light of our Torah. The light of our homes. Recognize these gifts that light up your path. Surround yourself with gratitude.

3. The shelter of connection. Bring friends and family into your sukkah. Learn from others and share what you have learned. Build and nurture the connections that you have with others in your life. Feel the embrace of the chain of kindness that redeems so much darkness; be another link in that chain.

4. The shelter of authenticity. Close the gap between who you are and how you appear to the world around you. Don't be afraid to change in order to be truly aligned with your authentic values. Use the space of the sukkah to open the space within that wants to be free.

5. The shelter of prayer. Talking to God is a constant in our lives. When we are lost and scared. When we are frustrated and disappointed. When we are joyous and grateful. When we are distracted and confused. Talk to God. Prayer is a shelter we can take with us everywhere and anytime.

6. The shelter of awe. Look up at the millions of stars through the roof of your sukkah. Breathe in the crisp, autumn air. Watch the leaves turn gold and red and orange. Watch the trees teach us how to let go. See the stars teach us how to shine. Let the sukkah teach us how to find steadfast shelter rooted in God’s all-encompassing love.

How to Shake a Lulav

Sukkot begins tonight! You've built and decorated a lovely sukkah, but perhaps you're wondering what to do next. Here's a quick guide on how to begin your celebration of the most fragrant and hospitable Jewish holiday of them all: 

Jerusalem balcony sukkah

Mitzvah #1: Rejoice! 

Sukkot is zeman simchatenu, the season of our joy. All of the pilgrim festivals—Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot—are times of joy, but for Sukkot the commandment to rejoice is given three times (Lev. 23:40; Deut. 16:14-15). How do you fulfill this mitzvah? By embracing this time of rest and rejoicing, welcoming guests to your sukkah, and giving thanks to God for His abundant mercy and provision for you and your family. 

Mitzvah #2: Dwell in the Sukkah

As you enter your sukkah for the first time tonight, you can fulfill the mitzvah of dwelling in it by eating a meal inside of it. Begin your meal by reciting Kiddush over a cup of wine. Don't forget to add the blessing for the sukkah, too: 

“Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav vitzivanu leyshev ba-sukkah. (Blessed are you Lord our God, King of the universe, who has hallowed us by your commandments, and has commanded us to dwell in the sukkah.”

Next comes the Shehecheyanu (the blessing for new things and new seasons):

“Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu melech ha-olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiyamanu, v’higiyanu lazman ha-zeh. (Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has kept us in life, and preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season.)”

Congratulations, you've fulfilled a mitzvah! But wait ... there's more! The next morning we're ready to fulfill the third mitzvah ...

Mitzvah #3: Shake the Lulav

And you shall take for yourselves on the first day the fruit of beautiful trees, branches of palm trees, the boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook; and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God for seven days. (Leviticus 23:40)

To fulfill this mitzvah, acquire a lulav set, which includes the four species described, with the “fruit of beautiful trees” understood as the citron or Etrog. On the first morning of Sukkot, gather your lulav and etrog. Put the lulav in your right hand and the etrog in your left hand, with the pitom (pointy part) pointing down. Recite this blessing: 

“Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav vitzivanu al n’tilat lulav. (Blessed are you Lord our God, King of the universe, who has hallowed us by your commandments, and has commanded us to take up the lulav.)”

here the pitom is pointing up

After reciting the blessing, point the pitom of the etrog upwards (careful not to break it off) and unite it with the rest of the lulav set. Then wave it three times in each direction - east (toward Jerusalem), south, west, north, up, and down. The first time you do this, make sure to say the Shehecheyanu. 

Congratulations! You've just fulfilled another mitzvah. Remember to wave the lulav every morning for the rest of Sukkot (ask your local Messianic rabbi if it's your community's custom to abstain from waving the lulav on Shabbat).  

UMJC Rabbinic Counsel Rabbi Russ Resnik

Why does God ask us to engage in this funny ritual?

Rabbi Russ Resnik: "One midrash says that the fragrance of the four species represents knowledge of Torah and the fruit of the different species represents good deeds, thus portraying four types of Jews: the etrog is a fruit with fragrance, signifying those godly Jews who have both knowledge and good deeds; the palm has fruit and no fragrance, representing those with good deeds but no knowledge of Torah; the myrtle has fragrance (knowledge) and no fruit (good deeds); and the willow has neither. The four types are bound together and extended in praise before the Lord, representing all Israel united in acknowledging the true king and giver of life. (Vayikra Rabbah 30:12)

"Another midrash compares the etrog to the heart, the palm to the spine, the myrtle leaves to the eyes, and the willow leaves to the lips. And so we each unite our soul in giving praise to the Lord, who is the source of all (Vayikra Rabbah 30:14). Waving in all six directions underlines the completeness of our worship, and waving three times in each direction yields the number 18, which signifies chai, or life, in Hebrew. We add to the four usual directions by waving the lulav set upwards toward the heavens, and downward, as a final direction, signifying our hope for blessings to descend from on high. After this extended blessing, the whole assembly recites Hallel (Psalms 113–118, all or part), while those with lulav sets continue to raise them up with joy."

“Halleluyah! Praise, O servants of Adonai, praise the Name of Adonai. Blessed be the Name of Adonai from now and forever. From the rising of the sun to its going down the Name of Adonai is to be praised. (Ps. 113:1–3, TLV)”