Comfort My People

First Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 40:1–26

Rabbi Russ Resnik

Tisha B’Av—the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av—is a major turning-point in the Jewish calendar. This date commemorates the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in 586 BCE by the Chaldeans and again in 70 CE by Rome. For three weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av we read Haftarot of Affliction, passages by the prophets that describe the judgment to come upon Jerusalem. Then for seven weeks after Tisha B’Av we read Haftarot of Consolation or Comfort, beginning with the opening words of this week’s Haftarah, “‘Comfort, comfort My people,’ says your God” (Isa 40:1).

This shift in spiritual focus away from mourning and onto consolation prepares us to enter a New Year, Rosh Hashanah, with joyful anticipation of the goodness and mercy of the Lord. In typical Jewish fashion we honestly face the sorrowful loss of the holy temple—for three weeks—but we end on a note of hope and affirmation of God’s goodness—for seven weeks. We’re not in denial about either our shortcomings or the tragedies of our history, but we insist on focusing on the good, the hopeful, the promises yet to be fulfilled.

In our haftarah this week, first of the seven, Isaiah continues with a word of comfort:

Speak kindly to the heart of Jerusalem
and proclaim to her
that her warfare has ended,
that her iniquity has been removed.
For she has received from Adonai’s hand
    double for all her sins.

Then the prophet introduces “a voice crying in the wilderness,”

Prepare the way of Adonai,
Make straight in the desert
    a highway for our God. (Isa 40:2–3)

The imagery is striking: a highway is prepared through the desert and we expect it to be the route of return for those exiled in Babylon. Valleys and hills are leveled, the crooked way is made straight, and we await the return of the captives. But it is the glory of the Lord that appears; the heralds watching from high places around Jerusalem don’t announce the return of exiles, but instead cry out, “Behold your God!”

Look, Adonai Elohim comes with might,
    with His arm ruling for Him.
Behold, His reward is with Him,
    and His recompense before Him. (Isa 40:9–10)

I said that the heralds announce the return of Hashem to Israel instead of the return of the exiles, but of course, it’s both. The return from exile is part of the Lord’s return to Israel and Israel’s return to him. It’s entirely fitting that Isaiah’s “voice in the wilderness” is cited in all four of the gospel accounts. Even more fitting is that the word for one who heralds the Lord’s return, mevaser, is from the same Hebrew root as “gospel” or besorah. Isaiah’s word of comfort is besorah—a prototypical gospel—to Israel. It provides the foundation for the coming besorah of Messiah Yeshua, which entails his saving work for all Israel, even as it goes beyond to bring a message of salvation to all humankind.

Our haftarah pictures a vital linkage in the besorah that we might tend to overlook. God’s promise to return and restore all Israel includes return to the land of Israel. And if so, the current ongoing return of the Jewish people to the land of Israel, amazing as it is, is but part of an even grander and more amazing restoration to God Himself: “‘Return to Me, and I will return to you,’ says Adonai-Tzva’ot” (Mal 3:7).

The closing night of last week’s Union summer conference featured a true patriarch, long-time friend and ally of the Messianic Jewish community, Pastor Don Finto. Pastor Don spoke on the prophetic significance of the times we live in—based on Yeshua’s parable of the wheat and the weeds (Matt 13:24–30; 36–43)—and how we ought to respond.

Pastor Don laid out one response simply enough: “Read and pray the book.” He urged us to return to the habit of reading Scripture regularly and steadily and to speak words of Scripture as prayers in response to the intense events unfolding all around us. But Pastor Don didn’t just exhort us; he embodied his own message by concluding with the words of Romans 11—all 36 verses!—recited from memory. I say “recited,” but really Pastor Don entered into and acted out the words. All this came from an 88-year-old patriarch standing before us who clearly had not only read and memorized Romans 11, but had digested it and prayed it into his own soul before he spoke it as life to us on Saturday night. The words hit me with meaning and impact that were new even after 40+ years of studying this text.

Another of Pastor Don’s responses to the times we live in is to listen to the right reports, to the Calebs and Joshuas instead of the nay-sayers. “We think too much of the bad news,” he said, and urged us instead to dwell on the good news of Scripture. I’ve given similar counsel in my rabbinic and counseling work. Turn your thoughts away from the live-stream flood of depressing, anxious, tempting data and back to the good report of Scripture, which you’ve already read, chewed on, and stored within.

In the Messianic Jewish community we’re familiar with Isaiah 40 and the many other good reports of Israel’s restoration throughout the prophets. Pastor Don reminded us that we’re right in the middle of these prophecies. In this critical time we need to read and re-read them, and moreover to pray them, to mysteriously become part of their fulfillment as the ancient words of Isaiah are transformed into words of comfort for today. So may we each become a mevaseret Zion—one who announces good news to Zion: “Behold your God!”

All Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version.

Shabbat Chazon: To See and Be Seen

Haftarat Devarim, Isaiah 1:1–27

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

This week is Shabbat Chazon, the Sabbath of Vision. It is called this because the haftarah reading on the Shabbat preceding Tisha B’Av is always from Isaiah 1, which begins “The vision [chazon] of Isaiah son of Amoz . . .” In this passage God accuses Israel of just going through the motions. They are living their lives far from Hashem and steeped in wrongdoing, but are expecting him to accept their acts of devotion. He will have none of it.

Shabbat Chazon is also sometimes called the Black Sabbath, because it precedes the saddest day in the Jewish calendar.

The Torah states that all males must appear before God three times a year for the pilgrimage festivals (Exod 23:17). The Talmud, however, rules that one who is blind in one or both eyes is not obligated to appear (b.Chagigah 5b). The rationale is that the mitzvah, or command, to appear before God uses the word yera’eh, which means “will appear.” But, since the Hebrew text does not contain vowels, this word could also be read as yireh, meaning “will see.” Since a blind or partially blind person cannot fully see, he is exempt from this mitzvah.

This Talmudic discussion highlights what all the mitzvot are about. They are a means to be seen by God and to see God. And this is something that we can pursue in our daily life.

Rabbi Eleazar Azriki (1533–1600) wrote about this Talmudic discussion in his book Sefer Haredim, saying, “For the majority of people this will mean at the three pilgrimage festivals . . . but to those who are wise it means every day and always, at every moment and in every place that they want to see God and have his gaze upon them.”

But the mitzvot must be performed with kavanah (focus and intention). We cannot just go through the motions as Israel is accused of doing in our haftarah reading.

When we daven, say a barucha, study Torah, or commit a loving act with kavanah, we expose ourselves to Hashem. We appear before him. But he also appears to us in these acts. As Abraham Joshua Heschel states, a mitzvah is a sacrament and an act of communion. He writes,

A mitzvah is an act which God and man have in common. . . . Their fulfillment is not valued as an act performed in spite of “the evil drive” but as an act of communion with Him. The spirit of mitzvah is togetherness. . . . He is a partner to our act. (God in Search of Man, emphases mine)

The Chasidic rabbis related the word mitzvah to the Aramaic word tzavta, which means attachment or companionship. When we perform mitzvot with intention, we are attaching ourselves to Hashem.

The opening meditation of the Amidah highlights the communion that is within a mitzvah act. We say, “Open my lips, Adonai, and I will declare your praise.” This expresses the partnership that is involved in prayer (and in any mitzvah).

The early Church Fathers used the term perichoresis, which is sometimes simply called “the divine dance,” to describe the communion of mutual blessing that exists within the Godhead. We are invited into that communion. We enter it when we perform the mitzvot with kavanah. And we invite others in when we include them in our acts of devotion and deeds of compassion and care.

But when we do these acts without kavanah we are worthy of the same rebuke that God gives Israel in our haftarah reading. “An ox recognizes its owner, a donkey recognizes where its owner puts its food; but Israel does not recognize me” (Isa 1:3). They bring sacrifices and go through the ritual acts, but forget that these mean nothing without deeds of justice. Israel in her blindness thinks that she can bring these sacrifices and appease God, while living lives far from him. They are not “appearing before God” and he does not “see” them; he “looks the other way” (1:15). There is no communion. There is no sacramental event.

Our Talmudic discussion continues by telling us that when Rav Huna encountered the words of Exodus 23:17 he wept and quoted a verse that appears in this week’s haftarah. He cried, “Can it happen to a slave whose master expects to see him, that the master will eventually distance himself from him and not want him anymore? For it is written: ‘That you come to appear before Me—who asked this of you, who trample My courts?’” (Isa 1:12).

If we “trample” God’s courts by just going through the motions as Israel did, then we will neither be seen by him nor see him. We will have no communion, no connection.

Today can be Shabbat Chazon or Black Shabbat—a day of vision and seeing, or a day of darkness and blindness.

May we all renew our devotion and kavanah in the performance of the mitzvot.

May we see it as a means to greater connection to and communion with Hashem.

May we join the divine dance.

And thereby we will see and be seen.

This year, Tisha B’av is commemorated on Sunday, July 22, which is the tenth of Av. The ninth of Av, Tisha B’av, falls on Shabbat, when it is not appropriate to fast and mourn, so it is delayed one day.

Tisha B’av: Why We Mourn

Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

We are in the midst of the Three Weeks leading up to Tisha B’av (July 21–22 this year). The Ninth of Av is a day of fasting on which we commemorate the destruction of the two Temples and many other calamities that have befallen our people over the centuries.

This day often goes unobserved in the non-Orthodox world. Some say that since we now have the State of Israel there is no need to mourn over a Temple destroyed 2,000 years ago. Others say that the destruction of the Temple pales in comparison to the horrors of the Holocaust. There are some more liberal-minded Jews who even celebrate the destruction of the Temple because it means that we no longer have animal sacrifices.

I am sometimes asked why Messianic Jews should still observe this day since we have the risen Messiah. While I could go into many different reasons, my response to this question is mainly four-fold.

First, we mourn because the world is not yet fully redeemed. The question above is rooted in a common misunderstanding of Yeshua’s death and resurrection. People tend to think that with his resurrection all is complete. In fact, this was just the beginning of redemption. Yes, Yeshua died and ascended to the Father’s right hand, but we still live in a fallen world. There is still poverty, suffering, disease, violence, and sin. Full redemption does not occur until his return. Rav Shaul says, “We know that until now, the whole creation has been groaning as with the pains of childbirth; and not only it, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we continue waiting eagerly to be made sons” (Rom 8:22–23).

Second, we mourn because we ourselves are not yet fully redeemed. Our reading from the prophets this week is the second haftarah of admonition, from the Book of Jeremiah. In it God mournfully declares, “My people have committed two evils: they have abandoned me, the fountain of living water, and dug themselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water!” (Jer 2:13). This text is speaking to Israel’s idolatry, but we do this in many small ways on a regular basis ourselves. We take our eyes off Hashem to try to get what we want through our own efforts. We scheme, gossip, speak harshly, ignore others’ pain, and are consumed with pride. Though we have forgiveness through the Messiah, we are still not fully redeemed. Our sins contribute to the suffering of this world. This is why the Rambam says that we fast on this day to recall that our evil deeds and those of our ancestors have caused the destruction (Hilkhot Ta’anit 5:1). And, I would add, continue to cause destruction in our lives and the lives of those around us. Tisha B’av is not just a time of mourning, but a time of teshuvah, repentance.

Third, we mourn because Israel is not yet fully redeemed. Our movement’s strong evangelical Christian roots influence us to think individualistically. This perspective is at the core of the question, “I have the Messiah, so why should I mourn the Temple’s destruction?” But the fact is that both Scripture and Jewish tradition have a different perspective. We are individuals, but we are part of a wider community, for whom we are responsible. Judaism is not an “I-Thou” religion, it is a “We-Thou” religion. This is why the vast majority of the prayers in our Siddur are written in the plural. This includes our confessions of sin. We may not have committed a particular sin, but a fellow Jew may have. Our community as a whole has sinned, and we are all responsible.

Yom Kippur is predominately focused on the individual before God. Rabbi Ismar Schorcsh, a former chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, therefore argues that this is why we need Tisha B’av. He writes:

Yom Kippur and Tisha B’av are tandem. . . . Whereas Yom Kippur is set aside for self-reflection, Tisha B’av is dedicated to pondering the nation’s destiny. . . . To remove Tisha B’av from the liturgical structure is to accentuate the pursuit of personal salvation and to disrupt the carefully crafted equilibrium between individual need and group primacy.

We need both individual and corporate repentance. While we may have found the Messiah, our people by and large have not. We are a part of them and they are a part of us, therefore we need to focus on our joint destiny.

Finally, we mourn because God mourns. Both Scripture and our tradition repeatedly declare that God grieves over this broken world. Because we have a mutual destiny with Hashem, we join in his sorrow over this unredeemed world. (And I believe that there is somber joy in sharing in his pain.) Our Sages understood that God suffers along with Israel and the world. The Talmud puts these words in God’s mouth, “Woe to the children, on account of whose sins I destroyed my house and burnt my Temple and exiled them among the nations of the world. . . . Woe to the Father who had to banish his children!” (M. Berachot 3a).

One of my favorite interpretations of the Mourner’s Kaddish is based on this passage. Not only are we seeking God’s comfort in the loss of a loved one, but we in turn comfort God in that he has lost a child from the world too. Kaddish is therefore not just for the individual, but for the community to comfort Hashem! I find this poignant and beautiful. There is something holy and sacred about sharing in God’s pain for the world.

Thus I commend observance of Tisha B’av to you. Yes, as Messianic Jews, we have the risen Messiah. But we still live in a world of poverty, disease, war, and oppression; a world that destroys temples. We ourselves contribute to this through our own sinful behavior. We are part of a people that is often far from God and desperately needs Messiah Yeshua. And we can join our weeping with Hashem’s weeping over this broken and unredeemed world.

The destruction of both Temples stands as a sign for all of the destruction that exists in the world.

May the groans of our liturgy resonate with the groans of all Creation.

May our fast call us to teshuvah, repentance—repentance for our own sin that brings destruction into this world.

May we mourn for our people, who sometimes live lives far from Hashem.

May we, in the midst of our own mourning, comfort our Father, who weeps over his burnt House and the exile that not only Israel but the whole world experiences.

And thereby, we can bring healing to this world and speed the final redemption!

Ode to Religious Fanatics

Haftarah for Pinchas, 1 Kings 18:46–19:21

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

At my current age my heart has already beat two billion times. For many of us, we find ourselves thinking about our weight, exercise, and not only what we eat, but also what’s eating us. This last point deals with our spiritual heart, which has also throbbed millions of times, with thoughts, affections, and choices. In our hearts we determine how we will speak, behave, and respond to circumstances. The question that begs to be answered, then, is will we trust Hashem and choose to be gracious, patient, and loving, or will we yield to pride, self-seeking, and bitterness? The Scriptures exhort us to rejoice in the Lord always; why then do we so often appear to hit the road of despair? At the center of this difficulty is our presumptuous nature.

As we go through life with the promises of God in our pocket, we presume how he should behave in every situation. In the midst of our expectations, we attempt to make the Holy One the captive of our desires and the guarantor of our efforts. Ya’akov the Elder of Jerusalem said that Elijah was a man like us (James 5:17), yet it is difficult to imagine Eliyahu HaNavi, the great prophet and powerfully anointed miracle worker, having a nature just like ours. Perhaps it is in his search, however, rather than his victories that we can see our destiny, and our hope through his despondency.

The Ballad of a Depressed Prophet

In the narrative of 1 Kings 17, the back story to the haftarah portion, Elijah is God’s man. He is imbued with power and informed by the spirit of the Living God. He calls down fire from heaven, and even soaks his own offering in water to mock the prophets of Baal. Then, when Elijah has totally humiliated the false prophets, he rallies the mob that had assembled to slaughter them in the brook Kidron. Sure, he is the worker of many miracles, but in some way he becomes a miracle junky, elevated only by the hype of the moment and his next fix of power.

This week’s haftarah portion begins with Elijah’s unexpected exile. I suppose that Elijah had expected the apostate Ahab and his foreign queen Jezebel to turn tail and run when they got the bad news concerning their prophets, but instead Jezebel undauntedly threatened Elijah’s life. It is Elijah who turns tail and runs a day’s journey from Beersheba into the wilderness. Here he entreats God to take his life. At the first sign of failure he runs and whines. The apparent message: God failed him; he was the faithful servant, God is the unappreciative master. Elijah is good as long as God brings the goodies. Elijah presents himself here as religious narcissist, with an over-inflated sense of entitlement. He deflects any and all responsibility. The narrative is actually infuriating, and I often think as I read this that if I were the Holy One I might have granted Elijah his wish; but this is never how Hashem works (just think of Jonah or Moses).

It can be said that Elijah’s life is a three-act play. In 1 Kings 17 he thinks he is somebody. In chapter 18 he realizes he is nobody. Then in chapter 19, Elijah finds out how much God can do with somebody who thinks he is nobody. Hashem sustains Elijah for forty days in the wilderness and then brings him to Mount Horeb, to the very place where, according to tradition, his glory passed before Moses. The haftarah records an odd exchange between Elijah and God. Twice God asks Elijah why he is there. The answer appears quite obvious, since Hashem’s angelic emissaries led him to that place. But Elijah responds by saying, “I have been exceedingly zealous for Hashem, God of Hosts, for the children of Israel have abandoned your covenant and razed your altars; they have killed your prophets with the sword, so that I alone remain” (1 Kings 19:10, 14). In this one statement Elijah deflects criticism from himself, indicts all of Israel, and accuses God of abandoning him. Elijah’s actions are strangely reminiscent of this admonition from German theologian and pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

God hates visionary dreaming; it makes the dreamer proud and pretentious. The man who fashions a visionary ideal of community demands that it be realized by God, by others, and by himself. He enters the Christian community with his demands, sets up his own law, and judges the brethren and God Himself accordingly. He stands adamant, a living reproach to all others in the circle of brethren. He acts as if he is the creator of the believing community, as if his dream binds men together. When things do not go his way, he calls the effort a failure. When his ideal picture is destroyed, he sees the community going to smash. So he becomes, first the accuser of his brethren, then an accuser of God, and finally the despairing accuser of himself. 

It is clear in Elijah’s tone that if God were to act appropriately, then Ahab and Jezebel would be instantly deposed, and the entire world would know it was due to Elijah’s supercharged ministry. But this is in fact not Hashem’s immediate plan. 

Hymn for the Real Deal

It is at this time that the God of Israel teaches his disgruntled employee the real meaning of power.

Hashem said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of Hashem, for the presence of Hashem is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before Hashem, but Hashem was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but Hashem was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but Hashem was not in the fire. And after the fire came a small still voice. (1 Kings 19:11–12)

The message is clear. The Lord can break mountains and shake the earth, but most often his true presence is discerned in small and gentle actions. Elijah responds to the small still voice and wraps his face in his cloak. It is rarely the brazen and the vociferous that exemplify God-like action but rather the quiet, the spiritual, the unassuming. In the words of Andrew Robert Fausset, “The Spirit of God is the voice to our soul. This is God’s immediate revelation to the heart. Miracles sound the great bell of nature to call attention; but the Spirit is God’s voice to the soul. Sternness hardens; love alone melts.” This does not mean that there are not times that call for bold and deliberate action, but most often true heroics are as quiet and unassuming as the small still voice that inspires them.

Elijah is then told three things that he will accomplish: anoint Hazael king of Aram, anoint Jehu king of Israel, and anoint Elisha a prophet in his own stead. Ironically, he does not actually accomplish any of the three tasks himself, except for the appointment of Elisha. It is rather through the ministry of Elisha that his legacy is effected and the other two tasks are completed. Elijah learns that the greatest work of God is not accomplished through a single vessel, but rather through the network of relationships that are inspired by the Spirit.

We often imagine true grit to be the fiery escapades of a self-reliant super hero. But nothing could be further from the truth. True zeal for God’s highest standards requires that we subordinate our own designs, timetables, and needs for the greater good of Hashem’s purposes. At times we seek deliverance, but instead God is offering peace. Other times we want excitement to arouse us from our empathy for the mundane, but instead we remain in the throes of the usual. How often do we ask for a word or a sign, but instead we are expected to learn the syntax of silence? At times we search for God’s intervention, but when we ask him to change our circumstances, he often desires us to change in the midst of them. When we respond to his gentle whisper, though, he can remove our despair, give us a new purpose and direction, and make us partakers of his greater plans.

Like Dew among the Nations

Haftarah for Parashat Balak, Micah 5:6–6:8

David Friedman, UMJC rabbi, Jerusalem

This section is our only haftarah portion from the book of Micah, a contemporary of the prophet Isaiah. It is joined to our parasha by mention of Balak, the wicked Moabite king:

O my people, remember what Balak king of Moab devised, and what Balaam the son of Beor answered him, and what happened from Shittim to Gilgal, that you may know the righteous acts of the Lord. (6:5 ESV)

This short haftarah portion contains sharp chastisement of the people for their lax devotion to the Torah and to God. The Land was full of occult practices, sorceries, idolatry, and cultic pillars with their poles for pagan worship. God was incensed at such behavior, as it constituted a sweeping violation of the covenant relationship between him and the people of Israel. Micah notes that God had a legal “indictment” (6:2) against his people.

What God wanted seemed simple enough. The conclusion of Micah is direct and to the point:

He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8 ESV)

Teshuvah, repentance, was needed on a national scale. In his conclusion, Micah does not differ from his contemporary, Isaiah, who also called the royalty, priests, and citizens of Judah to turn back to God and fulfill his Torah.

What interested me in particular as I read through the haftarah this week was its prediction of exile from the Land of Israel:

            The remnant of Jacob shall be in the midst of the many peoples,

            Like dew from the Lord, like droplets on grass. . . .

The remnant of Jacob shall be among the nations, in the midst of the many peoples,

            Like a lion among the beasts of the wild, like a fierce lion among

            Flocks of sheep, which tramples wherever it goes, and rends, with none to deliver.            

(Micah 5:6a, 7 JPS)

This section seems out of place in a portion where God is upbraiding the people and calling for a national repentance. Suddenly we are told that when Israel is at its worst, and receives exile from the Land due to our errant ways, God will still use our people in the Diaspora for his purposes.

Micah uses a word to describe how this “remnant of Jacob” is placed in foreign nations: b’kerev. It literally means “in close”, but carries the connotation of being right in the middle of the action, right in the midst of things, part and parcel of these nations. It is interesting that Danes and Bulgarians who helped save their entire Jewish populations during WWII often voiced the sentiment that “these people may be Jewish, but they are Danes, too,” or “they are Bulgarians, too.” It didn’t always go that way for us, but in those two nations, Micah’s words hit a note of reality.

When I think of Jewish history outside of the Land of Israel, I am hard pressed to think of our people being “like lions” overcoming our oppressors. Much more set in my mind are times like the Holocaust, the pogroms, the Crusades, and the Inquisitions, when we were running from our oppressors. To think of us being “like a lion . . . which tramples wherever it goes,” I have to go back to the ancient Persian Empire where Mordecai and Esther led a state-sanctioned, successful armed Jewish uprising against our people’s enemies to think of a time when our people seemed to fulfill what Micah stated.

Yet, I want to share a story I heard 30 years ago that helped me see the reality of what Micah states here. I spoke with an elderly Polish woman in Warsaw who fought with the Armie Krajowa (the Polish Home Army) against the Nazis during WWII. She served as a military nurse and she tried to sneak food and medical supplies into the Jewish ghetto as part of her mission. She told me that even though she knew that Israel was the home of all Jewish people, she loved the fact that there were so many Jewish people living in pre-war Warsaw. Nearly one third of the city was Jewish then, leading to its moniker, “The Polish Jerusalem.” Jerusalem Avenue still today is one of Warsaw’s main boulevards. “I feel like we’ve been robbed,” said a Polish graduate student to me once. “Where once there were so many Polish Jews, so much a part of this nation, now there’s just a huge hole,” he sadly told me.

My elderly Polish friend shared with me how the presence of many Jewish people changed Poland forever, giving it an exposure to, and appreciation of, so many things that otherwise would have been lost on it. She shared how the Jewish community’s keeping of Shabbat taught the Polish people about holiness and devotion. In fact, in modern Polish, the word for Saturday is “Sobota”. Guess where that word came from?

She talked about how the recitations of the Shema that were heard from the lips of Polish Jews so impressed Poles. They saw that no matter what the circumstances, Poland’s Jewish community was resolved to be faithful to their loving God. “When the Nazis shot Poles in the streets, they cursed at the shooters. When the Nazis shot your people in the streets, they had the words of the Shema on their lips,” she said to me.

Scholarship, music, the arts, education, the military, and medicine were all areas where Polish Jews contributed much to Polish history. And then she ended her talk with me by saying, in a most gracious way: “To you, it seems like a punishment that your people were here for so long, 1,000 years; but for us in Poland, your people were such a blessing to us, and gave us so much!”

As I read Micah’s words, that we would be as “dew from the Lord, like droplets on grass,” I thought of what this dear woman stated. In Israel, dew appears on our grass every morning during the summer season. Without it, our plants would surely die. Rainfall doesn’t start up again until October at the earliest, so dew is necessary to life in summer, and appears as a daily gift. This woman was telling me that the presence of Jewish people, as Micah foretold, was like “dew” to her Polish nation. Our presence gave life. Although Micah’s depiction of our people being lions did not happen there, the depiction of dew certainly did.

Even if our Diaspora presence has been unappreciated throughout history (and it's no exaggeration to say this), God still used our presence to shine his reality to the host nations: Jacob shall be among the nations, in the midst of the many peoples, like dew from the Lord (5:6a). Wherever Jacob’s descendants went, God went as well. Perhaps this is what Micah is telling us. This truth encompasses many nations throughout Diaspora history, in Europe, in Africa, in the Middle East, and in the Americas. Today, as a result of our Diaspora history, some 35 different languages are spoken in Israel today!

I can only wonder how many other people would say similar things to what my Polish friend said about the Diaspora Jewish presence in their lands. I was grateful to this dear woman for her encouraging words.

And I can now see that Micah was spot on: “The remnant of Jacob shall be among the nations, in the midst of the many peoples, like dew from the Lord.” Right in their midst, bringing the Presence of God. Was this the ideal? No, it was not. But again, God used what happened for the good of many peoples.

Jephthah, a Hero of Faith

Haftarah for Chukat, Judges 11:1–33

By Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

The haftarah for Chukat contains one of the most perplexing stories in the Bible, the tale of Jephthah, the judge who vowed to sacrifice the first thing that exited his house upon his safe return from war against the Ammonites.

The haftarah, however, actually stops in the middle of the story, informing us of Jephthah’s victory over the Ammonites, but making no mention of his return home or of the fulfillment of his vow (vv. 30–31). The first thing that comes out of his house upon his return is his daughter, his only child (vv. 34–35). This is most perplexing. Does Jephthah actually fulfill his vow by sacrificing his only daughter, or does she simply live her life as a virgin dedicated to God? To be sure the answer is complex, but no matter what we conclude about Jephthah’s fulfillment of his vow, he was a hero and man of faith. Samuel, in his farewell speech, includes Jephthah among the leaders who, like himself, acted as God’s agents to deliver Israel from her enemies (1 Sam 12:11), and Hebrews chapter 11 includes Jephthah among the heroes of faith alongside Gideon, Barak, and Samson, as well as David and Samuel (v. 32). 

Such a comparison of Jephthah with other heroes of faith is astonishing. 

Jephthah appears to be the antithesis of a leader. Not only is his vow questionable, but so is his early life. He is of dubious birth and lineage. His father was Gilead and his mother a prostitute without proper lineage (Judg 11:1). Although he is the eldest son, he was born to a mother other than the mother of his brothers, and therefore denied any inheritance. Consequently, he is ostracized by his family and community. He is an outcast living on the periphery of society, a powerful figure, a brigand, who gathers around him worthless and reckless men (compare Judges 9:4 to 11:3). Yet, he does not usurp power or threaten society. It is these qualities that draw the elders to him when the Ammonite becomes overwhelming. The historical setting of this controversy between the Israelite and non-Israelite populations of Gilead is summarized in Judges 10:6–18: Israel abandons Hashem, serves other gods, and is punished by oppression from the Philistines and Ammonites (10:6–9). Eventually Israel repents, removes the foreign gods, and serves Hashem (10:10–16). In the meantime, the Ammonites muster their troops for war.

The last verse of Judges 10 records a conversation between the troops and the officers in Gilead in which they ask one another, “Who is willing to begin the fight against the Ammonites? He will become the leader of all who live in Gilead.” Immediately after this statement, Jephthah is introduced into the story as a brave warrior. He arises out of nowhere as if in answer to their plea. As the narrative progresses Jephthah moves from an outcast to the accepted leader of the Gileadites. Later in Judges 12:7, we learn that he ruled Israel for six years.

Central to the narrative are the two negotiations between the elders of Gilead and Jephthah and between Jephthah and the Ammonite leaders. Through these negotiations we learn that the battle is not just between the Israelites and Ammonites, but between their God/gods. In his negotiations with the Ammonites, Jephthah recites Israelite history, repeatedly crediting Hashem with the victory over the Amorites and with driving them out from before Israel. It is important to note that a portion of the land that the Ammonites claim to be theirs had actually been lost many years earlier to the Moabites, who in turn lost it to the Amorites, who in turn were conquered by the Israelites (Josh 13:25, Num 21:26–31). Thus Israel had not conquered the land in Gilead from either Ammon or Moab, but from the Amorites.

Building on this fact, Jephthah tells the Ammonites that they can have all the land that Chemosh their god gives them, but the Israelites will take the land that Hashem, their God, gives them. Jephthah’s statement is dripping with irony. Chemosh was the god of the Moabites, not the Ammonites (Num 21:29). If the Ammonites are claiming Moabite land, then they must also worship the Moabite god. Chemosh, however, had not been able to save the Moabites from the Amorite conquest, so how can Chemosh save the Ammonites? He can’t. The God of Israel has proven himself to be the most powerful through the conquests he has given to Israel. Jephthah further stresses his point by asking why the Ammonites have not made a claim on the conquered lands for the last 300 years.

When the negotiations fail, Jephthah makes his foxhole vow to sacrifice “whatever comes out of the door of my house to meet me” (Judg 11:31 JPS), and then attacks the Ammonites. Empowered by Hashem, Jephthah defeats the Ammonites, becomes leader of the Gileadites and goes on to lead them for six years (Judg 12:7).

Jephthah is a hero, but Hashem is actually the true hero of the narrative.

Hashem is the one orchestrating all the circumstances that lead to the victory. Hashem prepared Jephthah for his role through the circumstances of his dubious birth and through his life as an outcast and brigand. Hashem also created the answer before the crisis ever began and before the elders of Gilead sought his help. Hashem is not a respecter of persons: he orchestrates and controls all the events of history, including those that shape our destiny. We may not know what events have already occurred in our lives that will influence our future, or what that future will hold. However, we can rest assured that Hashem is sovereign and that he is in control: “The Lord has established his throne in the heavens, and his sovereignty rules over all” (Ps 103:19).

Our beginnings and the circumstances of our lives may be ignominious, as were Jephthah’s, but we should be encouraged by Jephthah’s life, and by Paul’s words in Romans 8:28 “We know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to his purpose.”

Samuel’s Farewell Address

Haftarah for Korach, 1 Samuel 11:14–12:22

Dr. Patrice Fischer, Ohr Chadash, Clearwater, FL

This week’s haftarah passage is very dramatic: A leader challenges the people of Israel, explains why their choice of leaders in the future will be wrong and will change everything, and finally says farewell to national political office. It could be Moses; it could be Joshua; it could be Ezra; it could even be Gideon; but it is actually Samuel.

Samuel is a pivotal person in biblical history, but he is often overlooked after his remarkable childhood in Eli’s tabernacle (1 Sam 1–3).  An inspiring and reliable leader wedged between the time of the rule of the judges and the era of the kings of Israel, Samuel forms a junction between several great areas of leadership in Israel. He serves, simultaneously, as a priest, a prophet, a judge, and a kingmaker.

Many commentators portray Samuel as a divided person, at war within himself about his own people wanting to be ruled by a king. He knows that this national desire is not what God wants for them, and yet he goes out and finds a king for them. He lays out clearly for the people the ramifications for Israel in the future (none of them good), and yet honors their choice. These two sides of Samuel’s life are so distinct that many modern analysts are sure that his story incorporates the writings of two different authors.

In fact, Samuel seems divided because he is emotionally divided—a not-uncommon occurrence within a single person. As two heroes in a movie recently said as they ran past each other during a chase scene:

“Did you win or did you lose?”

            “Ummm, I won, but then I lost.”

“Then I’m happy and sad for you” [with a puzzled look] . . .

Samuel is satisfied and dissatisfied with Israel at this time. The people of Israel seem to have forgotten their endless roller-coaster ride under the leadership of the judges and now demand a king to be in charge of the warfare on their behalf. Samuel is discouraged by their lack of faith in their God, but he also knows that God is powerful and faithful to them. 

Samuel feels conflicted because he thinks having a king is, at its heart, unnecessary for Israel. They are failing in their prime objective—to conquer their tribal allotments and remove the Canaanites from their midst—because of a lack of trust in God. If they will only allow him, God can be the only king they need. Their nation can be a true theocracy. Instead, the people want a king because they think that by having a king fight their battles they are guaranteed to win. They have not figured out that God’s leadership enables them to win the battles, not the human leaders.

So Samuel, guided by God, acquiesces to their demand (chapters 8–10). He will give over the day-to-day maintenance of the nation to Saul and his advisors. Before he leaves the scene, Samuel asks the people a series of questions concerning how he has behaved among them—blamelessly, without taking advantage of them, or becoming rich off them (1 Sam 12:3–5).  These questions seem to be the haftarah’s link to Moses in our parasha, Numbers 16:1–18:32, where the very angry Moses says to God, “I did not take a single donkey (LXX: desirable thing) from them! I did not do any of them any harm” (Num 16:15).

The people have trouble defeating the enemies within their land because they don’t trust the One with the power to accomplish it. The core reason for the people’s problems is the same as it was during the leadership of the judges: they continue to worship the Canaanite idols Baal and Astarte instead of removing them from their midst. Instead they trust the Canaanite god of war. The people still do not trust their God to bring them rain, but instead turn to the Canaanite god of lightning, thunder, and rain.

Remembering that Baal and his pantheon are specifically tasked with providing rain at the correct times is at the heart of Samuel’s proof that he is a true man of God: Although it is already the dry season in Israel, when Samuel prays, thunder and rain result (it is almost a physical impossibility for it to rain in Israel during the summer wheat harvest). This is a very powerful miracle, although it may not feel like it to us. Samuel’s God is capable of providing rain at any time. Baal’s help is not necessary. The people finally realize that Samuel has been right all along, and that they were wicked to ask for a king (12:19).

One notable sidelight of this miracle is that rain occurring when wheat is ripe can very easily ruin the whole harvest. If it is a powerful rain, it knocks the delicate heads off the plant shafts, where they fall to the ground and in a very short period of time, start to sprout. The grain is unusable and grows mold easily. The stalks, which are used to help feed their cattle and sheep as straw, cannot be stored if wet. If straw is not completely dry, strong sunlight can create steam in the middle of piles of straw, igniting the whole pile (and in more modern times, set the whole barn on fire).

At its heart, Israel’s problem is one of substitution: They want to have a human king to substitute for their heavenly king in their battles. They want another group of gods who specialize in fighting battles and bringing rain to substitute for their God. But the God of Abraham wants them to trust him and him alone.

This is still important for us today. We must exhibit trust in God even when it seems to us like he is not powerful enough to overcome our problems. This trust is not just a matter of wishful thinking, but needs to be based in action. These actions begin by following the one true God, worshiping him alone, and gratefully accomplishing his decrees.

A Future Full of Promises

Haftarah for Shelach L’cha, Joshua 2:1–24

Rabbi David Friedman, Jerusalem

We all are grateful to have second chances.

Twenty-two years ago I was hit from behind by a truck at 100 kilometers an hour; my car was crushed. As the terrible crash began, I thought to myself, “Well, this is it. I’m going to die.” I spun a number of times on the highway from the impact, and stopped only after being hit again by another truck, this time frontally. Only my driver’s seat area remained intact. My car looked like an accordion. The windshield had smashed inward towards me. Yet I was not cut even once, nor did I have a piece of glass on me. I was not even bruised. I knew I had been given a second chance at life.

Our haftarah records a second chance for the people of Israel, after the failure of the first round of exploring the Land, in the previous generation. Joshua instructed his two explorers: “Go and see the Land and Jericho” (Josh 2:1, my translation). Likewise, Moshe had instructed the previous generation of explorers: “You must go up and see the Land, what it is like” (Num 13:18, my translation).

The “seeing” which that first generation of explorers carried out was one that did not “see” the destiny of the people in the Land. Ten of the twelve prominent men who were sent by Moshe “saw” only with their eyes, through fear, and not with their faith. They did not “see” with the memory of the covenant promises of the God of their fathers.

Yet both of Joshua’s explorers gave an optimistic report: “They said to Joshua, ‘Adonai has given the entire land into our hands. As well, the inhabitants of the Land are melting away before us’” (Josh 2:24, my translation).

The previous generation’s report about the Land of Israel hardly matched this one from Joshua’s generation. The explorers who entered the Land on these two different occasions saw things in contrasting ways. Joshua, Calev, and the two unnamed men sent by Joshua saw the nation’s destiny in the Land of Israel. They comprehended that this is where their future lay. Accordingly, the Land did not frighten them.

The other ten men under Moses’ direction were negative in their assessment of the people’s future in the Land of Israel. It is significant that we know the names of the men who failed God on that occasion: Shafat, Shammua, Yigal, Palti, Gadiel, Gadi, Ammiel, Stur, Nachbi and Geuel (Num 13:4–16).

Yet we do not know the names of the two explorers who gave a positive report from Joshua’s generation: “Joshua, the son of Nun, sent two spies in secret, from Shittim” (Josh 2:1a, my translation). They are referred to in a vague way throughout this chapter. Nameless. Faceless. A bit of a mystery to us. They are “some men” (2:2); “the two men (2:4, 8); “the men” (2:3, 5, 7); “them” (2:6).

I cannot shake the feeling that the Torah purposely cloaks the name of the faithful men, yet gives us openly the names of the men of the previously failed venture. Perhaps there is a lesson here: that one does not need to be famous, or from a prominent family, or personally accomplished, in order to influence the fate of our people. Instead, making the right choices is the paramount factor—not one’s name or status in society.

What was this second chance all about?

In the earlier generation, the people’s view of the Land was awry. This generation was given a chance to get it right, and so enter the Land and reap the blessings of being in the right place during a favored time. When we read this narrative, in the back of our minds we remember the report of the previous generation. They brought back with them physical proof of the goodness of our homeland. They could feel it and smell it. And yet their assessment was negative and fear inducing.

Would this happen with Joshua’s two men, too? It did not. Again, the two unnamed men “said to Joshua, ‘Adonai has given the entire land into our hands. As well, the inhabitants of the Land are melting away before us’” (Josh 2:24, my translation). Joshua had come to that same conclusion when he was sent into the Land by Moshe.

Joshua the son of Nun, and Kalev the son of Y’funeh, from the detachment that had reconnoitered the land, tore their clothes and said to the whole community of Israel, “The land we passed through in order to spy it out is an outstandingly good land! If Adonai is pleased with us, then he will bring us into this land and give it to us — a land flowing with milk and honey.” (Num 14:6–8 CJB)

The second chance was a redemptive act by which the previous generation’s failure would no longer impact the destiny of this generation. Through this renewed opportunity God showed himself to be merciful and faithful to his covenants.

I do not think our situation here in Israel is different today. How do we view the Land of Israel today? Do her incredibly deep and long list of difficulties cause us to lose sight of her eternal destiny, as elaborated upon in much of the Torah? We too can be like the ten who saw the Land not in her eternal beauty, but through fear. This resulted in viewing the Land, but not really “seeing” it. It is much harder to be like Joshua, Calev, and the two men sent by Joshua into the Land. But to see the Land like that is our challenge.

Negative reports about Israel fly around the media and public discourse daily—hatred of Israel, complaints about her living conditions, denunciations for her faults, criticism for her lack of spiritual awareness. When we hear these reports and when mortars and rockets are launched against Israel, how do we view her? All of these things occur regularly, but we don’t have to accept such a “seeing” nor should we. We have another chance, another opportunity, to see the Land from God’s perspective.

After 38 years of living here, I love this land with all of my being. Despite her shortcomings. When we see with God’s eyes (that is, his heavenly perspective), Israel is a land of promise, “a land flowing with milk and honey.”

The land you are crossing over to take possession of is a land of hills and valleys, which soaks up water when rain falls from the sky. It is a land Adonai your God cares for. The eyes of Adonai your God are always on it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year. (Deut 11:9–11 CJB)

His holy mountain,

beautiful in elevation,

is the joy of all the earth,

Mount Zion, in the far north,

the city of the great King.

Within her citadels God has made himself

known as a fortress. (Ps 48:2 ESV)

You will no longer be spoken of as Abandoned,

or your land be spoken of as Desolate;

rather, you will be called My-Delight-Is-In-Her,

            and your land Married.

For Adonai delights in you,

            and your land will be married. (Isa 62:4 CJB)

If you have not had the chance to see the Land in such a light, I encourage you to take the opportunity to do so. It is still a good land with a future full of promises. After living my entire adult life here, I can assure you of that.

A Brand Plucked from the Fire

Haftarah for B’halot’cha, Zechariah 2:14–4:7

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

This week’s haftarah reading concludes with one of the most familiar and beloved verses in Scripture: “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts” (Zech 4:7b). It’s such a rousing conclusion that we might overlook the rest of Zechariah’s vision. But there’s much more in this vision, which we need to see afresh today.

The prophet sees the high priest, Joshua, standing before the angel of the Lord with ha-Satan, the adversary, “standing at his right side to accuse him. And the Lord said to Satan, ‘The Lord rebuke you, O Satan! The Lord who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?’” We can see that Joshua’s garments are filthy—unfit for priestly service—but the angel says, “Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments” (Zech 3:1b–4).

Joshua is restored and equipped for service, but how did his garments become unclean in the first place? An old Jewish interpretation is that Joshua got polluted because he was among those who tolerated intermarriage during the days of Ezra. Rashi says that he is the priest mentioned by name in Ezra 10:18:

Now there were found some of the sons of the priests who had married foreign women: Maaseiah, Eliezer, Jarib, and Gedaliah, some of the sons of Jeshua the son of Jozadak and his brothers.

Jeshua here is Yeshua in Hebrew, of course—the same name that our Messiah was given by his parents and that we use today. (Which leaves alternative “authentic” names of Messiah like “Yahshua” or “Yahushua” without any biblical basis. Yeshua appears in the Hebrew Bible, those names do not.) But whatever the source of Joshua/Yeshua’s defilement, the Lord decrees mercy, not judgment. The accuser is to be rebuked. This priest is a brand, a burning branch plucked from the flames of exile, and God still has a purpose for him. The Hebrew word for “brand” can also be translated “firebrand” as in Isaiah 7:4 and Amos 4:11—a branch drawn out of fire that bears fire itself as a crude torch. The light-bearing Joshua/Yeshua is a hint of the Yeshua to come, who will be plucked out of the fires of suffering and death to bear light to the world.

From out of the conflagration of exile and adversity comes a flame, however feeble, which God values and protects. The fire threatening destruction of God’s people ignites a flame that serves God’s purpose. Despite all the difficulties of the struggling Jewish community of Zechariah’s day, the fire of God’s Spirit still burns among them in the person of Yeshua the high-priest.

The classic Christian commentators Keil & Delitzsch note:

The priesthood of Israel was concentrated in the high priest, just as the character of Israel as the holy nation was concentrated in the priesthood. The high priest represents the holiness and priestliness of Israel . . . which had been graciously bestowed by God upon the nation of Israel. (citing Kliefoth, another commentator, on Zech 3:8)

God’s response to Israel’s failure is to graciously restore what he had graciously bestowed—a priestly service that will benefit all the nations (see Zech 2:15 [2:11]).  God’s response to Israel and its high priest in this vision is a word of encouragement for us within the Messianic Jewish community today.

Those of us who have been leaders and participants in our community for years can become discouraged and disheartened. Forty or fifty years into our Messianic Jewish journey we remain in many ways a struggling remnant. We find ourselves still divided on key issues and still seeking a firm foundation to build on. Like the high priest, we have sons and daughters who have wed themselves to foreign women and men, to foreign loyalties and beliefs, to foreign priorities. We constitute a community that can feel besieged and on the verge of being overwhelmed. We cannot be satisfied with our impact upon the wider Jewish community or our success in drawing Jewish people to their Messiah, Yeshua.

The words of the prophet bring great encouragement to us, however, for like Joshua the priest we are a brand plucked from the fire. The Messianic Jewish community was born out of the fires of alienation between the Jewish people and the Jewish Messiah, out of the age-old estrangement between the Jewish community and the body of Messiah. We have a long way to go, but this simple fact of our existence remains astounding and transformative.

The angel’s rebuke on behalf of Joshua shouldn’t be seen as making excuses for Joshua’s failures. Yes, he has fallen short, but he is a brand plucked from the fire and God has a purpose for him still. We also have fallen short, but we are like Joshua, a brand plucked from the fire, and God has a purpose for us as well, which he will accomplish by his Spirit despite our shortcomings.

With such a vision in sight let's hear anew Zechariah’s words of empowerment: Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit says the Lord of hosts.

Leaders We Deserve

Haftarah Naso, Judges 13:2–25

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

I certainly do not want to retell the story of Samson in detail. You know it. You’ve heard it before. You may have even seen or heard any number of dramatizations. Of course, there is the famous 1949 Cecil B. DeMille film starring Victor Mature and Hedy Lamarr (that’s Hedy not Headly!). This version was nominated for five Academy Awards and won two (probably for “most over-acted”). Subsequent versions abound (1984, 1996, and yet another version expected this year). George Frideric Handel, Newburgh Hamilton, Camille Saint-Saëns, and Ferdinand Lemaire all compose operas and librettos themed around this story. Most bizarre is the 1963 Italian film mash-up Hercules, Samson and Ulysses, where Samson is helped by the Greek/Italian mythological characters fighting the Phoenicians (Phoenicians, Philistines, what’s the diff?). https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=gxni6VZd4II

So what’s the point? It is almost impossible to have lived in Western society without having encountered this story, even if it comes to us with diverse embellishments. What differs is how we perceive and think of the person of Samson, and how this biblical star informs our own biblical understandings. Is Samson a hero or a scoundrel? Is he a tragic figure or a prototype of redemption? Does he truly repent at the end or does he simply continue in his lifelong patterns of seeking vengeance, tearing down the temple of Dagon upon himself along with the Philistines when his own life came to the proverbial end of the road?

My own early bromance with Samson began when I purchased a vinyl 33rpm biblical narration done by actor Leif Erickson in 1968 at the Temple Emanuel book sale in Mt. Vernon, New York. The front side story was the battle of Jericho, and on the flip side was the Samson story. As a 10-year-old boy I was only mildly interested in Joshua and Jericho—but Samson—wow! Samson was a super hero, the miracle birth and Nazarite vow were his origin story, and the haircut was his kryptonite.

What most caught my interest was the putting out of his eyes with a hot poker. This recording had a long, anguished scream which had a hypnotic effect on my young psyche. I listened to it over and over until I created a groove in the vinyl that only caused the recording to get stuck on the horrific screams longer. I could not understand at the time what my attraction was to this violent comeuppance, and I am sure my parents were a little disturbed by my fascination. In retrospect I think it was the first time I had ever come face to face with the reality that even the best among us have consequences for our actions. Samson was not like the comic characters I loved back then (and now!) who may have gotten knocked around, but I knew were going to triumph in the end. Samson was not a superman, he was everyman, and would get called on the carpet for bad action and wasted opportunity.

To say that Samson was born to privilege would be an understatement. An angel of Hashem literally came to the wife of Manoah to tell her that her child was special in the womb and would be until his death. But “with great power comes great responsibility” (ughh!). His mother was told that he would be a Nazarite and therefore would need to avoid strong drink and would not cut his hair. The hair was not his superpower as I had imagined, it was a public sign and display of his covenant responsibility. The book of Ruth begins with the words “bimei sh’fot hashoftim, in the days when the judges judged” (Ruth 1:1). This phrase is often translated when the judges ruled or governed. But the Hebrew for both judge and judged has the same root as the word mishpatim or ordinances. In other words, the judges were governors who governed in accordance with the righteous standards of Hashem, those given by the hand of Moses. Samson was given his power and status to rule Israel in accord with Hashem’s highest values, not to enrich himself or satisfy his every desire.

Throughout the narrative of Samson’s life (Judges 13:1–16:31) we get the picture of a young man not fully prepared for public service. He was continually motivated by a kind of 1500 BCE celebrity, and often ignored the instruction that his mother was given when he was still pre-natal. He pursued foreign women, consumed the fruit of the vine, acted violently for the sake of vengeance and financial gain. He was a bully and a braggart, and he mocked and intimidated and antagonized others. He rarely considered the needs of the people of the tribe of Dan who he was meant to govern, often bringing hardship upon them. When he eventually divulged the source of his great strength to the enigmatic Delilah, it is not his hair that is revealed as the true source of his power, rather it is the covenant with the Holy One of Israel, of which his un-sheared coif is emblematic.

It is easy to look at Samson’s successes and his failures from afar. He was selfish, but he eventually made it right. Or when backed into a corner he eventually fulfilled the purposes for which he was called. But the truth is that Samson’s story is all of Israel’s. We are told in Judges 17:6 that “in those days Israel had no king and everyman did what was right in his own eyes.” Perhaps the reference to king is the yet anointed line of David, but I think it more likely is an allusion to the One who anoints. Israel failed to acknowledge the true source of governance and protection. Samson was merely a reflection of his time and a symptom of the illness that had befallen God’s people. Without the God of Israel, they could not be the people of Israel; they were merely a loose affiliation of tribal states. Without Hashem’s highest standards (mitzvot and mishpatim), they could not possess the land of promise; they merely resided tentatively and insecurely in that land. Samson was not the source of Israel’s failure, he was precisely the leader they deserved.

When Samson pulled down the Temple of Dagon he did not solve the Philistine problem. He did, though, acknowledge the Samson problem. Although physically blind he could finally see. His sight became Hashem’s vision, and he finally had a lasting victory. In that moment he became enshrined in the legacy of Israel, and forever imprinted in the imagination of the world. He was buried among his tribe and considered a leader in Israel. He is ranked among the heroes of the faith (Hebrews 11:32) even though he fails to live up to his great gifts. He is a tragic example of man of enormous potential who lacked stability of character. Every 10-year-old child can know once and for all that it is not brute strength or oppressive power that accomplishes the will of Hashem, but rather his strength displayed through our vulnerability. If we will allow ourselves to be vulnerable, perhaps then we will truly get the leaders we deserve.