What Are We Waiting For?

Fourth Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 51:12–52:12

Michael Hillel, Netanya, Israel

When we pick up a book and glance through it to determine whether we would like to spend the time reading it, we may look over the table of contents as well as the chapter headings or introductions. However, it is the text itself that we read and delve into to truly understand the heart of the book and the goal of the author(s). Therefore, it is worthy to note that the chapters and verses of Scripture are not in the original texts but are a much later addition. A cursory online search shows an agreement that the current chapter and verse designations in the Christian translations of the Bible originated with Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury around 1227, and were first used in the Wycliffe English Bible in 1382. The Tanakh has a few deviations from this pattern, possibly due to the work of Rabbi Nathan in 1448.

Why this history lesson, you might ask. Often when we read the Scriptures, we subconsciously accept the stop-and-go pattern of the chapter breaks, verses, and even sub-headings. While these are useful tools in locating and remembering sections of Scripture, they were not part of the original inspired work of the Ruach set down by men of old.

With this in mind, let’s turn to the fourth of the Haftarot of Consolation, which follow the remembrances of Tisha b’Av and culminate the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah. This week’s reading, Isaiah 51:12 through 52:12, continues the unbroken flow of Hashem’s encouragement through the prophet Isaiah that began four weeks ago with Shabbat Nachamu, (Isaiah 40:1–26). This week’s passage opens with the repeated emphasis by the Lord that it is he that comforts Israel. “I, I am the One who comforts you. Who are you that you should fear man?” (Isa 51:12).

Rav Shaul’s words of comfort to the believers in Rome may well have been inspired by Isaiah’s words: “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom 8:31b).

The exterior circumstances should not be our main focus, no matter how difficult, or whether they be problems of our own making or the simple reality of living in world groaning for the realization of tikkun olam. Our main focus should be on him who provides the comfort, as the “author and finisher of our faith” (Heb 12:2), especially as he promised through the prophet Jeremiah: “‘For I know the plans that I have in mind for you,’ declares Adonai, ‘plans for shalom and not calamity—to give you a future and a hope’” (Jer 29:11).

Later in the Haftarah, Israel, and we as well, are encouraged, possibly even commanded, to awaken to this necessity, that of focusing on the Lord and not the circumstances. First the Lord says, “Awake, awake! Stand up, Jerusalem! From Adonai’s hand you have drunk the cup of His fury, the chalice of reeling that you have drained to the dregs” (Isa 51:17).

Yes, it was Israel’s fault that the discipline had come, and she was chastised like an errant child. By not choosing life (Deut 30:19), Israel received the promised consequence. But the consequence was not the final state of things. Discipline is performed not to bring death and destruction, but to bring change, growth, and redemption. Isaiah’s encouragement continues,

Awake, awake! Clothe yourself in your strength, Zion! Clothe yourself in beautiful garments, Jerusalem, the holy city, for the uncircumcised and the unclean will never invade you again. (Isa 52:1)

It is important to realize that along with the comforting words of Hashem, Israel is encouraged, maybe even commanded, to wake up, to stand up, and even to strengthen themselves. The Lord comforts and restores after discipline but it is Israel’s responsibility to get up, to stop wallowing in the mud of depression and self-pity, and to walk in the comfort and provision of her Lord. Remember, the Lord delivered Israel from Egyptian oppression and slavery, but they had to get up and walk out on their own. Had they sat in their homes instead of following Moshe out, who knows how the story would have ended? Rav Shaul exhorted the believers at Philippi to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.  For the One working in you is God—both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Phil 2:12–13). It would appear that both in the Tanakh and in the Apostolic Writings, we have a responsibility to work with Hashem for our betterment, for tikkun olam; we are not expected or even allowed just to sit on our tuchuses waiting for things to happen.

The 16th century kabbalist, Rabbi Shlomo Halevi Alkabetz, possibly summarized this Haftarah in his poem, Lecha Dodi, which is sung on Friday evening welcoming the entrance of the Shabbat.

Wake up, wake up,
Your light has come, rise and shine.
Awaken, awaken; sing a melody,
The glory of God to be revealed upon thee.

As we read the Haftarot of Consolation, can there be any greater consolation than being encouraged to enter into the rest provided by our Lord? What are we waiting for?

Isaiah's Riddle

Third Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 54:11–55:5

David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

Question: How many bagels can you eat on an empty stomach?

Response: One. After that, your stomach is no longer empty.

This, of course, is a riddle; it’s an old rabbinic one, designed to invite the talmidim (followers) to think differently, and perhaps groan or roll their eyes. Riddles force us to slow down and examine our own assumptions: “Is there a double meaning that I’m missing here?” “Is there another way to think about this everyday idea?” 

This week’s haftarah portion contains a kind of riddle, which the prophet inserted perhaps to invite us, his future talmidim, into the text. Chapter 55 of Isaiah opens with:

All you who are thirsty, come to the water!

You without money, come, buy, and eat!

Yes, come! Buy wine and milk

without money — it’s free!

Why spend money for what isn’t food,

your wages for what doesn’t satisfy?

Listen carefully to me, and you will eat well,

you will enjoy the fat of the land. (Isaiah 55:1–2 CJB)

This is designed to get the proverbial hamster in our brain back on the wheel:

“And here I thought there was no such thing as a free lunch.”

“How can you possibly ‘buy’ something for free?”

“If what I’ve been buying to eat isn’t real food, then what is this real food, and how can I get some of it?” 

As for the word “buy” (Hebrew: shivru), the root first finds its use in the narrative of Joseph, in the book of Genesis. In order to survive, Joseph’s brothers need to buy food, which they can only do from their brother, whom they rejected. Of course, they do not have anything that Joseph really needs in exchange, so when they do buy grain to survive, we get the sense that Joseph is providing for them, and gifting them even beyond what they deserve. Indeed, Joseph is providing for all the surrounding nations as well in this kind of way, but especially for his brothers, the sons of Jacob. 

Our first sense of what salvation means comes from this very narrative. Salvation in Joseph’s story is abundant, packed to the full with forgiveness and restoration, and entirely orchestrated by the Savior himself. The ones who are being rescued pay nothing much, except perhaps their very selves. 

Salvation and restoration may be one answer to the riddle. Isaiah alludes to this earlier:

For I will pour water on the thirsty land

and streams on the dry ground;

I will pour my Spirit on your descendants,

my blessing on your offspring.

They will spring up among the grass

like willows on the riverbanks.

One will say, “I belong to Adonai.”

Another will be called by the name of Ya‘akov.

Yet another will write that he belongs to Adonai

and adopt the surname Isra’el. (Isa 44:3–5 CJB)

We imagine water on the thirsty ground bringing life and the presence of God, the fullness of restoration to Israel like lush flora, even to the point of affirming the very identity of Israel as belonging to Hashem. 

The medieval commentator, Rashi, links the water of Isaiah’s riddle to the Torah. In the apostolic witness, the authors link the water of restoration and salvation to the Messiah. We think of Yeshua’s exchange with the Samaritan woman in John 4:14: “Whoever drinks the water I will give him will never be thirsty again! On the contrary, the water I give him will become a spring of water inside him, welling up into eternal life!” Or the very last page of Scripture, in Revelation 22:17: “The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come!’ Let anyone who hears say, ‘Come!’ And let anyone who is thirsty come — let anyone who wishes, take the water of life free of charge.” The prophetic witness of the Hebrew Scriptures points to Hashem himself as the wellspring of life, the waters of salvation:

For 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) 

Here we get a sense of meaning for that other sustenance which does not sustain: idolatry. Anything else besides God does not truly fill us, and is not really food. So why are we buying it, and eating it and drinking it up? Idolatry has a true cost to it, and in the end leaves us empty. Worshiping God, however, brings something we don’t need to purchase: salvation, restoration, and wholeness. 

So, the water and food, what do they represent in Isaiah’s riddle? Rescuing and restoration? Messiah? Torah? God? Since Isaiah himself does not answer the riddle, perhaps we are meant to hold all these possibilities in our mind, and to think them through. Perhaps we are meant to pause and re-examine something we think we already know. 

Do we thirst for Torah, for Messiah? Do we guard our hearts for Hashem, or do we spend our efforts trying to fill our lives with meaningless idols? The remainder of the riddle puts wine and milk in the analogy. Wine typically represents joy, and milk typically represents basic sustenance or provision, as for a baby. So, are we pursuing God in such a way that we are filled with joy, that we are nurtured by God and rely on Him like milk for an infant? 

The Haftarot of Comfort in the latter part of Isaiah point us to this truth: the redemption of Israel, and of all things, is at hand. So let us press into Isaiah’s riddle during this season of hope. For our hope comes from Yeshua, who is the fullest measure of salvation, restoration, Torah, the Messiah, and the visible image of the invisible God. Let us drink freely from the waters of life.

Look to Abraham Your Father

Second Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 49:14–51:3

by David Friedman, Union rabbi, Jerusalem

In the Torah’s narrative, we are at a critical juncture. Moses is teaching the new generation, those who would soon enter to live in the Land of Israel, and his words are recorded in the book of Deuteronomy. 

It will be important to the tribes as they make aliyah (immigration to Israel) to always remember that they are a people bound to God by covenant. Some 600 years after Moses’ death, Isaiah was sharing his message for the Kingdom of Judah and the same truth was relevant.

In Isaiah’s lifetime, there were both righteous and unrighteous kings in Judah. Yet it appears that in the end, idolatry and breaking the Torah were rife throughout the Land. Therefore, Isaiah foresees a judgment similar to what occurred to the Kingdom of Israel. He shares a message of the need to turn back to God (to do tshuvah in Hebrew) and to keep the covenant with him. Isaiah knows the people will need to remember these two crucial items in the near future.

Perhaps the biggest lie that Israel would ever believe, in all generations, is given to us for examination by Isaiah, as he considers the future of his people: Zion said: “Adonai abandoned me, and my God forgot me” (Isa 49:14, my translation). 

Believing this lie would affect Israel’s ability to live as the light that God created us to be. It doesn’t matter when in history this lie would be believed, the results would be the same: a great weakening of our shining light, whether in Israel or in the Diaspora. 

Isaiah was quick to counter this lie with the truth: 

Would a woman forget her tiny infant, from having mercy on the child of her womb? If this were possible, I still will not forget you!… Your [city] walls are always before me (Isa 49:15, 16b, my translation).

The questions in verse 15 are certainly rhetorical, in the poetry of the Hebrew Bible. Yet they confront our people throughout the generations with a wake-up call that is encouraging. 

I did not personally have to go through the Holocaust. Had I done so, I may very well have wondered, as in verse 14, if God was really faithful and loving. I have spoken with a number of persons (including Holocaust survivors) who indeed believe that if God exists, he abandoned our Jewish people during the vicious reign of Hitler. I will not judge any Holocaust survivor or victim for their thoughts on this. Yet Isaiah gives us the true perspective: God will not abandon Israel, not during the Babylonian Exile, and not during the Holocaust:

Though he walk in darkness, and have no light,        

Let him trust in the name of God, and rely upon his God. (Isa 50:10b, JPS)

What a compelling picture of Israel’s future from Isaiah’s day! So many Holocaust survivors have referred to that time period as an era of darkness, when little light was to be found. And a mere hundred and twenty years after Isaiah’s lifetime, Judah would experience siege, slaughter, and darkness. Even the light that existed is described as a raging, destructive fire: “He has ravaged Jacob like flaming fire, consuming on all sides” (Lam 2:3b, JPS). There was but darkness: “Bitterly she weeps in the night” (Lamentations 1:2, JPS).

Living in Israel today, it is not always easy to comprehend what Isaiah tells us. When 200,000 rockets face your borders, and when soldiers and civilians are constantly being attacked by jihad inspired terrorists, one can question where in the world God is and why he does not intervene. When we bury our young men and women in Israel in a continual stream, when the world’s politicians daily pick on Israel with slander, and when you have to go through a terror attack yourself (my family has been through a number of them), it is too easy to think, “Where is God? Why does he leave us in such circumstances? Why doesn’t he do something decisive? Is he present at all? Has he forgotten about us?”

When we are beset with such questions Isaiah’s words offer true and real comfort, and help us reconnect with the God who is indeed there. I have found that Isaiah’s words further on in our haftarah also are 100% true:

You shall know that I am Adonai, those who trust in Me shall not be shamed. . .

I will contend with your enemies, and I will deliver your children. (Isa 49:23b, 25, JPS)

These are simple and strong promises that are ever so relevant for our people today. Isaiah’s haftarah is like an Rx for our people’s pain and the situation in which we find ourselves today, in 2018.

 But Isaiah reverses this situation in our haftarah. God addresses the people of Judah, and asks them:

            Why, when I came, was no one there?

            Why, when I called, would no one respond? (Isa 50:2, JPS) 

God had come and called out to the tribes, to the leaders, the prophets and the priests; but no one listened to him. If the people were disappointed in God, well . . . he seemed to be disappointed in their responses to his call, as well.

And then Isaiah’s words, like a set of exclamation marks, come at the very end of our haftarah section. They challenged the Kingdom of Judah then, as well as us today, to understand our situation in light of God’s actions in biblical history:

Look to Abraham your father, and to Sarah, who gave you birth. He was alone when I called him, and I blessed him and made him many people. (Isa 51:1–2, my translation).

Why look to Abraham? What does this even mean? The Hebrew word used for “look to” here means to “take a look at” others, to consider them and their life.

Isaiah encourages us to consider Abraham and Sarah for a lesson we can learn about God’s faithfulness. Abraham was but one person when God singled him out for a close relationship via an eternal covenant. And God was faithful to bless him and cause his barren wife to be fruitful and have descendants. We can make a rabbinic kal ve’homer (a fortiori) argument here: if God is faithful to his promises to Abraham, will he not also be faithful to all of Abraham’s descendants? The answer is again implied, and it is a strong “yes!” 

Another strongly implied truth of our haftarah is that God’s promises to Israel (and those who are grafted into Israel) are eternal. They pass down from one generation to another. This is not a new message in Isaiah’s day. But it is a crucial one, and that may be why it appears as a thread in our haftarah text. If this was not the case, there would be little hope in Isaiah’s message here. 49:16 uses the word tamid in Hebrew to express the truth that God will “always” remember Israel. For God, it means the constant, daily remembering of his promises to Israel. 

Isaiah 49:17–26 specifies what this “daily remembering forever, always” would look like: it includes gathering the people of Israel and returning us, with the great aid of Gentile governments, to our homeland. (Indeed, King Cyrus of Persia did this in history, and perhaps there are modern day persons [David Lloyd George and Arthur James Balfour among them] who also can be counted as having carried out Isaiah’s words.)

They will bring your sons in their bosoms, and carry your daughters on their backs.

Kings shall tend your children, their queens shall serve you as nurses… (Isa 49:23b, JPS).

 The daily remembering also includes fighting against Israel’s enemies:

 I will contend with your adversaries, and I will deliver your children (Isa 49:25b, JPS).

Let us remember the lessons that Isaiah spoke out to the Kingdom of Judah: that God remembers Israel daily; that his remembering includes gathering and protecting Israel, and bringing us back to our homeland. Let us remember today that he will be present when trouble and darkness attack our lives. Finally, let us remember that we can learn about his faithfulness from the life of Abraham.

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.