Is There sense in suffering?

Haftarat Vayera, 2 Kings 4:1–37

Rabbi Russ Resnik

“Great necessities call out great virtues.” – Abigail Adams

American history is one of my favorite areas of extra-biblical reading, and one of my favorite authors is Doris Kearns Goodwin. Goodwin wrote the award-winning bestseller Team of Rivals, about President Lincoln and his cabinet, as well as studies of Theodore and Franklin Roosevelt and Lyndon Johnson. Her new book, Leadership in Turbulent Times, explores how these four presidents, with widely diverse backgrounds and temperaments, grew into leadership and exercised it.

All of these leaders showed tremendous promise early in life and then experienced “dramatic reversals that shattered [their] public and private lives.” Lincoln served in Congress in his thirties, and was an outspoken opponent of the rather popular Mexican War. After his term in Congress his career went nowhere. Lincoln plunged into a deep depression and quit politics for five long years. Theodore Roosevelt was a rising star in New York state politics in his twenties, when his young wife died in childbirth and his beloved 45-year-old mother passed away on the same day—Valentine’s Day, 1884. He abandoned his career to seek solace and recovery on his ranch in Dakota Territory. Franklin Roosevelt ran for Vice-President before he was 40 and was on track for a presidential run when he was stricken with polio that left him paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life. He withdrew from politics for years to work on his rehabilitation. Johnson’s story is a little more complex. As a super-star young congressman from Texas, he lost a run for the Senate in 1941 and spent seven more years in Congress before finally getting that Senate seat in 1948. In the Senate Johnson hit his stride and became the youngest majority leader—and one of the most effective—ever. Then, in 1955, he had a heart attack and resumed his career with more compassion and attention toward the poor and disadvantaged.  

Goodwin lets Abigail Adams, the brilliant wife of John Adams, summarize the lesson here: “It is not in the still calm of life, or the repose of a pacific station, that great characters are formed,” she wrote in a letter to her son John Quincy Adams. Rather, “the habits of a vigorous mind are formed in contending with difficulties. Great necessities call out great virtues.”  

This pattern of early promise and profound testing is familiar territory to anyone who reads Scripture, starting with our first great leader, Abraham, and it’s amazing that the same pattern shows up in the lives of our great presidents. (Kearns acknowledges that Johnson’s claim to greatness is diminished by Vietnam, but recognizes the greatness of his domestic achievements, including Medicare and the most significant advances in civil rights legislation in a century.)  

But the pattern of Scripture includes an element that’s not evident in the presidential bios: the trial that comes when you thought your trials were finally over.  

God promises Abraham and Sarah a son, and he is finally born to them in old age. They have an heir who will carry on their legacy, and they can live out their final years in peace and contentment after years of trial. But then Hashem brings another, deeper trial. He commands Abraham to offer up this son, his loved one, even Isaac. Only after Abraham takes all the steps of obedience and lifts up the knife to slaughter his son does he hear the voice from heaven, “Don’t lay your hand on the boy! Don’t do anything to him! For now I know that you are a man who fears God, because you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me” (Gen 22:12, emphasis added).  

This trial is uniquely deep and challenging because it comes when Abraham and Sarah thought their trials were finally over. They had endured for years, hoping for a son when God seemed to have forgotten them. Finally, miraculously, a son is born . . . and this sets up another trial.

Our haftarah portion tells a similar story. It’s about the trial that comes when you thought your trials were over, the trial that brings out the best.  

The prophet Elisha meets a well-to-do woman in Shunam, who provides hospitality for him whenever he’s in the area. She is childless and her husband is aging, and the prophet rewards her faithfulness by promising her a son: “Next year, when the season comes around, you will be holding a son.” She replies, “No, my lord, man of God, don’t lie to your servant!” (2 Kings 4:16). Just like Sarah, this woman is skeptical and then bears a son one year later. When the boy is old enough to join his father in the fields, however, he is stricken by a mysterious illness and dies. The woman goes straight to Elisha, grabs his feet, and says, “Did I ask my lord for a son? Didn’t I say not to deceive me?” (2 Kings 4:28). The prophet realizes what’s happened, rushes to the boy, and raises him from the dead.  

Like Abraham and Sarah, the Shunamite woman endures the long trial of childlessness, and then a second trial, even more bitter, when the promised child is taken from her. Their example may be an encouragement to us when we face trials that seem unfair or unbearably extended. Even amid the most deepest disappointment there is hope in God—as the example of a crucified and risen Messiah steadily reminds us.  

Goodwin notes that the watershed reversals of her four presidents “at first impeded, then deepened, and finally and decisively molded their leadership.” Abraham is our first great leader and Goodwin’s observation applies to him. But it also applies to all those called to serve the God of Israel, whether recognized as leaders or not, like the Shunamite woman. And often, as in her case, the trial that comes when you think your trials are over brings out the very best.          

The story ends with a hint of this woman’s deepened character. Throughout the tale she’s a no-nonsense type, a mama bear intent on protecting her son, even after he dies. When Elisha restores him to life, he calls her and says (in equally no-nonsense fashion), “Pick up your son.” And then the narrator provides a telling detail: “She entered, fell at his feet and prostrated herself on the floor. Then she picked up her son and went out” (2 Kings 4:37). Imagine the shock of losing your little son, grieving over him, and then being told that he’s alive again. Who would pause before rushing to scoop him up in your arms? But this straight-shooting Shunamite does just that. She turns to thank the prophet and to acknowledge his gift before she takes it up. She’s been transformed through her trials and made whole—more whole than she was before enduring them. That’s a lesson that survives to this day.  

The Syntax of Silence

Haftarat Lekh Lekha, Isaiah 40:27–41:16

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

These are anxious times. Many people are facing significant changes in their lives and in the long-standing institutions that help inform their lives and lend them a sense of security. People feel insecure regarding their safety, their finances, and the social structures they have come to depend on. Partisan politics have divided neighborhoods, communities, and even families. Wars, rumors of wars, and natural disasters proliferate, and social media casts blame and aspersions on everyone. At times like this it is easy to ask, “Where is God?” and “Why is he so silent?”  

A superficial reading of Torah might suggest that our biblical role models heard from God unceasingly and as a result proceeded on their journeys without question or doubt. In fact, our modern sensibilities understand faith as the absent of doubt. But the Torah demonstrates that our ancestors were filled with doubt. They worried about their lack of heirs, their relationship with neighbors, and the health, safety, and welfare of their families. But over the long haul they continued despite long periods of apparent silence from Hashem. According to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel there is “syntax” to that silence, and when we learn it we can hear the voice of the soul and the voice of our God. 

Isaiah 40:27–31, which concludes this week’s haftarah portion, provides a sort of style guide for this syntax. The inspired prophet offers consolation to Israel in the midst of their ongoing struggle for survival amid attacks and threats from hostile neighbors. Isaiah assures the people that the Holy One has heard their cries and will preserve them, but they need to learn how to hear him and act in obedience.

Why do you say, O Jacob,

and complain, O Israel,

“My way is hidden from the Lord;

my cause is disregarded by my God”?

Do you not know?

Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

and his understanding no one can fathom. (40:27–28)

Step 1 – Interlocution with God

The first step to hearing from God in the face of apparent silence is engagement. All too often we say God has not responded to us, when in fact we have been absent from the conversation. God is not angry at Israel for questioning his proximity. In fact we learn that when we cry out to God he hears our cries and answers. God apparently does not like to be ignored or taken for granted. Nor does he like to be thought of as “old” or passé. Even Abraham called out to God with his cares, his concerns and his doubts. Abraham is so audacious as to question God’s judgment concerning Sodom and Gomorrah, querying, “will not the judge of all the Earth judge righteously?” (Gen 18:25b). And doesn’t Yeshua himself in the fullness of humanity echo the impassioned plea of the psalmist, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt 27:46b).

Step 2 – Intervention of God

The next step is to develop and access a hard drive filled with memory of our past interactions with Hashem. I like to call this going to the videotape. We do ourselves a great injustice when we regard God’s redemptive work in our life as a one-time decision that eradicates all our doubts. Rather I think it helpful to recall the many events of our lives when God’s deliverance seems so timely, when he seems to reach down and pluck us out of our immediate and insurmountable circumstance. Scripture records so many of these instances. Sarah, Abraham’s wife, getting pregnant with his heir at the sprite young age of ninety; Moses by the Reed Sea declaring to Israel to observe “the deliverance of your God;” and of course the many healings, feedings, and raisings of Yeshua. It is no wonder that Isaiah reminds Israel, “but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles” (40:31). 

Step 3 – Interaction with God

The remainder of Isaiah 40:31 is rather counter-intuitive. Everyone knows that first you crawl, then you walk and finally you run. But in God’s economy it is apparent that first you fly, then you walk and finally you can drag yourself along. The reason, it would appear, is that Hashem reaches into our world and plucks us out of our circumstances when it appears we cannot. But eventually he allows us to partner with him. Therefore he sends Abraham out in this week’s parasha with a simple command, “Lekh Lekha—Go yourself.” God is saying to Abram, you go and I will go with you. He does the same with Moses when he directs him to go to Pharaoh and say, “Let My people go!” This is also true of the “The Great Commission” (Matt 28:18–20). Wedged between two great confirmations that all power has been given to Yeshua, and that he will be with us through out time, is the directive to go out to all people with the love of God.

Step 4 – Inner Action from God

The fourth step toward learning the syntax of God’s communication with us amid apparent silence is recognizing when our Creator is trying to change us. God does not normally remove us from our situation; rather he allows us to change in the midst of our circumstance. Too often we try to change our circumstances rather than allowing ourselves to be changed. So often I have observed people attempt to solve their problems with geographic adjustments. Unfortunately, they always have to bring themselves along, completely unaltered, and with the same set of problems. The Prophet Jonah attempted to flee from the presence of God, only to find that the immeasurable love of God pursues us along with our problems.  

Rabbi Sh’aul of Tarsus speaks of a thorn in his flesh, yet we do not know what that impediment is. He asks God three times to remove it, but the divine response is always, “My grace is sufficient in you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” One of the most enduring spiritual anecdotes is the “footsteps” story that has been marketed from Spencer gifts to Wal-Mart on everything from posters to lunch boxes. In this story/aphorism we are asked to consider that at the most difficult times in our lives God is not absent, rather he carries us. But Isaiah would suggest something slightly different. At the most difficult junctures of our life, when we are most unaware of God’s presence, he does not carry us, rather it seems he drags us along, allowing us to keep advancing, yet never disengaging us nor allowing us to quit.  

But those who hope in the Lord

will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint. (Isa 40:31)

Sometimes we soar on the wings of eagles and it as though we can touch the sky. Yet other times we run and, though there seems to be no end in sight, it is as though we are carried by a supernatural strength. Still other times we walk and are happy to be standing at the end of the day. But take heart, because as we walk, our God walks with us, and he reminds us that he will not grow tired or weary, nor will his direction and care be absent, if only we learn the syntax of silence.

What About the "Angry God"?

Haftarat Noach, Isaiah 54:1–55:5

Michael Hillel, Netanya, Israel

Is the God of the Old Testament an angry God, as is sometimes claimed?

Isaiah 54:9, which connects this week’s haftarah to the parasha, links Hashem’s oath concerning the waters of Noah to his affirmation that he would not be angry with the children of Israel:

This is like the days of Noah to me: as I swore that the waters of Noah should no more go over the earth, so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you and will not rebuke you.

There is a paradox in this statement because there were times, more often than not, when Hashem was angry with Israel and did in fact rebuke them. In his introduction to the haftarah for Noach, Dr. Meir Tamari makes this observation concerning the idea of the angry God: 

There is a common misconception of the Jewish God as a zealous and angry deity of justice. There are many references, primarily in non-Jewish and in Jewish secular writings, to the “angry God” of the Old Testament. This is one of the many myths that are perpetuated, either to enable other religions to drape themselves in the rhetorical mantle of a “loving and caring God,” or to substitute for the Biblical moral system a humanist value structure, free from either Divine instruction or punishment. Any examination, even a casual one, of the Biblical texts or of Rabbinic literature, will show that these are nothing more than myths, and that while there is a Divine judge and ruler, there is also a Divine provider and father.[1]

After Moshe persuaded Hashem to forgive Israel for worshiping the molten calf, he asked God to show him his glory. Hashem responded to this request by proclaiming,

Adonai, Adonai, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, and abundant in lovingkindness and truth, showing mercy to a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, yet by no means leaving the guilty unpunished, but bringing the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children’s children, to the third and fourth generation. (Exodus 34:6–7) 

This proclamation is included in many of the prayers said during Selichot (the service of repentance) and the High Holidays, especially on Yom Kippur. From this proclamation we understand that forgiveness is one of the cornerstones of Hashem’s character. It is not just what he does, but who he is. Hashem disciplines and judges sin to the third or fourth generation, but is forgiving, gracious, and merciful for a thousand generations. The ratio between three to four generations and one thousand generations shows us that Hashem’s forgiveness, graciousness, and mercy are far greater than his judgment or discipline. 

This week’s haftarah is replete with examples of the love and care of Hashem for his chosen people Israel, even as he responded in anger. 

“For a brief moment I deserted you, but I will regather you with great compassion. In a surge of anger, I hid My face from you a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you,” says Adonai your Redeemer. (Isaiah 54:7–8) 

Similarly, King David affirms, “For His anger lasts for only a moment, His favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may stay for the night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:6). Herein, however, lies a problem for both Israel and all humankind—time. Hashem stated that he only deserted Israel for a brief moment, and David affirms that Hashem’s anger lasts only a moment. Was seventy years of the first exile and almost two millennia of the second “a brief moment”? Dr. J. H. Hertz notes “Although the years of Exile seemed interminably long, they will prove but a brief space in the vast sweep of Israel’s history.”[2] Also commenting on “a brief moment,” the medieval rabbi and biblical commentator David Kimhi (Radak) contrasts the time of exile with Hashem’s abundant mercy. “Even though the millennia of exile are much more than ‘but a brief moment’ they are insignificant compared to the abundant mercy (compassion) with which He will gather you in, with all its attendant good.”[3] 

Israel throughout the centuries marked time much differently than Hashem, and so do we today. As finite creatures we live in time and tend to want, even demand, answers and divine intervention immediately. We do not want to wait for deliverance from our problems. We want action and we want it now. Peter, leaning on the words of the Psalmist, reminded his community that Hashem lives outside of time in eternity and “that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day” (2 Peter 3:8; Psalm 90:4). We would do well to apply the words of the author to the Hebrews, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of realities not seen” (11:1). We need to have faith in the very character of Adonai who shows mercy to a thousand generations and who has compassion on us with everlasting kindness.  

Just because we do not see these realities, God’s promises are not negated. It simply means that we have to wait and trust in his character and his Word. Even though we do not see the provision of Adonai it doesn’t mean that he does not love and care for us. We trust in his love and provision, not because of what we have but because of who he is. The examples of Hashem’s love and care for Israel in this week’s haftarah confirm that he is loving and caring, and faithful to fulfill his promises.  

May we all heed and be encouraged by the words of the psalmist, “Wait for Adonai. Be strong, let your heart take courage, and wait for Adonai” (Psalm 27:14).  

All Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version.

[1] Meir Tamari, Truths Desired by God, An Excursion into the Weekly Haftarah (Jerusalem: Gefen Publishing House, 2011), 9.

[2] J.H. Hertz, The Pentateuch and Haftorahs, second ed. (London: Soncino Press, 1988), 42.

[3] Nosson Scherman, The Later Prophets: Isaiah (Brooklyn: Mesorah Publications, 2013), 411.

What Difference Does God Make?

Haftarat B’reisheet, Isaiah 42:5 – 43:10

Rabbi Russ Resnik 

When I first became a follower of Jesus I wanted to share the story of my amazing transformation with everyone. But, of course, Jesus was a big barrier for most people, especially Jewish people—even after we started saying Yeshua instead of Jesus. In recent years, though, it seems like the barrier has shifted, and now it’s God himself. For lots of people, before they can even consider Yeshua, they have to accept the idea that there might actually be a God who makes a difference.

Some of these folks are doctrinaire atheists, convinced that God does not exist at all, but even more are practical atheists. They’re not dogmatic about the non-existence of God and may well be open to the idea that there’s something, or even someone, out there beyond our limited materialistic horizons. But it’s a God-concept so vague as to be mostly irrelevant to real life. Others are more positive about God, but define him after their own understanding, which usually means a God who doesn’t demand a lot.

A few years back, Sociologists Christian Smith and Melinda Lundquist Denton coined the term Moralistic Therapeutic Deism in their book Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers. After interviewing approximately 3000 teenagers they found broad consensus on five core beliefs:

1. A god exists who created and ordered the world and watches over human life on earth.

2. God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.

3. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.

4. God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.

5. Good people go to heaven when they die.

It’s a kind of generic religion that might draw on Scripture but can hardly be said to align with it. And discussions about God and “spirituality” that we encounter online or in live conversation suggest that this sort of list remains an accurate description of religion today, and not just among teenagers.

So, before we can talk about Yeshua, we often have to talk about God vs. no-God or about a personal, purposeful God vs. a vaguely imagined Higher Power.  

To put this in other terms, before we can talk about Redemption, we need to talk about Creation. Sometimes we strike out in trying to tell people about Redemption because they’re not convinced about Creation. If there’s no overriding and compelling meaning to human existence, what do we need to be redeemed from, or for?

Centuries ago Rabbi Isaac commented on the opening verse of Genesis, which we read this week: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (Gen 1:1). He said that it would have made more sense to begin the Torah with Exodus 12:2, “You are to begin your calendar with this month; it will be the first month of the year for you.” This is the first commandment to the Israelites, and the main purpose of the Torah is its commandments, according to Rabbi Isaac. So, why does the Torah start with the account of Creation? Because “if the nations of the world should say to Israel, ‘You are robbers, for you conquered by force the lands of the seven nations [of Canaan],’ Israel can reply, ‘The whole earth belongs to the Holy One, Blessed is He. He created it and He gave it to the one found proper in His eyes. By His wish He gave it to them, and by His wish He took it from them’” (cited by Rashi on Genesis 1:1).

Now Rabbi Isaac’s comment could stir up a lively discussion on current events, which I’ll happily avoid, because I’m interested in a different point right now:

God-as-Creator is a God who makes a difference in everything. 

The one who creates something has rights and privileges regarding that thing. God the Creator isn’t just a vague, impersonal energy or force, but the One who has oversees it all according to his own council . . . which brings us to our haftarah for the week:  

Thus says God, Adonai,
who created the heavens and spread them out,
who stretched out the earth and all that grows from it,
who gives breath to the people on it
and spirit to those who walk on it:
“I, Adonai, called you righteously . . .” Isaiah 42:5–6a 

God is making it clear just who is speaking to us. His creative sweep encompasses everything and everyone. He is the source of the very breath that we breathe, of the very spirit that animates us and gives us life. Therefore he has the right to call whoever he wants to whatever assignment he has in mind. I ended the quotation above in mid-sentence, because it would require an additional drash to discuss who the “you” of the final line is, and what exactly he’s called to. But the point remains: God can call people according to his plans and purposes because he created us all.  

That’s a pretty simple statement, but it’s controversial today, when so many live, or want to live, as if there is no Creator. In contrast, Isaiah presents a bracing picture of God. Yes, he “created and ordered the world and watches over human life on earth,” as Moralistic Therapeutic Deism has it, but he’s got a more exciting purpose for us than being good, nice, fair to each other, and feeling good about ourselves.

The One who created everything has a plan to bring everything to completion, and that plan includes us.

But now this is what Adonai says,
he who created you, Ya‘akov,
he who formed you, Isra’el:
“Don’t be afraid, for I have redeemed you;
I am calling you by your name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

The God who created the universe created you and me—and he calls us by name. The purposeful God of Creation has a purpose for us, for “everyone who bears my name, / whom I created for my glory” (Isaiah 43:7). Somehow we contribute to his glory.

When we connect with the God who makes a difference, we start to make a difference too.

As we begin a new year and a new cycle of reading through the Torah together, let’s renew our walk with God the Creator and Redeemer, alert to how we can make a difference in the world he created.

All Scripture references are from Complete Jewish Bible.

Rejoice in the Promise!

Simchat Torah, Joshua 1:1–18

Barri Cae Seif, Sar Shalom, Arlington, TX

I love this time of year! We see the changing of the seasons from summer to fall, as though there has been a cool breeze coming through, in our attitudes and overall well-being. Sukkot ushers in a wonderful feeling of joy and thanksgiving. Those of us who live in America might look at Sukkot as a precursor to the Thanksgiving holiday.

Growing up, I experienced Sukkot as a wonderful celebration in both the Reform temple and in the Orthodox shul. When I was a young girl, I remember going into a sukkah with all of the hanging fruit. I thought that it was just such a special holiday, and almost anytime I see a cornucopia, I think of Sukkot.  

Right before my early teens, my parents left the Reform temple and joined an Orthodox synagogue. Although I do not remember seeing any sukkah, I do remember receiving a miniature Torah, given to us children on Simchat Torah—the holiday that concludes the Sukkot season (October 1-2 this year). In my possession is my father's little miniature Torah that he also received on Simchat Torah. 

When I was growing up, I had little knowledge of Hebrew and did not realize that Simchat Torah meant “rejoicing of the law.” Yet I saw the demonstration of this rejoicing in both the synagogue and in the Temple sanctuary. Dancing and rejoicing with abandon were the norm for this holiday celebration. One of the highest honors on Simchat Torah is to be given the final Aliyah, the final Torah reading. The Chatan Torah (Groom of the Torah) gets to read the final passage from Deuteronomy.  

One action on this day specially intrigues me. When is the Torah rolled back to the beginning of Bereisheet, Genesis? Now that would be fun to do! At the end of the secular new year, on New Year's Eve, I think back to the year that God has given. With a little bit of anticipation and concern, I wonder what life events will come forth. If I ever had a chance to witness the unrolling of the Torah scroll, would those same thoughts cross my mind?  

Parallel to the Torah reading is the Haftarah selection, Joshua 1:1–18. Rabbi Hertz in his Pentateuch commentary (Soncino, 1960) notes, “In the matter of study, it is the Jewish custom to make a fresh beginning immediately after a conclusion has been reached.” We mark the conclusion of the Five books of Moses, and yet a beginning with Genesis 1; we also note the beginning of Joshua. He faces a new horizon with entry into the Promised Land.  

As a new believer in Yeshua, learning to daily trust God’s promises was my school of faith. Years ago, I attended a Sunday school class led by the author Zig Ziglar. He always focused on good news, whether it was the Gospel of Yeshua, or improving economic news. One thing he emphasized was to always realize that you are making a promise every time you sign your name. That simple concept has directed my steps throughout my life.  

Every place God has signed his name, that is our assurance, our promise that he will be with us. What must Joshua have thought when God said to him, “Every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, to you I have given it, as I spoke to Moses” (Josh 1:3). God assures Joshua as God assured Moses in Deuteronomy 11:24. Natan is the Hebrew word for “give” and not only does it mean give, but it also means appoint, ascribe, assign, avenge, lay charge to, occupy, ordain, and restore. When God makes a promise, he keeps it.  

Joshua 1:8 will always be one of my favorite Bible verses. It truly is the key to success. 

Yes, keep this book of the Torah on your lips, and meditate on it day and night, so that you will take care to act according to everything written in it. Then your undertakings will prosper, and you will succeed. (Complete Jewish Bible)

Who better to give us this advice than Joshua? God gives the Promised Land to Joshua and yet God provides directives that Joshua still must follow. Promises are given and yet we still need to lay hold of the promises—by faith. God’s instructions to Joshua meant that the Torah should be in his mouth and in his heart continually.

Meditate on the word of the Lord. Ponder God’s word. Not only are we to think about God’s word; we are to talk about God’s word, study it, and speak it. Faith comes by hearing and hearing comes by the word of God (Heb 10:17). As we speak the word of God, we hear it; our faith is stirred up and becomes electric, alive, and active. Then our undertakings will prosper and we will succeed!

Adonai is My Rock

Haftarat Ha’azinu, 2 Samuel 22:1–51

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

The haftarah for Parashat Ha’azinu is David’s great hymn of thanksgiving, praising Hashem for providing protection and deliverance from all the dangers of his life and all the conflicts with his enemies. This lengthy song opens and closes with praise and thanksgiving. Sandwiched in between are vibrant expressions of both the circumstances of his low moments and of his triumph over the enemies. This hymn has various parallels in the Tanakh and plays an important role in Jewish worship. First, David’s song shares many things in common with the song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32, Parashat Ha’azinu. It also appears almost word-for-word in Psalm 18. Furthermore, the hymn parallels both the Song of the Sea in Exodus 15, which is read on the seventh day of Pesach, and Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel 1:1–2:10, which is read on the first day of Rosh Hashanah.

What is so amazing about David’s song that it would be made into a psalm and added to the psalter, or included three times in the liturgical calendar? To answer this question, let’s look at two terms used by David in the hymn—tzur (rock) and tamim (blameless, innocent, perfect).

David opens the hymn with the proclamation “Adonai is my rock (sela), my fortress and my deliverer.” The two epithets, rock and fortress, are drawn from the natural character of the landscape in Israel where steep and almost inaccessible rocks provided protection to David as a fugitive. Although David took refuge in physical rocks, he did not place his hope for safety in the rocky formations in Israel. He placed his hope in Adonai himself, who was David’s rock (tzur). Tzur is a rock that represents God’s immoveable firmness and his invincible protection. David calls God, “my Rock” (tzuri) in 2 Samuel 22:3 and 47a, depicting God as a sheltering rock (v. 3) and a source of personal safety (v. 47a). David also uses the term as an epithet equated with God himself. In 22:32 David asks, “Who is a rock besides our God…?” and later in v. 47b he praises Adonai saying, “Exalted be God, the Rock of my salvation!”

David uses the second term, tamim, to present the theology of reward and punishment, applied both personally and generally. David says of himself, “I also was blameless (tamim) before him and kept myself from iniquity” (22:24). David is not stating that he is perfectly righteous or holy before Adonai, because he wasn’t. He is making a comparison between the righteousness of his own deeds and endeavors and the unrighteousness and wickedness of his adversaries. David says he is blameless because he strove earnestly and sincerely to walk in the way of Hashem and to keep the commandments (22:21–25). The general theology of reward and punishment is expressed in the impersonal remarks, “with the loyal you show yourself loyal; with the blameless (tamim) hero, you show yourself blameless; with the pure you show yourself pure, but with the crooked you show yourself shrewd. You deliver a humble people, but your eyes are upon the haughty to bring them down (22:26–28). David was blameless/innocent because Adonai, who is perfect (tamim) in his way, is David’s strong fortress, which keeps David’s way perfect (tamim; 22:33).

A comparison with the song of Moses in this week’s parashah also establishes this theological point. Both the song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32 and the song of David in 2 Samuel 22 use the terms tamim to emphasize integrity, blamelessness and perfection and tzur to emphasize stability, power and protection. After stating that he will proclaim the name of Adonai, Moshe declares, “The Rock, his work in perfect (tamim), and all his ways are just,” while Israel is “a perverse and crooked generation” (Deut 32:4-5) that “scoffed at the Rock of [their] salvation” (32:15) and had “forgotten the Rock that fathered [them]” (32:18). As a result, Adonai, their Rock, gave them over to their enemies, “because their rock is not like our Rock” (32:30–31).

In our haftarah, David also glorifies Adonai as a rock whose way is blameless or perfect (tamim; 2 Sam 22:31) and juxtaposes this “Rock” with all other gods (22:32). However, David, unlike Israel, remains steadfast and blameless. Instead of scoffing or forgetting the Rock, David takes shelter in the Rock (22:3). David also proclaims Adonai as acting blameless with the blameless hero but acting shrewd with the crooked (22:26–27). David is rewarded by Adonai, who kept David’s way perfect or secure (tamim; 22:33).

The similarities between the two songs are remarkable. However, the contrast between the reactions to the Rock of David and Israel is also remarkable. Both songs portray Adonai as a mighty and sustaining Rock, whose way is tamim. However, David remains faithful and does not forget the Rock of his strength. He does not rebel against him even through his trials and adversities, or through his success. By contrast, the people of Israel are a rebellious generation that has forgotten Adonai, the faithful and immovable Rock whose work is perfect. The song of Moses and the song of David show us two different paths, as one commentator puts it: “a God-centered way of remembrance and humility, and a self-centered way of forgetfulness and pride.” Each of us has a choice as to how we respond to the Rock in various situations in our lives. We can be like David and choose to remember that Adonai, whose way is perfect, is our Rock and strong fortress, or we can be like Israel in the wilderness and forget the Rock the fathered us. Each day we must decide which path we will walk.

My prayer is that we will all be like David and seek to walk in the way of Hashem and to keep his commandments. Then we will remember that Hashem is our Rock and strong fortress and will keep our way blameless.

There is a Way Back

Haftarah Shabbat Shuvah, Hosea 14:2–10

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

The Bible is the best-selling book of all time. It is also one of the least read! Even those who claim love and fidelity for the Bible, who often quote chapter and verse, rarely have read the Scriptures in entirety!

It is so common for biblical adherents to skip over the most difficult passages to interpret and the ones that are frankly just difficult to hear. Psalm 137, for example, is often quoted and sung in various Christian and Jewish liturgies as well as popular song (for example, Joan Baez, “By the Rivers of Babylon”) yet its impassioned plea to dash our enemies’ babies against rocks (v. 9) is usually expurgated! The fact is that the Bible is hardly a children’s book. It deals with human frailty and the hard and often harsh reality of human interaction. Perhaps, though, given the most popular viewing and reading choices in popular culture, it would be a better PR strategy to advertise the more scandalous narratives in Scripture!

The haftarah for this week has one of the steamiest back-stories in the entire biblical canon. It can be found in the book of Hosea, which has its own set of PR problems. First and foremost, it is one of the so-called minor prophets, a very unfortunate moniker! Nothing says “pay no attention” like calling something minor. This nomenclature is not a commentary on the importance of these prophets; rather it is a misunderstood description of their shorter length. I think if we called these the “very short but really important prophets” it would boost their ratings exponentially! But so would this story. It is what my mother, of blessed memory, would refer to as a “tear jerker”—a sad story of adultery, abandonment, neglect, and betrayal. It is also, though, a story of faithfulness, patience, love, and relational restoration.

The haftarah begins, “Shuvah Yisrael ad Adonai Elohekha, Return Israel to the Lord your God” (Hosea 14:2). This is more than a casual appeal; rather it is an intense and imperative plea for Israel to come home, leave its diverse lovers, live faithfully with Hashem, and avoid the self-inflicted wounds they have been enduring since national inception. It is a desperate cry that concludes the story of Hosea, who is asked to embrace and empathize with God’s cuckoldry. 

Hosea probably began his prophetic ministry during the reign of Jeroboam II, toward the end of Israel’s prosperity. Though we have very little precise biographical info on Hosea, his life is laid bare before us as a living allegory. He is asked to marry Gomer, a woman of questionable reputation and morals, and raise three children that may or may not be his own. In fact, he names them Yizre’el (God sows), Lo-Ruchamah (unpitied), and Lo-Ammi (not my people) (Hosea 1:2–8). As distasteful as the latter two names are, the first, Yizre’el, would have been a salt-in-the-wound name. Though it was originally the bread basket of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, Yizre’el had become place of death and destruction during the reign of Ahab and Jezebel and the entire Jehu dynasty. The association of this place with a child would be much like naming the child Dachau or Treblinka today!

Hosea loves Gomer despite her adultery and abandonment of him and the children. She loves the pleasantries of life and runs to her lovers who lavish gifts upon her. This, of course, parallels the story of Israel who collectively pursues the gods and values of her neighbors, remaining unaware that it is actually Hashem that provides the prosperity she enjoys (2:10–11). No doubt the scandal has made Hosea the subject of ridicule by his neighbors who have become bored with this love-struck prophet who cannot keep his own house in order.

The story of Hosea and Gomer becomes inextricably bound up with the story of God and Israel. Eventually Gomer finds her bottom, and her adultery/prostitution finds its obvious destiny in a society that simultaneously promotes and condemns promiscuity. She is stripped naked and put up for sale to the highest bidder. But Hosea’s love for Gomer is unrelenting. He purchases her for fifteen pieces of silver and eight bushels of barley and restores her to his home. For a time, they will not have marital relations as they work out their issues. In the same way Hashem declares that he will never forsake Israel, and she will forever be his wife. But there is going to be a long time of galut, an adequate separation so she can learn covenant faithfulness. The time will come when she will call him Ish rather than Ba’al. Though both can understood as husband, one denotes her man, a loving partner, while the latter expresses his mastery and lordship over her (3:2–5). In this narrative we can see the continuum between yirat Hashem (the fear of the Lord) and ahavat Hashem (the love of the Lord).

Just as Gomer’s infidelity mirrors Israel’s indiscretion, so does each of ours, with the attitudes, temperament, and actions of an unfaithful people. How often do we run after the lavish trappings that we somehow imagine will make us happy, forgetting that Hashem provides every good and pleasant gift? Do we chase after the gods of wealth, stature, and momentary celebrity, forgetting that true security comes from the One who will never forget or forsake us? Are ego and hubris our lovers, and have social media, political affiliation, and financial enterprise become our forbidden rendezvous? Have we forgotten who it is that redeemed us for a price far greater than silver?

Much like Israel, we individually cannot be separated from the love of God. But we can continue to live in personal galut, a separation from the intimacy that the Holy One desires to have with every one of us. As we continue our introspection throughout these Yamim Noraim (Days of Awe), we must not ask, “What can I get away with?” but, rather “How long do I wish to stay away?” Our first love is calling us. This is the time for reconciliation. The Holy One is crying Shuvah! Return! How long will we wait?

The Future is Looking Good

Seventh Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 61:1–63:9

Rabbi David Friedman, Jerusalem

Our haftarah brings out a true confession in me. Living here in Israel, my heart is sometimes made heavy by the attitudes and spiritual life that are displayed here. Sometimes it is hard for me to see beyond the strife, beyond society’s ills, and beyond the emptiness that is evident in so many people’s lives. And so I wonder what will become of my people, who yearn to be like the Western world: liberal, economically well-to-do, sophisticated, self-confident, internationally suave, mixed in among the nations, and popular.

It’s not that we are bad in character . . . no, not at all; but we are often so lost, so far removed from the reason Almighty God called us out among the nations, so far distanced from the covenants of blessings and promises that he gave to our forefathers. When I see this played out in my locale, it is a distressing situation.

Various things touch off such a situation for me. This week, a very sweet religious man told me about his living situation: he is the sole person who prays from a particular siddur (prayer book) in his town. The religious leader of the town warned others not to ever pray with him because the town’s residents should pray from a different siddur, not the one used by this man. Due to his affiliation within Judaism, this person was ostracized from his neighbors by a gentleman’s agreement. Brothers mistreating each other. Such pettiness. Such bullying. Such division within our people, who need to be unified. I think at times like these that we are really missing the boat.

Our haftarah has comforted me and reminded me of some incredible things. Isaiah 61:9 encourages us to know that a day is coming, an era will break upon human history, during which . . . “their (Jewish) descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall recognize that they are seed that the Lord blessed”(Chabad translation, with one change).

Isaiah’s reaction to the coming of this time period is a joyful one:

I will rejoice with the Lord; my soul shall exult with my God, for He has attired me with garments of salvation, with a robe of righteousness He has enwrapped me; like a bridegroom, who, priest-like, dons garments of glory, and like a bride, who adorns herself with her jewelry.” (Isa 61:10, Chabad)

Our haftarah goes on to describe what this era will be like for the people of Israel:

And nations shall see your righteousness, and all kings your glory, and you shall be called a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall pronounce. And you shall be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord and a kingly diadem in the hand of your God. (Isa 62:2–3, Chabad)

Isaiah describes what Israel will be like in that coming time period:

No longer shall "forsaken" be said of you, and "desolate" shall no longer be said of your land, for you shall be called "My desire is in her," and your land, "inhabited," for the Lord desires you, and your land shall be inhabited. (Isa 62:4, Chabad)

Putting these verses together forms a picture for us of what is going to happen to the people of Israel. And it is a wondrous, restorative, powerful set of events that will cause these realities to take place. Such events will cause the desires of the present generation in our Land to be totally redefined. Our people, in our nation, will live for the purposes that God himself has given to us. And his reaction to Israel during this time period? Isaiah wonderfully sums it up: “Your God will rejoice over you” (62:5b, my translation). He will be so happy when Israel is living the way he intends for us to live.

The word for “righteous” back in verse 2 is tsedek; this word is connected to the instructions given by God on Mt. Sinai. In other words, we will be a people who are faithful to the covenant and instructions given to us on Mt. Sinai.

Israel will also be a crown of glory in God’s possession. This matches the picture that Moses taught us when he described Israel as an am segulah, that is, “a people who are a royal treasury.” And the treasures belong to God (Exod 19:5–6). Additionally, our haftarah teaches that God will desire to be with us: “the Lord desires you” (62:4).

Isaiah 61:10 shows that our nation will function in our priestly calling and will additionally be a “bride” to the Holy One. Our condition will be seen and recognized by all nations (61:9), which again is a fulfillment of our national calling (see Deut 4:5–10).

Isaiah adds: “And they shall call them the holy people, those redeemed by the Lord, and you shall be called, ‘sought, a city not forsaken’” (62:12, Chabad). Our people will be known as a holy people. In Hebrew, “holy” is defined as “separated for the purposes of God.” Then our people will be living according to the calling given to us, as in Exodus 19:5–6, to be a separated people for the purposes of God.

When I consider what I see with my eyes today, I understand something very clearly—an absolutely miraculous transformation has to spread across Israel in order for Isaiah’s words to be fulfilled. And it will! Zechariah 13 denotes an internal cleansing, a spiritual purging, and a national renewal of Israel’s calling. This could be the doorway to our haftarah’s picture, leading up to what Isaiah describes above, in chapters 61 and 62.

Of course, the centerpiece for the attainment of this reality is our holy Messiah Yeshua, who is also described in our haftarah:

The spirit of the Lord God was upon me, since the Lord anointed me to bring tidings to the humble, He sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to declare freedom for the captives—and for the prisoners, to free them from captivity. (Isa 61:1, Chabad)

According to our Jewish calendar, our haftarah today is considered the last of the seven Haftarot of Consolation. Accordingly, we have been reading out of Isaiah each week, focusing on messages of hope, comfort, and having the favor of God. In my mind, today’s haftarah offers such consolation. I am much encouraged as I consider Isaiah’s message apropos to the times that we live in.

Rosh Hashana begins in a few days. It is a time of re-evaluating our lives, and of new beginnings. It is encouraging at this time in the calendar to read of our nation’s new beginning to take place in the future, when we begin to live according to our true identity! Our haftarah teaches us that we are God’s bride, God’s desired people, holy and righteous people, priests to the world, and a people who make God happy. That is one wonderful identity!

Shana tovah!

Your Light Has Come

Sixth Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 60:1–22

Rabbi Aaron Allsbrook, Ohev Yisrael, Springfield, VA

We live in a time of darkness. We live in a time when people do as they please, when they search for answers in every place imaginable—that is, every place besides God’s throne—when they are governed by the dictates of their hearts, when they have no idea where they are going (as in John 8:35). This is a time when people call evil good and good evil, light darkness and darkness light, bitter sweet and sweet bitter (Isa 5:20). And the good news is, it’s only going to get darker.

According to Moses, when Israel becomes disobedient she will be like a blind person groping in darkness, which is really being doubly blind (Deut 28:29). Sin leads to darkness. John teaches us that sin is lawlessness, that is, a belief that there is no universal law or that there is, but who cares, I’m gonna do what I want (1 John 3:4). As we approach the end of this age and the heralding of the millennial kingdom with the return of Yeshua, “the earth will be covered in darkness and the people in deep darkness”—doubly dark (Isa 60:2).

There’s another side to this story, though: “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!” (Isa 60:1). Isaiah then proceeds to elaborate exactly how the nations of the world will respond to Israel as she enters into the fulfillment of the promise God made to Abraham for her to dwell securely and eternally in the Land. Much of this echoes Moses’ description of just how blessed Israel will be if she is obedient to the Torah (Deut 26:16–19, 28:1–14). Just as disobedience leads to darkness, obedience leads to light.

Even from the beginning of the story of man, disobedience seems inevitable. The day Moses returned with the Ten Commandments Israel was already disobeying them, and in a bad way. The Tanakh concludes with Israel in exile due to her idolatry and assimilating into the neighboring pagan culture and idol worship. Disobedience seems to be par for the course.

God is pretty good, however, with solutions. His solution is a change of heart, not his heart, but ours. His solution is his Spirit within us. It is his Spirit that guides us into obedience, as it is written, “I will put my Ruach within you. Then I will cause you to walk in my laws, so you will keep my rulings and do them” (Ezek 36:27). This Spirit makes us become the children of God, children who act like their Father (Rom 8:14). In the end we will be glorified because he will be glorified.

Our obedience is based on his grace and the empowerment of his Spirit. In the end, God will receive all the glory and honor. While Israel will be exalted as head above the nations and will be blessed by all the peoples of the earth, it will be so because the glory of God will arise upon Israel (Isa 60:2). We will finally be the people God has always intended for us to be, because we will be walking in his Spirit, completely in harmony with the will of God (see Rom 8:27).

Nations will bless Israel because the fullness of God will be in us. Even our walls will be salvation and our gates praise (Isa 60:18). Moses foresaw this as the ultimate demarcation of Israel amongst the nations (Ex 33:14–23). Moses got a fleeting glimpse of this glory, yet, Isaiah saw a permanence, and it is this permanence that will exalt Israel and draw all nations to her for the glory of God!

When we walk by God’s Spirit, when we lift up the Name of Yeshua, when we worship God with all our hearts and beings, we will get a taste of what this permanent glory will be. The more we behold him, the more we become like him. Even as the darkness grows darker, the light of Yeshua is greater than the darkness (John 1:5); darkness is even as light to him (Ps 139:12). We need not fear the darkness because we have a promise of his light and glory. We have a secure future that is lit eternally. We have a Spirit that guides us to such an inheritance. We need to arise and shine because Yeshua will return and eradicate all darkness!

This is hope and this is what people need to hear. He will take men and women out of darkness. The darkness may continue to spread, but the light of Yeshua will simultaneously grow brighter. What a hope!

How Can the Barren One Sing?

Fifth Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 54:1–10

Rabbi Russ Resnik

We’re in the midst of the weekly passages from Isaiah known as the Haftarot of Comfort or Consolation, and this week’s installment opens with a paradox:

 “Sing, O barren one, who did not bear;
    break forth into singing and cry aloud,
    you who have not been in labor!
For the children of the desolate one will be more
    than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord.

How can a barren woman come to rejoice? How can a desolate one have abundant children? It’s a paradox, but we’ve already seen how it works in the story of Sarah, the barren wife who finally bears a son to Abraham in her old age. It’s the iconic story of the God we serve, whose very nature is to give life when there is no life and to even raise the dead.

But Isaiah’s words have special meaning during the days in which we read them—the time of preparation for the approaching High Holy Day season. One custom during this season is to take time each day to consider our attitudes and behaviors and make amends as needed. As we do, we often discover that we’re the desolate one, barren of what we need to be pleasing to God or fruitful in his sight. We might resort to the words of the traditional prayer Avinu Malkenu: “Our Father, our King!  Be gracious to us, and answer us, for we have no good works of our own; deal with us in charity and kindness, and save us.”

As we realize our moral emptiness, we also realize that we’ll have to throw ourselves on God’s mercy—and of course that’s right where he wants us. The God that we’re talking about is the one “who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist” (Rom 4:17). This is what Abraham learned on his long wait for an heir to be born of the desolate Sarah. And it’s something we can learn as well.

As a rabbi and counselor I often deal with addictions of various sorts. One of my favorite books on the subject is God of Our Understanding, by a Chabad rabbi, Shais Taub. It’s written from an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) perspective, and the first two of the Twelve Steps of AA are:

• We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

• Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Rabbi Taub comments, “The admission of powerlessness and unmanageability is not an aspect of recovery—it’s the very basis of it. Nothing else seems to work very well without complete and unconditional capitulation first.” Or in Avinu Malkenu terminology, when we realize that we “have no good works of our own,” we qualify for God’s work to get done in us. God isn’t impressed with our self-empowered efforts at reform and goodness, but “a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psa 51:17). The one with such a heart is the barren and desolate one, who ends up with a multitude of children. 

I’m trying to write this in a clear way that will make sense to you, my reader, but I have to admit that you’re unlikely to really get it until circumstances or God’s grace—or a combination of both—open your eyes to your barrenness and need for divine rescue. We do a lot in the modern world to avoid reaching this sort of eye-opener. Our consumerist, high-tech, entertainment-oriented, and addicted culture seems designed to distract us from such a realization. That’s why spiritual practices like worshipful prayer, contemplative reading, and self-examination are so important. And even as we pursue these practices, we’re still dependent on God’s faithfulness to bring us through.

In his book Addiction and Virtue, Christian scholar Kent Dunnington contrasts worship and addiction:

Addiction is seductive because it promises to address the disorder and disunity of the self without requiring that we relinquish control over our own lives. . . . Right worship, on the other hand, trains us to see that the disorder and disunity of the self are themselves a symptom of our sinful insistence on maintaining control over our own lives. . . . Worship trains us to see that the self is not something that we establish but rather something that we continually receive from God. 

So “the desolate one” refers to those who have finally given up on the need to control life and make something out of themselves. They’re devoid of any way to do that and, more important, they finally realize it. This desolate state allows God to move in, and amazingly, when he does the desolate one bears children.

I’m writing this as I sit in a gleaming lobby of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, a world-class institution where my oldest brother is hospitalized, struggling with an aggressive cancer and cascading medical problems. The staff is excellent, the technologies are state-of-the-art . . . and everything still hangs on God’s timing and mercy. As family we have words to speak and decisions to make, but we can only surrender the outcome into God’s hands.

It’s a difficult lesson, of course, but one that we all need to learn and re-learn continually. We become fruitful not through self-effort and not through passivity either, but through actively turning over our lives and circumstances to the God “who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.”

We can be realistic as we face our failings and shortcomings during the Days of Awe, as addicts are realistic when they admit to being powerless over the alcohol or drugs or porn or compulsive spending or whatever has bound them up. We can be realistic as my family and I need to be in facing my brother’s impossible medical situation. Such realism isn’t ultimately pessimistic because it still counts on the merciful promises of God. We can be realistic and still maintain a joyful hope, “‘For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,’ says the Lord.”

In memory of my big brother, Dennis Resnik, who passed away on the night of August 20.

The Lord gives and the Lord has taken; blessed be the name of the Lord.