Two Families, Two Dramas

Haftarat Vayishlach, Obadiah 1:1-21

Rabbi Aaron Allsbrook, Ohev Yisrael, Springfield, VA 

Who Obadiah was and when he lived is a topic of debate. There were many Obadiahs in the time of the Tanakh. Many of his words parallel prophecies from fellow prophets Jeremiah and Joel. Nevertheless, it is clear to whom Obadiah is prophesying. The content is rough, the tone is strong, the vision is ominous. Obadiah is a sad book because in it we see just how far brothers can stray from each another and how their respective families can evolve into violent enemies even when one side is at its complete lowest.

The Bible begins with family discord. Just one generation after creation brothers are already killing each other. Even with the call of Abraham and the birth of redemption, we see family drama, leading to his family splitting. Jacob’s conflict with his brother Esau leads to Jacob fleeing for his life at the behest of his mother. The text doesn’t say it, but you have to wonder how much shalom bayit (peace in the house) existed in the home of Isaac and Rebekah.

After 20 years of self-imposed exile Jacob makes his way home. Esau simultaneously makes his way toward Jacob. Jacob is accompanied by family, servants, and animals. Esau has 400 men. I don’t think they were his entourage on the way to Atlantic City. Now after 20 years of waiting and seething Esau has his chance at vengeance. When he finally encounters Jacob, however, irony explodes: Esau runs to meet Jacob, embraces him, falls on his neck, kisses him, and the two of them weep (Gen 33:4). For some unspoken reason Esau is elated to have his brother back. This is good.

So, what happened? If you continue to read the parasha you come to the family tree of Esau. Notice a couple of big names: Amalek and Edom. We all know what kind of relationship the children of Jacob had with the children of Amalek. And, based on this week’s haftarah we see that the children of Edom didn’t have any regard whatsoever for the descendants of Jacob. It’s not like these were the Assyrians or Babylonians. In one respect, you can understand their animus towards Israel. When it’s family you have to wonder just what the heck happened.

The somewhat cynical fact is that blood is not that binding. Again, look at the history of familial relations going all the way the back to its beginnings. Blood isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be . . . or should be. There is something, however, much stronger: the love and obedience of God. Those in the family of Messiah have a bond that is greater than anything coming from finite man. The eternal, life-resurrecting power of the Holy Spirit unifies us into a relationship that goes beyond that of blood. It is the ideal family, a family that loves, prefers others, repents, forgives, blesses, and seeks the kingdom of God. The Cleavers have nothing on this.

Now, don’t get me wrong; for most of us, our blood families are great. We love them, love being with them, love eating with them, love telling jokes with them, love laughing with them—you know, family stuff. We, as children of the kingdom, need to see just how blessed we are in that we have another family, and just how important this family is.

Esau and Jacob were brothers. The children of Edom and the children of Israel were cousins. Obadiah makes it very clear that there weren’t too many times in which the cousins got together, had dinner, and played cards. The fact is that while they shared blood they didn’t share God. As one progressed into the light the other became more and more comfortable in the dark. It is only inevitable that there will be a clash. Light and dark don’t make the best of friends.

Yeshua warns us that as we approach the great day of the Lord, which Obadiah mentions as well (Obad 1:15), families will turn on one another (Mark 13:12–13). Why would they do this? Because of Yeshua. There will be a division between those who love Yeshua, obey his commandments, and do the will of his Father (see Matt 7:21–23, 12:46–50; John 14:15, 21) and those who don’t. Esau had his issues when he was with his family. There was a reconciliation of brothers upon Jacob’s return home. Maybe things were turning out for the better. We don’t know. But, we do know that eventually Esau left the family because space was tight (Gen 36:6–8). I have to imagine that due to such distance, not necessarily from his family, but from the presence of God that accompanied Jacob, the possibility of the events portrayed by Obadiah grew, developed, and became acceptable.

We need to be close with our family of God, because that’s where God is! We need to see just how important this family is. We live in a culture where so much of our relating to God, be it in the body of Messiah and outside, is an individual experience. There is truth in this, but not outside of the context and relationships of family.

We need to love our blood family. We need to honor them and serve and bless them. We need to pray for them and share Messiah with them. We also need to strengthen our family of God. Our blood families are strengthened as we do such. As we invest in our Spirit family the dividends pour into our blood family. As we spend more time with those of the Spirit we walk more by the Spirit. As we walk more by the Spirit the family drama we have will be how we grow from strength to strength, glory to glory. This doesn’t necessarily make great reality TV, but it does make for healing, wholeness, and peace.

Being a Ladder

Parashat Vayetse, Genesis 28:10–32:3

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

Jacob faced obstacles throughout his life. He had a father who favored his older brother; the one who came to hate him and wanted to kill him. He had to deal with a deceptive and treacherous father-in-law for twenty years. He was tricked into marrying a woman whom he did not love. His sons sold their brother into slavery and led him to believe that Joseph was slain by a wild animal. 

While not always an exemplar of ethical behavior himself, Jacob’s life can teach us about facing obstacles, of which we have many. We are facing an increase in anti-Semitism both globally and even within the US. At times, we Messianic Jews face hostility from both the traditional Jewish world and the church world. We don’t always grow in numbers as fast as we would like to. We sometimes lose people to traditional Judaism or Christianity. We sometimes despair that our movement is not growing in Yiddishkeit as we would like it to. In times like these, we can learn from how Jacob handled obstacles. 

First, Jacob had a vision. As Jacob is on his way to Haran, God appears to him in a dream and assures him of his protection (Gen 28:12–15). God promises him that his descendants will be as numerous as the dust of the earth and that the nations of the world will be blessed through him. This vision of his future from Hashem gave Jacob the fortitude to venture off into unknown territory and an uncertain future. The text tells us that he arose early. He was energized by this God-given vision.

But Jacob does not rely solely on this vision from God. He also takes the initiative to work towards his goals. He doesn’t allow his uncle Lavan to dictate the terms of his marrying Rachel, but offers to work for her for seven years. When he is tricked into marrying her sister, he does not fall into despair but picks himself up and works towards his goal. When Lavan pressures him into staying, Jacob devises a plan to prosper himself. Jacob is even careful about how he approaches his brother when he returns home. 

So it is with us. We have a God-given vision for a thriving community of Jewish followers of Yeshua. We need to be strengthened and emboldened by this vision. Whenever we feel despair with our movement, we need to recall that Hashem’s hand is in this and it will prosper. It may take longer than we would like to come to fruition, and there may be many hurdles along the way, but his will shall be accomplished. 

But we should not sit idly by waiting for God’s vision to be fulfilled. We can also strive to build our movement, as we are energized by the vision. We need to use our talents and energies to build towards the vision of that future. 

A commentary on our parasha that I recently read likens Israel to the ladder in Jacob’s dream. We are a ladder rooted in the earth but also reaching for the stars. Just as no one uses a ladder to stand still, we too must be ever striving to reach our God-given goals.   

Rabbi Tarfon says in Pirke Avot “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it” (2:21). May we not grow weary when we face obstacles. May we cling to the vision that God has given us! May it energize us to “rise early” and be about our divine work. May we strive to build a Messianic Judaism that will flourish for generations and bring honor to Hashem and his Messiah.  

What Are Leaders For?

Haftarat Tol’dot, Malachi 1:1–2:7

Rabbi Russ Resnik

We’ve just come through a grueling, costly, and often bitter electoral process. We’ve chosen our leaders, or men and women that we hope will be leaders, and this week’s haftarah provides a reminder of what leaders are chosen for. It begins with a stark contrast between two ancient leaders, Esau and Jacob: “I loved Jacob and Esau I hated” (Mal 1:2–3).

This verse inspires some rough treatment of Esau in the rabbinic writings, which sometimes picture him as the embodiment of opposition to God, or at least of major cluelessness about what matters to God. The nation that he fathered, Edom, is an implacable enemy of Israel, as the Artscroll Chumash notes:   

Because of this hatred [of Esau], the prophet states that Edom, the nation that stems from Esau, will not prosper eternally; that it is doomed to destruction, as indeed the evil that is incarnated in Edom will ultimately be destroyed. It will take time. The Roman Empire that brought about the current exile and most of the powers that have persecuted Israel during its long, long duration are regarded by the Rabbinic tradition as descendants—spiritual, if not direct—of Edom. Like most prophecies, we do not know when this one will be fulfilled; we only know that it will.  

The Torah is more nuanced in its portrayal of Esau. Yes, when Esau sells his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of “red stuff”, the moral is clear: Thus Esau despised his birthright (Gen 25:34). But one of the most poignant scenes in Genesis comes a little later, when Jacob and his mother Rebekah succeed in diverting Isaac’s paternal blessing from Esau to Jacob. Esau realizes what’s happened and cries out, “Do you just have one blessing, my father? Bless me too, my father!” And Esau lifted up his voice and wept (Gen 27:38). And twenty years later, when Jacob returns from his long exile, Esau is ready to meet him with his own private militia, but turns out to be warm, generous, and welcoming. When Esau first saw the returning Jacob, he “ran to meet him, hugged him, fell on his neck and kissed him—and they wept” (Gen 33:4). 

Esau isn’t the chosen one, but he’s pictured in Genesis as a real human being, impulsive, foolish, but also capable of loyalty and deep attachment to his father Isaac. It’s from the Prophets that the rabbinic sages draw a much harsher picture of Esau, summarized in the starkest of verses: “I loved Jacob and Esau I hated.” 

In rabbinic thought, this distinction represents one of the great divides of human history, “perhaps the major turning point in the history of the world”—as the Artscroll Chumash puts it—“the choice of Jacob over Esau to receive the Torah and bear the Patriarchal legacy.” As followers of Yeshua we can agree about the importance of this choice, because it advances God’s purpose of blessing all the nations through Abraham and his seed—ultimately Messiah Yeshua and those who seek to walk in his ways.  

But after Malachi makes it clear that Israel is chosen and Esau is not, he immediately shifts his attention—and prophetic critique—on to Israel. Indeed, his whole point of opening with Esau isn’t to tear Esau down, but to portray the unique love that Hashem has for Jacob/Israel. In light of this love, Israel deserves a stern rebuke for its failure to respond. Israel is represented by the priests or kohanim—the chosen ones among the chosen ones—and Hashem addresses them: “A son honors his father, and a servant his master. So if I am Father, where is My honor? If I am Master, where is My reverence?”—says Adonai-Tzva’ot—“you, kohanim who despise My Name!” (Mal 1:6). The priests despise the Lord by bringing defective and inferior sacrifices. After outlining this charge, the Lord describes the true calling of a priest in words that conclude our haftarah portion:  

My covenant was with Levi for life and shalom,
and I gave them to him for reverence.
So he revered Me, and he was awestruck by My Name.
Instruction of truth was in his mouth.
Injustice was not found on his lips.
In shalom and uprightness he walked with Me,
and he turned many from iniquity.
For a kohen’s lips should guard knowledge,
and instruction [Torah] must be sought from his mouth.
For he is a messenger of Adonai-Tzva’ot. (Mal 2:5–7) 

The recent election has stirred up a lot of complaints—necessary in my view—about the inflammatory and polarizing rhetoric on both sides. No one who believes in Scripture should minimize the power and impact of words, or excuse words that are destructive, disrespectful, or patently untrue. So, what are leaders for? Great leaders speak words that inspire and instruct, and bring out the best in those they lead. And all of us, leaders or not, can work on bringing out the best in ourselves and others through positive, truthful, peace-seeking speech.

Perhaps this is a further distinction between Jacob and Esau. Esau’s words—even those that seem warm and generous—are impulsive and not to be trusted. To Jacob, and the priestly line that represents him, belong the assignment to “guard knowledge” so that from him people can seek Torah—instruction, solid truth, wisdom for life. This is Jacob’s assignment, and also ours as those who claim to be his chosen descendants.

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

Sometimes It Takes Courage

Haftarat Chayei Sarah, 1 Kings 1:1–31

David Friedman, UMJC rabbi, Jerusalem

Four verses of our haftarah section grabbed my attention as I read them this week:

Now Adonijah, whose mother was Haggith, put himself forward and said, “I will be king.” So he got chariots and horses ready, with fifty men to run ahead of him. (His father had never rebuked him by asking, “Why do you behave as you do?” He was also very handsome and was born next after Absalom.) Adonijah conferred with Joab son of Zeruiah and with Abiathar the priest, and they gave him their support. But Zadok the priest, Benaiah son of Jehoiada, Nathan the prophet, Shimei and Rei and David’s special guard did not join Adonijah. (1 Kings 1:5–8)

We’re reading here about a palace power grab. King David was dying, and the royal family and officials knew it. In short order, a new king would have to emerge. Adonijah, one of David’s sons, did not hesitate to attempt to seize power. He did not wait for his dying father to declare a successor, nor did he wait for an official announcement from the royal officials. He decided that he was fit to be king!  

The Torah informs us that Adonijah “was also very handsome, and was born next after Absalom” (1:6).  By mentioning good looks and the figure of Absalom, the text associates Adonijah with Absalom. The Torah hints that Adonijah’s moves for the throne would be just as illicit as the prior effort of his brother Absalom. Adonijah had his reasons to believe he was next in line, and he immediately jumped on the opportunity to seize power as his father was dying and thus unable to interfere.

We are even told that Adonijah was spoiled: “His father had never rebuked him by asking, ‘Why do you behave as you do?’” (1:6). Perhaps prior behavioral problems spurred this editorial comment in the Torah. It appears that Adonijah had gotten used to not being restrained from carrying out his desires. And his desire was to be the acclaimed, powerful king of his people.

Adonijah aggressively took action to gain the kingship: he prepared a coronation parade—including chariots, horses and messengers. He added King David’s retired, popular, elite military commander Joab, as well as the respected cohen, Abiathar, to his entourage of supporters. So now he had a renowned military man and also a respected religious figure behind him. To Adonijah, his ascendancy to be king was a sweet “done deal”.

And then we have a sudden mention, in verse 8, of five men and a company of bodyguards who took a brave stand. By simply not joining Adonijah, they were making a strong statement. These few undoubtedly held that only King David, still alive, had the authority to name the next king. Adonijah was undoubtedly aware that his brother Solomon had been promised the kingship (rumors and news fly fast in royal settings). Speed was of the essence for Adonijah, and hopefully the king would die without being able to talk and make public his appointment of a successor. We see that Adonijah was cunning: he speedily invited those who would support him, skirting those who could bring his plans down. “[Adonijah] invited all his brothers, the king’s sons, and all the royal officials of Judah, but he did not invite Nathan the prophet or Benaiah or the special guard, or his brother Solomon” (1 Kings 1:9–10, emphasis added). 

The support of the five influential men of verse 8 would be given to another prince, at the proper time. Each of these five men countered the influence of Adonijah’s support system: for example, the high-ranking military officer Benaiah countered Commander Joab; the opposition of Zadok the cohen countered the support of Abiathar the Cohen.

These men mentioned remind me of other Torah figures who “bucked the tide” that was headed in the wrong direction. Men like Calev and Joshua opposed the 10 tribal leaders who gave an errant accounting of the Land of Israel; the 3,000 Levites at the incident of the golden calf stood up for righteousness; Elijah our prophet stood alone against 400 false prophets on Mt. Carmel (one against 400 is extremely poor odds).

We know how our narrative concludes:

[David] then took an oath: “As surely as the Lord lives, who has delivered me out of every trouble, I will surely carry out this very day what I swore to you [Bat-Sheva] by the Lord, the God of Israel: Solomon your son shall be king after me, and he will sit on my throne in my place.” (1 Kings 1:29–30)

Zadok, Benaiah, Nathan, Shimei, Rei, and the king’s personal guards did not join in this fray. All of these men were well-known in royal affairs. We can surmise what would have happened to them had Adonijah succeeded to grab the throne. The minimum scenario would include a loss of role and job, and expulsion from the city of David, Jerusalem. The more likely scenario would include loss of life or possible imprisonment; loss of property and threat to one’s immediate family. It would not have been easy for these men to slither away from Adonijah unnoticed, had he become the king. Nor are these five men recorded to have tried to escape. They made their decision and apparently were willing to live with the consequences.

Obviously, the stakes were high. Their decision to oppose Adonijah’s claim was a courageous act with serious implications. Have you ever been in a situation like that? Did you ever have to make a choice as to which person or cause you would back, knowing that the consequences could result in loss of employment, problems for your family, loss of reputation, persecution, maybe even loss of life? If so, then you also know that it in such a situation, it takes a lot of courage to make a firm decision.

I am disturbed when I see or experience grabs for power, especially in our communities. Such things do unfortunately occur. It takes courage on the part of leadership to stand against such actions while encouraging healing and restoration.

Our world is lacking in courage. As students of our Messiah, we are empowered by him to act courageously, wisely and compassionately. Let us not forget this. If we think that we lack the personal courage to stand up for righteousness, let us remember: “You have not because you do not ask” (James 4:2b) and, “All things that you ask for, believing, you will receive” (Matt 21:22). We can and will stand with courage, together, in order to further his kingdom.

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.