Our Inheritance is Our Task

Parashat Va'era, Exodus 6:2–9:35

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, Bloomfield, CT

It has been said that the life of Moses can be seen as three distinct movements, forty years each. Moses spends the first forty years thinking he is somebody. He has fallen by providence into the royal court of Pharaoh and is raised as a prince of Egypt while his people, the Jewish people unknown to him, suffer. In the second act he discovers that he is nobody. In a rather extended midlife crisis he winds up down and out, tending sheep in the wilderness among the tribes of Midian. But it is in the third forty years of Moses’ life that he discovers what Hashem can do with somebody who accepts he is nobody.

Parashat Va’era begins as Parashat Shemot ended, with Moses returning to the presence of Hashem, pleading petulantly. Moses had been sent to Pharaoh to demand the release of the Israelite slaves. But instead of releasing them, Pharaoh takes away their straw for brick making and they are absolutely outraged. Moses asks the Holy One how he might expect Pharaoh to listen to him, when even the children of Israel seem totally uninterested in his leadership. Moses goes so far as to accuse God of being unfaithful. “My Lord, why have you done evil to this people, why have you sent me? From the time I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name he did evil to this people, but you did not rescue your people” (Exod 5:22–23).

What appears to be an absolutely audacious indictment of the Holy One by Moses may actually be a sign of his maturation as a leader and as a Hebrew. 

By most normal measurements of success, Moses would seem to be on a continual downhill spiral. He has gone from prince to outlaw, to sheep farmer, to dissident, to rejected and dejected labor leader. But something unique is happening in Moses. Instead of fleeing Egypt forever, Moses returns to the presence of Israel’s God to plead the case of a people that he has oddly identified with since his youth (2:11). As Moses is returning to Egypt to confront Pharaoh, his wife Zipporah circumcises their sons with a flint knife, a material act of identification with the covenant between God and Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. This timely interruption to the narrative suggests that Moses no longer sees himself as an appointed deliverer from outside the community of faith, but now as a fully enfranchised member of the family of Israel. In other words Moses has come to recognize and appreciate his heritage and his task.

What follows is a rebuke and an encouragement from Hashem that are in some ways indistinguishable from each other. God spoke to Moses saying, “I am Hashem. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob as El Shaddai, but with my Name Hashem (YHVH) I did not make myself known to them” (6:2–3). Prior to calling Moses into service, the Torah informs us, God remembered the covenant with the patriarchs (2:24), but now the disclosure of the divine Name establishes the covenant with Moses as part of the natural progression of the patriarchal covenant. Moses and Israel are entering into their inheritance together.

Hashem then promises that the land of Caanan will be part of the inheritance; it will be Eretz Yisrael (6:4). Then, after stating his intention to liberate Israel and take them for his people, Hashem declares again concerning the land, “And I shall give it to you as a heritage (morashah)” (6:8). This Hebrew term, morashah, inheritance or heritage, appears twice in the Torah. It is first mentioned in relation to the Land of Israel, and later in Deuteronomy 33:4, in connection with the giving of Torah. The term morashah is used in two places to teach us that the inheritance represented by the Land of Israel can remain ours only if we commit ourselves to the keeping of Torah.

In the same way that Moses the liberator, lawgiver, and teacher needed to mature into his heritage as a fully enfranchised member of Hashem’s holy nation, so we, the sons and daughters of Israel, must mature into our heritage as well. The promises of morashah—Land and Torah—are inseparable. The thrice-daily prayer Alenu declares “our inheritance is our task.” We are called to be a light to the nations, to draw all people to the service of the one true God. This is our heritage, this is our call, and it cannot be measured by any of the normal standards of this world.

This commentary, originally posted in 2016, is a fitting reminder of our calling as we enter the new year of 2019.

Unto Us a Child is Born—in Egypt!

Parashat Shemot, Exodus 1:1–6:1

Rabbi Russ Resnik

Most of the Christian world is celebrating the birth of the Messiah this week, and in the synagogue we are reading the early chapters of Exodus, which recount the birth of another deliverer, Moses. Scholars have long noted similarities between the two birth accounts, especially in the version of Messiah’s birth preserved by Matthew.  

Both narratives open in a dark time, a time of oppression for the Jewish people. Moses’ story begins as the Israelites, who have dwelt in Egypt for generations, face increasing oppression by Pharaoh because he feels threatened by their rising birthrate and strength. Finally, he decrees, “Every son that is born to the Hebrews you shall cast into the Nile” (Exod 1:22). Yeshua’s story opens in the land of Israel under Herod, a client-king of the Roman Empire, who feels threatened by a rival king born in Beit-Lechem. Failing to locate the infant king he issues an order “to kill all the boys in and around Beit-Lechem who are two years old or less” (Matt 2:16). Both Pharaoh and Herod seek to counteract birth itself, to destroy new life in order to preserve the old regime.  

Warned of Herod’s murderous plot Messiah’s family flees for safety—to Egypt! Egypt is Mordor, the evil empire, the very locus of bondage and oppression. Yosef and Miriam seek shelter for their infant Yeshua in the belly of the beast. It’s a great irony, but we shouldn’t overlook how closely this move reflects the strategy of Moses’ parents. They prepare an ark for him, a teva such as Noah built to preserve life through the Flood, and set it adrift on the Nile, the river that symbolizes Egypt itself.

Moses survives Pharaoh’s deadly scheme, flees from Egypt when he is a grown man, and finally returns at the age of 80 to bring deliverance to his people, the Hebrews. Through Moses, God sends ten plagues upon Egypt, to demonstrate his sovereignty over the gods that empower Egypt and to rescue the Hebrews. The first of all these plagues comes upon the Nile. The waters of the Nile look benign, but they are the life-source of Pharaoh’s fearsome regime. And now they’re turned into blood, a symbol of death. This plague makes it clear that it wasn’t the Nile that had saved the infant Moses but the God of Israel, who harnesses even the mighty river for his own purposes.  

Back when the infant Moses was adrift on the Nile, a daughter of Pharaoh had rescued him and unknowingly sent him to his mother to be nursed. After the baby had grown a bit, Pharaoh’s daughter took him into her own household and gave him a name. “She called him Moshe, explaining, ‘Because I pulled him out of the water’” (Exod 2:10). Scholars tell us that Moshe was actually an Egyptian name meaning, “born” or “gave birth,” as in the names of gods like Thut-mose and Rameses, the latter also the name of a Pharaoh, meaning “born of Ra [an Egyptian god]”. But Pharaoh’s daughter is apparently thinking of a Hebrew word, mashah, meaning “drawn forth.” Does she realize what she is saying? The one who is drawn forth out of the deepest holds of Egypt will draw forth his people out of Egypt itself.

In the parallel story in Matthew, the infant who is rescued from the Empire is given the name Yeshua, after an angel tells Yosef that Miriam, “will give birth to a son, and you are to name him Yeshua, [which means ‘Adonai saves,’] because he will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21).

Some folks might enjoy a friendly argument about the date of Messiah’s birth, but I’ll bow out. I’m not trying to contribute to that discussion one way or the other. But it does seem fitting to celebrate the birth of Messiah—“a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:32)—during the darkest season of the year. And it’s also a fitting time to recount the birth of Moses, one of the great light-bearers of history.

A passage in the Talmud explores the response of Moses’ mother to his birth: “And when she saw him that he was good . . .” (Exod 2:2). Various rabbis disagree on the implications of “good” in this verse, but a majority view emerges.

The Sages declare, At the time when Moses was born, the whole house was filled with light—it is written here, And when she saw him that he was good, and elsewhere it is written [Gen 1:4]: And God saw the light that it was good. (Sotah 12a, emphasis added)

The birth of both deliverers, Moshe and Yeshua, brings light when all is in darkness.

In the world of Scripture, deliverance isn’t a self-help project. It doesn’t come through the gradual accumulation of good deeds or positive vibes. Rather it breaks in as light amidst the darkness. Deliverance can shine into even the biggest mess and the deepest pit. Accordingly, Matthew summarizes his account of Messiah’s birth and deliverance: “This happened in order to fulfill what Adonai had said through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I called my son’” (Matt 2:15). “Out of the jaws of bondage I called forth the one who belongs to me.” Within the mounting oppression that opens both Parashat Shemot and Matthew God is preparing a new thing that will break into the darkness and dispel it with the light of deliverance.

So there’s a lesson for us in December, 2018—a time that seems to be growing darker. Ominous clouds are gathering over Israel and the entire Middle East. The global order is shaky. America seems unsure of its place within it and internally polarized. Ethnic, religious, and political tensions are deepening. Mass shootings continue, including the deadliest anti-Semitic attack in American history in Pittsburgh two months ago. All the while the rampant secularization of our culture and values goes on unabated. But in the midst of all this, it might be that God is preparing a new thing, as he has always done. May we have the eyes to see his light wherever it is beginning to arise, and find ways to spread that light ourselves!

Going to Meet Their Maker

Parashat Vay’chi, Genesis 47:28–50:26; Haftarah, 1 Kings 2:1–12

Dr. Patrice Fischer, Ohr Chadash, Clearwater, FL

This week’s Torah and haftarah passages show two important deathbed scenes. In Genesis 47–50 we see Jacob’s pivotal interaction with Joseph’s two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, then his individual, personalized blessing for each of his sons and their descendants.

In the haftarah we see another deathbed scene: David giving his last instructions to just one person, his son Solomon. Instead of dealing out many blessings and good wishes for the future of all his sons and their descendants down through history, David talks alone to Solomon, one of his many sons, and advises him how to deal individually with potential enemies.

We might be forgiven if we see David’s final advice to Solomon as akin to a scene in a novel about the Mob:

Dying Don: Don’t forget what Tommy Two-Eyes did to me when I was holed up in Jersey—he killed my two best lieutenants when they didn’t do nothing wrong. You know how I want you to take care of him.

Son: Right, Pop.

Dying Don: Also, I really like Freddie the Frog because he stood up for me when your own brother turned on me. Remember to treat his family with respect and be sure that they are taken care of . . . in a good way, I mean.

Son: [sniff] Got it, Pop. Good things for the Frog’s family—we won’t forget.

Dying Don: As far as that jerk, Jerry Jump-back, I told him that I would never off him, but you’re not me, if you catch my drift. Never, never trust him.

Son: Won’t trust him, I promise, Pop.

Why are the two deathbed scenes in Scripture so intrinsically different from each other? Jacob seems to be the person acting as the magnanimous king remembering his loved ones, whereas David, the actual king, sounds like Dying Don: these personal details about unforgotten grudges are his most important legacy; his past is more real to him than the nation’s future.

To be fair, this is not the picture we see in 1 Chronicles. The Chronicler is well-understood as the apologist for the crown in general and David in particular. His portrait of David shows him praising and encouraging Solomon along the way, recognizing that Solomon is David’s, and God’s, chosen heir starting in 1 Chronicles 22. There the Chronicler explains to the public why David himself cannot build the Temple, but leaves it instead to Solomon. It’s in this chapter that we see the scene we might have been expecting to see—David affirms Solomon, who at this time is still quite young, and tells him that building the Temple will be Solomon’s job. Then follows a reverent section where David asks Solomon to dedicate himself to the Lord, encourages him, and tells him that the chief craftsmen and builders know already that Solomon is their boss, and that he can trust them.

This passage in 1 Chronicles 22 is more like Jacob’s deathbed scene in Genesis than the deathbed scene in 1 Kings, and the scene is repeated (renewed) in 1 Chronicles 29, right before David’s death. In contrast, Solomon does not even appear in the text of Samuel until he is there at David’s deathbed in 1 Kings.

There is another overlap between Jacob’s story and the haftarah—the mention of a specific town where significant encounters took place: Machanaim, meaning “Two Camps.” This site on the east side of the Jordan River, across from the eastern end of the Jezreel Valley, is named by Jacob as he is returning home, right before he meets with Esau, his brother in Genesis 32.

In David’s life story, Machaniam is the same place where those following Saul’s house in the struggle for the throne of the nation set up a “government in exile,” led by Avner (2 Sam 2:8–12). Saul’s son Ish-Bosheth was crowned king there by Avner and others loyal to Saul’s family. (He reigned as king for only two years, while David’s army was busy shoring up his support to be king, based in Hebron.) In the haftarah passage, David mentions the day when he was “on his way to Machanaim” when Shimei curses David, calls him a murderer and claims that he has no right to rule because the rule rightly belonged to Saul’s family (1 Kings 2:8; cf. 2 Sam 16:5–14). Shimei continues on that the Lord has handed the kingdom over to Absalom because David is “a man of blood.”

It’s not difficult to understand why this incident lasted in David’s mind. It would have been terribly wounding to David to be reminded of his son Absalom and the costly civil war to take David’s throne, and also of the men he killed while trying to ascend to that throne.

So, with our haftarah this week we remember two great men and the scenes of their dying wishes. With Jacob, his thoughts are about his sons and their future endeavors to make their family into a great nation. With David, his thoughts are concerning making the scales of justice balance so that his family will be able to rule this great nation based on the promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Perhaps the two are not so unalike after all.

Ezekiel and the Coming Restoration

Haftarat Vayigash, Ezekiel 37:15–28

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

 “Our bones are dried up and our hope has perished. We are completely cut off.”

—Ezekiel 37:11

God answers this cry of the Jewish people in a vision of hope and restoration that illustrates what he will do to transform and give life to Israel. We are all familiar with the vision of the dry bones being joined into a body, receiving sinews and flesh and then receiving breath, which gave life (Ezek 37:1–14). This graphic vision, given to the whole house of Israel, both northern and southern kingdoms scattered throughout the nations, promises to reunite, give life and place them in their land again. There the Ruach will empower Israel to live in obedience to Hashem through the covenant. This vision is followed by the prophetic action, often called a sign-act, of Ezekiel joining two sticks into one as a visual prediction of hope and restoration. This prophetic action is the focus of the haftarah for Parashat VaYigash (Ezek 37:15–28), which describes Ezekiel acting out the scene before the people and then giving them the interpretation.

The people of Israel today are in much the same situation as Israel during the time of Ezekiel, except that a portion of the people has returned to the Land. The root cause of Israel’s exile, the northern kingdom (Joseph/Ephraim) in 722 BCE and the southern kingdom (Judah) in 586, was rebellion, sin, transgression, and defilement (1 Kings 11:9–13; 2 Kings 17:1–23), in short the consequences of disobedience to the covenant (2 Kings 17:7–17, Ezek 39:23–24; cf. Lev 26:14–39; Deut 28:15–68). As a whole Israel today continues in covenant disloyalty, and remains in the Land only because of Hashem’s grace and faithfulness to his covenant. Yet, there is hope. Ezekiel tells us of Hashem’s promise to reunite the two divided nations into one nation in their own land under one king of the Davidic line, the Messianic King, whom we recognize as Yeshua.

In the presence of the people, Ezekiel took two sticks and wrote on the first stick the name of Judah and the sons of Israel and on the other the name of Joseph and Ephraim and the house of Israel, and joined them “one to one” so that they would become one in his hand (Ezek 37:15–17). The two sticks in one hand are a prophetic symbol of Hashem taking the two nations and making them one in his hand (v. 19). Only Hashem is able to rejoin what has been separated. The “whole” house of Israel will be united as one nation in Hashem’s hand in a physical restoration in the land promised to Abraham. This corporal restoration includes becoming a single nation that focuses upon a united geopolitical existence with a Davidic king as the head.

However, any physical restoration must be accompanied by spiritual restoration for it to be lasting. Otherwise, the people will continually endure judgment for covenant disloyalty. In order for permanent restoration to occur, the divided nations must be unified and together restored to their land, and additionally their relationship with Hashem must be restored. This can only be done through circumcision of the heart as expounded in Ezekiel 11:19–20. In Ezekiel 36:24–32, Hashem promises to cleanse Israel and to give them a heart of flesh and to place his Ruach in them, causing them to walk in obedience. He states that he will save them from their uncleanness and they will no longer defile themselves. In 37:15–23, Hashem reiterates that he will cleanse Israel from their sin, and they will no longer (or never again) [lo . . . od] defile themselves (v. 23). He will give them a king and they will “walk,” “keep,” and “observe” his instructions (v. 24). Hashem goes on to say that he will save Israel and purify them. Never again (or no longer) [lo . . . od] will Israel be divided as a nation or separated from Hashem, for they will be his people and he will be their God.

This promised restoration exceeds anything Israel has experienced to this day. This restoration extends into the Messianic Age. Israel will no longer be divided, no longer rebellious, no longer exiled from the Land and no longer separated from the presence of Hashem. Instead Israel will be firmly planted in the Land as one unified nation with one Davidic king ruling over them for all time. They will forever walk in obedience and dwell with him in a covenant of shalom. Here we see one of Hashem’s great reversals; the cause of Israel’s exile, namely the failure to obey Hashem and keep the covenant, is reversed for all eternity.

Ezekiel’s sign-act and its interpretation applies first and foremost to Israel as a nation, but when we look at Parashat VaYigash, we see that the schism and the restoration originally occurred between Judah and Joseph. The conflict between Joseph and Judah began with Judah’s sale of Joseph into slavery, and ends with their reconciliation in this week’s parasha when Judah stands up before Joseph on behalf of all of his brothers, and subsequently restores the relationship between all of Jacob’s sons. This personal struggle foreshadows the separation of the two kingdoms after the death of Solomon, which comes to a final end when Ezekiel’s prophecy is fulfilled. In the meantime, we continue to live with conflicts and broken relationships in our lives. And even though Messiah, the Davidic King, rules and reigns in our lives, we find ourselves like Israel and Rav Shaul (Rom 7:13–20) struggling to obey, and to do good and not evil.

This week’s haftarah encourages us to hope and trust in God. We can be confident that he will complete the work he has begun (Phil 1:6). Hashem is the only one who can bring permanent physical and spiritual restoration, and he will do it for Israel and for us individually through Messiah Yeshua.

Passing the Flame

Hanukkah 5779

by Jared Eaton, Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

Like most Jewish children, I loved Hanukkah when I was growing up. It was one of my favorite times of the year. I couldn’t wait for my Dad to get home from work so that we could light the candles, play the dreidel, eat the latkes, and most importantly get the presents! Now that I am an adult with small children of my own, the joy of Hanukkah has been rekindled for me, as I get to relive my own experiences through their eyes.

I enjoy giving my kids gifts as much as I used to enjoy receiving them. And I find it tremendously gratifying to be able to pass on the blessings and songs and traditions that my parents passed on to me.

My one moment of disconnect came the other night when, after lighting the candles, my wife asked my son if he remembered the story of Hanukkah. Dutifully he recited the same story that he had heard a hundred times in storybooks and at shabbat school. “God performed a miracle when he made the oil that was only supposed to last for one day burn for eight whole nights!”

Is that it? Not much of a miracle really. It hardly stacks up to the parting of the Red Sea. This is the story of Hanukkah that I grew up with. It’s the only story of Hanukkah that many Jewish children know about. It wasn’t until I was much older that I found out the whole story of Hanukkah.

The oppression of the wicked king Antiochus. The zeal of the priest Matityahu. The courage of Judah and his Maccabees. The miraculous military victories this small band of Jews won against the most powerful army in the world. In the epic backdrop of that sweeping  saga, the miracle of the oil is almost an afterthought, a brief epilogue to end the story on a triumphant note.

 The real miracle of Hanukkah was the mighty victory over the Greeks! Why don’t we celebrate that? Why are we focused on the candles?

I find my answer as I read the words of the prophet Isaiah: 

It is too small a thing that You should be My Servant

To raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the preserved ones of Israel;

I will also make You a light of the nations

So that My salvation may reach to the end of the earth.  Isaiah 49:6

Israel has had many military victories in her long history. From the conquest of Joshua, to the triumphs of King David, to the miraculous victories of the modern IDF over her enemies, God has never failed to strengthen the sword arm of Israel when we have faith that He is our might.

And yet the sword will never be the symbol of the Jewish people. It is too small a thing for us just to celebrate the military victory because God has not called us to be a nation of warriors. He has called us to be a Kingdom of Priests. Our job is not to make war, it is to make light.

The victory over the Greeks may have been miraculous but even more remarkable was what the Jews did after they won. They laid down their swords and lit the candles. After the devastation of the Greeks, the Jews won the ultimate victory not with swords but with light. They won by not giving into the darkness but by shining their light even brighter, restoring the worship of God to the temple and to Israel.

When darkness threatens to overtake us, Jews have always fought back with light. We respond to hatred and violence by coming together as a community, loving each other more. We respond to anti-Semitism with education and with bridge-building. We respond to our enemies wanting us dead by being more alive than ever, building families and sharing our Judaism with our children.

Every night of Hanukkah, when I light the Shamash candle and then hand it to my son so that he can light the next candle, I understand why the symbol of the Jewish people is not a sword but a menorah. We keep the flame alive. We pass that flame on to our children. And as Messiah Yeshua teaches us, we do not hide that light in our own homes; instead we display our Hanukkah menorahs in our windows so that our light can shine out into the world and fight back the darkness.

We are the light of the world, and by shining our light, we bring the salvation that comes from Messiah Yeshua to the ends of the earth.

Happy Hanukkah!

Love: Covenantal, Irrevocable, Transformative

Haftarat Vayeshev, Amos 2:6–3:8

David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

I had recently become a follower of Yeshua, it was my birthday, and I was away at college. Here I was feeling sad that no one remembered, and also somewhat guilty that I was feeling sad that no one remembered. I was part of a small Yeshua fellowship, and as we were leaving a meeting, one of my friends who had just lost someone in his family said to me, “Happy Birthday, David!” The fact that he remembered me in his own grief undid me, and I just started weeping. Another friend asked me what was wrong, and all I could muster was, “Oh, just . . . repenting.” “Nothing wrong with that,” came the reply.

I was undone by this small, loving gesture. I felt remembered and loved at the same time that I felt convicted by my own selfish nature. In a parallel way, Amos reminds the children of Jacob about how God specifically loves and remembers them: 

Of all the families on earth,

only you have I intimately known. (Amos 32:a CJB)

Rak etchem yadati mikol mishpachot. I could say the same to my wife: “Of all the women on earth, only you have I intimately known.” Only my beshert have I known, and only she truly knows me: my biggest faults, my deepest dreams, my habit of leaving drawers open, etc. Only with her have I covenanted. This is the most transformative human relationship that I have. And so it is between Hashem and Israel. 

It is this covenantal, rescuing love that was supposed to transform Israel. We were the only family on earth God rescued from Egypt, gave his instructions, and sent prophets like Amos to call us back when we wandered off. He gave us Shabbat, the covenants, and the Torah—the whole megillah, literally

No wonder God seems incredulous in response to Israel’s behavior:

Here is what Adonai says:

“For Isra’el’s three crimes,
no, four—I will not reverse it—
because they sell the upright for silver
and the poor for a pair of shoes,
grinding the heads of the poor in the dust
and pushing the lowly out of the way;
father and son sleep with the same girl,
profaning my holy name;
lying down beside any altar
on clothes taken in pledge;
drinking wine in the house of their God
bought with fines they imposed.” (Amos 2:6–8 CJB)

The family who was rescued from slavery has now become an enslaver of the impoverished. It almost makes me weep reading it now, some thousands of years later.  

If our theological narrative includes God’s irrevocable, covenantal love toward the Jewish people, then that means that we, as Jews, and Yeshua-anchored Jews at that, are the recipients of something life-changing: an unbreakable, covenantal love which is designed to undo us in our kishkes.  

Having recently read through the parashiot in Genesis of our dubious ancestor, Jacob, we might wonder whether Hashem is discrediting his own reputation in calling himself “the God of Jacob.” But the narrative of Jacob and his character issues only highlights the foundations of election, irrevocable calling, and rescuing love. In other words, the narrative of Jacob’s foibles speaks less about Jacob and more about the faithfulness of God. It is the love of this God of Jacob that transforms the character of Jacob and his descendants.  

The incarnation of Yeshua has a fuller meaning in this context. Hashem limits himself, in a sense, to be deeply committed to a people in the flesh. He is intertwined with history and involved with this particular family. The fullest measure of this commitment to the children of Jacob is the indwelling of the Messiah.  

Amos reminds us that this commitment is supposed to transform us. His words prompt reflection: how are we blessing the poor in our communities? How are we pursuing purity and holiness? Being his covenanted people is supposed to mark us as reflections of his restorative love.  

Next week begins Hanukkah, the festival of lights and dedication. I’m sure Amos would have rejoiced at the cleansing of the Temple, the rejection of Antiochus as deity to be worshiped, and the return toward Torah in those days. About 150 years after the Maccabees, Yeshua walked along the colonnade of the temple courts during this festival. He then made a connection between himself and Hanukkah, as he frequently does with feasts, signs, and symbols in the Besorah of John:  

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. (John 10:27, NIV)

Notice that Yeshua specifically says that he knows us. It is through Messiah that we are fully known by God, which empowers us to listen and follow. The events of Hanukkah would have been in the minds of Yeshua’s original hearers—an example of God’s rescuing love to restore Israel. The rededication and cleansing of the Temple, the connection between Heaven and Earth, had occurred. But someone greater than the temple is here now. The fullness of rescuing love and rededication has entered into the story of Israel as the one-man Israel and the fullest reflection of the love of God.

This year, as we flip our latkes and spin our dreidels, let’s flip our minds and spin our hearts toward God, and rededicate ourselves to Hashem. In him are we fully known, and fully empowered to reflect his covenantal, irrevocable, and transformative love to those who need it.

Happy Hanukkah!

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.