The Faulty Lens of Fear

Parashat Shelach L’cha, Numbers 13:1–15:41                  

 by Ben Weisman, Sha’arei Shalom, Cary, NC

Three weeks have now passed on the Jewish calendar since the triumphant highs of receiving the Torah—and later the Ruach—on Shavuot. Beginning three weeks from now, we will experience the most tragic lows of the Jewish calendar—three weeks of mourning that culminate in the fast of Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month Av. The most famous tragedies of Tisha B’Av are the destruction of both the First and Second Temples, but according to the Mishna, it is also the anniversary of a tragedy narrated in this week’s parasha: “On the ninth of Av, it was decreed that our ancestors should not enter the land” (Mishnah Ta’anit 4:6).

Parashat Shelach L’cha opens with the familiar story of twelve spies, one man from each of Israel’s twelve tribes, who are sent to explore the land of Canaan. We are given a list of each man’s name, followed by the seemingly random comment that Moshe changed the name of Hoshea Ben Nun to Yehoshua, meaning “the Lord saves.” 

Because the Torah rarely gives unnecessary details, our sages see any seemingly random comment as a chance to discover a deeper meaning. Perhaps Moshe alters Yehoshua’s name to strengthen him on his journey and remind him that salvation comes from God. It makes sense that Yehoshua would need extra strength to oppose the other spies who, contrary to God’s assurances of victory, tell the people of Yisrael that they will be defeated by the people of the land. 

But this leads us to another question. While it is mentioned that Yehoshua joins Calev in opposing the other ten spies, it is clear in the text that Calev is the main spokesperson. If Yehoshua needs the strength of his name change, how much more does Calev need strength to speak the truth in the face of opposition? Where did he find strength? 

After the list of the spies’ names, we are given a list of the locations they scout. Among these locations—just before Eshkol where they harvest a giant cluster of grapes that takes two men to carry—we find Hevron. The sages tell us that Calev turns aside to the cave of Machpelach in Hevron, the resting place of the Patriarchs, to pray (Sotah 34b). Perhaps there he recalls God’s promise to Avraham, that God would give this land to Avraham and his descendants. 

Having been reminded of God’s salvation, his faithfulness to the Patriarchs, his miracles during the Exodus from Mitzrayim (Egypt), and his promise to give the land of Canaan to the people of Yisrael, Calev and Yehoshua are able to see, with eyes of faith, the good land that God has given and to trust in his promise to grant victory over their enemies. The other ten spies, however, are blinded by fear. They see the size of the land’s produce, but they focus more on the size of the land’s inhabitants. “We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them” (Num 13:33). How striking that they give voice to their negative self-perceptions and the negative perceptions they imagine others must have about them! 

Commenting on the book of Eicha (Lamentations), which we read on Tisha B’Av in remembrance of the destruction of the Temple, our sages find something curious in the acrostic patterns. The first word of each verse of chapter 2 begins with a letter of the Aleph Bet, from Aleph to Tav, but the letter Peh is placed before Ayin (rather than after Ayin where it belongs in the alphabetical order). Our sages tell us that these backwards letters remind us of the backwards behavior of the ten spies, who report with their Peh (mouth) without seeing with their Ayin (eye) (Sanhedrin 104b). Ultimately the rebellion that led to the destruction of both Temples on Tisha B’Av can be traced back to the rebellion of the ten spies on Tisha B’Av.  

How can we say that the spies speak without seeing? Of course, they survey the land and even bring back some of its fruit, but because their view of reality is so warped by fear, they cannot truly see what is in front of them. They cannot see the same reality that Calev and Yehoshua see through the lens of God’s faithfulness to the Patriarchs and to their own generation. The majority of the people of Yisrael choose to view the world in the same way as the ten spies and, tragically, their fear of death becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy as that whole generation dies during the forty years of wandering in the desert. 

After fearfully accepting the negative report of the spies, the people refuse to march onward and they reject the land God is giving them. It is striking that their first thought is to go back to Mitzrayim. When God freed Yisrael from slavery to Pharaoh, he did not free them to be alone, but to serve him. When God gave the Torah at Shavuot, it was like a wedding ceremony, but when Yisrael rejects the land on Tisha B’Av, it is like they are rejecting God. This point is driven home in the final paragraph of the parasha, which is also the third paragraph of the Shema. God reiterates that he freed Yisrael from Mitzrayim to be their God. He also warns not to “prostitute yourselves by chasing after the lusts of your own hearts and eyes” (Num 15:39). The idea that abandoning the love and faithfulness of God for the fear and bondage of other masters is like prostitution or adultery is a theme repeated throughout the Prophets. 

As we approach an occasion like Tisha B’Av, the objective is not simply to mourn an ancient tragedy. It is a time to reflect on past mistakes in the lives of our ancestors and in our own lives. If we find that we are following after our eyes and seeing the world through the warped vision of fear, let us draw inspiration from our ancestors to view the world through the lens of God’s love and faithfulness, and to trust in his salvation.

Salvation on Trial

Parashat Beha’alot’cha, Numbers 8:1–12:16

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

 This week’s parasha introduces a theme that will characterize much of the remaining narrative of Bamidbar. Chapters 11–25 contain a series of refusals on the part of Israel to accept authority. In chapter 12 even Miriam challenges Moses’ authority. In chapter 11 the people grumble about the unpleasantness of their journey, contrasting it with all the nostalgic pleasantries of slavery in Egypt, exasperating both God and Moses. Moses’ increasing frustration will later culminate with the incident of his striking the rock in chapter 20.  

From a slightly different perspective, though, it is not the authority of God that is on trial in the wilderness, rather it is the efficacy of his salvation.

While still in Egypt, Jacob’s progeny were concerned as to whether Israel’s God could, and even more importantly would, deliver them. Even after the plagues and miracles wrought by Moses humbled Pharaoh and his court, our people still expressed their doubts on the Egyptian side of the Reed Sea. Then after Hashem parted the sea, drowning their pursuers, Israel quickly seemed to forget and continued to have doubts. Could they really question the power of God to deliver them after all they experienced? Perhaps, but more likely they were uncertain of the Holy One’s love for them and his desire to sustain and protect them. After more than 400 years of bondage in Egypt, Israel’s reactions were likely shaped by the popular understandings of the capricious pantheons of the ancient world, which made life perilous and uncertain.  

Ironically, though, the Holy One of Israel is not a passive defendant in this trial; rather he is the ultimate magistrate, seeing all, knowing all, and meting out justice measured with compassion. When the people cried out for meat God provided an abundance of quail. “The meat was still between their teeth, not yet chewed, when the wrath of Hashem flared against the people” (Num 11:33). According to Rambam only the instigators were killed, but the rest of the people had meat for a month. Either way, before inflicting the penalty, God demonstrated that he both could and would provide for the nation. Also prior to the chastisement, Moses gathered seventy faithful elders and God put his Spirit upon them, indicating his faithfulness to them (Num 11:24–25). 

Earlier in this parasha we have a prior indication of God’s role as all-knowing magistrate, represented symbolically in the menorahs that the Levi’im are given charge over. Though the Torah assigns no specific meaning to the seven-branch candelabras, this week’s haftarah portion is more elucidating. Zechariah’s vision explains that the menorah symbolizes God as judge and the lights are his eyes roving providentially over all of the earth (Zech 4:10–14).  

Zechariah’s vision is in fact a prophetic drama, which uses a courtroom motif to vindicate the salvation of Hashem when the children were downtrodden during failed attempts to rebuild the temple under the leadership of Zerubbabel. In this drama, Joshua the high priest stands before the angel of the Lord and the satan is in effect the prosecuting attorney. I believe it is no accident the name Joshua itself means “Hashem’s Salvation.”  In this scenario the angel of the Lord who serves as the “defense attorney” rebukes the accuser and the vindicated hero is described as a “brand plucked from the fire.”  Joshua has his ragged clothes removed, and he is adorned in attire appropriate to a Kohen and crowned with a “pure turban” (Zech 3:1–5).  

This would be an appropriate time to “drop the mic” and move on, since the God of Israel has once again made his point. But this drama of deliverance has a sequel which is introduced with a “post-credit trailer.”  God declares to the court, “Hearken well O Kohen Gadol Joshua, you and your fellow priests sitting before you. For those men are a sign that I am going to bring my servant the Branch” (Zech 3:8). 

Yeshua, an abbreviated name for Joshua (Yehoshua), entered the historical drama in which the salvation of Hashem was again placed on trial. Though he also was silent before his accusers, the highest court vindicated him and crowned him with the victory of God. While Joshua the Kohen Gadol was often paired with Zerubbabel. a descendant of David and heir to the royal line, Yeshua stood on trial as both priest and king, the ultimate Messianic figure, the ultimate “Branch,” the quintessential “brand plucked from the fire.” 

Decades after the holocaust, in the shadow of terror attacks and tsunamis, awash in a sea of secularism, we too may wonder about the efficacy of God’s salvation. It continues to be on trial among our people and often in our own minds. But it has been vindicated in the past and will continue to be in the future, and Hashem remains the righteous judge.

A Non-Legendary Hero

Haftarat Naso, Judges 13:1–25

by Rabbi Russ Resnik 

It’s more popular than ever these days to take a shot at debunking the Bible. Among the sophomoric tactics employed is dismissing the Bible as a collection of fairy tales and legends, which usually indicates that the critic either hasn’t read the Bible with any care or doesn’t know that much about fairy tales and legends.

C.S. Lewis responds to this sort of criticism in the context of the Gospels:

Now, as a literary historian, I am perfectly convinced that whatever else the Gospels are they are not legends. I have read a great deal of legend and I am quite clear that they are not the same sort of thing. They are not artistic enough to be legends. From an imaginative point of view they are clumsy, they don’t work up to things properly. (“What Are We to Make of Jesus Christ?” 1950)

I don’t know all that Lewis might have intended when he said “they don’t work up to things properly.” He does go on to mention that the Gospels leave out most of Yeshua’s biography, or what would have been his biography had anyone written it out. The same shortcoming can be observed in this week’s haftarah passage, which tells the story of the birth and early years of Samson. The story begins well enough—and in good legendary fashion—with an angelic visitation. He announces that the barren wife of Manoah will conceive and bear a son, who will be “a Nazirite to God from the womb,” thus connecting this reading with our Torah portion, Numbers 4:21–7:89, which details the Nazirite vow. From there, however, the story doesn’t “work up to things properly,” but leaps ahead:  

And the woman [whose name we never learn] bore a son and called his name Samson. And the young man grew, and the Lord blessed him. And the Spirit of the Lord began to stir him in Mahaneh-dan, between Zorah and Eshtaol. Judges 13:24–25

 The child is born, gets named, grows, is blessed, and then—boom!—the Spirit “began to stir him.” Interesting phrase. This stirring happens in a specific geographical setting, but it still sounds a bit vague, and it’s hardly the sort of dramatic supernatural encounter you might expect in a good legend.  

Things get worse for the debunkers in the next chapter. Apparently Samson responds to the Spirit’s stirrings by going down to Timnah and falling for a Philistine woman. Then our noble hero tells his parents, “I saw one of the daughters of the Philistines at Timnah. Now get her for me as my wife” (Jud 14:2). His parents ask Samson why he can’t find a nice Jewish girl, because they don’t “know that it was from the Lord, for he was seeking an opportunity against the Philistines. At that time the Philistines ruled over Israel” (Jud 14:4).  

Samson’s story takes up four full chapters (13–16) right in the middle of the Book of Judges and is its iconic tale. The people are in bondage and oppression because of their sins, eventually God has mercy on them and raises up some flawed and deficient individual to rescue them, and there’s a period of peace until the cycle starts up again. Accordingly, Samson’s story opened: “And the people of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, so the Lord gave them into the hand of the Philistines for forty years” (Jud 13:1). But why do I consider Samson one of the “flawed and deficient” heroes of Judges? We’ve already noted his infatuation for a Philistine woman. Soon after he marries her he ditches her, and this launches a series of adventures in which Samson out-bullies the Philistines, displays lots of brawn (and little brain), celebrates by visiting a prostitute in Gaza, and uses a lot more brawn to get out of the jam he creates for himself (16:1–3). OK, God uses Samson to subdue the Philistines, but Samson hardly emerges as a hero of legend; he looks more like the real-life bullies and bigshots of today or any day.  

The denouement comes after Samson falls for—you guessed it—another Philistine woman, the infamous Delilah. The text doesn’t say she’s a Philistine, but she’s from the Valley of Sorek, which borders on Philistine territory, and as soon as she gets involved with Samson the Philistine lords show up to enlist her to betray him. She cooperates without an argument. You know the story: She gets Samson to tell her that his great strength depends on his long hair, which has never been cut. Eventually Delilah manages to cut off his hair, so the Philistines can take him captive, put out his eyes, bind him in shackles of bronze, and set him to turning a millstone grinding grain. Eventually Samson’s strength returns and he uses it to pull down the pillars of the house in which he’s imprisoned, thereby killing thousands of Philistines as well as himself.

Not a fairly-tale ending, but one that reminds us of the frailties of all human heroes, and of God’s ability to advance his program despite them. While folks are doing their best to debunk the Bible, the Bible is debunking hero-worship with laser precision.  

But Samson isn’t all bad; he’s included in the Hebrews 11 Hall of Fame: 

Time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets—who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. . . . Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated—of whom the world was not worthy. Heb 11:32–34, 36–38

Hebrews includes Samson in the list of the faithful, but where is he in the description of faithful deeds that follows? I believe he’s described in the words “made strong out of weakness”—which sets him off from the heroes of legend. Yes, Samson’s early strength and mighty deeds were legendary, but it’s his later strength, which came out of weakness, that gains him a place among the faithful. Perhaps he could only find this strength after he became weak, blind, and humiliated by his enemies: “O Lord God, please remember me and please strengthen me only this once, O God, that I may be avenged on the Philistines for my two eyes” (Jud 16:28). 

Legends are inspiring, but the real-life tale of a strong man made weak by his own lust and impulsiveness, who finally learns to call upon God for strength, has stayed with us for millennia. Our take-away isn’t revenge on the long-gone Philistines, but the divine empowerment that eludes us when we depend on our own power. As the Lord tells Rav Shaul: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9).

Old Men Dream Dreams

Shavuot 5779

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

We’re in the final days leading to Shavuot, zeman matan Toratenu—the season of the giving of our Torah—which is also the season of the outpouring of the Ruach seven weeks after the resurrection of Messiah Yeshua.

If we had been among the followers of Yeshua that year, we would have just come through a time of trauma and fear. A few days before Passover, we cheered for Yeshua as he entered Jerusalem riding on a donkey. He was the king, humble and just, fulfilling the words of the prophet Zechariah. The crowds greeted him with waving palm branches, crying out “Hoshia na, Save us, O son of David.” And then, just a few days later, he was betrayed by one of us, arrested by the temple guard, condemned, and handed over to the Romans. We looked on from far off as they nailed him to a wooden torture stake and left him there to die.

But on the third day, we started hearing rumors that Messiah had risen from the dead. And then he appeared to us, comforted us, and began teaching us even more than he had in the days we traveled together . . . until he left us on the 40th day. But not before promising we’d be immersed, submerged, soaked in the Ruach Hakodesh in just a few more days.  

So we waited and prayed together, and then the festival of Shavuot arrived. We met in the temple courts that morning to pray in a corner sheltered from the flow of pilgrims flooding in for the holy day. Suddenly we heard a great rushing noise like a windstorm and saw what looked like bright flames above our heads. We were overwhelmed with a sense of God’s presence—this is what we’d been waiting for! Some of us began to praise and glorify God, loudly enough to draw a crowd. Then people in the crowd, Jews who’d come to worship from countries all around the world, started saying that they heard us praising God in languages they knew from their different home countries. They were amazed at what was going on, but some said we must be drunk.  

That’s when Peter stood up, raised his voice above all the shouting and started to preach in a way we’d never heard him preach before:  

Men of Judea and all who dwell in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and give ear to my words. For these people are not drunk, as you suppose, since it is only the third hour of the day.  But this is what was uttered through the prophet Joel: 

And in the last days it shall be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit, my Ruach, on all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
    and your young men shall see visions,
    and your old men shall dream dreams.

This last phrase grabs me and pulls me out of my first-century musings and back into my own reality as a twenty-first century follower of Yeshua: “Your old men shall dream dreams.” They say you know you’re getting old when you go out for breakfast or coffee with your friends and you talk about three things: your aches and pains and ailments; your cute pet’s latest antics; and, as you’re finishing up breakfast, what you’re going to do for lunch. When you’re old you’re likely to be cautious, pragmatic, and playing it safe. But it’s the work of the Ruach to counter the caution and pragmatism of the old—to blow through our lives like a fresh breeze.  

Now I don’t put myself in the “old man” category yet. I’m not over the hill, but I can see the summit ahead, and I want to keep dreaming. What’s the dream? It’s a thriving, multi-generational Jewish movement for Yeshua. A movement that embodies the message and spirit of Messiah, that overflows its banks to bring Jewish people, and the nations as well, back to God; that works for peace and justice, and prepares the way for a kingdom only God can establish.  

This dream goes back to my early days, when I dropped out of the status quo of midcentury America to seek a better world, ditched the endless freeways and shopping malls of Southern California, and ended up in a remote mountain community in Northern New Mexico, where Yeshua tracked us down and revealed himself to us. He also revealed that our utopian dream was in reality an impulse toward the Kingdom of God promised to my people from ancient days, to be brought about in God’s time and through his Spirit, not through our self-powered idealism.   

The outpoured Ruach gives the dream . . . and makes it reality. Our human part is to be responsive, today as it was for the Yeshua-followers in Jerusalem ages ago.  

So what keeps us—individually and as a community—from being responsive to the ongoing presence of the Ruach? Here are some obstacles I see from my own experience in leadership, from my travels in the Messianic Jewish world, and from learning from colleagues: 

1.      Manipulation. We try to manage the Spirit and his gifts and activity, sometimes for the best of motives. Most of us have seen excesses in the Pentecostal-charismatic camp, where human perspiration can be presented as divine inspiration. In response we over-control in the opposite direction and neglect the work of the Ruach altogether because of the excesses we’ve seen.  

2.      Bifurcation. Either/or thinking in the Messianic Jewish world sometimes sets Spirit and Tradition at odds with each other. Instead we are to integrate the Ruach with Jewish tradition and values. I believe we’re making real strides in this area, not only in our practice but also in our understanding and vision. As we do, we’re in the company of the Messianic community of Acts, where the Ruach was poured out in the midst of a Jewish festival, and the disciples remained within the Jewish community and worshiped in the temple.  

3.      Hyper-individualism. We buy into the subjective spirituality of this present culture and think of it as an accessory to our private inner life, when actually the Spirit is promised to all, to form and empower our individual selves into true community. 

4.      Systemic Inertia. It’s inherent to all systems, individual and communal, to resist change and it’s inherent to the work of the Spirit to bring change. So we need to calmly persevere in the face of resistance, both within ourselves and within our communities, as we seek the presence and influence of the Spirit among us.  

All of these obstacles are overcome as we cultivate ongoing alertness to the Ruach in all we do, including our practice of Torah and Jewish tradition. Rav Shaul writes that we are sealed by the Spirit (Eph 1:13), and goes on to tell us to be filled with the Spirit (Eph 5:19). Sealed is a done deal, a completed action in the original Greek—be filled is a present imperative, an abiding promise we need to actively receive.  

And it’s a promise for us all, says the Prophet Joel, for “all flesh,” male and female, Jew and Gentile, young and old. If old men can dream dreams, how much more the young? So be alert, be receptive. Seek the Ruach each day, and together we’ll prepare the way for the Kingdom that only the Spirit can bring.  

Shavuot begins this Saturday evening, June 8.

Photo by Mahkeo on Unsplash.

The Root of Jesse

Haftarah for the Eighth Day of Pesach, Isaiah 10:32–12:6

by Michael Hillel, Netanya, Israel

Shake​ thyself from the dust, arise, put on the garments of thy glory, O my people!

Through the son of Jesse, the Bethlehem​ite, draw Thou nigh unto my soul, redeem it. 

Come, my Beloved, to meet the bride; let us welcome the presence of the Sabbath. 

These words are translated from the fourth verse of Lecha Dodi, “Come my Beloved,” a song sung in homes and synagogues around the world every Erev Shabbat as a way of welcoming the Shabbat. You might be asking, “Why is he introducing the haftarah for the eighth day of Pesach with a verse from a 16th century liturgical poem sung in the regular Friday evening Shabbat service?” The answer is simple: This song not only welcomes in Shabbat each week, but in essence also acknowledges the coming of Messiah.

The prophet Isaiah proclaims, “Then a shoot will come forth out of the stem of Jesse, and a branch will bear fruit out of His roots” (Isa 11:1 TLV). As we weekly sing the words, “Through the son of Jesse, the Bethlehem​ite, draw Thou nigh unto my soul, redeem it,” we are seeking the messianic redemption promised by the prophet, which is provided by a descendant of Jesse’s son David, even our Lord Yeshua.  

For seven days we celebrate Passover/Unleavened Bread in our homes and, hopefully, in our hearts, remembering our redemption from Egyptian oppression and bondage. On the eighth day we shift our eyes from the past to the future as we look forward to the redemption of the Messianic Age. As Yeshua-believers, we recognize that this redemption began with the resurrection of Yeshua in the early first century CE, but the Messianic Age has not yet been completed.  

According to Jewish tradition, the Baal Shem Tov (Rabbi Yisrael ben Eliezer, 1700–1760 CE, who is regarded as the founder of the Chasidic movement) instituted a festival meal on the last day of Pesach, the Feast of Messiah or Seudat Moshiach, to commemorate the final redemption. The last day of Pesach is the conclusion of the redemption that began on the first night of Pesach, which commemorates our redemption from Egypt. Therefore, it is fitting that the last day looks forward to our future redemption. Interestingly, it only took about 1700 years for the Chasidim to catch on to what the early Yeshua-believers had been doing since the first century. Today, aside from the traditional ways in which Christianity celebrates the “Lord’s Supper”, some followers of Yeshua have chosen to incorporate elements of the Seudat HaAdon (the covenant meal of the Brit HaChadasha) into the traditional Seder. Others have chosen to follow the example of the Baal Shem Tov and celebrate a Seder-type festival meal on the eighth day of Pesach that acknowledges not only Yeshua’s death and resurrection but his future return as well.

Whether one acknowledges Yeshua during the Pesach Seder or at the end of the Week of Unleavened Bread or simply in the traditional manner of the “Lord’s Supper” is not of primary importance here. What is important is that we actually remember Yeshua’s finished work as well as his anticipated, future return. As Rav Shaul wrote to the believers in Corinth, 

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you—that the Lord Yeshua, on the night He was betrayed, took matzah; and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “This is My body, which is for you. Do this in memory of Me.” In the same way, He also took the cup, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in memory of Me.” (1 Cor 11:23–25)

 Like the yearly memorial of the Exodus through the Pesach celebration, Seudat HaAdon is a continual sign of the delivering power of the God of Israel. As we celebrate it, in whatever manner that we do, we show forth another prophetic principle stated in this week’s haftarah: “The root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples. The nations will seek for Him, and His resting place will be glorious” (Isa 11:10).

There is a time coming when all the nations will seek Yeshua, the root of Jesse. We see this assurance in the haftarah (Isa. 11:10), as well as in Zechariah 8:20–22 and 14:16. However, this messianic hope is not an isolated concept reserved for some Chasidim and for Yeshua-believers. It is one of the primary tenets of Judaism as a whole. In the daily Amidah we recite,  

May the offshoot of Your servant David soon flower, and may his pride be raised high by Your salvation, for we wait for Your salvation all day. Blessed are You, LORD, who makes the glory of salvation flourish. (Koren Siddur)

 Maimonides (Rabbi Moses ben Maimon) articulated his understanding of the messianic hope in the twelfth of his thirteen principles of faith: “I believe with perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah. No matter how long it takes, I will await his coming every day.” 

So, it is not the expectation of the coming Messiah that separated Yeshua-believers from traditional Judaism, it is our fervent claim and belief that it was and is Yeshua who satisfies the messianic prophecies and expectations, even if his full manifestation is delayed for a season. As we live our lives in fervent expectation of Yeshua’s return and as we celebrate and lift high the banner of the root of Jesse, we provide evidence for the world to see the hope that is within us, the hope that is the risen Lord, Yeshua our Messiah.

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

Passover Unfinished

by Rabbi Russ Resnik  

On that night we were redeemed, and on that night we shall be redeemed.

The Passover Seder comprises two halves, roughly divided by the festive meal itself. The first part commemorates the redemption from Egypt as we retell the whole story of the departure from Egypt, starting with “Avadim hayinu, we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and Hashem our God took us out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm.” The second half concludes with the famous line, “Next year in Jerusalem!” our declaration of hope for the final redemption, when Jerusalem will be restored as the holy city and the source of redemption for all the nations.

According to Rabbi Yitzchak Sender in The Commentators’ Haggadah, the second half of the Seder begins after the meal and the third cup of wine, when we pour another cup for Elijah the Prophet, and open the door to see if he has arrived. (There are lots of additional explanations for opening the door at this point, of course.)  

For those who weave the Yeshua story into their retelling of the Exodus story, the first half of the Seder reflects the initial coming of Messiah, culminating in his death, which he alluded to after saying the blessing over the third cup: “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20). The second half of the Seder looks forward to Messiah’s return, when he will fulfill his mission and bring the final redemption that the whole Seder anticipates. The point that holds together these two halves of the redemption story is the resurrection of Messiah, which we portray with the Afikoman, the half of the matza that is separated from the rest, wrapped up and hidden away—buried—during the meal, and then brought back into our midst before the meal can conclude. It’s an ancient tradition with a variety of explanations, but it’s not hard to see it as a symbol of Messiah’s resurrection, which took place during Passover. 

A few years back, Moment magazine (which bills itself as “Independent journalism from a Jewish perspective”) released “The Messiah Issue” and posed this question to its “Ask the Rabbis” panel: “Are Jews Still Expecting a Messiah?” The panel of rabbis represents the whole spectrum of Judaism, except for the Messianic black sheep, of course, and gives a whole spectrum of answers. But throughout the discussion there’s an unspoken agreement that Yeshua can’t possibly be the Messiah because the world is still such a mess. One rabbi (Peter H. Schweitzer, The City Congregation for Humanistic Judaism, New York), takes this objection a major step further:  

In contrast to Christians who assert that the Messiah has come, Jews would never be satisfied with any applicant for the job. Messianic claimants have all fallen short in the past and will in the future. Waiting around for messianic redemption is therefore a distraction from life’s immediate challenges. Our focus should be on bringing redemption in our own lifetime and with our own two hands.

If they’d invited me to join the panel (one can dream, right?) I’d say this:

Bringing redemption with our own two hands isn’t a bad idea if you’ve decided beforehand to reject all possible “Messianic claimants.” But in the process you’ve also rejected the story of Passover itself, which—along with its many other virtues—sets the record straight about the limits of human effort, beginning with this: “We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt,” and the Lord our God brought us forth from there “with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.”

The Haggadah continues with its diagnosis: “In earliest times our ancestors were idol-worshipers, but now God has drawn us to his service.” Not only were we immobilized by Egyptian bondage, but left to ourselves, we were idolaters. We didn’t initiate worship of the One True God, but rather he drew us into worshiping him. So much for bringing redemption with our own two hands.  

The Haggadah helps us fulfill the biblical commandments of Passover to remember (see Exodus 12:14, 17, 24–25; 13:3, 9). We remember not only the all-important historical events of our deliverance from Egypt, but the equally important portrayal of our hopeless state of bondage and spiritual deception—which isn’t just about Jewish history, but the whole human condition. And most important, we remember that the God described in Scripture is a God of deliverance, who draws us into his worship.  

So the fact that the world and even the House of Israel remain in need of that deliverance doesn’t invalidate the story of Passover. Rather it means that we need the story in every generation, as the Haggadah insists. 

So I’d say to the other rabbis on the panel (if they let me join in), that it might be true that Yeshua can’t be the Messiah—if he only comes once. He has to return to bring the final redemption. But to declare that he isn’t the Messiah because the world isn’t redeemed yet would be like saying that we were never redeemed from Egypt because the final redemption hasn’t happened yet. Passover Unfinished looks back at God’s great act of redemption and looks forward to redemption to come. Both redemptions are real, and the resurrection of Yeshua ties both together and guarantees that the task of redemption will be completed in days to come.   

This year, like every year, when we finish our Seder we’ll say “Next year in Jerusalem!” We’ve completed the whole ritual but Passover remains unfinished until next year—in Jerusalem—ntil the redemption which it celebrates arrives in full. “On that night we were redeemed, and on that night we shall be redeemed.” Through his atoning death and resurrection Messiah Yeshua has demonstrated himself to be the one who will bring it to pass. So as we remember who we are this Passover, let’s remember even more who he is.

Passover begins this year Friday evening, April 19. On the second night of Passover, April 20, we begin counting the Omer, 49 days from Passover to Shavuot, June 8-10, which celebrates the giving of Torah on Mount Sinai and the outpouring of the Spirit upon the followers of Yeshua. For a daily email through the counting of the Omer, subscribe at our home page and encourage friends and family to sign up too so they can enjoy the experience as well. 

Open the Door!

Shabbat Hagadol, Malachi 3:4–24

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

 “On the tenth day of this month [Nissan] each man is to take a lamb for the household, a lamb for each home” (Exodus 12:3). This lamb is set aside in anticipation of the Pesach sacrifice that would be offered four days later, which was five days before their redemption. Although this mitzvah was given for a specific time in the life of Israel, the tradition continues today in the observance of Shabbat Hagadol (the Great Shabbat), the Shabbat before Pesach.  

Many mysteries surround the origin and meaning of Shabbat Hagadol. The term is not found in the Tanakh or in Talmudic literature. However, by the later Middle Ages the celebration of Shabbat Hagadol was a well-established custom. One interpretation holds that Shabbat Hagadol originated from the special haftarah reading assigned to the Shabbat before Pesach, Malachi 3:4–24, and particularly from verse 23 (4:5 in Christian Bibles) which proclaims the coming of Elijah before the great day (yom hagadol) of the Lord. This haftarah speaks of the future redemption of Israel, serves as a reminder of the Exodus from Egypt, and looks forward to the final redemption.  

The haftarah addresses topics such as judgment and rules (3:5, 22), those who fear Adonai and serve him (3:16, 20, 22) and those who don’t (3:5, 14, 18), and divine vindication (3:9). But the overall theme of restoration dominates the haftarah; for example, restoration of the Temple offerings (3:4), of the covenant relationship through repentance (3:7), of Adonai’s justice (3:24), and of parents and children to Adonai and to each other (3:23–24).  

Malachi addresses the people of Israel, who have lost faith in the promises of Hashem. They have become discontent and are murmuring against Hashem because the expected manifestation of his glory has not taken place. In their despair they even question his holiness and justice and have begun to deny that he will come to judge the world. The people of Israel grumble, “Everyone who does evil is good in the eyes of Adonai and he delights in them,” or “Where is the God of justice?” (Malachi 2:17) and “It is useless to serve God. What have we gained by keeping his requirements?” (Malachi 3:14). Malachi assures Israel that the day of Hashem is reality and that the Lord (Ha’adon) is coming to judge the people in order to refine them (3:1–6). However, before the Lord comes he will send a messenger to prepare the way, and then the Lord will appear suddenly. The haftarah concludes with the admonition to heed the Torah of Moshe and the announcement that Hashem will send Elijah before that great and terrible day to call the nation to repentance (3:23–24). 

Notice that Malachi is addressing the people of Israel and announcing national redemption. Hashem’s actions are unilateral. He takes the necessary steps for redemption and restoration; Israel is not required to do anything. Israel’s rebellion against Hashem is so profound that he will send his prophet Elijah to renew their hearts to prepare for the coming of the Lord. This one-sided act of restoration is ultimate proof of Hashem’s love for Israel stated at the beginning of the book (Malachi 1:2).   

The expectation of Elijah appearing before the great day of Hashem to prepare the hearts of Israel was firmly established by the late 2nd Temple period. For example, the three disciples of Yeshua, perplexed by his transfiguration and his instructions to remain silent until after his resurrection, question him about his timing, as they expect Elijah to come first. Yeshua answers that Elijah has already come, and they understand him to mean John the baptizer (Matt 17:12). The Gospel according to Luke explicitly states that John the baptizer is the forerunner of the Lord who came in the spirit and power of Elijah “to make ready a people prepared for the Lord” (Luke 1:16–17). Elijah the messenger has come as has Yeshua the Lord, who through his sacrifice provides redemption to all who believe in him. Yet that great and terrible day of Hashem and his judgement have not come to pass.  

Shabbat Hagadol is a fitting time to remember and meditate on Malachi’s admonitions, warnings, and announcements of redemption and restoration because it is the Shabbat before Pesach, when we open the door for Elijah in anticipation of final redemption. As Israel took the lamb on the 10th of Nissan in preparation for the sacrifice and in anticipation of their redemption, let us take this time on Shabbat Hagadol to prepare ourselves for Pesach and in anticipation of the final redemption to come. As we clean our houses, removing all the chametz, let us clean the chametz from our own lives and hearts, removing any discontent or weariness at Hashem’s timing and seeming lack of judgement, as Israel did in former days, and focus on Hashem’s provision of redemption and restoration that has been promised to Israel and provided for us individually through Yeshua. 

I’ll close with an illustration from Midrash Rabbah, as it comments on Song of Songs 5:2: “I sleep, but my heart is awake. Listen, the voice of my beloved is knocking and says, ‘Open to me, my sister, my dove.’” Focusing on the words “open to me,” Song of Songs Rabbah explains, “Open for me an opening of repentance the size of a needle’s eye, and I will open for you doorways that ox-drawn carts . . . can fit through” (Songs Rabbah 8:2).  

When Hashem saw the blood on the doorways of B’nei Israel that first Pesach night, he skipped over their homes. The door in this midrash symbolizes the tiny opening for repentance that they opened in their hearts. God had compassion on those small openings and greatly enlarged them, leading to the redemption that followed. We learn from this midrash that even if we merely open our hearts a tiny crack, Hashem will use that opening to penetrate into the depth of our hearts and souls and bring redemption—and restoration.  

May we all open our hearts this Shabbat Hagadol!

It's About Time

Shabbat Hachodesh

By Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, W. Hartford, CT

Time is the most elusive yet dominant concept in the human experience. We struggle to understand it and we struggle to control it, yet our endless awareness and fear of time lurks behind all our endeavors. So, we invent devices to measure time. We create currencies to measure our productivity over time. We guard our time, we gift our time, and ultimately, we often waste our time. Some even invest themselves in cosmetically attempting to hide or surgically alter the deleterious effects of time. But eventually we all run out of time. Then we memorialize the time that was.

We endlessly attempt to control time. Go ahead, do a web search of books on time management! Pop culture is filled with odes to our engagement with time. Time by Pink Floyd; Time Is on My Side, Rolling Stones; Time in A Bottle, Jim Croce; etc. It is virtually impossible to scan your local television channels, on any day at any time, without being able to find a show or movie that involves time travel, the ultimate fantasy of control over time.

This week is Shabbat Hachodesh, Judaism’s sublime recognition that the Holy One has given Israel mastery over time!

First let me say that every Shabbat affords us the opportunity to take control of our time, though few afford themselves the luxury of this gift. But Hachodesh celebrates the first commandment given to Israel to observe as a liberated nation, a command that will allow the keeping of every Shabbat, every liturgical holiday, as the anticipation and declaration of prophetic renewal. 

This Shabbat, in addition to reading the weekly portion of Tazria, we also read a maftir from Shemot chapter 12. There is also a special Haftarah from Ezekiel 45, but I think this is better understood if we first discuss the maftir.

Adonai spoke to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt and said: “HaChodesh, this month is lachem (for you) the first of the months, the first of the months of the year.” (Exod 12:1)

I have emphasized the word lachem to indicate that the celebration of the New Moon (Hachodesh) is a unique and special gift for Israel. While other tribal nations accounted for the passage of time using the repetitive cycles of nature, this mitzvah stands out conspicuously. So why does Adonai make this declaration and why does he do so right before Pesach and Israel’s liberation?

The first day of Hachodesh of Nissan (the first month on the biblical calendar, not a Japanese auto company) is the real New Year’s Day (Tishrei, when Rosh Hashanah occurs, is the seventh month). It ushers in spring, renewal, and the rebirth and blossoming of nature. It is a real beginning. Slavery in Egypt was a kind of death for the Jewish people, and the Exodus is a resurrection, the beginning of a renewed life. I think it is worth noting that chodesh (month) and chadash (new or renew) share a common root and form a fascinating and poetic alliteration!

The new moon elaborately illustrates the hitchadashut (renewal) of Israel. The moon waxes and wanes, each month renewing itself. Adonai is informing Israel that the observance of Hachodesh is the key to the performance of all the other mitzvot. Each mitzvah kept today should be different from the way in which it was kept yesterday. The Pesach that we celebrate this year should be on a higher level than the Pesach we observed last year. Our lives should be an upwards spiral, arriving at the same point in the yearly cycle as last year but on a higher level. This was different from all of the other nations, which saw life as an endless cycle of time, winding down and eventually evaporating.

The Holy One paradoxically gives Israel sovereignty over time contingent upon his blueprint and ultimate guidance.

The Holy Blessed One said to Israel, “In the past they were in my hands. But from now on they are in your hands.” (Shemot Rabbah 15)

This brings us to the special haftarah assigned to Shabbat Hachodesh. It is quite appropriate that this prophetic portion depicts a fulfillment of Israel’s responsibility to commemorate the New Moons and Shabbats. Taken from Ezekiel 45:16-46:18 it gives a glimpse of a renewed Israel and a reinstatement of Israel’s liturgical calendar. In prophetic snapshots the prophet vividly declares that Israel will follow Adonai’s precepts and gain mastery of time and destiny.

The fulfillment of these snapshots has been hotly debated over the two millennia following the destruction of the 2nd Temple by the Romans in 70CE. Some take this passage quite literally and long for the building of a Third Temple as the ultimate fulfillment of Adonai’s timetable. I find this improbable for two reasons. First, I cannot imagine that the hope of Israel and the world is tied to the archaic tradition of animal sacrifice. If we were to accept the entire passage as literal, then these also would be part of the package. I find it impossible to imagine a day where “the wolf will dwell with the lamb…” (and the lamb will get up to tell about it) and humans will still be engaging in hideous ritual bloodbaths.

Second, Ezekiel’s normal mode of communication is extravagant illusions that illustrate realities greater than our present realities. The opening vision of the Merkabah (chapter 1) and the Valley of Dry Bones (chapter 37) should indicate that Ezekiel must be taken seriously, not literally.

Most importantly, if we are to take Ezekiel as seriously as we should it is imperative that we not miss the forest for the trees. That is, we cannot overlook the important symbolism of this portion. In this haftarah the Kohen offers the sacrifice as prescribed, but the sacrifices and the entire means of commemorating the New Moons, the Shabbats, Pesach and Sukkot are all provided by the Nasi (the ruler). What this indicates is a time is coming when governance will not be hostile to the observance of Adonai’s highest standards; rather there will be a perfect marriage between the secular and the religious. This means that there will be trustworthy and benevolent rule: “the Nasi will not take from the inheritance of the people to rob them of their holdings” (46:18).

What if the Nasi and the Kohen were truly embodied in one person? What if this person lives and gives of his own inheritance sacrificially? What if he is the living sacrifice, a model for us forever? What if he embodies the entire Mikdash (Temple)?  What if he gives us our true inheritance . . . mastery of time? Is it possible that all of history, all time, and therefore all of our hopes and aspirations, collapse on one personage?

 But when Messiah came as Kohen Gadol of the good things that are now already here, he went through the greater and more perfect Mishkan that is not made with human hands, that is to say, is not a part of this creation. 12 He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. 13 The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkled on those who are ceremonially unclean sanctify them so that they are outwardly clean. 14 How much more, then, will the blood of Messiah, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God! 15 For this reason Messiah is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance—now that he has died as a ransom to set them free from the sins committed under the first covenant. (Hebrews 9:11-15)

Apparently, it is all about time.

The Husband's Longing

Shabbat Parah, Ezekiel 36:16-38

David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

 The longest I’ve been away from my wife since we were married about four years ago is a couple of days. This year for a weekend in February she went away with two other married women. I missed her, for sure. I tried to spend some time with my guy friends, and that helped. I got regular updates of their exploits, and that was enjoyable. But you can’t hug a picture on your phone. I mean, you can, but it’s not the same.  

The husband-wife dynamic is so unique and intimate that it is a frequent analogy in the Scriptures. This week’s haftarah portion opens with just such a striking analogy. The uncleanness of Israel in the land is like the uncleanness of the niddah, a woman during her time of “uncleanness.” But why this particular analogy? Whom does this status affect but her husband? This underscores that the “husband” of Israel is away from his bride, longs for her, misses her during this time. The medieval commentator Rashi affirms: “Scripture likened them to a woman in the period of her separation, whose husband looks forward to when she will become clean, and longs to return to her.”  

The word used here for profane or defile, chalal, shows up in Leviticus, of course: 

Then Adonai said to Moses, “Speak to the kohanim, the sons of Aaron, and say to them: A kohen is not to allow himself to become unclean for the dead among his people, except for his relatives that are nearest to him—his mother, his father, his son, his daughter, his brother, or his virgin sister who is near to him, who has had no husband. For her he may allow himself to become unclean. But he is not to defile himself—a husband among his people—and so profane himself. (Lev 21:1–4 TLV, emphasis added) 

I like this translation because here the kohen (priest) is also a husband among his people. The husband/priest longs for his bride to be purified because he longs for intimacy with her. And what is it that defiles, that gets in the way? The exiting of life, otherwise known as death. In Ezekiel’s time, Israel is spiritually dead by her idolatry and injustice. And worse, not only has she profaned herself, but . . . well, let’s pick it up in the haftarah portion at Ezekiel 36:16–21. 

The word of Adonai came to me saying: “Son of man, when the house of Israel lived in their own land, they defiled it by their way and by their deeds. Their way before Me was like the uncleanness of a woman in her niddah. So I poured out My fury on them for the blood which they had shed upon the land and because they had defiled it with their idols. I scattered them among the nations, so they were dispersed through the countries. According to their way and their deeds I judged them. Wherever they went among the nations, they profaned My holy Name, since it was said about them, ‘These are the people of Adonai, yet they had to leave His land.’ But I had concern for My holy Name, which the house of Israel had profaned among the nations wherever they went.”

 Here the husband is Hashem, and his name, or reputation, is profaned among the nations where Israel was scattered. The message being communicated was this: “The God of Israel couldn’t save these people from being scattered all over the earth.” Therefore, even when Israel is in exile, far from home because of her uncleanness, she has the same calling and purpose to reflect the God of Israel. It is still her job to sanctify the Name. In exilic shock? You’re not off the clock.  

But in the tradition of Leviticus, Ezekiel offers a solution: there is an opportunity for cleansing, renewal, and intimacy once again.  

For I will take you from the nations, gather you out of all the countries and bring you back to your own land. Then I will sprinkle clean water on you and you will be clean from all your uncleanness and from all your idols. Moreover I will give you a new heart. I will put a new spirit within you. I will remove the stony heart from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. I will put My Ruach within you. Then I will cause you to walk in My laws, so you will keep My rulings and do them. Then you will live in the land that I gave to your fathers. You will be My people and I will be your God. (Ezek 36:24–28 TLV)

 The uncleanness of Israel runs deep, for she has a heart problem—indeed, the same heart problem as all sons and daughters of Adam. She needs a new heart, a new ruach (spirit) and a cleansing of living water (atonement), so that she can actually follow the Torah (instruction) of God, and be a faithful bride. With the Ruach of God within us, there is nothing separating us from his presence.  

In 1979, the UMJC was formed. Also of note in 1979, Peaches and Herb reminded us:           

Reunited, and it feels so good

Reunited ‘cause we understood

There’s one perfect fit

And, sugar, this one is it

We both are so excited ‘cause we’re reunited, hey, hey.

 The good news (both literally and figuratively) is that Yeshua has reunited Israel with her “husband/priest,” has given her a new heart to follow Torah, a new Spirit to be in his presence, and a cleansing with the water of life. May we be rooted in his longing for us and in restorative atonement, that we also would long for him. This will propel us toward the restoration and redemption of the earth.  

A new narrative is being written here, to restore the name of God: 

The land that was desolate will be tilled instead of being a wasteland in the sight of all that passed by. They will say, “This land that was a wasteland has become like the garden of Eden.” (Ezek 36:34–35a TLV)

 As we cling to our husband and priest, Yeshua, let us be gardeners, cultivators, and guardians of what he has given us, for our avodah (service) restores not only the name of God, but the garden of Eden on earth.

Purim and Its Remedy

 Rabbi David Friedman, Jerusalem

“For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows if not for this very time you achieved royalty?”— Esther 4:14. 

It brings joy to my heart when I see little children dressed up in their Purim costumes on our streets here in Israel. I loved it when my children donned their costumes, paraded on the town’s sidewalks with their elementary school class, and had tons of fun at their class parties. To them, Mordecai and Esther were our heroes, our role models. Purim was happiness, songs, cookies, and treats; it was the reading of the Megillah (the book of Esther) and the foot stomping, grogger noise, boos and hisses that we let out when Haman’s name was read. It is fun to see my neighbors in a giving mood, exchanging presents of candy, cookies, and other food items. For these are “days of celebrating and rejoicing, a holiday and a time of sending each other portions of food” (Esther 9:19b). The feeling all around is one of happiness and giving. Combine this historical event with the coming of springtime, and how can we not feel good? 

But then I am faced with my growing uneasiness during this holiday. I am uneasy at the lack of God’s name appearing even once in the Megillah. Even the language of the book makes me uneasy, for it is not Hebrew in the main, but Aramaic, a diaspora language. I am also faced with uneasiness when I read about diaspora life in Persia, as once again our people are at the mercy of a foreign ruler who couldn’t care less about our fate. I know the end of the story; God comes through with his deliverance!  But my uneasiness persists. The book of Esther contains a divinely revealed message to us. It contains a pattern that we are to learn and act upon. To me, this message resounds through the ages, throughout Jewish history.   

Surely the book of Esther teaches us that the diaspora will always be fertile ground for many of us to lose our identity as Jews. Some of us will not, but we will still have to fight to simply exist; some of us will survive in the diaspora, and some of us won’t survive.   

Jewish life throughout our diaspora history has repeated this same pattern everywhere we have lived. My grandmother used to tell me how she suffered in Czarist Russia as a Jew in the early 1900s; my father used to tell me how he had to fight with his fists to get home safely from school in early 20th century Midwestern America. I too had a few bouts in my youth in the 1960s in order to do the same. Here or there, then or now, this pattern from Esther seems to repeat itself: Diaspora life consists of playing politics deftly to survive, while being dependent on non-Jews to protect us and grant us the right to live: “Esther . . . fell at the king’s feet, and wept and implored him to avert the evil intention of Haman the Agagite, and his scheme that he had plotted against the Jews” (8:3). 

All over the world today, in Western Europe, in Central Europe, and in North America, our people’s situation is getting worse. In the USA, anti-Semitism is being openly expressed right up to the halls of Congress. 

Recently, the Israeli government assessed the worldwide Jewish situation as resembling that of early 1930s Europe. Now, I certainly do not want to hear that, but it is reality. Recent events in Belgium and in the USA show movement in that direction. In England, France, Germany, Sweden, Denmark, Hungary, Belgium, Switzerland, Holland, Turkey, and Tunisia, our people live in outright fear. I know because I spend time every year in these places, talking to both Jewish and Christian leaders. The only city in all of Europe where I feel safe enough to wear my kippa in public is, sadly enough, at Oswiecim, Poland (the site of the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camps). 

Esther and Mordecai remained in the Persian diaspora, and they played their cards of wisdom, politics, and intelligence to outmaneuver Haman and his allies. They played their hand well. They were involved in a life or death situation for over a million people. Yet, God’s name is not mentioned once by them, nor is He called upon in the text to deliver His people. It is as if He is forgotten by His own people.   I admire the courage and wisdom of Mordecai and Esther. And yet, our history hasn’t always displayed that same wisdom, nor have we had sympathetic people in high political places to “save” us on any consistent basis. We have not always been given an opportunity to speak to a king who would listen to us. This was certainly the case during the Holocaust. 

In the days of the Persian Empire, Haggai, Zechariah, Yehoshua the Priest, Zerubabbel and 50,000 other Jews made another decision. Their actions also took courage and determination to carry out. And on their heels, Nehemiah and Ezra repeated that same decision. All of these famous Jews made aliyah (they immigrated to Israel) in their generation. They left the centers of the Persian diaspora for the Land of Israel. 

My uneasiness during Purim comes from my concern that we will embrace one lesson of the book of Esther, but ignore another one. The events of the Megillah show us that God is behind the scenes, delivering His people in ways that we sometimes cannot even see. And that is indeed one true and good lesson.   

But the other lesson? The Megillah carries no encouragement for us to remain in lands and situations where we are subject to annihilation. Surely ensuing Jewish history also argues for us to be aware of this. We all wonder how many more violent attacks on synagogues will occur, both in Europe and in America. We wonder how many more Israel-hating American Congressmen will be elected to national office in the near future. I am sorry to be so blunt, but I cannot be otherwise. Recent charges against Jewish communities in the USA have reiterated Haman’s accusations: “There is a certain people that is scattered abroad and dispersed among the people in all provinces of your realm. Their laws are different from every other people’s, and they do not observe the king’s laws; therefore it is not befitting to tolerate them” (3:8). 

Haman asserted that our ancestors were disloyal to the state and kept to their own ways. Intolerable minority! Haman was full of lies, but the king didn’t care about truth. How often has this been our situation in Diaspora history? 

I urge my non-Jewish readers as Mordecai urged Esther: “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place. . . . And who knows if not for this very time you achieved royalty?” Please advocate for the welfare of your local Jewish communities. Please speak to others; please pray and intercede for God’s destiny to be embraced by our people. As Isaiah put it, “Comfort, comfort my people” (Isa 40). As believers in Yeshua, you are “grafted into the root of the olive tree” (Romans 11), so you share in part of Israel’s destiny. Perhaps it is for this very time in human history that you have been given many of the blessings that you have—so that you can help Jewish communities and aid those who make aliyah. 

The book of Esther’s messages only reach their fulfillment with a return to Israel. Otherwise, they are part of a never-ending diaspora history characterized by continual oppression, suffering, and eventual migration. In the days of Esther we escaped, but there were plenty of times afterwards when we did not escape. 

Life in Israel has its dangers, certainly. It has its hardships, definitely: national headaches every day; violent attacks that murder Jews just because we are Jewish, yes. Life in Israel also had its great difficulties in the days of Ezra and Nehemiah. Yet, as the events of Esther and Mordecai occurred, Ezra and Nehemiah were on their way to Israel. Jewish life in Persia carried no enduring promises. Nor did Jewish life in medieval France, or in Nazi Germany, or in Western Europe today. Life in Israel does carry enduring promises.

I am Adonai, I do not change. So, the children of Jacob are not annihilated (Malachi 3:6, author’s translation).

Purim is March 20-21 this year.