Joshua: The Making of a Superhero

Parashat Pinchas, Numbers 25:10–30:1

by Jared Eaton, Simchat Yisrael, W. Haven, CT, from his message at the Annual Union Conference, July 20, 2019

Adonai said to Moses, “Take Joshua son of Nun, a man in whom is the Ruach, and lay your hand on him.” Numbers 27:18 TLV

As we celebrate our fortieth anniversary, the Union is coming to the end of one generation and the beginning of a new one. Now is the moment we find out whether we continue to march boldly along the trails blazed by our pioneers or fade away into a mere footnote in the history books.

In the face of such uncertainty, with the stakes as high as they are, how can we look forward with confidence?

We are not the first to wrestle with this question. In our Torah portion we find Moses at the twilight of his career. For forty long years, Moses has led his people through every imaginable trial and, with the help of Hashem, has overcome them all. Now, Moses’s long life is drawing to an end, and God himself chooses Joshua son of Nun to lead the children of Israel. If any young leader ever had big shoes to fill, it was Joshua. And as we explore Joshua’s life, we will discover a key to having confidence as we look to the future.

Now if you were to read the story of Joshua’s leadership, you’d probably assume that he was some kind of superhero! From start to finish it's a total success story. The book of Joshua is filled with landslide victories over every enemy that Israel faces. Joshua doesn’t even need to do anything; God does the fighting for him. If this was a video game Joshua is playing on easy mode!

In addition, in contrast with the generations before and after them, Joshua’s generation is remarkably faithful to God. Joshua doesn’t have to deal with any of the rebellion and grumbling that Moses did. Israel is loyal to God and to Joshua and rewarded with victory over their enemies. The book has a happy ending with the Jews living peacefully in the land and promising Joshua that they will serve God faithfully.

This guy is a superhero. He’s perfect! Through the whole book, Joshua never makes a single mistake. He has no flaws, no faults, no failings.

Or does he? Joshua may be a superhero, but all superheroes have origins. Spider-man may be able sling webs and climb walls, but before he was bitten by a radioactive spider, he was a just skinny nerd. Captain America may have singlehandedly won World War II, but before he was given super soldier serum, he was just a skinny nerd. The Hulk may be the world’s strongest hero but before he was caught in a gamma explosion, he was . . . also a skinny nerd!

So maybe Joshua wasn’t always the superhero we see in his book. Today I want to take a look at Joshua before he was a mighty hero, back when he was still a skinny nerd learning how to be a leader at the feet of Moses. I want to dive into Joshua’s story and see how his flaws and weaknesses didn’t hold him back, but instead transformed him into one of the greatest leaders in Jewish history, and maybe find out how his example can be an encouragement to us.

We meet Joshua for the first time in Exodus 17, but Joshua doesn’t receive any kind of introduction here; he’s just thrust into the story as if we already know who he is. Perhaps the Torah wants us to focus on Joshua’s personality and character rather than on his pedigree.

But what do we know about his character? If we’re going by the nearly superhuman way he’s portrayed in his book, you would think that Joshua must have been the perfect disciple to Moses. He must have been wise and brave and a great leader, right?

It’s what you’d think, but that’s not what we find out. Let’s jump to Exodus 32, Joshua’s second appearance and the first time he speaks. Moses has gone up to Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments and while he’s away the children of Israel make themselves a golden calf. God tells Moses what’s going on and Moses heads down to deal with the situation. On the way he meets Joshua who runs up to Moses and says “Do you hear that? There’s a great cry coming from the camp! It’s the sound of war! Our people are under attack!”

But Moses says, “That’s not the sound of war. It’s the sound of singing.”

This is pretty remarkable. Joshua, this guy who goes on to be one of the most successful leaders ever, is wrong the first time he speaks in Torah, and has to be corrected. Strange introduction for a great leader.

In the next chapter, Exodus 33, Moses has a tent where he goes to talk with God. Moses brings Joshua into the tent with him, and when Moses goes out to the people, Joshua stays in the tent. Joshua gets to see Moses in action, but Joshua himself remains secluded. God doesn’t speak directly to him and Joshua doesn’t speak directly to the people. We don’t get a sense that Joshua is connecting or relating very well to the people here.

Numbers 11:28 is Joshua’s next appearance and the second time we hear him speak. Moses has appointed elders over the people and two of them are prophesying in the camp. Joshua gets upset and says, “Moses, those guys are prophesying without your permission. You have to stop them!” But Moses says, “Leave them alone. Why are you angry on my account? I wish that God would put his Spirit on the entire camp.”

Pretty incredible: The second time Joshua speaks in Torah, he’s wrong again, and Moses has to correct him.

So far, Joshua’s got a pretty bad track record. In Kohelet Rabbah, the rabbis are worried that the man who one day will lead a nation of 600,000 can’t distinguish between the sound of war and the sound of worship. They’re concerned that Joshua isn’t spending time among the people and they’re worried that he isn’t spiritually mature enough for the job.

And it just gets worse. Joshua’s next appearance is the disastrous incident of the twelve spies. When the spies tell everyone that the Canaanites are too strong and that they stand no chance in a fight against them, the people start panicking. “Then Caleb quieted the people before Moses, and said, ‘We should definitely go up and capture the land, for we can certainly do it!’” (Num 13:30).

It’s Caleb, not Joshua, the next leader of Israel, who speaks up. At this moment, Joshua is silent. In the next chapter, Joshua finally speaks up and tries to encourage the people, but by then it's too late. God is already furious with the people, and they’re so panicked that they want to stone Joshua and Caleb. Maybe if he had spoken up earlier, Joshua could have changed things, but he doesn’t.

The Ramban speculates that Joshua was initially silent because he wasn’t sure whose side he was on. Eventually he would come around and trust God, but he was scared of the giants too!

Moses seems to understand this deep sense of fear in Joshua. Look at the way Moses speaks to Joshua as he’s passing on his authority to him: “Be strong, be courageous, don’t be afraid or discouraged.” And then God gets in on the act, telling Joshua four times in Joshua 1, “Be brave, be strong, don’t be afraid!”

And then even the people of Israel get on Joshua’s case! They accept his leadership, but they tell him, “We will do what you say Joshua, just be strong and courageous” (Josh 1:18).

When the people have to tell Joshua to be brave and strong, do they really have confidence that he can lead them? The Talmud doesn’t seem to think so. It teaches that when Moses died, the elders lamented, “Alas, Moses’s face is like the sun and Joshua’s is like the moon!” The moon is a pale reflection of the sun. How will Joshua lead the nation when he is just a pale reflection of Moses?

The story of the Jewish people has always been the story of how God uses the most unlikely people to do the greatest things. Perhaps God chose Joshua because he knew he could transform Joshua’s weaknesses into his greatest strengths.

Let's look back at that incident with the spies and I’ll show you what I mean. When the spies bring back a bad report, Israel divides into factions. Moses and Caleb on one side, with the ten bad spies and the rest of Israel on the other.   

The only one who doesn’t take sides is Joshua. He stands in both worlds. He feels the fear of the people, but he also has the faith of Moses. And he becomes a man who understands fear but doesn’t allow it to rule him. This is what makes him such a powerful leader.

The children of Israel don’t have to complain to Joshua because they know he’s worried about the same things they are. They trust Joshua because he is one of them and they know he has their back.

Moses is the sun and Joshua is the moon and, yes, that means that Joshua in some ways is less than Moses. But the thing is, you can look at the moon, but you can’t look at the sun. Joshua was accessible and relatable to the people in ways that Moses never was.

When Moses first approached. God at the burning bush, God told Moses, “Come no closer. Take your sandals off your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exod 3:5).

Well Joshua had a similar experience. When he encountered the commander of God’s army, the Angel told him, “Take your sandal off your foot, for the place where you are standing is holy” (Josh 5:15).

It sounds the same, but the difference the rabbis point out is that Joshua was told to remove only one sandal.

When Moses stood before God, he took off both his sandals, because Moses lived completely in God’s world. He stood with both feet in heaven. But God told Joshua, “Leave one sandal on. You’re going to need it.”

When I read the book of Joshua, I’m encouraged as a young leader, and I think that our Messianic congregations can be encouraged as well.

I believe that our young messianic leaders are here, in the roles we are in, because God has a purpose and a mission for us. And though we may be different from those who came before us, just as Joshua was different from Moses, God will still use us in both our strengths and our weaknesses for something glorious.

To our young leaders, I say embrace who you are. Have confidence in yourself and your style of leadership.

Congregations, support and encourage your new leaders. They will be different from the men who came before them, but give them room to grow and learn and I’m confident God will do great things with us.

And I encourage us all to follow the example of Joshua, and even as we grow closer to God, to never forget to leave one sandal on. We should never become so holy that we lose the ability to reach out and relate to and understand other people. As we follow the example of Messiah Yeshua we should always remember that light shines brighter out in the open than it does under a basket, and our feet can walk the path of righteousness better when one foot is on the ground.

Shabbat Shalom

Illustration: Marvel Comics.

As the Dew Falls

Haftarat Balak, Micah 5:6–6:8

by Michael Hillel, Netanya, Israel 

In the 21st century, with all of our technological and scientific advances, humankind occasionally gets the erroneous idea that we can control our destinies, that our own advancements allow us to fulfill the command of Hashem to rule over all of creation (Gen 1:28). Yet with all of our advancements, we cannot bring about even something as simple as the morning dew.  

This week’s haftarah reading begins with an assurance of the care of Hashem for his people Israel, which is often overlooked due to the regularity of its occurrence. 

Now the remnant of Jacob will be in the midst of many peoples, like dew from Adonai, like abundant showers on grass that does not wait for a man, nor lingers for the sons of men. (Micah 5:6, TLV)

Rashi comments on this verse: 

Like dew sent by the Lord: which does not come to the world through man, and people do not ask for it, so Israel will not hope for the help of man, but for the Lord.

Trusting in our own achievements reminds me of the chutzpah exhibited in the following tale.

God was once approached by a scientist who said, “Listen God, we’ve decided we don’t need you anymore. These days we can clone people, transplant organs and do all sorts of things that used to be considered miraculous.” 

God replied, “Don’t need me huh? How about we put your theory to the test. Why don’t we have a competition to see who can make a human being, say, a male human being?”

 The scientist agrees, so God declares they should do it as he did in the good old days when he created Adam.

 “Fine,” says the scientist as he bends down to scoop up a handful of dirt.

“Whoa!” says God, shaking his head in disapproval. “Not so fast. Get your own dirt!”  

 Micah wanted Israel of old, as well as each of us today, to realize that (1) this is Hashem’s world and (2) he provides not only for Israel but for all humankind. We acknowledge this fact daily as we recite the traditional prayer Ashrei, proclaiming, "You open your hand and satisfy every living thing with favor” (Psa 145:16). 

We may not always immediately see the provision of Hashem; in fact there may be times when circumstances or situations seem to block his provision. But as sure as the dew falls in the morning and rain comes in its season, the provision and the care of Hashem will always be present. We even acknowledge this truth along with King David at the end of Birkat Hamazon (blessing after a meal) when we pray, “I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous one forsaken, nor his children begging for bread” (Psa 37:25). 

Micah does not only deal with Hashem’s care and provision, but the haftarah ends by citing man’s as well as woman’s responsibility. The passage is perhaps better known than the beginning one. 

He has told you, humanity, what is good,
and what Adonai is seeking from you:
Only to practice justice, to love mercy,
    and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)

To truly understand what the prophet is saying here, one must look at the verse in context. In Micah 6:6, the prophet, speaking for all of Israel asks, “with what shall I come before Adonai?” He then continues with a collection of Toraic required offerings. At first reading, it appears that Hashem answers with an either/or statement, in which one is right and the other wrong. Offerings and sacrifices are not desired, justice, loving-kindness (mercy), and humility are all that is required. There are other passages in Scripture that have been interpreted in this manner, such as John 1:17: “Torah was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Yeshua the Messiah.”  

It appears that Torah and grace and truth are juxtaposed against one another, but that contrast is not any more true than it is in Yeshua’s rebuke of the Pharisees, “You tithe mint and dill and cumin, yet you have neglected the weightier matters of Torah—justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matt 23:23a). Too often we stop reading at this point and do not finish the verse, “It is necessary to do these things without neglecting the others” (23:23b). It is not an either/or situation but more likely a kal v’chomer: if one is correct, how much more the other. Micah is not insinuating that justice supplants ritual observance, or that justice and ritual worship are mutually exclusive. Rather the focus of all of the Torah, with its rules, regulations, and ritual observances, is to bolster proper, responsible activity between one another as individuals and between the individual and his or her God.  

There is another important thing to notice in Micah 6:8. Often, due to the context, it is thought that this verse is directed solely to Israel, to whom the Torah and the sacrifices were given. The word translated “humanity,” however, is adam אָדָם, the generic word for man that appears in Genesis 1:26 & 27. In other words, it is all of humankind’s responsibility “to practice justice, to love mercy” and hopefully, one day “to walk humbly” with the God of Israel, who set the standard (cf. Zech 14:9).  

In the book From Within the Tent: The Haftarot, Rabbi Feldman summarizes Micah’s challenge:

Do good! Do justice! Perform acts of loving kindness! And do it all with a sense of humility and modesty befitting God-conscious and God-partnered people, so that your private space becomes God’s space and your world is transformed into His world. (Daniel Z. Feldman & Stuart W. Halpern, ed. From Within the Tent: The Haftarot [Jerusalem: Maggid Books, 2011], p. 372–73) 

As disciples of Yeshua, can we do any less as we interact with friends, with family members, or with the stranger on the street? As the dew falls on the morning grass, so should our acts of justice and loving-kindness fall upon those Hashem brings across our path.

 

The Trials of Yiftach

Haftarat Chukat, Judges 11:1–33

by David Friedman, UMJC Rabbi, Jerusalem 

Our haftarah takes place during a 200-year time of adjustment for the twelve tribes in the Land of Israel. It was a time of chaos, and too often a time of turning from the Torah to Canaanite practices. The political stability of the nation was shaken as a result. 

Jephthah or Yiftach is one of the Judges of Israel at this time in history, but he strikes the reader as a real outcast from his society. 

Yiftach the Gileadite was a mighty warrior. His father was Gilead; his mother was a prostitute. Gilead’s wife also bore him sons, and when they were grown up, they drove Yiftach away. “You are not going to get any inheritance in our family,” they said, “because you are the son of another woman.” (Judges 11:1–3)

There’s a lot of rejection in those verses. Yiftach may have been a mighty warrior, but he was the son of a wayward woman. Like Joseph before him, Yiftach is rejected by his family and thrown out to fend for himself, with none of his father’s inheritance to help him. This was not a pleasant experience. Yet it was one that molded Yiftach’s character and influenced his personality. It could not have been otherwise. Like David after him, Yiftach fled from his town to live among riff-raff: “So Yiftach fled from his brothers and settled in the land of Tov, where a gang of scoundrels gathered around him and followed him” (Judges 11:3). 

An interesting term is used in Hebrew to describe Yiftach’s band of compatriots: reyq, meaning “empty”. These were empty men who had no standing in life, no riches or wealth; men who had no status in society, men without hope and without family that loved them. They were just like Yiftach. Yiftach spent his career as a type of gang boss in the Jordan Valley, perhaps as an ancient brigand.  

He is eventually received back into his society, in a time of desperation. Yiftach is appointed chief military leader and spokesman for the area of Gilead. Almost as quickly as Joseph rose to prominence in Egypt, Yiftach rises to his prominent role: 

The elders of Gilead said to him, “We are turning to you now; come with us to fight the Ammonites, and you will be head over all of us who live in Gilead. . . . Yiftach went with the elders of Gilead, and the people made him head and commander over them. (Judges 11:8, 11) 

As I read Yiftach’s life story this week, it struck me as a microcosm of his people’s history. Israel has been the outcast of nations throughout our history. The Jewish people have suffered untold prejudices, have been wanderers in European history, marginalized and rejected in Church history, and despised during the spread of Islam. Yiftach as an individual lived through what our people have lived through as a nation over many years.

It also struck me that these are similar charges to those being leveled against Israel today. The Ammonites said, “When Israel came up out of Egypt, they took away my land from the Arnon to the Jabbok, all the way to the Jordan. Now give it back peaceably” (Judges 11:13). The Ammonites erroneously contend that Israel stole their land. Yiftach rather surprisingly takes his time and carefully explains to the Ammonites over 17 verses what really happened (see vv. 11–27). But there is no listening ear to Yiftach’s attempt at a diplomatic solution: “The king of Ammon, however, paid no attention to the message Yiftach sent him” (11:28). 

The same charges with the same response, in the same area, occurs today. 

But our story centers on Yiftach. I see in him a man to whom God brought an opportunity. Yiftach could have reneged on the chance to help his relatives, but he surprisingly takes the offer that the men of Gilad give to him. If he had been bent on revenge, he could have turned his head and allowed his relatives to suffer a military defeat, possibly losing their tribal inheritance! But this was not his perspective. 

Instead, he uses his newly given role as a political and military chieftain to defend his relatives, and to move into a more favored position within the society that had formerly cast him out. 

But before he confronts the Ammonites Yiftach makes a vow to the Lord: “If you will give the Ammonites into my hand, then whatever comes out from the doors of my house to meet me when I return in peace from the Ammonites shall be the Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering” (Judges 11:30b–31).  

Yiftach defeats the Ammonites and returns home.  

And behold, his daughter came out to meet him with tambourines and with dances. She was his only child; besides her he had neither son nor daughter. And as soon as he saw her, he tore his clothes and said, “Alas, my daughter! You have brought me very low, and you have become the cause of great trouble to me. For I have opened my mouth to the Lord, and I cannot take back my vow.” (Judges 11:34b–35)

Similarly, the Jewish people have been preserved by God through thick and thin, but even our survival and our victories have been mitigated by sorrow (for example, the Holocaust, losses on the battlefield, the ongoing list of victims of terrorism). So Yiftach’s return to his people and his victory over the Ammonites is mitigated, too, by the incident involving his daughter. 

How can a Jew who cares about the Torah kill his own daughter to complete a vow to God? (see Lev. 20:1–5). Even the simplest of Torah students knows that the preservation of life is considered the highest of instructions given to us by God. Rashi (d. 1105) explains that after Yiftach sacrificed his daughter, it was decided that no one would ever do such a sacrifice in Israel again. “However, they were particular about their honor, and as a result she was killed.” Rashi envisions the incident as a stereotypical Middle Eastern “honor killing” (though not with the same mechanics as a modern Islamist honor killing). The vow had been made and simply couldn’t be cancelled. 

I prefer the comments offered by Rabbi Jonathan Magonet. He notes that it is more logical to assume that Yiftach did not kill his daughter, but instead the vow that was made was to keep her single (thus celibate) for her entire life, thereby giving no descendants to her father’s line. We are told that his daughter was his only offspring: “She was an only child. Except for her he had neither son nor daughter” (Judges 11:34). Yiftach’s ability to bear further offspring would be snuffed out by the completion of this rash vow. Indeed, his daughter comments upon this with her words: “Do this for me, release me for two months and I will go and go down upon the mountains and weep for my virginity, I and my women companions” (Judges 11:37). 

The literal text tells us that his daughter mourned being a virgin. Would she have mourned not having been married at her death? No, she seems to be mourning over not ever having the opportunity to bear children for the rest of her life. The Hebrew text is more ambiguous and flexible regarding the cause of her mourning than our English translations. Yet, the NIV relays the situation accurately, in my estimation: 

“My father,” she replied, “you have given your word to the Lord. Do to me just as you promised, now that the Lord has avenged you of your enemies, the Ammonites. But grant me this one request,” she said. “Give me two months to roam the hills and weep with my friends, because I will never marry.” “You may go,” he said. And he let her go for two months. She and her friends went into the hills and wept because she would never marry. After the two months, she returned to her father, and he did to her as he had vowed. And she was a virgin. (11:36–39, emphasis added)

To conclude: “The Torah does not state that she was put to death, but that she remained a virgin” (Aish HaTorah website). Yiftach then had something to mourn, as did his daughter. 

We can see from this that in spite of Yiftach’s great difficulties, he was used by God to preserve Israel during a trying time. The time of the Judges was just that way; imperfect people (e.g., Samson, Barak, and Gideon) were called by God to further his purposes. May it be so in our generation, too.

How to Handle a Tough Transition

Haftarat Korach, 1 Samuel 11:14–12:24

by Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

Transitions! We all face them; they are inevitable and challenging, and cause anxiety, fear, and a whole slew of emotions that influence the way we act. All of this is compounded when we disagree with the decision that engendered the transition. Samuel, the main protagonist in this week’s haftarah, is a transitional figure who thinks the decision behind the transition is wrong. Let’s look at Samuel to see what we can glean from the way he handles the situation.  

Samuel is the last of the judges, who, despite his disagreement with the idea, appoints a king, inaugurating the institution of a monarchy in Israel according to Hashem’s command (1 Sam 8). For Samuel this transition is theologically inconceivable. It is not merely a political shift, in which the political and military power are removed from him and given to the monarchy, but a theological shift from a theocracy, in which Adonai is the Great King, to a human king.

Samuel believes that the people’s request for a king is a betrayal of Hashem and all that he has done for them. Apparently, Hashem sees the request similarly, as earlier he had told Samuel that the people were not rejecting him, Samuel, but they were rejecting Hashem as their king (1 Sam 8:7). Here we also get a glimpse of how Samuel took the people’s request as a personal attack against his leadership.  

In this week’s haftarah Samuel calls Israel together to confirm the inauguration of the king. He begins by reminding Israel that he has fulfilled their request for a monarch. He then calls on the people to bear witness to his integrity while in office, presents a litany of offenses that he did not commit, and demands that the people of Israel affirm his integrity as a leader. Accordingly the people declare Samuel innocent of any injustice (1 Sam 12:1–5). Ironically, the injustices from which Samuel was declared innocent are the same injustices that Samuel had warned Israel a king would do (1 Sam 8:11–17).

After affirming Hashem as a witness to their words, Samuel reminds Israel of Hashem’s covenantal loyalty to them despite their frequent disloyalty to him. Samuel even rebukes the people for choosing a king to lead them when Adonai has always provided the proper leadership for them whenever needed. Even though Samuel disagrees with the request for a king, and may even be hurt and angry, he is genuinely concerned about the people’s loyalty to Hashem. He warns them and the king that if they obey Hashem all will be well, but if they do not obey Hashem and rebel against him, Hashem’s hand will be against both the people and the king (1 Sam 12:14–15).  

To emphasize his words and ensure that his warning will have a lasting effect upon the people, Samuel calls on Hashem to send thunder and rain during the wheat harvest so they can see the gravity of their wicked action in demanding a king. How are thunder and rain evidence of God’s disapproval or judgment against their request for a king? First, the “thunder” is reminiscent of “the voice of Adonai” (Exod 9:28) and indicative of impending judgment. Second, the Hebrew word translated rain is matar (מטר), which indicates heavy rains or storms that are often more destructive than useful. Matar usually speaks of judgment (Exod 9:8, 23; Jer 10:13; Ezek 38:22). If it comes in its season, December–February, it brings a good harvest, but if it comes late matar stops cross-pollination, washes away pollen, or destroys the developing heads of grain (Deut 11:14–17). Matar in this case is destructive because it is not coming at the right time. Wheat in Israel ripens around Shavuot, which is late May or early June. Because the matar is late it is a sign of judgment as the heavy wind and rain separate the grain from the stalk, spoiling the harvest.

This miraculous event fills the people with fear, causing them to entreat Samuel to pray on their behalf so they will not die. Samuel agrees that they have sinned in their request for a king. Yet he exhorts them not to be afraid of Hashem but to continue to serve him with their whole hearts, for Hashem will not abandon his people on account of his good name (1 Sam 12:22) and because he is pleased to make Israel his people. After these loving words of encouragement, Samuel promises his intercession and his commitment to teach them the right way to walk. He closes by admonishing them once again to serve Hashem with all their heart because if they don’t, both the people and the king will be swept away.

Samuel is an amazing example how to face transition in a positive and godly manner. Below are five points drawn from Samuel’s address to Israel that can help us when we undergo a life transition, especially when we disagree with the decision that triggered it.

1.      Compliance with the decision: Samuel accepts Hashem’s decision and harbors no bitterness.

2.      Acceptance of a new role: Though both political and military power are taken away from him, Samuel continues to be the religious and moral barometer for Israel.

3.      Respect for others: Samuel chides Israel for their decision, yet respects their confession and agrees to intercede for them. He is genuinely concerned for them.

4.      Balancing justice with compassion: Samuel holds the people accountable for their “wickedness” but does not leave them in their sorrow. He comforts them, assuring them of Hashem’s continued presence.

5.      Maintaining integrity: Despite his own opinions, theological convictions, and feelings of being attacked in his integrity and leadership, Samuel continues to act ethically and morally, exhibiting great integrity.

All of us face transitions in life, some more difficult than others. Each one comes with its own challenges, emotions, and fears. As we walk through these transitions, let us learn from Samuel and exhibit integrity, justice, compassion, respect for others, and acceptance of decisions and new roles without bitterness, remembering that Hashem does not abandon his people.

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.