Comfort, Comfort My People

Shabbat Nachamu, Isaiah 40:1–26

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

 Nachamu, nachamu ami, amar Eloheichem …“Comfort, comfort, my people,” says your God. Isaiah 40:1

These five Hebrew words introduce perhaps the most eloquent portion of Scripture, the “Rhapsody of Zion Redeemed” (Isa 40–66), which speaks of restoration, redemption, comfort, and hope for Israel. Depending on one’s view of the Book of Isaiah, Chapter 40 either is written after the Israelites had been in exile for many years following the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple or is looking ahead to the time when these events would occur. Either way, the repetition of the divine command to comfort Hashem’s people shows that this is his continual cry; he never ceases to be Israel’s God, even in exile. 

The divine voice also commands the prophet to speak tenderly to Israel, proclaiming that their affliction is finished and God’s justice is satisfied. To Israel these words would have seemed like a soothing ointment on a wound, or soft words cooed over a sick child (40:2). The God of Comfort, however, goes beyond words of comfort to action. He, himself, will lead the exiles through the wilderness back to Zion (40:3). One can sense Hashem’s heart for Israel in the first three verses of this week’s haftarah, which is always read on the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av and known as Shabbat Nachamu after its opening words.

The haftarah for Shabbat Nachamu serves as a counterbalance to the book of Lamentations. The writer of Lamentations cries out “there is no one to comfort her” (Lam 1:2, 9), yet Isaiah proclaims, “Comfort, comfort my people.” Lamentations continues, “the roads to Zion mourn” (1:4) and the exiles “have fled without strength before the pursuer.” Isaiah announces, “Make straight in the desert a highway for our God” (Isa. 40:3) and “He [Adonai] gives strength to the weary,” but “they who wait for Adonai will renew their strength. They will soar up with wings as eagles. They will run, and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint” (Isa 40:29, 31). While these last two verses are outside of the haftarah for Shabbat Nachamu, they demonstrate the heart of the passage—the hope of Zion and of Israel. Isaiah relates that a new era has dawned; the complete realization of the words in Lamentations that “their punishment is accomplished; he [Adonai] will exile you no longer” (Lam 4:22). Isaiah boldly proclaims “that her warfare has ended, that her iniquity has been removed” (Isa 40:2).

This chapter is full of amazing pronouncements of hope as well as teachings on the profound nature of God, including his majesty and might. It emphasizes the reliability of God’s word, reinforcing the prophecies of consolation. The haftarah ends with the charge “Lift up your eyes on high and see! Who created these things?” (Isa 40:26). Isaiah urges the people to focus on Adonai, the Creator, and not on their situation.

Though these words are spoken to Israel, and will come to complete fulfillment in Hashem’s timing, they are also applicable to each one of us. No matter our situation—how much we have sinned, how downcast we are, how far away Hashem may feel, how silent the heavens seem, or how much we are ready to give up—we are to lift up our heads, look to the Creator, and trust in his great might and power. He will redeem every situation. Let creation inspire you to trust in his promise of redemption.

The strategic placement of Isaiah 40:1–26 on the liturgical calendar is also important, demonstrating Hashem’s characteristics of justice and mercy. The three Torah portions, Matot, Masei, and D’varim, which precede Shabbat Nachamu focus on suffering and desolation and climax on Tisha b’Av with the remembrance of the destruction of both Temples. Starting with Shabbat Nachamu, the next seven haftarot focus on comfort and consolation. Even though the seven bear the same message, each one represents a different aspect of consolation and redemption. All seven are drawn from Isaiah 40–66. Along with those from Matot, Masei, and D’varim they are read on the same ten weeks of the year, regardless of any other changes in the Jewish liturgical calendar. Thus, there are ten special haftarot between the 17th day of Tammuz and Rosh Hashanah—three of suffering and seven of consolation and divine promise of redemption.  

The order of these ten haftarot is illuminating. The first two readings, for Matot and Masei, are drawn from Jeremiah (1:1–23; 2:4–5:2); the third, D’varim, which is always read on Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat before Tisha b’Av, is from Isaiah (1:1–27). The first two are about destruction, sin, and desolation, while the third, the reading from Isaiah, contains words both of rebuke and of comfort. As such it serves as a bridge between the prophecies of destruction and suffering in the haftarot of these three weeks and the seven haftarot of comfort.

This bridge is built on two pillars of Judaism: chesed (mercy) and justice. Justice demands punishment for sin. It does not matter whether it is the sin of an individual or the collective sin of a nation or a social group; Hashem holds humankind accountable for our sin and judges it. Yet, Hashem’s chesed, divine mercy, far outweighs his attribute of judgment/justice. We learn from Exodus 34:6–7, which relates Hashem’s characteristics, and from Exodus 20:5–6, the Ten Commandments, that his graciousness, forgiveness and mercy are four hundred times greater than his judgment, justice, and punishment. “For I, Adonai your God, am a jealous God, bringing the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me, but showing chesed to the thousands of generations of those who love me and keep my mitzvot” (Exod 20:5–6). 

Usually justice demands that atonement and redemption should be preceded by repentance. However, repentance follows these seven haftaroth. Hosea 14:2–10, Joel 2:11–27, and Micah 7:18–20 are read together as the haftarah for Shabbat Shuva, the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This highlights the principle that anytime redemption precedes repentance, it is an undeserved gift of Hashem’s grace and mercy.  

So, on Shabbat Nachamu, let’s lift up our heads, look to our Creator, awaken assurance in his might and power, and be inspired to trust his promises. No matter what is happening in our lives, let’s remember that Hashem’s mercy is far greater than his punishment and that his grace and mercy are truly abundant.

Photo: https://en.globes.co.il/

Tisha B'Av 5779

Parashat Devarim, Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22; Isaiah 1:1-27

by Ben Weisman, K20 Intern, Sha’arei Shalom, Cary, NC

Jewish tradition tells us that whoever destroys a life is considered to have destroyed the whole world. In recent days, many worlds were shattered here in the United States. Gilroy, California; El Paso, Texas; Dayton, Ohio; Chicago, Illinois—there have been so many violent attacks in our country that it is nearly impossible to create a comprehensive list. For many, these tragedies evoke such visceral reactions that it is difficult to focus on mourning the loss of a building destroyed in another land thousands of years ago, as we do on Tisha B’Av.

On the Hebrew calendar, this Saturday is the ninth day of the month of Av, or in Hebrew, Tisha B’Av.  Normally, the ninth of Av is a fast day, but when it falls on Shabbat, as it does this year, the fast is postponed until the following day. In any case, the Saturday before the fast is called Shabbat Chazon, after the special Haftarah reading from the first chapter of Isaiah. 

The Torah reading for this special Shabbat comes from the opening of the book of Deuteronomy. Here Moshe recounts the history of Israel, including the report of the spies and God’s decree that the Exodus generation would die wandering in the wilderness, never to see the land of promise. The tragedy of Israel’s rejection of God and his land, and God’s rejection of that generation, is the first of five tragedies traditionally mourned on Tisha B’Av. According to Mishna Ta’anit 4:6, “On the ninth of Av it was decreed that our ancestors should not enter the land, the Temple was destroyed the first and the second time, Betar was captured, and [Jerusalem] was plowed under.” In addition to these events, Tisha B’Av is a day to mourn the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Shoah, and other tragedies in Jewish history. 

In light of these historical calamities, Tisha B’Av is a day of sadness and mourning. The day is traditionally observed by refraining from eating and drinking, washing, anointing, wearing leather shoes, and engaging in marital relations. Tisha B’Av, however, is more than just a day to feel sad about historical events. According to Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov, the purpose of fast days is “to awaken hearts towards repentance through recalling our forefathers’ misdeeds; misdeeds which led to calamities…” The destruction of the Temple represents a breach in the relationship between God and Israel.  We must go beyond simply mourning this breach; we must take action toward repairing it. National redemption for Israel and personal redemption for each one of us requires us to acknowledge and turn away from evil. Not only do we need to turn away from evil, but we need to return to a covenant of love with God.

In the haftarah, God reaffirms his covenant faithfulness to the people of Israel. The chapter begins with a harsh rebuke against the wickedness of Judah, even comparing the nation to Sodom and Gomorrah. This rebuke is a reminder of the theological reasons for the exile and destruction of Jerusalem. Amidst this painful reminder of our own shortcomings, God promises, “I will restore your judges as at the first, and your counselors as at the beginning. Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city” (Isaiah 1:26). In the place where there was destruction, there will be restoration; where there was injustice, there will be justice and righteousness.

This promise of restoration and justice from Isaiah is a familiar part of Jewish prayer. In fact, the Sages reworded the verse into a cry for God to keep his promises and bring justice to the earth, forming a core section of the weekday Amidah: “Restore our judges as before and our counselors as at first. Remove from us sorrow and sighing, and reign over us, you, Adonai, alone with kindness and compassion; and make us righteous with justice. Blessed are you, Adonai, King, Lover of righteousness and justice.” While this prayer asks God to act on our behalf, it is not a prayer of passivity; it follows in the tradition of Avraham and Moshe boldly calling on God to act according to his character.

This bold cry for justice is quite appropriate to Tisha B’Av. On a day that we set aside to focus on tragedies, we are most acutely aware of what is wrong in the world. Mass shootings, starving children, and broken families do not reflect the vision of justice found in the Prophets. We find a summary of this vision in our Haftarah: “Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause” (Isaiah‬ ‭1:17‬).

Though it begins with mourning and repentance, biblical justice must result in action. Our cry for justice should begin with prayer, but it must translate into real actions toward building the kingdom of Heaven here on earth. We have been charged with fighting all forms of injustice and healing the wounds of our world. When we mourn the destruction of Jerusalem and cry for its restoration, we are not simply crying over ancient architecture; we cry for the renewal of all creation, the return of Messiah, and the restoration of justice on earth. 

The Broken-Cistern Syndrome

Haftarat Matot-Masei, Jeremiah 2:4–28; 4:1–2

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

We live in a culture of addiction. Alcohol and drug addiction rates remain elevated amid the much-discussed opioid crisis. And if you add in what we call “process addictions,” like gambling, compulsive shopping, out-of-control screen time, or habitual pornography use, nearly everyone is touched by addiction in one way or another.  

One of my favorite writers in the field of addiction and recovery (and, yes, it’s strange to have a favorite writer on addiction) is Rabbi Shais Taub, a Chabadnik who is into the AA 12-step approach. The first two of the twelve steps are:

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

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

Rabbi Taub adds, in his book God of Our Understanding, “The admission of powerlessness and unmanageability is not an aspect of recovery—it’s the very basis of it. Nothing else seems to work very well without complete and unconditional capitulation first.”  

In Rabbi Taub’s view, addiction is not only a pandemic human problem, it’s part of the human condition itself. I agree. We are powerless over our own tendency toward corruption, and only God, the true “Power greater than ourselves” can rescue us—which brings us to this week’s haftarah reading.   

For three Shabbats leading up to Tisha B’Av, the anniversary of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, the traditional readings are called the Haftarot of Rebuke. These prophetic reproofs of Israel for actions that led to the judgment of Tisha B’Av warn us against similar deeds and attitudes today. This week, in the second Haftarah of Rebuke, Hashem complains against his people in his own words, and it’s not a legal indictment, but a cry of betrayal and bereavement over a lost relationship. The heartbeat of the Prophets, as of all the Tanakh, is not contract and regulation, but covenant between two parties bound together in mutual love and loyalty. And so Hashem brings his charge:  

“Be aghast at this, you heavens!
Shudder in absolute horror!” says Adonai.
“For my people have committed two evils:
they have abandoned me,
the fountain of living water,
and dug themselves cisterns, broken cisterns,
that can hold no water!” Jeremiah 2:12–13

Hashem is grieved that Israel would abandon him, even though he is like an abundant fountain of fresh water to them. And he’s aghast that they would try to replace this life-giving source with cisterns dug in the ground to store water that will soon grow stale and seep away. Israel is like an addict who hasn’t yet admitted he’s powerless over heroin and keeps on trying to manage his drug abuse on his own, like the alcoholic who’s sure he can quit any time. God, however, is not just the “Power greater than ourselves;” he’s the fountain of living waters, the source of life freely opened up to us . . . but we’d rather say, “I can handle this on my own!” A broken cistern seems better to our broken selves than the “complete and unconditional capitulation” Rabbi Taub talks about, even though it’s capitulation to the living God.  

In Jeremiah’s prophecy, God is outraged at Israel and ready to bring judgment against them. But God’s anger is not so much about broken rules and violated commandments. Rather it is the anger of a betrayed lover or friend. Israel’s failure—our failure—is relational more than behavioral (although bad behavior flows out of broken relationship). God is astounded that we would choose our own ways and resources over his abundant supply, that we’d choose our broken and bound-up selves over him. But we continually do. Even in the religious realm we choose the broken cistern of our accomplishments and credentials, or we perseverate over our lack of the same, in place of humble reliance on the merciful, ever-giving God.  

God expands his charge against Israel, culminating in an ironic picture of idol worship as the ultimate broken cistern: 

Where are your gods that you made for yourselves?
Let them rouse themselves,
if they can save you when trouble comes.
Y’hudah, you have as many gods
as you have cities! Jeremiah 2:28

Our reading pauses here, leaving out the rest of Jeremiah 2, but in line with Jewish custom, the reading won’t end on a negative note. So we resume with Jeremiah 4:1–2: “Israel, if you will return,” says Adonai, “yes, return to me.” 

The power of a hopeful ending has proven itself over centuries of Jewish suffering and disappointment, and it also reflects a profound biblical truth. In Torah and the Prophets, and especially in the story of the One who embodied Torah and the Prophets in his own life, death leads to resurrection. Divine judgment prepares the ground for new life. When Yeshua asks his followers who they believe he is, Kefa, Simon Peter, gets it right: “You are the Messiah!” (Mark 8:20). Then Yeshua immediately reveals that he “must suffer many things and be rejected . . . and be killed, and after three days rise again” (8:31). Messiah repeats this saying twice: he must be rejected and be executed by Rome, and he must rise from the dead (9:31, 10:33–34). In Messiah’s own life rejection and death are essential and they lead to resurrection. He calls us not just to ponder this truth, but to participate in it:  

“If anyone wants to come after me, let him say ‘No’ to himself, take up his execution-stake, and keep following me. For whoever wants to save his own life will destroy it, but whoever destroys his life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News will save it.” Mark 8:34–35

Sometimes those who’ve spent the longest time in the faith community are the ones who succumb most readily to the broken-cistern syndrome. We’ve been around long enough, prayed long enough, read enough Scripture, to feel like we can handle things on our own. We’d never say it in those words, but we often forget our desperate need for what only God can provide. We find a way around “complete and unconditional capitulation.” 

As we approach Tisha B’Av, and contemplate the destruction of the Temple and the endless years of exile that followed, we can retain hope, because the fountain of living water is never depleted. Our broken-cistern strivings will never exhaust the mercies of our God. He is ever-present, continually inviting us to drink deeply, again, of him.

All Scripture references are from Complete Jewish Bible (CJB).

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).