People of the Land

Parashat Va’era, Exodus 6:2–9:15

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

During the Passover Seder we drink four cups of wine. This is a very old tradition dating back to the Mishnah (Pesachim 10) where a minimum of four cups is prescribed. Our Sages over the centuries have given various reasons why there are four cups.

Yerushalmi (the Jerusalem Talmud) provides one opinion, which is that it is related to the number of times that the word “cup” is mentioned in Genesis 40.  Pharaoh's cupbearer relates his dream to Joseph by saying, “Pharaoh’s cup was in my hand, and I took the grapes, squeezed them into Pharaoh’s cup and put the cup in his hand.” Joseph tells him that the dream means that he will be restored to his position and once again place Pharaoh’s cup in his hand. 

Yerushalmi records another opinion which says that the four cups refer to the four empires that will oppress Israel after Egypt, and that the cups point to God’s wrath that will also pour out on them. 

The Vilna Gaon (an 18th-century Lithuanian rabbi) taught that the cups relate to four different worlds; this world, the world of the Messiah, the world of the resurrection of the dead, and the World to Come (Olam Ha-Ba). He stated that the one who fulfills the mitzvah of all four cups at the Seder is assured to inherit all of these worlds. 

The Maharal (a 16th-century rabbi in Prague, of the Golem of Prague fame, connected the four cups to Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah, because it was through their merit that the Jewish people were born and redeemed.

Yerushalmi also connects the four cups to God’s four-fold declaration of redemption contained in this week’s parasha. In Exodus 6:6-7, God says: 

1. I shall take you out from under the burdens of Egypt

2. I shall save you from their slave labor

3. I shall redeem you with an outstretched arm

4. I shall take you to myself as a nation

This is perhaps the most widely known opinion and the one most commonly referenced in haggadot.  

Most people are familiar with the Cup of Elijah, which is placed on the Seder table and looks forward to the ultimate redemption brought about by Elijah’s announcement of the coming Messiah. At the Seder we all stand as someone checks to see if Elijah has come and then we sing the song “Eliyahu Ha-Navi.” As Messianic Jews, we of course understand that Elijah did come as Yochanan the Immerser, who prepared the way for Yeshua’s debut on the world stage.  

What many people may not be familiar with is that this cup is related to a fifth declaration of redemption made by Hashem in that same passage. In verse 8 he says “… and I shall bring you to the land.” He indeed did bring us to the land that he promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but centuries later we lost that land and the Temple. We do not drink of the fifth cup today as we await that ultimate and final redemption when Messiah Yeshua will return us to the Promised Land permanently and reign as King. 

We Jews are often referred to as People of the Book, but we could just as equally be called the People of the Land. Our fate is inextricably intertwined with Hashem and the land he promised us as his priestly nation. This is expressed in the Amidah, which we pray three times daily. Its crescendo lies in the three petitions calling upon God to return us to the Land, rebuild the Temple, and restore the Davidic Kingdom.  

Another expression of this intrinsic connection to the Land is found in a commentary in Midrash Rabbah on last week’s parasha. It asks why Joseph merited being buried in Israel while Moses did not. The answer is that Joseph throughout his life repeatedly referred to himself as a Hebrew, whereas Moses allowed himself to be called by Yitro’s daughters an “ish mitzri,” an Egyptian (Exodus 2:19). Our very identity as Jews is tied to the Land and one who denies this or hides it, according to the Midrash, doesn’t deserve the Land. 

I recently read a story about a group of American Jews who greeted a famous rabbi in Jerusalem. He asked them where they were from and they answered with the various cities in the US where they lived. He replied to them, “No. You are citizens of Israel who happen to currently live in New York, Chicago, or Detroit.” 

You often hear Christians say that they are “heaven-bound” or “citizens of heaven.” This latter phrase is a reference to Philippians 3:20 and says that they are merely sojourners in this world but really belong to the Kingdom of Heaven. Such a sentiment is commendable, but it also ignores the fact that we are not actually destined for heaven but for a renewed Creation with Israel and Jerusalem at its center. (It may also be an example of supersessionist “sanitizing” of Israel from the salvation story.) This destination is clearly foretold in passages such as Zechariah 14, where the nations will celebrate Sukkot alongside Israel, and Yochanan’s Revelation, where a New Jerusalem descends from heaven and becomes the Temple itself with God and Messiah Yeshua at its center. 

We Jews are not heaven-bound, we are Israel-bound. The Kingdom of Heaven, in fact, has Jerusalem as its capital. It is the place where Israel and those from the nations joined to it through faith in Yeshua will worship Hashem and Messiah Yeshua for eternity.

Every year we fill the fifth cup and look for Elijah’s coming, hoping that this year will be the year that sees Messiah’s return. Every year we sing not only Elijah’s song but also L’shanah ha-ba’ah b’Yerushalayim (Next Year in Jerusalem). This is not expressing our desire to get on a plane and celebrate in Jerusalem next year, but that Messiah will come and we will all be in Jerusalem with him in joyous celebration; when we will be returned to the Land that is so intertwined with our fate as Jews. May we merit to see its coming, soon and in our days!

Who Saved Moses?

Parashat Shemot, Exodus 1:1 - 6:1

By Monique B, UMJC Executive Director

Before Moshe could save the Jewish people, six women saved his skin. In the opening pages of Exodus, when Moshe finally gets to tell his own story, he takes special care to honor the women to whom he owes his very existence.  

First there is a pair of midwives, Shifrah and Puah. Pharaoh commands them to murder Jewish boys as soon as they are born. This runs against their very nature as midwives. These women delight in welcoming life, not extinguishing it. So they engage in creative forms of resistance, quietly delivering Jewish boys to life, covering up the evidence of their birth, and lying to Pharaoh all along: “These Hebrew women are baby delivery machines! We can’t get there fast enough before POOF, another baby shoots out!” Thanks to Shifrah and Puah, Moshe’s life is not threatened on his very first day. Instead, the real threats come three months later.

Then there is Moshe’s mother, the woman who gave him life. Yocheved, a daughter of Levi, gives birth to her third and final child. The boy is beautiful, she tries to hide him. At three months old, his cries grow too loud. So she engages in her own creative form of resistance, just like Shifrah and Puah before her. Pharaoh’s decree, remember, was that all Jewish baby boys should be thrown into the Nile. She puts her little boy in the Nile, but protects him in a waterproof box slathered with pitch. The word for this box is teva, the same word for Noah’s rudderless ark in Genesis.

Next comes Miriam, Moshe’s sister, who watches over him carefully as his waterborne cradle rests in the reeds of the Nile. And along comes the daughter of the very Pharaoh whose evil decree had created this predicament. What does she discover in the waters of the Nile, but a helpless Jewish baby boy! How does she know he’s Jewish? A quick check inside the diaper would make this clear. Moshe begins to cry, and she has compassion on him.   

Miriam springs into action, jumping into the royal entourage with a brilliant and timely suggestion: “Would you like me to find a Jewish wet nurse for this child?” “Go,” says Pharaoh’s daughter. There is urgency to her command, as newborns must eat every two to three hours to survive. Miriam fetches Yocheved, and Pharaoh’s daughter makes a brilliant, life-honoring proposal which begins with a subversive turn of phrase: “heliki et hayeled hazeh” can be translated as “take this child” but, as Rashi observes, it also means in a subtle way “this child belongs to you.” Here, Pharaoh’s daughter honors what is true, that this is the child’s true mother. She commands Yocheved to nurse her own son, she will even pay her wages, and bring the boy to live in the palace when he’s ready to be weaned.  

Imagine a soldier barging into Yocheved’s home in search of male Jewish babies. “Get out of here!” Amram can say. “This is a ward of the palace. My wife is nursing this child for the daughter of Pharaoh. If you touch this child, you will surely be executed.” Imagine Hitler’s daughter doing the same thing – hiding or providing for a helpless Jewish child, adopting it as her own, using her proximity to power to protect the redeemer of Israel, even as her father burns the whole world down.  

It’s precisely because her actions are so extraordinary that Pharaoh’s daughter receives two distinct honors. The first is the honor of naming Moshe, who is forever remembered by the name chosen by his royal redeemer: “Moshe, because I drew him from the water” (Exod 2:10). The second honor she receives is a new name for herself, Batya (or Bithia). You’ll find reference to this in the 4th chapter of 1 Chronicles, where we learn that she later married a man from the tribe of Judah named Mered. It’s an extraordinary honor – because she saves Moshe, Bat-Pharoah becomes Bat-Yah. The daughter of an anti-Semitic despot becomes a daughter of the God of Israel.   

The final woman to save Moshe’s life is his Midianite wife, Zipporah. Moshe first saves her life by scaring away a group of shepherds encroaching on her father’s land. He is rewarded with her hand in marriage. Zipporah returns the favor while they are en route to Egypt. They are sleeping at an inn when God comes to kill Moshe. Why does the same God who just gave Moshe redemptive marching orders and a stick full of magic tricks suddenly want to kill him? Zipporah figures it out – because the man who is to serve as the redeemer of all Israel has not bothered to circumcise his own son! This is the most basic entry-level mitzvah, and Moshe has failed in his duty to perform it. So she takes on the task herself.  

She’s not a skilled mohel who has done this many times, and can manage the procedure painlessly. So there must have been plenty of blood, screaming, and tears – both from the wounded child and the traumatized mother. No wonder she throws the foreskin at Moshe’s feet and expresses her disgust: “You are truly a groom of blood to me. A groom of blood because of this circumcision” (Exod 4:25). Her meaning is clear – I’ll never forgive you for making me hurt my own son to save your hypocritical life. At this point their marriage appears to disintegrate. Zipporah doesn’t go to Egypt with Moshe; she likely returns to her father Yitro.  

It’s curious that Moshe includes this scene depicting the very worst day of his marriage, and doesn’t give himself the last word in their argument. A more vainglorious hero writing his autobiography would invent some excuse for his oversight, or find a way to make his estranged wife seem crazy. But this is what sets the Hebrew Bible apart from other ancient epics like the Iliad or the Egyptian Story of Senehat. The Bible is not afraid of revealing its heroes’ personal shortcomings, neither does it gloss over some very colorful marital spats. 

I find myself very moved by the women of Parashat Shemot, and grateful that Moshe took the time to honor them in the opening pages of his autobiography. There’s a very clear message: I cannot tell you my own story without first telling theirs. I would be nothing without these women. The Jewish people would still be enslaved in Egypt if not for these women. Remember them as I do. 

What all these women have in common is their willingness to engage in subversive action to save and preserve life. Shifrah and Puah spin tall tales to protect their tiniest patients. Yocheved finds a way to put her baby boy in the Nile without actually drowning him. Miriam finds a way to ensure that Moshe can return to his biological family alive and politically protected. Batya finds a way to save a baby marked for slaughter by her own father by hiring the child’s own mother. And Zipporah finds a way to save her husband from death by substituting for him, performing the act he should have performed when his son was given life.  

Later in the book of Exodus, the men confront injustice, and they do it in masculine ways, through conflict, palace intrigue, plagues, and war. But until that day comes, the women must confront injustice the only way they can, by finding loopholes, telling lies, whispering secrets, and saving lives. May their subversive and courageous acts serve as continued inspiration to us today.

The Never-Ending Story

Parashat Vayechi, Genesis 47:28–50:26

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

Note: This week, as we are reading Parashat Vayechi, the United States is honoring the memory of President Jimmy Carter, who passed away on January 5. In Israel the country mourns hostage Youssef al-Zidayne, whose body was discovered in a Gaza tunnel on January 8, along with evidence that his son Hamza was also dead. In their honor, and in honor of the fallen soldiers of the IDF, we post this commentary on Parashat Vayechi, originally published in January 2020.

We all like a good story. Stories are an integral part of our lives. They are part of our culture, our family values, and our faith. Bible stories are known as narratives. We’ve all heard the term biblical narrative, or canonical narrative, or the patriarchal narratives. Why are these biblical stories called narratives? The answer lies in the distinction between a story and a narrative. A story has a distinct beginning, middle and end. The tension in a story is resolved before the last page, and once the story is resolved, it is more or less over. On the other hand, a narrative is a collection or system of stories that together paint a larger narrative. Episodes or stories within a narrative may be resolved, but the narrative itself continues. The power of a narrative lies in the connection between the stories contained within it.  

Take, for example, the biblical narrative (Genesis–Revelation). It starts at creation; continues with Hashem’s election of, and interactions with, Israel through Moshe, Joshua, the judges, the kings and the prophets; and looks to a future eschatological era, which Yeshua proclaims and initiates through his teaching and actions but does not fully actualize. Thus, the biblical narrative has not reached a resolution and closure, but continues to look forward to a future age. We see the same in the Patriarchal narratives. Hashem promises Abraham that he will inherit the Land (Gen 12:7; 15:7; 15:18–21) and reaffirms this with Jacob (Gen 28:13), but by the end of the Torah the promise has not yet been fulfilled; the Children of Israel are still on the other side of the Jordan River.  

The Book of Genesis draws to a close in this week’s Torah portion, Vayechi. In this final parasha of Genesis, three distinct narratives converge: the patriarchal period (Abraham, Isaac and Jacob), the Jacob narrative, and the Joseph biography. The patriarchal narrative begins with the calling of Abraham and the divine promise of nationhood (Gen 12:2), which is passed on to the twelve tribes of Israel at the end of Jacob’s farewell words to his sons in Genesis 49:28. The Jacob narrative also commences with a promise from Hashem that Jacob would have numerous offspring (Gen 28:14) and fittingly concludes with the death-bed scene of the dying Jacob surrounded by his sons and grandsons passing on this promise to them (Gen 49:1–33).  

Joseph’s narrative begins and ends with the complicated relationship between him and his brothers. The story progresses from Joseph’s bad reports to his father about the sons of the concubines (Gen 37:2), to his brother’s hatred and selling him into slavery (Gen 37:4, 18–38), to his promotion to viceroy of Egypt (Gen 41:41) and his interactions with his brothers there (Gen 42:3–44:33), to the revelation of his identity (Gen 45:1–5) and their reconciliation after Jacob’s death (Gen 50:16–21). Though Joseph’s story will end at his death, the narrative continues. On his deathbed Joseph expresses his firm belief to his brothers that God will fulfill the promises given to Abraham and Jacob that their descendants will return to the land of Canaan, and he makes them promise to take his bones with them when they return. Joseph dies, is embalmed and the people mourn, but he remains in Egypt for another 360 years before he is finally buried in the Promised Land. While the Book of Genesis closes with the death of Joseph, the narrative continues, looking forward to the future resolution of promises and unresolved issues.  

These three narratives in Vayechi are replete with connections that tie the biblical narrative together and move it forward. In addition to those mentioned above, Jacob’s choice of Ephraim over Manasseh is another important connection. The prominence of the second son over the first is a literary convention that runs through the biblical narrative. Adam had two sons, Cain and Abel; the younger’s sacrifice is accepted. Abraham had two sons, Ishmael and Isaac; the second is the son of promise. Isaac had two sons, Esau and Jacob; Jacob is the father of the twelve tribes that became the nation of Israel. Jacob’s younger son Joseph had two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim, whom Jacob adopted as his own; the younger receives the primary blessing. By the time of the Judges the name Ephraim is synonymous with the Northern Kingdom of Israel.  

The prominence of the second son brings to mind a parable told by Yeshua: “A man had two sons” (Luke 15:11). A man with two sons recalls the stories of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, where the second or younger is the recipient of the greater blessing. Can you imagine the shock of the original listeners when Yeshua relates that the younger son is the one who strayed? When the younger son returns and is warmly greeted by his father, he acknowledges his sin. Joseph’s brothers, on the other hand, do not seek forgiveness but remain silent when Joseph reveals his identity to them (Gen 45:1–5). When Jacob, whom the brothers see as their protection, is about to die, the family cohesion falls apart and the brothers anticipate Joseph’s revenge. Yet, Joseph initiates reconciliation and forgiveness, telling them that God intended everything that happened to him for good, for the survival of many people. As with Jacob’s sons, the relationship between the older and younger brother in the parable is strained and the family cohesion is falling apart. Unlike Jacob’s sons, the parable does not complete the story. Did the brothers reconcile? Did the older son choose reconciliation like Joseph? The parable is left open- ended for the audience to resolve from their own lives. Joseph’s actions and interactions with his brothers demonstrate an excellent resolution to the parable. 

Our lives are narratives. We do not know how they will end, but the decisions we make along the way and how we interpret those events influence the future. Our narrative will continue long past our physical lives have ended, intertwined with the lives of others and with the larger biblical narrative of the Kingdom of Heaven. Let’s be like Joseph and choose forgiveness, reconciliation, love, and God’s will over silence.

Joseph's Strategy

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18–47:27

Rabbi Dr. D. Friedman, Jerusalem, Israel

Vayigash: All I can say is, “What a Torah portion!”

One of the most difficult things to figure out when reading this portion is why Joseph behaved as he did. Some commentators think he was living by the proverbial “seat of his pants” and dealt with his brothers in a chaotic, emotional, perhaps even spiteful manner. I admit that as I’ve read through this portion every year, I have thought that Joseph was indeed shooting from the hip, acting impulsively without any thought or plan.  

This year I was encouraged in reading a Jerusalem rabbi, Nathan Lopes-Cardozo, to look at this portion anew. Cardozo is an orthodox rabbi who teaches his students to take a fresh and renewed look at our Torah portions. I find his insights inspiring and thought provoking.  

Cardozo argues that Joseph had a well-planned strategy and that was to give the brothers an opportunity to make a choice that they did not make over 20 years earlier. Their choice would show whether or not they had learned anything, or had turned from their decision to toss Joseph into a pit.  

Here is Cardozo’s thought: Joseph notices that his full brother Benjamin did not make the trip to Egypt. He commands the brothers to summon him.  By placing Benjamin at the center of a filial test, Joseph makes Benjamin what he was 20 years earlier—the acid test of the morals, family love, and loyalty of the brothers. This test would show whether they felt remorse for their previous actions. Benjamin, like Joseph, was a younger brother, also Rachel’s son. Like Joseph, he was the favorite son of his father Jacob, and could easily be considered the brother who was causing a family problem for all brothers. Joseph forces the brothers into a decision: they could either protect Benjamin from the harm that would seem to await him for stealing an item, or they could do something radically different.  

They could choose to protect Benjamin; and this is indeed what Judah did. Such a choice was fraught with risks: by approaching Pharaoh’s highest official and pleading for Benjamin’s fate, Judah could have easily and immediately been put to death. Pharaoh’s official could have decimated the entire family for their perceived actions and for their forward attitudes! In ancient Egypt, human rights, especially for Canaanite shepherds, was no societal priority. 

Joseph’s test did show some change in the brothers since his betrayal 20 years earlier. So I like Rabbi Cardozo’s thought, that this test was a successful and planned one. 

Indeed, in front of Joseph, the brothers said to each other: 

“This horrible situation has come upon us because we are guilty of harming our brother. We saw his distress, and how he begged us for mercy, but we didn’t listen to him.” Reuven responded to them by saying: “Didn’t I tell you, ‘Don’t do wrong to the boy,’ but you didn’t listen! Now we are paying for his death.’” However, they didn’t know that Joseph understood (them). He went away from them, weeping. (42:21–24)

 Later, Judah says, “What can we say to your Eminence? What can we possibly say? What can justify us? God has paid us back for our sin” (44:16).   

If I return to your servant my father (Jacob), and the boy (Benjamin) isn’t with us, because their lives are so emotionally connected with each other, when he sees that the boy isn’t there, he will die. Your servants will then have made your servant our father go to the grave in agony. . . . Please now, let your servant take the place of the boy, to become my master’s servant, so that the boy can go back up to his father. . . . How can I return to my father without the boy (Benjamin) along with me? I would then see horrible sorrows befall my father. (44:30–31, 33–34)

Judah takes the lead in showing a brave, altruistic attitude. He displays love, respect and deep concern for his father, care for the youngest brother, and a willingness to live out his life as a servant-slave in order to preserve the family. Judah admits that they had all done wrong (44:16). Joseph’s plan succeeds in revealing the attitude of the brothers collectively, and in particular, that of Judah. Joseph now knows that they have changed. He hears that they felt guilty about their previous actions towards him. His plan was effective.

What bothered the brothers about Joseph—Jacob’s favoritism—could easily have unnerved them regarding Benjamin. But they passed the test, and we can admire Joseph for putting together a successful plan for revealing hearts, as well as for his compassion.

I cannot help but feel that Joseph gave hints to his brothers regarding who he was—it was as if he wanted them to recognize him. It’s true that after 20 years Joseph’s physical growth, his use of facial makeup, and his Egyptian clothes would make that a difficult task.  But here are some hints given by Joseph to draw his brothers to him. 

First, “Binyamin’s servings were five handfuls more (than anyone else’s)” (43:34). Such a situation was either an oversight or aberration, or a purposeful show of favoritism. And why would Pharaoh’s official favor Benjamin? (hint-hint). 

Second, Joseph asked them a highly irregular question, coming from a Prime Minister to “unclean” Canaanite shepherds: “How is your elderly father, whom you told me was still living?” (Gen 43:27). Think about it. What would the prime minister of the most powerful nation in the area care about a single, elderly, and poor Canaanite shepherd? This is especially so when the sons of that very shepherd are being “tried” for spying?  

Third, Joseph said a strange thing to the brothers:

“So, one of you will be sent back to get your brother, while the rest of you will be under arrest. This is how your words will be tested, to see if you tell the truth. If not, as sure as Pharaoh lives, you are spies!” Then he arrested them for three days. On the third day, Joseph said to them, “Do this, and you’ll live, because I fear God. If you are honestly brothers, then one of you will be kept under house arrest. The rest of you, go and take grain back to your hungry families.” (Gen 42:16-19)

Joseph told them that he feared God. Although there were dynasties in ancient Egypt that believed in one God, there is no particular evidence that this was one of them. Who would say that he feared God, and because of that, make the arrangement between them easier and lighter? (hint-hint). What prime minister of a powerful nation would ever show compassion to a few worthless Canaanite shepherds—and their families? (hint-hint). This is most unusual for that historical context. Joseph was making his own Egyptian subjects sell everything they had to eat. Why treat these Canaanites differently? 

I thus believe it possible that Joseph treated them with kid gloves as a sign to them of who he was, and in fact his heart was broken enough that it was he who told them who he was. What a moment! Can you imagine the pure shock that the brothers must have experienced when they heard Joseph speak to them in perfect Hebrew?  

Then Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph! Is my father still liv­ing?” His brothers could not talk because they were so shocked!  So Joseph told his brothers: “Please come here to me”, and they came. He said, “I am Joseph your brother, whom you sold into Egypt!” (45:3–4)

If they ever had any doubt as to the truth of Joseph’s claim to be their brother, the favoritism towards Benjamin still continued and served as proof of the connection between Joseph and Benjamin. “Each man was given a change of garments, and in addition Binyamin was given 300 pieces of silver, along with five changes of garments” (45:22). 

Joseph’s plan to try his brothers was in keeping with what we know about him. We see that God’s wisdom and compassion were active in his plan; and the plan gave plenty of room for the fulfilling of what he knew the family’s future would be. Our parasha is a success story for reuniting the family, under the guiding Presence of God himself. 

All Scripture references are the author’s translation, with emphasis added by author.

The Nine Hanukkahs of Light, Part 2

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

Part Two

 Last week we explored how we can think of ourselves as the eighth candle of the menorah and Yeshua as the ninth; the one who lights us with his passion and power. He calls us to a life of dedication to Torah. This week we will continue with two more ways we can be Hanukkahs of Light.

Hanukkah is also about being dedicated to shedding the light of Torah to the world.

We do this mostly by living out the precepts of Torah, in particular by doing gemilut hasidim, deeds of lovingkindness.

As the ninth candle, Yeshua is our example par excellence in this area. We see him consistently being drawn to and reaching out to the down-and-out, the unappreciated, the rejected, and the ignored. He eats with tax collectors and prostitutes. He touches lepers and pays attention to cripples and the blind. These are people whom society in this day as well as in his day tends to just overlook and cast aside. Yeshua loves them, lives with them, and grants them dignity.

As the eighth candle, we too are called to live a life of hesed, of lovingkindness. The schools of Hillel and Shammai had a disagreement, as they often did, on how Hanukkah menorahs should be lit. Shammai said that you should light all of the candles the first night and light one less each night. But Hillel said that you should light one candle the first night and one more each successive night because in matters of holiness we should be growing, not diminishing. This is the practice that our tradition has adopted. Hanukkah is a call on us to be dedicated to growing ever more in our acts of hesed. In our own way, we can comfort the afflicted, give sight to the blind, heal the sick, and raise up those who are bowed down.

To Heal a Fractured World by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is an excellent book that I highly recommend. His basic premise is that what the Torah has given the world is this sense of being accountable for our fellow human beings. He says there is divine justice, but God calls for human justice. He calls for us to act to stop injustices and to reach out to people who are in need. This is exemplified in God’s call upon Abraham to “walk before me and be perfect” (Gen 17:1). The rabbis interpret this to mean “Don’t wait for me to command you to do good. See the need and do it.” The Torah calls us to be people of lovingkindness. As one Jewish mystic put it, “Another person’s physical needs are my spiritual obligation.”

Yeshua said, “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven” (Matt 5:16).

Maimonides said, “If a person is scrupulous in his conduct, gentle in his conversation, pleasant towards his fellow creatures, affable in manner when receiving them, not retorting even when affronted, but showing courtesy to all, even to those who treat him with disdain, conducting his commercial affairs with integrity… such a person has sanctified God’s name.”

Each and everyone one of us is a Hanukkah of light. We can shed our light upon others around us through dedication to good deeds.

Finally, Hanukkah is about being dedicated to the mission that God has given us in life.

The Jews in the days of the rebellion against Antiochus did not so much find God’s mission as it found them. The very circumstances that they were thrust into begged for them to stand up for Torah and the Jewish way of life, and fight against tyranny.

Yeshua knew God’s mission for him because it was revealed to him by the Father. He dedicated himself to fulfilling the office of Mashiach because it was God’s will for him.

Some of us will be like those in the days of the first Hanukkah and discover what God wants us to do by the circumstances we find ourselves in. Some of us will be like Yeshua and have God tell us what he wants. Whichever way we discover it, we need to seek out his mission for us and dedicate ourselves to its fulfillment.

We have been talking about mission. We are all called to the mission of keeping and encouraging observance of the Torah. We are all called to do good deeds. Collectively, we as Jews are called to be a light to the nations, a holy priesthood. But each of us has a particular role, a sub-mission if you will, in accomplishing this task.

Martin Buber said, “Every person born into this world represents something new, something that never existed before, something original and unique. Every person’s foremost task is the actualization of his unique, unprecedented, and never recurring potentialities.”

Hanukkah calls us to be dedicated to finding our particular mission in life and working towards its fulfillment.

We should not be dismayed by the breadth and depth of these calls upon us. They indeed can be daunting. If you read a history of Hanukkah, you will realize that the temple was dedicated before the war was over. Judah Maccabee sent soldiers to continue the fight against the city garrison of foreign troops while others began to clean up the temple. So we too can dedicate ourselves to these great tasks even though the battle isn’t over for us either. Yeshua is the ninth Hanukkah of light, our example of what it means to be dedicated to Torah, to the love of others, and to fulfilling our mission in life. He perfectly executed all of these.  And he is the one that empowers us to fulfill this mission ourselves.

As the eighth Hanukkah of light, all of us are called to dedicate ourselves to Torah, to loving others and good deeds, and to fulfilling our particular mission in life. This Hanukkah season, may each of us reflect on these and strive to fulfill them.

Proverbs says that each person’s soul is a lamp of Hashem. May we become a light that truly sheds light on all of those around us and may we all merit seeing that final Hanukkah in the World to Come!

The Nine Hanukkahs of Light

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

 Part One

Hanukkah begins this coming Sunday evening. We all know the story, how Mattityahu and his sons led a war against the Syrian king, Antiochus, who had demanded that the Jews give up their faith and merge with the pagan Hellenism of the day. The sons of Mattityahu were successful and recaptured the Temple. It had been desecrated with idols and the sacrifices of pigs. The Jewish soldiers cleansed the Temple, brought in the priests, and rededicated it. This is where we get the name Hanukkah, which means “dedication.”

A midrash (Pesikta Rabbati 2:2) says there was not just one Hanukkah but actually seven. The seven mentioned in the midrash are:

1.      The Hanukkah of Creation

Genesis 2:1 says “when the heavens and earth were completed.” The midrash says that “completed” here refers to dedication, because when Israel had completed all of the accoutrements of the Tabernacle Moses dedicated them to be used in holy service. So, goes the midrash, God dedicated creation.

2.      The Hanukkah of the Tabernacle

As we just mentioned, Moses dedicated the Tabernacle to the service of Hashem.

3.      The Hanukkah of the First Temple

King David wrote a psalm for the dedication of the First Temple, which was actually performed by his son Solomon. Psalm 30 starts out, Mizmor shir hanukkat habayit, “A psalm, a song, for the dedication of the Temple.”

4.      The Hanukkah of the Second Temple

In the time of Ezra when they rebuilt the Temple, they dedicated it with sacrifices.

5.      The Hanukkah of the Wall of Jerusalem

When Nehemiah led the people to finish the wall around Jerusalem they dedicated it. In Nehemiah 12 it says, “And at the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem, they sought all the Levites from all their places, to bring them to Jerusalem to rejoice in the dedication”

6.      The Hanukkah of the Maccabees

This is the Hanukkah that we are currently celebrating.

7.      The Hanukkah of Olam Ha-Ba (the World to Come)

In Isaiah 30 it says, “The light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of seven days.” This, say our Sages, refers to the end of time, Olam Ha-Ba, when Hashem will dedicate the New Heavens and New Earth.

I would like to propose to you that there are in fact nine Hanukkahs, not seven; these nine round out the number of the Hanukkah menorah. We are the eighth Hanukkah of light. All of us are called to dedicate ourselves to Hashem.  The ninth Hanukkah of light is the Hanukkah of Messiah Yeshua. He is the Shammash, the servant candle. He is our example of total dedication to Hashem. But he is also the one who lights our fire of dedication and empowers us to shed that light to the world.

Let’s consider three specific aspects of Hanukkah that Yeshua exemplifies and that we are also called to.

First, Hanukkah is about dedication to Torah.

Antiochus had ordered our people to give up Torah and adopt Hellenistic ways. Mattityahu and his sons and those who fought with them refused to do this. They showed their dedication to Torah by resisting this forced enculturation and, with God’s help, defeating their enemies.

The book of Maccabees records Mattityahu’s words to his sons as he lay on his death bed:

My children, be zealous for the Torah, and give your lives in behalf of the testament of our fathers. Be mindful of the deeds of our fathers, which they performed in their generations, that you may receive great glory and eternal renown. Was not Abraham found faithful in time of trial, and it was accounted to him for righteousness? . . . Be strong and courageous in behalf of the Torah . . . gather about you all who observe the Torah, and avenge fully the wrong done to your people. (1 Maccabees 2:50–67)

If it were not for their dedication to Torah, we might not even be here today. Judaism could have simply ceased to exist.

Yeshua himself was also dedicated to Torah. Yeshua did not abrogate or cancel the Torah; instead he upheld it and gave it its fullest meaning. He said, “I did not come to abolish the Torah, but to fulfill it” (Matt 5:17).

His issue with the leaders of his day wasn’t that they obeyed the Law, but that they let ritual aspects of Torah supersede what he called the weightier aspects, namely mercy and compassion. He says to them, “You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the Torah—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former” (Matt 23:23). Notice that he doesn’t tell them not to obey these lighter commandments, but that they should be kept in addition to the weightier ones.

Yeshua showed his dedication to the Torah through his actions as well as his teachings. He consistently sent people that he healed to the priests for verification that they were in fact healed. He could have been a total rebel and told them not to mess with the priests and their rules. But instead he upheld their authority and ensured that all of the aspects of Torah were fulfilled.

Hanukkah calls upon us to also be dedicated to Torah. We are in an age not unlike that of the Maccabees. If you read historical accounts of Hanukkah, you realize that observance was already on its way out when Antiochus issued his edict against Jewish practice. Jews were already slowly being Hellenized; many had already fully assimilated into Greek culture. This is why the Sadducees were opposed to the doctrine of angels and life after death. They were priests who were highly assimilated into Greek culture. They felt it unsophisticated and contrary to modern philosophical thinking to believe in such things.

The reality is that it might have been for the best that Antiochus forced the issue with his edict, because it pushed the issue to the forefront. Had he not, some historians think that Judaism would have simply faded slowly away.

Today is similar to that. We have a high rate of assimilation. Torah observance is at an all-time low in the United States and Israel. We must be dedicated enough to the observance of Torah that we do our part to preserve it. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch said, “One single spark, loyally treasured in but one single Jewish heart, is sufficient for God to set aflame once more the whole spirit of Judaism.” Each one of us is that one small candle, which God can do a miracle with. 

Every morning we pray in the Shacharit service:

Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and has commanded us to engross ourselves in the words of Torah. Please, Hashem, our God, sweeten the words of your Torah in our mouth and in the mouth of your people, the family of Israel.

The root word of Hanukkah is Hanakh, Het-Nun-Kaf, which means “to train.” We are to train ourselves in Torah. Train as athletes do for a major competition.

The Rabbis say that Hanukkah marks a shift from Torah being transmitted by the prophets and the priests, to each individual Jew. When the Jews of that day were confronted with either apostasy or death, they were forced to internalize the Torah themselves and no longer just follow what their leaders said. After the Maccabean rebellion, the Torah is always quoted in the name of individuals. In the Mishnah we see references to the Torah of Rav/Rabbi so-and-so. We are called to make the Torah our Torah. Hanukkah calls us to be dedicated to God’s Torah, to teach it to our children, teach it to one another, and thereby preserve it.

Next time we'll look at two more ways in which Yeshua exemplifies Hanukkah and empowers us to do the same.

Happy Hanukkah!

Women of Valor

Parashat Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4–36:43
by Ben Weisman, K20 intern, Sha’arei Shalom, Cary, NC

In Parashat Vayishlach, we continue to follow the stories of the mothers and the fathers of Israel. Unfortunately, the women in this story are often abused by powerful men. The men sometimes seem to get away with their behavior in the short term, but the consequences of their actions are seen for generations.

Our passage opens on a hopeful note as Jacob sends messengers to initiate a reconciliation with Esau. But when Jacob hears that Esau is traveling toward him with four hundred men, he is consumed with fear, which drives him back to his old, manipulative ways. He hedges his bet by dividing his camp in two, praying for divine intervention, and sending droves of gifts in Esau’s direction. What follows is perhaps the most upsetting show of favoritism in Biblical literature: Jacob sends his wives and children to face danger before him. Bilhah and Zilpah, Jacob’s concubines, and their children are placed first, followed by Leah and her children, with Jacob’s favorites—Rachel and her son Joseph—bringing up the rear.

It’s bad enough that Jacob sends his wives and children to face danger first, but to so obviously arrange his family in order of who he would want to die first, if it came to that, is far worse. Imagine being Bilhah or Zilpah who, beyond being household slaves, were told that their most important function was to bear someone else’s child. Having already been so used, their lack of value to Jacob is made clear by their placement closest to danger. Imagine being Leah, knowing that everyone considers your sister more beautiful than you—especially your own husband, who had to be tricked into marrying you. Even though you are the oldest, the only time you are placed first is when it means being closest to danger. Of course, as we examine the situation of these women, we cannot impose our own modern values on their culture, but being devalued must have been painful in any time period.

When the text mentions that Jacob sent his whole family across the Jabbok river, leaving him alone for his mysterious wrestling match, it lists, “his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven sons” (Gen 32:23). But where is Jacob’s daughter, Dinah?

Dinah becomes tragically visible later. Jacob and his family survive their encounter with Esau and find their way to Shechem, which is both the name of the city and a personal name for “the son of Hamor the Hivite, the prince of the land” (Gen 34:2 ). Here, Jacob purchases land to set up his large camp, and Dinah goes “out to look at the daughters of the land” (Gen 34:1). While Dinah hopes to “look” at the daughters of the land, Shechem in fact “looks” at her, and what follows is a terse, violent series of verbs. He “saw her, he took her and lay with her and raped her” (Gen 34:2). Directly juxtaposed with these violent verbs is the next verse, which is full of flowery, poetic language: “But his soul clung to Dinah, Jacob’s daughter, and he loved the young woman and spoke reassuringly to the young woman” (Gen 34:3). Again, we must be careful not to import our modern cultural values into the text, but it is striking how little has changed in the way men in positions of power exploit and manipulate women in vulnerable positions. Shechem kidnaps and rapes Dinah, only for his violence to suddenly give way to tender, affectionate behavior. This is the classic pattern of an abuser.

Shechem demands that his father “Get [him] this girl for a wife” (Gen 34:4), and his father proposes the marriage to Jacob, who fails to take any action in response to the rape of his daughter. Dinah’s brothers hatch a devious plan, reminiscent of Jacob’s manipulative behavior throughout his life. They explain that they are happy to intermarry with Shechem, so long as all the men are circumcised. While the men are incapacitated following their circumcisions, Jacob’s sons slaughter them all and plunder the city.

The men surrounding Dinah all act in pursuit of their own interests. Shechem pursues his own pleasure by sexually and violently dominating Dinah. His father, Hamor, motivated by greed, sees an opportunity to create a political alliance with the wealthy house of Jacob. Jacob, fearful of the surrounding people, does nothing and scolds his sons when they take action of their own. Jacob’s sons act violently on behalf of the family’s honor. It is notable that Simeon and Levi, who are Dinah’s full siblings, rescue Dinah and kill the men out of vengeance, acting at least partly in her interest, while the other brothers seem mainly focused on taking the plunder. The other brothers may not be directly responsible for the killings, but also seem to do nothing to help their sister and are perfectly satisfied to take all the wealth of Shechem.

One reason that Simeon and Levi are singled out by name in this story is that their actions here are given as the reason that they are passed over for the blessing of the firstborn in Genesis 49. Reuben, the oldest, is also passed over, because he “went and slept with his father’s concubine Bilhah” (Gen 35:22). It seems unlikely that this encounter was consensual, though Bilhah, as a slave, was not afforded much agency to give or withhold consent. Reuben violated Bilhah, dishonored Jacob, and thereby forfeited his position as the patriarch of Israel. With the first three sons of Jacob disqualified, Judah is later granted the right to rule over the tribes of Israel.

What message of hope can we find in a story so full of violence, abuse, and tragedy? Perhaps the first hopeful note is that the Bible gives each of these women a name. In its ancient context that fact is important in itself. Though Dinah was used and abused in this narrative, she is given a name and her story is preserved. Given our culture’s reluctance to acknowledge the evil of sexual violence and to listen to women’s stories even in 2019, this is very significant. Though Leah went through life feeling unloved, she is given a place of honor as one of the ancestors of our people. Bilhah too is afforded this honor even though as a slave she was not given much respect during her lifetime.

In Matthew’s genealogy of Messiah, which continues to trace the line of Judah, the women who are mentioned stand out dramatically in the list of mostly male names (Matt 1:1–17). The first of these women is Tamar, Judah’s daughter-in-law whom he tried to mistreat by denying her a levirate marriage, but who forced him into fulfilling his obligations. The second woman is Ruth, who also acted boldly to secure her own and her family’s future though levirate marriage. The third woman is Bathsheba, who holds David to his oath to make her son the king. Though all three are victims of abuse and scandal, they are not just victims but courageous women who acted to set things right when the men around them refused to act. Beyond acting for self-preservation, these women acted to preserve the royal line and ultimately became ancestors of the Messiah.

During Yeshua’s life on earth he was supported financially by a group of women. Women were the last to leave him when he died and the first to witness and proclaim his resurrection. Despite the attitudes of the time, women were accorded great honor by Messiah.

None of these observations negates the horrors through which the women in our parasha and throughout the rest of the Bible lived. Their pain was real and it is important that their stories are preserved. Whether they changed the course of the Persian Empire like Esther or simply endured and survived like Bilhah, courageous women are just as vital to our history as our male ancestors. Whether we find them in the parasha, in the biography of Messiah, or in our everyday lives, we should honor these strong women and listen to their stories.

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

The Best of a Bad Situation

Parashat Vayetze, Genesis 28:10–32:3

Rabbi Michael Hillel, Netanya, Israel

I guess he’s makin’ the best of a bad situation,
Don’t wanta make waves, can’t you see.
He’s just makin’ the best of a bad situation,
Reckon I’d do the same if it was me.

This chorus, from Making the Best of a Bad Situation, released by Dick Feller in 1974, could well have been Jacob’s theme song while he sojourned with his uncle Laban.  

Strolling through this week’s parasha, we see several episodes in Jacob’s life. First he is fleeing his home in fear of big brother Esau’s retaliation after Jacob and his mother Rebecca had secured the patriarchal blessing by trickery. Nevertheless, Hashem promises Jacob that everything will eventually be well for him. 

Behold, I am with you, and I will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land, for I will not forsake you until I have done what I promised you. (Gen 28:15)

The next episode involves Jacob getting settled with Rebecca’s brother Laban (Gen 24:29). But it appears that trickery is a family tradition; only this time it is perpetrated against Jacob. The story is very familiar: Jacob meets and falls madly in love with Laban’s younger daughter Rachel, and requests her hand in marriage (Gen 29:18–20). He works for seven years for the hand of Rachel. On the wedding day, however, Jacob is tricked into marrying the elder sister, Leah, and then has to work another seven years for Rachel (Gen 29:25–26). Notice the sleight of hand going on in both stories, as the incident with Leah and Rachel is reminiscent of the ruse played on Isaac. The old adage “what goes around, comes around” may well have started with Jacob’s family. 

In last week’s parasha, Rebecca’s actions and advice led to the final split in her family that caused Jacob to flee from his home. Rebecca lost twenty years of family relationships (see Gen 31:38) and missed the births of all of her grandchildren, simply because she chose to help Hashem accomplish his plans for her son. This week, Jacob is not only separated from his parents for twenty years, but he winds up with a family situation fraught with rivalry and competition. For sure he is blessed according to Hashem’s promise at Beth-El (Gen 28:15–16), but shalom bayit (peace in the home) seems to be missing, as there is continual struggle between the sister-wives and their children and the concubines and their children. On top of these problems, there is the never-ending struggle with Laban and his sons that culminated in Jacob fleeing Laban’s home and land (Genesis 31:1–2). Jacob’s problems were realized both individually and collectively.  

Rav Shaul has words of encouragement that are relevant to Jacob’s situation and to our lives today: “Now we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). 

Earlier we saw that Hashem told Jacob that all would be well with him and not that all would necessarily go well with him. Rav Shaul’s words are similar. He does not say that everything we do in obedience and love toward God will work together for our good. Neither does he say that there will be no consequences for the choices we make; even though all things work together for good for those who love God, we’ll still face the consequences of our choices. What he does say is that eventually, whether we see it or not, all things will work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.  

The sibling rivalry that emerged during Jacob’s time with Laban has continued throughout Israel’s history. Though tribal lines are less distinct today, rivalry between different strands and streams of modern Judaism remain just as prevalent. For that matter, the same could be said for the Body of Messiah. Our assurance is not that we will be trouble free in our faith-walk. In fact Yeshua taught his disciples just the opposite. “These things I have spoken to you, so that in me you may have shalom. In the world you will have trouble but take heart! I have overcome the world!” (John 16:33). 

I realize that in context Yeshua was speaking of troubles that his followers would endure from a world that would not follow him. However, the reality is that we will have trouble, even in our own communities. Jacob’s family struggles, though unique in many ways, are not isolated to Jacob alone. We all have issues with which we deal within our families, personal and congregational. Life tends to throw us curve balls at the most inopportune times, and sometimes handling those curve balls may seem impossible. That is the time we must remember that (1) Yeshua has overcome all of these situations, and (2) with hearts of faith we can live in the assurance that all things will work together for the good . . . whether we see it or not.  

Later in his letter to the Romans, Rav Shaul gives an invaluable piece of advice: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live in shalom with all people” (Rom 12:18). 

It is easy to focus on the last half of this phrase, “live in shalom with all people.” However, the first part of the verse, “If possible, so far as it depends on you,” sets the guidelines for the second part. While we have the responsibility to live in shalom, it does not depend only upon us; it depends on others as well.  

Since I began with a musical notation, I’ll end with one as well—the chorus from The Gambler, a country song written by Don Schlitz and made famous by Kenny Rogers in 1978. 

You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em,
Know when to walk away, and know when to run.
You never count your money, when you’re sittin’ at the table,
There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.

 In other words, we do what we can do, and sometimes that involves walking away or, as in Jacob’s case, running away. And in the end, we may not see “all things work together for good,” but whether or not we personally see it, we know that the promises of God are sure, as he cannot lie (Num 23:19). As Rav Shaul reminds us, “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:7).

Pottage and Priorities

Parashat Tol’dot, Genesis 25:19–28:7

by Rabbi Dr. John Fischer, UMJC President

This week’s parasha contains a very important part of the ongoing account of Abraham and his family as those specially chosen by God to communicate his covenant blessings to the entire world. But it is also a lesson in proper priorities and perspectives, especially when it comes to responding appropriately to Adonai. And yet, it’s a story that is usually misunderstood and as a result is inaccurately told. It’s the account of Jacob and Esau.  

To do real justice to this passage would take more time than this d’rash allows because it’s a complex narrative, which also includes significant contributions by Isaac and Rebekah in addition to their two sons. It also includes a cameo appearance by Noah. So the best I can do is hit some of the highlights. 

As the account unfolds we learn that Isaac and Rebekah have a problem. They are unable to have children. As observant readers we’ve seen this before; it was the same issue that Abraham and Sarah had. And it’s part of the way our Jewish Scriptures speak to us. They tell their story using repeating patterns or paradigms. Isaac’s response to this situation is to pray. The Lord answers his prayer, but with the answer come unexpected complications. The answer is that Rebekah is to have twins, twins who soon cause a commotion within their mother. Being a person who is properly attuned to God, she talks to him about her situation. Adonai’s response to her is quite striking, and it is absolutely essential to correctly reading the account of Jacob and Esau. The Lord says that the older son will serve the younger. Contrary to every usual practice of the ancient Near East, he tells Rebekah that her younger son will be the primary heir to the promises he made to Abraham—not the older son, but the younger son. God is behind this, not Jacob; it’s a matter of God’s decision, not Jacob’s deception! (An important ancient rabbi reminded us of this in Romans 9:10–13.) This perspective needs to shape our reading of this passage.  

The parasha goes on to tell us the names of the twins, names that are significant to understanding the story. The younger son is called Jacob. Now, his name is connected to the Hebrew word for heel (akev). So he is called Ya-akev (Ya‘akov) which literally means “may he (the Lord) be at your heels,” in other words, your defending rearguard. The Encyclopedia Judaica simply defines Jacob’s name as “God protects.” So where did the derogatory notion come from that Jacob’s name indicates he’s a deceiver? It came from Esau’s angry, slanted description later in the story: “His name, Ya‘akov, really suits him—because he has supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright, and here, now he has taken away my blessing!” (Gen 27:36). In evaluating that description we need to recall that Esau is described as a person who “despised his birthright” (Gen 25:34) and who was “godless” (Heb 12:16). He’s certainly not a man whose behavior and attitude are intended to be copied!  

In contrast the text describes Ya‘akov as a “quiet man” (Gen 25:27) CJB, NIV, et al.). But this translation completely misses the point. The Hebrew is ish tam or “complete person” as the NASB points out in its margin note. Here we hear echoes of Noah (Gen 6:9) who was described as tamim, which is from the same Hebrew root. Most versions translate that as “blameless.” (The same Hebrew word is used to describe God’s ways as perfect in Deuteronomy 32:4.) The story of Noah goes on to unwrap what tamim implies when it describes him as a person who “walked with God.” When our parasha describes Ya‘akov as ish tam, the same characteristic of walking with God echoes in the background. This understanding of Ya‘akov is in line with our Sages’ insight concerning the other descriptive phrase found in this verse, “dweller in tents.” They understand this as an idiom for a student in a Torah academy, a person who studies Scripture and develops moral character. Both descriptions—and his name—point to Ya‘akov being a person who has proper priorities and perspectives.  

The contrast between the twins is further emphasized in the next scene. Esau comes back from hunting. He’s famished. He smells the stew—the mess of pottage—that Ya‘akov is preparing and immediately wants some (instead of himself preparing the game he had just hunted). Ya‘akov asks for the family birthright in exchange. Esau responds by saying “what good is my birthright to me?” The stew was more important to him than his birthright! And our text emphasizes that this in fact was Esau’s perspective by noting his new nickname, “Edom.” (Edom means red, referring to the color of the stew.) The episode concludes with the summary statement in 25:34: “So Esau despised his birthright.” Ya‘akov on the other hand considered the birthright a real prize.  

There is much more that can be said about the Jacob-Esau story. There are Ya‘akov and Rebekah’s intriguing—and badly misinterpreted—actions in chapter 27 for example. Concerning these actions a couple of observations are important to keep in mind. Isaac never rebukes either Ya‘akov or Rebekah. Instead he blesses Ya‘akov a second time at the end of our parasha (Gen 28:1–4). Even more significantly, Adonai doesn’t reprimand Rebekah or Ya‘akov either. In fact, he blesses Ya‘akov twice (Gen 28:13 and 35:11)!

A couple of personal questions remain from reading this passage. What about our priorities and perspectives? Do we truly prize our birthright? Are we like Ya‘akov the ish tam or are we like Esau who rejected his birthright? The choice is ours.

The Other Woman

Parashat Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1 - 25:18

Monique B

In this week’s Torah portion, Avraham has returned from nearly killing his beloved child Isaac, only to mourn the death of his beloved wife Sarah. Isaac’s absence on the return journey is conspicuous. “The two of them walked on together” to Moriah in verse 9, but in verse 19 only Avraham returns to his servants.

Where does Isaac go? It’s curious that we don’t see Isaac again until Genesis 24:26, when Avraham’s servant has fetched him a pious and beautiful bride. Here we read: “Isaac had just come back from the vicinity of Be’er Lahai Roi, for he was settled in the region of the Negev.” What is Isaac doing in the Negev, and what is this curious place called Be’er Lahai Roi?

Our sages and commentators don’t agree on this question. Sforno says that Isaac hadn’t really moved away from his father, he merely had a place where he temporarily attended to various business enterprises. Nachmanides agrees, and thinks this was a place where Isaac prayed regularly, not a place of residence. Rashi points at that Be’er Lahai Roi was the place where Hagar was met by an angel of the Lord, in a time of great distress. Let’s revisit the scene in Genesis 16:

Sarai has brought Hagar, an Egyptian concubine, into Avram’s bed. She becomes pregnant, and Sarai suddenly regrets this rash and dysfunctional choice. Sarai blames Avram, and quarrels with him over this inconvenient woman. Avram turns Hagar back over to Sarai, and Sarai afflicts Hagar, causing her to run away into the wilderness. She runs very far south, practically to the border of modern Egypt. An angel of the Lord meets her at a well, and instructs her to return to her abusive mistress, for God will make a great nation from the son in her womb – Ishmael.

In response, Hagar gives God a new title, El Roi, (God Sees). In this scene, Hagar receives the honor of naming God, who has responded to her in a time of great affliction. In the opening chapter of the Books of Samuel, another woman, Hannah, calls God by the innovative title Adonai Tzvaot (Lord of Hosts) while begging for relief from her barrenness. When God opens her womb, she names her son Shmuel (God Hears). In a way, you could say that Hannah labels Hashem as “The God Who Hears” just as Hagar labels Him as “The God Who Sees.”  

Here the Scriptures provide a beautiful portrait of who exactly matters to the Master of the Universe – even ridiculed and depressed barren women matter to God, even the abused slaves of Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs matter to God. God hears them and God sees them. He answers them in their times of distress. God cares about the concerns of the most insignificant and overlooked members of our society, whether that society is a Jewish one, or is located among the nations.

The place of Hagar’s meeting with the angel gets a new name, as well. Be’er Lahai Roi, “the Well of the Living God who Sees” is one possible translation. When Hagar leaves the security of Avraham’s tents for a second time – this time because Avraham has sent her away with little more than a crust of bread and a large skin of water – the text suggests that she returns to the same place (or a similar place), but has forgotten that a well is here. Once again, an angel meets her, and this time he opens her eyes to see the well that was already there.

How interesting that this is the place Isaac returns from when he greets his new bride, and this is where he settles after Avraham dies. Is it possible that he has been living there for many years, ever since his father tried to murder him at God’s request? Why is the beloved son of Avraham living near his spurned step-mother Hagar, and his half-brother Ishmael? What does this say about the warmth and intimacy between Isaac and Avraham, or the lack thereof?

It’s significant that we don’t see Isaac until the end of this week’s portion. His father is living in the land God has promised to his many descendants, but he’s forced to endure a humiliating negotiation over a small cave in Hebron where he can bury his wife. Where is Isaac when Avraham opens the mouth of the cave of Machpelah to bury his mother? He doesn’t appear at this site until it’s time to bury his father, and he does this hand in hand with his half-brother, Ishmael.

The text doesn’t explain the family dynamics directly, but I think that Isaac doesn’t really understand Hagar and Ishmael’s estrangement until his own father tries to kill him. It’s likely that as Sarah’s beloved child, he would have heard his parents’ version of events throughout his childhood and early adult years. And naturally, he would have bought into whatever narrative they had spun to explain the absence of his step-mother and half-brother. Perhaps he never expressed the slightest curiosity about Hagar and Ishmael’s version of these events, until he saw another side of his father, the side that was willing to hold a knife above him and take his life.

This illuminates the complex challenge of parenting, even in our post-modern times. We feel the need to shelter our children from the brutal side of human life, so it can be tempting to give them half-answers to their most probing and embarrassing questions. The questions begin with “how did the baby get into Mommy’s belly?” and progress to “why don’t we see Uncle Joey any more?” and “why are you always complaining about money but spending it on useless junk?”  

As our children grow, they begin to point out inconsistencies in our stories, and areas of hypocrisy in our character and daily habits. Eventually, they want real answers, not excuses, downcast eyes, shrugs, or silence. If we hope to maintain relational intimacy with our children well into adulthood, we owe them real answers, even if the truth is accompanied with a lick of shame or disappointment.

As we finish this portion, where Avraham is also buried at Machpelah, let’s remember that according to Jewish and Islamic tradition, Isaac and Ishmael are buried in the cave side by side. Just as our ancestors lie in the grave in complete peace, I believe it is the destiny of Jews and Arabs to one day be fully reconciled, as our patriarch Isaac was with his brother Ishmael. Together we will stand at the feet of our triumphant Messiah, welcoming him back home. May that day come soon.