Words Still Stick—for Good or Ill

Rachel’s Tomb (circa 1890-1900) (Credit: Library of Congress, Detroit Publishing Co. photochrom color)

Parashat Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4–36:43

Rabbi Russ Resnik

When the time came for our father Jacob to return to the land promised to him by the Lord, after twenty years of servitude under his father-in-law, Uncle Laban, it wasn’t easy. He had set out alone as a young man with few possessions and he came back with two wives, their two handmaids, eleven sons, a daughter, and great wealth in flocks and herds. But Jacob had needed to slip away with this whole household while Laban was off shearing his sheep. Just before he got back to his land, he had to wrestle all night with a mysterious “man,” who left him lame and leaning on a staff. When it was time to meet up with Esau, the brother he’d wronged so many years before, Esau came to greet him with a contingent of 400 men. Amazingly Esau embraced Jacob and welcomed him back, but more trials awaited: Dinah was raped by a local prince, and her brothers, two of Jacob’s sons, retaliated with a brutal attack on the prince’s entire city, setting the stage for what Jacob feared would be the next round of retaliation—against him.

But the final blow, and undoubtedly the most painful, came after Jacob had returned to Beth-El, where his journey had begun twenty years before. There God appeared to him again, and spoke words of blessing over him.  

Then they traveled from Beth-El, and while they were still a distance from entering Ephrath, Rachel began to give birth, but her labor was difficult.  While she was struggling to give birth, the midwife said to her, “Don’t be afraid, for this is also a son for you.” Now as her soul was departing (for she died), she named him Ben-Oni, but his father named him Benjamin. Then Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem). (Gen 35:16–19 TLV)

In Midrash Rabbah, the sages interpret this tragic death in light of an earlier incident. When Jacob and his family escaped from Laban, Rachel for some reason had stolen his household idols. Laban caught up with Jacob and his encampment and demanded his idols back. Jacob denied that anyone had taken them, saying, 

“Anyone with whom you find your gods shall not live. In front of our relatives, identify whatever is yours that is with me, and take it back.” (But Jacob did not know that Rachel had stolen them.) (Gen 31:32 TLV)

The sages cite this story to explain why Rachel, the younger sister, dies long before her older sister, Leah. One of the sages, Rabbi Jose, says, “She died because of the patriarch’s curse” (Genesis R. 74:4). We may disagree with this explanation, but the principle remains: Words have the power to create reality. We can trace this principle at work throughout Genesis, beginning with God creating all things, the heavens and the earth, through his words. “Life and death are in the power of the tongue” (Prov 18:21 ESV). Life-giving words, words of appreciation, gratitude, and affirmation, aren’t just sounds—they are a creative force that elevates the world we live in.

Moreover, in the world of Genesis, words once spoken stick. Before Jacob left home, he had joined his mother, Rebekah, in tricking Isaac his father into giving the blessing Isaac intended for Esau to Jacob instead. When Esau discovered that his blessing had been given to his brother, he begged his father, “Haven’t you saved a blessing for me?” 

Isaac answered and said to Esau, “Behold, I’ve made him master over you, and all your brothers I’ve given to him as servants. I’ve provided him with grain and new wine. What then can I do for you, my son?”

Esau said to his father, “Do you just have one blessing, my father? Bless me too, my father!” (Gen 27:36–38 TLV)

Esau can’t ask Isaac to take the blessing back from Jacob and give it to him. He knows that words stick, and the blessing once spoken cannot be undone. The best Esau can hope for is a different blessing of his own. Words once spoken cannot be made silent. But we might wonder, in our day of inflated verbosity, whether words still have such power and durability. I’d suggest that the Torah is telling us they do. Despite the flood of words in the digital era, words still have creative power, and words stick. Therefore we need to measure our words with care for, as our Master reminds us, “whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light, and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed on the housetops” (Luke 12:3 ESV).

The stories of our ancestors also reveal the power of words not spoken. If Rebekah had told Isaac about the prophetic words she’d heard before Jacob and Esau were even born, that the older would serve the younger, Isaac could have planned how best to impart blessings to his sons instead of being tricked into a fraught situation. If Rachel had told Jacob that she’d run off with her father’s household idols, Jacob wouldn’t have responded with what amounted to her death sentence.

So we need to be careful with our words, but not so careful that we clam up and don’t speak the positive, life-giving words that need to be said. Rebekah and Rachel both withheld information from their husbands. In counseling with married couples I often see the opposite—husbands who withhold too much from their wives, not just information, but simple words of affirmation and encouragement. They neglect the creative, sticking power of positive words: “Wow, honey, that dinner smells fabulous. I can’t believe you’ve even had time to make it while you’ve had to run around after the kids all day long!” Or “. . . after you came home from your tough day at the office!”

The current Netflix series The Crown portrays the younger Prince Charles as arrogant and self-absorbed, unable to build a happy marriage with the beautiful Princess Diana. Finally she bursts out to complain of being neglected and overlooked by him, and he responds:

I know what being overlooked feels like. I’ve spent my whole life being unthanked, unappreciated, uncared for. And if I’ve been cold or distant with you, perhaps it’s because I don’t feel truly understood by you. I sometimes think you see me as an old man. Or worse, a gargoyle above the church door. Gray, made of stone, unemotional, but I’m not. You think I don’t crave the occasional “Well done,” or … “Aren’t you clever?” Or even just a thank-you. I need encouragement and the occasional pat on the back too. (https://subslikescript.com/series/The_Crown-4786824/season-4/episode-6)

Whether or not this scene is historically accurate, it’s an accurate portrayal of the human condition. If one so favored and honored as the Prince of Wales needs the occasional pat on the back, so must we and those around us.

Words have power for good and ill; words stick and their absence sticks too. The power of words gives us an opportunity to create good amidst the confusion, chaos, and anxiety of the days we’re living in. Life and death are in the power of the tongue; let’s be generous in speaking words of life to those around us, beginning with those who are the closest.

Dear Leah (A Letter from Your Sister, Rachel)

Parashat Vayetzei, Genesis 28:10–32:3

David Wein, Tikvat Israel Messianic Synagogue, Richmond, VA

Dear Leah,

It humbles me now to think of how I acted when we were young. I was desperate and childless, and children are the blessing of God and the hope of our inheritance. I pleaded with Jacob, our husband, for a child. We believed that mandrakes would make us fertile, and tried to use them as bargaining tools to spend the night with Jacob! You had many sons, among them Levi and Judah. I had only Joseph and later Benjamin. So much jealousy and blame-shifting, but we’re in good company. Our brother-in-law, Esau, knew all about that. I guess it’s fear—maybe there’s not enough blessing from God. Maybe there won’t be enough love from Jacob. 

It’s funny, but when we fled from our father in the middle of the night—which was obviously Jacob’s idea—I . . . I don’t know why, but I took some of my father’s teraphim, his household idols, and hid them beneath me while I was on my camel. I never told you that, but that’s why our father, Laban, came after us and ransacked your tent and mine. Maybe it’s because I didn’t want him to use the idols to find us, or maybe because I was concerned about the property inheritance that they represented, or maybe I relied on them to a certain degree—which is wrong, I know. But desperation and fear gave way once again to deception and blame-shifting. I was in a tough situation, and I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry. 

Little did I know how my actions would affect the lives of our children and our descendants. When I left this world, Benjamin my son entered it. And I’m so thankful for my elder son, Joseph, for his commitment to forgive. I’m kvelling, I know, but he was in a position of prominence, the prime minister of Egypt, and instead of revenge, he brought salvation from the famine. It was through my own son Joseph that I learned another path than the one I had chosen with you, Leah. 

There were glimpses of this Joseph sort of choice throughout the history of our descendants. Your son Moses was a Levite, a son of Levi. And this Moses, son of Levi, saved all the sons of Israel, kind of like my Joseph did for Levi. And when God told him he couldn’t enter into the promise of Abraham, our grandfather, to inherit the land, Moses was heartbroken. But your son, Moses, trained up my son Joshua, son of Ephraim, son of Joseph. Moses took the humble way, the Joseph way, because he knew the people would need a leader in the land after he came to rest with his fathers. 

But our sons frequently went the other way as well, making the same mistakes I made. It grieved me so when the sons of Benjamin . . . with a son of Levi in the town square, they . . . I can’t really even talk about it. But it led to the sons of Benjamin being destroyed by the hand of Hashem and by their brothers. Those were dark times, when everyone did whatever they wanted to, whatever seemed good in their own eyes, and there was no king.

I guess when Hashem is not our king, it leads to hatred of our brothers and sisters. Everyone’s just trying to rule over and control everyone else. On the other hand, morality and justice seem to go with humility and respect for the Kingship of God in our story, don’t they? 

And then, we finally had a king, the mighty and impetuous King Saul, son of Benjamin, son of mine, who went mad with fear, power, and jealousy—he really took a play out of my notebook, I guess. 

Your son was David, son of Judah, son of Leah. And they sang songs about him:

Saul, the son of Rachel, has slain his thousands,

But David, the son of Leah, the humble shepherd boy, has slain his tens of thousands. 

David showed his character when he played music on the harp to soothe my son, Saul, even when Saul was throwing spears at him. What madness. But as with my firstborn, Joseph, who turned things around, it was Saul’s firstborn, Jonathan, who did the same. Remember, it was Jonathan son of Saul, not David, who was next in line to be king. And Saul, son of Benjamin, son of mine—raged against his own son, Jonathan: 

You son of a perverse, rebellious woman! Don’t I know that you have chosen the son of Jesse—to your own shame, and to the shame of your mother’s nakedness? For as long as the son of Jesse lives on earth, neither you nor your kingship will be secure.

That’s true, in a way, isn’t it? As long as the son of Jesse, David, lives, the kingdom of Saul is not secure. It’s like only one kingdom can stand. Either the kingdom of Saul (made of fear, anger, and jealousy) or the kingdom of David (which, because of covenantal love, Jonathan puts ahead of his own rights to the throne). Jonathan, son of mine, gave up his inheritance and his power because of his love for David, son of yours.

I could speak more of our sons and daughters, but I just want to mention one more of your sons. 

This son of Judah, son of yours, Leah; there was no one like him, and there will never be another; he was the promised descendent of David, the Messiah and King. He followed the way of Joseph and Moses, in humility and putting his brothers before himself. 

My son, the Apostle Paul, son of Benjamin, son of Rachel, said this about your son: “For to me, to live is Messiah and to die is gain.”

In other words, everything that Paul has—his whole life—belongs to the Messiah, son of Judah. It’s not about Paul’s kingdom, but about the Son of David’s kingdom. Because the Son of Judah, the Son of Leah, put our needs before his own. He thought of our lives, and said that this was more important than his life. For us to have healing and joy and eternal life was more important to him than his own. I hope that our children will learn from his example. I have learned so much from him. Our children must humble themselves, and seek to bless and rescue their brothers. I think my son Paul said it best:

Do nothing out of selfishness or conceit, but with humility consider others as more important than yourselves, looking out not only for your own interests but also for the interests of others. Have this attitude in yourselves, which also was in Messiah Yeshua,

Who, though existing in the form of God,

did not consider being equal to God a thing to be grasped.

But He emptied Himself—

taking on the form of a slave,

becoming the likeness of men

and being found in appearance as a man.

He humbled Himself—

becoming obedient to the point of death,

even death on a cross.

For this reason God highly exalted Him

and gave Him the name that is above every name,

that at the name of Yeshua every knee should bow,

in heaven and on the earth and under the earth,

and every tongue profess that Yeshua the Messiah is Lord—

to the glory of God the Father.

My hope is that our descendants would learn from my mistakes, and be more like my sons Joseph and Paul, and more like your sons Joshua, King David, and Yeshua. That they would choose the way of humility and, rather than hoarding blessings, seek to be a blessing. That the kingdom of Saul would pass away, and the kingdom of your son would be established always. In that way, I am now finally deferring to you, Leah.  

Your sister always,

Rachel

When Is It Right to Be Wrong?

Parashat Toledot , Genesis 25:19–28:9

Eric Meiri, Devar Emet Messianic Synagogue. Skokie, IL

It’s not easy being a parent. My wife and I are at a challenging phase in our parenting journey: dealing with a 3½ year old who desires to push every boundary and act out in disobedience to our parental instruction. I guess I can be thankful that he is not yet at the point of always responding to an instruction with the delightful interrogative, “why?” As parents, my wife and I are responsible for teaching our children the difference between right and wrong. We not only need to provide instruction to our children, but we should be able to offer examples of how to properly follow instruction, and also live out such instruction in our own lives. Thankfully, we have God’s Torah as our foundation, and his Ruach to empower us.

But what about when the circumstances aren’t so straightforward? What about when that black and white gets a little grey? At this point in our parenting journey, I am not going to get into those nuances with my 3½ year old son, but at some point we will have to deal with them. And this week’s Torah portion presents a most difficult dilemma: Are there situations in life where it is acceptable to be dishonest and deceptive? 

Oy vey iz mir . . . Let’s dive into this parasha a bit and see what we can come up with.

In the times that I have gone through this Torah portion I always walk away conflicted and confused. There is a lot of behavior here I would discourage in my children: Parents divided in showing favoritism to different children; exploiting your brother’s exhaustion to obtain his birthright; a first-born son disregarding and despising his birthright; a man lying about his wife being his sister; and someone marrying multiple idolatrous foreign women in spite of the wishes of his parents and God. Not much holiness being pursued here so far. 

This leads us to a conflicting and difficult-to-understand event, Rebekah and Jacob’s trickery of Isaac. What makes it so challenging to deal with are the unknown elements of this story. Was Isaac aware of what Adonai revealed to Rebekah about the “older [serving] the younger” (Gen 25:23)? Did she just never tell him? Or did he know but was disregarding this prophecy and giving in to his favoritism for Esau? Or maybe Isaac had not only become blind in sight but senile in mind and memory as well? Or maybe he was just really hungry?!? And Rebekah, was she obeying God by deceiving Isaac? Or was she not trusting God by interfering? What about her statement that if Jacob’s deception was discovered to “Let [the] curse fall on [her]” (Gen 27:13)? Is she acknowledging fault here? Or is she just so confident in God’s blessing?

There is no shortage of Rabbinic and Christian commentaries seeking to fill in the gaps or infer the intentions and motivations of Rebekah and Isaac. Truly, only God knows. 

But focusing on Rebekah and Jacob’s actions brings us back to our original question. Are they right in their deception and dishonesty towards Isaac in order to bring about God’s plan? Trying to come up with answers to these questions is really tough. Tough enough as an adult, let alone to try and explain to children. (While writing this drash I actually consulted the children’s storybook Bibles in our home to see their take on the issue. Two of them completely skipped over this story, the other two don’t mention Adonai’s prophecy to Rebekah at all and instead just throw her under the bus.) Take your pick of which commentary you want to use to come to a conclusion, but the amount of variation of opinion on these questions shows me that there is not a clear-cut answer here. There is nuance. There is grey. And we need to be able to address this, both in our Scriptures, and especially in our world today. 

I say this because we are dealing with a lot of grey in America right now. Our democratically elected leaders are being seen as fascist dictators. Our electoral processes are being viewed as flawed and abused by fraud. Our nation is at odds over how to reconcile historical racism and address the concern of its ongoing impact on our present day institutions; as well as how to balance economy, safety, and liberty in response to a global viral pandemic. The extremes on each side paint a picture of the other with broad strokes of hurtful rhetoric. The lines of righteousness and wickedness have never felt so blurred. We have come to a crossroads in our society with an increase in the number of people who believe that our structures of authority have become so corrupt and evil that they would consider violent revolution as a means to achieve justice. But just as in our discussion on the Torah portion, as we try and draw conclusions on these issues we must recognize that we are not getting all the details and ultimately are just choosing to believe whose opinion we consider to be the most reliable. And ultimately, everyone involved is flawed and sinful.

So far in this drash I have asked a lot of questions without offering answers, and I have provided a lot of depressing examples of division in our world. Perhaps I can still offer a few conclusions. Regardless of how we feel about Rebekah one thing is clear and gives her some higher credibility in her actions: she was given a direct prophetic word from Adonai, and she took action to see his word carried out. This is confirmed in this week’s haftarah portion, which declares that “[God] loved Jacob and Esau [he] hated” (Mal 1:2–3). Esau was sinful in despising his birthright and dishonoring his parents and God. His own actions made it evident why God foresaw that he should not receive the blessing. So in Rebekah’s defense, her dishonesty was in direct response to God’s word and will. 

What about a response to clear and obvious evil in more recent history? This is true in the case of those who lied in order to hide Jews from being murdered by Nazis during the Holocaust. I think we can all agree that the Nazi agenda to murder all Jews would not only warrant people to  engage in dishonesty to prevent their actions, but would even require a military campaign to strike down such evil. Any reader of the Tanakh will certainly see that there were times when God commanded such action against people groups who were a similar threat. And also against those who would challenge Adonai’s sovereignty and were liable to draw Bnei-Yisrael away from the worship of the One True God.

The pursuit of honesty deserves our utmost and unwavering commitment. Our society is ridden and saturated with dishonesty that people see as justified based on circumstances of the situation. Little white lies in order to avoid conflict, embellishments of the truth in order to make oneself seem more favorable and appealing, and even outright deception in order to advance an agenda or cause. Where does this end? What is the limit? How quickly does word turn into action, lies into violence? When is this justified? I can offer two examples:

1. If you have a direct word from Adonai Elohim and are being used to carry out his will.

2. To resist and combat evil that is obvious and egregious, especially when it is being committed against God’s people.

Unless you are one of the historical persons of the Bible, like Rebekah, I would argue that example #1 is not applicable to you. As for example #2, this is a rare situation that most of us may never experience. It is an exception, not the norm. If an act of lying or aggression means your fear of Adonai is greater than your fear of man, then you get a pass. But if that is not clear, and your motivations are caught up in politics and a biased presentation of data and information, then I would exercise caution and stick to the peshat of God’s commandments.

In America right now, we are very divided in what is being perceived as good and evil, right and wrong. I am worried that it is tearing us apart as a nation, and even within our congregations and families. I pray for God’s wisdom to guide us to have humility and discernment on these issues. And from this, I pray that we can communicate effectively to our children and raise them up to be a true light in the darkness, especially as it becomes more difficult to make the distinction between the two.

The Ongoing Miracle of a Life Well Lived

Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1–25:18

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

It is noteworthy that this week’s portion, entitled Chayei Sarah, which literally means the life of Sarah, chronicles the matriarch’s death and burial, and her husband’s contemplative mourning.  It begins, though, with a one-sentence retrospective of her life. “Sarah’s lifetime was one hundred years, twenty years, and seven years: the years of Sarah’s life” (Gen 23:1). 

Rashi explains that the repetition of years divides Sarah’s life into three periods, each with its own uniqueness. At one hundred she was as sinless as a twenty-year-old, for until the age of twenty, a person does not suffer heavenly punishment; and at twenty she still had the wholesome beauty of a seven-year-old, who does not use cosmetics and whose beauty is natural. Rashi’s creative exegesis points out that each stage of Sarah’s life was indelibly tied to the preceding period.  

It should also be noted, though, that the conclusion of Sarah’s life would be equally tied to the life of Rebecca, who would succeed her as the matriarch of Abraham’s household and the wife of her only son Isaac.  It has been said that when a caterpillar faces the end of life, the Master calls a butterfly. So it is with righteous persons and their progeny. Not one of us can view the full value of our lives, but time will measure our lives as they continue in the lives of those we touch.  

This time of year, one of my favorite movies to watch is Frank Capra’s delightful fantasy It’s a Wonderful Life. The protagonist of the movie, George Bailey, is so weighed down by the trials of life that he wishes he were never born. His wish is mysteriously granted by a challenged junior angel named Clarence, who allows George to see how many lives would have been severely impoverished had he never existed. What George truly sees is the tremendous value of his life, a life well lived, and how it continues in perpetuity in the lives he loves. George mostly is permitted to see the small miracles that happen when souls touch in the passage of life.

So did the souls of Rebecca and Isaac touch each other, and by no coincidence continue the life of Sarah.

Going out toward evening to stroll in the field, Isaac looked up and saw camels coming! And Rebecca looked up seeing Isaac, she got off the camel and said to the slave: “Who is the man striding in the field coming to meet us?” “He is my master,” said the slave. Taking a veil, she covered herself. The slave then told Isaac all that he had done. And Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah; he took Rebecca, and she became his wife and he loved her. Thus did Isaac take comfort after (the death) of his mother. (Gen 24:63–67)

Rebecca understood that she was traveling to Canaan with Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, for the very purpose of becoming Isaac’s wife. It is not certain whether she knew that she would be replacing the presence of Sarah, but this was the clear intention of providence. Earlier in the story Abraham, feeling old and tired and bereft after losing his beloved wife, sends Eliezer to find a suitable wife for Isaac. But he does not provide any of the expected prerequisites for a suitable mate. He does not tell Eliezer that the wife should come from wealth or a famous family. He does not even describe the looks or personality that would be desirable.

Without any clear direction other than she should not come from the Canaanites, Eliezer sets out on his journey. Eliezer prays to the God of Abraham and describes a supposed drama that may take place at a well. He tells God that if these events transpire then he will recognize it as a sign from above. The right woman for Isaac will be the one that at Eliezer’s request brings water not only to him, but also to his camels. Of course, Rebecca fulfills the conditions of the prayer and the story of Rebecca and Isaac’s life together begins to unfold.

But how did Eliezer know that this would be the right sign from God? I imagine because Rebecca behaves precisely how Sarah might have. Like Sarah, Rebecca not only possesses innocent beauty, but she is filled with goodness and kindness. Rebecca is the God-ordained choice to be not only Isaac’s wife, but also Sarah’s successor. Perhaps, this is the reason at the end of Vayera we are told of the birth of Rebecca. Sarah cannot pass until God provides the one who will truly live on in her spirit.

Chayei Sarah is truly a celebration of a life well-lived, not the chronicle of its death. Each of our lives has the potential to change the world about us positively. If we seize the opportunity, our lives continue in those about us, infusing the world with beauty and goodness, and bearing the image of our creator in all his creation. Like Eliezer, we should confess that there are no coincidences in the ordinary details of day-to-day life, but that all about us are the small miracles created by souls touching each other, and the ongoing miracles of lives lived for God.

Scripture quotations are the author’s translation.

Who Can Weigh a Heart?

Parashat Vayera, Genesis 18:1–22:24
Chaim Dauermann, Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

I’ve worked in the restaurant business for over fifteen years, and over that time have accumulated more than my share of interesting stories. 

One night I was working as the host at my workplace. I greeted two women at the door, welcomed them inside, and got them seated comfortably before returning to my post. Unbeknownst to me, based on how I was dressed, and my formal way of speaking, they jumped to some conclusions about my attitude. They told their server that I thought they couldn’t afford to eat and drink at our establishment, and they were quite offended as a result. This wasn’t at all accurate—I’d said and felt no such thing—but they were certain it was true, and soon became convinced that other members of the staff felt hostile toward them as well. Their evening soon became unsalvageable. We had treated them with the same warmth and courtesy that we extended to everyone, but they left our establishment feeling livid.

Many of us have experienced times when uncharitable presumptions have led one person to misunderstand the intentions of another. Such situations are often harmless, but sometimes the stakes can be quite high, and the resultant misunderstanding can have lasting consequences. What happens when our wrong presumption is about the condition of a person’s heart? What happens when, in the process of making such assumptions, we lose sight of the very sovereignty of God? This is a situation we read about in Parashat Vayera. 

Ever on the move, Abraham finds himself living in Gerar, a Philistine city in the Negev, under the rule of King Abimelech. The Philistines were polytheists, a fact not lost on Abraham, who, having sojourned in Canaan since God called him out of Haran, was wise to the local cultures and customs. Abraham was also what we today call street-smart. Aware of his own wealth and his wife’s beauty, he worried someone might kill him and take Sarah as his own. So he’d devised a safety tactic for him and Sarah wherever they sojourned: They agreed to pass themselves off as brother and sister, rather than husband and wife.

King Abimelech takes notice of Sarah, and has her brought to him. But then God intervenes, appearing to Abimelech in a dream: “Behold, you are a dead man because of the woman whom you have taken, for she is a man’s wife” (Gen 20:3). Abimelech pleads his case before God, asking for leniency because he did not know Sarah’s status when he had sent for her. 

Then God said to him in the dream, “Yes, I know that you have done this in the integrity of your heart, and it was I who kept you from sinning against me. Therefore I did not let you touch her. Now then, return the man’s wife, for he is a prophet, so that he will pray for you, and you shall live. But if you do not return her, know that you shall surely die, you and all who are yours.” (Gen ‭20:6–7‬)

Terrified for his life and the lives of his people, Abimelech angrily confronts Abraham about his deception, demanding, “What did you see, that you did this thing?” (Gen 20:10b). Rather than basing his actions on something he observed in Abimelech and his people, Abraham reveals that he’d acted this way because he thought, “There is no fear of God at all in this place” (Gen 20:11b).

For all of Abraham’s experiences in walking with the Lord, in this situation he was clearly in the wrong. He made two fateful errors that led to his confrontation with Abimelech.

1. He prejudged Abimelech, thinking that because he had a different god, he would not fear the God of Israel, nor could he be guided by him. And, beyond that, he assumed that based on these factors he would be treated poorly, perhaps killed.

2. He failed to account for God’s sovereignty in this situation—his power to speak to whomever he wishes, his ability to display his will and his power whenever he sees fit, and his agency in choosing who he works through. As God says to Abimelech: “It was I who kept you from sinning against me” (Gen 20:6b).

In the end, not only did Abimelech fear the Lord, he also treated Abraham abundantly well: “Then Abimelech took sheep and oxen, and male servants and female servants, and gave them to Abraham, and returned Sarah his wife to him” (Gen ‭20:14‬). He gave Abraham one thousand pieces of silver, and said, “Behold, my land is before you; dwell where it pleases you” (Gen 20:15b‬).

The world today is full of people eager to say who is holy and who is profane. However, the Tanakh and the Brit Hadashah are full of wisdom about how we ourselves might be holy, and avoid the profane. A story about the Apostle Paul illustrates this distinction and offers some parallels to Abraham’s experience.

In Acts 17, Paul finds himself in Athens, waiting to be joined by his companions Silas and Timothy. Like Abraham, he frequently sojourned in strange places, among people who did not worship the God of Israel. When Paul sees that the city of Athens is filled with idols, he is spurred to action. Having previously been beaten and imprisoned in other stops on his journey, he is now without his traveling companions, and among strangers engaged in unfamiliar worship. What would any of us do in this type of situation? Paul has every reason to proceed suspiciously, and approach things from a place of judgment, but here is what he does instead:

First, he quickly converses with them. He finds they are curious about what he has to say (Acts 17:18–20).

Second, he does not condemn their ways, but speaks to them with due regard, appealing to their conception of divinity as a starting point for revealing to them what he knows of God’s nature (Acts 17: 22–25), even going so far as to respectfully quote their own philosophers back to them to make his point (Acts‬ ‭17:27–28‬).

Third, he holds nothing of himself back from them. No deception. No tricks. He simply gives them the information they need in order to make an informed decision.

Paul perhaps had even more reason to be distrustful of the Athenians than Abraham had to fear Abimelech and the people of Gerar, for he had suffered much physical pain for the gospel on his journey, and then found himself alone in yet another strange place. But, in contrast with Abraham, Paul accepts the welcome the Athenians give him, makes no presumptions about their understanding of God and their ability to hear from him, and allows ample space for God to act as a sovereign agent in the situation. (Which he does, for we see in verse 33 that some among their number came to believe in Yeshua, and they joined Paul.)

Our world is perhaps more divided today than it has ever been. This division is seen not just in our country, but in our communities, our congregations, and even within our own families. As believers in Yeshua, it is right that we should seek to always stand on God’s side in all situations, and work toward the fulfillment of his purposes. But when we encounter people we presume to be far from God, we might do well to remember the lessons of Abraham and Abimelech, and the wisdom of Paul among the Athenians. 

“Every way of a man is right in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the heart.” (Prov ‭21:2)

All Scripture references are from the English Standard Version (ESV).

Does Your Faith Have Feet?

Photo credit: https://www.walkingwithnomads.com/

Parashat Lech L’cha, Genesis 12:1–17:27

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann, Ahavat Zion Synagogue

Now Adonai said to Avram, “Get yourself out of your country, away from your kinsmen and away from your father’s house, and go to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, I will bless you, and I will make your name great; and you are to be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, but I will curse anyone who curses you; and by you all the families of the earth will be blessed.”

So Avram went, as Adonai had said to him. . . (Gen 12:1–4a)

Jews, Christians, and Muslims as well call ourselves “children of Avraham.” And in the Christian and Messianic Jewish tradition, when we call ourselves children of Avraham, we usually focus on having the same kind of faith as Avraham. But do we have that kind of faith?

In the shadow of the Reformation, many of us learned to take pride that we believe in faith, not works. We don’t all know exactly what that means, but we take pride in it nonetheless. I observe that many lean toward or fully embrace the idea that we ought to rely upon faith instead of actions. But when people imagine that we are called to rely on faith instead of obedience are we talking about an Avraham kind of faith?

How would you answer that one? My answer is “No.”

Just look at today’s parasha and notice here, and in all the parashiyot about Avraham, how Torah describes Avraham’s characteristic response to the commands of God. One thing’s for sure: he doesn’t just say, “I believe you God!” Even Martin Luther, the champion of salvation by faith, got this, when he said, “True faith is never apart from works.” Let’s look at that.

In Genesis 12, we find this key statement at the beginning of verse four: “Vayelech Avram—So Avram went.” God has spoken, and the very next thing we read of Avram is that he takes obedient action.

This is the faith of Avraham, faith with feet—obedient action expressing trust. That’s what Avraham’s faith was, and is—nothing less, nothing more, and nothing else. And if we are going to call ourselves children of Avraham who share in Avraham’s faith, then we too should be people whose lives are characterized not simply by words of agreement with God, as important as that is, but by something more than mere words: we must respond with deeds of agreement.

Avraham is the icon of faith because, more often than not, he displayed reflexive obedience, faith in action. It’s like what happens when you go to the doctor’s office and he hits your knee cap with that little rubber hammer, and, if your body is not ready for the scrap yard, in immediate response to the stimulus of the hammer, your lower leg reflexively moves forward. And if we are truly children of Avraham by faith, we too will obey as a reflexive habit of life.

Time and again, the Torah records Avraham’s obedience in immediate proximity to his hearing the word of the Lord. In the next chapter, chapter 13, we read that God tells him, “Get up and walk through the length and breadth of the land, because I will give it to you.” In the very next verse, the text says this: “Avram moved his tent and came to live by the oaks of Mamre, which are in Hevron. There he built an altar to Adonai” (Gen 13:16–17).

Here again, the word of the Lord comes, and Avraham acts—this is what it means to be a person of faith. It means to hear the word of the Lord and do it.

This reflexive obedience is most strikingly evident in the account of the binding of Isaac, toward the end of Avraham’s life. In this account, we read,  

After these things, God tested Avraham. He said to him, “Avraham!” and he answered, “Here I am.” He said, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Yitz’chak; and go to the land of Moriyah. There you are to offer him as a burnt offering on a mountain that I will point out to you.” (Gen 22:1–2)

The very next verse says this: 

Vayashkem Avraham baboker—Avraham got up early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, together with Yitz’chak his son. He cut the wood for the burnt offering, departed and went toward the place God had told him about. (Gen 22:3)

Here, as a very old man, as before when he was just embarking on his journey of faith, we see Avraham acting out his faith. That is the only kind of true faith there is. For Avraham or for us.
I like the way Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf put it:

By definition, you cannot freely choose to be commanded. . . If there is a God, there cannot be a fully autonomous human being. . . . How you know God’s will for you, and whether you’re able to do God’s will are difficult question, but they are secondary to the belief that, if you know, when you know, however you know God’s will, there is no choice about performing it. There is only obedience or sin.

I would only add this to what Rabbi Wolf said so well: “When you know, however you know God’s will, there is no choice about performing it. There is only the obedience of faith or there is sin.” As Ya’akov put it, “So then, anyone who knows the right thing to do and fails to do it is committing a sin” (Jas 4:17).

If we are truly children of Avraham, manifesting his kind of faith, it will show in what we do. We would do well to take to heart these words from Hebrews: “By faith Avraham obeyed when he was called to go out to the place which he would receive as an inheritance” (Heb 11:8a). This is what we ought to do as well whenever and wherever we are convinced that God has spoken. Our faith should not just be sitting around. Lech l’cha! Put your faith on its feet. Get moving, just like Avraham our father! 

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

The Right Focus for Intolerable Times

Parashat Noach, Genesis 6:9–11:32

Rabbi David Friedman, Jerusalem, Israel

As I read this week’s parasha, I am reminded that our great problems in the world today are not new. They are the same ones as in ancient times, recycled into our current generation. Our parasha opens with a view of human life from over 4,000 years ago:

The earth was corrupt in its relation to God and was full of wanton violence. Everything was perverted, because all mankind lived corrupt lifestyles on earth. (Gen 6:11–12)

There you go. It can’t get any worse than that. The word used to denote “wanton violence” is hamas, and it is almost humorous, if it weren’t so serious, that Hamas is the name of a Middle Eastern terrorist organization today. In fact, things got so bad way back then, that action had to be taken:

Then God told Noah, “All humanity is about to end, because all of earth is full of wanton violence. Men have perverted the entire earth. So make for yourself a boat of buoyant wood; make animal pens in the boat, and coat it inside and outside with pitch. Make the boat 300 amah in length, 50 amah in width, and 30 amah in height. Make a roof for the boat, and build the vessel upward to an amah short of the roof. Put a door on the side of the boat, and build three decks on the vessel. This is because I will definitely bring a catastrophic flood upon the earth, to destroy all animal and human life. Everything on earth is to be eradicated.” (Gen 6:13–17)

Add the presence of supernatural fallen beings on earth that were mixing with humans whom God created to be in his image, and the situation was intolerable to God. Intolerable.

What a sad point has been reached in our parasha! In our last parasha, B’reisheet, God created humankind, his crown of creation. He made humankind in his own image. But it didn’t take long before people as a whole turned their backs on wanting to “walk before God” (the phrase used to describe Enoch in Gen 5:24). We can sense that God was deeply grieved, distressed, and even angry. At this point he took action:

The floodwaters reached a height of fifteen amah above the mountain-tops, and covered them over. All known life was eradicated, reptiles that crawl, birds, wild animals, all species of insect life that swarm over the earth, and all of mankind. Every type of living being was destroyed and perished. All beings, including humans, animals, reptiles, and birds that lived on earth, were wiped out. Only Noah and everything that was present with him survived. The floodwaters were at their maximum height on the earth for 150 days. (Gen 7:20–24)

And so the flood took place. Not so long afterwards, humanity walked away from following God again, and rejected his ways. This seemed to affect even the physical earth itself: “Ever had two sons whom he fathered. The name of the one was Peleg, because during his time the earth was split apart” (Gen 10:25). Peleg in Hebrew means to “split off.” The geographic rupturing and splitting of earth’s continents may be referred to here, if the theory of the Pangaea supercontinent is indeed accurate. This reminds me of what Rav Shaul wrote: “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Rom 8:22, NIV). It was as if God’s physical creation could no longer bear the turning-away from God that was occurring, a turning-away that led to the Tower of Babel incident:

All mankind spoke one language, and had the same vocabulary. In their travels from the east, they found a valley in the land of Shinar and lived there. People said to each other, “Let’s make bricks in a furnace,” so they used bricks instead of stone, and clay for mortar. They further said, “Let’s build a city for ourselves, with a tower whose top reaches up to the sky. By doing this, we can become great and independent, so that we won’t be spread across the earth.” Then God came down to see the city and the tower that men had built. And God said, “So, they are united and everyone has one common language. They have already begun to work together, and now they won’t hold themselves back from anything that they conceive of doing. Let’s go down there and scramble their speech, so that no one will understand another’s language.” Then God scattered them from there throughout the entire earth, and they abandoned their building of that city. (Gen 11:1–8)

Once again, God found the human situation intolerable and he took action to prevent further disaster, this time without destroying the very life that he had created. (On a humorous note, I have had to pay the price for what occurred here: I’ve invested a lot of my time, effort, energy, and even finances, in trying to learn six languages!)

Sometimes I look at the world around me from Jerusalem, and it looks intolerable to me, too. While it is easy to get down about the constant state of affairs in human history and in today’s world, I was reminded of a very, very important perspective this week.

The followers of the evil one may flourish, mature and grow into the most wicked, lustful, terrorizing, idolatrous, and selfish generation in the history of the world. But at the same time, the people of God’s Kingdom will mature, flourish, and ripen as we move into our destiny of becoming a powerful, godly, radiant body of believers.

Right now I sit in peace in lovely Jerusalem. But things may not always be this way. It is easy to fear the day when darkness covers earth. It is easy to want no part of days of bombs dropping, future wars, food shortages, economic collapse, increasing anti-Semitism, more terrorism, Russian and Iranian expansion to our very borders . . . there is so much to fear! But God wants us instead to focus on the promises he has given to us—not on the fear and terror that our enemies want to dish up to us. It is simple: either God protects us, or we have no protection (not that I don’t respect the IDF; I am one of its proud veterans). And I choose to believe in him and his goodness.

In the past, Psalm 91 was a daily comfort to me when I was in uniform in war. I carried it with me everywhere I went and read it often. Bombs exploded above me and around me, but never did one damage me. Bullets went over my head, and one day one came right at me, but never did one touch me. God was good, and I choose to believe he will be good in the future. Perhaps that is why our people conclude the parasha this week with the introduction of Avram (Gen 11:27–32). The very mention of Avram fills us with hope, because we know how the story will develop; we endure the frustration and pain of Genesis 10 because we know that Avraham and covenant are on the way in our next parasha. Similarly, today we can endure the problems in the world around us because we know what is coming in the future: Messiah’s return that will herald in a world of shalom and righteousness.

A prayer from the heart for all of us: ​God, give us your courage to face our futures. Give us victory in the day of warfare; victory that enables us to walk fully into your destiny for us. Let us be brave and obedient, as Noah was. And please protect the people of Israel. In Yeshua’s name, Amen.

Let’s pray that prayer for each other. God is listening.

Shabbat shalom!

Unless otherwise noted, all Bible translations are by the author.

Staying Human through the 2020 Election

Parashat B’reisheet, Genesis 1:1–6:8

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature.

“From which part of the earth’s great surface did He gather the dust?” ask the Rabbis. Rabbi Meir answered, “From every part of the habitable earth was the dust taken for the formation of Adam.” In a word, men of all lands and climes are brothers.

This comment on Genesis 2:7 (from Pentateuch and Haftorahs, edited by Rabbi Dr. J. H. Hertz) is based on Rashi’s classic commentary. Other rabbinic writings cite the creation account in Genesis 1 as the foundational statement of human brotherhood and dignity.

Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, in the likeness of ourselves. . . .”

So God created humankind in his own image;
in the image of God he created him:
male and female he created them. (Gen 1:26a, 27 CJB)

Every person—every human being as human being—is made in the image of God, and therefore is to be treated with respect and dignity.

This claim might sound obvious, or even a bit sentimental, but we need to hear it afresh amidst influential current views like these:

The human race is just a chemical scum on a moderate-size planet, orbiting around a very average star in the outer suburb of one among a billion galaxies. – Stephen Hawking

Looking back, humanity will turn out to be just a ripple within the cosmic data flow. – Yuval Harari, Homo Deus (both quotes are cited in Morality by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks)

In a postmodern world that sees us as just chemical scum or a ripple in the data flow, recognizing that every single person is created in and bears God’s image is radical. And treating people that way, with inherent dignity and respect, is more radical still. But the dignity of humankind is easier to honor at a distance than close up. It’s the recognition of the divine image in those we actually deal with on the ground every day that makes the radical difference.

So let’s see how this applies to getting through the 2020 elections with our humanity intact. I’m not the first one to comment on the unprecedented level of rancor and polarization around this election. I’m particularly concerned, though, about its impact upon our own Messianic Jewish community. Polls report that a significant percentage of families have become distanced or even estranged over this election. Some family members can’t even talk to each other any longer, and I fear that’s happening in our own extended Messianic Jewish family, especially between generations. The division between younger and older family and community members is always a challenge, but it’s becoming tragic in 2020.

So, what are we to do about it?

• Speak about and to the opposition with respect. You can believe that President Trump is utterly unworthy of re-election, or that a President Biden would be a total disaster, without resorting to the mockery, name-calling, and stigmatizing rhetoric that’s flying around these days. We can refrain from lashon ha-ra, the “evil tongue” of slanderous speech, and from passing on partisan claims and talking points from either side. Try respectful dissent instead.

• We can also refrain from the use of litmus tests. I once told a friend that I thought we, as Jews, should be sympathetic toward immigrants, since most of us are descendants of pretty recent immigrants ourselves. His response: “Oh, so you believe in open borders!” I patiently explained that I believed in maintaining our borders and in a humane policy toward people who wanted to enter them. I failed the initial litmus test but we ended up having a good discussion and understanding each other better. The litmus test of political party is especially worthy of being dropped. You don’t have to question someone’s sincerity or salvation just because he or she votes differently from you.

• Keep politics in perspective. Neither party has an agenda that’s wholly informed by Scripture. Even if you’re enthusiastic about a particular party, you can remain aware of its shortcomings. No party has the final word or the ultimate answers.

• Put loyalty to Yeshua above loyalty to a political (or even religious) persuasion. As the 2020 election unfolds, it threatens to further tear apart an already fragmented nation, but it must not tear apart the community of Yeshua’s followers. Insist on the unity of all fellow Yeshua-followers, of whatever party or persuasion, and act accordingly.

• Learn from those with whom you disagree. Ben Zoma said, “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person” (Pirkei Avot 4:1). The next time you hear someone express what you consider a divergent political position, ask if there’s any possible reason beyond brainwashing that they might hold an opinion different from yours. Seek to understand their viewpoint, as someone also bearing the divine image, before you leap to disqualify it.

The late and lamented civil rights icon Congressman John Lewis (whom some might write off as a member of the wrong party) once described his embrace of nonviolence, not as a tactic of protest, but as a deeply held value:  

We are talking about love here. Not romantic love. Not the love of one individual for another. Not loving something that it lovely to you. This is broader, deeper, more all-encompassing love. It is a love that accepts and embraces the hateful and the hurtful. It is a love that recognizes the spark of the divine in each of us, even in those who would raise their hand against us, those we might call our enemy. (Walking with the Wind, 1998)

The “spark of the divine” is another way of describing the image of God that we all bear from creation. For Lewis the imperative to recognize the divine spark arose from his reading of the Sermon on the Mount—and we should all be able to say amen to that.

As Messianic Jews we also recognize that the teachings of Messiah Yeshua in turn rest upon the whole Torah, starting with the Creation account that we read this week. As so often happens, this ancient story is ready to shape our response to the breaking news of today and tomorrow, if we hear it well. O Lord, open our ears!

BEGIN AGAIN RIGHT NOW

Image by celebrationofwomen.org

Simchat Torah 5781

Rabbi Dr. John Fischer, UMJC President 

As a Jewish community we’ve just finished going through a time of introspection and a time of celebration. We moved through the awesome days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur as we conducted an internal inventory of ourselves in the presence of the majestic King over the entire universe. Immediately afterward we moved into a “season of rejoicing” through the week of Sukkot as we celebrated God’s provisions for our ancestors (Deut 29:5) as we walked with him through the wilderness journey he described as our honeymoon with him (Jer 2:2).

Now we’ve come roaring into Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, the conclusion of the festival cycle spelled out in Leviticus 23. As if to reinforce Rosh Hashanah as the beginning of our new year, Simchat Torah concludes our reading of the Torah (Deut 33–34) by immediately launching us into reading the Torah from the beginning (B’reisheet) again.

So, we begin again immediately, not at some indistinct time in the future, but right now.

After Sukkot wraps up, Leviticus 23:36 instructs us to hold a special (“holy”) “eighth day” (shemini) commemoration of conclusion (atzeret) which then spills over into Simchat Torah. Taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture of Leviticus 23, it’s almost as if Shemini Atzeret concludes not only Sukkot, not only the fall holidays, but also the entire cycle of festivals described in Leviticus 23. (Remember the entire chapter is read as a unit.) Shemini Atzeret is designated simply as the “eighth day” after the end of Sukkot. And yet, since our calendar is built on the seven-day week based on the seven days of creation, the eighth day would itself signal a new beginning. Appropriately, Simchat Torah immediately picks up on this new beginning theme by launching our cycle of reading again. Additionally, Simchat Torah in a sense serves as still another conclusion, this time to Shavuot; this is the holiday that celebrates the giving of the Torah while Simchat Torah celebrates our having the Torah.

A couple of weeks ago we approached and then observed Rosh Hashanah as an opportunity to begin a new year, to start afresh with our lives with God and with those around us. Now we can use our celebration of Simchat Torah to remind ourselves of our new intentions and new initiatives as well as to start afresh following God’s guidelines in the Torah. It’s yet another opportunity for a new beginning, for a fresh start for each of us.

In this fresh start we should take to heart the concluding text of the Torah (Deut 34:10), which serves as part of the Simchat Torah readings. This parasha reminds us that “the Lord knew Moses face-to-face.” There was a close, intimate relationship between the two. Moses had come to know the character and person of the God of the universe. He knew him to be a God of surpassing compassion, overflowing love, superabundant kindness, and unrelenting forgiveness (Exod 34:6–7). Accordingly, we need to take the time to get to know the Lord more intimately and to model those same divine characteristics towards others. It’s part of our calling as a paradigm people (Deut 4:5–8; Exod 19:5–6).

But the parasha also reminds that the Lord knew Moses. That means Moses opened himself up to God; he didn’t hold anything back from God. The other part of the Simchat Torah parasha (B’reisheet) reminds us that God walked with Adam and Eve in the garden in Eden. We, too, need to see this year as an opportunity to walk that closely with God, taking the time to get to know him better, and opening ourselves more fully to him. As we begin again immediately, this is something we can aim for and build on as we move forward through the coming year. 

Simchat Torah can also serve as a time of forward vision for us as a Union. Although the pandemic has adversely impacted and shaped much of this past year, we were able to launch and build on some exciting fresh initiatives. These are opportunities that we look forward to build on as we move through the coming year.

• Over 600 people attended our virtual Tikkun Leil Shavuot. We plan to build on that for our upcoming Winter Leadership Conference in January.

• Rabbi Barney Kasdan and Education Chair Andrea Rubinstein (and team) further strengthened our Messianic Educator Certificate Program. It’s readily accessible for your synagogue teachers to take advantage of.

• We launched the Introduction to Lay Cantorial Training program under the capable leadership of Aaron Allsbrook. This is a wonderful opportunity to raise the level of cantorial work in your congregations and throughout the Union.

• We birthed Dorot, a task force Deborah Pardo-Kaplan effectively leads. This task force is researching and compiling ways we can all more effectively function in and be relevant to our emerging world and to our contemporary Jewish community. We eagerly look forward to what they will share with us.

• Thanks to Justin Matthew the Union was able to offer professional consultation to more effectively utilize various social media platforms to reach into the communities in which we all serve. His services are still available. Put them to use these coming months.

And stay tuned for other fresh initiatives we as a Union develop this coming year. To learn more about any of these initiatives, contact office@umjc.org.

As we leave our sukkahs behind this Simchat Torah, let’s eagerly make the Torah more relevant in our lives and to those around us. And as we do so, we can more enthusiastically anticipate the time the Aleinu looks forward to, the time when the Living Torah will be among us again, and “the world will be perfected under the rule of the Lord Almighty.” Now is a great time to begin again!

The Ultimate Etrog

by Jared Eaton, Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

Chag Sameach! After the often grueling experience of Yom Kippur, it’s a wonderful change of pace to gather with our families and communities to celebrate the festival of Sukkot. We harvest tree branches, pick gourds, string up lights, and build our sukkahs, our temporary homes for this happy week.

But building sukkahs is not the only way in which we celebrate Sukkot. We also observe a few other lesser known rituals. Among these traditions is the waving of the lulav and the etrog, collectively known as the Four Species.

The etrog is a citrus fruit, similar to a lemon, which grows in the Land of Israel, and the lulav is a kind of a wand made up of palm, myrtle, and willow branches.

Talmudic tradition teaches that these four species, with their different characteristics, represent the diverse nature of all of Israel. The sages equate a good taste with Torah learning and a pleasing scent with good deeds. They argue that in order to be a complete and fulfilled Jew, one must possess both of these qualities in abundance.

The Rabbis’ distinction between Torah learning and good deeds calls to mind the distinction made by New Covenant luminaries such as the Apostle Paul and Yaakov between faith in Messiah Yeshua and the living out of that faith through good works. Some may argue that Paul emphasized faith over works—“For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from works of the Law” (Romans 3:28)—while Yaakov upheld the opposite opinion—“What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?” (James 2:14). But both men would certainly agree that mature believers must have faith and works to truly live up to the example set by our Messiah Yeshua.

Recently, I had a conversation with a friend who, in a very astute allegory, compared Messiah Yeshua to “The Ultimate Etrog.” The etrog, with its pleasing scent and good taste, represents one with both Torah learning and good deeds, or in my New Covenant interpretation, Faith and Works. And indeed, who better embodied the qualities of the etrog than Yeshua, who taught and walked in perfect faith in his Father and lived a life exemplified by kindness and compassion and service to those who needed his help the most?  Yeshua truly is our Ultimate Etrog.

But if Yeshua is the Ultimate Etrog, who might be the ultimate representatives of the other three species? Consider the palm. It has a good taste (the date) but no scent, representing a person who has faith but no works to back it up.

How many Yeshua-believers fall into his category? How many of us claim to be followers of Yeshua and study the Scriptures, but don’t act out our faith in our everyday lives? How many of us have Jesus fish bumper stickers but still cut people off in traffic and curse other motorists? How many of us wear our tzitzit and our kippot out in public, but walk by without making eye contact with the hungry homeless person looking for a kind word and a little compassion?

Yaakov would not think highly of such a “palm-leaf believer.” When I think about who might be the “Ultimate Palm Leaf” Isaac comes to my mind. Loath as I am to pick on a beloved patriarch, Isaac is no one’s favorite Bible hero for a reason.

The Scriptures portray a man of great faith and spiritual merit, but have little to say about Isaac’s actions. In every story in which Isaac plays a major part, things are happening to him, not because of him. He wordlessly acquiesces to his binding. His father’s servant finds a wife for him while he stays home. He is manipulated by his sons and his wife in his old age. Rather than take an active part in his own story, Isaac remains a passive character, letting life happen around him.

Yeshua, on the other hand, was decisive and proactive. He sought out opportunities to live out his convictions and the way he lived his life was a testimony to his faith. If we are to follow him, we need to be active players in our own stories.

In contrast with the palm leaf, the myrtle branch has a good smell but no taste, representing a person with good works but no faith.

It’s entirely possible to do good, without being good. I think of the quote from the controversial central character of “The Wolf of Wall Street,” Jordan Belfort: “See money doesn’t just buy you a better life, better food, better cars . . . it also makes you a better person. You can give generously to the church or the political party of your choice.”

I can only imagine what the apostle Paul would have to say about Belfort’s idea of what makes a person “better”. What kind of a person are you if you donate $100,000 to cancer research but do it with money you made from cheating your clients? Are you really a better person if you fund an orphanage but come home and treat you own family with contempt?

These myrtle-branch believers may have a sweet smell, but anyone who gets close enough would find out that their taste is bitter.

For my example of the “Ultimate Myrtle Branch” I thought of the prophet Jonah. Jonah may be the most successful prophet in all of the Bible. Other prophets were met with scorn and persecution and saw their words fall on deaf ears, but Jonah’s message to the Ninevites was met with a city-wide call to repentance and the rescue of an entire nation. If we were to judge a man solely on the good he has done in his life, Jonah would be counted amongst the greatest in the kingdom.

And yet we read the book of Jonah as a cautionary tale. In spite all of his amazing gifts and talents, Jonah has a terrible attitude throughout his story. He scorns the task God has charged him with, he takes no responsibility for his calamity inside the fish and he repeatedly complains and wishes for death after he finally grudgingly does his job.

While his works are great, his faith in God’s plan is vanishingly small. Contrast his attitude with Messiah Yeshua’s. As much as Jonah might have disliked God’s plan, no one had a more bitter cup placed before him than Yeshua. Messiah knew that his road led to the cross, yet he went willingly and without complaint, even in the face of temptation to take an easier road. Yeshua had faith in his Father’s plan, and if we are to follow him we need to have similar trust to back up our good works.

Last and certainly least among the four species we have the willow branch. A plant with no taste and no smell, representing a person who lacks both faith and good works.

Sadly, the world seems to be full of willow branches. America has seen a dramatic decline in religious belief in recent decades, while the number of people claiming no religious affiliation or belief has risen inexorably. Indifference seems to be the default setting for humanity, as individualism is valued over community and the pursuit of material gain is valued over compassion for our brothers and sisters.

When I think of the “Ultimate Willow Branch” it’s easy to go for a traditional biblical villain. Pharaoh or Haman or Herod are all easy targets.

But I don’t think that most people who fall into the willow-branch category are inherently evil. Most willow branches just don’t know how to be any better than they are. They’ve never been given the opportunity to be anything but a plain old tasteless, odorless willow branch.

That’s why my choice for the ultimate willow branch is the tiny character of Zacchaeus. Not a great and mighty villain. Just a little, petty knave.

For those who need reminding, Zacchaeus’s story can be found in Luke 19. Zacchaeus was a tax collector who was very much disliked in his community. He was considered a sinner and a cheat and a collaborator with Rome. Truly a man with neither faith nor good works to his name.

And yet when Yeshua walks past Zacchaeus, he doesn’t see a willow branch. He sees a man who has the potential to become an etrog. Yeshua had every reason to ignore Zacchaeus, to treat him as a lost cause. But just as we don’t toss away the willow branches on Sukkot, but instead bind them together with the other four species that they all may bless each other, Yeshua saw the good that was inside of Zacchaeus and called him to become more than he was.

By the end of the story, Zacchaeus has pledged himself to make restitution for his past misdeeds and to continue to do the good works for which he has been made. Yeshua proclaims that salvation has come to Zacchaeus’ house because his faith has allowed Messiah to save that which had been lost.

This Sukkot, we are all challenged to enter our sukkahs and reflect on which of the four species we might be. But we can take comfort in the knowledge that no matter where we are in our faith walk, whether strong in works, faith, or neither of the above, Yeshua is always calling to us and giving us the opportunity to be more than we are today. With Messiah’s help, anyone can change their species.

Chag Sameach!

Note: this commentary originally appeared in October, 2016.