Whose Justice?

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18–47:27

By Dave Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA

The beginning of Parashat Vayigash is the climax of the story of Joseph and his brothers. The narrative tension is at its highest point, as it appears that Benjamin will be enslaved by his not-yet-revealed brother, Joseph, and the brothers will be sent home to break the news to their now twice-bereaved father.

Then Judah went up to him and said, “Please, my lord, let your servant appeal to my lord, and do not be impatient with your servant, you who are the equal of Pharaoh. (Gen 44:18)

Judah goes on to recount the story up to this point, giving the reader his perspective. I always took the words of his monologue at face value, hearing in them a pleading, humble tone. But Rashi makes an unexpected comment on the phrase “do not be impatient” (or “do not be angry”). He says, “We learn from this that Judah now spoke harshly to Joseph.” And Rashi does not stop there, even suggesting that “you who are the equal of Pharaoh” is a veiled threat: “If you annoy me any further I will kill you and your master [Pharaoh] too.”

Rashi, following midrashic sources, hears a barely-concealed anger under the surface of Judah’s words. To someone who has read this story from childhood, knowing that Joseph is about to reveal his identity, this is unexpected. But this reading is surprisingly well attested in the rabbinic sources. Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, in her spectacular work, The Beginning of Desire: Reflections on Genesis, helps to flesh out this reading: 

In this passage, Rashi understands the obviously conciliatory tone of Judah’s rhetoric as the plain meaning of the text, with the menacing, reproachful notes detected by the midrash as undertones. Ramban elaborates on this idea, which possibly originates in the midrashic comment that Judah spoke “both softly and harshly” . . . in Ramban’s view, there is anger hidden in Judah’s words, though he dare not express it unambiguously.

 This reading is at odds with the common reading of this story where Joseph is the righteous orchestrator of his brothers’ repentance. But perhaps Joseph has some residual anger, or is indecisive, or confused about his identity—perhaps it’s more comfortable to keep his old life at arm’s length than to deal with forgiveness and long-buried emotional trauma.  

If so, then Joseph needs Judah to call him out, to break the dam of his reticence, to rip off his mask.

If we follow this interpretation, what accounts for Judah’s anger? A hint may lie in the exchange right before this, at the end of the previous parasha: 

Judah replied, “What can we say to my lord? How can we plead, how can we prove our innocence? God has uncovered the crime of your servants. Here we are then, slaves of my lord, the rest of us as much as he in whose possession the goblet was found.” But [Joseph] replied, “Far be it from me to act thus! Only he in whose possession the goblet was found shall be my slave; the rest of you go back in peace to your father.” (Gen 44:16–17, emphasis added)

Zornberg suggests that it’s these last words, “go in peace (‘alu leshalom),” that set Judah off. Shalom, peace, is a motif weaving its way throughout the story of Joseph and his brothers. The word is broader than the English word “peace,” however, to include wholeness, completion, safety, and health. In Judah’s mind, returning without Benjamin to the death of his father and a permanently fractured family, is no kind of shalom. 

Joseph has claimed to be a God-fearing man (42:18), and we get the sense that he takes pride in acting justly. The cup was found in Benjamin’s bag, so only Benjamin will be punished. Judah’s suggestion that all the brothers remain as slaves is laughed off. Far be it from him to act thus! This is Egypt, cradle of civilization! Nobody does law and order like us! We only punish the guilty. But Judah sees through him. “Go in peace” employs a narrow vision of shalom. It is a platitude, a joke.  

This is why Judah is livid. 

What we have here are two different conceptions of justice. Joseph cares about justice, certainly. He likely sees this whole charade as a kind of justice for how his brothers treated him. As a boy he was a tattletale (37:2), and it seems he may have grown up with a tattletale’s sense of justice.  

This conception of justice we detect in Joseph is well-represented in our contemporary culture. This justice is fair, mechanical, and punitive. An eye for an eye, meted out on the individual caught with a hand in the cookie jar (or a goblet in his sack). According to this conception of justice, letting a criminal go free is a miscarriage of justice. Brothers who have done wrong need to be punished, and even if they have repented, they must prove it.  

Judah’s justice, on the other hand, is nuanced, empathetic. It’s the justice of the rabbis, who while acknowledging the concept of “an eye for an eye” and capital punishment, organized their legal system in a way that made them impractical and irrelevant. Judah’s justice is oriented toward shalom. Instead of punitive, it is restorative.

Justice, as the word is used in English, does often carry this sense of retribution. In that sense, Joseph’s justice might seem more natural to many of us. This kind of justice is about the right people being punished for crimes. But in the Jewish tradition the dominant aspect of justice (tzedek) is redistributive justice, hence the Hebrew word tzedakah meaning charity, or obligatory giving of money to the poor. 

Justice in our tradition, then, is not preoccupied with crime and punishment, but is focused on shalom, restoration, and wholeness, and finds its ultimate embodiment in Yeshua, who like Judah, was willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of restoration, regardless of whether it was fair.

In a feat of profound self-control, Judah avoids the pitfalls of his righteous anger, however, and while subtly calling out Joseph, he tells a story designed to arouse his empathy. In his case, the story succeeds beyond his wildest expectations because, well . . . you know how it ends. 

Today the true meaning of justice is no academic point. In the United States, for example, much of the legal system takes Joseph’s approach to justice. Because laws accrete over time, we now live subject to a vast corpus of law, which is impossible for a citizen to fully know. James Duane, an American law professor writes: 

Legal experts now agree that just about everybody in the nation, whether they know it or not, is guilty of numerous felonies for which they could be prosecuted. One reliable estimate is that the average American now commits approximately three felonies a day. (You Have the Right to Remain Innocent, p. 22)

Because the breadth of statutory “law” is so expansive, the American system of justice has a certain flexibility in how it can be wielded. The law can entrap us all, but only certain people are policed in a way where those unknown felonies are used against them. And the legal system is experienced very differently by those with the (mostly economic) resources to navigate its labyrinthine halls. 

The results are clear enough: For example, a cursory look at incarceration rates by race or ethnicity in American jails shows wild imbalances (Black Americans make up 40% of the prison population, but only 13% of the total population). Nearly half of Americans have experienced a family member incarcerated, but that half is overrepresented in more vulnerable communities. Families are separated and communities hollowed out when fathers and brothers spend much of their lives in prison. 

Judah worried about sending his father, Jacob, “down to Sheol in sorrow” (44:29). Just as today, Benjamin’s captivity would have an impact extending far beyond just the presumed guilty party. 

Joseph, in his position of power, portrays himself and his government as just. We do fair punishments! Only the guilty are punished! Indeed, some of us may say the same of our own legal system. But Judah sees past such platitudes. Systems are not inherently just, and systems established by power tend to protect the powerful. We know well that Egypt was not in fact a shining example of justice. Fortunately Joseph could hear the voice of his powerless brothers giving him correction. 

Bryan Stevenson, who has committed much of his life to giving voice to prisoners, writes in Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption: 

I've come to believe that the true measure of our commitment to justice, the character of our society, our commitment to the rule of law, fairness, and equality cannot be measured by how we treat the rich, the powerful, the privileged, and the respected among us. The true measure of our character is how we treat the poor, the disfavored, the accused, the incarcerated, and the condemned. We are all implicated when we allow other people to be mistreated.

 Perhaps it is time for us to put aside our platitudes about justice as well and listen carefully to the stories of the accused.

Citations of Tanakh are from the JPS translation.

Miracles Obvious and Hidden

Parashat Mikketz, Genesis 41:1-44:17

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

Nachmanides says there are two types of miracles; Nes Nigleh, the obvious miracle, and Nes Nistar, the hidden miracle. The quintessential obvious miracle is Pesach. God causes the ten plagues, splits the Red Sea, and reveals the Torah with great fanfare at Sinai. The quintessential hidden miracle is Purim. God is not even mentioned in the Purim story; he works silently behind the scenes to affect his will.

Joseph’s story, which we are reading right now, is an example of a hidden miracle. God accomplishes his will to teach Joseph humility, and prepares him through many trials to become the leader that he was meant to be. Hanukkah is an example of both. In the story of Hanukkah, God works behind the scenes through Mattathias and his sons, but then we have the open and obvious miracle of the oil.

Yeshua’s arrival is a mix of both as well. For most people, it was just the birth of a son to a humble couple from Nazareth. A few people saw the miracle, though. Shimon and Hannah at the Temple, the shepherds who saw an angelic host, and the magi from the east know that something is up. But Yeshua’s second coming will be an obvious miracle in the extreme. He will arrive in the sky with a heavenly host at his heels, bringing judgment upon a sinful world!

These days, obvious miracles do occasionally happen, but for the most part miracles are of the hidden variety; a person suddenly recovers from an illness for no apparent reason, another has a financial windfall just as it was needed. An elderly friend of mine told me a story about when she was a young single mother raising her children alone. They were very poor. One morning she realized that she had nothing to feed the kids for breakfast. She prayed and trusted. Suddenly there was a knock at her door and a neighbor was holding two boxes of cereal. She said that her kids didn’t like it and was wondering if my friend could use them! Many miracles like this happen every day; we just don’t hear much about them.

As Jews, our job is to constantly seek the hidden miracles in life. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel encouraged everyone to live in “radical amazement.” He said, “One of the goals of the Jewish way of living is to experience commonplace deeds as spiritual adventures, to feel the hidden love and wisdom in all things.”

The siddur guides us toward this goal. First thing in the morning when we awake, we recite the Modeh Ani, thanking God for the miracle of having another day. We recite Psalm 145, which recounts wonder and praise at Hashem’s provisions. Before we recite the Shema, we say “In his goodness he renews daily and constantly the work of Creation.” In the Amidah, we say during the Modim, “We thank you and recount your praise, for our lives which are entrusted to your care, for our souls which are in your charge, for your miracles which are daily with us, for your continual wonders and favors, evening, morning, and noon.” And in the Birkat Hamazon we say, “He nourishes and sustains all, and benefits all and he prepares food for all of his creatures which he has created.”

All of these are a recognition of hidden miracles that are with us daily.

Creation itself is a hidden miracle. Many look at it and see nothing but the result of randomness. Others see God’s hand. The Lubavitcher Rebbe once said that the world, “is a symphony we do not hear, a magnificent spectacle concealed from our eyes—so we see just a world. That is all there is to the world: concealment. Rip away the concealment and there is only Miracle.”

The poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote,

Earth’s crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God,

But only he who sees takes off his shoes;

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Going back to Nachmanides, he wrote, “Hidden miracles are the basis for the entire Torah. A man has no share in the Torah, unless he believes that all things and all events in the life of the individual as well as in the life of society are miracles.”

We can read of Joseph’s experiences and think the ancient writers saw God there when he wasn’t. We can read the Hanukkah story and simply conclude that a ragtag group of underdogs won the war by sheer luck and circumstance. We can also read the story of our daily lives and miss the miracles. But our vocation is to see the Nisim Nistarim, the hidden miracles, every day. May we train our hearts and minds to do so, and may our siddurim be our guide in this pursuit. May we see the hidden “Hanukkah light” at the core of everything!

Hag Hanukkah Sameach!

This commentary originally appeared in UMJC.org, December, 2017.

Spreading Light in Dark Times

Hanukkah 5781

Monique B, UMJC Executive Director

2184 years ago today, a pagan despot sacrificed a pig on the altar of the Temple in Jerusalem. Antiochus chose the short days and dark nights of Kislev for this disgusting deed on purpose. His goal was the complete demoralization of the Jewish people, who clung stubbornly to monotheism, despite their pagan occupiers.

Right after desecrating the Temple, Antiochus dispatched his troops across Judea to enforce a new decree: Judaism was now illegal. Observance of Shabbat, circumcision of Jewish infants, and studying Torah were now punishable by death. As a show of compliance, Jewish leaders would be forced to eat treyf in public, and make elaborate sacrifices to foreign gods.

The soldiers only made it 12 miles out of Jerusalem before encountering outright defiance. You see, Modiin was home to Mattityahu the Kohen, the father of five strapping young men. When Antiochus’ representative arrived to put on their demonstration of public humiliation, Mattityahu threw a spear through him (and the Jew who stepped forward to play along, too).

“Whoever is for God, follow me!” was his rallying cry, as Mattathias and his sons retreated into the Judean wilderness to organize their rebellion. Together the Maccabees (“the Hammers”) and the Hasideans (“the Pious”) fought a lopsided guerilla war. Their goal was to do more than simply shoo away the Greeks — they sought a return to the era of the biblical Judges, when strongmen (and women) would rally simple Jewish farmers, herders, and sailors to take up arms as the need arose.

For three years the Maccabean coalition fought, on multiple fronts. The Seleucid-Greek Empire deployed their greatest weapons of war — even armored elephants came to Israel’s shores — in their attempt to put down the rebellion. They forgot that the God of Israel was on the other side, the same God who delights in redeeming the Jewish people through miracles.

Three years to the day after Antiochus placed a pig on the altar of our holy Temple, the Maccabees liberated and rededicated it, creating the new festival of Hanukkah which we celebrate tonight. Once again the Temple blazed with the light of the newly consecrated menorah, once again Jerusalem was restored to its status as the holy city on a hill, shining the light of God’s oneness over a world plunged into darkness.

We come to Hanukkah this year in a time of profound darkness. 2934 Israelis have died of COVID so far. In America the number is even more staggering, at 290,000 dead (including over 3000 just yesterday). In both countries, the virus has taken an extreme toll on Hasidic and Orthodox Jewish communities, where children and the elderly live side-by-side in densely populated homes.

To slow the spread of this terrible plague, we are asked to isolate ourselves. But we are not a people who thrive when we are left alone. Judaism isn’t a way of life for rugged individuals. Every aspect of Jewish life is meant for community — Shabbat doesn’t feel right without a dinner table full of hungry guests, a bris depends on a living room full of nervous uncles and cousins, a wedding demands a circle of joyous and sweaty dancers, a funeral requires a minyan of supportive mourners. Every single ritual we do is tangible and communal: we touch and kiss the Torah, we share the challah, we place our hands on the children to give them our blessing, we bathe the bodies of the dead.

Tonight we begin lighting candles together, likely in groups that feel far too small. We’ll connect through screens that filter out the smell of latke grease that tends to linger in the air. If there is a toddler in your life, you might not get their chocolate gelt fingerprints on your freshly ironed blouse. Instead, you’ll blow kisses to each other over FaceTime. I want to validate your disappointment — this is not the way Jewish life is meant to be lived. Some connection is indeed better than none at all, but real community life (the kind with the sticky fingerprints and the floor full of crumbs) is a thousand times better.

I want to bless you that you should find joy in these difficult circumstances. That you should be inspired by the Maccabees, who clung stubbornly to their hope for brighter days, even on the very darkest nights. The Maccabees drew their name from a glorious acronym — Mi Chamocha Ba’eilim Adonai (“Who is like you, O Lord among the Gods?”). May their choice to rise up and worship God, even in confining circumstances, serve as a template for us today. They had the boldness to declare, “A Great Miracle has Happened Here!” even in the midst of suffering. May we do so as well.

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.