The Lord Calls Us by Name

Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1–5:26

Dr. Daniel Nessim, Kehilat Tsion, Vancouver, BC

Vayikra. Being the first word of the book as well as the first word of the first reading of the first parasha of Leviticus, that is what our parasha is called: Vayikra, or in English, “And he called.”

Each of us was given a name shortly after birth and, for most of us, we are still called by that name. When I hear my name, it commands my attention. It identifies me. It also means that the person who has called me knows my name, even if just from a computer readout.

Vayikra is the same term used when God called Moses from out of the burning bush. On that occasion he used Moses’ name not once, but twice (“Moses, Moses!” Exodus 3:4). It meant that he knew who Moses was.

Unlike that first encounter in the wilderness of Midian, this time the call to Moses was accompanied by two other verbs: “and he spoke” and “and he said.” The time frame has changed. Since the first meeting, Moses had led Israel out of Egypt, ascended to the Mountain of Sinai, not once but twice, and was now in the practice of regularly meeting God face-to-face in the Tent of Meeting. Perhaps here we have a suggestion of the more extended instruction that Moses now received from the Almighty. Now, there is more than just calling, but also speaking and saying.

The message that Moses is about to hear is indeed an extended one, and one full of nuances that typically baffle the modern reader. The message of Vayikra is not one where the “One Who Is” makes himself known to Moses alone, but to all the Children of Israel, who by covenant are in permanent relationship to him.

This message comes after Bereishit (Genesis), which can be likened to the basis that the Tent –the place where man could relate with God – was built upon. Further, this message comes after Shemot (Exodus) in which the construction of that Tent is commissioned, and the detailed description of that dwelling place of God is recorded. With that Tent having been assembled, Vayikra begins with carefully arranged details as to what happens in that Place that has been built for meeting God. This is the Ohel Moed – the Tent of Meeting, and what will happen here is the meeting of man with the ineffable.

Now that the Ohel Moed has been built, God makes it clear that his instructions proceed from the Tent, as the Hebrew indicates. מֵאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד. The Lord did not speak to Moses in the Tent, but from it. This has the sense of a decree from a distance. Not a great distance, but a notable one. Whereas Moses usually met with God face-to-face, as we have noted, here there is a degree of separation. Just as in the various terms given to God’s address to Moses (calling, speaking, saying), this adds to the moment of what is about to be taught.

To this day, the teachings of Vayikra (both the parasha and the book) are central to our people. While the sacrificial system ceased with the destruction of the Holy Temple, we continue to pray in the Amidah, “Be favorable, Lord our God, with your people Israel, and turn to their prayers, and restore the service to the inner Sanctuary of your house, and the offering fires of Israel.” Is it the shedding of the sacrificial blood that is yearned for? Rather, it is the restoration of a way of relating to God “as of old.”

God calls to Moses as to a person in relationship with him. He speaks from a Tent that is built so that the Israelites might maintain their relationship with him. The Tent of Meeting. It is in that context that the multitude of sacrifices of different types make sense. These sacrifices were to be a means by which God and Israel could maintain their relationship.

In one sense, all relationships require acts that maintain them. It is something that we all know. Within our relationships there is a constant give and take. Whether by word or deed – even a smile – our relationships are helped and sustained by our gifts to one another. In Vayikra, after calling Moses by name, the Lord then gives detailed instruction as to what those gifts are to be, and how Israel is to maintain their relationship with him.

For some who look in from the outside it is more than easy to conflate all of the sacrifices and the sacrificial system under the concept of atonement. No doubt we are grateful for the essential atonement that has been provided by the self-sacrifice of Messiah Yeshua. In light of that great gift we might miss that Vayikra shows that our relationship with the Creator involves more than that alone. The Lord calls us into a relationship that involves far more than the atonement for our sins which makes it possible. He calls us by name. He asks us to relate to him.

Consider the offerings in this parasha alone. There are burnt offerings that can be offered by any Israelite, according to their ability to afford different kinds of sacrificial animals. These are a pleasing aroma to the Lord. There are grain offerings to the Lord, most of which is to provide food for the priests. Without honey or leaven but always with salt (thus we salt our challah every Shabbat), these are a holy part of the Lord’s food offerings. There are peace offerings, again according to their affordability to the worshiper. These too are for a pleasing aroma to the Lord. There are offerings for unintentional sins, differently specified for priests, all the congregation of Israel, or the individual. These make for atonement, as do the offerings for those who fail to testify to a matter when required to. Lastly, our parasha addresses unintentional breaches of faith to be dealt with via a guilt offering. Accordingly the result of the guilt offering is not only atonement, but forgiveness.

In Psalm 50:13, as Midrash Rabbah notes, the Lord asks, “Do I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?” Implicit is the message that he is far more interested in the soul of the worshiper than the actual sacrifice. Otherwise, the size of the sacrifice would matter, but it does not. The One who spoke and the world came into being speaks to us today. He desires us to hear his voice. He desires to be in relationship with us.

Vayikra reminds us of the value of offerings that are a pleasing aroma to the Lord, the One who desires to be in relationship with his people and us as individuals. The one who reached out to Moses by name in order to teach Israel how we might maintain our relationship with him. Sacrifices are no longer offered in Jerusalem, but it is certain that he continues to desire relationship with us.

Throughout the Torah and Brit Hadasha, our relationship with God is affected by our relationships with others. As with the Lord, our human relationships need gifts and offerings to thrive. Perhaps a smile for a brother or sister. Perhaps material help, or a kind deed. The Torah acknowledges that many sins are unintentional. Extending forgiveness to those who sin against us can open a door to the freedom of knowing that we, too, have a path to forgiveness for our transgressions.  

The Future Is Now: Hanna-Barbera and the Real Magic Kingdom

Image: Hanna-Barbera Studios

Parashat Pekudei, Exodus 38:21-40:38

Rabbi Paul l. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT 

When I was a boy in the 60’s my two favorite cartoons were the popular shows The Flintstones and The Jetsons. While Hanna-Barbera Studios produced both, the Flintstones were “the modern stone-age family” while the Jetsons were the “space-age” family of the future. Ironically, though, both families were tongue-in-cheek reflections of 1960’s lifestyle and values.

The Flintstones had all of the 60’s lifestyle expectations, with Stone Age veneers. Their stone-wheel cars would roll up to the drive-in restaurant so they could order a “bronto-burger.” Their humble abode in the Town of Bedrock resembled the low-cost post WWII housing which accompanied the suburban sprawl of the 50’s and 60’s. Even their appliances, such as garbage disposals and hairdryers, ran on the power of prehistoric looking animals. The Jetsons, on the other hand, had flying cars, excessive gadgetry, and robotic servants to help ease their life in cloud scraping hi-rise apartments. Almost prophetically every time-saving convenience had a screen accompanied by robotic voices that sounded like alien invaders in 60’s sci-fi movies. 

Just like the Flintstones, the Jetsons sported 60’s style hairdos and reflected the aspirations and mores of the decade. The women did not work, and the men did everything possible to avoid work. Though the Flintstones represented the blue-collar family and the Jetsons the white-collar family, their mode of operation and goals were identical. So, is there a lesson that can be gleaned by observing the relationship between the Flintstones and the Jetsons? I think there is, and I believe it to be profound. When we speak of what was or what can be, we can only reflect on what we have already known and have experienced. We reconstruct the past and reframe the future based upon our experience of the present.

Could this be the reason that Hashem asked Israel to erect the Mishkan in the wilderness? Did the Creator want Israel to understand what it meant to be truly creative? Is it just possible that he was teaching them precisely what it meant to be co-creators, junior partners in the slow and arduous process of completing the design of creation? Is this why the better part of the second half of Shemot contains instruction and narrative related to the building of the Mishkan? Well, let’s consider this voluminous material.

First, I think it is worth exploring the heptadic structure (structures based upon matrixes of sevens) of the Mishkan accounts. This structure points to the connection between the Mishkan and the order and process by which Hashem created the world. After six days of preparation, Moses enters the cloud that contains the divine presence on Sinai (Exod 24:16). Moses is then given the instructions from the Creator concerning the specifics of the Mishkan construction in seven separate speeches, each distinguished by the formulaic introduction “Hashem spoke to Moses,” or “Hashem said to Moshe” (Exod 25:1; 30:11, 17, 22, 34; 31:1, 12). The seventh speech culminates with God’s instructions for Shabbat observance (31:12–17), punctuated by the divine decree of death for those who violate it.

The seventh speech is followed by the account of the Golden Calf and the ensuing chaos in Israel’s camp, which brings death and division in the ranks. After Moses pleads with God for the people (Exodus 33), the tablets of the covenant are reissued (Exodus 34). The actual building of the Mishkan begins in Exodus 35, initiated by a restatement of the Shabbat commands (35:2–3). The account of the Mishkan building continues through Exodus 40, with continual references to the work being done, “as Hashem had commanded Moshe.” This phrase is most prominent in the last chapter of the account, where it is repeated seven times. The heptadic structure is not only a literary clue that the Mishkan belongs to a covenant of re-creation, but it was also part of a sacred drama that Israel performed each day, thereby making God’s purposes for them part of their DNA. By acting out a new present reality, Israel begins the process of reconstructing the perfect past and reshaping a bright future. A future where they see themselves as a Kingdom of Priests committed to recapturing Hashem’s design for creation.

If failed reliance upon the Creator allowed chaos to ensue and wreak havoc upon the fragile creative order, then obedience to the Creator will inevitably restore the creation to its intended well-being and Shalom. When Israel builds the Mishkan according to the covenantal design of God, the glory of Hashem, which resided in a cloud outside of Israel’s camp, takes residence in the Mishkan following its completion. So, we learn that when we participate in Gemmar Tikkun, the final repair, the Light of Hashem will fill all of the earth.

He built his sanctuary like the heights,

like the earth that he established forever. (Psalm 78:69 TLV)

 We are given a prophetic glimpse into the glorious future through the work, sacrifice, and ascension of Messiah Yeshua, who transcends the past, present and future.

 For Messiah did not enter Holies made with hands—counterparts of the true things—but into heaven itself, now to appear in God’s presence on our behalf. (Heb 9:24 TLV)

The Mishkan does more than complete the cosmic design; it effectively reclaims creational intentions from the disruptive forces of chaos and human sin and re-establishes the Creator’s primordial hopes. Isn’t it amazing what you can learn from cartoons!

A Beautiful Mansion for God

Parashat Vayakhel, Exodus 35:1–38:20

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

Moshe said to the children of Israel: “See, Adonai has called Betzalel, the son of Uri, the son of Chur, of the tribe of Judah. He has imbued him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with insight, and with knowledge.” (Shemot/Exodus 35:30–31)

The Hebrew for the three characteristics listed by Moshe is chochmah (wisdom), tevunah (insight), and da’at (knowledge). Betzalel creates the Mishkan, or Tabernacle, with these three. This is significant because Proverbs declares that God created the world with these same three attributes. Mishlei/Proverbs 3:19–20: “Hashem founded the earth with chochmah; He established the heavens with tevunah; through His da’at the depths were cleaved and the heavens dripped dew.”

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks said, “In creating the universe, God made a home for humanity. In building the Sanctuary, humanity made a home for God.” He asserts that these are the two creations described in the Torah; the universe and the Mishkan. And he points out that there are many literary parallels between them. They are too numerous to delve into in this article, but one of the main parallels is when Israel finishes the Tabernacle. Exodus 39:43 states, “Moshe saw all the work, and — there it was! — they had done it! Exactly as Adonai had ordered, they had done it. And Moshe blessed them.” This reflects God’s declaration at the end of the description of creation that everything He had made was “very good”.

We, too, make a place for Hashem in this world in our own lives. How do we do it? Using these same three characteristics. So let’s delve into their deeper meaning.

Pirke Avot 4:1 states that a chacham (a wise person) is one who learns from all people. Chochmah is related to the word for a fish net (chakah) and is thus viewed as the lowest form of wisdom. It is the collection of information, like casting a net wide and gathering everything in. 

The next higher level is tevunah. The root of this word is binah (understanding) but our Sages relate it to the word banah (bet-nun-hey / to build). Thus it is the ability to take what one has learned and derive new concepts and insights. It is the sorting out of all that was caught in the net, so to speak. 

But one can be an expert with a lot of knowledge, able to see connections with different concepts, and yet not imbibe the spiritual essence of Hashem’s Torah which only comes from deep intimacy with Him. In the Ramban’s commentary on the Torah, he declares that one is able to become a “scoundrel with the permission of the Torah.” (Sadly this has been all too often true throughout the history of all religions). 

This is where the last, and highest, characteristic comes to play. Da’at is not merely knowledge; it means something deeper. Rashi called it “reconciliation.” It is walking so closely to God and so thoroughly imbibing His teachings that we are granted divine inspiration from the Ruach. A modern-day commentator, Rabbi Shmuel Yaakov Burnstein, actually takes it a step further and says that it is a knowing in the Biblical sense, deep intimacy and communion with God. This level of knowledge is understanding that God desires us to not just follow a set of laws, but to internalize and transform our hearts and minds, according to His Way of Holiness. When we reach this level, we have created a place for Him in this world. Our hearts have become a sanctuary, a Mishkan. And our actions flow from this place. 

This is what Messiah Yeshua meant when he said, “the Father is united with me, and I am united with the Father” (John 10:38). He is not describing an ontological reality, that he is divine (which is also true); rather, he is describing a mode of existence, of living in deep communion with Hashem. This is the foundation of the Kingdom of God. Yeshua made a home for his Father in this world, not by merely learning (chochmah), or extrapolating that learning into new ideas (tevunah), but by consistently and daily living at the level of da’at, deep communion with Hashem.

Earlier in John, Yeshua said, “Whoever puts his trust in me, as the Scripture says, rivers of living water will flow from his inmost being!’ (Now he said this about the Spirit, whom those who trusted in him were to receive later)” (John 7:38–39).

This is a life of inspiration from the Ruach! This is a life of deep communion with God, imbibing His holiness and love. This is a life of da’at!

We can see the central importance of this deepest level of knowledge in the fourth blessing of the Amidah. We pray “Favor us with knowledge, understanding and discernment from You. Blessed are You, O Lord, Giver of knowledge.” This last word is actually da’at. Given our line of reasoning, then the sole reference to da’at in the final words of this blessing makes sense. 

Kabbalism has related these three forms of knowledge (chochmah, binah, and da’at) with the first three Sefirot (aspects of God): chesed/lovingkindness, gevurah/might, and tiferet/beauty. When we live a life of da’at, we become the source of living water Yeshua referred to, and we create something beautiful in the world. 

God created a home for us in His creation of the universe. God has created a home for us through the life, death, and resurrection of His Messiah. May we create a home for Him in this world, by not only learning His precepts and understanding their application, but by embracing the very essence of His Holy Torah.

In doing so, it will not only be a home, but a beautiful mansion, out of which will flow living waters of healing and blessing to all around us!

“I Have Called You Friends”

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11–34:55

Dr Jeffrey Seif, Executive Director, Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations

As a rabbi, I work through the parasha every week. I typically read through the portion and, while paying attention to what the text is saying, I look for a feeling, an impulse prompting me to land on a particular passage. My heart bounced all over the place while reading this week’s parasha. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to land, because there are compelling landing strips all over the place.

Moving through it backwards, one alights upon the Lord’s “Thirteen Attributes” (34:6–8), about which much rabbinic ink has been spilt. Moses’ beckoning God to “show me Your glory” (33:18) taps and articulates readers’ interest in experiencing God in worship, much as it resonates with prayer warriors who want to “speak to God face to face” (33:11), and experience His presence and rest (33:14). More intellectually-minded exegetes, forever keen on connecting the dots between Tanakh and New Testament, find connections with a theme that resonates in both: friendship.

In 33:11, Moses is likened to a “friend”—specifically, a friend of God. In the Johannine Gospel, Yeshua is on record promising “friendship” to believers who abide (Jn 15:14). Then, immediately afterwards, He more forcefully reiterates the point and a promise, saying: “I have called you friends” (15:15). It’s hard to overstate the significance: the relationship with God that believers in Yeshua enjoy is akin to Moses’. Friendship is a key in both. The incredibly good news articulated in Exodus 33 and 34, however, is juxtaposed against tragic and agonizing bad news in chapter 32. There, readers learn of the Gold Calf incident, and the judgment that came as a result of it.

There’s agony and ecstasy in this week’s Torah portion. While there’s much I could say from these few pages—and perhaps should say—I am going to limit myself to Aaron’s failure.

Moses’ absence from the people while atop Sinai, in 32:1, created a problem—one not of his making. Moses was gone.… Restless, discontented sorts beckoned Aaron to step into the leadership void. The shepherd sheepishly complied. He bought into a “let’s return to Egypt” narrative, and began the manufacture of a golden calf (32:2–4). Though the principal (Moses) was out of sight for a season, the principle to move forward and not manufacture and worship Egyptian idols most surely would have been present. Would it have been too much to expect Aaron, the High Priest, to resist their press toward its manufacture and return to Egypt? I think not. He, however, solicited donations of gold rings from the Hebrew men’s wives and daughters (32:2) and commenced with the manufacture of the idol (32:5). This surely wasn’t Aaron’s finest hour!

Rashi comes to Aaron’s defense, conjecturing: “Aaron said in his heart: ‘The women and the children cherish their ornaments; perhaps the matter will be delayed and in the interim Moses will come’ [back].” I’m not altogether sure Rashi can know what Aaron said in his heart. That aside, Aaron’s lack of resolve here wasn’t simply a “one off” event. Later, after the Israelites left Sinai, we see how Aaron was yet again drawn into another’s discontent. Spirited along by Miriam’s chagrin this time, Aaron was drawn into her angst and participated in her family rebellion (Num 12:1–2). Rashi conjectures it was Moses’ wife’s beauty that invoked Miriam’s ire. Maybe; maybe not, I don’t know. . . . I do know this though: Aaron’s lack of fortitude and his being too easily swayed is apparent.

So as not to single out Aaron, I’ve long observed how flaky people can be—every now and again. Mindful of it, I’ve long wondered how God gets any work done through us, given various glaring imperfections associated with the human condition. He does. God graciously and patiently bears with our human foibles—and this fact is salient in this week’s parasha.

The Torah follows Aaron’s lackluster performance in chapter 32 with an important statement in Exodus 34:6–7. Therein, in what Judaism refers to as the “Thirteen Attributes of God,” God’s “compassion,” His “gracious” disposition, His being “slow to anger” and “showing mercy to a thousand generations” are stated emphatically. That God is thus minded is not only good news for Aaron but it’s good news for us as well. As we’ve seen, the relationship with God that believers in Yeshua enjoy is akin to Moses’ relationship with God. Friendship is a key in both. To be sure, Aaron’s performance with the golden calf leaves a lot to be desired. It’s not unreasonable to expect better from a spiritual leader. We want leaders to lead us forward, not back to Egypt. My main take away, however, derives from the reminder that God is gracious and bears with us kindly, and in friendship.

Speaking of “bearing” and speaking of “forward”—and as I close—permit me to say the following: Stay tuned for the UMJC’s Kadima: Forward! program. Information on where we’re going will be coming to you in reasonably short order. Forward!

 Jeffrey Seif is the Executive Director of the Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations. He can be reached at jeffreyseif@umjc.org.

The Glorious Garments of Service

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20 – 30:10

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel 

You are to summon your brother Aharon and his sons to come from among the people of Israel to you, so that they can serve me as cohanim — Aharon and his sons Nadav, Avihu, El‘azar and Itamar. You are to make for your brother Aharon garments set apart for serving God, expressing dignity and splendor. (Exodus 28:1–2)

The priestly garments of dignity and splendor have something to teach us about humility and self-sacrifice. It’s a paradoxical lesson, and we can consider it from the vantage-point of some instructions Messiah Yeshua gave on the way up to Jerusalem for his final Passover.

Yeshua had told his followers what awaited him in the holy city—betrayal, arrest, and a gruesome execution at the hands of Rome. These grim words were hardly out of his mouth when two of his closest followers, Ya’akov and Yochanan, approached him asking for a special favor, perhaps because Yeshua had also said he’d rise after three days: “When you are in your glory, let us sit with you, one on your right and the other on your left.”

Yeshua tells them, “You don’t know what you’re asking! Can you drink the cup that I am drinking? or be immersed with the immersion that I must undergo?” Ya’akov and Yochanan assure Yeshua that they can, and he says they will indeed share in the cup and immersion of his suffering. “But to sit on my right and on my left is not mine to give. Rather, it is for those for whom it has been prepared” (Mark 10:35–40 CJB).

Yeshua’s response—“it is not mine to give”—can be understood as one of several statements of his apparent limitations in the Besorah of Mark, like his inability to do miracles when he visited his hometown (6:5), or his response to the rich man who called him “Good rabbi”—“Why are you calling me good? No one is good except God!” (10:18). Yeshua is the anointed heir of David, who will come in glory to sit on David’s throne, but God is the ultimate authority and Yeshua can’t simply hand out favors.

The mystery of Yeshua’s divine-human status confronts us here, but there’s another implication of “it’s not mine to give.” In this kingdom, positions of status are not handed out along the usual lines of charisma, clout, and connections. Perhaps Yeshua is not contrasting himself and God so much as contrasting his kingdom and all other kingdoms. Status in his kingdom isn’t gained by the usual means of power and insider access, but is reserved for those “for whom it has been prepared”—a lesson that the rest of Yeshua’s followers need to learn, because they become outraged when they hear about the request of Ya’akov and Yochanan.

But Yeshua called them to him and said to them, “You know that among the Goyim, those who are supposed to rule them become tyrants, and their superiors become dictators. But among you, it must not be like that! On the contrary, whoever among you wants to be a leader must be your servant; and whoever wants to be first among you must become everyone’s slave! (Mark 10:42–44)

For anyone who has yearned to be “seen,” as in today’s jargon, who has struggled with feelings of envy and competitiveness, Yeshua’s words provide a way out. Accept the place God has given you and use that position to serve others.

At first glance, however, the inauguration of the High Priest in this week’s parasha might seem to reflect the sort of exalted leadership and religious hierarchy that Yeshua decries. Aaron, the chosen one, is given “holy garments . . . for beauty and for splendor” (Exod 28:2). But among these garments are hints of the same paradoxical truth Messiah Yeshua is seeking to instill in his followers: Fulfillment in the Kingdom of God doesn’t come from jockeying for a place on center stage, but from serving in the place that God has prepared for us.

The High Priest is to wear a choshen, or breastplate, on which twelve precious stones are set, each one engraved with the name of a tribe of Israel. “So Aaron shall bear the names of the sons of Israel on the breastplate of judgment over his heart, when he goes into the holy place, as a memorial before the Lord continually” (28:29). The High Priest, however gloriously he is clothed, is a burden-bearer. He carries the names of the children of Israel over his heart even in his moment of highest exaltation, when he goes into the holy place and appears before Adonai himself. He is raised up as a leader among his people, yet he is a burden-bearer serving them all. “Whoever among you wants to be a leader must be your servant; and whoever wants to be first among you must become everyone’s slave!”

Furthermore, on the breastplate each of the tribes is represented equally. Each has a set place, a place “prepared” for it, and none is higher or lower than any other.  

Only when every stone was in its place would the priest be able to don the breastplate and thus be fully ready to fulfill his service to the Divine. The instructions for the choshen ensured that there was a place for every tribe and that none’s space dominated any other. By divine design, all of Israel was given their rightful space. (Rabbi Leah Lewis in The Mussar Torah Commentary)

Rabbi Lewis here is highlighting the arrangement of stones as a symbol of humility, which isn’t a matter of self-abasement, or coy comments about how “it’s not about me.” Dignity and humility go hand in hand, and humility means discovering and occupying our rightful space—neither too high nor too low—in God’s design. And as Yeshua teaches us, this rightful space will be one of service to others.

But serving others is such a familiar ideal that we can easily agree to it and then neglect it. The names on the breastplate hint at one way to avoid that pitfall: letting the name of the other person, their identity and their struggles, the realities of their life, matter deep with ourselves, just as Aaron bears the names over his heart. Yes, it’s important to maintain good personal boundaries, but we also need to let others truly matter to us. Out of that connection arises service that’s not an abstract ideal, but real-life action that will mean something in the life of the one we want to serve.  

The breastplate bearing the names of the tribes of Israel, each in its place, reminds us also to embrace our God-given place and not to compare ourselves with the other servants; neither to seek a better position than theirs, nor to grovel in our lowliness. Instead, we’re to serve within the space God has prepared for us . . . and prepared us for, “even as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve” (Mark 10:45a).

Organized Religion

Parashat Terumah, Exodus 25:1–27:19

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

And you shall put the mercy seat on the top of the ark, and in the ark you shall put the testimony that I shall give you. There I will meet with you, and from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim that are on the ark of the testimony, I will speak with you about all that I will give you in commandment for the people of Israel. (Exodus 25:21–22 ESV)

 Permit me to dive into this week’s reflection with some questions.

Did Moses pray to God?

If Moses were walking the quiet stillness of the desert night, would he hear the voice of God in the same way as he hears it inside the Mishkan, or does Moses save all the conversation for his morning “chat” with God, face to face?

Assuming you had access to the very voice of God, and assuming you were chosen to directly speak to God face to face, what precisely would your prayer life look like?

These questions are asked to explore how God’s voice speaks to us, in different ways, in different places, for different purposes. Clearly, God has called our forefathers into the wilderness to worship him, with the Mishkan at the epicenter of our physical place of worship. The Mishkan, then, is an organized place inside space and time, within which our forefathers and God would meet with one another. The Mishkan is the place where God spoke with Moses.

The intentionality of the design of the Mishkan must not slip from our view. The purity of the gold and silver, the weight, measurements, design, and layout, the soft radiance of the menorah, the rich colors and so forth; all of this sublimity in design, materials, intentionality, planning, focus, hard work, cooperation, was driven by one overarching purpose: to create an organized space where God would dwell with us and speak with us. This effort and purpose are mirrored in the haftarah portion with the building of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kings 5:26–6:13).

This intentionality and purpose gifted our forefathers with a cohesive framework to jointly worship God, a framework that culminates in the creation of the most intense and sacred days of our calendar. Worship was to take place at a specific place, at a specific time, guided by specific people, using specific elements, within a specific ritual, for a specific outcome. Any deviation from the specificities endangered both the priesthood and the community with bearing the full weight of God’s unquenchable fire. To hear God’s voice as a community our forefathers had to organize and regulate their religious services around a given set of mishpatim, rules or ordinances. The religion of our forefathers, of Mount Sinai, of the Mishkan, is an organized religion.

So, we see that the voice of God to Moses, and by extension to the assembly of Israel, came by way of an organized and intentional religious space. It was not random or haphazard. It was not spontaneous or unconstrained. God’s voice came within an organized space and time.

This is not to say that Gods voice can only be heard inside an organized space; clearly this notion is not biblical. But rather, this is to say that God’s voice is heard in a particular way, only through an organized space. When we come to Yom Kippur or Shavuot or Shabbat services, we join together to hear God’s voice in that particular way, as he speaks to us mysteriously as individuals, but simultaneously as a collective flock. Communal worship brings God’s voice to us in a particular way, which can only be heard within the community setting.

Branching out from this pattern is the principle that we should organize our own place of prayer and meditation at home in an intentional and organized way. We should not leave our devotional life to the winds of spontaneity, randomness, and haphazardness. But rather we should be intentional about the time, place, and purpose of our devotional and quiet times before the Lord. When we do so, we create a deliberately organized space where we can hear the voice of God, which can only be heard in that particular way.

It is a very Jewish thing for us to be disciplined in our spiritual walk. The daily and weekly liturgy offers us a framework to communally enter into an organized space and time to hear God’s voice.

May this drash offer a word of strength to those who, in alignment with the worship at the Mishkan, integrate the liturgical prayers into their daily worship; and a word of encouragement to those who find themselves struggling with “organized religion.” I encourage us all to discipline our worship within an organized and intentional space and time so that, like Moses, we might hear God speak with us there.  

A Way to Live in the Presence of the Lord

Parashat Mishpatim, Exodus 21:1–24:18

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

This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, can feel like a bit of a letdown following the sacred drama at Mount Sinai recorded for posterity in Parashat Yitro. At the conclusion of last week’s parasha, Israel is given immortality with its designation as a “Kingdom of Priests and a Holy Nation” (Exod 19:6). Mishpatim, literally “ordinances,” on the other hand, is often thought of as a law book pronouncing mundane rules that deal with a plethora of subjects, such as slavery, economic equality, the sacredness of life, animal welfare, the role of women, and it even begins with what are essentially labor laws. But it is through these diverse mundane ordinances that the opportunity is afforded Israel, and by extension the entire world, to work toward Gamar HaTikkun, the final repair of the created order.

It is not until the end of the portion, though, that we get a glimpse of this glorious destiny!

Circling back to an event that many commentators believe took place before Moses ascended the mountain to receive the Torah, we are presented with an extraordinary vision witnessed by Moses, Aaron, Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu, and the seventy elders (Exod 24:1–11). These Israelites had a vision of the light of the Creator. What they appear to see is a brick of sapphire resting beneath the feet of God under Kisei Hakavod, the holy throne. The vision of God sitting on a throne (kisei) is described by several prophets, among them Micah (1 Kings 22:19), Isaiah (Isa 6), Ezekiel (Ezek 1), and Daniel (Dan 7:9). The Hekhalot tracts of the early centuries of the Common Era speak of the throne as the merkavah, or “chariot,” which can carry us to the loftier place of presence before the Holy Blessing One. Though the Hekhalot tractates are extremely esoteric and generally considered unreliable, they do offer a window into the historical thinking of Jewish mystical traditions. But what is unique is this brick of sapphire under God’s feet!

A midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 23:8) interprets this strange vision as an image from the past. Before his people were redeemed from Egypt, God kept before him this “brick,” symbolizing the bricks and mortar to which they were enslaved; it was a visual expression of the idea that God was with them in their suffering. After their release from slavery, however, this brickwork was cast away and no longer seen in the heavens. But is this just a mere remembrance?

Then Moses and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel went up.  They saw the God of Israel, and under His feet was something like a pavement of sapphire, as clear as the very heavens.  Yet He did not raise His hand against the nobles of Bnei-Yisrael. So, they beheld God, and ate and drank. (Exod 24:9–10 TLV)

From a Messianic Jewish perspective it is noteworthy that the Holy One is not merely incarnate in a pillar of smoke or a pillar of fire, but he is fully corporeal (apologies to the Rambam)!  Not only does the King have feet, but he is sitting upon a throne . . . so he has a posterior!   

Rather than viewing this as an exclusively retrospective image, perhaps it has an anticipatory significance as well. This strange vision has the capacity to create connections between conflicting events of incredible magnitude and intention. In Egypt, the people were previously slaves of Pharaoh, forced to build cities of bricks made from straw; however, at Sinai they have become a people who want to serve God. The brick of sapphire contains within it the residue of an earlier period, but the same image also points towards the glorious future. The brick shines like the purest heavens. The choice seems clear, do you wish to build tombs for Pharoah or a Kingdom with the Holy Creator?

So, Mishpatim is not simply about legal details and minutia; rather it is the building block of a just society, a world under the rule of the rightful King. There is no King without a kingdom, and no kingdom without a King. God’s highest standards return us to a world where we understandably see the King on his Kisei HaKavod, and when the King is on his throne, we do not have to bear the weight of the world on our shoulders. So, the world will be repaired, one heavenly brick at a time—and we are destined to be more than spectators, as we dwell in the presence of the Lord.   

Breaking Bread with God

Parashat Yitro, Exodus 18:1–20:23

Matthew Absolon, Congregation Beth T’filah, Hollywood, FL

 Jethro said, “Blessed be the Lord, who has delivered you out of the hand of the Egyptians and out of the hand of Pharaoh and has delivered the people from under the hand of the Egyptians. Now I know that the Lord is greater than all gods, because in this affair they dealt arrogantly with the people.” And Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law, brought a burnt offering and sacrifices to God; and Aaron came with all the elders of Israel to eat bread with Moses’ father-in-law before God. (Exodus 18:10–12)

Often when we read the great accounts of God visiting our forefathers in all his glorious splendor, we wonder how our faith would be strengthened or what our reaction would be if we were to encounter God in this way. Moses on the mountain, Isaiah caught up into the very throne room of God; these accounts fill our individual and collective imaginations of our God as high and lofty, untouchable, unapproachable.

In contrast to this is a wonderful little line nestled within the opening verses of Parashat Yitro: “And Aaron came with all the elders of Israel to eat bread with Moses’ father-in-law before God” (Exod 18:12b).

Both Rashi and Ibn Ezra comment on the setting “before God,” literally “at the face of Elohim.” Ibn Ezra comments on the proximity of the meal to the Mishkan, taking some interpretive license, since the Mishkan would come later. In attempting to clarify this, Rabbenu Bachya of the 11th C would comment “in the presence of God . . . in front of the pillar of cloud or the pillar of fire.”

But Rashi gifts us a more humble interpretation, more homely, more heimish. Rashi explains, “From this statement that they were ‘before God,’ we may learn that one who takes part in [lit., who has enjoyment from] a meal at which scholars sit may be regarded as though he has enjoyment from the splendor of the Shechina.”

The image that Rashi gives us is not that God was actually seated at the table, as he would be in later chapters with Moses and the elders, but rather that the act of breaking bread together, and giving thanks for God’s goodness, invites the very presence of God to be at the table with Jethro, Moses, and the elders. This reading presents a view of God as one who is present amongst his people as we cross the Red Sea, as we dance for victory, as we sit and dine with each other at the table. God’s presence goes with us.

In the second century BCE, there arose a prominent Greek philosopher by the name of Epicurus. He surmised that the gods did not care about human affairs, and that they remain distant, aloof, and altogether disinterested in the day-to-day struggles of the common man. He began the sect of the Epicureans in Athens. In Acts 17:18 we see Paul dialoguing and arguing with the descendants of his school. Epicurus’ idea of lofty and disinterested deities had great traction in the first century religious marketplace. Some 1800 years later, the philosophy of Epicurus was reborn and found widespread purchase during the enlightenment period of the 17th and 18th centuries. Even the great father of our country Thomas Jefferson once wrote “I too am an Epicurean.”

This notion of a god who is distant and detached, who sits high and lofty, sanitized from the daily goings and froings of mankind, sits very comfortably with those who themselves wish to remain distant from the hand of their creator. It is a narrow-minded and self-indulgent view of God as this snobbish judge, like a Parisian aristocrat, always faultfinding and certainly not to be engaged at the level of human commonality. This sanitization of the spirit world from the human world has played out in the modern era, particularly in our western cultural psyche, where we in cosmopolitan fashion keep our faith in a neatly sanitized box, quite separate from the muddiness of day-to-day living.

This philosophy is not Jewish, and it is not biblical. In this week’s Haftarah portion, we read of a parallel to our reading in Exodus. Firstly, Isaiah’s stupendous vision of the throne room of God (Isa 6:1– 4). That great and awesome encounter, which has found itself into our daily liturgical portions, resounds in lofty terms of “king,” “high upon his throne,” “the train of his robe,” “the Lord of hosts,” and so on. But as we read the second portion, we encounter a starkly different vision of God:

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (Isa 9:6)

This vision of God is one who is very near to us; a child, a son, a counselor, a father; these anthropomorphic terms bring God to a place that is very relatable to each and every one of us. I have a child, I have a son, I have wonderful counselors in my life, I am a father. These terms bring God into our home so that he is not lofty and distant, but rather he is close and near.

This is one of the great mysteries of our Lord Yeshua. His claim to kingship and lordship was not because he was “high and lofty,” but rather because he is “humble and lowly of heart” (Matt 11:29). Yeshua is the incarnate image of the very closeness of God. He who steps down to embrace a little child, to heal the sick, to walk amongst the outcasts, who shares in a meal of fire-roasted fish there on the shore side in Galilee.

In returning to our opening scene of Moses and the elders breaking bread and giving thanks “before God,” I would like to offer a reflection for our daily lives. When we break bread with our loved ones are we aware of God’s presence in that moment? Do we invite God into the goings and froings of our daily life? Do we hold our lives in transparency “before God,” so that in the contracts that we sign and the customers we serve; in the meals we prepare and share; in our leisure time and in our work time; we live out our lives “before God”?

I encourage us all to welcome Yeshua into our homes and around our tables so that like our forefathers, we may break bread with God.

Meeting God on the Battle Line

Parashat Beshalach, Exodus 13:17–17:16; Haftarah, Judges 4:4–5:31

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann, PhD, Shuvah Israel, Plainview, NY

There comes a time when God’s people need to battle, when a crisis demands we mobilize to face obstacles and opposition. At such times, while some prefer to remain spectators, and others to be support personnel behind the lines, some will engage in the thick of things, believing themselves called to give their all in a time of transition, opportunity, or threat.

In our readings today, we see God mobilizing his people, providing wisdom for facing the battles before them.  

Our haftarah (Judges 4:4–5:31) teaches us that God is pleased to use improbable people.

Consider D’vorah the Prophetess, a rarity in the Tanakh as a front-line woman leader. She is the visionary—with a divinely charged inner knowledge of what’s coming up and what needs doing. Then there’s Barak, the military man who needs propping up. He is the functionary—who takes care of business and manages the battle. Finally, there’s the foreigner, Ya’el the Kenite, the activist who, in a moment of opportunity, takes matters into her own hands and does what needs doing. All three of these people were improbable and even imperfect, but each in turn was crucial to winning the battle. And such improbable people needed to work together to gain the victory.

Shof’tim/Judges chapter five reflects on this battle, reminding us that even victory can be messy. Only some of the tribes came up to battle while others malingered. But the passage commends the leaders who served and the people who volunteered freely.  

What lessons can we draw? First, in fighting any battle, there must be a division of labor, of gifts and calling. Some will be visionaries, others functionaries, and some activists, troops, or support personnel. All are needed, and none should despise the other.

From our Torah reading, we find one more lesson, not so much about who fights the battle, as when the battle will be fought.

In this week’s parasha God leads Israel the long way around in their journey to the Land of Promise. The stated reason is that they were insufficiently formed and not yet strong enough to withstand the opposition they would encounter from the Philistines arrayed in their path.

Adonai was concerned with their unprepared and fearful condition (Sh’mot/Exodus 13:17–18). But shouldn’t his desire to get his people to Sinai and give them his law have overruled this consideration? Couldn’t he have just subdued the Philistines while his people made the shorter journey?

No, because God’s intention for his people then, as now, was not simply a utilitarian one. It was a relational intention. He was not shaping an army as much as forming the hearts and souls of his people.

Look at it this way: God could have called Moshe to deliver Israel from Egypt 40 years earlier than he did, without that Mosaic interlude tending sheep in Midian.

But while Moshe was tending sheep, God was shaping a shepherd for the flock of Israel.

And later, when Israel arrived at the border of the Land of Promise (at Kadesh Barnea), and ten of twelve spies spooked the people into rebelling against going into the Land, Israel would then spend another 38 years stuck in the wilderness until that entire generation died off, with the exception of Y’hoshua and Kalev (B’midbar/Numbers 14:26–30).

In D'varim/Deuteronomy 1:2 we’re reminded that it was only eleven days’ journey from Kadesh Barnea to the Land of Promise. But God took 38 years to make the trip! What was he doing? The God who was calling his people to do his work in the world was more interested in the workers than the work

To live with God, and to fight his battles, requires us to respect matters of timing. We long for something good, we pray for something holy, we wait and wait and wait . . . but nothing.

Because God’s view differs from our own, he may be preparing us for things we cannot see, and protecting us from battle-dangers we cannot fathom. And all along he is shaping us into an image that at this time is too bright for our eyes to see.

What does this mean for us? It means we must give the right answer to this question he asks of us: Do you trust me?

In many passages of life, in peace or in war, this is the central, transformational question. When we settle that issue, stormy seas grow calm, battles are won, and our impatient grumbling is transmuted into a humbled, “Yes, Lord!”

The Letter to Ya’akov steers us in the right direction, reminding us three times to be patient: “Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient. Establish your hearts” (Ya’akov 5:7–8).

Whether we are visionaries, functionaries, activists, troops, support personnel, or even bystanders, may God give all of us established hearts, as we await the outworking of his perfect purpose and pleasure.

Looking for a Leader

Parashat Bo, Exodus 10:1–13:16
Chaim Dauermann, Brooklyn, NY

It’s election season, which probably means it’s also a high time for sales of antacids. But behind all of the anxiety, bluster, rhetoric, accusation, and partisan rancor, is an earnest search: It is only natural and good that human beings should seek a trustworthy leader who will act in their best interests and lead them well. Sadly, the search for such political leaders in our day seems to always lead to disappointment for many people, or even for most. This makes the story of the Exodus all the more remarkable. It is not hard to understand why Moses looms so large in Jewish history.

Some 1500 years after Moses’s death, all of the Jewish world was groaning with anticipation and longing for a true leader—the Messiah—a “prophet like Moses” who would lead them to victory and freedom. But in what respect would this prophet be “like” Moses? Parashat Bo may suggest an answer.

At Exodus 11:3, we read, “Adonai gave the people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians. Indeed, the man Moses was very great in the land of Egypt, in the eyes of Pharaoh’s servants and in the eyes of the people.” This passage recalls earlier words from God, and looks forward as well. At the burning bush, God tells Moses, “Then I shall grant these people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians. So it will happen that when you go, you will not leave empty-handed. . . . So you will plunder the Egyptians” (Exod 3:21, 22c). We then see this idea brought to fruition in this week’s parasha: “Adonai gave the people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians and let them have what they asked for. So they plundered the Egyptians” (Exod 12:36).

So, we see here the fulfillment of the first part of the promise in 11:3, which tells us “Adonai gave the people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians.” But what about the second half of the verse? “Indeed, the man Moses was very great in the land of Egypt, in the eyes of Pharaoh’s servants and in the eyes of the people.” Commentators tend to see this sentence as a mere fleshing out of the preceding statement, explaining the means by which the people had favor. But it also introduces an assertion that can be viewed separately from Bnei-Yisrael’s plunder of the Egyptians: Moses was held in high esteem by Pharaoh’s servants and by the Egyptian people. It’s quite a thing to say, when you think about it. Consider the havoc and destruction that Moses and Aaron had brought to Egypt, such that Pharaoh’s servants, under threat of further plagues, had appealed to Pharaoh, saying, “Don’t you realize yet that Egypt is being destroyed?” (Exod 10:7). And yet, despite all this, we read that Moses was great in their eyes.

Just as with the early part of Exodus 11:3, we see this latter part brought to fulfillment as well, this time in the form of the erev rav (mixed multitude). “Then Bnei-Yisrael journeyed from Rameses to Succoth, about 600,000 men on foot, as well as children. Also a mixed multitude went up with them, along with the flocks, herds and heavy livestock” (Exod 12:37–38).

Who made up the erev rav? Scripture doesn’t tell us specifically. Jewish tradition, however, describes them as being from among the people of Egypt. Interpretations abound, but for just one example, a midrash identifies the erev rav as righteous Egyptians who took part in the Passover alongside the Hebrews so that they could join them in their march to freedom (Shemot Rabbah 18). While we do not know for certain who made up this mixed multitude and how they came to follow Moses, what is clear is that, although Moses had been sent specifically to liberate the Hebrews, his influence and leadership transcended his own community, casting a wider influence. When taking stock of Moses’s impact, the hardness of Pharaoh seems all the more notable. Being sent by God, Moses had an influence that needed to be actively and steadfastly resisted in order to be turned away. In Pharaoh’s case, that resistance was divinely reinforced.

Now we return to our initial question: In what sense is Yeshua a prophet like Moses? The Torah identifies Moses’s “face-to-face” relationship with God as a distinguishing factor that sets him apart from other prophets (Num 12:6–8, Deut 34:10). But when it comes to finding the likeness of Moses in Yeshua, we need not stop there. The powerful influence of Moses even among the Egyptians points toward a later Messianic reality. In John 5:46, Yeshua rather pointedly tells some disbelieving authorities, “For if you were believing Moses, you would believe Me—because he wrote about Me. But since you do not believe his writings, how will you believe My words?” Later, he declares to an assembled crowd, “As I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all to Myself” (John 12:32). And, indeed, through his atoning sacrifice, he makes a way for reconciliation with God for all who come to him, people from every nation, and not only those “lost sheep from the house of Israel” (Matt 15:24). Moses, too, drew multitudes, saving all those who were willing to follow him out of Egypt.

We moderns are hardly unique in our difficulties in finding strong and lasting leadership. It is not a new problem. In his day, Moses pointed the way not only for Bnei-Yisrael and the erev rav, but for a people not yet born—indeed, for us! In word and in deed, he foreshadowed the revelation of an eternal King.

 All Scripture quotations are from the TLV.