I Have Put My Words in Your Mouth

Parashat Va’era, Exodus 6:2 - 9:35

Rachel Wolf, Congregation Beth Messiah, Cincinnati

Now therefore, go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say. (Exodus 4:12)

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Go in to Pharaoh and say to him, ‘Thus says the Lord, Let my people go, that they may serve me.’” (Exodus 8:1)

I have put my words in your mouth
    and covered you in the shadow of my hand,
to plant the heavens
    and lay the foundations of the earth,
    and say to Zion, ‘You are my people.’ (Isaiah 51:16)

This week’s portion, Va’era (“I appeared”), dramatically documents the series of confrontations between Pharaoh and Moses and Aaron, as well as the first seven plagues. Moses knew the heart of Pharaoh and doubted the success of God’s plan (6:12), but God had commanded him to speak these words – God had put these words in his mouth – “Let my people go that they may serve me.”

As we shall see, in Exodus 6 Moses is told to deliver the “good news” – God’s message of deliverance – to the enslaved Israelites. Moses is told to say to Zion: “You are my people!”  In doing so, Moses is “planting the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth” (Isa 51:16).

The Purpose and Meaning of the Exodus from Egypt

At the end of last week’s portion, when all the Israelites turn against him, Moses says to God, “I told you this wouldn’t work!” (5:22-23). But God remains unperturbed. He explains to Moses (Ex. 6:1-8) that it is all part of the plan. God makes two points regarding this plan:

1. Fulfillment of the Covenant

The plan of God at this point in history is to restart the action toward the fulfillment of God’s covenant with the sons of Jacob: “Go to the Land I will show you!.” We know this because God explains the plan to Moses by reviewing the history of the covenant, mentioning each of the fathers by name. He does not say: “this is about freedom” or “this is a metaphor for coming out of sin into the atonement in Jesus.” He summarizes his talk with Moses: “And I will bring you into the land that I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as an Inheritance” (6:8). This inheritance is not merely for land. It is an essential stage in God’s eternal plan to set up his “tent,” to actually dwell with us on the earth – on Har Tzion, Jerusalem.

2. Gotta Serve Somebody – First Stop: Sinai

God’s words that he puts in Moses’ mouth are: Let my people go to serve me in the wilderness – not “so that they can be free.” They are to serve the true God; they are not to serve the gods of the Egyptians.

Concerning Freedom and Servitude

The Israelites are God’s people! They are not to serve another! In fulfilling the eternal covenant, the Israelites need to know who they are and whom they serve.  Human beings, especially in the West after the Enlightenment, have cultivated the illusion that something called “freedom” is the elixir for happiness. This is not completely wrong. We need freedom. But, while we are created with free will and the ability to choose, especially to choose our actions, there are also invisible forces that bend each of us toward serving one of the sides in the raging war for sovereignty over the earth.

The Shema, when seen in context, is stating that Hashem is the only true God, and that Israel must serve only their God. There are lots of other gods, including men who make themselves into gods, but Israel must serve only the true God who calls himself by their name.

But the great paradox is this: to serve God takes freedom! In the scriptures you will always come up against a paradox if you study deeply enough, because God’s ways are higher than our ways. A paradox is something that is intuitively true, even though it may fail to follow strict rules of logic. The enemy of our souls enslaves us, often against our will. But we need freedom of spirit and will to serve the living God. Gifted individuals throughout history have been able to muster their freedom of spirit even under the harshest slavery. These include the likes of Viktor Frankl during the Holocaust and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn in the Gulag. But most people can utterly lose hope in these “hopeless” situations.

The Inability to Hear Good News and to Choose

We need at least a degree of freedom in our spirit to be able to serve the living God. When we are forced into bitter slavery to another god, whether Pharaoh or any other man or program, it can become difficult to muster the strength to make choices. The ability to choose takes a freedom of spirit that allows for even a small degree of hope. When hope is gone, the human spirit gives up and, often, can no longer choose to serve the living God.

This is what happened to the Israelites as we read in our parasha. God commands Moses to deliver this message to the Israelites: 

“And I will bring you into the land which I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob . . . as a heritage: I am the Lord.” So Moses spoke thus to the children of Israel; but they could not heed Moses, because of anguish of spirit and cruel bondage. (6:9)

They had no hope left. They were thoroughly heartbroken. Egypt had taken not only their outer freedom, but also their freedom of spirit, their hope.

How does all this relate to our Messianic Jewish Vision and mission in the 21st century?

I have put my words in your mouth
    and covered you in the shadow of my hand,
to plant the heavens
    and lay the foundations of the earth,
    and say to Zion, “You are my people.” (Isaiah 51:16)

We are called to be a part of fulfilling the purpose of creation by reawakening the Jewish people, by believing and proclaiming God’s words: “You are My People!” “Behold, your God reigns”

Speak support and encouragement.

Bring freedom of Spirit and hope to awaken the ability of our people to serve the Living God.

Joseph (who in many ways prophetically represents the Messiah) sent away all of the Egyptians when he knew it was time to reveal himself to his brothers. This was a heart-to-heart meeting between him and his brothers.

It is not for us to convince, but we are called to facilitate, and perhaps hasten, this special (Joseph-like) reunion between Yeshua and his family! Our mission is to counter the Enemy’s plan to deeply plant “anguish of heart” into the Jewish people in order to sap the strength of their soul, so that they can’t believe the good news of God’s promised salvation from our enemies: “You are My People!” “Your God Reigns!”

Many Jewish people today are too realistic and “modern” to believe the old stories about the Holy God coming to earth to set things right and to actually dwell with us, reigning from Mt. Zion!

Yeshua, the Revealer of the Father

But somehow, Yeshua, like Joseph, reveals the reality of the spiritual realm and the faithfulness of God’s words through our own prophets. 

In the New Testament, Luke records the seminal prophecy of Zechariah, Yochanan’s father. If you read the text as the apostles understood it, you will see a deep connection between Zechariah’s words and the words of the prophets of Israel. You will also see the clear connection between Yeshua’s mission and the archetypal events of the Exodus. Look especially at Luke 1:72-74: “To grant that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear.” 

Now his (Yohanan’s) father Zachariah was filled with the Holy Spirit, and prophesied saying,

Blessed is the Lord God of Israel, for he has visited and redeemed His people.

And has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David,

As He spoke by the mouth of His holy prophets long ago,

That we should be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. 

[cf. Psalm 106:10]

To perform the mercy promised to our fathers, and to remember his holy covenant,

The oath which he swore to our father Abraham:

To grant that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear,

In holiness and righteousness before him all the days of our life. (Luke 1:67-75)

If we, today, speak the words of the Prophets with grounded faith and deep compassion, these words will “plant the heavens and lay foundations on the earth,” as we assure the Jewish community of Hashem’s faithfulness: “You are my people!”

How Are You Wired?

Parashat Shemot, Exodus 1:1–6:1

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann, Shuvah Yisrael Messianic Synagogue, Plainview, New York

This may shock you, but in my sixty years of Yeshua-faith, I have on occasion had a revelatory dream. I'd say this has been on the average of once every 10 years, so don't imagine that I've become a raving lunatic or am laying claim to Elijah’s mantle.

In one of those revelatory dreams, I was moving into an old and big house, but it needed to be rewired. After it had been rewired, I went to throw the switch to turn the lights on and the lights blew. The message of the dream came clearly to me. God was telling me, “It takes more to rewire something than you think.” I believe Hashem was telling me that during the course of my life he was going to be rewiring me, changing the way I operate, but the process was going to be more involved than I might imagine. I'm 80 years old now: the dream was true. It's taken his infinite patience and considerable time for me to be rewired. And the work is ongoing.

How about you? How are you wired? What makes you tick?

God creates and redeems us to be lights in the world, lights of different kinds. Some of us will be lights of creativity. Some, lights of justice and truth. Some of us are lights of compassionate action. Some are lights of supernatural power. And on and on.

Whatever the case, God wants us to be lights in the world. That’s why he pays attention to how we are wired and so should we.

In today’s parasha, we get an early peek at how Moshe is wired. Just for background, we know that he was born into a Levitical family under slavery in Egypt. We know his mother saved his life in infancy, floating him in a basket on the Nile only to be discovered by Pharaoh's daughter who adopted him on the spot. He would be nursed by his birth-mother and when weaned would grow up in the royal household..

Next we read about how he conducted himself as an adult, and this introduces us to how he was wired. 

One day, when Moshe was a grown man, he went out to visit his kinsmen; and he watched them struggling at forced labor. He saw an Egyptian strike a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen.  He looked this way and that; and when he saw that no one was around, he killed the Egyptian and hid his body in the sand. The next day, he went out and saw two Hebrew men fighting with each other. To the one in the wrong he said, “Why are you hitting your companion?” He retorted, “Who appointed you ruler and judge over us? Do you intend to kill me the way you killed the Egyptian?” Moshe became frightened. “Clearly,” he thought, “the matter has become known.” When Pharaoh heard of it, he tried to have Moshe put to death. But Moshe fled from Pharaoh to live in the land of Midyan. One day, as he was sitting by a well, the seven daughters of the priest of Midyan came to draw water. They had filled the troughs to water their father’s sheep, when the shepherds came and tried to drive them away. But Moshe got up and defended them; then he watered their sheep. (Exod 2:11-17)

These three incidents provide for us a window on how Moshe was wired, and they foreshadow what will be his life’s work.

Already here, at the beginning of his story, Moshe is wired to take action against oppression and injustice. We might term him a prophetic activist. He is prophetic because he cares deeply about the truth. And he is an activist who cannot see the truth or falsehood without acting on it.

How did he come to be like this? Perhaps it was in part genetic. And no doubt, spending all that time in his mother’s house being nursed and weaned until about the age of five he heard stories about his people, the Jews, his tribe, the Levites, and his ancestor Levi who was himself a man of action, as when he and his brother Shim’on took revenge on Hamor the son of Shechem and  his entire village for having humiliated their sister. Their father Ya’akov disowned them for their violence and indiscretion. 

In all of this we see Moshe being shaped by what was going on at the time of his birth and his familial context, what his family was like, and how they raised him in his early years.

Inspired by the life of Moshe, let’s examine four factors that contribute to how God wires us.

How have these shown up in your life and how is God using them to shape you into an instrument of his will?

Entry Context—Looking back on our life we will often see how God used the setting into which we were born to shape us. This retrospection provides insight into the purpose for which God is shaping us. Our entry context would include things like the family, the generation, the location, the historical context in which we were born. Broadly speaking, we’re talking about being shaped by our starting point and first influences.   

 Natural abilities—Inborn capacities that show up early in life, develop, and remain. You might term these your creational inheritance.  

Acquired skills—Abilities that are the consequence of training and education. This covers things you have studied, learned, or were taught to do: not what you were born with but rather  what has been added along the way.

Spiritual gifts—God-given unique capacities imparted to each believer for the purpose of releasing a Holy Spirit empowered ministry via that believer.         

These four factors establish how you are wired, and how you are wired indicates what you ought to be doing with your life as God’s created and redeemed servant.

Each of us will have a focal point, that aspect of our wiring that is most prominent, our leading edge. For some people it will be natural abilities, such as being highly articulate since childhood. Another person’s focal point might be their prowess as a classical musician, an acquired skill. Another person has a reputation for successful healing prayer: that’s spiritual giftedness

Finally, when your wiring is working well, your entry context, natural abilities, acquired skills, and spiritual gifts will work in synergy, feeding off of and feeding into each other.

Why not consider all these factors and take another look at yourself?

Torah teaches clearly that Moshe was wired to deliver Israel. What are you wired for? And where and how should your light be shining?

The Never-Ending Story

Parashat Vayechi, Genesis 47:28–50:26

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

This week, as we are reading Parashat Vayechi (“and he lived”), the United States is remembering President Jimmy Carter, who passed away on December 29. In Israel the country mourns hostage Youssef al-Zidayne, whose body was discovered in a Gaza tunnel on January 8, along with evidence that his son Hamza was also dead. In their honor, and in honor of the three soldiers of the IDF killed in Gaza the same day, we post this commentary on Parashat Vayechi, originally published January 2020.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Then I Saw His Face

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18–47:27

Suzy Linett, Devar Shalom, Ontario, California

When I was in 8th grade, one of the original “boy bands” appeared on television. The group was the Monkees, and they recorded a hit song called “I’m a Believer.” Written by Jewish singer-songwriter Neil Diamond, it gave a message of things previously believed that changed suddenly when the singer saw the face of true love. The lyrics proclaim, “And then I saw her face; now I’m a believer!” This week, we see a similar change through the story of Joseph and the truth revealed when his brothers saw his face.

This week’s parasha picks up after the partial reunification of Joseph and his brothers (Gen 42:6ff.). Joseph recognized them, but had not revealed his identity to them. The brothers were in a quandary. They knew their difficulties stemmed from the sin of selling Joseph into slavery and lying to their father. They repented, not knowing they had been understood (42:21–23). Joseph had a cup put in Benjamin’s sack, and after Judah rashly proclaimed the one who stole it should be put to death, it was revealed in whose sack it had been placed.       

Now, in Parashat Vayigash, Judah, in humility and respect, approaches the one who has the power of life and death over all of the family. Is that not the way we are to approach the One who has that same power over each of us? Judah makes no challenge of authority. Although he had not placed the cup in Benjamin’s sack, Judah knew he had sinned. As he understood this, he not only demonstrated sincere teshuvah, complete repentance; he also made an offer to take the place of Benjamin (44:33). We see a parallel with the Messiah. When we repent, and do not challenge God’s authority, when we do not claim life isn’t fair as an excuse, Yeshua will take the place for us.  Judah offers to become Joseph’s slave in place of his brother. Yeshua willingly died for us. 

Judah pleads with the “man in charge,” still unrevealed as his brother, to accept his willing sacrifice as a replacement to ransom Benjamin. John 15:13 states that there is “no greater love” than this offering of oneself for another. We see Messianic implications and prophecy here as well. When Judah reveals that Jacob is still alive, it becomes too much for Joseph. He clears the room, sobs, and then returns to his eleven brothers.  

Let’s read Genesis 45:4–8: 

Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Please come near me.” So they came near. “I’m Joseph, your brother—the one you sold to Egypt,” he said. “So now, don’t be grieved and don’t be angry in your own eyes that you sold me here—since it was for preserving life that God sent me here before you. For there has been two years of famine in the land, and there will be five more years yet with no plowing or harvesting. But God sent me ahead of you to ensure a remnant in the land and to keep you alive for a great escape.  So now, it wasn’t you, you didn’t send me here, but God! And He made me as a father to Pharaoh, lord over his whole house and ruler over the entire land of Egypt.” 

They came near, and they saw his face. They were forgiven. Now, they believed! James 4:8 reads, “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded!”  

Centuries later, Paul would write in Romans 8:28, “Now we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” Judah was willing to sacrifice himself for his brother in true repentance, and Joseph was able to proclaim the good that came from the evil done to him. The eleven brothers drew near; they saw the face of Joseph; they saw a face of forgiveness and love. 

The brothers return to get their father, wives, children, flocks, and herds. Obtaining forgiveness from Joseph was the easy part. Imagine having to tell your father that all of these years, not only has Joseph been alive, but they had sold him, they had lied about him, and more! How humbling, difficult, and yet complete this teshuvah must be! Jacob responds to their confession: “Enough! My son Joseph is still alive. I must go and see him, before I die!” (Gen 45:48). In complete joy, forgiveness of the brothers is absolute. In this passage, Jacob’s spiritual name, Israel, is used – he was not overcome by fleshly anger, but instead, responded in pure joy. He longed to see the face of his son. 

The journey to Egypt begins. When Jacob gets to Beersheba, he stops and offers a sacrifice. Why there? Isaac had built an altar there (Gen 26:23–33). It is in the Negev desert, not far from Gaza. The name Beersheba means Seven Wells or Wells of the Oath, depending upon which meaning of the word Be-er is used. Both meanings work biblically. Now, on this site, Jacob has a dream. God tells him to not be afraid to go to Egypt and that he will become a great nation there. He is reminded that he left the land for 22 years to work for Laban and obtain his two wives, concubines, his daughter(s), and 11 of his 12 sons. When he and his sons, their wives, and children unite with Joseph, his wife and two sons, they total 70. Seven is the number of completion. Seventy is completion times 10. Although these are all from the same family, the number is of complete representation. Much later, the Gentiles will be invited to join the family of God and bring completion. 

At this point, Torah emphasizes the use of Israel as the name instead of Jacob – the same person, but now on a mission for the Lord. He leads his people to Egypt. Renewed by the recent dream received at Beersheba, he is on fire. Joseph shows deference to his father by harnessing a chariot and going to meet him (46:29). He could have remained in the palace; he could have had a servant prepare the chariot; but he harnesses the chariot himself to greet the father he has missed for all of these years. Jacob’s descendants become known as B’nei Yisrael – the sons of Israel. This phrase will be used throughout the remainder of the Tanakh. As promised, the family grows into a mighty nation. 

Joseph’s brothers saw his face; Jacob saw his face. We know love and we know redemption when we seek the Face of God. And then I saw His face – now I’m a believer. How about you? 

Scripture references are from the TLV.

Unity: The Ultimate Miracle

Parashat Miketz (Genesis 41:1-44:17) and Hanukkah

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

The conflict over the diversity of humanity is woven throughout the entire book of Genesis. From the moment of creation, the tensions between male and female, between parents and progeny, and of course between siblings pervade the narratives of the book. These tensions also mirror their own inner struggles and humanity’s struggle with the Creator and creation. 

This week we move very close to the conclusion of B’reisheet as Parashat Miketz prepares to bring the conflict between Joseph and his brothers to its inevitable climax. The intrigue of this portion demands a conclusion, but instead ends on a cliffhanger, as Benjamin, a complete innocent, is used as an apparent pawn in Joseph’s complex effort toward an unclear goal. Is Joseph seeking vindication, revenge, justice, continued aggrandizement, or true reconciliation with his brethren?   

As Genesis closes with the unification of Israel, the wholeness of this people is never truly completed. The descendants of the tribes remain in internal and intrafamily turmoil and will eventually end in the galut (diaspora) in which we presently find ourselves. This division will only truly conclude when a sovereign act of the Holy One of Israel will unite the entire people of Israel. In the interim, the progeny of Jacob remain on trial as they do in this week’s portion. Or is it God’s sustaining love for Israel that is on trial? 

This week we read Miketz, as we often do, during the intermediate days of Hanukkah. This juxtaposition, at first glance, is somewhat unrelated. But a deeper dive exposes the story that is quintessential to the entirety of Torah, the unity of Israel, and Hashem’s ability and desire to sustain his people.  Hanukkah is not principally a story of military might, religious freedom, or universal inclusivism. Rather it is a story of faithfulness, Israel’s faithfulness to its God, and God’s faithfulness to Israel. The miracle of Hanukkah, one day’s sanctified oil lasting eight days for the Temple menorah, is the symbolic gesture of the Holy One sustaining his light in the abode of his faithful servants. 

Thus, the rabbis’ choice of the haftarah reading for Shabbat Hanukkah. Though the Torah assigns no specific meaning to the seven-branch menorah, the Hanukkah haftarah portion is much more elucidating. Zechariah’s vision explains that the menorah symbolizes God as judge and the lights are his eyes roving providentially over all the earth. The oil is “piped” directly from an olive tree to the menorah, representing God’s direct provision (Zech. 4:10-14). 

Zechariah’s vision is in fact a prophetic drama. It uses a courtroom motif to vindicate the salvation of Hashem when the returning remnant were downtrodden during failed attempts to rebuild the temple under the leadership of Zerubbabel. In this drama, Joshua the high priest stands before the angel of the Lord and the Satan (Adversary) is in effect the prosecuting attorney. I believe it is no accident the name Joshua itself means “Hashem’s Salvation.”  In this scenario the angel of the Lord who serves as the “defense attorney” rebukes the accuser, and the vindicated hero is described as a “brand plucked from the fire.”  Joshua has his ragged clothes removed, and he is adorned in attire appropriate to a Kohen and crowned with a “pure turban” (Zech. 3:1-5). This would be an appropriate time to “drop the mic” and move on, since the God of Israel has once again made his point. But this drama of deliverance has a sequel which is introduced with a “post-credit trailer.”  God declares to the court, “Hearken well, O Kohen Gadol Joshua, you and your fellow priests sitting before you. For those men are a sign that I am going to bring my servant the Branch” (3:8).

Yeshua, an abbreviated name for Joshua (Yehoshua), entered the historical drama at a time when the salvation of Hashem was again placed on trial. Though he also was silent before his accusers, the highest court vindicated him and crowned him with the victory of God.  While Joshua the Kohen Gadol was often paired with Zerubbabel, a descendant of David and heir to the royal line, Yeshua stood on trial as both priest and king, the ultimate Messianic figure, the ultimate “Branch,” the quintessential “brand plucked from the fire.” He will also be the unifier of Israel and the intercessor who will make peace between Israel and Israel’s God. 

Yeshua is the light that dispels the darkness, the one who brings peace and unity. We live in a time when division often dominates our thoughts and our ambitions. We harbor suspicions of others punctuated by often unfounded assumptions. All too often we become the accusers of our brethren, of ourselves, and often of God. Certainly, our reliance upon the Holy One suffers and is diminished.  But we can rise above this. During this season, as we commemorate the great miracles that God has brought, let’s remember in unity the light that he brings into our midst, and among our brethren.

We Only Know That He Is with Us

Parashat VaYeshev, Genesis 37:1–40:2

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

With this week’s parasha the great saga of Genesis takes a decisive turn. The dramatic visitations of God that characterized the lives of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob come to an end. In the following story of Joseph and his brothers, we might be tempted to ask where God is amidst all that they have to go through. 

The narrative shift comes with the opening words of our parasha: Vayeshev Yaakov b’eretz m’gurey aviyv. “Jacob dwelt in the land of his father’s sojournings.” These words hint at a crucial distinction: Jacob is dwelling, settling down, staying put, in the land where his father sojourned as a stranger. Yes, Genesis says that Abraham and Isaac also dwelt in the land, but this verse uses “dwelt” in contrast with “sojourning” to suggest that the pioneering era of sojourning is drawing to a close. Conditions for the sons of Jacob, the Children of Israel, will differ from those of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—and come to resemble our own. 

In one of the last scenes before this shift, God had appeared and spoken personally to Jacob when he returned to Beth-El, reiterating the promises he’d earlier made—also in person—to both Abraham and Isaac. 

I am El Shaddai: be fruitful and multiply. A nation and a company of nations shall come from you, and kings shall come from your own body. The land that I gave to Abraham and Isaac I will give to you, and I will give the land to your offspring after you. (35:11–12 ESV modified) 

With one exception, this is the last tangible manifestation of God in Genesis. The exception comes when God appears one final time to Jacob, encouraging him to go down to Egypt and be reunited with Joseph (46:2–4). In the rest of Genesis 37–50, Jacob’s sons experience God in less direct fashion, in a fashion that resembles the experience of succeeding generations including our own. Later in the Tanakh, prophets occasionally arise and are granted the same sort of direct encounter with the Almighty as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Later still, such encounter is embodied in the person of Messiah Yeshua, and is available to his followers through the gift of the Spirit. But in our day-to-day lives we are far more familiar with the sort of divine connection that is sometimes evident, and often hidden, in the saga of Joseph and his brothers. 

As the story opens, Jacob favors his son Joseph, the first-born of his uniquely beloved Rachel, and gives him a richly ornamented tunic as a sign of his status. Joseph foolishly flaunts his status and two visionary dreams he has, which depict it. His older, less-favored brothers come to hate him. One day, they go off to the region of Shechem to pasture their father’s flock, and afterwards Jacob sends Joseph off to check on his brothers and bring back a report. When Joseph finds his brothers, wearing his magnificent tunic of favor, the brothers strip it off him and throw him into a pit. He ends up being carted off by traders and sold as a slave in Egypt. God’s presence is far less evident here than in the days of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Indeed, we might ask where God is while all this is going on.

Well, God might have been at work behind the scenes when Joseph was still trying to find his brothers. Shechem is about fifty miles from the region of Hebron, where Joseph started out, and when he finally got to Shechem . . .

A man found him wandering in the fields. And the man asked him, “What are you seeking?” “I am seeking my brothers,” he said. “Tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.” And the man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’” So Joseph went after his brothers and found them at Dothan. (37:15–17)

This man appears out of nowhere, conveys crucial information to Joseph, and disappears from the narrative with not a word of explanation. He’s like the “man” who appeared back at the ford of the Jabbok in chapter 32, who wrestled with Jacob, blessed him, conveyed some crucial information, and disappeared from the narrative. Jacob was convinced he’d seen God face-to-face. Is Joseph’s encounter with this man another divine visitation? The events about to unfold all depend on that encounter, because without it he’d never find his brothers, never be carried down to Egypt, and (spoiler alert!) never become the rescuer of his family many years later. 

When Joseph finally finds his brothers, they greet him by throwing him into a pit. He is soon pulled out of it, carried off to Egypt, and sold as a slave to Potiphar, an Egyptian official. At that very moment in Joseph’s ordeal, we’re told that the Lord was with him (39:2). But there’s no vision of angels, no voice from heaven, no place of revelation as with Joseph’s ancestors. And not only does the Lord not rescue Joseph, but things get worse. Potiphar’s wife is wowed by this young Hebrew slave and propositions him. Joseph turns her down and, for the first time, as far as we’re told, mentions God directly: “How then can I do this great wickedness and sin against God?” (39:9). Joseph knows God is with him despite his endless tsuris and he behaves accordingly. Nevertheless, he is falsely accused of sexual assault by Potiphar’s lovely wife and thrown into prison. “But the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love and gave him favor in the sight of the keeper of the prison” (39:21). The Lord shows Joseph steadfast love and favor . . . and leaves him in prison for years! If Joseph asked God why, he didn’t get much of an explanation, but he continued to faithfully serve. 

So, when events go bad, as they so often do in the post-Patriarchal era in which we’re still living, it doesn’t mean God is absent or uncaring, much less that we should give up on serving him. We might often have occasion to ask “Where is God?”—as many of us did on October 7, 2023, and countless times since. It’s part of our human make-up to ask this question at such times, or when a loved one unexpectedly dies, a partner or friend deserts us, or disease invades our bodies. There’s usually not an immediate answer to that question, but perhaps the simple words from Joseph’s story can provide some comfort: God is with us. The world is broken, dangerous, difficult, and we don’t know why God doesn’t repair it. We only know that he is with us. 

At the end of the story, Joseph will finally be able to make some sense of all that he had to endure. After their father Jacob dies, he tells his finally-repentant brothers: “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today” (50:20). Through all their trials, God remained with Joseph and with his brothers, and worked out their deliverance in the end. As in Joseph’s day, God’s activity in the world today is often veiled, but we can be confident that he is at work, and that the final outcome, whether near or far off, will be for good and for life.  

Scripture references are from the English Standard Version, ESV.

"I Have Plenty!"

Parashat Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4-36:43

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

Gratitude is a powerful antidote to the virus of gloom and anxiety that afflicts us today. Jewish tradition recommends a daily dose to be taken before we even get out of bed:

Modeh ani l’fanecha—I thank you, living and eternal King,

for giving me back my soul in mercy.

Great is your faithfulness. (Koren Siddur)

When we wake up, we don’t know what lies ahead in the day that has just begun, but we can give thanks to the King for life itself. We can affirm simply being alive as a gift from God that reflects his mercy and faithfulness. A good start for the day!

This prayer also provides insight into the nature of gratitude, which can help us make a habit of it. One Hebrew term for gratitude is hakarat ha-tov, “recognizing the good.” The good is always there, and our task is to see it, amidst the disappointments, discouragements, and distractions that inevitably beset us. To see the good and then say it: “I thank you, living and eternal King, for giving me back my soul in mercy.” I thank you for this home in which I dwell, for the day ahead, for the opportunity to serve you and to serve those around me. And so on. But my examples here are rather generic, and the power of hakarat ha-tov is enhanced by specificity. I thank you for this bed in which I’m lying, warm and sheltered from the cold around me. I thank you for the day ahead in which I’ll have the opportunity to hang out with my wife (or husband) and kids. Or in which I’ll have a chance to be productive in that meeting with my supervisor and teammates. Or in which I’ll be going to that really tough class that gives me the opportunity to stretch my capacities and learn something new. And so on—I thank you for all these things that you give me in mercy and faithfulness.

Gratitude shows up in a surprising way in this week’s Torah reading when Esau, of all people, models it for us.

We’ve been following the story of Jacob, who had to flee his home in the land of Canaan to escape the wrath of his brother Esau. The two are twins, but Esau is the first-born and Jacob, at the direction of his mother, Rebekah, had succeeded in getting his father, Isaac, to speak the blessing of the first-born over him instead of Esau. Esau vows to get even and Jacob flees to his mother’s homeland far to the northeast. Now, after twenty long years in exile, Jacob is about to return to the land of Canaan, and he learns that Esau is coming to meet him with a menacing entourage of 400 men. But when Esau actually sees Jacob, he runs to embrace him and to weep together with him at their reunion (Gen 33:1–4).

Now, remember, this is the Esau who had vowed to murder Jacob in retribution for “stealing” his blessing (27:41–42). But now we see a different side of Esau. After he embraces Jacob, he asks about the droves of livestock that Jacob had sent to him to precede his own arrival: “What do you mean by this whole caravan that I’ve met?”

So Jacob said, “To find favor in your eyes, my lord.”

But Esau said, “I have plenty! O my brother, do keep all that belongs to you.” (Gen. 33:8–9)

The Jewish sages tend to distrust Esau’s generous words here, and suspect that he’s up to no good, but I disagree. Esau is an impulsive, passionate man. That character trait leads to his failings, especially his greatest failing, when he despised his own birthright and sold it on the spot to Jacob for the privilege of gulping down a bowl of stew (Gen. 25:34). Later, his passion was again evident in his cries to Isaac when he realized that Jacob had received the blessing intended for him: “Bless me, me too, my father!” And then this skilled hunter and man of the field “lifted up his voice and wept” (Gen 27:34, 38). Soon after, this same passion had made his threat to kill Jacob all too believable.

But now, at Esau’s reunion with Jacob, his passion is transformed into a nobility of character as he welcomes his brother with a kiss and weeping, and refuses his gift of appeasement. What transforms Esau’s response? Three words in Hebrew—yesh li rav, “I have plenty”—which make up the basic cry of gratitude. When Esau utters these words he rises above his own sorry role in the saga of Genesis. For the moment, at least, he forgets all that Jacob has taken from him, all that he has lost, and declares, “I have plenty, I have enough.”

Jacob insists on Esau accepting his extravagant gift, “because God has been gracious to me, and because I have everything—Yesh li kol, literally, ‘I have it all’” (Gen 33:11).

I’m going to resist the temptation to wonder whether Jacob is trying to one-up Esau here: “You have a lot, but I have it all!” Instead, let’s see him building on Esau’s expression of gratitude. Just as Esau doesn’t focus on what he doesn’t have, the birthright and blessing that Jacob took from him, so Jacob doesn’t focus on the twenty years of exile and contention with Uncle Laban he’s just left behind, or on the vast expense he’s just incurred for Esau’s gift, a gift representing a major transfer of wealth in the currency of those times. “I may be down 200 female goats, 20 billy goats, 200 ewes, 20 rams, 30 milking camels with their young, 40 cows, 10 bulls, 20 female donkeys and 10 male donkeys (Gen 32:15–16), but I have it all!”

In this scene, both twins, despite their deep differences of character, recognize the good and acknowledge it in gratitude.

It’s customary, not long after saying Modeh ani and getting out of bed, to recite the daily Shema, including the great commandment, “V’ahavta, you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” When I’m wholehearted in my love for God, it doesn’t leave much room for worrying and kvetching. I realize that these are really just different forms of ingratitude—lamenting what I’ve lost, or never had, or might not have much longer, instead of being thankful for what I do have. Gratitude is part of wholehearted love for God, as Paul instructs us, “In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Messiah Yeshua” (1 Thess. 5:18).

In everything give thanks: We don’t know whether Esau maintained the habit of saying yesh li rav, but we can make it part of our daily practice of gratitude. If we are really walking with Messiah, no matter what else we may have or not have, we can always say, Yesh li rav—I have plenty!

Leah's Tears

Parashat Vayetse, Genesis 28:10-32:3

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

The story of Leah, found in this week's parasha, is a profound narrative of unrequited love, longing, and ultimately, acceptance. Leah's role in the tumultuous family of Ya'akov is often overshadowed by her sister Rachel, whose beauty and favored status captivated Ya'akov's heart. Yet Leah's journey, as reflected in the names she gives her children, offers a timeless lesson in embracing life's adversities and finding contentment within our circumstances.

Leah's first three sons are named Reuven, Shimon, and Levi, and each name reveals her inner struggle and yearning for love. Reuven, whose name means "see, a son," reflects Leah's hope that Ya'akov would finally see her, notice her value, and love her for giving him a son. Shimon, meaning "heard," speaks to Leah's longing for God to hear her pain as she continues to feel unloved. Levi, meaning "attached," shows her desire for connection—a deep wish that bearing children would forge a bond between herself and Ya'akov.

A shift takes place, however, when Leah names her fourth son Yehudah. The name Yehudah means "praise," and in this moment, Leah's focus turns from her unfulfilled desire for her husband's love to gratitude toward God. Despite her continued lack of favor in Ya'akov's eyes, Leah finds a new sense of acceptance. She chooses to praise God for what she has, rather than lament what she lacks. This is a pivotal moment—it marks Leah's transformation from a woman defined by longing to a woman empowered by acceptance and gratitude.

This theme of contentment continues with Leah's handmaid, Zilpah, who bears two sons named Gad and Asher. Gad, meaning "good fortune," and Asher, meaning "happy" or "blessed," reflect a sense of joy and appreciation for life, even within the context of rivalry and adversity. Through Zilpah, Leah expresses a sense of fulfillment and abundance that goes beyond the competition for Ya'akov's affection. It is as if Leah has found a way to be content, to recognize the blessings she has received, and to embrace joy regardless of her circumstances.

Leah's journey resonates with many of us today. We often encounter situations in life where our deepest desires go unmet, where the love or recognition we long for seems out of reach. Leah teaches us that while we may not be able to control how others feel about us, we can choose how we respond to adversity. By naming her son Yehudah, Leah demonstrates a powerful act of letting go—of releasing her expectations and instead finding reason to give praise. This act of praise is not born out of her circumstances changing, but rather out of her own inner transformation.

This resonates with Rav Shaul's teaching in his letter to the community in Philippi, "I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I find myself. . . . I am able to do all things through him who strengthens me" (Phil 4:11-13).

There is a midrash that speaks to the role of Rachel, Leah's sister, in Jewish history. It tells us that Rachel was buried on the road, outside the land of Israel, so that she could cry for her children as they went into exile. Rachel's tears are for the children who are lost, displaced, and yearning for home. Leah, too, can be seen as a figure of tears—not for the exiled, but for those who are unwanted, ignored, or who suffer from feeling unloved. Leah's tears speak to the pain of unfulfilled desires, but her journey also speaks to the strength that comes from embracing what we do have, even when life does not meet our expectations.

This mirrors Yeshua's work while here on Earth where he lived out the Torah's mandate to care for those who are marginalized, unloved, or overlooked.

Leah's tears find an echo in Yeshua's own words of despair, "Eli Eli lama sabachthani"—"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Even in his anguish, Yeshua ends with acceptance, "Into your hands I commit my spirit." This profound moment parallels Leah's journey of moving from despair to acceptance, finding solace in her faith despite adversity.

Rabbi Jill Hammer teaches in her book, Omer Calendar for Biblical Women, that kabbalah tells us:

Leah represents the upper mother, Binah, the divine womb from which life and understanding flow. She represents malkhut shebegevurah, majesty within strength, because in spite of the painful reality of living with a jealous sister and a man who does not love her, Leah finds the dignity of praise and gratitude. We are most like Leah when we are able to live not only for those we want to love us, but for ourselves and for God.

I have personally experienced a journey similar to Leah's. Six years ago, I was laid off from a job I had held for twenty years—a job I loved deeply. To remain near my family and congregation, I accepted a new position that was far from ideal, mismatched to my skills and experience. For years, I struggled with the loss of my former role and the challenges of the new one. Only in the last year have I been able to let go of what was and embrace what is. I have found joy and blessing not only in my current circumstances but also in what I have learned and how I have grown through that dark period. As with Leah, these events can either break us or help us grow stronger and draw closer to Hashem.

In our own lives, we may find ourselves like Leah, striving for something—recognition, love, success—only to face repeated disappointments. Leah's story encourages us to shift our perspective, to let go of the insistence on what we think should happen, and instead to open our hearts to the blessings that are already present. Like Leah, we may come to see that even in the midst of adversity, there is reason to give praise. And like Leah, we can transform our tears from those of longing into those of gratitude, finding peace in what we have rather than in what we lack.

May we all be able to move from Reuven to Yehudah, Gad, and Asher.

May we all seek to move from angst and turmoil to a place of genuine peace, where we can praise with true happiness and recognize the blessings in our lives.

May we all learn from Leah's journey, finding strength in our struggles and learning to praise, even when life unfolds differently than we had hoped. Her story reminds us that true contentment is not found in the fulfillment of every desire, but in the ability to see the goodness already around us, and to find joy in our journey.

Why Me, Lord?

Parashat Toldot, Genesis 25:19–28:9

Rabbi David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them.

This, of course, is Hamlet’s famous monologue written by William Shakespeare. Hamlet here is struggling with the pains and suffering of life and has reached a level of despair, wondering why he even exists. Job wonders the same thing: “Why was I even born if life is so tough?” And then there’s Rebekah’s question in this week’s parasha:

Isaac prayed to Adonai on behalf of his wife because she was barren. Adonai answered his plea and his wife Rebekah became pregnant.

But the children struggled with one another inside her, and she said, “If it’s like this, why is this happening to me?” So she went to inquire of Adonai. (Gen 25:21-23, TLV)

Here’s the Hebrew of her question: Lamah Zeh Anokhi? Literally: “Why this me?” In other words, “Why me, Lord? Why is this happening to me? Why do I exist? What’s the point of this suffering?” It’s a good question, an important question. How do we make sense of this life? If we are to move forward with gardening our gardens, then we need some understanding of the thorns and weeds and travail and hot sun and groundhogs eating our zucchini. And some understanding of why we in particular are experiencing this. Why this for me, Lord?

Rebekah is the first person in the Bible to have twins, and these twins are already not getting along, even before they’re born. All of this is a new thing that has never happened to anyone, and Rebekah is probably scared and overwhelmed. One midrash has Rebekah ask around to other women who have been pregnant:

“She said: If this is so, why do I exist [lama zeh anokhi]?” Rabbi Yitzḥak said: It teaches that our matriarch Rebecca was circulating around the entrances of women’s houses and saying to them: “In your days, did you experience this suffering? If this is the suffering that comes with children; had I only not conceived!” (Genesis Rabbah 63:6)

Rebekah is asking what the Backstreet Boys asked in that number one hit “I Want it That Way”:

Tell me why

Ain't nothin' but a heartache

Tell me why

Ain't nothing but a mistake

I mean, it’s no Shakespeare, but it still resonates. Rebekah asks in order to know why: “Did you struggle like this? Is this normal? What’s going on inside me?” Remember, this is after experiencing barrenness, like all the other matriarchs of our faith. And the fruitfulness, the blessing, comes with unforeseen conflict. So, how to figure it out? I mean, it’s not like she can get an ultrasound and see: “Oh, there’s two in there!” This is unprecedented utero-conflict. And they’re most likely arguing about territory:

“Mo-om! He’s on my side of the womb!”

“Well, he grabbed my heel! And then he pinched my already-formed hair!”

“Are we there yet? It’s getting crowded in here!”

So, none of the other women have experienced this, and thus Rebekah is at the end of her wits. But notice what she does. It turns out there is an ultrasound: the ultrasound of the Lord. There is someone who knows what’s going on inside her: the God who sees. So she went to inquire of Adonai, the first person in the Bible to do so. And the Lord explains that there are two babies in there, and that they are two nations, fighting against one another, which I suppose is somewhat comforting if you’re the first woman to give birth to twins.

There is a tension here with Rebekah’s, Job’s, and Hamlet’s question: “Why am I?” We have no say in the fact that we exist. We got no vote in the matter. Nor do we have any say in the difficult things that happen to us. The Lord responds to Rebekah’s question of “Why is this happening to me?” by showing her that she is seen, cared for, loved, and understood. It’s not a quick solution or a trite aphorism; it’s simply a move toward trust and learning. God knows what’s going on inside her and explains it. Also, we notice that Rebekah has the wisdom to bring her difficult questions to God. Sometimes we don’t do that. We just cry out or despair to ourselves, or maybe another person. This might provide some help, but ultimately we need to bring our tough questions to God, as Rebekah did.

There are things I don’t yet understand about myself, about marriage, about congregational life, about the Bible, about God, about suffering, about Israel, about life, and about soccer (What is “offsides”?). Some of these things I may learn next week, and some I may learn in front of Yeshua himself. But at some point, the Lord will show me. He’s our Rabbi, our Teacher. This was the original problem with Adam and Eve eating the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil.

Consider the character of God for a moment. God is our Father, our Teacher, our Rabbi. Would you, as a parent or teacher, want your children or students to learn the difference between right and wrong? Yes, of course you would. Then Kal VaChomer, how much more would God want to teach and show Adam and Eve what is good and not good. After all, he is the one who declared that creation was good seven times, “Ki tov!” And he was the one to declare the first thing that was “not good”—that the human would be isolated and alone.

So the question is, if God wanted them to have this information, how were Adam and Eve to learn? Well, there were two paths. Grab the knowledge, and make yourself the reference for right and wrong (eat the forbidden fruit). Or, learn from the Teacher over time. But instead, Adam and Eve decided that they did not want to be taught by the Teacher, the Rabbi, that they wanted to distort what was good and not good; this led to a destruction of the intimate relationship they had with each other and with God, a major setback to relating and knowing through learning.

But Rebekah went the other way, because she inquired of the Lord. Perhaps we can too, and say with King David:

Show me Your ways, Adonai.

Teach me Your paths. (Psalm 25:4)

Because He’s the God who lives and sees us—the God who teaches us, who instructs us. He answers our tough questions and sees our tough emotions and circumstances. So perhaps a further question beyond “Why me, Lord?” is this one: “Rabbi, what are you teaching me now?”

Invoke God’s Character When You Pray

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

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

And he said, “O Lord, God of my master Abraham, please grant me success today and show steadfast love to my master Abraham. Behold, I am standing by the spring of water, and the daughters of the men of the city are coming out to draw water. Let the young woman to whom I shall say, ‘Please let down your jar that I may drink,’ and who shall say, ‘Drink, and I will water your camels’—let her be the one whom you have appointed for your servant Isaac. By this I shall know that you have shown steadfast love to my master.” Genesis 24:12–14

Our past two portions, Vayeira and Chayei Sarah, have highlighted the direct and, dare I say, deliberately calculating way in which our protagonists talk with God. Last week we read that astonishing negotiation between Abraham and God for the righteous living among Sodom and Gomorrah. At the outset of the negotiation Abraham asked a question that constrained the Lord into a moral corner: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Gen 18:25). The brilliance of Abraham’s question is not just that it has a rhetorical tone, but that it also compels the hand of the Lord to respond according to his own character trait of justice.

I imagine the Lord experiencing a similar emotion of delight as I do as a father when one of my own children corners me with a well-thought-out question.

Likewise with the Shunammite woman’s piercing question to Elisha in last week’s haftarah reading: “Then she said, ‘Did I ask my lord for a son? Did I not say, “Do not deceive me?”’” (2 Kings 4:28). In that heart-wrenching moment she posed a question that intentionally placed a moral burden upon Elisha to act with integrity towards her. Her interrogation was not just a plea, but an accusation of bad faith (towards Elisha), clothed in a cry of despair.

In similar manner, in this week’s reading, we see Abraham’s servant, who is generally accepted to be Eliezer, formulate a request to the Lord that at face value seems innocuous, but upon further analysis seems to be constraining God into a corner, forcing God’s hand to act. “By this I shall know that you have shown steadfast love to my master” (Gen 24:14b). By steadfast love he means hesed, often translated as “lovingkindness,” that particular love that God has towards his children, just to make it very specific and very personal.

Rav Sh’muel ben Nachmani in Talmud, Tractate Ta’anit 4, names three people whose requests to God were considered inappropriate, Eliezer’s request here being one of the three (Saul and Jephthah being the other two). Eliezer is invoking an “if, then” clause into his prayer. If you grant my request, then I will know you love Abraham. At face value it can seem that Eliezer is manipulating God into granting his request. In the same way one of my wonderful children might say to me, “Abba, if you truly love me, do this (request) for me.” But it’s not that at all.

Rashi, in disagreement with Rav Sh’muel’s assessment, finds Eliezer’s prayer reasonable. “If she is of his family and a fit companion for him, I shall know that thou hast shown kindness to my master.” In other words, through Rebecca, God’s hesed is made manifest.

In Genesis 12 God made a promise to Abraham, a promise that he later restated as an oath at the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac. God said to Abraham, “By myself I have sworn, declares the Lord, because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will surely bless you…” (Gen 22:16–17). This is the strongest of all possible oaths made in the entire universe because it is an oath that God made upon himself. In other words, God’s very name, his character, his integrity, is bound up in this oath that he swore unto our father Abraham. One Jewish reading places Eliezer as one of the “young men” that Abraham took with him on the journey to Mount Moriah and the binding of Isaac (Gen 22:3). Following this tradition, Eliezer was there to meet Abraham as he returned from the mountain top experience, and Eliezer was reminding God of the promise he had made to bless Abraham and show him lovingkindness or hesed.

In the three prayers that we have read these past two weeks, we see the heroes of the story, our forefathers and foremothers, invoke the character of God in their supplications before him. Abraham invoked the Lord’s characteristic of justice; Eliezer invoked the Lord’s promise of hesed; and the Shunammite woman invoked the Lord’s integrity (via proxy through Elisha). Oftentimes when we are faced with overwhelming challenges in our life, we forget the character traits of our heavenly Father and we fall into despair or doubt. But these great heroes of our people show us a different path. Perhaps the purpose of our challenge is to remind us to lean upon the steadfast love of the Lord and to remember the character traits of the God of Abraham.

A word of teaching; it’s always good to remember the character traits of the Lord and meditate upon them. God is just; he is full of lovingkindness; he is a God of integrity and faithfulness. These character traits of the Lord are just the beginning of the depth of God’s heart. He is kind; He is pure; He is gentle; He is humble; He is lowly; He is a warrior; He is jealous; He is wonderful. We do well to meditate upon these things.

A word of encouragement; just like our forefathers, we too can invoke the character of God in our prayers. Not that God needs reminding, but we undoubtedly do. Seek the Lord in this way and remember that he is a shield for all who take refuge in him (Psa 18:30). He was a shield to Abraham, to Eliezer, and to the Shunammite woman, and he is our shield as well.