Bo Sermon

In this week’s Torah portion we read of the final three plagues: locusts, darkness and the killing of the Egyptian first born.  That darkness must have been really terrible after spending all those days covered with swarming locusts.  That darkness was a torture of memories of prior plagues.

Much of the focus of these plagues is obviously about how we respond to our enemies.  The message is clear.  If they don’t do what is right then bring on the plagues.  To reiterate, we have every moral right to battle our enemies, and even if necessary to kill those who threaten us.  Whether it is Pharaoh, Amalek, Haman; bin Laden, Hamas or Iran we have that moral right.  Clearly Israel and America live by this principle in the current clandestine war against Iran, and in particular against its efforts to build nuclear weapons.

We are however limited in this fight.  We can only kill those who threaten us.  When the military is used as a means to mete out swift justice this transgresses basic democratic principles.  Thus we must carefully use the military only against those who threaten our lives.  That is its purpose; it is that purpose alone that the military serves—namely defense.

But what about our enemies within?   These issues and their related moral judgments only apply to our external enemies.  Although we face painful and wrenching choices in confronting these external enemies, the moral lines seem very clear.  Of course you must defend yourself.  As long as we never lose sympathy for other human beings, we can strike out against those who threaten us.  In confronting these enemies we must always remember that even our enemies are deserving of humanity.  Today we see before us many painful choices, but clear answers.

Then again, what about the questions regarding our enemies within?  If you think about it the remainder of the Torah is all about our internal battles and confronting these naysayers and internal enemies.  After the plagues it was all about how we get along with each other.  “Not so well,” is the Torah’s short answer.  Then again that Torah is still being written.  We are still very much wandering through that wilderness.  Today there is a battle going on for the soul of Judaism.  We are nearly at war with each other over the Jewish future.  Clearly military might cannot be used to achieve our desired ends.  Thus how we face the enemies within our own midst is a more difficult and even more wrenching question.

I am not sure if everyone has kept up with some of this news, so let me offer some sobering illustrations.  In Israel especially the struggle for the soul of Judaism, and the definition of what it means to be a Jew, is reaching a fever pitch and perhaps even a breaking point.  A few examples from the news.  Organizers of a conference on women’s health and Jewish law barred women from speaking from the podium, leading at least eight speakers to cancel.  Ultra-Orthodox men spit on an eight-year-old girl whom they deemed immodestly dressed.  The chief rabbi of the air force resigned his post because the army declined to excuse ultra-Orthodox soldiers from attending events where female singers performed. Protesters depicted the Jerusalem police commander as Hitler on posters because he instructed public bus lines with mixed-sex seating to drive through ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods.  Vandals blacked out women’s faces on Jerusalem billboards.  A distinguished professor of pediatrics whose book won an award from the Ministry of Health was instructed that she could not sit with her husband at the ceremony and that a male colleague would accept her prize for her because women were forbidden from the stage.

To be sure Israel is far superior than its neighbors in terms of women’s rights.  This does not mean, however, that this battle should be forgotten, or the struggle avoided.  There are other examples of the increasing Haredization of Judaism in Israel.  Some extremist settler rabbis have begun to speak about the lives of Jews as more precious than that of others, thereby betraying the Torah’s principle that all human beings are created in God’s image.  Still it appears that the greatest fault line exists over women’s rights.

I do not wish to debate who understands the tradition better and who can cite texts to support their position with greater authority.  I can cite Jewish tradition as to why there should not be such limits on women’s rights.  I can quote some of my Orthodox colleagues who are slowly changing things in their own community (see especially Dov Linzer’s New York Times article for evidence of this).  That as well is not my interest.

What makes me a Reform rabbi is that I can stand here and say that thousands of years of Jewish tradition is wrong and it needs to change.   This is the essence of Reform—we must reform the tradition, we must change it.  In a nutshell, Reform places change front and center.  Our first response is to reform what in our judgment is wrong.  As a contrast our Conservative friends place conserving the tradition first.  Their first response is to preserve the tradition.  Change is a last resort and even then it is dressed up as reinterpretation, or the rediscovery of a minority opinion.

Such distinctions are matters of differences between friends.  Reform, Conservative and Orthodox seek to live as Jews in the modern world.  All attempt to make their way both as Jews and moderns.  Our differences should not be with our Conservative and Orthodox friends.  Our differences are instead with the Haredi, the ultra-Orthodox, who shun everything modern.  They wish to live in a world only of yesteryear.

They wish to define Judaism not just for themselves but for all Jews.  They wish to write liberal Jews out of their world, and even out of the Jewish world.  Some years ago one rabbi said, “Only one who believes in the God of Israel and in the Torah of Israel is entitled to be called by the name Jew.”  Another therefore declared, the world’s Jewish population is one million.  There is no room for pluralism or debate in their worldview.  How are we to respond to these battles within our own tradition and people?

First of all I must say, I will not resort to violence even if they do.  I cannot argue or reason with these ultra-Orthodox Jews.  With a fundamentalist of any stripe reason openness to other opinions is not an option.  The values of ahavat yisrael, love of the Jewish people, and am echad, one people, do not extend to Jews who act or believe differently than they do. 

I must therefore support efforts to bring to justice those who use violence to force their views on others.  In Israel I must support efforts to change the political system so that ultra-Orthodox parties no longer have undo influence over Israel’s political decisions.  I must support efforts to bring the ultra-Orthodox into a modern, working society—no more exemptions from the army, no more exemptions from work in favor of study.  Still these are not my most important responses.

Most important I must remain secure in my identity.  I must not look to the right or the left for approval.  No one can say how I am to live my Jewish life.  If I remain secure in my Jewish identity then it does not matter what others say.  I cannot build my Jewish life on the opinions of others—only on my own.

My teacher Rabbi David Hartman’s new book is called The God who Hates Lies.  In it he argues that both God and the self hate lies.  A Jewish identity is first and foremost built on honesty.  He writes: “The tradition itself, compared by the midrash to living waters, contains powerful and plentiful theological resources for responding to the shifting cultural landscapes of our ever-emerging historical drama.  For too long these waters have sat stagnant, awaiting a community of inheritors, a living tzibur, sufficiently confident, willing, and thirsty to tap into them.”

That is our only answer—to be both confident and thirsty.  Confident in our identity.  Thirsty for a better tomorrow.  I must not rest until that thirst is sated. 

Bo

The tenth and final plague is wrenching.  Who among us could imagine a worse punishment?  The death of a child is every parent’s worst nightmare.  It was Pharaoh’s as well.

“In the middle of the night the Lord struck down all the first-born in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sat on the throne to the first-born of the captive who was in the dungeon, and all the first-born of the cattle.  And Pharaoh arose in the night, with all his courtiers and all the Egyptians—because there was a loud cry in Egypt; for there was no house where there was not someone dead.” (Exodus 12:29-30)

Such is the suffering of my enemies. The years in which we now live have given rise to many would be Pharaohs who seek to destroy all that we love.  There are too many who declare themselves our enemies.  Even though much has been accomplished to forestall their designs, we must remain forever vigilant.  Yet I wonder, can we sympathize with the pain of these Pharaohs while still remaining vigilant?

Let us be clear about the moral questions we face.  It is legitimate to kill our enemies.  Our nation’s leaders must continue to make every effort to protect us.  The Talmud admonishes us: “If someone comes to kill you, get up earlier to kill him first.”   Yet there is a moral distinction between the legitimacy of killing our enemies and celebrating this fact.  The celebration of the death of any human being is an act to be shunned.  Judaism teaches that all human beings are created in God’s image.  No one is greater than another because all human beings are descended from the same parents, namely Adam and Eve.  All life is precious.  Every life is of equal value.

We should be filled with remorse that we are forced to kill others in order to protect ourselves.   There is as well a distinction between killing to protect our nation’s citizens and killing to mete out justice.  In a democracy justice must remain the province of the courts not the military.   We have every moral right to kill in order to protect.  We do not have this same right to kill quickly and decisively in order to punish.  The killing, for example, of Osama bin Laden (y”s) was justified because it helps to prevent his minions from attacking us again.  We might never again be victimized by his genocidal aims.

It felt satisfying however because it appeared just punishment for his responsibility in the murder of our fellow New Yorkers, the far too many innocent people who were so ruthlessly murdered on 9-11.  This emotional satisfaction confounds our ethical judgments.  It comes to masquerade as moral legitimacy.  Make no mistake.  Punishment can only be justified when sanctioned by courts of justice, never by force of arms. 

I expect the military to protect me.  I expect judges and juries to punish those who wrong me.

Thus Pharaoh’s pain and suffering appears unjustified.  Forgive my chutzpah but the tenth plague seems unwarranted and overly harsh.  How can any wrong justify the taking of the life of a child, even the child of one as evil as Pharaoh, even the child of the enemy who seeks my destruction? 

These deaths satisfy only our emotional need for punishment at best, and revenge at worst.  The death of these countless Egyptians might be emotionally satisfying, but remain morally illegitimate.  Our tradition of course insists that we not celebrate their deaths.  At our seders we remove a drop of wine to signify the lessening of our joy.   We recognize the suffering even of our tormentors.  But can there ever be enough drops taken from our cups of wine to render this act legitimate?

Today we can have sympathy for the suffering of our enemies while not shying away from what must be done to protect ourselves. We must teach over and over again that it is never a sign of weakness to have sympathy for someone else’s pain.

We sympathize even with the pain of our enemies.  Still we refuse to ask the most important questions facing our age.  Everyday we read in our papers that another was killed in this never-ending war on terror, we must ask was this killing justified?  Did it live up to the moral measure of offering us more protection?  Or was it merely done to satisfy our emotional need for immediate punishment?

These are the questions of today.  Dare we ask these questions of our Torah as well?

Vaera Sermon

This week’s Torah portion is Vaera.  In it Moses goes before Pharaoh to tell him to let the Israelites go free.  It is rarely noted that Moses is 80 years old when he first appears before Pharaoh.  It is interesting that both Abraham and Moses achieved greatness during their older, retirement years.  Perhaps the Torah is suggesting that achievements are not of youth and strength and vigor, but of age and wisdom.  It is only after years of toil and learning that one can really achieve something of historical weight.

We also read of the first six plagues—namely blood, frogs, lice, wild beasts, cattle plague and boils.  This is preceded by what might be called dueling magic tricks.  Moses and Aaron compete with the Egyptian magicians, each performing magic tricks to impress Pharaoh.  There is the Bible’s age old favorite of turning a staff into a snake.  And this of course raises the question of magic and miracles.

The first answer is that it is called a miracle if it is our side.  If it is the other guy then it is magic, or even worse, sorcery.  If to our benefit, then it is God’s miracle.  If to theirs then there are only two possible choices.  It is only an apparent benefit.  It only looks like a good thing.   Or it is not a miracle but magic.  Thus miracles are really only a matter of perspective.  Perhaps if we look at something differently it will be seen as a miracle.  This is one lesson we can draw from the portion.  Look at the world differently and you will see many more miracles.  With such eyes even every sunrise can be seen as a miracle.

Finally there is the question about staffs and snakes.  How can a staff turn into a snake?

Do we believe in magic?  Do we believe in superstitions?

The simple answer is Jews do believe in such things, but Judaism does not.  There are so many bendles and hamsas and they are indeed becoming even more popular.  Before I share my views I must offer a measure of full disclosure.  Although I oppose such superstitions as too easy of answers, and Judaism certainly opposes such simple paths, I admit that before my children were born, I placed bendles everywhere.  They were on their cribs and even sewn into some of their clothes and tied to their backpacks.  Although I did not believe in such superstitions I certainly was not going to test the theory on my kids!

I also still recall what Ari’s kindergarten teacher taught him years ago.  Here is that whole story.  I was on my way to Israel during the worst days of the intifada.  I was about to leave on a solidarity mission.  I ended up being there when the Moment Café was bombed and other such horrible acts occured.  Ari was understandably nervous.  His teacher comforted him with the words your dad can’t be harmed if he is performing a mitzvah.  And so his entire class collected money so that I could serve as their shaliach in giving tzedakah.  If they helped to make sure that I was busy performing a mitzvah I would then be protected.

There is this custom of giving tzedakah to someone traveling, especially to Israel.  The traveler is then offered extra protection.  The theory is that they are in the midst of performing a mitzvah and so can’t be harmed.  The rabbis counsel, “Tzedakah tatzil mimavet—tzedakah saves from death.”  Ari’s class would make sure that this theory was given life on my journey.  I refrained from debating this theology at that moment.  It gave Ari comfort and so I supported it.  Even if a superstition, it provided comfort, and so why should I debate it?

I think this is why there are a great many superstitions surrounding death and mourning.  There is the most common custom of covering mirrors.  Most likely its origin is that people used to believe that spirits lived in mirrors.  But really it just adds comfort to follow the tradition’s to do list.  It is also explained that at such times one should not be thinking about how one looks.  Still it is the comfort we seek.

And that in the final analysis is my view about such superstitions and trinkets.  They can give you an extra measure of comfort.  They can grant you an extra dose of confidence.  But they can’t be the only answer.  There is no such thing as a protective bubble.  There is no such thing as an easy, simple answer or path.

Tzedakah cannot save us from physical death.  No one can be rescued from that.  Tzedakah, and mitzvot, and good deeds, can save us from a death of the spirit.  That is always in our own hands.  The protective bubble while tempting is not in our hands.  We can only control how we live our lives.

Tzedakah tatzil mimavet—tzedakah saves us from death is not a theological statement.  It is instead a command.  Work hard so that tzedakah can save you from a spiritual death.

Vaera

“Does kissing a stingray bring you good luck? Or breaking a mirror bring you bad?” a seventh grader recently asked. Thus began a conversation about superstitions. We talked about bendles and hamsas. We discussed the common middle school superstition of placing a spoon underneath your pillow and wearing your pajamas inside out to bring on a snow day.

I challenged our 7th graders to a friendly bet. Knowing the next day’s forecast, I suggested that our students place a spoon under their pillow to make it snow. If it did indeed snow I would donate one dollar to tzedakah for each student. If it did not snow they would each have to bring in a dollar to place in the tzedakah box. They refused the challenge saying, “There has to be snow in the forecast for it to work.” I wondered aloud, “Then why not just watch the Weather Channel?”

I challenged them further. “If you are wearing a red string on your wrist, is it then safe to run out into the street?” One student of course said, “It depends on which street we are talking about.” When I responded the LIE, all responded, “Of course not. That would be really dangerous?” So does a bendle provide a protective bubble around a person? Clearly not, our students agreed.

How then do such superstitions work? Do Jews believe in magic?

“Aaron cast down his rod in the presence of Pharaoh and his courtiers, and it turned into a serpent. …[A]nd the Egyptian magicians, in turn, did the same with their spells; each cast down his rod, and they turned into serpents. But Aaron’s rod swallowed their rods.” (Exodus 7:10-12) This week’s portion makes the point that our magic is superior to the Egyptian’s. Their magic is but sorcery. The Torah suggests that magic is what the other guy does. Miracles are what we do. Whether it is God’s hand or sorcery, miracles or magic, grace or superstition is perhaps only a matter of perspective.

Thus we believe in miracles but not superstitions. Miracles reach from heaven to earth. Superstitions suggest the reverse direction. While prayer might move upward, mastery of the divine does not. We cannot control the heavens by the wearing of a string or blue stoned jewelry. We do not invite bad fortune by breaking a mirror. We are not granted a year of good mazel by kissing a stingray.

I asked our seventh graders, “Will wearing a bendle guarantee you 100% on a test?” A wise seventh grader responded, “It might help give you some extra confidence.” There is great truth in this insight. If combined with study and learning, then a bracelet or necklace could indeed help. If it is a substitute for hard work then it is guaranteed to fail.

Superstitions play into the notion that no one chooses the more difficult path. Everyone likes the easy road. The current fascination with Kabbalah, and the trinkets its mystics hawk, is a symptom of our culture’s attraction with easy answers and simple paths. Judaism is anything but. It is instead serious. It is complicated. And yes it is also overwhelming and demanding.

Some of these same 7th graders heard these demands and helped to feed the hungry last month. I don’t know if they wore bendles or hamsas. I suspect some might have even kissed the same stingray that I kissed in Grand Cayman. I do know that their hands were busy for hours baking desserts for the hungry. I do know that their hands were overwhelmed serving the homeless and fulfilling Judaism’s demand that we better our world.

I also know that they did not tire. And that is Judaism—always the hard work, never the easy path, forever demanding, but also promising great rewards, found not in a year of guaranteed good luck, but in a moment of helping others.

Addendum: Here is the picture of your rabbi kissing a stingray. By the way the tattoo is a spray paint tattoo and a result of my very important job as Uncle Steve.

Shemot

The moment arrives for all parents.  No longer are they called by their names.  They are known only in relation to their children.  “Oh hi, you must be Shira’s father.  Are you Ari’s dad?”

It was the same for Moses’ parents.  “A certain man of the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman.  The woman conceived and bore a son…” (Exodus 2:1-2)  It is not until next week’s portion, after Moses speaks with God at the burning bush, that we learn the names of our greatest hero’s parents.  “Amram took to wife his father’s sister Jochebed, and she bore him Aaron and Moses.” (Exodus 6:20)

Interestingly the revealing of this detailed information follows the revelation of God’s name.  Moses of course learns God’s name at the burning bush.  After this moment we then learn the names of Moses’ parents.  There are however even more curious details about names in the opening of the Book of Exodus. Moses is not named by his parents, but instead by Pharaoh’s daughter when she rescues him from the Nile.  “When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, who made him her son.  She named him Moses, explaining, ‘I drew him out of the water.’” (Exodus 2:10)

And finally, the name of this week’s portion is Shemot, Names.  So what is in a name?   And how do we earn the names by which we are called?  The Israeli poet Zelda writes:
Each of us has a name
given by God
and given by our parents
Each of us has a name
given by our stature and our smile
and give by what we wear
Each of us has a name
given by the mountains
and given by our walls
Each of us has a name
given by the stars
and given by our neighbors
Each of us has a name
given by our sins
and given by our longing
Each of us has a name
given by our enemies
and given by our love
Each of us has a name
given by our celebrations
and given by our work
Each of us has a name
given by the seasons
and given by our blindness
Each of us has a name
given by the sea
and given by
our death.

What we are called is a mixture of many things.  Our wrongs name us.  Even the mountains name us. The clothes we wear, our work, our simchas, our loves all add to our name.  Our names are not merely words given to us by our parents, or as in Moses’ case, his adopted mother.  They represent an accumulation of all our experiences.

Rabbi Shimon concurs: “There are three crowns: the crown of Torah, the crown of Priesthood, and the crown of Royalty.  The crown of a good name surpasses them all.” (Pirke Avot 4:17)  A good name is even better than mastering Torah!

And how is a good name achieved?  There is only one way.  It is through righteous action.  It is through performing good deeds.  A good name must be unqualified.  It should never be “He achieved great things, but…  She had many successes, but remember that one time…”

Still my favorite names are those I earn through my children.  They represent any parents’ greatest successes.  I am happy to be known only as Shira and Ari’s father.  And I imagine Moses’ parents felt the same.  This is why their names were not publicized until after Moses achieved some measure of greatness and after he discovered God at the burning bush.

For parents their greatest recognition comes through their children!  It is because in these names my recognition depends not on my own good deeds but instead upon my children’s.

Vayechi Sermon

This week we read the final Torah portion of Genesis.  In it both Jacob and Joseph die.  Joseph dies at the portion’s conclusion.  Interestingly he is not buried in the land of Israel until the people are freed from Egypt over 400 years later after their slavery.  Jacob however is taken to the land immediately after his death.  The family travels there to bury him in Hebron’s Cave of Machpaleh.

Prior to this Jacob gathers his children together for a final blessing.  His words read more like prophecy than blessing.  Let’s look at a few of the words he offers to his children.

To his firstborn Reuben he says,

Reuben, you are my first born,

My might and first fruit of my vigor,

Exceeding in rank

And exceeding in honor.

Unstable as water, you shall excel no longer…

And,

Simeon and Levi are a pair;

Their weapons are tools of lawlessness.

Let not my person be included in their council,

Let not my being counted in their assembly.

For when angry they slay men,

And when pleased they maim oxen….

At first glance we must admit that Jacob does not offer such kinds words to his sons.  Talk about a father who had unreasonable expectations of his children!  Or perhaps he was just being honest with his children about their faults.  Both of these blessings are actually connected to the sons’ earlier failures.  Simeon and Levi of course attacked Shechem after Dinah was raped.  They took the law into their own hands.

And to the fourth son, Judah, from whom we trace our lineage because it is from the tribe of Judah that we derive the term Jew, Jacob says these words:

You, O Judah, your brothers shall praise:

Your hand shall be on the nape of your foes;

Your father’s sons shall bow low to you…

The scepter shall not depart from Judah,

Nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet;

So that tribute shall come to him

And the homage of peoples be his.

Biblical scholars would suggest that these words were authored after the success or failures of the particular tribes could be seen.  They were not spoken by Jacob, but written later as his words.  But our question is not about the historical accuracy of the vision.  It is instead about the insights they offer into personality traits.

The Torah offers strong evidence that the descendants of Levi for example are given to anger.  Moses, the most famous of Levites, is the best example.  He is of course punished for hitting the rock in anger.  He is not allowed to enter the Promised Land because of this.  Is his example the realization of Jacob’s words to Levi?

Our question is thus about character.  How much of our nature is pre-wired?  What of our character is genetics?  We have come to learn a great deal about genetics.  We know that many diseases have genetic markers.  Even eating habits and metabolism have strong genetic components.  (Read last week’s New York Times magazine for more about this discussion about obesity and genetics.)

Are traits such as anger also pre-wired?  I am sure many parents have heard statements come from their mouths that they promised themselves as children they would never say as parents.  Then when they become parents they hear the words of their mother or father coming out of their mouths.  Is this a matter of wiring?  Or is it instead a matter of we can only learn how to be parents from our own parents?

Could it be true that so much of our personalities are pre-wired?  The Torah would seem to suggest yes.  The Levites are given to great anger.  Their fate is written in this week’s portion.  Every Levite who follows becomes living proof of Jacob’s prophecy.

One of my favorite novels, A.B. Yehoshua’s Mr Mani deals with this theme.  Despite everyone’s best efforts in this novel what happens to them appears pre-ordained.  The Israeli author is asking, can we really control our own destiny, can we really write a new history for the Jewish people?

In this view our lives become a futile attempt to fight against our destinies.  I however refuse to believe this.  And despite the Torah’s stories and Jacob’s prophecy, I would suggest that Judaism does not believe this as well.  We can indeed write our own destiny.  Even with the genetic cards stacked against us, even if we are wired to eating too much—or given too much anger—we can escape what is written for us, and write something different for ourselves.

This is the essence of what we are supposed to be doing on the High Holidays.  We don’t just pray and fast on those days.  We are supposed to do much more.  We are supposed to try to change ourselves, to improve ourselves, to write a new chapter for ourselves in a new year.

The temptation is to give in to our genes.  As we discover more and more about our wiring, this temptation will grow even stronger.  I can’t lose weight, we might say, it is in my genes.  My anger is not my fault; it is instead my father’s.  I can’t control myself, it is my addiction, it is written in my wiring.  We must fight this temptation. We must summon the willpower to write our own stories, rather than follow the script written by our ancestors, or that written by our biology.

There is a hidden message as well, concealed in this week’s Torah portion.  We read that Jacob also blesses his grandchildren, Ephraim and Manasseh.  Jacob gives the younger of the two, Ephraim, the more favored blessing.  Jacob places his right hand, in ancient times the hand of power, on the youngest grandson.  This of course is contrary to the laws of inheritance.  It was always the oldest we received the greater blessing.  Joseph objects to his father’s choice, but Jacob insists that it is correct.  It is not because he is blind, as his son suggests.  He in fact sees very clearly.  The younger should receive greater blessings than the older.  Thus the expected story is rewritten by Jacob’s hands.

Most interesting, it is this blessing that we emulate when blessing our sons on Shabbat evening.  As we place our hands on their heads, we say, “May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.”  In this blessing we even preserve the inverted order.  In each successive generation we affirm that the story is not always written from birth.  It is not wired by birth order, or even genetics.  It can be rewritten by our own hands.  That is what we say each and every time we place our hands on our children’s heads.  We say to our children, “You can write a different story for yourselves!”

Vayechi

There is a flash of anger that runs through Israel’s priestly class.  It begins with Jacob’s children and courses through the tribe of Levi.

In this week’s portion, Jacob gathers his children and grandchildren to his deathbed to offer final blessings.  “Simeon and Levi are a pair; Their weapons are tools of lawlessness.  Let not my person be included in their council, Let not my being be counted in their assembly.  For when angry they slay men, And when pleased they maim oxen. (Genesis 49:5-6)

Such are the words Jacob offers to his sons Simeon and Levi.  And it is the descendants of Levi who become the Levites and the priestly custodians of the ritual cult.  Weeks ago we read of Simeon and Levi’s rage when they killed Shechem and his followers.  (Genesis 34) The brothers were enraged that Shechem had raped their sister Dinah.  Jacob however continues to worry that their anger will prove to be their undoing and unravel his legacy.

In fact anger can be our undoing.

Even Moses stands guilty of this sin.  Because of his anger he dies with his dreams partly unfulfilled.  He is not allowed to venture into the Promised Land because he lashed out at the people he leads.  When the Israelites clamored for water he strikes a rock and screams at them.  (Numbers 20)

Moses is as well from the tribe of Levi.  Is anger his family’s destiny?

We also read of Phinehas who is so angered by his countrymen that when they begin to follow the practices of the Midianites by offering their sacrifices and “whoring after the Midianite women” that he, like his predecessors before him, kills an Israelite man and a Midianitie woman while they are lying in bed.  (Numbers 25) Is anger and impassioned vengeance the tribe of Levi’s M.O?  Israel’s priestly class appears framed by anger.

Then again perhaps these stories are meant as warnings.  Perhaps the Torah connects these episodes by a family lineage so as to fulfill the warnings of Jacob.  The Torah is a balm against the destiny of anger.   Examine its conclusion.  Its greatest hero dies at the edge of his dream, on the steppes of Mount Nebo, on the boundaries of the land of Israel.  He does not touch his life long quest because of anger.  Check your anger if you want to fulfill your dreams, the Torah suggests.

Still I wonder how much of our destinies are shaped by our parents, grandparents and great-grandparents?   How much of Moses and Phinehas are shaped by Simeon and Levi?  Is anger a matter of genetics?  Can we overcome our destiny?  There are times when each of us sees our parents and grandparents in our own actions.  I recognize my father’s rage in my own.  I see my grandfather in my angered silence.

Is our destiny written by our parents and grandparents?  Do Simeon and Levi forever shape their family’s destiny?  Do Jacob’s words seal the future of Israel’s priestly class?  The great Israeli author, A.B. Yehoshua suggests in his novel, Mr. Mani, that we cannot escape what is written for us.  Our lives are a struggle against what is already codified by our ancestors.  We try in vain to wrest new paths against our destinies.

I however continue to believe otherwise.  I see the Torah’s conclusion and Jacob’s words as a warning against the dangers of anger.  It can be our undoing.  The priestly class can become unraveled.  A flash of anger can destroy dreams.  Even when anger is justified, it never serves the future.  “Cursed be their anger so fierce, And their wrath so relentless.  I will divide them in Jacob, Scatter them in Israel.” (Genesis 49:7)

Vayigash

The known remaining son of Jacob and Rachel, Benjamin, is now threatened with imprisonment by Joseph who is second only to Egypt’s Pharaoh.  Benjamin has of course been framed by Joseph and is accused of stealing from the palace.  Judah approaches Joseph to plead for Benjamin’s life.  He cries, “Therefore, please let your servant remain as a slave to my lord instead of the boy, and let the boy go back with his brothers.  For how can I go back to my father unless the boy is with me?  Let me not be witness to the woe that would overtake my father!”  (Genesis 44:33-34)

Joseph is again unable to control his emotions.  He instructs his servants to leave him alone with his brothers.  He begins sobbing so loudly that even those standing outside of the room could hear his cries.  He declares, “I am Joseph!  Is my father still well?”  His brothers are dumfounded.  Joseph draws near and says, “’I am your brother Joseph, he whom you sold into Egypt.  Now, do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me hither; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you….’  With that he embraced his brother Benjamin around the neck and wept, and Benjamin wept on his neck.  He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to talk to him.”  (Genesis 45:1-14)

Joseph then sent for his aged father Jacob.  Pharaoh gives them horses and carts to transport the family to Egypt and the entire family makes a home in Egypt.  Pharaoh assigns to them a portion of territory.  Thus did the children of Israel come to live in Egypt.  For generations Jacob’s descendants live comfortably among the Egyptians.

I wonder what made Joseph change course.  Why did he finally break down and cry?  Why did he now reveal himself to his brothers?  Was he as the rabbis suggest testing his brothers to see if they had changed?  Was he therefore waiting for Judah to stand up and protect his younger brother Benjamin?  The measure of true repentance is of course to be faced with the exact same temptation but to choose another course.  Here Judah chooses, rather than as he did before to throw his brother in a pit, to defend him and offer himself in his stead.  Others suggest that it was Judah’s repetition of the pain that would be caused to Jacob that finally found its way into Joseph’s heart.  In fact Judah repeats this mantra about Jacob 14 times in his plea to Joseph. 

Was Joseph seeking revenge for the years of pain and tribulation his brothers caused him?  Is this why he developed this elaborate plot to frame Benjamin and punish his brothers.  Perhaps his machinations started out that way, but in the opening of this portion they clearly change course.  The opening word of the portion offers a clue as to what might have caused this change of heart.  Vayigash means to draw near.  It is a refrain that is repeated throughout this exchange.  Judah draws near.  Joseph in turn draws close.  It is the same root that the Torah uses when detailing how to make war against a city.  When you draw near to attack a city…  Judah was prepared to fight for his brother Benjamin.  Joseph saw this in his eyes.  Then again standing so close to each other, staring into each other’s eyes, Egyptian and Jew are not seen but instead brothers.  And Joseph cried, “I am your brother Joseph!”  Perhaps this is what we should always see when looking into the eyes of another person.

A midrash suggests the following:  “’Like deep water is counsel in the heart of man, but a man of understanding will draw it out.’  (Proverbs 20:5)  The image is of a deep well, whose waters are cold and clear, but no one is able to reach it to drink from it.  Then a person comes and ties rope to rope, and cord to cord, and string to string, and draws forth the water and drinks from it, and then everyone comes and draws forth and drinks.  Thus did Judah refuse to budge and continued to press Joseph, answering him word for word, until he stood right at Joseph’s heart.”  In this way brothers were reunited, each forgiving the other, each embracing the other.

In this way must we remind each other that we all are brothers.  It is only a matter of drawing near.

Miketz

Two years have passed since the chief cupbearer was freed from jail.  Joseph however still remains in captivity.  Pharaoh is now plagued by disturbing dreams.  No one is able to interpret them, or perhaps dare to disclose their meaning.  It is then that the cupbearer remembers Joseph and his remarkable abilities.

He is brought before Pharaoh and immediately interprets the meaning of these dreams.  Joseph foretells that Egypt will be blessed with seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine.  The country must prepare for the famine by saving during the first seven years.  Pharaoh charges Joseph with this task and gives him the top administrative job in all of Egypt.

After these seven years of bounty, famine descends on Egypt and the whole world. Many are forced to come to Egypt, and therefore Joseph, to secure food.  Jacob sends his sons, except the youngest Benjamin, to Egypt to procure food.  They appear before Joseph who immediately recognizes them, but they do not recognize him for he dresses and acts like an Egyptian.  He speaks harshly to them and accuses them of beings spies.  He throws them in jail.  On the third day he lets them out and sends them on their way with food for their families.  One brother, Simeon, is taken and held in an Egyptian jail as ransom.  Joseph threatens them, instructing them that they must not return without Benjamin, the only other son of Rachel and Jacob.

The brothers say to each other, “’Alas, we are being punished on account of our brother, because we looked on at his anguish, yet paid no heed as he pleaded with us.  That is why this distress has come upon us.’  Then Reuben spoke up and said to them, ‘Did I not tell you, “Do no wrong to the boy?”  But you paid no heed.  Now comes the reckoning for his blood.’” (Genesis 42:21-22)  They of course did not realize that Joseph understood their words.  He turns away and weeps.

On their journey home they discover that their money has been returned to them, hidden in their bags of food.  When they return home they report everything to their father Jacob.  He refuses to send them back to Egypt with his beloved son, Benjamin.  The famine soon grows worse and Jacob is left with no choice.  Judah pledges that he will take personal responsibility for Benjamin.  They set out for Egypt with double the money and Benjamin.

When they arrive and Joseph discovers that they have brought Benjamin with them he frees Simeon.  Joseph then prepares a feast for his brothers.  They apologize for not making proper payment on their first visit.  Somehow the money was returned in their bags, they report.  Joseph reassures them that he received proper payment and suggests that God must have put the money in their bags.

He then sees Benjamin for the first time and is overcome with emotion and runs out of the room.  He arranges the brothers at the table in order from oldest to youngest.  They wonder aloud if Joseph is a magician.  They cannot imagine how he could know their birth order.  Benjamin is presented with a double portion of food.

They are sent on their way with plenty of food.  But a goblet is secretly placed in Benjamin’s bag.  Joseph instructs his servants to go after his brothers and accuse them of stealing.  When they overtake them, it is soon discovered that Benjamin’s bag has the missing goblet.  They are brought back to Egypt to stand before Joseph.

The story pauses until next week.

It is a remarkable tale.  Throughout the story Joseph struggles with his attachments.  On several occasions the pull of his family is too strong.  He is unable to control his emotions and retreats to weep in private.  We cry that he is not yet able to embrace his brothers.

Rabbi Larry Kushner observes that throughout this story, our hero Joseph often changes clothes.  In the opening his father places the coat of many colors on him and then his brothers tear it from him.  There is as well the garment torn from him by Potiphar’s wife.  And finally in the opening of this week’s portion the following: “And he shaved himself and changed his garment…and Pharaoh dressed him in linen garments.” (Genesis 41:14, 42)

By the time his brothers come before him, Joseph looks like an Egyptian.  He is unrecognizable to them.  His clothes, and apparently his mannerisms and language, allow him to hide from them despite the fact that he stands before them.  Now it is left to him alone to tear these clothes.  But he is not yet able to tear the trappings of his Egyptian identity and reveal himself to his brothers.

I wonder, “What do our clothes say of us?”  What do they hide?  What do they reveal?  Soon Joseph will remove his mask and embrace his brothers in forgiveness.  He discovers that he will always be more a brother, and a member of the family of Israel, than an Egyptian.  His inner self becomes one with his outer identity.  I wonder as well, “Are we the same on the outside as we are on the inside?”  Like Joseph, what pain is caused by hiding out true selves from others?

I would like to believe that it is always more a matter of the acts we perform than the clothes we wear.  I would like to believe that we can always be same on the outside as we are on the inside.  I pledge never to allow my Jewish values to remain hidden.  Let them be revealed to all.

As we continue to celebrate Hanukkah we recall its message of asserting our Jewish identities in a world that is not.  We ask, “What Jewish values will we wear as our garments?"

Hanukkah

There is a closely guarded secret about Hanukkah that is rarely discussed or even revealed.  It is this.  Within a generation the heroes of Hanukkah, the Maccabees, became so consumed with their successes and their apparent ability to bring about miracles that they persecuted those who disagreed with them, even other Jews.  The opening battle hints at this dark truth.  The Maccabees first killed another Jew.

"A Jew came forward in the sight of all to offer a sacrifice upon the altar in Modein, according to the king’s command.  When Mattathias saw it, he burned with zeal and his heart was stirred.  He gave vent to righteous anger; he ran and killed him upon the altar.  At the same time he ran and killed the king’s officer who was forcing them to sacrifice, and he tore down the altar." (I Maccabees 2:23-25)

This is similar to our struggle today.  There are those who believe that faith means they are right and all others are wrong.  There are those who always burn with righteous anger and would kill those who disagree with them.  There are those who can only be right if all others are wrong.  And then there are those who believe that faith is meant to inspire, to call us to do better, to bring a measure of healing rather than anger to our world.  The list of those who see faith as a fire that must consume all non-believers is far too long.  Let us resolve on this Hanukkah to be among those who instead use faith to warm those around us.

Michael Fagenblat, a contemporary philosopher, comments, “Living with miracles is risky business.  After all, a candle can start a raging fire.  As much as we are asked to see the miracle of Hanukkah, we must therefore also find the right place for it in our lives.”

It is not that I don’t believe in miracles.  I certainly hope and pray for them, most especially for those who are facing life threatening illnesses.  Unlike Hanukkah’s heroes I believe miracles come to heal individuals rather than to thwart history.  The Maccabees believed that God’s hand only favored them and protected their like-minded followers.  The Rabbis of old therefore refashioned their miracle from one about a military victory into one about the oil lasting for eight days.  They recognized the danger of seeing things as the Maccabees did, of believing that only they were right and all others wrong.  The rabbis by contrast embraced a plurality of ideas and responses to historical crisis.

What does Hanukkah mean to me?  It is about being proud to be Jewish in a world that is not.  It is about having the courage to bring Jewish values to those around us.  By doing so we might very well rewrite history.

The miracles of old continue to inspire me and warm my faith.  I must however be on guard that they never become a consuming fire.  I rely on the glow of the Hanukkah miracle.

My friends and colleagues at CLAL (The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership) suggest the following ritual.

This Hanukkah especially, with many questions about the future of America, Israel and the Jewish people looming large for so many people, we need the vision that comes from looking at things in the light of our Hanukkah candles.  We need to see possibility where most see none, envision options while most bemoan their absence.

Here’s how: Candlelight softens hard edges, it warms and invites imagination.  People come together and often, in a moment of quiet, see the very best in themselves and each other when gathered around an open flame.

This year turn off the lights in the room and allow yourself to see by Hanukkah light, if only for a few minutes.

By the glow of the candles, think about a seemingly insurmountable challenge in your life, in the life of the Jewish people, or in the life of our nation.  Then allow yourself to imagine a response and how you might contribute to it.  That’s what the Maccabees did when they dared to make light when others deemed it impossible, and we can do the same.  That what it means to see things in Hanukkah light.

Allow the Hanukkah candles to warm your faith and those around you.  Allow these candles to inspire your beliefs and give you the courage to bring Jewish values to the world.

Chag Urim Samayach!—Happy Hanukkah!