Two Jews, three opinions

This is one of my favorite parshiot. Maybe because I learned it in depth, but more likely because I get to learn so much each time I engage with it. It is rife with ideas and commentary, and most importantly starts off in Genesis 37:2 a most strange way: אלה תולדות יעקב יוסף בן שבע עשר (Aleh Toldot Ya'akov; Yosef ben sh'va esar). These are the generations of of Isaac, Jospeh was 17 years old. We would expect to hear about the multitudes of generations of Isaac, yet instead we hear about Jacob.

What is this about? The other 11 brothers aren't mentioned here, especially when Joseph isn't even the first-born son! After listening to many different people's commentaries this week, I have discovered the common Jewish aphorism, "Two Jews, three opinions" to be an apt representation. Each person had a different thought:

• Joseph is the most important, we don't need to hear about any others.
• This is actually the story of Joseph and we need to name Jacob as the father and then move on.
• This is a prime example of multiple authors, and evidence that they didn't mesh the stories they wove together seamlessly enough.
• The brothers aren't mentioned to demonstrate that they will have many occasions where they will be forced to contend with Joseph
• This is a story, we don't need all the facts.

Although not perfect on their own, each of these ideas are fascinating and demonstrate something about the text and the Joseph story. Instead of delving into them however, I invite you to explore this parsha and see what meaning you have for this strange verse. I will leave you with this: maybe, we do not need to remember the names of the brothers, but rather their story. That is what is being sown for us here. Now, go and reep.

Torah Parsha Challenge

Parshat VaYeishev

Genesis 37:1-40:23

Summary: The beginning of Joseph! Jacob loves Joseph more, which makes Joseph’s brothers angry. Even more aggravating are Joseph’s dreams where he predicts ruling over those same brothers. They decide to sell Joseph into slavery in Egypt. Aside chapter of Tamar disguising herself as a prostitute and sleeping with her father-in-law-Judah. Potiphar’s wife tries to seduce Joseph, he refuses, she has him sent to prison after accusing him of trying to rape her. Pharaoh’s baker and butler have dreams in prison which Joseph interprets.

Beginning of Parsha

37:2 These are the generations of Jacob—Joseph, being seventeen years old, was feeding the flock with his brothers, still a boy with the sons of Bilhah, and with the sons of Zilpah, his father's wives; and Joseph brought evil report of them to their father.

The parsha starts out normally enough: These are the generations of Jacob. From there, we assume that we will get a generational expansion, so we know his children and who bore them. Yet instead, the reader is immediately faced with Joseph.

Questions:

1. Why does the literary author not include all the generations of Jacob? (Are they unimportant? Are we expected to know them already? Is Joseph the only son?)

2. Joseph is constantly upheld as the “favorite” son. He is given a striped coat (or coat of many colors), interprets dreams, and Jacob grieves when told his son has “died.” If you read the rest of Chapter 37 (http://www.mechon-mamre.org/p/pt/pt0137.htm), does this inform Gen 37:2? Possibly, this innovation isn’t about the names, but about the stories, where Joseph is the focal point for all stories about the brothers. If that is the case, does Joseph do an effective job carrying the story? Why do we or do we not want him as our protagonist from here until the end of Genesis?

Judah and Tamar, Chapter 38

This chapter doesn’t make sense in the greater scheme of the parsha. Instead of following the story that we start with, we see the story of Judah and Tamar. Brief synopsis: Tamar is married to Judah’s son, he dies, she marries the next one, he dies and Judah will not give Tamar his last son to marry. Tamar gets frustrated, dresses herself as a prostitute, and goes to Einaim. Judah engages her services and agrees to pay her with a goat. However, Judah had to bring the goat at a later time, so he left his staff and seal with her. When Judah sent for his stuff, no one could find the prostitute.

Three months later, Tamar is accused of prostitution and Judah orders her burned to death. She sends Judah the staff and seal, saying that the owner of these things is responsible for the pregnancy. Recognizing his things, Judah takes back the burn order and Tamar’s place in the family is set. Tamar has twin sons, Zerah and Peretz.

The entirety of this chapter is strange, as it is an aside. Not only that, Judah has demonstrated that he is not one of the good sons of Jacob.

Questions:

1. Therefore, what is the point of this story in the context of the Joseph narrative? What change(s) do(es) Judah undergo that makes him different later on? What can we learn from his behavior to help us in our lives?

2. Tamar has twin sons, and although Zerah’s hand emerges first (the midwife ties a red string around it so they know), Perez is born first. What other births does this remind us of (think the previous few parshiot)? Why is it important who is born first? 

Grateful Goals

I didn't post this past SHabbat. It actually feels fitting, with how school and finals and December have all kicked into full gear. However, I was reminded recently of the importance of remembering the good in our lives, in seeing that there are always positives we can find. Even more, by rediscovering the positive, we can actually begin to empower ourselves to see that positive and live it in our daily lives:

• My community: I get to learn with 10 other members of a cohort who are considerate, passionate, caring and knowledgeable. Each day I have the opportunity to delve into the multiplicity manners of learning and engaging information and therefore glean more than I would independently. They challenge me, probe me, question me, support me, and give me the space to learn and grow. Without them, I couldn't and wouldn't be as strong.
• My teachers: most of the teachers here are so knowledgeable and passionate that they instill within me and my fellow classmates that flame, in order to go learn more on our own.
• My health: I am healthy and strong, able to be active and move and engage with the world around me.
• Fear: fear is healthy. I am fearful of what I am learning, of what it means for me and my future. But that fear makes me work harder, makes me take more risks and delve deeper. Without it, I would be stale and stuck.
• Shelter, Food, Water: My fourth graders reminded me a few weeks ago that these are blessings. While I know they are lowest on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, they are also imperative to the rest of my life being successful. Therefore, I recognize how wonderful it is that I don't even need to worry about these aspects of life and therefore can focus on deeper and more complex things.
• My students: Each week I have the honor of engaging students in conversations about God and Judaism. They constantly ask questions that intrigue and challenge me, making me willing and able to dig deeper into my own beliefs. I would not be as excited for each week if not for their curiosity and openness.
• My friends: Moving to a new city, I constantly struggle with finding people with whom I connect and how to do so. The people whom I have met and become close to have become rocks, those to whom I turn when I need a break. Although many come from within the walls of HUC, all of them have brought meaning and beautiful thoughts to light. They encourage me and therefore allow me to feel like myself.

With all of these, I am able to grow and become stronger. Many other factors contribute, and I cannot wait to explore what those are as well.

What good is life to me?

The following is the D'var Torah I will share tonight at Congregation Beth Aaron, in Billings, MT

I’m going to share with you two stories about events that occurred this week which shook me to my core, making me question my faith and my purpose here on earth.

I don’t usually air my opinions in public, my friend wrote. But what happened this morning was atrocious. On the bus to the old city for work at a Christian-Arab school, we came to a stand-still. After twenty minutes of this, the bus driver came over the speaker and told us that something had happened at a synagogue around the corner, and 4 people were dead (the final count is that 5 people were killed, as well as the two assailants and a police officer).

I changed buses, knowing that I needed to go in the opposite direction and my bus was not going to arrive in time. Arriving in the old city, I waited for a friend so we could walk together into the Armenian quarter. There had been a stabbing a week or so earlier and our defenses were on edge.

I’m going to teach my students, she concluded. My Arab-Christian students. They are still children who need to learn. And when I finish, I will head to my Arabic class.

This statement embodied my experience in Israel. Feeling my heart skip a beat when I awoke to a story of a terror attack, or had a class interrupted by the news alert that Jews had been killed somewhere in Israel was not unfamiliar. But my heart still skipped a beat each time I heard something. My heart skipped also on Monday night, when I heard of these 4 religious men dying in the midst of their prayers on Tuesday morning. Yet my heart  returned to a more normal cadence when I heard that my friend still went to work that day. That she was even more committed to learning Arabic. My friend was giving and grounding herself in the future. She was continuing on with life.

~ ~ ~

“How do you speak to God?” asked one of my fourth graders at the beginning of religious school on Monday. He continued, “how do we know that God is listening? How do we know that God exists?”

Listening to those questions I was floored. My 4th grader was able to articulate one of the questions that confounds the mind of many Jews, many people. As we continued with an impromptu theology discussion, my students asked phenomenal questions. They wanted to know if God exists; why God exists, and how to know. But they also had answers.

These fourth graders, who often blurt out answers without thinking, were thoughtful and each had different specific answers for how to know God was listening: they saw signs, they felt something inside, something good happened. Their answers were as diverse and characteristic of many adults with which I have interacted.

How could my fourth graders, who often cannot spell the word Shabbat or excited, ask such profound questions and excite so much passion in me with a single set of questions? They asked the questions I have had over the years, curiosities about God’s very existence and God’s presence in my own life. 

My passion was ignited, but I didn’t know how to effectively help these students explore God, because I don’t necessarily have the answers myself. How did I ensure that I didn’t squash their curiosity but allow the fire to grow and develop, allowing them to blossom into knowledgable Jews? I saw a future of creativity, of insight, and of Jewish passion, even if I was unsure how to provide it.

Both of these stories impacted me on a visceral level. As with many of us, I am continually in search of meaning. I knew that both of these moments were important to my discovery process. People were dead. God was actively being sought out. I was engaged in the conversation.

Ultimately, and as life often does, both of these events connect us directly back to the tales our Torah weaves. The idea that we are seized by life’s moments so profoundly that they shake us to our core is not lost on the storytellers that crafted our Torah. They masterfully understood that life’s moments affect us and wrote vignettes that exemplify this. Their stories are meaningful because they are deeply human. In this week’s Parasha, a mother is deeply impacted by the birth of her children and then by the decisions she must make about their destiny. 

Contained in the text are two moments when the mother, Rebecca contends with God. In the first, Rebecca is not able to become pregnant and Isaac pleads with God to bring them children. God answers his prayers and Rebecca, for the first time, is pregnant with twins. Yet she is frustrated by the violent struggle the twins are enacting within her womb. Confused and in pain, she approaches God, wondering why this is her lot in life. She doesn’t know that these two boys will one day become fathers of great nations, or that there is a reason for their struggles inside of her. Instead, Rebecca inquires, “If [this struggle] is so, why do I exist.” (25:22)

The second moment where Rebecca is questioning God is when she asks God, “What good will life be to me.” (27:46) This inquiry comes from a place of despair, with Rebecca contemplating the fate of her son Jacob. Rebecca knows that Jacob must be saved from Esau, that Jacob stole the birthright from Esau and Esau is angry, but also that Jacob must get married to fulfill the blessing his father bestowed upon him. Jacob must marry a good woman who will be his partner in carrying out the covenantal blessing.

Both of these moments are also visceral responses to emotional experiences. In fact, they have the same core meaning, asking the questions: what purpose is there in this pain? And if [I] have the pain, why do I exist? In the midst of pain, Rebecca struggles to maintain her composure and blurts out her frustration to God, to Isaac. She desires a solution and gets responses from both God and her husband.

First, God answers her, providing a pithy oracle that Rebecca is carrying two sons, two nations within her womb. Rebecca gains salve for her pain. She knows that something will come from this anguish, that she will have a future. More importantly, Rebecca knows that her legacy will be in her sons, that they will each do something important with their lives. This is the future her womb will bear, which allows Rebecca to continue on with her pregnancy and handle the pain the struggle entails.

The second scenario, where Rebecca implores God: “I cannot bear this, what good is my life if [my son marries a Hitite woman]?” is also followed by a response. The solution is provided by Isaac, who ultimately agrees that Jacob should go to Rebecca’s brother, Laban and find a wife there. Here too, Rebecca feels that her worries have been heard and that there will be a future for her son.

“Why do I exist? What good is life to me?” As Rebecca asks these existential human questions, she receives responses. These solutions allow Rebecca to continue on and feel that she has been answered, that there is a future.

In fact, these solutions provide resolve for the bigger existential questions. The questions being “Why do I exist? and What good is life to me?” These solutions each have a unique trait in common. Besides being one and the same, these solutions offer a future for Rebecca. They offer her an opportunity to see that her life’s purpose is the future, her future, in her sons.

Fast forward to Monday, with the two experiences I shared. We are left reeling after the news of what occurred in Jerusalem, asking these same questions: “Why do I exist? What good is life to me?” I am left struggling with my student’s questions.

Why do I exist? What’s next? These were the questions that penetrated my soul after hearing the news of the attack. I sat dumbstruck, unsure what to do or how to move forward. People were dead and I didn’t know what to do.

What good is my life [if I cannot answer these students]? My fourth graders asked me questions to which I did not have solid answers. I felt unequipped to handle their curiosity, but knew they would not be content with a response of “I don’t know, let me find out.”

In my struggle, I didn’t act like Rebecca and turn to God or a fellow human, but I recognized that the answer had already been provided to me. Each of the unique stories I experienced/witnessed on Monday had ready-made solutions offered, if I was just able to see.

My friend, after seeing the hatred in Jerusalem, continued on. She went to work and her students, determined to teach them. She was demonstrating her commitment to the future, to instilling within young children the importance of what happens next. The solution was in providing for the future, in giving them an education that will allow them to help make the world a little less angry, a little less painful.

My fourth grade class also provided me with an answer. Having asked what good my life was if I wasn’t able to answer their inquiries, I was downtrodden and unsure. Yet from their own wisdom, they demonstrated that no matter what, my purpose is to enable them to continually ask questions. By providing them with the space to inquire and push back, I was allowing them the opportunity to develop a deeper understanding of their Jewish tradition and therefore a deeper desire to maintain connected. I was helping them commit themselves to the future.

My friend and I each found responses to these existential questions in the promise of the future. Rebecca too, found her response in what the future will hold. Each of these circumstances provided unique opportunities to take a step back from the hustle of everyday life and ask the existential questions. From that place of insight, we were and in fact, are able to explore what good our lives can serve, especially when surrounded by pain, suffering, and death.

The good that life holds is manifest in the future generation, in the next group of people who will grow up and live in this world. Rebecca found contentment in knowing that her sons would make something of themselves, and in knowing that Jacob’s destiny would be fulfilled in a positive manner. My friend was able to continue on only by looking at her students and seeing them as a positive light, as something good that will move forward. I recognized that my students were the promise of the future, my legacy that I am leaving each day I teach them.

“Why do I exist? What good is life to me?”

Our lives are full of these existential questions. Our job is to ask the questions, like Rebecca, and also like Rebecca, to look forward to the future. We must see that the future is where our lives are headed, that the next generation is the embodiment of that future.  Even more, we must facilitate the conversations that allows the next generation to grow and discover for themselves the deep meaning that life has. By discovering the power and beauty that this coming generation bears, we will be able to answer these existential questions and find meaning in our lives.

What is your commitment to the future? What will you do to ensure that your life has a purpose, that you are providing for the future?

Chayei Sarah: Liminality

(Torah challenge as sent to Congregation Beth Aaron in Billings, MT)

Parshat Chayei Sarah

Genesis 23:1-25:18

A brief summary: Sarah dies at the ripe age of 127 years old. Abraham decides to bury her in the cave of Machpela (after searching for a good place). Abraham decides to find a wife for his son Isaac and sends his servant to do so. The servant meets Rebecca at a well, where she gives him and his camels water. Lastly, Abraham marries Keurah and has six more sons, dying at the age of 175 years.

The Cave of Machpela

In Ch 23 Sarah dies and Abraham wants to bury her. He is in Hebron and asks for a piece of land. The people in Hebron want to give it to him for free, but Abraham insists on paying for it.

Why does Abraham, a man who is given multiple covenants with God and told that he will eventually inherit the land, claim to be a stranger in the land? How does that connect to his desire to buy the land where he wants to bury Sarah?

Why is it important for Abraham to buy the land, not be given it (as he receives so many other things, especially from God)?

Old Age as a Liminal Stage

Ch 24:1-9 shows Abraham rushing to ensure his son, Isaac, will have a wife. In his last few days, he makes his servant promise to find Isaac a wife. Abraham tells the servant to put his hand on Abraham’s thigh and promise to go back to Abraham’s homeland and find a wife from among his people.

Why does Abraham wait until he’s old and Sarah has passed away before finding Isaac a wife?

Why does Abraham have the servant grab his thigh to make this promise?

What is the importance of the servant going back to Abraham’s homeland? Why must Isaac’s wife not be from among the Cana’anites?

Some other thoughts on the Parsha:

There is mention of spontaneous prayer in this week’s parsha. Abraham’s servant is at the well and offers up a prayer to God. Follow this link to learn more about one Rabbi’s interpretation: http://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Bible/Weekly_Torah_Portion/chayeisarah_artson5759.shtml

To explore a less traditional commentary on the parsha, discussing familial relations, in particular Isaac’s reactions to his impending marriage, follow this link (there are two thoughts, the first follows what I suggested): http://limmud.org/publications/limmudononeleg/5772/chayei-sarah/

Sodom, (G)Amorah, and Veteran's Day

Here is my sermon for tonight, at Congregation Beth Aaron in Billings, MT

Parshat Va’Yeira

Destruction.

Bravery

Questioning.

Daring.

Suspense.

Victory.

Any number of things could be characterized by these 5 adjectives. In particular, a story human destruction. Or a story of about war.

Destruction. Parshat Va’yeira is a patch-work quilters dream. It includes many patches, each flimsily sown together through description and people, with Abraham as the common thread throughout. One of these patches is the story of Sodom and (G)Amorah. God decides that the people of Sodom and (G)Amorah are evil beyond redemption, and so plans to kill all of them. God shares God’s plan with Abraham, who asks God to save the people, if Abraham can find 10 righteous people within the cities. Abraham cannot, so God follows through on God’s plan, killings all inhabitants of these two cities (save for Lot and his family). The cities are left smoking, which Abraham glimpses from a distance. Destruction like the biblical world had never seen before.

Bravery. I imagine this conversation between an officer and his troops. “Men, we head out at 0500 hours. Prepare yourselves to fight for your lives, to face scenes of despair, death and destruction such that you have never encountered before. Prepare to know that you might die. Prepare to fight Germany.” So might end the training exercises on 5 June 1944, the night before D-Day, in Normandy, France.

I imagine that night, men writing letters to their wives, their girlfriends, their parents. “I love you,” they wrote. “More than anything else I can say, I love you. Do not forget me. I might die tomorrow. I’m scared. But I love you.” How many letters that resemble this were found or sent to families after the fact, physical souvenirs of a deadly day.

D-Day was not an incredibly deadly landing operation, relatively speaking. But it was an invasion of power, of unity. It demonstrated the bravery of American soldiers, fighting overseas, many in their first war ever. Most importantly, it demonstrated strength and power. Especially the power of the survivors. The Veterans.

My question for us this evening is: how are these two stories connected?

Questioning. God begins by thinking to God’s self, not knowing if God needs to share God’s plans with Abraham (Gen 18:17). If God acts independently, destroying the people of Sodom and (G)Amorah without first engaging Abraham, are there any consequences (God recognizes that Abraham is becoming God’s partner and so God has to bring Abraham into the dialogue.)

Each and every officer has the same inner-dialogue, questioning whether or not the soldiers need to know what they are about to do, what they are about to encounter. Few soldiers knew the details of their mission on D-Day. Not until they were on the boats, about to land in Normandy, France, did they begin to understand. Even then, the officers only told the soldiers what they needed to know. The soldiers, in this case, are Abraham, while the officers are God. The officers don’t want  to elicit push-back, they don’t want to intimidate or frighten the soldiers. The war needed to occur. There wasn’t time for discussion.

Daring. Once God tells Abraham the plan, as they look over into Sodom and (G)Amorah, Abraham begins to question. He says to God, “Hey God. I’ve got a problem with all this destruction. You say you want to destroy these two cities, but what’s the point? How can you do this? And besides, the people can’t be that bad, can they?”

God replies to him: “Abraham, my son, you haven’t seen as much as I have. These people have committed heavy sins and they must be punished.”

“But, God,” Abraham challenges. “How can you destroy the righteous, just people with these evil-doers? The good people didn’t do anything wrong! How can you, God, the Judge of the earth, not judge each person justly? You should save the righteous people.” (Gen 18:23, 25)

From there, God and Abraham negotiate, finally agreeing that if Abraham can find 10 righteous people in Sodom and (G)Amorah, God will not destroy the cities. Alas, these ten people cannot be found and so God destroys the cities, burning them to the ground. From here, we look forward to our soldiers, sitting in their boats on the shores of Normandy, knowing they are about to head into battle. Were our soldiers to be like Abraham, they would counter their officers’ instructions. The cacophony of “But wait, I can’t kill innocent people who get in my way?” “How long are we going to be fighting for?” and the small, voices whispering, “I’m scared” would rise up to a high crescendo. Instead, the boat turned silent after the officers’ commands. These soldiers are instilled with an understanding that when given a direct order, they must follow through on it, no questions asked.

Victory. Abraham fights back. Our soldiers were quietly accepting, even though their inner-dialogue might have been similar to Abraham’s. Each reaction is acceptable, especially given their circumstances. Both Abraham and the soldiers need to remember a quote from our tradition that reads, במקום שאין אנשים השתדל להיות איש (m. Avot 2:5). This means, in a place where there are no [righteous] people, rise up and attempt to be a [righteous] person. Abraham cannot give up on the values that God has attempted to instill in him up to this point. God wants Abraham to be a partner, which cannot occur unless God allows Abraham to actively voice opposition. Abraham has to be the righteous person that cannot be found in Sodom or (G)Amorah. He must stand up for what he believes in.

Our American war heroes, the people we will celebrate on November 11th, for Veteran’s Day, also demonstrate this Jewish aphorism. Our soldiers sit in the boats, about to land on the shores of Normandy; young men, unsure what they will meet once they step onto the sand. They are good people, determined to fight for their country. These soldiers, our soldiers, were willing to be the good people, the righteous ones. Even more so, they were drafted, yet they still fought valiantly and courageously. They are the ones who chose to fight for their country. Not just on D-Day, but throughout most of American history, the military has been a key method of displaying patriotism. That means our American war heroes are these righteous people, patriotic individuals actively supporting their home beliefs, even when others were unwilling to do so. They are the ones who choose to fight for their rights, who choose to uphold American values from their core.

Our soldiers are determined to be good people, attempting to bring peace to America and the American people, regardless of the stakes. Even more so, they fight with strength and pride, no matter their personal beliefs in the matter. In fact, our soldiers in their boats must have put aside their beliefs and come together as a collective, American troop. They strive to be those righteous people, to protect their country, to represent their country. They demonstrate another way to be righteous, by not pushing back, but by listening. By upholding a collective belief.

Abraham actively talked back to God. He contended with God and told God that he wanted to save the people. Our soldiers actively fought for their country, for America, while holding their tongues. My purpose is not to say who is correct in their actions: Abraham or the soldiers. Rather, I would like to suggest that both acted appropriately for their given circumstances. But I praise the soldiers today, for fighting for their country. They put their lives on the line and were willing to engage in battle, either on the front lines or as supporting individuals. There was a sacrifice here. They demonstrated a courage and bravery of a different sort from Abraham. There were high stakes and these individuals still went ahead and did their civic duty. These are our American heroes to whom we look up to today. These are the people we honor everyday, but especially on November 11, on Veteran’s Day.

Lech Lecha: What's in a Name?

This past week was the 12th anniversary (or 13th-I cannot remember) of my becoming a Bat Mitzvah. Although there are no monumental words I have for this occasion, I am going to suggest something. Having now spent a year exploring the parshiot, week by week, engaging the text and connecting it to my own life, not necessarily delving into commentary, this year is a little more busy. We have already read the whole of Genesis and Exodus in the past two months alone. Therefore, writing a full-blown D'var Torah may not be the most feasible thing for me each week. However, to the best of my ability, I will post my "Torah challenge," which I send weekly to my student pulpit in Billings, MT. My hope is that you find the questions I pose intriguing and meaningful.

A (belated) Shabbat Shalom!

Genesis 12:1-17:27

In this Torah portion, God makes a covenant with Abram promising to make his ancestors a great nation. God changes his name to Abraham. Abraham has a child with Hagar, and names him Ishmael. God then promises Abraham's barren wife, Sarah, that she will have a child. (1)

What’s in a Name (Part I) (Gen 16:1-16)

Children are important in the Torah. Although those crying out for children usually comes from barren women, Abram is the one who gasps to God: "What can You give me, seeing that I shall die childless?" (15:2). Abram is the first one to cry out for a child. Yet not until a chapter later is Abram’s call answered (although through Sarai’s decision).

Sarai, desperate for a son, gives her handmaid, Hagar, to Abram in order to procreate. However, Sarai gets jealous of Hagar’s pregnancy and sends her away into the wilderness. While away, she is visited by an angel who tells her in Chapter 16:11

 וַיֹּאמֶר לָהּ מַלְאַךְ יְהוָה, הִנָּךְ הָרָה וְיֹלַדְתְּ בֵּן, וְקָרָאת שְׁמוֹ יִשְׁמָעֵאל, כִּי-שָׁמַע יְהוָה אֶל-עָנְיֵךְ

And the angel of the God said to her: 'Behold, you are pregnant, and shall have a son; you shall call his name Ishmael, because God has heard your affliction.

Hagar, a woman with little significant who is despised by Sarai, is spoken to by an angel of God while she is despairing in the wilderness. The angel tells Hagar to name her son Yishmael, literally meaning God will hear.

What does it mean that God will hear? Is it referring to the past, to Hagar, or to the future, to Yishmael? If either of them are the case, how can we understand this name in context of Sarai’s hate of Hagar (does it mean God does not hear Sarai?)?

Or, can we understand this as meaning that Abram’s call was answered?

What’s in a Name (Part II)? (Gen. 17:1-16)

Sarai and Abram begin our parsha being called by these names. God sends them on a journey, intending to establish God’s covenant with them. In the end, when the covenant is established and Abram and Sarai have listened to God’s instructions, God rewards them.

Gen 17:5 וְלֹא-יִקָּרֵא עוֹד אֶת-שִׁמְךָ, אַבְרָם; וְהָיָה שִׁמְךָ אַבְרָהָם, כִּי אַב-הֲמוֹן גּוֹיִם נְתַתִּיךָ

Neither shall thy name any more be called Abram, but thy name shall be Abraham; for the father of a multitude of nations have I made thee.

Gen 17:15 וַיֹּאמֶר אֱלֹהִים, אֶל-אַבְרָהָם, שָׂרַי אִשְׁתְּךָ, לֹא-תִקְרָא אֶת-שְׁמָהּ שָׂרָי:  כִּי שָׂרָה, שְׁמָהּ

And God said unto Abraham: 'As for Sarai thy wife, thou shalt not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall her name be.

Both Sarah and Abraham receive a ה (hey) in their name. The letter hey is the letter that shows up twice in God’s name, the tetragrammaton, yud-hey-vav-hey.

What does it mean that Sarah and Abraham are given this ה, which is part of God’s name? Who have they become, through this?

The Lubavicher Rebbe has an interesting thought on the hey added to Abraham’s name. “Up until this point, the thrust of Abraham's life was his spiritual relationship with God; from this point on it was to be his role as a leader of the masses, a teacher of the Divine truth to the “multitudes.”” Abraham’s hey is representative of the Godliness he now possesses. Now, he can pass on God’s teachings through his own life. (2)

As Reform Jews, we too can learn something from this. Do we need God to come to us and bestow us with God’s good will, or should we attempt to act, as we already know, b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God and demonstrate Godliness from the beginning? If that is so, how do we add the Godliness into our lives and pass it on to those around us?

Another interesting thing to consider is that this section describes how we must circumcise our children and make them a part of the covenant. Only once Abraham is given his ה is he told these laws and made to do so.

How does circumcision make one part of the covenant of the Jewish people? Why is Abraham only told to do this, to circumcise himself and essentially “become” a Jew, at the end of the Parsha? What does he have to do in order to deserve the covenant?

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Breathing Praise: Noach

Parshat Noah, 6:9-11:32

This week’s parsha, Parshat Noach, is another one of those jam-packed parshiot in which we can spend days or weeks thinking and discussing it, still not completing the discussion or immersing ourselves fully into the text. However, just like any other parsha, we spend a week studying it, with the culmination being on Shabbat.

Speaking of Shabbat, Alyssa Gray, a Talmudic scholar writing about Shabbat liturgy in Lawrence Hoffman’s My People’s Prayerbook, Volume 10: Shabbat Morning, comments that the words נשמת כל חי (click for English translation) (found at the end of פסוקי דזמרא, as the introduction to the concluding blessing) literally mean the breath of every living being. However, That breath is not just referring to humans. Rather, it refers to all creatures that breath the air of the earth. The proof text for that comes from our parsha this week. In Genesis 7:22, it is written that the Flood destroys everything with a “breath of life.” The very same breath of life with which every living being praises God in נשמת כל חי(Nishmat Kol Chai) (Follow link for Hebrew and musical versions of this prayer).

So then, what do these contrasts mean, especially relative to this part of the prayer service, which is all about enumerating praise for God. It would seem, that Genesis 7:22 is pointing out that God needed to destroy every living thing, even the animals, because they too were capable of doing evil and wrong. Maybe God made a mistake. In Genesis 6:6-7, we read: "And God repented that God had made man on the earth, and it grieved God in God’s heart. And Adonai said, "I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth, both man and beast, and the creeping thing and the fowls of the air, for I repent that I have made them.” It would seem that God made a mistake and now is attempting to rectify it through the Flood and destruction of the earth. The classic commentator, Rashi (France, 1040-1105) has a suggestion about this: "Although it was known to God that [humans] will sin and be destroyed, God nevertheless created them for the sake of the righteous who will descend from them.” (Berashit Rabah 27:4) In that sense, it would mean that God didn’t make a mistake and instead needed to “redo” creation in order to give people a better chance to become righteous. In that sense, every living being needed to be reformed, so that their breaths could indeed praise God.

The contrast is in the praising. Everyone on earth, save for Noah, his family and then all the animals, is destroyed. The rest of the peoples had become so wicked that they could not feasibly praise God with their living breath. Therefore, God needed to render everyone incapable, by wiping them out, in order to afford them the opportunity to learn and grow again. From that, people begin to praise and acknowledge God, recognizing that God does have a place in the world and in their lives. Through the praise of God, both in this introductory segment of our morning service, and throughout our daily lives, we keep the world good and eliminate the need for another Flood or negative action of retribution by God.

Shabbat Shalom.