Parashat Vayera - Angels and Demons (not about a Dan Bown novel)

Shabbat Shalom! I recently started listening to a boatload of new podcasts, and among them is one called Throwing Sheyd, which is a very clever name because “Throwing shade” is a slang term for saying something rude to someone in a subtle way that they can pick up but still gives you plausible deniability about your intent, and a sheyd is a Hebrew term for something akin to a demon. There are a few terms that the Hebrew scriptures and the ancient rabbis used to refer to the harmful spirits in the world - sheidim, se’irim, mazzikim, the children of Lilith, and more, and they each represent different specific types of demons or demon-esque beings. Jewish demonology is well fleshed out in early rabbinic texts, and I’d known some things from rabbinical school, like that the mazzikim are particularly out in full force on Wednesdays, but I’m learning so much more from the podcast, like that sheidim have mitzvot!

On the episode I listened to most recently (which was not the most recent episode, because I’m catching up on some old episodes), the hosts talked a bit in particular about the dichotomy of angels and demons. This dichotomy is not quite as direct as one might think from the Christian-influenced popular imagination. Jewish demons are not fallen angels or anything like that (that’s a different fantastic beast altogether elaborated on in Midrashim for Parashat Noah). Sheidim and their ilk are distinct creatures and not former celestial beings. But they run around mostly unseen causing harm and leading Jews away from God and Torah in basic opposition to the way angels run around mostly unseen doing God’s bidding and enforcing Torah. Although, of course, I’m using run figuratively, because angels in their true form have only one leg, another thing I learned from the podcast. And just like demons appear vaguely in the Tanakh but are more fleshed out in the rabbinic literature, angels also appear in the Tanakh, sometimes more explicitly than others, but are on the whole more fleshed out in later texts.

Look at this week’s Torah portion, for example. At the top of Parashat Vayera, the Torah tells us that the Lord appeared to Abraham and then Abraham looked up and saw three men approaching. The text uses the word “men” here, but they are generally understood to be angels, two of whom will continue on to Sodom to destroy it and its neighboring city of Gomorrah. Partially this is derived from the fact that the men who visit Abraham’s tent bring a prophecy of Sarah’s pregnancy and the birth of Isaac, which is not super typical behavior of your average mortal traveler, and partially because when they leave Abraham’s tent, they go on to Sodom, and the next chapter (same parasha) opens with “The two angels arrived in Sodom.”

I always thought that the peshat, the most direct interpretation, of the opening verse indicated that Abraham recognized the divinity of the three men walking up. That what was meant by “The Lord appeared to Abraham, and he looked up and saw three men,” was that the Lord appeared IN those three men. However, the general accepted rabbinic interpretation of this is that God was paying a bikur cholim call, a wellness visit, to Abraham. The previous parasha ends with Abraham circumcising himself at an advanced age, and the rabbis concluded he’s feeling a bit tender and immobile, so God is chilling with him, keeping him company. I do love that image, and I can appreciate the rabbinical message there about how much more audaciously hospitable Abraham then is when he runs out to greet the three travelers approaching. One, because he is supposedly in physical pain, but he jumps up and moves quickly to welcome in his new guests; and two, because he is ditching God to spend time with who he ostensibly thinks is his fellow man. But what reinforces my view on the peshat understanding is that I can’t understand why the angels would need to approach to bring God’s message and prophecy for Sarah, if God is already kibbitzing with Abraham.

Rashi says that there are three because each angel has a distinct job. One to overthrow Sodom (definitely something to be said for God delegating out this responsibility), one to announce to Sarah the birth of Isaac, and one to cure Abraham (the latter two seem more distinctly superfluous if God was already physically present in their tent). When “The two angels” arrive in Sodom, Rashi reports it is of course because the one who came to inform Sarah was done and went back to the Heavens, while the one who was sent to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah still had a job to do, and the one who healed Abraham was also responsible for rescuing Lot and his family (which checks out - those are similar duties). Rashi also comments that the angels took an awfully long time to arrive at Sodom, considering they are angels and surely could have flown in, perhaps even on unicorns or any number of magically flying animals available as transportation only to them. But they are angels of mercy and were hoping to buy Abraham some time as he argued with God about whether the deed truly needed be done.

In response to the question of why the Torah sometimes calls them men and sometimes calls them angels, Rashi offers two possibilities. One is that when they are in the presence of the Lord at Abraham’s tent, they are mere men by comparison to the One Most High. The other is that they appeared to Abraham as men, and Abraham truly believed them to be merely men. It was the custom of Abraham to greet all people as warmly as he greets the angels, to see the holiness in any traveler, and so it became the custom of angels to go hang out with Abraham for this reason. However, when they appeared to Lot, it was necessary to appear as angels, so that the less pious nephew would regard them properly and leave Sodom with them. In either case, neither the Torah nor Rashi describe the appearance of the angels, and the descriptions we see later in some of the prophets, and as our adult ed students know, in the book of Daniel, the angels are able to take on human forms, but still never fully pass as human. I mean, besides the one-foot thing. Daniel always knows when he’s being spoken to by an other-worldly being.

I’m unsure where the tradition lands on this, but something that occured to me as I read this parasha and listened to Throwing Sheyd, is that if angels can appear as men and be welcomed into one’s tent, then probably, so could demons. Depending on the type of demon, this could be a bad omen - welcoming in disaster, opening the door to pain, and we could read it in very real terms of one not asserting necessary boundaries and allowing themselves to be harmed by the evil in the world. But perhaps it could be a good thing too. As I said, sheydim must adhere to some mitzvot, and perhaps they are not all inherently evil. What if Abraham, or you or me, opened the door for a mischievous imp-like creature and showed them the power of welcoming and warmth? Would they turn from their trickster ways and seek to do more good in the world? I’m not sure it’s always so easy to tell which type of otherworldly creature we are opening our doors to, but if we were able to read each person, or person-like being, that we meet and try to learn about and from them with an open heart, I think we might find ourselves better able to model the audacious hospitality of our father Abraham, and make this world a little better for everyone. May you open your hearts and doors, and may you in turn be blessed with good news and safety. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Lech Lecha and Dybbuks

           Shabbat Shalom! This week’s focus of fantastic beings is dybbuks. Dybbuks are sometimes confused with demons or generic ghosts, but they are something in between. The word dybbuk comes from the Hebrew verb “davek” – to cleave or to cling. Among the demonology and stories of various types of spirits roaming the world found throughout the Talmud and Kabbalistic literature, there are stories of human souls who cling to this world when their body dies and who cleave to the soul of a living body. In the folklore of European Jews from the 17^th century on, the phenomenon of a person’s possession by a clinging soul came to be blamed on the being known simply as a dybbuk, and was generally considered a bad thing.

            Having grown up in a haunted house, I know that not all clinging spirits are malicious. True, my grandmother’s ghost did not try to possess anyone as dybbuks are known to do, but she did once appear in a fiery image outside the window overlooking the backyard to tell my cousin’s boyfriend to get out of her house. My cousin broke up with the guy shortly thereafter. For context, Grandma Irene wasn’t being a dramatic dybbuk with the fire thing; she did actually die in a fire in the backyard. For about one week straight in January 1998, our TV kept turning itself on for 6:00 news, though no one in the family remembered setting the timer. That would be about when we were sitting down for dinner, and no one wanted the TV on then. My parents made a few attempts to ensure there was no timer set or to turn it off. The last time the TV turned itself on, the news was reporting a large fire in our town. It had started in a beloved family-owned bakery downtown and ended up damaging several Main Street businesses. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but it seemed Grandma Irene wanted us to keep up on fire-related news in town. There were other, more mundane signs that maybe on their own wouldn’t be so obvious, but coupled with the distinct fire-related hauntings led us to still imagine them as acts of Grandma Irene’s soul clinging to the house in which she had raised her children, lived for many years, and where she had died, and where her youngest daughter was now raising her own children. For years, three different family dogs, owned separately, would sit down at the foot of the stairs and stare up expectantly around the time Irene would be getting ready to go to work if she were alive. A few years ago, my dad was home alone and doing some housework. He swears he very distinctly felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped a foot in the air, turned off the vacuum, and looked around, but there was no one there. The house was quiet, and there have been no more spooky happenings since then. We think Irene was saying thanks to her son-in-law for keeping up her house and taking care of her family, and saying goodbye. My sibling and I had already moved out of the house and were more or less grown, and she didn’t need to look after us anymore. We wondered if she went to Phoenix to keep tabs on her great grandchildren, but we haven’t heard any stories from my cousins out there. We assume and hope that her soul finally let go of its grip on this world, and returned to its maker. Hopefully, Irene is no longer a dybbuk.

            The stories of the Talmud and Kabbalah claim that dybbuks can be created by malicious souls that linger in this world because they are so sinful they do not want to return to the Creator, or they can be created by pure souls that are wronged somehow and they cleave to the one who wronged them. Maybe some stick around out of love, an unwillingness to leave their families, a desire to stick to the souls that they felt connected to in life.

            In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Lech L’cha, we are told that Abram and Sarai leave Haran with a caravan, taking with them to the Promised Land their nephew Lot and his family, and “all the souls they made”, as well as all their “possessions”. The most common Midrashic explanation of this line is that they converted all their servants to monotheism and made their souls as if new with the love of God. But we know that Abram and Sarai are known and will later be blessed for their hospitality. In my experience, being proselytized to is not very welcoming, no matter how friendly the person seems when they’re trying to “save your soul.” What if, rather than converting servants and hauling them along this journey that’s really not for them, Abram and Sarai were actually so open and welcoming that the people who dwelled among them clung to their souls like a dybbuk. I’m not necessarily saying that all the “souls” Abram and Sarai brought to the Holy Land were ghosts, but I’m also not saying that none of them were. Either way, what I’m really saying, is that love is a very effective glue to stick one soul to another. I’ve never been haunted by a dybbuk that cleaved to this world out of malice or hurt, but I spent all my childhood with one that clung on in love. As a living person, I know anger can feel haunting, but it generally passes and does not consume the soul, yet unconditional love lasts and connects two souls forever. I hope I’m not inviting in a host of ghosts to the synagogue by saying this, but how beautiful would it be to create a community so open and welcoming, so filled with unconditional love for each other, that our souls clung to one another, cleaved to Ner Shalom, and stuck around to help make this synagogue the best it could be for as long as we could. May your homes be ghost-free, but your lives filled with love and souls that cling to yours in joy. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Noah and Keeping Kosher without Defined Kashrut

Shabbat Shalom! In this week’s Torah portion of Parashat Noach, God tells Noah to take pairs of all the animals on Earth onto the ark, male and female, so that the species will not go extinct as the Earth is destroyed. First, God says to take two of everything, but in the next chapter (Genesis 7) as more details unfold, God says to take 7 pairs of every clean animal, and one pair of every not-clean animal.

What does clean and not-clean mean? The Hebrew used is not the same as would be used for, say, clean and dirty laundry (naki). It uses the word “tehora” for ritual purity, meaning the “clean” animals in this case are ones suitable for sacrifices to God or are considered Kosher. And yet, at this point in the Torah, Kosher laws have not yet been given, only one animal sacrifice has been made, and it’s unclear how Noah would know what was clean or not-clean. It also seems worth noting that the Torah literally says “tehora” and “lo tehora” or “ein tehora”, meaing “pure” and “not pure” or “without purity”, rather than using the typical opposite term of “tamei”. So although these verses imply some sense of what would be considered pure in the mitzvot ahead, they also imply that perhaps the full scope of what it meant to be pure/impure was not yet known.

It is generally believed that the first humans did not eat meat, and were only officially allowed to eat meat after the flood. Some midrashim even point to cruel methods of animal-eating as some examples of the violence of the generation of the flood. Commenting on Parashat Bereshit, the Talmud says, “The First Earthling was not permitted meat for eating, as it is written, ‘...to you it will be for the eating. And to all the animals of the earth…’ and not [written] ‘the animals of the earth for you.’ And when the children of Noah came [out of the ark] it was permitted for them [to eat meat], as it is said, "as the green herb I have given for you all" (Sanhedrin 59b:13-14).” The 13th century Rabbi David Kimchi from Provence even went so far as to suggest that in the beginning, all animals ate only plants, even those which we would recognize today as predator animals. But after the Flood, God says to Noah, “Every creature that lives shall be yours to eat.”

This verse says “every creature,” and leaves out the concept of “tehora,” again drawing confusion about what the Torah means in chapter 7 and how Noah understands that. I will say on this matter, that I grew up eating “every creature,” or at least all the ones Americans generally eat, including treyf. I became a vegetarian at 12 and started eating meat again while in Israel at 20. Transitioning to keeping Kosher was not only easier in the sense that coming from vegetarianism, I was adding things back into my diet rather than restricting them, but it was also spiritually easier than diving fully back into eating anything. It made sense to only add certain dishes, and to keep kosher as a way of continuing to practice mindfulness over my animal consumption after years of refusing to eat them at all. It is not clear that this was the case for Noah, but I offer this anecdote as perhaps a look into Noah’s kashrut, despite the apparent reality that the laws of Kashrut were given many generations later.

At the beginning of this year (as in January, not as in Tishrei), a friend and fellow rabbi responded to a tweet asking if porgs (the vaguely penguin-esque creatures from Star Wars Episode VIII) were kosher. This led down a jackalope hole of what other fantastic beasts may or may not be Kosher. While looking further into that topic for our Fantastic Jewish Beasts and Where in the Text to Find Them event, I also purchased a book called “The Kosher Guide to Imaginary Animals.” It’s not unlike the original book of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, in that it is extremely short and reads basically like a short field guide to imaginary creatures, but then with the added element of determining whether or not Jews could or should eat them. For the most part, the answer is no. Don’t eat Fantastic Beasts. We’ll talk more about which ones and why on October 28th, but that seemed to be the answer for the majority of the creatures in the guidebook and in the Twitter thread, including the imaginary animals discussed a whole sideline conversation about what would be Kosher for Jewish dragons specifically. Several of the contributing writers to the guidebook, and the comments coming from the other rabbis jumping into the Twitter thread suggested that this type of conversation is not new or unusual. As long as humans have been eating meat, and as long as these myths and folklore have existed, people have pondered what could be on the menu, whether it is Kosher, how it could be caught and slaughtered, what it would taste like, how it should be served. It seems that if these are the conversations humanity seems to have been having for the last thousand years or so, then it’s not so far fetched that 3000 years ago, before Kashrut existed as such, humans were still in some fashion wondering, “Is this ok to eat? How can I eat it? Is it capture-able and able to be domesticated? Is it pure? Will it make me sick, physically or spiritually?” And if they determined that it was edible, could be domesticated, could be killed in a humane way and served in a manner than separated it’s intelligent predator from the knowledge that this too was once alive, then it was “clean”, or “tehora”, even if more specific identifiers for the pure and impure status had not yet been recorded.

This Shabbat, we bless all our animals. The ones we have loved as companions, and the ones that have nourished us. The ones that we have seen in zoos, and the ones we have only seen in our imaginations. Some animal-lovers prefer to stick to the vegetarian lifestyle, while others recognize distinctions between different sorts of animals. However you love your animals, however your diet, may you take the time this Shabbat to appreciate all the ways in which the animal kingdom, real and imagined, has served humanity, and may we give thanks to the Creator of all who has made a world with such diversity in creatures. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Noah - At Hogwarts

And now let us tuck in on the true Torah of Hogwarts. “Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation.” Rashi quotes the Talmud and explains to us, “Some of our Rabbis explain this to his credit: he was righteous even in his generation; it follows that had he lived in a generation of righteous people he would have been even more righteous owing to the force of good example. Others, however, explain it to his discredit: in comparison with his own generation he was accounted righteous, but had he lived in the generation of Abraham he would have been accounted as of no importance (cf. Sanhedrin 108a).” Rashi goes on, this time bringing in some material from the Midrash Rabbah (another rabbinical endeavor from a similar time period as the Talmud) saying, “In the case of Abraham Scripture says, (Genesis 24:40) ‘[God] before whom I walked’; Noah needed God’s support to uphold him in righteousness, Abraham drew his moral strength from himself and walked in his righteousness by his own effort (Genesis Rabbah 30:10).”


There’s a lot of comparing Noah to Abraham, which I would guess Noah would find annoying. No one wants the judgement of their own character to be something along the lines of, “Well, he’s not as great as the other guy…” So to best dive into a character analysis of Noah, we turn to the greatest insight tool known to man, wizard, and beast. The Sorting Hat. Which Hogwarts House would Noah be sorted into based on what we know about him? To answer this question, first I asked the Internet. I heard compelling arguments for all four houses:

1. One rabbi said, “I thought Gryffindor. Apparent foolhardiness in the face of criticism (one way of framing bravery) is a Gryffindor thing.
2. One well-educated Jewish professional said, “Ravenclaw. Shipbuilding is hard: astrological navigation, realizing you could use birds to detect land, etc. Noah's a dork,” much like those Ravenclaw know-it-alls.
3. One rabbi, one rabbinical student, and one Universalist Unitarian minister agreed on Slytherin, though the rabbi certainly pondered the merits of all the Houses before reaffirming the reaction from her kishkes, while the other two left it at, “Slytherin no doubt. Ambition, self-interest, the whole package,” and, “He had a job that needed doing even if it meant letting the rest of the human race die.”
4. Three laypeople voted for Hufflepuff, first because of the apparent passiveness of Noah following God’s orders and the Hufflepuff likelihood of getting swept into whatever mischief their friend’s are up to. I, being a Hufflepuff myself, argued that the reason Hufflepuffs get swept into things outside their control is due to their loyalty to their friends. Noah clearly had no loyalty or no friends, because he let the entire world die aside from his immediate family and some animals. The case was then made: “it could be argued that loyalty and faith are sister traits in this lens; Hufflepuffs are loyal to their fellow humans because of an inherent faith in humans. Noah was loyal to his lord’s vision because he had strong faith.” The last evidence in favor of Hufflepuff was that they’re hard worker too. Noah definitely had to work hard.

Further ideas on the matter included one voiced opinion that matched my initial thought: Slytherpuff, meaning that the Sorting Hat perhaps would have told Noah he was equally fit for either Slytherin or Hufflepuff. However, that person did not follow up with reasoning, and so I think it is fair to discount that opinion. And lastly, one opinion that discounted the idea that Noah would have been in any house. Not because the question is itself a fantasy, but on the merits of Noah’s characteristic of leadership: “He would have created his own house and students would have fought like the third monkey on the ramp when it was starting to rain to get into his house.” I am not entirely convinced Noah was really much of a leader, as he was only doing what God told him to do, but I certainly agree with the final analysis of the no-House train of thought.


With three votes for Hufflepuff and three votes for Slytherin, and two votes for Slytherpuff, I posed the question: If the Sorting Hat told Noah he was equally fit for either House and he had some choice in the matter, much like with Harry, what would Noah choose for himself? No one responded. So I did the next piece of research and rational rabbi would do: I took an online Sorting Hat quiz trying to embody Noah. It really took Bibliodrama to the next level. I thought about how Noah would view himself: Righteous and good, and also better than everyone else; chosen for a Higher purpose; willing to risk everything to fulfill that purpose, including other people’s lives; hardworking and conscientious when it comes to the task at hand, but also slovenly when the wine flows. The result according to The Ultimate Harry Potter Fan Quiz, as promoted by Time Magazine, is that Noah was a Ravenclaw. The quiz results read: “Your personality shows a high degree of work ethic and friendliness, which are valued among members of Ravenclaw House.” The runner up by a considerable margin was Gryffindor, and the percentages for Hufflepuff or Slytherin were pretty slim.


I have to say, the results were shocking to me, especially after also determining through some 6-degrees-of-separation-style mental gymnastics that Enoch, Noah’s great-grandfather, was Midrashically Professor Severus Snape. You see, at the end of Parashat Bereshit as we are getting the genealogy that brings us to Noah, the Torah says, “Enoch walked with God and was taken away by God.” One Midrash says he was taken to be the Metatron and the Great Scribe. Alan Rickman (z"l) played the Metatron in Dogma. Alan Rickman also played Snape in the Harry Potter movies. Another Midrash says that Enoch was inconsistent in his piety, meant to be righteous but was easily distracted by wickedness, much like Noah, in fact. The rabbis give a similar meaning to both verses about each man “walking with God”. And, Harry Potter fans know that Snape can be pretty inconsistent in his righteousness and wickedness. He is given to jealousy and selfishness but also shows great loyalty and willingness to self-sacrifice for that which he cares about. Enoch is Snape, and has arguably passed on many of those qualities to his great-grandson, Noah. And yet, the descendents of the Half-Blood Prince have broken the cycle of repeating wickedness and followed the plans of God to rebuild a new world of reason and restraint.

I know this because the internet doesn’t lie. Or it was just a fun thought experiment and is ultimately meaningless. It’s up to you. But whatever you take away from this deep dive into Noah’s character and the essential characteristics of each Hogwarts House, I hope that you at least learn from this that the gift of living after the Flood is that now we are given a heritage of this Torah to make our own. Whatever your fandom is, you can make your own Torah midrash with it, and you should. By looking at these timeless stories through every new lens imaginable, we internalize more deeply the lessons to be learned. We can model ourselves after Noah’s strong work ethic and friendliness, or the ease with which is distracting into wickedness. It’s up to us to see through all the strengths and flaws of our ancestors and learn from them how to do good in the world. It’s up to us to choose what lesson we need from Torah in the given moment of each of our lives. May you find the Torah and fandom that speaks to your heart, may it strengthen your spirit and fortify your theology, and may it bring you joy.