Parashat Mikeitz

            “And Joseph named [his] firstborn Manasseh, for "G-d has caused me to forget all my toil and all my father's house."” In last week’s Torah portion, Joseph is shown to have suffered greatly the price of being his father’s favorite, and letting that favoritism go to his head and ego. This week, he is redeemed, appointed a position of power, his dreams literally come true, and, additionally, he has two children. These two children are not given much stage time in our stories; they are not the lead roles in any Hebrew school plays, but they are important. Every Friday night, around the world, parents bless their sons by saying, “May G-d make you like Ephraim and Manasseh,” because they supposedly are the only two siblings in the Bible who don’t have any fierce rivalries. And yet, here we read that Manasseh’s name is derived from a wish for Joseph to forget all his father’s house. While it is more than understandable that he would want to forget his brothers, and even understandable for Joseph to blame his father for the way his brothers mistreated him, it sounds harsh for Joseph to pass onto his child his desire to forget his former life and family. In contrast, he names his second son Ephraim, “G-d has made me to prosper in the land of my affliction,” showing that while he does not want to remember his father’s home, the place he currently lives does not quite feel like his home either.

There is much to learn from the Joseph story, and one lesson among many is on the question of respecting our parents even when it’s hard. Many of you are still very young and hopefully still revere and trust your parents and try your best to obey their rules. Those of you who are now parents probably see your parents differently now than you did before having children yourself, and hopefully can better appreciate all they did for you. But there are a few in this room who are of an age notorious for not showing proper respect for their parents. Speaking from purely anecdotal evidence and personal observations, I’d say starting at about 12 and peaking at 16 for girls, starting at about 15 and peaking closer to 20 for boys, the angst of adolescence starts to get in the way of appreciating the things your parents do for you. Often times, it feels like everything is all wrong and it’s all your parents fault and they’ll just never understand you and you just can’t wait to be grown up and out of their house and then you can forget all about this!

Joseph is considerably past this age when he names his firstborn child “G-d caused me to forget my toils and all my father’s house,” but since time in the Bible is generally very different than the way we view time now, let’s assume it’s safe to compare his attitude with that of a teenager’s. He does not want to acknowledge his connection to his father and family, he plays tricks on his brothers, and he cries a lot. Sounds like being 16 to me. In his tears, there is the implication that he wishes he could be close to them again, let his brothers know who he is, reunite the family. But he is afraid and distrustful, and understandably so. So he waits. In next week’s parasha – spoiler alerts – he does make himself known, and his whole family comes to live in Egypt and live off his success, and everyone lives happily ever after [at least until a new Pharoah arises who enslaves all the Hebrew people, but that’s not for quite a while].

Although it’s not shown explicitly, I think there is something in this on how we can show parents and family respect even when there is still anger and mistrust. It’s not easy, and the parasha certainly doesn’t tell us how to do it, but I think it can be done, and the parasha is at least saying that much. It’s okay to hold your cards close to your chest and still be gracious. Our Jewish law commands us to always show honor and respect our fathers and mothers, not to feel honor and reverence for them all time. Joseph messed with his brothers a little bit, but he still fed them, and ultimately welcomed them into his new life. Although he may have wanted to forget the pain of his childhood, he didn’t. He remembered and when the time was right, he re-embraced them all. Occasionally, people come to a point where they start to feel that as much as they love their family, they don’t like them so much right now. This generally passes, and it’s important to not to burn your bridges, since you might want to cross back at some point. Or in Joseph’s case, invite the rest of the family over to your side of the bridge. Either way, the bridge needs to still be in working condition, even if a little shaky.

May you always remember where you came from, who brought you up, and all they did to help make you the person you are today. May you survive your teenage angst and reunite in love with your family. And may G-d make us all like Ephraim and Manasseh, able to put aside our differences and just get along. Amen. 

Parashat Vayeshev

12/3/12

            Happy holidays. This time of year often raises debate over that phrase, but why should anyone bother trying to determine the correct holiday to wish each person? There are so many to wish happy! Thanksgiving has barely passed, Chanukah is nearly upon us, before we know it will be New Years, and in between, many, if not all of us will be helping various friends and family celebrate their holidays – Christmas, Kwanzaa, Solstice, and so on. Holidays can be loads of fun and a source of great warmth, but they can also be a source of stress as we plan large family gatherings and worry about what family members will likely start a fight right in front of the cheese and crackers table, keeping everyone else from being able to have their nosh before latkes are ready.

            In this week’s parasha, we find a family in turmoil. Many of us have a Joseph in our family. That brother, uncle, mother-in-law, whatever who is too smug, who is too favored, who always get first pick of the dark meat off the turkey at Thanksgiving, gets the crispiest latke at Chanukah, and who has a habit of rubbing it everyone else’s faces. Hopefully, each family also has a Reuven, though, eager to smooth out the family feuds, willing to be bipartisan, who runs to the rescue when any of us are backed in a corner by less forgiving other relatives.

            In the Torah, Reuven convinces his fellow brothers not to kill Joseph, no matter how obnoxious he might be. He allows the brothers to throw Joseph in a pit, instead, with the intention of pulling him out and returning him to their father at a later time when the other brothers aren’t looking. But where is Reuven when Joseph is sold into slavery? The Torah just says Reuven returned to the pit and found Joseph was gone, without mention of where or when he had left in the first place. Rashi explains this is because he had gone back home to serve their father and returned to the pastures where the brothers had been grazing sheep only to save Joseph from the pit. Reuven is split, having to care for different family members in different places, and in making a choice to uphold his commitment to one, he has effectively turn his back on another. What an awful choice to have to make.

Should Reuven have been more forceful with his brothers in convincing them to not kill Joseph? If he hadn’t had to be sneaky, maybe he would have been able to stop Joseph’s sale into slavery, but then again, maybe he would only have estranged himself from their other brothers in the process and furthered the family struggles. Joseph seems to be very unaware of why his brothers hate him so much; although there is some indication that he does know that they hate him. Maybe it would have been helpful for Reuven to pull Joseph aside and explain why his behavior was problematic, and given him the opportunity to make things right with his brothers himself. But then again, maybe Joseph would get offended and defensive, feeling like he’d lost his last ally, and family dinners would just get that much more awkward.

 Of course, we all know that if Joseph hadn’t been sent to Egypt as a slave, then Pharaoh would have no one to interpret his dreams, and Egypt would have been unprepared for the famine, and the rest of Joseph’s family wouldn’t have been able to come to get food from Egypt, and maybe everyone would die of starvation and there would be no Jewish people. Everything worked out the way it did for a reason. But Reuven didn’t, and couldn’t have had the opportunity to realize it for another 22 years, at which point all the family is reunited with Joseph. In the meantime, imagine the guilt he must have felt, the anger at his other siblings, the fear of his father finding out. This winter, with all our holiday craze, as we run around like chickens with our heads cut off, worrying about who is going to whose house for the holiday dinners and parties, who has gifts and who needs what, who gets along and who we have to seat at opposite ends of the table, let’s all take a minute to stop and breathe. Remind all your relatives to stop and breathe. To reflect. To search themselves and look carefully at all the family dynamics. Are you the Joseph, obnoxious and arrogant, off-putting to most of your family? Are you the other brothers, irrationally angry and overdramatic in your reactions to Joseph? Are you Reuven, wanting to make peace in the family and not knowing how? Most likely, we each have a moment to be each of these characters, depending on where we are in our lives, and which relative we are interacting with. This holiday season, can we find to just be Reuven, who loves and is loyal to each of his relatives? Can we all find a way toward humility and understanding? Set aside your angers and your petty differences. Invite back to your holiday dinner that uncle you haven’t spoken to in ages, remember to include everyone on your gift or card list, let your annoying younger brother have the tastiest-looking crispy latke fresh from the pan. It doesn’t matter anymore who is dad’s favorite or what their personal beliefs are. Family can brighten your harsh winter better than any menorah, but only if you let it. As the days start to get very cold, and the dark nights longer, may the light of all the different holidays keep us warm, and may sharing in each other’s joys keep us cheerful. 

Parashat Vayeira – Akida

It was suggested to me that I think about writing a new sermon that relates to the storm. I had a few strings of ideas but none that I was able to push through to something I liked. I'll be using this, which I wrote last week before the storm for my homiletics class, at services today.

            Last week, I mentioned the beginning to the story of the binding of Isaac – or the Akidah – and used Rashi’s commentary on “Your son, your only one, that you love, Isaac,” as some proof that Abraham also loves his son, Ishmael, who is the only one of his mother, just as Isaac is the only son of his mother. But what good is this father’s love if he is so willing to slaughter is favored child? This is a difficult story to contend with, for how can our first patriarch be so cold and thoughtlessly obedient that he was willing to sacrifice his own son, and what kind of G-d do we pray to that would ask this of such a faithful servant? Has not Abraham already proved his worth, by moving when and where G-d commands, by trying to do his best to keep peace in his home, between his own household and that of his nephew Lot, between his wife and her servant, between his sons? And when it comes to blind obedience, Abraham has already shown he will not always cow down; he bargained with G-d to allow him to find enough righteous people to warrant saving Sodom and Gemorrah. Abraham manages to get G-d to agree to spare the whole city if he can find enough righteous souls, and haggles G-d down from 50 righteous people to 10. Of course, it turns out there were not enough righteous to save any but Lot and his family, but still, that Abraham was willing to try to save this town of wicked strangers makes his willingness to sacrifice his own son all the more disconcerting.

            Being that it is so disconcerting, there is much Midrash on this to try to ease our discomfort with this story. My favorite was one I learned from my childhood rabbi, Doug Segal. I distinctly remember that one Rosh HaShana he told us a story he had made up himself of G-d asking Sarah first to sacrifice Isaac and she would not. She argues that G-d promised her this child, G-d promised her and Abraham that through this child would their descendants become as many as the number of stars in the sky. Basically, Sarah knew that G-d couldn’t possibly want Isaac dead, or those promises could not have been made, and she called G-d’s bluff.

            Rashi points out these inconsistencies in G-d’s word, but rather than use them to show that Abraham knew it was a test all along and was secure in knowing he would not really have to finish the job, Rashi uses it to explain Abraham’s confusion and hurt over the matter. In fact, many of Rashi’s comments on this parasha suggest that Abraham was easily confused. Why didn’t G-d tell Abraham at first to slaughter Isaac, but went through this back and forth with him about which son? So as to break the news in steps, to be gentler about asking Abraham to kill his son, lest his mind become disoriented and addled. And why did they travel for three days before G-d pointed out the right mountain to up on? If G-d were to point out the first mountain they came to, it would “bewilder and confuse Abraham unexpectedly, and addle his mind,” but if G-d were to wait more than three days, Abraham would have time to change his mind about the whole thing. And once the angel appears to stop Abraham, Abraham expresses confusion that G-d should promise him one day that Isaac will be the line from which many descendants will come, and then tell him to kill Isaac the next. After the ram appears, and the angel has already told Abraham that G-d does not want Abraham to harm his son, according to Rashi, as Abraham performs each piece of the sacrificial ritual, Abraham calls to G-d, “May it be your will that this should be as if it were my son.” We already learned it is not G-d’s will for this to be as if it were Isaac!

            There are many who say that this was a test of Abraham’s faith and ever-present loyalty to G-d, and he passed. What if this was a test of Abraham’s sanity and ability to continue to be a strong leader and he failed? What if G-d really expected Abraham to call his bluff, as Sarah did, and sent the angel and the ram at the last minute, because G-d realized that Abraham might go through with it?

            I think that too many people in the world today have difficulty remembering to open up their ears and hearts to G-d’s voice and will. I wish for you all to have some deep connection to G-d and that you feel that the things you do with your life are the direct will of G-d for you. But if you should ever hear a voice telling you to kill for G-d, please don’t. This of course, sounds exaggerated, but extend it to your general conscience. Probably none of you in this room have ever or will ever feel a great sincere urge to kill, but maybe to hurt, and possibly even to hurt yourselves. Even if it feels like it’s coming from so deep inside you it must be from G-d, do not do it. We can learn from this parsha that it is never really G-d’s will that we cause ourselves or our loved ones pain. And there may not always be a ram to stop you in time.

            At least not one that readily appears. As we go on with our lives, we will all have to continue to struggle with this story. As Jews, it is a part of our regular yearly Torah reading for Parashat Vayeira, and the traditional reading for Rosh HaShana. As you continue to contend with this story on your own terms, and as you grow and face your own challenges and have to make decisions about sacrifices of your own, may you all find your own rams, your own alternatives to causing harm, and may G-d grant you all peace. Amen. 

Slight changes for Lech Lecha

Temple Beth Emeth v'Or Progressive Shaari Zedek Saturday Morning "Children's" Service version: 

            In this week’s Torah portion, G-d strikes a covenant with Avram-Avraham to be his Shield and protector, and that of all Avram-Avraham’s children, for eternity. As part of the formation of the covenant, G-d instructs Avram that he and Sarai must change their names to Avraham and Sarah. Now that our first patriarch and matriarch are officially named as such, Avraham and Sarah are promised that they and their seed will inherit the land of Avraham’s sojournings. Avraham is told that G-d’s covenant will continue with him through Yitzchak’s line, but he is reassured that Ishmael will also become a great nation. It is sometimes suspected in the Akidah story, that Yitzchak is the son Avraham truly loves, as it says, “Take your son, your only one, whom you love, Yitzchak, and take him for a burnt offering,” although Midrash tells us that the reason G-d must say “Your son, your only one, whom you love, Yitzchak,” is because in between these lines, are Avraham’s responses we do not get to see, “I have two sons, this is the only son of his mother, and this is the only son of his mother, I love them both, oh okay you mean Yitzchak, why didn’t you just say so?”

Even without this Midrash, Avraham’s concern and love for Ishmael is clear here in Lech-L’cha, and it is obvious that it is important to him that all his seed inherit their fair share of land, and receive their own lives and blessings. When G-d tells Avraham that Sarah will become pregnant and give birth the Yitzchak, Avraham says, “If only that Ishmael should live!” Although he is of course thrilled for his true wife to have a child, he does not want Yitzchak to completely supplant or replace Ishmael. G-d assures Avraham that Ishmael will too be blessed and will also be the father of a great nation, but, the covenant remains with Yitzchak, and with it, the land of Avraham’s sojournings. Surely, though, the great nation of Ishmael must have a place of its own too, nearby enough to visit Grandpa Avraham?

            As descendants of Avraham and Sarah, we have a responsibility, then, to treat one another as brothers and sisters, or at the very least as close cousins. We have the responsibility to respect everyone’s right to their fair share of land and their own lives and blessings. Earlier in the portion, Avraham and Lot realize they are trying to share a plot of land too small to sustain each of their families and herds and all of their households. So, Avraham suggests to Lot that he take his wealth elsewhere; the entire land is before him for his choosing. This shows a keen understanding of natural resources and sustainability, as well as a concern for Shalom in the Home. These days, we have many more people trying to share such resources and the entire land is not before us. Pretty much all inhabitable land is inhabited at this point. As such, the fighting, as with between the herdsmen of Avraham and Lot, continues over these precious resources and land space. Is that how brothers and sisters and cousins should behave? So rather than move to a place that can sustain our individual possessions, or continue fighting, better we should reassess and share those possessions, particularly in the land that Avraham’s descendants were promised.

            May we all find a way to live in harmony with each other and our land, to share our possessions, our precious land and water resources, and behave as if we are all equally children of Abraham and Sarah. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.   

Parashat Lech-Lecha

This is sort of the prototype for this week's d'var Torah, but I wanted to post it as is, and point out that in the future, if I ever have the opportunity to give this in the proper setting, I'm going to Arava it up, add facts and figures of resource scarcity in Israel/Palestine, and how working together on sustainability will bring us to Shalom in the Home(land) between all of us multitude of nations descending from Avraham. 

The version that will be read on Saturday will be posted later in the week. 

            In this week’s Torah portion, G-d strikes a covenant with Avram-Avraham to be his Shield and protector, and that of all Avram-Avraham’s children, for eternity. As part of the formation of the covenant, G-d instructs Avram that he and Sarai must change their names to Avraham and Sarah. Rashi explains a commentary from Genesis Rabbah, to let us know the significance of these changes. The name Avram means “the Father of Aram,” the place the Avram came from. In G-d’s covenant, Avraham is promised to be the father of a multitude of nations, an “Av Hamon,” which looks like something of an acrostic of his name in the scripture, so the hey is added into Avram-Avraham’s name to convey the “hamon” – the multitude of nations – that Avraham is now father to. So with Sarai, the yud or the “eye” sound at the end of her name denotes personal ownership. For Avram, Sarai is “my princess”. Now that she will be the mother of the multitude of nations, she must become Sarah, a princess for any and all.

            Now that our first patriarch and matriarch are officially as such, Avraham and Sarah are promised that they and their seed will inherit the land of Avraham’s sojournings. Avraham is told that G-d’s covenant will continue with him through Yitzchak’s line, but he is reassured that Ishmael will also become a great nation. It is sometimes suspected in the Akidah story, that Yitzchak is the son Avraham truly loves, as it says, “Take your son, your only one, whom you love, Yitzchak, and take him for a burnt offering,” although Midrash tells us that the reason G-d must say “Your son, your only one, whom you love, Yitzchak,” is because in between these lines, are Avraham’s responses we do not get to see, “I have two sons, this is the only son of his mother, and this is the only son of his mother, I love them both, oh okay you mean Yitzchak, why didn’t you just say so?” But without this Midrash Avraham’s concern and love for Ishmael is clear, and it is important to him that all his seed inherit their fair share of land, and receive their own lives and blessings.

            As descendants of Avraham and Sarah, we have a responsibility, then, to treat one another as brothers and sisters, to respect everyone’s right to their fair share of land and their own lives and blessings. Earlier in the portion, Avraham and Lot realize they are trying to share a plot of land too small to sustain each of their families and herds and all of their households. So, Avraham suggests to Lot that he take his wealth elsewhere; the entire land is before him for his choosing. This shows a keen understanding of natural resources and sustainability, but these days, we have many more people trying to share such resources and the entire land is not before us. Pretty much all inhabitable land is inhabited at this point. So rather than move to a place that can sustain our individual possessions, better we should reassess and share those possessions, particularly in the land that Avraham’s descendants were promised.

            May we all find a way to live in harmony with each other and our land, to share our possessions, our precious land and water resources, and behave as if we are all equally children of Abraham and Sarah. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.   

Parashat Noah

            The Tower of Babel was always my favorite Bible story growing up. It’s a funny little story, nestled into Parashat Noah. What I really liked best about it when I was young was how much it was like Greek mythology I learned at school. Even if you think, as many modern progressive Jews today do, that the Bible is essentially a set of myths for our own faith tradition – most of our stories don’t read as “myths” in the same way. Most of the Torah, anyway, if not the whole Bible, explains behavior, the lessons are about morals. They are narratives that we must study and read into in order to get the full meaning of. They make little to no attempt to really explain the unexplainable (or things that were unexplainable at the time, but science has since explained) the way some myths from other traditions did. A lot of myths were as such: “Oh here’s this thing we have; how did it get here?” and then the myth directly explained, we have fire because Prometheus gave it to us, and here’s a whole story about what happened to him for that. Our Torah probably has more in common with ancient, no longer religiously believed mythologies than is obvious at first glance, but generally speaking, I’d say our stories are not like theirs. Except Babel. Here’s a story that tells us [Dramatic Reading]: The entire world spoke one language, but they used their common tongue for a terrible arrogant deed, and so they were punished with babble and forced to disperse, and thus to this very day different languages are spoken across the world, and that place was called Babel! [End Dramatic Reading]

            So then, if generally our stories are meant to be about moral lessons, and here we have this anomalously straightforward factual explanation of language, what are we to take away from this? The Torah says, “And so, the whole world was of one language and uniform words.” Genesis Rabbah offers a few examples of what those “uniform words” might have been, but the point of all of the examples are that “uniform words” meant that not only were all the people of the world speaking the same language, but they used that language to articulate the same idea: to build a tower so high it would reach the heavens and they would all make a name for themselves. This was not the crazy idea of one egomaniac that others followed, this was a plan everyone was in on. Unfortunately, it was an ill-conceived plan for self-serving, fame-mongering reasons, and potentially also with the intent of overthrowing and replacing G-d with themselves, according to one Midrash on “uniform words”. 

            People need to be able to communicate and work together for society to function. However, sometimes we have to work with people who speak a different language, via an interpreter. Sometimes we work with people who speak our language, but as a secondary learned language, rather than a naturally absorbed first language, and so there may still be complications with the translation. And sometimes, even when we work with people who do speak our language just as well as we do, they have a different point of view, and so communication is difficult in a different way. If we give in to how difficult it is, the project won’t get done well, and we will make ourselves crazy! If we learn to work effectively and patiently with those different from us, anything is possible. Working on a school project with someone who has a different vision? Talk it out, work through why you don’t like their way – respectively – and maybe you will come to a compromise, or an entirely new idea that the two of you came up with together, and there is the great possibility that it will be worlds better than your first idea. Not because your first idea was bad, but because you were given the opportunity to see it through various lenses, and allow it to evolve. On a much bigger scale, if everyone were able to do this, than we would have world peace.

            But not everyone is able to do this. And when we all share one idea, are of “uniform words,” who will speak out and say, “Hey, let’s not build this tower or we might end up confused and lonely”? It’s not always easy to be the one to speak out, but it’s important. And when it is our own idea being spoken against, it is just as important to listen, and just as hard. But we can all learn from our mythic ancestors who had no one to hold a contrary view, that they can indeed be really useful, no matter how hard. Regardless of what language – whether it is the literal language of their tongues or the ideological language of their hearts – anyone speaks, may we all find a way to still communicate and work alongside them as equals, in order that we may always have someone to tell us when we’re being fools. Amen. 

Parashat Bereishit

10/13/2012

            There’s a popular video now on YouTube called “First World Problems Anthem.” It’s put out by WaterisLife.com, is a collection of people in third world countries reciting complaints often heard here in America, and is meant to remind us how dumb and ungrateful we often are, in the hopes of encouraging us to donate toward clean water resources for these people with real problems. Some of the people in the video are smiling or look bored, although I can’t tell if it’s because they are truly appreciating the irony or if it’s because they don’t understand the English, but there is one woman in particular who looks like she understands the irony and hates us for it, as she recites the line, “I hate when my neighbors block their Wifi.” The look on her face, the disgust or despair that this is even a sentence, is very sobering.

            This is not to say that there is no such thing as a real problem in the first world, but so often we do take for granted so much of what we have, without considering how or why it exists for us.  This week, since we are reading B’reishit, let’s take a minute and reflect on creation. Whether you believe that creation was a completely random act of particle explosion, or carefully formed by G-d, or some combination of the two, believing in science being dictated by Divine Intelligence, none of it is really about us. In the Torah, G-d creates heavens and earth, separates light from darkness, separates water from dry land, creates the sun, moon, and stars, and creates vegetation, then animals, and lastly humans. At no point does the Torah say, “And G-d saw that this would be good for humans.” It just says, “And G-d saw that this was good.” The Torah does not even say this about humans, really. After most creations, G-d acknowledges their goodness: 4. And God saw the light that it was good, 10. And God called the dry land earth, and the gathering of the waters seas, and God saw that it was good, 12. And the earth gave forth vegetation, seed yielding herbs according to its kind, and trees producing fruit, in which its seed is found, according to its kind, and God saw that it was good, etc. After creating humans, G-d blessed them, instructed them to watch over everything else, to be fruitful and multiply, and then G-d steps back and 31. And God saw all that G-d had made, and behold it was very good. There’s another whole d’var Torah on why G-d did not say that the creation of humans was good by itself, but for now let’s just focus on the fact that clearly, the universe is not all about us. It’s not all about us as humans, and it is certainly not all about us in the first world and our problems such as “I hate when I ask for no pickles, and they still give me pickles.”

            According to the Talmud (Chulin 60b), we’re not alone in our whining. When G-d created the great luminaries, initially the sun and moon were the same size, but the Moon said, “Can two kings wear the same crown?” And G-d saw that the moon was right, so G-d made the Moon smaller and left the sun to brighten our days. Rashi expands this Talmudic idea, by explaining that because the moon was upset to have to be the one to diminish, G-d created the stars to be its entourage. My first world guilt is comforted by this story. We all may complain about silly things, and need to have our egos diminished or have things put into perspective, but when that happens we may be compensated with more friends and brighter surroundings. May we focus on the positive, appreciate all that we have, and try to help others access essential creations, such as food and water, so that we can all have a better world. And may G-d see that this is very good. Amen and Shabbat Shalom.