PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5768)
RITUAL
“Mark that the Lord has given you the Sabbath; therefore He gives you two days’ food on the sixth day. Let everyone remain where he is: let no man leave his place on the seventh day.” (Exodus 17:29)
Often on Friday I go to our local bakery to buy hallah for Shabbat. Although the bakery is kosher, immediately the sales woman brings my fresh hallah over to the bread slicer to cut it into slices. I have to talk fast to stop her and let her know, “I need complete, unsliced hallahs.” She sometimes looks at me like I descended on the bakery from Mars. “You don’t want it sliced?!”
Tradition is that on Friday night and Saturday lunch we have two complete unsliced hallahs to say the blessing and begin the meal. The two hallahs represent the double portion of manna which God gave the Israelites in the wilderness on Friday. They received a double portion on Friday so they would not have to go out gathering the food on Shabbat. The same law teaches that we are to do no cooking or baking on the Sabbath; all the food we eat must be prepared before the Sabbath begins. Two hallahs is an important ritual that carries symbolic value to our children and any guests we may have at a Friday night dinner. It teaches respect for the Sabbath as a day of rest. Another ritual is keeping the hallah covered as we say the Kiddush blessing over the wine. The hallah should not be embarrassed that we chose to bless the wine first. And if we are worried about not embarrassing a couple of loaves of bread, how much more so should we worry about not embarrassing another human being.
For a practicing Jew, ritual is a deep and powerful part of life. Do I really believe that each of these rituals is God-given and unchanging? Does it really matter in some ultimate sense whether I bless two whole hallahs or two sliced hallahs on Friday night? No. But I also belief that traditional rituals have a timelessness that is the source of deep spirituality. Our Friday night rituals are being said by Jews throughout the world. They have been said, more or less in the same form, for thousands of years. When I perform these rituals I am linked to something greater than myself. And that is a key part of religion.
How do I explain these ideas to people who have no patience for traditional rituals? Imagine going to a Major League baseball game. Suppose the announcer says that there will no longer be a seventh inning stretch. It will be moved to the beginning of the sixth inning. And we will no longer sing “Take me out to the Ballgame.” Some other song will replace it. Would these changes really make a difference? In some ultimate sense, the answer is no. But somehow, for many of us, the baseball experience would be marred. (For those who are old enough, remember when the rules changed in the American League to allow a designated hitter to hit for the pitcher. It changed the strategy of the game. Many felt something powerful about baseball was marred by this change.)
Ritual resonates with us humans because it represents something powerful that goes beyond ourselves. We want ritual as part of our lives. There was a time when brides and grooms sought to experiment with new age, creative weddings. They wanted to be married barefoot, on the beach, or hike to the top of a mountain for their vows. Today I find brides and grooms want to return to ancient traditions and customs. More and more often at the weddings I perform, the bride wants to include the ancient mystical tradition of walking around the groom. (I do either three or seven circles; I prefer three because seven gives me a very dizzy bride.) There has been a clear return to the traditional forms and prayers.
Does that mean that rituals are forever set in stone and unchangeable? Of course not. Our Judaism is no longer built around animal sacrifices in an ancient Temple. We no longer swing a chicken over our head before Yom Kippur to take away our sins. We have modified rituals in our synagogue that we felt needed to be modified. For example, we now allow women to participate equally with men in the rituals of the synagogue such as Torah reading. The change was slow and controversial when we made it, but most of our members believe it was the right thing to do. We are still debating the wisdom of adding a musical instrument to our Sabbath prayer services. Change is difficult, especially with rituals that have been sanctified by generations of practice. Yet many of our members believe the music enhances the service.
Ritual is part of life. (Watch the variety of robes and cords worn by participants in a school graduation, for example. This apparel which goes back to the Middle Ages add to the solemnity and dignity of the occasion.) Religion also needs ritual to give it a sense of timelessness. Perhaps this is the reason why Reform Judaism is reintroducing many of the ancient Jewish rituals which they once abandoned.
I ask the bakery sales woman not to slice my hallah. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things? It is a small way of linking me and my family with a story that goes all the way back to the exodus from Egypt.
PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5766)
APPRECIATION
“Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord.”
(Exodus 15:1)
The Midrash brings a wonderful insight which is quoted in the Conservative commentary Etz Hayim. “From the day that God created the world until this moment, no one had sung praises to God – not Adam after having been created, not Abraham after being delivered from the fiery furnace, not Isaac when he was spared the knife, or Jacob when he escaped from wrestling with an angel and from Esau. But when Israel came to the sea and it parted for them, then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord. And God said, for this I have been waiting.” (Exodus Rabbah 23:4)
Can one really believe that God was waiting for our song of praise? Perhaps this is a classic case of what psychologists call transference. It is we humans who need praise, who constantly wait for words of appreciation. Perhaps we are anthropomorphizing God with a fundamental human need. We need to be noticed, thanked, and appreciated for what we do. We need the song of praise.
I recently spoke with a man who is the boss of a number of employees. One of his employees had complained that the boss never had a kind word for them. He never showed any appreciation for the work his employees do. His words were sad. “I pay them to work. My appreciation is the fact that they receive a paycheck from me. They are simply doing what I pay them to do.”
This man may be a wonderful businessman. But he is a lousy boss and is certainly not a good judge of human nature. A paycheck, as important as it is, is never enough. We need words and acts of appreciation. It reminds me of the woman who told me of her husband, “I don’t need to say I love him or appreciate how hard he works for our family. He knows how I feel.” Unless you say it occasionally, how does he know how you feel?
Deepak Chopra, the popular physician and spiritual teacher, has spoken about the three central ingredients in any healthy relationship. People need attention. People need affection. And people need appreciation. Attention – people must feel that they are noticed. Affection – people need to know that you care about them. And possibly most important, appreciation - people need to know that their actions make a difference in your life and that you thank them. There is a deep human need to have others appreciate what we do.
On the other hand, there is a deep human weakness to take others for granted. We see them do their job and cannot articulate the words, “Thank you.” After all, they are doing what they are paid to do. Or family members are doing what is expected of them; it is their job. How far would a simple thank you go, whether it is to family members who go out of their way for us or the supermarket clerk who adds up our groceries? Humans need that kind of appreciation.
Finally, maybe God does not literally need us to break into song. But certainly saying thank you to God helps give us a healthier view towards the universe. We are called Jews, from the tribe of Judah, the Hebrew tribe Yehudah. The term comes from the Hebrew word Todah meaning “thank you.” Our very name reflects the idea of appreciation. Perhaps we Jews were put into the world to teach the importance of appreciation.
We teach the children in our early childhood program a song entitled, “Thank you God.” Perhaps, before we can truly say thank you to God, we need to learn to say thank you to one another. As we sing the Song of the Sea, let us remember that appreciation is a fundamental human need.
PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5764)
THE WORLD OF ACTION
"The Lord said to Moses, Why do you cry out to me? Tell the Israelites to go forward."
(Exodus 14:15)
One factor that strongly influenced my decision to become a rabbi was a summer spent at Brandeis-Bardin Institute in California (then called Brandeis Camp Institute.) It is a program for college students from a variety of backgrounds to explore Judaism. Our lecturer in resident was Dr. David Weiss from Jerusalem, a professor of bioimmunology and an Orthodox Jew who chose observance as an adult. Dr. Weiss and I continued to correspond for many years after that summer.
One lecture of Dr. Weiss's in particular still stands out in my mind. He had us look at various cultures through history and search for a key word that would summarize the essence of that culture. For the ancient Greeks, the word was beauty. For the ancient Romans, the word was power. Looking at Christian culture through much of history, the word would probably be faith. Christianity stills speaks of justification through faith, although there are changes today, partially due to a return to Hebrew sources in Christianity. If we were to look at modern America, the key word would probably be rights. We Americans place a strong emphasis on rights talk.
What about Judaism? The key word according to Dr. Weiss in describing the essence of Judaism is action. Ultimately, we humans are judged by our actions. When the Israelites received the Torah, they said "We will do and we will understand." The doing comes before the understanding. Action comes before faith. The Danish existential philosopher Soren Kierkegaard spoke about his Christianity as a "leap of faith." In response, the Jewish philosopher Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel spoke of a "leap of action."
Perhaps one of the best examples of this leap of action takes place in this week's portion. The Israelites were standing by the sea, pursued by the Egyptians. Moses stood their praying, when God spoke to Moses. Enough prayer, go forward already. There is a time for prayer and a time for action. According to a famous Midrash, one of the leading Israelites, Nachson ben Aminadav plunged into the sea. When the water was up to his neck, the sea parted and the Israelites were able to cross.
These past weeks I have been forced to deal with a number of tragic situations, people who died before their time leaving behind grieving loved ones. Certainly there is a time to ask why, to speak of faith and questions of God's justice. But at the actual time of bereavement, it was not appropriate to speak theology. My main emphasis had to be, "What should we do? What action can we take?" Jewish tradition releases immediate family members from any prayer obligations before the funeral takes place. They should not be distracted from the actions necessary to make funeral plans. Concentrating on action first will allow family, friends, and loved ones to concentrate on faith later.
The Kabbala, the vast mystical tradition of Judaism, speaks of four worlds in which we humans live. The worlds are situated one inside another, like Russian nested dolls. What happens in the lower worlds affects what happens in the higher worlds. The lowest world is called Olam HaAsiya, literally The World of Action. It is the world most connected to the world of physical things, the material world in which we live. We act in this physical world, doing certain things and avoiding doing other things. Ultimately, our actions, our behavior, affects everything else, including our emotions, our intellect, and our faith. That is why our tradition calls for a leap of action.
There is a story of a group of freethinkers who get together to discuss intellectual topics, including mocking religious faith. They cannot understand why anyone would become a believer? Finally, one of them decides he will live in an Orthodox Jewish community for one year to try to find the answers to all of their questions. One year later the group comes together once again. They cannot wait to ask their friend what he learned from his year of Orthodox living. They see him dressed in the clothing of an Orthodox Jew. "Do you have the answers?" He calmly answers, "After a year of Orthodox living, I finally have the answers. The problem is, I do not remember any of the questions.”
Sometimes we need to take a plunge, make a leap of action. It may be when we are standing by the sea and danger is pursuing us. It may be when tragedy hits and we do not know what to do. Or it may be when we are spiritually seeking answers. The World of Action is the first world in which we live our lives. As Dr. Weiss taught me, this was the profound insight Judaism gave the world. The world still needs to hear it today.
PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5763)
EULOGY FOR PHARAOH
"The waters turned back and covered the chariots and the horseman – Pharaoh’s entire army that followed them into the sea; not one of them remained." (Exodus 14:28)
We are gathered to say goodbye to Pharaoh, King of Egypt. He has gone on to the next world to join his parents and his first born son, killed in the last great plague that struck Egypt. His body and those of his army have never been recovered; they remain at the bottom of the Sea of Reeds. But there is much we can learn from how Pharaoh lived his life.
First, Pharaoh left behind a great legacy of magnificent buildings. I surmise that people will be visiting the mighty pyramids thousands of years from now. Unfortunately, Pharaoh never realized that a man's legacy is not a group of buildings, however majestic and beautiful. A man's true legacy is how he treated other human beings. Here Pharaoh fell short.
Pharaoh could have been the man who freed the slaves. He could have been the man who stood before the entire world and said, no human being has the right to oppress or enslave another human being. We are to be servants of God, not servant to human masters. He had the opportunity not once but ten times. And here Pharaoh fell short. As a result, ten mighty and terrible plagues fell on his people and his land.
Why did Pharaoh refuse time after time to do the right thing? I can answer this in one word - pride. Pharaoh had too much pride. He never knew the words that someday would be taught in the book of Proverbs, "Pride comes before the fall." (Proverbs 16:18) Now pride is not a bad thing. Without some self-pride, we would become doormats, allowing others to walk all over us. But pride must be mixed with humility, the ability to say, "I am sorry. I was wrong." Maybe it was his upbringing in the lap of luxury. Maybe it was the fact that he was worshiped as a god by the Egyptians. Pharaoh could never admit that he was wrong.
Pharaoh received opportunity after opportunity to do the right thing, to let the slaves go free, to issue an emancipation proclamation. To do so would be to admit that he had been wrong. So he hardened his heart. Over and over he hardened his heart, until stubbornness and pride became a bad habit. Eventually it was almost as if the refusal to free the slaves was hardwired into his brain, as if God Himself had hardened his heart.
Pharaoh is perhaps the best example of the maxim that the evil inclination is at first like a mere spider web, but then becomes like a heavy rope. Pride and stubbornness prevented him from doing the thing his brain told him he should do. His pride became second nature. And so ten destructive plagues fell on Egypt. Pharaoh tried to come up with a compromise - send the elders and leave the youngsters. But deep in his heart Pharaoh must have known that there can be no compromise between slavery and freedom. And so the plagues continued. The last one brought the death of all the first born, including Pharaoh’s own first born son and his successor. Faced with overwhelming tragedy, Pharaoh finally broke and let the slaves go free.
Perhaps that would have been the end of the matter. Perhaps Pharaoh would have rethought his values and gone on to rule Egypt until ripe old age. But his pride would not allow him to loose. He was incapable of saying, "I was wrong, and Moses was right." So he chased the Israelites right into the sea, and he and his entire army drowned.
So we gather to say goodbye to Pharaoh. What can we learn from his life? We can learn that pride may be important. But even more important is the ability, if I can use a cliché, "to swallow our pride." If only Pharaoh could have let go of that stubborn pride, he would have been the first former tyrant to change his mind and free his slaves, he would have left a legacy far greater than any pyramids.
PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5762)
SURRENDER TO GOD; WRESTLE WITH GOD
"And the Lord said unto Moses, Why do you cry out to me, speak unto the children of Israel that they move forward."
(Exodus 14:15)
There are two religious views of the world. One of the most prevalent is that human beings are to surrender to God, seeking serenity and acceptance when facing the divine decree. I have met religious Christians whom I admire for their faithful acceptance of God's will when facing suffering. The very name Islam means "surrenders to God." Certainly many Eastern religions teach a passivity towards the pain of this world, seeking instead an alternative reality.
Judaism also contains teachings regarding passivity and acceptance in the face of suffering. Religious school students learn the saying gam ze letova, "this too is for the good." They tell the story of Rabbi Akiba who was denied a place to sleep in town and had to sleep in the woods with his ass, a rooster, and a lamp. A lion ate the ass, a weasel ate the rooster, a wind blew out the lamp. Then Akiba found out that troops had come by that night, and had the ass, rooster, or lamp been there, he would have been taken into captivity. Akiba taught, "Whatever the Holy One does is for the best." (Berachot 60b) Serenity and acceptance are a basic part of religious faith.
Nonetheless, there is a second religious view which is clear from this portion. This view sees action rather than passivity, struggle rather than acceptance, "this is not acceptable" rather than "this too is for the good" as the basic religious outlook. It calls for a leap of action. The name Israel means "wrestles with God."
I wrote in my new book The Ten Journeys of Life: The Israelites, fleeing Egypt, were trapped. The sea stood before them, the pursuing Egyptian army was behind them. Moses stood and prayed, until God finally said, "Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward" (Exodus 14:15). According to a classic rabbinic midrash, one of the princes of the people, Nachshon, the son of Aminadav, plunged into the sea. When the water was up to his neck, the sea parted. The Israelites were able to go forward to safety (Mechilta BeShalach 5).
This story is a cry for action in the face of adversity. Pushing forward, researching the problem, finding experts, doing are often the beginning of healing. I have counseled many people coping with difficult illness. The first step after the shock wears off is for them to become experts on their own medical conditions. I have seen people read books and articles, comb the Internet, contact research hospitals and medical experts, seek alternative cures. Often the activity energizes them.
Like Nachshon, when adversity hits we need to plunge forward into the sea. We need to struggle with God, not simply accept our fate.
I see countless examples in my day-to-day counseling of people who react to adversity with action. I think of the rabbi who was fired from a synagogue after many years serving his community. After an initial bout of depression, he started a successful and fulfilling business. Today he blesses the synagogue board who fired him. I think of the woman abandoned by her husband with two small children. She had never dreamed she would become a divorcée and single mom. Today she runs an active singles group and has a wonderful social life.
If God sent this adversity our way, we may wonder, why should we not passively accept it as God’s will? The answer is that the Bible does not advocate passivity. When God finished creating the world, He looked at it and said it is “very good” (Genesis 1:31). Very good perhaps, but not yet perfect. Our job as humans is to perfect the world. The biblical creation story is really a call for action.
Of course, action is not always successful or even possible. There are times when we suffer losses for which there is no action, such as the death of a loved one. There are times when we hear our doctors say, "There is no more that we can do." At these times, perhaps the best approach is Reinhold Niebuhr's popular recovery prayer:
Lord, give me the courage to change the things I can,
the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5761)
EVIL IN THE WORLD
"Amalek came and fought with Israel in Rephidim."
(Exodus 17:8)
This week the movie Hannibal opens, the sequel to Silence of the Lambs, which swept every major Academy Award. I sat through the first movie and if I can muster the courage, I will probably sit through the sequel. Anthony Hopkins is brilliant in this role of evil personified.
Evil is the theme of so much of our literature, both classic and contemporary. They are making a trilogy of the Lord of the Rings, my favorite books during my high school years. The theme of this classic work is good versus evil. From fairy tales such as Sleeping Beauty to modern works such as Harry Potter, the presence of evil haunts the human imagination. How do we confront evil?
Unfortunately, we Jews have seen the face of evil in our history. We know what it is like to be victims not simply of a murderous rage, but of a cold, detached, scientific project to destroy us. We have confronted not just anger and fear, but a hatred so deep that it defies understanding. Evil exists in the world.
In Jewish tradition, Amalek has come to symbolize this evil. Amalek was a marauding nation that attacked Israel from the rear, killing the weakest and most vulnerable. In this week’s portion, the Israelites are victorious in their fight against Amalek. In Deuteronomy they are commanded never to forget what Amalek did, and to be vigilant in fighting Amalek. Jews have understood this as the command to fight evil.
In the book of Samuel, King Saul shows compassion towards Agag, the king of Amalek. He allows him to live. As a result, Saul is punished and loses his kingship. The message of the story is clear - do not let compassion deter you from fighting absolute evil. Haman, the vicious enemy of the Jews in the book of Esther, was a descendent of Amalek. When we Jews celebrate our victory over Haman on Purim, we literally show our contempt by blotting out his name with noisemakers.
However, there is something deeply troubling about all of this. Jewish tradition has always taught compassion towards one's enemy. According to the Torah, if we see our enemy's lost animal, we must return it. According to the midrash, the angels of God were reprimanded for singing praises when the Egyptians were drowning. "My children are drowning and you sing praises," God cried. In so many of these weekly messages, I have spoken about remembering the humanity of our enemy.
Are we to return Amalek's lost object? Do we cry when Amalek is drowning in the sea? Do we have compassion when confronted with absolute evil? Indeed, it is a deeply troubling question for all of us. Jews, who have been taught that every human being is created in God’s image, and who have seen the face of absolute evil, will find this particularly troubling. Do we see the humanity of a Hitler, a Himmler, and an Eichmann?
Allow me to struggle towards an answer. The Rabbis of the Talmud raised the question, are we obligated to honor a parent who is wicked? There is much debate over this issue in various Rabbinic sources. Some rabbis say yes, even such a parent deserves honor. Some say no, a wicked parent has lost their right to the honor.
One Rabbinic commentary gives a brilliant insight. Why was the parent wicked? Was this parent unable to control his or her appetites? Or was this parent truly cruel in the depths of his or her being? If the parent simply has an appetite out of control (the evil inclination), there may be room to honor them, or at least understand their behavior. They were not so much wicked as weak. But, if the parent was truly, deliberately cruel, there is no need to honor them.
There are people in this world who lack self-control, who let their appetites overtake them. We must surely stand up for our rights against such people. But we must also recognize their humanity.
However, like Hannibal in the movie, there are people in this world who are truly evil. The tale of Amalek is in the Torah to teach us, we must fight evil with all of our might. And we must pray for the day when, as the Psalmist taught, evil will perish from the earth. Amalek will be no more.
PARSHAT BESHALACH
(5760)
OUR SHARED HUMANITY
"I will sing unto the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously, Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea."
(Exodus 15:1)
Last week we celebrated the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. Few others have so eloquently taught that people must be judged not "by the color of their skin but rather by the content of their character." The message still needs to be heard today. This message is as ancient as the Torah.
The Talmud asks the question, why did God choose to form every human being from one man and one woman - Adam and Eve. It replies that nobody should ever say, my ancestors are better than your ancestors. Another midrash teaches that when God formed the first man, He used different colored earth from different corners of the world. Nonetheless, one of the most pervasive human failings is seeing others as inferior, different, not worthy of trust.
Why do people so hate other people, because they belong to a different race, a different religion, a different ethnic group, a different nation? This is one of the fundamental questions of human existence.
I have often wondered, how could the Nazis have spent the day gassing people, throwing their bodies into crematoria, taking babies out of the hands of their mothers and killing them, and then gone home at night to kiss their wives and children, listen to music, and read poetry? How could they be monsters by day and men by night?
Perhaps to understand, we ought to consider what we do when we find mice or some other vermin in our house. We call the exterminator to destroy them, and then go about our business without a second thought. That is how the Nazis looked at the Jews they were killing, as we would look at mice in our homes. They were able to blithely kill them, because for the Nazis, Jews had lost their humanity.
The Nazis did not strip Jews of their humanity all at once. It began with the Nuremberg laws, taking away fundamental rights of Jews to earn a living, employ non-Jews, live in certain neighborhoods, practice certain professions. Then came the requirement to wear yellow stars. Jews were forced to live in overcrowded ghettos, their movements limited. Step by step they stopped being human beings in the eyes of their Nazi tormentors. Once they lost their humanity, extermination was an easy step.
One of the most universal human traits is the denial of the humanity of other people. It may be Jews, or blacks, or native-Americans, or Kosovans, or Tutsis, or Hutus, or Hindus, or Moslems, or Japanese, or Chinese. It is a phenomenon found in every country of the world, in every age of human history. The holocaust was the denial of another's humanity carried to an extreme. But the phenomenon is not new; it goes back to Pharaoh throwing the baby Hebrew boys into the Nile.
The Torah teaches, "Love the stranger for you were strangers in the land of Egypt." (Leviticus 19:34) Most people love their family. It is easy to teach people to love their own neighbors, their own clan, their own type of people. One of the most difficult laws of the Bible is to teach people to love the stranger, the one who is different, the one of another race, religion, background.
Perhaps the most famous statement in Rabbinic literature is the passage in Megillah where the Egyptians were drowning in the sea, and the angels of God started to sing songs of praise. God reprimanded them, "My children are drowning, and you sing songs of praise!" Even the Egyptians, the enslavers of Israel, were God's children.