Elul Group - Davening Thoughts

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).

First and foremost, a hearty yasher koach to Caryn and Ruthie for once again arranging this group.

While I must admit that I have not been able to read all of the divrei Torahs, the ones that I have read have been inspiring, moving and strengthening in that it helps to “hear” people touch upon so many concepts that I see in my own life. I would like to also apologize to the group for the days I missed saying tehillim. Hodu L’Hashem, we were blessed with a little boy on 21 Av (which was 6 August) so the first few weeks of Elul were kind of a blur.       

Our Rabbis have taught: On entering the barn to measure the newly harvested grain one shall recite the benediction, ‘May it be Your will O Lord, our God, that You may send blessing upon the work of our hands.’ Once he has begun to measure, he says, ‘Blessed be He who sends blessing into this heap.’ If, however, he first measured the grain and then recited the benediction, then his prayer is in vain, because blessing is not to be found in anything that has been already weighed or measured or numbered, but only in a thing hidden from sight” (Talmud Taanit 8b).

More succinctly put, as noted on the same Talmudic page, “In the school of Rabbi Ishmael it was taught: Blessing is only possible in things not under the direct control of the eye, as it is said, ‘The
Lord will command the blessing with you in your barns’” (Deuteronomy 28:8).

We are in the midst of the time of year when this message is particularly appropriate because we are all focussed on analyzing the year that has passed and contemplating what we want for the future. Living in a world where there is so much immediate gratification and so much technology that allows us to discover the unknowable,  we often approach situations with a desire, almost a need, to know the answers to all of our questions and all of the undetermined aspects of our life.

During the course of my pregnancy, I was in a position where my doctor was placing a lot of pressure on me to go for extra testing to make sure everything was as desired (given my age).

A natural worrier, this pressure caused a great deal of anxiety for me until I thought about this concept. Now was the time to step away from my need for control and to remember that HaShem runs the world. I told the doctor that I was going to go with the faith in God plan. Having refocused my brain on emunah (rather than worrying), it was time to transform that into action.
Davening, however, has never been easy for me. I have a hard time concentrating, prioritizing my time and most importantly, as anyone who knows me will agree, asking for something.

Once upon a time, I davened Shacharit and Mincha every day. The year I was in aveilus for my father, I even went to a mincha minyan most days. Baruch Hashem, life got busy, and I found myself missing mincha more often than not. Then life got busier still and my davening time was reduced to birchat hashacher...often mumbled while serving breakfast. Like many people, my davening increased in times of difficulty, but that often faded.

My davening actually began to increase a little over a year ago, not because I felt that I was connecting to Hashem, but because I thought it was important to set an example for my children. Now, however, I was davening for me.

I would love to say that my davening was transformative...the challenges I faced before are still there. When I go to daven, however, I try to remember that HaShem wants our requests and that He gives us a multitude of opportunities to turn to Him.

During the Aseres Ymai Teshuva, we change our davening - which is an excellent opportunity to work on concentration! - and I think that the alteration from haKel Hakadosh to HaMelech HaKadosh is a powerful reminder of our opportunity to make requests. HaKel is the idea of a deity, which is far less approachable than HaMelech, the King.

I am going to close now with a bracha that we should all only have simple things to daven for and that each of you should be blessed with bracha, parnassa, simcha and shalom.

(I apologize, I usually write more cohesively, but Asher seems to know every time I sit down to concentrate.) I will be giving tzedakah to Midreshet Rachel V'Chaya.

Twenty Years Since Leaving Egypt

In our household, there is no holiday quite as beloved as Sukkot. One might find that funny since I hate being cold and I live in Montreal, Canada, where winter comes early and it has been known to snow on the holiday.

My husband, David, loves building his sukkah - and the personal possessive pronoun is the way he thinks of it. He even calculates how many invitations we get to other people’s sukkot over the holiday to make certain that we are home the majority of the time, preferably with guests.

When we first purchased our home, the attached courtyard/patio was a huge draw because of its ability to be transformed into a sukkah. There were, however, several issues to contend with before we could make a proper sukkah there. For instance, the existing walls are not quite tall enough. Luckily, my husband used to work in construction, and so, after consulting with our rabbi, he got to work making creative adjustments. Since then, once a year, he proudly gives friends a tour of the halachic (Jewish legal) concepts he used to “create a kosher” sukkah.

Our beautiful sukkah is not, however, the reason for my special feelings about the holiday of Sukkot. For me, there is a sentimental connection, particularly to Shabbat Chol Hamoed (Shabbat during the interim days of the holiday). Shabbat Chol Hamoed, you see, is the anniversary of my starting to observe Shabbat.

It all began just over twenty years ago when I spent my junior year of college at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. During that first month, when all the students moved about testing different friendships and cliques, I made arrangements with two friends to use the upcoming fall break, which began right after Yom Kippur, for a tour of Egypt. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that we would be traveling over the Sukkot holiday.

In the time between booking the trip and our departure I had become close with a group of students who were becoming observant - a path that I had also begun the year before. Even before I boarded the plane to Israel, I knew that I was going to become more traditional, but I did not expect to actually become Shabbat observant. With this new group of friends, I found the company of people striving toward the same goals and enjoyed beautiful Shabbat meals with local families. Additionally, the experience of celebrating the High Holidays in Jerusalem had a profound impact on my connection to traditional Judaism.

Coming off the high of a particularly inspirational Yom Kippur, I was suddenly faced with a true conundrum - whether to go on the very expensive trip for which I had already paid, or to celebrate Sukkot in Jerusalem. I went on the trip, but made my own “compromise.” I brought grape juice and cups and little cakes so that I could make kiddush (on the bus) in honor of the holiday. I also brought a prayerbook and made certain to recite at least one service each day.

I cannot deny that the tour of Egypt was  both fun and fascinating. Throughout the entire trip, however, I had this small, nagging feeling of discomfort even as I tried to be aware of whatever I could do to adhere to Jewish law.

Upon our return, as the bus began its ascent to Jerusalem, I felt an entirely new sense of anticipation. It was Friday afternoon, Chol Hamoed Sukkot. I had called ahead and knew that my friends had already arranged Shabbat meals for me. I kept glancing at my watch, worried that we might not make it to the city before sundown. Finally, we were there. Standing on the streets of Jerusalem, I experienced another inspirational moment as the first light rain of the season began. It was all-the-more amazing because Sukkot is the holiday during which we pray for rain in the Land of Israel. My friends and I grabbed a taxi, and I was back at the Mount Scopus campus with just enough time for me to drop off my stuff and change into Shabbat clothing. The rain stopped in time for everyone to enjoy the Friday night meal in their sukkot.

Twenty years later I can still remember the feelings I had disembarking from that bus in Jerusalem, the experience of that first rain, and, perhaps most significantly, the conscious choice to fully observe that Shabbat. In our daily prayers and during our holidays (especially Passover), the Jewish people spend a great deal of time remembering and being grateful for God taking us out of Egypt (yetziat Mitzrayim). In my mind, the return trip from Egypt was my own personal yetziat Mitzrayim.

When God took the Israelites out of Egypt, it was the beginning of their journey to the Promised Land. In fact, it was the beginning of a history of journeys. That first Shabbat in Jerusalem was the beginning of my own personal journey that has taken me to many places, both emotionally and physically, and has now led me to Montreal.

This Sukkot, I will sit in our beautiful, unique sukkah with my handy husband (who will probably have helped build one or two other sukkot in the neighborhood) and our incredible children and thank God for the wonderful blessings He has rained down upon me. On Shabbat Chol Hamoed (provided there is no snow), I will retell this story to my family while we huddle together under the heat lamp that my husband so thoughtfully installs for me each year.

Conscientious Connecting

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).

It is almost Yom Kippur, and I am worried. I would love to say that I am sensing the awe of the season and experiencing the trepidation of these days so beautifully described in the sefarim (Jewish books) - but my worry is that I am not. (To be honest, this same difficulty occurs to me annually.) I worry because I can’t remember what I did last week that might have hurt someone, let alone six months ago. I worry because so many of my transgressions are the one’s that are considerably awkward to apologize for - a nasty response, impatience, a thoughtless comment, being a bad role model, a judgement made in jealousy, and etc. I worry that I did no spiritual work in Elul. (I didn’t even have time to read the emails of this group until Rosh Hashana!)

On the morning of Shabbas Shuva, the Shabbas after Rosh Hashana, after I miraculously davened all of Shacharit and Mussaf (with no interruptions!), I was granted an insight into myself that I did not wish to have: I have been stuck. I’ve been standing still. I’ve used a thousand reasons to let my spiritual growth plateau - kids, full time job, travelling husband - but these were all excuses for myself.

As I thought about the time of year we are in, I decided to make this Dvar Torah personal rather than "scholarly" and write about the hardest words (according to the Ziz in the children’s book): "I’m sorry."

We have among our children, one child who has had an issue with anger management. For a few months, life was a series of ceaseless, somewhat violent, tantrum. They were triggered by random issues - such as the cruel act of serving chicken for dinner. At one point, after being particularly aggressive, the child sullenly blurted out, "I’m sorry." Very honestly, I replied, "No you are not. Don’t tell me you are sorry unless you mean it."

These were words I would live to regret. The child understood me perfectly, but, a few days later, after yet another meltdown, when I said that an apology was appropriate, I was told "No." The child then declared that I myself had said that I didn’t want apologies. The first few times the child said this (in different instances), it was said in anger. Each time I explained to the child that I had meant that apologies had to have at least some level of sincerity to them. Then I noticed that the anger had changed to sadness and longing. Over time, the child had begun to feel trapped in their own refusal. This child wanted desperately to apologize and didn’t know how to back down from the refusal to dos so. (Baruch Hashem, we’ve worked through this.)

As I sat on Shabbas Shuva thinking about the Dvar Torah I wanted to write, my mind kept coming back to this situation and how appropriate it is for this time of year. When I read essays on Teshuva (repentance), I am reminded all about the necessary steps (recognize, confess, regret and not repeat), and I always falter when I think of the commitment not to repeat the act. If I had stolen something, I believe I could honestly say I would never do it again, but so many of my transgressions are the results of thoughtlessness. (Let’s take an easy one - nail-biting on Shabbas, which I do completely without realizing I am doing it.)

Suddenly, from my parental experience, I have a new insight. I never expected this child to offer me a fully, clear and sincere apology and a promise not to have another tantrum or to never hit a sibling again. What I did expect was a conscientious apology, an apology that recognized that something wrong had been done and that there was something for which to be sorry. Similarly, this is why the first step of teshuva is basic recognition. Even if I can’t guarantee I won’t repeat a wrong action, if I never recognize that it was wrong I will never move forward.

As I mentioned, I’ve been at a bit of standing still in my spiritual growth. Oddly enough, writing about Judaism on a daily basis for JewishTreats.org makes it harder to always be charged to learn. On the other hand, like so many others, my davening increased immensely this past summer (which means I actually davened more than once a month) due to the situation in Israel. I tried to carry this momentum into Elul, but by the second half of the month I would find the sun setting and I still hadn’t found my siddur.

The last few days, however, I have been making a true effort. I want to connect. I yearn to connect, and yet it is so hard. Even when I have the siddur before me, I am often only saying words rather than having a conversation. I think that this happens to a lot of people and this often makes it harder for us to follow through on daily davening when we have so many other commitments pressing upon us.

Here too, however, it is about conscientious efforts. After a tantrum, the child mentioned above, would often just stand in the room I was in, wanting comfort but not knowing how to undo the damage. Little did this child know that just showing me a pleasant countenance was healing the wounds of our balance.

Last week, heading into Rosh Hashana, I was cooking with my eldest. He was making the salmon for Rosh Hashana. I told him about the first time I ever made salmon and the person who guided me through (for those who don’t know me or don’t recall - I do not eat fish, I think it is gross, but I prepare it for my family). On the spur of the moment, we decided I should call this person and ask her if she remembered the recipe. This friend and I haven’t spoken in several years as I am lousy at keeping in touch. When we spoke, when I heard her voice, I felt instantly connected right back to her as I had been years ago.

I share this because this is made me think about davening. When I do make the connection to the Divine, it’s a warm, wonderful and familiar feeling. If I don’t take the steps to get there, trying to daven, trying to do teshuva, trying to grow spiritually, I will forever be missing the connection.

Last night, after most of this Dvar Torah had been composed, I went to a class and the first verse that was quoted by the speaker was: "Seek out Hashem while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near" (Isaiah 55:6), and I thought, the more we call upon Him now, while He is near, the more we can carry that connection through the rest of the year.

My Conflicted Thoughts on the Night of Tisha B'Av

It is almost midnight on Tisha B’Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. On Tisha B’Av, we mark the destruction of both the First and Second Temple and a host of other tragic events that have occurred to the Jewish people.

This Tisha B’Av is different than others I have experienced. This Tisha B’Av, Israel is at war and anti-Semitism is once again rearing its ugly head. These two things are, sadly, not new or unique, nor is the crazy lack of understanding from the outside world. It is the convergence of these events on Tisha B’Av that heighten my awareness of it all.

From FreeImages.com  anatlevi8

On Tisha B’Av, Jews actively express our longing for the Temple. This yearning is about more than just the building, it’s a yearning for a time of religious clarity and spiritual strength and a hope that soon there will be a final redemption that leads to a world of peace and Divine awareness. This is the concept of Moshiach - the messiah.

The straight-shooting fact of the matter is that when it comes to the idea of Moshiach, I am a bit of a coward. I deeply desire to live in a world of peace, order, stability and true respect for all of God’s creation. On the other hand, the idea of such drastic change is terrifying.

More than one friend or acquaintance has said to me in the last few weeks that the trauma we are experiencing now are the birth-pangs of new world. I guess that is what has me mulling over what this signifies to me. There is a hope inside me, certainly – which must be why I keep wishing to hesitate from setting any long range plans, after all the world may be changing in just a few hours! But much of this hope is tempered by my fear of change, my lack of faith and my clinging grip to the pattern of same old-same old.

A part of me whom I don’t want to admit to wants to shout, “Moshiach can’t come, I have plans. I want to go on vacation next week.” Today I noticed the van of a family whom I know are moving out of Montreal in a few weeks, and it made me think about living a Jewish life requires one to live in two realities. There is the reality of hope, the one that yearns for Moshiach (and the one who recognizes that this family would have it great if Moshiach came right now as they are already packed!) and the reality of living. One cannot put off life decisions because the Jewish people might earn the right to redemption.

It is a fine line between these two realities, and the true challenge is finding the balance between them. Looking at the headlines in my Facebook stream, even when I know that most of which I see come from right wing propaganda sights, it is difficult not to believe that the only way out of this mess if for Moshiach to come – otherwise we, meaning Israel, will be left with the (undeserved) scorn of the world. On the other hand, fighting in Israel has happened before, and the world didn’t change so why would it this time?

The truth is, I know where I want to be. I have always wanted to possess true emunah and bitachon (belief and faith), but it is a struggle for me. I want to want Moshiach to come like nothing I have ever wanted, and there are brief moments where I can tap into that emotion.

I am writing these thoughts for my own benefit, but also as a comfort to any and all of my friends who feel challenged by these seemingly opposing influences. Tomorrow, when I wake, it will still be Tisha B’Av. I cannot say what the morning will bring, but I hope that I can find a way to make my fast meaningful in such a way as to connect me to a better understanding of the greatness that we lost when we lost the Holy Temple.

Finding Meaning In Tragedy

Originally published on Times of Israel.

This has been a difficult week for the Jewish people. It was nearly impossible not to be touched by the plight of the three missing Israeli boys and not to then feel heartbroken to learn that they had been killed.

Like many mothers and fathers who followed the unfolding story, my first instinct upon hearing the news was to hug and to hold my children. This, on one hand, was a selfish act and, on the other hand, an act meant to express solidarity with the now grieving parents.

Last Friday night, my eight year old daughter joined me for lighting Shabbat candles. We each spent a few extra moments praying for the three boys. Afterward, as we finished setting the table, we got into a deep conversation about belief in God that evolved into my explaining that just because we ask for something doesn’t mean we are going to get it. I was drawn back to the devastating events twenty years ago when Nachshon Wachsman, z”l, was kidnapped and murdered. His parents’ response was to say to the world that they should not despair that all of the prayers and all of the mitzvot had been in vain. Rather, they declared with the greatest faith that God had heard their prayers, but that the answer to their request had been no. It was a powerful declaration of faith. My daughter listened to what I had to say and seemed to understand the complex concepts I was mentioning.

The news that the bodies of the three boys had been found reached me while we were on vacation. At what I felt was an appropriate time, I called this child over and said, simply, “Honey, God said no.” She blinked and said, “The boys?” I nodded and told her they were dead and then moved the conversation along after giving her a firm hold.

When I read more and learned that the entire time we had been praying and rallying and hoping, the boys were already beyond a miracle, I wondered if I should say something more to my daughter. God cannot undo a fait-accompli, so perhaps I had given her the wrong explanation in telling her that God had said no to our prayers since, by the time the global Jewish community found out, it was tragically too late. At the same time, I did not want her to ever think that praying is ever a vain act.

For the past two days, my mind keeps returning to this tragedy. Tonight it occurred to me that this week’s parasha is parashat Balak, which is all about curses being turned into blessings. Balaam hated the Israelites, so when he was hired by Balak, the king of the Moab, to curse the Children of Israel, his enthusiasm was based on his own personal desire to do so. Try as he might to curse them, however, each utterance that came out of his mouth was a blessing.

What does this have to do with the terrible events of this week? It is the fact that Balaam is a prototype of our enemies. They thirst to destroy the Jewish people. Their acts may cause us pain, but they also bring us strength. Three and a half weeks ago, before the kidnapping, I followed much of the news from Israel tangentially and said the morning prayer service only on the rare mornings when the time presented itself to me. When I heard about the kidnapping, I sought out the news, I cried from a sense of connectedness with my fellow Jews, and I made the time to say the prayers.

Balaam’s most famous blessing has been demonstrated once again. “How glorious are your tents, Jacob, your dwellings, Israel” (Numbers 24:5). No matter where we set up our homes, we are one people. No matter how many differences we have to “discuss” among ourselves, we are one nation.

There are calls for revenge, that is inevitable, but the vast array of responses are tearful reflections on what could be done to make the world better. Most simply put, it seems to me that even as this is not the first such horrible event, the Jewish people cannot comprehend how any human beings can act with such utter cruelty.

The parasha of Balak concludes with a lesson that is very difficult to process. The wicked who hate the Jewish people will not desist just because they fail to destroy us. When Balaam’s curses failed, he tried to lure the Israelites into immoral behavior that he knew would lead to the Israelite’s downfall. Sadly, many succumbed, but many more stayed strong.

The enemies of the Jewish people today would like little more than to see us sink to their levels of unmitigated violence, but if we do so we are berated by world opinion. Time and again we choose the moral high ground, which is not always the easiest path.

It is impossible to understand a mind set that can condone the murder of schoolboys, and it is harder still to see the kidnappers being hailed and honored as heroes.

On the other hand, when you see the tens of thousands of Jews who have rallied to support and give strength to the suffering families, I truly see how goodly the tents of Jacob remain to this day.

Understanding Sinai

Originally published on Huffington Post

This is the week when Jews are meant to go back to Mount Sinai. Not literally, of course (especially as there is a debate over exactly where Mount Sinai is), but spiritually. During the celebration of Shavuot, the Jewish people are meant to connect with the significance of the giving of the Torah to the Children of Israel. These Ten Commandments are the building blocks of Jewish life, Jewish law and the civilization that the Torah intends the Jewish people to build.

Oddly enough, the narrative of what occurred at Mount Sinai is not one of the better-known biblical stories. Perhaps, because it is overshadowed by the unfortunate event that happened shortly thereafter...that whole incident with the golden calf.

In order to receive the Torah, the Jewish people were instructed to prepare themselves for three days. They bathed, washed their clothes and refrained from overt physical pleasures. They tried to focus on the event to come. It was a time of incredible excitement and incredible stress. It was so stressful that the Midrash reports that the Jewish people overslept on the morning of the day they were to receive the Torah! (Imagine when you prepare so hard for an event that you forget the little details, like setting an alarm clock.)

On the third morning, a thick cloud covered the mountain and there was thunder and lightning. The Israelites gathered around the small mountain that trembled under the strain of the Divine presence that had descended upon it. And then God spoke the Ten Commandments to the people.

Actually, according to the Midrash, only the first two of the Commandments were spoken aloud by God (Talmud Maakot 24a). This experience alone was overwhelming enough for the Israelites, and they begged Moses to receive the rest of the commandments for them.

The Israelites were overwhelmed by the voice of God, but there is significance to the fact that only the first two commandments were heard by the nation directly from God. These two commandments are: 'I am the Lord your God Who took you out of Egypt' and 'You shall have no other Gods before me."

How can a verse such as "I am the Lord your God" be included in the Ten Commandments if it does not contain an action. Guard Shabbat, Honor your parents, Don't steal...these are commandments that one can readily understand. What is it, exactly, that the verse "I am the Lord your God" is commanding?

Jewish tradition understands that the words "I am" (Anochi) implies the command "to know." One is meant to know, in his/her heart and mind, that there is a God and that God is the omnipresent Creator of all things in the universe.

It is interesting to note that, according to the Sefer Hachinuch, "I am the Lord your God" is one of only six commandments that can, and should, be performed at all times and in all places.

"I am the Lord your God" is at once one of the easiest and one of the most difficult commandments to fulfill. What makes it difficult is that humankind naturally prefers to credit itself for the good (and bad) found in the world. At its most basic, this mitzvah is fulfilled by simply believing in God. The more desirable way to fulfill this mitzvah, however, is to try and see God's hand in one's life all day, every day.

"I am the Lord your God" as seen as the fundamental commandment to see the Divine in all actions allows for a different perspective on the rest of the Ten Commandments (indeed, the rest of the Torah). According to the sages, the first five commandments concern one's relationship with God. The second five are concerned with interpersonal relationships. Strikingly, these two sets of five parallel each other and demonstrate how "I am the Lord Your God is reflected in one's personal and public life:

1) I am the Lord your God and 6) Do not murder: When someone murders another person, the perpetrator, in effect, denies that the victim is created b'tzelem Eh'lokim, made in the image of God. A murderer assumes that there is no higher power who will either punish him/her or who will punish the person whom he/she feels has wronged him/her.

2) You shall have no idols and 7) Do not commit adultery: Just as adultery is being unfaithful to one's spouse, worshiping idols is tantamount to being unfaithful to God.

3) Do not make a false oath and 8) Do not steal: One who swears falsely in God's name distorts the trust that people place in God to uphold justice. One who steals twists the trust another person puts in him/her.

4) Sanctify the Sabbath and 9) Do not bear false witness: By sanctifying the Sabbath day, one bears testimony that God created the world and redeemed the Jews from Egypt. Violating the Sabbath denies both.

5) Honor your mother and father and 10) Do not covet your neighbor's possessions: By honoring our parents, we recognize God as our Creator, thereby honoring Him as well. When we covet our neighbor's possessions we deny God as the Ruler of the world and believe that we have been denied something that we deserve.

Shavuot, the holiday that commemorates the giving of the Torah, begins at sunset on Tuesday night, June 3. To learn more about Shavuot, please visit NJOP's Shavuot Essentials page. To learn more about each of the Ten Commandments, download (for Free) Jewish Treats Guide to the Ten Commandments.

10 Fascinating Facts About The Ten Commandments (The Movie)

Originally published on Huffington Post

Watching Paramount's The Ten Commandments is, for many, an annual part of the spring holidays. While there have been other film versions of the story of the exodus, none have the epic staying power of the 1956 classic. Indeed, many have now grown up with the image of Charlton Heston irreparably set as the image of Moses.

Bringing a bible story to the big screen often warrants certain liberties. In the case of The Ten Commandments, this meant the introduction of a love story between Moses and Nefretiri, a power struggle between Moses and the young Ramses and the creation of Lilia, the love interest of Joshua.

Surprisingly, many of the places Cecil B. DeMille appears to have gotten creative are actually based on extra-Biblical Jewish sources:

1 ) Moses, Conquerer of Ethiopia
The grown-up Moses is introduced in The Ten Commandments when he returns to Pharoah after bringing Ethiopia into alliance with Egypt. There is no record of Moses conquering Ethiopia on behalf of Pharaoh. However, there is a Midrash (narrative from the Oral Torah) that details how, after fleeing Egypt, Moses went to Ethiopia and was named king. This occurred before he came to the tent of Jethro, where he married and became a shepherd.

2) The Day of Moses
In trying to instigate trouble for Moses, Prince Ramses tells his father (Pharaoh Sethi) that Moses not only gave the Hebrew slaves extra grain, but one day in seven to rest, a day that the Hebrews now called "the Day of Moses." While the reference to the "Day of Moses" is a little over the top on drama, it is true, according to the Midrash (Exodus Rabbah 1:28), that Moses convinced Pharoah to give the Jews a day of rest each week. He did so by noting that Pharoah gave his horses time to rest, so why not his slaves.

3) The Evil Dathan
The vile Dathan, played by Edward G. Robinson, is one of the most memorable and unlikable characters in the movie. Dathan and his brother Aviram, who is mostly a silent presence in the movie, appear repeatedly in the Torah as troublemakers. In Egypt, Dathan was an Israelite overseer. Rather than Joshua being the Israelite whose life Moses saves by killing the Egyptian taskmaster, as presented in the movie, there is a Midrash that implies that this was Dathan's story (in the Midrash he is referred to only as the Hebrew). One night, Dathan's Egyptian boss sent him out on assignment and went into his home. In the dark, the Egyptian pretended to be the man and had relations with his beautiful wife (Shelomit). When the man let the taskmaster know that he knew what had happened, the Egyptian began to strike him.

The next day, Moses tried to intercede when Dathan and Aviram are fighting. Dathan is the one whom the Torah quotes as saying: "Will you kill me as you killed the Egyptian?" (Exodus 1:29).

4) The Known Redeemer
In the movie, Prince Ramses is set on finding the foretold redeemer of the Hebrew slaves. With information from Dathan, he is led to Moses, whom he presents to Pharoah Sethi as the one whom they have sought. Unable to kill Moses, who is like a son to him, Pharoah Sethi commands that Moses' name be stricken from all records and that he be sent into exile. In fact, Exodus 2:15 clearly states that "When Pharaoh heard this thing [Moses killed an Egyptian], he sought to slay Moses. But Moses fled..."

5) Muslims in Midian
Jethro and his seven daughters are subtly presented as followers of an Islam-like faith. They claim Ishmael as their forefather and state that Ishmael was the son brought to the mountain as a sacrifice to God. While Jethro is portrayed in the Midrash as a man who tried a wide variety of religions and who was serving as a priest in Midian when Moses met him, he is never associated with Islam -- perhaps because Islam developed hundreds of years later. Even if one were to assume that he was part of a pre-Islamic tribe descended from Ishmael, this would be false because the Midianites were descendants of Abraham and Keturah (his wife after Sarah) and not from Ishmael.

6) Joshua Makes Moses Move
Throughout the movie, Joshua is a bigger-than-life, hunky hero. He's a stonecutter in Egypt who stands up to Dathan, a protector of the elderly Joshabel (meant to be Jochebed) and, most significantly, the man who spurs Moses forward on his search to understand who he is. Alas, none of these instances have any foundation. There is no record of Joshua suddenly appearing in Midian and pushing Moses to go seek God on the mountain. Perhaps this was meant to reflect the biblical account of Aharon coming from Egypt to meet Moses in the wilderness. However, this took place only after Moses had agreed to go and lead the Israelites out of slavery.

7) Hey, That Bush is on Fire
Speaking of the mountain, it appears that everyone in the region can see something special about it. A dark cloud hovers over it at all times, and it is referred to as God's mountain. Additionally, Tzipporah and Joshua tell Moses about the bush that is on fire but does not burn. According to Jewish tradition, Moses did not deliberately go to find God on a known holy mountain with a burning bush visible to others. The biblical text states "Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb" (Exodus 3:1). According to the Midrash, he found the burning bush when he was following one stray sheep to make certain it was returned to its flock.

8) Korach the High Priest
By the end of the movie it appears that the film-makers just wanted to include as many Bible stories as possible. Once the golden calf is made, Dathan takes charge. He declares Korach the high-priest and debauchery and chaos ensue. It is true that Korach was a Levite who wished to be the High Priest and led a rebellion against Moses and Aharon.  It is also true that Dathan was one of Korach's prime supporters in the rebellion. However, the events of Korach's rebellion are recorded in the Book of Numbers and took place elsewhere. The story of Korach is additionally misapproprated when the ground opens up and swallows the unrepentant worshippers of the golden calf. This is actually another piece of the story of Korach. The Torah clearly relates that those who chose the calf over God were slain by the swords of the Levites.

9) One Man Struck Down
In a small but fascinatingly accurate incident in the movie, one man cries out against the licentious worship of the golden calf. Another man comes from behind and strikes him down, presumably killing him. This was not added as random violence but is a reference to the death of Hur, the son of Miriam and Caleb, that is presented in Talmud Sanhedrin 7a: "Rabbi Benjamin ben Japhet says, reporting Rabbi Eleazar: He [Aharon] saw Hur lying slain before him and said [to himself]: If I do not obey them, they will now do unto me as they did unto Hur... Better let them worship the golden calf, for which offence they may yet find forgiveness through repentance."

10) Moses Final Words
The final scene of The Ten Commandments has Moses saying goodbye to a small group of significant characters. After commanding Joshua to be strong leader and to have faith, he presents a copy of the Torah to Eleazar to place in the ark and than tells all those gathered (and perhaps the crowd far below) "Go, proclaim liberty throughout all the lands, unto all the inhabitants thereof!" Beautiful as this verse is, it is actually a reference to the celebration of the jubilee year and comes from the 25th chapter of Leviticus. If it is a quote that you recognize, it is also inscribed on the Liberty Bell.