National Purpose (Yisro #2)

What is your purpose in life? We all have our own answers to this question, both broad answers - such as being an aved Hashem (a servant of God) - and more focused answers - such as, perhaps, writing the great American novel. But the reality is that we all find ourselves wondering about our purpose as we, and it, change throughout our lifetimes.

Wanting to understand why we are here and what we should be aiming for is an integral part of human nature. When we don't know our purpose, we risk wandering aimlessly. This is true of individuals and of collective groups of nations such as Klal Yisrael.

Stuck in slavery, the Hebrews were not able to think about their ultimate purpose. They knew, however, that their identity as Bnei Yisrael meant that they had a destiny, that they were meant to be more than slaves. They called out to God, and He sent Moshe to lead them out of slavery and to save them from the Egyptians and the initial perils of the wilderness (the need for food, water, etc). When they arrived at the wilderness at Sinai, Hashem knew that now that their worries of freedom and survival were behind them that they would start to think about their purpose and their goals. Now, therefore, was the time to set before them the Torah, the laws by which He expected them to lead their lives. Before He began transmitting the Aseres Hadibros (Ten Commandments), before He even asked Bnei Yisrael if they would accept His laws, Hashem told Moshe and Aharon to tell Bnei Yisrael what He desires their purpose to be: "And you shall be to Me a ממלכת כהנים kingdom of priests and גוי קדושׁ a holy nation" (19:6).

Accepting the Torah means accepting this eternal purpose for our existence as a people. The two work together. Our purpose is to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation, and the framework of what we need to do to accomplish this is laid out in the Torah. The laws of the Torah empower us to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.
One might ask, and many commentators do ask, why two different terms are used. One common opinion (e.g. Ramban) is that being a ממלכת כהנים, a nation of priests, is our purpose for Olam Hazeh, because in this world we can be to the world like our kohanim are to Am Yisrael - we can teach and guide and provide avodah to Hashem; while being a גוי קדושׁ, a holy nation, is for Olam Habah, for the next world, since being kadosh is more passive than active.

One could also look at the dual terminology as guidelines for our outer world and our inner world. When dealing with the world at large, we must strive to be a ממלכת כהנים, a kingdom of priests. The term ממלכת (kingdom) is very interesting. It is generally understood that the term melech (king) implies a leader whom the people wish to have rule (as opposed to a moshel, which is a leader who comes to rule because of his power). Perhaps the goal of being a ממלכת כהנים is that the people of the the world will want to look to the Jewish people to represent them in serving Hakodesh Baruch Hu. The only way this happens, however, is by making certain that our inner world is a גוי קדושׁ, a holy nation.

Goy Kadosh is also an interesting term. We generally translate kadosh as holy because it seems the easiest word to use, but often a more accurate translation would be sanctified, a word that implies being set aside for God. That could lead one to think that the ideal is for Bnei Yisrael to be set aside, to isolate themselves in pursuit of kedusha, but Hashem ties kadosh to the word goy - a nation or people, which is a term that can apply to every nation. It is, perhaps, a subtle reminder that being kadosh in Judaism means being connected to the world. We cannot be a goy kadosh without recognizing ourselves among the goyim of the world.

Rabbeinu Bachya also points out that the word גוי can be understood as being possessive and that the term could be translated as “a nation that belongs to the Holy One.” Adding yet another layer to the already rich meaning of this pasuk. Being titled a ממלכת כהנים could give Bnei Yisrael an arrogance to think that they are superior to the world, but Hashem immediately reminds them that what now sets them apart is their relationship to Him, not their relationship to other nations.

Parshas Yisro is the parsha during which we recall the moments when we became the “Chosen People,” but perhaps these multi-faceted reflections on what it means to be a ממלכת כהנים and a גוי קדושׁ (a kingdom of priests and a holy nation) will provide us with some further ideas to think about as we strive toward fulfilling our individual purposes and our national goals.

To read last year’s post on Parshas Yisro, please click here: https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/…/better-watch-boundaries.html

About Your Gods…A Lesson on Consideration (Parshas Va'era)

Is the Jewish faith tolerant of other religions? It sounds like a question in a Google search box, but it has surprising relevance to this week's parsha, parshas Va’era. Shemos 7 begins the narrative of the Ten Plagues, the actions of which are always prefaced by Moshe and/or Aharon telling Pharaoh to let the Israelites go. 

The goal, of course, is that the Jewish people shall be freed from slavery, but Moshe starts small, requesting only that the Children of Israel be allowed to leave Egypt on a seemingly temporary basis to worship Hashem. Now Egypt is a polytheistic nation, and while Pharaoh actually declares at one point that he does not know Hashem, it is interesting to note that he never denies that there is a God of the Hebrews. 

Long ago, however, Avraham made it clear that he recognized Hashem as the only Deity. His monotheistic faith, centered on the Creator of the World, was uncompromisable, and it was for this that an eternal covenant with his descendants was struck.

Within the Jewish faith, there are three truly abhorrent categories of behavior: murder, illicit relations, and idol worship. While these three categories of sin are also transgressions of the Seven Laws of B’nei Noach, the basic rules expected of all the nations, Jewish law charges accountability to Jews only. All of this makes Moshe's response to Pharaoh after the fourth plague particularly interesting. After Pharaoh offers for the Jewish people to worship locally (in Goshen), Moshe says: “It is not right to do so, for we shall offer to Hashem our God that which is an abomination to the Egyptians - Behold if we do so, to offer to Hashem our God that which is an abomination before their eyes, will they not stone us?” (8:22). 

Pharaoh hears their argument and agrees to Moshe’s proposal that the people will travel three days into the wilderness for their worship. Of course, as we all know, Pharaoh then changes his mind. 

Without question, Moshe’s argument on why B’nei Yisrael must not stay in Goshen is a ploy to remove the people from the grasp of Pharaoh and the Egyptians. The commentaries provide numerous explanations as to why Moshe mentioned the fact that B’nei Yisrael would be sacrificing sheep, which is the implication of the pasuk - that the offering of sheep, sacred to the Egyptians, would be an abomination. Most of the commentaries focus on Moshe wishing to protect B’nei Yisrael, for the fear of the Egyptians rising up and rioting against them was real. Other ideas are connected to working to make certain that the worship service to Hashem would in no way strengthen the power of the Egyptian priesthood. 

As we must read the Torah each in our own generation to understand both our past and our present, one can perhaps see in Moshe’s response to Pharaoh’s seemingly generous offer of “Go and sacrifice to your God within the land” (8:21) a lesson about religious tolerance, or at least about general consideration. Moshe did not have any interest in preaching monotheism, in castigating the Egyptians for their idol worship, or even in preventing them from making more gods. Ultimately, the plagues are meant to leave Pharaoh acknowledging Hashem as the ultimate power, but there never appears to be any attempt to end polytheism in Egypt. 

It should be noted that before entering the Promised Land, and in many other references to the Promised Land, B’nei Yisrael are specifically ordered to destroy any and all Avoda Zara, even remnants of the false worship of people no longer there. But in Egypt, there was no commandment to bring them around to monotheism, to cleanse the land of idol worship. 

When Moshe tells Pharaoh, “It is not right to do so, for we shall offer to Hashem our God that which is an abomination to the Egyptians,”  one could say that Moshe was demonstrating remarkable sensitivity (even if it was to the advantage of B’nei Yisrael). He may deem the belief in the animal-human deities as mistaken, but he did not feel a need to prove his faith above others. 

We today are surrounded by belief systems with which we may disagree on a deeply philosophic level - both belief systems religious and societal. But mocking them or attacking these beliefs, unless in actual defense of Torah and Judaism - does not benefit the Jewish people. Indeed, it can lead to danger for us. Our concern must be, first and foremost, for maintaining the sanctity of the Torah and the security of the Jewish people (both wholly and individually). 

---

Speaking of Egyptians and their gods, it is interesting to note that our traditions speak a great deal about the sensitivity of the Egyptians to our sacrificing rams/sheep because their god Khnum was often pictured with a ram’s head. Commentaries do not appear to discuss, however, the somewhat strange connection of the second plague to the Egyptian pantheon. The second plague was the plague of frogs, which overwhelmed the land. The Midrash says that when the Egyptians would hit the frogs, more frogs would come. Among the goddesses of ancient Egypt was Heqet, the Egyptian goddess of fertility who was represented in the form of a frog or as a frog headed woman. This is a fascinating connection when one thinks about the fact that the Pharaoh’s excuse for enslaving the Israelites was that perhaps they would multiply and join an enemy army against them. Add to that the Midrash that in Egypt each Jewish woman gave birth to sextuplets, thus truly multiplying, and one could see a Divine “response” to Pharaoh’s attempt to interfere with the growth of the Jewish people through a plague wrought through the goddess of fertility.

(On the other hand, if you are one who shares the opinion of the commentator Sforno that tzfardeia were actually crocodiles, then this leads you to Sobek, the crocodile headed god of fertility and military prowess, so not much different)

*For more on the Seven Mitzvot of B’nei Noach: http://www.jewishtreats.org/2019/11/the-seven-mitzvot.html

LAST YEAR’S PARSHA POST, “TRICKS OF THE MIND THAT HARDEN THE HEART,” CAN BE READ HERE: http://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2019/01/tricks-of-mind-that-harden-heart-vaera.html

The Reason for Reassurance (Vayechi #2)

"And God will surely consider you again and bring you up from this land unto the land which He swore to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov” (Bereishis 20:24). Yoseph says this to his brothers from his death bed, and, as the not quite penultimate pasuk of Bereishis, it seems like a natural foreshadowing of what is to come - since we are all familiar with Sefer Shemos and the need for Divine rescue. But on its own within the narrative of Bereishis, it is actually a fairly odd statement. For the brothers and their families to need reassurance that God will remember them implies that they believed they had been forgotten - or at least deemed unimportant – in the Divine plan. How could this be when it had been so clearly pointed out that, even with Hashem’s reiterated promise of the Land of Canaan to their forefathers, everything had happened because God wanted Bnei Yisrael to sojourn in Egypt? Why are they afraid when, as far as the text has demonstrated, they are flourishing and living quite comfortably?

The fact is that life can be good and not good at the same time. One can live in a world of comfort and still be uncomfortable. They may have had physical prosperity, but, perhaps, by the time Yoseph passed away they were aware of the beginning of the spiritual challenges that would face them.

The sons of Yaakov not only saw how Yaakov devoted his life to God, but they lived that devotion with him. Additionally, they had had the opportunity to know their grandfather Yitzchak, so they were clear on the chain of this spiritual inheritance. Their children and some of their children's children also knew Yaakov, only not as intimately since his great spiritual strength was diminished while he mourned Yoseph for years. But what of their younger grandchildren and the children after that? What about the “little ones” left behind in Goshen when the sons of Yaakov went up to Canaan to bury their great father (50:8)? Not only were these little ones not able to meet their holy patriarch, but they never saw the Promised Land with their own eyes.

Bnei Yisrael came to Egypt to avoid the famine and to be reunited with Yoseph, but they also came to fulfill the prophecy of the Bris Bein HaBiturim that Avraham's children would reside and suffer in a land not their own (Bereishis 15). The suffering, however, began far earlier than most people realize. It began with the little ones left behind. Interestingly, according to the Malbim, the little ones were not left behind, but rather they were forced to stay as guarantees that Yoseph and his extended family would return. These children were, ever so slightly, less connected to the path of their forefathers.

This was in no way the fault of the brothers. They made all the right efforts. They settled themselves apart from the Egyptians in the land of Goshen. They maintained their flocks because they knew it was an unwelcome occupation to their neighbors. And, according to the midrash, Yehuda built a yeshiva in which they could study the ways of their forefathers. The brothers created community infrastructure to strengthen the generations to come. That they did so was, perhaps, the key to the strength of Bnei Yisrael that the sages teach us that Bnei Yisrael held on to their unique heritage even as the oppression grew strong during their enslavement and they managed to not cross over the 50th level of tumah.

In the last days of Yoseph, however, the generation that had seen and lived true spiritual greatness, saw the beginning of the descent, just ever so slightly, and they were concerned. Not anxious, not upset, not frighten, just, perhaps, a little concerned. This is a concern that speaks to us today.

When generations lived in strong, cohesive units, such as they did in the times of our forefathers, the differences between the generations were far less noticeable. Today we live in a time when we even name our generations, because not only the Jewish people, but the whole world, can see differences distinct enough between the Baby Boomers and the Millennials.  

Our people have spent thousands of years yearning for our children, for ourselves, to once again be able to live up to the caliber of our great ancestors, and so Yoseph’s deathbed promise to his brothers is a promise even unto this day – as Biblical language might say. For we here in the Western countries have been welcomed, have been accepted, have risen to positions of esteem, and have come to live in great comfort. And we have an infrastructure of strong communities and robust yeshivot. But we fight a constant spiritual battle against assimilation. However, if there is one thing that we can and should learn from the overarching story of Yoseph, it is that Hashem always has a plan, and Hashem will always remember His promise.

Why “the Bagel” is Important to Klal Yisrael (Vayigash #2)

Parshas Vayigash is the culmination of the narrative of Yoseph, but really it is the completion of the story of the reunification of Bnei Yisrael. There is a beautiful verse in Perek 45 that does not seem to draw a tremendous amount of commentary, perhaps because it is natural to the sequence of the narrative. This verse, however, is one of tremendous importance for Jews today to remember: "And he [Yoseph] kissed all his brothers and wept on them, and after, his brothers talked with him" (45: 15). 

Not to him, but with him. Twelve sons, twelve different personalities, twelve different fathers of tribes that were going to become a people, and they embraced and talked together. Yes, this is one more call for unity among the many that we hear after each tragedy, but are we listening? Perhaps we will know how well we are doing when we can relate to the very next verse that describes the reaction to the news that Yoseph’s brothers had come to Egypt: "It was good in the eyes of pharaoh and in the eyes of his servants" (45:16).

There are some very interesting things we can learn from the dynamics of Yoseph and his brothers in Parshas Vayigash, perhaps things that weren’t even relevant until the post World War II era, since this is the significance of the eternity of Torah.  The parsha begins in the middle of perek 34, which certainly makes one wonder why the sages didn’t choose to break the parsha at the beginning or end of the perek. It also, perhaps, draws particular significance to the verse that begins the parsha: “Then Yehuda went up to him and said, ‘Please, my lord, let your servant appeal to my lord, and do not be impatient with your servant, you who are like Pharaoh” (44:18).

In verse 44:18, Yehuda told Yoseph that he is k’paro, like Pharaoh. Isn’t it odd how the brothers did not recognize Yoseph at all? Of course, one can say that they did not expect to find him in a position of authority, or, perhaps more honestly, they did not expect to find him alive. But one would think that he stood out a little from the Egyptians that surrounded him, after all the origin of the Egyptians was from Ham and the origin of Yaakov’s family was Shem, and they came from different regions. However, when the brothers were spoken to aggressively in Egyptian and told to speak through a translator to respond to their Hebrew, there was no reason to look closer, certainly not at the powerful man dressed in regal Egyptian robes who was called Tzaphnas Paneha, as Joseph had been renamed by Pharaoh.  Generations later, the Chatam Sofer would comment that the reason that Israelites were redeemed was that they kept themselves separate from the Egyptians by maintaining their clothes, their names, and their language, but for Yoseph, using a foreign name, speaking Egyptian, and wearing the clothes gifted by Pharaoh were actually the means by which he protected his neshama. 

In the next 16 verses, Yehuda speaks to Yoseph completely from the heart, relaying everything that has occurred between the two of them from his perspective and demonstrating how important is their desire to protect both Binyamin and Yaakov.  This is significant because of more than just the history of this specific family. Yehuda here represent klal Yisrael, and his descendants will be the leaders of the people. Binyamin, according to the Midrash, was a near perfect Tzadik, and he represents the righteous innocents. Yaakov, the man of the tents, represents the sages of the Torah, our men of wisdom and knowledge.  When Yoseph, who could perhaps represent those Jews who would become completely submerged in a foreign culture, heard Yehuda – heard his honesty and his sincerity – he finally cleared the room for what one could jokingly call the ultimate bagel.*

This past week, Jews throughout the observant world turned their focus to the incredible gathering of tens of thousands of Jews for the Siyum Hashas, the celebration of the completion of learning a page of Talmud a day for the seven and a half years it takes to complete the entire Talmud. The Talmud is studied by an incredible range of Jews, and I believe that if one wished to one could find representatives of every “denomination” and each kehilla whose life has been touched by this program of study. There were Jews from across the spectrum of observance, and that unity is palpable and energizing.

Now, however, we who are connected, we who have dwelled in the tents of Yaakov, must show the world our honesty, our sincerity, and the beauty of living a Jewish life by being extra conscientious of how we speak and how we act, ready at all times to make a kiddush Hashem. This is not so that we might appease the seemingly growing number of those who hate us, but so that we might show our honest regret at our separation from those members of our nation who have lost their names, their dress, and their language, but who have not lost their neshamas. They are just waiting for an opening to embrace their brethren.

Discussions of the messianic era refer to a future world of peace and to a time when Hashem’s glory will be revealed. It is also said that it will be a time when the nations of the world will want to work for the shared goal of Hashem’s glory with the Jewish people. This, however, can only occur when all twelve brothers kiss and weep and talk together, for only then will klal Yisrael find the favor in the eyes of the other nations to be a light unto the world. Until then, we remain in a painful state of gulus. 

*The bagel, in this case, is a newish term for moments when one Jew drops Jewish terms into the conversation in order to let the other person know that they too are a member of the Tribe.

Eight Moments in Miketz (Miketz #1)

It most often happens that parshas Miketz overlaps with Shabbas Chanukah, and while there are reasons for this that have nothing to do with Chanukah, it is interesting to look for a common theme. Chanukah is the holiday of light, of reminding the world of Hashem’s constant presence and the active miracles He did and does for the Jewish people. Parshas Miketz, on the other hand, is not about open miracles or immediate assistance. One might even say that there are no miracles at all in this week’s parsha - and that is the pivotal connection. As Jews, it is incredibly important that we remember “sheh asah nisim lavotenu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh” (who did for our ancestors miracles in their day in this time). The past and the present in this bracha are a beautiful reminder that miracles are always happening.

Chanukah is the holiday of lights, and lights are often used as a metaphor for sudden understanding or new ideas, because those “ah ha” moments are moments when Hashem let’s us see the world from a new perspective. Parshas Miketz might not describe open miracles, but throughout the parsha one can find eight such magnificent moments in which our forefathers had a sudden and new understanding of their lives and their reality, and through that new understanding, they were better able to understand Hashem’s long term plan - which is, of course, nothing short of miraculous.

Let us note those eight moments.:

1: Bereishis 41: 9 – 13. When, two years after his release, the chief cup bearer finally remembered Yoseph and told Pharaoh about him. If Pharaoh had not asked just about everyone he knew to help him discover the meaning of his dreams, would the butler ever have remembered Yoseph? And even if he had, he would not have brought it up for fear of reminding Pharaoh of his earlier time in jail. But Hashem put him in the right place at the right moment to have this sudden moment of memory so that Yoseph and Pharaoh could meet.

2: Yoseph understood Pharaoh’s dreams. Read the dreams of Pharaoh as if you had never read the parsha before. Really fourteen cows and fourteen stalks of grain mean the harvests will be spectacular for seven years and then there will be a horrific famine? The interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams is far from obvious. Yet Yoseph does not appear to hesitate in explaining the dream to Pharaoh. While we understand from early chapters that Yoseph was particularly gifted at interpreting dreams, this understanding of the warning against famine was definitely a moment of incomprehensible understanding.

3: Pharaoh’s understanding that he should appoint Yoseph to undertake the preparations for surviving the upcoming famines is another Divine “ah ha” moment. Let's be honest, it's one thing to have a foreign convict interpret one's dreams, it's something far different to decide to appoint him as viceroy. But Pharaoh didn't take weeks and months looking for the right appointee, he immediately thought of and appointed Yoseph to oversee the necessary planning.

4: "When Yaakov saw that there were food rations to be had in Egypt, he said to his sons, 'Why do you keep looking at one another?’” (42:1). There are many commentaries on this verse about what Yaakov’s rebuke-filled question meant. The use of vayare (and he saw) is also understood to mean that he perceived something. One could see in this verse that Yaakov had a sudden, clear understanding that there was something in Egypt that they needed, and perhaps his question to his sons was really an expression of his puzzlement that they did not perceive the same thing.

5: Yoseph’s recognition of his brothers is as significant as their not recognizing him. Yoseph saw that he had an unexpected opportunity to see what his brothers were really made of. He understood that his dreams might come true, but just as strongly he understood that he had to see if they were the same jealous brothers who had so callously sold him into slavery.

6: "They said to one another, we are being punished on account of our brother, because we looked on his anguish yet paid no heed as he pleaded with us'" (42:21). This was a moment of partial enlightenment. They were on the right track in their thinking, but isn't it interesting that even as they actively discussed Yoseph, none of them even had an inkling as to his actual identity. Still and all, this is a significant moment of awareness because it was the first time there is a feeling of guilt among the brothers. (It is necessary to note that Reuven is not part of this “ah ha” moment. As we learn in verse 42:22, Reuven immediately set himself apart from his brothers and their deed, which is, perhaps, why he is unable to negotiate a surety for his father for Binyamin).

7: Yehuda has great understanding that he can step up and lead. He heard Reuven’s offer of his sons’ lives as a surety for Binyamin’s safety and how it was rejected. He witnessed how they all ignored the elephant in the room – the missing Shimon, stuck still in Egypt – and went about their normal lives. One day, as their rations fell short, Yehuda finally realized that he need not wait for his older brothers, that he could take the leap, gain his father's trust with Binyamin's life, and help the family. This was an important moment in Yehuda’s path that would ultimately lead him and his descendants to be the recognized leaders of Bnei Yisrael.

8: “And Yoseph saw Binyamin was with them." Finally, Yoseph is capable of understanding what it has all been about. He saw Binyamin and he knew that his original dreams would come to fruition. There were still measures to take, such as testing the commitment of the brothers to Binyamin’s safety, but when Yoseph saw the brothers enter with Binyamin, he knew that everything would work out as part of Hashem’s plan, because now that he could see some of the bigger picture, he understood why he had had to face so many challenges in his life.

The miracle of Yoseph’s life, the miracle of parshas Miketz, is something most of us experience many times but do not particularly notice or ascribe to miracles. In Miketz we learn to see past the glowing lights of the Menorah and the spark of the Divine intervention our people needed and received against the Syrian-Greeks, but rather look to the ultimate miracle of seeing and understanding God’s ultimate control in this world.

A Man Who Pointed The Way (Vayeshev #1)

Once upon a time in my life there was a man, really a boy - although at the time he seemed far older than me, who mentioned in passing that being Jewish was something that he thought about in everything he did. Being the 14-year-old that I was, I thought he was a little lame. That youth, without even realizing, had a major impact on my life because even though I had been disdainful in the moment, his words resonated deep within my soul. For me, that boy, a counselor at a BBYO summer program back in 1990, was an eesh b’sadeh, the seemingly random man in the field who asked Yosef what he was looking for and then directed him to his brothers (Bereishis 37).

It is a snippet of narrative told in just a few verses, but it contains many powerful lessons. In our current generation, one of the most significant of these lessons is about Hashem’s great desire for Jewish unity. Yes, it is a common trope, one that is brought up particularly often after our beautiful Jewish community suffers a tragedy. The reason it is so pervasive is because it is a concept with which we struggle mightily – not philosophically, but in actuality. Since biblical times, we have been working toward achieving and maintaining this goal, but we’ve had to restart that work far too often. Obviously, it is no easy task.

How does the eesh b’sadeh offer a lesson on unity when all he did was offer Yosef directions? It starts with the fact that, according to some opinions, the brothers took the sheep so far away to pasture because they wanted to get away from Yosef. Here we have disunity and conflict. Yaakov knew that there was tension between his sons. He sent Yosef anyway, with the specific mission: "ra’ey et shalom achehcha," see the peace of his brothers. Yosef is a faithful son - and some comment that he was actually oblivious to his brothers’ antipathy for him - and so he went. He loses his way, however, because his brothers have gone to a different location. Then he meets the unspecified man, the eesh b’sadeh. According to almost all of the commentaries, this man was the angel Gavriel. Some commentaries say that in his response that the brothers had left, Gavriel was warning Yosef that they were not of a mindset for peace with him. Nevertheless, he told Yosef where to go because, ultimately, Hashem wanted the brothers to be together. Hashem could send His messenger to warn Yosef and to point him in the right direction, but reconciliation of the sons of Yaakov had to come from themselves, unity must be the result of human effort.

The challenge of unity most often stems from problems with perception. By human nature we like to believe ourselves to understand the bigger picture. More challenging than that is the fact that we also tend to believe we understand other people’s motivations and thought patterns, and most of the time we are pretty far off the mark. When the ten shepherding brothers saw Yosef approach, they viewed him from their perception alone. They thought of Yosef with hatred, or with jealousy, or perhaps with fear – fear for their future. Much of their emotions stemmed from their reactions to Yosef’s dreams and their belief that he wished to rule over them. Many commentaries, however, seem to present Yosef as simply an exuberant youth who just wished to share his dreams.

And the perception of each brother was not the same, although in many ways, the picture painted by the narrative is that they were in agreement, on the whole, to get rid of Yosef. But Shimon saw him as the dreamer, the one who dreamed of being bigger, for he was the one who called out “Here comes the dreamer.” Reuvain saw him as a road to redemption, and he convinced them not to kill him so that he could rescue him and thus build himself in his father’s eyes. And Yehuda was the one who suggested selling him, looking at Yosef as a broader picture of one with whom he was connected but with whom he wanted a way to sever that connection.

The distinction between the tribes have essentially been lost by the great dispersion, but we remain in many ways, entrenched in this tribal mindset. In centuries past, we divided ourselves between our minhagim and our countries of origin. Ashkenazim marrying Sephardim was jokingly [mostly] referred to as intermarrying. In the current era, we align ourselves by denominations, and then we look at each other and we make assumptions that may be, but quite probably are not, true.

The eesh b’sadeh, the man in the field, represents people or incidents in our lives (both individual and as a people) whom Hashem sends to try to help us become whole again.  When we think back in our lives there are those moments we can find, like the words of the counselor at that camp, that give us a nudge in the right direction. However, sometimes these men in the field are not kind, they are warning that danger awaits on the path we are on. Even when we are given these guides, however, we are so often hampered by what happens next. When we allow our preconceived notions, our superficial judgments, our fear of the possibility that another might know something we do not, to inhibit us from coming together.  Like the 12 brothers who were our ancestors, the Jewish people have always had to learn how to deal with the fact that while we are all Jews, we are not homogeneous. We can't have unity if we don't learn to talk to each other like brothers. We today still need to rectify the inability of our ancestors to look and see from our brothers’ eyes.  

Now That’s A Rock! (Vayetzei #2)

Remember that old saying, “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend”? Perhaps if your goal is gashmius (materialism) that is true, but in this week’s parsha, the Torah presents the first significant gift of a rock from a guy to a gal … and it’s ALL ruchnius (spiritual). It’s also a really big rock!

When Yaakov arrives at Haran, he finds the local shepherds and their flocks relaxing near the well. When he asks why they are not shepherding the sheep, it is explained to him that all of the shepherds gather together so that they can unite their strength and move the large rock that covers the well. No sooner have they explained this, then Rochel appears shepherding her father’s sheep. “And when Yaakov saw Rochel, the daughter of Lavan, his mother’s brother, and the flocks of Lavan, his mother’s brother, Yaakov went up and rolled the stone off the mouth of the well, and watered the flocks of Lavan, his mother’s brother. Then Yaakov kissed Rochel, and he lifted his voice and wept” (Bereishis 29:10 – 11).

A romance columnist might say he rolled the rock to impress the girl with his superior strength. But the Torah certainly isn’t wasting space with basic bravado. According to Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, the repetition of “his mother’s brother” is an indicator that Rochel looked a great deal like her aunt. He writes: “For in everything that Yaakov did here, he was moved by the thoughts of his mother who appeared living before him in the person of her nearest relative.” More than that, perhaps seeing her approach with Lavan’s sheep had a specific meaning for Yaakov. Here he was, a stranger in Haran, sent by his mother, and his cousin arrives looking like a vision of Rivka. Seeing the similarity indicates to him what he must do to demonstrate who he is. After all, as he tells her later on, he has no possessions, nothing as proof of his identity. Therefore, just as his mother did for Eliezer, Yaakov must hurry to bring water for Rochel and for her animals. When the rock moves with such tremendous ease, he knows that this is a sign from Hashem.

It is interesting that Rabbi Moshe Alshich comments on pasuk 29:10’s vayigal et ha’even (and he rolled away the rock) that “Yaakov did not even have to roll the rock away, all he had to do was reveal the mouth of the well. The word vayigal is derived from gimmel lamed hey גלה, to reveal, not from gimmel lamed lamed גלל, to roll.” So what was revealed by moving a rock?

The fact of the matter is that there are a lot of rocks in parshas VayetzeI. In Bereishis 28, Yaakov arrives and arranges his camp with the stones of the place and goes to sleep. Hashem then brings him his famous dream of malachim on a ladder to shamayim (heaven). When he wakes up, he takes the rock upon which his head has rested, and he sets up a matzeva, a libation stone - for lack of a better English translation.

Yaakov has just been promised a great spiritual future. One might say that he has had confirmation that the brachos he received from Yitzchak had Hashem’s full approval. Now he needs a life partner to make that future happen. He wasn’t going to Haran just to escape from Esau; he was going to Haran to find his spiritual partner. When he was able to remove the rock, he knew that Rochel, too, was important for the future he was building.

Tradition informs us that the rock upon which Yaakov rested his head was no ordinary rock. Rather, as the commentator Chizkuni writes:

According to the sages in Pirkei de Rabbi Eliezer, chapter 35, this stone was the one known in later generations as the even shetiyah symbolising the navel of the globe-  a mystical stone at the site where the Holy Ark had stood in the Holy of Holies during the First Temple. This stone, if removed, would expose a hole going down to the center of the earth. It is supposed to have served G-d as the first piece of solid material of what would be the globe on which we live (translation from Sefaria).

It’s a hard concept to understand – a mystical rock that manifests in different ways throughout the ages, a rock so important to creation that was also a pillow for Yaakov’s head. Like many Midrashim, this should be looked at for the lesson rather than dwelling on the literal meaning. What Yaakov experienced on his way to Haran was a taste of pure spirituality, and that is what is important here.

There is no indication anywhere in Tradition that these two rocks, the one he set as a matzeva and the one he removed from the well, have any connection to each other. On the other hand, there is often a symbolic connection between two sections that are next to each other in the Torah. Between leaving the matzeva and arriving at the well covered by the rock, there is only one pasuk: “And Yaakov lifted up his feet and he went to Haran” (29:1). It’s an odd pasuk. The Torah often says that someone lifted up their eyes, but lifting up one’s feet is not quite so common; and why couldn’t it just say the second half of the pasuk, that Yaakov went to Haran? Rashi says that this pasuk indicates that he was so inspired that “his heart lifted his feet” (citing Bereishis Rabbah). But lifting up one’s feet indicates active effort. The Abarbanel suggests that Yaakov had trouble leaving this place filled with kedusha, especially to head for a place like Haran.

Yaakov knew enough of his uncle, from his mother’s memories and the continued communications between the families, to understand that he was heading toward a place where wealth and possessions, materialism, were valued over spiritual growth. When he got to the well and saw the loitering shepherds, he must have worried further about this new environment. Then he saw the rock, the rock covering the well … the rock that these men mired in the physical could not move. But to Yaakov, the physical world was now secondary, and seeing a large rock reminded him of all that he had experienced. Yaakov rolled that rock from the well and revealed to Rochel that her future was with him, a future of spiritual wealth. And she let him water her sheep, thus accepting his kindness. And so he kissed her and he cried, because he knew he had found his soulmate.

Will She Take the Journey (Chayei Sarah #2)

You can’t force faith. It’s a fact. One can teach about beliefs and ideals. One can demonstrate living a life according to a strict moral code. But one cannot force someone else to believe in anything. This was something of which Avraham was well aware. Traditional texts record that Avraham and Sarah had many followers and that they were constantly teaching others about belief in the Creator, but what was most important to them was that each person find the opportunity, like Avraham, to truly find God on his or her own. The significance of this level of belief can be observed in the story of Rivka.

There is a seemingly odd discussion in the Gemara about whether Avraham had a daughter (Baba Batra 16b). One of the opinions is that Avraham had a daughter whom he called “Bakohl,” which means in or with everything. The Talmudic discussion is based on Bereishis 24:1, which says, "And Avraham was old, advanced in days, and Hashem blessed him with everything." The play-on-words interpretation that Avraham was blessed with a daughter whom he named Bakohl comes from the supposition that to have been truly blessed with everything, Avraham would have sired both a son and a daughter. 
Perhaps though, one could take this a step further and explain that the daughter with whom Avraham was blessed was his daughter-in-law Rivka. One could say, looking at the conversation between Avraham and Eliezer, that Avraham believed that Rivka, as a not-so-distant relative, had spiritual potential. The Torah tells us specifically that he knew of her:

Some time later, Avraham was told, Milcah too has borne children to your brother Nahor: Uz the first-born, and Buz his brother, and Kemuel the father of Aram; and Chesed, Hazo, Pildash, Jidlaph, and Bethuel” - Bethuel being the father of Rivka. These eight Milcah bore to Nahor, Avraham’s brother (Bereishis 22:20-23).

Avraham could have named Rivka as the one he wanted Eliezer to find, but instead of naming her to Eliezer, he sent Eliezer back to his homeland with only the main instructions to bring home a bride and to not agree, under any circumstances, for Yitzchak would go there. And Eliezer appears to understand, for he too refers only to "the woman," leaving her specified yet undefined. 

So why didn't Avraham just tell Eliezer to go to Rivka? Because Avraham wanted to place no claim on her. For her to marry Yitzchak, she had to come completely of her own volition. To become Avraham's daughter, she had to have her own Lech Lecha type of journey, and Avraham was setting the stage for this to happen by sending Eliezer to find a wife from his land, from his birthplace, and from his father's house. There could be no hint of force or coercion in this process. It had to be completely from her heart and come from her soul; Just as today a convert must be completely sincere for the process to be correct.

But what if she said no? What if Rivka was not as strong as Avraham and Sarah had been? It was a possibility, and this, perhaps, was at the heart of Eliezer's question of what if she won't make the journey. Avraham recognizes this as a possibility, and this is why he is firm in his command that Yitzchak cannot go out of the Promised Land - so much so that he states it numerous times. If Yitzchak reverses Avraham's journey, then all will be lost. 

When Avraham sends Eliezer to Ohr Kasdim, he is "old and advanced in days.” He is ready to let a new generation take the lead, but for that he knows, better than anyone, that Yitzchak needs the right partner, and that partner must be one who can understand Avraham’s original journey. When he sends Eliezer to find Yitzchak a wife, he is completely confident that his family will be complete because he knows that Hashem has truly blessed him in everything.

Lessons from the War of Kings (Lech Lecha #2)

“Lot looked about him and saw how well watered was the whole plain of the Jordan, all of it…so Lot chose for himself the whole plain of the Jordan…” (Bereshis 13:10-11).

Lot should have used a realtor! If he had, perhaps he would have known that the beautiful patch of land that had caught his eye and beckoned him with unspoken promises of wealth to come was actually a hotbed of trouble.

There is no recording of how long it was after Lot moved to Sodom that the entire valley was enmeshed in war, only hinting, later, that it was long enough for him to be considered settled and for his identity and his connection to Avram to be known. Lot moved to Sodom in Bereishis 13, and all of perek 14 is a description of a regional conflagration that, until its conclusion, has nothing to do with Avram, Sarai, or the future of the Jewish people, which makes it almost odd that it was included in the Torah when so many smaller, more meaningful moments in Avram’s life were not.

If one was only to study Bereishis as a means of understanding the lives of our ancestors, then the text should simply have stated that King Chedorlaomer of Elam and his three closest cohorts defeated the rebellion of the five kings of the valley region of Sodom and, on their way home, looted Sodom and took Lot (and all of his possessions) captive. Only in the hostage-taking of Lot and Avram’s actions afterward appear relevant to understanding our forefather.

But the Torah, in between noting the defeat of “The Five” and the taking of Lot, includes six verses explaining the background of the conflict. King Chedorlaomer and his hosts made the valley kings into his vassals and, 13 years later, they rose up in rebellion. The war was actually the suppression of this rebellion, and the Torah includes the details of all the places that the armies with King Chedorlaomer conquered on their way to battle “The Five” in the Valley of Siddim. Then the Torah offers a taste of the character of the kings of Sodom and Amora, who, “in their flight, threw themselves into them [the bituim pits], while the rest escaped to the hill country” (14:10).

As interesting as this side-note of history may be, the question must be asked as to why it received so much detail, so many verses? What eternal lesson can we gain reading about the petty politics of the ancient residents of the land of Canaan?

One common answer is that the Torah records these details – the kings and the names of the cities that were conquered – in order to emphasize the incredible nature of Avram’s defeat of the looting victors. This was, as the Radak says, “due to God wanting Avram to acquire the reputation of being a mighty warrior, if need be. This is part of the way in which God fulfilled His promise to Avram 'I will make your name great.'”

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch points out that this war had the potential to affect Avram in the same way as the famine when he first entered the land. No sooner had he returned from Egypt, where he had gone to avoid the famine, then he discovers that Canaan is a land coveted and fought over by kings of city-states big and small. The lesson to be learned from this – the lesson being shown to Avram and recorded for all of his posterity – was that the Promised Land was not a land of easy promise.

Rav Hirsch states: Left to itself the land of Israel lay open to famine and political dependence. Situated where Europe, Asia and Africa meet, hardly any world-war has occurred into which it has not been drawn. And just because of this was it chosen. If, in spite of this, a national life would blossom against which no conqueror would dare attack … if all the kingdoms of the world would clash together there and make war on each other, but no sword would dare enter this blooming and yet defenceless land, then the eternal fact would have been brought to the eyes of the nations [that] here God lives.

Obviously Rav Hirsch, who lived in the 19^th century, had enough knowledge of history to see how true this message was. And we who live in the 21^st  century, who have had the privilege of celebrating the State of Israel’s 71^st  anniversary, have been able to witness how our people have been blessed with the land flourishing once again and, with Divine providence and immense sacrifice, the enemies that have threatened its borders continuing to fail.

It is interesting to consider that perhaps the Torah includes so much detail about the history of this conflict to demonstrate that Avram, who was a shepherd and therefore travelled the land, would have known about it. Perhaps having accepted that his inheritance of the land was a promise for the future he did not feel that the war had anything to do with him. The capture of Lot, who maintained some of the spirituality he had acquired with Avram, was Hashem's indication to Avram and his descendants that never again could they be casual about world affairs. They were now to be central to history - sometimes in the foreground but often in the background – and no matter of world affairs could be assumed to be innocuous. Time after time, as the Jewish diaspora spread around the globe, the Jewish people have found themselves deeply affected by situations not of their making. And, time after time, like their forefather Avram, their fellow Jews have stood up to help their brothers in need.

Previous Lech Lecha Post: https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2018/10/lech-lecha-avram-lot-and-challenges-of.html

Passing Judgement on Nations (Vayera #1)

Do we have a right to assess the values of another nation? Ok, conventional wisdom says absolutely not and that our judgement is blurred by our own cultural biases, but what about from a Torah point of view? The answer to this is not straightforward, but Parshat Vayera can provide us with some very interesting insights. 

The first outside culture dealt with in this week’s parsha is the infamous Sodom. The second half of Genesis 18 contains a curious dialogue in which Hashem tells Avraham that he has decided to destroy Sodom and Amarah, and Avraham argues with him: “Will you end the innocent along with the guilty?” (18:23). Avraham, being a natural people person and a man whose greatest characteristic is chesed (loving kindness), assumes that the region cannot be ALL bad. He then attempts to find some salvation for the city in which his nephew has settled. He slowly whittles his plea from 50 innocent people to 10 innocent people, but Hashem assures him that there are not even 10. Avraham has no further argument left.

Why did Avraham try so hard? He wasn’t ignorant of Sodom. He had interacted with its people, with its king. He lived close enough to hear of the nasty customs that, according to the midrash, ran the gamut of punishing those who tried to help the poor to torturing guests who sought lodging in the city. And yet Avraham still believed he could find innocence.

The second outside culture that is encountered in this week’s parsha is that of Gerar, a small Philistine kingdom to the south ruled by a king known as Avimelech. This is Avraham’s first mentioned interaction with Avimelech and the people of Gerar. Perhaps because he is moving south, the same direction as Egypt where he had discovered the pernicious character of their king when it came to beautiful women, Avraham once again introduces Sarah as his sister rather than his wife (although it did cause him a bit of trouble previously). When Avimelech claims the beautiful Sarah, Hashem comes to him in a dream and corrects him. The next morning Avimelech confronts Avraham with a sentence that I found rather intriguing: “What did you see that you did this thing?” (20:10).

Avimelech assumes that there is a reason that he and his people were deemed untrustworthy by Avraham. And Avraham had reasons, but they were based, perhaps, on his understanding of Egyptian culture rather than Philistine culture. Avraham’s response is a mixture of apology and explanation: “Because I said, there is no fear of God in this region and they will slay me on account of my wife” (20:11).  (Concept inspired by commentary of Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch). Indeed, Avimelech demonstrates a true and genuine fear of God.

In parshat Vayera, we learn that it is human to judge others. God did not rebuke Avraham for trying to hide Sarah from Avimelech, He simply intervened, and no one came to harm. And although Hashem proved to Avraham that the society of Sodom really was rotten unto its core, Avraham is certainly presented as praiseworthy for his attempt to save “even ten.”

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch has a beautiful insight on Genesis 18:23, when Avraham asks God if he would ruin the righteous with the wicked: “Avraham put himself in the place of such an innocent person [the possible one among the many wicked] to be saved in the midst of the general terrible catastrophe. He feels what he would feel in such a position….and now he ventures to express the thought - whether perhaps the pain which the righteous would have to endure at seeing the terrible destruction of their fell-citizens all around them might not be worthy of consideration….”

Nations have character. The jokes about Irishmen, Germans, and even Jews, all have a morsel of truth, which is what makes them funny. Avraham made an assumption about the people of Gerar because of his experience with similar cultures - he was wrong about their lack of fear of God, but not wholly wrong about how they might behave. And Avraham was unable to see the  all-encompassing wickedness of the people of Sodom because he could not possibly relate to it, and so he tried to find merit for them. (Perhaps this is the Biblical source for those who so blindly try to excuse the violence of our enemies.)

As the Jewish nation, the Chosen People, we must learn many lessons from our great ancestors. We cannot blur all other nations into one. The Philistines were not like the Egyptians, even though they shared some cultural traits. At the same time, we have enemies, alas, and we must not assume that they view the world in the same way we do, as Avraham hoped for at least someone in Sodom.

There is only One Judge in this world, only One who can assess the ratio of goodness to evil, and the only One who can direct us to the right actions to take.

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.

In Quebec, A Taste of Redemption

Originally published on Times of Israel

Like many Jews at this time of year, I’ve been busy preparing for Passover. There’s the usual cleaning, wondering what we will eat (I’ve threatened chicken and mashed potatoes every night) and keeping the household peaceful with my children off from school.

Because I live in Quebec, however, this year’s Passover preparations have had a whole new dimension. The Hagaddah tells us that “In every generation they rise against us to annihilate us…”

This year, the Jews of Quebec saw just how true this could be. Over the last year and a half, after the Parti Québécois (PQ) was elected into office, the primary legislative concern in the province appeared to be the creation and passing of a Charter of Values. While the term Charter of Values sounds positive, the real meaning was legislation to suppress religious freedom. The values being promoted were a combination of forced secularism and xenophobia, as certain Christian symbols were being redefined as Quebec heritage.

In the course of my life, I’ve had a few run-ins with anti-Semitism, but until this year, I don’t think I every worried that the society in which I was living might turn against me and my people. The most publicized issue of the Charter was the ban on religious symbols such as kippot/yarmulka and scarves. The ban was meant to affect only those who worked for the government, but as the government oversees the medical system, the educational system (and the religious schools do receive some government grants for secular studies that make their tuition more affordable) and a host of other industries that one might expect to be independent…it would have affected a large swath of the population.

With each passing week, it seemed as if the xenophobes we’re gaining power. Other political parties seemed frightened to fully criticize the Charter, afraid to look weak to the Charter’s supporters. The newspapers began reporting incidents of harassment to individuals in religious garb (granted the majority of these incidents involved Muslim women in hijabs). Only weeks before the election, I even heard that the Premiere had said that private business would also be allowed to fire employees who wore religious symbols.

Some Jews chose to move. Many of us held our breath, prayed hard and checked our passports, silently hoping that we weren’t following in the footsteps of the pre-war European Jews who thought that the Nazis were a fluke. After all, a surprising number of people appeared to support this Charter.

Thank God, this past Monday, the PQ was overwhelmingly defeated in a provincial election. There were several reasons that the PQ was ousted from power, and I cannot say for certain that this was a vote against the Charter rather than a reaction to bad economic policy and calls for separation. However, the very fact that the Liberals are now in power means that the province can move forward and away from xenophobia. The threat has been alleviated.

On Monday evening, my husband came home from voting to find me cleaning out the cupboard and getting ready for Passover. He left shortly thereafter to post better directions to the polling booth, so that no vote would be missed, and left again after dinner to drive some neighbors to the voting station.

That night, as the results began to come in, I could not help but think about the fact that this important vote took place a week before Passover. It was a moment (albeit minor in the scope of Jewish history) of redemption for the province’s Jews. Had the PQ won, I knew several people who were thinking of leaving. Had the Charter passed, it is hard to say what would have happened to the Jewish community. And it would have been a shame if the Jews left Quebec, where Jews have lived since 1700s. The modern Jewish community is a vibrant combination of Jews from all walks of life and of incredibly diverse backgrounds.

Following the election, Jews throughout Quebec thanked God for the results and rejoiced over the change of government. Next week, when we sit at our seders and recite Hallel, the Psalms that praise God, we will all, no doubt, have in mind a special sense of gratitude.

The Difference between Settling and Dwelling, as Reflected by Next Week’s Holidays

Originally published on Times of Israel.

Have you ever heard the question: are you a Jewish American or an American Jew? As an English major, I always enjoyed thinking about how the subtle shift in syntax changes the meaning of the phrase. The question, of course, is which word a person uses an adjective and which as a noun. Am I an American who is Jewish or a Jew who is American?

It is a question of mind-frame, about where you are and where you are going. The Torah (Genesis 37:1) states: “Vayeishev Yaakov, and Jacob settled”…and one of the best known commentaries on this verse is that this was an error on Jacob’s part. You see, previously, the patriarchs had always been described as dwelling (or sojourning), implying that they were ready to continue with either or both their physical and spiritual journeys. The commentaries say that everything that happened to Jacob (particularly losing Joseph) was because he “settled,” he became complacent.

Next week, Jews in America will celebrate two holidays, Chanukah and Thanksgiving. Now before I say anything further, let me be clear that I am an ardent practitioner of both.

This year, that celebration has been dubbed Thanksgivukkah – a once-in-a-lifetime holiday for American Jews. But this new celebration makes me pause. Is my identity as an American and as a Jew so intertwined that I have to merge these two celebrations? I want my deep fried donuts and I want my turkey, but that does not mean I want a deep fried turkey.

Most years, Jews have to struggle to remember that Chanukah isn’t the Jewish Christmas. It’s hard to deny that Christmas doesn’t look like a lot of fun to celebrate, but Chanukah bushes and tinselly blue and white decorations have no connection to the holiday. They only send a message that there is something to add to the celebration of Chanukah, as if there is a lack of something…and the same goes for Thanksgivukkah (and yes, most of what I see is adding Thanksgiving to Chanukah, not Chanukah to Thankgiving).

This is the question of settling or dwelling. When one has settled into a place, one begins to absorb the ways and mores of the surrounding people. When one has the attitude of sojourning, or living temporarily (even long-term temporarily) one has a stronger will to maintain one’s unique identity.

The question of identity might be more pressing to me as an American Jew now living in Montreal, Quebec. For those not familiar with the situation, the nationalist party that is currently in power feels that they must assert a homogenous provincial culture. Currently in the legislature is something being referred to as the “Charter of Values,” which basically declares that employees of any business that accepts any government funding (including hospitals, schools, etc.) may not wear religious symbols – kippa/yarmulka, head scarf, cross, etc. At the same time, they are smiling and saying that Quebec is a place that encourages freedom and diversity! Suddenly, I relate a little more strongly to the cause of the Maccabees.

The Maccabees fought against a dominant culture that wished to absorb them, that said, at first, we’re okay with you Jews doing your own thing…but maybe you should do it more like us, and a little more, and still more. In the days of the Maccabees, there were many Jews who had stopped celebrating Jewish life altogether because of the subtle pressure of the society around them…and that was before the Syrian-Greeks began imposing oppressive measures.

Perhaps you are now thinking that it is a bit of a stretch to say that making a Thanksgivukkah celebration is going to lead Jews to assimilating themselves off the demographic map. That is not my point. My point is that my family will enjoy a delicious meal of turkey and stuffing and go around the table noting that for which we are grateful – right after we light the menorah and sing Maoz Tzur and remind ourselves (and those around us who see the menorah lit in the window) of the miracles God performed for the Jews who fought against their way of life beig diluted by the culture of others.