Better Watch the Boundaries (Yisro)

Today I would like to discuss boundaries – not the controversial type like the border wall, but the more personal ones that we build in our lives. From a Jewish perspective, our traditions are full of gedarim, boundaries created to protect halacha. As a parent, I have read a lot about the importance of parentally established boundaries for our children, and this really is true for adults as well. Boundaries help us thrive.
In this week’s parsha, as Bnei Yisrael arrived at Mount Sinai, Hashem provided Moses with instructions for how the people were to prepare themselves to receive the Torah. One of the primary instructions God gave to Moshe was: “You shall set bounds for the people round about, saying, ‘Beware of going up the mountain or touching the border of it. Whoever touches the mountain shall be put to death” (Shemos 19:12). Moshe does so, and the people and the kohanim began their preparations. When Moshe then went up the mountain, God repeated this prohibition: “Go down, warn the people not to break through to the Lord to gaze, lest many of them perish” (ibid. 19:21). In response, Moshe says to the Lord, “The people cannot come up to Mount Sinai, for You warned us saying, ‘Set bounds about the mountain and sanctify it.’” So the Lord said to him, “Go down, and come back together with Aaron; but let not the priests or the people break through to come up to the Lord, lest He break out against them” (ibid. 19:23-24).
The instructions for creating a boundary are well known, but I was intrigued by the particular details of the prohibition: “Beware of going up the mountain or touching the border of it” (19:12). Perhaps it was the specification of making certain not to touch even the boundaries, but these words made me think of the story of the Eitz Hadas, the Tree of Knowledge. Hashem told Adam not to eat from the tree, Eve believed that she was not allowed to eat or touch the tree and the snake deceived her by showing her that she could touch the tree. This, of course, led to the rest of the story and humankind’s banishment from the Garden of Eden.
These two boundaries mark, in some way, the beginning point of two epochs. The transmission of the Torah to the Children of Israel was the beginning of the era of focused kedusha, when God assigned the Children of Israel with the task of bringing His kedusha to the world. Before that was the era of Adam, a time when all of humankind was living through the repercussions of a wrong choice (eating the fruit) that prevented the Messianic Age, for if Adam and Chava had not eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, the world would have immediately entered an ideal state.
In Parshas Yisro, on the verge of this new era, Hashem provides and reinforces more explicit directions about what not to do. And when Moshe argues that the people understand, Hashem insists that they be repeated.
I found this possible connection an interesting thing to contemplate in light of the time in which we live. In Western societies, boundaries of all types are being ignored, argued, or dissolved. In my opinion, there has been a general degradation in respect for authorities. Our boundaries of public and private have been diminished by the ever-going present social media. Alexas and Google-dots have been brought into people’s homes and there is much discussion about exactly how much control one can have of one’s privacy with these seemingly innocent AI’s in our homes. Maintaining boundaries is harder than ever.
Parshas Yisro is the parsha of the giving of the Torah, the ultimate rule book. Perhaps from this interaction of Hashem and Moshe, when Hashem reiterates his instructions even after Moshe argues that the people understand not to go up the mountain, we can be reminded of the importance of reviewing the boundaries in our own lives.

The Tree of Life (Beshalach)

“Eitz chaim hee lemachazikim bah…It’s the tree of life to them that hold fast to it…” This has always been one of my favorite verses in davening. Torah is the tree of life, but we must actively grab on to it. This act of holding fast is what I relate to as faith, which is a prominent theme in this week’s parsha, Beshalach; one that is connected to a eitz, a tree. 

Three days after singing an exalted song of faith following the awesome miracle of the splitting of the sea, Bnei Yisrael were struggling with having found no potable water along their way. Finally, they found water but determine that it was undrinkable. The Torah states: “And they came to Mara, and they could not drink of the waters of Mara, for they were bitter. Therefore, the name of it was called Mara” (Shemos 15:23). It occurred to me as I read this parsha that the phrase “For they were bitter” (which is offset by a zakef katan : in the trope) might not have been describing the water, but rather the sentiments of Bnei Yisrael. (I then found this idea suggested by Daas Chachamim.) They couldn’t drink the water because they were bitter.

Why bitter? Let’s look at some possibilities about their emotional state. Three days, no water…what now! I found myself focused on the fact that the complaining began three days after the final destruction of Egypt’s power. We know that day three of a wound is considered the apex of pain (per Avraham’s bris), and perhaps for Bnei Yisrael there was a level of shock in the knowledge that there truly was no going back. (Regardless of the fact that they were now in the loving care of Hashem, Egypt was what they knew.) With the underlying anxiety of being forced into a major new mindset, the Israelites felt their most critical, their most fearful, and, thus, their most bitter for having not yet found water.

Another thought is that they had heard Moshe tell Pharaoh that they would be going on a three-day journey into the wilderness to serve Hashem, so perhaps some of them started keeping count anew after they saw Egypt vanquished, for now they were truly free. However, three days later they expected to be making camp and preparing for this service Moshe had described to Pharaoh. But their calculations, as happened later at Mount Sinai, were based on their own assumptions. Perhaps it was a combination of both, and perhaps all of that was subconscious, a state of anxiety that we all experience sometimes without knowing it.

They came to Mara and they murmured against Moshe, who turned to Hashem: “And Hashem showed him a piece of wood (eitz) and he threw it into the water and the water became sweet. There He placed for him Chok and Mishpat (ordinance and law)” (ibid 15:25).

The eitz is Torah, which is comprised of chukim (ordinances for which there is no specific explanation) and mishpatim (laws that create a moral civilization). Water is life, for no creature can live without it. Life lived with bitterness – dominated by anger, regret, jealousy, etc. – misses the joy of living. A truly joyful life comes from grasping onto the Torah and holding fast to the sweetness it provides.

The verse concludes “Sham Nisahu,” which Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch translates as “There it tested them.” He explains that one way this phase can be understood is that “the people are the subject, and the Law the object of Nisahu viz. ‘There God gave it (the Nation) the fundaments of His Law, and there it (the Nation) proved or tested it,’ learnt to know the power of faithful carrying out of the Will of God, by the sweetening of the bitter waters.”

According to Rabbi Hirsch (an earlier comment on the same verse), a Torah life “requires complete confidence in the constant presence of God ever ready to help, and in the knowledge that carrying out His will, as expressed in the Torah, has the power to guide us safely and happily through the most desolate deserts of Life and to sweeten for us the bitterest draughts that Life can offer us. To induce such confidence was the preparatory work which was to be accomplished in the wilderness for the acceptance of the Divine Torah.”

Imagine the emotional work required by Bnei Yisrael. Commentators often speak of their continued slave mentality, which strikes me as terribly similar to a sense of low self-esteem. They left Egypt after a long sequence of open miracles, and yet they struggled to see themselves as part of the Divine cause. At the very beginning of the parsha we are informed that “God said ‘Perhaps the people will reconsider when they see a war and they will return to Egypt’…[but] the Children of Israel were armed when they went up from Egypt” (13:17-18).

Even as God brought them out of Egypt, He understood how shaky their faith was. Their coming out armed was purely decorative, meaning they dressed the part of a nation that had been set free, but it was clear that they lacked the courage and fortitude that matched their gear (Hirsch). And yet if they truly had faith in the Divine intervention, which they had been privileged to witness over and over, they would not have armed themselves for they would have believed that God would protect them (R’ Bechya). And yet, according to the Midrash cited by Rashi, these were the most faith-filled of the Israelites, the 1/5 that were willing and able to follow Moshe (based on an alternate understanding of chamushim as fifth rather than armed).

The miracle of the splitting of the sea was a Divine intervention to drive awe and fear into Egypt and the rest of the world. The miracle at Mara was the first step in teaching the Children of Israel that having faith in Hashem would shield them even from the smaller trials of life and that His ordinances and laws were the necessary ingredients for a sweet life. Mara was the first in a series of complaints and interventions because we all know that honest faith requires not a leap but small, earnest, incremental steps. The first step is knowing that adding Torah (eitz) to life (mayim) is key to making life spiritually sweet.

Little Lamb (Bo)

I don’t like lamb. I think I initially had this thought when I was a kid and the idea of a cute, little lamb for dinner was more upsetting than a not-so-cute cow. But it was a dislike solidified numerous times in adulthood. I don’t like the taste of it, and I really don’t like the smell of it.

This may seem an odd way to start a Dvar Torah, but there are some people out that for whom the thought of the aroma of all that lamb on the mizbayach (altar) is a bit terrifying and who are delighted that the laws of the Paschal lamb require us to eat is as a group. Whatever one’s feelings are toward the eating of lamb, the description of the Paschal lamb in this week’s parsha, Bo, is fascinating.

The Paschal lamb is the second mitzvah given to Bnei Yisrael and the first one given in-depth (the first mitzvah is to mark this month as the first of months). In quick summary (Exodus 12:3-13), God tells Moshe to tell the people that on the 10^th of the month they should take an unblemished male lamb or kid for each household and keep it in their homes until the 14^th, when the lamb would be slaughtered, its blood used to mark the lintels, and its flesh prepared to be eaten that night with matzot and bitter herbs. Then God gets really specific: “You shall not eat it partially roasted or cooked in water, only roasted over fire – its head, its legs, with its innards. You may not leave any of it until morning, any of it that is left until morning you shall burn in the fire. This is how you shall eat it – your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly. It is a Passover offering to the Lord” (ibid 12:9-11).

Within these details provided for the fulfillment of mitzvot delineated in just three interesting verses, perhaps there is something more.

On a natural level, Hashem is describing the Exodus. Bnei Yisrael were left in Egypt even as they cried out from their suffering. Hashem could have struck with just one plague, but the situation had to be completed. The Egyptians had to be ready to send them on their way, and Bnei Yisrael had to be really ready to go. Those who weren’t ready – spiritually – were completely lost to the Jewish people. They needed to be ready to go in every way, both spiritually and physically so as not to be leftover.  

These verses can also be interpreted on a similar personal message that we can learn from even today. Hashem does not want us to be “partially cooked” – partially committed to Torah and mitzvot – or boiled in water – diluted by the world around us (er um distracted by media/technology). The roasted lamb is a reminder that we must find real passion in fulfilling our mitzvot. Thus Hashem states that the leftover – the things we are all working on ourselves to improve – must be burned in the morning, meaning that we must find a way to stop ourselves from going backward. Thus we must “gird our loins” and be ready to escape the different slaveries of our yetzer harah.

I don’t know if there are any commentaries like this or if, indeed, my remarks make sense to anyone else but myself. The Paschal lamb is an essential mitzvah, and one who does not (when possible) fulfill the mitzvah is eligible for the punishment of kareit (being cut off from the Divine source). Such a significant mitzvah is well worth some extra exploration.

Tricks of the Mind that Harden the Heart (Va’era)

The opening parshiot in the book of Shemos are particularly interesting and challenging because much of the action is repetitive. God speaks to Moshe and Aaron and tells them what to say. Moshe and Aaron confront Pharaoh and tell him what God has said. Pharaoh scoffs at them. A plague ensues. Pharaoh begs for forgiveness causing the plague to be lifted, but, shortly thereafter, Pharaoh hardens his heart, leading to an almost complete repetition of the cycle. For all of its repetition, however, this is a narrative that has always captured my imagination, particularly the concept of Pharaoh hardening his heart.

One interesting thought that crossed my mind (totally unsubstantiated by any research into commentators) is that perhaps Pharaoh thought, at first, that Moshe was competing with him. Perhaps he thought Moshe’s references to Hashem were a code name for himself. After all, Pharaoh had been raised to believe in himself as a deity so someone coming to lead a coup would have to assume a seemingly equal status. From Pharaoh’s perspective, it is not a far-fetched assumption since Hashem cannot be seen and Moshe appears to be the one with the power. And let’s face it, Pharaoh’s belief in real gods must have been somewhat stilted given his own deification.

Even as Pharaoh realized that the power Moshe could wield was beyond mortal control, that there might really be something bigger than his own self, he spun into denial. This is his continued hardening of his heart even after his magicians have acknowledged that they cannot replicate the plagues. Denial is real - I mean, most of us have been in situations where we know something to be true, but we still try to act as if it was not (and vice versa). Alas, by the time Pharaoh was ready to begin acknowledging that he was mistaken, the end was nigh and Hashem hardened his heart so that the Children of Israel could move forward and the world (and Pharaoh) could truly bear witness to God’s awesomeness.

The hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is also a situation that I believe is important to think about in relation to situations that we see today. For instance, the United Nations’ incredibly strange record toward Israel (condemnation after condemnation) or the blind eye of so many defenders of social justice to acts of anti-Semitism. The only way that these constant distortions can continue and be accepted by such a large amount of people is, truly, by an act of God.

There is one more quick but important lesson that I think can be learned from Pharaoh’s hardening of his heart. While we all perceive Pharaoh as a rasha, a wicked man, his first act of hardening his heart was not so unbelievable. While most of us don’t have our drinking water turn to blood, we do have readable signs of God’s involvement in our lives that we choose, actively or passively, to overlook because truly recognizing the awesomeness of Hashem is overwhelming. Choosing to have a heart open to messages from the Divine sounds easy but is, in fact, one of our primary responsibilities - I wish us all success in this task of being.

In Just Five Verses (Shemos)

The narratives of the Torah, from creation through the Exodus, cover an incredibly intense time period. A lot of things happen and so taking an extra look at where the text focuses can lead to particularly interesting. For instance, the dialogue between Yosef and Yehuda is repeated. On the other hand, moments that one would expect to be discussed in detail are covered only briefly. An excellent example of this brevity is the incident when Moshe slays an Egyptian taskmaster and is called out on it and ends up fleeing Pharaoh and Egypt. All of that takes place in five verses.

11: Some time after that, when Moses had grown up, he went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their labors. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen.
12: He turned this way and that and, seeing no one about, he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.
13:When he went out the next day, he found two Hebrews fighting; so he said to the offender, “Why do you strike your fellow?”
14: He retorted, “Who made you chief and ruler over us? Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?” Moses was frightened and thought: Then the matter is known!
15: Now the priest of Midian had seven daughters. They came to draw water and filled the troughs to water their father’s flock;

The verses of Shemos 2:11-15 are rather surprising really. From the narrative perspective Moshe has just been set up for a charmed life as the adopted son of Pharaoh’s daughter – and that life is totally ignored in the text because it was all false. Instead, the Torah jumps right into a scene of murder! One almost feels as if one has been dropped into a vigilante movie scene.

These verses, however, are a pivotal moment in Moshe’s life. (Ok, there were a lot of pivotal moments.) One could read this text and cheer at Moshe for stepping up for justice, rather than look at it as his casting away of his Egyptian privilege, but this was the moment that he broke his connection to the Egyptian he was being groomed to be. The fact that the text says he “went out to his brethren” implies his awareness of his connection to the Hebrews. Interestingly, the Torah does not reveal exactly how much he understood this connection. At this point in his life he might have felt only the vague connection of knowing he was of Hebraic origin or he might have really wished to know his biological family. Perhaps he was drawn to his heritage but did not know how to come closer to the Hebrews  since his position in life was so far from theirs.

In a way, it is reminiscent of the position of so many Jews in the last few generations who were raised away from their heritage. Many have sought a way to connect, but not all of them were able to take those steps.

In a book based on the commentaries of the Ramchal, there is an interesting idea that explains that the reason that Pharaoh wanted to kill Moshe was that when Pharaoh heard that Moshe had spoken the holy name of God (Midrashic explanation for how the taskmaster died), Pharaoh understood that Moshe was still attached to the kedusha (holiness) that was an anathema to the avodah zarah that was the foundation of Egyptian life. First, he recognizes his connection to the Hebrew slaves, his brethren, then he connects to kedusha.

But the next day, his sudden elevation to a connection with the Jewish people is not met with warmth. When he comes upon the quarreling Hebrews, he is rejected, pushed away and rebuked. Shouldn’t the men have been somewhat welcoming? You might respond that they were upset and were interrupted in the midst of arguing, but they appear to present a unified reaction against Moshe. You might presume that they responded in fear, but a frightened person would not be so confrontational. No, these two men were stuck in their places and were thus resentful and angry that a man they wished to perceive as Egyptian was showing such a deep connection to kedusha. Here was a man who was not afraid to stand up to the Egyptian world in which he had been raised, here was a man who looked at the Jewish world and saw brethren. Alas, it is easy to live a Jewish life and be afraid of the passion of another person. If we are honest, it's something that we see in our own era and not just in reactions to baalei teshuva and gerim but often to people who are judged as extreme in their observance.

So why was this important moment so sparsely discussed? I can't answer that. But I can enjoy this opportunity to speculate :).  

When Jacob Summoned His Strength (Vayechi #1)

This week completes the annual reading of Sefer Bereishis (the Book of Genesis). A great number of important events occur in these final chapters, all of which have profound and lasting impact on the Jewish people. In a quick summary, Vayechi contains the blessing of Ephraim and Menasheh, the gathering of the 12 sons at Jacob’s deathbed, the prophetic blessings of the 12 sons by their father, Jacob’s death, and Joseph’s fulfilment of his promise to bury his father in the Land of Canaan. 

All of these topics are fascinating, but let us look at the interesting introduction of the first blessings: “It was after these things that Joseph was told, ‘Your father is ill.’ So he took with him his two sons, Menasheh and Ephraim. When Jacob was told, ‘Your son Joseph has come to see you,’ Israel summoned his strength and sat up in bed” (48:1-2).

At first, this line strikes an emotional chord in me. Jacob is old, he is sick, and he knows he is dying, but when his son comes, he makes a great effort to pull himself together. Many commentaries, including Rashi, explain this action as respect for the high station that Joseph had achieved, second to the king. Other commentators pointed to it being a demonstration of the importance of what he was about to say. For instance, the Daas Zikanim stated: “He [Jacob] did not wish to bless his sons while bedridden, as he said that the blessing of a person clearly on the brink of dying would not be considered as having been given by someone in possession of all his faculties.”

Perhaps, however, it is also a hint to the deeper relationship of Jacob and Joseph. For Joseph, whose final years of youth he missed, Jacob still felt a need to appear strong. Or, perhaps, he worried most about how Joseph would react to seeing him old and feeble since he was aware of the great tragedies Joseph had suffered and how much his youthful relationship with his father had meant to him.

Kibbud Av v’Eim, honoring your father and mother is not only one of the ten commandments, but it is a mitzvah for which there is a great deal of explicit halachic conversations. It is a mitzvah for which Joseph is often greatly praised, and perhaps here we see the beautiful depth of their relationship.

About Genesis 48:1-2, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch writes:

48:1 - Above, where Jacob wants something from Joseph, he has him called. Here, where he wishes to give something to Joseph...he simply has him told “your father is ill.” He is not to be called, he is to come as a child, in the feelings of a child when he hears that his aged father is ill, and at this opportunity Jacob gives him that which he has to apportion him. Jacob, even when he is giving the highest gift, does not make much of a parade of it.

48:2 - Joseph does not know how his father is and does not wish to excite him, so he has him told just casually that he is coming to visit him, and only then has him told that he is there.  

In many ways, Genesis is a strange narrative of the beginning of the Jewish people. The relationships within are anything but simple and are often far from ideal. Jacob is in no way painted as the perfect father, particular in his actions favoring one child over the others. These two verses, however, teach a subtle but beautiful lesson about how wonderful a mature parent-child relationship can be.

There is, however, something else about these verses that grabbed my attention, particularly the second verse: “When Jacob was told, ‘Your son Joseph has come to see you,’ Israel summoned his strength and sat up in bed” (48:2).  Another way of looking at these verses is that Jacob the father was told that his son had arrived, but Israel - the force of the Jewish nation - knew that now was the time to pass on the strength and vigor of the children of Abraham.  This is why, in the middle of one verse, the name changes from Jacob to Israel. The sickly body of Jacob is invigorated by the soul of Israel to make certain that the holy covenant is passed down properly to the next generation.

Please Hashem, let me have the strength of character to have an ideal type of relationship with my children and that I can be a proper conduit of the beautiful blessings of my Jewish ancestors.

Stronger Because of You (Vayigash #1)

“And the news was heard in Pharaoh’s house saying: ‘Joseph’s brothers have come.” Pharaoh and his servants were pleased” (45:16). Thus concludes the reunion of Joseph and his brothers.

This simple, seemingly transitional, verse tells us a great deal about the respect that Joseph earned in Egypt. From the narrative of the Torah, one sees that he was an outstanding politician, and while, like all politicians, he obviously knew how to handle people and deal with authority, he also displayed tremendous foresight for the benefit of those under his care. Joseph is described as a fair leader and a man who maintained his morality even in difficult times. Such inner strength is a character trait that I think most of us wish to see more of in our modern political leaders.

Another frequently discussed theme of the story of Joseph is his unwavering emunah (faith). Even as he is reunited with his brothers, deep in an emotional moment, he affirms his belief that everything that has occurred to him has been part of God’s plan. It is, in truth, a level of emunah that I think many Jews today deeply wish to attain but certainly feel far away from.

There is tremendous power in the apex of this narrative - the moment when Joseph reveals himself. This section of the Torah builds to an incredible sense of anticipation: “Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, ‘Have everyone withdraw from me!’ So there was no one else about when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. His sobs were so loud that the Egyptians could hear, and so the news reached Pharaoh’s palace” - 45:1-2). 

Perhaps we could look at this text with a different perspective than simple family reunion: How relieved Joseph must have been to finally be among his own people. Not just the joy of being reunited with his brothers, not just the excitement of seeing his father, and not just the affirmation of his belief that God had a plan, but rather the recognition that finally he would be among people who shared his beliefs, his culture and his language. In fact, the Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 93:10, cited by Rashi) relates that Joseph revealed himself to his brothers in Hebrew.

Recently I attended a four-day course in London. There was one other Jewish participant at the program, a delightful woman from El Salvador who was strongly affiliated but not specifically religious. As much as I enjoyed the program, I spent a significant amount of the mealtimes explaining to people why my meals were different, a conversation that often segued into larger discussions about religious beliefs and traditional life. It was fascinating for me particularly in that, as an East Coast Jew, I am used to people knowing at least a little something, but many of these international students had never seen special kosher meals before. And while I have always enjoyed being an ambassador of Judaism, arriving at my hosts’ home for Shabbat was a great relief. I was now in my natural element, where I didn’t have to explain my food choices, or why I didn’t shake hands, or feel as if I stood out for my way of dress.

Joseph did take on the semblance of an Egyptian while he lived in Egypt, but one can imagine that he never felt as if he was in his own skin, so to speak. Even as he rose through the ranks, he was always, in his own mind, an outsider. And the only way that he could shed that feeling of being different was by being together with his own kind. Revealing himself to his brothers was not just a joy, but it was also an internal pleasure of simply acknowledging one’s true self.

Joseph’s life in Egypt is a journey that most people today can relate to. Most of us live in foreign lands, and we have grown up steeped in two cultures - our Jewish world and our national identities. Most of us are not rising political leaders, but all of us have an obligation to remember our values, our morals, and our faith, no matter what situation we are put in. As important as this inner strength is, however, we should never forget the necessity of the strength we gain from being part of a community.

Perhaps one could look at Pharaoh’s reaction to the news of the arrival of Joseph’s brothers in a different light. Pharaoh and his servants knew that they could trust Joseph, knew that he was working for their benefit and that he took his responsibilities seriously. Perhaps now they saw that Joseph would be an even stronger leader for having reconnected with the Children of Israel.