Haftara of Bereshit

Haftara of Bereshit

October 2015

          So a new liturgical year begins, at the beginning. Our Torah starts with creation itself, told twice actually. Once, as we read on Simchat Torah, with an elegant description of seven days of orderly and deliberate forming. Light, land, heavenly orbs, even sea monsters, culminating in the creation of humans. And then a reprise, but with a difference, as a human is created first, and placed in an idyllic spot. But the God of this second version is not the brilliant planner and grand architect of the seven days story. This God has to make changes and adapt as time passes, first creating a partner for his original, solitary human, and then punishing his disobedient creations when they violate the first rule God gave them. Out of paradise and into the real world with this original pair, even before they begin the work of populating the planet with more humans. As procreation begins, another setback, when brother turns on brother, and blood must call from the ground to alert God to another human failing. By the end of the portion, God observes human wickedness everywhere, and regrets "that He had made the human on earth, and His heart was saddened." (6:6) A majestic start, but things don't go so well. Next week we will read about God's decision to restart the populating of the world, only to find out that disobedience and bloodshed continue. It is a rare thing to find a righteous person.

          This week's haftarah understands well the sad consequences of the work of Creation. Selected from the Book of Isaiah, and composed during the Babylonian exile, the haftarah begins by recalling God's role in creating the world.

כֹּֽה־אָמַ֞ר הָאֵ֣ל ׀ יְהֹוָ֗ה בּוֹרֵ֤א הַשָּׁמַ֨יִם֙ וְנ֣וֹטֵיהֶ֔ם רֹקַ֥ע הָאָ֖רֶץ וְצֶאֱצָאֶ֑יהָ

"This said God the Lord, Who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what it brings forth…" (5) God asserts his role as creator, while addressing the people of Israel. The people are suffering in exile. 

וְהוּא֘ עַם־בָּז֣וּז וְשָׁסוּי֒ הָפֵ֤חַ בַּֽחוּרִים֙ כֻּלָּ֔ם וּבְבָתֵּ֥י כְלָאִ֖ים הָחְבָּ֑אוּ

"It is a people plundered and despoiled; all of them are trapped in holes, impressed in dungeons…" (22)

          How did they get into exile? According to the prophet, our exile came about for the same reason as the banishment or exile of Adam and Eve – disobedience.

 מִ֥י בָכֶ֖ם יַֽאֲזִ֣ין זֹ֑את יַקְשִׁ֥ב וְיִשְׁמַ֖ע לְאָחֽוֹר:

"If only you would listen to this, attend and give heed from now on!  Who subjected Jacob to plunder and Israel to spoilers? Surely, the Lord against whom they sinned, in whose ways they would not walk…" (23-24)

          Overall, especially in the version we read as Ashkenazim, the passage ends on a somewhat hopeful note.

 וְעַתָּ֞ה כֹּֽה־אָמַ֤ר יְהֹוָה֙ בֹּרַֽאֲךָ֣ יַֽעֲקֹ֔ב וְיֹֽצֶרְךָ֖ יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל אַל־תִּירָא֙ כִּ֣י גְאַלְתִּ֔יךָ קָרָ֥אתִי בְשִׁמְךָ֖ לִי־אָֽתָּה:

"Who created you, O Jacob, who formed you, O Israel; fear not, for I will redeem you. I have singled you out by name, You are Mine…" (43:1) As at the beginning of the haftarah, the prophet use the verb "bara", recalling the first creation story, "Bereshit bara Elohim." And as earlier in the haftarah, the prophet uses the verb "yatzar" when speaking of the creation of people, just as in the second creation story.

 וַיִּ֩יצֶר֩ יְהֹוָ֨ה אֱלֹהִ֜ים אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֗ם

The Lord God formed the man… (2:7)

          And if the haftarah is echoing the language of creation in selecting key verbs, we should listen closely to other echoes in the language. Such echoes are scattered throughout the haftarah, but the most consistent and interesting is the theme of light. The first act of the creation story is the creation of light.

 וַיֹּ֥אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֖ים יְהִי־א֑וֹר וַֽיְהִי־אֽוֹר:

God said, "Let there be light," and there was light." (1:3)

In the haftarah, light is no longer described as the first thing created, but rather an attribute of the messenger or the Jewish people.

 אֲנִ֧י יְהֹוָ֛ה קְרָאתִ֥יךָ בְצֶ֖דֶק וְאַחְזֵ֣ק בְּיָדֶ֑ךָ וְאֶצָּרְךָ֗ וְאֶתֶּנְךָ֛ לִבְרִ֥ית עָ֖ם לְא֥וֹר גּוֹיִֽם:

"I the Lord, in My grace, have summoned you… I created you and appointed you a covenant people, a light of nations…" (42:6)

          The precise meaning or intent of this odd phrase, "a light of nations" is not entirely clear, but the theme of light and vision runs through the haftarah. The messenger is called on to "open eyes deprived of light" (7)  Further on, as the prophet describes God's efforts at redeeming the exiled nation, he says, "I will lead the blind by a road they did not know… I will turn darkness before them to light." (16) When God addresses the people, he returns to the theme of "seeing." " Listen … you blind ones, look up and see! Who is so blind as the chosen one, so blind as the servant of the Lord? Seeing many things, he gives no heed." (18-20) And at the end of the haftarah, God promises that the nation will be returned from exile, "Setting free that people, blind though it has eyes…"

          So this act of seeing is a somewhat complicated or even confusing action. It is not simply a matter of having eyes. We have eyes, which should allow us to see, yet we remain blind. The problem of seeing also appears in the Torah portion. In the second creation story, Eve "saw that the tree was good for eating and a delight to the eyes." (3:6) And as the serpent tells her, "as soon as you eat of it your eyes will be opened." So again, how well we see, and perhaps even what we see, is not simply a matter of having eyes, but also depends on having our eyes opened. Of course, when the original people do disobey God and eat of the tree, "the eyes of both of them were opened, and they perceived that they were naked..." (7) As a result of their disobedience, with their eyes opened, Adam and Eve soon hide when they hear the sound of Lord God in the garden.

          One type of seeing, one aspect of having eyes opened, is a result of disobedience, and leads to hiding from God. Eyes can deceive and make us blind to things which should be evident. In the context of the haftarah, that blindness is the very recognition of God, which is what God seeks. Israel's job, one aspect of being "a light of nations" is to witness.

אַתֶּם עֵדַי נְאֻם יְהֹוָה

 "You are my witnesses declares the Lord." (43:10)

          The midrash explains that the light created on the first day of creation was removed from the world sometime after that first day. Some claim because of the wickedness of the generation of the flood, but others say it was removed on the fourth day of creation, once the Sun and Moon were installed. One version of the midrash says that God removed the light and kept it for himself alone, but another version maintains that the original light of creation was taken to paradise (Gan Eden) and is reserved for the righteous who dwell there.

          The absence of that original, divine light may perhaps explain the difficulty that we have seeing. The issue of learning to see remains with us to this day. In schools we teach children that God is not a being like another, that God does not have a body or a long white beard. The Torah itself claims even Moshe cannot see God and live.  Adam and Eve already had difficulty acknowledging the presence of God "once their eyes were opened." In the time of the Babylonian exile, we hear again of the blindness of our ancestors, even when God sends prophets to help them perceive what is real and what is false. U believe that God still expects us to serve as witnesses to his reality and transcendence, however difficult that may be. The haftarah is challenging us to be witnesses, to strive to see truly, not in a way which causes us to hide from God, but in a way which allows us to bear witness, to be "a light of nations."

          Shabbat shalom.

Hafatara of Vayiggash

Hafatara of Vayiggash

January 2017

         This week, the reading from the Torah brought a resolution to the story of Joseph in Egypt that we have been reading for several weeks. Last week we were left with a cliffhanger. The parsha ended with the discovery of a silver goblet in Benjamin’s bags as B’nei Yisrael were returning to Canaan. All the brothers return to Egypt, wondering what they can do to save their youngest brother. We, the readers, know that Benjamin is not really a thief, but the victim of a plot of some sort devised by Joseph. It is clear to us that Joseph is punishing or testing his brothers in some way.

          What Joseph actually expected is not revealed to us – either last week or this. But as this week’s parsha begins, Judah steps forward and begs to exchange himself for Benjamin. And we hear that Judah’s words lead to Joseph finally revealing himself as the long lost brother that he is. A resolution that has often been imitated in soap operas and dime novels. With Joseph’s true identity revealed, the family can be united. The brothers and Jacob are re-united with Joseph, and it appears that they will survive the famine in Egypt, and perhaps even live happily ever after.

          What then would be a fitting haftarah to pair with this story of dramatic resolution and family reconciliation? Perhaps some other story of family reconciliation or dramatic resolution? Tellingly perhaps, there aren’t many stories in the Prophets of such family togetherness. We could find stories of victimized children, of fighting between parents and children or even of estranged spouses. But I have not found any stories comparable to the dramatic family resolution of this week’s Torah reading.

          Instead, the Sages chose to associate a passage from Ezekiel with this parsha. It is the second half of Chapter 37. It describes how Ezekiel was instructed to show the exiles in Babylonia two “sticks,” one labeled Judah and the other Ephraim. With a flair for the dramatic, Ezekiel presents the separate sticks, and then melds them into a single stick. When the people are baffled by this magic trick, Ezekiel explains that it represents the coming return from exile of a united Jewish people.

וּמֶ֧לֶךְ אֶחָ֛ד יִֽהְיֶ֥ה לְכֻלָּ֖ם לְמֶ֑לֶךְ וְלֹ֤א יִֽהְיוּ עוֹד֙ לִשְׁנֵ֣י גוֹיִ֔ם וְלֹ֨א יֵחָ֥צוּ ע֛וֹד לִשְׁתֵּ֥י מַמְלָכ֖וֹת עֽוֹד:

“One king shall be king of them all. Never again shall they be two nations, and never again shall they be divided into two kingdoms.” (v. 22)

With the return,

וְעַבְדִּ֤י דָוִד֙ מֶ֣לֶךְ עֲלֵיהֶ֔ם וְרוֹעֶ֥ה אֶחָ֖ד יִהְיֶ֣ה לְכֻלָּ֑ם

“My servant David shall be king over them; there shall be one shepherd for all of them.” (v. 24)

So the haftarah presents a story of national unity (or reconciliation) and return. Where the Torah narrates leaving Israel (Canaan) to go into exile in Egypt, the haftarah describes a return to Israel, from exile in Babylon.

          What is not included in this week’s reading is the first portion of Chapter 37 in Ezekiel – the better known image of the Valley of Dry Bones. Ezekiel conjures up a mass grave, and imagines the resurrection of the people interred there. The Sages left this portion out of the haftarah, but someone who knows the book of Ezekiel would recognize that the uniting of the sticks followed this image of rebirth. In our Torah portion similar themes occur in reverse order. After the re-uniting of the brothers, Jacob is informed that Joseph is alive. For Jacob the news that Joseph is living is equivalent for him to the resurrection of the dead.

          It is of interest, perhaps, that Ezekiel seems to be concerned with two things. One is the image of return and restoration. For a people in exile, his was the most prominent voice that could imagine a future beyond exile. Faced with despair or hopelessness, or perhaps merely with assimilation, Ezekiel wanted to dramatize as much as possible the image of a future return.

          But in doing his magic trick with the sticks, Ezekiel is also emphasizing the future unity of the Jewish people. We are inclined to overlook or forget the historic divisions of our people – divisions that go back at least as far as the succession after the death of King Solomon. For hundreds of years, we were not one nation, but two. Israel and Judah existed as rivals. The sense we have, or imagine, of the unity of the Jewish people is not supported by Biblical history. We have not only been a people that challenged or disregarded God’s wishes, but our history includes division and conflict between the different tribes, nation-states or factions of the Jewish people. Ezekiel is asserting not only that the people will return to the promised land, but also that we will do so as a united, not a divided people.

A visionary or messianic image, indeed. We like to imagine unity. In fact, many of our community leaders are willing to use the hope for unity as a reason for suppressing dissent. In truth, we are far more often a divided people than a people that speaks with one voice. This week, the sentencing of Elor Azaria has again provided evidence that unity is difficult for the people of Israel to attain. Anyone who notices anything about the politics of Israel must understand that unity and consensus is not the natural state of the Jewish people. Ezekiel understood this well, and spoke to internal divisions that must have been as real in his time as the divisions we live with today. His vision of a united Jewish people is in the future rather than a description of the present or the past.

          And as we also anticipate the end of one Presidency and the start of another, we might also notice that it is not only the Jewish people that is capable of sharp divisions. The United States is also divided after an election that chose a new leader, but did not resolve any differences. In this country as well, living with division and disagreement is our normal state. I hate adapting “religion” to serve political purposes – whether done by the Christian right, the settlers movement or even by me. But I am struck at this time with the idea that disagreement is a reality in our life, here and in Israel. It takes a prophet to imagine something else. It takes a visionary to imagine a time when we will be brought together as a single people with shared ideals and values. And even for a prophet such as Ezekiel, perhaps that image of unity is just a magic trick or an illusion. Can two separate sticks really become one?

          Or perhaps, we should look back to the Torah portion. What finally brings the children of Jacob together? What allows for reconciliation between the brothers is the initiative of Judah. Confronted with the threat to Benjamin, and knowing what that would mean to Jacob, Judah steps forward. Rather than threatening or arguing against the terrible reality of Benjamin as a captive, Judah offers to sacrifice himself on behalf of his victimized brother. The midrash understands that it was that action on Judah’s part that brought Joseph to tears, and convinced Joseph that reconciliation was possible, and even required. I don’t think that Ezekiel imagined the uniting of the Jewish people as an act that required great sacrifice. But Baalei haHaftara, the people who chose to associate Ezekiel’s image of national unity with this week’s parsha may have wanted to tell us that if we truly want to be one people, sacrifices will have to be made.

          Shabbat shalom.

Haftara of Haazinu

      I think it is time to publish the Divrei Torah I have been giving for the past ten years or so.  I am starting with this one, the most recent, delivered on Shabbat Haazinu this year.

Haazinu – D'var Torah     (October 2016)

          There is something remarkable and fascinating about how the final sections of the Torah connect to the liturgical cycle. For the past seven or more weeks we have been reading from D'varim as we approached the Yamim Nora'im. Much of what we read in Torah was tochachah: a stern warning about the risks of disobeying God or failing to act justly or properly. In particular, the Torah did not hesitate to share in vivid detail the curses that awaited us for disobedience. If you were not motivated to introspection by nature, or if you were not in synch with the rhythm of the seasons and the liturgical calendar, then the Torah readings alone should have alerted you to the approach of Rosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur. Examine your ways, people, prepare for being judged by the highest judge (one who doesn't have to be voted on by a recalcitrant Senate.)

          And at the same time, over the course of the same seven weeks, we have also heard each week a haftarah that offered one sort of consolation or another. Yes we may have sinned, individually or as a people or nation, but God is also capable of, even committed to, forgiveness as well as strict judgement. If we have shortcomings, if we have failed to do his will, he will judge us poorly, but he is also engaged with us as Israel. She is capable of mercy. S/he offers the possibility of extending his/her mercy even as s/he judges us, if we only recognize our failings and commit ourselves to returning to his/her ways.

          When you think about it, it is an odd combination this message of: if you go astray you will be severely punished, but you will be forgiven if you acknowledge what you have done and vow to do better next time. I leave it to the psychologists among us to interpret the inner meaning of this double message which is found throughout the Mahzor and the scriptural readings of the previous seven weeks.

          But one might also think that having endured seven weeks of such messages, and a month of self-examination before Rosh Hashanah, and ten days of repentance, and a full day of fasting and afflicting our souls, we might be allowed to move on now that Yom Kippur is behind us. Only the Torah and Haftara don't agree.

          This week, reading from the Torah, we heard the remarkable poetic oration of Ha-azinu. I will only attempt a brief paraphrase. Moshe Rabbenu, has reached the age of 120, after 40 years of leading the people of Israel in the wilderness, and is now faced with imminent death.  Standing on the far side of the Jordan River, Moshe calls on heaven and earth to witness his penultimate address to the people. He tells them that God is a Rock – just and faithful. God has taken the people  from an "empty howling waste," (v. 10) and cared for and nurtured his children. Yet the children, that is to say Israel, or us, are "unworthy of Him." Despite God's beneficence, the people have failed to follow or recognize God. "You neglected the Rock that begot you, Forgot the God who brought you forth." (v. 18) As a result, Moshe tells us, God will punish Israel accordingly. Just when we hoped that after Yom Kippur we wouldn't have to hear, yet again, about our failings, Moshe won't allow us to think we have finished our work.

          And sad to say, I fear Moshe is correct. For all of our sincere t'shuvah, our lives and our world are still transparently flawed. Innocent black men are still at daily risk of being shot by police, and so too, the police we ask to protect us are also at continual risk. Immigrants to this country, and refugees in other countries incur as much resentment as hospitality from their hosts. In the past week we have also been subjected to offensive language, and reminded that inappropriate behavior and violence against women is considered permissible "locker room talk" by a significant segment of our society, not to speak of people who justify such violence. And I could go on.

          This is a harsh and demanding God, and Moshe is a stern leader who realizes that the people are still deeply flawed. Yes, at the end of Ha-azinu Moshe does declare that eventually God will end our punishment, and vindicate Israel "when he sees that their might is gone." (v. 36) But then after Moshe completes his speech to the people, as a kind of coda to the parasha, he again meets with God, who has come to tell him that he, Moshe, has one more mountain to climb , a mountain where he will himself die. Even Moshe is not immune from God's judgement. This is a harsh and demanding God.

          And that, my friends, is the context for this week's haftarah. The haftarah has come to show us how David approached death? His message and his tone are rather different. He also thinks of God as a Rock, but for David, God is "the rock wherein I take shelter." (v. 3) In fact, David does not really seem to be addressing his followers or Israel at all. Instead, David seems to be reflecting back on his own life, and his own experience. He is not focused on the faithlessness of his followers, but instead on his own experience of peril. "In my anguish I called on the Lord." (v. 7) David recalls his many battles, the many enemies he was somehow was able to overcome. Reflecting on his successes, David is struck by how much God has been his personal savior. "In his Abode he heard my voice, my cry entered his ears." (v. 7) Where Moshe calls on the heavens to listen to what he has to say, and be a witness, David tells us that he was able to reach the ears of God. David's experience is not only that God listens, but that God responds. "He reached down from on high …He rescued me from my enemy so strong." (v. 17-18)

          David's experience of God is very different from Moshe's. For David, the Lord is his lamp that "lights up the darkness." (v. 29) God is "my mighty stronghold, Who kept my path secure… who trained my hands for battle." (v. 33, 35) At the end of his life, David, our greatest King, the ancestor of the Mashiach, wants to acknowledge that whatever he has accomplished comes from God. "You have granted me the shield of Your protection and Your Providence has made me great." (v. 36) David does not warn us of the harsh and demanding God. David is filled with gratitude for God's protection.

          Think for a moment about David and Moshe. They each experienced God's favor.  Either one of them might have said of God, "He set him atop the highlands, to feast on the yield of the earth; He fed him honey from a crag…"  (v. 13) (although that was Moshe speaking) or "I pursued my enemies and wiped them out, I did not turn back till I destroyed them." (v. 38) (David speaking.)

          Yet David has something else to say. Not only has the Lord "brought me out to freedom (the wide open place)" and "rescued me," but God has done that because "He was pleased with me. The Lord rewarded me according to my merit." (v. 20-21) For David, God's favor is understandable because God rewards those who obey Him, God blesses those who do as She wishes. In fact, David claims "I have kept the ways of the Lord and have not been guilty before My God: I am mindful of all his rules and have not departed from his Laws." It is interesting that David does not acknowledge any guilt for wrongdoing in his Psalm, but easily speaks of the times when he was frightened or at personal risk. We know that David was not as blameless as he claims, but David is focused on the time when he felt endangered and in peril.

          Again, think of the same words coming from the mouth of Moshe. If there was a nearly blameless leader, certainly it was Moshe. Moshe could also say that God brought him out to freedom or "rescued me from my enemy so strong." (v. 17) Moses might have said, "To humble folk You give victory, and You look with scorn on the haughty" (v. 28) or "You have rescued me from the strife of peoples, kept me as the head of a nation." (v. 44) And surely, based on what we know, Moshe would have been allowed to say, "I have kept the ways of the Lord and have not been guilty before My God: I am mindful of all his rules and have not departed from his Laws." Yet all of those words come from David, and not Moshe.

          Let us put this in perspective. Of all the Jews who have ever lived, none or more acclaimed than Moshe and David. In fact, I daresay that there are no people in the history of Jewish life who knew more of God than Moshe and David.

          As leaders of the Jewish people, Moshe and David had many similar experiences – winning great victories and dealing with rebellion.  But the voice and the message of these two hymns is very different. Moshe speaks with indignation and barely contained anger, while David has an attitude of  gratitude. Moshe never wished to be the leader of Israel. God did not save Moshe from danger as much as s/he forced Moshe into danger. Moshe's experience is that because of God, he, Moshe, was beleaguered for the final 40 years of his life. Moshe is driven to warn the nation of the risk, of its failings, while David  is reflecting on the remarkable blessings he has received, and on his own desire (if not perfect success) to follow God's ways. Moshe, even at the end of his life, sees the meaning of his own life as tied to the fate of the nation he is leading, while David understands at the end of his life that he was never fully in control of what happened to the nation, and he certainly cannot control what will happen after his death.

          Both of these great leaders want us to know that whatever happens, it is in the hands of God. Both men emphasize the importance of recognizing God, The Rock, and doing the things that our God expects of us. But the difference in tone is at least as striking as what the two psalms share. The challenge of the haftarah includes reconciling the generous and beneficent view of God that David brings with the demanding and stern view of God that Moshe presents. Somehow we are supposed to hear both voices, and despite the differences, remember that God is One. What separates the voice of Moshe and the voice of David is not two different Gods, but two different personalities, two different life experiences, two different understandings of how to be in the world. The value and importance of bringing this haftarah to this section of Torah is to show us, and challenge us, that there are many ways to speak of what God offers us and what God expects. There are many ways to view our history and our future – as a story of recurrent failure to accomplish all of what is expected of us and corresponding suffering, or as a story of remarkable blessings bestowed on us for our imperfect works.

          What strikes me most when confronted with these two texts at this time, only a few weeks before an election, and amidst the continual conflict within Israel and the Middle East, is how much they are telling us to allow both voices to be heard. As beautiful and well spoken as each of these poems is, they are each only one point of view, one way of being in the world. Without the voice of Moshe there would be no Jewish people at all. But without the voice of David we probably would not have survived, and our hopes for the future would certainly be less. As different as these voices are, as much as they seem to be singing in different keys, what we are being challenged to do is to incorporate both the sense of gratitude and the urgent and angry demand together. As the Shema (and the Zohar) say again and again, it is all One.