Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Parashat Toledot: The Eyes of the Reader

Parashat Toledot introduces us to Esau, one of the most maligned figures in rabbinic Judaism.   In a Dvar Torah about the role of Esau in the Torah, Chancellor Ismar Schorsch argues that the rabbis engaged in consistent “misreading” when interpreting the key events in Esau’s life, attributing evil intent and actions that cannot be found when reading the Torah contextually.  Schorsch writes:

“ The rabbis consistently failed to muster any sympathy for Esau, even though the Torah does...In the midrash, Esau can do no right and Jacob no wrong...What the rabbis did to Esau is a striking instance of misreading born of love and need” (Ismar Schorsch, Dvar Torah: Parshat Vayishlakh, Chancellor’s Parashah Commentary: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1993).

Schorsch’s use of the term “misreading” regarding how the rabbis understand Esau’s role in the Torah is a harsh critique of much Torah scholarship, a critique with which I happen to agree.  At the same time, I wonder if we might find some kind of meaning through the process by which these commentators arrived at their perspective on how Esau’s role in the Torah should be read.

From the moment I began studying the Parashat HaShavua, I was troubled by the overt hostility displayed towards Esau by Rashi, considered the medieval Torah commentator par excellance.   While Rashi offers critical commentaries on Esau at numerous points in his Torah commentary, two examples from Parashat Toledot stand out as particularly egregious.  Famously, when the Torah states “Isaac loved Esau for trapping was in his mouth” (Genesis 25:28), Rashi argues that Esau manipulated his father by assuming a phony posture of piety:

“Isaac loved Esau for trapping was in his mouth”: “To ensnare and to deceive his father with his mouth.  He would ask him, “Father how do we tithe salt and straw?”   His father would be under the impression that Esau was meticulous about commandment” (Rashi on Genesis 25:28).

According to Rashi, Isaac only favored Esau because his eldest son pretended to be righteous, when, as Rashi will argue, Esau is actually the paragon of wickedness.   Immediately following this comment in the Torah, we read about the famous scene where Esau sells the birthright to Jacob for a bowl of lentil soup.  Commenting on the Torah’s statement that Esau “was exhausted” from coming back from the field (Genesis 25:29), Rashi states that Esau’s exhaustion stems “From murdering” (Rashi on Genesis 25:29).   Time and after time, given the opportunity to criticize Esau, Rashi finds a commentary that paints Esau in a most unflattering light.

Rashi’s hostility to Esau is not ignored by modern scholars, who argue that understanding Rashi’s context allows us to find meaning in his approach.  In his magnificent biography of Rashi, Avraham Grossman argues that,

“...Rashi’s intense hostility to Esau, which pervades his commentary on the Torah, can be understood only against the background of his hostility to Christianity, of which Esau is the pre-eminent symbol.  From the wealth of rabbinic midrashim, Rashi selected those that Esau of all the acts regarded by the Jewish tradition as cardinal sins, including idolatry, illicit sexual relations, and bloodshed” (Avraham Grossman, Rashi, 101).

Grossman argues that Esau functioned for Rashi as a symbol of all those who oppressed or would oppress the Jewish people.   As result, because Rashi witnessed horrible acts perpetrated against the Jewish people by people who claim to be acting in the name of God, Rashi felt it necessary to use his commentary as a means of conveying the message that those oppressing the Jewish people descended from an original biblical villain, connecting Esau’s evil acts in the biblical past to Rashi’s world in his present.

Expanding upon Grossman’s analysis, Elie Wiesel writes in Rashi: A Portrait that one cannot ignore the emotional impact the horrific anti-Jewish violence during this time period had on Rashi’s psyche.  Wiesel writes:

“The forced “disputations in the royal courts and cathedrals, the violent anti-Semitic propaganda that resulted from these, the preparations for the first Crusade whose victims included Rashi’s disciples and friends, surely influenced his conception of the world.  Was it his reaction to those events that were to leave traces of fire and blood in the Jewish memory forever after?   Did he ever forgive Esau whose descendents--in Rome, according to him--bore down on the Jews whose tragic destiny was supposed to be proof that God had changed his chosen people?” (Elie Wiesel, Rashi: A Portrait, 24).

Grossman and Wiesel both identify the fact that it is difficult, if not impossible, for Rashi to disconnect himself from his context, and thus his Torah’s commentaries about Esau reflect the prism through which Rashi saw his world.   By extension, as readers of the Torah-text, when we read Rashi’s commentaries about Esau, we cannot limit ourselves to analyzing what these commentaries say about Esau, but what these commentaries say about Rashi.

Upon reading these analyses of Rashi’s commentaries about Esau, it would be easy to dismiss what Rashi writes as merely the biased portrayal of a biblical character by a commentator with a not-so-hidden agenda.  At the same time, because Rashi is considered by many to be our greatest medieval Torah commentator (and rightfully so), the fact that even he wrote his Torah commentary within a context tells us something important about how we study Torah today.   When our children look at the weekly parasha, it is easy for them to keep their world outside of the conversation, for fear that this world is not “appropriate” for Torah study.  However, Rashi’s example teaches us that we always read the Torah in a context, and acknowledging that context opens up a space for rich and meaningful learning.  All the rest is commentary...go and study.

Shabbat Shalom!

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Parashat Hayyei Sarah: Comfort and Restoration

“All real living is meeting.”
-Martin Buber, I and Thou


Although the Torah does not mention it explicitly, the aftermath of the Akedah plays a major role in the lives of Abraham, Isaac and Sarah in this week’s parasha of Hayyei Sarah.   When the Torah describes Isaac’s marriage to Rebecca, an addition at the end of the verse provides significant cause for interpretation.  The parasha states:


“And Isaac brought her [Rebecca] into his mother’s Sarah tent, and took Rebecca, and she became his wife; and Isaac loved her, and found comfort after his mother’s death” (Bereishit 24:67).


The Torah says little about Isaac’s personality, and even less about his emotions, yet this reference in our parasha about Isaac finding comfort after his mother’s death leads our commentators to ask themselves for what he needed Rebecca to provide comfort.   


In the Midrash Ha-Gadol, a fourteenth century compilation of midrashim, Isaac is presented as intensely grieving over his mother’s death, so much so that the light literally went out from his life:


“Three years Isaac mourned for his mother.  Every time he entered her tent, and saw it in darkness, he would tear his hair.  But when he married Rebecca, and brought her into the tent, the light returned to its place.  “And Isaac brought her into the ohel [the tent]”: ohel means “light,” as it is said, “Till the moon will no longer shine” (Job 25:5).  He was comforted and saw it as though his mother were still in existence.  That is why it says: “Isaac was comforted after his mother”” (Midrash Ha-Gadol 24:67).


This midrash argues that Rebecca was a replacement for Sarah, bringing a light back to Isaac’s life, as if Sarah was still present.   In this case, companionship itself represented the light that Isaac needed, perhaps the reason why Rashi’s comment on the Torah’s verse discusses how  mothers and wives provide emotional support for sons and fathers (Rashi on Genesis 24:67).   


In his Torah commentary, the Ramban presents two potential explanations to explain this verse, each of which focuses on a different person with whom Isaac formed a connection.   Ramban’s first explanation argues that Isaac’s marriage allowed him to find comfort after his mother’s death:


“The reason for this verse is that it relate the honor that Isaac accorded his mother, for all the time since Sarah died they did not pitch her tent, for they said, “Let no other woman come into the tent of the esteemed mistress.”   However, when Rebecca arrived, he brought her to that tent, out of honor for her, and there he took her.  And this is the meaning of “he loved her and was consoled”: It alludes that he was very distressed over his mother and “a comforter had been far from him,” until he found comfort with his wife, in his love for her.  For what reason would there be for [Scripture] to mention a man’s love for his wife?” (Ramban on Genesis 24:67).


In this first explanation, the Ramban takes a similar approach to the midrash, arguing that Rebecca replaced the previous support offered by Sarah. However, Ramban’s second approach brings the translation from the Targum Onkelos, an early Aramaic translation of the Torah, as offering the opinion that this verse reveals the outstanding righteousness of Rebecca, as opposed to the strong bond between Isaac and Sarah:


“Onkelos explains “Isaac brought her into the tent, and behold she was like Sarah his mother.”  And this is why it mentions the love, for it was because of her [Rebecca’s] righteousness and her fitting deeds that he loved her and found comfort in her.”  (Ibid.).


In this explanation, although Isaac was deeply grieved by the death of his mother, Isaac found comfort primarily because of Rebecca’s outstanding personal qualities.


Finally, in Beginnings, the modern Israeli author Meir Shalev argues that the reference to Rebecca comforting Isaac tells us as much about Sarah as it does about Rebecca, for the fact that Isaac was distressed over his mother’s death reveals the strong bond between mother and son.   Shalev writes:


“The signature line of that first encounter is very touching: “Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death.”  The verse describes, only after Sarah is gone, the deep bond that had existed between mother and son.  It also shows that things are never simple and one-sided in any family.   In the view of many readers- including me, I must admit-Sarah is often seen as a bad woman, and now and then as a real witch.   She abused Hagar and forced Abraham to banish her and Ishmael.   Yet she was a good and loving mother to Isaac...She, as opposed to Abraham, would not have obeyed God’s command to sacrifice Isaac as a burnt offering, and the akedah doubtless proved to Isaac that he could trust and love only her.  Her death was another big blow after the trial on Mount Moriah” (Meir Shalev, Beginnings: The First Love, the First Hate, the First Dream...Reflections on the Bible’s Intriguing Firsts, 17-18).


Shalev’s commentary brings the entire Abraham narrative full circle, and points out that while we associate the aftermath of the Akedah with a rupture in the relationship between Abraham and Isaac, Sarah’s death removed a critical source of support in Isaac’s life, an equally important loss.   While we are given little indication as to how most characters in the Torah feel, when we receive a glimpse into the feelings of Isaac, we come away with deep insights into the nature of his family system.


While commentators both ancient, medieval and modern disagree about who is responsible for Isaac finding comfort in our parasha, all comforters agree that it was the connection with another loving, caring human being that led to Isaac’s emotional change.  In the aftermath of the Akedah, Buber’s quote reminds us that Rebecca finding Isaac represents the moment where Isaac could find comfort after intense emotional trauma.  In moments when we need a human connection to get through our darkest hours, may we receive the same blessing as Isaac, finding comfort in the presence of those who care about us the most.


Shabbat Shalom!

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Parashat Lekh Lekha: Timeless Connection

While we read it only twice a year, once on Rosh HaShanah and the other time for Parshat Vaera, reading the Akedah enters us into a search for the universal, timeless meanings we can draw from this narrative.   Poets, artists, and philosophers, and rabbinic sages all seek to understand the story’s deeper meaning, and what it can tell us about humanity.  When we read the Akedah, we are struck by the drama and uncertainty of the event, likely the result of the moral ambiguity implicit in the story’s arc.  At the same time, I always find myself wondering what inspiration we might draw from this text, how the angel stopping Abraham from sacrificing Isaac can teach us something positive about the relationship between God and humanity.    


Chancellor Arnold Eisen writes in Taking Hold of Torah that God could not have seriously intended for Abraham to sacrifice his own son because of the nature of God’s promise to Abraham at the beginning of Parshat Lekh Lekha:


“I never believed that Abraham, who loved his son so, actually went up to the mountain with the asses and the firewood and the servant boys-and Isaac-intending to sacrifice his “only son” (Ishmael didn’t count) on the summit at God’s command.   I knew even in moments of hot Oedipal anger, when any excuse to hate him would have been welcome, that my father wouldn’t have done such a thing….Abraham had not left his homeland, contended with Pharoah, argued over Sodom and Gomorrah, etc. etc.-all in accord with the will of his inscrutable God-just to lose his blessing, his future, his Isaac, in a barbaric act of slaughter” (Arnold Eisen, Taking Hold of Torah, 26).


According to Eisen, we should not believe that God really wanted Isaac to be sacrificed because such a command would be internally inconsistent with the nature of God’s promise to Abraham, and had Abraham sacrificed Isaac, any other messages of the Abraham narrative would be lost upon all who read it, for what kind of people would study a Torah that validates sacrificing your own son?   Instead, because Abraham does not end up sacrificing Isaac, our rabbinic tradition asserts that the Akedah represents a timeless affirmation of the covenant between God and the Jewish people.


Our rabbinic commentators argue all the key actors in the Akedah narrative will play some role in the future destiny of the Jewish people.  For example, we are taught in a midrash that the ram slaughtered on the mountain would be used at key moments throughout the rest of the Tanakh:


“That ram, not a part of it went to waste: its tendons became the ten strings of the harp that David used to play on; its skin became the leather girdle around the loins of Elijah; as to its horns, with the left one the Holy One, blessed be God, sounded the call on Mount Sinai; and with the right one, which is larger than the left, God will in the future sound the call at the Ingathering of the Exiles in the Age to Come” (Pirke Rabbi Eliezer, Chapter 31).


According to the midrash, if we are to see the Akedah as a moment whose meaning is timeless, then it makes sense to assume that the actors in this timeless moment will play roles in future generations.   Explaining this decision of the rabbis, Professor Shalom Spiegel writes in The Last Trial: The Akedah that (emphasis mine),


“For had it not been for this substitute that God provided in place of Abraham’s son, Isaac would never have had offspring, nor could the covenant and the promise have been fulfilled (Genesis 21:12), “For it is through Isaac that offspring shall be continued for you.”  However, since Isaac was redeemed, it is as though all Israel had been redeemed” (Shalom Spiegel, The Last Trial: The Akedah, 38).


In Spiegel’s understanding of the Akedah, since every narrative of the Torah can be seen as archetypal, it would make sense that Isaac’s redemption the mountain would extend to all of Israel’s redemption throughout the generations.    More specifically, if the Akedah was a moment where Abraham learned that God would not force him to sacrifice his son, and instead affirms a covenant built around faith and purpose, it follows that each subsequent generation of Jews should feel the power of a divine connection in their own lives.


When you hear the Akedah read in synagogue this Shabbat, you might choose to pay close attention to the moral questions of the story.    I do not minimize the importance of any of those questions, yet I would encourage everyone to think about the story more broadly, and see how our tradition grappled with the story’s drama but placing into the context of our lifelong relationship with God.   Abraham and Isaac went up and came down the mountain, and their relationship with God was better for it; may we continue to reap the benefit of their divine blessings.   


Shabbat Shalom!

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Divrei Rav Josh- Parshat Lekh Lekha: You are My Blessing

As anyone who reads my Divrei Torah knows, I believe that the Torah teaches us a great deal about how we promote social and emotional intelligence in our educational communities.  At the same time, sometimes I worry that we place too emphasis on promoting social and emotional skills because of their long-term impact on a person’s life, and not enough emphasis on how the values of kindness, patience, caring and others impact our relationships with others on a daily basis.   When I read this week’s parasha, the story of Abraham helps me better understand what it means to teach another person to see the value of living a life of holiness in the here-and-now.

Parshat Lekh Lekha begins with God’s dramatic call to Abram to leave his family and the place of his birth, and go to an undetermined place.   The parasha states:

“The Lord said to Abram, “Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.  I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you shall be a blessing” (Genesis 12:1-2).  

While it is relatively easy for us to understand what it means for God to tell Abram that he would receive blessings at the end of his journey, it is less obvious to our commentators what God means when he says to Abram that “you shall be a blessing.”  In general, the perspective of our rabbinic commentators on this passage is that Abraham, and later and Isaac and Jacob, form a precedent of devotion to God that benefits all future generations of Jews, what is oftentimes referred to as zechut Avot, or the “merit of our ancestors.”   However, an equally important strand exists in our rabbinic commentaries where Abraham’s blessing is not rooted in a merit for future generations, but in how Abraham’s conduct makes him a direct source of blessing to others throughout his life.   In his commentary on “And you will be a blessing,” Rashi writes the following:

“And you will be a blessing”: The blessings are put into your hand.  Until now they were in My hand: I blessed Adam, Noah, and you.  But from now on, you will bless whomever you wish (Rashi, Bereishit 12:2).

In Rashi’s commentary, Abraham is not portrayed a person who will receive blessings from God, but rather is a person for whom God gave the ability to bestow divine blessings to others.   

Rashi’s commentary is echoed in the commentary of Isaac Abravanel, who argues that Abraham himself is the blessing that God sends throughout the earth, and it is the qualities that Abraham exudes that impact people and communities throughout his life.  Abravanel writes:

“The goal of his journeying is hinted at in the expression, “you shall be a blessing” (Bereishit 12:2), for He commanded him that when he would journey, there would be a blessing among the peoples because he would teach them and make them know the truth faith in such a way that the world would be perfected by means of him.  And He (may he be blessed!) informed him that His providence would adhere to those people who accept his teaching and learn his faith” (Isaac Abravanel on Bereishit 12:2).

In this commentary, rather than the Abraham’s deeds being a later source of blessing, Abraham himself is the source of blessing in the eyes of Abravanel.   As Abraham went on his journey, the qualities that led God to choose Abraham constantly impact others.

The perspective taken by Abravanel is reflected in a recent book by Professor Jon D. Levenson of Harvard University, whose book Inheriting Abraham examines the diverse and distinct ways that Judaism, Christianity, and Islam use Abraham as a means of enhancing their community’s religious faith.  Regarding Abraham’s later impact on the Jewish tradition, Levenson writes:

“In the Hebrew Bible, the point is not that these men were righteous but that they were the recipients of God’s gracious promise, and the Jewish people benefit not from any merit they supposedly accrued but from the irrevocable promise to them that centers on their descendants….the blessing on Abram has positive consequences for “all the families of the earth,” whose prosperity is owing to him through the benefits conferred by his descendants, the Jewish people” (Jon D. Levenson, Inheriting Abraham, 31).

According to Levenson, the Torah establishes that Abraham is, “not simply a byword of blessing...he is a universal source of blessing” (Ibid).   While Abraham ultimately impacts the world in the long-term, our parasha makes clear that his impact was also tremendous in the short-term.

When we educate our children to become exemplars of social and emotional intelligence, we typically frame these values in terms of how building these skills allows individuals to reap benefit over the long-term.    As result, we oftentimes forget to remind our children that being a person who exudes certain qualities causes them to be a blessing to others in the here-and-now, in the everyday interactions that ultimately paint the picture of who a person really is.   May we teach our children to embrace the example of Abraham, recognizing that a life of holiness leads us to be a person who is, in word and deed, a blessing.   

Shabbat Shalom!

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Divrei Rav Josh: Parshat Noah: Strength in Silence


I suspect there would be no greater cliche than saying that the purpose of Schechter is to educate students to become Jewish leaders.   Yes, part of our mission is to help shape Jewish students in such way that they feel confident to go out into the world and take hold of what needs fixing.   At same time, an equally important part of our mission is to teach children the self-awareness of understand their own strengths and weaknesses to know when it is right for them step forward and be a leader.

Few parshiyot provide us greater opportunity to debate the nature of leadership than Parshat Noah.   Our rabbis engage in extensive debate as to whether or not Noah should be seen as a righteous individual of historical significance, or merely the best option amidst a wicked generation.  What I would like to suggest is that regardless of where we place Noah in the pantheon of leaders in the Torah, Noah’s leadership style can teach us something significant of about what it means to be a self-aware leader.

Regarding Noah, the Torah states, “Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his age; Noah walked with God” (Bereishit 6:9).   Rashi’s commentary asserts that the statement “Noah walked with God” actually alludes to Noah’s spiritual deficiency, for Noah needed God’s guidance through episode of the flood, in contrast to Abraham, who could fulfill God’s mission independently.   Rashi states:

“Noah walked with God”: “And regarding Abraham it says “Walk before God.”  Noah needed support to bear him up, but Abraham would strengthen himself and walk in his righteousness on his own”   (Rashi on Bereishit 6:9).

According to Rashi, Noah was a righteous figure, yet one whose personality required that God support him directly, as opposed to Abraham, who could walk “before God,” independently of God’s presence.

Upon a first reading, Rashi’s commentary appears to be yet another attempt to denigrate the leadership of Noah, assuming that Noah’s qualities would not place him in the pantheon of righteous individuals in the Torah.   However, we can read Rashi’s commentary in a such a way so that we might identify how Noah’s personality represents a hidden brand of strength we too often overlook.   

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev writes in the Kedushat Levi that Noah’s need to walk “with God” is rooted in Noah’s humility that lead him to believe that he could only save himself and not others.   Rabbi Levi Yitzhak states:

“There are two types of tzaddikim who serve the Creator: there is the tzaddik who serves God faithfully and believes that he has the power to direct the cosmos according to his will...There is another type of tzaddik who serves the blessed Creator but who is so very lowly in his own eyes that he thinks to himself, “Who am I that I should pray to annul the decree?,” and therefore does not pray to do so…

Now even though Noah was a great and blameless tzaddik, he was very small in his own eyes and did not have faith that he was a powerful tzaddik with the ability to annul the decree of the flood.  In fact, he thought of himself as being equal to the rest of his generation.  He said, “If I am to be saved in the ark, and I am no more righteous than the rest of this generation, they too will be saved.”   Therefore, he did not pray to save the the people of his generation…” (Kedushat Levi on Bereishit 6:9).

For the Kedushat Levi, Noah could have walked independently of God, yet Noah took at humble stance when considering his place within the world in which he lived.  Because Noah took that humble stance, he saw himself as no better than the rest of his wicked generation, stifling his willingness to put himself out on the limb and speak truth to others.    While we might criticize Noah’s silence, the commentary of the Kedushat Levi can also teach us how Noah’s silence can remind us of the tension many of us experience when choosing whether or not to take a public stance that might be controversial.  Regarding this, Rabbi Arthur Green writes:

“...there are times when we need to stand tall and take action because we have talent, power, or opportunity to make a difference.  Whether or not we frame such expectations in miraculous terms, each of us has the potential to change reality in big and small ways.   The question is whether we choose to stand up and act for the good, even while knowing that we may not succeed and that our actions will be imperfect” (Arthur Green, Ebn Leader, Ariel Evan Mayse, Or N. Rose, Speaking Torah: Spiritual Teachings from around the Maggid’s Table, Vol. 1, 90).

Criticizing Noah for not speaking up for his generation takes a far too simplistic approach to Noah’s character, for it was precisely Noah’s silence that reflected his style as a leader.   While we might argue that a more aggressive approach could have been warranted, all of us can recognize how the tension experienced by Noah is reflective of the tension any emerging leader will experience.

At Schechter, our hope is that each student will ultimately develop their own leadership style, their own approach to tackling the challenges facing the Jewish Community and the entire world.  Perhaps one child will be an Abraham, always willing to step forward and take charge, and perhaps another child will be a Noah, one whose strength lies within, but may not always know the right moment to take charge.   No matter the person, each leadership type has a moment appropriate for that approach, and our challenge is to celebrate the Abrahams, the Noahs, and every other type of emerging leader who walks through our doors.

Shabbat Shalom!