Parashat Dvarim, Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22

Today we begin the last book of the Chumash, the Five Books of Moses.  The beginning of the end, if you will.  Indeed, feeling that the end is near, Moshe starts this last book – D’varim, in Hebrew (meaning “the things,” or “the statements”), or Deuteronomy in English (“second law of the Torah, Mishne Torah) – with a summary of all that has happened in the past forty years: what have we done, where did we go, what have we achieved, what is still in need of repair.

For those who read the portions so far, therefore, this portion does not reveal much; and indeed, most commentators tend to virtually ignore it, emphasizing, instead, the fact that it is read in the Shabbat prior to Tisha’h Be’Av (the Ninth Day of the month of Av), the “saddest day in the Jewish calendar,” in which both Temples, according with the Halacha, were destroyed.  From there those commentators proceed to discuss the day and its meaning, but not to dwell much on the portion itself.

But the portion – put under a magnifying glass, admittedly – does produce some gems. I want to focus on two today – one from the portion itself, and one from the Haftara.

The Legal Systems and Rewriting History

As you may recall, back in the day (Exodus, 18:14) we read on Yitro, Moshe’s father-in-law, who came to visit him and was dumbfounded by the fact that Moshe alone deals with all legal matters, small and large.

“And Moshe’s father-in-law saw all that Moshe is doing to the people, and he said: What is that which you do to the people; why would you sit all alone and all the people stand upon you from morning to night … [And Yitro said:] Not good is that thing that you do; you shall wither away, and so would the people, as this task is too heavy for you – you may not do it on your own. Now listen to my advice – I shall advise you and God shall be with you…”

Yitro then provided his famous “advice” to Moshe – to nominate lower courts, intermediate courts, even supreme courts, and only then to bring the most serious challenges personally to him, to Moshe (see last portion and the story of Zlophchad’s daughters as an example). And Moshe complies: “And Moshe heeded his father-in-law’s advice, and Moshe has done all that [Yitro] said.” (Ex. 18:24)   

I have quoted in length from Yitro’s speech, as this story – the creation of a multi-layered, fully functioning legal system – takes center stage in Moshe’s summary in today’s portion. Yet, astonishingly, both Yitro’s name and contribution are completely missing from the story, as if he had nothing to do with the creation of this judiciary system. Instead, the summary goes something along the following lines: Moshe tells, in the first person, about his experience with the people. You, he explains, became too many, “as many as the stars in the sky.” (Deut. 1:10) I (Moshe) therefore couldn’t handle all of you anymore, and so I have asked that you nominate political leaders to each of your tribe – a move you have all agreed too; I have also (claims Moshe) devised this hierarchical systems of judges – from the smallest matters to the largest – and have asked them to resolve all cases and controversies between you.

So, copyright on this McKinsey-scale advice aside, why did Moshe completely ignore the (major) role played by his father-in-law in this story? The simple answer – this is just another example of re-writing history after the fact (a practice copied, and then perfected, by leaders of all stripes in the thousands of years since) – is especially troubling in this case. This book is called “Mishne Torah” – it should serve as the summary of everything that has happened prior. Every first-year practicing lawyer knows that if his Closing Arguments would misrepresent the facts as were revealed during trial, the judge may disqualify his argument (or even call for a mistrial, in extreme cases).  Why would Moshe want to recreate history in this way?

But something good does come out of this second version of the story. Moshe takes this opportunity not only to rewrite history (again, it’s “his-story”), but also to improve upon it (another practice emulated by many a leader since).  Here he provides a short essay on legal philosophy, which is extremely important, though not necessarily grounded in fact. Moshe claims that he has instructed the judges he nominated  (nothing like this appears in the original version) as follows:

Hear out your fellow men and brethrens, you shall judge justly between a men and his fellow Israelite, and a men and his gentile. You shall not partial in judgment, one law you shall have; you shall listen to the small people as you have to the large; you shall fear no one, because the judgment is for God. And those matters that are too hard for you, you shall bring those to me and I shall hear it. (Deut. 1:16-18)

These always-timely principles should guide us, our lawyers, and our judges, even today.

The Beauty of the Text

Today Haftora, the beginning of the Book of Isaiah, may remind many readers one of the main reasons for the Bible being the biggest best-seller of all times: It is simply written beautifully.  The text is truly sublime. 

Thus, many years after the Bible was written, we find William Shakespeare (a noted bible scholar, as you all aware) putting these iconic words in the mouth of Mark Anthony in Julius Caesar: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones. So let it be with Caesar.”

Long before that, we find a humble prophet, Isaiah, who begins the Book carrying his name with a stunningly similar tone:

Hear O heavens, and give ear O eath, For the Lord has spoken:

“Children I have raised and cherished, and they have sinned against me,”

An ox knows its owner, and an Ass his master’s crib;

[But] Israel refuses to know; my people refuses to observe.”

Though the content is almost unimaginably harsh, surely the sublime manner in which it is presented made it a great read then – and now, thousands of years later.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

  

Parashat Mattot/Masa'ei, Numbers 30:2 - End

The great heat wave we experienced in New York City this week -- including some record setting temperatures -- has  caused me to rethink my image of the Israelites walking in the desert.  This week’s portion – Mattot (literally, “canes,” but here in the meaning of “tribes”) and Masa’ei (literally, “the journeys of”) – demonstrates, among others, just how much ground they actually covered in their forty years of travels. (See Numbers 33:1-43).  Now my own main worry this past week was the broken AC in my living room (I was mostly nervous for my baby-boy Michael, who practically lives there). But the Israelites, who had to endure the desert sun for forty years, did not have air condition; they did not have running water; in fact, they did not have any real idea that they will have any water in the coming days – a truly demoralizing notion, especially if you walk all day in the desert. In fact, all they had was a true, wholehearted belief in their God.  Now that’s a true statement of faith, at least in my book. And while I am not sure they had many options to go elsewhere in the middle of the desert, the very fact that they confined their complaints to several isolated incidents – rather than, say, a long, continuous, string of grief and pain expressions, as well as escalating anger – does provide a different look, perhaps, of their true nature.

[Now bear in mind, of course, that the text is very selective, and was written by the “winner” (“his-story” – history is the story of the victor, to whom goes the spoils, including what – and what not – to report). Recall further that any and all hints of resentment or opposition were met with terrible faith. That, too, may teach us something on “the regime of fear” that may have controlled these people. Still, the people were many – more than 600,000 – and Moshe is one; at some point, had they all – or a strong majority – wanted an out, they would have gotten their way. But they didn’t and for that I give them credit this week.]

In today’s note I would like to highlight a very interesting point that may teach us something about the current Obama administration.  If you may recall (and it is perfectly understandable if you have already forgotten – it seems so long ago), Obama came to the White House on the wings of a “Yes We Can” campaign. He promised “Change,” and to do things differently in Washington DC. But then Congress happened. And when Harry (not Reid, but Obama himself) met Sally (pick your favorite conservative leader in either chamber) – all good intentions came to a screeching halt. Or, in other words, when the ideal and platonic notions of good, equality, human rights, and prosperity met with the realities politics, with cynicism, and with cold cost-benefit calculations – most initiatives were eventually left out. (Take, for example, the fantastic idea of a public option [well recognized in other  Western Democracies]  that would require all health insurance companies to reduce their rates and compete more vigorously – gone with the wind.)

How is all that even remotely related to this week’s portion? To properly understand that, we have to begin with last week’s portion (Pinchas) and the story of B’not Zlophchad (The Daughters of Zlophcahd). No doubt one of the very first feminist groups, these five brave daughters of Zlophchad – who, luckily for his daughters, never had a male son – were intelligent, well spoken, independent (and, according to Midrash, beautiful as well). In Numbers 27:1-11 we encounter their wonderful and very inspiring story. (Please go ahead and read it – it is self explanatory). In short, when their father passed, since he did not have a male son, he could not bequeath (give away after his death) his land to anyone; the five daughters, then, were left without any property. So they came before Moshe to plead their case. Now this trivial detail is not trivial as it seems: recall that Moshe had accepted, a while ago, an advice from his father in law to establish a much elaborated, multi-tiered legal system that would essentially bring before him only the hardest of cases. Here, not only that the five daughters (apparently) went through all the “lower courts,” but their case was heard – as the text emphasized – before Moshe, Elazar the Great Priest (Aharon, the first Great Priest, passed a short time prior), the Heads of the tribes, and “all of the community” -- and all that is happening in front of Ohel Mo’ed – the Tent of Meeting, where the tabernacle was housed. In short, this is the Supreme Court sitting in full session.

And their argument was unique. Like many feminists thousands of years later – Ruth Bader Ginsburg comes to mind most prominently – they presented their case more in terms of human rights than women’s rights (as, indeed, we have learned: Women’s rights ARE human rights). Their claim was that their father and his memory will be hurt by erasing his name from the list of property owners after his death; in addition, the whole tribe would be disadvantaged, as fewer families would have land within it.

The case is so complicated, it seems, even for Moshe and he can't make up his mind. Should he give these five unmarried (!) women their own land (for the first time ever), as their claims are just and reasonable, or should he continue with the “men-only” policy, which worked so well over the years (for men, at least). So Moshe “brought their case before the Lord” as some translations tell us, or, in the more beautiful Hebrew original suggests, he “brought the case closer to God.” And God did not hesitate: Not only did He give the Daughters of Zlophchad their land (in this specific case), but He also took the opportunity to announce a general law regarding all women – who may, from now on, receive land from their deceased father (only if, unfortunately, that father bore no sons).

So that’s the ideal, “Yes We Can,” part of the story. In today’s portion, we meet “the heads of Congress” – the elderly members of the Tribe of Menashe, where it all happened. They, too, come to plead their case before “Moshe and the Heads of the Tribes” (though neither in front of the chief religious authority nor in front of the people). They, too, framed their arguments in terms of general public interest – nothing to do with women’s rights in particular. And here is what they had to say, in essence: (See Numbers 36:1-12): "You have provided the daughters of Zlophchad with real property. Now these women would eventually marry; and most likely, to people outside their Tribe. Once that happens, all five parcels would be reduced from our Tribe, and added to the land of the other tribe (As land parcels – how else – follow the husband). What should we do?"

Notice that this is somewhat of an appeal on a final Supreme Court decision (authored by God Himself, no less).  But Moshe is not too impressed; he doesn’t even need to summon God to solve this hard, after-the-fact appeal. Rather, he merely orders a simple solution – the women should marry inside the Tribe; thus, he argues, the lands would always remain within the Tribe. [The much simpler solution, that the land would actually follow its real owner, man or woman, apparently never occurred to him at this stage in history.] This is the law of Zlophchad daughters, and this is the law in general. And yes, the text adds, the daughters indeed married "inside their tribe" - they married their cousins, and everyone was happy, or so it seems. The interesting thing to me, at least, was the way Moshe chose to phrase his decree (of marrying inside the Tribe): “They may marry anyone they wish, provided they marry in to a clan of their father’s tribe.” (Numbers 36:7).

This reminded me of an answer that my father, an extremely sharp lawyer, gave me when I asked him what does the dress-code requiring lawyers (in Israel) to wear “dark suits” to court mean; he said, and I quote: “You may choose any color you like, provided it is black.”

Shabbat Shalom. 

Parashat Pinchas, Numbers 25:10-30.1

This week’s portion, Pinchas – named after the grandson of Aharon the Priest, Moshe’s brother – is, in a way, a mirror image to the portion of Korah that we have read several weeks ago. There, if you recall, Korah dared to challenged Moshe’s leadership in quite sophisticated a manner; no good, said the Lord, and the earth “open its mouth” and swallowed” both Korah and his followers. (Interestingly, but not coincidently, a reminder of that story appears in this week’s potion as well – see Numbers 26:9-11).

The “mirror image” of this week’s portion is also a bit nuanced.  Here, we first learn – still in the previous Portion – that the Children of Israel no longer wonder in the desert, but rather “sit” or park at a place called Shittim (perhaps a play on words on “shotim,” fools). Next thing we learn is that they begin to “go out with” – or, in the biblical language, to “whore with” – the daughters of Moab, a local people from the other side of the Jordan. And soon thereafter, the Israelites begin worship these women’s Gods. That, of course, makes God extremely angry (and not for the first time).  Rather than instructing Moshe, as he done in the past, to kill the entire people, God instruct him to take only the “ringleaders” and kill them. Moshe instruct the Judges to do so (I am emphasizing this seemingly trivial fact to demonstrate the notion of separation of powers was not quite developed yet: the judges were also executioners, or at leas so it seems.).

But the Israelites – who had “chutzpa” long before Alan Dershowitz were born – refuse to take the hint: A man – later known as Zimri, a president of some family of the Tribe of Shimon – goes out in public, and in front of Moshe himself and the entire people he “brought the Midianite woman closer to him”; the people of Israel, in response, began weeping.  (Num. 25:6)

And here comes the act that defines this week’s portion:

And Pinchas – the son of Elazar, the [grand]son of Aharon, the [Chief] Priest – saw this and he stood out of the community and he took a spear in his hand. … And he came after that man [Zimri]and he stabbed both of them: The man from Israel and the woman to her stomach, and the plague ceased to attack the Children of Israel.    (Num. 25:7-8)

Thus, at first glance, in Pinchas we have the exact mirror-image of Korah: Not only that he does what God ordered Moshe to do, he even “jumped ahead” of Moshe and killed the sinners before Moshe – through his “judges” was able to lift his hand.

A more careful examination, however, may demonstrate that the picture – as indicated earlier – is a bit more nuanced.  Recall the story of the (other) sons of Aharon, Nadav and Avihu, who were put to death for (what I referred to) as “Rosh Gadol” – too much of a good thing, if you will. They sacrificed, without a specific permission, another fire – a “foreign fire” – to God, and so their punished was harsh and swift. (See Leviticus 10:1-3).   Just like Pinchas, they wanted to show that they are “holier than thou” in the sense that they practiced a tradition – the providing of sacrifice – that demonstrates a great devotion to God, above and beyond what God ordered them.  For that they were punished (by death). Pinchas, in essence, did the same: He jumped, ahead of Moshe and his men (judges), and pro-actively approached the sinner and the woman with him and killed them both. The response by God this time, however, was the complete opposite of punishment:

And God spoke to Moshe and Said: … I would provide him [Pinchas] with my covenant in peach; and he would have it for him and his posterity after him – a covenant of eternal priesthood for he was jealous to his own God and repent the sins of the Children of Israel. (Num. 10-13)

What is the cause to this stark difference? How come the first generation of Aharon’s sons, after trying their best to show their devotion to God were punished by death, while the grandson was blessed with eternal covenant with God for doing quite the same thing?

Obviously, one answer is that the two deeds are not the same. Sacrificing a “foreign fire” without permission is nothing like killing a sinner after God specifically instructed Moses to do so. But this is not a satisfactory answer. Recall the largest point made by both stories of Korah (“opposition equals death”) and the Sons of Aharon (“too much of a good thing” also equals death”). Brought together, these two stories should suggest that Pinchas’ act – as noble and pro-God as it may have been – was still in direct violation of Moshe’s authority and of God’s instructions (who told the Judges to kill the sinners). How come his life was not only spared, but blessed – and by God himself, for good measure?

To be honest, I don’t have a good answer to that.  (I’d be delighted to hear one from you, the readers.)  But I may surmise that these two former stories – Korah (who is, again, mentioned in this portion as well), and Aharon’s sons’ death – created a sense of awkwardness, not to say a sense of injustice by some readers. The overall impression was that it’s “Moshe’s word or death,” a tough pill to swallow, even for the most ardent of believers. Hence, we needed a story where Moshe was instructed to do X, but someone “jumped ahead” of him, executed God’s wish, and won an eternal award. Now go out and do the same.

Shabbat Shalom.

    

   

Parashat Balak, Numbers 22:2 - 25:9

This week’s portion – Balak, named after the Moabi king – is, in my mind, the most interesting, intriguing, and fascinating of all portions of the week. It is interesting, because it contains prophecy prose that Yehoshua Leibovitz himself described as “the most exquisite of the entire bible.” For example, it includes the famous “Mah Tovu O’halei’cha Ya’akov” (“oh, how fair are your tents, O Jacob”), the first verse read by every believing Jew in the morning from his Siddur.  It is intriguing, because of its protagonist – a non-Jew named Bil’am, who is such an amazing and perplexing figure that many a commentator could not quite figure out who he really was. For example, Leibovitz is of the opinion that he might be Jessus Christ himself; Avrum Burg, in contrast, thinks he’s Moshe’s alter ego. That alone – and the fact that there is absolutely no consensus around his figure -- is quite unique in the entire cannon, and therefore intriguing.

And it is fascinating, especially to me, as it presents a wonderful question – a question so bizarre, so perplexing, so frightening, that its mere recitation alone may be considered serious blaspheme: Was the greatest believers of all time a non-Jew?

Today I would not be able to explain the many facets of this amazing story. I would ask you to read every word, and every line of it, of course. Instead, I would go over the story’s main themes, and try to explain them in an introductory manner for trying to understand the greatest, and deepest, of all portions.

The Story of Billam

Our story begins this week with a routine tool of international non-warfare at the time of the bible: A curse by a reputable “magician.” (We will not go into the deep meaning of the description of Billam as a magician, but those of you who are interested are welcome to ask me about it.) Thus, the King of the "cursing" nation – here, Balak, King of Moab – asks the magician, Billam (whose name alone reads like the Da Vinci code) to go and curse the Israelites. The actual invitation to curse by King Balak to Billam is executed through all the rules of diplomatic protocol: The King sends a group of dignified messengers to Billam (called in the Hebrew originals “angles,” perhaps for a reason); he asks Billam to curse the Israelites; and then the King, appropriately, closes by acknowledging Billam’s greatness: “For I have known that which you would bless shall be blessed, and that you shall curse will be cursed.” This so-far typical story for its time reaches a sudden turn when Billam -- a non-Jewish sorcerer -- opens his mouth for the first time to answer the dignitaries who came on behalf of the regional King: “Stay the night here, and I shall reply to you that thing which God would speak to me.” (Numbers, 22:8). This is very surprising, as the text doesn’t leave any trace of doubt as to which God does Billam intend to consult that night: we have the actual Holly name of being coming out of Billam’s mouth, unedited. 

The next verse is nothing less than shocking: “And God came to Billam and said: who are those people with you?” The conversation between God and Billam seems almost trivial, something that happens every day. And God doesn’t “speak” to Billam like He does to Moshe (so many times); rather, God “comes to” Billam. Indeed, later on, we hear (from Billam himself) the greatest praise a human has ever received from God (including Abraham, Mosses, and all the rest): “[He who] hears the words of God, and knows the opinion of the Supreme.” (24:16). So we are dealing here with someone who is in a higher level of intimacy with God   than any person before or since.  And, he is not Jewish. This is shocking. 

Moving along in the story, God refuses to send Billam to curse Israel, and Billam not only fully accepts that -- throughout the story, Billam will never once question or argued with God (even when his life hangs in the balance due to God's word), as Moshe has done many a time – and thus he orders the King's men to leave.  The King is not persuaded, however, sending Billam even higher dignitaries who promise Billam many more gifts for his services. Billam’s answer, again, is a classic: “Even if Balak (the King) would give me his entire home full of silver and gold, I would never violate the word of the Lord my God, whether it is to do the smallest or the biggest of things.” Again God “comes to” Billam at night, but this time orders him to go with the men in the morning.

So then Billam wakes up in the morning, and he saddles his mule.  Why would the text tell us that, and where have we heard that before? Well – and this answer may send chills down your spine – we heard that before in the story of the Akeda, when Abraham wakes up in the morning and saddles his donkey (Genesis 22:3). Yes, the preparation of the first “Slave of God,” the Father of our nation, to his greatest – and fiercest – test of belief, is now likened to that of this strange “magician” who came out of nowhere.  To eliminate any doubt of coincidence, comes the next verse – “and he is riding his mule and the two young servants with him,” exactly like Abraham, who was accompanied – other than by his son – by two young servants. (Finally, Balak also prepares “a ram on the altar” – just like Abraham’s.)  

The next part of the story is the most famous, when “an angel of God” stands in front of the said mule, with sword at hand. Initially Billam cannot see him, and therefore he gets angry with the poor mule. The mule, on its part, opens its mouth and begins talking. Only then, does God “opens his eyes” so Billam could see the angel. The symbolism, depth, and originality of this segment are so profound that I cannot begin to comment on them in this short space. But please, do read.

Importantly, Billam continues to produce pearls that only a true believer would: Thus, when he sees the angel for the first time, he immediately suggests to return home despite the fact that God himself ordered him to go. Like Job, Billam, too, accept God as is – without rhyme or reason.  

In the next parts of the story – which I cannot go over here, for lack of space – Billam repeats, time and again, that he would neither course nor bless Israel but rather do as God would tell him to. This is, again, nothing less than shocking, considering the fact that his professional reputation is riding on his performance; moreover, since the King and all his leadership team are present during those elaborate ceremonies, it very well might be that Billam’s life, too, were in danger (public disobedience of Kings' orders at the time was not often met with favor).  But instead, Billam time and again repeats: “whatever God would tell me to say, that I will keep to say.” (e.g., 23:12). And then, to top all that, Billam produces the most beautiful of prophecies, the most divine, ever-lasting collection of truly uplifting descriptions of the ideal nation of Israel.  And all that, we should recall, from a non-Jew.

The Lesson of Billam’s Story

Expectedly, the story of Billam presents huge difficulties to orthodox Judaism. Something is simply wrong here. It cannot be – cannot be – that a “goy” (non-Jew) would be so intimate with God; would be so courageous – in public – in front of Kings and leaders, citing as his only source of belief God himself (recall that Abraham, for example, was not that courageous when it came to his wife with the regional Kings); and, perhaps worst of all, that this man produced the most exquisite, the most often-cited, prophecies about Israel.

Far it is from me to solve this conundrum, which interpreters have been quarreling over for thousands of years. But allow me to offer my two cents here.  To me, this story is a cautionary tale – a precursor, if you will, to what is happening in these very days in Israel (when religious people prefer to go to jail and violate court orders, rather than not discriminating against poor Mizrahi girls in their school, citing as their only reference God himself).  And the message is this: We are the chosen people only to the extent that we act as one – vis-à-vis each other, and vis-à-vis God. "Chosen" is a burden, a liability, not a God-given right (pardon the pun). God is too great, and too powerful, to leave us with the monopoly over His representation on earth. He may choose His messengers – prophets, magicians (and that has another precedent, too, when God brings Shmuel to Saul, the King, through a woman-magician in Ein Dor who is not Jewish) , and others – and those messengers do not have to be Jewish. Just like not every Jewish person believes in God, similarly God does not have to believe only in Jewish persons. And to the extent that we think that only “we” produced the “slaves of God” (Abraham), or people who knew him “face to face” (Moshe), comes the great story of Billam and teaches us that it is among the non-Jews a person may emerge who would carry God’s message better than us, especially if we fail to behave as God expects us to. 

Thus, the G’mara said: “From Moshe to Moshe there has never been as Moshe” – In Israel, there has never been as Moshe; but in other nations, there has been; and who is he? Billam ben Be’or.”

Enough said. Shabbat Shalom.  

Parashat Chukat, Numbers 19:1 - 22:1

The portion of Chukat (literally, “the constitution of”[1]) is one of the most baffling of all Torah portions. At its center – like many a portion before and after – stands Moshe. The same Moshe who was aptly named “the slave of God.”[2]  The same Moshe on which the Torah bestowed the greatest of honors: “And never again has a prophet risen in Israel as Moshe, which God Himself knew face to face.”[3]  And yet, in this week’s portion, Moshe is not being praised. He is not being hailed as a great leader. Instead, Moshe is being punished.

This, of course, is the story of “Mei Ha’meriva”—the water of dispute.  According to the story, the People of Israel were complaining, not for the first time, about the harsh conditions in the desert. This time they demanded water. Moshe, as usual, turns to God. And God, as usual, does not let His slave down: “Take this cane and assemble the community . . . and you shall speak to the rock in front of their eyes, and it shall provide water.”[4]   Moshe, as always, complies: he takes his cane; he assembles the community; he tells them that from this very rock he would produce water.  But then something else happens: “And Moshe raised his arm, and hit the rock with his cane twice. And many waters came out [of the rock] and the community drank.”[5]

For this act – apparently[6] – Moshe was punished.

And the punishment was severe. God famously prevents Moshe from entering the Promised Land, the same land towards which Moshe has led the People for over 40 years.

Other than the reasons for this punishment, many of the commentators dealt extensively with its proportionality, or the relation between Moshe’s “crime” and the severity of the “punishment.”  Today, however, I would like to comment on another aspect of the punishment: its content. As far as we know, this was the first immigration restriction.  God, “Adon Kol Ha’Aretz” – the Lord of all the Universe – prevents Moshe from entering into a country he very much like to enter. Today, this “punishment” is extremely prevalent – indeed, the immigration policy of many countries is specifically designed to prevent people who want to enter from doing just that. Technically speaking, however, such a restriction is no longer considered a “punishment” at all (therefore, for example, the constitutional prohibition on “cruel and unusual punishment” does not apply to refusals of entry into the United States). 

But it is. For anyone who ever attempted to flee one country – either due to slavery, personal attacks, or persecution of any kind – and enter another, the inability to set foot in the new country is one of the harshest punishments imaginable. That is how many Jews felt as they were trying to flee Nazi Germany in the late 1930’s and early 1940’s, only to receive a cold shoulder from many nations in the West, including, unfortunately, this great country.

Today, too, the sign of “no entry” is shown too often to people the world over who attempt to find a new, safer home for themselves and their families.  But not only people who move across countries are subject of harsh immigration restrictions; in some cases, people become refugees in their own countries. These “Internally Displaced Persons” (IDPs) are growing in an alarming rate, and their current number eclipses 27 million.[7] 

Social-justice organizations, such as the AJWS, are stepping in to help. In the last year alone, the organization raised substantial funds and mobilized volunteers and resources to provided humanitarian aid to the millions – millions! – of refugees and Internally Displaced Persons who are the victims of the Darfur genocide.[8]  Other organizations lend their hand to refugees and IDPs world over – from Azerbaijan to Zimbabwe – in order prevent them from “dying on the mountain,” overlooking their own Promised Land – as happened to Moshe.

All this brings me to my final point:  Moshe may have been punished because he disobeyed the word of God.[9]  But this was not the underlying reason here. The real reason was the “meri’va” – the dispute over water in the community.  In other words, whenever a community is torn – over water, over land, over whatever resource – refugees and IDPs are the inevitable outcome.  That was the case at the time of the Torah; that is the case today.  Our first step in helping those victims, therefore, should be in trying to avoid disputes within our communities in the first place.  Only when peace – Shalom – would finally arrive, the problem of refugees and IDPs would also come to an end.   

Shabbat Shalom.

    

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[1]  Numbers 19:2; see also Numbers 20:21 (“And [the Torah] shall be for them an eternal constitution.”).  

[2] Deuteronomy 34:5

[3] Deuteronomy 34:10.

[4] Numbers 20:8.

[5] Numbers 20:11.

[6]  There are a myriad of views among the sages relating to the precise reasons for which Moshe was punished.  Suffice it to say that Eben-Ezra, the famous middle-ages scholar, noted that there “too many” views, which is a good enough reason to assume that none is particularly persuasive. 

[7] http://www.internal-displacement.org/

[8] http://ajws.org/emergencies/darfur/sudan_relief_and_advocacy_fund.html

[9] Numbers 20:24; see also Numbers 27:14.

Parashat Korah, Numbers 16:1-18:32

This week’s portion, Korah – named after its protagonist – brings home an important point about opposition and factions in Judaism: Both are not welcome.  The story is well known: Moshe encounters an opposition in the desert; he calls God for help; God kills them all. End of story. No other reported accounts of opposition appear throughout the forty years of wondering the desert. A very effective lesson.

I would like today to dedicate my limited space to a closer look at that story, and see whether the point about controversy – which, of course, failed as a matter of principle in Judaism ever since, as Halacha is the place for finding a plurality of opinions – was justified in the first place.   

Korah and His Followers – The Text

The story of Korah and his band of supporters (or, as they may be called today, his “posse”), is much more interesting and nuanced than appears at first site – the way it is abbreviated above, for example, which is the common (abbreviated) form of telling that story. 

Our first encounter with the figure of Korah is as a Levite – a servant of God, a person who has a special status among the many former servants who by now are walking for a little over a year in the desert. Recall also that only recently those people have accepted – in essence – their divine death sentence, as they all – as a generation – were judged to not enter the Promised Land by virtue of their collective adoption of the libelous report issued by the Spies.  So the People are angry; they are frustrated; they are tired; and they just learned that there’s no end in sight. With such leadership, it should not come as a great surprise that opposition emerges.

What is interesting about Korah’s actions is how calculated they are. Again, Korah himself is no shrinking violet – he’s a member of (in today’s terms) the North-Eastern Elite. But he doesn’t stand alone; along for the ride he brings an all-star team of 250 “chieftain of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute.” (Numbers 16:2) (Etz Hayim trans.).  Then these 250 “men of repute” gather, publicly, against Moshe. But in a very clever political maneuver, they do not argue that he never fulfilled his campaign promises, or that the water is no longer tasty.  They do not argue that they should arrive in Israel way prior to the forty-year mark, or that Moshe is no longer fit to lead.. Instead, Korah raises a philosophical-religious point, which is not only more sophisticated than the ones you even hear today in political rallies across the world; rather, it is a point which remains without a good retort until today. And here is Korah’s crystallized, short-but-crisp argument:

The entire People – everyone – is holly, and God is within them; Why would you [Moshe and Aharon] raise yourselves above the God’s congregation? [Num. 16:3]

 

Note that the argument, which is multifaceted, contains two political-science concepts: First, equality. Everyone is equally holly; God resides within all of us equally. Why would you stand above us? [The notion of equality, as it conflicts with the idea of human leadership (as opposed to divine leadership by God), was a source of great contention among Halachic scholarship. Our sages, who were experts on providing catchy phrases as answers to incredibly complex issues, tried to solve this dilemma with the famous (paradoxical) statement that the human leader is “a first among equals.”] Second, and very close to equality, is the populist notion of the sovereignty of the people (a variation on the theme of the notion of direct democracy as introduced by the ancient Greeks): We, the people, are all capable of leading ourselves; why should you select yourselves to do the job for us?

Note that though the argument is a direct attack on Moshe, it is not, at least on its face, either a direct attack on God (which is represented, according to the story, by Moshe) or a direct endorsement of Korah (or any of his people) as alternative leaders.  All it says is that since we are all equal no one human should feel – and act as if they are – superior.

Clearly, however, Moshe understands the challenge well. In a series of elaborate maneuvers – which involve fire, sacrifice, dramatic showing, and, of course, the by-now-unavoidable plea by Moshe to an angry God not to kill all of them (“would one person sin and You shall be wrathful on his entire community? – Moshe “kills the opposition” by creating a miracle, whereas “and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them whole with their households, all Korah’s people and all their possessions, they went down alive into hell, and the earth closed over them and they vanished from the congregation.” (Num. 16:32-33).

Lessons from the Korah Story

What are the lessons of this story? Clearly, first and foremost – just as we learned in the story of the sons of the High Priest who dared suggest additional (“foreign”) fire and were killed for that – opposition to God, and in particular to his only true messenger, Moshe, is forbidden, and punishable by death.

Second, we learn that ever since early history, every society – even one governed by a true slave of God, a person who is extremely humble and always thinks about the good of the community – would, at some point, yield a band of strong opposition. The Founding Fathers have hoped that this would not happen here in America (see Federallist No. 10 on “factions”).  Others may have hoped that it would not happen in the Promised Land itself (indeed, throughout the first 29 years of its existence, between 1948-1977, Israeli was ruled by one party only (not to mention one person, who, eventually, was voted out by his own ruling party). But it happened both in Israel and the U.S., as it happened in every democracy before or since. The question of whether democracy is the best form of government has also been resolved, or so it seems, following a horrible world war. Still, it is useful to compare those models to the God-centered, one-man model that rejected the notion of opposition with all its might.

            Finally, it is worth mentioning that even within Judaism, the idea of one-view-trumps-all was rejected eventually, and rejected entirely. The entire Halachic canon – the Mishna, the Talmud, the Tosfot, the Q&A, and many, many other documents – are rife with opinion pluralism. Even this humble blog represent yet another drop in the ocean of Jewish pluralism. And that’s the model which, eventually, won. So thank you Korah for your important lesson, and our sincere regrets for your bad timing.

Shabbat Shalom.                                                                                                                            

Parashat Shlach Lecha, Numbers 13:1-15:41

This week’s portion, Shlach-Lecha (literally, “send over,” as in “send over people to Israel”) tells one of the most famous stories of the Desert Generation – indeed, a story that defines that generation – that of the Twelve Spies.

The Story of the Spies

The story, in essence, is that:  God instructs Moshe to send people to scope the Land of Canaan.  (This seemingly minor point – that God instructs Moshe to do so rather than that it was Moshe’s idea – is quite important. More on that later.)  Moshe, in essence, sends an “all-star team” consisting of all twelve leaders their tribes. Among them are two that would become very famous later – Ye’ho’shu’a Ben Nun (also known as Joshua here), and Calev Ben Yefoo’nai (aka Caleb). Moshe does not satisfy himself with mere forming of the committee; he also provides them with a detailed framework of their report: where to go, what to look for (“Is the people sitting there strong or weak? Consisting of many or the few? And what is the nature of the country? Is it good or is it bad? Etc., etc., - Numbers 13:17-20).  He also instructs them to bring “from its fruit.” The narrator is kind enough to tell us that that was the season for grapes (Num. 13:20).

The twelve spies are on sent their way, and they return after 40 days. They do bring grapes – hence the famous picture of two men carrying a huge cluster of grapes on a pole – as well as some other fruits. They also praise the Land as “flowing with milk and honey.” But then they come to the thrust of their report (and, interestingly, unlike most “spies-report” before and since, this one is done in public, when the entire people can listen and opine):  “Alas, the people occupying in the Land is fierce, and the cities are as fortresses and very big, and we have also seen the offspring of the Giant.” (Num. 13:28).  This, understandably, upset the listening people to no end; Calev, in response, is required to “hush all the people,” and tell Moshe that “[despite all that] we could still do it”; or, in more modern parlance, “Yes we can.”  The rest of the spies, however, concluded differently: “No, we would not be able to come to this country, as the people there are stronger than us.” (Num. 13:31)

The rest of the story is well known: The people of Israel become incredibly upset – they weep the whole night and complain to Moshe and Aharon, demanding that they would return to Egypt; Calev and Jushua try to save the day, claiming this Land is “very, very good” (twice the text reads “very”) and begging the people to trust God. The people, in return, decide to stone them (nothing new here – just read some of the responses (called in Israel “talk-back”) to the pieces published in the Israeli e-newspapers on the same Land today). God – not for the first time – has had enough; just like after the Golden Calf story, he confesses to Moshe on His wishes to destroy the people. Moshe pleads back – in one of the most moving and inspiring defense “closing arguments” ever heard (do read: Num. 14:13-19). God, in response (like any great Judge), decides to split the offer: While not killing all the people, He would “only” condemns them to wonder in the desert for 40 years – “as the number of days that you have wondered the Land; forty days – one day for each year” (Num. 14:34). In addition, God kills all of the spies – other than Calev and Joshua, of course – and then, to complete, kills (through the Amalekies, the eternal enemy of the Israelites) many other Israelis who dared challenge Him and climb to top of the local hill. End of story.

Lessons of the Story

The most obvious lesson of the story – as it is taught for years in Israeli schools, Sunday Schools, and otherwise – is that those who trust God are rewarded accordingly, and those who do not are punished accordingly.

Moreover, those who dare “libel” the Land of Canaan should be severely punished – by death, no less; while those who only sang its praises and described its beauty and fertility will become the future leaders of the People of Israel.

So far, so good. Or is it?

As loyal readers of this blog may come to expect, some serious doubts may be casted on this narrative upon closer reading. First, it was neither Moshe’s nor the people’s idea to be sent as spies to Israel – God Himself gave the order. That, of course, leaves us scratching our heads – why would God need to gather intelligence about the Promised Land? Is there anything He doesn’t know about it? “Of course not,” our religious friends would smile to us, knowingly, “He did not do that for Himself, He did it for the People – so they would know.” [Another option, according to which it was Moshe’s idea, but that he only invoked the highest authority possible to persuade the best-of-the-best to go is not “religious enough,” so we can put it aside for the moment.] Let us assume, then, that this task was, in Lincoln’s famous words, “of the people, by the people, and for the people.” So what went wrong?

The people who were sent – not shrinking violets are they – felt a duty to report things “as they saw it.” This is the most sacred duty of every spy and reconnaissance unit person ever since: as someone who was trained to perform this very same task more than 3,000 years later, I can personally testify that the value of “truth in reporting” is the most basic – and sacred – value we were taught to keep from day one; even – and in particular – if the news we had were not good news. Indeed, in military news, “good news” are often very suspicious; the spies – or the reconnaissance people – are expected to bring bad news, so the generals in the back can properly prepare for the worst.

The ten spies, therefore, didn’t “libel” the Promised Land at all. They told the story as they saw it (which, to be sure, is also extremely logical): There is a Land, at the heart of the Middle East, surrounded by deserts, hostile nations, and rough weather. Yet the Land is awesome – it is fertile, it is lush with milk and honey, and it is beautiful. Not surprisingly, this piece of land is dutifully guarded – the cities are fortified, and the people are fierce. It would not be easy – if at all possible – to concur it from them.

Any of that sounds not familiar today, 3,000 years later? Maybe they were not so wrong after all…

Shabbat Shalom.