Parashat Noah

The second Portion of the Week, entitled simply “Noah” after its protagonist, is no doubt one of the major portions of the entire cycle. 

The awesomeness of last week’s portion’s notwithstanding – indeed, what could possibly rival the creation of the entire universe, human kind, the Adam & Eve and Cain & Able stories, all wrapped up in a single portion – this week’s portion may also be considered a “universe” of its own, offering potent insights and lessons that may well apply to us today. Among the issues discussed are the first righteous person, architecture and design of the first water-proof vessel, global warming, biology and evolution, urban planning, linguistics, the eternal covenant between God and men – but also drunkenness, nakedness, collective punishment – in short, the best and worst of mankind.

Thus, it would be justified to conclude that the second Portion of the Week has justly earned its coveted “location”—right after Genesis. I would like to say a few words about the nature of human beings as it reveals itself through the lens of this week’s two leading stories – The Flood, and the Tower of Babylon. In addition, and perhaps even more importantly, I would like to explore the text depiction of God Himself as “human,” at least in some ways. As always, I’d be happy to hear your comments.

I. The Flood and God’s "Heart"

Whenever I think about The Flood, I can’t escape thinking about the miraculous survival story of the first mariner, the first biologist, the first weatherman – a man truly above and beyond not only his own generation but all the generations of his time (as the text clearly informs us in the opening verse of our portion, Gen. 6:9: “Noah [was] a complete [and] righteous person in his generations” (but see Gen. 7:1, where God informs No’ah that he is righteous merely in this generation). Indeed, Noah has well earned the honor of being the first person to ever “walk with God.” (Gen. 6:9) But is the flood story really about Noah?

Let us turn for a moment to the few verses preceding this week’s portion, where the story actually begins (this, as we shall see, is a recurring theme with the portions of the week, as their allocation is a relatively new phenomena, and quite arbitrary). In those last verses of the first portion, God is said to realize – somewhat to His surprise – “that the man’s evil is aplenty, and that all man’s desires and thoughts of his heart are evil all day long.” (Gen. 6:5). Then the text goes on to describe – not for the first time – God’s internal thought-process while He ponders His next steps:

And the Lord regretted that He had made man on earth, and His heart was saddened. The Lord said, “I will eliminate from the earth the man whom I created – from man to beasts to creeping things, and birds of the sky; for I regret I made them. And the Lord was pleased with Noah.”

(Translation Note: the GWT translation receives high marks here for daring to reverse the linguistic order of the last verse, which begins in Hebrew with the words “And Noah…”; that opening seems to skew the other nine translations I reviewed; see http://bible.cc/genesis/6-8.htm.)

Before I get to God’s “heart,” which is mentioned in the passage, I want to present two questions about this very interesting – but often neglected – passage, which comes at the tail-end the greatest portion of all. First, while God only regrets the creation of mankind, He decides to eliminate all living things, not only humans. What is the reason for that? Were the animals, too, devising “bad” all day long? Second, what does Noah have to do with all that? Recall that God just decided, without too much (reported) hesitation, to wipe out the better part of His entire creation in six days, including the “crown jewel of the creation edifice,” mankind itself.  Why is it important, then, to mention that God was really “pleased” with one person, of which we know nothing at this point?

Let us turn back now to God’s “heart,” which is mentioned here for the first time. Once His “heart” is saddened, God decides to bring an end to mankind, a plan he executes with meticulous detail in next chapter – the story of the Flood. (Recall, however, that the story does have a relatively happy ending: Noah and his family are saved, and so are most of the living species.)

So does God really have a “heart”? Can He (or His heart) really be saddened? We’ll come back to that in a minute.

II. The Tower of Babel and God’s "Eyesight"

The second, but not less interesting, story of this week’s potion begins with the dramatic statement that “And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech.” (Gen. 11:1). According to most famous version of the story, with which you are quite familiar, the people then conspired to build such a high tower that it would reach the heavens (where God presumably dwells), and God then frustrate their plan by creating many languages – confusing the people and ultimately dispersing them among all four corners of the earth.

But Prof. Yeshayahu Leibowitz, argues for the opposite view. In his mind, that original state of a single language for everyone was far from being an “ideal state.”  Rather, it actually depicts mental tyranny and uniformity of thought. Accordingly, he is of the opinion that the so-called “punishment” of creating many languages and dispersing mankind to all four corners of the earth was not a punishment at all; rather, it was a blessing that has brought us the plurality of languages, opinions (including dissenting opinions), and viewpoints – in short, it brought us the famous “marketplace of ideas” (Y. Leibowitz, Notes on the Weekly Torah Reading, 14-15 (1988) (Hebrew)).

What is worth noting, again, is the “humanization” of God in the story.

Gen. 11:5: And the Lord has descended to see the city and the tower that the sons of man have built. 

Why would God be required to “descend” in order to “see” the city? Can’t He simply see it from the heavens (or, assuming He is everywhere, from any point He chooses)? Does the text suggest that God is near-sighted, and needs to come closer to actually see? More broadly, how does God’s “vision” work at all?

III. Single Answer: Maimonides’  “Negative Theology”

Throughout the years, many a commentator tried to explain this “human” treatment of God by the biblical text. Does God really have eyes? Heart? Other organs? Does He “descend” in order to “see” things? Does He “feel sorry” for mankind?

The most comprehensive treatment of the subject was presented by the single most important Jewish thinker of all time, the Rambam (acronym for Rabi Moshe Ben Mimon; also known here as Maimonides). The Rambam, who was an Aristotelian philosopher in addition to being an accomplished physician, begins his analysis from the premise that we can only express and comprehend content through the limited medium of language. Even God’s act of creation ex-nihilo, with all its heavenly glory, can only be related to us through words – and nothing more. Thus, while it is clear that we cannot really understand or comprehend everything God does, the text has to relay to us, in one way or another, that God in fact operates in some way in a manner that we can comprehend. 

Accordingly, the text may only provide us with no more than a glimpse unto God’s glory and actions through the extremely limited medium of words. [The Rambam then went on to develop his theory Negative Theology, but I’ll stop here.]

In short, the Rambam explaines that God doesn’t really have a “heart” that is “saddened,” nor was He required to “descend” in order to “see” what was happening in Babel. Rather, these are linguistic tools, used by the text to try and convey to us, in very human terms, what God was about to do.

Still, despite the Rambam’s very elaborate theory, many today – and not only in Judaism – depict God as a peaceful-looking “grandpa,” with a white bird, who has a heart (which is sadden sometimes by the acts of men), and is required to “descend” in order to see things up close. Would you prefer such a God?

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Ve'Zot Ha'Bracha, Simchat Torah

As I prepare to write this blog post about Simchat Torah and the last Portion of the Week, in the wee morning hours of October 18, 2011, the first images of Gilad Shalit returning to his home in Israel, after more than five years and three months in Hammas captivity, begin to trickle across the wires. How truly wonderful. One may be hard pressed to find a more fitting image – both for the “joy” portion of Simchat Torah (“simcha” means joy, or happiness in Hebrew), or the notion of “closing a circle” that accompanies us each time we finish the reading of the entire cycle of the portion of the week – than that of the return of the lost son, finally, back to his parents, his home, and his country. No other nation in the world would have gone that far to release one soldier; no other nation could experience the same kind of ultimate, unifying wave of joy that has swept Israel ever since the deal was announced and reached its peak this morning with the actual release of a single member of its army in return for more than 1,000 enemy combatants. A truly remarkable moment.    

The last Portion of the Week – Ve’Zo t Ha’Bracha (literally, “And this is the Blessing”) – is one of the most interesting of them all, despite its somewhat cryptic nature. In a nutshell, it tells the story of the last moments in the life of Moshe, the great prophet. Unlike the rest of us, however, this prophet knows full well he is about to die. He heard it directly from God. How does he act in the face of such monumental piece of knowledge? I will dedicate a few words to that. Following that, I will attempt to compare Moshe to a more modern prophet, who seems to have known about his impending doom as well. That last prophet was finally immortalized this week in D.C. when his memorial was dedicated by the President of the United States. I will conclude with a word regarding Simchat Torah, the only Jewish holiday that has “joy” as part of its title.

Moshe’s Last Private Act

Most of this week’s portion – as its name suggests – is dedicated to the great, elaborate, and somewhat cryptic blessing that Moshe bestowed upon each of the twelve tribes prior to his death. This blessing, issued by “Moshe, the man of God” (Deut. 33:1), as well its exact interpretation has been the topic of many a discussion among biblical scholars, new and old. But today I do not intend to discuss this blessing, which constituted the great leader’s last public act; rather, I am much more interested in his last private act, described in great detail in the beginning of Chapter 34, the very last of the Chumash:

“And Moshe climbed up from the plains of Moab to very top of Mount Nevo, opposite Jericho, and the Lord Has shown him the entire land – from the Gilad … to the Negev.” (Deut. 34:1-3)

This was Moshe’s last act as a private person: Climbing, at the age of 120, to the top of a mountain and taking in the incredibly scenic views of the Promised Land. I find that fascinating. Most people tend to understand this final act in terms of its symbolic nature - and we’ll examine one such view in a moment. But here I would like to pause for a moment and appreciate that act precisely for what it was – a hard-earned mountain climb [the text takes pains to explain that Moshe went up all the way from the “plains” of Moab to the “very top” of the mountain – an estimated elevation gain of 2,713 ft in the Jordanian desert – hardly a walk in the park], followed by the experience of internalizing some amazing views. As many people who went through a similar experience may attest, seldom may one feel more humble in the presence of God than on a top of a mountain (after a long climb) in the face of such incredible views. Personally, I can think of very few ways to better depart this world.  

The text then continues to provide a very brief, though unforgettable, eulogy of Moshe:

“And never again has a prophet like Moshe emerged in Israel, whom God has Known face to face.” [Deut. 34:10]

Moshe’s American Incarnation  

The other thing that always fascinated me about Moshe’s final moments was the complete inner peace in which he seemed to have been throughout. Despite knowing – from God – about his impending doom, Moshe just goes on to climb, to observe the scenery – perhaps the most beautiful he has ever seen – and to die peacefully. This true “man of God,” this one-of-a-kind “slave of God” never seems to fear his coming death.  This is remarkable, very commendable, and very rare. 

And yet not long ago, historically speaking, in this very country, another prophet came about. Now recall that the text assured us that no prophet like Moshe would ever emerge in Israel; but nothing was said about other people. And indeed, this person – though non-Jewish – was so unique that Rabbi Heschel himself, the great Jewish thinker, commented that “[He] is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America. God has sent him to us.” I am talking, of course, about Dr. Martin Luther King.  Despite being an ordained reverend, Dr. King should no doubt be considered an honorary member of the Chosen People. He, too, was facing death (though for a different reason). He, too, “heard” from God that his days are numbered. He, too, faced that knowledge with incredible poise, calm, and courage. And what were this special person’s last public words? What were the last words he chose to tell his People the evening before being assassinated outside room 306 of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis? Here are his exact words:

MLK’s “Mountaintop” Speech, April 3, 1968:

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! And so I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man! My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!!

 Those who read our Portion this week will easily recognize: these are the true words of a man of God. And I could not think of a more befitting symbol for recognizing this prophet’s life than the dedication of his monument this week in Washington D.C., alongside the Founding Fathers and some of our greatest Presidents, by the current (and first black) President of the United States. 

Simchat Torah

The term Simchat Torah means, literally, the joy of Torah. It denotes the joyous occasion of ending the cycle of the Portion of the Week and starting to read them anew at the beginning of each year, starting with the incredible words “in the beginning.” I find it quite fitting that although all the holidays are collectively called in Hebrew “Smachot” – which is the plural form of “Simcha” (joy) – this is the only holiday that contains “joy” or “happiness” in its actual title. Why, you may ask, is this holiday so special that it merits such "joy"? What is so "joyous" about reading the portions of the week?  Well, to that I would not like to provide an answer today. Perhaps over time, when we read together more of those portions we may better understand the joy of ending – and restarting – to read them again. Perhaps then we would be better able to understand why this is the most "joyous" of occasions.  

And finally, a word about blogging and the Torah. At first blush, nothing seems more remote than the Torah on the one hand and computer-published notes on the other. But upon a closer look one may argue that few institutions lend themselves so fittingly to a weekly blog than the Portion of the Week. Indeed, by allocating the text to the 52 weeks of the year (more or less) our sages have understood the notion of “portion” – digesting every week but a piece of the great whole. I hope this blog may serve this purpose adequately.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

 

 

 

Yom Kippur - Day of Atonement

Today I would like to say a few words about Yom Kippur - the Day of Atonement, which is upon us. This is a fascinating and a holy day, dedicated in its entirety to reflection, regret, and repentance. It is the most important day to all religious Jewish people; it should also be the most important day of the year for any Jewish person - anyone who is willing to stop, just for a moment, and reflect about their own Jewish identity.

Growing up in Israel, Yom Kippur was always very special to me. Indeed, as a young boy Yom Kippur was, first and foremost, the annual "Kids’ Day": Since no car rode on the streets of Tel Aviv – voluntarily so, without any law or regulation to enforce it (pause to consider the implication of a voluntary norm respected by all) – all the kids took advantage of the day to claim the roads as their own. We all took our bikes, skate boards, and roller blades and went as far as we could go – even on our local highway. This trend peaked when I became a real “big boy,” maybe seven or eight, and rode my bike all the way to Herzlia from North Tel Aviv – which seemed at the time as far as driving Coast to Coast in America (to be sure, the entire distance it is less than ten miles).

But in later years I began to reflect upon the meaning of a single day, every year, which requires of us to give our bodies a full rest – no food, not even water may get in – and our minds a serious workout: All day we are ordered to reflect upon the evil things we have done, the sins, the misdeeds, the failures, the disappointments, the lies. Only then have I began to understand how wise our sages really were when they enumerated all those sins – way back when – that are included today in the Kol Nidrei prayer (please go see the text if you haven’t done so lately – it’s amazing). Indeed, for a good reason they have insisted that each of us has committed all those sins, one by one, year after year, without any improvement, without any possibility to be redeemed in the future. A Jewish person has to recite that list until the day he or she dies, without the possibility of parol. 

And lest there be any doubt – we are instructed to declare that we the Jewish people, each and every one of us, has committed them all. This contra-New Age way of thinking made me surmise that perhaps through a negative (thinking) we may sometime achieve the result of positive (doing). Indeed, knowing and understanding that we are fallible, wrong, and prone to sin may lead to the humbling realization that we are only “all too human” (in the words of a great German philosopher); that, in turn, may lead us to attempt to behave better next year.

Another aspect of Yom Kippur that always fascinated me was that Yom Kippur may – upon proper repentance – absolve all sins between a person and the Lord our God (“Bein Adam La’makom), but cannot, despite all of its might, absolve sins committed toward other people (“Bein Adam Le’Chavero). In that, just for a moment perhaps, a Jewish person’s relationships with his or her friends appear to be even more important than their relationship with God. And recall that this moment – emphasizing the importance of human connection – does not appear on any ordinary day; rather, it appears on the holiest of days, a day when every Jewish person feels closer than ever to their God. Is that a contradiction? A conundrum?  A tension to be resolved? In this short post I cannot attempt to begin discussing this wonderful issue. [For those who are interested I would highly recommend the first of Nine Talmudic Readings by Emanuel Levinas for a fantastic presentation of both the issue and the several attempts made to resolve it]. I would say, however, that I love the fact that on the day we think most about God we are also required not forget for a moment our "earthly" friends – which are, in the end, our most important connections to our spiritual selves.

 Finally, I want to make a short comment on the wonderful prayer that concludes this very special day. This special service – in Hebrew, “Tfilat Ne'eela” [literally, "the prayer of locking," which refers to the belief that the heavens are beginning to shut down (and therefore ‘block’ any more prayers) right before God makes His final choices as to who would live and who would die after the Day is over] – is one of the greatest literal achievements of the Hebrew speaking tradition. Said usually after an entire day of fast and other physical and mental anguish, the prayer reminds us of the simple truth that

"man and beast are no different, for all is vanity."

(Ecc. 3:19; my translation; unfortunately, all ten "classic" translations -- see http://bible.cc -- make the assumption that the verse suggests that man claims "no superiority" over animals; the original, however, is much more poignant.)  

This is a "tough sell" for such a holy day: Here we are, standing all day before God in the synagogue (or elsewhere), praying and pouring our hearts out, and yet we have to read -- in the holiest of prayers -- that we are no different than any of the animals. How come? Professor Leibowitz suggests that the solution to this harsh realization may be found only two lines further down in the text, which reads:

"You have recognized a man from beast, and acknowledged him to stand before You."

In other words, as long as we live our lives without "standing before God" – or, for that matter, without standing before what we perceive to be the real meaning of life – then truly our lives are not any different than those of the animals.  Indeed, if our only aim in life is for a better car, a better job, beautiful jewelry, or the (so-called) trophy wife, our aims are not much different than the ape who aims for a better tree, higher spot on the food chain, more handsome partner.  Things are different, however, if we "stand before God": There, and only there, we are recognized by Him to be different. This – the ability and the option to stand before God – is the only thing that truly separates us from the beasts around us. Not our empty and shallow needs, but our “higher faculties” and the rare option given to us to rise above life’s everyday needs.    

Shabbat Shalom, Tzom Kal, and Gmar Tov. 

Doron