Parashat Ve'Yetze: Gen. 28:10 - 32:3

Seven is a significant number – in Judaism in general and in Genesis in particular. And the seventh portion proves to be both unique and holly, as its number suggests.

Jabob’s Ladder

The portion opens with a brief, though dramatic return of God - that same figure that was at the center, or was the center, of the first several portions and then withered away – through the wonderful story of Jacob's Ladder. This magical dream, where a ladder stands on the ground "and its head reaches the heavens, and there the Angels of God climb up and down on it" (Gen. 28:12), is one of the most multi-faceted apparition in a book where dreams play major role. Indeed, generations of interpreters found hidden meanings in that story and the Kaballah adopted its text as one of its earliest tenets.

To me, however, the seventh portion is unique in that it demonstrates, in astonishing detail, the next twenty years in the life of Jacob – the Third Father of our nation who gave birth to the twelve sons (and one daughter) who later became the twelve tribes of Israel.

Jabob’s Journey

A quick reminder: After being blessed (erroneously) by his father, Jaboc hears word that his brother Esau is somewhat dissatisfied. Or, as the text puts it – and I paraphrase – “as soon as the mourning days will pass on my father, I will kill my brother.” (Gen. 27:41). This murder plan is astonishing, in particular since Isaac (the father) is not even dead yet. But Esau can’t be bothered with niceties: He is so furious about the act of stealing his Birthright that he already plans ahead, beyond his father’s death. (A brownie point here to readers who identify themes from the first murder of a younger brother by his elder, several portions back.) Hearing of his plan, Rivkah, the wise mother who always supported Jacob over his brother, comes up with an ingenious solutions: Jacob would go to her brother, Laban (whom we met earlier, in the story of Isaac’s slave who came to select her as a wife), who lives far enough to escape Esau’s ire. Yet, like every smart woman, she wants to present the plan to Isaac in a way that he, Isaac, would think that it was his idea. So we find the following amusing and over-dramatized dialogue: (Gen. 27:46-28:2)

“And Rebecca said to Isaac: I have no more use of my life, all due to the daughters of Chat – if Jacob were to take a wife from the daughters of Chat, like the other daughters of this country, what point does my life have anymore? And Isaac called Jacob and blessed him and ordered him and said: You shall not take a wife from the daughters of Knaan; get up and go …. [away] and take a wife from the daughters of Laban, your mother’s brother.”

And so we finally come to the beginning of our portion, where Jacob begins his journey in the opposite direction of his grandfather’s – who came all the way from Aram (roughly Iraq) to Israel – in order to find a wife. Recall that Abraham, said grandfather, did not send his son there to find a wife, but used a slave to “import” Rivkah. Jacob is not that lucky, however, and he’s going there by foot, all by himself, and without any property.

Think for a moment of this “tent-dweller,” an ancient-world chef who focused until now on cooking and talking with the women in the tent. Not much navigation skills. Not many hours hiking and hunting for food. Yet he’s now bound to walk all the way through the early Middle-East to find the right woman (and escape his brother revenge).

The text tells us nothing about the journey, other than the dream about the Ladder; the next time we encounter Jacob is when he meets his future wife, Rachel. And what a meeting that is. [Thanks to Meir Shalev for introducing this idea.] Imagine that: A bunch of three lazy goat-herders are awaiting in the sun by the big well in the field. They don’t water their herds – they can’t, as the stone covering the well is too large; only when all the goat herders assemble they can move away the stone together. [An economic analysis of this arrangement led to new thinking about collective bargaining and the “tragedy of the commons”; but that’s for another time.] Jacob, gathering information, finds out that Rachel, the son of Laban (his mother’s brother), is about to appear any moment – she’s also a goat herder, and she’s coming to water her sheep. Jacob is puzzled: why are all of you sitting here doing nothing? The day is far from over, and you can go and herd your sheep. [Perhaps he wants the place for himself, to be alone with Rachel.] But the lazy herders respond: No, we’re not going anywhere; we have to wait until all the herders come along before we can water the sheep. (Gen. 29: 1-8)

The Arrival of Rachel

After setting the scene, “while he’s still talking to them” [Job, anyone?] Rachel arrives. And what an entrance it that. Recall that the biblical text loves to praise the beauty of our mothers – Sarah was so beautiful that of all the women in Egypt the King wanted her to himself; Rivkah was so beautiful that Isaac, just like his father, preferred to lie about her than to be killed by another king who wanted her (Avimelech). But Rachel is in another league: She was so beautiful, that the text gushes: “And Rachel was both beautiful (Yefat Toar) and a feast to the eyes (Yefat Mareh).” (Gen. 29:17)

So Rachel, and her sheep, moves slowly into the field. Instead of introducing himself, Jacob then performs a series of four amazing deeds, each intends to impress his future wife in a different way: (1) First, on his own, this “tent-dweller” who just finished a very difficult single traverse of the ancient Middle-East, lifts the huge stone over the well – without any help from the other herders; he then (2) waters only the herd of Rachel, lest there be doubt as for whom did he perform this Herculean task; he then (3) kisses Rachel, no doubt to her great amazement – he still didn’t utter a word, while she is still shocked by the single-handed feat she just witnessed (I doubt if anyone has ever even tried that before; the stone probably looked like no one should try to lift it on his own); and then, yet another twist: (4) Jacob begins crying and sobbing (yes; he just broke the world-record of Strong-Man, and now he’s weeping like a baby). Only then, finally, Jacob tells Rachel: I’m actually your relative, your uncle – or, more accurately, your cousin, the son of Rivkah, your father’s sister. (Gen. 29: 9-13) Can she not fall in love with this man-for-all-women?

She does, and he falls in love too. He then works seven years for her, during which he is not allowed to touch her. [All you “first-date action fans” out there, think about that for a moment: Not for a month, not for a year, not even for five years – Seven whole years and they never materialized their love.] Yet Jacobs utters one of the most romantic statements of all times when he summarizes this period: And those days were “as several days passed by as he loved her so.” (Gen. 29:20)

Laban, the sneaky Uncle, does everything is his powers to deny Jacob of his prized love. Even after the seven years are up he cheats Jabob into marrying Leah, Rachel’s elder sister. (“This shall not be done in our place,” he explains to his shocked nephew, “taking the younger sister prior to her elder.” (Gen. 29:26)). And he makes Jacob work seven more years for Rachel, and six more for some sheep. But love concurs all, and Jacob leaves Laban pretty much the opposite of how he came to him: not alone – but married to two women and having many children; not penniless – but rich and famous. Not a young man – but a grown person in his full powers.

Jabob’s Monologue

Laban, who envies the man who came to him barefoot and alone twenty years earlier, can’t bear the thought he’s leaving him with both his daughters and so much property (despite the fact he worked for them for twenty years). He chases Jaboc and accuses him of stealing his medicines (an interesting story that would repeat itself later with Tamar; but we can’t discuss it here). Then, in an astonishing turn, Jabob – who was silent all these years, never complained, never argued with his deceitful uncle – finally relents and delivers one of the most moving monologues in all of Genesis. Opening a narrow window into what he went through all those years, he says: (Gen. 31:38-42)

“For twenty years I have been servant to you . . . not once have I eaten from your herd; not once have I violated your property; I myself made good on any loss to your herd – whether stolen by day or stolen by night [an interesting comment on the different laws, perhaps, that applied to theft in different times of the day]. Often scorching heat ravaged me by day, and icy-freezing temperatures by night bearing sleep impossible. I have spent twenty years at your home, working all the while: Fourteen years working for your two daughters, and six years for your sheep, and you have earned my salary scores time over.”

Laban tries to argue – “the daughters are mine, and the sheep are mine, and everything you see here is mine” – but quickly suggests a pact. Jacob agrees and they part ways amicably. So comes to an end one of the most fascinating chapters in our history. Loves concurs all, and Jacob’s back on his way to Israel. Now he realizes that fraudulent Laban was merely a warm-up: His vengeful brother awaits him in Israel.

To be continued. Shabat Shalom.

Parashat Toldot: Gen. 25:19 - 28:9

The sixth portion of the week introduces us to the third and most influential Father of our nation, Jacob (later to be called Israel). Unlike Abraham and Isaac before him, the biblical text tells us much about Jacob -- from the day he was born (and even before that) until the day he dies. Thus, we receive a full and very comprehensive picture of this multifaceted twin, who grew up from being a “mother’s boy” and “tent dweller” to become one of the most influential leaders of all times.

Today I would like to make two related comments about Jacob’s nature which derive from two of the portion’s most prominent stories: The selling of the Birthright, and the act of receiving the Paternal Blessings. As I have indicated, the two are related, but reading the first more accurately may shed new light on the second.

The Selling of the Birthright

Rivkah, Isaac’s wife who was brought to him by his slave in the wonderful story told in the last portion, is barren. This is a pattern among our Mothers. Isaac “petitions” God (and that exact word – va’ya’a’tor – is used until today in Hebrew to describe a request to the Israeli Supreme Court), and God provides him and Rivkah with twins: The first-ever known red-head (Esau), and his twin brother, holding his heel (A’kev in Hebrew) – Ya’akov, roughly “he who followed his brother (out of the womb).”

While the text does not write much about the Right of the First Born (Birthright), we already know plenty of it. We have enough indications to believe it was of great importance, and carried social and economic consequences. Indeed, whenever the book of Genesis stops the story to tell us about lineage (see Chapters 5-6), the text focuses only on the first-born male, while all the other offspring are simply related to as “other boys and girls who were born to X.” Thus, only the first born is mentioned by his name, and only he is mentioned as having his own wife, with whom he had another first born who is mentioned by name, and so on and so forth. That goes to show that only the first born was considered the family safe-keeper, the one who continued the legacy, the one who received all the fame, fortune, and glory.

Now we deal, for the first time, with twins. Though very different in nature – one is an outdoors person, a hunter, while his twin is a “tent-dweller” and a “mother’s boy”– they are both of the same age. Yet only one of them would enjoy the very substantial right of being the first born. Although the text does not mention it, I am sure that Jacob, while sitting for hours and hours in his tent with his beloved mom, used to dwell on the injustice that was caused to him: Why would he (Esau) receive all the glory? We’re of the exact same age!

And so Jacob begins to plot his revolutionary – no less – idea. He would buy back his Birthright. The readers must understand how subversive, original, and brilliant – all attributes we meet again later with Jacob – this idea is. Birthright is acquired through biology. Just like Royalty in England, this was the Law of the Land for years, and there was nothing that could be done to challenge it. While today we mock and reject such arrangements explicitly (see the U.S. Const. Art. I § 9: “No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States”), it is still worthy to consider the simplicity and economy of such a rule for ancient societies: “The first-born (male) gets it all. No argument.” While arbitrary in nature, this rule is fair in that it applies equally to all families; it prevents many intra-family feuds as to who deserve to receive most of the inheritance; and it simplifies the otherwise very complex laws of inheritance.

But what is the law of twins? Jacob, who lives at a time when the Supreme Court is not yet functioning (notice his complete disregard of God as a source of restoring justice in this case), decides to take matters into his own hands.

While Esau returns from one of his many days-long (and perhaps weeks) journeys, possibly without any game – as many hunters would tell you – tired, frustrated, and very hungry (recall that McDonalds and other fast-food joints were not in existence then), Jacob makes sure he would smell his delicious stew. Now note that it is Esau who asks Jacob – and not the other way – to taste from this heavenly gourmet dish: “Fill me up with this red, oh so red thing, as I am tired now.” (Gen. 26:30; note that red in Hebrew is Adom, and the text explains that the Adomites, an important people who are descendants of Esau, are called that way because of this Adom.) Jacob agrees, but not before he asks Esau for something huge in return: “Sell me today your Birthright.” Esau, exhausted, hungry, and frustrated, agrees: “Here I am, about to die – why would I need my Birthright any longer? And Esau swore to him, and he sold his Birthright to Jacob. And Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew.” (Gen. 26: 32-34)

What’s shocking to me is not the act of the sale itself, but the audacity and originality of its originator. Before that, the sale of intangible rights in not even mentioned anywhere in the text – Jacob had to come up with the idea all by himself. There were no institutions (like courts) that could enforce such a sale, and – as far as we know – the act had no witnesses. Still, Jacob decides to correct what he sees as prolonged injustice and to get his Birthright though sale. (When we look at the current crisis in the banking system, and can’t believe what these people bought and sold – fractions of insolvent mortgages – we may look back to Genesis and see where it all began. This comment is dedicated with love to the reader Lalo).

The Blessing from Father Isaac

The story of Jacob cheating his father to receive the blessing of the first born is well known in Halacha. In fact, the text itself tells us – from Isaac’s mouth – that “[Jacob] came to me with trickery and took your blessing.” (Gen. 27:35). Until today, when well-read Israelis want to say that something doesn’t feel right, they quote Father Isaac’s suspicious call: “The voice is the voice of Jacob, yet the hands are the hands of Esau.” (Gen. 27:22; I highly recommend you read the entire text, there.)

But did Jacob really trick his Father? Wasn’t there something much deeper going on? To me, all that happened here is the Jacob, many years after buying the Birthright – an declaratory gesture, without much meaning during the father’s lifetime – comes now to cash the check and receive the actual blessings (and all of its consequences). He feels he deserves that. He feels that the blessing directly derives from his purchase act of many years earlier. Therefore, the “big and loud cry, bitter and wild” that Esau made when he realized the trick, complaining that Jacob tricked him twice: “he took my Birthright and now my blessings” (it’s much better in Hebrew) – is not convincing. The two are one – you get the blessing because you have the Birthright, and vice-versa. Now that Jacob earned his birthright fair and square, in a purchase, he can enjoy all the accompanied rights.

Note that Isaac, the father, who learns about the trick, doesn’t even consider to “un-do” his blessing, to cancel it due to the fact it was made by fraud. Today this is probably what a court of law would do. But back then, what’s done is done, and there’s no turning back. That was the case with the sale of the Birthright, and that was the case with the blessing – both belong now to Jacob.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Chayey Sarah Gen.: 23:1 - 25:18

The fifth portion of the week – Chay’ey Sarah (The Life of Sarah) – is almost a comic relief in comparison to the first four. “Comic?” you may ask, “how could you say that? Both Sarah and Abraham die in the portion. What is so comic about that?” Well, no disrespect here: While it is true that they both die, they do so at the very old age – well over a hundred and twenty years (which is nothing compared to the first lineage described in Genesis, where eight and nine hundred years were no exception, but still extremely old); they both lived long and fulfilling lives; and they died among their family and friends (most probably). That, of course, is not the comic-relief part of the portion (hence the “almost” in my opening sentence).

The comic relief, if you will, is in the fact the God is almost completely missing from the portion. After being at the epicenter of each of the first four portions, the fifth offers us something much more mundane, though equally fascinating: human life. Indeed, this week’s potion is all about people – the soap-opera version of the bible, if you will – without much God involved. No flood, no burning of a city, no punishments, but also no creation of the Universe, no moral lessons, no intervention. Instead, we find the cycle of life and death, family values, falling in love, wooing rituals, a bit of Freudian psychology, and marriage. This is what this portion has to offer, and in that sense, it is a very welcome comic relief (or respite) from the previous four. No divine drama; only human drama.

To sum up the story: Sarah dies; Abraham negotiates for a burial ground in Israel; Abraham is extremely preoccupied with finding a suitable bride to his son Isaac (whom he nearly just killed); Abraham’s slave goes out to find Rebecca; Rebecca and Issac get married (actually, the whole idea of marriage is quite complicated at the time, but, for simplicity sake, let us assume they got married), Abraham dies; both his sons – Isaac and Ishmael – burry him. End of story. End of an era.

The “Life of Sarah” – An Ironic Title?

The first four portions bore strong relations to their titles: Be’re’shit (in the beginning), Noah, Lech Lecha (Go, go away), Va’yeera (“And God was seen to him”). But the fifth presents somewhat of a conundrum: The title is “The Life of Sarah,” but the portion actually begins with her death. How can that be? The answer is simpler than one might assume. The title of the portion are not selected after careful examination of its content and then vetting of the best one or two words to represent it. Rather, the title is simply the first (meaningful) word or words in every portion. Recall that the division to verses and portions, and the actual naming of the portions, is a much later ritual than the (divine?) writing of the text itself.

So, the portion opens with the notice of Sarah’s death, at the age of 127 years. [An elegant, though not entirely authentic, interpretive effort was made here by the JTS translation: “Sarah’s lifetime – the span of Sarah’s life – came to one hundred and twenty seen years.” Gen. 23:1] So, is the title truly a complete coincidence, and has nothing to do with Sarah’s life? Not quite. In two very important ways, the portion is, in fact, about Sarah. But before we get to that, a word about the age in which she dies, which may provide us with a clue as to this week’s title: that same number – 127 – appears again as the number of countries in which an ancient king holds court in the very first verse of The Book of Esther – another very impressive woman in Jewish history.

Sarah’s Burial

And, indeed, despite her death this portion could not be more aptly named. First, Sarah’s burial, and the negotiation over her burial grounds, occupies a great deal of the portion – and rightly so. Abraham insists to bury her in Hebron, in Israel, and not where he came from. The great detail in which the text describes every move here suggest that this was the exception. Indeed, a careful reading shows the “burial ground” careful negotiation as a real legal tug of war. In short, Abraham knew that despite his inferior status as “a foreign resident” (or a “resident alien,” as nicely translated by JTS, Gen. 23:4), the way to first buy and own land in the new country – and therefore to make the first steps towards future ownership on the land as a whole – would be through his wife’s burial ground. Who would refuse to sell a parcel of land to bury the wife of a very rich foreigner?

Well, the locals were far from stupid. Knowing that buying the land would constitute an irreversible step, they “kindly” offer him to take the land for free – a symbolic gesture, that would not grant him with any ownership title (apparently), but only “a right of passage” to use the land for burial and visit his loved wife’s grave. “Not so fast,’ insists Abraham, I want to buy it “for the full price.” (Gen. 23:9) Indeed, Abraham is willing to pay a lot of money to enter the selective club of land-owners in Israel. Well, again – the locals are far from stupid. By the time the negotiation reaches the designated place – Me’arat Ha’machpella in Hebron, a place that today, as then, was a great source of tension between Jews and Arabs – it becomes public. Statements are made for the ears of the crowd. The drama intensifies. Efron insists, again – “No, my lord, hear me: I give you the field and I give the cave that is in it; I give to you in the presence of my people; bury your dead.” (Gen. 23:11). When Abraham insists, Efron retorts with the unforgettable “between you and me,” what is 400 shekels? (23:15). Now, it is important to understand that this was a fantastic, truly fantastic sum. (Meir Shalev writes beautifully on this public drama in the fields in his classic “bible now.”)

Now imagine the staging for a minute: A great crowd – all locals – is gathered, standing between the two people; the local land owner, after consulting with his advisors, publicly dares Abraham to either receive the land for free (no rights), or buy it for the equivalent of 400 million dollars. The foreigner, on the other side, is aided by no one (other than his God, of course). He says nothing. He turns to his slaves, and within short order “weighs” each of the four hundred silver coins to Efron, the land owner. The crowd disperses, speaking of this amazing sum of money which they have never seen before.

So it was in her death that Sarah enabled her husband – and, as a result, the entire Jewish People – to become land owners in Israel. Not conquerors, buyers. That is the right way to own a new land.

Sarah’s Legacy

But Sarah’s spirit is all over this week’s portion in another, very important aspect. The entire story of the Selection of Rebecca as Isaac’s wife is a true story of (what is known today as) “girls’ power,” or true feminism. To begin with, Abraham understands, before he dies, that while he would not be able to amend his relationships with the son he already tied to the woods, he needs to find him a proper wife – the most important last task before he himself dies. Second, the slave that Abraham sends – after encountering the “extremely good looking virgin,” which, to eliminate any doubt, “no man has ever known,” (Gen. 24:16) – meets her brother, Laban. Now this Laban guy would cause a lot of problems to our third Father, Jacob. But even now we get a flavor of his crafty ways. Right after noticing all the jewelry and gold that his younger sister received from the slave, he becomes extremely friendly to the slave, who then describes his master’s wealth in great details. Laban happily agrees that his sister would wed into this rich family (not much has changed since), but when the time to leave arrives, he (Laban) suddenly comes up with what later becomes his trademark – a nasty delay tactic: “let the girl sit with us some days, or ten, and then she would come with you.” [Importantly, the “ten” may also be interpreted as a decade.] (Gen. 24:55) This, of course, is presumably done to raise her price – “you want her now, you pay more. Nobody said anything about now.” But the slave insists. He wants to leave now (before his master dies). Laban, pressured, thinks of a creative solution. There’s no chance, he thinks, that the girl – until now completely ousted from the process – would like to leave with a complete stranger, a slave at that, to marry someone she never even met in a foreign country. “Here is the solution,” thinks Laban, “let’s make her say she doesn’t want to go, and this would be over.”

And thus comes one of the most famous – and surprising – feminist statements in all times, from none other than the most conniving, hypocrite persons of all the bible: “Why won’t we call the girl and see what she wants?” [or, more traditionally translated: “Let us call the girl and ask for her reply.” Gen. 24:57] So, the text continues in great detail, they did went to call her – she wasn’t even there while all this was taking place – and asked her “would you go with that man?” (marriage ceremony, anyone?). Her beautiful answer, only one word in Hebrew, without any hesitation is “I will.” This is Sarah’s heritage. This is the true “life of Sarah.”

Parashat Va'yee'ra: Gen. 18:1 - 22:24

The fourth portion of the week – Va’yee’ra (which means, more or less, that God revealed himself to Abraham) – is as famous as the first three [which, perhaps, are the most famous portions of all], primarily for two reasons: The first relates to Abraham’s emotional call to God, imploring him to do what is right with a city full of sinners; the second relates to Abraham’s silence in the face of God’s order to sacrifice his first born.

Today I will not dwell on Isaac’s A’ke’da – the story of the binding – as it is too deep to cover in the framework of this blog. Suffice is it to say that this story is regarded by many as the supreme point of God’s worship, while by others as Abraham’s lowest point as a human-being. Be it as it may, anyone who is remotely interested in understanding Genesis must read each of the 20 verses [Gen. 22:1-19] slowly and carefully; ask yourself who or what is participating in this drama (including the two helpers, the donkey, the fire torch, the slaughtering knife, the woods, the angels, and the ram), and what is each’s role; note the textual tool-kit (on which we said a few words last time); and finally, ask yourself how are the two hardly-speaking protagonists – the father and his son – were feeling throughout. If you have kids, try and imagine how would you feel during those three days.

But enough with the binding. The two quick notes I wanted to make this week relate to, first, the famous cry by Abraham to God about doing what is right, or just; the second relate to hospitality in the ancient world.

Abraham and Constitutional Due Process

Genesis 18:25 is one of the most shocking, dramatic, and nearly impossible-to-translate verses in the entire Bible. Here is Abraham – who says nothing when God orders him to go and sacrifice his own beloved son – arguing ferociously with God who wants to kill a bunch of sinners in Sodom and Gomorrah, a group of people Abraham has likely never seen before (although, it should be mentioned, his nephew Lot lives there).

As you may recall, a very interesting argument – or is it negotiation? – ensues, where Abraham asks God to take pity on the town if He can find 50 righteous people there, and God agrees; then Abraham lowers his offer to 40, and God agrees again; to 30; to 20; and finally, to 10 (but not lower). God agrees, and the two parties go their own ways. [Gen. 18: 22-33]

In the heart of this negotiations stand Abraham’s call to God. In Hebrew, the words are:

“Chalila Le’cha, Ha’shofet Kol Ha’Aretz Lo Ya’ase Mishpat?” [Gen. 18:25] [according to JPS translation, just for general knowledge, the translation is: “Far be it from you! Shall not the judge of all the earth deal justly?”].

Not surprisingly, I could not find any translation – among the ten offered on bible.cc or otherwise – that comes close to the original. The first thing to note here is the Abraham warns God – “Ch’alila Le’cha,” which, by today’s standard would easily be interpreted – if it weren’t for God – as “I dare you!” Now, none of the interpreters – nine of them opting for the vague “far from thee” – would have imagined such a provocative statement from the first “true believer” to his own God. But it gets better. The rest of this famous call is usually interpreted as a call for justice of some sort (“do right,” or “do justice” are the most common terms used by English translators.) But the actual words are more refined: Abraham does not warn God from not doing the right thing; he warns him – as the Judge of the entire universe – to bring down the punishment before having a trial.

Indeed, according to a contextual reading, Abraham was not afraid that God “forgot” what’s wrong and what’s right; he was afraid that God would not act like a judge, but rather as a jury and an executioner.

Let us take a quick look why. Before this famous discussion begins, in a little-noted verse, God mentions in his blessing to Abraham the important fact that he – Abraham – will keep the ways of God by doing “Tzdaka Umishpat” – that is, will do both compassionate deeds (T’zdakah) but will also keep the law (Mishpat). This tension between the letter of the law (known in Mishna as Midat Ha’Din) and the compassionate side (known as Midat Ha’ra’chamim) has been one of the greatest trademark of Jewish thinking throughout the ages.

Only a few minutes after that blessing, God intends to do neither: There is no mention of any compassionate thought of the people of Sodom; and there is not trial either. They are simply sentenced to die. (Or are they? The text doesn’t make it clear, at all, how did Abraham come to learn on God’s plan to kill all those people; but this is less important. See Gen. 18:21).

And here is where Abraham is getting frustrated. Where is the compassion? Where is the law? And he warns God (and this is the entire verse, my translation): “I dare you to do such a thing, killing a righteous man with a wicked man – and thus making the righteous as the wicked; I dare you – shall the Judge of the entire Universe not hold trial?”

While this interpretation may seems, at first blush, procedural (primarily to the non-lawyer readers of this blog), please recall that many constitutions, including the American, see Due Process as one of their cornerstones, and for a good reason.

Thus, Abraham wanted to make sure that Sodom’s people – yes, they too – get a fair shake (or a fair trial) before they are sentenced. And he served as their lawyer, and an excellent one at that. That makes me, personally, more proud of the Father of my People than the more conventional interpretation.

A Word on Hospitality

On a lighter note, it is hard not to notice the special care the text takes in informing us what type of food – but exactly what kind – Abraham prepared for his uninvited guests. [Gen. 18:6-8]. Similarly, we hear of the special measures taken by Lot to host and defend his own two uninvited guests – he was willing to sacrifice his two virgin daughters to the mob, if only they would leave his guests alone. [For a fascinating description, read 19:4-11]

These two stories come to show, in my mind, how important hospitality was in ancient times. Until today, many middle-eastern tribes will welcome you as a king – invited or uninvited – if you come across their land to visit. This is true even – and perhaps especially – for an enemy. If an enemy comes to visit, and he’s found on the tribe’s territory, he (or she) will be treated like royalty, and would not be hurt, until they leave.

Some food for thought for today’s world leaders.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Le'ch-Le'cha Gen. 12:1 - 17:27

The third portion of the week, “Le’ch Le’cha,” begins with the unforgettable words spoken by God to his first chosen son, Avram: “Go, go away from your country, from your home-land, from your father’s home, to the land I will show you.” (my translation.)

Note the fascinating deductive linguistic move – from the general (“your country”) to the specific (your “father’s home”); from the easiest to accept to the hardest. The same move repeats itself, almost to the letter, with the second “Le’ch Le’cha” story, the more famous of the two – the story of the Ak’eda (the sacrifice of Itzchak). [Next week, we’ll deal with the interesting question of why God needed to try Avraham after it was already established he “believe in God” – the first-ever to do so (Gen. 15:6).] In the Ak’eda story, God commands Avraham (his name was changed by then from Avram):

Gen. 22:2

And [God] said [to Avraham]: Take your son, your only son [recall that Avraham had two sons at that stage!], that you have loved, take Itzchak, and go, go to the land of Moriah and sacrifice him on one of the mountains that I will point to you.”

Again, we see the linguistic move from the general (“your son”), to the particular (“Itzchak”), and from the easiest to the hardest to accept. We can also see the repeated request to leave – “Le’ch Le’cha” – from that familiar, loved, and steady place (be it a physical or a mental place), to the place to which God will direct you. Today I want to focus on the early Avram.

What Kind of Person Was Avraham?

The (first) Father of Our Nation – much like his modern-day title-sake, a General and our First President – can easily be said to have two personalities. The first is told from father to son, carried in classrooms all over the land, and is so well-entrenched that questioning it is considered heresy (see the story of Washington and the Cherry tree). Then again, there is the text. And that’s where it starts to get interesting.

Avraham – The Official Version

Our sages made a considerable effort to paint the first real Jewish person, the father of the entire Jewish nation, not only in the best light possible, but also in a way fitting the holiest of hollies. Since the text is scant in details on Avraham’s background – we meet him when he’s already 75 years old (Gen. 12:4) – they came up with some of their own.

The Rambam, for example, tells us how Avram went through a philosophical metamorphosis, realizing that all the people around him were wrong to assume that there could be many a god, or that the world may revolve on itself, without a cause or a power source. Following this impressive thought experiment, Avram began arguing with people around him about their wrongful beliefs, broke some statues of other gods, and called on everyone to worship only the one true God. [Rambam, Book of Science, Part IV.]

Others have followed suit. Legend has it that Avram, who worked at his father’s shop, used to constantly break many of the gods’ images that were sold there, and kept asking people not to buy them. In addition, he used to talk to the clients, asking them to return from their wrong ways, and attempted to turn their hearts to the only real one God. [See Nechama Leibovitz, Notes on Be’Reshit, at 80].

The text itself – as it is mostly remembered – tells us of a great person who listened to his God constantly, leaving his homeland for Him, sacrificing his son to Him, and generally a true Jewish role-model we should all aspire to.

But reading of the actual text reveals quite a different story.

Avraham – The Textual Version

Much like the last portion (No’ach), our portion actually begins a few verses prior to its official starting-point. There we find some interesting details. Turns out that Avram’s father, Terach, was the one to actually leave his own country. He took with him Avram, his son, and Lot, his grandson, and Sarai – Avram’s wife, and went from Ur-Kasdim (their “home-land”) to Kna’an – the famous land known today as Israel. No mention of God in this story; not a word about a promised land. Then the father dies. And then our portion begins.

Now, all of a sudden it is God who asks Avram to “Go, go away from youur country,” etc. But, interestingly, Avram is no longer there; in fact, he’s already half way between his home-land and Israel, in a place called Haran.

Then Avram reaches the promised-land: “And the Lord appeared to Avram and said: I will give this country to your offspring.” Gen. 12:7. One would think he would stay there for a while; it has been, after all, a long journey, and the entire place was promised to him by God.

But only three verses later, right after the divine promise was made, Avram leaves Israel and goes (“down” – a word used until today to describe people immigrating from Israel) to Egypt. And once he gets to Egypt, he presents his wife – his very, very beautiful wife, as the text keeps repeating – as his sister, for fear he would be killed and she would be taken away. The tactic works: Avram received considerable fortune from the Egyptian king for Sarai [Gen. 12:16]. The king, in return, is severely punished for even thinking of touching this married woman (of which, of course, the king knew nothing about). Somehow, in a bizarre twist of faith, Pharaoh does not kill Avram when he discovers the ruse – he doesn’t even take his fortunes back! – but rather simply tells Avram to “take [the money] and leave!” [Gen. 12:19]

But apart from these opportunistic clues, the text also supplies great materials about our first leader’s extraordinary sense of pragmatism. For example, when he experiences his first significant business fight with his cousin, he doesn’t use strong-arm tactics or pulls rank as the senior partner. On the contrary: Avram does what seems unthinkable today – he lets the junior choose: “And Avram said to Lot: Let there be no quarrel between you and me, and between my shepherds and yours, for we are brothers; since the entire country is in front of you, let us separate – if left you choose I will turn right; and if right, I will turn left.” This seemingly “cowardly” move (as it may be called by some of today’ amateurs at Wall-Street and the consulting firms), brought Avram an immediate relief for his herds (in the short term), several years of business prosperity (in the intermediate term), and an important ally on the West (in the long term). Take that, financial-market “sharks”!

Later this line of thinking manifests itself again, when Avram – who just won decisively a series of wars against the local (business?) kings – is asked by one of the defeated kings to bring back that king’s men, and in return to keep the victory spoils. Avram’s now-famous answer may surprise those who don’t know him well: “But Avram said to the king of Sodom . . . I will not take so much as a thread or a shoe-string of what is yours; you hall not say, ‘It is I who made Avram rich.’” [Gen. 15:22-23] Again, Avram gains a great strategic ally, and prevents future wars from that front by acting (seemingly) in an altruistic fashion.

There are many more clues as to Avram’s unique’s nature. In two weeks we shall discuss his magnificent negotiations techniques, which enabled him to be the first, apparently, to actually buy real-estate as a foreigner in the Land of Israel.

Importantly, the textual analysis above is not meant to disrespect Avram. On the contrary: It only comes to supplement and enrich his well-known – though somewhat simplistic – image as it appears in folklore and our memory. Both Avram and the reader, I assume, would end up gaining by this perspective.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat No'ach: Gen. 6:9 - 11:32

One would think that right after the dramatic opening of “In the Beginning,” we are in for a lighter material this week. Indeed, what could stand in the heels of creating of the entire known universe, all of nature, mankind, and the Garden of Eden – to name just a few of last week’s highlights? Well, if you thought you’re in for a light one - no such luck. The second portion is a “universe” unto itself: The first righteous person, architecture and water-proofing, global warming, biology and evolution, urban planning, eternal covenant between God and all people – are just some of the many issues explored in this week’s portion. Oh yes, and lest we forget – the second indecent exposure. [And while we did not touch upon the first, last week’s portion dedicated a large segment to Adam and Eve’s (first) realization that they were naked. This time, we have a father – righteous, but drunk (which goes to show that the two are not necessarily conflicted) – who is lying naked in a tent. What’s a son to do in that situation? (Hint: try Gen. 9:23 for an answer – basically walk backwards, cover your dad with a quilt, and don’t ever look back. The concept of not looking back, by the way, will return to us shortly with the famous story of the Lot’s wife who turned into a pillar of salt for looking back).

Indeed, the second portion more than earns its esteemed “real-estate location”—right after Genesis. Today I’d like to dedicate a few words to each of the great two stories that, not unrelated, consist of today’s potion: The Flood, and the Tower of Babel. But more than that, I would like to examine just how “human” God is – or is being depicted – in this week’s portion.

The Flood and God’s Heart

Whenever I think about the flood, I can’t escape thinking of the miraculous survival story of the first mariner, the first biologist, the first weatherman -- a man truly above and beyond not only his generation, but all generations of his time (as the text clearly informs us in the opening verse of our portion, Gen. 6:9; but see Gen. 7:1, where God tells No’ach that he is only righteous in his generation). Indeed, Noa’ch (not “Noa”) is well-deserved to be the first person to ever “walk with God.” (Id.) But is the flood story really about No’ach?

Let us turn for a moment to the few verses preceding this week’s portion, where the story actually begins. There, 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:

Gen. 6:6-8:

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 No’ach.” (the GWT translation receives a brownie point here for daring to reverse the linguistic order of the last verse, which begins in the Hebrew origin with the words “And No’ach …”; that opening seems to throw off all other translations here.)

Before I get to God’s “heart,” a few questions about this very interesting – but often neglected – passage. [Note that it comes at the tail-end the greatest portion of all (though it thematically and chronologically belongs to the second portion), and thus is hardly noticed. That should serve as a lesson – we should never neglect to read the entire text; sometimes the best is saved for last.]

First, when the text reports on the Lord’s regret of man, it uses the lesser form of “made” to describe man’s first appearance on earth (“the Lord regretted that He made man”). In contrast, when God actually ‘speaks” of the punishment, he uses the higher descriptive verb, “created” (which in Hebrew, as I explained, has even a higher connotation, suggesting creation ex-nihilo, out of nothing) – “I will eliminate … the man whom I created.” What is the reason for that difference? Second, while God only regrets the creation of man (presumably, mankind), he decides to eliminate all living things, not only man. Why? What was the animal’s sin? Surely they didn’t devise “bad” all they long… Third, what does No’ach have to do with all that? Recall that God just decided, without too much hesitation or consideration, to wipe out a great portion of everything he made in six days, including the “crest of his creation,” mankind. Is it really important to mention that He was also “pleased” with one person, on which we know nothing at this point? Does it matter?

But enough with the questions. Let us turn back 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 happy ending (how could it not?): No’ach and his family are saved, and so are representatives of all the animals.)

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

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 KJV) Leibowitz does a phenomenal job here in trying to persuade us that this original state, far from being ideal, actually depicts tyranny and unity 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 places – different views of the cathedral. (Y. Leibowitz, Notes on the Weekly Torah Reading, 14-15 (1988)).

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 which the sons of man have built. (my translation).

Why does God need to “descend” in order to “see” the city? Can’t He simply see it from the heavens (or wherever it is that He resides)? Is He near-sighted, and needs to come closer to actually see? How good is God’s vision? Actually, does He “see” the way we do?

Summary: the Rambam’s “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 things?

The most comprehensive attempt to reason this attitude was made by the most important Jewish thinker of all times, the Rambam (acronym for Rabi Moshe Ben Mimon; also known here also as Maimonides). The Rambam, who was an Aristotelian philosopher in addition to being an accomplished physician, began from the premise that we can only express and comprehend meaning through the limited means of language. Even God’s act of creation ex-nihilo, with all its heavenly glory, can only be related to us through words. Thus, while it is clear that we can’t really understand or comprehend everything God does, the text has to relay to us, in one way or another, what God was about. Thus, the text provides us no more than a glimpse of His actions through the limited medium of words. [The Rambam then went on to develop his theory Negative Theology, but I’ll stop here.]

In short, the Rambam explained 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 general terms, what God was about to do.

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

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Be'Reshit - Genesis 1:1 - 6:8

This week we read the very first Portion of the Week – Parashat Be’Reshit. And jut like the famous saying on the First Amendment – that it is a First for a reason – so does the First Portion. Indeed, to write on Be’Reshit is no doubt a humbling task. Of all books in the world, the most has been written on the Bible; and of all books of the Bible, the most has been written on Genesis; and of all chapters of Genesis, the most has been written on Chapter 1; and of all words of Chapter 1, the most has been written on the very first words – “Be’Reshit Ba’ra Elohim” – or, if you will, “in the beginning God has created...“ [Followers of this blog would probably notice how unsatisfactory this – or any other translation – is, as the word “Ba’ra” in Hebrew denotes much more sophisticated a notion of “creation” than the translation allows: In fact, Ba’ra means creation ex-nihilo, that is “creating something out of nothing.” But let us not disturb this ceremonial opening with such details.]

To demonstrate, Professor Leibowitz opens his discussion of the first words with the following warning: “Assume all the trees of the world were converted into pens, and all the water in the seas into ink, and all mankind into writing clerks [or, in more modern parlance, “data-entry technicians”] – this will not suffice to hear, to read and to learn what was already said on this Portion.” (Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Seven Years of Discourses on the Weekly Torah Portion, 1 (2003) (Hebrew)).

So what is left to say on this magical Portion, describing the very creation of our universe, of all its creatures, of all our surroundings, and of human kind itself? To me, the most interesting aspect of the Portion is the text’s very subtle suggestion that two very important things were in existence way before “the Beginning”: Morality (or the concept of Good and Bad), and Mathematics. I would like to dedicate today a short note to each.

Did Morality Exist Before “The Beginning”?

Right after creating the Light – in a word, mind you, not by any deed – God turns to reflect on his new creation:

Gen. 1:4: “God saw the light, and saw that it was good. “ (WEB Translation, that seems to best capture the actual meaning; the more conventional translation is: “God saw the light was good.”)

God continues to reflect on his deeds every day, and on the third day he even observes (to himself, apparently, since no other earthly creature was in existence yet) that things are “good” twice. (Hence the Israeli custom of having many a wedding on Tuesdays – when God said twice that things are good.) Finally, God reflects on Friday on his entire creation, and decides it is “very good.” (Gen. 1:31)

But not everything is “Good” in the newly-created world. Right at the beginning of Chapter 2, we meet the newly-ordained king of nature (or, in today’s Wall-Street parlance, “Master of the Universe”), Adam, the human being (Gen. 1:26-28). Looking at Adam, God observes (this time, God actually “says” these words):

Gen. 2:18: “And the Lord God said, it is not good for the Adam to be on his own.”

To summarize, right off the bat in Genesis we encounter things that are “good,” “very good,” and “not good.” (To complete the description, it is important to note that on Gen. 2:9 we encounter the “tree of good and bad” [bad being the opposite of good], but I can’t even begin to dwell upon this enormous subject now.)

Let us turn back now to Gen. 1:4. There is very little that has been created by now – the heavens (or sky), the earth, and the light. There is no mention of creating the notion of Good (or not Good). Where, then, does God takes the measurements to appreciate the light he has just created? Well, obviously, he is God. But doesn’t the very use of Good as a measurement of things (or “not Good” for this matter) suggest that Good existed well before light? In other words, that Good, as a notion, preceded the entire creation?

One solution is that by God’s own reflection on light, God pronounced it to be Good – in a sense, God also created Good by reflecting on the light. But, as close readers of this Blog would be able to assume, this line of reasoning receives no support whatsoever in the Text itself. The text goes through great pains to point exactly what God has created in each one of the six days; nowhere Good is being mentioned as created. In addition, a contextual reading would suggest that once Good was created, there was no need to go back to it every single day – like God actually did. God never went back on any of his other creations – like the seas, the animals, and the like; why did God bother to return to Good every single day (and twice on Tuesday)?

And what about “not Good”? Did God create that as well? The answer is not self-evident. While God did not create a “non-tree” or a “non-animal,” it does seem like God created a “non-light” – the darkness. (see Gen. 1:4; but a close reading of the text suggests that – like Good – darkness was there even before God created the light.)

While there is much more to discuss here, I tend to the opinion that morality – the notion of Good things, and Not Good things – was in existence long before “the Beginning,” and, for that matter, that it will continue to be here long after “the end.” I like this view, because it shows that our actions in this world can always be measured against concrete, and very ancient, notions of “good” and “not good.” Next time you are about to do something, stop for a minute to ask yourself: Is it “good” or “not good”?

Did Math Exist Before “the Beginning”?

God created the universe in Six Days. Why six? Why not three, or seventeen, or one hundred? St. Augustine, an important – and very prolific – student of the biblical text, writes in his City of God that the choice of six days was not random. Rather, he writes:

It is recorded that all God’s works were completed in six days (the day being repeated six times), because six is a perfect number. Of course, no prolongation of time was necessary for God. He could have at once created all things and then let them measure time by their appropriate movements. It the perfection of God’s work that is signified by the number six. [here, St. Augustine explains why is six a perfect number: It is the first number which divisors sum up to the number itself. Thus, six can be divided into 1,2, and 3; at the same time, 1+2+3=6. The next perfect number, btw, is 28, which is approx. the length in days of the Jewish month.] … And six is the number of days in which God completed His work. Thus we see that we should not underestimate the significance of numbers, since in many passages of the sacred scriptures, numbers have a meaning for the conscientious interpreter. Not without reason it has it been said in to praise of God: Thou hast ordered all things in measure, and number, and weight. The City of God, Book XI, Ch. 30.

Thus, if God intended to use the number Six for reasons of perfect mathematical symmetry, then, again, we can only assume that these mathematical principles were in existence well before “the Beginning.”

Throughout history, the greatest minds mankind has created – Galileo, Newton, Einstein and others – were all convinced that the universe speaks to us in a mathematical language, and all we had to do was to unlock its code and reveal the mysteries of the creation. The first Portion of the Week suggests they had a very good reason to think that.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron