Beha’alotecha: Flesh or Spirit?

I don’t usually do this, but this week I’m going to introduce an idea here on the blog, and then continue developing the concept in services on Saturday. I know, I know; not everyone who reads the blog attends services, so this may seem unfair. First of all, I’ll be totally honest with you: I like to create incentives to try and get people to attend services. ;-) Second, I stumbled upon an interpretation and commentary on a section from this week’s Torah portion that simply cannot be encapsulated in four paragraphs on a blog. I could, of course, write a longer post... but I’m not going to. If anyone isn’t joining in for services, but wants to know more, feel free to e-mail me or leave a comment here on the blog. So, what I wanted to talk about are two subjects; meat-eating and prophecy. Super-related concepts, right? Well, let’s see if we can’t link them together.

As you’ve probably heard me speak (or write) about in the past, the Torah is filled with peculiarities throughout the text. Sometimes these look like typos, other times they are big letters, little ones, strange omissions, references to texts we no longer have, and so on and so forth. Occasionally, a principle that helps us unravel these mysteries is the idea that there are multiple authors. The Torah was potentially *not* written at one particular time; by Moses or ANY one individual. Rather, it is a compilation of sources and traditions, assembled over centuries. So when I stumbled upon this week’s oddity, I instinctively wanted to chalk it up to two intertwined narratives... but there's actually a lot more going on here. In the Book of Numbers, chapter 11, two seemingly-unrelated stories play out simultaneously. The first is about the Israelites grumbling and complaining (big shock...), and the second is about Moses’ frustration at constantly being the target of the people’s ire. Well, those two storylines sound pretty linked, right? Or do they...?

While they start out seemingly similar, one story unfolds into telling us how God promises to send the people quail, because they are sick and tired of eating Manna all the time. The second narrative has God instructing Moses to choose 70 elders to help relieve some of his burden of leadership and prophecy. While they still may sound connectable, the text jumps back and forth between these stories in a most awkward fashion. It breaks down like this:

Verses:        Subject:

4-15             The desire for meat
11-15            Moses' crisis of leadership
16-17           Prophecy: The seventy elders given by God in response to Moses.
18-22/23    Meat: God responds to the craving for meat by providing the quails.
23-30          Prophecy: the seventy elders
31-34           Meat: the punishment

On Saturday, I’ll talk more about how we determine whether these are one narrative or two. But I read a wonderful commentary by Rabbi Alex Israel on the juxtaposition of these two, and the idea that the Israelites are grappling between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the spirit. And he adds: “Possibly, the people are still dithering between meat and spirit, between Egypt and Israel.” What a fabulous insight! These two stories represent their (and our...) struggle between, on the one hand, our bodies’ cravings and the related allure of idolatry, and on the other hand, faith in God and focusing on mental and emotional well-being. Ancient Egypt represented one extreme - of subservience, dependence, and fear - while the promise of a new homeland represented self-determination, unity, loyalty to God, and communal responsibility. And indeed, in all our lives, we often find ourselves waffling between the right-now needs of sleep, hunger, and instant gratification, and the long-term health of meditation, journaling, and introspection. Sometimes we think these are two totally disparate conversations, when in reality they are quite intertwined. And if you want to see more about just how linked these two narratives are - for our ancient forbearers AND for us - come to services on Saturday! ;-)

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. UNSW-Sydney
2. Jeremy Hiebert on Flickr
3. Becky Matsubara on Flickr
4. glossophilia

Naso: Fighting... whether Philistines or Palestinians

Our Torah portion this week, Naso, includes a peculiar set of laws (in Numbers, chapter 6) regarding the nazirite. This isn’t a tribe or a separate people, but rather a title; a conscious choice that someone might make to *become* a nazirite. They vow to abstain from drinking or consuming any byproduct of wine or grapes, to not cut their hair, and to not go near a dead body. We honestly don’t learn much more about what it means to make this choice... and perhaps most importantly WHY. But the Haftarah, assigned to this Torah portion by the ancient rabbis, is the story of the most famous nazirite, Samson. Well, it’s *almost* the story of Samson; it really tells the tale of his parents, in the Book of Judges, and it ends with his birth. If you’ve read about the escapades of Samson (and not just that he had long hair and super-strength), you probably understand why the rabbis thought it best to just end with him being born. (He’s kind of a violent fellow...) I thought maybe we could look at Samson here though, for just a little bit, especially considering the uncomfortably apt fact that he fought the Philistines in Gaza.

Before I get into it though, a word about the Philistines and the Palestinians: Historically speaking, it is both true and false that the two terms are linked. The Biblical Philistines - enemies of Samson, Saul, and David - were a sea-faring people who lived along the Mediterranean coast for several hundred years, before they were defeated by the Assyrian Empire in the 6th Century BCE. Even after the people were gone, and their culture along with them, the region retained the name “Philistia.” It was not, however, until the Roman emperor Hadrian put down a Jewish rebellion in 135 CE (so seven hundred years later...), that he officially renamed the area “Palestine.” And it’s likely that Hadrian did so specifically to stick it to these pesky Jews who challenged his authority, and therefore named the region after an ancient Israelite enemy. Not until the Ottoman Empire, into the 20th Century, did the local non-Jewish residents begin referring to themselves as Palestinians. But I also want to make it abundantly clear that even though the modern-day Palestinians may not be direct descendants of the Philistines, they reasonably DO share DNA with them, and they absolutely have legitimate and long-standing claims on the land. 

My point, therefore, is NOT to discredit the Palestinians right to statehood in Gaza and the West Bank. Rather, I want us to observe that history repeats itself, and what we see going on today, in 2021, feels eerily similar to the wars and conflicts of our Biblical predecessors from nearly 3,500 years ago. And just like today, it is hard to parse out who-started-what-and-when, and who is “really” to blame... if such a thing even exists. Over the course of three chapters in the Book of Judges, Samson battles the Philistines repeatedly, and often single-handedly. They wrong him, he kills a lot of people in retaliation, which leads them to threaten - and perpetrate - violence, which sets him off again, thus angering the Philistines, and round and round we go. Sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it? And so tragically and pointlessly current. Both peoples have been in the region for millennia. No one is leaving, no one will concede, and everyone continues to fight. 

There is also something terrifyingly prophetic about how the story of Samson ends. He is ultimately captured by the Philistines, and subsequently blinded. In one final act of vengeance, Samson regains his Herculean strength for a moment, and demolishes the Philistines’ idolatrous Temple of Dagon; killing himself and thousands of his enemies in the process. And yes, all of this took place in - you guessed it - Gaza. So I think we have to ask ourselves in 2021: is this all one, big suicide mission? Today there is a cease-fire, but soon enough Hamas will resume terrorizing Israel with thousands of rockets, while the Israeli military will continue its relentless assault on Hamas targets in Gaza... often nestled in civilian neighborhoods and municipal buildings. Will it ever end? History does not offer us a lot of comfort in response, that much is clear. But maybe - just maybe - our ancient texts can challenge us to break the cycle. We’ve tried annihilation for millennia. In the end, they are still here and so are we... just with a lot more grief and mourning for the civilian casualties. I pray fervently that the leaders in that region look to history for some guidance and cautionary tales. And I hope and pray and plead that they do so before they demolish the proverbial temple; before it is too late, and they have killed everyone. Only time will tell...

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of: 
1. wannapik.com
2. Bukvoed on Wikimedia Commons
3. 周小逸 Ian on Flickr
4. Matanya on Wikimedia Commons

B'Midbar: There's A Time to Relax... and a Time to Grow

This week, we are starting the fourth book of the Torah, B'Midbar. In English, it is called the Book of Numbers (which honestly isn't the most helpful or descriptive of titles...). More than perhaps any of the other books, I truly prefer this one's Hebrew name over the English. The first book of the Torah is our origin story, from Adam & Eve, through Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and his wives, and Joseph bringing the family down to Egypt. The second book focuses on the Exodus story (hence it becomes the name of the book...) and some of the very initial travels of the Israelites into the desert. Then the third book pauses in the narrative to give us the law code of the Levitical priests as well as some basic principles for Israelite living, and - of course - the Commandments. The fifth book will mainly focus on Moses' own retelling of the story, and his farewell address to the people. This book now, B'Midbar, really gets into the trials and tribulations of the Israelites during their wanderings in the desert.

Twice in that first paragraph (above) I mentioned the term "desert," which is sometimes used as the translation for the Hebrew name of our book. But I actually much prefer to translate "Midbar" as "wilderness." Because the emphasis isn't so much on the topography surrounding them, nor on the prevalence of sand, sun, or vast dunes. This is the most important and formative time for our ancient ancestors, and the experience that will transform them from a ragtag band of former slaves, into a nation-building, cohesive people that is ready to conquer territory and defend it. So what I love about the term Midbar is that it really evokes a neutralizing of everything that came before. It's almost like a blank canvas, a reset, and a new opportunity for the Children of Israel to redefine themselves and shape their own destiny.

What especially resonates with me about this notion is the importance of different experiences throughout our lives. We sometimes think that the ideal would be safety, security, calm, and ease. Maybe a picturesque home in a quiet suburban neighborhood, where nothing difficult or challenging ever takes place. And yet, we do not grow in such an environment. It is like the cool-down portion of an exercise routine. Sure, it would be lovely if we could sit in a sauna for an hour and build muscle, but that's just not how it works! We need effort, exertion, resistance, and yes, pain. So safety and calm are great for vacation, for replenishing our energy, and for taking stock. But then we have to venture out into the proverbial wildernesses of our lives, because THAT is where growth happens.

When we change the term from "desert" to "wilderness," we also open up to some important connections to our own experiences. Most of us haven't spent 40 years hiking through a desert... but maybe we have felt lost, cold, afraid, and alone, fumbling our way through the metaphoric "wildernesses" of addictions, terrible illnesses, heartbreaking loss, and - I venture to say for EVERYONE on the planet right now - chaotic, life-altering pandemics. It isn't relaxing or enjoyable, but it is actually necessary for us to evolve, build resilience and inner strength, and to discover abilities within ourselves that we may never know we ever had to begin with. The Israelites experience absolutely transformative change in their midbar, and we should aspire to do the same. We honestly don't get to determine WHAT happens to us in life; we only get to decide how to respond to it, how to learn from what we've been through, and we can choose to be strengthened by it. To me, that is the lesson of ALL the wilderness experiences we may go through in life. It isn't easy, and it may in fact be harrowing and daunting. Nevertheless, we march on, and we do our best to grow and evolve with every step we take.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Rabbi Gerber's library
2. David Stanley on Flickr
3. Christopher Chappelear on Flickr
4. PDPics on Pixabay