Lech Lecha: Where Are You Going?

Do you know who asks the most questions in the entire Bible? God. And many of them are these fascinating, peculiar rhetorical questions. Like when God is strolling (apparently) through the Garden of Eden and asks Adam, “Where are you?” Or asks Adam’s and Eve’s son, Cain, “Where is your brother, Abel?” Is there really any chance that the omniscient, omnipresent Creator of the entire universe doesn’t know Adam’s location? Or what Cain did to Abel? So then why ask the questions?

This weekend, we have another of God’s mysterious rhetorical questions. It’s kind of subtle, and rarely the focus of our analysis on this reading, but I think it speaks to something important for all of us to consider. Abraham and Sarah are unable to have children. So, in an ill-fated move, Sarah gives her handmaiden, Hagar, to Abraham, hoping she’ll provide them with a child. It works… except it doesn’t, and when Hagar becomes pregnant with Ishmael, Sarah is filled with jealousy and suspicion. Hagar runs away into the desert, and at this moment, God’s angel finds her and asks: “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?” (Gen. 16:8) It seems to me that this a spectacularly superfluous question. Doesn’t God know her circumstances??

I think we can all agree that God isn’t asking this because God has no idea, or didn’t realize her predicament. I contend that in each of these rhetorical moments, God is inviting the person to reflect on their own situation. God wants Adam to ask himself, “Where am I right now? What am I doing, and where am I going in life?” God wants Cain to reflect on what he has done: “Don’t you see? Abel is nowhere, he is no more. You killed him, and he is thus dead forever!” And in our story, God is perhaps challenging Hagar to make the most of this critical moment in her life. Where has she been, where is she now, and what lies ahead?

Furthermore, I firmly believe that you and I, the readers, are also being invited to consider these questions. They are Divine, they are timeless, and they are poignant at all times. Do we know where we are, and where we are going? Our Jewish texts and our Jewish tradition do not offer us answers. Instead, they offer us questions, and then challenge us to sit with them, feel them, and subsequently spend our lives trying to address them and actively make this world a bit better. So, what are you waiting for??

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:

1. Ruth Hartnup on Wikimedia Commons

2. Schäferle2 on Pixabay

3. Tjeerd Wiersma on Flickr

4. 1ynnneo on Pixabay

Noach: Who Ever Heard of Terach?

It is so tempting to talk about the story of Noah. After all, this is the Torah portion named after him. Two thirds of the entire parashah consist of the flood story, the Ark, and the familiar, classic depictions of all those animals packed into one, little (or maybe not so little…) boat. But what about the other third? One of the things I love about our triennial cycle of reading, is that some years our chanting focuses on lesser-known stories, and I see it as a great opportunity to zero in on those instead. If you want to read about Noah and the Flood, feel free to browse my posts from previous years. It’s a great story, and it has this particularly ancient, primordial feel to it. More than many of the other stories of the Tanach. But that’s not our topic for today. Instead, right now, I want to know; who the heck is Terach??

Terach is the ninth-generation descendant of Noah, which also means the 19th descendant of Adam and Eve. Pretty impressive lineage… The Torah spends a whopping seven verses on Terach at the very end of our parashah, and then never mentions him again, even at the start of next week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha. Why is this surprising? Because he’s the father of Abraham. Some of you may be familiar with a rabbinic midrash that suggests Terach owned an idol shop, and Abraham’s (then “Abram’s”) first act of monotheistic devotion was to smash all the idols in his father’s store. How can I put this delicately? That story is… nice. Not Biblical in the slightest, nor is there any evidence in the text to corroborate it - at all - but it’s… fine. Oh, and of the seven verses that mention Terach - basically in the entire Torah - six talk about his birth, how old he was, who his children were, and that he died. So he’s only actually active in ONE verse. And hopefully this won’t surprise you; that verse says nothing about idols… or a shop. 

What it *does* say is quite fascinating, at least in my opinion. Genesis 11:31 states: “Terach took his son, Abram, his grandson, Lot, the son of Haran [who had died], and his daughter-in-law, Sarai, the wife of his son, Abram, and they set out together from Ur of the Chaldeans for the land of Canaan. But when they had come as far as Haran, they settled there.” There’s a lot to unpack here. First of all, it does seem a remarkable coincidence that Terach settled in a place that had the same name as his deceased son. The text tells us nothing about that… but it sure does seem remarkable. Second, what about the third son, Nahor? He stays in Ur of the Chaldeans (likely modern-day Iraq), and will briefly reappear eleven chapters later, as the grandfather of Rebecca, who marries Isaac. But otherwise, he’s never mentioned, and we certainly don’t know why he stayed back when the rest of the family migrated. And third, WHY did they leave? We have no idea. Was it due to a famine, political unrest, a blood feud; who knows? Picking up and resettling in the ancient world was a pretty big deal, especially if Terach’s ancestors had remained in one place for potentially NINE generations… since the Great Flood! 

Regardless, this one verse is actually quite significant to us, to all the descendants of Abraham and the inheritors of the Abrahamic faiths. Because the next Torah portion will tell us that God came to Abram and told him to leave Haran and continue his father’s intended journey to Canaan; what will soon become The Promised Land. Could Abram have embarked on that odyssey on his own, from Ur of the Chaldeans, if his father hadn’t made the first leg of the journey for them? And don’t we all acknowledge the importance of parental modeling, so maybe Abram’s inspiration to even CONSIDER leaving his home in the first place came from his father’s bold precedent? In typical rabbinic fashion, our Biblical commentators found it helpful to criticize Terach, in order to make Abraham look greater. Do I need or want to do the same thing? No, not in the slightest. Our parents provide important clues to who we are, in all aspects of our lives. Sometimes we follow their example, while other times we make choices purposely different from theirs, to make a very declarative point for ourselves and others to see. But however you choose to view it, our parents and ancestors are very much a part of who we were, are, and may yet become. 

As we set off on our own path to get to know Abraham and Sarah once again, let us not forget about where he (and they) came from. We don’t need to put Terach down. After all, he did give us Abraham, and where would ANY of us be without him??? So thanks, Terach. And sorry about the shop. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. pxhere.com
2. jbdodane on Flickr
3. Gemes Sandor on Wikimedia Commons
4. AllaSerebrina on Deposit Photos

Bereisheet (repost from 2012): How Could We Resist?

We have once again returned to the beginning, literally the Genesis of it all, with the very first Torah portion of the Bible. With new beginnings come fresh starts and clean slates... and right away, the humans start committing sins! And not just some little tiny ones either, but THE Original Sin, at least according to Christian doctrine. So let's talk about that for a minute. What's the deal with our very first egregious sin, the Fall of Adam, the eating of the forbidden fruit, leading to the expulsion from Eden? Was it really so terrible? I'll give you one guess as to what my answer is going to be...

As the story goes, God tells Adam and Eve, the first two humans, that they can eat anything in the Garden of Eden except the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. How surprising, then, that they eventually eat it. Those of you who are parents know that if you tell a child, "I'm planting something very special, that looks really tasty, in an easily accessible spot in the MIDDLE of our garden... and I'm leaving for a bit - but don't eat it!!" they usually listen to you, don't they? Adam and Eve are SUCH disappointments...

I hope you realize I'm being sarcastic. How could they resist?!? And what was God's purpose here anyway? Why place the tree in the garden in the first place, and why was God trying to keep these human beings - who clearly had been singled out to be different from the animals - from becoming more Godlike? I think one potential answer can be found in analyzing this tempting and 'dangerous' Tree of Good and Evil. What does its fruit REALLY allow us to do? I read a fascinating Torah commentary by a favorite professor of mine, Dr. Richard Kalmin, who writes about how the tree enables humans to deceive and be afraid (something they were previously incapable of doing), BUT it also allows them to be creative, to take initiative, and to question. Dr. Kalmin writes, "Before the snake enabled them to acquire the knowledge of good and evil, they just did what they were told; now they have something of God's creativity in them." So it truly is BOTH good and evil, it opens up to us a world of complex emotions and experiences, morals and consciences, that were previously non-existent. 

No offense to Christian theological doctrine, but I never understood why 'Applegate' constituted Original Sin. Dr. Kalmin points out that this 'sin' didn't make us fall away from God; it actually brought us much closer to the Divine. We gained the ability to love, fear, empathize, and innovate. These are essential drives that make us human. Now, the tragic reality is that these urges have also allowed us to do terrible things throughout human history. Perhaps that is why God was trying to shelter us from them. But that is our greatest challenge as human beings - to rise above our animal instincts, to focus on what makes us Godly and holy, and to FORCE ourselves to be good and not evil. We shouldn't pretend that we are incapable of evil, we are! But thanks to Adam and Eve (with a little 'friendly' nudge from a wily serpent...), we are also capable of tremendous good, and beauty, and creation. Makes you wonder if that wasn't God's plan all along. It WAS a pretty strange place to put something so important, wasn't it? Strange...

Photos in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of NeoGaboX on Flickr
2. CC image courtesy of Abode of Chaos on Flickr
3. CC image courtesy of a-small-lab on Flickr 
4. CC image courtesy of pasukaru76 on Flickr

L’Chaim (newsletter) article, October, 2021: Not so “bitter” after all

 So, we finally made it through the High Holidays. As I’m writing this, we still have a bit more to go, but certainly by the time you’re reading my article (and this whole L’Chaim issue), the holidays for the Jewish year 5782 will have concluded. All of the holidays actually fall within a single Jewish month, known as Tishrei. Oddly enough, it’s actually considered the SEVENTH month on the calendar (the first is Nisan, when we celebrate Passover), yet this is indeed the month where the number ticks over from 5781 to 5782. Leave it to our ancient rabbis to create such a confusing calendrical conundrum…

As we shift over to October, 2021, we have also moved on to another Jewish month, namely Cheshvan. Interestingly, Cheshvan is more the month’s nickname (though often the one you’ll see on calendars, in Israel, and on Jewish materials); the full name is actually Marcheshvan. This is a peculiar addition, because the word “Mar” in Hebrew means “bitter.” So the month is really named “bitter-Cheshvan.” That’s a pretty weirdthing to name a month, isn’t it?

So what’s so bitter and unpleasant (if you don’t care for that flavor…) about Marcheshvan? Well, the main thing is that there are no Jewish holidays in this entire month. It’s one of the only ones. And having completed a month filled with Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Hoshana Rabbah, Shemini Atzeret, AND Simchat Torah, I think it’s easy to see why celebrants of Jewish holidays might view Marcheshvan with pity and sympathy. How unfair that one month gets ‘em all, while the very next one is entirely devoid of ritual, joyous celebrations! How bitter and unfortunate indeed…

But here’s the funny irony: As someone who has to plan for, coordinate, organize, and then execute one holiday after another in Tishrei, Marcheshvan feels more like a relief and a much-needed break, rather than a sad and depressing month! Rabbis and cantors everywhere, along with congregants who make it a point to attend and observe EVERY holiday, sometimes consider the name “Marcheshvan” to be more tongue-in-cheek than anything else! Not actually bitter in the slightest, but a welcome opportunity to rest, replenish, and look ahead to lifecycle celebrations, synagogue programs, and – eventually - Chanukah and all the rest of the holidays.

I also think there’s a nice lesson in here as well, one that can apply to all of us. Sometimes what might appear to be joyful andvivacious can also feel exhausting, depleting, and overwhelming. While something quiet, unassuming, and even lonely may also be a great opportunity for self-reflection, peace, blessed silence, and mindfulness. I spoke about this during my holiday sermons, but I think sometimes in life we are quite quick to label something as “good” or “bad,” before we even really take the time to see how things play out. And perhaps rather than even try and assess the pros or cons of a situation, we should instead be thinking about how to learn and grow from EVERY experience!

I’ll admit that I am one of those rabbis who annually says “Marcheshvan” more tongue-in-cheek than anything, andwelcome the quiet and simplicity of our services. In fact, having celebrated so many holidays so close together, I think we may have even gained a new appreciation for straight-forward, mundane, basic services. The frills and additions can be fun and exciting; but when we’re back to normal and routine, that feels pretty welcome as well. Again, one isn’t good and the other bad; both just ARE, and both experiences are deserving of our blessings. Bitter is an important flavor as well, just like all the others.

“Happy” Marcheshvan! :-)

Rabbi Gerber