Mishpatim: A Slave to the World Around Us

How can you think outside yourself? Is it possible to take a step away from your own experiences - from your upbringing, your environment, your personal history, and your values - and view the world objectively? I think it's

a pretty daunting task, and sometimes it can even feel impossible. We are all products of this planet in a particular moment in history, and it's hard to shed that. Even the Bible betrays a worldview that is specific to its time in human history. And if we believe that God wrote the Bible, it is surprising to find it so tied to the issues of its day - for example, slavery - and unable to take a more universal approach. Then again, who really still argues that God wrote the Torah?

This week, I am taking my Torah commentary inspiration from one of the greatest rabbis of the past century, who died last week in Toronto. Rabbi Gunther Plaut was one of the leaders of the Reform Movement, and the author of a really phenomenal volume entitled, The Torah: A Modern Commentary. In addition to being a book I

draw from constantly in my rabbinate, Plaut's commentary was also the first Judaica gift I received from my father, so it holds special sentimental value for me as well. Plaut reflects on the issue of slavery, featured highly in our parasha, Mishpatim. He writes, "The Torah treats the institution [of slavery] as an established fact of civilization and looks to its melioration rather than its abolition." The Torah knows slavery exists. It's just a fact of life (in the Ancient World), it ain't going anywhere. So rather than rail against it as amoral or cruel, it sets about 'humanizing' it, as Plaut suggests. It assumes you HAVE slaves; now the Torah works on teaching you how to treat the ones you've got.

Two things fascinate me about this observation. 1) The Torah is indeed a product of its time. The idea that slavery would be abolished was unimaginable to the Biblical authors! 2) Despite this, somehow it manages to begin the process of questioning the institution of slavery. Plaut points out that the Torah

is clearly conflicted about the slave being BOTH someone's possession, and a human being with rights of his/her own. In addition, the Torah indicates that female serfs have legal privileges as well; something that was surely revolutionary in its day! Perhaps most fascinating of all, Plaut explains that, "the Bible does not have a specific word for the totally unfree person." The Hebrew word for 'slave' is 'eved.' This word, however, is also used to describe us, every Jew, who is a 'servant of God,' 'eved Adonai.' The same word is also employed by individuals wishing to seem humble or deferential, introducing themselves to one another as, 'your servant.' The term 'eved' never really refers to someone who is totally destitute, who has no chance of ever rising above her/his lowly station. This too is a remarkable statement about status and social mobility.

This whole business of slavery in the Torah teaches us two things, though they may be at odds with one another. On the one hand, we shouldn't be so intolerant of people who don't change fast enough for our liking. We are all products of the world we grew up in, so it IS

hard for some people to accept new technology, environmental sensitivity, or even major issues like gay marriage. Even the Bible was somewhat stuck in the mindset of an ancient society, and it accepted slavery's existence without ever pushing for its abolition. On the other hand, change is possible. The world accepted things that are unthinkable today, when once they seemed as natural as breathing air. If we believe in a cause, we shouldn't ever be discouraged, just because someone tells us it's never been done, or people are fine with the status quo, or why fix something that isn't broke. Change can happen.

One final thought. I believe the Bible was written by human beings like you and me. That's why slavery is just accepted as a matter-of-fact. Yet throughout the text,

something doesn't seem right. A quiet, but firm objection nags at you, and leaves you very uncomfortable with slavery as a whole. To me, that is God. Subtly, almost invisibly, God leads us away from our misguided practices, and shows us a better way to live. You can't always see it, it's purposely understated, and you might even think you got there on your own. But you didn't, not entirely. You were brought there, and thank God for that. Literally!

Photos in this blog post:  

1. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber and a mystery hand...

2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, and his second edition copy of the Plaut commentary.

3. CC image courtesy of Vectorportal on Flickr  

4. CC image courtesy of Ava Weintraub Photography on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of HikingArtist.com on Flickr

Yitro: What are You Eating, and What's Eating You?

Last weekend, Ohev Shalom hosted Dr. Jordan Rosenblum as our annual Scholar in Residence. In short, he spoke about Jews and Food, covering subjects like the history of separating milk products from meat products, the taboo against eating pork, and the relationship between Jews and non-Jews surrounding food. I haven't had a chance

to poll too many people yet, but my sense is that Jordan rustled a few feathers, and surprised some people with his straight-forward presentation of the sources. I think some people were left with one, major glaring question; "So why should I (still) keep Kosher?" That is indeed an excellent question. Frankly, I'm glad people were thrown a little, because I think this opens up an opportunity for us to have a serious, frank, and emotional conversation about how and what we eat. 

This Shabbat, I would like to talk with you about eating. If you're around, please consider joining us for services on Saturday morning, where we will have an open (and potentially heated...) discussion, which I am calling, "What are you eating, and what's eating you?" I will, however, save you some

of the suspense by telling you right now, I'm not going to try to convince anyone to keep Kosher. I really don't think that's my job. Some people might disagree with me, and if you're one of them, I apologize. I'm just not going to do it. I want you to love being Jewish. If you want that to include Kashrut, GREAT! I will give you some sources, I'll offer helpful tips, I'll even be your personal cheerleader! But if you aren't interested, neither am I. Am I really here to make people feel guilty about what they do? I don't think so. But if that's true, then what's the point, right? What the heck are we all doing here, and why is the Ohev Shalom kitchen still strictly Kosher?!?

Jordan spoke a lot about having 'a food ethic' last weekend, and I think this might help guide our conversation moving forward. For me personally, and for us as a synagogue, our food ethic is rooted in Kashrut. Rabbi Brad Artson, in his book, "It's a Mitzvah!", writes that "Kashrut harnesses the act of eating to our identity, our community, and our morality. For thousands of years, the dietary laws have

created a potent bond, solidifying Jewish identity, forging a link with Jews throughout time and across a globe, and strengthening family and friends into communities devoted to a more humane order on Earth." What does your eating say about you? You don't have to keep Kosher to make a statement, but I think it's imperative that you DO think about how and what you eat. And remember, some people keep Kosher and still ignore the essential values of ethics, cleanliness, and sustainability, so just keeping Kosher, doesn't mean you're off the hook! What is your personal food ethic?

In this week's Torah reading (I bet you were wondering if I was ever going to get there...), Moses receives the Ten Commandments. By the way, none of the Top Ten speak about keeping Kosher... Just after God finishes presenting the first ten mitzvot to the Israelites, and is getting ready to continue speaking, the people ask Moses to be their intermediary. "You speak to us...

and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die" (Exodus, 20:16). Hearing the voice of God directly is too much for the people, they need a buffer. Moses - and later the prophets, the ancient and medieval rabbis, and today our modern rabbinic authorities - need to 'distill' the laws from their overpowering original. Yes, it's true what Jordan told us; the origin of separating meat comes from one, measly verse about cooking goats in milk. But so what? Why should that be the end of the story, and why should it shock you to know that our rabbis took liberties with the text as our legal code grew and evolved?!

Our laws and practices today do not come straight from God. But however you choose to eat, there should be a Divine spark, a dash

of holiness and ethics, flavoring every bite you consume. And if you disagree with me, have questions or strong opinions, or just want to talk about this some more, please join us on Saturday morning... and after services, we'll eat!

Photos in this blog post:  

1. Image courtesy of Frances Sheehan and Congregation Ohev Shalom

2. CC image courtesy of Sam Felder on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Yandle on Flickr  

4. CC image courtesy of David Blaine on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of MrVJTod on Flickr

Beshallach: Carrying the Weight of Glory

This Sunday, either the New York Giants or the New England Patriots will achieve great glory and acclaim in Superbowl XLVI... and I couldn't really care less about

either team. I'll probably still watch it(or parts of it, at least), but as an Eagles fan, I can't say this game holds much interest or excitement for me whatsoever. Nevertheless, there is glory to be won on Sunday, because the Superbowl is one of our most glorious and glory-filled events of the year. And it serves as a good lead-in for me, because this week I would like to talk to you about - you guessed it - glory.

It's a term that caught my eye while reading through our parasha. As the Israelites depart Egypt, and begin to Exode (can you make 'Exodus' into a verb?) into the desert, God decides to devise a cunning plan. In order to punish Pharaoh one last time, God will make Pharaoh believe the Israelites are lost and bewildered in the desert, and will trick him into pursuing them to the Sea of Reeds. As we

know, the Israelites cross through the sea on dry land (thank you very much, Charlton Heston), while Pharaoh's charioteers all drown as the walls of the sea come crashing down upon them. By doing this, God tells Moses, "I will be glorified through Pharaoh and all his army" (Exodus, 14:4). And this notion, that God will be glorified through defeating Pharaoh, is repeated again in verses 17 and 18. 

I found it striking, and somewhat jarring, that God could sound so vindictive, and almost (heretical, I know) sadistic. It is as if God has been using Pharaoh as a punching bag, and is now ready to deal the final blow. To try and understand this a bit better, I did a little research. Two commentaries - one by Rabbi Gunther Plaut and one by Everett Fox - both highlight a fascinating linguistic connection on this very issue. The word for 'glorify'

in Hebrew is 'Ee-kav'dah,' which comes from the root 'k-v-d.' Interestingly, the word 'harden,' as in "God hardened Pharaoh's heart," is 'kaved,' from exactly the same root! And that root, on its own, evokes a sense of 'heaviness.' The Plaut commentary cites a rabbinic midrash (story) that imagines God saying to Pharaoh, "You sinner! With the same word with which you prove yourself recalcitrant I will glorify Myself." Indeed, for the first five plagues, Pharaoh hardens his own heart, and only with the final five does God 'take over' and push Pharaoh over the edge. 

I want to mention one additional commentary on this subject, actually written by a teenage cousin of mine, Toyam Cox. Toyam points out that Pharaoh was the one who first took away the free will of the Israelites by refusing to let them go. God then took away Pharaoh's free will, as both a reciprocal measure, and as punishment. I thought it was an intriguing juxtaposition. And I can't say that I've lost any sleep over Pharaoh getting bullied around; I think he mostly got what was coming to him. I am, however, still left with great discomfort over the suffering of the rest of the Egyptians, as well as their cattle who were struck by one of the plagues (cows never hurt anyone!), and the horses who perished along with the chariots in the sea. What I find perhaps most disturbing is my original point, about God's malicious desire to be 'glorified' through Pharaoh's misery.

What do we make of 'glory'? Who gets to decide what is glorified and what isn't? I personally feel that the Torah is once again challenging us to reassess our understanding of nuance-free terms like 'good guys' and 'bad guys,' 'heroes' and 'villains.' Nothing is ever so simple; not for us, not even for God! 

What one person considers a victory, another considers defeat, or even disaster. Certainly there's a whole segment of the population who see nothing glorious in the violence of pro-football (weirdos...). Once we leave black-or-white solutions behind, and delve into a world filled with shades of grey, I think we begin to have more honest and open conversations about humanity, life, and how we can work together to improve the world. An important, but 'heavy,' task indeed.

Photos in this blog post:  

1. CC image courtesy of RMTip21 on Flickr   

2. CC image courtesy of sharon8885@verizon.net on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of jontunn on Flickr  

4. CC image courtesy of kasthor on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of miss_rogue on Flickr

Bo: A Local Locust Problem

How do you pick which plague to send first? When God decides to afflict the Egyptians with ten plagues, in order to force them (but really, just hard-hearted Pharaoh) to let the slaves go free, how was the sequence of plagues decided? In fact, how were these ten chosen from among all other things that could be done? We aren't really told why blood came first, then frogs, and so on, through the Death of the First Born, which leaves us a lot of room to speculate. And in doing so, I think we come to realize something essential about Ancient Egyptian society... and about our priorities in life today.

Last week, we read about the first seven plagues, which ranged from causing a serious nuisance (blood, frogs, and lice), to incredible pain (boils and hail), to crippling the economy (death of livestock and hail again). This week we add the final three, and it's interesting to consider why these are so terrible as to come last. Working backwards, the final plague,

death of all first-born Egyptians, is understandably the blow that seals the deal. Plague #9 is interesting, because plunging Egypt into darkness was not only terrifying and paralyzing, but it challenged the essence of Egyptian theology. Ra, the sun-god of Egypt was supposed to be the head honcho, and Pharaoh was the human embodiment of Ra on earth. So to strike them with darkness completely annihilated all semblance of Ra's power, and humiliated Pharaoh.

But what about plague #8, locusts? How are they any different than the lice or insects from earlier plagues? Well, according to the Etz Hayim Torah Commentary, "The locust swarm is one of the worst scourges. An area of one square kilometer can contain 50 million such insects; in a single night they can devour 100,000 tons of vegetation." We're no longer talking inconvenience or even physical

pain; this is the total devastation of an agricultural society. What else are people going to live off? As city-dwellers, it is hard for us to appreciate how shattering such a plague could be for a farming community. But here's where we transition to modern times. It is worth noting that even though we don't have swarms of locusts descending upon us, access to food and the threat of starvation is still a major fear all around the world, and even in many parts of the US. Researchers talk about something they call food deserts, and I urge you to click on that link to learn more about this essential concept. God caused Egypt to become a literal food desert in our parasha, but today's food deserts are often man-made. 

Next week, at Ohev Shalom, we will be hosting as our Scholar in Residence, Dr. Jordan Rosenblum, who will be speaking to us about all manner of food-related topics. His titles include, "The Goy of Cooking - Jews and non-Jews in the Rabbinic Kitchen" and "The Jew as Other, and the Other White Meat." I am truly hoping that this weekend

sparks a new debate about food, sustainability, and nutrition, both within the congregation and in relation to our wider community. Starvation is indeed a horrific plague, high even on God's list of punishments to reserve for dire circumstances. Many people are starving, or are seriously under-nourished today. It is, therefore, tempting to ask, is it God's fault or ours? Yet perhaps it's time to put that debate aside, and start focusing instead on how we can make a difference, and how we can get rid of some proverbial 'locusts' right here in our area.

Photos in this blog post:  

1. CC image courtesy of Aah-Yeah on Flickr   

2. CC image courtesy of luc.viatour on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of glasseyes view on Flickr  

4. CC image courtesy of tonrulkens on Flickr

Va-Eira: I'm coming right back. I promise...

Why do we lie? Why do we feel the need to dance around the truth, make small 'adjustments' to facts, and sometimes convince ourselves

that white lies aren't really hurting anyone? Perhaps we imagine that brutal honesty does no one any good, so we believe we're actually protecting others (and, let's face it, ourselves) by lying. And I say 'we,' because I'm not exactly innocent myself. It's tough trying to be honest all the time! Even Moses, in this week's Torah reading, finds it hard to just be straight-forward with Pharaoh, and it leaves us feeling pretty uncomfortable about how the story plays out.

Right now, we're in the midst of the dramatic story of the Exodus, and specifically the confrontations between Moses and Pharaoh. Many of

us are familiar with Moses' famous line, "LET MY PEOPLE GO!", and we know about the 10 Plagues. We also might be aware that Pharaoh keeps hardening his heart; promising to let the Israelites leave, and then swiftly changing his mind after each plague is lifted. One part that really bothers me, is when Moses feels he needs to lie to Pharaoh about his ultimate objective.

Five times in our Torah portion - five! - God instructs Moses to say to Pharaoh, "Let My people go that they may worship Me." I suppose it isn't clear to us, the readers, whether God is asking for a temporary reprieve, i.e. a few personal days so the Israelites can pray to God and then RETURN back to Egypt. It's probably left vague on purpose... Moses, however, explicitly lies to Pharaoh, asking for time off so that the slaves can all embark on a three-day journey into the desert, sacrifice to their God, and then return back to resume their servitude. It's certainly clear

from the text that Pharaoh understood it that way, when in chapter 8, verse 24, he says, "I will let you go to sacrifice to the Lord your God in the wilderness; but do not go very far." This whole, "Let my people go" business is a ruse, a sham! Moses is trying to pull a fast one on ol' Pharaoh... and it works! Eventually, after the full ten plagues have decimated the land, Pharaoh acquiesces, and the people head off to sacrifice to the Lord (or so Pharaoh thinks...). The moment Pharaoh realizes he's been hood-winked, and the people are really gone for good, that is when he sends his chariots off to bring them back. Though as we know, that doesn't work out too well for him either...

What would have happened if Moses had said to Pharaoh, "No more games, no more Mr. Nice Guy, we're leaving PERMANENTLY!"? Would Pharaoh have refused? Could his people survive more plagues? Perhaps the standoff would have lasted longer, and by lying, Moses actually spared the Egyptians 17 additional plagues of misery. Perhaps. But personally, I still vote for honesty. It ain't pretty; the 

truth can get messy, painful, and awkward, but it can also be liberating. Often times our fear of what 'might' happen if we're honest is much more terrifying than the reality once it plays itself out. Would Pharaoh have resisted? Absolutely. But would the result have ultimately been the same? I believe so, but with a lot more integrity and self-confidence. We shouldn't ever have to lie to protect our right for freedom, or make excuses for demanding equality - not in the Bible, and certainly not today. Sure, we might be able to achieve it through less honorable means, but it will mean so much more when we stand up proudly and declare out loud, "LET MY PEOPLE GO... and for real this time!" 

How might honesty change things in your life? It doesn't have to be brutal and unwavering, disguising mean-spirited comments and

hurting people under the cloak of honesty. It isn't all or nothing. But if we're being truthful with ourselves (and that is, after all, the whole point of this blog post), I think there's potential for more honesty in all our lives. If Moses had room to grow - and believe me, he did - so do we. Let's start right now.

Photos in this blog post:  

1. CC image courtesy of cinnamon_girl on Flickr   

2. CC image courtesy of Desiree N. Williams on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of garethjmsaunders on Flickr  

4. CC image courtesy of Ron Cogswell on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Drodeian on Flickr

Shemot: Retreating to Holiness

How do you replenish? Are you able to recharge? If we're going to be

efficient, productive individuals, we really must find a way to unplug, let go, and even retreat away from our hectic lives, so that we won't burn out. We do ourselves a disservice when we push ourselves too hard. It isn't selfish to take some time away; it's essential.

This week, I discovered a place to get away and recharge my batteries. It's called RTI, the Rabbinic Training Institute, and is also known affectionately among rabbis in the Conservative Movement as "rabbi 

camp." I spent five days with 70 other rabbis; learning, chatting, swapping stories, eating good food, and even getting a massage! It was terrific. I was especially thrilled to see six former classmates who are now spread across the country (and one in England), and to really spend some time together again. It was phenomenal, and I look forward to sharing some of what I've learned with Ohev Shalom, as well as here on the blog. 

For now, I want to just share one small insight regarding this week's Torah portion, and I think it also relates to the notion of taking time away. How does something become a holy space? What makes it special? In our parasha, Moses sees a burning bush while wandering among his sheep, and he turns aside to investigate. It turns out, God's

Presence is in that space, and God tells him to remove his sandals because the ground upon which he is standing is holy. But is it the space itself that is truly holy? An hour before Moses strolled by, was the bush yet lit? And an hour after Moses has departed, is that spot still sacred? How about a year later, or a hundred, or a thousand? I don't believe it is the location that makes something inherently holy, it is so much more. It's the people, the experiences, the relationships. The Pearlstone Retreat Center outside Baltimore isn't necessarily unique on its own (though it happens to be an amazingly beautiful place...), but when filled with phenomenal teachings, enriching activities, and spiritual camaraderie, THAT makes it special. 

What are the holy places in your life? What makes them special, and how often do you get there? I guess I don't know this for certain, but I'm betting you should try to bring yourself back there more often. 

It can be life-altering and transformative, or just relaxing, nourishing, and fun. Sometimes people think of retreats as luxury or expendable. But they really, truly are not. This week, I also learned that what people hold onto in life are experiences, not material possessions. And I learned a great deal about gratitude. I am very grateful for my week at RTI, for the experience of learning about how to replenish, and for discovering a new holy place in my life. I wish the same for all of you.

Photos in this blog post:  

1. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, scene from the Pearlstone Retreat Center.  

2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, JTS class of 2009!

3. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, more from Pearlstone.

4. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, with Rabbi Rafi Kaiserblueth, St. Albans, UK.

Va-Yechi: Comedic Timing in the Torah

This week, we're finishing up the Book of Genesis. The story of a family morphs into the story of a nation. But before we bid farewell to Jacob and Joseph, we are given one last 
series of stories to remember them by. In these final chapters, we already see the origins of our people; and as Conservative Jews, we have the benefit of reading these stories through the 'true' lens of history. The first readers of these pages knew the outcome, because they were living hundreds of years later. The author of Genesis imagined Jacob realigning the tribes, and lo-and-behold they became the very same tribes we know today. How convenient...

Jacob is close to death. One of his final acts is to tell his son, Joseph, that his inheritance will be a double portion (still playing favorites, I see. Some people never learn...). However, instead of his own name becoming one of the tribes, his two sons, Ephraim and Menashe, will become two tribes in place of their father. Sure enough, there is no Joseph tribe, and we know that in Ancient Israel Menashe and Ephraim were indeed two of the twelve tribes. Furthermore, Jacob declares that the younger brother, Ephraim, will supersede the older. Once again, we know this became reality, because Ephraim grew into one of the strongest of ALL the tribes. A few generations later, The Northern Kingdom of Israel was even called 'Ephraim,' it was such a powerful tribe. So it would certainly not have surprised the ancient reader to hear Jacob declare that, "[Menashe's] younger brother shall be greater than he, and his offspring shall be plentiful enough for nations" (Gen. 48:19).

But I would have to say that my favorite moment in this story comes at the beginning of chapter 48. Jacob makes a long proclamation to Joseph about how his two sons, Ephraim and Menashe, shall be his (Jacob's); that he is adopting them like 

his own two sons. Then, in verse 8, we read: "Noticing Joseph's sons, Israel asked, 'Who are these?'" I LOVE IT! He makes a grand statement about adopting these boys, turns around, sees them, and says, 'Who the heck are they?' Every once in a while, the Bible reminds us why there are so many Jewish comedians; no one knows comedic timing better than the Torah!

I learn two things from this wonderful little vignette. 1) The importance of humor. I really mean that. In the middle of a serious scene, a pivotal moment in Jewish history and the death-bed-blessing of a family patriarch, there's still room for a little laughter and levity. Something we should never forget in our own lives as well. And 2) Humility. Jacob is about to elevate these two young boys to a pretty lofty status; higher than any of their cousins. They are being singled

out, and are given very special blessings... and a second later, their grandfather knocks them right back down again. But more than that, Jacob is saying to his grandkids, "Who are you? What are you going to make of yourselves, and how are you going to set yourselves apart from the rest?" Whatever special treatment he gives them won't matter one bit, unless they make the effort to BE special, to live special lives, and carry on the traditions of their ancestors. This too is a question we must all ask ourselves: Who are we? How are we going to make our lives special, and earn the blessings of our ancestor, Jacob? Cause if you don't watch out, and you don't make the effort, he might turn around and look at you and say, "Who the heck are you???"

Photos in this blog post:  

1. CC image courtesy of dleell on Flickr   

2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, from the book, Deluxe Then And Now: Bible Maps.

3. CC image courtesy of david_shankbone on Flickr  

4. CC image courtesy of jrubinic on Flickr