Torah Gems - May 30th BaMidbar

Torah Gems - May 30th

This week's TORAH GEMS were prepared by Francine Aron

The first parsha of the book of Numbers, Bamidbar, discusses the census of the men of military age; the arrangement and order in which the people were to proceed on their journey; and the work of the Levites.

There is an interesting connection between the census and the work of the Levites. The census of the men of military age was to be done personally - by a head count. They were to pass before Moses and Aaron and give their names. This is an extremely respectful way of counting. It is God's way of showing the importance of each individual, and showing that each individual should be looked at carefully and seen clearly. This is appropriate looking.

Concerning the work of the Levites which was to take care of the Tabernacle and its furniture and guard it and carry it, Moses and Aaron are told several times to take great care that only those whose job it is may look at the Tabernacle and its contents. Chapter 4 goes into very great detail about how the parts of the Tabernacle were to be wrapped when in transit, so that no danger would befall the Kohatites, whose job it was to carry the Tabernacle. If they were to see the actual items uncovered it would be considered inappropriate looking and the punishment was severe. Why? One commentator (Hirsch) says the danger is that the object might come to be considered more important than the spirit which it represents - thus losing sight of what really matters. We are shown how extremely important it is to see to the heart of the matter.

In between the census and the work of the Levites, is the arrangement of the group and the order in which they were to journey. They are to proceed in a formation which surrounds the Tabernacle - each tribe having its specific place in the outer square, and the Levites in the inner square, with the Tabernacle, which is the heart of the people, in the center. God, like a good parent, shows the people how to maintain order, so that they will be seen as a group which knows what it is doing, and a group to be respected and taken seriously, and therefore a group which will succeed.

SHABBAT SHALOM

Torah Gems - May 23rd

Torah Gems - May 23rd

This week's TORAH GEMS were prepared by Dr. Rob Lindeman

"All tithes of the herd (bakar) or flock - of all that passes under the shepherd's staff, every tenth one - shall be holy to the Lord. He must not look out (lo yi-vaker) for good as against bad, or make substitution for it" (Vayikra 27:32-33)

In adjacent verses the root bet-kuf-resh produces two words with disparate meanings: bakar (herd), and yi-vaker (look out for). In fact, these words rest on a single conceptual foundation. Bet-kuf-resh means "to cleave" or "to open" (Genesius, 1906). This notion applies to plowing, as in bakar (cattle, animals that perform plowing). It also applies to inspecting or looking into, as in li-vaker (to inquire). The third sense is breaking forth and arising of light, as in the familiar boker (morning).

All three senses of bet-kuf-resh suggest more than merely cleaving or opening; they suggest opening for the purpose of caring for or tending to something. A bakar opens ground for the planting of seeds. Li-vaker always implies opening inquiry with intent to aid or comfort, as we will see. Boker opens the day, making human activity possible.

In our verses, lo yi-vaker implies that the shepherd should not look into or investigate the kashrut of the bakar. Such an investigation requires close inspection with careful, intimate contact. Similarly in Vayikra 13:36, the priest examining a patient for presence of tsaraat needn't "look for (yi-vaker) yellow hair". In other words, the priest does not need to get up close and look carefully at the skin. Yi-vaker implies a deep inspection that requires looking into the essence of a thing and making a careful judgment (or, as in these cases, refraining from looking into the essence of a thing!)

Bet-kuf-resh also appears in a verse from the Psalm of David that we sing during the penitential season (Tehillim 27:4).

One thing have I asked of the Lord, this do I desire:

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord

All the days of my life,

To behold the graciousness of the Lord,

And to enter into (li-vaker) His sanctuary

(translation from the Silverman siddur)

It appears the Silverman misses the full meaning of li-vaker. David has already asked to dwell in God's house and to look upon God's graciousness forever: why would he ask now to enter or visit? Furthermore, if David had been asking merely to enter God's sanctuary, he might have said la'voh b'haichalo (from the shoresh bet-vav-hay). Instead, by saying li-vaker, David is asking God's permission to care for His sanctuary. This is more in keeping with David the poet king who danced before the Holy Ark!

The mitzvah of Bikur Cholim is usually translated "visiting the sick", but the mitzvah requires more than mere visitation: The foundation of the mitzvah of Bikur Cholim is to visit a sick person and to inquire after his or her needs. If one merely visits, but does not inquire, he does not fulfill the mitzvah (Y.D. 335)

An additional law of Bikur Cholim shines light on all three senses of bet-kuf-resh (cattle, inquiring, and morning). We must avoid visiting a sick person during the first three hours of daylight. The reason given is that the sick person feels relatively well at this time and might not be inclined to ask for your help. But I might suggest another reason:

There isn't much light during the first three hours of the day. A shepherd tends to his cattle when the light is good enough for him to inspect them closely and to see which animals need his help. Similarly, we visit the sick person in the light of day, when we can see the patient and we can see to his or her needs. Clearly it is no accident that it is our custom to perform Bikur Cholim in the morning.

SHABBAT SHALOM

Torah Gems - May 9th Parashat Emor

Torah Gems - May 9th

This week's TORAH GEMS were prepared by Adam Solomon

This week's parasha is Emor. It covers a great deal of ground. When I started studying it this week I was struck by the idea of how much of Judaism is encapsulated in this one parasha. In this one parasha we learn some of the rules regarding the kohanim needing to maintain ritual purity and we're given commandments surrounding Passover, the counting of the omer, Shavuot, Sukkot, and Yom Kippur. Keeping Shabbat is also mentioned. It seemed that if there was only one parasha you could have from the Torah, you could do a lot worse than to pick Emor.

One detail that I'd like to pull out, though, is one that might seem less relevant to today's world. Kohanim are commanded to avoid exposure to the ritual impurity which emanates from the deceased. Exceptions are made for first degree relatives. The kohen gadol however does not even get these exceptions, he was not allowed to even attend the funeral of a parent.

Rashi, the prolific medieval French commentator, notes that there is a case where even kohen gadol is obligated personally to attend to the burial of an individual. This is the case of the "met-mitzvah", an abandoned dead body (see B.T. Nazir 48a). Every Jew, including the kohen gadol, who encounters a met-mitzvah is obligated to ensure that the met-mitzvah has a proper burial.

Rabbi Eli Mansour of the Syrian Jewish community in Brooklyn expands on this by noting that even on Yom Kippur when the kohen gadol is going to atone for the communal sins of the Jewish people, if he encountered a met-mitzvah he would have been obligated to personally perform a proper and dignified burial. This would necessarily disqualify him from performing the Yom Kippur rites which would then be carried out by another kohen who had been prepared for such a contingency.

Tractate Nazir also notes that in the case of a nazir and a kohen encountering a met-mitzvah, the kohen would be obligated to bury the met-mitzvah and not the nazir. If a nazir becomes ritually impure he has to restart his period of nazirute from the beginning and bring an appropriate sacrifice. The kohen merely needs to wait a week and then immerse in mikvah to return to a state of ritual purity (see B.T Nazir 47).

So how is this relevant to us?

I think that it demonstrates the critical nature of acts of lovingkindness (gimilut chesed) in Judaism. Here we have a scenario of the kohen gadol on the holiest day of the year - the Sabbath of Sabbaths as it is called in this week's parasha - and he is obligated to attend to an anonymous person who clearly cannot repay his kindness.

I would hope that for all of us our Torah would be a Torah of lovingkindness in this spirit.

SHABBAT SHALOM

Torah Gems - May 16th Parashat Behar

Torah Gems - May 16th

This week's TORAH GEMS were prepared by Emma Starr (with Rabbi David Starr)

Parashat Behar

This week's parasha discusses agricultural laws and also commands us to behave responsibly for one's neighbors. One particular verse teaches "Do not deceive one another, but fear your God; for I am the Lord your God." (Lev 25:17)

What does it mean to fear God? We may fear God's power in the world, believing that He sees what we do when we interact with other people. That's the easy part, to correct what others can see, including God. But what about what others cannot see, what we think and feel inside? We wonder if God knows all of our secrets, our deepest darkest thoughts and feelings that we're afraid to share with others. Sometimes it's easier to be honest with other people than it is to be honest with ourselves.

Rabbi Bunum of Pryzscha, a famous Hasidic master, understood this. That is why he explained that this verse from Behar refers to a truly pious person, a hasid. That person does more than the law requires, does more than be honest with others, does more than fears God for seeing what we do out in the world. Rabbi Bunum would say: "Now, this is the law: 'Do not deceive one another, but fear your God; for I am the Lord your God.' A hasid goes beyond the letter of the law; he will not even deceive his own self!"

We must be honest and fair with others. Sometimes it's even harder, and more important, to be honest with ourselves.

SHABBAT SHALOM

Torah Gems - May 2nd

Torah Gems - May 2nd

This week's TORAH GEMS were prepared by KI Rabbinic Resident Chaim Koritzinsky

BE HOLY, LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR-BUT HOW???

This week's parasha contains one of the most famous passages in all of Torah: "Love your neighbor as yourself- I am the Lord." "V'ahavta Le'Reicha Kamocha, Ani Adonai" (Leviticus 19:18). In fact, this passage is so well known that it has become known as the Golden Rule and a variation of this passage can be found in almost all faiths.

This passage is quoted so often that it's easy to forget that it is actually a mitzvah, a commandment. After all, how can a person be commanded to love another person? What does it mean to love someone kamocha, like yourself? Isn't the commandment then dependant on how much one loves oneself? And what does God have to do with this commandment? Why does God need to remind us that Ani Adonai (I am God) in the same breath as commanding us to love our neighbor?

Contextually, we read this passage as part of a larger parasha that begins Kedoshim Tehiyu (Be Holy). The parasha goes on to describe all the mitzvot that one must follow in order to live up to this standard of holiness. Loving one's neighbor is one piece of this larger Holiness Code.

This week, we also read this parasha and this passage v'ahavta le'reicha kamocha, Ani Adonai (Love your neighbor as yourself, I am the Lord) with the backdrop of Yom Ha'shoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day). As my classmate Shayna Rhodes pointed out, the combination of last week's parasha "Achrei Mot" (After Death) with this week's parasha "Kedoshim Tehiyu" (You shall be holy), spells out a way that we can honor the memory of those who perished as well as inspire each of us today in fulfilling this commandment anew.

In this spirit, I offer various interpretations of this passage followed by a beautiful essay by one of my teachers and the founder of the Hebrew College Rabbinical School, Rabbi Arthur Green:

Hillel on One Foot
Once there was a gentile who came before Shammai, and said to him: Convert me on the condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot. Shammai pushed him aside with the measuring stick he was holding. The same fellow came before Hillel, and Hillel converted him, saying: That which is despicable to you, do not do to your fellow, this is the whole Torah, and the rest is commentary, go and learn it."

Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a

Maimonides
It is a mitzvah for every human to love each and everyone from Israel as he loves his own body. As it is written, "Love your neighbor as yourself", therefore one must sing his praises, and show concern for his financial well-being, as he would for his own well-being and as he would for his own honor. Anyone who aggrandizes himself at the expense of another person has no portion in the world to come.

From Hilchot Deot: Laws of Counsel

Nachmanides
The reason behind, "be loving to your neighbor like yourself" is in fact an overstatement for no human heart can accept loving a command to love one's neighbor as oneself. And furthermore Rabbi Akiva already taught that "your own life comes before the life of your friend." Why is the passage written LE'reicha , meaning "to" or "towards" your neighbor (as opposed to the use of et, indicating a simple direct object)? For sometimes a person will love his neighbor in certain matters, such as doing good to him in material wealth but not with wisdom and similar matters. But if he loves him completely, he will want his beloved friend to gain riches, properties, honor, knowledge and wisdom. However [because of human nature] he will still not want him to be his equal, for there will always be a desire in his heart that he should have more of these good things than his neighbor. Therefore, the Torah commanded that this degrading jealousy should not exist in his heart, but instead a person should love to do abundance of good for his fellow-being as he does for himself, and he should place no limitations upon his love for him. It is for this reason that it is said of Jonathan's [love for David}, for he loved him as he loved his own soul (Samuel I 20:17)

Debate between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Azzai

"Love your neighbor as yourself." Rabbi Akiva said: this is the most important principle in the Torah. Ben Azzai said: More important is the principle: "this is the book of the generations of Adam; on the day when God made humans they were fashioned in the image of God" (Genesis 5:1).

From Midrash- Sifra Kedoshim 45

Rabbi Tanchuma brings in the Divine

Rabbi Akiva said: "Love your neighbor as yourself" is the most important principle in the Torah. Lest you say: because I was cursed so let my fellow be cursed, because I was despised, so let my fellow be despised, Rabbi Tanhuma said: If you behave in this manner, know whom you are despising for you were created in God's image.

From Midrash Genesis Rabba 24:7

A Christian Take

"He (one of the scribes) asked him (Jesus), which commandment is the most important of all? The most important is 'Hear O Israel the Lord our god, the Lord is one, you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: 'you shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There are no commandments greater than these."

From Mark 12:28

A Contemporary View

A short essay from Rabbi Arthur Green who picks up on the debate quoted above between Rabbi Akiva and Ben Azzai as to what is the most central precept in the Torah.

IN GOD'S IMAGE

The second mitzvah of Creation is that of treating every human being as the image of God. The very core of our self-understanding as Jews and as persons calls upon us to see each man and woman as a lens through which the Divine is reflected. This simple statement is the basis for all Jewish interpersonal ethics.

When Rabbi Akiva claimed that "Love your neighbor as yourself; I am the Lord" (Lev. 19:18) was the basis of the entire Torah, his colleague Ben Azai replied that "This is the book of the generations of Adam; on the day when God made humans they were fashioned in the image of God" (Genesis 5:1) was a more basic principle than that.

The discussion is a crucial one for understanding the place of ethical conduct within Judaism. Akiva is the great believer in love, both human and divine. Akiva sees the Song of Songs as the central metaphor for the relationship between God and Israel; he is willing to allow human ethics to base themselves on the commandment to love. Ben Azai is more realistic. Even where there is no love, he tells us, there is still the divine image. Every person is the bearer of that image and is entitled to the esteem and reverence in which we hold the face of God.

All the decisions we make in the interpersonal realm need to bear this principle in mind. The decision to open ourselves to another in love is one of sharing that divine spark within us, that of seeking out the face of God within the other. The realization that every human being is God's image makes an unambiguous demand upon us. Each person has the right to be known and loved for that divine image that is his or her most profound and often hidden self.

Each image of God in the world also has the right to exist in dignity, to engage in meaningful labor, and to live at peace. The role of governments and political parties is to see that this happens; it is to this standard of our religious respect for human dignity that they are to be held up.

In our individual lives as well, we constantly face the question, "Am I treating human beings- myself as well as others- as the image of God?" This demand will shape and restrict our actions rather clearly in attempts at the "use" of other human beings- whether as sexual objects, as tools to help us gain money on political power, or as fulfillment of some other need we have. We even ignore the divine image when we place people in depersonalized categories, relating to them only professionally, as "clients" of our therapeutic practice, or as "congregants" of our synagogue.

When applied to the way we treat ourselves, it will restrict both those activities that harm the human body, and those that lead us into situations of personal degradation. It is the basis of that hard-to-define term menschlichkeyt, or decent humanity, that sets the agenda for the instinctive ethics of many Jews, even those cut off from the theological moorings of their own values. The value of tselem Elohim, seeing humans as God's image, is also key to some of the most wrenching and difficult decisions we face in our lives. Some of these decisions, such as those involving abortion and euthanasia, are still difficult and morally ambiguous, even where we do seek full regard for God's image. Consideration of the human as divine image does not necessarily tell us which way to turn in such situations. Even there, however, it is a principle that guides us away from steps that might otherwise be undertaken too lightly.

But the matter of treating each person as the image of God extends beyond all these examples of moral demand. If we really live as though each person were God's image, we necessarily find every human being to be of interest to us. "There is no person who does not have his hour"- every human life has something unique and valuable about it, a contribution to be offered that can be fulfilled by no other. Each messenger brings back a unique portrait of the king, one that only he or she could paint. To take seriously our faith that each person is God's image is to treat every person with a spiritual dignity and caring that would transform all of our lives. Surely none of us lives this mitzvah to the fullest, but there can be no Judaism that does not constantly attempt to make it a reality.

From Seek My Face, Speak My Name: A Contemporary Jewish Theology (Jason Aaronson, 1992)

Shabbat Shalom

7th & 8th Days of Pesach

Torah Gems - April 25th

This Shabbat we are fortunate to have Torah Gems from
Jennifer Rudin & Jim Morgan
Enjoy!


Jennifer Rudin:


On the 7th day of Passover, as our celebration of our exodus from mitzrayim is coming to a close, we read a portion of the Torah that is well known for its descriptive and poetic recounting of our crossing the Red Sea. Here we read the song of Moses and the song of Miriam, both inspired by the miraculous splitting of the sea. As the Egyptians drown in the water, the Israelite people, overwhelmed with emotions of fear, faith, and gratitude, release themselves to the power of song.

So Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord. They said: I will sing to the Lord for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea... The Lord, the Warrior - Lord is His name! Pharaoh's chariots and his army He has cast into the sea; and the pick of his officers are drowned in the Sea of Reeds...You made Your wind blow, the sea covered them. They sank like lead in the majestic waters... Exodus 15:1-19

Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron's sister took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her in dance with timbrels. And Miriam chanted for them: Sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously Horse and Driver He has hurled into the sea. Exodus 15:20-21

Although both songs use vivid imagry and serve as testimony to God's might, Miriam's song starts out confidently and assertively with "Shiru l'adonai, Sing to God!" whereas her brother's begins with a slight hesitation, "Az Yashir ... l'adonai- So, they sang to God." This grammatical variation sheds light on the difference between the way the men and women related to the miracles of the Divine. One explanation, "When the Israelite women came to give birth (in Egypt), they did so in the fields, and God sent one from the highest heavens to clean and tend to them, like a midwife. So when God appeared to them at the Sea, they recognized Him first, as it is said, 'This is my God..." Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sotah 11b

It is in this parasha that Miriam is referred to by name for the first time in the Torah as she leads the women in song. Here the Torah refers to Miriam as "Aaron's sister." She is a woman confident to lead her people in song, Miriam's uniqueness, not only from her brother Moses, but from the entire people of Israel, makes her a role model and leader among the Jewish people. The Torah refers to Miriam as a "n'viyah," prophetess. An important qualification of a Jewish prophet is the ability to foreshadow the attitudes, problems, and predicaments that will face the Jewish people in the future. Miriam's recognition as "n'viyah" is a result of two actions. First, she separates herself from the masses in the act of taking the timbrel and leading the women in song. Second, her foresight of bringing drums to the Red Sea posits a special relationship that she has with the God. Rashi points out, "'With drums and dancing': the righteous women of that generation were confident that God would do miracles for them; so they brought drums with them from Egypt."

Unlike Miriam who packed timbrels for the journey out of Mitzrayim with an eye towards the future, Moses carried Joseph's bones, fulfilling a past promise. According to the midrash, the Israelites couldn't leave Egypt without taking the bones of Joseph with them, so the Egyptians hid the coffin in the Nile. Only Serach bat Asher, a niece of Joseph, and a survivor from that generation knew where the coffin was. The bones of Joseph were so important, that they were carried in an 'aron' the same word used for the ark for Ten Commandments. The Rabbis connect the two and say that two 'arks' journeyed with the Israelites in the wilderness: one with Joseph's bones and with the Tablets.

Beyond the bones and the timbrels, one might wonder how the words of the song evolved. Rabbi Akiva says: Moses said, "I will sing to God," and they responded, "I will sing to God"; Moses said, "For He has triumphed gloriously" and they responded, "I will sing to God" (and so on with each verse -- Moses would sing the verse, and they would respond with the refrain, "I will sing to God").
Rabbi Eliezer says: Moses said, "I will sing to God," and they responded, "I will sing to God"; Moses said, "For He has triumphed gloriously," and they responded, "For He has triumphed gloriously" (and so on -- they repeated each verse after Moses).
Rabbi Nechemiah says: Moses sang the opening words of the song, after which they each sang it on their own. (Talmud and Rashi, Sotah 30b)
These three opinions represent three levels of leadership. Rabbi Akiva describes an ideal in which a people completely abandon their individuality to the collective identity embodied by the leader. Moses alone sang the nation's gratitude to God, their experience of redemption, and their vision of their future as God's people. The people had nothing further to say as individuals, other than to affirm their unanimous assent to what Moses was expressing.
At first glance, this seems the ultimate in unity: hundreds of thousands of hearts and minds yielding to a single program and vision. Rabbi Eliezer, however, argues that this is but a superficial unity -- an externally imposed unity of the moment, rather than an inner, enduring unity. When people set aside their own thoughts and feelings to accept what is dictated to them by a higher authority, they are united only in word and deed; their inner selves remain different and distinct. Such a unity is inevitably short-lived: sooner or later their intrinsic differences and counter-aims will assert themselves, and fissures will begin to appear also in their unanimous exterior. So Rabbi Eliezer interprets the Torah's description of Israel's song to say that they did not merely affirm Moses' song with a refrain, but repeated his words themselves. Each individual Jew internalized Moses' words, so that they became the expression of his own understanding and feelings. The very same words assumed hundreds of thousands of nuances of meaning, as they were absorbed by each of the minds, and articulated by each of the mouths, of the people of Israel.
Rabbi Nechemiah, however, is still not satisfied. If Israel repeated these verses after Moses, this would imply that their song did not stem from the very deepest part of themselves. For if the people were truly one with Moses and his articulation of the quintessence of Israel, why would they need to hear their song from his lips before they could sing it themselves? It was enough, says Rabbi Nechemiah, that Moses started them off with the first words of the song, so as to stimulate their deepest experience of the miracle, with the result that each of them sang the entire song on their own. (The Lubavitcher Rebbe)



Jim Morgan:

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach: I hope you are in the midst of a meaningful and wonder-filled Passover. This week, I have compiled the voices of two rabbis who teach us about Serach Bat Asher, the legendary wise woman. Serach plays important roles in midrashim about our Torah reading for the seventh day of Passover. This portion, Exodus 13:17-15:26, comprises the first four aliyot of Parashat Beshallach, from Pharaoh's final decision to release the Israelites through the Song at the Sea. Serach does not appear in the Torah text here. Rather, her name is mentioned in two lists, generations apart: the genealogy of Jacob in Genesis 46:17 and the census in Numbers 26:46. This coincidence of names led our rabbis to proclaim that this was the same person, granted an extra-long life or even immortality for her gifts of memory and gentleness. Enjoy these excerpts.


"And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph, who had exacted an oath from the children of Israel, saying, 'God will be sure to take notice of you: then you shall carry up my bones from here with you'" (Exodus 13:19). This is the second of three times that Joseph's bones are mentioned in the Torah. In Genesis 50:25, on his deathbed, Joseph speaks to his brothers: "God will surely take care of you; bring my bones up from this place!" The same verb, the Hebrew root pei-kuf-dalet, is used in both instances, translated as "take care" (Genesis 50:25) and "take notice" (Exodus 13:19). [In the Eitz Chaim chumash, both instances are translated as "take notice."] Adele Berlin points out that the same verb is translated as "remembered" when "God fulfilled a promise to Sarah [and] she became pregnant with Issac" in Genesis 21:1 (in The Torah: A Women's Commentary, ed. Tamara Cohn Eskenazi [New York: URJ Press, 2008], p. 296). The theme of memory is woven throughout the Joseph saga. His own story is one of being forgotten and being remembered. Once he dies, he is forgotten by those who most directly benefited from his management skills: "A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph" (Exodus 1:8). The Egyptians forget, but the Israelites are charged to remember. Joseph had told his brothers: God will remember the Israelite people, the descendants of Jacob, if they, if you, remember me.

Moses remembered. But how did Moses come upon Joseph's bones? The Talmud teaches that after the Exodus, there was a single survivor of Joseph's generation: Serah bat Asher. Moses sought her out, and her direction and good counsel enabled him to find Joseph's remains and thus fulfill his ancestor's last words (see Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 13a and M'chilta, B'shalach). Who was this remarkable woman? The Rabbis interpreted her "remarkable longevity to ... a powerful blessing ... that her grandfather Jacob bestowed on her when she informed him in song that Joseph was still alive" (Midrash HaGadol and Sefer HaYashar on 48:8, cited by Judith Baskin, in The Torah: A Women's Commentary, p. 276).

from Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell, "Observing and Remembering: Joseph's Bones and Ours," April 21, 2008 (http://urj.org/torah/, accessed April 24, 2008)

It was Serah who told Moses where Joseph's coffin was buried. On Joseph's deathbed, he made his family promise that when they eventually left Egypt they would carry his bones with them. The Midrash notes that so many years had passed since Joseph's death that no one remembered where he was buried. On the day before the Israelites were to leave Egypt, Moses was brokenhearted when he was unable to locate Joseph's coffin.

"Why are you so gloomy?" an old woman asked.

Moses explained his desire to fulfill the ancient promise. "I can lead you to his burial place," she responded.

"But how do you know?" Moses demanded.

"Because I am Serah bat Asher. I was present at Joseph's funeral; his coffin was sunk into the Nile."

Serah led Moses to the very spot in the Nile, and Moses cried out: "Joseph, Joseph, we are leaving now." Suddenly, Joseph's coffin floated to the surface and Moses took it with them as they left.

The legendary story of Serah bat Asher doesn't end there. The Midrash identifies her as the one Israelite who saw the angels gather to watch the children of Israel cross the Sea of Reeds. She saw God commanding the waters to part. She saw the divine presence among the Israelites when Miriam played the tambourine. Other than Moses, Serah bat Asher was the only one of her generation who could look upon God and live.

Serah bat Asher also turns up in the first century beit midrash of Yochanan ben Zakkai. He was describing to his students that when the waters of the Sea of Reeds parted, the walls of water looked like a wall of sprouting bushes. Suddenly, a voice came through an open window in the back of the beit midrash: "No. That's not right." All the students turned around and saw an old lady peering through the window. "I am Serah bat Asher. I know what the walls looked like because I was there! They looked like mirrors, mirrors in which every man, woman and child was reflected so it seemed as though even more people crossed there, not only those who were present, but their descendants and the descendants of their descendants!"

How did Serah bat Asher eventually die? One legend reports that she died in a fire in a synagogue in Persia in the ninth century. Another legend is that she never actually died. Instead, she is like Elijah, wandering around the world, setting the record straight. A third legend is that a fiery chariot took her to heaven where she presides over a palace in which thousands of women who tended the old and sick in their lifetimes, as she cared for her grandfather Jacob, are privileged to study Torah with her as their teacher.

from Rabbi Laura Geller, "Serah's Legend," December 13, 2002 (http://www.jewishjournal.com/home/preview.php?id=9792, accessed April 24, 2008)




Shabbat Shalom

Chag Kasher v'Sameach

SEDER INSIGHTS

Torah Gems - April 18th


Compiled by Rabbi William Hamilton


SEDER INSIGHTS

Dayeinu is, on the surface, a simple song. It is a recitation of events of God's kindness over the course of Jewish history from the Egyptian exodus until the arrival in Israel, with the refrain Dayeinu - "It would have been enough for us."

Would it really have "been enough for us" had God not, for instance, split the Red Sea, trapping our ancestors between the water and the Egyptian army? "Had God not sustained us in the desert" - would that really have been enough for us? "Had God not given us the Torah." What are we saying when we say "it would have been enough?

I like to imagine that Dayeinu is 'an exercise in radical appreciation.' So often we see as given, that which is really a gift.

Yet another way of understanding Dayeinu, might touch on a pedagogic technique of hiding a message, leaving hints for its discovery. Could Dayeinu be hiding something significant in plain sight?

Dayeinu may be precisely such a puzzle. And its solution might lie in the realization that one of the song's lines is, in fact, not followed by the refrain at all. Few people can immediately locate it, but one of the events listed is pointedly not followed by the word dayeinu.

Take a look. Can you find the only phrase on the page that is not following by dayeinu? You found it, of course: the very first phrase in the poem. Dayeinu begins: "Had He taken us out of Egypt..." That phrase - and it alone - is never qualified with a dayeinu.

The subtle message of Dayeinu may be just that, the sheer indispensability of the Exodus - its contrast with the rest of Jewish history, its importance beyond even the magnitude of all the miracles that came to follow.


Chad gadya "One little kid, that father bought for two zuzim."

"And then came the cat and ate the kid, that father had bought for two zuzim. And then came the dog and bit the cat that had eaten the kid that father had bought for two zuzim....

"And then came the Holy One, blessed be He, and slaughtered the Angel of Death, who had slaughtered the slaughterer who had slaughtered the ox that had drunk the water that had quenched the fire that had burned the stick that had beaten the dog that had bit the cat that had eaten the kid that father had bought for two zuzim - one little kid, one little kid."

This is a fun song with which to part from our friends and family at the Seder. Though it does not appear to originate in Ashkenazi communities until fairly recently (mid- to late 16th century), Chad Gadya is more than a lively children's song, an amusing musical game to keep the children awake.

Indeed, the CHIDA (Rabbi Chayim Yosef David Azulai of Jerusalem, Hevron and Italy, 1724-1806) records in his book of Halakhic responsa the following question: "Somebody made fun of Chad Gadya... and thereby befouled his mouth. One of the company thereupon arose and excommunicated him. Is this excommunication valid?" The CHIDA's answer is unequivocal: "Making fun like this is a very severe act and the excommunication is indeed valid." Clearly, Chad Gadya is far more than a simple children's nursery rhyme.

We are so familiar with the words that most of us probably never even notice that Chad Gadya is Aramaic, not Hebrew (chad gadya, rather than g'di echad; ve-ata shunra, rather than u-va he-chatul, and so on). So, the first question is: Why was this song composed in Aramaic? After all, almost the entire Haggadah is in Hebrew.

Yet towards the end, Chad Gadya suddenly reverts to Hebrew: the slaughterer is ha-shochet in Hebrew, rather than necheisa in Aramaic; the Angel of Death is Malach ha-Mavet in Hebrew, not Malach Mota in Aramaic; and the Holy One, blessed be He is ha-Kadosh baruch Hu in Hebrew, not Kud'sha brich Hu in Aramaic. So, the next question is: Why the reversion to Hebrew?

And finally, what is the significance of father buying this kid for two zuzim?

Indeed, almost the entire Haggadah is in Hebrew. But there is another Aramaic section near the beginning: Ha lachma anya di achalu avhatana be-ar'a de-Mitzrayyim.... "This is the bread of affliction which our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. All who are hungry - come and eat; all who need - let them come and join in the Pesach. This year here; next year in the Land of Israel. This year slaves; next year, free people."

This section is also predominantly Aramaic, with a few well-selected words in Hebrew. And this deceptively simple paragraph has some important lessons.

The Ha lachma section had to have been written in a context when the Pesach sacrifice was not offered (either after the destruction of the Holy Temple when the Temple Mount was under foreign occupation, or in exile) as the invitation makes clear: Kol ditzrich yeitei ve-yifsach, "all who need, let them come and join in the Pesach." This invitation has to date from after the Pesach sacrifice had ceased, so that it refers to the Seder ceremony, not to the Paschal lamb itself. And so, since it applies to a time of galut (exile), it is written in Aramaic - the language of exile. But the corollary is that when looking forward to the time of redemption, back in our Land as free people, the phrase is le-shana ha-ba'ah ("next year") in Hebrew, the language of redemption, of the Land of Israel.

Now we begin to see the parallel with Chad Gadya: the kid represents Israel, the nation that was "eaten" by the cat, devoured, defeated, conquered, dragged away into exile. It is appropriate that this parable be related in Aramaic, the language of exile. Then the dog bit the cat, the stick beat the dog, the fire burnt the stick, the water quenched the fire, the ox drank the water. One by one, every nation that ever dared raise a hand against us was defeated: Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Greece, Rome, mediaeval Spain, the Turkish Empire, Germany, the British Empire, the Soviet Union - every one of them, when they turned against us, collapsed.

"And then came the slaughterer and slaughtered the ox." The ox symbolizes Rome - the exile that is currently drawing to its painful end, and will begin to lead us out of exile and back to independence in our Land. So, ha-shochet - "the slaughterer" in Hebrew, not Aramaic - represents the beginning of the redemption from exile. The Angel of Death might (not definitely) take the slaughterer; and then, the final stage of redemption will be the Revival of the Dead, when God Himself will "slaughter the Angel of Death," because death itself will be cancelled.

Finally, what is the significance of father buying this kid for two zuzim? Having established that the kid represents Israel, it follows that abba here refers to God (our Father in Heaven). How, then, did He acquire us "for two zuzim"?

Although g'di can be a generic term for the young of any kosher animal (see the Talmud, Chullin 113 a-b), it usually refers specifically to a kid (a goat up to the age of one year) or a lamb (a sheep up the age of one year). And these are precisely the animals which are sacrificed for the Tamid (daily) offerings and the Mussaf (Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh, and Festival additional) offerings.

A month and a half ago, we began the countdown to Pesach with the first of the special Shabbatot - Shabbat Shekalim (Exodus 30:11-16). Then, we read how every Jew was obligated to pay the half-shekel due, the annual tax that was used for purchasing the goats and lambs for the Tamid offerings. The shekel (equivalent to the Talmudic sela) was a unit of currency equal to four zuzim (equivalent to silver dinars in the Talmud). Thus, the two zuzim, with which father bought the g'di and with which we conclude the Seder service, are worth half a shekel.


The mitzvah of eating matzah (plural: matzot) on the night of the fifteenth of the month of Nissan is stated explicitly in the Torah: "In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month, in the evening, you shall eat matzot." (Exodus 12, 18) The Torah also says "You shall eat matzot for seven days." (Exodus 12, 15)

Yet the rabbis used the Torah's exegetic principles to show that this verse does not mean to command us to eat matzot all seven days, but rather that matzah is the principal food one is to eat during Pesach instead of bread. A person who does not want to eat matzot is not duty-bound to do so, but is allowed to eat just fruits and vegetables, and meat and dairy products, as he wishes.

The simple meaning of this would seem to be that one who eats matzot all seven days of Pesach does not thereby fulfill a mitzvah, and that this is what the rabbis meant when they said that eating matzah during the seven days is "voluntary" (Pesachim 120a) - that is, not obligatory. Nevertheless, many major halachic authorities have written that, while it is true that eating matzah is obligatory only on the night of the Seder, and that is why our sages instituted recital of the special blessing "al achilat matzah" only for the eating of matzah on Seder night. Yet one who eats matzah on the other days of Pesach is still fulfilling a mitzvah, even if it is not obligatory.

Accordingly, what our sages meant when they said that eating matzah on the seven days of Pesach is "voluntary" is that, by way of contrast with the obligation to eat matzah on the night of the fifteenth, on the rest of Pesach a person is free to decide whether or not he wants to fulfill an additional mitzvah by eating matzah.

May matzah consumption throughout the Festival this year, remind you of the dignity of voluntary commitment. May the dayeinu you sing, remind you of the one verse we don't sing and the centrality of our People's founding story (the Exodus). And may your Aramaic recitations blend neatly into their portions that hint of Hebrew, so that full redemption will seem a bit closer in the year to come. A sweet Pesah and Shabbat to you all.




Shabbat Shalom

Chag Kasher v'Sameach