Parashat Re'eh, Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Sam Markle and Jack Markle, in loving memory of their parents Izzy Markle and Bessie Slywowicz.

What does it mean to establish God's name?

On a recent trip to Europe one thing that stood out was the amount of graffiti everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Needless to say, I expect to find graffiti in major cities. (I lived in New York City for seven years at a time when, if you stood still, you would be covered with graffiti.) What particularly surprised me were the sights as I took a train ride through picturesque Alpine villages. These are small farming communities where the cows are up and in the field before the rooster has crowed. Every single village had graffiti. Sadly, that is to be expected along the railroad route, but these were items spray painted on barns and tool sheds in private residences at quite a distance away from the tracks. What a lovely sight: Flower covered alpine meadows, snow covered mountains, deep blue skies, emerald lakes, cows lazily chewing on grass, and Heidi running around with a spray can.

Last time I was in Europe in the early 1990s, there was also graffiti. For the most part it was political in nature. At that time, some of it was beginning to change and the MTV logo was visible here and there. This time, I felt as though I was back in New York in the 1980s. The graffiti consisted of elaborate tags (the writer's personal signature), be it in Belgium, in Germany, in the Swiss Alps, or in Italy. I don't know if these were written by people "just passing through" or by local folks, but it looked the same everywhere.

Some people will say that graffiti has a long and sacred history. In the National Park in Capo di Ponte, Italy (a UNESCO world heritage site) I saw Roman graffiti scratched onto stone over even more ancient writings. Perhaps it’s an inescapable part of human nature; we want to leave a lasting mark to let people know "I was here;" and the best way to do this is by writing our names for all to see.

But we all know that's wrong, and—as ours moms used to tell us—just because everyone else is doing it doesn't mean you have to. This is the message we find in parashat Re'eh. Actually, the words of Re'eh are much more emphatic: The parasha doesn't say shouldn't, it says don't. Deuteronomy 12 is concerned with doing away with pagan practices. It instructs us in no uncertain terms to destroy everything related to paganism in the land. Do not worship the Lord your God in like manner, but look only to the site that the Lord your God will choose amidst all your tribes as His habitation, to establish His name there. (Deuteronomy 12:4-5) Beyond the prohibition of pagan worship there is a radical change in how we are to worship God: … you must bring everything that I command you to the site where the Lord your God will choose to establish His name… (Deuteronomy 12:11)

Biblical scholars maintain that this chapter is actually a reflection of reforms that took place under King Josiah in the 7th century BCE. No matter when it took place, this centralization of religious practice had major repercussions:

The limitation of sacrificial worship to a single place is the most unique and far-reaching law in Deuteronomy. It affected the religious life of individuals, the sacrificial system, the way festivals were celebrated, the economic status of the Levites, and even the judicial system.

Jeffrey Tigay (ed.), JPS Torah Commentary, Deuteronomy, pp 118-19

Most frustrating is that no reason is given for the choice of one site. Not surprisingly, this has led to much speculation among commentators such as Isaac Abravanel, who saw the choice of a single location as emphasizing the differences between worshipping God and pagan worship. According to Abravanel, pagan worship is all about what people choose: who or what is worshipped, who acts as priest, where to worship. In contrast, Deuteronomy teaches that the single place of worship, the choice of location, and the selection of priests is all determined by God. Not surprisingly, commentators see this single place as the Temple.

The more difficult part of the verse is where the Lord your God will choose to establish His name. What does it mean to establish God's name? Modern biblical scholarship relates the Hebrew phrase lasum et shmo sham to an Akkadian equivalent. The Akkadian term refers to actually inscribing a royal name on a building or monument after construction is completed.

How futile! We mistakenly think of things set in stone as being permanent while knowing that time slowly erases all the names of those kings as surely as city workers scrub away at graffiti. Buildings themselves are subject to demolition; something that should be noted by those who glory in naming edifices such as Coors Field, TD Banknorth Garden or Trump Tower. Having recently observed Tisha B'Av, commemorating the destruction of the Temples, we are well aware that even stones of sacred sites can come tumbling down. What then becomes of where the Lord your God will choose to establish His name?

An experience recounted by Abba Kovner, Hebrew poet and hero of the Vilna ghetto, sheds light on this matter:

During my first week in the land of Israel, I stood beside the Western Wall. I stood a few paces away from the wall, from the stones. I felt like I did not belong, like I was part of another reality. Then someone tugged at my sleeve and asked me to be the tenth person, to complete their Minyan. I covered my head and joined the Minyan. I joined in the afternoon Mincha prayer. I had arrived.
This is so Jewish, the most uniquely Jewish thing—to be one of a Minyan. To know that nine need the tenth and one needs nine others. This may be the most meaningful thing in Judaism. My prayer is that I should always be one of the group. May my finest words be incorporated into the words recited by the community. Life has no meaning if they are for the individual alone. The individual has meaning only if the individual is connected to the community.*

While roaming in the wilderness, we were instructed to build a Tabernacle so God may dwell in our midst (Exodus 25:8). This is qualitatively different from having a place where God will choose to establish His name. Post Temple we have discovered that God has rejected the permanence of stone and chosen an organic and dynamic structure. As Abba Kovner found out, for us essential sacred space is community. As elaborated elsewhere in the Torah In every place where I cause my name to be mentioned I will come to you and bless you. (Exodus 20:21).

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

* I am grateful to Tony Wallis of Temple Emanu-El, Toronto for bringing this quote to my attention.

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Adrienne Rosen and Myra White, in loving memory of their father Al Potts - Av 5, August 6, and grandfather of Alana and Sally Rosenwhite.

We are a stiffnecked people.

What do politics and sports have in common? Other than both being currently in season, with the Olympics about to end and the US Democratic convention about to begin, politicians and athletes tend to invoke God quite frequently. Each assumes God is on their side, whatever the political party, whatever the sport. This phenomenon is especially evident when it comes to victory celebrations. In any given sports season, one would think that God visits more locker rooms than Elijah visits homes on Pesach. God is the supreme political booster and the ultimate sports fan. Of course, God is rooting for my team.

Well, Ekev comes along this week to toss some Gatorade on this perception. Not surprisingly, it appears that God makes demands of us: And if you do obey these rules and observe them carefully, the Lord your God will maintain faithfully for you the covenant that He made on oath with your fathers. (Deuteronomy 7:12). What doesn't quite come across in this translation of the first verse in the portion is the actual first word, ekev. The gist of the word is that something will occur as a consequence of something else. Literally, ekev is from the same root as the word akev, meaning heel. As is explained in the JPS Commentary (p. 88), ekev means "on the heels of."

Needless to say, this word has drawn the attention of numerous commentators. Starting with the traditional favorite, Rashi provides a visual interpretation: If you will pay attention to the commandments that a person "treads on with the heel" (meaning the mitzvot that are treated lightly) then God will fulfill God's promise. Rabbinic literature interprets akev to mean at the end, that is in the World-to-Come. Perhaps this led the founder of Hassidism, the Baal Shem Tov to understand the similarity between ekev and akev as symbolizing the last step you take in life. He takes the verse to mean that you should treat every mitzvah as if it were the last one you have an opportunity to fulfill.

Sforno takes a somewhat different approach but also echoes the rabbinic interpretation. He says that the mitzvot are to be kept out of love and not because of some immediate reward. The rewards received in this world are transitory. Hence, listen up athletes! The Gold Medal, World Series ring, and Stanley Cup are transitory rewards. The reward for following God's commandments comes later, much later, and is an everlasting reward. Only those who are worthy receive an eternal reward.

Before you pat yourself on the back for being among those chosen for eternal reward, remember the words of those two most excellent sages Wayne and Garth: We are not worthy.

Read on a bit in parashat Ekev and you will find that:

It is not because of your virtues and your rectitude that you will be able to possess their country; but it is because of their wickedness that the Lord your God is dispossessing those nations before you, and in order to fulfill the oath that the Lord made to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Know, then, that it is not for any virtue of yours that the Lord your God is giving you this good land to possess; for you are a stiffnecked people.

Deuteronomy9:5-6

It bears repeating: We are not worthy, we are a stiffnecked people. God is keeping a promise made to our ancestors. The message of Ekev is not one of pride but of humility. From Shabbat Nahamu, the Shabbat of Consolation that took place last week, until Rosh Hashanah, we enter a seven week period during which we read a series of haftarot (prophetic selections) bringing us Isaiah's poetic words of consolation. It is a time when we slowly begin heshbon ha-nefesh, the self-reflection that will culminate with our actions on Yom Kippur.

How do we make ourselves worthy? The solution for our stiffnecked behaviour requires more than a visit to the massage therapist. We must each examine our behaviour and be open to change. This is a most humbling experience.

Unfortunately for us, humility sounds so much like humiliation that it's easy to get a very wrong impression of this soul-trait. In the traditional Jewish understanding, humility has nothing to do with being the lowest, most debased, shrinking creature on earth. Rav Abraham Isaac Kook, who was the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, says it well: "Humility is associated with spiritual perfection. When humility effects depression it is defective; when it is genuine it inspires joy, courage and inner dignity. (Abraham Isaac Kook, The Moral Principles, p. 176)

Alan Morinis, Everyday Holiness, p. 46

Add to this the fact that true humility provides an opening for a genuine relationship with others, one that is neither passive nor overbearing. Humility permits us not only to see our own worth but the genuine value of others, human and Divine. No wonder Proverbs (22:4) teaches that The effect (ekev) of humility is reverence for Adonai.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Shabbat Nachamu, Parashat Va'etchanan, Deuteronomy 3:23 - 7:11

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Laura Silver in loving memory of her father, Irving Silver.

It's not fair.

It's not fair. How often do we hear that from our children? It's not fair that I practiced so much but didn't get picked for the team. It's not fair that my brother can stay up late and I can't. It's not fair that all my friends are allowed to see this movie but I'm not. Lots of things aren't fair in the world of children. Fortunately, children grow up and learn there are actually good reasons for the perceived unfairness of youth.

This is when things begin to get difficult. Adults find out that many things aren't fair, and that these things have far greater repercussions than a curfew or a missed activity.

Such is the case in this week's parasha. The very first word of the portion, va'etchanan (I pleaded), cries out: It's not fair. Moses implores God to be allowed to enter the Promised Land:

I pleaded with the Lord at that time, saying, "O Lord God, You who let Your servant see the first works of Your greatness and Your mighty hand, You whose powerful deeds no god in heaven or on earth can equal! Let me, I pray, cross over and see the good land on the other side of the Jordan, that good hill country, and the Lebanon." But the Lord was wrathful with me on your account and would not listen to me. The Lord said to me, "Enough! Never speak to Me of this matter again! Go up to the summit of Pisgah and gaze about, to the west, the north, the south, and the east. Look at it well, for you shall not go across yonder Jordan.

Deuteronomy 3:23-27

Moses, whose life was devoted to leading the people through the Wilderness to the Promised Land, who intervened between God and Israel, who shouldered responsibility he did not seek, will not get the reward he desired. It's not fair.

Rashi, basing himself on Sifre, explains that the root of the word va'etchanan is one of ten words used for prayer in Hebrew. Here we have a prayer, a request, a plea from our greatest leader, the one who spoke with God face to face; and the answer is "no." It's not fair.

Moses is undergoing one of the most painful experiences of life. It is the moment when life punches you in the stomach and leaves you dazed, gasping for breath, wondering what you did to deserve this. It is the news from the doctor that you've got a chronic condition, a debilitating disease, or a terminal illness. You never smoked, you ate right, and you tried to be a good person. Why me? It's not fair.

It is the realization that life will never be the same. It will be filled with frustration and pain, your appearance could change, your abilities will deteriorate, and limitless opportunities have suddenly come to an end. It's not fair.

No wonder Moses lashes out and tries to lay blame somewhere else:

Now the Lord was angry with me on your account and swore that I should not cross the Jordan and enter the good land that the Lord your God is assigning you as a heritage. For I must die in this land; I shall not cross the Jordan.

Deuteronomy 4:21-22

As dramatic as this is, it is only a small part of parashat Va'etchanan. Despite the unfairness, despite the finality of things, Moses' focus in Va'etchanan is not "why me," it is how to go on. This is a parasha rich in so much that is basic to Judaism. It contains the 10 Commandments, the Sh'ma and the Ve'ahavta. Over and over in this portion, Moses stresses the lesson of seeking God and following God's instructions:

But if you search there for the Lord your God, you will find Him, if only you seek Him with all your heart and soul — when you are in distress because all these things have befallen you and, in the end, return to the Lord your God and obey Him. For the Lord your God is a compassionate God: He will not fail you nor will He let you perish; He will not forget the covenant which He made on oath with your fathers.

Deuteronomy 4:29-31

Frankly, were I an Israelite listening to Moses, I would be skeptical. Hey Moe, nobody did more for the big G. Almighty than you. You ask for one thing and get a big fat no. Despite this you're giving advice that says trust in God! How can you say that? Don't you feel that God failed you? Are you trying to convince yourself?

How do you go on after having the wind knocked out of you? How can you reconcile the seemingly contradictory notions that life is unfair and can still be good? Moses didn't get to enter the land, but he got to go up the mountain and see a view that no one else saw. Perhaps he appreciated it more, knowing this was it. Because of his pain, Moses gained a perspective not shared by others: a sensitivity and appreciation to what he might otherwise take for granted.

Permit me a personal digression: I recently took a flight that had a very excited group of young women on it. They behaved as one would expect, chatting happily the entire trip. It was perfectly normal, except that each woman was a paraplegic. Each woman was also a member of a basketball team travelling to an international competition. Most of us would look upon these women with a measure of sorrow. What a waste that such energetic young lives are so tragically constrained! Yet these women do not let obstacles get in their way. They're leading normal, fulfilling lives. Heck, they're leading exciting lives. When was the last time you or I took part in an international athletic competition?

We too can continue on whatever path is set before us, be it steep, rocky, dusty or muddy. Like Moses, we are each able to reach a point where resentment turns into resolve. That point may not be at the place where we encounter our obstacle. Chances are it will be somewhere farther down the road, when we are tired, dirty and covered with cuts and bruises.

In parashat Va'etchanan we find the words of Ve'ahavta which are traditionally recited daily; this is the instruction to love God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. (Deuteronomy 6:5) That passion is so easy to find when everything is going well. When we have just experienced life's sucker punch, it is a different story. This is when the word "all" (kol) is key. It means even, perhaps especially, at times of doubt, questioning, and weakness.

Though we read the Ve'ahavta as an affirmation, it also contains a challenge regarding God's teachings: Impress them upon your children. (Deuteronomy 6:7) What better lesson can we give our children than how we respond to the unfair blows that knock us down?

In a poem I alluded to a few weeks ago , Rabbi Alvin Fine wrote that

...life is a journey,
A going – a growing
From stage to stage…
From weakness to strength
Or strength to weakness -
and often back again; …
From defeat to defeat to defeat -
Until, looking backward or ahead,
We see that victory lies
Not at some high place along the way,
But in having made the journey,
Stage by stage -
A sacred pilgrimage.

Our challenge, daunting as it may be, is to find the sacred in the unfair.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Shabbat Hazon, Parashat Devarim, Deuteronomy 1:1 - 3:22

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Harriet Train in loving memory of Libby Shorser. (Erev 9 Av)

Words can take on a life of their own.

There are quilting bees and spinning bees, logging bees and barn-raising bees. These aren't characters from Bee Movie, but rather activities that bring together members of a community to focus on a single action. Nobody really knows why these activities are called bees. One might assume that the term comes from the communal "hive-like" aspect of the endeavour, although the most common explanation is that "bee" is derived from the Middle English word "bene" meaning "prayer," which is the source of the modern word "benefit." Certainly the most well-known bee these days is the spelling bee, a relatively modern term dating to 1850.

In all these "bees" one can imagine the scene as swarming with activity. Anyone who has seen Bee Movie can anthropomorphize these activities as being a united group working for the betterment of the community. Perhaps it is this combination of swarming and focused energy that occasioned a curious verse in this week's portion, Devarim, as Moses is recounting the journey through the wilderness:

Then the Amorites who lived in those hills came out against you like so many bees (devorim) and chased you, and they crushed you at Hormah in Seir. (Deuteronomy 1:44) A similar reference comparing adversaries to bees is found in the Hallel: They have beset me like bees (devorim). (Psalms 118:12) All of us certainly have images from live action and animated films of bees swarming and the panic that ensues.

Somewhat more subtle is the beginning of the parashah: These are the words (devarim) that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan (Deuteronomy 1:1)Devarim has a number of meanings: words, things, events. The fifth book of the Torah is all about the words recounted by Moses. Yes, the same Moses who, at the beginning of his career, protested I am not a man of words (devarim) (Exodus 4:10). In Hebrew, both devarim (words) and devorim (bees) have the same root. Midrash Deuteronomy Rabbah notes the play on words commenting on the connection:

R. Samuel b. Nahman said: God said: 'My children have been guided through the world by the righteous and the prophets like a swarm of bees.’ Another explanation: "These are the words" [devarim]. Just as the honey of the bee is sweet and its sting sharp, so too are the words of the Torah; any one who transgresses them receives his punishment … But any one who fulfils the Torah merits life… R. Judah b. R. Simon said in the name of R. Levi: Just as everything the bee gathers, it gathers for its owner, so too whatever merits and good deeds Israel accumulate, they accumulate for [the glory of] their Father in Heaven.

Deuteronomy Rabbah 1:6, Soncino translation

The Etz Hayim commentary develops the analogy:

The Midrash, noting the similar sound of d’varim (words) and d’vorim (bees), comments that Moses’ criticisms of the people are like the stings of a bee. A bee’s sting hurts the person stung but it hurts the bee more, causing its death. Moses dies at the end of Deuteronomy because criticizing Israel has taken so much out of him (Deuteronomy Rabbah 1:6). This would imply that we should judge the validity of criticism not only by its factual accuracy but by how much it pains the critic to say it. The harsh criticisms of Moses are spoken with love, in contrast to the praises of Balaam, spoken as flattery.

Etz Hayim commentary p. 981

These commentaries implicitly demonstrate the power of words. Words can create and destroy. Words can take on a life of their own. In the novel Bee Season, young Eliza, who is preparing for a spelling bee, discovers the power of words and of the letters that form them:

Paging through the dictionary is like looking through a microscope. Every word breaks down into parts with unique properties–prefix, suffix, root. Eliza gleans not only the natural laws that govern the letters but their individual behaviors. R, M, and D are strong, unbending and faithful. The sometimes silent B and G and the slippery K follow strident codes of conduct. Even the redoubtable H, which can make P sound like F and turn ROOM into RHEUM, obeys etymology. Consonants are the camels of language, proudly carrying their lingual loads.

Vowels, however, are a different species, the fish that flash and glisten in the watery depths. Vowels are elastic and inconstant, fickle and unfaithful. E can sound like I or U. -IBLE and -ABLE are impossible to discern. There is no combination the vowels haven't tried, exhaustive and incestuous in their couplings. E will just as soon pair with A, or O, leading the dance or being led. Eliza prefers the vowels' unpredictability and, of all vowels, favors Y. Y defies categorization, the only letter that can be two things at once.

Myra Goldberg, Bee Season p. 49

Thrilling as this may be Eliza finds out there is a dark side to this knowledge:

She dreams a sky black with swarming letters. They fly with thick, stubby wings barely able to hold their fat bodies aloft. They brush against her skin, nest in her hair. They crawl up her nose, into her eyes. The ground is covered in torn and broken letters that crunch beneath her feet with every step. The sound of letters fills the air, making thought impossible. The letters squeeze themselves between her lips and flutter their terrible wings inside her mouth.

Myra Goldberg, Bee Season, p. 107

While Bee Season dabbles with mysticism, one doesn't have to delve into this realm to understand what is taking place. Think of thoughts that arise within you, forming themselves into words that have escaped your mouth—and that you wish never had. Think of times when you received an enthusiastic compliment or strong criticism. Words indeed are powerful. As Rabbi Eleazar observes in the Talmud (Shabbat 119b): How do we know that speech is like action? Because it is said, By the word of the Lord the heavens were made (Psalms 33:6).

Devorim and devarim, bees and words, share a number of elements. Honey bees use their stingers when the hive is threatened. We often lash out with words when we feel under attack. Bees also produce that magnificent fluid: honey. Its uses range from a sweet delicacy to a topical ointment with antiseptic and antibacterial properties. Words, too, can be used to delight, soothe and heal.

This is Shabbat Hazon, the "Shabbat of Vision," that immediately precedes Tisha B'Av that commemorates the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem. Tradition teaches that the Second Temple was destroyed due to sinat hinam, causeless hatred, and that lashon ha'ra (malicious speech) was rampant at the time. The first form that hatred takes are the words that escape our lips, swarming and taking on a life of their own.

Though it is a day of mourning, Tisha B'Av is also a period of transition, the beginning of the period of consolation that leads to the High Holy Days. In the special haftarah (prophetic reading) for this Shabbat, Isaiah urges us to cease to do evil; learn to do good. (Isaiah 1:16-17) While we cannot take back words that have stung others, we can control our stingers, and we can provide a healing balm. As always, the substance we need is readily available if only we are open it:
The teaching of the Lord is perfect, renewing life;
the decrees of the Lord are enduring, making wise the simple;
the precepts of the Lord are just, rejoicing the heart;
the instruction of the Lord is lucid, making the eyes light up;
…more desirable than gold, than much fine gold;
sweeter than honey, than drippings of the comb. (Psalms 19:8-9, 11)

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel