Parashat Ha'azinu, Deuteronomy 32:1 - 32:52

The month of Tishrei is a journey beginning with forgiveness, proceeding towards reconciliation, and leading towards reunification as the season draws to a close.

Poetry: you either love it or hate it. Most people prefer their poetry in combination with music. This is a trait shared by people with disparate tastes, for example, lovers of opera, fans of musical theater, and rap aficionados. Words and music are equally important.

A smaller group enjoys the words of poetry that evoke a spiritual musicality in and of themselves. "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry." So wrote Emily Dickinson to her mentor Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

How does one explain poetry? English speakers often think of rhyme and meter (which, if you think about it, works very well in defining song lyrics as well). According to Robert Frost, "Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." In a more recent yet equally poetic explanation we learn that:

One of the most definable characteristics of the poetic form is economy of language. Poets are miserly and unrelentingly critical in the way they dole out words to a page. Carefully selecting words for conciseness and clarity is standard, even for writers of prose, but poets go well beyond this, considering a word's emotive qualities, its musical value, its spacing, and yes, even its spatial relationship to the page. The poet, through innovation in both word choice and form, seemingly rends significance from thin air.

What is Poetry? Grasping at the Indefinable, Mark Flanagan, About.com

The elements of this definition work well with the poetry we find in the Torah. Of particular interest is Flanagan's comment about the "special relationship to the page." When one unfurls a Torah scroll, two poems are immediately recognizable on account of their layout: Shirat Hayam, the Song at the Sea found in Exodus, and Moses' poem in parashat Ha'azinu, Deuteronomy 32, which we read this Shabbat. The former is written in three narrow columns whose significance have been the subject of numerous midrashim; the latter appears in two narrow columns in the Torah scroll.

Beyond the beauty of the layout, there are additional features that make biblical poems powerful. This poetry does not fall into our popularly held belief that poems should rhyme. Rather, their organizing principle is what is called "poetic parallelism," in which the first and second half of the verse convey similar ideas but in different words:
May my discourse come down as the rain,
My speech distill as the dew,
Like showers on young growth,
Like droplets on the grass. (Deuteronomy 32:2)

There are a variety of elements that contribute to the power of biblical poetry:

In this small body of literature are preserved the oldest expressions of Israel’s faith. It reveals a conception of God at once intuitive and concrete, born of vividly direct experience and participation in his mighty acts, a conception devoid of the sophistication and formalism which result from centuries of theological speculation. The language of the poems is rich and exuberant, the imagery is picturesque, the figures of speech extravagant. The compositions are marked by a strong rhythm, with a regular musical beat, frequently organized into strophes of considerable complexity. Altogether, they are the product of the most dynamic and creative era of Israel’s literary enterprise.

Studies in Ancient Yahwistic Poetry,

Frank Moore Cross, Jr. and David Noel Freedman, p. 1

All these elements are found in Ha'azinu. Particularly striking are descriptions used to convey an understanding of God’s relationship with Israel:
He found him in a desert region,
In an empty howling waste.
He engirded him, watched over him,
Guarded him as the pupil of His eye.
Like an eagle who rouses his nestlings,
Gliding down to his young,
So did He spread His wings and take him,
Bear him along on His pinions…
He set him atop the highlands,
To feast on the yield of the earth;
He fed him honey from the crag,
And oil from the flinty rock… (Deuteronomy 32:10-11, 13)

Certainly the description of God found at the beginning of the poem is one that resonates with us both for its strength and familiarity: The Rock! — His deeds are perfect,/Yea, all His ways are just… (Deuteronomy 32:4). The symbol of God as a rock, with all the power and stability that it denotes, is found numerous times in Ha'azinu. (This was the subject of last year's study on the parashah.)

This image works well most of the time, such as during the High Holy Days that have just ended; but now, as we approach Sukkot, another image comes to our awareness, that of the pliable sukkah that denotes God's protective covering spread over us. Sukkot is the holiday of redemption and when that time arrives, God's sukkah of peace will encompass all humanity. Why is this time always at a future date? What's preventing it from happening now?

Answer: Rocks. We'll get to that in a moment.

One of the beauties of poetry is how it can make you see things in a new light. Such is the case with the image of the rock as presented by the Israeli poet Dahlia Ravikovitch:

Even rocks crack, I'm telling you,
and not on account of age.
For years they lie on their backs
in the heat and the cold,
so many years,
it almost creates the illusion of calm.
They don't move, so the cracks stay hidden.
A kind of pride…

Pride, Dahlia Ravikovitch, translated by Chana and Ariel Bloch

The God described so vividly in Ha'azinu is a strong, steadfastness, and protective partner. This is the God we face on the High Holy Days. The God we encounter on Sukkot still bears these traits but exposes the gentle suppleness seen in both the sukkah and the lulav. It is a flexibility encouraging us to take a step, make a move, to bend.

We are the ones exhibiting the rock-like stubbornness so eloquently described by Ravikovitch. Yom Kippur may be over but the opportunity to make changes in our relationships still exists. The month of Tishrei is a journey beginning with forgiveness, proceeding towards reconciliation, and leading towards reunification as the season draws to a close.

…Years pass over them as they wait.
Whoever is going to shatter them
hasn't come yet.
And so the moss flourishes, the seaweed
whips around,
the sea bursts forth and rolls back --
and still they seem motionless.
Till a little seal comes to rub up against the rocks,
comes and goes.
And suddenly the rock has an open wound.
I told you, when rocks crack, it comes as a surprise.
All the more so, people.

Pride, Dahlia Ravikovitch , translated by Chana and Ariel Bloch

No need to crack, just bend. We have until Simchat Torah.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18-47:27

Vayigash is a most human tale of unfinished business and of scores that call out to be settled.

A friend and I recently caught a glimpse of some hockey highlights on a sports network. She pointed out that these highlights consisted of nothing but fights from different games. What is it about fighting that captures the imagination? Hockey might be the most obvious example, at least in regard to actual fisticuffs, but our attention is also riveted by long-running rivalries such as that between the Maple Leafs and Habs (Canadiens), for example. Other sports also have long-standing feuds, for instance the interminable Red Sox-Yankees rivalry. Need I say more? The steroid driven soap operas of the wrestling world may well be the modern day equivalent of the Montagues and Capulets.

Then there are the real-world feuds such as the Hatfield and McCoys, whose reasons for feuding ranged from differing sympathies during the American Civil War to ownership of a pig, as well as a 19th century Romeo and Juliet story. Or how about a more recent feud: the forty year battle between two of the greatest cardiologists in the world, Dr. Michael DeBakey and Dr. Denton Cooley, which appears to be nearing an end. (See Lawrence K. Altman, MD, The Doctor's World column, "The Feud" New York Times, November 27, 2007.)

Underlying feuds are issues of power, jealousy, wrongdoing and revenge. All these factors come to the fore in this week's parasha, Vayigash. Joseph, the second most powerful man in Egypt, is toying with his brothers who do not recognize him. Having asked them to bring his full brother Benjamin to Egypt with them, Joseph hides a goblet in Benjamin's bag and accuses him of theft. This is more than the brothers can bear and in the first two words of the parasha (Genesis 44:18) Judah approaches (vayigash) to face this powerful ruler to fight for his youngest brother.

The very name of this portion, the deceptively simple word vayigash, "he approached," says much about rivalries and feuds. Midrash Breishit Rabbah tells us that this verb encompasses three meanings: (1) Judah could be preparing for battle, as is the case in II Samuel 10:13; (2) he could be preparing for conciliation, as in Joshua 14:6; or (3) he is preparing for prayer. Which is it? According to Rabbi Eliezer, the correct answer is all of the above. Yet another midrash in this same work compares the meeting of Judah and Joseph to the struggle between a lion and a bull, a battle the ministering angels are eagerly anticipating. It appears to be a fight to the finish. In our day, ministering angels must be hockey fans.

There are certainly enough instances in history and in literature where sibling rivalry turns into a power struggle. We can find example of this process at the end of the Hasmonean dynasty, when the rivalry between Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II eventually paved the way for Rome to establish its power in Judea. Another example from the realm of history would be the War of the Roses, which was immortalized by Shakespeare - Richard III anyone?

So which is it in this week's parasha: sibling rivalry or power struggle? How about a bit of both? On one level, the rivalry of Joseph and Judah is an allegory for the later kingdoms: Judah in the South and Israel in the north. This northern kingdom was also known as the house of Joseph (Zechariah 10:6). So one interpretation of Vayigash can be that this week's face-off between Joseph and Judah is a dynastic one. Spoiler alert: Judah will be the winner. Historically, the southern kingdom survives for much longer. It also explains the blessing that Jacob gives to Judah in next week's parasha:

You, O Judah, your brothers shall praise;
Your hand shall be on the nape of your foes;
Your father's sons shall bow low to you. …
The scepter shall not depart from Judah,
Nor the ruler's staff from between his feet;
So that tribute shall come to him

And the homage of peoples be his. (Genesis 49:8, 10)

On another level, Vayigash is a most human tale of unfinished business and of scores that call out to be settled. Perhaps this is why Joseph is toying with his brothers, although commentaries say that he is testing them to gauge their remorse.

Itturei Torah, a collection of Hassidic and ethical teachings, gives a deeper meaning to Judah's action. Looking at the word vayigash, this commentary asks whom Judah approached, responding that he approached "Himself -- for only when Judah became himself at his best was he able to speak as he did" (translation from the Plaut commentary).

Judah's actions are viewed as symbolizing complete repentance for his past deeds. Judah was put in a situation where the life of one of Rachel's sons was again in his hands. Unlike the first instance (Genesis 37:26), when he sold Joseph, here he saves Benjamin. Repentance is truly complete when he faces the same situation as before but reacts differently. This moves Joseph to tears, and he reveals his true identity to his brothers. It appears that the feud between the brothers is finally over.

Alas, this is not so. In the very next chapter, as Joseph sends his brothers to bring the rest of the clan to Egypt, he warns them, "Do not be quarrelsome on the way." (Genesis 45:24). Among Rashi's explanations of this verse is that the brothers might blame each other for selling Joseph into slavery. In other words, a new feud could develop in the family. In next week's parasha, after the death of Jacob, the brothers fear that Joseph's behavior towards them will change: "What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrong that we did him!" (Genesis 50:15). Although Joseph reassures them that all that happened was actually part of God's plan, it is still interesting to note this dread, seventeen years after their reunion. It is perhaps too simplistic to hope that Joseph's reunion with his brothers would signal a complete healing of their relationship, one that would be in line with their father Jacob's dramatic reconciliation with his brother:

Esau said, "I have enough, my brother; let what you have remain yours." But Jacob said, "No, I pray you; if you would do me this favor, accept from me this gift; for to see your face is like seeing the face of God, and you have received me favorably. Please accept my present which has been brought to you, for God has favored me and I have plenty." And when he urged him, he accepted.

(Genesis 33:9-11)

Nonetheless, Joseph's reunion with his brothers is just as dramatic. As with Jacob and Esau, despite the fact that the threat of a fight hangs over the entire affair, it never materializes. Where the two reconciliations differ is in the aftermath. Both Joseph and his brothers carry scars of distrust within their souls. Yet they manage to reunite, imperfect though that reconciliation may be. The path from estrangement to reconciliation does not mean that the past is forgotten; rather it is accepted, perhaps slowly, grudgingly, in all its fragility.

Response is not always given; and even when it is, it is not the same for every man. Repentance is a gradual process: final response is awarded not to specific isolated acts but to the whole; the various components, the desire to act, the performing of the deed based on anticipation, the yearning, disappointment, and hope, are rewarded, if at all, by partial answers. In other words, a response to turning is given to a man as “something on account” the rest to be paid out later. A person generally hears the longed-for answer not when he puts his question, not when he is struggling, but when he pauses on a summit and looks back on his life.

Adin Steinsaltz, The Thirteen Petalled Rose

Joseph and his brothers have taken the initial step on their journey to reconciliation. Though they follow the same itinerary, each one of them travels that path on his own. Here's hoping that when they pause on the summit, they each see a breathtaking view. Here's hoping as well that each one of us, even before we reach that summit, can gaze out and appreciate the beauty in even our most challenging relationships.

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Shabbat Hol Ha-mo'ed Sukkot, Exodus 33:12 - 34:26

This week's parashah has been generously sponsored in loving memory of Meryl Gardner's mother, Harriet H. Cohen. Kolel is grateful to Meryl for her ongoing support and appreciates its weekly sponsors.

The firmest walls are the ones we build around ourselves as protection from the elements that might hurt us emotionally or intellectually.

Last week, the Torah portion for Yom Kippur dealt with the annual ritual cleaning of God's house. Seven days later, on Shabbat Hol Ha-mo'ed Sukkot, we're still dealing with real estate as we spend time in the sukkah, the temporary shelter that is one of the symbols of Sukkot. Interestingly, there is no mention of the sukkah in the special reading for this Shabbat. The only allusion to the holiday is towards the end of the reading, which deals with the pilgrimage festivals: You shall observe the Feast of Weeks, of the first fruits of the wheat harvest; and the Feast of Ingathering (hag ha-asif) at the turn of the year. (Exodus 34:22) It is in the reading for the first two days of Sukkot that reference is made to the temporary dwellings: On the fifteenth day of this seventh month there shall be the Feast of Booths (hag ha-sukkot) to Adonai, [to last] seven days. (Leviticus 23:34)

To quote Peggy Lee: "Is that all there is?" One verse about gathering the harvest at the end of the year – and that is the reason we read from the Book of Exodus this Shabbat? Is there nothing else that connects the portion to the holiday? Well, a few verses from Exodus 34 will sound familiar. Known in Jewish tradition as the thirteen attributes of God, these words play a big role in the liturgy of the High Holy Days, beginning with Selichot and are found in the liturgy for the pilgrimage festivals as well: Adonai passed before him and proclaimed: "Adonai! Adonai! a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin…." (Exodus 34:6-7)

What we have here is part of an amazing exchange between God and Moses. The power in this exchange derives from the fact that it takes places shortly after the incident of the Golden Calf. This week's special parashah begins with Moses making a request of God: "See, You say to me, 'Lead this people forward,' but You have not made known to me whom You will send with me. Further, You have said, 'I have singled you out by name, and you have, indeed, gained My favor.' Now, if I have truly gained Your favor, pray let me know Your ways, that I may know You and continue in Your favor. (Exodus 33:12-13) God promises to be with Moses, to go in the lead and to lighten his burden. But that was not the heart of Moses' request, and he blurts out: "Oh, let me behold Your Presence!"

These words that Moses speaks are heart-wrenching. He is leading a people who have just experienced a spiritual meltdown that has nearly destroyed their relationship with God. They could not relate to this unseen God and created an idolatrous symbol, the Golden Calf, which gave them security. Their leader pleaded for their lives. Now, he too admits that he is in crisis: Moses, too, needs to see God. His confession comes at a time when the covenantal relationship between God and Israel is in a very fragile state. Moses has already smashed the tablets of the covenant; his request might very well tear the delicate cord that is still connecting God and Israel. If the leader cannot accept the terms of the covenant, what hope is there for the people?

But God uses this as an opportunity to repair the breach, telling Moses to carve another set of tablets, go back up Sinai, and there part of Moses' request will be fulfilled. God will pass before Moses, but Moses cannot see all of God's presence, just the "back." Furthermore, the entire situation is also physically dangerous to Moses. Thus God will protect Moses by placing him in the cleft of a rock and shielding him.

The exchange between Moses and God in Exodus 33:12-34:10 is raw, delicate, and honest. This dialogue takes place at a moment of great vulnerability; the entire relationship between God and Israel is at stake. Nothing is hidden; everything is laid bare.

This exposure is what ties the portion to Sukkot. The firmest walls are the ones we build around ourselves as protection from the elements that might hurt us emotionally or intellectually. The greater the possibility of upset, the thicker the walls we construct. Those we love the most have the potential to hurt us most deeply, as we can cause them great injury as well; and it is in these relationships that the stakes are highest. It is at such a fragile moment that the encounter between God and Moses occurs. The dialogue between Moses and the Divine models for us the possibility of strengthening a relationship when it is most vulnerable. A breach in the wall does not herald destruction, but an opportunity for construction.

Sukkot reminds us that ultimate security is found not within the walls of our home but in the presence of God and one another. Indeed, there is a midrash that says that sukkot are not buildings at all but the glory of God. This holiday helps us understand that sometimes the walls we build to protect us serve instead to divide us, cut us off, lock us in.

The walls of our sukkot may make us vulnerable, but they make us available, too, to receive the kindness and the support of one another, to hear when another calls out in need, to poke our heads in to see whether anybody is up for a chat and a cup of coffee. In contrast, our walls of concrete and steel can enslave us in our own solitude and loneliness. Sukkot reminds us that freedom is enjoyed best not when we are hidden away behind our locked doors but rather when we are able to open our homes and our hearts to one another. (Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin, The Tapestry of Jewish Time: A Spiritual Guide to Holidays and Lifecycle Events)

It is only because the relationship between God and Israel is so deep that it could reach such a crisis situation. Yet the very pain of the trauma provides an opening for a complete healing, a renewed understanding. But that means taking a chance. Sukkot is about reaching out towards that opening and taking that chance. The firmest foundations in our lives are not the buildings in which we live, but the relationships we establish.

In just a few days we will start reading the Torah all over again. The book of Genesis is filled with examples of our beloved ancestors stumbling through relationships. Jacob, fearing for his life, runs away from his brother Esau. Decades later Jacob returns. In an incredibly moving passage in Parashat Vayishlach, Jacob first struggles with God and then faces the challenge of meeting his brother. And then what? … Jacob journeyed on to Sukkot, and built a house for himself and made stalls for his cattle; that is why the place was called Sukkot. (Genesis 33:17) The first mention of Sukkot in the Torah is not a description of the pilgrimage festival for the people Israel; it is the place where one man finds himself after reconciliation and redemption.

And you thought all this relationship stuff ended with Yom Kippur. Guess again! Sukkot is the holiday of redemption: One more chance. We eagerly anticipate dwelling in a sukkah, knowing we might experience the wind and cold, but also the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the night sky. Are we ready to step into an emotional sukkah - susceptible to hurt but accessible to healing? More than fragile, the sukkah is pliable, teaching us that we too can be giving and forgiving in our relationships.

This is z'man simchateinu, the season of our joy. Jacob struggled with God, reconciled with his brother, and then experienced the joy of Sukkot. Moses learns in our portion that the greatest bond can come after the most shattering experience. In following their examples, we too can delight in Sukkot in all its forms.

Mo'adim le-simcha and Shabbat shalom,
MS