Parashat Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1-25:18

Any mundane action harbors the seeds of a spiritual encounter.

Dozens of books have been written about negotiating, whether it be for the purchase of a car or real estate, for a better grade or a raise. While the Torah is not a how-to book of negotiating, in the beginning of parashat Chayei Sarah we find an example of skilled negotiation. Abraham's purchase of a burial place for his wife Sarah is told in great detail:

Then Abraham rose from beside his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying, "I am a resident alien among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial." And the Hittites replied to Abraham, saying to him, "Hear us, my lord: you are the elect of God among us. Bury your dead in the choicest of our burial places; none of us will withhold his burial place from you for burying your dead." Thereupon Abraham bowed low to the people of the land, the Hittites, and he said to them, "If it is your wish that I remove my dead for burial, you must agree to intercede for me with Ephron son of Zohar. Let him sell me the cave of Machpelah that he owns, which is at the edge of his land. Let him sell it to me, at the full price, for a burial site in your midst."

Genesis 23:3-9

What is important is the manner in which Abraham acquires this burial plot. He enters into negotiations with the Hittites who ruled the area.  Abraham begins by describing his position: "I am a resident alien (ger ve-toshav) among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial." (Genesis 23:4) Rashi explains the use of ger ve-toshav as meaning that Abraham is negotiating as a stranger who has no claim to the land. However, if he is not given the land, he will take as a resident would , since this land is promised to Abraham and his descendents as part of God's covenant with him.

As the negotiations proceed, our commentators continue to provide play-by-play analysis.
According to Ha’amek Davar, Ephron's generous offer of gifting the cave and the land to Abraham (Genesis 23:10-11) was a show for the people, and Abraham understood this as he continued his part of the negotiations offering to buy the land rather than the cave. Ramban suggests that Abraham was offered both the cave and the field because it would not be acceptable for a person to own one and not the other. Other commentators view Abraham's language as a display of humility combined with a high level of etiquette.

What Abraham displays in this interplay with Ephron the Hittite goes beyond negotiating rituals and the display of etiquette. Abraham is entering into dialogue. As Martin Buber teaches us, each encounter is an opportunity to get to know another being. "All real life is meeting." (Martin Buber, I and Thou, p. 11)

Buber believes that dialogue alone is of value irrespective of anything that is achieved:

Genuine conversation, and therefore every actual fulfillment of relation between men, means acceptance of otherness. When two men inform one another of their basically different views about an object, each aiming to convince the other of the rightness of his own way of looking at the matter, everything depends so far as human life is concerned on whether each thinks of the other as the one he is, whether each, that is, with all his desire to influence the other, nevertheless unreservedly accepts and confirms him in his being this man and in his being made in this particular way.

Martin Buber, "Distance and Relation", The Knowledge of Man, p. 69

Of course, this is not always the case. If one of the partners is attempting to manipulate the other, as commentators suggest that Ephron is doing, the result is not dialogue but propaganda:

Opposed to this effort is the lust to make use of men by which the manipulator of 'propaganda' and 'suggestion' is possessed, in his relation to men remaining as in a relation to things, to things, moreover, with which he will never enter into relation… 

Martin Buber, "Distance and Relation", The Knowledge of Man, p. 69

Within our tradition, the Akedah, which comes at the end of last week's parasha, is viewed as the last and most difficult of the ten tests of Abraham. In certain regards, the purchase of the Cave of Machpelah is a more difficult test. In fact, the Book of Jubilees claims it is the tenth test.

Why should this be so? For one thing, there is a tradition that says that Abraham failed the test of the Akedah. He misheard or misunderstood what was intended of him. However, if you look at the purchase of the Cave of Machpelah, Abraham did everything right. The details of the negotiations show this. He listened, he responded, he succeeded and was blessed.

The Akedah was an encounter with God, which, though often viewed as successful, failed on a number of levels. Somewhere along the way, the beloved son Isaac becomes the intended sacrifice, no longer a person but an object. It is therefore not surprising that after the Akedah God does not speak to Abraham again. Even less surprising is the fact that no more words are exchanged between Abraham and Isaac and certainly not between Abraham and Sarah, Hagar or Ishmael.

The next time we hear from Abraham is when he hopes to buy some property, the burial ground that is the Cave of Machpelah. The purchase of this cave provides him with a permanence that he otherwise lacks in life. More significantly, the negotiations provide Abraham the opportunity to experience a relationship.

Only after completing this transaction, experiencing this encounter, does Abraham's life take a dramatic shift. What happens next: Healing and relationship. He sends his servant Eliezer to find a wife for his beloved but estranged son, Isaac.

What can we take away from Abraham's experience? In all our encounters, be they personal, professional, or incidental, we must never forget that we are dealing with another human being. When we engage that other individual, the exchange becomes a dialogue. Without this engagement, we are guilty of manipulation; but when we are aware of the other, even mundane interactions become spiritual encounters. Think of it: Any mundane action harbors the seeds of a spiritual encounter. This holds true whether you are a patriarch purchasing a burial site, or a harried commuter buying a cup of coffee.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11-34:35

How is intimacy established and maintained?

I recently stumbled across an on-line game for babies. It's an internet version of the game "Peekaboo." The baby randomly hits keys and different cartoon animals pop up from behind various drawings on the computer screen. Every now and then an animal will reappear and say that nonsensical term "peekaboo."

Now, I can be enthralled by, and I must admit that I have come close to being addicted to, one or two computer games, but this particular game saddened me. It is not because I am too old to play it. Rather, the importance of Peekaboo is that it takes place in the real world and provides a marvelous contact between the players - usually an adult and an infant. How many other games can boast that they are meant for players aged 0-120?

The Swiss psychologist Jean Piaget would explain that "Peekaboo" is an example of object permanence. That is, an awareness that an object exists even when it is no longer seen. Piaget said that this awareness develops in infants at the age of 8-9 months. A baby looks at a favorite object; when it is hidden from view, the infant becomes upset. Substitute mom for an object and, according to Piaget, you know understand the anxious baby's cry when mom is no longer in sight.
This anxiety is similar to what we find this week in Ki Tisa. Moses has been gone on Mount Sinai for a long time, too long. The people are anxious and ask Aaron to create a golden calf for them. When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, the people gathered against Aaron and said to him, "Come, make us a god who shall go before us, for that man Moses, who brought us from the land of Egypt — we do not know what has happened to him." (Exodus 32:1) Think of it as a security blanket or, better yet, as a teddy bear. The people need the security of seeing, of presence, to enforce their relationship.

They're not the only ones. Moses, so upset that the folks have gone this route has the same problem. After smashing the Ten Commandments, he's back on Mount Sinai to get Ten Commandments, version 2.0. He too has a crisis similar to his people. They needed to see Moses, who in turn needs to see God.

He [Moses] said, "Oh, let me behold Your Presence!" And He answered, "I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim before you the name Lord, and the grace that I grant and the compassion that I show. But," He said, "you cannot see My face, for man may not see Me and live." And the Lord said, "See, there is a place near Me. Station yourself on the rock and, as My Presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft of the rock and shield you with My hand until I have passed by. Then I will take My hand away and you will see My back; but My face must not be seen."

Exodus 33:18-23

Here's a bit of a problem. Presence ensures security. Perhaps one reason the mishkan (tabernacle) is so important is because it symbolizes God's presence in the midst of Israel. Scholars maintain that the Golden Calf was not really an idol but a "footstool" for God. It was the people's symbol for God's presence. Nice try, wrong symbol. A face-to-face encounter establishes a relationship. Moses, who has had closer contact with God than anybody, needs that all-too-human bond. Hey, it ain't easy dealing with an invisible God. Moses needs the intimacy of a face-to-face encounter. The noun panim (face) occurs over a dozen times from Exodus 33:11 to the end of the parashah; the Hebrew term for "finding favor," literally "finding grace in your eyes," also occurs frequently in this section. Ki Tisa is imbued with the desire for intimacy while at the same time raising a question: How is intimacy established and maintained?

Moses has a unique relationship with God: The Lord would speak to Moses face to face (panim el panim), as one man speaks to another. (Exodus 33:11) Yet Moses still wants a close encounter, crying out: Oh, let me behold Your Presence! (Exodus 33:18) and is told … you cannot see My face, for man may not see Me and live. Moses can get so close and no closer. Yet no one would deny that Moses is as intimate with God as is humanly possible. But hold on, how can Moses speak with God face-to-face yet he cannot see God's face? Is this some sort of divine peekaboo?

Panim el panim is not that face-to-face tell-all interview that guarantees ratings during TV sweeps week. Speaking face-to-face implies a profound level of intimacy. (And yes, we read it as a metaphor as we do with all anthropomorphic descriptions of God.) Rambam describes it as direct contact without an intermediary. Nahum Sarna, reminds us that this same phrase is used in Deuteronomy 34:10, but the book of Numbers (12:8) calls this communication mouth to mouth.

The experience is personal and direct, not mediated through visions or dreams, and the message is always plain and straightforward, free of cryptic utterances.

Nahum Sarna, JPS Commentary on Exodus 33:11

The intimacy of panim el panim runs counter to what we learn in secular society where intimacy means that everything is revealed. We still crave that face-to-face encounter, though at times we seem to forfeit other aspects of intimacy. Is it mere coincidence that the biggest social network on the internet is called Facebook, which describes itself as "a social utility that connects you with the people around you"? Interestingly, some Facebook aficionados find out the hard way that not every aspect of their presence need be revealed to all. Who has not heard stories of job-seekers losing a plum position because of that indiscreet photo posted on Facebook? It was there for their buddies but the potential boss just happened to come across it in doing a reference check…

Our challenge today is to acknowledge the limits of panim el panim, the intimate encounter. What makes this an essential element of a relationship is respecting boundaries. Even in the deepest relationship there may be areas that are off-limits. The lesson here is that in a relationship we cannot know, nor do we need to know, everything about the other – be it a friend, a partner, a family member, or God.

Too often we start with the assumption that intimacy is based on knowledge. The more you know about someone the greater the intimacy. It sells papers and boosts ratings. Panim el panim teaches us that true intimacy is a bond derived from the understanding and appreciation of shared experience.

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Parashat Miketz, Genesis 41:1-44:17

Tears serve a multitude of purposes.

There is an old saying that seeing is believing, when in actuality seeing is interpreting. In this week's parasha, Joseph's brothers find themselves in Egypt standing before a great Egyptian official. He looks Egyptian, and he sounds Egyptian. Thus, they have no idea this is the same Joseph they sold into slavery. He doesn't look the part.

In a famous experiment conducted by John and Sandra Condry, two groups of people were shown a video of an infant bursting into tears as a jack-in-the box pops up. The group that was told the baby was female interpreted the tears as being fright. Those who were told it was a baby boy saw tears of anger. Not surprisingly, the Condrys titled their report "Sex Difference: A Study of the Eye of the Beholder."

In our society, crying is often looked at as an emotional outlet for women. Edmund Muskie lost the 1972 US presidential nomination in part because of his tears. In the Torah, tears are shed by both men and women. Hagar bursts into tears when she thinks her son is dying (Gen 21:15). After Sarah's death, Abraham proceeded to mourn for Sarah and to bewail her (Gen 23:2). Having discovered that he lost his blessing, Esau wept aloud (Gen 27:38). Upon first seeing Rachel, Jacob kissed her and broke into tears (Genesis 29:11). Reconciling after decades of separation, Jacob and Esau weep (Gen. 33:4).

But it seems that the most tears are shed by Joseph. This happens twice in this week's parasha, Miketz. When Joseph's brothers come down to Egypt, he treats them harshly. When he overhears their remorse, He turned away from them and wept (Gen. 42:24). Later, the brothers return, bringing Benjamin with them. Upon seeing his full brother, Joseph hurried out, for he was overcome with feeling toward his brother and was on the verge of tears; he went into a room and wept there (Genesis 43:30).

Tears serve a multitude of purposes. Lewis Carroll played wonderful games with tears. Alice of Wonderland fame sheds "gallons of tears" as she cries in frustration in the rabbit hole. Both the Walrus and the Carpenter weep in their escapade on the beach; the walrus shedding what we would term "crocodile tears" as he is about to consume the oysters they enticed to follow them.

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

Rabbinic commentary has much to say about tears – but focuses on Joseph's mother and aunt. Recall that Leah is described as having weak eyes (Gen. 29:17). Rashi explains that Leah was constantly crying because of the midrashic tale that she was supposed to marry Esau. Rachel's tears are brought to our attention by the prophet Jeremiah:

A cry is heard in Ramah –
Wailing, bitter weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children.
She refuses to be comforted
For her children, who are gone.
Thus said the Lord:
Restrain your voice from weeping,
Your eyes from tears;
For there is a reward for your labor

– declares the Lord:

They shall return from the enemy's land.
And there is hope for your future

– declares the Lord:

Your children shall return to their country.

(Jeremiah 31:15-17)

Midrash Lamentations Rabbah draws upon this text, having Jeremiah approach some of the great biblical figures to plead before God to return Israel from exile. The three patriarchs fail, as does Moses. But Rachel succeeds in stirring God's compassion and God responds with the words from Jeremiah: Restrain your voice from weeping. Here the tears inspire compassion.

What of Joseph's tears? He cries more often than any other figure in the Torah. Jacob cries four time (Genesis 29:11, 33:4, 37:35, 46:29); Joseph cries seven times. Interestingly, he sheds no tears when he is sold into slavery. He does not weep when he is falsely accused by Potiphar's wife and imprisoned. Nor does he cry for joy when he is freed from prison and elevated by Pharaoh.

All his tears are related to family matters. In addition to the two incidents in this week's portion, Joseph sobs when Judah pleads to take Benjamin's place as a hostage (Genesis 45:2). He cries when he reveals himself to his siblings (Genesis 45:14-15) and again when he is reunited with his father (Genesis 46:29) He sheds tears of mourning when his father Jacob dies (Genesis 50:1) Finally, Joseph weeps when he hears that his brothers fear he will take vengeance now that their father is dead (Genesis 50:17).

Joseph's tears run the gamut from joy to anger, sorrow and frustration. Sometimes they are all rolled into one. Rashi says that Joseph cried upon meeting his brothers in this week's parasha because he heard their remorse. Sforno says he cried because he witnessed their distress. Midrash Sechel Tov by Rabbi Menachem ben Shlomo (Italy, 12th century) implies that Joseph lost all thought of vengeance: "tears extinguish the burning coals of the heart." The Netziv takes the opposite view, explaining in his commentary, HaEmek Davar, that Joseph cried because he couldn't yet reveal his identity, since he knew he would inflict further suffering on his brothers by toying with them in chapter 44. Nobel Laureate Thomas Mann has Joseph's eyes filling with tears of joy at the news that his brothers are coming to Egypt; he knew this would happen someday. But the joy is mingled with confusion. How will he behave? In Mann's classic work Joseph and His Brothers, he confides to his steward Mai-Sachme:

I don't know what sort of man I am. One does not know beforehand how one will behave in one's story; but when the time comes it is clear enough and then a man gets acquainted with himself.

Mann brilliantly verbalizes the conflicts that are contained in Joseph's tears. More than any other figure in the Torah, Joseph is multi-dimensional. We meet him as a youth, see him imprisoned, follow him as he is elevated to a leadership role and are present as Joseph deals with his brothers. Joseph is no saint. He is a man who, with God's help, can save nations from famine, and at the same time play cruel games with his brothers. But this is a man who is so real that he reaches out to us from the sacred scroll. He loves and resents his brothers at the same time. He has reached an understanding and acceptance that his life experience is part of a divine plan. Yet upon seeing his brothers, he cannot help but feel the strong emotions that have been imprisoned within him during his years in Egypt. No wonder there are so many interpretations of his tears.

Through Joseph's tears, one thing becomes clear. The most difficult obstacles and the greatest joys are not found in being a servant to Potiphar or second-in-command to the Pharaoh. All of Joseph's tears deal with those he loves. He might even be surprised at his tears, not realizing how important these relationships are to him.

If only we could be like Joseph. If only we could look back at the obstacles in life and see that they were stepping-stones, opportunities to better ourselves and strengthen our relationships. Then we would truly understand the words of the psalmist that they who sow in tears shall reap with songs of joy (Psalm 126:5).

Shabbat shalom and happy Hanukkah,
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