Vayechi

Genesis 47:28–50:26

D'var Torah By Charles A. Kroloff for ReformJudaism.org

How Shall We Bless Those Who Come After Us?

According to Jewish tradition, on the eve of Shabbat and holidays, before reciting kiddush, parents bless their children.

You can find these blessings in Mishkan T'filah, the siddur (prayer book) of the Reform Movement. There you will see that sons are blessed with these words: "May God inspire you to live like Ephraim and Manasseh."1 Rashi teaches that the blessing for boys is based on Genesis 48:20 in this week's parashah, when Jacob blesses his grandsons, the sons of Joseph.

There is no equivalent blessing for daughters in the Five Books of Torah. But there is a blessing in the Book of Ruth (4:11) that comes close: "May God make the woman who is coming into your house [Ruth] like Rachel and Leah, both of whom built up the House of Israel." And so in many Jewish homes today, one or both parents offer this blessing found in Mishkan T'filah2 to their daughters: "May God inspire you to live like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah."

I remember the first time that I witnessed this ceremony. When we were graduate students in Israel, my wife Terry and I were invited to Shabbat dinner at the home of dear friends in Tel Aviv. I was spellbound as the father placed his hands on the heads of his children and spoke those blessings. At that moment, I felt a profound connection to my Jewish past and future, and to my family. I promised myself in that dining room in Tel Aviv that if we were fortunate enough to have our own children, I would offer those blessings to our offspring.

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Vayigash

Genesis 44:18−47:27

Does God Have a Plan for You?

Charles A. Kroloff for ReformJudaism.com
After receiving bad news or experiencing a tragic event, people will sometimes respond with the words, "It's God's will." There's even a Yiddish phrase that captures the idea, "It's bashert," meaning it was meant to be.

What is your reaction to such a response? Are you comfortable with it? Or does it fall on unreceptive ears? Is it in keeping with your philosophy of life or does it rub you the wrong way?

In this week's parashah, Vayigash, Joseph reassures his brothers that they should not feel guilty about the way they treated him. They had good reason to be frightened and harbor guilt. After all, they had tossed Joseph into a pit and sold him to passing merchants who led the lad into servitude in Egypt.

But Joseph tells his brothers not to fear, because ". . . it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. There have already been two years of famine in the land, and (there remain) five more years without plowing or harvesting. So God sent me ahead of you to assure your survival in the land, and to keep you alive for a great deliverance" (Genesis 45:5-7).

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Shabbat Hanukkah, Mikeitz

Genesis 41:1−44:17

 A pious and beloved but poorly dressed Chasidic rebbe took a lengthy train ride to teach Torah in a town far away. The well-to-do passenger seated next to him subjected him to insult and verbal abuse for most of the ride. When the train finally reached its destination, the rebbe was greeted at the station by thousands of excited disciples, anxious to learn at his feet. The disrespectful passenger looked mortified as he saw the scene unfold. "I'm so ashamed," he said. "I had no idea who you were. Please accept my apologies." The rebbe turned to him and said, "Don't apologize to me. Apologize to the anonymous nobody you sat next to on the train. When you insulted me, you did so because in your eyes, I was a nobody."

    (Chasidic tale, adapted from Erica Brown's retelling)

In this week's parashah, the sons of Jacob travel to Egypt during the famine to obtain food from Joseph, the estranged brother they no longer recognize. Joseph maintains his anonymity in order to test his brothers. Have they changed since they betrayed him more than two decades earlier? Have they learned how to act like brothers who take care of each other, or do old rivalries and jealousies hold sway? If he reveals himself too soon, his brothers might feign remorse in order to win his favor.

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Vayeishev

Genesis 37:1−40:23

D'var Torah By David Segal for ReformJudaism.com

To paraphrase Mark Twain, "clothes make the [story]." Throughout the course of Parashat Vayeishev, references to clothing accentuate and propel the unfolding drama.

Joseph's Clothes Spell Trouble

As the parashah opens, the tension between Joseph and his brothers reaches its boiling point. They conspire to kill him out of jealousy, for he is their father's favorite son, but Reuben convinces them not to go that far. "So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped Joseph of his coat, the coat of many colors that he had on; then they took him and threw him into a pit . . ." (Genesis 37:23-24). It is darkly poetic that the brothers' first act of violence against Joseph attacks his clothing, the special coat given him by Jacob as a sign of paternal favoritism. With Joseph out of the picture, the coat becomes the brothers' vehicle for revenge against Jacob, too. They stain it with goat's blood and show it to Jacob as false evidence that Joseph has been killed. "Do you recognize it?" (Genesis 37:32) they ask Jacob, rhetorically and cruelly. The sight of the special coat, now torn and bloodied, breaks Jacob's heart.

What Goes Around . . .

After Joseph's capture and sale into Egyptian slavery, an episode about Judah and Tamar interrupts the narrative. Judah has three sons with his Canaanite wife, Shua: Er, Onan, and Shelah. Tamar marries Er, who dies; Judah sends his next son Onan to perform his brotherly duty by marrying Tamar in order that he might sire an heir for Er.1 Onan famously refuses and dies. Judah, fearing the death of his third and final son, dodges the responsibility of having Shelah marry Tamar by sending her to her father's house to wait "until my son Shelah grows up" (Genesis 38:11). Tamar waits, and even after Shelah reaches marriageable age, Judah balks.

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Vayishlach

Genesis 32:4−36:43

Chasing Your Demons: Finding Your Friend

D'var Torah By: Charles A. Kroloff for ReformJudaism.com

Many years ago, I conducted a funeral for a man who died at the age of ninety-four. What I remember most about that funeral was not the fact that he had achieved national recognition as a biologist, but rather that he had four daughters and none of them spoke to each other. I still see them in my mind's eye at the synagogue service, and later at the cemetery, purposely sitting apart and avoiding even the slightest contact with one another.

I thought about them as I read this week's parashah, Vayishlach. After Jacob tricked Esau out of his birthright blessing, Jacob fled his home, spent twenty years in the service of his abusive uncle, Laban, and then stealthily, with his wives and children in tow, hurried back to Canaan where he knew he might encounter disaster at the hands of his brother.

In Genesis 32, he stops running. After fording the Jabbok River, he remains alone and wrestles with someone until dawn brakes. One of the great questions of biblical literature is: "With whom did Jacob wrestle?" It seems clear that he wrestled with God because he said, "I have seen God face-to-face" (Genesis 32:31). And yet, the text tells us that "a man wrestled with him" (32:25). That man might have been his vision of Esau or perhaps he was struggling with himself. Haven't we all struggled with our fears and vulnerabilities at some time in the dead of night? Jacob anticipated Esau's arrival with a small army. That's enough for a nightmare.

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Vayeitzei

Genesis 28:10−32:3

Finding the Spiritual Within Us

D'var Torah By: Charles A. Kroloff for ReformJudaism.com

What is the most common word used in discussions about religion today? You might think it is "God," "prayer," or "faith." We hear those words a lot.

But most common of all is "spirituality": it is frequently used, rarely defined, and difficult to define. There is no Classical Hebrew equivalent: in Modern Hebrew it's called ruchaniyut. The concept of spirituality comes more from Christian philosophy, which historically divides world into the material and the spiritual. In Judaism we see only one world: material and spiritual at the same time. And in Judaism, the material is always potentially spiritual. The most ordinary, mundane thing has the potential to be spiritual: dirt, sweat, food, snow, or rain.

Why is the search for spirituality so important today?

You can probably answer that question as well as I can. We've passed through a decade or two – some would say centuries – of materialism: industrial revolution, scientific breakthroughs, technology formerly unimagined. We've seen prosperity in this country and other Western lands. We have accomplished a great deal materially and indulged ourselves generously. And we've paid little attention to the non-material, the spiritual. Sometimes we've grown so distant from the spiritual that we've forgotten it existed – or how to connect with it.

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Tol'dot

Genesis 25:19−28:9

D'var Torah By: Charles A. Kroloff for ReformJudaism.com

The Book of Genesis is full of unethical behavior or, at the least, highly questionable actions by our matriarchs and patriarchs. Abraham let Sarah be physically available to Pharaoh, indicating that she was his sister. He then proceeded to come within a knife's breath of sacrificing his son Isaac at Mount Moriah. Sarah dispatched Hagar and Ishmael from the security of her tent into the unforgiving wilderness. Isaac dissembled before Abimelech, obfuscating his relationship to Rebekah. Jacob and his father Isaac engage in a biblical game of "Can you guess who I am?" as the blessing for the first born goes to the younger brother.

And then there is Rebekah. Let's review her role in the unfolding drama of the Hebrew family. Isaac grows old and hungers for a tasty dish of game from the hand of Esau, the hunter. Overhearing this request, Rebekah quickly cooks up a scrumptious meal and instructs Jacob to deliver the goods in order to receive the blessing intended for Esau. When Esau learns that his brother has usurped his position, he threatens to kill him. Rebekah, never one to remain passive, dispatches Jacob to stay with her brother Laban in order to protect her son's life.

Rebekah is the most remarkable manager in biblical literature. From the moment Abraham's servant Eliezer meets her at the well seeking a wife for Isaac to this episode where she schemes and tricks her family to ensure that Jacob, rather than Esau, becomes patriarch, she manipulates the characters like an all-knowing director on the stage of life. This is some family - weak characters and strong ones, tricky folks, shadowy plots, and plenty of dysfunction!

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Chayei Sarah

Genesis 23:1−25:18

D'var Torah By: David Segal for ReformJudaism.com

Different circumstances demand different paradigms of thought and action, and the Jewish people have advanced through history by fulfilling the action demanded by the moment. Even God's promised blessings only are achieved through human agency. Our patriarchs and matriarchs showed a sophisticated variety of approaches to ensuring the transmission of the Jewish story. Taking any one episode from their narratives out of context robs us of the benefit of their worldly wisdom, creativity, and commitment.

Two episodes in Chayei Sarah illustrate this lesson. The first is Abraham's acquisition of the Cave of Machpelah as a burial site for Sarah. Upon Sarah's death, Abraham mourned and then set about to make arrangements for her to have a final resting place. He approached the Hittites, residents of the land, with humble nobility: "I am a foreigner living for a time among you; sell me a gravesite among you, that I may bury my dead here" (Genesis 23:4). Having already proved himself a powerful military leader, Abraham surely could have taken the land by force. After all, God already had promised that it would belong to him and his children. Instead, Abraham chose a path of respect and peace, insisting that he pay a fair market price. Ephron the Hittite negotiated with Abraham according to a pattern known from ancient Near Eastern sources.1 It was in Abraham's interest to purchase the land contractually in good faith; land given to him on a whim could just as easily be taken away, but a legal exchange endures.

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Vayeira

Genesis 18:1–22:24

Reading between the Lines

D'var Torah By: David Segal for ReformJudaism.com

Few of our sacred stories are as famous—or as provocative—as the Akeidah, the Binding of Isaac (Genesis 22). Each year when we read it publicly at the High Holidays, I try to imagine how it comes across to those Jews who come to services only at that season. If your only Jewish religious experience consisted of hearing the story of a fanatical father who took his son up a mountain to slaughter him, would you come back for more?

But taking Torah at face value is not the Jewish way. We are Yisrael, the people who wrestle with God and with our sacred text. The Bible's redactors could have excised this problematic story of the near sacrifice of a beloved son, but they left it in. The question for us as readers is, why? What can we learn from it?

The Rabbis of our tradition teach us that a close reading of text can reveal meanings hidden beneath the surface. When they read the Akeidah, they identify an apparent theological issue. At the climax of the tale, the angel commands Abraham, "Do not lay your hand on the lad" (Genesis 22:12). Rashi brings a midrash to highlight the problem:

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Lech L'cha

Genesis 12:1−17:27

The Eternal said to Abram, "Go forth from your land, your birthplace, your father's house, to the land that I will show you." - Genesis 12:1

D'var Torah By: David Segal for ReformJudaism.com

Choosing to Be Chosen

Once, I was invited to address a local middle school class as they began a unit on the history of world religions. The teacher asked me to summarize Judaism in about 10 minutes. At least I had more time than Hillel when he explained the Torah "on one foot."1 But where was I to begin? I decided to start with Abraham, the first Jew.

I didn't have time then to analyze the complexities of Abraham's legacy and the questions raised by his call from God. Why did God choose him? Why did God make a covenant with a family rather than, say, anyone willing to behave in a certain way? Addressing these questions gets to the very heart of what it means to be Jewish.

The Torah gives us little indication about the reasoning behind God's choice of Abraham. We read simply, "The Eternal One said to Abram, 'Go forth from your land, your birthplace, your father's house, to the land that I will show you'" (Genesis 12:1). Midrashic tradition has offered various back stories to show Abraham's worthiness retroactively. In one midrash, "Abraham learned Torah all by himself" (Midrash T'hillim 1:13); in another, a three-year old Abraham comes to monotheism through his own intellectual insight (Beit HaMidrash 2:118-196). Then there's the famous story of Abraham smashing the idols in his father's shop (B'reishit Rabbah 38:13). These traditions seek to portray Abraham as a heroic monotheist, ahead of his time in devotion to the one God.

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Rosh Chodesh 2, Noah

Genesis 6:9−11:32


D'var Torah By: David Segal for ReformJudaism.com

• This is Noah's chronicle. Noah was a righteous man; in his generation, he was above reproach: Noah walked with God. - Genesis 6:9

The world's first "skyscraper" was built after the great Flood. All of humanity, unified by a single language, decided to build "a tower that reaches the sky" (Genesis 11:4), known today as the Tower of Babel. I've always taken this story as an act of defiance and hubris; God reacted by dispersing the people and confusing their speech.

A midrash depicts the height of the people's arrogance: " 'Come,' they said, 'let us make a tower, place an image on its top, and put a sword in its hand, and it will seem that it is waging war against [God]' " (B'reishit Rabbah 38:6). If there was any ambiguity in the Torah, the midrash has removed it. These people were asking for God's retaliation!

Hubris wasn't their only transgression. Careful readers will note that the "Babel builders" (as one of my bar mitzvah students likes to call them) disobeyed a direct command of God from earlier in the parashah. After the Flood, God blessed Noah and commanded him and his offspring: "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth" (Genesis 9:1). Rather than filling the earth, these people settled in one valley. Rather than being fruitful, they devoted themselves single-mindedly to a self-aggrandizing construction project.

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B'reishit

Genesis 1:1−6:8

Deconstructing Adam

D'var Torah By: David Segal for ReformJudaism.com

Biblical literalism is on the rise. You can see it in the growth of Bible-based mega-churches where the "word of God" is preached as inerrant truth. But any serious reader of the Bible knows it contains contradictions, ellipses, and vague commands that require interpretation to be understood, let alone followed.

The most apparent challenge to biblical literalism occurs at the beginning of the Bible. The first two chapters of Genesis tell two starkly different stories of the Creation of the world and of humanity.

In the first story, humanity is created "in the image of God" (Genesis 1:27), with no mention of the physical body's creation. In the second story, man is created from dust, and God breathes life into his nostrils (Genesis 2:7). Similarly, the first Creation story culminates with humans created together, "male and female" (Genesis 1:27). In the second, Adam is created first, followed by the fish, birds, and beasts; only then does God derive the woman from Adam's rib. While the first account mentions only the word Elohim to refer to God, the second uses the Tetragrammaton (the Hebrew letters, yud-hei-vav-hei) as well as Elohim.

Most dramatically, God commands the humans in the first story to "fill the earth and tame it" (Genesis 1:28). In contrast, in the second story God places the humans in the Garden of Eden and commands them to "work it and keep it" or, more poetically, "to till and tend it" (Genesis 2:15).

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Chol HaMo-eid Sukkot

Exodus 33:12–34:26

D'var Torah By: Roberta Louis Goodman for ReformJudaism.com

One of the privileges and responsibilities that I have as a congregational professional is serving on the faculty of the Union for Reform Judaism's summer camps. My roles include providing support to counselors and campers, helping out with services, tutoring bar/bat mitzvah students, and assisting with the study theme. Imagine my surprise when three summers ago, my first serving in the unit at Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute (OSRUI) that focuses on the arts for students in the seventh through tenth grades-that our topic was Kohelet, the Book of Ecclesiastes. My immediate reaction was: "It's so dark. This is summer camp where they are supposed to have fun! What are they going to get out of the ramblings of an older person reviewing and lamenting on life?"

Three summers later, the staff members-and even some of the campers-are still talking about the session. The mere mention of the word Kohelet evokes a nod, a knowing utterance, of something that was deep yet accessible, provocative yet distressing, memorable and powerful.

Traditions about when Kohelet is read during Sukkot vary based on one's location, roots, and/or the actual days of the week of Sukkot. I seize upon any opportunity that I have to share and explore Kohelet further, hence this d'var Torah.

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Yom Kippur

Deuteronomy 29:9–14, 30:11–20 (Morning) and Leviticus 19:1-4, 9-18, 32-37 (Afternoon)

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Stephen Karol for ReformJudaism.com

Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. - Deuteronomy 30:11

I was a student in my father's ninth grade religious-school class. What I remember the most all these years later is learning Torah from him and, most important, the practical ethical lessons we can apply to our lives from our most sacred text. In particular, studying the Holiness Code (Leviticus 17-26), which includes the Torah reading for Yom Kippur afternoon (Leviticus 19:1-4, 9-18, 32-37), has had a lifelong influence on me.

The Holiness Code is a great selection for that day because it tells us that when many people are so focused on the ritual of coming to pray on one day to the exclusion of others, it is their behavior that truly makes them holy. This includes our praying and attending services, but it also includes our ethics. It applies to everyone-not just rabbis and cantors and "regular" service attendees.

The eleventh-century commentator Rashi wrote on Leviticus 19:2: ". . . this section was proclaimed in full assembly ('all the congregation of the children of Israel') because most of the fundamental teachings of the Torah are dependent on it" (see Sifra; Vayikra Rabbah 24:5). And Rabbi Levi points out "because the Ten Commandments are included in this section (therefore, it was proclaimed to the full assembly)" (Vayikra Rabbah 24:5). Rabbi Levi specifically mentions the repetition of commandments regarding recognizing the Eternal as our God, not worshiping other gods, not swearing falsely, observing Shabbat, respecting parents, not taking the life of another or standing idly by, not committing adultery, not stealing, and not being a talebearer (similar to "false witness'"). Finally, he matches up not coveting with loving "your neighbor as you love yourself." In The Torah: A Women's Commentary,1 Tamara Cohn Eskenazi stated: "Connections . . . define the holy community: the connection to parents whom one must honor, to the poor and the disadvantaged whom one must protect, to the neighbor and stranger whom one must love, and of course to God" (p. 716).

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Shabbat Shuva; Ha-azinu

Deuteronomy 32:1-52

By Rabbi Amy R. Perlin in ReformJudaism.org

Haazinu: Don’t Forget to Remember

We will gather on Yom Kippur to recite Yizkor, our prayer of memory for our loved ones who have died. The Jewish value of "memory" pervades our lives, our sacred story, and this time in our Jewish calendar year. Many of us were raised on the phrase "Never forget." We have spent our lives being taught that a Jew is obligated to remember those who came before us, from our ancestors in the Torah, to the martyrs of our history, to the loved ones who made our lives possible.

And so we read in our portion this week:
"Remember the days of old,
Consider the years of ages past;" (Deuteronomy 32:7).

But, the opposite of remembering, forgetting, is also a part of our Jewish legacy. Though we are commanded to remember, we fail and forget. As Moses speaks his final words at the end of Deuteronomy, he reminds his listeners that we do not always remember the God who gave us the Torah, the Guardian who guided us through our journey in the wilderness.

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Shabbat Slichot - Nitzavim-Vayelech

Deuteronomy 29:9-63:9

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

Expanding the Covenant

At the edge of the Promised Land, Moses convenes his people one last time, to draw them into the covenant between them and their God. This great gathering of the masses evokes the last great gathering, forty years earlier, when the people of Israel were encamped at the foot of Mt. Sinai. Then, in the Book of Exodus, God instructed Moses:

"Go to the people and warn them to stay pure today and tomorrow. Let them wash their clothes . . . Moses came down from the mountain to the people and warned the people to stay pure, and they washed their clothes. And he said to the people, 'Be ready for the third day; [the men among] you should not go near a woman' " (Exodus 19:10, 14–15).

The Torah: A Modern Commentary, Revised Edition, 1 added the (corrective!) phrase in brackets, [the men among]. The Hebrew reads simply, "You should not go near a woman." This startling direct address to men calls into question who is being covenanted at Mt. Sinai. To whom is God (or Moses) speaking? It is possible to read this formative narrative of the Jewish people in a way in which only men are brought into the covenant, and indeed, many still do.

Deuteronomy, however, offers a different read:

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Ki Tavo

Deuteronomy 26:1–29:8

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

The Power of a Story

Long ago, in the days when we were farmers and shepherds in the Land of Israel, the Torah taught us that when we harvested our crops, we were to put the first fruits of our harvest in a basket and bring it as an offering to God. In this passage, the Torah recounts the only prayer of antiquity of which we still have a record. It is as eloquent as it is simple:

"The priest (hakohein) shall take the basket from your hand and set it down in front of the altar of the Eternal your God. You shall then recite as follows before the Eternal your God: 'My father was a fugitive Amamean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us. We cried to the Eternal the God of our ancestors, and the Eternal heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The Eternal freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents, bringing us to this place and giving us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, Eternal One, have given me' " (Deuteronomy 26:4-10).

This is certainly not a prayer in any conventional sense: it doesn't beseech God, it doesn't ask for anything, praise anything—no Hallelujahs or blessings of the Lord. It's just a story. A simple story:

When you harvest your crops, put the first fruits of your harvest in a basket and place it on the altar, and recite this prayer; tell this story:

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Ki Teitzei

Deuteronomy 21:10–25:19

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

We Are What We Remember

The last paragraph of Ki Teitzei is the maftir reading in non-Reform congregations on the Shabbat before Purim. Its opening word, zachor, "remember," names that Shabbat.

"Zachor, Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt—how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when the Eternal your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that the Eternal your God is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!" (Deuteronomy 25:17–19).

I was present on a Yom Kippur morning many years ago when Rabbi Harold Schulweis asked his congregation if they could name members of Hitler's SS. And the names came pouring out from all corners of the sanctuary: Himmler, Eichmann, Goering, and on. And then Rabbi Schulweis asked the community to name the people who tried to save Anne Frank and her family. Silence.

Blot out the memory of Amalek, of all those who have tried to destroy us. But, he asked, whose names have we blotted out, and whose names have we remembered? In focusing on our suffering, we have chosen to see ourselves as victims, to see in others the potential hater.

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Shoftim

Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

Breathing New Life into Ancient Teaching

One of the joys of Jewish life in the Land of Israel is the way ancient texts can be used in ordinary moments of daily life. A rabbinic colleague tells the story of a Jerusalem traffic jam: traffic had come to a complete halt, and drivers were leaning on their horns in frustration. The taxi driver (who was driving my colleague) finally stepped out of his car and reprimanded the driver behind him, with a full, verbatim quote of Exodus 14:15, in its original Hebrew:

"Why are you yelling at me? Speak to the people of Israel and tell them to move!" (The translation here is meant to reflect the use of the text.) Never mind that in the original context it is God speaking to Moses at the Sea of Reeds.

At another moment of Israel's story—a moment neither joyous nor quotidian—members of Israel's judiciary community brought a different Torah text to bear on Israeli society. It was 1982. Israel was in control of southern Lebanon when Lebanese Christian Phalangists attacked the predominately Muslim refugee camps of Sabra and Shatila, and many were killed. Huge protests in Israel against the killings forced the government to take action, resulting in its convening a commission to assess the responsibility of the Israeli government and army. The Kahan Commission,1 established by the Israeli government, was chaired by Yitzhak Kahan, president of Israel's Supreme Court. It concluded that the Gemayel Phalangists bore direct responsibility for the massacres in the refugee camps, and that Israel was to be held indirectly responsible. It is to this second charge, that of indirect responsibility, that we turn our attention.

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R'eih

Deuteronomy 11:26–16:17

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

Food and Covenant

God blessed the first humans, told them to multiply and increase, and then instructed them: "Look, I have given you all the seed-bearing plants on the face of the earth, and every tree that has in it seed-bearing fruit; these are yours to eat" (Genesis 1:29). In the utopian vision of the Garden of Eden, human beings are created vegetarian.

The vision of the garden collapses, however. God created human beings to struggle with good and evil, but alas, they chose evil all the time. "When the Eternal saw how great was the wickedness of human beings in the earth, that the direction of their thoughts was nothing but wicked all the time, the Eternal regretted having made human beings on earth, and was heartsick. So the Eternal thought, 'I will wipe the humans whom I created from off the face of the earth—the humans, [and with them] the beasts, the reptiles, the birds of the sky—for I rue the day I made them' " (Genesis 6:5-7).

Following the flood, God again blesses human beings and tells them to multiply and increase. But this time, God does not set the bar so high regarding food. "God then blessed Noah and his sons, saying to them, 'Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. . . . Any small animal that is alive shall be food for you, like green grasses—I give you [them]' all" (Genesis 9:1,3). Human beings may now eat anything at all—with one proviso: "But flesh whose lifeblood is [still] in it you may not eat" (Genesis 9:4). Human beings are granted unrestricted access to the flesh; the life, symbolized by its blood, does not belong to us. In the Torah's framework, this law applies to all of humanity—to Noah and all his descendants.

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Eikev

Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

"All the world needs is love." We hear that refrain in our music, in our theologies, in conversations prosaic and profound. While there is no denying the power of love as the essential and irreplaceable core of our lives, there are also other things we need: a home, sustenance (food), and meaningful work—among others. And even love is multilayered and often complicated.

While the Hebrew prophets often use the metaphor of love and marriage to describe the relationship between God and Israel ("I will betroth you to Me forever," Hosea 2:21), the Torah uses different metaphors to describe that relationship. Deuteronomy 5:2–3 provides one of many beautiful examples:

"The Eternal our God made a covenant with us at Horeb. It was not with our ancestors that the Eternal made this covenant, but with us, the living, every one of us who is here today."

How this covenant is understood forms the center of the conversation about what it is to be a Jew. What is the nature of this covenant? Is it binding? Who is included? What are its obligations—upon us, and upon God? Are there consequences for violating the covenant, and if so, what are they?

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Shabbat Nachamu - Va-et'chanan

Deuteronomy 3:23–7:11

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

Do Not Make Yourself a Pesel, Lest Torah Become an Idol

In the next parashah, Moses will tell the Israelite people: "Thereupon the Eternal One said to me, 'Carve out two tablets of stone like the first, and come up to Me on the mountain; and make an ark of wood. I will inscribe on the tablets the commandments that were on the first tablets that you smashed, and you shall deposit them in the ark.' . . . . After inscribing on the tablets the same text as on the first—the Ten Commandments that the Eternal addressed to you on the mountain out of the fire on the day of the Assembly—the Eternal gave them to me" (Deuteronomy 10:1-4).

Our parashah, Va-et'chanan, contains this second text of the Ten Commandments. One would expect a perfect replica of the first set, an exact repetition, as Moses and God both promise. It is startling and wonderful to see that the texts are not identical. Traditional commentary,1 encoded in L'cha Dodi, tells us that both versions of the commandment to observe the Shabbat are uttered in the same instant by God (shamor v'zachor b'dibur echad); the single Divine word shatters into countless sparks as when a hammer strikes the anvil. Biblical criticism 2 teaches that the (edited) text we have before us is made up of different versions of our sacred narratives. Either way, the Torah pushes back against the notion that there could ever be a singular version of Divine truth. Divine truth is always beyond human grasp; the pure light of the Divine is necessarily refracted by human experience into countless colors.

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Shabbat Hazon - D'varim

Deuteronomy 1:1−3:22

By Rabbi Shira Milgrom for ReformJudaism.org

Deuteronomy: Becoming the Master Storytellers

The Passover Haggadah famously distinguishes between the wise and wicked children by the singular choice of the wise child to identify with the story: "It is because of what the Eternal did for us [me] when I came out of Egypt." At the very core of the Jewish enterprise is the willingness to take the story of our people as our own personal story.

The decision to frame the people's narrative as our very own is the way the Book of Deuteronomy opens. The Torah speaks through the voice of Moses: "The Eternal our God spoke to us at Horeb" (Deuteronomy 1:6); "We set out from Horeb" (1:19); "When we reached Kadesh-barnea (1:20), and so on. Were we to read the text on its surface (p'shat) level, we would have a problem here. We already learned that the people who stood at Horeb (Sinai) perished in the desert. Those who escaped from Egypt, who stood at Mt. Sinai, who traveled to Kadesh-barnea, who complained day and night, and who finally decided to go back to Egypt following the doom and gloom testimony of ten of the twelve scouts—that generation died out in the desert (1:34-36). To whom is Moses speaking? Presumably, he is speaking to the next generation. This generation did not stand at Sinai; they were not at Kadesh-barnea. The Book of Deuteronomy has taken the fantastic leap into Jewish storytelling: Yes! We did stand at Horeb. Yes! We were at Kadesh-barnea! Yes, yes, yes! This story is ours.

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Mas-ei

Numbers 33:1-36:13

Death, Thou Shalt Die

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Richard A. Block

The end of the wilderness sojourn of the wandering Israelites approaches as the Book of Numbers reaches its conclusion. In Parashat Mas-ei, the Torah looks backward and ahead. Summarizing forty years of marches and encampments since the Exodus from Egypt requires almost a full chapter. This travelogue is detailed, but without elaboration. Moses's version of the events that transpired in those places and his attempt to distill their lessons will be the main endeavor of Deuteronomy. Here, only the death of Aaron at the ripe age of one hundred and twenty-three years is mentioned.

The bulk of the portion anticipates the Israelites' entry to the land of Canaan and lays out initial steps to be taken as they establish their national home in that land of promise. This includes defining the land's outer boundaries and apportioning it among the ancestral tribes, except for the Reubenites, the Gadites, and the half-tribe of Manasseh, who had elected to settle east of the Jordan River, and the landless Levites, for whom special provision was to be made. The latter were assigned forty-eight towns and the surrounding pastures to be carved out of the other tribes' allotments in proportion to their relative sizes.

The Torah turns next to a core aspect of criminal law: homicide. Six of the Levite towns were to be designated as "cities of refuge to which a manslayer who has killed a person unintentionally may flee" and therein find protection from "the blood-avenger . . . so that the manslayer may not die unless he has stood trial before the assembly" (Numbers 35:11-12). The Torah is well aware that not every killing is premeditated and it recognizes a moral and legal distinction between murder-taking a life with intent or reckless disregard of the consequences of one's actions, and manslaughter-a death resulting from an accident or negligence.

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Mattot

Numbers 30:2-32:42

“There Is Safety in Numbers”: Reception History and Cities of Refuge

D'var Torah By: Dr. Kristine Garroway
In Numbers 35:9-15, God commands the people to create cities of refuge in the Promised Land. The notion behind the cities of refuge-where one could claim asylum or sanctuary-is a construct that has found itself reinterpreted throughout the ages. What follows below is a brief exploration into the way the biblical text has been (re)interpreted from the Rabbinic period up until the present day. Examining the way a text has been received and interpreted is called "reception history," which is a form of higher criticism.

In the biblical text, the cities of refuge act as a sanctuary for one who had committed murder (rotzei-ach), but who had done so unintentionally ( makeih-nefesh bish'gagah). The issue here is blood vengeance. Numbers 35:16-21 explains that a person committing murder should be put to death (as murder violates the sixth commandment). Furthermore, a member of the family of one who was intentionally murdered has the right to act as the executioner. The kinsman carrying out this duty is called the go-eil hadam, the blood-avenger. However, if the murder happened by accident, then the murderer is allowed a trial, and the assembly shall decide whether or not the manslayer should die (Numbers 35:22-24). If the assembly finds in the person's favor, the manslayer shall live in one of the cities of refuge until the High Priest dies.1 At this point the man is free to return to his home (Numbers 35:28). If the manslayer sets foot outside the city before then, he opens himself up to the retribution exacted by the blood-avenger.2 So ends the biblical law.

The Rabbis had much to say about the cities of refuge. Of particular concern to them was how a person running from the blood-avenger would be able to find one of the cities. According to B'midbar Rabbah 23:13, God told Moses to set up road signs inscribed with the word "manslayer" that would point the person in the correct direction. So too, R. Avin stated every mile along the way there would be a station with a person pointing toward the city of refuge.3In case this was not enough, the roads leading to the cities of refuge should be extra wide, 16 cubits, not the regular 4 cubits. 4 The Rabbis were also interested in what a city of refuge would look like: a mid-size city, near water and markets, of a decent size population, and free of traps, nooses, and weapons.5

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Pinhas

Numbers 25:10-30:1

Evolving Justice

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Lisa Edwards for ReformJudaism.com

I was recently called to jury service in Los Angeles. As imperfect as this complicated, human system of law may be, the jury selection made me proud to be an American, especially as the judge instructed the potential jurors about the meaning of “presumed innocent.”

At the beginning of jury selection, when the judge in the courtroom asked the thirty-four potential jurors how many of us thought the defendant was probably guilty, a majority raised their hands. He told us this is a common answer and understandable, but explained that in the United States every judge, every jury, must learn to presume innocence. Of course, we can easily find reminders of the difficulty of presuming innocence—from Guantanamo Bay to political scandals to the halls of justice everywhere—especially when fear and anxiety play a role.

I can’t help but think of our right to a fair trial, "a jury of our peers," and a presumption of innocence as we open our Torah scrolls this week to Parsahat Pinchas. The parashah is named for the grandson of Aaron who, in a short narrative at the very end of Parashat Balak, took the law into his own hands by running a spear through the Israelite Zimri and his Midianite paramour, Cozbi, for their public display of affection (Numbers 25:5-9).

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Balak

Numbers 22:2−25:9

What Are You Looking at But Not Seeing?

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Lisa Edwards for ReformJudaism.com

It’s June – the month famous for weddings and for gay pride parades all over the world. June was chosen for “pride” events to commemorate the June 1969 riot at the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York City’s Greenwich Village – a significant milestone in the gay liberation movement.

Almost every year at Jerusalem’s Parade for Pride and Tolerance, counter-protesters bring live donkeys (or sometimes cardboard cutouts of donkeys) to symbolize what they label as the “bestial nature” of the pride parade. It’s sad that religious people protest against the advocates of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) pride and pleas for tolerance. The counter-protesters’ choice of “beasts” is ironic: of all the animals, why would Jews well-versed in Torah choose donkeys for this purpose?

It’s certainly ironic, given the intrepid donkey who plays a major role in the story told in this week’s Parashat Balak.

The extraordinary story of the prophet Balaam and his talking she-donkey is a narrative about humans who think they know best, and come to learn otherwise. Balaam is hired by King Balak to curse the people Israel, saying, “since they are too numerous for me; perhaps I can thus defeat them and drive them out of the land. For I know that he whom you bless is blessed indeed, and he whom you curse is cursed” (Numbers 22:6). Attempting to accommodate the King’s request, Balaam heads out on his donkey toward the Israelite camp, but along the way the donkey swerves three times in an attempt to protect Balaam from a threatening angel of God that only the donkey can see. More infuriated each time the donkey stops or swerves, Balaam beats her harshly three times. In a last attempt to protect herself and Balaam, the donkey actually talks to Balaam in his own language, saying “What have I done to you that you have beaten me these three times?” (22:28). Unrepentant, Balaam replies, “You have made a mockery of me! If I had a sword with me, I’d kill you!” (22:29).

Here’s a good argument for gun (sword) control.

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Chukat

Numbers 19:1−22:1 - Rosh Chodesh Tammuz


D'var Torah By: Rabbi Lisa Edwards for ReformJudaism.com

The Gift of Grief

In an almost imperceptible yet seismic shift, this week’s Parshat Chukat jumps us a few decades ahead in the wilderness journey of the Israelites. Maybe we need a movie screen caption that reads, “thirty-eight years later.”

Perhaps the time shift is difficult to notice because not much else has changed. Early in the portion, seemingly from out of nowhere, we read: “Miriam died there and was buried there,” (Numbers 20:1). Although she was the sister of Moses and Aaron, and a leader herself in the Israelite community, no more detail is given of what happened when Miriam died. No cause of death is given, no age at death, no description of mourning. We don’t even know who buried her. “Died and buried” is all Miriam gets for her long years of service.

Or is it? The very next verse tells us “the community was without water” (20:2). This juxtaposition is to teach us, writes Rashi (France, eleventh century), that the Israelites “had water for the whole forty years from [Miriam’s] well on account of the merit of Miriam.” Abraham ibn Ezra (Spain, twelfth century) disagrees, noting an absence of water long before Miriam died (Exodus 17:1, for example).

Whatever the reason, it seems to be their thirst, rather than Miriam’s death, that brings the Israelites to whine and argue with Moses and Aaron. “Why did you make us leave Egypt to bring us to this wretched place?” (Numbers 20:5). Poor Moses, Aaron, God, and us as well, we’ve heard all this before—almost forty years ago and from a different generation. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”1

Perhaps this is why Moses grows so angry, losing patience once more. And the same goes for God. When God tells Moses and his brother Aaron to take the rod and “order the rock to yield its water,” Moses does so in similar fashion to the way God instructed him decades before—he strikes the rock, but this time he does so twice, saying “Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?” (Compare Numbers 20:6-12 to Exodus 17:5-6).

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Korach

Numbers 16:1−18:32

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Philip “Flip” Rice for ReformJudasim.org

All Men Are Not Created Equal

No advance in wealth, no softening of manners, no reform or revolution has ever brought human equality a millimeter nearer. (George Orwell)

Please stop reading this. You rebel! No doubt you are someone who actually enjoys reading about Korah's revolt, which is found in our Torah portion, Korach, this week. The rebellion ends in failure, but it is fundamentally quite painful to most Jews who read it, largely because it is complex, timeless, and timely. Jewish tradition trained us to sympathize with Moses and his supporters. For the Rabbis of the Midrash, Korah represented all that was evil in the community and all that was wrong with human character. Still, it is difficult for anyone passionate about democracy not to be stirred by Korah's powerful message. It is almost as if our Jewish loyalties are pitted against our democratic allegiances. And for those of us who take both the Torah and the Declaration of Independence seriously, that conflict hurts.

Let's review: Moses and Aaron have successfully led the tribes out of slavery in Egypt, through the threats of the wilderness, and they are now relatively safe, secure, and comfortable. As the families of the Israelites are living out their lives, waiting to arrive in the Promised Land, God continues to speak through Moses to the people. In the midst of this idyllic serenity, in the hills outside of the Land of Israel, Korah rebels! Resenting having to follow Moses in all matters, Korah challenges him with these profound words:

You have gone too far! For all of the community are holy, all of them, and the Eternal is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Eternal's congregation? (Numbers 16:3)

Korah's defiant words strike at the heart of the democratic values so cherished by American sensibilities. If all people are created equal, then why would any one person have authority over another? Why should one person have access to power, wealth, or prestige in a way that another person does not? Korah's challenge echoes the words of Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln. But these sentiments also are found in the prophetic voices of the Torah. In fact, in every generation there are leaders who fight for the assertion that each person has intrinsic worth and that all people have equal value. And since few of us would challenge this claim, Korah's disobedience strikes a chord within us.

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Sh'lach L'cha

Numbers 13:1−15:41

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Laurie Rice for ReformJudasim.org

Lemmings Be Gone!

Recently, I sat with one of my congregants, a beautiful, smart, and funny 12-year-old girl who told me about the social challenges she is having in school. Likely because she is so beautiful, smart, and funny, some of the other "popular" girls in her class do not like her. They have taken to convincing the rest of the girls in her class to stop speaking to her. The Torah tells us that we have an obligation, a responsibility, to not stand by while others are threatened: "Lo ta-amod al dam rei-echa" (Leviticus 19:16). Interestingly, the word rei-echa means neighbor--not Jewish neighbor, but any neighbor. We have a responsibility to take care of any person we see in trouble. What strikes me as more disheartening than the two "mean girls" instigating this behavior (mean girls are everywhere) are the actions of the other girls who simply follow suit, like lemmings. It's a tall order to expect of ourselves and our children to speak out when we see injustice or to speak truth to power when the majority seems to feel otherwise. Yet, is this not our mandate as Jews, to be rodfei shalom, "pursuers of peace"?

I always ask my mother-in-law for suggestions on what book I should be reading. She is a prolific reader and, without realizing it, serves as a sifter between what's worthy of reading and what's not. I generally call her from the airport bookstore, suddenly aware that I am about to board a multi-hour flight without any children and panicked that I didn't think ahead to bring a book. Recently, she gave me The Help, by Kathryn Stockett. The Help is a story about black women serving as maids in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960s, just 50 years ago. It's a story about black women and the white women they served. As I read about the segregation, the attitudes of whites toward blacks, the depraved lines of distinction that were drawn, and the brutality and cruelty that was so very socially acceptable, I had to remind myself that I was not reading a fictional take on a time 200 years ago. This was just 50 years ago, down the road from where I live in Nashville, Tennessee.

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B'haalot'cha

Numbers 8:1−12:16

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Philip "Flip" Rice for ReformJudasim.org

Shout for joy . . . for on that day many nations will attach themselves to God . . . (Zechariah 2:14-15)

Why is it so difficult to journey from a place of self to a place of other? Why are we so afraid as a society and as individuals to lower our shields and swords, and pick up pruning hooks in order to plant a world that overflows with grapevines and fig trees? Would that not make us all shout for joy? And if peace eludes our world, will you also allow it to elude you?

The utopian vision for community, expressed by the Prophet Micah thousands of years ago, called for a day at some point in the future when all people would gaze with pleasure upon God's house and declare, "Hey, let's go up there, to the house of the God of Jacob, that the Holy One may instruct us to follow God's ways and we may walk in God's paths!" Nowadays even traffic can prevent folks from wanting to go up to the house of God. Any number of obstacles can deny us the time to vision a better world for ourselves, much less for others. It is not that we do not share in the dream of peace--a time when all of us together would find some grass in a park and sit down under some shady trees, and "none shall be made to feel afraid" (Micah 4:1). Is it just that we are all too busy?

There are obstacles. First and foremost is that, as Jews, we have enemies. Who and what are our adversaries? Rabbi Cathy L. Felix writes, "foes of Israel, of the Jewish people as a whole, but also individuals, situations, and even psychological conflicts that block our emotional and spiritual growth." 1

This week our Torah portion, B'haalot'cha, provides us with a peculiar scribal anomaly not found anywhere else in the Torah, which is meant to comfort and encourage us as we seek our goals. Set apart by two upside-down Hebrew-letter nuns are two verses that ask for God's help in overcoming obstacles as a community and as individuals. These nuns act like parentheses. What do these self-contained verses say?

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Naso

Numbers 4:21−7:89

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Laurie Rice for ReformJudasim.org

The Torah on Women: Think Again!

Our ancient sages were obsessed with organization. As such, they categorized most everything, which is best reflected in the Talmud’s 63 tractates, which address a variety of subjects including Jewish ethics, philosophy, customs, history, lore, and much more. Nearly every topic has its place and order, with the exception of women. Women must have perplexed our dear Rabbis. We can imagine the discussion: Are they women or are they chattel? They bleed, but do not die, yet they must be impure, but they create new life, something we certainly cannot do. And while there is indeed a tractate attributed to women, Nashim, we find the ambiguity of women’s roles in the Bible and within ancient Israelite society reflected in this inability to “categorize” women as one might the Jubilee year or the subject of ketubot.

The ritual of the sotah, addressed in Parashat Naso, is an example of this ambiguity. Because of the linguistic difficulties that riddle this passage (Numbers 5:11-31), an accurate understanding of the details of the ritual and the motivation behind them may forever elude us (perhaps just like the nature of woman herself).

Adultery is considered a very grave offense in the Bible, much in the same way that incest is a sin punishable by death (see Leviticus 20:10-12). Unlike the laws of incest, which apply to both men and women (see Leviticus, chapter 18), in the case of adultery there is a fundamental difference between men and women. A married woman is forbidden to have sexual relations with all men except her husband, but a married man is free to have sexual relations with any other woman as long as she herself is single and available. Since biblical law allows men concubines as well as wives, there are no punitive measures against a married man who engages in extramarital sex. Even when the Babylonian Talmud attempts to prohibit a man from spending time in privacy with women outside his family (Kiddushin 80b-81b), such relations still remain outside the purview of sexual transgressions.

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B'midbar

Numbers 1:1−4:20

Dvar Torah by Rabbi Philip “Flip” Rice for ReformJudasim.org

Finding Your Soul in the Wilderness Scroll

"[I will] lead her to the wilderness . . ." (Hosea 2:16)

Few places lend themselves to personal growth as well as the wilderness. Whether you conceive of it as a desert or a forest, a mirage or an oasis, a wilderness is a place of nature and a refuge from the world. It is in the wilderness where our ancestors encountered God and where Torah, their stories, were revealed. As we count down these days toward the holiday of Shavuot, our Torah portion this week invites us to join Jews worldwide as we enter the backwoods. Called "Numbers" in English, the Hebrew title of this book of Torah, B'midbar, is translated as and takes place "In the Wilderness." Political scientist Robert Maclver writes, "The healthy being craves an occasional wilderness, a jolt from normality, a sharpening of the edge of appetite, his own little festival of Saturnalia, a brief excursion from his way of life."1

As summer approaches and we ready ourselves for the outdoors, consider that the wilderness, like camp, is also a school. It affords us opportunities to learn and mature. Its unique environment and landscapes teach respect for the wonders of nature and invite growth of the spirit. It was in the wilderness of Sinai that our people learned the value of each person to the community. That is where our ancestors acquired the necessary skills for survival by recognizing their mutual dependence and loyalty to one another. No longer living by the will of others, the experiences recorded by those who came before us teach us the values of freedom in creating our own destinies, the conviction in our will to survive as a people, and the importance of experience to bolster education.

B'midbar reflects the uncertain and adventurous human journey of every generation, including ours! The trials facing the Israelites as they trek across the wilderness for forty years, maturing as a people, mirror the obstacles, successes, and failures that we encounter in life as a people and as individuals. During the course of our lives, we are certain to spend time in the rough country. Like Moses did personally, like the Israelites did long ago, we cannot help but gain perspective when times are tough, and afterwards we often find a new appreciation for life. The experience of disappointment can bring other rewards. While in the wilderness, for instance, the Children of Israel experience constant danger. A newly freed people, this allowed them to mature as a community and enabled them to receive the priceless gift of Torah; a gift given in "no man's land" and therefore belonging to no one and to everyone.2

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B'chukotai

Leviticus 26:3-27:34

Dvar Torah by Robert Tornberg, RJE, for ReformJudasim.org

Reflection in Multiple Ways

Parashat B'chukotai is the final Torah portion in the Book of Leviticus. Here we have learned, perhaps more than we ever wanted to know about the statutes, rules, and details of the work of the kohanim, the priests, and the sacrificial system. In the midst of all this we were also presented with a whole series of inspiring laws in Parashat K'doshim about how we can bring a measure of holiness into our daily lives as we interact with others. In fact, the focus of the much of the Book of Leviticus is considered by commentators and scholars to be "holiness."

This week's portion seems qualitatively different than the rest of the book and is divided into two sections, basically by the two chapters. The first section (Leviticus 26:3-46) contains a series of blessings and curses, and is considered to be an epilogue to all of Leviticus. The second section, chapter 27, appears to be somewhat of an afterthought containing supplementary laws about vows, gifts, and dues that seem to have been left out previously. In our examination today, we will focus on the epilogue.

The parashah opens with the following words: "If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season, so that the earth shall yield its produce ..." (26:3-4). After being told that the Land will be fruitful if we obey God's commandments, we further learn in the next 8 verses that there will be peace in the Land, we will be victorious over enemies outside the Land, we will be fertile and multiply, and the Divine Presence will dwell in our midst.

Following this picture of prosperity and tranquility, we read, "But if you do not obey Me and do not observe all these commandments ...and you break My covenant, I in turn will do this to you..." (26:14-16). The section continues with 5 subsections of curses that parallel the blessings. The difference, however, is that the curses are described in much greater detail and take up a total of 30 verses (26:14-43) compared with the total eleven verses (26:3-13) of blessings. The penultimate verse in this chapter raises the specter of hope as God promises to " ...remember in their favor the covenant with the ancients, whom I freed from the land of Egypt ... " (26:45). The final verse in this chapter teaches clearly that all of the laws in Torah – including Leviticus – were given at Sinai (26:46).

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B'har

Leviticus 25:1-26:2

Dvar Torah by Robert Tornberg, RJE, for ReformJudasim.org

For God's Sake

Parashat B'har begins in a very unusual way. "The Eternal One spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai: Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: . . ." (Leviticus 25:1-2). Since the Book of Exodus, we have come to expect phrases in the Torah like "The Eternal said to Moses . . . "; "The Eternal spoke to Moses and Aaron . . . "; and, in Leviticus, "The Eternal One called to Moses from the Tent of Meeting . . . " (Leviticus 1:1). Why, in this instance, do we have a somewhat different "introduction" mentioning Sinai? After all, we already know – and assume everywhere else in the Torah – that Torah was given at Sinai. Why say it again?

Rashi and other commentators have made efforts to explain this using fairly convoluted logic. I would suggest that this phrase is intended to make us sit up and pay attention, not so much to the actual laws that follow, but to the actual message or meaning embedded in these statutes and ordinances. So what are the rules that may lead us to these bigger ideas?

The first set of regulations following our introduction includes laws about the Sabbatical Year – the land's Sabbath. Every seventh year, the land must have a complete rest: ". . . you shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard. You shall not reap the aftergrowth of your harvest or gather the grapes of your untrimmed vines. . . . But you may eat whatever the land during its sabbath will produce . . . " (Leviticus 25:4-6). While any number of commentators try to explain how this shows a good understanding of the science of agriculture, for our purposes, please set this thought aside until we get to a discussion of our "bigger ideas."

The next group of laws is related to the Sabbatical in many ways, especially in the use of the number seven. "You shall count off seven weeks of years – seven times seven years – so that the period of seven weeks of years gives you a total of forty-nine years" (Leviticus 25:8). Then, on Yom Kippur in the fiftieth year, the shofar is sounded and a Yovel (often translated as "Jubilee") is proclaimed. During this entire fiftieth year, the land again lies fallow (yes, for the second year in a row!), all agricultural lands that have been sold in the previous fifty years revert to the original owners, and Israelite slaves are to be set free. Much has been written about the progressive economic and social implications of these rules, but again, those comments will not be our focus here.

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