Re'eh: Seeing and Hearing

Devarim is an audiocentric book. Search through Devarim and you will find the verb שמע approximately 100 times, including the most famous passage of all: שמע ישראל ה' א-לקינו ה' אחד. On the other hand, the imperative to see, ראה, as spoken by Moses to the entire people, is found only three times in this book.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that unlike other cultures in antiquity, Jewish culture is audio-centric; we are focused on words, not on objects, idols or icons. We hear, while others see. Ancient Greece was the paragon of visual culture, celebrating sculpture, the physique, architecture. For us, it was Torah, midrash, talmud.

There was a profound difference between the two civilizations of antiquity that between them shaped the culture of the West: ancient Greece and ancient Israel. The Greeks were the supreme masters of the visual arts: art, sculpture, architecture and the theatre.

Jews, as a matter of profound religious principle, were not. G-d, the sole object of worship, is invisible. He transcends nature. He created the universe and is therefore beyond the universe. He cannot be seen. He reveals Himself only in speech. Therefore the supreme religious act in Judaism is to listen. Ancient Greece was a culture of the eye; ancient Israel a culture of the ear. The Greeks worshipped what they saw; Israel worshipped what they heard.

Now we come upon the imperative look:

ראה אנכי נתן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה.

Look, I have placed before you this day a blessing and a curse. (Dt 11:26)

This verse is echoed towards the end of the book:

ראה נתתי לפניך היום את-החיים ואת-הטוב ואת-המות ואת-הרע.

Look, I have given you this day life and good, and death and evil. (30:15)

Why the difference? The ear has no way of its own to block out what it hears. True, we can stick our fingers in our ears or stuff them with cotton to block out sound, but the ear has no way of closing itself. But the eye does have an option. We can close our eyelids, we can avert our gaze. The eye allows for options, the ear does not. What is interesting about the verses above is that they speak about options, choices to be made. Once we have heard the lessons, it is up to us to make choices, to open our eyes and make them part of the reality of our lives, or to close our eyes to the ways in which they can enrich those lives.

Ekev – Digging in your heels

“עקב" is not a word that we come across often in the Torah, and even those few times have different meanings. As it appears in the beginning of this week's parasha, it can mean because, part of an if-then proposition. Usually, it refers to something after the fact:

והתברכו בזרעך כל גויי הארץ עקב אשר שמעת בקלי.

All the peoples of the earth will be blessed by your seed because you listened to My voice. (Gn 22:18)

This verse comes at the conclusion of the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. Abraham's progeny would be a source for blessing as a consequence of his obedience to Hashem's will.

והרביתי את-זרעך ככוכבי השמים ונתתי לזרעך את כל-הארצת האל והתברכו בזרעך כל גויי הארץ. עקב אשר-שמע אברהם בקלי וישמר משמרתי מצותי חקותי ותורתי.

I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars in the heavens, and I will give your descendants all these lands. All the peoples of the land will be blessed through your offspring, as a consequence of Abraham listening to My voice, keeping my watch, commandments, statutes and teachings. (Gn 26:4-5)

ועבדי כלב עקב היתה רוח אחרת עמו וימלא אחרי והביאתיו אל-הארץ אשר-בא שמה וזרעו יורשנה.

My servant Caleb, because he possessed a different spirit and remained loyal to Me, him I will bring into the land that he entered, and his progeny will possess it. (Nu 14:24)

And so, our parasha opens with a passage that begins and ends with this word:

והיה עקב תשמעון את המשפטים האלה ושמרתם ועשיתם אתם ושמר ה' אלקיך לך את-הברית ואת-החסד אשר נשבע לאבתיך.

If you obey these laws, keeping and observing them, then Hashem your God will keep the covenant and kindness that He swore to your forefathers. (Dt 7:12)

והיה אם-שכח תשכח את-ה' אלקיך והלכת אחרי אלהים אחרים ועבדתם והשתחוית להם העדתי בכם היום כי אבד תאבדון. כגוים אשר ה' מאביד מפניכם כן תאבדון: עקב לא תשמעון בקול ה' אלקיכם.

If you forget Hashem your God, following after other gods, serving and prostrating yourselves before them, I bear witness today that you will certainly perish, just like the peoples Hashem will cause to perish before you, so you will perish, because you will not have heeded to the voice of Hashem your God. (Dt 8:19-20)

So, it seems a little strange to refer to a parshah “if” or “because”. What's more is that Hebrew has another, simpler word for if – אם, and for because – מפני. What is it about this word that makes it different?

Let's recall, for a moment, another situation where this word also appears, dealing with the birth of Jacob:

...ואחרי-כן יצא אחיו וידו אחזת בעקב עשו ויקרא שמו יעקב

Afterwards his brother came out, his hand grasping on to the heel of Esau, and his name was called Jacob... (Gn 25:26)

עקב has another meaning – the heel of the foot.

What is interesting about the heel is that if one wants to stay put, they exert pressure on the heel to insure that they do not move. And when one is stubborn and unmovable, we refer to them as “digging in their heels.”

What do heels have to do with our parasha?

There is a message here about human qualities that go beyond a simple “if” or “because”. Keeping the mitzvot, living the life that we, as Jews, are expected to lead in fulfilling our covenants may seem somewhat counterintuitive. After all, if what humans seek out in life is pleasurable fulfillment, then restrictions on our freedoms and instincts is not something ideal. We have something of an animal soul in us. Our covenantal obligations impose burdens on us, and there is so much that tempts us away. Keeping that commitment requires us at times to be stubborn, to dig in our heels with a mind towards doing the best that we can to fulfill the mitzvot.

But there is also another side of the coin. We can also be obstinate in our refusal to maintain the covenant. We can come up with every possible explanation and rationalization to dismiss and disregard expectations. When we go beyond the simple lack of fulfillment, when we are obdurate in our objections, we run tremendous risk, as we find at the close of this passage at the end of chapter 8.

Our heels do not hear, but they can help, or hinder, our ability to heed.

Va'etchanan: Worshipping sticks and stones

On Tish'ah b'Av, we recite from the Torah a passage that is found in this Shabbat's Torah reading. (Va'etchanan is always read on the Shabbat following Tish'ah b'Av, which is also known as Shabbat Nachamu from the first words of the Haftarah.) We read the following words:

כי-תוליד בנים ובני בנים, ונושנתם בארץ והשחתם ועשיתם פסל תמונת כל ועשיתם הרע בעיני ה'-א-להיך להכעיסו. העידתי בכם היום את-השמים ואת-הארץ כי-אבד תאבדון מהר מעל הארץ אשר אתם עברים את-הירדן שמה לרשתה לא-תאריכן ימים עליה כי השמד תשמדון. והפיץ ה' אתכם בעמים ונשארתם מתי מספר בגוים אשר ינהג ה' אתכם שמה. ועבדתם-שם אלהים מעשה ידי אדם עץ ואבן--אשר לא-יראון ולא ישמעון ולא יאכלון ולא יריחן.

When you bear children and grandchildren, once you are long-established in the land, if you should act wastefully, making sculpture of any image, doing evil in the eyes of Hashem, your God, to anger Him. With heaven and earth as my witness, you will be quickly and utterly lost from the land to which you are crossing the Jordan to possess. Your days on it shall not be lengthened, for you will be utterly wiped out. Hashem will scatter you among the nations, and you will remain, in small number, among the nations to which Hashem will lead you. There you will worship gods that are the works of human hands: of wood and stone – that cannot see, hear, eat or smell. (Dt 4:25-28)

Now, this is not the first time that we come across this opposition to idolatry in this chapter. See v. 3:

עיניכם הראות את אשר-עשה ה' בבעל פעור: כי כל-האיש אשר הלך אחרי בעל-פעור השמידו ה' א-לקיך מקרבך.

Your eyes have seen what Hashem did at Ba'al Pe'or, for Hashem destroyed from your midst every man who followed after Ba'al Pe'or.

Likewise, vv. 16-18:

פן-תשחתון--ועשיתם לכם פסל תמונת כל-סמל: תבנית זכר או נקבה. תבנית כל-בהמה אשר בארץ תבנית כל-צפור כנף אשר תעוף בשמים. תבנית כל-רמש באדמה תבנית כל-דגה אשר-במים מתחת לארץ. ופן-תשא עיניך השמימה וראית את-השמש ואת-הירח ואת-הכוכבים כל צבא השמים ונדחת והשתחוית להם ועבדתם--אשר חלק ה' א-לקיך אתם לכל העמים תחת כל-השמים.

Lest you make waste of yourselves and make for yourselves a graven image, the likeness of any form, the image of a male or female, the likeness of any animal on land, the likeness of any winged bird that flies in the sky, the likeness of anything that creeps on the ground, the likeness of any fish in the waters under the earth. Lest you raise your eyes skyward, see the sun, moon, and stars, all the hosts of heaven, and be pushed to prostrate yourselves before them and worship them, that which Hashem, your God, allotted to all the nations under the heavens.

And v. 23:

השמרו לכם פן-תשכחו את-ברית ה' א-לקיכם אשר כרת עמכם ועשיתם לכם פסל תמונת כל אשר צוך ה' א-לקיך.

Be on guard, lest you forget the covenant that Hashem, your God, made with you, and make a graven image, the likeness of anything, which Hashem, your God, forbade you.

It seems repetitive, but in fact, it isn't. Verse 3 recalls the incident where men were driven by their lust for Moabite women to serve Ba'al Pe'or. Verses 16-18 speak of the deification of anything found in nature. Verse 23 extends the idea further, forbidding the deification of anything that could be captured in any image, or the attempt make an image of anything that could be venerated in some way.

What does this section, verses 25-28, tell us that we haven't already heard?

Those gods that are the work of human hands are not necessarily what one would think of as gods. They are the works of our hands, the things we make, the possessions we crave, the objects we seek to acquire that become the focus of our attention and our veneration. They become our focus on earnings and our materialistic yearnings, the things that supplant the sublime with the superficial.

This passage begins with an interesting phrase: ונשנתם בארץ, once you are long-established in the land. The word ונשנתם derives from the ישן, which means old, and also connotes sleep, tiredness, boredom, things that can be easily lead to complacency. Under these circumstances, the restless heart seeks something new, something beyond the established, the familiar. It is under those conditions that values break down, ideals disintegrate, and restless souls seek out creature comforts. Often, this does not occur in a single generation, not in the days of the founders, but after generations, כי-תוליד בנים ובני בנים, when one can look back on the privations of the builders with little more than a sense of nostalgia. By then, the ideals, or more specifically, the covenantal commitment, is all but lost. They are no longer in the land of promise, but in the land of premise, based on the supposition that our satisfaction with creature comforts is all we need to keep us fulfilled. But these things are inanimate. We find ourselves in a vicious cycle of trying to keep up with the newest fad and fashion, the things that lack any staying power because they are אלהים מעשה ידי אדם עץ ואבן--אשר לא-יראון ולא ישמעון ולא יאכלון ולא יריחן, gods that are the works of human hands: of wood and stone – that cannot see, hear, eat or smell.

And then something happens...

ובקשתם משם את-ה' א-לקיך ומצאת כי תדרשנו בכל-לבבך ובכל-נפשך. בצר לך ומצאוך כל הדברים האלה באחרית הימים ושבת עד-ה' א-לקיך ושמעת בקלו. כי א-ל רחום ה' אלקיך לא ירפך ולא ישחיתך ולא ישכח את-ברית אבתיך אשר נשבע להם.

From there you will seek out Hashem, your God, and you will find Him, because you have sought Him out with all your heart and with all your being. In those later times, when in your straits and you find these words, you will return unto Hashem, your God, and listen to His Voice. For Hashem, your God, is a compassionate God, He will neither forsake nor destroy you, nor will He forget the covenant that he swore to your fathers. (vv. 29-31)

The spiraling quest for materialistic meaning leaves us bereft of meaning, but we do have a way out.

The challenge is not to get ourselves to that point where we are in the straits. We cannot allow ourselves to lose sight of the notion that unfettered materialism is nothing less than a form of idolatry, something we must avoid in the first place. We should be able to live lives where our needs are met, without deprivation, hunger or want. But there are limits. When life becomes more focused on stuff than on meaning, on the people in our lives, our fellow man, and our relationship with the Provider of all, we are at a loss. When we start to believe the words of the bumper sticker that says “Whoever dies with the most toys wins,” it is time to stop and reflect on where we are, where we are heading, and what it all means.

Devarim: Where to begin?

Devarim is a very different book from the other books of the Torah. Its time span is short; it opens with a note that Moshe begins this recitation on the first day of the eleventh month (Shevat) in the fortieth year of the exodus. It concludes with the death of Moshe, which, according to tradition, took place on the seventh day of the following month, Adar. It lacks historical narrative in time, but recapitulates events within the context of sermons. Besides that, it does state numerous mitzvot, many of which are new to Devarim.

Parashat Devarim opens one of Moshe’s discourses, starting in verse 6. He begins with these words:

.ה’ אלקינו דבר אלינו בחרב לאמר רב־לכם שׁבת בהר הזה

Hashem, our God, spoke to us at Horeb saying: Enough of you dwelling by this mountain.

This seems like an unexpected place for Moshe to begin his address. For we all know that Moshe’s activity began in Egypt. The Exodus from Egypt is a foundation point for Israel in its relationship with Hashem as redeemer. Why does Moshe begin with this moment, when Hashem tells Israel to leave Sinai, and not from when he stood up to Pharaoh?

The answer, as I see it, has everything to do with the very reason for taking forty years to wander the desert, the story that Moshe soon discusses. Those who left Egypt were unable to leave the slavery mentality, and the dependency it entailed, behind them. Forty years later, the salve generation dead in the wilderness, a new generation stood before Moshe, one that did not know slavery, one that did not remember the watermelons and the garlic of Egypt. The task at hand for this new generation was to conquer and build up a homeland. They had to learn the responsibilities of statecraft and self governance. This was not a task for slaves, or a slave mentality. So Moshe begins at a point where the people are told to move forward to inherit the land. Moshe protests that he, alone, cannot handle the needs of all the people, and so he establishes a bureaucracy of sorts. (Yes, the order here is not in sync with the narrative in Shemot, where this division is made before coming to Sinai, and is made at the recommendation of Yitro, Moshe’s father in law. But we will find numerous accounts in Devarim that will not sync exactly with earlier books of the Torah, which is not an issue to deal with here.) There is no reminder here of slavery whatsoever. They are reminded of the lack of faith of their parents’ generation, both out of fear brought on by the report of the scouts, and of bravado by those who who went ahead, against Hashem’s command, and sought to conquer the land on their own.

The lesson to be gleaned from this has to do with limits to how and when we use our sense of history, our past experience. If Israel were to continue to think of itself in the context of its slave past at a time when they had to think of establishing their new home, they would be mired by that modality. Slaves think reactively, they are not free to take matters into their own hands. This generation had to learn responsibility, and they had to learn trust and faith. In chapter 2, Moshe recalls when they could and could not attack others, when to negotiate. They were learning important lessons that could serve them well in their future situation.

There is a terrible temptation to look back at past weaknesses and exploit them in the present, to use them as an excuse for current problems. When the Torah has us look back on that painful past, it is more often to teach us to be the opposite - be kind to the stranger because of your experience as strangers in Egypt. Our mission is to build a collective life of hopeful purpose, not one of fearful reaction.

Mattot-Masaei: Destroying Images

This week’s parshiot bring us to the end of a forty year long journey through the wilderness. Israel is preparing for the next stage in its journey to settle its divinely ordained home, and receives some important instructions regarding its settlement. Much can be said about the details of these instructions,  but my focus will be on two words in a phrase that seem redundant, and to attempt some understanding of them. After all, every word of the Torah has its place and its meaning; nothing is superfluous.

Towards the end of chapter 33 we read that pagan cult objects are to be destroyed:

וְהוֹרַשְׁתֶּם אֶת־כָּל־ישְׁבֵי הָאָרֶץ מִפְּנֵיכֶם וְאִבַּדְתֶּם אֵת כָּל־מַשְׂכִּיֹּתָם וְאֵת כָּל־צַלְמֵי מַסֵּכֹתָם תְּאַבֵּדוּ וְאֵת כָּל־בָּמוֹתָם תַּשְׁמִידוּ

You shall take possession of all the inhabitants of the land before you, and you shall destroy their cultic handiwork, all the images of their molten images destroy, and all their altars destroy. (v. 52)

The translation seems awkward only because some of the words used here are not exactly clear. We do know that the verse is very clear about one thing in particular: ridding the land of any pagan influence.
What is striking is the phrase צלמי מסכתם, the images of their molten images. We are talking about idols, images of false deities. It would have been sufficient to say מסכתם, their molten images. What is gained by the seemingly superfluous צלמי?

When hearing the word צלם, one verse instantly comes to mind:

וַיִּבְרָא אֱלֹקִים | אֶת־הָאָדָם בְּצַלְמו,ֹ בְּצֶלֶם אֱלֹקִים בָּרָא אֹתוֹ זָכָר וּנְקֵבָה בָּרָא אֹתָם

God created man in His image; in the image of God He created him, male and female he created them. (Gn 1:27)

Clearly, we are not physical representations of Hashem. When we use anthropomorphisms, it is for the purpose of giving some substance to the unimaginable nature of Hashem, who is beyond the ken of human understanding. And yet, this verse is not something that we are saying about ourselves; it is what Hashem is saying about His creation.

Without going into the ramifications of this verse in any great detail, let us say that there is some scintilla of connection here, that the human being possesses some quality that is supposed to remind one of Godliness, of the nature of Hashem, as it were...

Looking back at our lemma, the verse in question, we might derive the following. It is not enough to destroy the symbols of paganism. Demolishing altars and idols does not do enough to eradicate the reality of paganism. It will take much more to rid the land of its pervasive idolatry. The challenge to Israel is to overcome the culture, the mindset, the ideologies the underlie the paganism of those in the land. The culture of the Torah is supposed to replace that culture, and when it is properly lived, it will offer an incentive in the form of a better, more meaningful life, to those who are there.

The consequences of failure to realize this will be seen in verse 55:

וְאִם־לֹא תוֹרִישׁוּ אֶת־יֹשְׁבֵי הָאָרֶץ מִפְּנֵיכֶם וְהָיָה אֲשֶׁר תּוֹתִירוּ מֵהֶם לְשִׂכִּים בְּעֵינֵיכֶם וְלִצְנִינִם בְּצִדֵּיכֶם וְצָרְרוּ אֶתְכֶם עַל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם ישְׁבִים בָּהּ 

And if you do not possess the inhabitants of the land before you, that which remains of them will be like stingers in your eyes and thorns in your sides, and they will harass you in the land where you dwell.

Allowing for the remnant of that culture to remain, not conquering the hearts and minds of the other, will make it impossible Israel to make for itself the home that Hashem had intended through the covenants. It was a challenge to Israel in the days of the First and Second Temples, a challenge that our ancestors have largely failed. The challenge remains in our generation; how to meet it may be a matter of debate, but remains a matter that we should consider with great care.

Pinchas: Offerings for ourselves, and offerings for the world

Sacrifices are incredibly uninteresting. They have no relevance to the lives that we lead, even if we strive to fulfill all our religious obligations. Despite that fact of life, the most often repeated sections of the Torah deal with sacrifices. The second half of Parashat Pinchas deals entirely with the cycle of sacrifices for special days: Shabbat, Rosh Hodesh, and all the holidays; we read the appropriate passages from these chapters on every applicable holiday (except for Shabbat, when it is recited as part of the Tefillat Musaf.)

We likely pay little attention to the specifics of these sacrifices, but there is something interesting about the pattern that we find here.

A couple of notes are in order. First, the daily offering was made on all of these days. If any holiday fell on Shabbat, then the Shabbat offerings were included as well. Rosh Hashannah included both the daily and Rosh Hodesh offerings, as well as the Shabbat offering if it were to fall on Shabbat. Second, the goats are for the Hattat (sin) offering, which explains why they remain a constant.

Most of these offerings seem very simple in structure. But then we get to the seven days of Sukkot. What can explain this enormous sacrificial inflation that we see in the sacrificial scorecard above?

Sukkot celebrates the fall harvest and the onset of the winter rainy season in Eretz Yisra’el. It is understandable why Israel would want to celebrate with all its bounty, in the hope that Hashem will bless the land with appropriate rains for the year ahead. Yes, that may be a factor in the increase.
But there is something interesting about the Sukkot pattern that is hard to ignore. The numbers of rams and lambs offered are doubled on these days from those offered on all other holidays. And then we get to the bulls. On day one we start with 13, and on each successive day we reduce the amount by one.  This adds up to 70 bulls offered during these seven days. Finally, on Shmini Atzeret, we return to the schedule that applied to the holidays that took place at the beginning of the month.

Of course, the Torah never explains specifics of sacrifices, but rabbis looked for clues in the text to explain the oddity here. Jewish tradition, based on the genealogies of Gn 10-11, maintained that 70 nations descended from Noah. Next, Nu 29:35 describes Shmini Atzeret in an unusual way:

בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי עֲצֶרֶת תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם

The eighth day shall be an assembly for you...

Why is this day for you? Rashi’s comment on this verse explains:

ומדרשו באגדה: לפי שכל ימות הרגל הקריבו כנגד שבעים אומות ובאין ללכת, אמר להם המקום: בבקשה מכם עשו לי סעודה קטנה כדי שאהנה מכם

Its explanation in the aggada: because during each day of the festival they made offerings to correspond with the 70 nations of the world and they would go, Hashem said to them: I ask of you, make a small feast so that I can enjoy you.

This is an abridgment of the explanation found in the Talmud (bSukkah 55b):

א"ר <אליעזר> [אלעזר] הני שבעים פרים כנגד מי? כנגד שבעים אומות. פר יחידי למה? כנגד אומה יחידה. משל למלך בשר ודם שאמר לעבדיו: עשו לי סעודה גדולה. ליום אחרון אמר לאוהבו: עשה לי סעודה קטנה כדי שאהנה ממך. א"ר יוחנן: אוי להם <לעובדי כוכבים> {לאומות העולם} שאבדו ואין יודעין מה שאבדו! בזמן שבהמ"ק קיים מזבח מכפר עליהן, ועכשיו מי מכפר עליהן

R. Eleazar stated, To what do those seventy bullocks correspond? To the seventy nations. To what does the single bullock correspond? To the unique nation. This may be compared to a mortal king who said to his servants: Prepare for me a great banquet; but on the last day he said to his beloved: Prepare for me a simple meal that I may enjoy you’. R. Yohanan said: Woe to the {nations of the world}, for they lost something and they do not know what they have lost. When the Temple was in existence the altar atoned for them, but now who shall atone for them?

I have no way of knowing if any other people in the ancient world would adopt a practice of engaging in worship on behalf of other peoples. But here we have a tradition where the word of Hashem was interpreted to demand such engagement on behalf of every nation. The comment of Rabbi Yohanan elaborates that these offerings served an expiatory function for those nations, but it is more likely that it had a more general function. If it were strictly for the purpose of atonement, then we might expect the offerings to be made of goats, not bulls, as the goats were used for the Hattat offerings as mentioned above.

The context of this section makes this even more interesting. A few chapters earlier, in last week’s parasha, we read about the failed efforts to curse Israel by a neighboring nation, and then the efforts to lead Israel into apostasy through lust. This parasha opens with a commendation of Pinchas for his act of zeal against a flagrant act of apostasy by spearing the Israelite man and Midianite woman. The sacrificial calendar follows a census and the allocation of tribal lands, all of which are mentioned in preparation for the impending arrival in their patrimonial land. If anything, all these things would point more towards an inward focus, not an outward one.

Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah (21:24) offers an interesting twist on the verse:

זש”ה: תחת אהבתי ישטנוני ואני תפילה. את מוצא בחג ישראל מקריבין לפניך שבעים פרים על שבעים אומות העולם. אמרו ישראל: רבונו העולמים, הרי אנו מקריבין עליהם שבעים פרים והיו צריכים לאהוב אותנו, והם שונאים אותנו, שנאמר: תחת אהבתי ישטנוני. לפיכך אמר הקב”ה: עכשיו הקריבו בעצמכם ביום השמיני עצרת תהיה לכם

The verse says: In return for my love they are my accusers; but I give myself to prayer. (Ps 109:4) You find that on the festival [Sukkot] Israel offers You seventy bulls for the seventy nations of the world. Israel said: Master of Worlds, we offer seventy bulls for them and they should love us, but they hate us, as it says: In return for my love they are my accusers. Hence, the Holy One, Blessed Be He, said: Now,  offer on your own behalf on the eighth day, an assembly for you...

The verse in Psalms is interpreted as a reference to Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret, that the offerings of the  seven days of Sukkot were on behalf of the nations who, despite this, despised Israel, but the eighth day focused on Israel alone.

The lesson is fairly evident. As Jews, we cannot ignore that we live in a world inhabited by other peoples, and to some extent, especially today - for better or worse - we will interact, perhaps become interdependent, on others. Yes, there are times when we are in conflict with others, but the welfare of others, even those who despise us, is also our concern. Why bother? Because all these peoples were created by Hashem, and eventually they will all come to recognize Hashem and adopt a Godly way of life. Zechariah (14:16) foresaw Sukkot as the holiday that would be eventually celebrated by all peoples:

וְהָיָה כָּל־הַנּוֹתָר מִכָּל־הַגּוֹיִם הַבָּאִים עַל־יְרוּשָׁלָם וְעָלוּ מִדֵּי שָׁנָה בְשָׁנָה לְהִשְׁתַּחֲוֹת לְמֶלֶךְ ה’ צְבָאוֹת וְלָחֹג אֶת־חַג הַסֻּכּוֹת

It will be that everyone who is left of all the nations which came against Jerusalem shall make pilgrimage there from year to year to worship the King, the Hashem of hosts, and to keep the festival of Sukkot.

We will live in a world that suffers from conflict, and sometimes we will be party to those conflicts. It is nevertheless our responsibility, even in our own communities or our own land, where some might choose to cloister themselves from all others, to not do that, to not engage in cursing others as Balak and Bilaam tried, but the opposite: to be a source for blessings for all peoples, whether or not they like it, and whether or not they realize it.

Parashat Balak: When a Blessing can become a Curse

This week we read how Balaam is sent by Balak, a king of the Moabites, to lay a curse on Israel. Israel is on its trek to Canaan; Balak fears that Israel would defeat his people in battle and overrun his territory. Balaam, a powerful soothsayer, knows some of the limits of his powers, and learns more about the limits of his vision along the way. None the less, he is told by Hashem to go along with Balak’s delegation and attempt to do what they ask of him. Balaam makes several attempts, but instead of casting curses upon Israel, he utters words of praise. That is the story in a nutshell.

The first of these blessings raises a question. We read the following:

הֶן־עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב

There is a people that dwells apart, among the nations not reckoned. (Nu 23:9)

How, exactly, is this a blessing? In a literal sense, it can refer to security. Balaam sees them alone in their world, and the blessing is one to remain unencumbered by the designs of others. If only things could have turned out that way. For the land promised to Israel is one that was forever at the crossroads of history. It was always the junction between Europe and Asia Minor, and Africa, eyed by empires as an invaluable piece of real estate. To this day, it is the most fought over piece of territory that exists. Even if its mercantile and military value is not what it once was, its spiritual, emotional, and political value is unquestionable.

But there is another way of reading this verse. Israel, as a people, should remain separate from the world around it, unconcerned by the world outside of it.

Should Israel live in isolation and seclusion? Obviously, there are those who believe this should be so; let us live alone, away from everyone else. Let us do our own things in our own way. We have nothing for you, and you have nothing for us. This is the ideal of the Jew who opts for the ghetto. It will, forever, be us against the rest of the world, both spiritually and politically, and so we should separate ourselves from all others. For those who see the world in those terms, this verse can be read as a blessing of isolation.

But is that what the Torah intends for us? And if so, is this really a blessing?

If that is the intention, then the verse would have to be removed from the context of Balaam’s oracles. In this first one, Israel lives in secure isolation, but in the succeeding oracles, Israel emerges increasingly triumphant and powerful. It becomes clear that isolation cannot last for long, regardless of how good it appears.

The verse makes use of the word לבדד to signify Israel’s aloneness. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, in his recent book, Present Tense, notes that it has a negative connotation. In Bereshit we are told, following the creation of man, לֹא־טוֹב הֱיוֹת הָאָדָם לְבַדּו, it is not good for man to be alone. (Gn 2:18) The opening verse of Eicha says אֵיכָה | יָשְׁבָה בָדָד הָעִיר רַבָּתִי עָם הָיְתָה כְּאַלְמָנָה, How solitary sits the city once full of people. (Lam 1:1) We find it taking on a positive dimension only when it speaks of Hashem, who is One and always alone.

If this verse advocates Jewish isolation as a blessing, then it is one founded in negativity. Humans are social beings; as individuals, as families, as nations, we cannot survive in isolation. Time has taught us that we are interdependent beings, and that we must interact. It can lead to mistrust of all others and narrow self perceptions, all of which can lead to dangerous outcomes when, inevitably, we do come to interact with others.

But what is even more important is the outcome of the second half of this passage: וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב - among the nations not reckoned. How is this consonant with the task of the Jewish people? As Jews, we are chosen - yes, chosen (so many Jews shudder at the thought of a chosen people without any understanding of what it means!) - to perform a task: to make Hashem’s presence known, to bring Godliness into this world. That is the role of a ממלכת כהנים וגוי קדוש, a kingdom of priests and a holy people. If we are to be a people that is not to be reckoned, then we cannot become the fulfillment of what Hashem promised to Avram when He told him to leave his homeland:

וְאֶעֶשְׂךָ לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל וַאֲבָרֶכְךָ וַאֲגַדְּלָה שְׁמֶךָ וֶהְיֵה בְּרָכָה:  וַאֲבָרְכָה מְבָרֲכֶיךָ וּמְקַלֶּלְךָ אָאֹר וְנִבְרְכוּ בְךָ כֹּל מִשְׁפְּחֹת הָאֲדָמָה

I will make you into a great people, I will bless you, I will make your name great, and  you will be a blessing. I will bless those that bless you, and those who curse you I will execrate, and all the families of the land will be blessed through you. (Gn 12:2-3)

Remaining alone may be fine for the insecure or inferior, but for a proud people with a mission, it is a sentence to a solitary confinement. Torah offers us strength to face the challenges of this world, even of those who wish to deny us our role and our destiny.

Balaam was no friend of Israel. He would have been happy to utter curses, and when he had the opportunity to create a crisis, he did, as we read at the end of the parasha with the incitement at Ba’al Pe’or. If Israel were to be blessed by self isolation, the only beneficiaries could be those peoples who could only live by values that are antithetical to Godliness. While the Jewish people have had to deal with much ostracism over the years, we can always look to our strengths and achievements, and to the blessings that the world has benefitted from our blessings, most of which have been realized not in isolation.

תמוז תש’’ע/June 2010

Parshat Chukkat: The Death of Aaron

I have been derelict in my writing of these Divrei Torah in the 10 weeks since my father died. It has not been easy to concentrate, to muster the energy to get some things done. What follows was written last week, and had I not been caught in traffic on Friday afternoon it might have been shared before Shabbat. I share it now because I think there is something to learn from this. What’s more is that my dad’s Hebrew name was Aharon, and like his namesake, he was a kohen. The lesson that I derive here is very much in tune with the way my dad lived and believed.

There is a phrase that is used by mourners when referring to the one for which they mourn, particularly when repeating Torah that was learned from them: הריני כפרת משכבו, which can be translated as “I am an atonement for his resting place.” (B. Kiddushin 31b) When we say הריני כפרת משכבו, we ask that we should be seen as agents acting on their behalf. When a loved one dies, we try to think of them in a positive light. We also try to carry on their legacy in this world. If that   person taught us to do good in this world, then it is clear by our actions that we have learned from that person. I hope that I am up to fulfilling that duty, one that I accept with great love. - MM.

Parshat Chukkat: The Death of Aaron

As we read the account of the death of Aaron, the older brother of Moshe and the first High Priest, many commentaries are struck by one seemingly insignificant word. The verse describing the reaction to Aaron’s death states:

ויראו כל־העדה כי גוע אהרן ויִבכו את־אהרן שלשים יום כל בית ישראל

The entire community saw that Aaron had died, and the entire house of Israel mourned him thirty days.

There is nothing particularly striking about anything in this verse. Why wouldn’t the entire community mourn the passing of its high priest? A reader familiar with the Torah would recall one of its concluding verses, relating the public mourning following the death of Moshe:

 ויבכו בני ישראל את־משה בְערבת מואב שלשים יום ויתמו ימי בכי אבל משה

The children of Israel wept for Moshe for thirty days in the plains of Moab, and they concluded the days of weeping, the mourning of Moshe.

There is a sense of a conspicuous absence of the adjective כל, denoting the entirety of Israel. Can we not assume that the entire house of Israel would mourn for Moshe as they would for Aaron?
The rabbinic tradition attributed a particular characteristic to Aaron. We read in Mishna Avot (1:12)

הלל אומר: הוי כתלמידיו של אהרון: אוהב שלום ורודף שלום, אוהב את הברייות ומקרבן לתורה

Hillel taught: Be like the disciples of Aaron: Love peace, pursue peace, love living creatures and attract them to Torah.

The Talmud elaborates on this (b.Sanhedrin 6b):

וכן משה היה אומר: יקוב הדין את ההר. אבל אהרן אוהב שלום ורודף שלום ומשים שלום בין אדם לחבירו 

Moshe would say: The law pierces the mountain; but Aaron would love peace and pursue peace, and would make peace between people.

It is easy enough to derive a lesson about the importance of promoting peace and interpersonal harmony above and beyond the strict rule of law. But there is another interesting aspect to the character of Aaron in relation to his role as high priest. Anyone familiar with the role of the temple priest would sense that it was the keeper of the more detailed aspects of religious life. Parashat Chukkat itself opens with the details of the red heifer, which gives only a minimal look at the minutiae with which the high priest and his associates were concerned. Scholars of the biblical criticism developed what is known as the “documentary hypothesis” of the authorship of the Torah, a theory that divided it into 4 sources. One of the sources was known as “P”, the Priestly source, characterized by its interest in record keeping and distinct orderliness. In Freudian terms, the priesthood would be associated with the anal-retentive aspects of religious life. This is hardly the type of characteristic one would associate with a peacemaker. But it is true that the keepers of the Temple service had to deal with very strict and orderly rules and regulations.
What does this tell us about Aaron? We can derive that Aaron was able to maintain a sense of balance. On the one hand, he was responsible for the minutiae of the maintenance of the mishkan and the duties of the priesthood, but the strict detail associated with his duties did not overwhelm his humanity. While Moshe may have had a strict law and order orientation (which is the implication of the passage in Sanhedrin, above,) Aaron could deal with people as people, knowing how to bring them together when circumstances might have otherwise torn them apart knowing the ultimate value of peace in an otherwise dangerous world.

A well known verse in Mishle (Proverbs) offers the following maxim:

דרכיה דרכי-נעם;    וכל-נתיבותיה שלום

The ways [of Torah] are pleasant ways, and all her paths are peace. (3:17)

Sometimes, in our desire to fulfill our religious duties, we overlook the larger picture, our duty to make  Hashem’s presence in the world manifest through our example. But if we do so only by looking at the strict letter of the law and disregarding the value of peace, we take it a step backwards.

תמוז תש”ע/June 2010

Albert Mulgay, 1923-2010

One of the vivid memories that I have of my dad is from when I was around 8 years old. We were living in Peekskill, NY, in Westchester County, at the time; my dad was serving as Cantor in a congregation there. We were in his car, and for whatever reason, maybe my own curiosity, we were talking about death. He explained death to me using the metaphor of an overcoat: we may wear a coat for many years, but after a while it starts to show wear and tear, and after many years it is no longer useful to us as a coat and it gets discarded. So it is with our bodies: after years of use, it gets worn out, it shows signs of age, wear and tear, and at some point we need to discard it. Its wearer, however, remains; it lives on in some way.

My dad wore his coat for 86 years. His coat had numerous tears and had to be mended on several occasions. It weathered many storms, but it also saw its share of sunny days. It was a well worn coat, but at some point at around 8:00 AM on Monday, 12 April, he had to leave that coat behind for good.

Not many people get to be blessed to take off their coat the way he did, in the comfort of his own home; all too often it is in an institutional setting, with tubes and wires connected, with monitors beeping and people in scrubs milling about. My dad was sitting in a chair in the living room, listening to classical music with headphones on. Music was very much a part of his life; for over 50 years he served as a Hazzan, a cantor, in synagogues around the world. I learned so much of what I know about leading any synagogue service simply from listening to him practice and sing around the house. I had no interest in following in his professional footsteps, but I have always taken great pleasure in stepping up to the amud (lectern) of the synagogue and serving as shaliach tzibbur (emissary of the congregation) to lead any service.

Early childhood, Frankfurt am Main

First day of school, Frankfurt am Main

He was born in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, on 6 August 1923, to a middle class German Jewish family whose lives would soon face turmoil but would miraculously survive the horrors of the Third Reich. As a child, he looked more Aryan than Jewish; during the Nazi boycott of Jewish businesses, he was told by Nazi guards not to enter Jewish owned establishments because this was not the place for a German child to enter. Once, when stung by a bee, it was a Nazi officer who pulled out the stinger.


He also remembered playing with an older kid named Heinz, whose father, Mr. Kissinger, went to school with his father.

When he was 14, he had a severe case of empyema that kept him hospitalized for months. Years later, he saw a doctor who treated him at the time, and he was told that it was a miracle that he survived that illness. But there would be more miracles to follow.


My dad painted a vivid picture of Kristallnacht, the massive, state sponsored pogrom of German Jews of 10-11 November 1938. His synagogue, a large, impressive building, was burned down, but the shell took days to destroy. It had two towers that, after that night, made him think of two arms reaching upwards towards heaven, crying out to God. He spoke of the woman who was the superintendent of the building in which his family lived. They thought that this brusque woman would certainly turn them in to the Nazis, but to their surprise, she faced the Nazis, blocked the entrance to the building, saying that there were no Jews to be found there, knowing that there certainly were Jews in her apartments.

With his mother, June, 1938

Portrait, December, 1938

He was fortunate to get a scholarship and visa to travel to the United Kingdom shortly after Kristallnacht, to study at the Yeshiva in Gateshead, England. It got him out of Germany, but his stint at Gateshead didn’t last very long. Two weeks after arriving, he packed his bags and left without telling anyone. Coming from the broad minded Breuer Kehillah (community) of Frankfurt, he could not tolerate the intolerance of Gateshead, which did not allow listening to radios or reading of newspapers. He left for London, knowing not a soul, except for his elderly grandmother. He took numerous jobs, finally landing one in the publicity department of Twentieth Century Fox, an opportunity that allowed him to meet many celebrities. He also participated in the civil defense of London during the Blitzkrieg, watching for enemy planes from rooftops and rescuing people from bombed buildings (he once delivered a baby during an air raid). He also served as the German voice of the BBC for a short while.

At 20th Century Fox Film Studios, London, 1943

For most of the war, he had no idea if his parents and two younger sisters were still alive. His elderly grandmother had no doubt in her mind that she would not die before she saw her daughter, his mother, again. They did survive, making the trek from Frankfurt to Belgium where they found a place to hide, in the same way Anne Frank’s family did, in the home of a righteous gentile. When Belgium was liberated, his father sent him a note through a British soldier at the last address he had for him, and luckily my dad received it. The note, written in French, told him that everyone survived, and they all signed their names to it. My family had the good fortune of surviving the war, though it had its share of narrow escapes. As for his grandmother, she did live to see her daughter once again. She died three days later.

With his mother and sisters in Brussels, September, 1946

Rachel Peters, the woman who sheltered his parents and sisters in Brussels

I believe it is fair to say that the very existence of the Mulgay family today is something miraculous, considering the odds of a family surviving the Holocaust intact were probably quite slim.

Within a few years, they all came to America, settling in the Boro Park section of Brooklyn. Having an interest in music, he studied cantorial arts under some of the best known cantors of the day. He was drafted into the US Army and served “overseas” - on Governors Island in the New York Harbor. He met my mom one Shabbat through their mutual friendships with the siblings of Jackie Mason. My dad was not as close with Jackie, but one day they ran into each other on the Subway, and Jackie told him that he had decided to become a comedian. My father remembered thinking to himself that was the funniest thing Jackie had ever said; I guess Jackie got the last laugh there!

On the porch of his parents' apartment in Boro Park, Brooklyn

Wedding Portrait, June, 1958

My dad chose another route. Already in London, he studied voice at the London College of Music, and he held a position of Cantor for a synagogue in Manchester, where he also taught in its school. After coming to the US he held other cantorial and teaching positions, mostly part time opportunities. He went into the cantorate full time after he married my mom in 1958, when they moved to Des Moines, IA, but that proved to be a disappointing experience. He returned to New York, from where he would take holiday pulpits over the following years. I remember, when I was very small, how he would sometimes go away for holidays while mom and I would stay with my grandparents. He returned to the full time pulpit in 1967, when I was 6 years old. We moved across the country, to Portland, OR, for one year, followed by Peekskill, NY, for two years, and then Bayonne, NJ, for five. In all these pulpits, my dad not only led services, but also taught Jewish music in the synagogue schools, served as advisor to teen groups, taught boys and girls for their becoming bar/bat mitzvah, visited sick congregants in hospitals, and entertained residents in nursing homes. While hospital and nursing home visitations were not contractual obligations back then, they were things that he felt he needed to do because it was the right thing to do. I remember going with him to the nursing home in Portland on occasional visits.

Newspaper clipping, 1967

We left Bayonne in 1975 and moved to Summit, NJ, where he served the Summit Jewish Community Center until his retirement in 1991. Bayonne’s aging Jewish demographics no longer demanded a full time cantor, and it was a good time for making a move, as I was about to start high school.

My Bar Mitzvah, December, 1973

Of all his cantorial duties, I think his favorite was working with bar/bat mitzvah students. Unlike many cantors, he refused to teach them in a class setting, preferring to work with each child individually, knowing that each one came with his or her own strengths and needs. For some, he had to teach them how to read Hebrew from scratch, even though the student may have spent years in a synagogue school. He developed relationships with each child individually, using his sense of humor to make them feel at ease. He would often joke that if a kid didn’t practice on his own, he would have to use the whip hidden in his office. One of his students, while on vacation, brought him a souvenir that she came across on her travels: a bull whip! His methods produced results, and he was always proud of his students, many of whom would occasionally be called upon to read Torah or lead services at other times subsequent to their day in the sun.

Honored at retirement from Summit JCC, 1991

He loved being around people, and he was always himself, unpretentious, never interested in the spotlight. He always seemed comfortable in his own skin, and most people tended to appreciate him for the person he was.

Last year, he was informed that he would be honored by the Jewish Theological Seminary of America with a Doctor of Music, honoris causa. The diploma arrived, coincidentally, on the day of Ari’s bar mitzvah last June.

After his retirement, he and my mom decided to move close to me. For many years they would enjoy the benefits of the Boston area, visiting the Museum of Fine Arts, taking day trips along the North Shore, and attending local concerts. But the best benefit of the move was to be around when their grandsons, Noah and Ari, were born, and to play an active part in their upbringing. In his final years, as various ailments got the better of him, nothing would bring him as much joy as they could; his face would light up when they entered the room. As Noah’s eclectic interests in music started to include synagogue music, he told Noah that he could have his collection of cantorial music books that Noah found of interest. And he took a special pride as he would watch both Noah and Ari daven, bentsch, or sing zemirot.

From trip to Frankfurt am Main, June, 1999

In 1999, my dad received a long awaited invitation to visit his native Frankfurt, part of the city’s program to bring back its refugees from the Holocaust era. My father looked forward to this trip for a long time; he never harbored ill will towards the people of Germany, and he was anxious to return to the home of his youth. It was a meaningful trip for him and my mom, something I wish I could have participated in myself. He spoke of that experience often, remembering it even days before he died.

83rd Birthday, with Noah and Ari, August, 2006

84th Birthday, with my mom, Noah and Ari, August, 2007

Shortly after that trip, his health started to wane. The coat that lasted through many difficult times was starting to show signs of wear and tear. He developed spinal stenosis that affected his ability to walk. His hearing declined. He suffered from other anomalies, and had several bouts with congestive heart failure. But he retained his mental acuity to the very end, reading the daily newspaper, maintaining an intellectual curiosity that he held throughout his life, and always with an opinion on what was going on in the world. He always had books open, among them always a book of Jewish interest. Despite his poor hearing, he could listen to music with headphones on, something that brought him much comfort. And it was while listening to music that he died, peacefully, drifting off to sleep, his eyes closed. It was a death that seemed like a blessing to a man who lived through so much.

84th Birthday, August, 2007

I learned so much from my dad, inheriting many things that cannot fill one’s pockets. He taught me a love of davening from my earliest years when I would watch him put on his tefillin in the morning, to learning how to conduct every possible service simply by listening to him practicing at home. He gave me a love of books and of learning, of intellectual curiosity and open mindedness. But most important was his ability to not allow the past to become a hindrance to the future, his ability to forgive past wrongs, to not hold grudges or maintain anger when it might have been much easier to do so.

My son, Noah, wrote the following poem shortly after he learned the news of his Zady’s death. I closed my words at the funeral with his poem, which he has allowed me to share openly here.

For you, I would give all.


Would that I were not so young
Would that I’d nothing to live
Would that I were alone
That there were something I could give


That I could still see you
Speak with you
Not merely remember you
Would that you were here still


Even if it were that I could only say good-bye


To Albert Mühlgay, 1923-2010
Beloved Husband, Father, Grandfather, and Friend
To all who knew you, you shall be missed.

יהי זכרו ברוך לחיי העולם הבא.

May his memory be a blessing for him for a life in the World to Come.

Mark Mulgay, 6 May 2010






Photos:
Early childhood, first day of school - Frankfurt am Main.
With his mother, June 1938. Portrait, December 1938.
At 20th Century Fox Film Studios in London, January 1943.
Rachel Peeters, the woman who sheltered his parents and sisters in Brussels. With his mother and sisters in Brussels, September 1946.
On porch in Brooklyn apartment, undated. Wedding photo, June 1958.
Newspaper clipping, 1967.
Photo from my Bar Mitzvah, December 1973.
Honored at retirement from Summit JCC, 1991.
Trip to Frankfurt am Main, June, 1999.
83rd birthday, August 2006. 84th birthday, August 2007.
Undated portrait.

The Problem With Pouring Out Wrath

Jews often find it very easy to condemn their own tradition for things that upset them or disturbs their universalist sensibilities. The only problem with those condemnations is that they often stem from a lack of knowledge, a lack of depth of understanding, or an inability to contextualize what they see within the vast whole of Judaism.


This is often the case during Pesach, when we come to the following passage in the Hagaddah:

שׁפך חמתך אל־הגוים אשר לא ידעוך ועל־ממלכות אשר בשמך לא קראו 

כי אכל את־יעקב ואת־נוהו השמו 

שפך־עליהם זעמך וחרון אפך ישיגם 

תרדף באף ותשמידם מתחת שמי ה

Pour out Your wrath upon those nations that do not know You,
and upon those kingdoms that do not call out in Your name.
For they have devoured Jacob and they have destroyed his habitations. (Ps 79:6-7)
Pour out Your anger upon them, and let your fury overtake them. (Ps 69:25)
Pursue them with fury and destroy them from under Hashem’s heavens. (La 3:66)

Superficially, these verses are disturbing. At best, they are explained as late inclusions to the Haggadah, dating back to the Crusades starting in the 11th Century, when many Jewish communities across Europe were destroyed and Jews murdered in the campaign to bring the Cross back to Jerusalem, then in the hands of the Moslems. But are these words reasonable in today’s world?

Often one hears a call to remove this “offensive liturgy” from the Hagaddah, as can be seen in a recent article that appeared in the Huffington Post ( http://tinyurl.com/ylhstsb ). That reference to “offensive liturgy” recalls the flap with the Vatican just two years ago, when the pope allowed the recitation of the Latin Tridentine Mass on Good Friday, a liturgy that contained some passages that were offensive to Jews (see my post, http://tinyurl.com/yau724h ). But, the idea that there is a central authority that can control what Jews recite as part of any liturgy is thoroughly ludicrous. We do not have anything analogous to the Vatican that can control what may be legitimately recited and what can be excised from our liturgy.

Rather than focusing on the slightly impractical objective of the article, let us look instead at why the claim is wrongheaded.

Judaism, as a rule, does not look kindly on the idea of vengeance. While the Torah recognizes that this is a part of human nature, it offers means of protecting one who committed manslaughter. Throughout history, we find few incidents of revenge taken against those who killed Jews. This could be explained practically; Jews were often powerless in the face of their foes who greatly outnumbered them. Even after the Holocaust, such incidents were rare.

Instead, Jews tend to take a larger view. We have an abiding faith in Divine justice, and we look to Hashem as the ultimate arbiter of that justice. We do not seek to take the law into our own hands, nor do we seek tend to send crowds into the streets looking for an eye for an eye. (That is not to say that it doesn’t happen, but it tends to be the exception, not the rule.) The Syrian born psychologist, Wafa Sultan, said it eloquently in a debate aired on Al-Jazeera Television:

“The Jews have come from the tragedy (of the Holocaust), and forced the world to respect them, with their knowledge, not with their terror, with their work, not their crying and yelling... We have not seen a single Jew blow himself up in a German restaurant. We have not seen a single Jew destroy a church. We have not seen a single Jew protest by killing people.” (http://www.memritv.org/clip_transcript/en/1050.htm)

But the matter goes further than this. On the seventh day of Pesach we read the concluding chapter in the saga of Egyptian slavery, the story of the splitting of the Sea of Reeds, the drowning of the Egyptian charioteers, and the song sung by Moshe and the Israelites. It is a moment that we recall daily in our morning shacharit and ma’ariv liturgies. And still, we find the following midrash recorded in the Talmud:

... שאין הקדוש ברוך הוא שמח במפלתן של רשעים

דאמר ר’ שמואל בר’ נחמן

אמר ר’ יונתן

מאי דכתיב: ולא קרב זה אל זה כל הלילה? - שמות יד:20

באותה שעה בקש מלאכי השרת לומר שירה לפני הקב’’ה

אמר להן הקב’’ה

מעשה ידי טובעין בים ואתם אומרים שירה לפני

...The Holy One, Blessed be He, is not happy with the downfall of the wicked.
For R. Shmuel ben R. Nachman cited R. Yonatan:
What is the meaning of the verse: “And one did not approach the other all that night.” (Ex 14:20)
At that time, the ministering angels wanted to sing praises before the Holy One, Blessed be He,
But the Holy One, Blessed be He, said to them:
The work of My hands is drowning in the sea, and you want to sing praises to me?!

This midrash seems at odds with what we read in the Torah. If this is the case, why do we even bother reciting the song at the sea every morning, and otherwise recalling the splitting of the sea both at morning and at night? This midrash takes its cue from the prooftext cited in it: ולא קרב זה אל זה כל הלילה, And one did not approach the other all that night. (Ex 14:20) The verse is talking about the Israelites on the one hand and the Egyptians on the other. But the Rabbis saw a clue in the phrase זה אל זה, this one to the other one, a reminder of the Isaiah’s theophany, what is recited in the introduction to the Kedushah: וקרא זה אל זה ואמר קדוש קדוש קדוש וגו, “And one would call to the other and say: ‘Holy, holy, holy...’” (Is 6:3) זה אל זה reminded R. Yonatan of the ministering angels, and he saw a dual drama taking place: one on earth between Israel and Egypt, the other in the heavenly abode, where the angels were prevented from singing praise.

Underlying this is an ethos found in the following verses in Proverbs:

בנפל אויביך [אויבך] אל־תשׂמח וּבכשׁלו אל־יגל לבך  

פן־יראה ה’ ורע בעיניו והשׁיב מעליו אפו

If your enemy falls, do not exult,
If he trips, let not your heart rejoice,
Lest Hashem see it and be displeased,
And avert His wrath from him. (24:17-18)

Hashem does not want us to rejoice in the downfall of our enemies; such rejoicing could lead Him to giving them the upper hand. And yet, our midrash recognizes that as humans we are frail enough to seek vindication, to want the satisfaction of justice done. We, however, are charged with patience, that justice is not always as swift as we would wish it to be. We cannot have the satisfaction of tasting revenge, but we can put our faith in Hashem, that he will execute justice in the grand scheme of things.

שפוך חמתך expresses just that. We do not call on our fellow Jews to take guns in hand and kill those who have wronged us. We turn our faith towards Hashem to do justice and to vindicate Israel for its suffering throughout the generations.

However, there is an interesting counterpoint to this. In a Haggadah that dates back to 1521 from Worms and attributed to a grandson of Rashi, we find the following inclusion:

שפוך אהבתך על הגויים אשר ידעוך

ועל הממלכות אשר בשמך קוראים

בגלל חסדים שהם עושים אם זרע יעקב

ומגינים על עמך ישראל מפי אכליהם

יזכו לראות בטובת בחירך

ולשמח בשמחת חגיך

Pour out your love on the nations who know You
And on kingdoms who call Your name.
For the good which they do for the seed of Jacob
And they shield Your people Israel from their enemies.
May they merit to see the good of Your chosen
And to rejoice in the joy of Your nation.


While this passage lacks the scriptural basis of שפוך חמתך, we can see how it represents a discomfort with the idea of seeking only vengeance and justice, for we know that Hashem’s love extends beyond Israel, and that throughout our history we have known of many righteous people among the nations of the world who have dealt kindly with, and even risked their lives for, us. In their honor, perhaps this שפוך אהבתך should be read alongside שפוך חמתך and ought to be included in future editions of the Haggadah.