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Parshat Lekh Lekhah: The Covenant and the Jewish People

 
 
 

The Bible tells the story of the Jewish people—who we are and who we are challenged to be. Our national birth occurs in Chapter 12 of Genesis, when God instructs Abraham to leave his family and pagan Mesopotamian culture and journey to Canaan. Here he will start a new life, a new culture and a new people: the Jewish people in covenant with God.

Genesis 12 also signals a literary and theological change of direction. Genesis’ first eleven chapters are a narrative of the cosmos and humanity, suffused with the grandeur of God’s universal concern. Yet from chapter 12 onward, the Bible’s focus narrows dramatically, restricting itself to God’s stormy relationship with a small, particular people—Abraham’s descendants. It is the story of two lovers so smitten with each other that they leave the rest of the world behind. The God of the universe has gone ethnic.

Looking closely, we can still detect the universal plan. A critical part of the particularistic covenant with Abraham is a bold challenge: “Be a blessing…. Through you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” God calls upon the Jewish people to be a partner in creation and to carry the divine blessing to all humanity. It is so essential to the covenant that the Bible repeats it twice more to Abraham, once to Isaac when he inherits the covenant and once more to Jacob when the covenant is passed to the third generation. Jews are not to be an isolated ghetto people, or an insignificant minority relegated to a footnote to the larger human story. The covenant calls on us to be a major player—the major player—in the culture and history of the world.

The late 19th century Hasidic master, R. Yehudah Leib Alter (“the Sefat Emet”), connected this idea to the Sinai commandment for Jews to be “a kingdom of priests.” The function of Jewish priests is to bestow God’s blessing on other Jews. (Think of the beautiful blessing that kohanim recite every holiday before the congregation.) But if all Jews are a nation of priests, it must be the nations of the world that entire Jewish people is to bless. Indeed, ancient midrashim portray Abraham as a priest among his pagan neighbors, foreshadowing the spiritual role that his descendants received at Sinai.

Unfortunately much of the covenant’s universal dimension has receded into the background of Jewish life. This is understandable given how painfully we suffered at the hands of the Romans, the Church, the Tsars, the Nazis, the Communists and others. It seems that whenever we tried to engage with the gentile world, Jewish blood ran in the streets. Today Jews are a traumatized people still reeling from the wounds from history. Thus survival tops our agenda and our religious lives tend to turn inward to the security of our homes, study halls and synagogues. Yet the Torah demands that the Jewish people not merely survive, but become agents of universal blessing.

We can bestow the divine blessing in two ways—one active, one more passive. Chapter 18 of Genesis relates that Abraham argued with God to save any righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah. This audacious behavior confirmed his qualifications to be the father of the covenant, since it demonstrated Abraham’s commitment to teach “the way of the Lord, doing tsedakah (justice) and mishpat (righteousness).” This is why Jews are the children of Abraham and not the children of Noah. Abraham was righteous in his concern for others, while Noah was self-righteous in caring only about himself and his family. The message is clear: God’s covenant bids us to move the world toward justice and morality.

Rashi and some other commentators opted for a more passive interpretation: The covenant requires Abraham and the Jewish people to be role models for others. When we act righteously, others will be moved to emulate our behavior and adopt “the way of the Lord.” Actually this path is the more difficult personal one because it places a heavy responsibility on all members of the covenant: Each of us is required to act with integrity in everything we do—and to be seen as such by those around us. As the covenantal nation others take special note of our behavior, both good and bad. We cannot be true to God’s covenant and be morally lax. When we fail ethically, we create scandal and bring harm to the world, not blessing. This is the very opposite of the Bible’s dream for the Jewish people.

God’s covenant with the children of Abraham does not allow us to withdraw into isolation out of some mistaken notion of spiritual purity. In the Bible’s vision of sacred history, Jewish religious life is not a parochial or ethnic affair. God has asked Jews to become a charismatic nation—a people with a message to the world. And as the people of the covenant, our behavior should reflect the wide spiritual horizons of our covenantal partner, the Creator of the universe Who is invested in the course of human history.

Whether we choose to actively engage or to be role models, the covenant demands that we be mindful of our role in history and that the Jewish people have a purpose beyond ourselves. In the simple and profound words of the Torah, “Be a blessing.”

 
 

 

 

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Parshat Re’eh

Holy Places

Many of us likely have stories about the interesting and out-of-the-way spots where we have engaged in prayer. I remember participating in a mincha service with fellow Ramah Berkshires staffers outside the movie theater in Binghamton. There was the small storefront Masorti synagogue in Nice on the southern coast of France. There was the time I recited mincha up on Karnei Hittim, outside of Tiberias, as I looked across toward the hills and Tzfat, both covered lightly by clouds.

 

The Jewish dimension of the suffering of Sept. 11, 2001

Was there anything distinctly Jewish about the suffering that resulted from the vicious Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks? Indeed, it was an undiscriminating attack on all Americans. Nonetheless, there was a uniquely Jewish facet to this horrific event. The terrorist attacks left hundreds of individuals whose remains were not found or only small remnants of their bodies were discovered. Besides families waiting for a measure of clarity that their loved ones perished in order for them to begin the formal process of mourning, the plight of the women who wish to one day remarry loomed large in the wake of the World Trade Center attacks. These women remained agunot, unable to remarry until a bet din (rabbinic court) was able to amass sufficient evidence to issue a ruling verifying the death of the husband and thereby permitting the wife to remarry. As a result of this tragedy, 15 cases of agunot were presented to batei din (rabbinical courts) in the New York metropolitan area.

 

Parashat Va’etchanan

 

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Narrowly escaping Pharaoh’s army, our ancestors reached the safe shore on the far side of the Red Sea, and then they broke out into song. Having been a people bound by slavery for as long as anyone could remember, our people’s first act of freedom was singing. The Torah tells us that Moses and all of the Israelites chanted these words together, joining in a communal experience before they journeyed into the wilderness.

Thus, whenever we read parshat Beshalach, the Shabbat upon which we read it is called Shabbat Shirah, the Sabbath of song. This ancient song, known as “the Song of the Sea,” is chanted today with special trope, marking the extraordinary nature of the biblical passage. The song’s main message is one of praise of God for saving us from Egyptian bondage. At the very outset of the song, we hear these words, “Ozi v’zimrat Yah, vay’hi li lishua” — “My strength and the song of the eternal will be my salvation” (Exodus 15:2). Through this verse, our Torah teaches that song itself is a route to God’s saving power.

 

Denying conversions is denying the Divine voice - Parashat Bo

This is the cliffhanger. In Parashat Bo we witness the last three plagues aimed to shake us loose from our bondage; they are afflictions so palpable and devastating they resonate across the ages and through layers of meaning. These three — locusts, darkness, and death — force us to take shelter and comfort with one another during these last moments before the Exodus and establish us, our families, and homes as uniquely woven into a Jewish covenant. Indeed, we are commanded to do so (Ex. 12:7, 22). We hold our breath and continue to be bound together as a people by the Divine Presence as we cross the Sea of Reeds toward Sinai in our next two parshiot.

But here in Bo, we find ourselves in our most formative stage as a people, huddled together in a swirl of faith, courage, and fear. Yet hurled out into our newfound freedom, we immediately find that an integral part of our journey is embracing the erev rav (mixed multitude) (Ex. 12:38) who join with us along the way. So it has been from the very beginning of our peoplehood.

 

 

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