Ki Tetze – 5779
Ki Tetze - 5779
Deuteronomy 21:10 – 25:19
In Ki Tetze, Torah speaks with more than one voice.
This week’s parasha, among other things, defines who (besides the Israelites) can be admitted to the congregation of Israel, and who may not. According to Rabbi Adam Greenwald, it contains the hardest commandment of all:
“You must not hate an Egyptian, for you were a stranger in their land.” [Deut. 23:8]
Didn’t the Egyptians enslave us with bitter labor for centuries? Didn’t pharaoh commit the very first holocaust by ordering all male Jewish babies to be drowned in the Nile?
The Exodus from oppression and slavery in Egypt to freedom and the Promised Land is our primary definitive narrative. It takes four of the five books of Moses to properly tell this story. Our holiday cycle revolves around the retelling the pain of enslavement and the highs and lows of the journey. Our prayerbooks enshrine our redemption as specifically being from Egypt, through prayers like the Mi Kamocha. How could the Egyptians not be our nemesis?
Rabbi Greenwald writes:
“The Egyptians are among the Torah’s greatest villains; and yet, we are ordered not to hate our former tormentors. It is hard to imagine a commandment more challenging to keep that this one – for us, and how much the more so for the former slaves, and their children and grandchildren, who first heard Moses’ stern decree at the edge of the Promised Land.”
Yet, the commandment stands.
The rabbis teach that with this commandment, Moses emphasized the importance of not giving into our baser human tendencies. Torah teaches that we should not return hate for hate, for that path leads to an endless and brutal cycle. Instead, as Rashi teaches, we are to remember that while the Egyptians did oppress us, and even attempted genocide, that they also took us in when we were in need (see the Joseph and Jacob story, and also the Abraham story). It is worth noting that we are not commanded to love the Egyptians, but we are commanded to let go of our hate. Therefore, according to Torah, Egyptian children of the third generation or later from those who oppressed us can be admitted into the people of Israel.
Why then, does Torah also command that, under no circumstances may the descendants of the Ammonites or the Moabites ever be admitted, not even to the tenth generation? [Deut. 23:4-7] Unlike the Egyptians, they were our distant relatives. Their great sin was that they blocked our way from Egypt to the Promised Land, and their King, Balak, hired Bilaam the prophet to curse us.
To be honest, I cannot find a way to reconcile the commandments to hate the Moabites, but not to hate the Egyptians – at least not without stretching my logic to the breaking point. Yet, while the Torah itself contains these contradictory statements, the Book of Ruth offers another perspective: many generations after the settlement of the land, an Israelite family escapes famine and moves to Moab, where Ruth and Orpah, both Moabite women, marry into the family. Even more, after tragedy strikes and all of the men of the family die, Ruth determines to return back to Israel with her mother-in-law, knowing that she might not be welcome there. In Israel, she finds a new husband, and her great grandson would one day become David, King of Israel.
Does the story of Ruth negate the commandment from Deuteronomy? No, but it provides some wiggle room. In these two Biblical texts we encounter the tension between those who would exclude certain groups for the sake of the larger community, and those who believe that it is only through their inclusion that we become stronger and better as a community. The debate continues to this day. Religion has the greatest capacity of any human institution for creating communities of belonging, and also for creating deep barriers of separation between us.
Which approach do you choose?
Shoftim – 5779
Shoftim - 5779
Deuteronomy 16:18 – 21:9
The opening words of this week’s parasha call to us at this time of year:
“Shoftim v’shotrim titein lecha, Judges and overseers you shall set for yourself …” [Deut. 16:18]
In context, the commandment has to do with setting up a fair and just judicial system – a necessary step in building the kind of just community Torah envisions. However, because Hebrew is designed to function on multiple levels of meaning at the same time, there is always more than first meets the eye.
Let’s start with the timing of this portion. Shoftim is always read towards the beginning of the month of Elul – as we begin to prepare for the High Holy Days. This is the time when we are supposed to measure our deeds and right our wrongs so that the New Year will be better than the last. The rabbis use the imagery of a great heavenly book, in which all of our actions are recorded. Through our choices and action, we control what is inscribed, and at this time of year, we have the chance to “edit” the text through the process of teshuvah, of making amends and changing our behavior.
Rabbi Cheryl Peretz focuses on the Hebrew word “lecha” to connect this verse to the beginning of Elul. She notes that the use of “lecha” here is disjointed because it means “you” in the singular rather than plural. How can I, as an individual private citizen, appoint judges and overseers? Perhaps the text means that each and every one of us is responsible for participating in the selection. This fits in as part of a larger pattern of pre-democratic reforms introduced by Torah. However, Rabbi Peretz turns our attention to the eighteenth-century Hasidic commentary Toldot Yaakov Yosef (who was a student of the Baal Shem Tov), eloquently paraphrasing his teaching:
“L’cha, he says, is intended to say: for you, for yourself. As if to say, you should appoint judges within yourself. Every person has the obligation to sit in judgement of him/herself and his/her own actions.”
We judge all of the time. For some of us, it is easier to judge others than ourselves; and some of us hold ourselves to a higher standard and only judge ourselves harshly. The Toldot Yaakov Yosef instructs us to judge ourselves first, and then to use the same yardstick when we judge others. It teaches us to find balance and seek the truth of self-honesty. It urges us to create a fair and just internal justice system.
This is the spiritual work of the month of Elul and the High Holy Days.
Yet there is one more clue from the Hebrew to help us during this holy time. The commandment is to set both judges and overseers for ourselves. The Hebrew word “shotrim” is the same word used in the book of Exodus to describe the overseers or foremen over the slave population. Biblical Scholar Robert Alter notes that it derives its meaning from the root meaning “to write down.” So “shotrim” could refer to the biblical equivalent of courtroom stenographers. However, I’d like to think that this is just another subtle reminder to us that as we each begin our journeys of teshuvah we must not only judge ourselves, but also act in ways that record our deeds in the Book of Life for a good, sweet, and Happy New Year.
Re’eh – 5779
Re'eh - 5779
Deuteronomy 11:26 – 16:17
“Re’eh!” calls Moses at the beginning of our portion. “See! I am placing before you today blessing and curse.” [Deut. 11:26]. There is nothing odd or unusual about this verse, or about calling us to pay attention, especially when the stakes are high. It makes perfect sense, until a few verses later, when Moses warns us not to trust our own eyes:
“Do not behave as we do here, today, each person [acting] according to what is right in his eyes.” [Deut. 12:8]
On the one hand, we are supposed to use our eyes to discern between blessing and curse. On the other hand, we are explicitly warned against doing what is “right in our eyes.” How do we make sense of this contradiction?
We encounter the answer earlier in Deuteronomy, “And you shall do what is right and good in the eyes of the Lord …”[Deut. 6:18 – bold is mine]. To make sure we understand this idea in context, Moses repeats it our parasha:
“… when you heed the voice of the Lord your God to keep His commands with which I charge you today, to do what is right in the eyes of the Lord your God.” [Deut. 13:19 – bold is mine]
In Re’eh, Moses presents us with a progression of unfolding spiritual truth. Torah generally emphasizes hearing over seeing when it comes to paying attention. That is why we have Shema Yisrael instead of Re’eh Yisrael. In the opening verse of Re’eh, we are told to use our eyes to “heed the command of the Lord” to get the blessing and avoid the curse. Then we are warned not to do what is “right in our eyes,” meaning putting our own agendas and personal desires before all else. Finally, we are urged to “heed the voice of the Lord” – to listen – so that we may do “what is right in the eyes of the Lord.” In other words, we must open our eyes, listen for God and then try to see not only through our own eyes, but through the eyes of God.
What does it mean to see through the eyes of God?
First, to see through the eyes of God is to look at the bigger picture. Astronauts, looking down on our planet, have reported how this difference of perspective has caused them to see how petty some of our personal, or even national, disagreements can be. When we see through the eyes of God, we see that there is a higher purpose to our lives and are inspired to reach towards the potential already present in Creation.
Second, to see through the eyes of God also means to seek out the good. In Deut. 6:18 a word is added to the clause: we are to do what is right and good in the eyes of God. Each day of Creation ends with God looking at the result and declaring it “good.” One of the personal soul-traits in the Mussar tradition is hakarat hatov (seeking out the good). If we want to really discover all of the good which surrounds us, it takes effort, and often requires that we look beyond ourselves. Rabbi David Greenstein writes: “Psychologists and social thinkers have pointed out that our eyes will see what we want to see, what we care about. The Torah understood that we can choose to see with a different set of eyes. We can choose to look for and to discern goodness in this world. We can choose to look at the world through God’s eyes.”
Perhaps this is what Moses meant for us to discern. Perhaps the blessing and the curse lie before us every day – waiting for us to see. Perhaps God is still waiting for us to choose.