Rabbi Neal's Weekly Commentary

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Devarim

So much going on the the world! The Olympics, the U.S. elections, the
Israeli leadership transitions. . . and, of course, we’re starting to
read the book of D’varim, or Deuteronomy (the “second telling”), the
final book of the Torah. D’varim is essentially a long speech from
Moshe to the Israelites about where they’ve been and what they’ve done
and what they ought to do going forward. Included in his review is a
retelling of the appointment of judges from way back in the beginning
of Moshe’s leadership:

“I charged your magistrates at that time as follows, ‘Hear out your
fellow men, and decide justly between any man and a fellow Israelite
or a stranger. You shall not be partial in judgment: hear out low and
high alike. Fear no man, for judgment is God’s. And any matter that is
too difficult for you, you shall bring to me and I will hear it.’
“(D’varim/Deuteronomy 1:16-17)

A more in-depth look at this passage would compare it to Exodus 18,
where the appointment of judges and the qualifications for the office
are described a bit differently, but let’s leave that for another
time. Today’s question is this: if the judges are given a clear
command to hear all persons fairly, why do they need a second
imperative to “fear no man?” Isn’t it enough to command the judges to
judge all people fairly- doesn’t that imply that they must not kowtow
to the powerful or strong?

By now anybody who’s smart enough to subscribe to rabbineal-list is
detecting a rhetorical question, and indeed, it’s precisely because
those few words “fear no man” seem to convey a separate thought that
the ancient rabbis enumerated a separate mitzvah based upon them.
Sefer HaHinnuch, the medieval textbook of the commandments, says that
“not fearing any man” means that even if the judge is worried that an
evil defendant will kill him or burn down his crops, he still must
rule in accordance with the law and not be intimidated.

The Sefer HaHinnuch brings another example: if a student is present
when the teacher is deciding a case, and the student sees that the
poor man is right and the rich man is wrong, the student must speak
up, even in front of his teacher, and not be intimidated by either his
master nor the litigant.

OK, so far, so good, but given that most of us aren’t banging gavels
and wearing robes, how does this mitzvah apply? To me, the mitzvah is
about having the courage of our convictions despite the potential
unpleasantness of outcomes. When we know- not guess – that a situation
is unjust or unfair, we are called upon not to hold back our voice
from fear. There might be other reasons to be judicious- such as the
desire to preserve human dignity- but it’s important to note that a
religious life is not necessarily one of meek piety in all things.
Sometimes to have faith means to be brave, to take a “leap of action”,
as Heschel put it, or to “fear no man,” – or person- as Moshe
commanded the judges.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Devarim

This week we are reading the first parsha of the book of
Devarim, or Deuteronomy, the final book of the Torah, which is Moshe’s
final recounting and exhortation to the people before he dies and they
go on into the Land. Right at the beginning, Moshe reminds them that
his job of leadership has been difficult from the start, because the
people are numerous:

“Thereupon I said to you, ‘I cannot bear the burden of you by myself.
The Lord your God has multiplied you until you are today as numerous
as the stars in the sky . . . ‘ ” (Devarim/Deuteronomy 1:9-10)

Well, I can certainly understand how somebody with the responsibility
of caring for many others would feel overwhelmed- perhaps in its
simplest meaning, comparing the Israelites to the “stars in the sky”
simply reflects Moshe’s frustration at his inability to resolve all
the disputes of so many people without help. That, of course, is why
his father-in-law told him to delegate whatever he could to other
elders and leaders.

Rashi, on the other hand, takes Moshe’s words a little more literally
in order to make a different point. He points out that we actually
know how many Israelites left Egypt- about six hundred thousand,
according to the text- and while that’s a big number, it’s not an
infinite number like the stars in the heavens. So Rashi says Moshe
must have meant that the Israelites had a quality which made them like
the stars in the heavens:

“[This means] -you are compared to the sun, you will exist forever
like the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

Notice how Rashi takes a metaphor about numbers and turns it into a
metaphor about endurance, which makes sense in a historical context.
By the Middle Ages, when Rashi was writing, the people Israel were
small in numbers compared to their neighbors but would have derived
great hope from a promise that the people itself would always survive.

I like Rashi’s reading of the verse because it provides a bit of
perspective on current demographic debates in the Jewish community-
there seem to always be those who see the people Israel as on the
verge of disappearing. Rashi reminds us that we’ve never been a huge
people- “like the stars of the sky”- numerically. Rather, we are
“upheld” over the centuries- the literal translation of “exist”- which
to me means that the Jewish people will exist as long as we remember
to bring light into the world, as do the sun, moon and stars.

I certainly don’t meant to discount or ignore the many real problems
facing our world-wide communities, but I think Rashi reminds us of
something important: the people Israel has never been a numbers game,
but is instead about the enduring spiritual mission given to us at
Sinai. That mission includes compassion, justice, peace, and always
seeing human beings as made in the Image of God, with all the ethical
attention such a perspective demands. If we can do that, then I
believe we will be “upheld,” both as synagogue communities and as a
world-wide people.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: D’varim

Greetings from the humid regions of tropical Boston! We continue to
hope for peace in Israel and the surrounding regions- may hatred give
way to generosity, speedily and in our days.

This week’s Torah portion, D’varim, begins the book of Deuteronomy,
literally the “second telling” (that’s what Deuteronomy means) of the
story of the Exodus, Revelation, and journey through the wilderness.
Moshe is just about to die, and the people are just about to cross the
Jordan river to the Land, making the entire book of D’varim an urgent
review of their history and laws.

The beginning of D’varim is a rebuke of the people for their lack of
faith and contentiousness along the way, including a reference to the
incident of the spies who go up to the Land (this is the story found
in parshat Shlach-Lecha). Moshe points out to the people that they
didn’t give God much credit for having overthrown Pharoah and split
the sea and provided the manna up till that time:

“Yet you refused to go up, and flouted the command of the Lord your
God. You sulked in your tents and said, ‘It is because the Lord hates
us that God brought us out of the land of Egypt, to hand us over to
the Amorites to wipe us out. What kind of place are we going to? Our
kinsmen have taken the heart out of us, saying, ‘We saw there a people
stronger and taller than we, large cities with walls sky-high, and
even Anakites.’ ‘ ” (D’varim/ Deuteronomy 1:26-28, and see
Bamidbar/Numbers chapter 14 for the earlier story.)

Moshe condenses the long story of the spies into a few sentences, but
he names the emotional essence of the incident: the people seemed
overwhelmed by doubt and fear, and projected their negative feelings
onto God, whom they claimed took them out of Egypt only so they could
be slain by the sword. (Cf. the beginning of Bamidbar 14.) It’s quite
amazing to think that after the plagues upon Parsha, the splitting of
the Sea, the giving of the Torah, the battles, miracles, manna, water
from the rock and all the rest, that the Israelites could really think
that their journey was all a setup so they could be killed in the
desert by the Amorites!

Rashi understands that the people’s words are an indication of their
inner emotional state, rather than their rational beliefs:

“Because the Lord hates us. . . Really, however, God loves you, but
you hate[d] God. A saying of the common people is: What is in your own
heart about your friend, is in his heart about you.”

I understand this “saying of the common people” to mean: what is in
your heart is what you imagine or believe the other person is thinking
about you- you project your inner state onto others. In other words,
because the people were churned up with fear and anxiety, they
resented those (both Moshe and God, never mind Caleb and Joshua) whom
they associated with the fear-provoking changes, and imputed to them
the worst possible motivations, even to the point where they seemed to
ignore the manna and water than sustained them.

Framed this way, Moshe’s rebuke is not so much about bad theology (God
hates us!), but about lack of self-awareness, so much so that real
suffering resulted from the contentiousness and emotional projection.
Change is hard, and sometimes leaders make mistakes, but when we avoid
confronting fear or grief, naming them clearly, people who genuinely
care can become the casualties of anger and blame. It’s so hard to
always judge “l’chaf z’chut,” on the side of favor and goodwill, but
it’s an essential struggle, without which relationships suffer, hearts
are bruised, reconciliation is delayed, and love is diminished.

The people didn’t really hate God, but their fear prevented them
feeling God’s love for them at the moment when they needed it most.
The alternative to “sulking in your tents” is clear: open one’s eyes
and heart to faithful relationship, with God and community, and let
fear itself be open to a sustaining and transforming love.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

PS- as usual, you can find a summary and additional commentary here:

http://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Weekly_Torah_Commentary/dvarim_index.htm

and the text of the Torah and haftarah here:

http://www.jtsa.edu/community/parashah/index.shtml

Next week is Tisha B’Av, the Ninth of the Hebrew month of Av, the
saddest day on the Jewish calendar, a day of fasting and mourning. For
more information about this day’s history and practices, here’s a
great start:

http://www.myjewishlearning.com/holidays/TishaBav.htm

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Devarim

This is the penultimate occasion upon which I can write: greetings from sunny
Swampscott! Amidst the sea of cardboard boxes in my office and the unnatural
neatness which my real estate agent has imposed upon my townhouse, I find this week’s
parsha to be quite topical, since it’s all about moving and journeys. We’re beginning the
book of Devarim (literally, “words”), known in English as Deuteronomy (which means the
“second telling.”)

Deuteronomy, the fifth book of the Torah, is Moshe’s valedictory review and
exhortation to his people; after 40 years in the wilderness, they will inherit the Land, but he will not. He urges them to be faithful to their Liberator, and in so doing recounts much of the history and many of the laws given since the Exodus. Moshe also recalls some of the
hardships of the journey- perhaps as a way of reminding the the people that they were not
abandoned in their most difficult hours. The journey from Egypt was not always fun, as
Moshe points out in Chapter 1, vs 19:

“And we journeyed from Horeb and went through all that great and fearful
desert, which you saw, by the way of the mountain of the Amorites, as the Lord, our God,
commanded us; and we came up to Kadesh barnea . . . .”

Horeb is another name for Sinai (well, it’s a little more complex than that, but
we’ll save the details for another time), so in this passage, Moshe reminds the people that
they came up from Sinai all the way to what we’d now call the Negev, south of the Dead
Sea. Moshe calls this route the “great and fearful desert,” a phrase which our teacher
Rashi elaborates with seeming hyperbole:

” `that great and fearful desert’. . . because in it were serpents as [thick
as] beams and scorpions as [big as] bows.”

OK, so the desert wasn’t Club Med, but where there really snakes as big as
alligators and science-fiction sized scorpions? Maybe a better question is: did Rashi mean for us to take this comment literally, and if not, what do we learn from it?

Rashi is quite aware that human beings perceive reality through the lenses of
their subjective experience: in his comment on verse 27, referring to the Israelite’s
feeling ofbthat God had abandoned them, he points out that what we have in our own hearts, we project onto others. So maybe he’s not really asking us to believe in humongous
mutant scorpions, but rather, he may be alluding to the fear that the Israelites felt
as they left the known world of slavery for the unknown world of building a national home. In other words, the snakes were not really as big as beams, but the people’s anxiety and insecurity was such that ordinary irritants seemed like extraordinary dangers.

A journey means that change will happen; a spiritual journey means becoming
something one doesn’t know how to be yet. That’s scary, because we have to leave behind
our comfortable ways of being in the world and act in new and different ways, ways
that reveal our higher and better selves.

That’s the metaphor of the wilderness- not the old place, and not the new place,
but the place in-between, where security is behind us and transformation ahead, and lots
of transitions in the middle. So the challenge of spiritual growth is: don’t let
the perceived challenges hold you back, don’t let fear become the lens through which you see the world, don’t let the snakes seem as big as beams nor the scorpions seem as big as bows- and you, too, can reach the Land of Promise, the place of blessing and covenant.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Devarim

This d’var Torah was originally distributed by Kolel: The Adult Center for Jewish Learning during the year 5761 and can be found in its archives.

D’varim (Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22)

OVERVIEW

The Book of Deuteronomy, or D’varim, is set as an extended speech. Just as the Israelites are about to cross the Jordan and possess the Land, Moshe gives them his final words of wisdom, encouragement, and rebuke. Moshe will not be going with them, so he reviews the history of the Exodus, the travels, the rebellions, and the battles, along with restatements of many laws, and some new ones. The first portion of D’varim is a retelling of the history of the Israelites since they left Sinai, with special attention paid to the promise of the Land.

IN FOCUS

“Moses began to expound this law, saying: The Lord our God said to us at Horev, “You have stayed long enough at this mountain. Break camp and advance into the hill country of the Amorites. . ” ” (Deuteronomy 1:5-7)

PSHAT

At the end of the forty-year trek, Moshe begins a review of many laws and events, starting with the Israelites camped around Mount Sinai. (Here known by its other name, Horev.) According to one version of the Torah’s chronology, the Israelites camped at Sinai quite a while, only leaving in Numbers chapter 10. According to this interpretation, all the laws of the Mishkan, the priesthood, and many civil and agricultural laws were given as the Israelites camped at the mountain.

DRASH

Many contemporary Jews understand our Torah text to be composed of earlier sources with slight differences between them; thus attempting to harmonize exactly who was where, and when, can be a little confusing. (So I’m not going to try.) In our text from Deuteronomy, God tells the Israelites they’ve camped at Sinai long enough, and it’s time to get moving towards their Land. The Hebrew is rav lechem– literally, “it’s enough,” or “a lot” for you.

Rashi offers two alternative ways of reading “you have stayed long enough at this mountain.” First, he says that the text means exactly what it seems to mean: get going, you’ve been here long enough. Then he brings a midrashic reading of “it’s enough for you:”

You have had greatness and reward increased upon you for your dwelling by this mountain. You made a Mishkan, a Menorah [lamp for the Mishkan], holy vessels, and received the Torah. You appointed a Sanhedrin [rabbinic court], and captains of thousands and captains of hundreds.

According to this midrash, the rav of rav lechem means “lots for you,” i.e., you have lots of great and wonderful things to show for your stay here at Sinai. Each of the things that Rashi names belongs to the section of laws preceding Numbers 10, when the first journey from Sinai is mentioned. Furthermore, it’s a symbolically complete list- the Mishkan, Menorah, and holy vessels represent religious and spiritual life, while the Sanhedrin and the “captains” represent civil order and social justice. Torah is fully “received” with both its ritual and social commandments.

So why would Rashi bring two alternative readings of the same phrase? Maybe he’s hinting that the two interpretations are not alternatives, but complementary: yes, it was a wonderful blessing to receive the Torah and all its wisdom at Sinai, but it must be taken out and applied in the rest of the world, too. One can sit in synagogue and receive wonderful inspiration and beautiful spiritual instruction, but such teachings only matter if they are lived in the “real world.”

One can even take every class Kolel has to offer (and we certainly hope you do!) but ultimately, studying Torah is a means to a transformed life, lived in community with all kinds of other people. There is a time for receiving Torah at the mountain of God, and then there’s a time to go out and make a life of Torah happen in less cozy and predictable surroundings. There is a time to learn, and a time to apply what you’ve learned; both are necessary stages along a holy journey.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Devarim

This d’var Torah was originally distributed by Kolel: The Adult Center for Jewish Learning during the year 5760 and can be found in its archives.

Devarim (Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22)

OVERVIEW

The Book of Deuteronomy, or D’varim, is set as an extended speech that Moshe gives just as the Israelites are about to cross the Jordan and possess the Land. Moshe will not be going with them, so he reviews the history of the Exodus, the travels, the rebellions, and the battles, along with restatements of many laws, and some new ones. The first portion of D’varim is a retelling of the history of the Israelites since they left Sinai, with special attention paid to the promise of the Land.

IN FOCUS

“But how can I bear your troubles and your burdens and your disputes all by myself?” (Deuteronomy 1:12)

PSHAT

Moshe recalls how the problems of the people overwhelmed him after the Exodus from Egypt. He couldn’t handle the volume of complaints and disputes that he had to judge, so with upon his father in law’s advice, he appointed local leaders to which people could bring their problems. These passages recall Exodus chapter 18, but only now do we learn of the personal anguish Moshe felt; in the Exodus version, it is Yitro, his father in law, who assesses the need for an organized system of adjudication.

DRASH

Many synagogues (but not all) make a musical midrash on the verse above: rather than reading it with the normal trope, or melody, for Shabbat and weekdays, they read the above verse with the mournful trope reserved for the book of Lamentations, or Eicha, read on Tisha B’Av. Tisha B’Av, some may recall, is a day of mourning for the Jewish people: on it we recall the destruction of our ancient sovereignty and our exile from Jerusalem, as well as many other national disasters that have befallen our people.

Furthermore, the parasha of D’varim is always read just before Tisha B’Av. So it’s appropriate to sneak in a little bit of Tisha B’Av melody in order to get the congregation prepared for the somber holy day approaching. But why is this verse particularly relevant to Tisha B’Av?

Rashi says that Moshe is recalling how the Israelites fought with each other, refusing to submit to proper judicial proceedings, speaking slander and gossip maliciously, and being generally negative and quarrelsome. This would fit well with a well known midrash, often taught on Tisha B’Av, that the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of causeless hatred among the Jewish people.

So emphasizing this verse before Tisha B’Av is a way of pointing out that the problems of hostility and divisions among the Jewish people is very old indeed, going back to the time of Moshe and continuing up to our day. (See any Jewish newspaper for confirmation of this.) The mournful tune which characterises the reading of the book of Lamentations helps us understand that any incident of causeless hatred and strife is an occasion for mourning, even if it was as ancient at the generation of the Exodus.

Another way of understanding this musical midrash is proposed by R. Yosef Yozel Horowitz, a 19th century teacher of mussar [the development of holy character traits.] He connects the verse above to the very first verse of the book of Lamentations, pointing out that they both contain the word eicha, or “how:”

Traditionally, this verse is read to the melody of [the book of ] Eicha, to teach us that if a person refuses to assume the responsibility for communal needs and thinks that by doing so he makes things easier for himself, he will in the end find out that matters will be worse for him and he will remain alone and isolated – “How- eicha– she sits all alone. . . ” (Lamentations 1:1) [quoted in Itturei Torah]

R. Horowitz says that the “how” of “how can I bear your troubles” is indicative of an attitude of being aloof from communal needs; such an attitude will eventually turn into the “how” of “how she sits all alone. . .” R. Horowitz turns the mournfulness around: instead of emphasizing the sadness of the Jewish people being split apart by contentiousness, he emphasizes the sadness of a person thinking that they don’t want to get involved with the inevitable problems in the life of a community. A person who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty with the social needs is a cause for mourning, for such a person is missing out on what makes us human.

Perhaps that’s the hint we’re supposed to get before Tisha B’Av: that the way through the memory of our pain and suffering is by joining together and giving to others. Taking the “easy way out” is ultimately self-defeating, for only by reaching out to form caring communities can we grow, give, and love. Only by growing, giving, and loving can we fully appreciate life, in both its sad and its glorious moments.

*In the book of Lamentations, the “she” is Jerusalem; the image of the destroyed city is compared to a weeping widow.