Rabbi Neal's Weekly Commentary

Copyright 2015 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh 

All that I command you, be careful to do it.  You shall neither add to it, nor subtract from it. . . . .(D’varim/ Deuteronomy 13:1)

Good afternoon! Well, we seem to be in an every-other-week Torah commentary pattern around here. Alas, the spirit is willing but the time-management skills are weak.

At least we’re in for Re’eh, a very interesting Torah portion, which encompasses a tirade against idolatry, an impassioned plea to care for the poor, rules for kosher eating, and a review of the shaloshregalim, or pilgrimage holy days. The beginning of Chapter 13 (no, not that Chapter 13, though after buying an old house that needs work, I’m considering it) is a warning against following false prophets who might lead the people away from the laws or practices of the Torah, and most commentators see the opening verse above in that context. In this view, a commandment to do “all that I command you,” and “don’t add or subtract from it” is the beginning of the injunction against false prophets, who might claim to have a Divine mandate to change, abrogate, or add new laws to the Torah.

Obviously, the whole idea of adding to, or subtracting, from the Torah is the subject of much debate in the modern world; we see some laws of the Torah very differently than a premodern society, and have in some cases a different sense of the overarching moral sensibility of Judaism within which the specific laws are interpreted. On the other hand, our friend Rashi takes the first clause of our verse and lets it stand on its own, interpreting “All that I command you” as implying that you have to be careful to do both “the easy things and the hard things.”

What strikes me about Rashi’s comment is we don’t have to agree on the particulars of any practice, commandment or principle in order to recognize that all of us- you and me and the rest of humankind- have a tendency to avoid tasks that challenge our self-image, stretch us beyond a comfort zone, confront us with difficult truths, or demand something we don’t want to give. I would even say that we often confuse what’s hard and what’s easy in Judaism: after all, in the age of Tofurky and national supermarkets, it’s not that hard to keep kosher, but it’s never, ever been easy to guard one’s speechwhen talking of others.

I think every branch of Judaism, from the most liberal to the most stringent, would agree that some of the commandments and principles are harder than others, including:

Forgivness (requires letting go of moral certitude and owning our piece of the mess)

Humility    (requires foregoing privilege and being other-directed)

T’shuvah   (requires accepting our own imperfections and letting go of righteous blame)

Visiting the Sick  (requires confronting mortality and the inevitability of suffering when we encounter the fragility of the body)

Tefillah  (prayer, which requires acknowledging that we are not in control of almost anything except our own spiritual orientation)

These things are hard– harder than we like to imagine- hard to do right and hard to keep doing. Yet if we’re only doing the fun and easy parts of Judaism- or any spiritual path- we’re not really engaging the tradition at all, but just using it as the theme of a nice meal or colorful cultural tradition. I like to drink sangria in the Sukkah as much as anybody (to name one particularly pleasurable mitzvah), and to be fair, Judaism insists on a regular practice of holy joy on Shabbat and the festivals. Yet Judaism also teaches: push yourself to forgive more, give more, love more, connect more. The hard mitzvot never let us off easy, but then again, nothing great comes without effort.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.

Copyright 2014 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Copyright 2012 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

We’re continuing our stroll through the latter half of the book of
Yeshayahu, or Isaiah, from which the seven “haftarot of consolation”
are taken, read at this season leading up to Rosh Hashana.

Themes in the haftarah this week include God’s role as creator and the
eternal nature of the Davidic kingship, as well as the putative
tension between our spiritual needs and our material needs:

“Ho, all who are thirsty,
Come for water,
Even if you have no money;
Come, buy food and eat:
Buy food without money,
Wine and milk without cost.

Why do you spend money for what is not bread,
Your earnings for what does not satisfy?

Give heed to Me,
And you shall eat choice food
And enjoy the richest viands.

Incline your ear and come to Me;
Hearken, and you shall be revived.” (Yeshayahu/Isaiah 55:1-3)

These verses are among those which demonstrate the silliness of the
claim to take the Bible “literally,” given that the plain meaning of
these verses is, most likely, best understood as metaphor: the people
are hungering for spiritual instruction, for hope and faith, but are
misled (or misfed, as it were) by the idolatry and materialism
surrounding them. To be fair- one could interpret these verses as
promising material abundance to the people upon their redemption, but
I don’t think that’s the simplest way to understand the passage in
context.

Rather, I think “spending money for what is not bread” means both
literally spending money and also spending our time and energy. We all
hunger for purpose, meaning, love, depth, aliveness, vitality- if
these are not nurtured in positive ways, then we tend to do things to
satisfy our longings but which prove illusory. “Bread” in this context
means a true nourishment- not just of the body but of the soul.
(Apologies to those on the Atkins diet.) It wasn’t the Rolling Stones
who pointed out that human beings have a hard time getting
satisfaction- our great spiritual traditions have long taught that the
path to fulfillment can never be pleasure for its own sake, or
material goods in themselves, or the magical thinking of flimsy
religion. Rather, fulfillment- or enlightenment, if you prefer- can
only come from being called to a greater purpose, which in our passage
is understood as hearing the voice of the Divine.

In this reading, there is no inherent tension between satisfying one’s
body and satisfying one’s soul. This is not about asceticism – it’s
about putting our needs in context, and realizing that our need for
purpose is what gives ultimate meaning – even pleasure- to our lives.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

We’re blessed in the Hudson Valley with wonderful
seasonal farmer’s markets, and perhaps that’s why twice this week I’ve
gotten questions about strawberries and Orthodox rabbis. It’s not
actually strawberry season anymore but apparently a group of rabbis in
London banned strawberries altogether due to the possible presence of
tiny insects in the berries, and this has caused a bit of a kerfuffle
in the Jewish world and appeared in various news outlets. (See link
below.)

Now, you might think I’m bringing up the Great Strawberry Controversy
because we have a review of the laws of kashrut [kosher or dietary
laws] in this week’s Torah portion, Re’eh. (Cf. D’varim/ Deuteronomy
14). While it’s certainly true that eating insects (with a few
exceptions) is prohibited as not kosher (cf. Vayikra/Leviticus 11),
it’s also true that for the great majority of Jewish history, we have
eaten common fruits and vegetables without too much worry about things
we can’t see. That is, after washing the fruits or vegetables, there
may in fact be teeny little bugs not dislodged by the water, but if
they’re so small as to be not visible to the eye (of a person with
normal eyesight), then they are consider as not there, in terms of
kosher observance.

I’m actually not bringing this example to teach about kashrut, per se,
but about another mitzvah of the Torah found in this week’s Parsha:

“Be careful to observe only that which I enjoin upon you: neither add
to it nor take away from it.” (D’varim/Deuteronomy 13:1)

We have a mitzvah, a commandment, not to add nor subtract anything
from the Torah as it is interpreted by the ancient sages. According to
Sefer HaHinnuch [the medieval “Book of Education”] this means we can’t
make up a new mitzvah or do a mitzvah in a completely new way beyond
what is prescribed. For example, waving a lulav at a time other than
Sukkot, or sitting in a Sukkah after the holiday, or adding extra
scrolls to one’s tefillin [phylacteries]- these are all examples of
“adding to the Torah,” and are thus actually forbidden.

However, according to the traditional understanding, developing deeper
or more intense ways of doing a mitzvah is not considered “adding to
the Torah.” So blowing the Shofar extra times on Rosh Hashana (another
example given) might be burdensome, but it’s not a violation of “do
not add.” Our Conservative commentary, Etz Hayim, in a comment on
D’varim 4:2, describes what is prohibited as “quantitative” (doing
something on a different day, for example) rather than “qualitative”
changes (doing something the ordinary way but more intensely, perhaps.)

OK, so far, what I’ve described is the traditional way of
understanding the commandment not to add anything to the Torah. Yet to
me, I think this idea describes a sensibility, a spiritual
orientation, as much as parameters for determining practice. I think
“neither add to it nor take away from it” is also about crafting a
Jewish life within the “golden mean” of rigorous but non-obsessive
religious practice.

In other words- and here’s where the strawberries come in- one of the
great things about Judaism is that almost every mitzvah currently
practiced can actually be fulfilled in a way that is observable and
practical. We do not, in fact, have to obsess over little bugs too
small for the naked eye. We do not have to say “Shma” a hundred or a
thousand times a day- twice is plenty! Our job is not to “add to the
Torah” by thinking of new ways to be stringent, but to live a life
balanced by the three modalities of Jewish spirituality: Torah, avodah
[prayer and ritual], and gemilut hasadim [acts of compassion.] If only
one part of Judaism is emphasized, (a way of “adding to the Torah”),
one might miss out on the other two.

If some Jews don’t want to eat strawberries, it’s OK with me- more for
the rest of us, I say!
According to the traditional understanding of “not adding to the
Torah,” the non-strawberry-eating Jews aren’t adding but merely being
cautious with an existing practice. Yet I think they miss the point of
our verse- which is that religion as a discipline also includes the
discipline of moderation. A Judaism which is defined by how many
things it says “no” to is hardly a Judaism which is all about “choose
life!”

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

D’varim is a series of speeches which Moshe
gives in the mountains across the Jordan river, right before the
Israelites cross over and begin to settle the land. In fact, this
week’s portion,Re’eh , begins with Moshe telling the people that they
have the choice between blessing and curse, a choice symbolized by two
mountains they will see when they soon enter the Land:

“And it will be, when the Lord, your God, will bring you to the land
to which you come, to possess it, that you shall place those blessing
upon MountGerizim, and those cursing upon Mount Ebal . Are they not on
the other side of the Jordan, way beyond, in the direction of the
sunset, in the land of the Canaanites, who dwell in the plain,
oppositeGilgal, near the plains of Moreh ? For you are crossing the
Jordan, to come to possess the land which the Lord, your God, is
giving you, and you shall possess it and dwell in it.”
(D’varim/Deuteronomy 11:29-31)

These verses are rather typical of themes in D’varim; Moshe is telling
the people that they have choice: to follow the covenant and receive
blessing, or spurn the Torah and be cursed. This choice will present
itself as starkly as two mountains which face each other, which the
people will see clearly once they enter the land- the mountains
themselves are symbolic of the unavoidable choices the people will
have once they begin to govern themselves as a nation in its homeland.

Our friend Rashi notices that the geographical description of the two
mountains is “near the plains of Moreh,” and connects this to the
description of how Avraham [then called Avram]- way back in the
beginning of Bereshit/Genesis- first entered the Land:

“Avram traveled through the land as far as the area of Shechem, coming
to the plains of Moreh. The Canaanites were then in the land.”
(Bereshit/Genesis 12:6)

OK, says Rashi, the plains of Moreh are the same as Shechem- the verse
from Genesis proves it.

Uh . . . (I can hear you asking). . . that’s a nice little geography
lesson, but so what?

As I read it, Rashi is doing more than showing us what towns are near
which fields – I think he’s making a subtle historical point about the
choices which will face the Israelites in the future. If Shechem was
only significant as a place where Avraham travelled, Rashi would be
making an interesting connection between Avraham’s journey and that of
his descendants, perhaps implying that their entry into the Land is a
kind of re-enactment of his, rooted in the covenant which began with
Avraham and which his descendants are now realizing.

However, Shechem is mentioned in several other Torah narratives, two
of which are a bit more sobering than a mention of Avraham’s campsite.
In Bereshit 34, Shechem is the name of the prince who raped Yaakov’s
daughter Dinah [it seems that the town bears the same name], which
leads Shimon and Levi, two of Yaakov’s sons, to deceive the
townspeople in order to take a terrible vengeance on them. Yaakov
rebukes his sons, and worries that their actions will bring trouble
from the other peoples in the Land.

A few chapters later, Shechem is mentioned as the place where Yosef’s
brothers would pasture their flocks- it is where Yosef looked for them
when his father sent him to his brothers after he offended them with
his dreams. (Cf. Bereshit/Genesis 37)

So what does all this have to do with the two symbolic mountains? As I
read it, by connecting “blessing” and “curse” with the area near
Shechem, Moshe may be reminding the people of what can go right, and
what can go wrong, once they enter the land. The Israelites are
blessed by the example of Avraham, who left his home in the East and
traveled on faith to the Land of Israel- remembering his journey as
far as Shechem might inspire them and give them hope, faith, and
confidence in the future. On the other hand, Shechem is also where
Shimon and Levi used violence far disproportionate to their conflict,
and where Yosef’s brothers nursed their grudge against him. These
stories remind the people to guard themselves against anger, hatred,
and the desire for revenge- all of which can only bring curse, not
blessing.

Seen this way, the plains of Moreh- near Shechem- offer a historical
example of the choice between blessing and curse which Moshe lays out
for the people. Be as courageous and faithful asAvraham, or choose
resentment and vengeance as Yaakov’s sons did with their neighbors and
even with their brother.

It’s nice to live in a place like Poughkeepsie, in a beautiful valley
with mountains on one side and the other, but the two mountains from
our Torah portion represent a more universal truth: that every day and
in every place we have the choice to make the journey one of curse or
blessing.

With warm wishes for a thoughtful Elul,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

We’re going through some transitions at the Central Headquarters of
Rabbineal-list here in Newton Centre, MA. I’m packing up to move to
Poughkeepsie (see link below) and so for the last time, I offer you
greetings from the beautiful summer climes of the greater Boston area.
(Rest assured, I may be leaving this great Commonwealth, but I’m not
giving up honorary citizenship in Red Sox Nation, even if I am moving
to New York.)

So I’m packing up- or, more accurately, procrastinating when I need to
be packing up- and a verse from this week’s Torah portion just jumped
out at me. In this week’s parsha, Re’eh, Moshe tells the people that
when they get into the Land, sacrificial worship will be centralized
in one place. Apparently, at this point in Israelite history, people
are making their offerings as they please, despite the lengthy rules
given in Exodus and Leviticus for building one Sanctuary at the center
of the camp. (See the Etz Hayim commentary, at the beginning of
chapter 12, for a short discussion of this history.)

Thus, after Moshe tells the people that they must not worship the way
the native Canaanites do, he also tells them that their own practice
will have to change once they arrive in their tribal settlements:

“You shall not act at all as we now act here, every man as he pleases,
because you have not yet come to the resting place, the inheritance,
that the Lord your God is giving you.” (Dvarim/ Deuteronomy 12:8-9,
modified JPS translation.)

The phrase at the heart of verse 9 is “al ham’nucha v’al hanachala,”
which I’ve translated as “the resting place, the inheritance,” but
could also be translated as “the rest and the inheritance,” or “the
allotted resting place.” According to Etz Hayim, the reason Moshe
connects the “resting place” of the Land and the need to centralize
worship is that once the people are fully settled, they’re going to
have to make it safe for worshippers to travel to the Sanctuary.
Perhaps a nomadic people dealing with the challenges of the journey
hasn’t been ready for that level of social organization, or perhaps
the stresses of the journey through the desert have preoccupied the
people, but whatever the case, things will change once the tribes
settle in their allotted lands.

On the other hand, what struck me about the verses quoted above is the
emotional impact these words probably have had on the weary but
excited Israelites. After all, even though this is the second
generation since the Exodus, it must have been somewhat shocking to be
told: “Getting to the land is not the end point of the journey! Once
we get there, we have lots more to do, and the rest and peace you
hoped for is still some time in the future, even if we’re on the
borders of the place we’ve been moving towards for 40 years.”

I can only imagine that the Israelites were happy and excited to see
the borders of the Land in the distance, thinking “this is it! We’ve
reached the end of the journey!” Moshe had to tell them: this is not
the end, this is the beginning of a new phase of your development as a
people and as a nation. The Israelites probably could not imagine life
beyond arrival at the Promised Land, yet they had to rethink the
meaning of their sojourn once they arrived, in order to realize that
the Land itself was not the goal. Rather, becoming the community they
were meant to be, which could only happen in their homeland, was the
longer and deeper goal. To put it another way, they had to learn that
the Land of Israel was a way of being together, an internal state, as
much as a physical place.

What is true for the Israelites continues to be true for each of us:
repeatedly throughout life, we think “aha, this is it, we’re here,”
yet it turns out to be but a stage in a longer, less predictable
process of growth and journey. In my own life, each time I’ve arrived
at a goal or vision, it turns out to be only the gateway to things I
didn’t even imagine existed. The challenge, of course, is to embrace
the next stage of growth and be open to what is beyond even that. We
are never fully at the “resting place” or “allotted inheritance,” but
may orient ourselves toward it every hour, and every day, and get
closer over the unfolding years.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

PS- as usual, the first link has a summary and further commentary on
Re’eh, and the second link has the texts of the parsha and haftarah
(if it’s not switched over from last week yet it will be in a few
days):

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

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

To learn more about the new International World Headquarters of
Rabbineal-list, see here:

http://poughkeepsie.uscjhost.net/

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

Greetings from Newton Centre, your new center of internet Torah study!

Our hearts go out to those affected by Hurricane Katrina, so although there are
many
subjects in this week’s parsha, including blessings, curses, tithes, dietary
laws, prophecy,
and the holy days, it seems appropriate to focus on laws of giving to those in
need. In that
spirit, at the end of this email you’ll find some links to Jewish agencies
collecting money
for the relief effort.

On to the topic at hand: in Deuteronomy 15, we read a warning not to hold back
when
someone is in need:

“If there will be among you a needy person, from one of your brothers in one of
your
cities, in your land the Lord, your God, is giving you, you shall not harden
your heart, and
you shall not close your hand from your needy brother. Rather, you shall open
your hand
to him, and you shall lend him sufficient for his needs, which he is lacking.

Beware, lest there be in your heart an unfaithful thought, saying, `The seventh
year, the
year of release has approached,’ and you will begrudge your needy brother and
not give
him, and he will cry out to the Lord against you, and it will be a sin to you.
You shall surely
give him, and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him; for because
of this
thing the Lord, your God, will bless you in all your work and in all your
endeavors. ”

(Devarim/ Deuteronomy 15:7-10)

This text is not all that difficult to understand: it is a call to compassion
when we find
fellow citizens in need. The Torah understands that it is hard to part with a
hard earned
shekel, and uses evocative language (do not “harden your heart” – like Pharaoh?)
to stress
its ideal of generosity and loving-kindness in action. So far, so good.

Notice, in the second paragraph quoted above, the reference to the “seventh
year.” This is
the shmittah or “sabbatical” year, the seventh year when the land lies fallow
and debts are
forgiven (cf. Vayikra/ Leviticus chapter 25). This explains the Torah’s
particular warning
about holding back in the later years of the cycle: a needy person might need a
loan in the
fifth or sixth year, but the lender would be reluctant to make a loan which
would get
canceled shortly thereafter in the seventh year.

Such reluctance would be perfectly understandable, but the Torah’s ideal is to
give (or
loan) freely- and that’s not just good for the recipient. The verses I’ve quoted
above
repeatedly link our emotions to our material goods- you shall not “harden your
heart” and
not give, and you shall not think an “unfaithful” thought, and you shall not
“begrudge” a
person in need. In other words, the Torah knows that our possessions often
affect our
emotions- we become protective of our goods, letting sums and quantities and
material
goods rule our hearts. To put it another way: if our possessions are directing
our
emotions, then sacred principles aren’t.

That’s why we have so many commandments to give- not only because people are in
need,
but because without the commandment, we might hold on tightly, letting our fear
of
insufficiency overcome our compassion and generosity. We give not only to help
others,
but to help free ourselves from being overly attached to material things. We
give so that
we can come to understand that that lovingkindness – hesed- is the truest
treasure. When
we give freely, with no hardness of heart, we remove the barriers of fear which
block our
love for others. That’s why this passage about giving concludes “for because of
this thing
the Lord, your God, will bless you in all your work and in all your endeavors. ”

Is there a greater blessing than exerting ourselves in the practice of loving
others? This is
what giving is: a blessing for the one in need, a blessing for the one who
gives, and a
blessing from God enacted through human hands.

Shabbat Shalom,

rnjl

Tzedakah links:

To give to the hurricane relief efforts, you can donate to United Jewish
Communities, which
will distribute money to local agencies:

http://www.ujc.org/

The Conservative Movement has also set up a relief fund:

http://www.uscj.org/Hurricane_ReliefYou_6553.html

PS- as usual, you can read the entire weekly parsha and special haftarah: here:

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

PPS- The idea for this week’s study comes from something I read in a Torah
commentary
which I have now forgotten- but I think it was Yehuda Nachshoni’s “Studies in
the Weekly
Parsha.”

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

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.

Re’eh (Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17)

OVERVIEW

Moshe sets before the people a blessing if they follow God’s ways, and a curse if they don’t. Both worship and eating of meat are to be centralized around holy places that God will choose. Moshe warns the people about false prophets, idolaters, and lawless cities, which are to be destroyed. Laws for eating, tithing, loans, the Sabbatical year, Israelite indentured servants, and the holidays are reviewed.

IN FOCUS

“And when Adonai your God will bring you to the land to which you are coming, to inherit it, you will put the blessing on Mount Gezerim and the curse on Mount Ebal. Aren’t they across the Jordan, beyond the way of the sunset, in the land of the Canaanite, who dwells in the valley, opposite Gilgal, near the oaks of Moreh? ” (Deuteronomy 11:29-30)

PSHAT

Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, Moshe stresses the importance of maintaining faithfulness to God’s covenant. As a kind of “audiovisual aid,” he designates one mountain as the mountain of blessing (for those who stay loyal to covenant) and one mountain as the mountain of curse (for those who stray), and asks the Israelites to consider the choice they must make. These mountains are in the Land of Israel, which reinforces the idea that inheriting the land brings with it a special responsibility to choose one’s actions wisely.

DRASH

Continuing from last week our exploration of the new commentary on the Torah by Richard Elliott Friedman, we find that Friedman finds theological insight in an otherwise obscure geographical reference:

The first place to which Abraham comes when he moves to Canaan is the oak of Moreh (Genesis 12:6). There YHWH is said to appear to him for the first time (which is also the first time that God is said to have appeared to anyone in the Bible.) There YHWH says for the first time that He will give the land to Abraham’s descendants. And there Abraham builds the first altar to YHWH in Canaan.

Now the oaks (or oak; the Septuagint [Greek translation] has the singular) of Moreh are mentioned just before a statement that those descendants are now about to “come to take possession of the land.” It is thus another signal that the merit of the ancestors is a source of protection and well-being for Israel many generations later. In this case, because Abraham listened to God’s first command and left his home for a new land, his descendants now come to that land.

Friedman is not the first commentator to notice that the “oaks of Moreh” show up in both Genesis and Deuteronomy- the ancient midrash Sifrei, quoted by Rashi, identifies this place as the city of Shechem, based on the verse from Genesis. Friedman, however, goes one step further in bringing out the theological significance of Moshe’s subtle reminder of Avraham and the promise that was made to him.

This theological idea is sometimes called zechut avot, or the “merit of the ancestors.” It’s expressed in the Bible by the idea that the Israelites will inherit God’s blessing because of the forefathers and foremothers. We also see the idea of zechut avot in the High Holiday prayers, when we remind God of the righteousness of our forebearers and ask forgiveness on their merits, rather than our own.

Zechut avot is a central concept in classical Jewish theology, yet it is also difficult for many contemporary Jews to accept at face value the idea that they are being “judged” not on their own deeds, but on the merit of distant, ancient ancestors who may even be regarded as legendary rather than historical figures. Yet I think zechut avot can also be a powerful call to both individual humility and self-understanding as part of a historical, evolving community. Humility comes from realizing that anything that one might accomplish is built on the accomplishments and with the assistance of others- no (hu)man is an island. Each of us is who we because of those who came before us; we have free will, but we exist in a historical chain of being.

Thus, on the High Holidays, when I ask the Holy One to remember the merits of my ancestors, I’m also reminding myself of my deep roots in the Jewish people. I’m reminding myself that all my insights into Torah, into theology, into life itself are built on the insights of those who came before me. I’m reminding myself that the Jewish people’s relationship with God existed before I did, and will continue on after me, with all the gratitude and responsibility that implies. I’m reminding myself that even though I might “cross over the Jordan” in my spiritual journey, I’m bringing with me the felt presence of the God of Israel, a Presence just as real to me as to my ancestor Avraham by the oaks of Moreh.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Re’eh

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.

Re’eh (Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17)

OVERVIEW

Moshe sets before the people a blessing if they follow God’s ways, and a curse if they don’t. Both worship and eating of meat are to be somewhat centralized around holy places that God will choose. Moshe warns the people about false prophets, idolaters, and lawless, completely evil cities, which are to be destroyed. Laws for eating, tithing, loans, the Sabbatical year, Israelite indentured servants, and the holidays are reviewed.

IN FOCUS

“If there is a destitute person among your kin in any of your gates in your land that the LORD your God is giving you, do not be hardhearted or tightfisted toward your poor brother. Rather be openhanded and freely lend him whatever he needs.” (Deuteronomy 15:7-8)

PSHAT

The context of these verses seems to be the Shmita, or Sabbatical year, during which loans are forgiven along with the well-known rest of the land. The Torah urges the people to make loans to the needy among them, and to eliminate poverty as much as possible. (Although a few verses later, it says that “there will not cease to be poor in the land”- is the Torah saying that this is an intractable problem? Or merely telling us to have realistic expectations of social change?)

The Torah warns against refusing to make loans in the sixth year of the seven-year cycle; since loans were probably paid back on a yearly crop cycle, loans in the sixth year were likely to be canceled by the Shmita the following year. Nevertheless, we are warned that a person will be held to account for their level of generosity in helping others.

DRASH

Although the contextual meaning of these verses seems to be related to the situation of the Sabbatical year, according to Rashba* this passage is actually the basis from which the ancient sages derived the general commandment to give tzedakah. Although we are urged to give generously to a variety of worthy causes, including basic human needs, education, communal religious needs and so on, Rashi and other commentators see in verse 7 a kind of hint as to the priorities of our giving.

Look at the verse closely: first comes a “destitute person,” someone who is really desperately poor and needs our immediate assistance. (This is Rashi’s understanding of the word evyon.) Then comes “kin,” according to how closely related they are to you: a brother comes before a cousin, one’s child before an uncle, and so on. Then comes a poor person within “your gates;” again, Rashi says that a poor person in your town has priority over a poor person in another town. Finally, “in your land;” similarly, a poor person of the land of Israel (i.e., presumably a Jew) has priority over a poor person in another land.

Now, one might make an objection to these principles, saying that all humans should be equal in one’s eyes, and no class of persons should have priority in our scheme of giving. That would be an admirable sense of universalism, and yet I don’t think that this interpretation of these verses has anything to do with thinking lightly of our obligations to those who are not of our family, town, or community. Rather, I think this interpretation of these verses is all about apportioning responsibility for each other in realistic ways.

To put it another way, it’s easy to be in favor of saving the world, but it’s hard to have a consistent commitment to saving one’s city block, really caring for the people who live on it and attending to any problems. To be responsible for everything is ultimately to be responsible for nothing in particular, and I think that’s what this midrashic reading of our verses is all about. One former teacher of mine, R. Mordecai Finley, sometimes defined the very essence of Judaism as (this is a paraphrase) “find your little corner of the world and make it just and holy.”

While some will still be uncomfortable with what they perceive as the potential chauvinism of these principles, it’s important to note that Rashi at least doesn’t make distinctions between the Jews of “your gates” and the non-Jews. He simply says that proximity demands priority; if every well-off citizen of every town saw to it that their locality had food and shelter and job training programmes for the local poor, then theoretically one would never have to worry about the poor in another town, because they’d be helped locally. (Please note, this discussion has no bearing on whether help is delivered by private individuals, charities, or governments- that’s a separate debate.)

This last point is made somewhat humourously by a story of a rabbi going on a fundraising mission:

R. Yaakov David of Amshinov came to a rich man to tell him that one of his (the rich man’s) relatives was poor and needed some help. The rich man didn’t want to help and claimed that this relative was only a very distant relative- he hardly knew him. R. David asked the man if he prayed every day. “What question is this, rabbi?! Certainly, certainly !”

“If so, ” continued the great sage- “how does the opening blessing of the Amidah [“standing” prayer said at every Jewish service] go?”

The rich man was greatly surprised, but he answered out of respect for the rabbi: “God of Avraham, God of Yitzhak, God of Yaakov. . . ”

The rabbi kept asking: “And who were Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov?”

“Our forefathers!”

“And when did they live?”, asked the sage, not letting up.

“Upwards of three thousand years ago!”

“Yes, that’s right, more than three thousand years ago. Yet despite all that you mention them every day and you ask the Blessed One for mercy and help and redemption on the basis of the merit of these ‘distant relatives’ – and now I come to you to ask for a little help for your relative who lives right now and you’re claiming that he’s too distant a relation?” (paraphrased from Itturei Torah.)

Point well taken!

* [R. Shlomo ben Aderet of Barcelona, d. 1310- quoted in Itturei Torah.]