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Courage has many faces. It can mean saying no to compromise, or it can mean making a difficult compromise. It can entail dying a heroic death or living through terrible pain. It can mean fighting a good fight, or knowing when it is best for all to concede. But always courage involves facing our fears. Our patriarch Jacob of course is a splendid example of these multiple faces of courage.

On the surface it may appear that Jacob’s fear of his brother Esau’s retribution betrayed a lack of faith in God’s promise of protection, a promise that God reiterated when He commanded Jacob to return to Eretz Yisrael (Genesis 31:3). Rashi comments though, that a righteous man is never so sure of himself, and must be guarded against sin that might forfeit that protection. This is not a lack of faith, rather a sober approach toward balancing trust in the faithfulness of God, and an honest assessment of our own weaknesses. This is not so different than the Shaliach’s encouragement/admonition to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” (Philippians 2:12)

Oxford English Dictionary defines courage as “facing danger without fear.” This may be a popular opinion, but I think patently untrue. In fact, I believe only people who are afraid can exhibit courage. Fear is to courage what breathing in is to breathing out. The question is where do we get the strength to do the things we are afraid of? The answer I believe is hope, and Jacob remembered the promises of God to him. Like Jacob we fear and hope at the same time. Fear lurks behind hope the way the dark side of the moon lurks behind its shining face. But if there is an on the ground lesson to learn from Jacob, it is how to act well in the face of fear, obeying God, and trusting in His provision and protection, one day at a time.

Jacob had run from Esau and his wrath twenty years prior, but now it was time to compartmentalize his fear, trust God, and step out in faith. Just as Yeshua instructed us, “ Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will have its own worries.” (Matt. 6:34) Thoughts about our failures of the past, and fear of the future, can stagnate us in the present, cause us to procrastinate, and keep us from our destiny. Ernst Becker wrote in his book The Denial of Death, “Modern man is drinking and drugging himself out of awareness, or he spends his time shopping, which is the same thing.” Though our sophisticated contemporary mechanisms may be different than our ancestors, it is part of the human condition to avoid what is really threatening to us. So herein lies the brilliance of Jacob’s communication with Esau, because in many ways he is really clarifying his own objectives to face his fears head on. “I have been staying with Laban…now I am sending this message to my lord.” Effectively he is saying, “before I ran from you…but now I am facing the consequences of my actions.” (Genesis 32:5)

Jacob does not launch himself into this meeting with his brother recklessly though. Rather the patriarch leaves us a practical model for approaching our own fears that can be seen in three basic and pragmatic steps.

Step 1 – Analyze the situation fearlessly and honestly and figure out what might be the worst that could occur as the result of failure. So Jacob sent messengers (Genesis 32:3) to access the potential for reconciliation. He then had the messengers access Esau’s military strength. The messengers were not certain whether Esau would accept Jacob’s peace offering, but they was 100% certain that Esau had a small army of four hundred men.

Step 2 – After figuring the worst that could happen, reconcile yourself to accepting it, if necessary, giving the result over to Providence. (Genesis 32:9-12) Jacob prays with fervor reminding God and himself of the Divine promise for protection.

Step 3 – From that time on, calmly devote your time and energy to improving upon the worst that could happen. Jacob splits divides the camp in two to diminish the possibility of his entire family being wiped out (Genesis 32:7-8.) Jacob then sends gifts ahead in an attempt to mend fences between himself and Esau (Genesis 32:13-2). He prepares for war but works diligently toward peace. Jacob defers to Esau calling him “my lord”. He does not count compromise as weakness, rather he uses it as a strength.

Jacob prepared for confrontation as though it would hopefully pass and also in case it did not. He prepared for the worst and hoped for the best – but he prayed fervently. The amazing thing is that Jacob pulls it off, he not lives and makes peace with his brother, but he gets to keep all of his livestock as well. And Jacob acted in spite of the fact we are told he is in great fear and distress. We are often afraid that we are losing the fight, and we suffer fear and anxiety. But hope brings back a faith that we will win. So face those fears, large and small, head on, and echo the words of the Shaliach, “I can do all things through Messiah who strengthens me.”

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It is noteworthy that this week’s portion, which is entitled, Chaye Sarah, the life of Sarah, actually chronicles the matriarch’s death and burial, and her husband’s contemplative mourning. It begins though with a one sentence retrospective of her life. “Sarah’s lifetime was one hundred years, twenty years, and seven years: the years of Sarah’s life.” (Breshit 23:1)

Rashi explains that the repetition of years divides Sarah’s life into three periods, each with its own uniqueness. At one hundred she was as sinless as a twenty-year-old, for until the age of twenty, a person does not suffer Heavenly punishment, and at twenty she still had the wholesome beauty of a seven year old, who does not use cosmetics and whose beauty is natural. Rashi’s creative exegesis points out that each latter stage of Sarah’s life was indelibly tied to each preceding period.

It should also be noted though that the conclusion of Sarah’s life would be equally tied to the life of Rebekah, who would succeed her as the matriarch of Abraham’s household and the wife of her only son Isaac. It has been said that which a caterpillar considers the end of life, the Master calls a butterfly. So it is with a righteous person and their progeny. Not one of us can view the full value of our lives, but time will measure our lives as they continue in the lives of those we touch.

This time of year one of my favorite movies to watch is Frank Capra’s delightful fantasy “It’s a Wonderful Life.” The protagonist of the movie George Bailey, weighed down by the trials of life wishes that he was never born. His wish is mysteriously granted by a challenged junior angel named Clarence who allows George to see how many lives would have been severely impoverished had he never existed. What he truly sees is the tremendous value of his life, a life well lived, and how it continues in perpetuity in the lives he loves. George mostly is allowed to see the small miracles that happen when souls touch in the passage of life. So did the souls of Rebecca and Isaac touch each other, and by no coincidence continue the life of Sarah.

Going out toward evening to stroll in the field, Isaac looked up and saw camels coming! And Rebekah looked up seeing Isaac, she got off the camel and said to the slave: “ Who is the man striding in the field coming to meet us?” “He is my master,” said the slave. Taking a veil she covered herself. The slave then told Isaac all that he had done. And Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah; he took Rebekah, and she became his wife and he loved her. Thus did Isaac take comfort after (the death) of his mother. (B’reishit 24:63-67)

Rebecca understood that she was traveling to Canaan with Eliezer, Abraham’s servant for the very purpose of becoming Isaac’s wife. It is not certain whether she knew that she would be replacing the presence of Sarah, but this was the clear intention of providence. Earlier in the story Abraham feeling old and tired and bereft after losing his beloved wife, sends Eliezer to find a suitable wife for Isaac. But he does not provide any of the expected prerequisites for a suitable mate. He does not tell Eliezer that the wife should come from wealth or a famous family. He does not even describe the looks or personality that would be desirable.

Without any clear direction other than she should not come from the Canaanites, Eliezer sets out on his journey. Eliezer prays to the God of Abraham and describes a supposed drama that may take place at a well. He tells God that if these events transpire then he will recognize it as a sign from above. The right woman for Isaac will be the one that at Eliezer’s request not only brings him water, but also his camels. Of course Rebekah fulfills the conditions of the prayer and the story of Rebecca and Isaac’s life together begins to unfold.

But how did Eliezer know that this would be the right sign from God. I imagine because Rebekah behaves precisely how Sarah might have. Like Sarah, Rebekah not only possesses innocent beauty, but she is filled with goodness and kindness. Rebekah is not only the God ordained choice to be Isaac’s wife, but Sarah’s successor. Perhaps this is why at the end of Vayera we are told of the birth of Rebekah. Sarah cannot pass until God provides the one who will truly live on in her spirit.

Chaye Sarah is truly a celebration of a life well lived, not the chronicle of its death. Each of our lives has the potential to change the world about us positively. If we seize the opportunity, our lives continue in those about us, infusing the world with beauty and goodness, and bearing the image of our creator in all of His creation. Like Eliezer we should confess that there are no coincidences in the ordinary details of day-to-day life, but that all about us are the small miracles created by souls touching each other, and the ongoing miracles of lives lived for God.

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God is dead! Or so some would say, such as Richard Rubinstein the esteemed former professor of religion at University of Florida and Bridgeport University. As a leading cultural analyst, and a most prominent “Death of God” theologians this is Rubinstein’s response to the horrific atrocities of humankind against itself in the 20^th century, especially following the holocaust. God is dead! After all, in the wake of Auschwitz the highly valued norms of modern culture were deeply implicated in creating the backdrop to the mass murder. It is no small wonder then that when confronted by the sinister nature of human reason and the implosion of the modernist paradigm of moral progress, Rubinstein responded with the language, reasoning and rugged individualism that had ironically defined the failure of his generation. In his famous book After Auschwitz he states, “We learned in the crisis that we were totally and nakedly alone, that we could expect neither support nor succor from God nor from our fellow creatures.” Sadly, Rubinstein’s thoughts echo the philosophers of the 17^th century who after observing the decline of the church and crowns of Europe, found certitude in nothing but their own machinations, and in the declaration that the only hope, is to confess that here is no hope at all. For Rubinstein the covenant with Israel is an illusion and the only Messiah is death.

If only he and others like him had turned to the Jewish tradition instead of modern sensibilities, they might have found hope reborn. Judaism is a religion of life against death. Death negates redemption; it is the end of growth and of freedom. Death is a denial of dignity. Metaphorically the Talmud tells that the great King David died on a holy day. Seeing the decaying body lying there and untreated since it was a holy day, Solomon burst out with the words from Quohelet (Ecclesiastes), “Even a live dog is better than a dead lion.”(Quohelet 9:4). What greater tragedy can there be for the living than the death of another loved human being? Someone of infinite value, someone irreplaceable has been snatched away, and the inert, empty body that remains mocks the power, the beauty, and the uniqueness of the person.

In a world growing toward life, death is a contradiction to God, who is pure life. In the end then death must be overcome. In the shadow of Israel and Judah’s desolation by the pagans of Assyria and Babylon, a holocaust of some 1300 years priority, the prophet Isaiah uttered these words of hope and vision: “God will destroy death forever. My Lord God will wipe away the tears from every face.” (Isaiah 25:8). Judaism’s ultimate dream then should be to vanquish death completely. Classic Judaism therefore taught that when the ultimate redemption is achieved, when the Messiah comes, all those who have died will come to life again. Resurrection of the dead will nullify death retroactively.

Death is treated as the enemy. We read this week near the end of Parasha Nitsavim, “ Behold, I place before you today life and good, and death and evil…” the divine instruction then is “…Choose life.” (Deut. 30: 19) The daily ritual of Torah establishes clear boundaries for contact with the dead. Death is set up as the negative pole of contact with God. The human corpse is the most intense archetype of ritual impurity. No burials were allowed inside of Jerusalem, the holy city. People who came into contact with a dead body were not allowed to enter the Holy Temple without first going through a teharot, an elaborate purification rite, including immersion in a body of living water, that is a symbolic rebirth from the grip of death.

It is not that Judaism denies the facts of death. When death strikes a family the tradition requires an unflinching recognition and acceptance rather than evasion. The proper response is to show love through caring treatment of the corpse and expressions of grief and loss. But these are the concessions that Judaism makes to the universality of death. Otherwise it is almost as though death is to be quarantined as a dangerous antagonist. Holiness, which is the fullness of life is incompatible with death.

Yet death is a fact of life. How one reacts to it can critically shape all of one’s values. Buddha’s encounter with death when he was a young prince turned him decisively away from worldly life as an illusion and a snare. At Roman orgies, skulls were passed around to stimulate even more frantic excesses, with the epicurean admonition, “Eat, drink, and be merry! For tomorrow we die!” The American way of death has used consumerism, euphemism, and individualism to obscure the reality of mortality.

But Judaism’s general response to the fact of death though, is to fight back. Life is given the highest priority. Almost all of Torah’s laws can be held in obeisance in order to save a life. The physician is commanded to heal. Even partial triumphs – a sickness cured, some months of life snatched from the domain of death – constitute a fulfillment of the command. When someone dies the mourner steps forward and through the recitation of the Kaddish, testifies that his family has not yielded to the crushing defeat. In effect the survivors pledge to carry on as soldiers in the army of the Lord, among the soldiers of life. In essence the Kaddish prayer affirms that God’s kingdom of total perfection and total life will be brought speedily into being, preferably in this very lifetime.

The one notable exception to the arm’s-length treatment of death is the period of the High Holy Days that we are preparing to embark upon. During this period the Jewish tradition invites us to concentrate our attention on death to a degree that many of us may be somewhat uneasy with. But human beings cannot be fully mature until they encompass a sense of their own mortality. To recognize the brevity of human existence gives urgency and significance to the totality of life. To confront death without being overwhelmed, driven to evasions or dulling the senses is to be given life again as a daily gift. People generally experience this gift through a trauma: an accident or a critical illness or the death of someone close. Too often the encounter fades as the presence of death recedes and the round of normal life becomes routine reality. As part of the divine genius which stands behind the construct of the Jewish calendar, the Yomim Noraim (the ten days of awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) encounter death in an annual experience in hope that the experience will help liberate life. This is the time for the individual to concentrate on mortality and the meaning of life. The real power of the “Days of Awe” is their ability to tap into the deep human feelings and fears of death and enhance appreciation for God given life. During the next ten days tradition can guide us to take up the challenge of death on three levels:

The first is to deal with the constant gradual, partial encroachment of death in each of our lives. Life is also a process of dying. Routines and stagnation are forms of death in life. People often stop growing long before they are recognized as dead. Such a “dead” person cannot be an agent of redemption. The key to vital living is perpetual renewal of life; a renewal that the tradition seeks to attain by generating a continual process of examining life and constant rebirth. The awareness of being judged for life and death is a stimulus to stop living routinely.

The second level of the challenge is to deal with encountering abrupt, total death itself. The tradition, the prayers, and the tenor of these Holy Days beg us to focus on the vulnerability of our lives, and our human limits. To live truly redemptive lives we must discover that we live by God’s grace through His daily miracles. The question then that we should ask ourselves during these days of introspection is whether or not we are acting in consonance with the inherent value, purpose and meaning of God’s universe?

If you are truly appreciative of life , then the High Holy Days move to meet the third challenge of mortality – to harness death into a force for life. On Yom Kippur, we enact death by denying ourselves the normal human pleasures. It is not a morbid experience, however, because this encounter with death is in the service of life. The true goal is a new appreciation of life – in other words, “choose life.”

To know how fragile the shell of life is, is to learn to handle it with true grace and delicacy. Only one who realizes the vulnerability of loved ones can treasure every moment with them. The encounter with death turns the individual toward life. Death can only be opposed by life just as death-in-life can only be opposed by growing in life. Instead of standing there, letting death constantly invade life, we can strike back by raiding he realm of death and turning this encounter into a spur to life.

We do not embark on this journey as lonely pioneers; rather we follow the multitude of Israel who has lived out this drama according to the tradition and in the service of life. Moreover we follow Israel’s greatest son, Messiah Yeshua who braved a death upon the altar and estrangement from life in the bowels of the Earth. And when he deemed it done, he declared that he had given us life, and life more abundant. So this week as we say sh’lichot (penitential prayers) – as we prepare to set out on this ten day process of self-interrogation, be reminded that he encouraged us to “pick-up our crosses daily” and follow him. Down a path of mortification, ironically life waits at the end of the road. These are ten days of awe, but it should not be a time of terror, for relief from sin emerges at the end. And God forgives! So Torah declares that “The Lord your God will open your heart and your children’s hearts.” Why? “For the sake of giving you life.”

This is why the ten Days of Awe is basically hopeful, and at its exhausting end even joyful. This is why the liturgy bursts with life. “Remember us for life, King who loves life; write us in the book of life, for your sake, Lord of Life”

This period seeks nothing less than the removal of sin and the renewal of love. Those who confront their own guilt and failure in human and divine relationships – in the context of community oneness and divine forgiveness – can correct errors, develop new patterns, and renew life. “ For I do not desire death of the wicked, but that he turn from his paths – and live.” To turn is to be reborn. May each of you come through the Days of Awe this year reborn – forgiven and pure, in accord with your peers, in harmony with the cosmos, and at one with God.

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…lo avarti mi’mitzvoteycha v’lo sha’chachti
“I have neither transgressed nor neglected any of your commandments” (Devarim 26:13).

This is the pledge that God commanded the children of Israel to declare every third year after removing their tithe from their premises and having given it to the Levites and the indigents in the Land. It was only after they had fully divested themselves of all portions of the crop that were to be donated that they could make this formal declaration and pray for God’s continued blessing upon the land and the people of Israel.

Why then the apparent redundancy in this statement? One who has not transgressed the commandments has obviously not neglected them. The S’fat Emet, a nineteenth century Chasidic rebbe and scholar, comments that sometimes we may perform a mitzvah only out of habit neglecting the reason behind it. While we may fulfill the commandment we might lack the proper kavanah, or intent. Therefore, we might expand this declaration to say, “ I have not performed any of the mitzvot mindlessly, perfunctorily, without feeling, or proper devotion.”

As the High Holy Days are approaching, we are to turn our intentions to the sins that we have committed over the past year. The shelichot (penitential prayers recited following the last Shabbat prior to Rosh Hashanah) ask us to examine our negative actions and our negative attitudes such as mendacity, frivolity, haughtiness and dozens of other words that we do not use in normal conversation. But the spirit of repentance during the Holy Days demands that we go beyond negative commands (the “Thou Shall Nots”) that we have transgressed, and requires us to consider the positive commands (the “Thou Shalls”) that we may have neglected. In other words our introspection should include not only sins of commission, but also sins of omission.

This I believe is why we are asked to declare that we have not only transgressed the command not to oppress the stranger, as the Egyptians did to us when we sojourned among them (vv. 5-8), but that we are not to neglect the plight and the needs of the stranger, the widow and the orphan (vv.12-13). In Judaism helping the needy, the helpless and the homeless is not merely a nice thing to do, but rather is considered a sacred obligation commanded in the Torah.

According to Torah those with means are to bring two tithes. The first is to be for the Levites who serve in the Temple, to maintain the religious institutions in Israel. We fulfill this today by supporting the local synagogue. The second tithe was to be consumed in Jerusalem to celebrate our good fortune in God’s presence. God did not intend us to be ascetics, but rather to appreciate His generosity and beneficence. But every third year the second tithe was to be given in entirety for the support of the needy. The social transfer of wealth is a God ordained transaction. There is no need for hoarding in the economy of God, and true believers should never advocate an “I made it, I’ll keep it” philosophy. After all, Torah tells us that God is the provider of all good fortune (v.9). This system of tithe and declaration requires us to abandon self-protectionism that denies the power, and the generosity of God.

Several years ago I was given an article in Fast Times, a sharp, trendy business publication. The article stated that in the United States the amount of money we spend on garbage receptacles each year exceeds the Gross National Product of more than half of the world’s nations. If we spend that much on trash bags and cans, how much more do we spend on refuse? How much excess do we each have cluttering our garages and basements? As we accumulate and consume, how often do we pause to think about the good that can be done with our resources to aid the needy? Do we give tzedakah perfunctorily, or do we consider it a sacred obligation?

I was enormously moved over a decade ago by the story of Malden Mills; a textile factory owned by Aaron Feurenstein an orthodox Jew. On Dec. 11, 1999 a fire destroyed a third of the factory in Malden, Massachusetts, and it was completely closed. Out of his own pocket Aaron Feurenstein paid three months salary and medical benefits until the factory was reopened. He was not required to, and there was obviously no financial advantage to him, in fact the factory almost went under. Eventually though, the factory reopened and everyone went back to work. When asked why he risked his own financial well being Feurenstein replied, “I only did what my religion teaches.”

This year as we prepare our hearts for the High Holy Days, can we truly say, “ I did what my religion teaches.” Can we declare, “… I have neither transgressed nor neglected any of your commandments”?

A number of years ago, while taking a leisurely walk with my wife and in-laws, we happened upon a very understated and unpublicized public demonstration. We had been visiting a local park well known for its exceptionally groomed rose gardens and went for a walk down a path that led to a small shaded pond where we would sometimes go to relax and feed the ducks that abided there. This day the pond was crowded with about fifty participants launching small sailboats, and a number of spectators who like ourselves probably happened serendipitously upon the event. It was not immediately apparent what the significance of the boats was until a series of speeches were given which proclaimed the activity as a commemoration of the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima by the U.S. military. I was immediately impressed by the passivity of the demonstration against war in general and nuclear proliferation specifically. My father though was visibly upset. Though he was not a hawkish type, his reaction was to the overly simplistic nature of the demonstration, which had failed to acknowledge the lives saved by the historic bombing. One of those lives saved might have in fact been his own, since he had just finished boot camp in Biloxi, Mississippi at the time of the unprecedented military action. It did not escape me then or now that the horrific attack on Hiroshima may have ironically saved not only my father-in-law’s progeny but by extension mine as well. As is often and oddly and sadly the case, in order to fulfill a mandate of compassion it is necessary to take drastic measures in dealing with the present injustices that exist in the world.

The events in the world today, and specifically surrounding Israel are both disconcerting and oddly reminiscent of the events surrounding WWII. Though Israel has no desire to be involved in the present and protracted violence, it recognizes that what she does today is often necessary for its survival. During WWII though nobody required the allied forces to respond “proportionately” to the violent incursions of evil. It was widely recognized that Proportionality merely allowed those bent upon destruction to continue their activities longer and protracted the violence of war. President Harry S. Truman wrote concerning the decision to drop the bomb, “I felt to extract a genuine surrender from the Emperor and his military advisors there must be administered a tremendous shock which would carry convincing proof of the power to destroy the Empire. Such an effective shock would save the many times the number of lives, both American and Japanese, than it cost.” Yet reasonable people cannot be comfortable with the nuclear proliferation that has followed that initial action. How should true believers feel when attempting to hold hatred of violence and compassion for those victimized, in creative tension with contempt for evil and the necessity in this world for swift and proportionate justice?

This week’s parsha Ki Tetse begins, “When you go to war against your enemies.” The realities and assumptions of the ancient world are expressed in this statement from God by the mouth of Moses. Notice it says when and not if. This does not mean that the Holy One universally advocates war; rather that He recognizes that in this age there will be war. In the ancient world, life was governed and patterned by morally capricious and mean spirited deities, not a benevolent and purposeful God. The message then was clearly understood – grab what you can when you can. But Torah initiates a change in how first Israel, and then the other nations would begin to understand and incorporate mercy and compassion into the fabric of society.

Of course this can be hard to observe from the first command given in this parsha. Roughly paraphrased, if a man takes a woman as a spoil of war, he is commanded to give her a place in his harem rather than merely discarding her, in this way domesticating and systematizing war rape. But there is also a caveat that if the man should grow weary of the woman he can dismiss her, but may not sell her into slavery. Certainly these practices would not be deemed acceptable today anywhere in the civilized western society. The men of Israel are told how to treat women captured in war, but are never told to keep their hands off, instruction which, from our ethical vantage point, would be considerably better. But within a world system where women were considered weak and inferior, valued only for their physical appeal and procreative abilities, the laws of Israel provided much greater protection. In the ancient Near East, when a woman’s apparent fate was captivity, she would beautify herself in hopes of being accorded mercy by way of her captives. Only in the Torah of Israel are war captives afforded this level of civility, given an appropriate length of time to mourn their dead while being cared for and protected, and only then could they be “married” by their captors. Though it may sound ludicrous on the surface, the biblical narrative and stipulations do describe a process of taming an already chaotic world. Israel and its law system are radical and transforming to the ancient world of the bible, but they do not immediately overturn the entire social order of the existing world system. To say they did not go far enough in the immediate might seem accurate from our perspective, but they introduce standards of mercy that were previously absent in the world. Torah describes the entrance of God’s cosmic ordering into the socio-moral plane. Israel in turn acts as the conduit of God’s principles to a world already filled with disharmony, violence and inequality.

Ki Tetse continues to lay out an array of commandments all concerned with ethical and moral treatment, and compassion for all. The favoring of siblings (21:15-17), dealing with difficult unruly offspring (21:18-21), the dignity of the deceased (21:22-23), compassion toward animals (22:6-7; 10; 25:4) and the proper treatment of hired help (24:14-15) are all covered in this portion. Like the treatment of women, the statutes contained in this portion may at times seem inadequate, dated, or irrelevant to us. But in fact they represent a code and trajectory that has changed and transformed the world and continues to do so. They suggest to us that first and foremost our creator wishes us to imitate him by bringing a touch of mercy into an already unjust world. Only in Torah can mercy and justice be held together in such a delicate tension.

An ancient Midrash tells of a king who was in possession of a delicate set of glasses. He desired to pour hot drink into them but feared they might expand and shatter. He wished to pour cold drinks into them but feared they might contract and break. So he chose to mix together the hot and the cold beverages and pour them into the glasses leaving them uncompromised and intact. In the same way the midrash continues, the Holy One, blessed be He, mixes together mercy and justice, for if the world were filled with only justice who might stand, but if it were filled with only mercy, evil would proliferate.

Above all God is the Merciful One If we wish to imitate him we must bring compassion into all of the circumstances of life. The High Holidays are approaching, a time of reflection and introspection. This is a time where we ask the Holy One how we might better reflect His glory in the coming year.

Rachmunas – compassion – is what we see in the Torah passage because God is a compassionate God. If we want to make him smile we ask ourselves the question, “ How can I be a more compassionate human being and bring mercy into an often unjust world?” As moms, dads, friends, neighbors, employers, and children of God – how can we live and act more compassionately? Through the month of Elul as you hear the shofar, and into the days of awe, Torah compels us to answer this question.

Some options are necessary and demand our immediate attention.  We get hungry and eating becomes a necessary option.  We are worn out and sleeping is our best option.

Most options though, are postponable, and we respond in kind.  It would be nice to wash the car, change the oil, and tune the engine on a regular basis. But if push comes to shove, the car will run a long way with mud on the hood, dirt in the crankcase, a miss in the engine, and even wear on the tires.  It is obvious, though, that even postponable options demand their due.  We can put our taxes off for a time, yet doing them on April 16th could be a bad choice.

Some options are undoubtedly bad, and yet we argue that we are propelled into them beyond our control.  The alarm goes off earlier than we expect so we shut it off and go back to sleep.  We might wake up late and let everyone know we are a tad grouchy.  We might speed to work and once we arrive, make promises predicated upon only the most perfect of conditions in order to quiet the incessant demands of clients, customers, coworkers or employers.  All along excusing our behavior as necessary.

Of course good options can create as large a threat to our time.  I love to read and there are extensive choices of books.  Amazon is always offering a great sale, special discounts and free delivery for a “limited time” (I think this means my lifetime.).  Unfortunately I find that I am the one with limited time and a limited budget.  Life seems to offer abundantly good options, yet limited resources with which to take advantage. Therefore even a good choice can be a bad choice if made at the wrong time.

New technology and the information super highway, produce expanding choices in a heartbeat.  Unfortunately expanding options often lead to deceptive options.  A shiny new car hides the promise of a large payment book.  “You deserve a break today” seems to suggest other than marginal food in a Styrofoam box; or… how about the concepts of  “free love” or “retirement with nothing to do”. Madison Avenue and pop-culture assure that our choices are not always what they appear to be.

Every option motivates us. Our choices are neither passive nor neutral.  They persuade us to respond. We live under pressure to conform, to perform, to create, and to commit.  We are inundated by choices.  So…how do we spell relief?

P-R-I-O-R-I-T-I-E-S?

Many of us have tried a sequential approach.  You know … God 1^st, Family 2^nd, Congregation 3^rd, Work 4^th, Country 5^th, … clean the hall closet 6457^th. If only that which demands our time and attention fit so neatly in hermetically sealed categories then such a linear approach to life might work.

Let’s try again. How do you spell relief?

S-H-E-M-A!

Hashem gives us a short system of principles (Deut. 6:4-9) by which we can attempt to apply His commandments and sort out His highest values and top priorities.  Within the Jewish liturgical system this portion has come to be known as the Sh’ma and the V’ahavta, but for mnemonic purposes I would like to refer to it as the 4D portion. Not only because it will help us to explore the height, width, depth and timeliness of life’s demands, but more importantly it affords us a helpful alliteration to remember. In the Sh’ma and V’ahavta Moses reveals the foundational Doctrine, Duty, Discipline, and Demonstration by which all of life’s demands might be ordered.

Doctrine  v.4

Most often in modern parlance, doctrine or dogma is thought of negatively. It is often conceived of as a set of inflexible rules that are used by institutions to manipulate, control, and dominate those who are not free thinkers. In fact doctrine has been used historically by some groups to just that end. But it need not be so. The Shema is the foundational doctrine of Judaism and it simply expresses the essential nature of G-d and his relationship to us. “Hear O Israel, HaShem is God, HaShem alone.” Succinctly put, God is everywhere – G-d is here. A good friend of mine likes to say that when Hashem is on the throne, then we do not have to bear the weight of the world on our shoulders.” If you think you have time for no other prayer, say one Shema before bed and upon waking up. This simple prescription will change how you order your life, guaranteed!

Duty v.5

If the foundational prescription for a disordered life is recognition of Hashem’s love and protection over us, then the second dose is acceptance of the fundamental duty to love Him in return.  We are instructed to do so with “all of your heart, with all of your soul and with all of your might.”

• The heart (lev) is the seat of our emotions. But in biblical Hebrew it is also understood as the place of our minds or intellect. We cannot be disengaged objectors in life, rather as we feel so we think, and as we think so we do. To truly love God, others and ourselves requires a committed engagement of our mind and hearts.
• The soul (nefesh) represents our holistic being. Even more than our emotions and our intellect, our soul is our mysterious life force, which cannot be measured or studied. The soul is the fullness of humanity that comes upon mankind when God breathes life into His creation. Our love of God should include a willingness to offer our lives back to God.
• Might (m’od) is not constituted solely by physical strength or military might, rather by all of our entire physicality, that which is innate and that which is acquired alike.  This would include our physical sustenance, all of which should be acknowledged as coming from our benevolent creator. The Wisdom of Ben Sirach, comments on this  “ Love him who made you with all your strength, and do not forsake his ministers.” (7:30-31)

According to Rabbinical tradition, the patriarchs loved God in this way – Abraham with the fullness of his emotions and his intellect, Isaac by willingly offering up his very life, and Jacob by pledging all that he possessed back to God by the banks of the Jabbok River. Certainly there is no better example of this full-orbed love of the father than in the life of Yeshua.

Discipline v.6-7

If our fundamental duty is to respond to God’s love in kind, then we should develop disciplines to infuse our lives and the lives of our children with the love of God and a love for God.  Here we are taught to impress these ideas upon our children and ourselves.  So often we wish to compartmentalize our lives, separating our religious convictions from our everyday lives. Ask yourself throughout the day, “How am I doing?” Remember neither your money, nor your time, nor even your thoughts belong solely to you! Are you wasting your time on the trivial? Are your choices serving Hashem and others, or merely satisfying your animal nature?  Who is watching and what do they see, a spiritual giant or an emotional midget?

For this reason the sage’s first determination in Mishnah Berachot is that we should repeat the Shema in the evening preferably before midnight, and in the morning during the first quarter of the day (Ber.1: 1-2). I would throw in a few midday doses. It’s not traditional but surely you will not OD! Truly our words concretize our priorities.

Demonstration  v.8-9

If our words can influence what we do, then certainly what we do influences what we become. According to the famous poet W. H. Auden, “Human beings are by nature actors, who cannot become something until they have pretended to be it. They are therefore to be divided, not into the hypocritical and the sincere, but the sane, who know they are acting; and the mad who do not.” I believe that is why we are given so much ritual instruction in Torah. The human body and soul has an incredible memory. Give the nefesh good patterns and it will stay on that path. Just think how many hours Kobe Bryant spent in the gym shooting jumpers before he became KOBE.

We are instructed to “Bind them (the teachings) as a sign on your hand and as a symbol on your forehead; inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” Tzitit and mezuzot are like the string on the finger of Judaism. They are reminders to ourselves of what our highest priorities should be. The t’fillin are bound to the left arm and are worn next to the heart. The yare also worn between our eyes which are the “gateway to the soul”. Figuratively they should remind us to love HaShem with all our heart, soul and might. It should also serve as a reminder that all that we put our head and our hands to should be dedicated to our God. While the t’fillin are acts of personal commitment, the mezuzah is a public declaration of commitment. Once it is placed on the doorpost the world knows who we are and whom we serve. Yet, it is also the gateway to our homes, to the most private and often secretive sanctum of our lives. So we commit to endeavor to make all of our life, public and private dedicated to HaShem. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of life, these outward demonstrations can be welcome interruptions that hopefully serve to reorient our priorities and encourage us to restructure our lives.

I believe that if we diligently practice the 4D’s then the love of Hashem and our love for Him will naturally order our priorities, rather than the demands of our lives ordering them. Perfect love makes us complete, but practice makes perfect.

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There are always two unseen guests at every bris, neither has been specifically invited, yet the spirit of each is evoked.   Of course Elijah is the first unseen guest as he often is at Jewish celebrations and commemorations. Elijah represents more than Israel’s glorious past, but in addition he embodies our most precious hopes.   It is in his chair that the baby is held signifying the messianic promise that is being cut in this covenant. But also Elijah’s alter ego is present in Pinchas. The beginning of today’s parsha is read at every bris.

The LORD said to Moses, “Pinchas son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron, the priest, has turned my anger away from the Israelites; for he was as zealous as I am for my honor among them, so that in my zeal I did not put an end to them. Therefore tell him I am making my covenant of peace with him. He and his descendants will have a covenant of a lasting priesthood, because he was zealous for the honor of his God and made atonement for the Israelites.” (Bamidbar 25:11-13)

What an odd invocation for a bris; odder still Pinchas is never mentioned again during the ceremony. So who is this Pinchas, and why evoke his name?

Ode To a Religious Fanatic

The name of Pinchas first appears at the end of last week’s parsha, Balak. Pinchas appears out of nowhere as the zealous protector of Israel’s honor.   Baalam the prophet/diviner/mercenary had been employed by Balak the tribal ruler of Moab to curse Israel so that Moab might overtake them. Unfortunately for the Moabite though, Balaam discovered that he could not curse that which Hashem had blessed, so rather than cursing Israel, he is ironically compelled to pronounce beautiful and insightful blessings, many which remain part of our liturgy to this day.  According to tradition, since Balaam could not complete his insidious task, he counseled Balak to entice Jewish men to debauchery knowing that sexual morality is a foundation of Jewish holiness. (Nevuchim 1:36; Sanhdrin 106a). Not only then did Balak send Moabite women to entice the general population, but also the women of Midian were employed to undermine Israel’s leadership. So when Zimri son of Salu an elder of the tribe of Simeon was so brazen as to bring Cozbi a mideanite woman in plain sight into the center of Israel’s camp, it was a direct affront and challenge to the structure and authority of Moses leadership. Thirty five hundred years later it is somewhat axiomatic that the unchallenged relaxation of commonly held mores can potentially begin the slow erosion of societal foundations, and sex and money have the capacity to diminish or destroy religious endeavors. But few today would condone the spontaneous and apparently overzealous actions of Pinchas the avenger, who takes matters into his own hands, impaling both with one spear as they cohabitated. Outrageous? Over the top? Shocking? Overly dramatic? Illegal?  Yes, yes, yes, yes, and according to Jewish law yes. But surprisingly God seems to approve. It seems best for us to think of this as far more extreme than occasionally permissible, for in fact it is downright exceptional. In other words, “don’t try this at home kids.”

Dare I say that if there is ever a time that widespread biblical illiteracy may have an unexpected benefit it is at a bris, a time when the parents are undoubtedly feeling a little tension concerning their newborn child undergoing minor surgery without the benefit of what is normally considered adequate anesthetic.  I confess that though I am the father of four daughters and no sons, I am often too happy to stand in the back while the bris is taking place. The mohel will often try to alleviate the tension and distract the nervous parents by speaking comforting words, telling jokes, and at times treating the procedure as a slight of hand akin to a parlor magic act, all of which are completely appropriate.  So then reading a passage of Torah that evokes the memory of a religious fanatic with a sharp object seems at the least unsettling. But while the obvious concern is for the little innocent at that the moment, the parents concern should most appropriately remain with the child’s place in the plans of Hashem; and the obvious demands that are incumbent to maintain the people of Israel as a people of God. When reminded of Pinchas we must effectively ask: How much are we willing to do for the causes that we believe are important to God?  What in life is so sacred that we would risk all for it? Which causes are so important to us that we will let no person stand in our way? As we formally welcome a new child into the Jewish community are we going to transmit those passions to him or her? Will this child witness the passion? When? How?

The Ballad of A Depressed Prophet

If Pinchas’ zeal is for the proliferation and protection of Israel – then Elijah’s fire burns against Israel. The story of Pinchas in this week’s Torah portion is unsettling because he could be any person in the crowd, taking law and matters in his own hands. We do not know of him previously, and he does not seem to have any specific anointing of God, or the imprimatur of Israel’s governing authorities. He just acts! Then in an even more unsettling move Hashem approves of his unchecked zeal.  Elijah as told in the narrative of I Kings 17 is God’s man. He is imbued with power and informed by the spirit of the Living God.  He called down fire from heaven, and even wet down his own offering to further mock the prophets of Baal. Then when Elijah had totally humiliated the false prophets, he rallied the mob that had assembled to slaughter them in the brook Kidron. Sure he is the worker of many miracles, but in some way he becomes a miracle junky, elevated only by the hype of the moment and his next fix of power. This week’s Haftarah portion begins with Elijah’s unexpected exile. I suppose that Elijah had expected the apostate Ahab and is foreign queen Jezebel to turn tail and run when they got the bad news concerning their prophets, but instead Jezebel undauntedly threatened Elijah’s life. It is Elijah who turns tail and runs a day’s journey from Beersheba into the wilderness. Here he entreats God to take his life. At the first sign of failure he runs and whines. The apparent message; God failed him, he was the faithful servant, God is the unappreciative master. Elijah is good as long as God brings the goodies.  Elijah presents himself here as religious narcissist, with an over inflated sense of entitlement. He deflects any and all responsibility. The narrative is actually infuriating, and I often think as I read this that if I were Holy One I might have granted Elijah his wish; but this is never how Hashem works (i.e. Jonah, Moses). It can be said that Elijah’s life is a three-act play. In chapter 17 he thinks he is somebody. In chapter 18 he realizes he is nobody. Then in chapter 19 Elijah finds out how much God can do with somebody who thinks they are nobody. Hashem sustains Elijah for forty days in the wilderness and then brings him to mount Horeb, to the very place according to tradition where His Glory passed behind Moses. The haftarah records an odd exchange between Elijah and God. Twice God asks Elijah why he is there. The answer appears quite obvious since Hashem’s angelic emissaries led him to that place. But Elijah responds instead by saying,

“I have been exceedingly zealous for Hashem, God of Hosts, for the children of Israel have abandoned your covenant, raised Your altars, they have killed Your prophets with the sword, so that I alone remain.” (I Kings 19:10, 14)

In this one statement Elijah deflects criticism from him, indicts all of Israel and accuses God of abandoning him.  Elijah’s actions are strangely reminiscent of the following admonition from German theologian and pastor Deitrich Bonehoffer,

“God hates visionary dreaming; it makes the dreamer proud and pretentious.  The man who fashions a visionary ideal of community demands that it be realized by God, by others, and by himself. He enters the community of believers with his demands, sets up his own law, and judges the brethren and God Himself accordingly.  He stands adamant, a living reproach to all others in the circle of brethren.  He acts as if he is the creator of the believing community, as if his dream binds men together.  When things do not go his way, he calls the effort a failure. When his ideal picture is destroyed, he sees the community going to smash. So he becomes, first the accuser of his brethren, then an accuser of God, and finally the despairing accuser of himself.”

It is clear in Elijah’s tone that if God were to act appropriately, then Ahab and Jezebel would be instantly deposed and the entire world would know it is due to Elijah’s supercharged ministry. But this is in fact not Hashem’s immediate plan.

Hymn for the Real Deal

It is at this time that the God of Israel teaches his disgruntled employee the real meaning of power.
Hashem said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of Hashem, for the Presence of Hashem is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Hashem, but the Hashem was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Hashem was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Hashem was not in the fire. And after the fire came a small still voice. (1 Kings 19:11-12)

The message is clear. The Lord can break mountains, and shake the Earth, but most often His true presence is discerned in small and gentle actions. Elijah responds to the small still voice and wraps his face in his cloak. It is rarely the brazen and the vociferous that exemplify God like action but rather the quiet, the spiritual, the unassuming. The Spirit of God is the voice to our soul. This is God’s immediate revelation to the heart.  Miracles sound the great bell of nature to call attention; but the Spirit is G-d’s voice to the soul.  Sterness hardens; love alone melts. This does not mean that there are not times that call for bold and deliberate action, but most off true heroics are as quiet and unassuming as the small still voice that inspires them.

Elijah is then told three things that he will accomplish, anoint Hazel king of Aram, anoint Jehu king of Israel, and anoint Elisha a prophet in his own stead. Ironically he does not actually accomplish himself any of the three tasks, except for the appointment of Elisha. It is rather through the ministry of Elisha that his legacy is affected and the other two tasks are completed. Elijah learns that the greatest work of God is not accomplished through a single vessel, but rather is affected through the network of relationships that are inspired by the Spirit.

We often imagine true grit to be the fiery escapades of a self-reliant super hero. But nothing could be further from the truth. True zeal for God’s highest standards require that we subordinate our own designs, timetables, and needs, for the greater good of Hashem’s purposes.  At times we seek deliverance, but instead God is offering peace. Other times we want excitement to arouse us from our empathy for the mundane, but instead we remain in the throws of the usual. How often do we ask for a word or a sign, but instead we are expected to learn the syntax of silence?  At times we search for God’s intervention, but when we ask Him to remove our circumstances, He often desires us to change in the midst of them.  When we respond to His gentle whisper though, He can remove our despair, give us a new purpose and direction, and make us partakers of His greater plans.

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Every year we read Parashat Balak and I am utterly amazed. What a remarkably different approach to a reoccurring.  Many have understood Torah as love letters between Hashem and Israel. In fact the focus of Torah is upon the covenant between Israel and their God, and rarely does it concern itself with the internal affairs of other people. Yet this story stars a non-Jew who is described as a wise and powerful seer, and quite ironically he derives all of his power from the God of Israel.

This story begins with the best supporting actor, the Gentile King Balak, who hires a gentile Prophet Bilaam to curse Israel so he can defeat them in battle. Balak tempts, bribes, cajoles, demands and threatens that Bilaam curse Israel. Bilaam on the other hand understands the source of his power and explains that he can neither curse nor bless without first receiving divine permission. When he seeks Hashem though he is told, “Do not curse the people, ki varukh hu, for it is blessed.” So what is God saying about us? Are the Jewish people truly blessed and if so what does that even mean?

The medieval commentator Lekah Tov understands this phrase to mean that we are blessed because of the zekhut avot, the righteous deeds of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs. We their later descendants benefit from the blessing to this day. But how are we blessed? What is the intrinsic nature of this blessing?

We are blessed with a rich memory that sustains us.  As a people we enjoy a continuous identity that goes back to the very earliest layers of human history. From Abraham and Sarah to any Jewish newborn we know where we come from and who we are meant to be. In an age of rootlesseness, in a time of confusion about identity, the Jewish people have the luxury of knowing our beginnings and identifying with our rich and varied history.

We are blessed with a profound way of life. Not only do we have a history that is ancient and continuing, but also we have a way of life that is rich and rewarding. The cycle of Shabbats, holy days and festivals add shape and texture to our weeks and years, allowing us to create precious occasions to cherish and enjoy. The holidays, the mitzvot and the orderliness of our lives allow us to maintain a deep sense of community in the midst of the atomizing affects of modernity.

We are blessed with the task of being messengers of Hashem’s love and justice to a world without hope. Our religious tradition harnesses beautiful ritual for the sake of ethical rigor. The Torah teaches us to care for the sick, to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, to care for the earth, a message as vital and urgent as the day it was first articulated on Sinai. No less revolutionary today, the notion that all people are God’s image bearers and therefore worth of the respect and dignity continues to transform and elevate the world. We walk in the footsteps of the Jewish Messiah who continues to urge all of humanity out of its probationary state. Ours is the privilege of reiterating that message as we carry it in our personage.

In so many ways we are blessed to be the descendants of those who Balaam saw from a distance in the wilderness. But there is still another way to understand the prophet’s rejoinder. The word barukh may be passive, meaning blessed. But it may also be an active adjective, and in that case it can mean the source of blessing. When we say a berakhah, we are saying that God is generous to us, and then we specify how God’s bounty is manifest in that particular instance.

Using this understanding, we understand Bilaam’s reluctance to curse Israel as a result of seeing them as the source of blessing. Reading the text in that way Bilaam is offering us a really great challenge. Our mission as Jews and those enjoined to the Jewish people is to be a source of blessing, not merely for ourselves, but also for all of humanity.  So Bilaam reiterates Hashem’s promise to Abraham, “Blessed are those you bless, and cursed are those you curse.” Our task then is to serve as God’s representatives on earth, as He is the source of blessing for all creation, so we too are to be a source of blessing.

The way we live our lives, then must be measured not only by our ritual observances but also more so by how we embody the ethical mitzvot. By shouldering the burdens that weigh others down, by conducting our lives and our business in honorable and productive fashion, and by embodying patience and compassion in all of our endeavors, we can endeavor to live up to Bilaam’s high expectations.  Let’s remember that they were God’s expectations first.

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Parashat Chukat is among the most enigmatic in all of Torah.  While it gives closure to the lives of Moses siblings, it opens three new mysteries in the fabric of Israel’s, story, a peculiar ordinance, an odd deliverance, and a strange brand of justice.  Though I won’t discuss them in this order, the following mnemonic title, “Three Children of Amram, Two Strange Cows, and a Rock with a Perpetual Living Stream” should help with the process of remembering the odd thematic happenings in parsha Chukat.

Two Strange Cows

Not only is this entire portion among the most strange and mysterious in all of Torah, but also it begins with ordinance of chukat, or the Red Heifer, which is among the most enigmatic decrees in Torah. One could ask, why a red heifer in particular, or what is a red heifer (how red must a red heifer be), or most fundamentally why a she heifer rather than the usual male require for other sacrificial rites. I find this question the most fascinating. According to one tradition this is Israel’s atonement for the Golden Calf, for just as a mother cleans up after her child, so the She – Heifer atones for the calf.

Due to the strange almost superstitious nature of the rite of the red Heifer, it could appear to mirror some of the pagan practices that surrounded Israel. R. Yochanon ben Zakkai when questioned about the rite of the heifer answered a Roman official “ Just as a person possessed by unclean spirits is freed by certain medications or the burning of certain roots, so the ashes of the Red Heifer dissolved in water drives away the spirits of defilement.” The Midrashic tradition sites his disciples’ dissatisfaction with his answer, “You have sent the heathen away with a broken reed of an answer, but what will you answer us.” But his subsequent answer to them is in fact a non-answer that upholds the mystery of God’s ways, “By your lives, the dead man does not defile, neither does the water with the ashes of the heifer make pure, but it is a decree from the King of Kings, whose reasons it behooves not mortals to question.”

What Yochanon Ben Zakkai is indicating is that the purifying rite of the red Heifer is not only enigmatic but also paradoxical. We further read in this Torah portion that the water with the ashes of the Red Heifer purifies that which is defiled, but at the same time it defiles those who are involved in the process of preparation. To this theme the Talmud reflects that Torah forbids the drinking of blood, but an infant nurses from its mother, whose blood is transformed into milk as a source of life (Niddah 9a).  This paradox can also be helpful while pondering that the holiest work of HaShem is not normally accomplished in one’s own insular world of personal piety, but rather out in a world in need of help – recognizing that one may get a little dirty in the process. The great apostle spoke so of the Yeshua’s incarnate mission,

Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God something to be possessed by force. On the contrary, he emptied himself, in that he took the form of a slave by becoming like human beings are. And when he appeared as a human being, he humbled himself still more by becoming obedient even to death— death on a stake as a criminal. (Philippians 2:6-8

Three Children of Amram

This parsha finalizes for us the destiny of Amram’s children – Moses, Aaron and Miriam, with the death of Miriam and a fateful act of disobedience on the part of Moses.  They are counted as parnisim tovim , or amongst Israel’s good leaders. In many ways their lives though, are like the paradox of the Red Heifer – allowing themselves to be symbolically defiled for the sake of those they purify. According to the midrash, Yochaved Moses’ mother outlives her children the prophet, the prophetess and the high priest. Since they were the progenitors of the nation, it is as though she is the parent to the 600k who enter the promise. Later in this portion Moses will strike a rock in anger, when god merely asked him to speak to it. Moses’ sin does not seem so large to us, given his marvelous constancy  — his humility, faithfulness, generosity and his sublime patience, especially compared with the fickleness of those he lead – their constant murmuring, mutinies, and woeful self-assertions. But Judaism teaches that he greater the man the stricter the standard by which he is judged.

A Rock With a Perpetual Living Stream

To understand the nature of Moses sin we must first investigate the unique nature of the rock that he struck and its relationship to HaShem’s provision in the wilderness. The aggadic tradition is helpful in this respect. At Marah and Elim (Shemot15) Moses listened to God and threw a branch in bitter water.  The water was miraculously sweetened. The sages say God is not like humankind and does not need sweetness to sweeten bitterness. According to the Midrash the twelve wells at Elim had barely enough water to irrigate the 70 palm trees that appeared in the oasis and the trees did not provide enough shade for the throngs of Israelites, but miraculously the wells produced enough water to provide for the 603 thousand children of Israel and the palms fully bloomed to provide shade.

Later at Rephadim (Shemot 19) was by Dathan and a quarrelsome mob challenged Moses. Moses responded with forgiveness, “God has heard your prayers and he forgives you. Dathan challenged Moses and said you have found a stream the way the shepherds do. Moses struck a rock as God had commanded and water gushed out. To this Dathan still Jeered, “must we wait for a miracle every day.  In Egypt we had a river that flowed every day.”

But Miriam believed in the miracles of water ever since she had placed Moses in the Nile as a baby. She believed in the tradition that God had created a great spring on the 2^nd day of creation, from which Abraham had watered his flock, and over which he had prophesied, “Three score and ten generations of Israel shall water here.” Miriam had touched a sieve like rock in the valley that contained this spring. Suddenly twelve rivers gushed from it.  Along the rivers trees grew and flowers gave fragrance, and everywhere Israel went for 40 years in the desert the rock and the stream followed.

The tradition goes on to say that following Miriam’s death the water ceased to give water. At the desert of Meribah Moses became so enraged with the dissidents that he struck the rock when God asked him to speak to it. Only a single drop came out. So he raised his staff to heaven and struck the rock and it gushed blood. All cried “God is no more with us the prophet is no more.” The rock cried why have you struck me? And God also cried, “I told you to speak to the rock not to strike it. I told you to lead my people not to insult them. If they are blasphemers, why should you go where I am leading you? You teach doubt to those who have faith; you erase my name in the hearts of those who seek me; and you expect them to find me? He commanded the rock, “Be healed of your blood: let the water cleanse you.” The blood covered the sand of the desert with roses and the water reflected them.

It is this aggadic tradition that Rav Shaul seems to be referring to in the Brit Hadasha when he says, “also they all ate the same food from the Spirit, and they all drank the same drink from the Spirit—for they drank from a Spirit-sent Rock which followed them, and that Rock was the Messiah.” (1Corinthians 10:3-4) The great apostle seems to have picked up on the enigma of the text as illumined by mysterious tradition of the community of Israel. How strange that God would command Israel to be purified by the ashes of a heifer, or rebuke the one he chose to lead a nation of insolent ex-slaves, or preserve the nation with a perpetual well in the form of a mobile rock.  None of these is more mysterious though then God’s choice to purify the nation with the blood from a stone, a stone that was the Messiah. But Shaul might have echoed the words of Yochanon ben Zakkai, “By your lives, the dead man does not defile, neither does the water with the ashes of the heifer make pure, but it is a decree from the King of Kings, whose reasons it behooves not mortals to question.”

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“…you will dwell securely in your land. I will provide peace in the land…” (Vayikra 26:5-6)

After the Torah guarantees that we will dwell in our land safely if we observe the mitzvot, it states redundantly, “I will provide peace in the land.” Some commentators explain that the second reference is intended to draw our attention to the internal state of peace that should exist within the nation of Israel. The sages have told us that where there is dissention and strife among the Jews then the Satan can ply his evil trade among us. In fact according to our tradition the First Temple was destroyed in 586 B.C.E. due to widespread idolatry, but God allowed the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. because of divisiveness, contempt among Jews and failure to provide for the most needy and helpless within the Israel’s society. But as part of our covenant with HaShem, it is understood that if we maintain peace within the community then we can be assured of peace and security from without as well.

The covenant itself is made with the entire community of Israel, not merely with select individuals who comprise it. From this we should recognize that personal piety is valueless outside the context of communal health and well-being. One cannot properly keep the mitzvot in a vacuum. To be obedient to God, others within the community must be the beneficiaries of our gemilut hasadim (deeds of loving kindness). This is why Yeshua considered neighborly love to be the most indicative response of divine love.

A congregation therefore is not just a collection of individuals; rather it is the source of meaning and direction for the lives of the individuals who comprise it. Therefore the relationship between the religious community and its members is profoundly mysterious. The seeds of the community reside in humanity in much the same way that a gem originates in the ground and until it is cut and polished it is only a stone. Like a gem its facets and also its imperfections best describe a congregation. So for the covenant community to be truly refined its members should make significant commitments to rejoice together, mourn together, to delight in each other, and make one another’s condition their own.

To appropriately honor God and uphold His highest standards the covenant community must be a safe haven where people are free to grow and heal. Since people rarely feel completely safe and wholly accepted it is incumbent upon the community to be relatively inclusive. This does not mean that every difference can or must be absorbed, or that the boundaries that define the community should be eradicated. In fact it is of utmost importance that distinctiveness and particularity of the community be maintained, yet every measure should be taken to avoid internal cliques and factions, or attitudes of hypocritical elitism. For people to truly heal they must first become willing to expose their wounds and weaknesses to others and allow them to do the same. In a safe community this kind of vulnerability snowballs, but to do so requires a willingness on the part of all to be inadvertently wounded by the wounded state of others.

For the community of Israel and each congregation that is a microcosm of it to live up to the standards of God’s covenant, they must first become laboratories of disarmament. This does not mean that we should expect utopian congregations without any level of conflict. Sometimes consensus in community is reached quickly and at other times it takes great patience. To have peace in the community, though, we need to learn to resolve conflict without emotional bloodshed, but with grace and wisdom. Learning to fight gracefully is part of the process of learning to live together peacefully.

Realistic expectations are helpful toward developing harmonious communities. Imagining our communities, as heavenly abodes with harp-laden cherubim will only add to the frustration and disappointment of all involved. Perhaps a more useful image is of an amphitheater where the gladiators have laid down their armor and have sharpened their skills of listening and understanding. The congregation should be place where we respect each other’s gifts, and accept one another’s limitations, where we bind each other’s wounds and are committed to struggling together instead of against one another.

It is popularly thought, “If a group can resolve their conflicts then they can live together in community.” I believe though that this is stated somewhat backward. The dream should sound more like this. “ If we can learn to live peacefully in community then maybe someday we will resolve our conflicts, both within and without.”