In All Our Splendour; a Drash for Shabbat Tetzaveh, Saturday 8 February 2014

In My Big Fat Greek Wedding, one of my favourite films of all time, Gus Portakalos has a schtick where he tells whoever will listen:  Give me a word, any word.  And I’ll show you how it come from the Greek.  So in one of the opening, flashback scenes, one of the girls riding in the car says:  How about ‘kimono’?  Gus thinks for a moment, then he has a flash of insight:  Chimonas is the Greek word for ‘winter.’  And what do you wear in winter when is cold?  A Robe.  Chimonas, Kimono.  There you go!

          A lot of words that we use in English daily come from Greek, and I don’t think ‘kimono’ is one of them.  But ‘gynecologist’ is!

          Today’s Torah reading opens with a description, not of a kimono, but of the robe worn by the High Priest as part of his vestments for performing the duties of his office.  It was not enough that he performed his duties correctly.  Since his role was seen as serving as intermediary between God and man, he needed to do so in all his splendour.

Now I tend to chafe under any suggestion that my office, that of the community’s rabbi, bears any resemblance to that of the priests of the ancient Temple.  It’s true that the synagogue and what we do in it, is a substitute the Temple and its service.  We see what we do here, as reaching towards God in our time and place.  But my role is not really the equivalent of that of the priests.  I’m here to teach, interpret, and perhaps inspire.  I’m not here to serve as an intermediary between you and God.  Even so, there are certain parameters of my role that you expect me to express in certain, specific ways.  But there is really not a unique vestment for me to wear.  Even so, most of you would think it inappropriate if I dressed casually on the pulpit.  You want to see me in all my splendor.

As you can see, it is my custom to wear a pulpit robe topped by a narrow tallit when I’m on the pulpit.  It isn’t an allusion to priestly vestments, but really is supposed to resemble academic wear.  This style of dress on the Bimah became popular when Reform Judaism had its genesis in the nineteenth century, and it remains popular and appropriate today.  One mindset introduced by Reform, is adopted from Protestant Christianity:  the idea of the clergy as being of scholarly bent.  The black robe alludes to that.

I like wearing a robe, because it takes away the need for wearing a tie, a piece of clothing I don’t especially like.  Still, nobody ever told me the robe was required.  But I sense that many of you find it comforting in a way.  It sets me apart and makes me into a symbol of sorts.  This recognizes the symbolic role I fulfill.  For me in my role, a black robe with a narrow tallit represents a way for me to stand before you in all my splendour.

          My pulpit robe, unique to my office though it is, cannot be compared to the splendor of the High Priest’s vestments.  But it is a special garment, for a special purpose.  There was a time when most of us would have had special clothes that we wore to shule, and nowhere else.  Again, not to compare with the splendor of the High Priest’s robes and accessories.  Rather, just to mark off coming to shule as a special activity – so special, that we would wear something that we don’t wear any other time.  Each and every Jew would endeavor to appear in shule in all his splendour.

          Over the years, the idea of a special suit of clothes for shule gave way to just dressing nicely for shule – wearing our ‘dressiest’ clothes.  And now, very few of us would think to wear anything that we would not necessarily wear any other day of the week.

          It really wasn’t that long ago, that women were expected to wear dresses or ensembles with skirts to shule.  And men were expected to wear a jacket and tie.  There still are congregations where those standards hold.  But in Progressive Judaism, we seem to have largely abandoned the idea of dress codes except for perhaps a minimal standard of covering one’s shoulders.  And wearing something clean and in good repair. 

I’m a casual sort of guy and therefore not really nostalgic for the days when it was considered ‘required’ to dress up for shule.  I don’t get at all upset when you show up for shule in your everyday clothes.  Oh, I suppose I prefer not to see a lot of bare skin in shule, and that you come only in clothing that is clean and not torn.  And that you be freshly bathed and otherwise clean.  But I’m not one to prescribe a specific dress code, because frankly I would rather that you come – even with bare shoulders, even without freshly-washed hair – than not come at all.

          There are those who would disagree with such sentiments.  Dennis Prager, a commentator with whom I usually agree, thinks that the tendency to dress down, indicates a lack of respect.  Not just for religious services.  Every year at graduation time, he points out that it was once the custom to dress in your best to attend someone’s commencement ceremony.  He does not think that casual dress at times when it was once customary to dress up, is simply an indication of an overall casual ethic.  Rather, he thinks it indicates a lack of respect for these events that were once thought pivotal.  As he points out, few people dress casually to a wedding.  Or a funeral.

          Prager may have something there, and I don’t deny the connection between dress and respect.  But as I said, I prefer not to prescribe what people wear to shule.  I would rather you come to shule in everyday wear than not come.  If you were not here, today, how would I have had an opportunity to get you thinking with my words?  Or to uplift you with the words and sounds of our prayers?

          My colleague Adi Cohen, in Wellington, NZ, made the point in his drash this week that, when we wear something special to shule – or on Shabbat, period – we in effect create a little sacred space for ourselves.  It helps us to ‘fence off’ the time we spend in Shabbat worship as special.  And additionally, it makes us special, because it makes us feel special.

          I agree that it is important for us to feel special when we come to shule, and to the extent that dressing in some suit of clothes set aside for the occasion helps you to feel special, I certainly recommend it.  Or, at least, going out of your way to look nice.  But before we sit down together to hammer out a specific dress code for any who would enter these premises on Shabbat or any other time, I would ask that you consider what I’ve said.  Much as I’d like to see people dress with particular care and concern to come here, I want first and foremost that they come.  In the hierarchy of values, this stands out for me.  Let’s always keep things in perspective, and remember what is most important.  Come in all your splendour if you find it uplifting to do so.  But come either way.  Shabbat shalom.    

Remembering Arik; a Drash for Friday, 7 February 2014

Like so many others, my views of the world have evolved and changed as I’ve grown to middle age.  Many years ago, in the shadow of the Vietnam era, I was very likely to sing along with vigour whenever there was a chorus of John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance.  If I thought about military leaders at all, it was usually in a negative.  After all, military men were responsible for dragging America – and Australia as well – into a ‘senseless’ war in the jungles of Vietnam…weren’t they?  The pursuit of national goals through warfare was a habit that simply had to be broken.  Forming alliances, and providing aid to the downtrodden, was an idea whose time had come.  The military represented a worldview that was, at the very least, seriously outdated.

          Well, since you probably know that I’m speaking this evening after having served close to 30 years in my nation’s armed forces, you probably have at least a sense of where I’m going with this.  In the world of an eighteen-year-old’s dreams, there is a shining future where all of humanity works together for mutual benefit.  In the world of a middle-aged man’s experience there is a world where a complex web of influences and needs motivate people and nations for better and worse.  Perhaps more specifically, in the world of an eighteen-year-old’s dreams, the Prophet Isaiah’s pronouncement on beating swords into ploughshares, in the second chapter of his book, is read as an imperative; if we beat our swords into ploughshares, then a messianic age will come.  In the world of a middle-aged-man’s experience, we can finally read Isaiah’s pronouncement in its intended context; when we have the confidence to beat our swords into ploughshares, then that will be a sign that the messianic age has come.

          It’s in this spirit that I remember Ariel Sharon on this Shabbat, as the sheloshim – the thirty days’ mourning after his death – comes to a close.  My view of Ariel Sharon has evolved over time, as I’m sure has been the case for some of you.

          In Israel, it is very common for retired senior military leaders to have a second career of service as political leaders.  Three retired generals have served as Prime Minister:  Yitzchak Rabin, Ehud Barak, and Ariel Sharon.  In particular, there are interesting parallels between Rabin, who is remembered as a man of the Left, and Sharon, who will always be thought of as a man of the Right.  Both men, as Prime Minister, enacted bold strategies in grasping for peace:  brazen moves that probably only a general would have the confidence to enact.  For Rabin, it was the Oslo Accords.  For Sharon, it was a unilateral withdrawal from the Gaza Strip.  Both moves were bitterly opposed by other voices in their day.  In hindsight, both moves are commonly seen as not having achieved much positive progress toward Israel’s long-term peace and security.  But at the time, both moves were popularly seen as brilliant in giving Israel an ‘out’ from an unsustainable situation.

          Sharon, or ‘Arik’ as he has been affectionately known in Israel, was a towering, larger-than-life figure in a country that produces a lot of larger-than-life figures.  Even those whose political affiliation often put them at odds with Sharon the politician, had to admit that he was a formidable leader.  He had the boldness, not of a Chief of Staff, but of the battlefield commander that he was.  His career, both in the military and in politics, was noted for amazing successes interspersed with setbacks because of his essential non-conformity.

          Sharon was censured after a 1953 operation, a response to terror attacks into Israel from a West Bank village, resulted in a number of civilian casualties.  Then, in 1956, he conducted an unauthorised attack on Egyptian forces in Mitla Pass in the Sinai.  In the 1967 and 1973 wars, he achieved brilliant success.  But after retiring from the army, he was serving as Minister of Defence in 1982, at the time of the War in Lebanon and the Sabra and Shatilla Massacres.

          I remember the aftermath of the Sabra and Shatilla Massacres.  There was a tremendous protest in Kikar Malchei Yisrael in Tel Aviv, with over a quarter-million people in attendance, demanding an accounting of Israeli culpability in the incident.  After the findings of the independent Kahan Commission, Sharon was forced to resign as Defence Minister.

          Sharon’s career, in its ups and downs, parallels that of any risk-taker.  In December 2005, at the height of his political power, Sharon was felled by a stroke that left him in a virtual coma for the next eight years.  He finally passed away on 11 January 2014.  Israel mourns a great man, and we should also.

To Celebrate the Moon; a Drash for Shabbat Rosh Hodesh Saturday, 1 February 2014

Today, in addition to being Shabbat, the Sabbath, is the second day of Rosh Chodesh Adar.  In the way that the Hebrew calendar is figured, when the month ending is a 30-day month then Rosh Chodesh of the next month consists of two days:  the last day of the current month and the first day of the new month.  Since Shevat, the month now ended is a 30-day month that means that Rosh Chodesh was yesterday and today.

          But what’s the point of marking the arrival of the new month in any case?  And why mark its arrival with the singing of Hallel – psalms of praise?

          To understand this, remember that we’re not noting something as abstract as a month designated on a calendar.  Rosh Chodesh means, literally New Moon, and we’re marking the sighting of the New Moon.  The Hebrew word Chodesh, used to mean ‘month,’ really means ‘moon.’  And that makes sense, since the Hebrew calendar is a lunar calendar whose rhythms are determined by the cycles of the moon.

As I like to point out, to the typical city-dweller today the cycles of the moon can and often do go completely unnoticed.  We live in our largely sealed environment of home and office, and if we’re out at night we’re unlikely to notice the moon through the clutter of city lights – unless, that is, the moon is full and prominent in the sky, in which case we might notice.  Those of us who are likely to notice the phase of the moon are farmers, fishermen and sailors; for all these, the moon’s phases are very important.  But the rest of us might not notice the moon at all.

But, had we lived in the ancient world, the moon’s phases would have meant more to us.  Before the invention of electric lights, the relative darkness of the night sky was far more important.  And as the moon waned, people – not just farmers, fishermen and sailors – would notice the encroaching darkness.  Some, undoubtedly, would find it frightening.  So it’s no surprise that the appearance of the new moon would be an occasion for celebration.  It was taken as a sign that God had not abandoned His people.  He had once again sent the gift of light, to light the night.

We’re commanded in the Torah, in the 28^th chapter of the Book of Numbers, to celebrate the new moon, and of course for many Jews that’s enough.  The mandated celebration is a special sacrifice.  But of course, we no longer offer sacrifices since the Second Temple was destroyed, so the Rabbis of late antiquity formulated the current way of celebrating:  a special Torah reading, and recitation of Hallel.

The rest of us can remember the probable reasons behind the celebration.  Our continuing to mark the appearance of the New Moon, even if we’re generally not very sensitive to the moon’s phases, connects us with an ancient world and an ancient people whose legacy we claim.  It reminds us of our ‘roots,’ of the legacy of faith and devotion that the ancient Israelites bequeathed to us.

But we can also celebrate the difference a new month makes in our own lives.  Even if we are generally unmoved by observations of the moon, we take great joy in our festivals.  Almost every month of the Hebrew calendar has its joyous festivals, and Adar brings us Purim, the Feast of Esther, which is one of the most joyous.

But the renewal of the cycle of the moon, reminds us of the process of renewal that can happen for us at any time.  Stuck in a rut?  A new month reminds us that we can break old cycles and find joy in the new.  Feeling sorry for yourself over some turn of events?  A new month reminds us that, at any given moment, we have the opportunity to transcend the disappointment, hurt or whatever and set a new course.  Whatever unpleasantness we are experiencing, the appearance of the New Moon can – and should – be for us a sign of hope.  We are not stuck in the limitations of yesterday and instead see spread before us the limitless possibilities of tomorrow…of a thousand tomorrows!

So…celebrate the New Moon!  Sing out with passion when we recite Hallel in just a moment.  Connect yourselves with the joy of generations past.  And find your own joy in the possibilities that lie ahead.  Shabbat shalom. 

What We Bring to the Table; a Drash for Parashat Terumah Friday, 31 January 2014

Last night a group of 19 of us from Temple Shalom went out together.  First we had dinner in a Chinese restaurant then we attended a klezmer concert.  It was a great evening!

          Because of the size of the group, I asked everybody to decide well in advance what they wanted to eat.  Then I sent the order to the restaurant for them to organise the cooking beforehand.  The wait-staff brought the food out a couple of dishes at a time.  They would tell me what the dishes were, and I would direct them to the person at the table who had ordered each specific dish.

As is usual when a group eats Chinese, our members ordered a wide variety of dishes.  But the restaurant did a reasonably good job of filling our order, and with only a couple of delays everybody was soon munching away on the tasty food.  A little exhausted from my role as ‘traffic cop,’ I looked at everybody eating something different, but all enjoying Chinese food, before I sat down to eat my own dinner.

Everybody eating something different, but all enjoying Chinese food.  It reminded me a bit of this week’s Torah portion, and what it has to teach us.

Parashat Terumah opens with a command to Moses:  Speak to the Israelites and have them bring me an offering.  Take my offering from everyone whose heart impels him to give.  And the offering that Moses was to take from the people Israel consisted of the following:  gold, silver, copper, acacia wood, wool of various colours, goat skins, ram skins, dolphin skins, oil, spices, incense, and various precious and semi-precious stones.

Now please don’t listen to me tonight and think that I’m asking you to donate dolphin skins to Temple Shalom!  Or even goat skins!  Gold and silver would probably be welcome…but really, my message tonight is not about the substantive gifts we give to the temple.  Rather, my message is about how we add to the totality that is Temple Shalom by the personal talents and gifts that we bring to the table.

My colleague and classmate Martha Bergadine, from Hong Kong, presented this principle so well in her drash this week.  Using a delightful account of an annual kosher corned beef sandwich funder-raiser in her former community in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, she illustrated how we create community today.  As Rabbi Bergadine said so well:  We do not seek to build a Mikdash from acacia wood and ram skins.  Rather, our materials are the talents and skills, of our community members.  

What I bring to the table is quite obvious; much of what I do is highly visible.  But there are gifts which others in the community possess in far greater measure than I do.  But because they’re less obvious, you in the community often don’t give yourselves, or others, recognition for the gifts that you bring to the table.  So allow me to offer a couple of examples.

The gift of extroversion – that quality that distinguishes one as being an extrovert or an outgoing personality – is a special gift.  I do not have it.  When I took the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator years ago, it showed that I’m an introvert.  More precisely, I am an ‘ISTJ.’  I envy those who are extroverts, who have the self-confidence to walk up to strangers and just begin talking to them naturally and comfortably.  To be sure, I’m not the only introvert at Temple Shalom.  A number of our lay leaders share this characteristic with me.  Now let me be clear; ‘introvert’ is not a character flaw!  Those of us who are introverts, simply lack the specific gift of extroversion. 

But we do have extroverts among our membership, and the gift they bring to the table – the ability to unabashedly approach others and draw them in – is priceless.  Tonight you will see the extroverts amongst us, working the room and making people feel welcome and part of the our Temple Shalom ‘family.’  Envy them is you must.  But also, thank God for their presence in our midst, and that they bring that gift to bear for our collective benefit.

Another gift that some bring to the table is hospitality – a gift somewhat related to that of extroversion, but not quite the same thing.  My colleague Rabbi Ruth Adar from the East Bay in California, who calls herself ‘the Coffee Shop Rabbi,’ refers to this as ‘radical hospitality.’  And it is radical:  the notion that we can offer hospitality to others, with absolutely no expectation that it will be returned in kind.  The radically hospitable person offers his or her gift only in the hopes that the recipient will be somehow uplifted by the experience.

We have one or two members in this community, and you know who they are, who have this gift of hospitality.  They’re the ones who automatically reach out to others in the community, inviting them home to a Shabbat dinner on weeks when we have no Oneg Shabbat.  Would that more of us, your sometimes-grumpy rabbi included, had it.  But thank God for those of us who do have it.

There are obviously other gifts and talents that others bring to the table, and they’re all important and cherished.  My message to you tonight is that you should never feel that your unique gifts are unwelcome.  And that you should never denigrate the gifts that others bring to the table.  As we freely give of the specific gifts that we have to offer, we take a shule and make it into a community.  Let’s continue to do that, until it becomes automatic.  Shabbat shalom. 

What About Moneylending? A Drash for Parashat Mishpatim, Saturday 25 January 2014

We tend to have ambivalent attitudes about the lending of money at interest.  On one hand, we recognise it as a needed service.  Most of us have no compunction about using credit cards for purchases.  Even when we pay our entire balance on receipt of our monthly statement, we understand that we are using the account as a short-term loan to buy things without needing to withdraw the cash from the bank.  And even those of us who are loath to use credit cards, or borrow money in other ways, still purchase large items on credit:  for example, an automobile or a home.  Very few of us would be able to purchase these things at all without the use of credit.  So by our buying patterns, we heartily endorse the practice of lending money at interest.  In differing degrees, we are happy to utilise the services of those who do so.

          On the other hand, we hold those who make a living lending money, at the very least, in distaste.  Even whilst we happily use their services, we find credit companies and banks unsavoury.  I can’t remember the last time I heard someone praise their credit card issuer.  This, even if the interest rate paid was not especially excessive.

          If you know some Jewish history, you know that Jews often fell into the role of the moneylenders for the Christian world.  And you probably know that the Christian world held us in contempt for this.  Perhaps, their willingness to use Jews for this service, reflects that they already held us in contempt.

          Early church cannon law forbade Christians from lending money at interest.  And the prohibition was partly based on one verse from this morning’s Torah reading.  In chapter 22, verse 24 we read:  When you lend money to my people, to the poor man among you, do not press him for repayment.  [Also] do not take interest from him.  So why do we, the People of the Book, the people to whom the Torah was directly given, find it okay to lend money at interest while our Christian neighbours could not?

          The key is in understanding the different ways of interpreting ‘my people.’  To the Jew reading the Torah, this means other Jews.  To the Christian, this means other Christians. 

          Rabbi Louis Jacobs of Blessed Memory was one of great Torah scholars of our generation.  According to him, in ancient Israel there were foreigners in the land whose business was to lend money.  They were something like predators, swooping down on the needy, offering a quick loan with little fuss.  And those in need of money would often borrow from them as it was less embarrassing than to request a loan from family of neighbours.  Perhaps they only needed the money for a limited term, a few days or so, until the expected payment of something owed them or which they planned to sell.  But as we know, those who borrow money even with the best intentions can easily of have turn of luck that makes timely repayment impossible.

          The prohibition on charging interest to one’s fellow Jew, represents a preference that Jews would overcome their embarrassment at borrowing from someone they knew.  The advantage in terms was intended to nudge them to ask for temporary help from family and neighbours, rather than borrow from the ‘carpetbaggers’ who roamed the land in search of easy money.

          Note also that the verse assumes the money borrower would be poor.  The point is that the borrowing of money in ancient Israel, at least where this verse is concerned, should be seen as a poor man’s last resort to get past a difficult moment.  For this reason also, in our verse the lender is enjoined against ‘pressing…for repayment.’  When one lends money to the poor among the people Israel, one is not permitted to make vigorous demands for repayment when the borrower has experienced further misfortune.

          The prohibition on interest, and on pressing for repayment, gave rise to Hebrew Free Loan Societies in various communities.  They exist primarily in North America, but there is at least one such Australian organisation, in Melbourne.  Jews give money to the free loan societies, so that they can in turn help other Jews with basic needs, without causing any embarrassment.

          But the prohibition on lending at interest should not be seen as a license for Jews to demand interest-free loans from other Jews for any purpose.  Unfortunately, a lot of people today have an entitlement mentality, and Jews are not exempt from this tendency.  If you want to borrow money, even from a fellow Jew, in order to invest for profit, or for discretionary spending, you should be willing to pay interest for the privilege.  And it is perfectly permissible under Halachah to charge interest under such circumstances.

          There’s another dimension to all this.  The availability of credit ultimately paved the way for the development of the modern industrial, mercantile economy.  To the extent that the Jews were willing to be the medieval world’s bankers, we pulled the world out of the primitive agrarian economy and enabled the development of manufacturing and international trade.  As Christians no longer feel constrained to lend money at interest, we Jews no longer dominate the enterprise.  But we Jews were pioneers in the business, and that’s partly why the stereotype of the Jews dominating banking, persists to this day.

          We will probably never extinguish the unsavoury image of those who lend money for a living.  But understand that not all moneylending is worthy of contempt.  We may think poorly of the loan companies that prey on the poor, with so-called payday loans at sky-high interest.  We may practice personal thrift, avoiding the use of credit for discretionary purchases, to preserve our personal financial well-being.  But the overall practice of lending money is an important service that has enabled the creation of our modern, diversified economy.  And even in our worst personal financial moments, I doubt that most of us would want to return to the pre-industrial age.  Shabbat shalom.     

Remember the Widow and the Orphan...Still; a Drash for Parashat Mishpatim, Friday 24 January 2014

As I’ve said more times than you probaly remember, it is important to read the Torah in the context of its time and setting.  Otherwise, it is often difficult to understand where it is ‘coming from.’  Specific pronouncements in the Torah can, and often do, seem unnecessary or perhaps unnecessarily harsh to our ears.  But if we understand the Torah’s context, then it becomes much clearer why things are stated the way they are.

          Note that I didn’t say the Torah’s wisdom is only applicable to its time and setting.  There are those who will offer you this argument.  Because the Torah was talking about a specific condition existing in a specific time, it isn’t necessary for us to worry about it.  That’s not my argument.  Even when the specific conditions being addressed no longer exist, the principle holds.

          This helps explain the Torah’s ‘obsession’ with widows and orphans.  The Torah tells us repeatedly not to oppress them.  One of those instances is found in this week’s Torah reading, from Parshat Mishpatim.  It is clear that the condition of widows and orphans in the ancient world, was particularly onerous.  Otherwise, why would the Torah constantly harp on condition of these classes of people, and instruct us to take such care not to oppress them?

          In the Torah’s law, mirroring the laws generally in effect among the peoples of the ancient Near East, inheritance was through the male.  Male children inherited their father’s estate, with the firstborn son getting a double share.  Female children had no inheritance, because it was assumed that they would marry and share in their husband’s inheritance.  Through their marriage, they and their children would benefit from property of various kinds.  Because of this, a wife if widowed, and her children would become immediately destitute according to the societal norms then held.

          As one can see when one reads with an open eye, the Torah is a ‘conservative’ document.  It addresses the various ills of the societies among which the Israelites lived by attempting to ameliorate them.  It does not prescribe radical solutions.  Rather, it seems to recognise the very human need for continuity.  It therefore attempts to lessen the negative impact of various institutions and practices, but not to do away with them.

          Take slavery.  The Torah does not prohibit slavery, which was of course a common institution in the ancient world.  But it places limits upon it.  It’s specific limitations, make slavery a less onerous condition.  Less permanent.  Less open to the abuse of the slave.  But it doesn’t eliminate it. 

          Likewise, the passing of all inheritance to the male offspring.  The Torah recognises the disadvantage this creates to a female, especially when widowed.  So it addresses this disadvantage rather than prescribe a radical change to the social order.

          Really, the only ‘radical’ change in societal norms among the peoples of the area, which the Torah prescribes, is the worship of One God, the invisible Adonai.  That innovation, to the ancient man, is a radical departure from the continuity of the givens of life.  The elimination of the various deities – and the worship of them, which often included practices we now consider abhorrent such as ritual prostitution and child sacrifice – was a big change.  So big, that the Israelites often backslid to the previous ways at the slightest excuse!  So perhaps, the Torah’s reluctance to prescribe radical phases shifts from the assumptions of life in other areas, represents God’s desire to keep the Torah from being onerous to the People Israel.  At least, that’s what I think.

          Let me be clear that I am not advocating the reactivation of slavery in lands where it is prohibited, because the Torah does not forbid it!  I advocate that the Torah’s purpose was to ameliorate the onus of various institutions.  If so, then why on earth would one want to use the Torah as a rationale to make things worse?  It defies reason.

          In some ways, widow or orphan-hood today is not the onus it was in the ancient world.  After all, a man’s widow and their children are assumed to have the right of inheritance.  When there’s no will, the property goes automatically to the widow and children.  Even if there’s a will stating the deceased’s wishes as otherwise, a widow and children often successfully sue for the lion’s share of the deceased’s estate.  There is little fear of the widow’s brothers-in-law pre-empting the deceased man’s property.  And there’s also life insurance, something unknown in ancient Israel.  A generous insurance policy makes some men worth…more dead than alive, so to speak.  And even when there is no private life insurance, there are features in the government’s social safety net that specifically address the widow and the orphan.

          But while all the above lessen the onerous conditions of widowhood and orphan-hood, they do not eliminate them.  It is still difficult for a woman to carry on after the death of her husband.  (The truth is, it is also difficult for a man after the death of his wife, but probably not as difficult.) Difficult emotionally, of course.  Women who become widowed, often find that their network of friends evaporates, or at least weakens.  But also substantively.  Poverty rates are considerably higher for single parent women and their children, and a widow is the consummate single parent.

          So, despite that widows and orphans are not as likely to be destitute as they were in ancient Israel, they still need special consideration.  When the Torah tells us, do not oppress the widow and the orphan, we should read, go out of your way to show extra consideration for the widow and the orphan.  Because widow and orphan-hood are still onerous.  While we are never promised a fair world, we still can, and should, work to make it fairer.  Let’s always keep that in mind.  Shabbat shalom.

A Harbinger to Greatness; a Drash for Shabbat Yitro, 18 January 2014

Cataclysmic events are often preceded by precursors, which serve as harbingers to what will eventually happen.  As hints to the coming upheaval.

          This is certainly true in the natural world, where earth-shattering events can often be predicted.  Cyclones, for example, don’t form in a minute’s time; they happen when fronts clash in a process that is drawn out over several days.  Tornadoes occur with less warning.  But still, everybody who lives in Texas or Oklahoma has learned to closely watch the western sky for hints as to coming storms.  Likewise earthquakes, volcano eruptions, and the like seldom come out of nowhere.

          Harbinger to cataclysm is also typically observable in human history.  Major wars and revolutions seldom break out spontaneously, overnight.  They are caused by chains of events and reactions to events that can be predicted to precede the initiation of hostilities.  Much as my countrymen still resent Japan’s ‘surprise’ attack on Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, in retrospect we can trace the attacks origins to a chain of political moves that should have, and indeed, did give hint that hostilities were about to happen.  Too, the Egyptians’ crossing of the Suez Canal on Yom Kippur in 1973 is now understood not to have been as much of a surprise as was originally asserted.  The American Revolution, the French Revolution, the Russian Revolution, the Iranian Revolution…all were preceded by ample hints and should not have caught the world with its collective pants down.

          So many events can be seen as harbingers, as hints to coming disaster.  And often, it is far easier to see these harbingers in the past tense, when we are looking back at the period before an earth-shattering event.  As it is said, hindsight is 20/20.  That is to say, looking back it is easier to see hints to the coming cataclysm that one missed before.  There’s some truth to this principle, but not as much as some people like to claim.  It is all too easy, after the fact, to make the events before the cataclysm fit some pattern that supposedly was there.  There’s an entire ‘cottage industry’ out there of individuals who would like us to see past events as being predictable from a logic which, in turn supports their particular cause.  Just recently, someone I know casually handed me a DVD produced by a man who bills himself as a rabbi, although he’s actually some kind of Evangelical pastor,  He claims that the attacks on America on 9-11-2001 could have been predicted by reading the ninth chapter of Isaiah.  The whole notion would be laughable, except that so many are convinced.

          So yes, great, reality-changing events can often be predicted to some extent.  But the bush is full of charlatans who want you to apply some logic after the fact for their particular agenda.  Thank God, from hindsight we have the leisure to consider each such claim without having the imperative to make a rash decision.  We can ‘check it out’ thoroughly.

          I’ve been talking up to here about disastrous events, but the idea of the harbinger can also be applied to positive events.

In the experience of the Jewish people, the Sinaitic Event was a cataclysm of the positive kind.  It established the lines of authority for the leadership of the people as they managed the transition from servitude to wandering bands to a sovereign people.  The harbinger of Sinai was, of course the safe passage through the sea.  In that sense, last week’s Torah reading predicts this week’s.  The transit of the Red Sea predicts Sinai.  The salvation of the people predicts their unique role in the unfolding drama of human history.

Because that’s what Sinai represents for us.  It represents the placing of the people Israel into a unique and central role in the sweep of history.  It represents the elevation of a people who never have, and never will represent a major proportion of the human race.  It gives the Jews an importance that completely out-shadows their meagre numbers.

In that sense, Sinai is foreshadowed by the Red Sea.  But Sinai itself is also a harbinger.  It is the harbinger of the significance of the Jewish people.

One can see this significance as a blessing or as a curse.  I prefer to see it as the former.  Because the people Israel chose God, God chose the people Israel for a unique role to bring light to the nations.  Let’s let role, into which the Torah casts us, be only a blessing.  And let us, thus, bless the world.  Shabbat shalom.