LJ eBulletin

WHAT WE READ – AND DON’T READ: A SURVEY OF B’HA’A LOT’CHA – Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

LJ E-Bulletin, June 2016

Like other Jewish denominations, Liberal Judaism follows the annual Torah reading cycle. However, since LJ congregations do not read each weekly portion in its entirety – largely because this would make the Torah reading far too long – Liberal Judaism’s Lectionary sets out three alternative passages from each parashah, to be read in a three-year cycle. For parashat B’ha’alot’cha, which begins at Numbers 8:1 and concludes at chapter 12:16, we find the following three texts: Numbers 8:1-14; 10:1-10; and 11:1-14. Why have these three passages been chosen? And: why have other passages not been chosen? Has the selection been guided by the values of Liberal Judaism? Perhaps, we will find answers to these questions if we survey the whole portion?

So, first: the selected texts. Numbers 8:1-14 begins with the lighting of the seven lamps on the m’norah by Aaron, the High Priest (8:1-4), and goes on to describe the separation of the tribe of Levi from the other tribes for the service of the Eternal One (8:5-14). Numbers 10:1-10 focuses on the making of two silver trumpets to be blown by the sons of Aaron, when calling the congregation together and, in particular, for summoning the tribes for their forward march through the wilderness. The silver trumpets were also to be blown at times of joy, to mark the changing moons, and to accompany burnt offerings and sacrifices of well-being. Numbers 11:1-14 relates two incidences, when the people became troublesome. The first incident is dealt with very swiftly: the Eternal One’s anger kindled, a fire burnt among them and devoured the edge of the camp. The second incident centres on complaints about food: loathing manna, the people longed for the delicacies they used to eat in Egypt. The passage colludes with Moses complaining to God about having to bear the burden of the people alone.

These are three fine passages. So what don’t we read? Numbers chapter 8 goes on to describe the replacement of the firstborn tribe by the Levites, summarises their duties, and clarifies that they become eligible for service from the age of 25 until retirement at 50 (15-26). Numbers chapter 9 begins with the celebration of Pesach in the first month of the second year of their journey. Those who were unclean by contact with the dead were nevertheless to observe the Festival, and there was to be ‘one statute’ for both the sojourner and the native-born (9:11-14). Next, Numbers 9 turns briefly to the setting up of the mishkan – the tabernacle – detailed at the end of the Book of Exodus, focusing on the cloud above the mishkan: when it was stationary, the camp stayed put; when it moved, the people continued on their journey (9:15-23). Numbers 10 continues, after the silver trumpets, with a description of how the Israelites, newly organised into tribal divisions, went out on their first journey from Sinai, on the twentieth day of the second month in the second year. We learn that Moses’ father-in-law declined to journey with them. The chapter concludes with two verses, quoted at the beginning of the Torah service in Orthodox and Movement for Reform Judaism congregations, and set apart in the Hebrew text with an upside down Nun consonant before and after: “It came to pass, when the Ark set out, that Moses said: ‘Rise up, Eternal One; let Your enemies be scattered; and let them that hate You flee before You.’ / Then when it rested, he said: ’Return, Eternal One, to the ten thousands of Israel’” (10:35-36).

After the rebellions described in Numbers 11 and Moses’ frustration with the people, the text continues (11:16-35) with the Eternal One instructing Moses to gather seventy men of the Elders of Israel, and then to prepare the people to eat so much flesh that it will become disgusting to them. We read that after the seventy elders received the spirit from Moses, they began to prophesy and then stopped. However, two of them, Eldad and Meidad, remained in the camp and continued to prophesy. When Joshua complained to Moses, he responded: ‘Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Eternal One’s people were prophets, that the Eternal One would put His spirit upon them (11:29). Then, after the Eternal One caused a wind to blow, bringing the quails across the sea into the camp, the anger of the Eternal One was kindled against the people in their orgy of gluttony, and they were destroyed with a great plague. Finally, following the burial of those who did not die in the plague, the people set off for Hazeirot.

B’ha’alot’cha ends with what happened at Hazeirot. We read in Numbers 12 that Miriam and Aaron – but chiefly Miriam – spoke out against Moses because of the Cushite woman he had married, and because they resented his exclusive relationship with the Eternal. Miriam alone was punished: struck with temporary leprosy. Aaron was dismayed and Moses prayed for her healing. We learn that Miriam was shut up outside the camp for seven days, but the people did not journey on until she was brought into the camp again.

As we can see, B’ha’alot’cha is packed with themes. Clearly, choices have to be made. However, since both those passages included and those excluded vary in their ethical import, the rationale for the selection is not clear. When we survey the portion as a whole, the issue of leadership comes to the fore. All the leaders were men: Moses and Aaron; the Priests; the Levites; the tribal leaders; the seventy elders. In this context, the conclusion of the parashah provides a critical commentary, as we are reminded that Miriam, the elder sister of Moses and Aaron, was the only female leader in evidence. No wonder, this final chapter of B’ha’alot’cha begins: Va-t’dabbeir Miryam v’Aharon b’Moshe – literally: ‘Then Miriam spoke – Va-t’dabbeir is in the feminine singular – and Aaron against Moses. Perhaps, next time the LJ Lectionary is revised, the selection of passages should be reconsidered, and this crucial final chapter included?

This week’s Torah portion, T’rumah, which begins at Exodus chapter 25, introduces a theme that dominates the remaining portions of the Book of Exodus: the building of the mishkan, the tabernacle in the wilderness, by the ex-slaves, who took flight from Egypt. At verse 8, we learn the reason for the construction of the mishkan, literally, ‘dwelling’ – also referred to as the mikdash, ‘sanctuary’:

‘V’asu li mikdash v’shakhanti b’tokham. Then let them make for Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.’

This verse takes on a particular resonance in the context of the closing verses of the preceding parashah, Mishpatim, which concludes with an image of the Eternal One ‘dwelling’ on the top of Mount Sinai.^[1] By building the mishkan, the people brought God down from the mountain to ‘dwell among them’.

Jewish teaching tends to focus on the practical rather than on the mystical. Some Jews may go in search of the sacred in remote far-off places, but on the whole, Jewish teaching encourages us to encounter the Divine within community, and in our relationships with one another. In particular, Jewish teaching is preoccupied with what we do rather than with what we think or believe. And so, like the laws and statutes that comprise the greater part of last week’s portion, Mishpatim, the account of the building of the mishkan demonstrates the centrality of doing in Jewish life.

Most Jews, affiliated and unaffiliated, regardless of denomination or disposition – cultural, secular or religious – would agree about the importance of action. However, we tend to disagree about what we should be doing – and not doing. And so, for example, while in Shabbat services, Jews of all denominations sing V’sham’ru v’ney Yisraeil et-ha-Shabbat, la’asot et ha-Shabbat l’dorotam b’rit olam – ‘the Israelites shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the Sabbath as an eternal covenant throughout their generations’^[2] – we disagree about how to ‘keep’ and ‘observe’ Shabbat.

The issue of Shabbat observance connects with the theme of the mishkan. Since aside from the examples of lighting fire, collecting manna, and gathering firewood,^[3] the Torah does not detail what constitutes work, the rabbinic sages looked to the tasks described in the building of the mishkan^[4] to identify a list of 39 categories of work prohibited on Shabbat.^[5] For orthodox Jews this list determines their Shabbat observance.

By contrast, Liberal Jews exploring how to keep Shabbat may not feel inclined to investigate the 39 categories of work for guidance.^[6] However, as we reflect on the meaning of work and rest for our own lives, there is something going on at a deeper level in the Torah’s treatment of the building of the mishkan that might interest us: its connection with the first account of creation at the beginning of B’reishit, Genesis.

So, what is the connection? Martin Buber demonstrates in his commentary that the description of the Israelites’ construction of the mishkan with its repeated use of the Hebrew root Ayin Sin Hei, to ‘do’ or ‘make’, mirrors the description of God’s creation of the world.^[7] As the first account of creation reaches its climax, we learn why the two accounts are connected: human beings are created b’tzelem Elohim, ‘in the image of God’^[8] and so, like the Divine Creator, are born to create; that is, to work. We also learn from the comparison between the two narratives that work is not endless. Buber notes that just as the first account of creation concludes with the words, ‘And on the seventh day God completed (va-y’chal) His work (m’lachto), which he had made (asah),’^[9] the account of the building of the mishkan concludes with the words, ‘So, Moses completed (va-y’chal) all the work’ (kol-ha-m’lachah).^[10]

While, the Exodus story reminds us that a perpetual worker is a slave, reading the account of the building of the mishkan alongside the first creation narrative teaches us that the institution of a day for ceasing – the root meaning of Shabbat – elevated work from servitude to the realm of creativity, and also set a limit to endless activity. The V’sham’ru text quoted above ends with the words: ‘… for in six days the Eternal One made (asah) heaven and earth, and on the seventh day He ceased (shavat) and was re-beinged (va-yinafash).^[11] By ‘keeping’ Shabbat, in whatever ways we find to do this as Liberal Jews, we acknowledge – to borrow from the phrasing found in Ecclesiastes^[12] – that there is a time to work and a time to rest; a time to do; and a time to be.

WORDS: 994

1. Exodus 24:15-18. ↑
2. Exodus 31:16. ↑
3. See: Exodus 35:3 concerning the prohibition on lighting fire; Exodus 16:26, for the prohibition on collecting manna; and Numbers 15:32, for an account of the punishment of a man who gathered firewood.For other examples of activities that are prohibited on Shabbat, see: Exodus 16:29; 34:21; also passages in the prophetic books: Isaiah 58:13, Jeremiah 17:22 and Amos 8:5 (doing business and carrying) and Nehemiah 13:15-18 (treading in a winepress and loading animals). ↑
4. Exodus chapters 25 through 40 are taken up with the account of the building of the tabernacle. In Exodus chapter 31, a passage concerning the artisans responsible for building of the tabernacle (31:1-11) is juxtaposed with a passage prohibiting work on Shabbat, in which the Israelites are exhorted to keep Shabbat as ‘a sign of the covenant’ with the Eternal One (31:12-17). ↑
5. For a list of the 39 categories of prohibited work, see the Mishnah, Shabbat 7:2 (in Seder Mo’eid). ↑
6. For an attempt to set out a Liberal Jewish approach to ‘keeping’ Shabbat, see my article in Responding to the Call: A Life of Liberal Jewish Commitment. A Festschrift in honour of Rabbi Harry Jacobi MBE edited by Danny Rich (Liberal Judaism, 2015) ↑
7. Buber identified seven correspondences between the building of the Tabernacle and the creation of the world. For a presentation of Buber’s approach, see Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Shemot, Part II (WZO, Jerusalem, 1981, pp.479-481). ↑
8. Genesis 1:27. ↑
9. Genesis 2:2a. ↑
10. Exodus 40:33. ↑
11. Exodus 31:17b. ↑
12. See Ecclesiastes chapter 3. ↑

During the past month the unresolved conflict between Israelis and Palestinians has hit the headlines once again with the eruption of violence. It all began when Palestinians – mostly young – enraged by the continuing occupation, started to plunge knives into Israelis on the streets. And of course, the Israeli authorities retaliated: individual Palestinian assailants shot dead; the homes of their families bulldozed. Each attack provoking a revenge attack …

The only mutuality between the two peoples: mutual hatred, mutual incomprehension, mutual denial of the experience and reality of the other.

In 2000, when the then Prime Minister Ariel Sharon took a walk onto what Jews refer to as har ha-bayit, ‘the Temple Mount’ (literally, ‘mount of the House’), his provocative action sparked a second intifada. Similarly, the recent outbreak of Palestinian rage centres on what Palestinians, witnessing the antics of ‘Third Temple’ Jewish fanatics, understand to be an Israeli plan to take over their holy site. For Palestinians, and Muslims across the world, har ha-bayit has a different name: al-Ḥaram al-Šarīf, ‘Noble Sanctuary’. Har ha-bayit and al-Ḥaram al-Šarīf: Two names, reflecting two different religious traditions, two different historical narratives, two mutually exclusive claims to one sacred place.

Over the years, the political conflict between Israelis and Palestinians concerning the disputed land that both peoples regard as their homeland has assumed a religious dimension as fundamentalist fervour has taken centre stage across the Middle East, plunging the region back into scenarios of ‘holy war’ over the ‘holy land’ that have not been seen since the early Middle Ages.

Arguably, the situation is even worse now than it was back then. With so much history of division, the refusal to acknowledge the significance of that holy place to ‘the other side’, is even stronger. Of course, it’s not as simple as that. Jews cannot help but acknowledge that the Temple Mount is sacred to Muslims because for over 1300 years it has been the third most holy site in Islam; the Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa mosque potent reminders of the Islamic revolution that took place in the seventh century. Meanwhile, many pious Muslims, deny the Jewish claim to their sacred place.

So: a contest between Israeli political power over the land and Palestinian/Muslim religious power at the heart of Jerusalem. Of course, not all the Palestinians are Muslims. But in recent years, Christian Palestinians have been increasingly marginalised.

It’s not surprising that Muslim Palestinians have resorted to playing the religious card, in the context of the political reality of continuing occupation. Meanwhile, ultraorthodox Jewish Israelis continue to assert fundamentalist readings of the Torah in their determination to deny the right of Palestinians to the land that they see as the exclusive inheritance of the Jewish people. Between these two absolutist positions, many, many different voices – Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Palestinian, Israeli – urge compromise and mutual recognition. But the voices of moderation and acknowledgement of the other are constantly overwhelmed – particularly, when violence erupts and fear and terror become the order of the day.

Nevertheless, as Liberal Jews, our progressive values and our advocacy of the ethical teachings of our tradition prompt us again and again to turn towards the other. As it happens, the Torah, read for its triumphalist passages by Jewish fundamentalists, contains other teachings. In this week’s parashah, Va-yeira, we read stories about the two sons of Abraham, Ishmael and Isaac. In last week’s portion, Lech L’cha, Abraham learned that his pregnant wife, Sarah, would bear a son named Isaac, who would inherit the Divine covenant. He also learned that Ishmael was heir to a Divine promise (Genesis 17). Indeed, chapter 16 relates that a messenger of the Eternal informed Ishmael’s mother, Hagar, that the child in her womb would be called ‘Yishmael because the Eternal has heard your affliction’ (16:11).

Yishmael means, ‘God will hear’, and in Va-yeira the Divine promise is reiterated: ‘And God heard the voice of the lad. Then the messenger of the Eternal called to Hagar out of heave n, and said to her: What ails you, Hagar? Fear not; for God has heard the voice of the lad where he is. / Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him fast by your hand; for I will make him a great nation’ (Genesis 21:17-18).

The context for these two encounters between Hagar and the Divine messenger was the wilderness; the space beyond established settlements. In the first instance, a pregnant Hagar had fled from her mistress, Sarah’s, harsh treatment. In the second, Hagar and Ishmael had been banished from the family home at the behest of Sarah. Sarah expressed what she thought was right from her particular perspective as the mother of Isaac, when she implored Abraham: ‘Cast out this slave woman and her son; for the son of this slave woman shall not be heir with my son, with Isaac’ (21:10). But the Torah also includes another, universalistic perspective; the perspective of the Creator of the world and the progenitor of all the peoples. From this perspective, both the son of Hagar and the son of Sarah are heirs to Divine promises.

So, how can a universalistic perspective be realised in the lives of Israelis and Palestinians, and in the context of the realities of political conflict and division, mutually exclusive claims to the land – and mutually exclusive claims to Divine promises? As soon as we pose this question, we realise that we have a responsibility as Liberal Jews to articulate a universalistic perspective. We have seen and continue to witness the horrors perpetrated by purveyors of exclusivist and racist religion. The time has come for all those who are committed to liberal and progressive forms of religion to actively promote the ethical teachings of mutual recognition and respect, justice and peace.

As a child, I recited the Shema – the first few verses – with my mother every night in bed before I went to sleep. I also recited another prayer by heart: “Dear God, bless mummy and daddy, my sister and brother, booba and grossmutti, my aunts, uncles and cousins, and all my friends, and help me to be a good girl for Thy sake. Amen.” Many children in those days – the 1950s and early 60s – said bedtime prayers, and I imagine many do so still today. The curious thing about this nightly ritual was that neither of my parents believed in God. My father came from a fairly assimilated family and was bar mitzvah at a Liberal synagogue in Vienna. But my mother had been raised Orthodox, and she and her sisters and brothers – there were nine children in all, and she was the youngest – had grown-up reciting the Shema twice-daily, and praying the modeh ani morning prayer and n’tilat yadayim, the blessing for the washing of hands, as soon as they awoke. My mother never explained my night-time prayer routine – but then, she didn’t explain why she lit the candles on Erev Shabbat and the eve of festivals, while my father did not recite kiddush and motzi. That was just the way it was in our household: my mother took responsibility for our Jewish life, which also included, not eating prohibited foods at home, buying chicken and meat from Sainsbury’s, and having lashings of cream, Viennese style, with desert after every Shabbat meal.

I studied liturgy with Rabbi John Rayner, z”l, in my second year as a rabbinic student at the Leo Baeck College. Nevertheless, when I first led a service at a Liberal synagogue, although I was aware of the Liberal Jewish practise of standing for the recitation of the Shema in honour of the declaration of the unity of God, I was taken aback by the formality and reverence of the gesture. Childhood experience exerts a strong hold, and for me, saying the Shema is still associated with lying down in bed and preparing to sleep. At Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, where we try to be as inclusive as possible, we now invite those present to remain seated or to stand for the Shema in accordance with their own custom.

Liberal Judaism’s distinct stance concerning the recitation of the Shema – which includes, in many synagogues, opening the Ark – extends beyond the familiar first paragraph to the treatment of the remaining second and third paragraphs of the Shema. Many members of Liberal synagogues may not be aware that there are three paragraphs: Deuteronomy 6:4-9; Deuteronomy 11:13-21; and Numbers 15:37-31. This is because in every edition of the Liberal siddur, the evening and morning services include the first paragraph, beginning, Shema Yisra’eil, and the conclusion of the third paragraph, from L’ma’an tizk’ru, but omit the second, and the first part of the third. However, the most recent prayer book, Siddur Lev Chadash (1995) does include ‘The Shema In Full’ on pages 539-541 in the section ‘Prayers for various occasions’, so it is possible for people to look up the passages that are left out of our services.

The missing verses of the third paragraph concern the commandment to wear tzitzit, fringes, on the four corners of one’s garment – later transferred to the corners of the tallit, the prayer-shawl worn for Morning Prayer. This week’s Torah portion, Eikev, includes the passage that became the second paragraph (Deuteronomy 11:13-21). These verses are a powerful statement of biblical reward and punishment theology. To paraphrase: obedience to God’s commandments will ensure that the rains fall in due season, produce grows, ‘and you will eat and be satisfied’; by contrast, disobedience will cause the Eternal One to ‘shut up the heavens, so that there is no rain, and the ground does not yield its produce; and then you will quickly perish from the good land which the Eternal One is giving you.’ It’s very straightforward: God rewards obedience and punishes disobedience.

But of course, life teaches us that it isn’t quite as simple as that – which is why Rabbi Harold S. Kushner wrote his much-read book, When Bad Things happen to Good People (Barnes & Noble, 1978). As Liberal Jews, we are also uncomfortable with the notion of God as a zealous divine autocrat. But perhaps, in the context of the extent to which human beings are steadily destroying our planet’s ecosystem, these verses carry a potent warning. Rabbi David Cooper’s creative translation of Deuteronomy 11:13-21, included in the siddur of the North Kensington Liberal Synagogue, Beit Klal Yisrael, conveys the message: ‘Watch yourselves that you do not become seduced by the desire to dominate and possess, destroying the work of Creation. For then, the source of Creation will turn against you, and the world in which you live will no longer sustain you, and you will be lost upon the face of the earth which the Creator provided for you’ (11:16-17).

This week’s parashah is known as Eikev because eikev is the first distinguishing word of the portion. We read V’hayah eikev tishm’un eit ha-mishpatim ha–eileh – ‘it shall come to pass as a consequence – eikev – of you listening to these laws…’ (Deut. 7:12). The theology we encounter in the Torah – in particular in the Book of Deuteronomy – centres on consequences. As Liberal Jews, we may reject biblical reward and punishment theology, but perhaps, as we consider climate change and other urgent ecological issues, the second paragraph of the Shema may remind us of the consequences of our actions – and of our inaction – and be a spur to Shema! ‘Listen!’ and heed the warnings we see all around us.