Friday, December 26, 2008

Toldot (Gen. 28:5-9)

Mahalat is the daughter of Ishmael whom Esau marries in an attempt to please his parents Isaac and Rebekah after the whole blessing fracas and the flight of Jacob. This "dvar torah" was actually written in 2007 when my congregation was studying the seventh aliyah.


Pulling me by the hand,
his smile confident
and pleading at once –
Esau brought me to his parents
as a peace offering.

Wounded and bewildered by Jacob’s betrayal
he came to my father Ishmael,
refuge of his family’s pain –
my father – also the first-born,
passed over by his father and his father’s God.

Night after night I heard them
thrashing it out by the fire –
the anger, the hurt –
my father’s assurance, “The pain will lessen,
though the scars will never fade.”
Esau looking up, our eyes meeting
as I peer out at him from my mother’s tent –
is his smile at a pretty girl
the beginning of healing?

No – he saw a bargaining counter –
a channel back to his parents’ good graces.
His thoughts ran thus:
I married Canaanite women. My parents were displeased.
Jacob, the favored one, was told to marry one of his mother’s kin.
If I marry one of my father’s kin, my father will favor me again.

It did not work.
The silence of his parents is like the chill wind on a desert night.
Rebecca’s hard eyes look through me as if I were made of smoke –
her beloved Jacob is gone,
and he is the only one she longs to see.
Isaac is a broken man, dying by inches.
The Canaanite wives despise me.
My husband’s wounded eyes accuse me – I did not make it better.
If this is the fruit of the covenant, I want no part of it.

But wait –my monthly courses no longer flow.
There will be a child, and now I must make it better or leave,
with my husband or without him,
for my child will not enter into this world of unhappiness and despair.

Monday, July 21, 2008

In the Wilderness

Looking at my description at the top of the page and my last few postings in particular, I sense a disconnect. It's not that I don't still care about those things I mentioned, but life seems a little "stale, flat and unprofitable" these days. So I thought that I would post my "confirmation" speech from 2004, the ending of which specifically talks about why we shouldn't allow ourselves to stop caring deeply and feeling strongly. I don't know, though - the life of "quiet desperation" may sometimes be harder to rise above than the kind of shattering experience I talked about in that speech.

B’Midbar – in the wilderness – is the name of the fourth book of the Torah, as well as of this week’s portion. This book covers most of the forty years that the children of Israel wandered between the Exodus and the entry into the Promised Land, with their ups and many, many downs, during which they are transformed from a motley crowd of former slaves into a people worthy of a homeland.

It is no coincidence that so many of the world's spiritual and philosophical traditions place such an emphasis on the retreat or wilderness experience, although Judaism, as is its wont, is unusual if not unique in focusing on the experience of an entire community. From Elijah to the Buddha, from John the Baptist and Jesus to Thoreau, eliminating distractions and confronting the bare bones of life has been seen as essential to spiritual growth.

Like Egypt, however, the wilderness is not only or even usually a physical location. Many of us have gone through traumatic events or devastating periods of our lives in which our psychological and emotional defenses are stripped away and even God seems to have abandoned us. Eventually we have emerged on the other side, stronger if nowhere near being tzaddikim. “What does not destroy me makes me stronger,” wrote Nietzsche, who confronted enormous physical and emotional suffering and was, in the end, destroyed by it. We will never know how many others are destroyed, spiritually, mentally or physically, without leaving the testament that he and others have left.

I cannot claim to have come through anything like what so many others have endured, although to each of us at the time, our “wilderness” seems endless and unspeakably dark. However, at the end of 1997, six months after I celebrated my bat mitzvah, I lost my dearest friend after a short, unexpected illness. Since he was not a close relative, I did not even have the healing rituals of Jewish mourning to ease the transition, except for the Kaddish.

The next four months of what was probably clinical depression and then my own life-threatening physical illness constituted the darkest part of my personal wilderness. On the first night, for one of the only times in my life, I could not even imagine the presence of God. Many of us never find God in that “dark night of the soul”; we are alone, facing only ourselves, with all of our flaws and failures – and emptiness. For us, a sense of the Divine only appears upon our emergence, after we have “bottomed out.”

In my case, it was only near the end of a week-long nightmare of delusion and delirium, caused by medication, illness, emotional distress, or a combination of all three, that I felt an overwhelming sense of love in the cosmos. This was not a generalized, diffuse love, but a deeply personal one, mediated through my close relationship with Carl and what I was starting to perceive as a “benign conspiracy,” as opposed to the malevolent ones that I had been imagining before. It seemed that all those who cared about me were going through an elaborate masquerade designed to help me break out of the place where I felt trapped. The elements of this benign conspiracy, of course, were also part of the delusion, but the fact of it was not. The initial feeling did not last, of course, but I feel that it was transformative.

I do not know if those of us who enter this “wilderness,” which may include most or all of the human race, ever really leave it. Perhaps we only come to the edges and glimpse the Promised Land. Like the journey of the Israelites, our journey is fraught with backslidings, rebellions and returns; as Helen Keller wrote in speaking of conversion: “For a long time we resolve like angels, but drop back into the old matter-of-fact way of life, and do just as we did before, like mortals.”

Perhaps we should not leave the wilderness, even if we could. If we do, we should take part of it with us, as we do with slavery when we celebrate Pesach. To come through and survive is not enough if we end up shutting out feelings and relationships because we are afraid of going through the pain again. Pain is not only a warning symptom that something is wrong, but a necessary prerequisite to empathy. Some children are born with an inability to feel physical pain, and not only can they lose fingers and toes because cuts and scrapes that they cannot feel become infected; they can also have difficulty understanding the pain, physical and emotional, of others.

We must never allow this to happen to us. Of course we must have barriers; we could not bear the pain of the world without either going insane of becoming emotionally paralyzed. But the barriers must be porous. We can neither move on without looking back nor remain mired in the past, In a way we must live on both levels at once, and with its emphasis on remembrance and sensitivity to all suffering, as well as its concrete, this-worldly prescriptions for tikkun olam, repairing the world, Judaism can guide us on this difficult path.

May 22, 2004
Cross-posted on "Servant of the Secret Fire"

Sunday, July 16, 2006


Numbers 17:16-24

The test of Aaron’s and Moses’ favor with YHVH against the leaders of the second of the two (conflated) rebellions (Korach and his family having been swallowed up by the earth); the flowering of Aaron’s staff.

Sh'lakh l'kha

Numbers 15:8-16

The rules of offerings in fulfillment of a vow or of well-being; an explicit instruction that resident aliens shall follow the same ritual, and that “you and the stranger shall be alike before YHWH.” This brought up some discussion of the immigration debate, the ominous attempts to change “citizenship by soil” to “citizenship by blood” and the bizarre insistence by the administration that non-citizens (including those who are here legally) are not covered by the Bill of Rights, which only refers to “the people,” “persons,” the “accused,” or in the case of the 8th Amendment is couched entirely in the passive case: “Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.”


Numbers 10:11-34

The Israelites’ “journeys from the wilderness of Sinai“; the order of march; Moses, evidently not having much faith in God to guide them, attempts to persuade his father-in-law (whose name now appears to be Hobab rather than Jethro or Reuel, although I still think it could be ”Hobab, who was the son of Reuel, who was Moses’ father-in-law,“ which would make him a brother-in-law and eliminate one of poor Jethro/Reuel’s names), to go with them. We talked a lot in our study session about the nature and behavior of the ”cloud.“


Number 7:1-41

Back to the penalty box with me – I’ve been bad again, so the next few posts will be summaries. This was my bat mitzvah portion, so one would think I would have had something brilliant to say about it, but evidently we dealt with the fourth aliyah, which had all sorts of wonderful things in it, like the priestly blessing, the nazirite vow, etc.

The fifth aliyah, on the other hand, is about the consecration of the Tabernacle after its completion and includes, in mind-numbing and repetitive detail, a list of the tribal leaders and their offerings, at least through the fifth day.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Chag Sameach

Shavuot begins tonight – have a good one if you celebrate it. Originally an agricultural festival celebrating the barley harvest and the bringing of the “first fruits” to the temple, it was historicized by the rabbis of the Talmud to commemorate the giving of the Ten Commandments on Mt. Sinai, fifty days after Passover. (The Christian analogue is Pentecost, which bears a similar relationship to Easter.) Traditionally, the book of Ruth is read on Shavuot. Not only is it set at the time of the barley harvest; it also chronicles the acceptance of the Jewish covenant with God by Ruth, a young Moabite woman who becomes the great-grandmother of King David and by extension an ancestress of the Messiah. It is believed to have been written as a rebuttal to the xenophobia that ran rampant after the return of the Jews from the Babylonian exile, when many of those who had remained behind and married non-Jewish women were forced to abandon them, along with their children. Shades of today’s immigration debate, a great deal of which is fueled by xenophobia, whatever legitimate concerns there may be.

Monday, May 29, 2006


Num. 3:14-39

The beginning of a new book (Numbers). The recording of the Levites (males from the age of one month), the names and numbers of the different clans and their duties. I've got some ideas kicking around in my head about this one on how the various parts of the Tabernacle – the coverings, screen, curtains, etc; the ark and other utensils from the sanctuary; and the "infrastructure" – bars, posts, sockets, etc. – could be compared to the "parts" that make up a human being, e.g., our external appearance, our inner self, and I'm not sure what it would be best to compare the third part to. Just some thoughts to be going on with.


Lev. 26:9-46

The end of the list of blessings which YHVH will bestow upon Israel if the people follow the commandments, as well as all of the curses, at least in this part of the Torah. There are more of both in Deuteronomy (D'varim).


Lev. 23:23-32

Commandments regarding the observance of Rosh Hashanah (at this time only the first day of the seventh month - yes, the new year begins in the seventh month - don't ask) and Yom Kippur.

Acharei Mot/K'doshim

Lev. 19:15-32

Once again, I have to admit I've fallen down on the job, so here are some basic outlines that can also serve as placeholders in case any brilliant thoughts occur to me.

This was a wonderful fifth aliyah, jam-packed full of commandments of all kinds, ranging from impartiality in judicial decisions to reverence for elders, and including the "Golden Rule" (Lev. 19:18), as well as the less obviously uplifting prohibitions on mixing species of both animals and cloth, communicating with the dead, and eating blood.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006


At the moment I’m not even going to try this one, rumored to be known as “the rabbinical students’ nightmare” – certainly the bar/bat mitzvah’s nightmare. I do have to say, though, that the fifth aliyah of the double portion – the reintegration of the former “leper” into the community – is much more palatable than the fifth aliyah of Tazria alone, which is solely to do with diagnosis.

Monday, April 17, 2006


Lev. 10:16-20

Earlier in this portion, Aaron's two eldest sons, Nadav and Abihu, attempted to offer "strange fire" before YHVH and, not to put too fine a point on it, were zapped. Moses has told Aaron and his remaining two sons that they are not allowed to mourn, but must "buck up" and get on with their duties. In the fifth aliyah, upon discovering that the sacrifices were not eaten, as they should have been, but burned, Moses once again upbraids them, this time for doing it wrong. Aaron objects on the basis that after what has happened to them, he and his sons are not in a position to expiate the sins of the people, of which we are told, "When Moses heard this, he approved."

It seems to me first that the ritual being carried out improperly is the natural consequence of Moses' refusal to let Aaron and his two younger sons mourn, and perhaps his own anger stems from his knowledge of this. It is also a weakness of concentrating the leadership of an institution in a small, tightly-knit family group. Family tragedies happen, and what is to be done if the entire family is incapacitated with grief? It may be partly a reflection of this realization that when Moses chooses his own successor he goes not only outside of his immediate family, but outside of his tribe.

Secondly, Aaron's point seems to be not so much that he is unable to perform the ritual, but that there is something about him and his remaining sons that makes them incapable of expiating the sins of the people, even if they had done it. Rabbi Judith Abrams talks about the exemption of mourners from certain duties in her first volume of Talmud commentary, and theorizes that the experience of death shatters a person's connection with God to the point that they cannot perform these mitzvot. How much more so must this be true in a case such as Aaron's, where the deaths happened in the course of the performance of these same duties? Aaron is correct, and Moses acknowledges this.
All original material copyright © 2005-2018 L. S. Jaszczak

This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse.