Returning with the Fruit of Canaan

This week’s Torah portion, Shelach (Numbers 13 – 15), describes yet another dramatic, pivotal moment in the sojourn of the people of Israel from Egypt to Canaan.

Soon after the people of Israel leave Sinai on their way East, Moses is instructed to send scouts to tour the land of Canaan:

שְׁלַח לְךָ אֲנָשִׁים וְיָתֻרוּ אֶת אֶרֶץ כְּנַעַן אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי נֹתֵן לִבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אִישׁ אֶחָד אִישׁ אֶחָד לְמַטֵּה אֲבֹתָיו תִּשְׁלָחוּ כֹּל נָשִׂיא בָהֶם:

Send men to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people; send one man from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them.” (Numbers 13:2).

That makes perfect sense: the newly liberated slaves, who have just received the Torah, are asked to walk towards an unknown land led by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, walking into an unknown future. Sending their most reliable representatives ahead of them to scout the new land they are about to habit is a good idea. Those men, it is assumed, will then report of their journey, thereby giving the wilderness travelers a goal to strive towards which will sustain them during the long, arduous journey.

But as almost always in the Bible (and in life), things don’t go according to script. The scouts return, and confirm that the new land is “a land of milk and honey.” They even bring back some of its delicious fruit for the people to see and taste. But the message that ten of the twelve scouts convey is grim: the people living in Canaan, they report, are giants, and the people of Israel will stand no chance against them.

What ensues is a massive demoralization of the whole community.

וַתִּשָּׂא כָּל הָעֵדָה וַיִּתְּנוּ אֶת קוֹלָם וַיִּבְכּוּ הָעָם בַּלַּיְלָה הַהוּא: וַיִּלֹּנוּ עַל מֹשֶׁה וְעַל אַהֲרֹן כֹּל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם כָּל הָעֵדָה לוּ מַתְנוּ בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם אוֹ בַּמִּדְבָּר הַזֶּה לוּ מָתְנוּ: וְלָמָה יְהוָה מֵבִיא אֹתָנוּ אֶל הָאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת לִנְפֹּל בַּחֶרֶב נָשֵׁינוּ וְטַפֵּנוּ יִהְיוּ לָבַז הֲלוֹא טוֹב לָנוּ שׁוּב מִצְרָיְמָה: וַיֹּאמְרוּ אִישׁ אֶל אָחִיו נִתְּנָה רֹאשׁ וְנָשׁוּבָה מִצְרָיְמָה:

The whole community broke into loud cries, and the people wept that night. All the Israelites railed against Moses and Aaron. “If only we had died in the land of Egypt,” the whole community shouted at them, “or if only we might die in this wilderness! Why Y-H-W-H taking us to that land to fall by the sword? Our wives and children will be carried off! It would be better for us to go back to Egypt!” And they said to one another, “Let us head back for Egypt.” (Numbers 14:1-4)

Y-H-W-H’s response is fierce. At first, he intends to kill the entire ungrateful lot and start anew. As before, Moses acts as an appeaser, and God relents with the famous words:

וַיֹּאמֶר יְהוָה סָלַחְתִּי כִּדְבָרֶךָ:

And Y-H-W-H says: “I pardon, as you have asked.” (Numbers 14:20)

But God does inflict a severe punishment: none of the people who have left Egypt as adults, i.e., who were above the age of twenty when the Exodus occurred, would actually make it into Canaan. The people of Israel will wonder in the wilderness for 40 years until the last person who has left Egypt as an adult dies out. The only exceptions: Joshua son of Nun and Caleb son of Jephuneh, two of the twelve spies, the only ones who tried to dissuade the people from turning their back on their mission.

Surely, this is not the first time in the story that the Israelites respond with whining and qwetching when faced with a real or imaginary difficulty. And on the face of it, the sin of the Golden Calf, which was a blunt violation of the first commandment right after it has been given, did not meet with such a response. So why such a strict response now?

The transgression of the scouts seems to be of a different nature altogether: It’s the sin of disbelief in the possibility of a miraculous outcome. The worse sin in Judaism, said Rabbi Michael Lerner, is the insistence that the presence is an indication of what is possible in the future; doubting the possibility of the emergence of something miraculously new. Such an attitude amounts to a denial of God.

Everything in nature bears the mark of such a miraculous emergence. For close to 14 billion years, by present calculations, molecules emerged out of atoms; self-replicating molecules emerged out of ordinary molecules; simple cells emerged out of a primordial soup of ingredients; specialized cells emerged, which led to the emergence of complex eukaryotic cells—and from them to multi-cellular organisms; and so forth.

From the point of view of each stage of the process, the emergence of the next step was unpredictable and miraculous. Nothing about fish predicts the emergence of life on dry land; nothing about reptiles predicts the emergence of mammals; nothing about apes predicts the emergence of human culture. And yet, stage after unpredictable miraculous stage, the process unfolds with awesome wonder.

Why is this possible? Why is this happening? From a religious point of view, it is because the Divine is everywhere. “There is no spot where He is not” says the Zohar. Or as this week’s Parasha expresses it:

וְיִמָּלֵא כְבוֹד יְהוָה אֶת כָּל הָאָרֶץ:

As Y-H-W-H’s presence fills the whole earth. (Numbers 14:21).

Denying the possibility of miraculous emergence, in the face of repeated demonstration of its emergence, is the gravest sin. It is what determines whether one remains a slave or starts to move towards freedom.

* * *

Like all the stories in the Torah, the story of the scouts is about us. Particularly those of us who have had spiritual insights and who have directly perceived the miraculous. To what extent do we have the guts and heart to be true to the miraculous nature of what we have seen, so that we can bear witness to the Divine Omnipresence even when the going gets tough?

In Jesus’ last supper, he predicted that Peter, whom he called the “rock [upon which] I will build my church,” would betray him three times before the cock calls. And so it was: when the soldiers came, Peter forgot all the miracles and all his love for his master, and he succumbed to fear. Such was the sind of the spies.

Learning the Bible stories at school, I always wondered why the Israelites were so dumb. I was sure, that had I been there, I certainly would have made the right choices in all these obvious cases. But the truth is, that as we traverse the wilderness that is called “Life”, we are constantly challenged to be true to what we know to be the highest and to bear witness to God, even in the face of enormous challenges. The story of the scouts is the story of us.

Pierre Teilhard_de_Chardin

This week’s Torah portion, bamidbar (Numbers 1:1-4:20), is the first Torah reading in a book of the same name (referred to in English as Numbers). The word bamidbar (במדבר) means “In the wilderness”.

Wilderness is the backdrop of most of the Torah. It is where all the drama of the people of Israel as a people, as opposed to a family, takes place. And it unfolds in the space of 40 years, after which, supposedly, our forefathers crossed the Jordan river and entered the Promised Land.

But have we really left the wilderness? Have we really entered the Promised Land?

Think about it. For thousands of years, every Simchat Torah we start reading the Torah from the beginning, from the Torah portion of Bereshit. And after fifty weeks or so, towards the end of the cycle, we read the last chapter of the Torah, Deuteronomy 34, in which we find a powerful image: Moses goes up to mount Nevo, from which he has a view of the land of Canaan, and, Y-H-V-H tells him:

זֹאת הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּעְתִּי לְאַבְרָהָם לְיִצְחָק וּלְיַעֲקֹב לֵאמֹר לְזַרְעֲךָ אֶתְּנֶנָּה הֶרְאִיתִיךָ בְעֵינֶיךָ וְשָׁמָּה לֹא תַעֲבֹר:

“This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, saying, ‘I will assign it to your offspring.’ I have let you see it with your own eyes, but you shall not cross there.” (Deuteronomy 34:4).

Moses passes away, the Torah ends, and we start from the beginning. The entry into the land of Canaan, which is described in the book of Joshua, is not part of Jewish life cycle.

Notice also that God is not referred to in the Torah as “the God who took you into the land of Canaan.” He is only referred to as the one who took the people of Israel out of Egypt. As, for example, in the first of the Ten Commandments:

אָנֹכִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ אֲשֶׁר הוֹצֵאתִיךָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם מִבֵּית עֲבָדִים.

I, Y-H-V-H, am your god who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage. (Exodus 20:2)

The Promised Land is spoken of as something to prepare for, something that will happen in the future. In the book of Deuteronomy Moses repeatedly uses the expression-

…עַל הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם עֹבְרִים אֶת הַיַּרְדֵּן שָׁמָּה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ.

…the land that you are to possess upon crossing the Jordan. (Deuteronomy 32:47).

We are out of Egypt; getting into Canaan is something that is going to happen in the future; so where are we now? In the wilderness.

What is this condition, that we call it “the wilderness?” We are no longer in mitzrayim (מצרים), a word which means Egypt but literally means duality of boundaries. And you are not yet in Canaan, the Promised Land, a land flowing with milk and honey, a land of heaven on earth, although you long for it, you yearn for it, you are oriented towards it, you are informed by it, you move towards it.

You can never really get there. We are told that the people of Israel had to stay in the desert for 40 years until the last person who was a grown up when they had left Egypt—the last person who still had slavery to programmed in them—dies out. Only those who were one-pointedly and wholly to freedom and to the One, who had no trace of duality in them, were fit to cross into the Holy Land. May I suggest, that we are still waiting for those people to arise.

The human condition is not perfect. Perfect saints exist in Renaissance paintings. We all have the devil in us as well. That is what makes it interesting: because even though are bodies are firmly rooted on earth, our consciousness is grounded in Heaven and we can abide in that heaven right now. But we cannot deny duality, we cannot deny our body, we cannot deny those aspects of our lives that constantly pull us towards mitzrayim, towards the duality of boundaries.

So we are here in this in-between land, the land of bamidbar. This is where our unique drama unfolds. We were given an awesome task: the partake in the task of the creator, of moving creation towards more and more consciousness, towards higher and higher order. And how do we do that? As God tells Cain:

לַפֶּתַח חַטָּאת רֹבֵץ וְאֵלֶיךָ תְּשׁוּקָתוֹ וְאַתָּה תִּמְשָׁל בּוֹ:

Sin couches at the door; his urge is toward you, yet you can be the master. (Genesis 4:7)

You still have Egypt in you, it still exerts its pull, but you can make a choice. And that choice has cosmic implication, it is the most direct way towards tikkun ‘olam, towards the repair of the world. This is our task here on earth.

* * *

But does it make sense to aspire towards an elusive Holy Land which one can never reach? I’d like to bring one modern answer to this conundrum, that of the great French scientist, philosopher, theologian and educator, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955). He conceived of the idea of the Omega Point. Omega, of course, is that last letter in the Greek alphabet, which is why Jesus says in the Book of Revelation: “I am the alpha and the omega, the First and the Last.” (Revelation 22:13)

In Teilhard de Chardin’s theory of evolution, the universe perpetually evolves towards higher levels of material complexity and consciousness, starting from simple inanimate matter and culminating, thus far, in us, humans (emphasis on “thus far”). The Omega Point was for him the ultimate point of complexity and consciousness which acts as an attractor, as a point that the universe constantly evolves towards. It is both transcendent and real, and acts as an imperative—everything must evolve towards it, it cannot be undone, and its very existence exerts an irresistible pull on the whole physical matter.

I propose that the same is true of the idea of the Holy Land, the Promised Land. That land does not exist in time and space. The world we live in, the physical world, is the world of the wilderness. The Promised Land, a very real but transcendent concept, is something we can see, we can aspire for, but cannot cross towards. Yet its existence has had a transformative cohesive influence on the Jewish people for thousands of years.

So yes, we are still bamidbar, in the wilderness, in the desert. And that is the good news. Because in choosing to align ourselves with the move towards the Promised Land and away from mitzrayim, away from bondage, we are co-creators of a better world. This is Tikkun Olam at its best. And from a certain perspective, that is what we came here to do.

David Bohm

The opening verses of the Torah portion of bechukotai, (Leviticus 26:3 – 27:34) reminded me of the ideas of American physicist David Bohm (1917-1992). An innovative thinker, Bohm did not limit himself to physics and went further than many in trying to grapple with the implications of quantum physics on our understanding of mind and brain. He also engaged in famous conversations with J.D. Krishnamurti, one of the most significant spiritual teachers of the 20^th century, and developed a system of “dialogue,” a way for people to conduct a conversation which takes the insights he has gained into the nature of mind and consciousness into account.

One of Bohm’s ideas was that of Implicate and Explicate order. For Bohm, explicate order (which he also refers to as “unfolded” order) is the order that we normally perceive around us, the perceived order of space, time, and particles. Underlying this order, for Bohm, is a deeper one, which he calls “implicate” (or “enfolded”) order. It is that order which he was interested learning and accessing, and his process of dialogue was aimed at that.

Bohm felt that accessing this implicate order through the process of dialogue was an end in itself, and therefore the application of this form of dialogue for practical, “worldly” purpose was left to his students and successors (bear with me, this will tie in with the weekly portion very soon…). One of these is William Isaacs, author of Dialogue: The Art Of Thinking Together. In his book, Isaacs brings many case studies in which companies fared poorly due to lack of real communication between the various branches of labor, management, and R&D. But as soon as the system of dialogue was introduced and applied—that is, to use both Bohm’s and Isaacs’ assertions, as soon as the implicate order was accessed together by the various stake-holders—the company or organization turned around.

* * *

It was upon reading these testimonies that the verses of bechukotai came to life. In those beginning verses, Y-H-V-H makes a promise to the Israelites, which on the face of it looks very simplistic: if they conduct their lives according to His laws and obey His commandments, they will flourish. And if they don’t, they will be severely punished.

אִם בְּחֻקֹּתַי תֵּלֵכוּ וְאֶת מִצְוֹתַי תִּשְׁמְרוּ וַעֲשִׂיתֶם אֹתָם: וְנָתַתִּי גִשְׁמֵיכֶם בְּעִתָּם וְנָתְנָה הָאָרֶץ יְבוּלָהּ וְעֵץ הַשָּׂדֶה יִתֵּן פִּרְיוֹ: וְהִשִּׂיג לָכֶם דַּיִשׁ אֶת בָּצִיר וּבָצִיר יַשִּׂיג אֶת זָרַע וַאֲכַלְתֶּם לַחְמְכֶם לָשֹׂבַע וִישַׁבְתֶּם לָבֶטַח בְּאַרְצְכֶם:… וְאִם לֹא תִשְׁמְעוּ לִי וְלֹא תַעֲשׂוּ אֵת כָּל הַמִּצְוֹת הָאֵלֶּה: וְאִם בְּחֻקֹּתַי תִּמְאָסוּ וְאִם אֶת מִשְׁפָּטַי תִּגְעַל נַפְשְׁכֶם לְבִלְתִּי עֲשׂוֹת אֶת כָּל מִצְוֹתַי לְהַפְרְכֶם אֶת בְּרִיתִי: אַף אֲנִי אֶעֱשֶׂה זֹּאת לָכֶם וְהִפְקַדְתִּי עֲלֵיכֶם בֶּהָלָה אֶת הַשַּׁחֶפֶת וְאֶת הַקַּדַּחַת מְכַלּוֹת עֵינַיִם וּמְדִיבֹת נָפֶשׁ וּזְרַעְתֶּם לָרִיק זַרְעֲכֶם וַאֲכָלֻהוּ אֹיְבֵיכֶם:

If you conduct yourself according to My laws and observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season, so that the earth shall yield its produce and the trees of the field their fruit. Your threshing shall overtake the vintage, and your vintage shall overtake the sowing; you shall eat your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land…. But if you do not obey me and do not observe all these commandments, if you reject My laws and spurn My rules, so that you do not observe all My commandments and you break My covenant, in turn I will do this to you: I will wreak misery upon you—consumption and fever, which cause the eyes to pine and the body to languish, you shall sow your seed to no purpose, for your enemies shall eat it. (Leviticus 26:3-5, 14-17).

So yes, I know that most present day rabbis and orthodox Jews will claim that the text simply talks about following God’s commandments, the mitzvoth, as interpreted by the 2,000 rabbinical tradition. And I am not going to argue with that, because surely there is nothing wrong with following the commandments. But I think there is a deeper way in which we can understand the words lalechet bechukuotay, i.e., walk in my commandments. And that deeper way comes from within the Jewish tradition, not from outside.

* * *

In the biblical book of Proverbs, chokhma (חכמה), “Wisdom”, is personified. She has a monologue, which she opens with the words:

יְהוָה–קָנָנִי, רֵאשִׁית דַּרְכּוֹ:    קֶדֶם מִפְעָלָיו מֵאָז.
מֵעוֹלָם, נִסַּכְתִּי מֵרֹאשׁ–    מִקַּדְמֵי-אָרֶץ.
בְּאֵין-תְּהֹמוֹת חוֹלָלְתִּי;    בְּאֵין מַעְיָנוֹת, נִכְבַּדֵּי-מָיִם.
בְּטֶרֶם הָרִים הָטְבָּעוּ;    לִפְנֵי גְבָעוֹת חוֹלָלְתִּי.

Y-H-V-H created me in the beginning of his course
As the first of His works of old.
In the distant past I was fashioned,
At the beginning, at the origin of earth.
There was still no deep when I was brought forth,
No springs rich in water;
Before [the foundation of] the mountains were sunk,
Before the hills I was born.
(Proverbs 8:22-25)

Who is this wisdom personified? Without exception, throughout time and in all the streams of Judaism (mystics or scholars, traditional or modern), the fact that this personified Wisdom, chokhmah, is none other than the Torah has been taken for granted. Torah is revealed here not as a text, but as a primordial level of wisdom that existed before creation came into being, before space and time.

The midrash and the Talmud went even further. Not only did Torah exist as a primordial wisdom before creation came about, it is in fact the blueprint of creation. God, it is said, uses the letters of the Torah as the “workers” which he uses to bring creation about. It is the sequence of the letter in the Torah, according to those ancient traditions, that is the code through which creation comes into being.

* * *

This way of relating to the Torah, which mirrors the way the Vedic tradition relates to Veda and echos Bohm’s concept of implicit order, makes profound sense to me. It makes sense to me, that living in accordance with that level of intelligence of nature one life would have better chances of prospering than otherwise.

While I am, like many others, weary of any attempts to “prove” anything that appears in the Bible through the use of science, I can safely say that David Bohm’s concept of implicit order helped me to live in piece with the statements in the bechukotay portion of the week, which I otherwise have many factual and historical problems with. Thank you, David Bohm.

וְכִי יָמוּךְ אָחִיךָ עִמָּךְ וְנִמְכַּר לָךְ לֹא תַעֲבֹד בּוֹ עֲבֹדַת עָבֶד: כְּתוֹשָׁב יִהְיֶה עִמָּךְ עַד שְׁנַת הַיֹּבֵל יַעֲבֹד עִמָּךְ: וְיָצָא מֵעִמָּךְ הוּא וּבָנָיו עִמּוֹ וְשָׁב אֶל מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ וְאֶל אֲחֻזַּת אֲבֹתָיו יָשׁוּב: כִּי עֲבָדַי הֵם אֲשֶׁר הוֹצֵאתִי אֹתָם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם לֹא יִמָּכְרוּ מִמְכֶּרֶת עָבֶד:… כִּי לִי בְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל עֲבָדִים עֲבָדַי הֵם אֲשֶׁר הוֹצֵאתִי אוֹתָם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם:

If your kinsman under you continues in straits and must give himself over to you, to not subject him to the treatment of a slave. He shall remain with you as a hired or bound laborer; he shall serve with you only until the Jubilee year. Then he and his children with him shall be free of your authority; he shall go back to his family and return to his ancestral holding. For they are my slaves, whom I freed from the land of Egypt, and may not give themselves over into slavery…. For it is to me that the Israelites are slaves: they are my slaves, whom I freed from the land of Egypt, I Y-H-V-H your God. (Leviticus 25:39-42, 55)

As discussed earlier, in the context of the Torah portion of Vayera, the Hebrew word for slave is eved. Being an eved is considered to be a despicable way of life; referring to someone in this manner is a great insult. Why? Because as a slave, one has nothing of one’s own. One’s body, one’s cloths, one’s spouse and one’s children belong to one’s master-owner.

But when it comes to God, this relationship is hailed as the ideal relationship. Abraham is hailed by good as “my slave, Abraham”; Moses is referred to as God’s slave; and the prophets’ highest ideal of life was to be a slave of Y-H-V-H:

הֵן עַבְדִּי אֶתְמָךְ בּוֹ בְּחִירִי רָצְתָה נַפְשִׁי נָתַתִּי רוּחִי עָלָיו מִשְׁפָּט לַגּוֹיִם יוֹצִיא.

This is My slave, whom I uphold,
My chosen one, in whom I delight.
I have put My spirit upon him,
He shall teach the true way to the nations. (Isaiah 42:1)

English translations of the Bible, by both Jewish and Christian sources, translate the words eved adonay, which literally mean God’s slave, as God’s servant, because it’s a “less humiliating” way of describing someone who is so surrendered to God. But in doing so, they are performing both a linguistic and a philosophical error. Linguistically, because eved actually means slave; a servant would be mesharet. Philosophically, because the use of this word is deliberate—it describes a situation in which one recognizes that nothing that one has is one’s own, it all belongs to God.

Far from being an insult, calling someone “God’s slave” is the highest compliment. It is, in fact, the name of one of the prophets, Ovadiah (עֹבַדְיָה). And it’s the same in Arabic: calling someone ‘abd (عبد), Arabic for slave (which comes from the same root as the Hebrew eved), is an insult; but when used in conjunction with Allah, it is the greatest honor. Hence the name ‘Abdallah (عبد الله), which means “Allah’s slave.” In fact, many traditional Arabic names start with the word ‘abd followed by one of the epithets of Allah from the Qur’an: ‘Abdulrahman (the Slave of the Merciful), ‘Abdulquadir (the Slave of the Powerful), etc.

Interestingly, the Hebrew word eved also shares its root with the Hebrew word avodah, which means both “work” and “worship.” Worshipping God in Judaism is not a question of choice; it is work, a duty. One is to performs it as a slave, in the sense that one who is cognizant that one’s body and mind exist for the sole purpose of performing God’s work. It is the same concept in Islam, in which these three words—work, worship and slavery—all come from the same Arabic root, which is identical with the Hebrew one.

And yet it is important to realize that this slavery is understood, and experienced, in both religions as the key to real freedom. In the words of the great 11^th Century Rabbi and poet Yehudah Halevi:

עַבְדֵי זְמָן עַבְדֵי עֲבָדִים הֵם –
עֶבֶד אֲדֹנָי הוּא לְבַד חָפְשִׁי:
עַל כֵּן בְבַקֵּשׁ כָּל-אֱנוֹשׁ חֶלְקוֹ
“חֶלְקִי אֲדֹנָי!” אָמְרָה נַפְשִׁי.

Slaves of time are slaves of slaves—
Only God’s slave is free:
Therefore, when each human asked for their share,
My soul said, “God is the share for me!”

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

Interior of Tomb of Baba Kuhi in Shiraz, Iran

I am leaving for a one-week silent meditation retreat, so instead of a specific d’var on this week’s Torah portion, I’d like to offer a short reflection on the known Hassidic saying in Yiddish, alz is gat (אַלץ איז גאָט), “everything is God.” The commentary is in the form of a Sufi poem by Baba Kuhi of Shiraz, “Only God I Saw”:

In the market, in the cloister–only God I saw.
In the valley and on the mountain–only God I saw.
Him I have seen beside me oft in tribulation;
In favour and in fortune–only God I saw.
In prayer and fasting, in praise and contemplation,
In the religion of the Prophet–only God I saw.
Neither soul nor body, accident nor substance,
Qualities nor causes–only God I saw.
I oped mine eyes and by the light of His face around me
In all the eye discovered–only God I saw.
Like a candle I was melting in His fire:
Amidst the flames outflashing–only God I saw.
Myself with mine own eyes I saw most clearly,
But when I looked with God’s eyes–only God I saw.
I passed away into nothingness, I vanished,
And lo, I was the All-living–only God I saw.

(Translated by Reynold A. Nicholson)

Rabbi Klonimus Kalman’s grave

This week’s Torah portion, kedoshim (Leviticus Ch. 19-20), opens up with a bang. The text says:

וַיְדַבֵּר יְהוָה אֶל מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר: דַּבֵּר אֶל כָּל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם קְדֹשִׁים תִּהְיוּ כִּי קָדוֹשׁ אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם:

Y-H-V-H spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the whole Israelite community, and say to them: You shall be holy, for I, Y-H-V-H your God, am Holy. (Leviticus 19:1-2)

The Hebrew word kadosh (קדוש), meaning holy, means different, other, set apart. As such, it is an attribute of God, as the one who is completely set apart from creation, the transcendental reality.

And yet here, the Torah demands of the Israelites—and I prefer not to understand this term as those who share a particular DNA, but rather as the word denotes, “those who grapple with God”—to be holy too. God seems to be saying: I am holy, and if you engage with me and grapple with me, if you do it right, you should be holy too.

But if holy means set apart and different, should “becoming holy” mean withdrawing from the world? The Hassidic text Maor Vashemesh, discusses just that. Rabbi Klonimus Kalman Halevi, the author, starts by referring to Maimonides, who seems to be advocating withdrawal in some circumstances (apologies to women readers: this text was written in the 18^th Century):

“If an Israelite lives in a place where evil views and bad leaders prevail, he should leave that place and move from place to place, and from country to country, until one reaches a place of straight Torah and opinions, where he would find rest. And if he cannot find any suitable place, he should seek solitude in deserts and forests in order to run away from evil views and bad people.”

Rabbi Klominus concurs, but only to a point.

“The truth is, that one should indeed escape to the forests and retire from the public in order to save oneself from evil views and evil deeds, but the only thing this can be helpful for is ensuring that one can perform one’s worship of Him, blessed by He. However, one does not gain supreme holiness until one attaches oneself to people of God who worship God in truth, and participate with them with much worship, through prayers as well as through the study of the Torah. The essence of all the mitzvoth (the commandments) is to be in community with other God seekers; then and only then the supreme holiness can be achieved.”

In this, Rabbi Klonimus echoes the ideas of Gautama the Buddha. Buddhism is known for its solitary practices of inward meditation, and there is no more solitary practice than that. However, when asked about the value of sangha, the spiritual community, the Buddha said: “Sangha is the beginning, the middle, and the end of the spiritual life.”

*   *   *

Another key phrase that appears in this Torah portion is

וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ

Love your fellow as yourself. (Leviticus 19:18)

This phrase is known as the Golden Rule. It is the fundamental rule of every culture and tradition that is based on the sacred. Here are a few examples:

Christianity: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Matthew 7:12)

Islam: “Not one of you is a believer until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself.” (Forty Hadith of an-Nawawi 13)

Hinduism: “One should not behave towards others in a way which is disagreeable to oneself. This is the essence of morality. All other activities are due to selfish desire.” (Mahabharata, Anusasana Parva 113.8)

Jainism: “A man should wander about treating all creatures as he himself would be treated.” (Sutrakritanga 1.11.33)

Buddhism: “Comparing oneself to others in such terms as “Just as I am so are they, just as they are so am I,” he should neither kill nor cause others to kill.” (Sutta Nipata 705)

How can one love one’s fellow as oneself, when he or she is “so obviously” other? The message of this important, universal principle is that there is no other: ultimately, there is only One, and that One is who we all are. Leyt atar panuy mineh, there is no place where He is not, says the Zohar. This realization, of the Oneness of all, is the highest realization of truth, the supreme holiness.

Sages of all spiritual and religious traditions have been recommending solitary meditation as a means of realizing that oneness. The solitary practice of meditation becomes a key to loving the other, the key to community.

An interesting symmetry emerges: holiness, the supreme “otherness”, is said to be realized ultimately through community; and community, the ultimate of togetherness, is ultimately possible through the deep non-dual, ultimately solitary realization of Self. Community and solitude are two aspects of the same thing.

—————–

For the quotes, I relied on the anthology “The World Scripture” http://www.unification.net/ws/

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

The Ark of the Covenant

As practically all of the book of Leviticus, this week’s Torah portion, acharey mot (Leviticus Ch. 16-18), lists numerous rules regarding how Aharon, the chief priest, is to conduct himself while he is in the Tent of the Meeting (another name for the Tabernacle).

For the Hassidic rabbis, these are just codes for how one should conduct oneself during prayer. The “Tent of the Meeting” is not a physical place for them; it is the deeper realms of one’s consciousness. Entering the Tent of the Meeting (ohel mo’ed) is entering that place within oneself, where one meets one’s Maker.

Here is how Rabbi Benjamin Ben Aharon from Zlositch, author of Torey Zahav (תורי זהב), interpreted one of these instructions. The text says:

וְכָל אָדָם לֹא יִהְיֶה בְּאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד בְּבֹאוֹ לְכַפֵּר בַּקֹּדֶשׁ עַד צֵאתוֹ וְכִפֶּר בַּעֲדוֹ וּבְעַד בֵּיתוֹ וּבְעַד כָּל קְהַל יִשְׂרָאֵל:

No person shall be in the Tent of Meeting [the Tabernacle] when he comes in to atone for the holy, until he goes out. He shall make atonement for himself and his household…. (Leviticus 16:17)

Rabbi Benjamin Ben Aharon from Zlositch writes:*

In the book Duties of the Hearts** [hovot halevavot, by the 11^th century Rabbi Bahya ibn Paqquda] we are told that a person should regularly practice lone meditation [hitbodedut [התבודדות, separated from other people. You should reach the state that even when surrounded by a thousand people, you are able to maintain your attachment to God. Nothing should divide you or separate you from that attachment (Sha‘ar Heshbon ha-Nefesh 3).

Thus I interpret our verse…. We know that before praying you should be stripped of your corporeal self. Your thought should cleave to the exaltedness of God, as though you were standing in the upper worlds among angels, rather than surrounded by people. When you forget that you are among people, you are able to pray with great intensity, without any false motives. This is [what is meant by] No person shall be in the Tent of Meeting. That refers to the synagogue or house of study, the place where people gather to pray. No person shall be there in your thought; you should be so stripped of physical selfhood that you forget you are standing among people. As you come in to atone for the holy: the time of prayer, which takes the place of atoning sacrifices. Until he goes out: from the beginning to the end of prayer. He shall make atonement for himself and his household: prayer of this sort is surely pure.

Thus I also interpreted the sages’ saying “In a place where there is no man, try to be a man” (Mishnah, Pirkey Avot 2: 5). When you stand in that place of teshuvah, strive to be more than an ordinary man; enter the upper realms, where there is no other person. Before you perform a mitsvah, set your mind to be attached above, as though there were no person present….

* * *

The Hassids were not the only mystics that took ancient stories of entering the tabernacle or the temple to mean entering one’s own Holy of Holies. A story that I told earlier in this blog is fit to be told here, since this we are approaching the holiday of Passover, even though it is coming from the New Testament. The story comes from the Gospel of Luke:

Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover.  And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival.  When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. (Luke 2:41-47)

Commenting on this story, Meister Eckhart, the great 14^th century mystic who deserves, in my eyes, to be called “a Christian Hassid”, had an interpretation of this story that reminds one of the Hassids.

For Eckhart, this story is a metaphor for one’s search for God. When one lives unconsciously, one is so self-absorbed that one does not know whether or not one is connected to God. This is symbolized by the fact that “the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it” (the parents, in this story, symbolize the seekers).

As life progresses, one notices that something is missing, but thinks that the solution is near, and one is bound to stumble upon it sooner or later in the natural course of one’s life. “Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey.”

It does not take long for an introspective soul to realize that one has to look deeper. One may not be ready for a radical change yet—one still looks for God in the familiar—but the intensity of one’s search increases. “Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends.”

When that fails, one decides to be much more focused and serious. One starts devoting all of one’s energy to the search, engaging in prayer, meditation, and holy practices. This, Meister Eckhart says, is what is meant by the fact that the parents returned to the holy city, to Jerusalem, and looked for boy Jesus within its walls. But even after three days of constant searching in the holy city, they could not find him. In other words, holy, religious pursuits in themselves are no guarantee for finding God.

Where do they find God eventually? In the temple, which for Eckhart is a metaphor for the deepest level of Self, the deepest level of one’s consciousness. When one finally steps into that inner realm, one realizes that God has been there all along, teaching.

* * *

Happy Passover!

—————————–

*Green, Arthur; Leader, Ebn; Mayse, Ariel Evan; Rose, Or N. (2013-07-09). Speaking Torah, Vol. 1: Spiritual Teachings from around the Maggid’s Table (Kindle Locations 5327-5336). Jewish Lights Publishing. Kindle Edition.

**חובות הלבבות

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

Ancient mosaic from Lower Galilee

On the face of it, the weekly Torah portion of metzora (Leviticus Ch. 14 & 15) deals with the role of the priests in purifying physical impurities of all kinds, especially skin impurities and diseases (metzora means “lepper”). But the real message of this portion is best told with the help of a story from the midrash (the allegorical commentaries on the Torah).

The midrash* tells that a peddler was going around the lower Galilee region of ancient Israel, calling out for people to buy his elixir of life. Wherever he went, he attracted attention. Rabbi Yanai, one of the most prominent figures of the time (3^rd century C.E), was studying Torah in his luxurious living room when he was distracted by the commotion caused by the man.

After hearing what the excitement was about , he invited the peddler into his house and asked to buy his merchandise. “You don’t need it”, said the peddler, “It’s not for the likes of you.” Rabbi Yanai insisted, so the peddler showed him a verse from the Psalms:

מִי-הָאִישׁ, הֶחָפֵץ חַיִּים, אֹהֵב יָמִים, לִרְאוֹת טוֹב.
נְצֹר לְשׁוֹנְךָ מֵרָע וּשְׂפָתֶיךָ, מִדַּבֵּר מִרְמָה.

Who is the man who is eager for life,
Who desires years of good fortune?
Guard your tongue from evil,
Your lips from deceitful speech. (Psalm 34, 13-14)

Rabbi Yanai commented: “I have been studying this verse all my life, and until this peddler came, I did not realize how literally it should be taken.”

It seems obvious to me, that the kind of life that the Psalm and midrash are referring to is not biological life. We all know that there are some truthful people who never speak ill of others whose life is short, and some dishonest people whose life is long and even comfortable. Rather, it is the quality of life that they are referring to. Life that is infested with evil speech and deceit is not a life worth living.

What does this story have to do with the Torah portion, which deals exclusively with how to diagnose, isolate, and treat leprosy and other external impurities? Because leprosy has been connected by the sages to speaking ill of others. This connection is established in the book of Numbers, the next book in the Torah. We are told that Miryam, Moses’ sister, was speaking ill of her brother, and that she was punished by incurring leprosy on the spot (Leviticus 12). The sages, using a play on words, equated the Hebrew word metzora (מצרע) with motzi shem ra (מוציא שם רע).

And perhaps just as the “life” that is referred to in the story above is not biological life, but the internal dimension of life, so also the leprosy that is spoken off here is not physical leprosy, but an allegorical one. The result of speaking ill of others, then, is that your life is seriously ill—your soul becomes full of blemish.

It is interesting that one way in which a was treated was banishment. He or she could not come into the town, city, or camp with the rest of the people. This could also be understood allegorically, because a person who is in the habit of speaking ill of others isolates him- or herself from the sense of community, from being together with others. Outwardly, physically, he or she may be with others; but internally, he or she has banished themselves.

Speaking ill of others is probably the hardest “sin” to avoid. I have met very few people in my life who are genuinely saintly in this manner, and the sweetness and love the radiates form them is palpable (and very implicating!). That saintliness can feel to others that it’s too much, and they need to challenge it, to see if it’s really true.

It reminds me of a story that I’ve told once before on this blog. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, the famous guru who founded Transcendental Meditation, told about an Indian saint who was known for his insistence on only seeing the positive in every situation. A group of young men took him upon themselves to expose him to utterly negative situation, in which he would not have anything good to say.

Inviting him to accompany them to a function, they made sure to pass through an alley where a rotten carcass of a cat run over by a car was lying in the middle of the road. When one of the men pointed to the carcass with disgust, the saint smiled and said: “Look at the beautiful, pearly white teeth of the cat”.

That men found the elixir of life. He was definitely not a metzorah, not a lepper.

———————

* Midrash Rabah Vayikra, 16:2

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

]]> http://igal.fogbound.net/2014/04/06/on-the-weekly-torah-portion-of-metzora/feed/ 0 http://igal.fogbound.net/2014/03/25/on-the-weekly-torah-portion-of-tazria/ http://igal.fogbound.net/2014/03/25/on-the-weekly-torah-portion-of-tazria/#respond Wed, 26 Mar 2014 01:08:17 +0000 http://igal.fogbound.net/?p=460

The grave of the Maharal of Prag

At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, tazria, we are told this regarding a new baby boy:

וּבַיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי יִמּוֹל בְּשַׂר עָרְלָתוֹ:

On the eighth day, the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised. (Leviticus 12:3)

Is there a significance to this number eight, to doing this on the eighth day? It turns out there is. According to the great 16^th century rabbi Yehudah Livai of Prag (the Maharal of Prag), everything that pertains to the supernatural intervention of the divine in the world is associated with the number eight.

Just look at last week’s Torah portion, shemini. The word shemini means “eighth”, and the portion is called thus because it opens with the words:

וַיְהִי בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי

It was on the eighth day (Leviticus 9:1).

The eight day of what? It was the eighth day of the consecration of the mishkan, the tabernacle. it was only on that day that God’s presence, the shekhinah, finally entered the mishkan and the purpose for which it was created could be served.

The miraculous nature of eight is also highlighted in the story of Hanukah. Eight days was the time needed before the new oil could arrive to enable the inauguration of the temple, and a very small amount of oil that was found in the temple itself miraculously lasted until the new oil arrived.

Incidentally, the Hebrew word for oil, shemen (שמן), comes from the same root as the Hebrew word for eight, shmone (שמנה). Indeed, oil is used throughout the Bible to signify the miraculous world of the eighth day. In fact, the word Massiah (משיח), the one who brings about the new world of perfection, means “the one anointed with oil.”

This connection between oil and eight is also alluded to with regards to Jacob’s eighth son, Asher. When Jacob blesses his sons before his death, here is what he says to Asher:

מֵאָשֵׁר שְׁמֵנָה לַחְמוֹ וְהוּא יִתֵּן מַעֲדַנֵּי מֶלֶךְ:

Asher’s bread shall be rich with oil and he shall yield royal dainties. (Genesis 49:20).

Similarly, before Moses parts from the people of Israel, here is how he blesses the tribe of Asher:

וּלְאָשֵׁר אָמַר בָּרוּךְ מִבָּנִים אָשֵׁר יְהִי רְצוּי אֶחָיו וְטֹבֵל בַּשֶּׁמֶן רַגְלוֹ:

And of Asher he said: Most blessed of sons be Asher, may he be the favorite of his brothers, may he dip his foot in oil. (Deuteronomy 33:24)

But the Messiah is connected to the eighth day more directly. The Babylonian Talmud tells us that the Messiah will come after the seventh day—i.e., on the eighth day.* It is not surprising that this symbolism did not escape the Christians, as the gospel tells us that Jesus’ resurrection occurred on Sunday, a day after the seventh day.

The symbolism of “beyond seven” as the emergence of the new world also has to do with the number fifty. For example, later in the book of Leviticus, we will read of the command to celebrate the 50^th year, the yovel (the source of the English word Jubilee), which is a year in which everything is started anew. Here is how it is described:

וְסָפַרְתָּ לְךָ, שֶׁבַע שַׁבְּתֹת שָׁנִים–שֶׁבַע שָׁנִים, שֶׁבַע פְּעָמִים; וְהָיוּ לְךָ, יְמֵי שֶׁבַע שַׁבְּתֹת הַשָּׁנִים, תֵּשַׁע וְאַרְבָּעִים, שָׁנָה…. וְקִדַּשְׁתֶּם, אֵת שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה, וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ, לְכָל-יֹשְׁבֶיהָ; יוֹבֵל הִוא, תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם, וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִישׁ אֶל-אֲחֻזָּתוֹ, וְאִישׁ אֶל-מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ תָּשֻׁבוּ.

You shall count off seven weeks of years—so that the period of seven weeks of years gives you a total of forty-nine years… and you shall hollow the fiftieth year. You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants. (Leviticus 25:8,100)

Notice also the symbolism of Pentecost, the holiday in which the Torah was given out. The people of Israel spent seven weeks, or 49 days, in the desert, and on the 50^th day, the first day of the 8^th week, they received the Torah, an event which is celebrated by the Jewish holiday of Shavu’ot, or pentacost.

Interestingly, Moses’ successor, Joshua, who is the one who actually took the people of Israel from the desert into the world of the Holy Land, is called “Ben Nun”, the son of Nun (pronounced “noon”). Nun is also the name of the 14^th letter of the Hebrew alphabet, which has the numerical value of 50. Thus, it is the son of 50 who ushers in the new world.

Readers of this blog will remember that when writing about the weekly portion of mishpatim, I focused on the symbolism of forty. The number forty (forty years or forty days) is used in the Torah to designate a period of time that precedes an event of monumental importance (e.g., the forty days of the flood, or Moses’ ascent to Mt. Sinai to receive the Torah).

It took forty years to sojourn through the desert; now it is up to the son of fifty, Joshua Ben Nun, to accomplish the purpose for which the forty years were a prelude to.

And here we see another relationship between 50 and 8. The book of Joshua tells us, that only those who left Egypt were circumcised, but during the sojourn in the desert, nobody was circumcised. After crossing the Jordan, Joshua, the son of fifty, is commanded to administer the circumcision of all the people under his command, that which normally takes place on the eighth day of a boy’s life.

Thus we are brought full circle to the beginning of this Torah portion, with its commandments on circumcision.

* * *

But what about the number seven, the Shabbat? The seventh day symbolism seems to be different. It stands for completion, for fulfillment, for rest, for unity. It stands as the culmination of diversity and activity. However, it is still part of the cyclical nature of time. Six days, followed by the seventh; and another cycle of six days, followed by the seventh.

The world of the seventh day is the world of rest, of not doing any work, not moving and not fixing anything, in contrast to the world of the six days which is the world of action. But the world of the eighth day is the world that is more than the sum of all the parts, a new emergence that transcends and includes the world of the seven. In this world, the separation between that which is holy and that which is not holy no longer applies. As Isaiah put it:

כִּי מָלְאָה הָאָרֶץ דֵּעָה אֶת יְהוָה כַּמַּיִם לַיָּם מְכַסִּים.

For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of Y-H-V-H as the waters cover the sea. (Isaiah 11:9)

* * *

And there is a practical takeaway. Note that the name for the eighth son, Asher, shares the same root with, and is spelled identical to, the Hebrew word osher (אשר), which means “bliss” or “happiness”. Notice also that the Hebrew word to anoint (למשח) is very close etymologically to the Hebrew root to be happy (לשמח).

We are being told something important here. Yearning for the Messiah is not fulfilled by passive waiting, but by embracing happiness. Not the frivolous, intoxicated, wild happiness that depends on things outside ourselves, but on the joy that is our very nature, the bliss of being grounded within ourselves. It is the joy that deeply knows that however challenging and imperfect the world is, all is well as wisely put. That we always have the choice to embrace the higher, most enlightened perspective.

As we are commanded—

וְהָיִיתָ אַךְ שָׂמֵחַ:

And you shall be always only happy. (Deuteronomy 16:15)

Here is a very active, practical, and direct way of ushering in the world of the eighth day.

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*Tractate Sanhedrin 97a; tractate Megilah 17b

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

Maimonides

The Torah portion for last week was shemini (Leviticus 9 – 11). For various constraints, I was not able to submit the commentary on the portion before Shabbat, which is what I attempt to do normally; but the commentary on this week’s portion, tazria (Leviticus 12 – 13), will in fact pertain to both portions, as it will concern itself with the symbolism of the number eight (shemini means “eighth”).

However, in the spirit of the Talmudic statement:

לפוטרו בלא כלום אי אפשר

One cannot get away with nothing (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Chullin, 27b)

I hereby offer a short comment regarding last week’s reading. not, however, with regards to the weekly reading of the Torah, but rather the reading of the haftarah*.

Because of the peculiarity of the Jewish calendar, and this year being a leap year, the haftarah reading for last week was from Ezekiel 36:18-38, which contains an inspiring description of transformation:

וְלָקַחְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מִן-הַגּוֹיִם, וְקִבַּצְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מִכָּל-הָאֲרָצוֹת; וְהֵבֵאתִי אֶתְכֶם, אֶל-אַדְמַתְכֶם. וְזָרַקְתִּי עֲלֵיכֶם מַיִם טְהוֹרִים, וּטְהַרְתֶּם:  מִכֹּל טֻמְאוֹתֵיכֶם וּמִכָּל-גִּלּוּלֵיכֶם, אֲטַהֵר אֶתְכֶם. וְנָתַתִּי לָכֶם לֵב חָדָשׁ, וְרוּחַ חֲדָשָׁה אֶתֵּן בְּקִרְבְּכֶם; וַהֲסִרֹתִי אֶת-לֵב הָאֶבֶן, מִבְּשַׂרְכֶם, וְנָתַתִּי לָכֶם, לֵב בָּשָׂר. וְאֶת-רוּחִי, אֶתֵּן בְּקִרְבְּכֶם; וְעָשִׂיתִי, אֵת אֲשֶׁר-בְּחֻקַּי תֵּלֵכוּ, וּמִשְׁפָּטַי תִּשְׁמְרוּ, וַעֲשִׂיתֶם. וִישַׁבְתֶּם בָּאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר נָתַתִּי לַאֲבֹתֵיכֶם; וִהְיִיתֶם לִי, לְעָם, וְאָנֹכִי, אֶהְיֶה לָכֶם לֵאלֹהִים.

I will take you from among and nations and gather you from all the countries, and I will bring you back to your own land. I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean: I will cleanse you from all your uncleanness and from all your fetishes. And I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit into you: I will remove the heart of stone from your body and give you a heart of flesh; and I will put My spirit into you. Thus I will cause you to follow My laws and faithfully to observe My rules. Then you shall dwell in the land which I gave to your fathers, and you shall be My people and I will be your God. (Ezekiel 36:24-28)

The great Maimonides taught, that the visions of the prophets are not relating to events that occur in the objective physical world but rather in the consciousness of the prophet (I tend to read most, if not all, the Jewish Bible in this manner, not just the Prophets). It is interesting to read Ezekiel’s words in this light, not as referring to historical events in the future, but as a description of the transformation of one’s psyche when one gets in touch with Being, either through meditation, through prayer or through Grace.

Ezekiel, using the expressing “you shall be my people and I will be your God” which was used by other prophets, basically asserts that this relationship of “God’s people” is not a function of DNA, but rather a result of an inner transformation, of purification, and profound humanity.

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* The recitation of scripture at the synagogue on Shabbat morning includes not only a parashah, a weekly Torah portion, but also a haftarah, a portion from the prophets section of the Hebrew Bible, generally one which has some thematic resemblance to that of the parashah.

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)