Category: Torah

When it comes to the Sin of the Golden Calf, I believe that the most inconceivable element actually serves as the key to unraveling the sin’s essence. The baffling mystery surrounding the Sin of the Golden Calf is: How could the people possibly worship a Golden Calf a mere 40 days after seeing God Himself on Mount Sinai and hearing Him explicitly declare, “I am the Lord your God who took you out of Egypt.” I would like to suggest that it is precisely the people’s experience at Mount Sinai that causes them to worship the Golden Calf.

The essence of the Sin of the Golden Calf is that the Children of Israel are not ready for a covenantal relationship with God that entails rules and self control. The giving of the Torah is not merely an inspirational sound and light show; it contains binding laws and obligations.[1] At this point in their development, the people are simply not ready for such a monumental commitment. All of Parshat Beshalach, the parshah that serves as the bridge between the Exodus and the giving of the Torah, consists of test after test[2] that the Children of Israel seem to fail. They complain about the lack of water in Marah (Exodus 15:22-26); they grumble again in the Wilderness of Sin about the lack of food (16:1-4); they leave over manna until the morning against explicit instructions (16:19-20); they go out to collect manna on Shabbat (16:25-29); they complain about the lack of water again in Refidim (17:1-7); and they are accused of testing whether God is in their midst (17:7).

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A man walked into a synagogue on the eve of Yom Kippur, and realized he had a $100 bill in his pocket. Not wanting to carry the money on Yom Kippur, he quickly wrote down the verse, “Thou shalt not steal” on a piece of paper and put the note and money in a cubby of the coat room. When Yom Kippur ended, he returned to the cubby and saw, to his shock, that the $100 bill was gone. In its place, he found another note, this one accompanying a $50 bill — on that note was written, “Love Thy Neighbor as Thyself.”

Like the synagogue cubby, the megillah, or scroll, of Esther is filled with surprising exchanges of written notes and letters. In the opening chapters, the king sends letters across the kingdom to punish Vashti and subsequently all Jews, for not obeying his laws. Later, Mordechai’s life is spared because his act of saving the king was written in the king’s sefer ha-zichronot, book of records. And, as the narrative concludes, Esther and Mordechai send three different letters that save their people and establish Purim as a Jewish holiday. As we read it out loud, the megillah even refers to itself as an iggeret, letter (Esther 9:26). What is the reason for placing so much emphasis on writing in the Book of Esther?

In the Babylonian Talmud (Bava Batra 15a), the Rabbis ascribe the writing of Megillat Esther to the Anshei Knesset Hag’dola, the Men of the Great Assembly. The Great Assembly led the Jewish people at the beginning of the Second Temple Era, a time that saw the last of the three Jewish oral prophets: Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi. The Great Assembly is creditedwith instituting prayers such as the Amidah, as well as to have canonized the 24 books of Tanakh — both activities that involve written text.

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Enuma Elish and Megillat Esther

In the ancient Babylonian myth of Enuma Elish, Marduk, who possesses four eyes round his head and a hefty amount of confidence in his own infallibility, is appointed by all the gods as the chief warrior capable of battling against the mother of all gods and the epitome of chaos itself — Tiamat and the supreme monster she created, Kingu. He succeeds in obliterating Tiamat through trapping her in a net and killing her, as well as Kingu and creates the world out of Tiamat’s waters and humanity out of the blood of Kingu. All the gods and humanity are indebted to the supreme and unchallenging wisdom, power and strength of Marduk forever after. This ancient myth comes to resolve some of the most ancient ideas humanity has grappled with from its inception; dualism, chaos, nothingness, authority and autonomy. It answers these challenges in a binary way. There is order and chaos, good and evil, light and dark. It is imperative that humanity allows the order, good and light to win over all the other forces, or we will be forced into a reality of incessant war, uncertainty and darkness. Its narrative is one that sees humanity as inherently monstrous and evil creating chaos, disorder and uncertainty. The only solution is to acquiesce to a greater, better and more authoritative power that can reign over these dark forces. That power resides in the heavens, and dictates our mortal life here on earth.

The reason this Babylonian myth held scope for many thousands of years and became a template for so many other myths and even modern day films and dramas (think of fairy tales, Disney and Hollywood movies) is because it touches on an a deep existential truth. Every human being in every place and at every point in history grapples with fear of the uncertain, the unknown, the void, the abyss of nothingness. Today in a postmodern world after the failure of modernity’s constructs and progressive promises this is perhaps the question we face. We all seek an answer, the answer. We impose, onto an often chaotic and unsettling reality, superficial structures of order – good/bad, right/wrong, pure/impure, holy/profane to alleviate the dissonance we feel. One only need look at recent history to see how this plays out in so many guises. The fear of the unknown, of the unexplored territory, of the chaos come, is what impels us towards fundamentalist positions. It is what leads voters to opt for radical parties, it’s what creates a society of fear and isolationism – a them/us duality, and ultimately it is what paralyses us, impeding our ability to act. It impels us to the known, comfortable, status quo, even though it may be corrupt and regressive.

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Dyed red ram skins, anointing oil, incense spices, precious stones, smoothed wood – the Mishkan is a full-on luxuriant testament to the tangible love of a people for God. It is also a dizzyingly meticulous list of nuts, bolts and measurements. Terumah details the physical space for containing this particular worship of God.

וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם: כְּכֹל אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי מַרְאֶה אוֹתְךָ אֵת תַּבְנִית הַמִּשְׁכָּן וְאֵת תַּבְנִית כָּל-כֵּלָיו וְכֵן תַּעֲשׂוּ:

Make a sanctuary for me and I will dwell among them. Just as with all that I make you see, the form of the sanctuary and the form of all its vessels, you shall it make it so. – Exodus 25.8-9

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Why, asks Vayikra Rabbah, does it say ‘ויקרא אל משה’, ‘God called to Moses’ at the beginning of Vayikra? Why does it need to say that God called to Moses and also that God spoke to him. What’s the difference? Does one need to be ‘called’ for the subsequent interaction to take place, is it personal to Moses or is there something else going on? The midrash sets us going with a heaping handful of options.

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One of many classic West Wing episodes, “Take the Sabbath Day” (season 1, episode 14), portrayed its characters’ struggles with the notion and implementation of capital punishment – including how to juggle personal beliefs with fulfilling their various roles in the American government.

After a difficult conversation with his rabbi, Toby Ziegler has another with his boss, President Bartlet, who is facing the difficult decision of whether to commute a death sentence.

TOBY: I had a strange experience this weekend. One of the P.D.s on the Cruz case, I guess trying the things you do when you’re desperate, he went and spoke to my rabbi.

BARTLET: Jewish law doesn’t prohibit…

TOBY:  I know.

BARTLET: The commandment does not say, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ It says, ‘Thou shalt not murder.’

TOBY: I know. But the fact is that, even 2,000 years ago, the rabbis of the Talmud couldn’t… [tries to find the right word] …stomach it. I mean, they weren’t about to rewrite the Torah, but they came up with another way. They came up with legal restrictions, which make our criminal justice system look… They made it impossible for the state… to punish someone by killing them.

BARTLET: We make it very hard to kill anybody in this country, Toby.

TOBY: It should be impossible.

BARTLET: But it’s not.

TOBY: But it should be.

(Script excerpt from http://westwingwiki.com/2014/04/season-1-episode-14-take-sabbath-day/)

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Moses has the almost impossible task of being the sole judge of this newly formed nation and It takes Jethro to explain to his son-in-law that he will not be able to uphold God’s law without help, for no one person can possibly teach, explain, and adjudicate. Indeed, Jethro devises a judicial system, and Moses listens to the older man, appointing capable men over the people to help judge.

There is a problem, however. The Torah has not yet been given! The story of the giving of the Torah appears in chapter 19 — after the visit from Jethro in chapter 18. Commentators argue that chapter 18 must have taken place after the giving of the Torah, and the question is why the text is presented out of chronological order.

I believe this shift in the text teaches a valuable lesson about the Torah itself. Namely, the Torah explains the system of the Oral Law, Torah SheB’eal Peh, before the actual account of the Torah being given on Sinai as way of showing how essential that system of commentary and interpretation is to the preservation and practice of the Written Torah. Without the Oral Law, the Written Law cannot be implemented.

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