#Parshat haShavuah

[torahgalus]

Ve’zot HaBerakha

after forty years of shouting myself hoarse I’ll use my last breaths to bless you. oh Israel, I wrestled the angel to win your berakha. you can’t see my face but I can see yours, all upturned and regretful. know that I  can give you all this; know this is all I can give you. I see your whole future and am frightened for you. I see your whole future and I love every ugly bit of you. I look God in the eyes and see all you can be  in Their cool, measured stare. I wish you goodbye with a kiss.

[progressivejudaism]

Parshat Noach:   We Need to Learn to Talk to Talk to One Another

Rabbinical Student Joshua Gischner, Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, delivered to Temple Beth Am, Monessen PA on Oct. 20, 2017  / 1 Hesvon 5778 

Here is an excerpt from the Huffington Post from right after Hurricane Harvey hit:

“The United Orthodox Synagogue of Houston [...] [was] flooded by several feet as Hurricane Harvey dropped record rainfall on the city in late August. [...] The building took in 4 to 5 feet of water [...] All the rooms were affected, including the main sanctuary, classrooms and the rabbi’s office.  Prayer books and Bibles had fallen off shelves and were soaked.  Chairs were toppled.  The Torah scrolls had been taken out of the building before the storm hit, but water had crept close to the ark where the scrolls are typically kept ― missing it by inches. [...]

Harvey made landfall near Texas’ Gulf Coast on Aug. 25 as a Category 4 hurricane, eventually dropping 40 to 65 inches of rain in parts of southeast Texas. The storm claimed the lives of at least 50 people across eight counties and caused billions of dollars in damage to homes, businesses, and places of worship” like Rabbi Barry Gelman’s community.

The rabbi told Huffpost, “We’ve been focusing ever since the flood on being positive and first helping people through the initial stages of this, which is very complicated. You walk into your home and see 1 or 2 or 5 feet of water, and stuff is ruined. It’s paralyzing and demoralizing.” (source)

"בַּיּ֣וֹם הַזֶּ֗ה נִבְקְעוּ֙ כָּֽל־מַעְיְנֹת֙ תְּה֣וֹם רַבָּ֔ה וַאֲרֻבֹּ֥ת הַשָּׁמַ֖יִם נִפְתָּֽחוּ׃"

“...Bayom hazeh, niv-ku kol-mayanot tehom rabah v’arubot hashamayim niftachu.”

“On that day, all of the fountains of the great deep burst apart, and the floodgates of the heavens broke open.”

(Gn. 7:11)

Earlier, I read from parshat Noakh: the Torah’s account of a disastrous, ancient Flood which was sent by God. The Flood wiped out everyone and everything in its path in order to destroy those who were evil.  Is it possible to make connections between God’s destructive power in this account, and with contemporary natural disasters?  If so, does our tradition teach us that in mid-September, it was God who sent a 7.1 magnitude earthquake to Mexico City?  Was it because of evil behavior?  Is God responsible for the wildfires currently raging in California? [The same fires which destroyed our beloved URJ, Union for Reform Judaism, Camp Newman]  Do Californians deserve this wrath?  Did God send Hurricanes Harvey and Irma?  Did God displace Texans, Floridians, and Puerto Ricans; many of whom are still without power and food? Is God responsible for the fact that they are being used as a political tool by our lawmakers?  My mom’s colleague Dr. Sharita, her parent’s live in Saint Martin.  Their roof was ripped off by Hurricane Harvey and their home was further devastated by Hurricane Irma. (Pause) Are they bad people?  (Aside to congregation) I can assure you that they are not.

No.  This theology makes me feel very uncomfortable.  It makes me uncomfortable because I cannot believe that an all-powerful, compassionate God would wipe out Their children- especially because they are (make air quotes) “evil,” because isn’t evil subjective.  Especially when our tradition views the word “chet” or “sin,” not as an egregious and despicable act against Divine law, but as a misstep.  I believe that Avinu Malkenu, our loving Parent and Sovereign, understands that we can always do a little better, because we’re only human.  But also, didn’t God produce a rainbow at the end of the story as a sign of a brit, a Covenant, that this sort of destructive power would never happen again in response to the (make air quotes) evil ways of human beings?  

How can one really determine what evil is anyway?  In a galaxy far far away, Darth Vader is most often viewed throughout the Star Wars movies as an evil dictator bent on control of the galaxy.  But his story isn’t that simple.  Remember, when he takes off his mask before dying, he dies as one of the good guys.  Vader made a mistake, a huge mistake but still a “chet” or a misstep, when joining the Dark Side.  In the Star Wars films, throughout other fantasy stories, and in the Noah Account, evil is evil because the bad guys don’t know how to empathetically work with the good guys.  Noah is righteous, everyone else is evil.  But I suggest that there is more depth and complication in the background of our myth.  Perspective is key, and reality is different from fantasy.  Assuming that this story is somewhat based on human nature, I cannot believe that all of the people who were destroyed in the Flood were (use air quotes) “evil.”  I think that the supposed evil people wiped out in the Flood more closely reflect who we consider evil people today.  Think about our broken political system.  Evil exists on whichever side of a political or social spectrum that you do not identify with.  I propose that this same phenomenon of miscommunication, is the evil that propels God in the Noah story to destroy humanity.

So why do our modern floods and natural disasters come?  It is tempting to use tragedy to explain the ways of God in dealing with human faults.  Many religious responses to tragedy “assume that God is the cause of our suffering, and [they] try to understand why God would want us to suffer.  Is it for our own good, or is it a punishment we deserve, or could it be that God does not care what happens to us?  [...] [People are] left either hating [them]selves for deserving such a fate, or hating God for sending it to [them], when [they] did not deserve it.”

Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of “When Bad Things Happen to Good People,” asks us to think of another approach.  He writes “Maybe God does not cause our suffering.  Maybe it happens for some reason other than the will of God. [...]  Could it be that God does not cause the bad things that happen to us?  [...] Could it be that ‘How could God do this to me?’ is really the wrong question for us to ask?"  (”When Bad Things Happen to Good People, pp. 34-35)

So what is the right question to ask?  I think that our answers can be explained by viewing the Flood Account side-by-side with the Tower of Babel story, which also appears in this week’s parsha.  The Tower of Babel narrative is the Jewish version of a myth where people build a tall tower so that they, according to many of our commentators, could rebel, resort to idolatry, and rule the human race (On parshat Noach, The Book of Genesis Commentary by Judaica Press Books of the Bible, ed. Rabbi Moses Feinstein, p. 135).  Both the Tower of Babel and the Flood stories can be viewed as metaphors for how we communicate with one another, or really how we don’t communicate with one another. 

I propose that the “evilness” of the individuals before the Flood, really was just miscommunication among people.  Humans in the story, as humans do now, do not know how to talk to one another, unlike the builders of the Tower of Babel who use their one language to work together for an evil purpose.  Instead of sending a flood this time, God forces them to each speak different languages, thus making it impossible to communicate and complete their horrendous project.  Today, we live with a direct parallel in the fact that although we can speak the same language, our divisiveness has made it nearly impossible to work together making it seem like many of us do speak different languages.  And if you notice, many of those who do speak the same language, in the sense that they are like-minded, have been hard at work at creating their own evil Tower of Babels in the form of inhumane legislation, divisive and despicable words, and actions bent on hurting others. ��In our evil world of “alternative facts” and “fake news” we must work to speak the same language and build a very different kind of Tower, while not being afraid to condemn baseless hatred when someone is threatened.

I am not suggesting that recent natural disasters are a merely a Divine Response to this problem of miscommunication, but I am suggesting that we need to learn to talk to one another.  Although, it will not necessarily stop floods and earthquakes and fires,  it will help us to rebuild, and possibly stop extreme weather challenges, terrorism, mass shootings and other catastrophes.  Learning each other’s languages will help us to rebuild bridges and roads, provide food and water to those in need, and help bereaved families.  In the aftermath of tragedy, talking to one another will help us to build a better world with love.

That is what the rainbow represents.  God puts this symbol in the heavens, to teach us that seeing the humanity in every last person is key to making a world that we can all be proud of.  

“אֶת־קַשְׁתִּ֕י נָתַ֖תִּי בֶּֽעָנָ֑ן וְהָֽיְתָה֙ לְא֣וֹת בְּרִ֔ית בֵּינִ֖י וּבֵ֥ין הָאָֽרֶץ׃ ”

“Et-kashti natati be’anan v’hayta le’ot b’rit banai uvein haaretz”

“I placed my rainbow in the clouds, and it will serve as a symbol of the Covenant,” the brit, “between Me and the earth.”  

(Gn. 9:13)

Notice the past tense.  “Et-kashti natati be’anan” “I placed my rainbow in the clouds.”  The beautiful rainbow, a reminder to see every human being as created in the Image of God, was present the entire time.  And that rainbow still smiles down on us, especially when met with a disastrous storm.  (The Ramban on Gn. 9:13, The Book of Genesis Commentary by Judaica Press Books of the Bible, ed. Rabbi Moses Feinstein, p. 123)

[runrundoyourstuff]

In honor of the Parshat HaShavuah, I watched "Joseph: King of Dreams" for the first time since I was a child. As I remember, nowhere near as good as "Prince of Egypt," (not even close) with occasionally stilted dialogue and writing, but my goodness is it visually stunning. Like I am blown away, especially by the background design and coloring. Holy cow. There's a few moments of clunky animation and definitely one or two problematic choices in terms of skin tone, but the way the SKY IS PAINTED holy crap. The DESERT VISTAS! THE COLORING!

[thetransintransgenic]

This is totally unrelated to anything but I still don't get how Christianity developed it's interpretation of S'dom and Amorah (Sodom and Gomorrah)? Like where did "It's because they're gay" come from? I like the Jewish version a lot better, to be honest...

[torahgalus]

Yitro

a mountain overturned sheets spread smooth rippling  luxurious on a sturdy frame a mountain overturned and all in fire, all in ashes, a revelation or a grave-- we are trembling in terror/awe.

the only thing you cannot create is our terror/awe;

you created the world to finally see your reflection and when you find the waters still & opaque you think, maybe I will un-create, maybe then I can excuse this longing, this loneness.

[torahgalus]

Va’etchanan

rav lekha, why do you think me keeping your foot from this soil means I love you less. why plead for this imagined redemption. was not this your redemption: my voice thundering through you, my eyelashes kissing your cheek as you hid behind the rock. tent flaps blowing open to welcome you in, further in. you spent forty years wandering and I loved you; you  carried the Torah on your lips, in your veins, and I loved you. come, like the Leviathan, and play with me. we are holy wanderers, we are holy in our wandering. rav lekha, why cry over a border when I’ve given you the whole world.

[torahgalus]

Re’eh

when I whisper words to you all sweet and seductive, all casual care and gentle persuasion, you cannot kill me for it. when you follow me, gladly, thoughtlessly, it will feel like falling. you’ll never regain your feet. I suppose you’re not worried about a temptress--suppose you think you’ve learned from Adam. when your city is reduced to death & ashes, you’ll have only yourselves to blame.

[torahgalus]

Ki Tissa

hide in the cleft of the rock, my dove, and I will lay my palm on  your cheek, your softly- shut eyes--you will see only my voice and my  back, but this is what I meant, when I said face- to-face. me, gazing at you; you, blind and expectant.

when I lift my palm, you will be so glorious it hurts. you are too good for them and you will return to them. maybe it will hurt, that they can’t look upon your face as I did. you love them and they cannot see you; you love them and they will only ever see your veil or my glory. but when I passed you, hidden in the cleft of the rock--

your eyelids fluttering, hair stirring, breath soft but eager and the faintest flush on each cheek--

I thought, maybe I have never looked at a human face before.

I thought, you were the loveliest thing I’d ever seen.

[torahgalus]

Bamidbar

strip off your wedding garments, my groom-- I’ll carry you on my bare shoulders and cradle you so gently and together we will be lost, ownerless,  wandering, untethered, bound.

[torahgalus]

Tetzaveh

make atonement with my tattered sweater, these self- ripped jeans, each hastily- wrapped scarf.  give them a vision of patterned skirts hairy legs dangling tzitzis scuffed boots and let them be forgiven. let me wear what feels holy and be forgiven. when I am dressed, thoughtfully, as my fullest self--I am so divine.  on my forehead, along the brim of a hat or the tassel of a drooping scarf, it reads holy to hashem.  every day that I wake up, I prepare myself to serve you.

[torahgalus]

Vayikra

I would like to live in this world where every person repents of sin the moment it’s realized-- eagerly, open-handedly. where we watch our guilt and filth go up in flames,  its flickering so lovely, its scent so pleasing.

[torahgalus]

Behar-Behukkotai

if only you follow these laws, my am segulah, my kingdom of priests my holy nation, I will dwell amongst you-- the land will sing growth and the food will sit full in your soft & swelling stomachs, will I love you? I will not loathe you.

vehechezakta bo, it is so much easier to prevent disaster than to reverse it.

until you rid this land of vicious beasts, I cannot promise that you may lie down.  

this land is yours when you are holy, holy nation.

hashiva shofteinu k’varishonah, there is no perfect past to which I can restore you, just this, the sacred future you shape.

[torahgalus]

Ha’azinu

I found you in the howling wastes gave form to stubborn clay dangling al bli-mah fought for you even when I knew I shouldn’t nursed you held you clothed you anointed you in oil and sent you off with a kiss on your shining brows, knowing once you turned away I’d never see your face again. when I see you hurtling forward, all stiff-necked refusal and bitter failure, Truth blooms vindicated from the ground with a knowing frown and I chose you because I cannot defend you; I’d never know you loved me if I hadn’t felt you loathe me, would never treasure every sweet liberation if I hadn’t seen the howling wastes from which you wrested it.

[torahgalus]

Vayelekh

we are here because we are here because we are here because we are here, chazak v’ematz our love will last far longer than we do, chazak v’ematz I can’t have done enough but I am done,

you will fail and you will return. she knew from the moment she made you that you’d fail and yet, she cast down truth to breathe life into your nostrils, tentative and hopeful.

you will fail and she will fail and you will return to one another, stepping with joy into the fullness of what you might, someday, be.

[torahgalus]

Nitzavim

you are standing here this day, all of you, for the last time-- breathe in, look around. lower your head and feel your great-great-great-granddaughter’s breath tickling your neck. look around at your proud, huddled masses.

you are standing here this day, to hear Torah you will only ever live by half.

when this is over, when you have heard the Torah that is not in Heaven, you will stumble away like calves,  learning to walk on solid ground.

[torahgalus]

Mattot-Masei

we know that we have tested you-- have fought, bitterly, cruelly-- have bitten the hand that feeds us with relish-- have cast off every yoke only to reassume it-- we know that you are old and weary from years of bearing us in your arms but we, we are not ready to let go.

drag us away, kicking and screaming. we’ll smile grimly as our enemies fall from the sky; they will not know we smile because they keep coming. fly closer, soldiers and gods-- we need just a little bit more time.