Congregation Kneseth Israel in Annapolis, Maryland - Weekly Drash

Bamidbar

8/5/2022

Much will be said over the next few weeks about how D’varim (Deuteronomy), the fifth and final book of the Chumash, is Moshe’s restatement of Israel’s history and G-d’s teachings. Moses puts his personal and literary spin on the text, adding subtext and emphasis as he goes. The man who declared himself to be “not a man of words” will, over the course of D’varim, grow to his full prophetic potential.

Which means, that given the increasing ratio of prose and poetry in what is known as “Mishne Torah” (the repetition of the Torah), words count.

Moshe writes in the first person, and over the course of the book will freely switch voice between himself and Hashem , but the fact that the source is anonymous, or ambiguous, can teach us a whole lot.

So here’s one which Chazal (our learned sages) treat as a throwaway, but I think is most significant. Moshe’s discourse intends to castigate Israel for their adherence to the negative testimonies of the ten spies. After using his editorial privilege to imply that all of the spies had delivered a purely positive report (fake news was a thing even back then…) Moses states in 1:26: “You did not wish to ascend, and you rebelled against the word of the L-rd your G-d.”

The words which jump out at me are “v’lo avitem la’alot,” (you did not wish/desire to ascend). The Hebrew verb “la’a lot,” implying ascendence, is classic. Its derivations include “Making Aliya,” (moving to Israel). An Aliya to the Torah is an honor. Even the Aramaic version, where we say “l’eila” in Kaddish, gets augmented during the High Holidays to “l’eila l’eila,” (higher and higher).

So, what are B’nai Yisrael being criticized for in the opening verses of the final book of the Chumash?

Taking a step up requires putting your foot on the first step, then proceeding to the next. That’s how you ascend a literal, moral, or spiritual staircase. It’s far easier to stay on the landing or to descend. But that’s not the implied lesson, is it?

Moshe admonishes the nation that they missed taking that first step. But by extension, he is faulting us if we if we fail to do so as well.

We all have opportunities to take the first step to ascend to the next level. We can all go up, but we can also go even higher.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Matot-Maasei

7/29/2022

Well, we Jews are finally back in sync!

Well, at least in terms of our Torah readings, anyway. When the second day of Shavuot occurs on a Shabbat, since the Israeli observance and that of Diaspora congregations which only observe one day of the holiday read the regular weekly reading instead of that for the Festival, the weekly parsha is offset by one week until the conclusion of the book of Bamidbar (Numbers). The rectification occurs this week since we are now entering the Torah/Haftarah cycle which leads us through the lead into Tisha B’av, the day of mourning for the national calamities which have befallen our people, and the build-up to the High Holidays. Beginning with next week’s parsha, the three Haftarot D’puranuta, Haftarot of warning, will give way to the seven Haftarot D’nechamta, of comfort, which follow Tisha B’av and start the countdown to the Days of Awe. This week, the discrepancy is ameliorated by our reading a double parsha in Diaspora, while others read a single parsha, Ma’asei, so that we can all be (literally) on the same page next week for Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat preceding Tisha B’av.

But also think about the post-biblical legal, symbolic, and technical mechanics which created this situation. The Torah itself gives no details about how and when it should be read. That originated far later, in the days of Ezra and Nechemia, 4th-5th Century BCE. There was a mandate that the Torah should be read publicly; we needed to improvise in order to determine the practice and procedure by which this could be accomplished. The ultimate conclusion suffers from a lack of liturgical uniformity, but it gets the job done, and has remained fairly steady for millennia.

The same can be said about the responses to innumerable other Mitzvot which have popped up in the wake of otherwise ambiguous commandments or statements from the Torah which have been interpreted—and reinterpreted—in an effort to fit them to each new version of Jewish modernity. The biblical laws of Shabbos observance, not surprisingly, did not specifically address how modern kitchen appliances and culinary preparation should be handled. The Torah’s version of Kashrut seemingly omitted the standards of how plastic or Pyrex™ dishes should be handled. Not to mention whether certain foods, which were unknown in the days of the Bible, could be considered Kosher or not. The Talmud does not have a section on guar gum or microbial rennet cheese. Not to mention all of the rest of the ritual constructions we’ve concocted in an effort to “protect” the Torah, as best we understand it. One could argue, (and I do!) that this millennia-old system of perennial catch-up is the strength of Judaism; for a faith based on Halacha, rabbinical law, we constantly strive to re-apply ancient standards to modern circumstances. Hayashan Mitchadesh—the old is renewed. Our tradition of reinvention is as old as its very sources.

The danger comes, I feel, when people feel they must declare allegiance to one choice while denigrating another. The informed individual knows that since we are all living by Divinely inspired constructions, there is no monopoly on holiness. Only a danger of disinformation or intolerance. Over the past week or so, I davened in several shuls of varied orientations; some up my alley, others not so. But, even though I was honored to participate or lead, I knew the rules and played by them, hoping to bring people to a spiritual consensus even if the mechanics were not my taste. I have had non-Jewish colleagues apologize for mentioning bacon in conversation, and I’ve had Jewish colleagues serve me meals that I could not eat. I’ve also seen Jewish clergy buck the trend of their movements in order to accommodate the practices of those to their right or their left, and Christian clergy whose standard blessing to a friend or parishioner, delivered as automatically as we say “yaashar koach,” invokes the name of a particular individual which we find a little oogy.

Let’s face it. We were all created b’tzelem elokim; in the image of G-d. From the day after the first Shabbos, we’ve been improvising with G-d as much as Hashem has been returning the favor. I am very content with my standards and practices, and I respect those of others, since they all come from the same place, are derived from the same sources, and subject to the same flashes of brilliance or imperfections. Who am I do say? I will do what I can to understand where you are, where you come from, and to meet you on respectful, common ground.

Just don’t tell me that you have the exclusive, inside Divine track. Don’t mandate that living by anything but your morality, rules, laws, or preferences, is sinful. Don’t corrupt a free and fair democracy and try to reverse the direction in which its gears turn. Don’t call out troops to use violence in an effort to prove you’re right and that I, or anyone else, are wrong. And don’t tell me that G-d, or a demagogue, has given you any more authority than anyone else.

Let’s clear the air. Matot and Ma’ase come back together, universally, this week.

So can we.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Pinchas

7/22/2022

At the end of last week’s parsha, Balak has been unsuccessful at trying to hire Balaam to curse Israel. But the king of Moab as another, more insidious trick up his sleeve. He sends Midianite women to the camp to seduce the Israelite men in two ways; one of them the old-fashioned way, the other enticing them to commit idolatry. G-d becomes angry, and pronounces a death sentence against the sinners. When Pinchas, Aaron’s grandson, sees a couple openly cohabitating at the entrance to the Tabernacle, he takes a spear and skewers the two of them. The plague of immorality is halted as a result, but not after 24,000 individuals are killed.

Our parsha opens with the continuation of the story. But rather than criticizing Pinchas for his unbridled zealotry, G-d praises him and rewards him. Crediting Pinchas with putting an end to the debauchery, Hashem confers upon him a “covenant of peace,” invoking the name of his grandfather, effectively promoting him to the rank of a full Kohen (priest)—a position which previously been granted only to Aaron and his sons. From now on, Pinchas’ descendants, as well as any generations to follow, will carry the Priestly lineage. Chazal (our sages) even teach that the High Priests would all come from Pinchas’ line.

Does it seem fitting that an act of violence, committed rashly, would merit such a magnanimous response? Why doesn’t the Torah provide a more benign solution to the problem? Reading on, we get a little more information. We learn that the murdered Israelite was Zimri ben Salu, a leader of the tribe of Simeon. Chazal suggest that this may be a pseudonym, and that Zimri may have been none other than Shlumiel ben Tzurishaddai, the prince of the tribe. And the woman? She is identified as Cozbi, daughter a leader of Midian’s ruling class. In other words, so devious was Balak’s plan that he sent the daughters of Midian’s most prominent families to tempt and convert the best of Israel’s best. The Moabite plan, executed by the Midianites, was not intended to simply pick off a few weak-minded individuals. It was calculated to decimate the entire socio-political infrastructure of the nation by weakening the inherent sense of morality shared by the Israelites. Such is the power of an influence which, using psychology and calculation, is capable of destroying an entire nation from within. Suddenly, it becomes much easier to understand why Pinchas is lauded for his autonomic response to defend G-d, the sanctity of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), and all of B’nai Israel. It also lends greater credence to the next few verses, where Israel is commanded to harass and kill Midian.

One can legitimately argue whether the ringleaders and the perpetrators deserved the same fate. Some suggest that Moab was spared here (they were already under sanctions) because Ruth was destined to descend from that nation (Rashi). Or that, with issues hinging on fundamental morality, the fact that Midian went along with the plan without keeping their moral compass trained on due north was their undoing. Whatever the case, there is certainly a strikingly contemporary lesson for today. Just like a bridge, building, or city needs a strong, well-maintained infrastructure to continue functioning, so, too, do our moral underpinnings need to be constantly refreshed and made strong. If by accident, or even worse, on purpose, we allow them to erode, the potential damage runs the risk of destroying us from the inside out. The story of Pinchas reminds us that there are times when evil must be met, brazenly and without hesitation, sometimes by an unequal, opposite force.

Simon and Garfunkel put it aptly: “Silence like a cancer grows.” There are times when we just can’t afford to be silent, .

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Balak

7/14/2022

After several weeks’ parshas containing harrowing stories of rebellion, retribution, plague, punishment, and cycles of retribution, the Torah finally delivers some comic relief. The story of the blustering Balak who enlists the G-d-fearing prophet Balaam to curse Israel is the stuff of classical comedy. The renowned seer turns out to be the most blind. The angry king only gets angrier as his plan progressively fails. Add to this a talking donkey who is smarter than her rider. Each successive attempt at a more effective curse becomes instead a greater blessing. Best of all, Moshe and Israel are completely unaware of the multinational plot against them. They only make a narrative appearance in the last nine verses of the parsha.

Yet, despite the Marxian (Groucho, not Karl) style of Balak, there are multiple sources of inspiration and enlightenment contained in its language. Balaam is a prophet who can’t help but be a good one, despite the fact that some authorities want to give him a bad rap. Ramban suggests that he was chosen by G-d to be the conduit between Heaven and the non-Jewish world. Chazal (our sages) credit him with predicting Balak’s ascension to power as well as interpreting the meaning of the supernatural events which accompanied the revelation at Sinai to the world. Once Balaam starts to get the message, his mantra, supplied by G-d, becomes, “Whatever Hashem puts in my mouth, I will speak.” Those words are increasingly inspiring. Many of them have become iconic parts of the liturgy, including Num. 24:5… “Ma tovu ohalecha ya’akov….” (How goodly are your tents, O Jacob….), which is recited daily. So powerful is the poetry of Balaam’s parables that Chazal considered including some of them in the daily recitation of the Shema. The final mashal (parable) is, I think, the most remarkable of all. It predicts, in fairly direct terms, the future conquest of the 10 northern tribes by Assyria, followed by our fate under the rule of Greece and Rome. The eventual fall of Rome is also foretold. Quite an amazing literary and historical legacy.

Balaam teaches us through his (mis)fortune. When he gives himself over to speaking the words of Hashem, he can’t help but speak truth. As a famous, professional soothsayer, he could have said anything he wanted, knowing that his words would be meaningless absent the veracity granted them by G-d. But he speaks instead through parables supplied from above.

There are those among us for whom the words of our liturgy are the deepest and most meaningful, inspirational poetry and prose of all. And those for whom they are a comfortable but anachronistic comfort. Those who strive for a deeper, more symbolic or mystical meaning, and those for whom the mumbo-jumbo is just that; nonsense with, perhaps, a Divine purpose. This brief biblical diversion teaches us that the words of the siddur, as old and iconic as they may be, nonetheless can have a powerful effect. If we, like Balaam, can strive to speak the words that Hashem puts in our mouth, we, too, can have the ability to unite past, present, and future through prayer.

O G-d, open my lips, and may my mouth declare your praises (Psalm 51).

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Chukat

7/7/2022

Over the past few weeks of Parshas, we have gotten used to relatively long (in Torah terms, at least) descriptions of ritual/political laws or events, various deleterious events and their unfortunate aftermath, and the inevitable punctuation of the Children of Israel complaining about whatever is irking them that day—usually food.

This week, however, the parsha makes relative haste through multiple subjects and pieces of narrative over the course of 87 verses. Our learned sages (Chazal) almost universally agree that the episodes listed in Chukat are not in chronological order, but rather, as the Torah is apt to do, are arranged for thematic, educational, or inspirational reasons. Let’s look at a few of them to try and pull out some of the editorial backstory. Four episodes in particular: the red cow (parah aduma), the death of Miriam, Moshe striking the rock, and the miracle at Arnon.

The red cow (heifer, if you will) is one of the mysteries of the Mitzvot. A pure red cow is sacrificed, its blood spread toward the Mishkan, and then it’s burned with cedar wood, hyssop, and a crimson thread. Its ashes are mixed with pure water, and are used as a sprinkling solution to purify anyone who has been in contact with a corpse. The conundrum, however, is that the act of preparing the purifying water renders the practitioner impure. We’ll talk about that on Shabbos…join us in person or online!

Shortly thereafter, we learn of the death of Moshe’s sister Miriam. Immediately, the source of water which has been quenching the thirst of the nation disappears. This is what leads Chazal to conclude that it was because of Miriam’s merit that a miraculous well followed us through the desert. Connecting this episode to the next, Midrash suggests that the rock which Moshe struck back in Sh’mot (Exodus) was the same one which he struck this time instead of speaking to it as he had been instructed. Some of the sages conclude that the rock followed Israel through the wilderness, as the locus of the well, which disappeared following her death. Yet, despite Moshe’s previous relationship with this holy milestone (sorry for that), he doesn’t follow the instructions, and strikes the stone instead of speaking to it, ostensibly condemning himself to a denial of the right to accompany the nation to the promised land.

The account of Arnon is referred to obliquely in the text, mostly from the cryptic references attributed to the now lost “Book of the Wars of Hashem.” Chazal teach that the Ammonites planned to ambush Israel by rolling large boulders down from their hiding places on two mountains as the nation passed through the valley in between. The miracle was that G-d pressed the two mountains together, crushing the would-be attackers. B’nai Yisrael would not have known about their salvation but for the blood which ran down from the rock crevices. A juxtaposition of strophes in the apocryphal book suggests that the stream of blood was transformed into the new source of water for Israel.

Three symbolic themes connect these episodes: red/blood, water, and stone. The elemental omnipresence of the three is classic. The red of life-giving blood is tinged with its association with sin. Water is similarly vital to survival, but brings a connotation of purity in contrast. Bringing them together is rock, “Tzur,” symbolic of Hashem, our Rock upon whom we put our trust. The relationship between holiness and sin is a constant dynamic, and the two are in such constant conflict that they can be regarded as a single entity. Yet, if you view two simultaneous conflicts of clear vs. red on opposite ends of a spectrum, what is the fulcrum which provides the opportunity for balance? You got it. Our Tzur, our Rock, right in the middle.

Like our ancestors of old, we strive to balance our tendency toward the worst in our nature with our best and holiest potential. With our feet planted firmly on a strong, stone Divine foundation, may every trace of red be washed away, leaving us perfectly in perfect equilibrium, in every way.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Korach

6/30/2022

It seems like the embryonic nation of Israel is stuck in a repeating pattern of accomplishment, discontent, failure, punishment, and atonement. After last week’s parsha described the tragic but inevitable story of the spies, now things get personal. Korach, a Levi (and therefore a relative of Moshe and Aharon), along with a group of first-borns largely from the tribe of Reuven, revolt against the authority granted by Hashem to the nation’s leadership. While the dissenters, numbering 250 in all, identify the Kohanim and Levi’im (Priests and Levites) as the subject of their discontent, it’s not clear if they are rebelling specifically against Moshe’s authority, Aaron’s Divinely appointed role, the fact that the first-born have been relegated to a lesser position in the chain of command in favor of the Levi’im, or some combination of the above. The specifics of the Great Revolt and its modern echoes is a subject we’ll deal with this Shabbat morning; please join us in person or online.

Yet, what strikes me, beyond the reverberating frustrations of Moshe, Aharon, and G-d, are the literary devices which are employed to further the story. The Torah proves again that its use of text can be a potent tool in its desire to get the point across. Buried in the greater story are three symbols which the Torah uses. Here’s one you’ve never heard before. Put on your ruby slippers and say it with me: “Fire-pans and almonds and salt (Oh my)!”

Remember Nadav and Avihu, the two sons of Aharon who were Divinely combusted for burning unauthorized offerings from their machtot, fire-pans? Korach, doubtless, did too. Yet when Moshe repeatedly offers 250 rebels the opportunity to recreate the same infraction, knowing that this was to be a test of G-d’s acceptance, they did so, anyway. Surprise, surprise, they suffered the same fate.

They didn’t pay attention to their past. Oh, my!

In the aftermath of the disquiet which followed the Korach incident, when the nation’s lack of faith was addressed by a plague which, after it killed 14,700 people (before it was averted, ironically, by Aaron and a fire-pan with incense), G-d devises a new test to determine the veracity of Aharon’s authority. Aharon and each tribal leader inscribed their names on a staff. As predicted, Aharon’s staff sprouted blossoms and grew almonds overnight. Chazal, our sages, teach us that almonds are known for blooming and bearing fruit quickly; showing that Hashem’s response to our actions will be rapid and dramatic.

Israel learned something important about their present. Oh, my!

Then, at the end of the parsha, a unique phrase occurs in an unexpected context. In reaffirming the permanence of the dedication or redemption of firstborn sons or certain animals to the Kohanim, the Torah refers to this as a “brit melach,” a “salt-covenant.” This phrase, which occurs a grand total of two times in the entire Bible, has a particular significance. Salt is a substance which will never go bad. It is timeless. The odd metaphor is used to show that the unique relationship between G-d and those who He appointed to serve Him is to be lasting and infinite. Those who challenged that authority at the beginning of the parsha should now get the salty message. Regardless of how we may have evolved over time, our relationship with Hashem will last for all time.

We’ve all learned something about our future. Oh, my!

It doesn’t take much Wizardry to figure out that the Torah talks to us on multiple levels at once. We have the benefit of being able to read and re-read the story to glean what we can, new and different, each time. The real challenge, with the Torah as with life, is to try to learn what our experiences past, present, and future have to teach us…the first time. Korach and all those who suffered the fates they did due to spontaneous burial, immolation, or plague missed the signs at the outset, and now exist only as biblical exemplars of what we should avoid.

Let’s face it, the Torah is our life and the length of our days, and there’s no place like Home.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Sh'lach L'cha

6/24/2022

gChazal, (our blessed sages) teach us that the repeated use of a word in the Torah is a way in which we are supposed to connect the passages which use the same verbiage. Parshat Sh’lach L’cha contains such a linguistic repetition, as a set of bookends to the opening and closing of the weekly portion.

The verb in question is “latur.” In the future plural tense (13:2, word 4 in the Hebrew), it means to spy, to investigate, or to explore. At the opening of the parsha, G-d gives his admittedly reticent permission to have twelve spies be given the authority (“vayaturu”) to explore the promised land. We know the end of the story. 10 out of 12 deliver a report in which the positive is not accentuated, and the negative is not eliminated. G-d’s decree of 38 more years of wilderness wandering follows, as well as the death of the nay-sayers.

But wait. The parsha closes with what we now know as the concluding paragraph of the Shema. We are commanded to tie the tzitzit, fringes, onto our garments as a reminder of all of the commandments. And why? “V’lo taturu…” so that you will not explore after your heart and your eyes after which you may stray (15:39).

Two forms of the same verb are used by the parsha in very different contexts. The opening paragraph grants a begrudging permission to allay the fears of a nation. The closing one is a warning against the lure of idolatry.

As Chazal teach us, the truth lies in between. Looking, searching, studying, and spying are all part of our nature. It is absolutely human to try and figure out the fundamental reality of any situation. Our weakness, however, is revealed when we search with the expected outcome in mind. If we search for failure, we will doubtless find an opportunity to create it. Investigate and learn, and we will find nothing but opportunity.

“Tayarim,” from the same word-root, are ‘tourists’ in modern Hebrew. Just like our ancestors, we are tourists searching old places for new meaning. Let’s make sure that, as we dig into the past to inform our present, that we don’t decide what we’re going to uncover before we actually see it, feel it, study it, and learn from it. The opening of Sh’lach L’cha teaches us to learn without preconceived notions of what we want to learn. It’s closing teaches us that avoiding the allure of what we think may be true has some ‘fringe’ benefits.

Shabbat Shalom, and Chodesh Tov, a good month!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

B'ha'alotcha

6/16/2022

One paragraph of Parshat B’ha’alotcha, describing Moses’ declarations when the Ark of the Covenant was removed for travel and then when it was replaced, is strangely set off from the surrounding text with two inverted Hebrew letters (the upside-down “nuns”). Speculation as to why these rare diacriticals are found, even in a handwritten Torah scroll, abounds. All seem to agree that this text was inserted for a reason; the question is, why? To provide a positive break between a series of less-than-favorable descriptions of Israel’s actions and behavior? Inserted parenthetically since the preceding text describes the Ark’s transport? Or possibly: related to the surrounding text, which describes the beginning of a journey which, for Israel, will seemingly go in circles, but for us, describes the future?

First, to the text (Num 10:35-6):

35: When the Ark would travel, Moses would say: “Arise, Ado-nai, and scatter your enemies, and may your foes flee from before you!”

36: And when [the Ark] rested, he would say: “Return, Ado-nai, to the myriad thousands of Israel!”

These verses are familiar to us; we recite them as part of the Torah service every time the scroll(s) are removed and replaced from the Aron Kodesh. But contextually, really? Asking G-d to scatter our enemies as we prepare to read the Torah? Begging to have the Divine presence restored after(!) we read? Is there something missing here?

Verse 35: Chazal tell us that, instead of being carried in its normal place at the center of the procession, the Ark was initially carried at its front. This was done as a bolster to the nation’s growing sense of security under G-d’s protection. Going forward, however, the focus would change. Instead of being a defense against military foes, snakes, or scorpions (as per various sources), Moshe’s declaration can best be described as an embodiment of the mission of Torah. When Israel moved from place to place as they traversed the wilderness, they were similarly moving from a place of known quantities and relative safety on an uncertain and unpredictable journey. What types of physical, spiritual and cultural adversity would they face at their next resting point? The underlying message is that the guidance given us by the Torah is the defense against the misappropriations and distractions with which our spiritual “enemies” can distract us. When we lift the Torah from its resting place, we are open to the suggestions of transience.

When the Torah comes to rest, however, we restore our equanimity. As Moshe expresses in Verse 36, G-d returns to the multitudes of Israel when the nation and its Torah are at peace. Absent the distractions and diversions of our past situations, we can focus instead on our present and future. What a blessing it would be for us to be able to look only forward, without regard to any suffering we experienced in generations past?

The Talmud describes these two verses as an entirely separate “book” of the Bible. I would agree. In two familiar verses, Moshe delivers a beautiful summary of our relationship to G-d, Torah, and peoplehood, now and forever.

May we always be always able to lift the Torah from its current resting place to new heights.

May the Torah always rest among our multitudes at peace.

And may you have a Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Naso

6/9/2022

Naso, the longest parsha in the Torah, contains 2,264 words. Of them, however, 15 (in the Hebrew…) are particularly familiar:

MAY G-D BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU.

MAY G-D SHINE HIS COUNTENANCE UPON YOU AND BE GRACIOUS TO YOU.

MAY G-D LIFT HIS COUNTENANCE TO YOU AND GRANT YOU PEACE (Numbers 6:24-26).

This, of course, is the text of the Priestly Blessing which Hashem dictates to Moses for transmission to Aaron, for use eternally as the formula by which the Kohanim (priests) will serve as the conduit of blessing from G-d to the people, receiving a Divine blessing for themselves as part of the process. To this day, the Birkat Kohanim is used, more or less in its original context, when the Kohanim bless the people on holidays, and when quoted liturgically in the daily Amida and when we bless our children on Shabbat and at numerous other times. With words so familiar and iconic, it’s not surprising that we don’t often take the time to consider what may possibly be happening underneath the surface. As you may expect, Chazal (our blessed sages) have spent many centuries and much ink trying to unpack what could be going on in these three elegant verses. While it would be possible to spend years exploring every nuance of G-d’s formula for His own blessing to be delivered by priestly proxy, here is one possible interpretation: G-d’s blessing is really an opportunity.

MAY G-D BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU: Almost universally, Chazal interpret the first line as a reference to material blessings; the basic necessities of life which are necessary for our physical survival. Absent food, economic means, social interactions, shelter, and safety, fragile beings such as we would quickly perish. The first three Hebrew words assure that G-d will bless us with our physical needs, then keep (literally, “guard”) us so that we remain sustained forever. Should we remain deserving, this will be our legacy. These opening words, however, are not an end unto themselves. They are intended as a foundation for the second verse:

MAY G-D SHINE HIS COUNTENANCE UPON YOU AND BE GRACIOUS TO YOU: The Rabbis stress that the suggested anthropomorphism of G-d’s face is not the point here. The important part is the first of the five words in this verse: “Ya’er” in the Hebrew, denoting an active act of illumination. The same root is used in Genesis when the sun and the moon are created, and the same verb form is used before the crossing of the Reed Sea when the pillar of cloud supernaturally illuminates the night. This line is taken to refer to the light of Torah (a classic metaphor), the illumination of G-d’s presence in our lives, and/or both. G-d’s light smiles upon us, and then, as suggested by the conclusion of the verse, the Divine “graciousness” refers to the opportunity we have to reflect Hashem’s light. With our fundamental needs assured, and with the spiritual tools we need at our disposal, it’s now our turn.

MAY G-D LIFT HIS COUNTENANCE TO YOU AND GRANT YOU PEACE: Rabbi Ze’ev Wolf Einhorn (?-1862) wrote that actively turning your face to someone is an expression of a positive attitude. If we are angry with someone, guilty, or ashamed, we will look away or avoid them. G-d here, in the final seven words of the blessing, looks to us hopefully to see if we have put the pieces together. The final line of Birkat Kohanim is where we have the mandate to combine the material blessings of the first verse with the spiritual opportunities of the second. The “peace” referred to here is not the translated word which denotes the opposite of “war.” It is rather the Hebrew concept which comes from the root “shalem,” meaning “complete.” Our task is to create the balance of the physical and the spiritual; recognizing that the true blessing is having the opportunity and the ability to take the lead from Hashem and combine the duality into a holy whole.

In essence, therefore, G-d’s blessing is a conditional proposition. That’s why the text is constructed as it is: 3 words, 5 words, 7 words. Each step of our mandate becomes more complex but represents a further potential connection to the Divine. Once we have united body and soul in harmony with Hashem, we will have fulfilled the terms of the Birkat Kohanim bargain, in which G-d opens the doors, and bids us enter. Buried in the structure is the real blessing. Its 15 words equal the gematria (numerological value) of the name of G-d. Birkat Kohanim is not an invitation to sit back and bask in the benefits of a heavenly blessing. It’s a challenge to take our G-d-given opportunity to become one with Hashem.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

Bamidbar

6/2/2022

One of the things that we learn early on in the Torah is that a name is not just a name. Our modern Jewish tradition is to name our progeny after relatives; our individual practices determine whether the names are chosen to honor living people or those who have passed. The Torah, however, imbues names with meaning. They can embody the circumstances of their birth, or a prediction of what their life’s story will entail. In other cases, names can be changed in order to reflect a change in circumstances. In B’reshit (Genesis), Avram and Sarai become Avraham and Sarah, with the extra letter “hei” in their names reflecting their individual unity with G-d. Ya’akov becomes Yisrael after he “struggles with the Divine.” But there are some names which occur in multiple forms, leading us and Chazal, our blessed sages, to draw conclusions as to why the names are inconsistent.

Parshat Bamidbar (Numbers 1:1-4:20), which we read this Shabbos, contains one such reference. The prince of the tribe of Gad is listed in 1:14 as Elyasaf ben (son of) De’uel. A chapter later, in 2:14, his father is named Re’uel. Ramban (1194-1270 Spain) offers a cogent interpretation: Re’uel is a contraction of the words “Ra’yon El,” (the thoughts of G-d). De’uel combines “Da’at El,” (knowledge of G-d). Elyasaf’s father, is being recognized and complimented for having been able to combine the two. Clearly, the merits of the nearly unknown father informed the selection of his son as the head of the tribe. Don’t hold your breath, though. In chapter 13, the ill-fated spy from the tribe of Gad who was sent on the mission to check out Canaan was named Geu’el (salvation of G-d). We know his fate. And, by the way, he’s named last.

The Torah reading for the first day of Shavuot, famously containing the Ten Statements, comes from Parshat Yitro (Exodus 18:1-20:23). Yitro (Jethro), Moses’ father-in-law, breaks the biblical record for pseudonyms: Re’uel, Yeter, Yitro, Chovav, Chever, Keini, and Putiel. Chazal have an explanation for every one; identifying each as making a specific point regarding how this Moabite priest made his journey from idolatry to being a devoted servant of Hashem and an astute advisor to His greatest prophet.

The Torah reading for the second day of Shavuot (Deuteronomy 15:19-16:17) contains the greatest Name of all. But all the names of the Divine are not equal. In this familiar passage giving us a rundown of the holiday cycle, we most often read the double-appellation of the most well-known names of G-d: the ineffable name pronounced Ado-nai, representing G-d’s quality of mercy, followed by Elo-him, representing justice. The two most emergent elements of Hashem (the Name) are combined, appropriately, in our ritual observance. But read the rest of the Bible. There are dozens of ways in which G-d’s name is represented. Each new name focuses on a different quality, action, power, preference, blessing, or curse. As humans, unable to fathom the Divine in its totality, we must resort to using linguistic euphemisms in order to make a paltry attempt at comprehending G-d’s complete essence.

Shakespeare asked, “What’s in a name?” I’m fairly sure that Juliet was more concerned with Montagues and Capulets than Elyasaf, Yitro, and G-d. Yet, as we read the parshsa which is the prelude to the establishment of the Tabernacle/Temple ritual, and then celebrate the receiving of the Torah on Shavuot, we can put the pieces together. May we all take this “three-day holiday” to get a blessing from the beauty of names…and Names.

May we have both thoughts and knowledge of G-d, as did Elyasaf. May our relationship with G-d and our people constantly evolve and mature as did Yitro. May we constantly, and limitlessly, find new ways to relate to G-d, even if it means creating a new paradigm in order to understand how the connection is being made.

And may you all have a Shabbat Shalom, and a Chag Sameach.

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen