Strict Constructionism

The second entry in a trilogy is often the most divisive.
Most of us don't think of the Torah as a trilogy: it's one scroll, containing the Five Books of Moses. However, both the Talmud (Shabbat 116a) and Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 64) insist that the Book of Numbers should not be seen as singular; leaving Mt. Sinai represents an irrevocable shift in the narrative. Indeed, if we look at the Torah in terms of the 54 weekly readings, the 18 which follow the departure from Sinai have a common theme: asymptotically approaching the Land of Israel.
Numbers is not the only book which has a split personality, though. We are smack in the middle of the Book of Exodus, and one can't help but notice how the Exodus part of it abruptly ends halfway through. The first six portions tell the dramatic journey from slavery to Sinai, a story so good Cecil B. DeMille told it twice. It is, in many ways, the culmination of everything established in Genesis, the fulfillment of many of God's promises.
However, starting with this week's portion, Truma, the main focus is not the tribes of Israel or the territory of Israel, but the Tabernacle. For eighteen portions, the Torah details every aspect of the Tabernacle: how to build it, what to offer, who works there and in what capacity, when and where one is allowed to enter. The setting is unchanging, and the only narrative breaks deal with the great joy of constructing and consecrating the Tabernacle (and the violent deaths of any who defile it).
All Jewish studies teachers know this well. That's why once we hit Truma, the time spent on the weekly portion plummets, while the time spent on talking about the upcoming spring holidays swells. Even the Sages seem to recognize this by adding supplementary readings and doubling up the regular portions. But it's hard to jazz up these portions, even if you repackage them in listicles, such as "15 Items Every Tabernacle Needs!" or "You Won't Believe How Impure These 8 Animals Make You!"
Still, I can't help but wonder if there is an important lesson in these portions. The Torah describes in painstaking (arguably, painsgiving) detail every aspect of a structure which we will never rebuild. Even those who foresee a literal rebuilding of the Temple admit we'll never again need to know that the bronze sockets are for the courtyard pillars while the silver sockets are for the sanctuary planks (obviously), because the Tabernacle is passe. In fact, many maintain that some of the elements used in its creation, such as the tahash, were never seen before or since:

The tahash of Moses' day was a unique species... with one horn in its forehead, and it came to Moses' hand just for the occasion, and he used it for the Tabernacle, and then it was hidden.
(Talmud, Shabbat 28b)

And yet it is part of our history and a good third of our Holy Book. We do not discard or deny or defy it.
I was born and bred in the U.S., so naturally I think of the Constitutional analogy. This is a wholly human document barely two centuries old, but there are numerous clauses crossed or grayed out because they are no longer applicable. And yet they are still there, reminding us that Americans once thought it important to safeguard slavery or to prohibit liquor.
Judaism today is quite different from the Tabernacular version of Moses' day. Three millennia from now, who knows what our descendants will think of our religious priorities? Ultimately, the built-in obsolescence of the Tabernacle teaches us that a faith must grow and develop if it is to live on.

Ten years ago, I got my parents back

There are not many couples who get to celebrate a tenth anniversary after four decades of marriage, but it's becoming something of a family tradition for us.
For Bubby & Zaidy, it was a technical reason. Bubby was--and still is, בע"ה--an educated and professional woman, and she told Zaidy that if they were going to do this marriage thing, she would have to schedule it on the one "extra" day in 1948: February 29th. So, at least for the Yekkes their children would eventually marry into, they technically only had an anniversary once every four years.
For my parents, a decade ago, it was life or death, literally. My mother needed a kidney transplant, and my father immediately asked her doctors if he could donate. They were dubious: after all, spouses aren't related in that way, and they usually aren't a match for each other, for the purposes of organ donation. But they ran the many, many necessary tests anyway, and as each one showed that my father was in fact a good donor, the miracle only grew.
The day for the operation was set, and I flew in from Israel to New York, leaving behind my wife Yael, eight months pregnant with our first child. It was bitterly cold, and it seemed to be dark all the time. The operation was long and had some complications which you would find fascinating, dear reader, if you were a nephrologist or a transplant surgeon. The important thing is that it was a success. Six weeks later, we were able to celebrate the birth of their first grandchild.
And in those many dark, cold hours I spent in the hospital, I thought about many things, while trying not to think of many others. When I could pray no more, etymology was a safe topic. In English, of course, transplant is derived from "plant;" but in Hebrew, there are two verbs: nata, to plant a tree; shatal, to transplant. The Latter Prophets love to use the latter term, especially Ezekiel. I was struck by one verse in particular, 19:10:

Your mother is like a vine in your blood, transplanted by the waters: she was fruitful and full of branches by reason of many waters.

There are many interpretations of this verse, but to me it speaks of the reality that we are all transplants. For all of us, life on this planet is about relocating from our mother's womb. Indeed, the Psalmist refers to all children as transplanted saplings (128:3). Some of us may find ourselves transplanted many times, putting down roots in a new land. For Jews, it is our defining national narrative, the reason we must show compassion to the refugee and the stranger. But it is a universal need, especially in this month of Shevat, a month of rebirth and renewal, when we celebrate our common ancestors, Adam of the earth and Eve mother of all life.
As for me, I'm just happy that I got my parents back ten years ago--and that we are all replanted here, as Ezekiel envisioned (17:23):

On the mountain heights of Israel I will plant it; it will produce branches and bear fruit and become a splendid cedar. Birds of every kind will nest in it; they will find shelter in the shade of its branches.

Make Miṣr Great Again!

There is something profoundly bizarre about going into the Sabbath with a world-changing event on the horizon.
On the last day of 1999, it was Y2K. We welcomed Shabbat Shemot, the Sabbath on which we start reading the Book of Exodus, without knowing what exactly would happen when all the clocks hit midnight. Would planes fall from the sky? Would all our bank accounts be wiped out? Would nuclear missile silos open? But the day passed uneventfully, we made havdala, and when we logged on to dial-up Internet, everything seemed fine. None of what we'd feared actually occurred, and 2000 was off to a great start.
But that's not how 2000 ended in Israel.
A year later, it was time for Shabbat Shemot again -- January 19th-20th, 2001. A new president was being sworn in, after a contentious election in which the popular winner went home and the electoral winner had a cloud of suspicion swirling over him. Would eight years of peace and prosperity come to a screeching halt? Could the president-elect, intellectually incurious and surrounded by ideologues, unite the nation? But the day passed uneventfully, we made havdala, and everything seemed fine. None of what we'd feared actually occurred, and 2001 was off to a great start.
But that's not how 2001 ended in America.
So here we are, 16 years after that, counting the hours until inauguration yet again. It will be mid-morning in DC when Shabbat Shemot starts this year in Israel. We will read, as we do every year, that portentous eighth verse: "A new king arose upon Egypt who knew not Joseph." Egypt -- Miṣr in Arabic, Miṣrayim in Hebrew -- is under new management, as it were, but the sages of the Talmud argue about its nature:

Rab and Samuel -- one said that he was really new, while the other said that his decrees were made new... Who knew not Joseph — it was as if he did not know him at all.

Interestingly, the phrase "to rise upon" can also be rendered "to attack" (cf. Deut. 22:26). This innovative Pharaoh ultimately brings ruin upon Egypt; his measures to neutralize the potential military threat of the Hebrews lead to inglorious defeat. But the first step on that path is to disavow Joseph--not just because he is the most prominent Hebrew in recent Egyptian history, but because of the revolutionary decrees he instituted.
Yes, it's that part of the Joseph story which seems to be the least compelling: Genesis 47. After Jacob and family come down to Egypt, but before he is on his deathbed, the Torah details at length how Viceroy Joseph runs the country during the years of famine. You see, for Joseph it is not enough that he has been freed from bondage or that his family is safely ensconced in nearby Goshen. He fundamentally changes Egyptian society in three ways:

1. The people sell everything and become "slaves to Pharaoh."
2. They are moved into cities.
3. The priests (kohanim) remain independent.

It's rather ingenious. Slavery is not abolished, but redefined. Since everyone is a slave, no one is a slave; but they are not tied to the land. The sole exception is the priestly class. Now, these are not the wise men of Pharaoh's court, the hartumim, but rather the kohanim. They are an independent, protected class who are provided for throughout the famine and maintain their land afterwards. Joseph's own father-in-law is prominent among them.
However, the new Pharaoh of Shemot does not acknowledge Joseph: new in flesh, new in spirit, he appeals to "his people" and turns them against "the Israelite people" (Exod. 1:9). It is the latter who really deserve to be slaves, and once they are "cruelly enslaved" (ibid. v. 13), they stop being Israelites and become Hebrews--the ethnic descriptor for Joseph when he was a slave.
But what about the kohanim, Joseph's insurance policy against tyranny? They have been disappeared. Hartumim are definitely around, in Pharaoh's court, but the kohanim are nowhere to be seen. It is only when Moses flees for his life from the sword of Pharaoh to Midian that he finds a kohen--- and marries his daughter. Then the God of the Hebrews appears, in order to redeem the Israelites.
This is the deeper meaning of "who knew not Joseph." The new Pharaoh definitely is aware of Joseph, antagonistic to his legacy, determined to undo his reforms... and make Egypt great again. For "his people," of course.
I don't know what world we'll find when we emerge from Shabbat Shemot 5777. I doubt it will look much different. But it is upon us to make sure that the new king acknowledges that denying progress is no path to greatness. Unknowing is no way to lead.

We don't light a menorah

Growing up as an Orthodox Jew in New York, a rabbi's son no less, I thought I knew all there was to know about Hanukkah; but soon after arriving at yeshiva in Israel at age 17, I discovered that I had it all wrong. See, gelt was really demei Hanukka, and it wasn't so much chocolate coins as gifts. Also, that's not a dreidel, it's a sevivon, and the letters are wrong. Plus, they're not latkes, they're levivot, and no one really eats them because they've already gorged themselves on sufganiyot, so-called because they absorb all moisture in your stomach and swell like a sponge (sefog). [Your etymology may vary.]
Still, most shocking was the fact that the thing we light with all the branches is not a menorah, but a hanukkiah. I was confused because, unlike latkes, dreidel and gelt, menorah was already a Hebrew word. But in Israel, menorot were to be found in the lighting department of the local hardware store, while The Menorah was that seven-branched vessel of the Temple, known to the world from the Arch of Titus, featured in the Emblem of the State of Israel. A menorah is simply a lamp, but if it is that special nine-branched version for Hanukkah, eight for the eight nights plus one for the shamash, which kindles all the others, it becomes a hanukkiah.
So where did this neologism come from? Lexicographer Ben-Yehuda, but not the one you're thinking of: Hemda popularized the term in 1897. Nor was she the first. In fact, tonight, the fifth night of Hanukkah, marks the 249th yahrtzeit of Jerusalem-born Rabbi Abraham Meyuhas, who writes (Sedeh Haaretz III OH 38) about "a brass candlestick which we call a hanukkiah, to which the artisan affixed an additional light which we call a shamash, to be used for its illumination instead of the others, which are the essence of the mitzvah, as we are forbidden to use them for illumination." Rabbi Meyuhas knew what a hanukkiah was, though he was afraid his readers might not.
It is significant that the menorah used for Hanukkah has a special name. The fact is that there is no halakhic significance per se to the vessel; you could stick one wax candle on your windowsill and fulfill the mitzva. It was only in the medieval era that Jews started crafting particular vessels to be used only for Hanukkah; indeed, for a religion which strictly forbids graven images, this was an opportunity for artistic expression, like the wine-cup used at Sabbath's onset and the spice-box used as its conclusion.
And thus we come to the paradox at the heart of Hanukkah. On the one hand, it is a celebration of the Temple; on the other hand, it marks the ascension of the dynasty which would ultimately welcome the Roman Empire, demolishers of the Temple, into Jerusalem.
While the biblical Menorah -- that famous seven-branched one -- may be be physically more impressive, it was lit for less than 1,500 years according to the traditional counts of all the various incarnations of the Tabernacles and the Temples. Meanwhile, the lights of Hanukkah have been kindled for nearly 2,200 years, uninterrupted.
In fact, according to Jewish lore (Midrash Tanhuma, Behaalotekha 3; Talmud Menahot 29a), the Menorah was not actually made by humans at all. Moses was so perplexed by its intricate details that God told him to throw it in the fire, and out popped the Menorah fully-formed. The hanukkiah, on the other hand, is a wholly human invention.
Even in the recounting of the miracle in our daily prayers throughout Hanukkah, we do not refer at all to the Menorah inside the Temple. Instead, we say "they kindled lights in Your holy courtyards." The Menorah and the hanukkiah aren't the same.
Which brings us back to the emblem of the State of Israel. It definitely features a seven-branched candelabrum in the center--but this is flanked by two olive branches. That's not an aesthetic flourish, but the vision of Zechariah (ch. 4), whose words we read on the Sabbath of Hanukkah. The two olive branches represent the religious and secular leadership of the people, and together with the seven bronze branches, they make what we could call a hanukkiah. (I leave it up to the reader's discretion to decide which one is the shamash.)
This is the beauty of the State of Israel. It does not spring fully-formed from the fire. It does not descend from Heaven. It is made by flawed human beings, a combination of natural growth and technological artistry. It is a construct of the spirit. And we are charged by our faith to constantly refashion it into a more perfect union.

Hanuka Nudes

You've probably heard the PBS version of the Hanuka story, but what if HBO or Netflix got its hands on it? It might sound a little like this (Otzar Hamidrashim, Eisenstein, p. 192):
The rabbis taught: In the days of the wicked Hellenic empire, they decreed that any woman who marries must first be deflowered by the hegemon, and only then return to her husband. So they did for 3 years and 8 months until the daughter of High Priest Johanan was to be married. [Her family] sought to bring her to the hegemon, so she undid her hair, tore her garments and stood naked before all the people. Judah and his brothers were enraged and said: "Take her out and burn her, lest the king hear of this and endanger our lives, for she has been so brazen to stand naked before this entire people."
Said she to him: "Shall I be humiliated before my brothers and comrades and not be humiliated before an uncircumcised heathen, to whom you wish to betray me, to bring me to him that he may sleep with me?"
When Judah and his comrades heard this, they resolved to kill the hegemon. They immediately dressed her in royal finery and made her a bridal canopy of myrtle, from the house of the Hasmoneans to the house of the hegemon. All the harpists and lyrists and musicians accompanied her, singing and dancing all their way to the hegemon's house.
The hegemon heard this and said to his lords and servants: "Look, these are the great ones of Israel, offspring of Aaron the Priest--how they rejoice to do my bidding!" He ordered them all to go out.
Judah and his comrades then entered, with his sister, and they chopped off [the hegemon's] head and looted all that was his. Then they killed the lords and servants and trampled the Hellenes until they were at an end.
So before there was a Red Wedding, there was a Myrtle Wedding. But that's only half the story. The Midrash goes on to state that the news made it back to "the king of the Hellenes," who was outraged and immediately marched his legions to the gates of Jerusalem. The Jews had no idea what to do, until "a widow woman, by the name of Judith" stepped forward.
She took her maidservant and went to the gates of Jerusalem, saying: "Let me out! God may work a miracle through my hands." They acceded and she went to the king, who asked her what she wanted. Said she: "My lord! I am the daughter of great ones in Israel, and my brothers are prophets. They prophesy that tomorrow Jerusalem will fall to you!"
Once he heard this, the king was very happy... He believed this Judith and fell in love with her, asking: "Do you wish to marry me?"
Said she: "My lord the king, I am not fit for even one of your servants! However, since this is your heart's desire, let it be known in the camp that whoever sees two women going to the spring shall not detain them, as I must go there to wash and immerse myself."
They immediately did so. The king then made a great feast and they all became intoxicated, and then each went to his tent. The king fell asleep in her bosom, and this Judith took a sword, chopped his head off and wrapped it in a sheet.
She carried it all the way to the gates of Jerusalem and said: "Open the gates, for the Holy One has already wrought a miracle by my hands!"
They replied: "Haven't you done enough to whore and corrupt yourself, that now you come against us in a conspiracy?"
She immediately showed them the king's head.
Upon seeing this, they opened the gates, pouring out and shouting: "Hear, Israel, Lord our God, Lord is one!"
These two women use their sexuality in a powerful way, exposing not only the evil of the enemy, but the hypocrisy of their own brethren. These Jewish men make their peace with rape and sexual assault -- of their own sisters! (not that that should make a difference) -- as long as they don't have to witness it. Only by challenging the men's concepts of modesty -- specifically in the context of dress and ritual immersion, two of the most explicit ways in which males exercise power over females in the traditional context -- do these women manage to save the entire nation. And the salvation is twofold: from the armies of the enemy and from the mindset of their own brothers, fathers and husbands.
I know this past week the men of Israel have not lived up to the example of these two heroic women. But hey, Hanuka is still a week away...

De Funct!

So, whatever happened with those US elections?
I ask because from the vitriol and violence I keep seeing on social media, it seems like the elections are still looming over us. The one fact we thought everyone would have to accept, the actual hard data of votes cast, is just as much up for debate as everything from the campaign. In fact, even though we have exit polling -- you know, hard data from people who actually got off their butts and did their civic duty -- we're still dwelling on predictive polls from the past, the ones based on calling someone up, expecting them to answer truthfully and assuming that they will follow through on their promise.
I'll offer my take, though there's nothing to make it more valid than others. Arguably, as an American who's lived in Israel (or Canada) for most of the past 20 years, it may be less valid. But here goes.
I come from literally (and I mean that in the old dictionary definition) the bluest district in all of America. It's remarkably static, electorally at least. When my parents got married 45 years ago, it was represented by one Charlie Rangel. And you know what? It still is represented by Charlie, despite primary challenges, ethics charges and a few devastating pieces on "The Daily Show."
What I'm saying is I come from a very blue district (currently NY-13) in a quite blue city in a reliably blue state. Yet I watched, for the first 30 years of my life, a Democratic Party that was only on the defensive. "De-Fence!" as we used to shout at the Knicks games (they've also been losers my whole life). Now, for a good chunk of that time, the Democrats were in fact in charge of Congress, but as a kid, who knew who the Speaker of the House was? It was all about the White House, and for the first three decades of my life, I only saw one Democrat get elected to it: Bill Clinton. Every other Democrat was a dud, often losing by a landslide.
But Bill was still a Democrat playing Defense. NAFTA might have been George H.W. Bush's project, but Bill was the one to sign it into law. Welfare reform, the Crime Bill, the Defense of Marriage Act, don't ask don't tell, repealing Glass-Steagal--Bill was GOP Lite.
But what else could he be? A Democrat couldn't win the White House. Even Bill only managed to get 43% the first time and 49% the second because a mad anti-trade multimillionaire who talked funny and weaved bizarre conspiracy theories was running alongside the Republican candidate. And those were ugly campaigns, in which whoever supported the Democratic agenda had to ignore the certainly sinful and possibly criminal things Bill had done to women over whom he held power.
Barack Obama hope-and-changed all of that. He had a vision which he laid out brilliantly, and he inspired people from all walks of life. Sure, there was plenty of opposition, but he did something no one had done since Eisenhower, winning two elections by getting at least 51%. And he sits today with an approval rating in the mid-fifties. He's far from perfect, he had his own bitter battles with Congress -- but he was not a Democrat playing defense.
Then, for some reason, we Democrats picked Clinton again, not Bill this time but Hillary. Except, of course, Bill comes along with Hillary, and there was no way he'd ever stick to the East Wing and putter around as First Gentleman. And we got a Clinton election: vicious, salacious and above all defensive. And once again, we got the result we should have expected: Clinton, the far more qualified and competent candidate, winning the most votes, but only a plurality. And this time the mad multimillionaire WAS the Republican nominee, so that added up to an electoral catastrophe for HRC. By the exact same electoral margin as Obama - Romney, and about the same number of votes as Mitt, Trump won. He will be the 45th president of the United States. If you're American, he is your president (elect).
I don't have patience for counterfactuals. Nor do I have patience for petitions, protests or pity. Those are all your right (assuming you're doing it peacefully), but you're still playing defense. Equally counterproductive is to say: if only we stopped giving people a hard time for their slurs and slights against minorities and women, the majority would like us more. That's defensive as well. Yes, stop being politically correct and kowtowing to the (alleged) consensus. Instead, make an affirmative, offensive argument for your vision. Engage with the new administration. Make your case. Help your fellow man. Advocate for your cause. Because when all you're trying to do is not lose, the other side will always win.

Mazeltov! (cocktails)

Oh, he's not going to tie this to the weekly Torah portion, is he? [groan]
Sorry, but yeah. It's the morning after Election Day, at least here in Israel, and most of the results are in. Much triumphant crowing, much gnashing of teeth, etc.
All I can think of is this week's portion, in which (Genesis 14) Abram, founder of the Jewish nation, first prophet of God, girds his loins and orders his house to enlist in the defense of...
Sodom and Gomorrah! (Also Admah and Zeboyim... and  Zoar, which I guess we're calling Bela. What happened to Lasha again? Never mind.)
In any case, we are supposed to root for Abram and his disciples, even though we were told a chapter earlier that:

10Lot looked around and saw that the whole plain of the Jordan toward Zoar was well watered, like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt. This was before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah...  13Now the people of Sodom were wicked and were sinning greatly against the Lord.

Abram sides with his (adopted) countrymen, against the armies from the land of his birth (or at least long-term residence). Why? Because his nephew Lot lives among them. And he knows that there are good people, even in the godless Jordan Plain.
So am I calling half the Americans who voted differently from me Sodomites? No, not with Mike Pence on the ticket. Gamorreans? No, those are Jabba's guards from Star Wars. Adamantine? I'm pretty sure that's the adjectival form for Wolverine's claws.
No, my point is that Abram could see the good in his countrymen even when they were objectively bad. Now, are you better than he? I know I'm not, so I'm going to concentrate on advocating for what I believe in and making our nation better.
Here are things I'm not doing:

• Complaining that it's rigged
• Blaming third-party voters
• Saying "I told you so" to those who voted differently in primaries or caucuses.
• Apologizing for the things I said during this season

Here are things I am doing:

• Drinking heavily (see Gen. 14:18)
• Blogging
• Watching my son
• Figuring out how to move forward in a new reality

Most of all, I'm trying to send a message:
Losers, get over yourselves.
Winners, mazal tov!
Everyone, get to work. We have a lot to do.