Jewish Thought From Jerusalem
Usually when I read the parshah, I have a lot of questions. A lot of it is because I often have difficulty understanding biblical commentary or because I lack some sort of basic knowledge. Sometimes though, I come up with a doozy that people much more learned than myself don’t have an answer for.
I plan on posting a list of questions following my posts on the parshah and welcome any answers or insight that you’d like to share.
I had some time over Shabbat to think about the parshah more. It’s already time to move on to Mishpatim, but here they are anyways:
1. The scene where Yitro persuades Moses to create a judicial system instead of handling all matters himself immediately precedes the section when the Israelites prepare to receive the Torah on Mount Sinai. Through what means was Moses judging the Israelites if not halachah, Jewish law? How did he become judge over them before he was even given the rulebook? He said “I make known the laws and teachings of Gd” (Shmot/Exodus: 18:16).
2. In the Second Commandment (Shmot/Exodus: 20:4) Gd commands, “You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth below, or in the waters under the earth.” Did there really exist a legitimate concern that some undersea idol-making was going to take place? First of all, they were traveling through the desert, and the sea split and they walked on dry land. Secondly, chipping away at stone while underwater sounds pretty difficult. Given that a literal explanation makes no sense, what else could this mean?
3. Why are reasons given for some of the commandments and not others?
In this week’s parshah, Moses has something to write home about. His father in law, Yitro, also the priest of the Midianites, heard all that G-d had done for Moses and for Israel. The commentator Rashi notes that this refers chiefly to the miracle of the splitting of the Red Sea and victory over Amalek. Not bad. His daughter found a winner.
Moses is a leader not only in taking the Jews out of Egypt, their “foreign affairs”, so to speak, but he also becomes a judge over them, managing their “domestic affairs” and disputes. Yitro notices that Moses is simply taking on too much:
When Moses’ father in law saw what he was doing to the people, he said, “What is this thing that you are doing to the people? Why do you sit by yourself, while all the people stand before you from morning till evening?”
Moses said to his father in law, “For the people come to me to seek Gd. If any of them has a case, he comes to me, and I judge between a man and his neighbor, and I make known the statutes of Gd and His teaching.
Moses’ father in law said to him, “The thing you are doing is not good. You will surely wear yourself out both you and these people who are with you for the matter is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone.”(Shemot/Exodus: 14-18)
Even Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest leader of the Jewish people, handpicked by Gd to manage them, cannot bear all of the responsibility by himself.
When we are called upon to complete a task, either by other or out of our own sense of obligation, it can be hard to say “no”, especially if it seems like no one else can do it. Where do we draw the line between stepping up to the plate and accepting responsibility and taking on too much? No one gets direct directives from Gd these days, so it’s up to us to decide.
When do we take on responsibility because it seems that no one else can do it, or because it seems like too good of an opportunity to pass up? Moses is described as the humblest man on Earth (Bamidbar/Numbers 12:3), so it is not his ego that got in the way. For many people today, I think that can be the case. We don’t trust others to do the job well enough, so we say “might as well do it myself,” or we feel threatened that someone else might do it better.
I think the best way to choose a level of responsibility is understanding yourself and your obligation to Gd. Knowing your own greatness is no contradiction to humility. Understand what you can do, and don’t be afraid to do it well or to teach others. To not do so would be to sacrifice the gift. However, ultimate humility is when a person who excels in good attributes does not seek credit for his or her greatness. If you recognize that your talents come from Gd, you cannot be conceited or self-congratulatory.
Something that often gets overlooked in the discussion of humility is that limitations are also Gd given. There is nothing wrong with asking for help in a task or on a project. Looking outside of ourselves can open up ways of being better people, both in terms of functionality and in building better characteristics. It was the advice of Yitro, a non-Jew, someone very different from Moses, to help him be a better judge and leader.
On a personal level, we are advised to have both a Rav and a mashbiah, an advisor, to help us manage our personal growth. Someone else can help us step outside of ourselves and recognize whether we are doing things for the right reason, in service to Gd, or only in service to ourselves.
Yitro warns Moses that taking on too much will not only wear him out, but also the people whom he is governing: “You will surely wear yourself out both you and these people who are with you.” Getting overburdened has ramifications for those around us as well. If you don’t take time for yourself, how can you be the advisor, parent, or friend?
As an independent contractor, I find myself constantly caught between ambitiously taking on new projects and responsibility, and turning away those that will leave me burnt out and unable to fulfill my existing commitments. Work has to also be balanced with my obligations to myself and to my community. Without set hours, should I take on more work when I have free time? Study Torah? Volunteer? Get physical exercise and enjoy the outdoors? It’s not always easy to tell what the right balance should be. Ultimately I make the decision, but seeking the advice of a caring, objective outsider can help.
I just returned from Shabbat in Ariel, the capital of the Shomron, or Samaria, or the northern part of the occupied territories – depends on who you ask. I ended up there after contacting the woman who runs Anywhere in Israel, which sets up students learning in Israel with a host family, you guessed it, anywhere in Israel. After telling a friend that I wanted to do something cool for Tu B’Shevat, which coincided with Shabbat this year, she told me to give it a shot. I got the hook up even though I’m not a destitute student. People seem to have similar sympathy for new immigrants.
So when I said that I was looking for a Tu B’Shevat experience, I expected to be set up with hippie types. Ones who will do a Tu B’Shevat seder, talk about the fruits and their meaning, maybe sing some related songs. Though that didn’t happen, it was a rich experience nonetheless. I’m a big believer that your circumstance delivers what you need at the time.
One of my hosts was a family that also made aliyah from the United States. Through them, I met a few other Anglo couples. A major motivation for moving to Ariel, most of them said, was that it was cheaper than Jerusalem and a nice community where not everyone is English-speaking nor religious, which is true of a lot of the other places outside of Jerusalem (and parts of Jerusalem itself) where Anglos like to live. Not Kfar Rockaway, as one of them humorously put it.
The other family who took me, a complete stranger into their home and fed me was an Israeli family in an adjacent area called Nitzarim. The community’s base is comprised of families who lived in Gush Katif, the Jewish settlement in Gaza, until they were kicked out by the Israeli government in August 2006. About one-third of the original Nitzarim community transplanted themselves, and the community’s name to Ariel. I was shown a photo album of life before the Disengagement. The seaside community was made up of modest houses set on lush grass, schools, synagogues with modern architecture. Today the family of eleven children, all old enough to remember being kicked out of their homes, lives in a set of caravans atop a hill in Ariel.
The Torah says that “Man is like a tree of the field,” (see Devarim/Deuteronomy 20:19 and commentary of Rashi, or My Jewish Learning for more). On Friday night, after dinner, when eating a round of fruits and nuts, the rabbi said, in Hebrew: “A immigrant to Israel is like a seedling that is planted in its natural habitat.” On Tu B’Shevat, he said, it is important to eat fruit specifically from the Land of Israel, which according to some opinions also includes southern Turkey, because it contains something that fruits elsewhere don’t have, Vitamin K – kedushah, holiness.
On Saturday morning, the rabbi at a synaoguge in central Ariel said that Tu B’Shevat is called “Chag l’Ilanot,” a holiday for the trees – not about trees, but for the trees. Environmental protection is called for in Judaism, he said. So why is Israel, a leader in hi-tech and lifesaving medical technology, behind in environmentally conscious measures such as recycling? (In areas that have recycling you need to carry the material – only plastic bottles, paper, and glass in most areas – to the appropriate communal collection bin, which might be blocks away) Part of the problem is that the solution most often proposed is through individual action. However, fretting over your family’s carpool won’t do much, when large companies pump tons of CO2 into the atmosphere. The solution, he says, lies at a state or corporate level. (For an expansion of this idea, see this Ha’aretz commentary on Avatar, Tu B’Shevat and environmentalism.)
I’ll leave you with a final tree-related story, which is a synthesis of the story the rabbi in Ariel told and one that I learned on Birthright, years ago. A farmer sees an old man planting a carob tree, which does not bear its fruit for something like 70 years. The farmer asks the old man: “Why are you planting this tree? You’ll never get any use out of it during your lifetime.” The old man replied, “It’s true that I will derive no benefit from it, but just as the previous generation planted so that I could enjoy, I must plant for future generations.”
Alternative energy is disregarded often for being too expensive, the rabbi in Ariel said, but polluting the environment that our children and grandchildren will be living in is a much higher cost, he said.
Those Australians were right - the bounty increased at least fourfold!
On a lighter note, in my previous post, I discussed my interest in growing my own sprouts. I’ve been pretty successful since I began three days ago. I came home to find that my beans had sprouted while I was away! What costs something like 7 shekel at the store, I easily made on my own for about 1, and it’s fresher and cleaner of bacteria that likes to grow in sprouts.
In Tehillim/Psalms, 85:12, King David says, Emet meieretz titzmach, “Truth will sprout from the earth.” The founder of Chassidut, the Baal Shem Tov, zl, wonders why truth seems so inaccessible. How can it be difficult to pick something that grows in abundance? He explains that it is available to “pick”, but it nonetheless requires effort to harvest.
How often do we neglect the good that is within arm’s reach? How often do we not take the extra effort to put in a kind word, extend a hand, or take the time to take care of ourselves? To pick, one must bend over, be a little self-effacing, maybe even be willing to get a little dirty.
Not everyone is willing. Lowering oneself, maybe even asking for assistance is too uncomfortable. Ego gets in the way, and truth just might not seem worth it.
This week has been one of immense personal and professional growth. A lot of sprouting, that I hope is well-grounded. As my area of expertise increasingly lends itself to online media and social networking, I’ve become really aware of how much of an ego-driven self-centered enterprise all of these online profiles and networks can be. How do you manage branding yourself without letting your ego get out of control?
In honor of all of these developments, I’m also taking control of the emet, truth of self-care, which is that proper nutrition is really essential to well-being, and I’m experimenting with making sprouts! My first trial will be with lentils, following the advice of this YouTube video created by really enthusiastic Australians.
Rose bush and orange tree
The garden in my front yard is blossoming: Lemons, oranges, flowers, and a smattering of low-lying plants that are probably weeds; but down the street, Friday afternoon soccer games are played on fields of asphalt. In this climate which induces sand and dust, I enjoy the greenery.
View from the porch
Outside the city, almond trees are just beginning to blossom. This marks the start of spring, or at least its anticipation. Tu B’Shevat, the Jewish New Year for Trees, begins next week. The date marks not when the trees begin to blossom, but rather when the sap begins to rise in the tree. This has profound implications. Sometimes change is upon us, even when we can’t see the results just yet. Although we have a tendency to view events as independent or to interpret reactions as knee-jerk, most actions and emotions are part of a cycle, a larger process.
It’s Friday afternoon and Shabbat is about to begin. Another week has gone and I haven’t written up anything about the parshah. My procrastination doesn’t come from nowhere – it’s an avoidance of some sort of emotion. Maybe I’m afraid I won’t have something good to share? Maybe I feel that I should be spending my time doing something else?
Most of our habits are the result of long patterns of behavior that are not a response to what happened today or even this week, but they go way back. Similarly, if I smile and laugh off an insulting comment or if I snap and get angry, it’s not just a reaction to the comment, it’s a reflection of how I’ve been feeling for a while. Physical injuries demonstrate this as well. Long periods of wear and tear can suddenly manifest themselves in inflammation, fractures or cramps. One bad move may have triggered the pain, but the underlying damage had already been done.
The Jewish calendar has four new years. This, the new year for the trees, is a good time for reflection on how we relate to our surroundings – the environment in terms of nature and our own human nature. I’ve always loved Tu B’Shevat. Intrinsically, I suppose it makes sense. My name is Ilana, meaning “tree,” after all.
This year, I feel that right now marks the beginning of many great opportunities that are just beginning to sprout. For more ideas on how to get a head start on Tu B’Shevat, check out Canfei Nesharim, an organization providing Torah-based resources on the environment.
