Terumah 5774

Terumah
The Heart of the Matter

A study was done some years back of the attitudes of high school students in regards to helping those in need.  In the case that was presented to the students, two different people were approached by the same person.  Both people were told the same story by the man regarding his difficulties and both of those people approached gave the person the same amount of money.  However, the first person took the poor man for coffee and they spoke for a period of time.  When they parted they hugged each other and the man who gave wished the other well.  In the second case the giver reached into his pocket after being approached and said to the poor man that it was his religious obligation to give to others.  So he is fulfilling his obligation.  He then gave the man the money and walked away. 

Now it is obvious that both men did the right thing.  They both gave to a person in need of help.  But who did the “more right thing”? As you might have guessed the high school students chose the first person as he took the time to get to know the other person, sat together over coffee and then parted in a meaningful way.  The other person seemed only interested in fulfilling his religious obligation.  I suspect that if you presented this case to others that they would come up with the same conclusion.  However, what would the Jewish tradition have said about this case?

There is no question that our tradition would pick the second person.  The reason is that Judaism appreciates consistency of action.  How do we know if the first person would do the same the next day?  Perhaps, he was just in a good mood, or it was a nice day and he had time on his hands.  What if it is raining tomorrow or he is in a hurry, or just not in a good mood?  How do we know if the first person would do the same?  From the Jewish perspective the power of a Mitzvah, a commandment is that come the next day the second person will feel equally commanded and do the same thing.  Should we then conclude that Judaism does not care about intention, that our tradition is only interested in fulfilling the Mitzvah and not in how we approach our obligations?

This week’s Torah reading, Terumah, offers a powerful response to the question of intention.
For the next few weeks the Torah readings will concern themselves with the building of the Tabernacle, the holiest of all acts.  Here we are commanded to build a dwelling place for God.  Just as the book of Genesis begins with the creation story and with it a place for people to live, so too, does the book of Exodus close with the completion of the Mishkan, God’s holy home on Earth.   The people are commanded to bring Terumah, an offering of all sorts of precious items for this great task.  But the Torah continues with a phrase that will not be used again in any other commandment: “you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him”. (Exodus 25:2)  At no other time does the Torah consider the feelings of a person in the performance of a commandment.  For instance, we are not told on Sukkot to take the lulav and etrog in our hands if our hearts move us.  No, we are commanded to do whether we feel it or not!
One of the lessons we might derive from this unique passage is that our feelings do matter when we preform Mitzvot.  We are not robots nor should act like them.  While the commandment may motivate consistent action the Mitzvah does not end there.  It matters how we relate to others.  It matters that we do not act in perfunctory way.  It matters that we put hearts into our actions.  If it matters in the building of Mishkan, then it most certainly should matter in how we create a home here on earth for those who were created in the image of God:

“you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him”. (Exodus 25:2)

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Michael Siegel
Senior Rabbi

Mishpatim 5774

Mishpatim 5774

In late 19th century German a school of Biblical scholarship developed which, among other things, was determined to prove that the “Old Testament” (what we call the “Tanakh”) was not much more than a barbaric and archaic collection of meaningless laws.  Among the favorite targets was the case of the goring ox described in this week’s parasha, Mishpatim, where we learn:

When an ox gores a man or a woman to death, the ox shall be stoned and its flesh shall not be eaten, but the owner of the ox is not to be punished. 29If, however, that ox has been in the habit of goring, and its owner, though warned, has failed to guard it, and it kills a man or a woman—the ox shall be stoned and its owner, too, shall be put to death.                

Shemot (Exodus) 21

The German scholars compared this text with the teachings found, for example, in the Code of Hammurabi which teaches:

If an ox gored a man to death while walking along the street, the case is not subject to claim.  If a man’s ox was known as a gorer but he neither padded the horns nor tied the ox and the ox gored a member of the aristocracy to death, the owner shall pay one half mina of silver.

The scholars claimed the Torah’s insistence on capital punishment instead of financial compensation (as in the Code of Hammurabi) was proof that the Old Testament was even less civilized than the laws of the pagan ancient near east.

However, one of the great teachers of the Conservative Movement, Professor Moshe Greenberg, of blessed memory, former chair of the Bible department at Hebrew University, took up the challenge of these anti-Semitic scholars decades after they lived by completing the comparison they had left unfinished.  True, he noted that Biblical Judaism insisted on the death of the owner of the goring ox who had allowed the ox to kill a human being though forewarned which Hammurabi did not do.  However, he noted that Hammurabi did insist on capital punishment in the following instances:

If a man makes a breach in a house, they shall put him to death in front of the breach and wall him in.  If a man commits robbery and is caught, that man shall be put to death.

In contrast the Torah teaches (again in our parasha):

If the thief is seized while tunneling……….He must make restitution; if he lacks the means, he shall be sold for his theft. 3But if what he stole—whether ox or ass or sheep—is found alive in his possession, he shall pay double.

In other words Hammurabi calls for capital punishment when objects are stolen but not when lives are taken.  The Torah allows for financial compensation when objects have been stolen but not when lives have been lost unnecessarily.  This may not satisfy all of us who oppose capital punishment but on the continuum of humane values Professor Greenberg demonstrated that at the core of the Torah’s teachings nothing is more sacred than the life of a human being.

What a great lesson to keep in mind the Shabbat following our country’s observance of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Matt Futterman
Senior Educator

Yitro 5774

One of the centerpiece mitzvot in parshat Yitro is the mitzvah of lo tirtzach - that it is forbidden to murder. This mitzvah is often glossed over, I assume because it is so completely obvious. But over the past few months and years, we have certainly seen this all over the news, whether in Chicago or across the country. This mitzvah of lo tirtzach is violated in our cities, our country, and our world constantly. It is certainly as important now as in the time of the Children of Israel and Moshe, when this mitzvah was placed in the center of the aseret hadibrot, the 10 commandments.

There are two ways that we can interpret lo tirtzach. The first is a very limited understanding: when the Torah says lo tirtzach, that we cannot murder, the Torah is telling us that we cannot perform that final act of killing. This view is represented by Ibn Ezra, who comments:

בידך- we are prohibited from killing the person with our own hand.

For Ibn Ezra, one is liable for transgressing the commandment of “you shall not murder” only if you have done something fairly direct to kill that person: with your hands themselves, or with your words, your testimony.

But there is another, more expansive view of lo tirtzach. Maimonides, in his immaculately organized code of Jewish law called the Mishneh Torah, could have created a section titled “הלכות רוצח- Laws of Murder.” But instead, he used the title “הלכות רוצח ושמירת הנפש - Laws of Murder and the Protection of Life.” For the Rambam, the law that we are not allowed to murder is completely intertwined with laws about the preservation of life. In the very same place where the Rambam mentions that a murderer is to be executed, he also talks about how there is a mitzvah to not stand idly by when someone’s life is in danger; to build guardrails on our rooftops to prevent people from falling; to help a person whose animal collapses on the road. The Rambam, in the same place where he talks about how one must not murder, also writes that we cannot leave people abandoned and helpless. For the Rambam, if we perform what seem like small acts of chesed, kindness, we are simultaneously preventing murder and protecting life.

This coming Monday, Anshe Emet will host over a hundred people of multiple faiths from the Lakeview area at Anshe Emet, as we come together for a day of learning and service in honor of Martin Luther King Jr. We will explore how the values of preserving life, freedom, and equality are manifested in our faith traditions, in the work of Dr. King, and how we can make those values into a reality today by taking action on issues including juvenile justice, mental health justice, money and politics, and supporting those in our community who were formerly incarcerated. Please join us, as we come together to learn, to act, and to live up to the Rambam’s imperative of preserving life.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi David Russo

Beshallah 5774

Taking the Long Way Home

At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, Beshallah, the Israelites begin their journey out of Egypt – but right at the beginning, something strange happens: When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was near. For God said, “Lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt” (Exodus 13:17). Several questions immediately jump out: Don’t the Israelites want to get out of there as fast as possible? Why do they agree to follow God the long way around? And how could God imagine that, so soon after their liberation, the Israelites would want to go back to Egypt?

Rabbi Moses Maimonides (Spain, Egypt, and Israel, 1135-1204), the great medieval Philosopher, answers these questions directly in his Guide for the Perplexed:

God refrained from prescribing what the people by their natural disposition would be incapable of obeying… it would be just as if a person trained to work as a slave with mortar and bricks, or similar things, should interrupt his work, clean his hands, and at once fight with real giants. It was the result of God's wisdom that the Israelites were led about in the wilderness till they acquired courage. For it is a well-known fact that travelling in the wilderness, and privation of bodily enjoyments, such as bathing, produce courage, whilst the reverse is the source of faint-heartedness: besides, another generation rose during the wanderings that had not been accustomed to degradation and slavery [Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed 3:32, tr. M. Friedlander].

In other words, the physical liberation is merely the beginning of the Israelites’ intellectual and spiritual liberation. Only after an adjustment period could a new generation, raised in freedom and conditioned by the challenges of life in the wilderness, take possession of the Promised Land.

Of course, Maimonides’ lesson remains true for us today. We spend a great deal of time thinking about ways we hope to change, grow, or develop, and rightfully so – but do we also grant ourselves a “wilderness period” in which to relinquish old habits and learn new skills? Or do we unfairly judge ourselves for not immediately turning over a new leaf? “God refrained from prescribing what the people by their natural disposition would be incapable of obeying,” not just because it was the most prudent course of action at that time but also as a lesson to the rest of us: when we set goals, whether for others or for ourselves, we must be careful to shape the conditions in such a way that we have a reasonable chance of success. It might be the long way home, but it is the only sure path to the Promised Land.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Abe Friedman

Bo 5774

Bo 5774

Darkness and Light

As parashat Bo opens, God and Moses bring the final three plagues upon the Egyptians. While the Torah is generally ambiguous about the Israelite experience during the time of plagues, during the next-to-last plague, Darkness, the Torah tells us very clearly that the Egyptians did not see one another, nor did anyone rise from his place for three days, but all the people of Israel had light in their dwellings (Exodus 10:23).

While the verse would seem to suggest that Israelite homes were lit while Egyptian homes remained dark, Rashbam (Rabbi Shmuel ben Meir, a grandson of Rashi; France, 1085-1158) offers a very different reading of this verse: “The people of Israel had light in their dwellings, even if [the Israelite] was sitting in an Egyptian house.” In other words, according to Rashbam, wherever an Israelite went she could see; and no matter where the Egyptians were located, they experienced only darkness.

Here we find an important lesson from God’s contact during the plagues: despite God’s great anger and desire to punish the Egyptians for their cruelty, God was still extremely careful to be sure that God’s anger – and its tangible consequences – only affected the Egyptians. The plague of darkness – and, presumably, the other plagues as well – did not reach the Israelites in their own homes; but more than that, even if an Israelite went into an Egyptian neighborhood or home, the darkness did not affect him. Only the Egyptians, whose evil deeds brought the plagues upon them, suffered the consequences of God’s wrath.

While the parshah focuses on God’s actions, I know that sometimes I react to negative or uncomfortable situations by taking out my frustration on others who are really not part of the problem. The challenge presented to us by the plague of Darkness – difficult to apply, but vitally important – is to cultivate an awareness of our feelings and our reactions, and to discern when we are expressing those feelings appropriately and when, perhaps, we might be bringing negative reactions from one sphere of life – work, family, friendships – and letting it out in a different area, impacting people who bear no responsibility for our misfortune. Of course, such behavior is “only human” – but as humans who were created in the Divine Image, we must strive to be more than “only human,” to be Godly; and one piece of that puzzle is to stay aware of how our reactions affect others.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Abe Friedman