Parasha Be-Ha-a-lotecha

How should one address the spiritual leader of a synagogue? When I was a seminarian at the Academy for Jewish Religion, I had a student pulpit at a small synagogue in Holyoke, Massachusetts. One of the first questions the President of the congregation asked me was, "How should we call you?"  This is a crisis point for any rabbinic student. One is only studying to be a rabbi. One is not a rabbi yet. So, do you deserve to be called "rabbi?"  Should you tell them to call you by your first name? I answered immediately, "Call me 'rabbi'!  The next week I ran to the seminary to find out if that was alright. Fortunately, I was right on the mark!

The rabbis that most of us remember from our childhood we remember as authority figures. They stood on pulpits raised high above the congregation, and dressed in formal black robes and high black hats. They seemed distant, and remote even scary and intimidating. As they thundered their sermons from the pulpit heights, congregants hung on their every word.  We addressed these holy figures formally, by their surname.  

Here is a true story. When I was being interviewed by a committee for entry into my seminary, one of the rabbis asked me what synagogue I had attended as a child and who my rabbi was. I answered, Temple Israel in Scranton, where the rabbi was Rabbi Simon H. Shoop. His eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah", he said, "Hank Shoop, I knew him."  "Yes," I replied gravely, "But we didn't call him Hank." It seemed to me that Rabbi Shoop's very diginity had been compromised by his colleague's use of a nickname, of all things!

We want – and need, a different model of rabbi for our times. Today's congregations want rabbis who are more like friends and less like the authority figures of our childhood and adolescence. This change is reflected in how many of us  address our rabbis.

At the Reconstructionist synagogue in Amherst, where I was a member for many years, many congregants addressed the rabbi only by her first name, Sheila.  When they referred to her in the third person, they would also use her first name only. I never felt comfortable with that, and always addressed her as "Rabbi" or "Rabbi Weinberg", and spoke about her in the same way.  Does that make me old-fashioned?

The rabbis of antiquity were all known by their first names -- Rabbi Akiva, Rabbi Yohannan,  Rabbi Yehudah and the like.  Of course, they did not have hereditary last names.  I envy Rabbi Bob at Etz Chaim. He has a last name that sounds like a friendly first name, so he can have it both ways!

There is a biblical basis for how Jewish people should address their rabbi, and it is found in this week's Torah portion, Be-ha-ah-lotecha.  In it, two men, Eldad and Medad, are prophesying in the camp of the Israelites.  Joshua ben Nun, who is described as a student of Moses since his youth, speaks up. "My master, Moses, incarcerate them!"  Out of this verse come two teachings about how one must address ones rabbi. The first teaching states that one should always address ones rabbi as either "Rabbi" or "Rabbi so-and –so", just as Joshua does when he addresses Moses as "My master, Moses".  As long as one prefaces the proper name with the title of "rabbi" or "master", one may use the proper name of the rabbi when speaking to him or her. But others disagree. They state that one should address ones rabbi only as "Rabbi" when speaking to him or her, and "Rabbi so-and-so" when speaking about him or her to others.  The reason for this is that using the proper name of the rabbi when one is speaking directly to them implies that one has a teacher other than the rabbi with whom you are speaking. Otherwise, why would you need a name to clarify with whom you are speaking?  Fortunately, this is a minority opinion, for it raises more issues than it resolves. At the same time, that is what makes it a characteristically Jewish opinion as well.

A Rabbi should not be too zealous of his honor in this respect. A beautiful story is told of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, a giant in the rabbinic world of the twentieth century.  He was walking along a street in his neighborhood when he heard a voice calling, "Moshe, Moshe!"  Looking up, he saw that the voice was that of an acquaintance, who was behind the wheel of his car.  Without blinking an eye, Rav Moshe walked over to the car.  Upon realizing that Rav Moshe had assumed that he was being called, the man turned crimson with embarrassment.  He said, "I was calling my son, who happened to be in the street as I drove by.  I would never dream of addressing you in such a disrespectful manner.  Besides, if I had something to discuss with the Rabbi I would have gotten out of my car and gone over to him.  I would not have dared to ask you to come to me."  Rav Moshe assured the man that there was nothing to be concerned about.  "It is already many years that these things mean nothing to me." [1]

From the time of Moses, the Jewish people have had a tradition of the proper way to address their teachers.   Times may change, and styles with them.  Yet, whatever way one addresses ones rabbi, our tradition insists that one does it with the respect that a student shows a teacher.  This is one of the hallmarks of a sacred text – it tells us not only much about the past, but it can also speak to our own lives, in large ways and in small.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

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[1] As told by Rabbi Ed Davis "Torah Dialogue – Be-Ha-ah-lot-cha" a weekly communication.

Thoughts on Mothers for Mothers Day

In a few days it will be Mothers Day. Of course,we should not need a special day in the year to honor our mothers -- every day should be "Mothers Day". The idea that we should respect and honor our mothers each and every day is part of the Ten Commandments. Caring for and honoring our parents should be part of our daily lives. The Talmud takes up the question of exactly how one should treat one's parents. The story is told of Rabbi Tarfon, who lived in the period just following the destruction of the Second Temple. Whenever his mother wished to get into her bed, Rabbi Tarfon would get on his hands and knees and allow his mother to step onto his back to climb into bed. Whenever she wished to get out of bed, he would get on his hands and knees and let her use his back as a step down. Rabbi Tarfon thought he was being a pretty amazing son, and he told his colleagues at the House of Study the exemplary way he treated his mother. Some of them were not impressed. "You have not yet reached the honor due her," they said. "Has she thrown her money into the sea without your getting angry at her?" Others said to him, "If you had done a thousand times more for her, you still would not have done half the honor due her that the Torah prescribes." 

Clearly the Talmud is demanding very high standards for achieving the mitzvah of honoring one's mother. Most of us think if we give flowers, breakfast in bed and a nice card on Mothers Day we are doing pretty well! In fact, Maimonides warns parents not to be overly demanding of their children in this respect. "Although children are commanded to go the above mentioned lengths," writes Maimonides, "the parent is forbidden to impose too heavy a yoke upon them, to be too exacting with them in matters pertaining to his honor, lest he cause them to stumble. The parent should forgive them and shut his eyes; for a parent has the right to forego the honor due him."

It comes,then, to a matter of balance. Children have the duty to be respectful to their parents and honor them each and every day. Parents, in turn, are responsible  not to place unreasonable expectations and demands on their children. Should they not feel properly honored, parents should be forgiving and understanding of their children. The most important thing is to strive for harmonious relations between parent and child. This takes an effort from both sides of the relationship.

Parasha Be-Har Be-Chukotai

Rewards and Punishment

The story is told of one Rabbi Samuel, who, on a visit to Rome, found a bracelet. The next day the Empress announced that she had lost a precious bracelet. If the person who found the bracelet returned it within thirty days, he would be richly rewarded. If, however, it was found in the possession of someone after thirty days, that person would lose their head.

Rabbi Samuel waited until the thirty first day to return the bracelet. He admitted to the empress that he knew of her decree. "Why then," asked the empress, "did you wait to return the bracelet?"  "You must know that ethical behavior is inspired neither by the hope of reward or the fear of punishment," answered the rabbi. "It stems solely from the love of G-d and the desire to follow the commandments."

Rabbi Samuel expresses an optimistic view of human nature.  He believes that people act ethically out of a love for G-d, rather than out of a desire for reward or a fear of punishment. This is a far more optimistic view than is expressed in this week's parasha.  For this week's Torah reading does promise rewards in this life for following G-d's ways, and punishments if ones behavior does not comport to G-d's mitzvoth.  In fact, there seem to be many more punishments in this parasha than there are blessings. The medieval commentator Ibn Ezra explains that it only appears that way. The truth is, he maintains, that the blessings are broad in nature and the curses are very specific in nature.  This is done to scare and intimidate people into following the laws. People seem to be more motivated to change their behavior in response to fear than in response to love.

Perhaps this explains the power and prevalence of negative advertising in politics. In one study published in 2005, researchers found that campaign ads that make people feel fear — with ominous music and grainy images of drugs and violence — caused people to seek more information and remember more facts from a newscast aired afterward.  Ads that sparked feelings of enthusiasm in viewers — with upbeat music and images of flags and smiling children — reduced viewers' interest in learning more about candidates' positions.[1]

Perhaps this is the very strategy that the Torah takes up in G-d's campaign to get the Jewish people to follow the mitzvoth.  Present verses upon verses of ominous predictions about the consequences of not following G-d's ways and people will remember more and seek more information about G-d.  Present a rosier picture of the future if one does observe the commandments, and most people aren't that interested.  This – some 3000 years before the advent of political advertising!

Consider the news.  Bad news gets attention.  Bad news sells newspapers. Gossip and break-ups about celebrities is much more interesting than publicity about the good things celebrities do, or the lasting marriages in Hollywood. Notoriety can drive popularity and enhance careers – Lindsey Lohan, Mel Gibson, Charlie Sheen.  We, as a society, can't seem to get enough of them! The heartwarming stories are left for the end of the newscasts, when fewer people are likely to watch.

So it makes sense that the dire consequences of not following G-d's commandments would get more press in the Torah than the rewards that one accumulates by following them.  They make us sit up and take notice!  Yet, it gives a misleading impression as to the purpose of the mitzvoth.  As the story of Rabbi Samuel reminds us, the purpose of the commandments is not so that we can avoid punishment by performing them. It is not so that we can to accrue rewards by doing them.  The commandments were not given to the Jewish people so that we could earn G-d's love by following them. G-d already loves us. It says so in our prayer, Ahavat Olam that we sing each Friday night.  With an everlasting love, You love Israel, and it was out of that love that You gave the Jewish people the commandments, the mitzvoth.  The purpose of G-d giving us the commandments is so that we have a way to maintain our relationship with G-d.  It is not so we can earn G-d's love. We already HAVE THAT! It is to show G-d OUR love. Every time we pray, every time we eat kosher food, every time we give tsedaka, every time we light Sabbath candles -- we are affirming and renewing our relationship to G-d – showing G-d our love.

Every young person who has a bar or bat mitzvah is also performing a holy act in which they are showing G-d their love. I once heard a young man say in his bar mitzvah speech, "Having a bar mitzvah is telling G-d that I am here." That young man is probably about thirty years old now, but I liked that line so much I remembered it all these years.  I would amend that statement, however. I would tell that young man today that G-d knows that he is here. He doesn't need to have a bar mitzvah to remind G-d of that. Rather, having a bar mitzvah is telling G-d that G-d is here – "here" being in the young man's heart. 

We live in a society where we expect rewards for our performance. We do well in school and score high in our college entrance exams, and we expect admission to a top university. We do well at work, we expect a promotion, more money, a corner office.  When we don't get what we think we deserve, we feel cheated.  Judaism presents a different system. It asks us to work hard, to act ethically, to do the right thing, without the expectation of reward.  Judaism asks us to do good, simply because it is the will of our Creator that we do good.  There is a reward, but it is relational, not material. The reward lies in a closer relationship to the Divine that comes from doing the mitzvoth.

Shabbat Shalom

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[1] http://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/04/advertising.aspx