Parasha Va-era

A "Ribbiting" Debate

Just a few weeks ago,   the American Studies Association, an academic organization, voted overwhelmingly to sever ties with all Israeli academic institutions.  This is part of a larger boycott movement in the West that has been the source of great concern to Israel and its supporters.  In recent weeks a Dutch water company severed its ties to its Israeli counterpart. Canada's largest Protestant church decided to boycott three Israeli companies. The Romanian government refused to allow its citizens to come to Israel to work in construction.

The American Studies Association resolution calls for the organization to boycott "formal collaborations with Israeli academic institutions, or with scholars who are expressly serving as representatives or ambassadors of those institutions, or on behalf of the Israeli government, until Israel ceases to violate human rights and international law."

One has to wonder why the American Studies Association chooses to boycott Israeli academic institutions.  Israel is, after all, a democracy and as such the faculty members have complete academic freedom. Why not boycott China, for example, a country with a population of 1.3 billion people and a well established history of intolerance of dissent. The New York Times reported that in October of this year Peking University dismissed Professor Xia Yeliang for advocating freedom and democracy.  His troubles began when he signed a petition in 2008 urging more freedom and democracy in China. The originator of that petition, known as Charter 08, is serving an 11 year sentence for subversion.  According to the Times, the dismissal of Professor Xia is part of a larger crackdown on scholars, lawyers and writers who have been advocating for more freedom.  This has been part of a campaign of "ideological purification" to suppress dissent in China.  Yet when asked the sensible question about why Israel was singled out for boycott, Curtis Marez, an Associate Professor of ethnic studies at the University of California responded, "We've got to start somewhere."

To get some insight into these issues we can look at a curious debate recorded in the Talmud. This debate is related to our parasha for this week. In our parasha, Moses is calling forth the first plagues to be brought upon Egypt. Dam – blood; Tsefardeyah – Frogs. Only the word Tsefardeyah , frog, is in the singular, not the plural. "Frogs" would be "Tsefardim" in the Hebrew.  This led to a disagreement between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Eliezer. Rabbi Akiva maintains that there was only one frog, like the Torah literally says, and that it came up on the land.  That frog gave birth to many frogs, which then swarmed over Egypt. Rabbi Eliezer maintains that there was only one frog, like the Torah literally says, that came up on the land. That frog then whistled to all the other frogs in the Nile, who joined it. They all then swarmed over Egypt. The Talmud records Rabbi Eliezer's disdain for Rabbi Akiva's interpretation.  "Akiva, go back to studying the minutia of the law, for which you are capable, and leave the creative interpretations of Torah to me!"

Why was Rabbi Eliezer so harshly dismissive of Rabbi Akiva's interpretation?  As it turns out their differences were more profound than it appears on the surface.  These men were living during the Hadrianic persecution of the second century. The Roman Emperor Hadrian had forbidden three critical practices for the Jewish people: the practice of circumcision, the teaching and study of Torah, and the observance of Shabbat. The Emperor  was in the process of building a Roman Temple on the Holy Mount in Jerusalem.  Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva were actually debating the nature of this anti-Jewish animus.

Rabbi Akiva, who held forth that the one frog had given birth to all the other frogs that swarmed over Egypt, was not talking about frogs at all. He held the theory that one man, in this case the Emperor Hadrian, could be responsible for spawning hatred against the Jewish people. Eliminate this one man, thought Rabbi Akiva, and you eliminate the source of the hatred that is influencing everyone else.  A corollary of this theory is that if one eliminates the behavior that is causing the hatred, then the hatred will cease as well.  Rabbi Eliezer, on the other hand, holds a different theory. He believes that anti-Jewish feelings were spread throughout society.  All it took was one influential person to call it forth, and it sprung seemingly out of nowhere, like frogs coming out of the Nile.  In this case the one frog is not the cause of the antagonism; it is merely the precipitant of it , the catalyst that calls it forth. In this case it is not any particular behavior of the Jewish people that causes the hatred; rather, it is the inability of a society to tolerate a minority in their midst with distinctive beliefs and practices.

I have to admit I do not know whether Rabbi Akiva's understanding or Rabbi Eliezer's understanding better explains the American Studies Association decision to boycott Israel, and others like it.  Is it, as Rabbi Akiva would have it, simply that Israel's behavior in the occupied territories is responsible for the calls to action against her?  Or, is Rabbi Eliezer right – that anti-Jewish feeling is endemic in Western societies, and that it is the very existence of Israel, that brings forth antagonism against her?  This is not to say that there really is one correct answer to this vexing question – only that we ought to beware of simplistic solutions or answers to such a highly complex  issue. 

Shabbat Shalom

Parasha Va-Yekhi

How To Hold A Grudge

This letter appeared in the Sunday NY Times advice column called "Social Q's" on July 5:

We had dinner with another couple at an elegant restaurant. I wore a beautiful and very expensive Chanel dress. When I walked in, the woman we were meeting said, "Oh, I have that same dress." She then told me she bought it at a discount store for about a thousand times less than I paid for mine. Wasn't that the most disgusting comment ever? She never compliments me and often makes nasty comments about my jewelry. ("You look so sparkly!") How would you get back at her?

This letter would be comical if it were not so sad. The slight inflicted is minor, one could say, the reaction to it so furious. Yet the letter illustrates how feelings of revenge and the desire to retaliate may be elicited by insensitive comments or actions that others direct toward us. Some of these may seems petty, like the one described in the letter. Others are more serious, as in the story of Joseph that we have been reading in the Torah these past several weeks.  Nevertheless, whether in response to a minor incident or a major one, feelings are feelings, and the question for this evening is, how should we behave in response when we have been wronged?

Much can be learned from studying the example set by Joseph. In this week's parasha, Jacob dies in Egypt. The Torah tells us that Joseph's brothers are worried.  They are afraid that Joseph has held a grudge against them for selling him into slavery, and that with the death of their father he will now exact his vengeance for the evil that they did to him. They even tell Joseph that before he died, their father told them that he hoped that Joseph would find it in his heart to forgive them.

Most of us can understand how difficult it would be to forgive someone, let alone your brother, who is supposed to love you, for selling us into slavery.  Many brothers and sisters find it hard to forgive one another for far less. Undoubtedly some of us know people who cannot find it in their heart to forgive a family member, and therefore they do not talk to that person for years on end.  In response to his brother's plea to be forgiven, Joseph replies, "Fear not, am I in the place of G-d? Although you intended me harm, G-d intended it for the good… so fear not, I will sustain you and your young ones."

Do you hear words of forgiveness in Joseph's response?  I do not.   I hear from Joseph a promise not to retaliate against his brothers for the evil they have done toward him. If G-d wants to punish them for their evil, so be it.  Joseph, for his part, promises to fulfill his obligation to support his family in Egypt.  But not once in the entire saga does Joseph utter the words, "I forgive you."

Some understand Joseph's failure to forgive his brothers after all of these years as a surprising moral lapse in someone who has come to be known in our tradition as "Yosef HaTsadik" – "Joseph the Righteous".  After all, isn't Yom Kippur the day of the year when we are supposed to forgive those who have wronged us?  Doesn't Joseph have a religious obligation to forgive? Many Yom Kippurs have passed in the intervening years that lead to their father's death.  Could Joseph not have forgiven them by now?  Yet, others see Joseph's failure to forgive his brothers as further sign of his greatness!  They understand that Joseph is unable to forgive his brothers. Naturally, they say, Joseph cannot forgive his brothers for what they have done. After all, who could forgive such an un-brotherly act as selling a brother into slavery? Joseph's greatness, according to them, lies in the fact that even though he cannot forgive them, he still uses his power to protect them. Although he cannot honestly find it in his heart to forgive them, he will not act against them. If his brothers are to be punished at all, it will be at the hands of G-d.  Joseph will have nothing to do with that.

This is a lesson for all of us.  How ought we to react to a person who has wronged us in words or in action? It is certainly praiseworthy to be able to "forgive and forget", yet, as the story of Joseph illustrates, this is not always possible. Although we may not be able to forgive others for what they have done to us, we can restrain ourselves from getting back at them.  Joseph shows us that it is possible to maintain cordial relationships with others and to even be warm and generous to them, though we may harbor some lingering resentment toward them in our hearts.        

Shabbat Shalom

*This sermon was inspired by a teaching by Rav David Silverberg

Parasha VaYigash

Reconciliation -- "Then" and "Now" 

Rabbi Joseph Telushkin relates the following story. It illustrates the rancor that is legend in synagogue life:

Two members of a congregation have been feuding for years. On Yom Kippur eve, just before the Kol Nidre service, the rabbi brings the two men together in his office. "You must make peace," he implores. "What is the point of going into the synagogue and asking G-d to forgive you when you cannot even forgive your fellow man?"  The men are both moved. They hug and promise that they will not fight anymore. When services end, one of the men greets the other. "I prayed for you everything that you prayed for me," the first man said.  "Starting up already?" the second man answered.

Reconciliation and forgiveness can be very difficult. Yet one of the most important callings of our tradition is to bring peace between people.  In this week's parasha, we read about the forgiveness and reconciliation the Joseph brought about with his brothers. In thinking about this parasha, I was struck by the parallels between Joseph and another great peacemaker in our own time, Nelson Mandela, who died yesterday at the age of 95. To those who think that the stories of the Bible are fairy tales -- fictions that could not have happened -- all we need to do is to look at the similarities between Joseph's life and Nelson Mandela's to convince us of the basic truth of the biblical account of Joseph. Both men were born to rule, but ended up ruling in ways they could not have imagined. Both men were born to privilege. Joseph was the son of the wealthy patriarch, the prophet Jacob.  Mandela was raised in the home of his tribal chief, to whom he was the heir apparent.  Both men were dreamers at a young age, and both had a rebellious streak. Mandela rebelled against the paramount chief who was planning his marriage and future chieftainship.  He ran away to Johannesburg, where he was suspended from college for his political activity against apartheid. He dreamed of a South Africa where white and black could live together in freedom and equality. Joseph was given a coat of many colors by his father, a symbol of leadership in the family. He too refused to follow the rules of tribal life and had dreams of leadership that went against long established tribal custom. Both Nelson Mandela and Joseph were incarcerated unjustly, and spent long years in the darkness of prison. Yet both were able to maintain hopefulness in the face of what would drive others to despair. For Mandela, this was achieved through his ideals and his conviction that in the end the cause of justice and equality would eventually win. For Joseph, hope was maintained by his certainty that G-d would not abandon him in his darkest days. "Tell your dreams to me," says Joseph to the cupbearer and the baker with whom he was imprisoned. "Perhaps G-d will give me the wisdom to interpret them".

Both Joseph and Nelson Mandela came from their prison cells to rise to lead their respective nations with skill and wisdom, with dignity and forbearance.  However, their greatest achievements were not in the areas of administrative skills, but in moral force.  Nelson Mandela received world wide acclaim as a peacemaker, as a person who chose forgiveness over vengeance. "His commitment to ……. reconcile with those who jailed him set an example that all humanity should aspire to," said President Obama upon hearing of the death of Mandela. "He was influential, courageous and profoundly good."  Those words could very well have been spoken about Joseph. In this week's parasha we learn that Joseph's brothers are terrified that he is going to pay them back for having sold him into slavery. They are horrified at the thought that he will exact vengeance for all the years of suffering. It is Joseph's belief in G-d's power in his life that keeps him from doing just that.  He allays the fears of his brothers with the words, "G-d sent me ahead of you to assure your survival in the land and to sustain you….it was not you who sent me here -- it was G-d." In saying these words, Joseph shows his profound humility. "It is not all about me," he is saying to his brothers in another way. "My suffering is part of a greater plan that only now becomes apparent."

As I was writing these thoughts, my attention was brought to new musical opened on Broadway this summer called "Soul Doctor". It is about the life of Rabbi Shlomo Carlbach, may his memory be for a blessing. There is a scene in the play where Reb Shlomo is giving a concert in Vienna. His mentor, Reb Pinchas, with whom Reb Shlomo has fallen out, confronts him. "A Jew must never forgive the crimes of these 'cultured citizens of Vienna'" says Reb Pinchas. "My dear Reb Pinchas," replies Reb Shlomo, "If I had two hearts, I could use one to love and one to hate. But I only have one heart ... so I use it to love!" 

This is the greatness of both Joseph and Nelson Mandela, and it could be our greatness as well. We only have one heart – use it to love.  The lives of Joseph and Mandela show us a different way – the possibilities of escaping our need to settle scores from the past and moving forward in our lives to a brighter, more glorious future.  May they inspire us to overcome hatred, enmity, bigotry and intolerance. May they serve as models of how we can free ourselves from the desire for retaliation in our personal lives, in our work lives or in our communal and political lives. Let not our dreams be imprisoned by bitterness.  To paraphrase Nelson Mandela : "If there are dreams about a beautiful life, there are also roads that lead to that goal. Two of these roads could be named Goodness and Forgiveness."

Shabbat Shalom