ONE HAPPY JEW – a review of Sam Glaser’s book “The Joy of Judaism” – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

ONE HAPPY JEW – a review of Sam Glaser’s book “The Joy of Judaism” – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

     By all means, take the time for this book.  It is not a weekend read.  But invest yourself in it, and you can inhale the author’s supremely positive attitude toward life in general, and Jewish life in particular.

     So, is this a memoir?  Yes, it encompasses more than a quarter century of experience, contacts, performances, and growth.  Starting, as many of us do, from a partly secular and minimally observant youth, the author recounts his progress as he finds out more and more about his Jewish identity – and describes how he implements that knowledge in his personal life. We feel the joy this process brings him. Along the way he quotes some of the numerous Jewish clergymen and lay leaders he meets.  As an internationally successful composer and performer, he comes in contact with Jewish communities and organizations of all types – movement-connected, politically targeted, strictly recreational, name it!  He loves them all, entertains them all, and does his best to connect them all.

     He implements his joy of Judaism at home, too.  He finds a way to activate his love for his wife and children by leading them to create an observant Jewish home, and to share the beauty of their Jewish life with friends, family and strangers whom they host.  That process is summarized in a later chapter where we can read his vigorous 4-page letter to his first son.  Other fathers might well learn a little here, about how Jewish growth improves life, and the importance of communicating that growth to those we love.

     So, is this a textbook?  Definitely, it builds a detailed example of how the reader can use the author’s experience to reach a level of sacred joy.

     Of course, this author’s personal experiences are tied to a career in music – singing, playing, recording, marketing albums, etc. How he applied that profession to his Jewish growth, could be quite different from anything the reader does. But here we can find some constructive ideas on raising the commitment level, for those in any line of work.

     In chapter after engrossing chapter, we join the process of exploring Jewish life.  And music figures in that process, as we roam the Jewish year.

     Each chapter opens with lyrics and links to the author’s songs.  With a little help from your computer, the author’s voice and his group’s music can  provide a melodic intro to the subject.  From the unplugged simplicity of a Shabat Shalom to Passover with an equally unplugged but so much more dramatic B’chol dor vador (“in every generation we must see ourselves as if we came out of Egypt”) quoting the Seder Haggadah, and on into the emotional Hatikvah of Israeli holidays like Jerusalem Day and Israel Independence Day, the year sings to us in familiar sounds and in the author’s added ones.

     From the shofar calls, the solemn Kol Nidrey and some Sam Glaser chants, to the pure fun of a Shlomo Carlebach tune, we sample the High Holidays. From dancing in the Succah to the rhythm of some of the author’s favorite recordings, to kindling Hanukkah lights and memorializing the Maccabees along with Louis Armstrong and Martin Luther King and all who fight for freedom, we join in this extended excitement of the Jewish calendar.

     Sampling the author’s experiences in professional engagements for groups including Hillel, Chabad, the Reform Biennial and a multi-cultural High Sierra program, we watch him pick opportunities to share Jewish music with any and all audiences.   

     So, is this book a promotion?  After all, the appendix includes a sampling of the 1000-plus dates of Sam Glaser’s appearances the world over.  We can cruise a list of his recordings.  He names fans who follow him and even help sponsor his book.  Yes, of course it’s a promotion – and it promotes more than Sam Glaser’s stardom.  It promotes a noble cause. That cause is Jewish unity.  Whether or not we are as observant as this author has become, we can accept each other – Hassidic, Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Renewal, Reconstructionist, Labor Zionist, etc. etc.  We share our Jewish roots.  And so we share in growing the tree whose fruit we eat to live.  As we nurture that tree, we strengthen our future. 

    Whatever your personal Jewish habits, you will find this book surprising, and sometimes exciting.  Its stories from “the road” bring us humor, and some inspiring “small miracle” memories. Here and there, it suffers from some first-edition text-editing oversights (like omitted words, faulty usage, etc.) but the beautiful message comes through.  “The Joy of Judaism” is definitely worth reading.

Enjoy it.

Link to the book The Joy of Judaism

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HERO OR CRIMINAL? – Pinkhas – Num. 25:10-30:1 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

HERO OR CRIMINAL? – Pinkhas – Num. 25:10-30:1 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         These five chapters cover a rare variety of subjects, from the end of an epidemic, to a plan to attack an enemy, then to Moses’ second census after 40 years, determining future ownership rights in the Promised Land, which brings up a question of female inheritance for the daughters of a man named Zelophehad who had no sons.  We will see Moses climb a mountain to get his last view of the land of Israel, and since he will never enter it, he now proceeds to appoint Joshua as the leader who will succeed him.

         Next, we will learn about the sacrificial offerings – daily and seasonal.  This section is quoted on all occasions of the Jewish year.   Reading about bringing the first fruits of the harvest to the sanctuary, we may find it a charming idea, and indeed a version of it is observed by religious farmers in Israel today.  A different effect comes from the number of sheep, cattle and goats slaughtered for various holidays.  Of course we know that animal sacrifices had to be discontinued after the destruction of the Temple, to be replaced by spoken prayers.  Here we will see how they lead up to climactic ceremonies still observed – and still animal-related – like sounding the ram’s horn, the shofar to proclaim the New Year. 

         Most dramatic and most discussed of all these subjects is the opening section of this reading, which concerns a man named Pinkhas (Phineas).  The entire reading bears his name.  At the end of the previous section, we saw him take a spear in his hand and kill both an Israelite tribal prince and the Midianite idolatrous prostitute he was showing off – thus halting the orgies and the resulting epidemic that was raging in the camp.  

         This reading opens with Moses receiving the Divine word to award Pinkhas “My covenant of peace.  He and his progeny will have a covenant of eternal priesthood because he was jealous for his G-d and he atoned for the people of Israel.”

         By his act of violence, does Pinkhas earn permanent High Priesthood for himself and his descendants?   He was not carrying out a legal execution.  The couple he killed, Zimri and the woman named Cozbi, never went to trial.  They flaunted their violation.  All the Israelites saw them enter the tent together.  And all saw Pinkhas run them through, right through the tent. 

Of all the major characters in Biblical literature, Pinkhas ranks with the most controversial.   Rashi and other commentators recount that the tribes ridiculed him, considering him as lacking any right to take the law into his own hands and kill a tribal leader like Zimri.  Maybe he should be tried for murder.  How could such a violent crime qualify him for the priesthood? 

The opening line of this portion identifies Pinkhas as the son of Elazar and therefore grandson of Aaron, which already should make him a priest, a cohen. But Elazar’s wife, Pinkhas’ mother, was the daughter of Jethro, a heathen priest who in Rashi’s words “fattened cows [to slaughter] for idolatry.”  So if Pinkhas’ father could marry a woman who was not born Jewish, what gives Pinkhas the right to execute Zimri for cohabiting with a heathen woman?  Negative opinions about Pinkhas continue through the writings of subsequent commentators including Sifsey Khakhomim (“Lips of the wise”), Klee Yokor (“Vessel of Value”) etc., all the way to Maimonides, the famous Rambam.  He states that the law permits a “zealot” to kill a Jew who is having intercourse with a non-Jewish woman, even though a bet din (a Jewish court) cannot give him permission to do so.  The reason for this ruling concerns the possible offspring of that couple. If the birth results from a forbidden relationship between two Jews, as when they are not legally married to each other, the baby will be a mamzer (illegitimate) but will still be a Jew, and will be identified as the Jewish father’s son or daughter.  But in the case of a non-Jewish woman who gives birth, her baby is not a Jew at all, and “is not considered to be [the Jewish father’s] child…”.  

         And yet, this Torah portion that bears his name asserts that through his violent action Pinkhas turned G-d’s anger away from the people Israel.

         Or did he?  Psalm 106 tells the story a little differently.  “Pinkhas stood and prayed,” says the Psalm, “and the plagued ceased.” Was King David, author of the Psalms, taking liberties with the facts in order to elevate the reputation of Pinkhas? Is Pinkhas really such a hero?  He killed two defenseless people.

           Was it prayer or was it murder?  Or was it something else, something unique?   Maybe Pinkhas carried out an act of affirmation, a violent and shocking act to be sure, but an extreme act made vital by an extreme situation.  Maybe he saw a need no one else could see, a need for a nation to be shocked.  They did not seem to realize that Midian was their enemy, with the false prophet Balaam plotting their destruction and actually causing the infection and death of some 24,000 Israelite victims of the disease contracted from the Midianite women.  In Chapter 31 we will read about the military campaign that defeated Midian and killed Balaam.  Pinkhas is there too, but he is not the leader of the campaign. More like an enlisted man.  His father Elazar is the army chaplain.  But without Pinkhas and his spear, would the battle of Midian ever be fought?

         An extreme story, yet one to remember.  The goal of many a war is peace.  World War 1 was supposed to make the world safe for democracy, so in World War 2 we used to wisecrack that we were fighting to make the world safe for peace.  Sorry, folks. That didn’t happen.  Ink on the peace treaties of 1945 was scarcely dry before Arab armies attacked the new State of Israel in ’48, Communist forces fought their way to ruling China in ’49, and other conflicts followed.  We know them and their victims all too well.

         And yet, Pinkhas and his sudden violence did save his people from an immediate threat.  There are situations where nothing else works.  Not diplomacy, not negotiations, not even prayer.  He “turned back [Divine] anger from the people of Israel” with a brutal but courageous attack.  He shocked his people into action, and gave his name to this Sedrah – as well as to countless Jewish boys throughout the centuries.  We don’t name our sons Balaam, or Cain or Adonijah (David’s spoiled son).   But young Pinky’s abound. 

         Sometimes extreme situations need extreme action.

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FOR ALL US TALKING DONKEYS – Numbers 22-31 – Balak – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

FOR ALL US TALKING DONKEYS – Numbers 22-31 – Balak – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         You see your friend riding a bicycle too close to the lane of a fast moving truck, what do you do?  You yell “Look out!”  Right?  But what if you lost your voice? Do you catch up with your friend and pull him away?

         Such emergencies spice this Torah reading, in the story of the soothsayer from P’tor, known in Jewish tradition as Bil’am harasha – Balaam the wicked. 

         Why wicked?  Early in the story we might accept Balaam as a friend of Israel. After all, he declares his faith in the Jewish G-d, he apparently follows Divine orders, and he even gives Israel its most famous blessing in the words we repeat when we enter any synagogue: Mah tovu ohalekha Yaakov – “How goodly are your tents, Jacob.” 

         How does Balaam deserve the end he gets in Chapter 31 when the Israelites defeat the kings of Midian, and finding him there, “slay him with the sword?”  

         He gets warned, but rejects his warnings. 

         It starts when Balak, king of Moab, sends messengers to P’tor to ask this famous soothsayer to come and “curse this nation that came out of Egypt” and now frightens Moab.  Balaam invites the messengers to stay overnight, while he communicates with G-d. In the morning he refuses to go with them because G-d told him not to.  “Do not curse this nation, for it is blessed.”  So he stays home.  Balak does not give up, however.  He sends higher-ranking nobles, and promises great honor to Balaam, a kind of write-your-own-ticket deal.  Again Balaam consults the Divine and reports this answer: “If they came to invite you, go. But only the words I put in your mouth may you say.”  The next morning, Balaam saddles his donkey, takes his two servants with him and begins his journey with Balak’s representatives.  No sooner are they on the road than the Torah tells us: “G-d was angry because Balaam went.”

         What happened here?  Did G-d change His mind?   Not likely. The commentary called Or haKhayyim (“Light of Life”) explains the story. While Balaam refused the first invitation and told the messengers G-d would not permit him to go, he behaves differently now.   He just picks himself up and goes.  Not a word about Divine permission or about the limitations on it.  He acts as if he is above all that, just doing what he wants to do.

 That is his first mistake.  The Torah describes him confidently riding down the road, oblivious of a Divine angel – presumably the malach hamovves, the angel of death – standing in front of him with a drawn sword. His donkey sees the angel and veers off the road into a field to save Balaam’s life, whereupon he slaps the donkey.

         Mistake #2 proceeds from there.  Balaam decides that now that he is going to Balak, nothing – not even G-d — can keep him from damaging Israel.  Sensing this, the angel with the sword intercepts Balaam at a narrow spot between two fences.  Again the donkey swerves and bruises Balaam’s leg against one wall.  Again Balaam slaps the donkey.

         Mistake #3 involves Balaam’s experience the night before, relying on his own witchcraft to determine if this trip will really benefit him. He decided that it will make him rich and powerful.  So he ignored the first two warnings.  He keeps riding.  This time the angel of death blocks the road at a turn so narrow that there is no way to get around him.   So the donkey sits down.  Furious, Balaam takes a stick and starts beating the donkey.

         Now comes “Look out!”  G-d “opens the donkey’s mouth” to ask: “What did I do to you, to make you strike me three times?”

 Balaam rages: “You ridiculed me!  If I had a sword in my hand I would kill you.”  More reasonable than he is, the donkey pleads: “Am I not the same donkey you rode all your life?  Did I ever do this before?”  Balaam has to admit: “No.”  Only then does he see the danger.  He bows before the angel, who tells him that if not for the donkey’s alert action, “I would kill you, and keep her alive.”  Her?  For no apparent reason, Balaam’s donkey is female.  Her warning is worth heeding.

         Still Balaam does not change his mind.  The Torah text traces his course.   He reluctantly speaks the words of blessing that G-d puts in his mouth.   So Balak withdraws his offer.  Then Balaam, no longer trusting in his sorcery, sets out to destroy Israel another way.  He organizes a campaign of seduction.  “The men of Israel began to whore around with the daughters of Moab,” as we will read in Chapter 25, resulting in an epidemic of idolatry and disease.  The plague spread by Balaam’s sacred prostitutes kills 24,000.    When the Israelite army conquers Midian, no talking donkey will warn Balaam this time. His evil life ends on a sword.

         One element under-riding this whole amazing story, but apparently ignored by the commentators, poses unasked questions. Why and how did Balaam, a heathen sorcerer, connect with G-d?  Did he have some knowledge of Israel’s faith, and wish to align himself with a military winner?  Did the Almighty accept him as a potential prophet?  Or does this story indicate that good intentions must be sincere, and if not they can result in disaster.  Preventing false prophets from bringing on that disaster requires some strong warnings – dramatized in our story by the talking donkey.  Who can qualify as a talking donkey, to give those strong warnings today?  You and I. 

         No lack of false prophets these days, speaking in the name of religion or democracy or whateverturnsyouonbaby. 

         Most of us might not have the opportunity to grab our friend’s bicycle and pull it away from that truck.  But we can yell “Look out!”  And hope our friends take warning from us — us, the talking donkeys.   We need to talk.  Those who do, can be heroic – or mistaken.  Or villains like Balaam.  They can also be worth listening to.

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KNOW THE LAW – AND UNDERSTAND IT? – Khukas – Numb.19:1—22:1 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

KNOW THE LAW – AND UNDERSTAND IT? – Khukas – Numb.19:1—22:1 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         Torah law comes in three varieties.  One is called eydos – ordinances.  A second one is called khukim – decrees.  And the third is called mishpatim –judgments. 

We define eydos  as rules of life that would be obvious without even writing them down.  Frequently they are compared to accepted customs that acquire the force of law.  Wearing clothes, for example.

Mishpatim are logical conclusions from reality, formalized into law. The word mishpat means “justice.” To be fair, to be just, we must follow these laws.  Like the Torah’s admonition that a murderer shall not be put to death until he stands trial.   Make sure we have the right one.

Khukim – decrees, or statutes, present a different challenge.  They seem to defy human intelligence.  Since this reading is called Khukas we have a perfect opportunity to explore some puzzling commandments.  One which opens our reading describes the sacrifice of the Red Heifer, an offering which has no stated purpose but is described in full detail.  The cow must be slaughtered and the body totally burned, with cedarwood, hyssop and scarlet cast into the burning body.  We are told that this offering took place only nine times in all Jewish history, and we still don’t know why.  But it is anticipated for the tenth (and last?) time when the Messiah arrives. Along with that sacrifice comes the law of tum’ah – contamination – applied to the priest who gathers the cow’s ashes.  He sprinkles the sacrifice with holy water, thus purifying it.  But he himself becomes contaminated – therefore unable to join in any normal activity – and remains so until nightfall.  So this is a case where the same action “purifies the contaminated, and contaminates the pure.” 

Tum’ah becomes more serious when a human being comes in contact not with a dead animal but a dead human body.  Now it lasts a week.  And if the death takes place in a tent, or if the body is brought into the tent, everything in the tent is contaminated and must be sprinkled with cleansing water, as of course the living humans too.  In today’s Jewish world the mikvah (sacred bathhouse) substitutes for the ancient sprinkle.  Proximity to death still contaminates, so a modern Jewish cemetery will have water faucets available for visitors to use.  And returning from the funeral to enter a house of mourning, we prepare a pitcher and basin on the porch for our guests. 

Yet the riddle remains.  How do we explain the concept of ritual contamination?  This law is not based on logic.  Don’t argue.  Just do it!

A decree or a statue, therefore, is a law passed down from above by absolute authority, whether human or Divine.   In Chapter 30 we will read: “These are the decrees that G-d commanded Moses.”  And later in the Book of Joshua we see how he signed a treaty with the people binding their agreement to dispose of all their idols, and ”made it a statute and a law.”  

All through this chapter we will find the imminence and effect of losing treasured people.  First it is Miriam who dies.  We read simply that she dies and gets buried.  We don’t know who buried her, or what kind of mourning the people did. But we know they felt her loss. In her honor, says our Midrash, a miraculous well followed the Israelite people all through their 40 years in the desert.  As soon as she died, they had no water to drink.  That’s what they complained about.   

Soon thereafter, they lose Aaron.  He and his son Elazar climb the mountain, he gives Elazar his priestly robe, and his life ends.  He is buried on the mountain, and the people mourn him for 30 days. 

Why 30 days?  Significantly, we will read no law about 30 days of mourning.  Yet we still observe it.  Granted, when parents die, these 30 days are now just the first of 11 months of Kaddish, the memorial prayer. But the first month is the deepest, starting with the week of shiva when the mourners traditionally stay at home and refrain from work or other regular activities while they accept sympathy calls; and proceeding through the rest of the 30 days when it is customary not to visit the grave or to partake in entertainment.  Aaron was a great man in our history, but memorializing him took no different form from how we honor each of our departed ever since.  As we will read in Deuteronomy, Moses himself was also mourned by the entire people for 30 days. 

We need these various kinds of laws – ordinances, judgments, decrees — to help us relate to each other.  They teach us to respect those who live by those laws, to support those who teach and enforce those laws and to share an ordered society. 

Dealing with death is different.  No law we can write — or even understand — limits any one lifetime.  Human beings live and die by a decree we cannot know. All we can do for those we love while they are with us, is to help them live.  After that, we can honor good people’s memories as we have always done — from the heart.

The second chapter of this reading details the Israelite adventures — victorious, violent or miraculous – en route to the Promised Land.  Even before Aaron’s death they were denied permission to go through the land of Edom, and facing a powerful army they turned away. Now they face an attack from the Canaanite king of Arad, identified by our commentators as a descendant of Israel’s classic enemy Amalek.  Arad’s men take a prisoner – just one, say the commentators and that one a chambermaid. That’s enough to cause the Israelites to take a vow committing themselves to destroy Arad’s cities, which they do.

Then the detour they take, going around Edom, discourages many of the people, and they speak against G-d and Moses, protesting the decision to leave Egypt “only to die in the desert.”  They are attacked by snakes, in a Divine punishment for their disloyalty, and many of the people die.    But G-d responds to Moses’ prayer and provides a miracle to save the survivors. With Divine help, Moses makes a copper snake to be held on a pole.  If anyone is bitten they could look at that snake and live.  

That miracle is perhaps no less to be expected than what follows in the stories of the Divinely created well that provided water to the entire thirsty nation, and then their successful campaigns against the forces of the Amorites and of Bashan.  Both of those kings tried to keep the Israelites out of their countries.  And when Moses had to face Og, the giant king of Bashan, G-d told him not to be afraid.  So we will read that Moses killed Og singlehanded.  And the reading concludes with Israel camped by the Jordan River, facing Jericho.

Progress toward a goal cannot be guaranteed.  It can be achieved in spite of our own doubts, our tendencies to give up. Unlikely as it may seem, our Torah narratives assure that it’s possible when G-d is with us.

 

 

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KORAKH AGAIN, AND AGAIN – Num. 16-18 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

KORAKH AGAIN, AND AGAIN – Num. 16-18 – by Rabbi Baruch Cohon

         This section tells the story of a revolution.  A revolution that failed.  Not the first such revolt in Jewish history, it was nevertheless a threat to the leaders and the entire structure of the Israelite nation in the desert.  Its leader, a Levite named Korakh, got much closer to success than a recent would be revolutionary in our experience, one Bernie Sanders.  Unlike him, Korakh came to a dismal end, but he earned a place in history that lasted all these centuries.

         Korakh and Moses shared a grandfather, namely Kehas, the oldest son of Levi, Jacob’s third son.  Also Korakh was wealthy, ambitious, and deeply jealous of his cousins Moses and Aaron.  Why should they be the Leader and the High Priest?  Why not he?  Setting out to displace them, he gathered support among other ambitious and impatient tribesmen – some 250 of them, in fact.  Included were not only fellow Levites but also three prominent members of the tribe of Reuben, who felt that as descendants of the oldest son of Jacob they should have the authority.  These 250 rebels are described in the Torah as anshey shem – well known people. They did not consider themselves the disinherited, or the proletariat, or the downtrodden.  These men already had some power.  And wanted more.

         Who else joined them?  Their families.  Wives, children, other relatives, all followed the lead of Korakh and his fellow Levites.  First, they stage a protest.  Gathering together to face Moses and Aaron publicly, they voice their challenge: “Rav lokhem – Enough for you!  Aren’t we all holy people, with G-d among us?  Why do you lift yourselves up?”  In other words, do you have the right to be boss?  At this point, Moses falls on his face as if to express a desperate hope for Divine guidance. 

         After all, this is fourth in a series of rebellions of one kind or another.  Moses is out of patience.  “What is Aaron, that you murmur against him?” asks Moses.   He puts Korakh and company to a test.  Since they focus their rebellion on Aaron and the priesthood – as the religious symbol of authority – Moses uses tomorrow morning’s incense offering as the test. 

It’s easy to see that pagan peoples also offered incense.  They had many idols, many altars, and hundreds of priests. The Israelites had one G-d, one altar, and one high priest.  And here come 250 men who all want to be high priests!  So, the Midrash explains, Moses offers Korakh an attractive test:  take the incense, the most prestigious of offerings. But bear in mind that this incense contains a deadly poison.  This is the offering that already caused the death of two of Aaron’s sons.  And recognize that Ho-ish asher yivkhar haShem hu hakadosh – “the one G-d chooses, he is the holy one.”  Take warning that one offering will be accepted, and all whose offerings are not accepted will die.  According to the Midrash, Korakh had advance knowledge that he would have important descendants, including the prophet Samuel, so he assumed that he would certainly be chosen.  He accepts Moses’ conditions.

         Now Moses sends for two of the Reubenite rebels, Dathan and Aviram, to negotiate with them.  They refuse to come.  They are stubborn enough to follow Korakh’s lead.

         Originally, we might note, there was a third Reubenite involved, named On ben Peles.  He is suddenly out of the story.  The Midrash supplies the reason: On ben Peles did not continue with the rebellion, did not participate in the trial by fire, and he survived.  Why?   Because his wife convinced him to break away from Korakh.  With a true Yiddish kop (“Jewish head!”), she points out that he would just be exchanging one boss, Moses, for another boss, Korakh.  What does he need that for?

         Morning comes, and the firepans are brought to the Tabernacle. Aaron brings his offering and it is accepted.  Korakh and his followers approach, and suddenly fall into a huge crack in the ground – as if the earth opened its mouth “vativla osom v’es boteyhem —and swallowed them and their houses!”  All the people take flight, hearing their cries as they dropped living into the pit!

         Impossible?  Couldn’t happen?  Or could it? Do we see it on TV today, when sinkholes suddenly open without warning?  Or when earthquakes crack and split the ground?  Perhaps the most picturesque comment on the story of Korakh is another story told by Rabbah bar bar Khonnoh, a rabbi in the Talmud, known for his tall tales.  He says: “I was travelling in the desert, and an Arab took me to a spot where there was a crack in the ground.  I bent down and put my ear to the crack.  And I heard the voices of Korakh and his followers, calling out: “Moses and his Torah are true, and we are liars!”

         The rabbis of the Mishna contrast Korakh’s controversy with the later controversy of Hillel and Shammai.  They agreed on almost nothing, yet their dispute had lasting value, because it was – not a revolution – but a makhloket l’shem Shomayim, a “controversy for the sake of Heaven.” For a high purpose.  Korakh’s controversy had no future, because it was built on jealousy and falsehood. 

So that was the end of Korakh and his rebels. 

But wait.  What about the prophet Samuel, who supposedly descended from Korakh?  And what about all the psalms that are assigned to the family of Korakh, and apparently they sang those psalms in Solomon’s Temple centuries later?

The answer to this dilemma comes in one sentence later in the Book of Numbers.  In Sedrah Pinkhas it simply says: Uv’ney Korakh lo meysu – “the children of Korakh did not die.”  So what happened to them?  They were there with their father, weren’t they?  In the Gemara Sanhedrin we find a teaching that they were reserved a special place in Gehinnom (Hell) where they sat and sang. To which the Tosfos commentary adds: “G-d prepared a high spot for them, so they would not go deep into Gehinnom, and they did not die.”  There they sat on a ledge, with the flames licking at their feet, singing psalms! As the Yiddish expression goes: Eykh mir a lebn – Some life!

But the important fact is: they survived.  All the fanciful legends surrounding the descendants of Korakh add up to a marvelous message.  Look at what his descendants lived to do:

As we can read in the Haftorah (the prophetic section accompanying this reading) Samuel the prophet crowned Saul the first king of Israel, and actually completed the organization of the loosely connected tribes into a single nation. And the Levitic family of Korakh became the doorkeepers of the Holy Temple.  They were responsible for eleven different psalms, singing of deeply felt religion – a thirst for G-d.  They sang of human friendship, of Zion and the Temple itself, and they sang about individual life and death.  They played instruments.  They danced. The women took part.  The Korakh family is repeatedly called Maskil – informed, competent, successful in their Levitic duties and their music.

All of this value from the family of the arch-rebel: Korakh, the rich ambitious envious rival of Moses and Aaron.  Korakh the man who lost his cause and his life because he challenged authority for the wrong reasons.  Selfish reasons.  Indeed his children did not die.  They lived, with difficulty at first, but they lived to prove their value for centuries to come.  They transcended Korakh’s mistakes.  They survived his failed rebellion.  They made a better choice.

The pattern of Korakh and his descendants happened more than once in our history.  In fact it is still happening.  Look around, and you find families – we all know one or more families like this – where one generation rebelled against their Jewish heritage, chose assimilation, or Communism, or secular Humanism – and became lost, swallowed up by the world. And then their children, or perhaps their grandchildren, grow up and rediscover their Jewish roots.  They find they enjoy brightening their table with Shabos candles… they find an intellectual excitement in learning Torah… they find great charm in Jewish music… they find a loving fulfillment in sharing Jewish ceremonies.   They find exactly what the rebel ancestors threw away – still there, speaking to them loud and clear, as if those rebel ancestors were calling out to them: “Moses and his Torah are true, and we were wrong!”

Sometimes it doesn’t take two generations.  Or even one.  Sometimes it happens in one lifetime.  Our Judaism can manage to survive all kinds of challenges.  Rebellion can sometimes be valuable too, because it strengthens us. We can only hope that any controversy it produces will be l’shem shomayim – an argument in the name of Heaven.  Then we have a chance to resolve it productively, for a Jewish future that can still sing our songs as the family of Korakh did.

Ken y’hee rotzon.  May this be G-d’s will.

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