VICTORY, DEFEAT AND REGRET

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Baruch

Right after the 6-Day War in 1967, the Israeli humorist Ephraim Kishon published a little book of cartoons called “So Sorry We Won,” satirizing the attitude he saw around him that shied away from anything like triumphalism. Like much of Kishon’s work, it was both entertaining and significant.

Now some 44 years later we still have something to learn from Kishon’s wry wisdom. Both in Israel and even more so in America we see those in authority so reluctant to seek victory that they would appear to welcome defeat.

Neither the U.S. nor Israel ever lost a war — until this generation. Victory was a goal that was not only possible, but required. Now it seems we are being told that defeat is not so bad. Give our enemies what they want, and we won’t have to regret destroying their forces. Wasn’t it just about 10 years ago that a senator named Harry Reid said “This war is lost.” Maybe that’s the way he wants it.  I would not pretend to understand Harry Reid.

Let us consider instead the tradition of the Three Weeks, a downhearted time on the Jewish calendar.  Starting with the 17th day in Tammuz and continuing through the 9th of Av, observant Jews are in semi-mourning, avoiding frivolity, postponing weddings, wearing old clothes, etc.  Why?  Because this time in the summer is the time of major historical defeat for the Jewish people.  On the 17th of Tammuz the Roman legions broke the wall of Jerusalem.  Siege turned to occupation, which of course included oppression and torture of civilians in the city.  No Geneva Convention then.  After three savage weeks of that, on the 9th of Av — the well-known “tish’a b’av” — they burned down the Temple.  Israel was defeated.  Centuries of exile and persecution followed.

Why did we lose?  That’s what the Three Weeks are about.  Our ancestors of 1,941 years ago made some wrong decisions, violated some important principles.  That cost them the war, cost them their independence and destroyed their religious headquarters.  We still regret those mistakes.

One of those fatal blunders is detailed in the Talmud.  “Because of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza Jerusalem was destroyed,” it tells us.  It seems that during the siege a wealthy man in Jerusalem was actually giving a party.  He told his servant to invite his friend Kamtza to the party.  The servant goofed, and invited Bar Kamtza instead.  Similar name, but wrong fellow.  This one was definitely NOT his master’s friend.  When Bar Kamtza showed up, the rich man refused to admit him — even though some scholars present urged him to let the mistaken arrival sit with them.  No.  The rich man sent Bar Kamtza away.  In revenge, Bar Kamtza went straight out of town and betrayed Jerusalem to the Romans.

Venom like that seen in this story has a Hebrew name: “Sin’at khinam,” literally “causeless hatred.”  Our enemies have showered us with it over the centuries.  We name it as one origin of defeat.  One of the fatal blunders we try our best to avoid.

These days we see leaders bending over backwards — and sometimes forwards — to apologize for victory.  Offering to cancel hardwon victories to please our enemies.  We see a generation forgetting the lesson of the Three Weeks.  Here is that lesson:

Regret victory if you must.  Just remember that you will regret defeat much more, and much longer.

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UNITY AND DISTANCE

Posted on July 18, 2011 by Baruch

MATTOS

One summer a sh’liakh — a representative — from Israel was visiting a California camp, and talking with the teenagers there. He told them that they were the people Israel wants. “I don’t expect your parents to leave their fine businesses and nice swimming pools and move to Israel. But you should think about coming, about building your future with us.”

In a way he was echoing a story in Sedrah Mattos, Numbers chapter 32. The tribes of Reuben and Gad had big herds of cattle, and found good ranching country in Gilead and Jazer, east of the Jordan. So they ask Moses for permission to stay there and not cross into Canaan.

Moses fairly explodes: “Will your brothers go to war and you sit here?” He reminds them that their parents’ generation made a similar mistake when the spies brought back their negative report, leading to 38 more years in the desert. Now that all Israel is preparing to conquer the Land, he cannot permit any group — certainly not one-sixth of his people — to split off.

The men of Reuben and Gad have a good answer to Moses’ anger. “We will build safe quarters for our families and our cattle here, and we will go over as an advance guard — Halutzim — and bring all the Israelites to their place. We will not return until every man shall have his possession in the Land.” On this condition, Moses agrees to their plan.

So just ten tribes actually divide the territory between the Jordan and the Mediterranean. The other two settle on the East Bank.

When the modern Halutzim began to settle in Eretz Yisrael, one faction — Jabotinsky’s Revisionist Zionists — had a song that said “the Jordan has two banks, and both belong to us.” Maybe they were thinking of Reuben and Gad in Gilead. In any case, no land east of the Jordan river came under Jewish control in modern times. And now Israel’s enemies claim sovereignty over the West Bank as well.

But the story of Reuben and Gad has another dimension. Like the campers who responded to the Israeli sh’liakh, many young Diaspora Jews today follow the example of the ancient Halutzim. They volunteer to fight for Israel, whether they plan to live there or not. And what about the rest of us? Will our brothers go through one war after another while we sit here with our fine businesses and our nice swimming pools? Or will we help them, economically and politically if not physically, until they can win an honorable peace?

The men of Reuben and Gad set us a good example. Our people still need us.

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KORACH TOOK…

Posted on June 22, 2011 by Baruch

 ויקח קרח

The first words of this week’s Torah portion pose a       

question that echoes down the centuries. Korach rises up to challenge the leadership of Moses and the High Priesthood of Aaron, becoming a prototype for self-interested rebels. Some 250 prominent Israelites join him in his revolt. And how does the Torah introduce him? Does it say “Korach spoke….or rose up….or planted a new flag?” No, it says “Korach took” and then proceeds to detail his lineage and the names of the tribal princes who joined him.

And what did he take? It never says.

Obviously this wording challenged others besides Moses, namely many of our Biblical commentators. Ibn Ezra, for example, undertakes to supply what he takes to be a missing word: men. Korach took men; he did not do this alone. Rashi interprets the statement to mean he took status upon himself. As a son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi, Korach felt just as much entitled to authority as his first cousins Moses and Aaron who were sons of Amram, Yitzhar’s brother.

Similarly, the Kli Yokor commentary holds that Korach “took” sides with the Reubenites, who were still angry that their tribe lost its seniority and therefore its leadership role. So Korah’s chief lieutenants were Datan and Abiram, princes of the tribe of Reuben.

The Or haHaim approaches the situation differently. Korach “took” himself away. Separated himself from the camp. Set himself apart as a sign of superiority.

One meaning is very clear. Korach took the Jewish people for a highly dramatic ride in his own time. And he was certainly not the last rebel to fire controversy in Jewish life.

Korach’s rebellion ends with him and his followers dropping into a sudden sinkhole with their houses and families. As if the “earth opened its mouth and swallowed them!” And all the people flee the place, hearing their cries as they fall into the pit.

Couldn’t happen? Or could it? This year’s natural disasters in many parts of the world open a question about the fate of Korach & Co. And our modern examples are not prompted by any human rebellion. As far as we know.

How does Korach’s arrogant challenge and shocking defeat impact Jewish history? Perhaps the most picturesque comment on the whole story comes in another story, told by one Rabbah bar Bar Khana, 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 Korach and his followers calling out:  “Moses and his Torah are true, and we are liars!”

What a way to lose an election.

Two weeks from now we will read a fascinating P.S. to the story of Korach, where the Torah states simply: “The children of Korach did not die.”

No they did not. They grew up to sing the Psalms of David in Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. In fact some of those psalms bear their name. They transcended Korach’s mistakes. They survived his failed rebellion. They made a better choice.

The sages of Pirkey Avot compare Korach’s controversy to that of Hillel and Shammai. In Talmudic discourse, Hillel and Shammai agreed on almost nothing, yet their controversy had lasting value because it was “for the sake of Heaven” — for a high purpose. Korach’s rebellion had no future because it came from jealousy, power-greed and falsehood.

Yet, his children did not die. The pattern of Korach keeps repeating. I venture to say we all know families where one generation rebelled against Jewish life, choosing assimilation or communism or apostasy — and became lost, swallowed by the world. And then their children, or perhaps their grandchildren, rediscover their Jewish roots. They find they enjoy brightening their table with Shabat candles. They find intellectual excitement in learning Torah. They find great charm in Jewish music. They find a loving kind of fulfillment in sharing Jewish ceremonies. And they find exactly what the rebel ancestors threw away — still there, speaking to them loud and clear. As if those ancestors were calling out to them through time: “Moses and his Torah are true, and we were wrong.!”

Rebellion can be valuable. It can strengthen us. We can only hope that any controversy it produces will be an “argument in the name of Heaven.” Because then we have a chance to resolve it productively and mold a Jewish future that can still sing our songs, as the family of Korach did.

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READING THE SIGNS

Posted on June 12, 2011 by Baruch

 

As a beginning cantor, age 17, my first High Holiday job was in a small town community where the little synagogue had limited facilities. In its lobby was just one restroom, and that restroom had this sign on the door:

WOMEN

DOWNSTAIRS

FOR MEN

Local residents had some fun with that sign, because you could read it more than one way. Put a comma after “women” and it obviously means that this is the Ladies’ Room and there is also a Men’s Room downstairs. But put the comma after “downstairs” and it means that this is the Men’s Room and the women have to go downstairs. Or, with no comma at all, it would read simply “Women downstairs for men” — in which case the sign is in the wrong building.

How do we read the various signs in our lives? One monumental misreading occurs in this week’s Torah reading, which concerns the 12 spies that Moses sent to scout the land of Canaan.

The Jewish people were camped in the desert, not a year and a quarter out of Egypt. They had received the Torah at Mount Sinai, they had recovered from the sin of the Golden Calf, they had dedicated the Tabernacle — the portable shrine that was the first Jewish house of worship — and they were now close enough to plan on entering the Promised Land. No, they could not traverse the Sinai Peninsula in 100 hours like their modern mechanized descendants, but 14 months with some 3 million people on foot is not a bad record. In last week’s reading, we heard how Moses led the people in the second Passover holiday, the one-year anniversary of their freedom. Now he must prepare to enter Canaan.

Each of the spies was a prince of his tribe, a prominent honorable man. Certainly their report should be valuable. They entered the country from the south, explored the various hills and valleys, checked out the cities and the farmland. We read that this was grape ripening season — early summer — and they found such ample crops that they could bring back a grape cluster so heavy that it had to be carried on a stick by two men. With such produce, we can assume that the ancient tribes of Canaan had more advanced agricultural skills than the medieval tribes who turned much of that land into a desert.

After 40 days the spies returned to camp with that cluster, but also with a conflicted report. Ten of them admitted that this was truly a “land of milk and honey” as their parents had told them. But what really impressed them was the power of the inhabitants. Fortified cities, warlike tribes like Amalek, even giants they saw! We cannot defeat them. That’s how they read the signs.

Only two spies, Caleb and Joshua, disagreed. They saw a timorous public. “They are our bread! Their shadows left them!” Like other rich and corrupt establishments threatened with a “barbarian invasion,” the Canaanites were scared. Let’s go, said Caleb, we should go up and take the land; we can do it! If G-d gave us the strength to come this far, let’s go on.

Clearly, most of the spies were looking at walls and towers. The minority looked into the eyes of the people. Who read the signs right?

The answer to that question would have to wait another 38 years, because the people accepted the majority report, rioted against Moses and Aaron, and even considered going back to Egypt. Stuck in the desert.

After 40 days, the spies changed their generation’s history. After 40 years, Caleb finally changed his people’s destiny. The Haftorah, in Chapter 2 of the Book of Joshua, recounts the second spy story, when Joshua, now inheriting Moses’ leadership, sends just two spies. Their trip is much shorter and their report is totally different. They spend the night in Jericho in the house of a lady of the night named Rahab, who hides them under cut grain stalks on her roof to protect them from the local gendarmes, and they learn the local conditions from her. As a result, Joshua is able to lead the people across the Jordan, surround Jericho and watch its walls fall down. According to the Midrash, one of those two spies was a young fellow of 18, and the other was an octogenarian named — Caleb, the champion dissenter from the original 12 spies.

He read the signs. We should do no less. We came this far. Don’t give up!

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What’s in a Blessing?

Posted on May 31, 2011 by Baruch

Of the various duties assigned to Aaron the High Priest and his sons in the Book of Numbers, this week’s portion Naso contains the one that is clearly the most familiar and also the most outstanding. Sacrificial functions were stopped 2,000 years ago with the destruction of the Temple. Conducting the ordeal of the unfaithful wife, or accepting the Nazirite’s qualifications — ancient memories now. But the Priestly Benediction — Birkat Kohanim — continues to this day throughout Jewish life, and is borrowed by non-Jews as well. Some of us can remember hearing it pronounced at President Kennedy’s inauguration.

As one of Aaron’s descendants — authenticated in fact by the DNA Kohanim project — I welcome the opportunity to join my fellow Kohanim in pronouncing this benediction. While it appears in the daily prayers, we do not formally pronounce it for the congregation daily, except in Jerusalem. Everywhere else, its formal delivery is restricted. Oriental Sephardim (those called eydot hamizrakh, hailing from the Eastern Mediterranean and North African countries) pronounce it at Sabbath morning services. Ashkenazim from Northern and Eastern Europe and the Americas limit its full ceremony to the Musaf services of holidays. The exception to this schedule in some congregations comes on Simhat Torah. Since the Simha — the joyous celebration of Torah — and the reading itself come before Musaf, and since the custom is to give every man in Shul an aliya — an honor to bless the Torah that day during the reading, every honoree gets to make a L’hyim after he comes down from the Bema. That custom includes all the Kohanim, and the Torah expressly bars them from ceremonial action if they are drinking. So in those congregations that follow this custom on Simhat Torah, dukhenen — the public Priestly Benediction — takes place in the early service Shaharit, before any L’hyims.

Not the words alone make this blessing unique, but also the sacred customs and ceremony that goes with them. The words are familiar: “G-d bless you and watch over you. G-d shine His presence toward you and be kind to you. G-d lift His presence to you and give you peace.” According to one commentary, the first line’s blessing comes from above to the recipient below. The second line comes straight on the level of the recipient. And the third line comes from below to the recipient above. The Divine Presence is everywhere, so blessing can and does come from all directions.

In the Torah, the sentences before and after these blessings set a tone for their delivery. Introducing the text of the blessing, Moses is commanded: “Speak to Aaron and his sons, and say: Thus shall you bless the people of Israel. Say this to them.” And after the blessing, the Divine voice continues: “Let them place My name on the people of Israel, and I will bless them.” In reality, we Kohanim do not bless anyone by ourselves. We are a conduit for the words of G-d. That concept is dramatized by the customs of Jewish tradition.

Before we can stand in front of the Ark and pronounce the blessings, we have to prepare. We go to the hall of the synagogue where Leviim (descendants of the tribe of Levi) pour water on our hands. When we re-enter the synagogue we take off our shoes, like Moses at the burning bush. Then we take our places facing the Ark, and pull the tallis up over the head. When the cantor sings out the word “kohanim” we recite a prayer acknowledging the sanctity we inherit from Aaron our ancestor, and our duty to bless our people b’ahavah — with love. As we chant the word b’ahavah we turn toward the congregation. We pull the tallis forward, spreading our hands under it to hold it in front of our faces, separating the middle and ring fingers to form the traditional sign of the Kohanim with the eight fingers in four pairs signifying the four points of the compass.

Of course the congregation does not see our hands since they are under the tallis. So are our faces. No eye contact here. In fact the custom not to look at the Kohanim has the force of law in traditional congregations. An experience at the Wall in Jerusalem lives in my mind in this connection. It was a weekday during Passover, and we were visiting in the holy city. The newspapers announced the annual event of the Priestly Benediction at the Wall, reviving the ancient pilgrimage festival. My sons and I decided to take part. We were among the last Kohanim to arrive and we found the others lined up three deep all along the Wall. Facing us was a packed crowd that numbered in the tens of thousands. The front row of worshippers was no more than 4 feet from us who were in the front row of Kohanim. Prayer leaders — baaley t’filah — stood at lecterns every 20 or 30 feet facing the Wall, but just one had a microphone, so we all listened to him. As he began the Blessing, I saw from under my tallis a little boy of 3 or 4 staring up at us with innocent curiosity in his big round eyes. As the cantor intoned Yevarekhekha and we all echoed him, I saw the boy’s father’s hand come around and cover his eyes. Mustn’t look.

The very fact that the cantor chants every word first, and the Kohanim repeat it, underscores the fact that the blessing does not come from the Kohanim. As the Kli Yokor explains, the cantor’s voice represents the transfer of blessing to the Kohanim, making them a kli maley — a full vessel — and then they have what they need to give the people. An empty vessel has nothing to give, but a full vessel can become a conduit, to transfer Divine favor to those who need it.

And don’t we all?

After the blessing is completed, the Kohanim say another prayer, individually and quietly. They address the Almighty, reporting that they did what He decreed for them to do, and entreat enduring blessing for the people Israel and the Land of Israel.

As the Kohanim leave the Ark and return to their seats, frequently their neighbors in the congregation will shake their hands and wish them Yasher Koach — well done!

Looking forward to our next opportunity — the holiday of Shavuot, this year June 8th and 9th — I hope all my fellow Kohanim will be able to join in this wonderful ceremony, and merit our neighbors’ Yasher Koach.

 

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