Falling in the Wilderness (Prooftexts)

"The message conveyed through the record of death in Numbers is sharply political. The recent work of the Italian critic Armando Petrucci significantly figures in my delineation of those political undertones. In focusing on the treatment of the dead in Western tradition, Petrucci concludes that the recording of death is essentially a political practice: "the funerary use of writing is an important element in the 'politics of death' every organized culture sets up and administers so that it may stand out as itself." I will show how the biblical text substantiates Petrucci's insight.

"The redactor of the text of Numbers has organized the record of the dead in as stark a way as possible to persuade future readers to choose the life offered them in the land under divinely ordained priestly supervision rather than remain in the obscurity of wilderness."

    

Davar Torah - Beshallach 5763

[Prepared for Temple Emeth 6th grade service, 1/12/03]

In this week's portion, Beshallach, the Hebrews pass safely through the Red Sea, escaping Pharaoh's army.

On the far side of the Sea, after seeing the Egyptians swallowed by the water, Moses and Israel sing a song of awe and thanks.

The song was so catchy that we still sing it three thousand years later; in fact, it is part of this very service.

As Matt  read, "At the shore of the sea, saved from destruction, they proclaimed Your sovereign power: "The Eternal will rule for ever and ever!" "Adonai yimloch l’olam va’ed."

The rabbis tell a tale: Once there was a king, who told his butler, "please take this royal cloak, and carefully wash it, and dry it, and fold it, and place it back where it belongs."

Asked the butler: "You have so many cloaks, my king. Why does this one get special treatment?"

Answered the king: "This was the cloak I wore on the day of my coronation, when I was made king."

This, say the rabbis, explains God’s special love for the Jewish people, for it was Jewish people who were first to crown God as their ruler, in this song of the sea.

This tale teaches an important point: While Pharoah made himself king over us, it was we ourselves who crowned God as our king.

    

The 6 Matriarchs Correspond to... (Pesikta d'Rab Kahana)

... the six oxen brought by the 12 princes at the dedication of the Tabernacle, as described in Numbers 7, aka Parshat Naso, aka the maftir for Hanukkah.

Other correspondences for the oxen of the princes: The six days of creation, the six orders of the Mishna, and the six limitation on kingly power (don't multiply wives, etc.)

Within the textual context, I don't know yet what to make of this comparison. These would be realms of Creation/Torah/Peoplehood/anti-authoritarianism? Perhaps the Temple is where these realms meet?

But in the contemporary context, this is interesting. Should the Matriarchs be included in the liturgy? Should those listed number four -- Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah -- or should Bilhah and Zilpah be included as well?

From this Midrash, I might argue that the full list has a long, integral connection to Jewish worship reaching back to the Tabernacle (or, more precisely, a Rabbinic conception of the same). Siddur writers, take heed.

Off topic and off beat: According to one view, those six oxen live until this day!

    

Thoughts on rereading Vayeshev with my wife

The initial question: Who is the "man" who tells Joseph where his brothers are on Joseph's arrival in Shechem? What is his role in the story?

Rashi says it's the angel Gavriel, but that sort of begs the question: Why is an angel being sent for this mission? Why is this inquiry so important?

Step back a second. What is this man's encounter with Joseph? He tells Joseph where the brothers can be found. But look at Joseph's remark to Mr. Anonymous: et achai ani mivakesh. "I seek my brothers" is the translation, but the translation lacks the majesty, the poetry of the phrase.

So: Perhaps the whole point of the man is to serve as the straight man for the punch line, "et achai ani mivakesh."  Is that possible? Is the punch line so punchy?

On reflection, yes, the line is worth the awkward set-up. Because "I seek my brothers" is the theme of the entire book of Genesis, from Abel to the final blessings of Ephraim and Menasheh. And in particular, it is the theme of the Joseph story, properly understood (and hinted to here): Joseph is seeking his brothers. That's the surprise at the end: He seeks them, ultimately, for their welfare, not for revenge. But that ambiguity -- does he seek them for revenge, for their welfare, for what exactly? -- is central to the story.

Similarly, a couple of verses earlier, Joseph, when told by his father to check on his brothers, says "hineni", "Here I am". It's an awkward response, highlighted by his father's need to again tell Joseph to go. But here too, the phrase itself has resonance throughout Genesis far more powerful than its role in this small Joseph-Jacob dialogue. This Hineni, this response to the call, is again a tension within the Joseph story: Is he called by God to lead, called by God for slavery, called by God in the end or by Pharaoh?

In fact, this recognition of his callling, exemplified elsewhere by "hineni", is Joseph's challenge. In his youth, his calling, his expectations of grandeur, his gloating dreams, contitute near-fatal arrogance and hubris. In his maturity, the recognition of his calling, that his elevation was the work of God, leads to humility and enables the family's restoration.

    

Why did Isaac love Esau?

Because with Esau around, Isaac never had to ask, "where's dinner?" a question that was quite traumatic in Isaac's youth.

--Eve

    

He who makes peace in the heavens (the liturgy)

Pesikta d'rav kahana (paraphrased from memory): Rabbi ] Shimon Bar Yochai says, the firmament is water, the stars are fire, and God keeps them at peace.

So what are we to do when we understand the cosmos as one of dynamism and conflict? May he who collides galaxies...

In the cute metaphor department: God made peace between the hail and fire during the plague. One opinion: The hail contained fire, like a pomegranate seed, where you can see the pit inside the clear pulp.

    

God is called Shlomo (peace) because he made peace between Abraham and the fire, Isaac and the knife, Jacob and the Angel (Pesikta d'rav Kahana)

A suprising remark. Didn't God command the knife? Didn't God send the angel? And who considered these events to be parallel: Abraham in the furnace, Isaac on the altar, Jacob and the wrestler?

Perhaps something like this: Abraham versus society; Isaac versus his father (family); Jacob versus himself (for who/what was the angel at that liminal moment?) In which case: God is the one who -- while admittedly sets us up for (inevitable?) conflict with ourselves, our families, our society -- can enable us to make peace as well?

    

From Study of Scripture to a Reenactment of Sinai: The Emergence of the Synagogue Torah Service (Ruth Langer)

Gotta confess I haven't read this yet. But since just last night I was discussing this same point (trying to recall the details of Michael Chernick's discussion of Bavli Megillah), this seemd worth printing out and reading.