Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Horses for Courses: A Drash for Parashat Chukat, Friday 27 June 2014

In the passage from Torah we shall read together tomorrow morning, there is a narrative that has confused many over the centuries.  It has confused the learned, both those learned in Torah, and those whose learning was of a more general nature.  For the above, and all those in between, there has always been a big question about this week’s reading.
          Moses and Aaron once again face a rebellion by the People Israel.  This time it is about water.  There is no visible source of water for the people and their flocks and herds.  They ask Moses pointedly:  Why did you bring God’s congregation to this desert?  So that we and our livestock should die?
          As we know, there is nothing more basic and necessary to sustain life, than water.  After an earthquake in Turkey, I was watching the news coverage of the rescue efforts and noticed that the labels on cases of bottled water being unloaded from a lorry read, Hayat.  This means ‘life’ in Turkish.  How appropriate, I thought.  Where I come from, bottled water tends to be sold under whimsical brand names.  But this Turkish brand name cuts to the chase.
          Water is therefore an entirely appropriate point of rebellion.  I’ve pointed out many times in recent weeks as we’ve worked our way through the book of Numbers, that it is largely a treatise on leadership.  One who aspires to leadership should expect challenges based on legitimate questions about the quality of their leadership.  We can certainly sympathise with Moses and Aaron at this point.  We can almost hear them thinking:  Oh, no!  Not another rebellion!  What do they expect of us, after all??!  We cannot bear these challenges!  How can we make them stop??!
          But God did not abandon His chosen leaders to face the people’s wrath alone.  He instructed Moses to gather the people around him and speak to the cliff.  And water would flow from it.  Easy, peasy. Lemon squeezy.  But Moses did not follow God’s directions.  Instead, he shouted down the rebels, and he angrily struck the rock.  And water flowed from it, and the people were saved.
          So down through history, people more thoughtful than I have asked the question:  What was the big deal?  So Moses struck the rock instead of talking to it.  But God brought forth the water anyway.  So this is the sin that made Moses and Aaron unfit to lead the people into the Promised Land?  Isn’t this being just a bit judgmental of our leaders, given all they have gone through?  And further:  Moses has always responded with a bit of an angry edge to the challenges.  Why is it that in this incident, his rather emotional response is suddenly unacceptable?
          Good questions.  But really the answer is not that difficult to intuit.  Moses and Aaron were simply not the right leadership for the specific times.
          Our teachers point out that this incident occurs during the thirty-eighth year of the wandering.  The previous incidents of rebellion occurred during the first two year.  So, over thirty years have passed:  years that the text skips over.  In literature and film generally, a huge gap in the story is used by the writer as a device to show that, despite the elapse of so much time, things haven’t changed much.  In this case, what has not changed is Moses’ leadership style. 
But the nature of the challenges he faces, has!  In the last ‘episode,’ the challenge against Moses was not a legitimate challenge.  When Korach and his 250 followers stood up to Moses, they had no complaint about his leadership.  They just wanted to be in charge.  Please go to my blog and read my drash from last week, or last year or the year before for that matter, for more on why the rebellion of Korach was not a legitimate challenge.
This one, however, is definitely a legitimate challenge.  Water is life.  If a leader’s actions – or lack thereof – are liable to cause the people to perish, then that is as legitimate a challenge as there is.  But Moses does not react as a leader reacts to a legitimate challenge.  He reacts as an exasperated, beaten man.  And here, the end is near; most of the generation of Egypt has passed away.  A new generation has been born and grown up.  They have raised a legitimate question.  These are not slaves.  They are free men and women.  They have overcome numerous challenges to get to where they are at this point.  But Moses is leading them as one leads a rabble.  As the warden leads a prison full of convicted felons.  As a child-minder leads a roomful of clueless pre-schoolers.
God has already told Moses how to get the water from the rock.  And had Moses done as instructed, the people would have understood immediately that God was there, watching over them to respond to all their legitimate needs.  But Moses instead lashed out in anger.  He struck the rock, and in so doing he sent a very different message to the assembled people.  His message was:  How dare you question me??!  See how powerful I am??!  But that was not the appropriate message for the circumstances.  Our Tradition reveres the figure of Moses.  He was a great man, perhaps the greatest, the Prophet of Prophets.  But his actions in this case, at the place that came to be called, Mei Meribah or ‘The Waters of Contention,’ were not appropriate for a leader of a free people.  Another leader was chosen for the latter task.  And that leader was Joshua Bin Nun.
There is an expression, Horses for Courses.  It is an illustration from the sport of horse-racing that comes to teach us important lessons.  There are a number of different kinds of racehorses, and each is most suited to a particular kind of race, on a particular kind of course.  We use the expression Horses for Courses as a metaphor for the need to choose the right tool for the job.  To choose the worker who is skilled to accomplish the specific work.  To choose the leader best suited to the times and circumstances. 
Moses was chosen by God to lead the People Israel out of slavery in Egypt.  God didn’t choose him for nothing.  Moses was definitely the Man of the Hour.  His leadership can be credited with no less than saving the People Israel and enabling them to take their place in history.  But for the generation born and forged in the desert, it was clear that Moses was no longer the man of the hour.  He was, in a sense, a relic.  With him at the helm, the congregation of the People Israel would not have been able to march forward into the next phase of their unfolding adventure.  They would have been stuck in the past.
Leadership is an art.  When the leader is not the right one for the times, the best he can do is stand down.  That’s not an easy thing to do.  Moses would never have stood down, and therefore he had to die before Joshua could take the reins and lead the people into the Promised Land.  There was nothing democratic about the political structure of Israel-in-the-Wilderness.  But when there is a democratic structure, then it is up to the led, to choose the appropriate leader.  Likewise, after the Second World War the British people promptly voted Churchill and the Conservatives out of power.  The great wartime leader was not the right man for the challenges in the aftermath of war.  While ending his career as the leader of the opposition might seem an ignoble end, nobody questions the right of the voters to place Churchill there.

  This week’s Torah portion provides much food for thought.  For any leader who wonders if he is the right leader, the Horse for the Course.  For any led people, wondering whom they should choose to lead them to their destiny.  Shabbat shalom.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Saved by the Fire: A Drash for Parashat Korach, Saturday 21 June 2014

Last night I spoke about the nature of the rebellion of Korach.  Korach, a Levite, along with a following from among the various tribes, 250 in all, stood up to Moses and Aaron.  He and his followers demanded of the two brothers:  All the people in the community are holy, and God is with them. Why are you setting yourselves above God's congregation?  (Numbers 16:3)  The reaction of Moses was very telling:  He threw himself on his face. (ibid, ibid vs 14)
          Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks correctly characterises the rebels, not as demo-crats, but dema-gogues.  This, because they did not have a valid complaint about the quality of Moses’ leadership.  Rather, they were simply jealous and wanted to be in charge themselves.  It’s one thing to challenge someone else’s leadership by offering a different vision.  It’s quite another to challenge the elected leader simply because you’d rather be in charge yourself.  If so with regard to democratically-elected leaders, how much more so with the leader elected by God Himself?
          Moses, inspired by God, issued a counter challenge:  the duel of the fire-pans.  He and the rebels would each offer fire to God.  The one whose offering was accepted would prevail.  The one whose was not, would be swallowed up alive by the earth.  Korach and his followers lost.  The fire decided the fates of the respective sides.  Korach and his band were destroyed by their fire.
          Now the people Israel were frightened beyond imagination.  They had seen firsthand the power of God.  But they still didn’t get it.  They set upon Moses, accusing:  You have killed God’s people!  (ibid, 17:6)  Moses had prevailed against the rebellion because of God’s acceptance of his fire.  But the people still pointed the accusing finger at him.  And as a result, God sent down a plague that began to kill the people who stood against Moses.
          And Moses’ reaction?  It was not to stand back and let the plague kill the people Israel.  It was to order Aaron to offer fire in their midst.  Since Aaron was the chosen high priest, his fire was certainly valid.  As the smoke and flame wafted heavenward from the midst of the people, the plague stopped.  The people Israel were saved by Aaron’s fire.
          We can see that leading the people Israel was not an easy job.  Not then.  And not now either.  And our scriptures do not whitewash the matter.  Again and again, the Torah lays bare the people’s sin.  Our neighbours sometimes use our own scriptures, our own sacred account of events thousands of years ago, to show us in a poor light.  To show us as hardly deserving our status as the ‘chosen’ people.  To show us as unworthy of God’s blessing.  And even though we see our neighbours as hardly the valid judges of good and evil given their own history, in a very real sense they are right.  We are unworthy of God’s blessing.  In the Torah as in our history since.  We screw up again and again.  We spurn our birthright.  We squander our inheritance.  Because we behave in the way of the am-ha-aretz, the unworthy, we are unworthy.  We should be a Kiddush Hashem, a sanctification of God’s Name.  Often, people look at us and instead see a Hillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s Name.
          By being common, by being average, we abdicate our role.  Perhaps it is difficult to blame us.  It is difficult to be set apart for God’s service.  More than difficult.  It is a burden that, apparently, many Jews simply cannot bear.  And yet, Moses bore his unique burden, the burden of leadership.  He not only stood up to God as advocate for the people when they turned against Him.  He did so, knowing that he would not be leading the people into the Promised Land.  That he, Moses, would die within sight of the goal, the fulfilment of the dream.  Given the repeated onslaughts, the senseless challenges to his leadership, one wonders how Moses was able to continue.
          The alien fire that destroyed, and the authorised fire that saved, remind us of the challenges that we weather when we seek to do God’s work.  Every person who has sought to serve God, starting with Abraham, was tested and had to endure and prevail in these tests if he was going to succeed in effecting a Kiddush Hashem.  Life is never easy, but how much more so when one stands up for an ideal that others mock and revile?  The ‘fire’ of testing is like the fire in the forge that separates the strong alloys from the weak dross.  Leadership poses its own unique tests, which all who endeavour to serve God must survive.
          Everyone in this room today seeks to identify with the people Israel, the people of God.  Some of you are Jews.  Some of you seek to be Jews.  Some of you seek to somehow connect yourself with what you see as the Jews’ calling.  But it isn’t easy.  The temptation to apply the values of secular life, to our sacred calling, are tremendous.  They are too much for some of us to bear.  Some of us, whilst seeking the forms of Jewish religion, completely miss its essence.  The road to heaven is a minefield with so many obstacles conspiring to trip us up.  The road to hell is paved with good intentions.  So many of us want to do good, but we are so unfamiliar with our Torah that we are clueless.
          I know what you’re thinking:  Rabbi, where’s the comfort in all this?  I know, I know…I’ve barely uttered a comforting word this morning.  Am I here to discourage you?  I’m I here to make you lose heart?  No.  The comfort comes when we learn to listen to the Still, Small Voice.  Not to the Siren’s Song.  The latter will only cause us to die as, our ship smashed upon the rocks, we drown in the turbulent sea.  For former will show us the way through.  But it is easier to hear the Siren’s Song.  Far easier.  It’s harder to hear the Still, Small Voice.
          That’s why Shabbat, a true observance of Shabbat, is considered the most important commandment.  It is the first thing that we teach aspiring converts.  If we can truly manage to calm ourselves down for a day, if we can truly manage to filter out the world and the Siren Song, then the Still, Small Voice will call out to us across our serenity.  It’s hard work to slow down to the point where we can hear it.  Harder for some, than for others.  But difficult for all.  Yet so necessary.  That’s why the Kabbalists, the mystics of medieval Spain and the Land of Israel, developed such elaborate systems of visualising the Holy.  Of quieting themselves down to apprehend the Holy.  Because they realised that they would be able to truly hear the Still, Small Voice only when the managed to filter out much of the world.  And only if they could hear that voice, could they heed that voice.
          So one kind of fire, destroyed Korach and his band.  And another kind of fire, saved the people Israel.  And an entirely different kind of fire will save us.  The challenges of Torah redeem us as nothing else can.  And make no mistake, not everyone listening to, or reading this, will rise to the challenge.  Many will continue to seek things according to the values of the world.  And great will be their loss.
          We are the people Israel.  Yis-ra-eyl.  He who will strive with God.  And that striving is for the purpose of, ultimately, walking together in harmony.  Great is the reward of being able to walk in that way with God.  But it isn’t easy.  It wasn’t for Moses and his ancient people.  It isn’t for us.  Not easy.  But supremely worthwhile.  Shabbat shalom. 

What will be Left? A Drash for Parshat Korach, Friday 20 June 2014

We were out of town on holiday this week.  The cash in my pocket was running low.  So I stopped at one of my bank’s many ATM’s, inserted my card, keyed in my PIN and requested cash.  Instead of dispensing the bank notes, the machine gave me a slip of paper telling me that I’d entered an invalid PIN and should try again.  That’s funny, I thought.  I know my PIN, and it’s always worked before.  So I tried again to the same effect.  That’s when I remembered the definition of insanity:  doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result.
          So I stopped to think about the PIN I’d entered on the ATM’s keypad.  Isn’t that my PIN?  But maybe I had the digits in the wrong order.  So I tried a few other combinations to the same effect until…you guessed it, the machine announced that I’d had enough go’s, and my card would not be coming back.
          Oh, Pooh!  I thought.  Is it CRS?  Now CRS is military-speak for a very common ailment.  Maybe you’ve heard it referred to as a ‘senior moment.’  I’ve stopped using the term ‘senior moment,’ because having joined the ranks of senior citizens myself, I’m ever more sensitive to the danger of inadvertently offending one of my own.  So instead I use the military term ‘CRS,’ meaning:  Can’t Remember…er, Stuff.
          So my momentary attack of CRS caused me to lose my ATM card.  But no real harm done.  Clara was with me and used her card to get the cash.  Had I been alone I would simply have used a credit card for any further purchases during the trip.  Upon our return home I visited my bank to request a new card which will arrive, I’m told, within five working days.  So, no harm done and something to chuckle about.  Except…why did I have that attack of CRS that caused me to forget my PIN?  It was as if someone had dug a hole in my brain in the exact spot where that PIN was stored, and as a result…it disappeared.
          Look, I’m not really worried about this; I mention it only for its humorous value.  The truth is that, as we age, most of us will experience some stress when we find some fact that aught to be at our fingertips, has disappeared from memory.  If you’re older than me and you think you haven’t experienced this, chances are it’s because…well, you’ve forgotten.  It’s something to tease ourselves about, until it becomes really serious.  Several of you have shared with me that, when you feel that the really serious loss of mental faculties comes on, you will then question the continuation of your lives.  I don’t agree with this sentiment, but I certainly understand it.  When there’s nothing but a black hole left where our intellect once was, what is the motivation to go on?
          The term ‘black hole’ is a technical term from astronomy.  It means a region of space with such a gravitational pull, that not even light-waves can escape it.  But we often use the term as slang for when something is totally obliterated.  Including, in some contexts, the very memory of that thing.    
Perhaps the deeper question is what happens when there is nothing but a black hole where we once were, period?  I don’t mean our deaths; death is simply an inevitable fact of, er, life.  What I mean is, once we’re gone, what will be left?  Will there be nothing but a black hole, no trace that there was a person here?  As we go about the routines of our lives, do we even think about what will be left when we ‘check out’?
          It’s only natural to think of this question when reading this week’s Torah portion, Korach.  Korach challenged Moses’ leadership.  There is nothing intrinsically wrong with challenging someone else’s leadership when you think it is wanting.  Nobody likes to be challenged, whether or not they serve in a leadership position.  But challenges are part of leadership, at least democratic leadership.  Or, as Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks calls it in his drash on this week’s Parasha, servant leadership.’  This is how Rabbi Sacks complimentarily describes Moses’ leadership of the People Israel.
Korach and his band, in contrast were not demo-crats but dema-gogues.  That is, Korach and the 250 followers who had gathered behind him.  They had no particular complaint about Moses’ leadership.  Their ‘complaint’ was that they weren’t the ones in charge.  Their challenge was therefore not a valid challenge, and their punishment was to have the earth open up and swallow them without a trace of their physical existence.  It was as if they’d never been.  As if they’d fallen into a black hole.
          As I like to point out from time to time, there are so many ways to read the Torah.  When I read this narrative, I personally have no problem believing that the events unfolded exactly as chronicled.  I’ve seen enough instances of the breaking of the Laws of Nature.  So I can except God’s breaking them when it suits His purpose.  Although actually, as someone who grew up in Florida where sinkholes occasionally swallow up cars and even whole houses, the image of the earth swallowing up a band of 250 malcontents is really not, for me, such a stretch of the imagination.  But if your own sensibilities rebel against the narrative as presented in the text, there is still an important way to apprehend, through the text, the same lesson.
There is not a single trace in the Torah of the lives of the 250, except for this act of rebellion.  In fact, only Korach and three of the co-conspirators – Datan, Aviram, and On ben Peleg – are even named.  This, despite that all 250 are described as being men of rank, representatives of the assembly, and famous.  There is no trace of other 246 in the Torah, and none of the four named ones except for this act of theirs.  So even if you are personally skeptical about the earth opening up and swallowing 250 men without a trace, the truth is that, in a very real sense, the group has very much disappeared into a ‘black hole.’
          If so, what are we supposed to take away from this rather gruesome-sounding narrative?

          I think that we should all consider what traces of us will be left when we’re gone.  Of course, we’re all subject to the mortality that is a fact of our lives.  None of us can predict whether death will call us next year, tomorrow, or ten minutes from now.  A few of us will have advanced warning of our death, and that should be taken as the gift that it is.  Because the rest of us will have no warning whatsoever. We would be well-advised, then to consider that anything we do could very well be the last act of our lives.  The 250 members of Korach’s rebellion have disappeared into the black hole called oblivion.  The only trace of their existence is their final act of demagoguery.  With the benefit of their punishment, we can have the prescience to guide our own actions.  Our greatest gift to ourselves, not to mention the world around us, would be to consider each act of our lives as if it could be our final act.  Because it could very well be our final act.  Ask ourselves if that act is what we would like to be our only legacy.  Because in a very real way, it could very well be our only legacy.  Whenever we act, or inter-act, we should keep that in mind.  What legacy will you leave?  It’s something to think about.  Every moment of our lives.  Shabbat shalom.  

Friday, June 13, 2014

These are the Generations…

(I'm speaking this evening at a 'Unity of Faiths' event sponsored by Sathya Sai Australian and PNG.  This is the drash I will give there.)

There’s an old story about two famous rabbis arguing over which is the most important verse in the Torah, the cornerstone text of Jewish life.  One of the two asserts that it is Leviticus 19.18: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” The other of the two insists that it is Genesis 10.1: “These are the generations of the sons of Noah.”
          On the surface, it would seem obvious that the first rabbi had it right.  How can one come up with a more profound principle than “love your neighbour as yourself?”  How can ‘these are the generations of the sons of Noah” even compete?
          But the second rabbi pointed out that “your neighbour” in Leviticus, in Hebrew re’echa, means “your kinsman.”  Love for one’s kinsman is, in itself, not such a profound concept.  That is, until you see some dysfunctional families…but that’s another talk, for another day!
          But “these are the generations of the sons of Noah” is a key principle, probably the most important in the Torah.  Because “these are the generations” appears after the flood that destroyed all of humanity save Noah, his wife, his three sons, and their wives.  In other words, all but one family.  And “these are the generations” is the preamble to the how the repopulation of the earth was begun by this one family.  Its message is clear; all who dwell on earth after the Flood, descend from one family.  In other words, all of humanity today is one family.  In other words, when we read “love your kinsman as yourself,” it is only profound because “these are the generations” has already established that all of humanity are your kinsmen.
          When we contemplate this, when we understand that each and every human being alive on the earth is inter-related, that is a life-changing revelation.  Once we’ve absorbed this, how can we ever see humanity in the same way again?  How can we ever react to a total stranger in distress the same way?  How can we ever think of another man as just another person who happens to inhabit the same planet, or the same country, or the same city?
          In this context, the teachings of Sathya Sai Baba, celebrated by our hosts here at this event tonight, take on a new authority.  The Torah is an ancient text that was written down some 3,000 years ago but based on oral traditions that were already perhaps a thousand years in existence.  It is, as I mentioned, the cornerstone text of the Jewish tradition.  But it also forms the beginning of the scriptures of the Christian faith.  And it is incorporated in the sacred literature of Islam.  Our Eastern cousins do not include the text in their own sacred literature.  But their own literature includes narratives that sometimes parallel those in the Torah.  This book and its content is therefore, important to much of humanity.  So the Sathya Sai is walking on pretty solid ground when he teaches, in the third of his ten principles:  Recognise humanity as one family – treat everyone as a family member – love all.  These are more than just nice words expressing a nice sentiment.  This is a principle taught by the most ancient sacred texts, and not just in one particular faith tradition.
          In this context, the words become an urgent call to action.  A call to re-think the boundaries that we construct, which conspire to divide us.  Or at the very least, to learn that the boundaries are not impermeable.
          Because we represent different cultures.  We speak different languages and cling to different sets of traditions.  Those traditions include the ordinary and the sacred.  But they are all important, because they define who we are.  They provide us with an anchor in the raging tide that is life.  These traditions are part of us.  They provide the beauty of our lives.  Without them, humanity begins to become just an amorphous blob.  Therefore, the second of the Sathya Sai’s principles stands out:  Respect all religions equally.  My religion is my own particular culture’s response to the important questions of life.  Just as your religion is the response of your particular culture.  Together and with all others, they constitute the incredible tapestry that is the reaching of men and women for connection with the Holy.
          In this sense, perhaps the boundaries that divide us into different cultures, different language groups, different religions, are not in and of themselves bad.  Perhaps their message is an imperative to transcend the boundaries in learning about our neighbour’s unique context just as we would like our neighbour to grasp our context.  In that sense, a distillation of the central themes that are common to the different religious faiths on earth is a profound gift.  Religious faith in itself is a gift.  And the knowledge that the various faiths are nothing but the response of different cultures, to the same urgings, is also a gift.
          My own religious faith, Judaism, is a sublime gift to me.  It provides the narrative of the reaching of a certain family of humanity, towards to Sacred.  It provides the beauty that gives me the motivation to soldier on through life.  It provides the chain of doctrines and practices that bring true meaning to my life, and that of my fellow Jews.  It is for members of that family, the Jews, whether by birth of by adoption.  It is not a universal answer for all of humanity.  And yet…it incorporates wisdom that other religious faiths have apprehended through their own sacred traditions and the literature that those traditions spawned.  In that sense, Judaism is for me what Christianity is for the Christian, Islam is for the Muslim, Buddhism is for the Buddhist, Hinduism if for the Hindu, Bahai’ism is for the Bahai.  And so forth.  Each of us is privileged to experience the joy that our respective faiths bring us.  And each of us is privileged to recognise that there are common threads that bind our respective faiths together.  Just as there is a common thread that binds humanity together.  “These are the generations of Noah” is perhaps, on the surface, just a preamble to a genealogy.  But in its essence, it is much more than that.  It is no less than the principle, which gives me the motivation to recognise each man as my brother, each woman as my sister.  And what could be more important than that?  

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Arguing with God...for Good: A Drash for Parashat Sh’lach Lecha, 14 June 2014

Christianity and Islam are often referred to as Judaism’s ‘daughter’ faiths.  That’s because each took the sources of Judaism and added its own understanding to the basic idea of a single God who created and is worthy to rule over the earth and humanity.
          But one aspect of relating to the Deity that our daughter faiths did not adopt is the notion that is okay, and even desirable to argue with God.  Our detractors sometimes characterize us as being particularly combative as a people.  There’s definitely some basis to the stereotype.  Just spend some time with a group of Jews and you’ll see what I mean!  We do not especially prize quiet agreement.  Even when we claim that we do, we demand it of one another in a particularly pushy manner!  For example, when we were still meeting for Senior Schmoozers every week, we had some wonderfully spirited ‘discussions.’  In truth, I would deliberately choose topics calculated to bring out various viewpoints.  Because that’s what we Jews do, and we should be proud of our tendency to speak our minds without hesitation.
We have internalised that it is important to speak one’s mind and press one’s point of view.  And if anybody thinks otherwise, I have a bone to pick with them!  But seriously, our tradition does value spirited debate…even to the point of arguing with God.  The very name ‘Israel’ means ‘he will strive with God.’  Contrast this to Islam, whose very name means ‘submission,’ as in submission to God.
          When we talk about the scriptural basis for the validity of taking issue with God, we usually point to the 18th chapter of the Book of Genesis.  In that passage, Abraham famously argues with God for His plan to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah.  “Will you destroy the innocent together with the guilty?” Abraham challenges God before ‘bargaining’ Him down to agreeing not to destroy the two cities on the merit of ten righteous men dwelling there.  Of course, it turns out that there aren’t ten whose merit would save the lives of the rest.  But that’s another story.  The point is that Abraham respectfully takes issue with God and gets him to agree to terms by which He would not destroy the cities.
          In this week’s Torah reading, we find another great example of Abraham arguing with God.  After the rebellion over the spies’ bleak report, God wants to abandon the people Israel.  Ah, Abraham!  Never mind this group of ungrateful people!  You and Me…I’ll find you a less cantankerous lot.  How about it?  If you’ve got even a shred of sympathy for Moses, you’ve got to wonder why he didn’t agree and walk away with God.  Yeah, you’re right as always, God!  To hell with this people!  Let’s start again with another, more worthy people!
          But incredibly, Moses does not do what many would see as entirely reasonable.  For better or worse, he stands by his people and argues God into giving them another chance.  Using incredibly simple and compelling logic, he talks God into not abandoning the people Israel.
          It’s true that none of us is a Moses, or even close.  And yet, there is an important lesson in his example.  We don’t have to be a Moses if we’re going to take issue with God.  We only have to act like Moses.  So how does Moses act in arguing with God, both in this instance and back in Genesis?
          First, Moses argues respectfully.  Some might hear this as a contradiction in terms, but it is not.  Taking issue need not be out of an attitude of denigration of the one, with whom you disagree.  When Moses disagrees with God, his language and demeanor are indicative only of respect.  Moses does not find himself in the pitfall of diminution of the character of the other.  He offers us an example of how to disagree that is very much out of synch with the spirit of our age and how we tend to disagree and argue today.
          Second, Moses argues for something that is good.  For what he sees as a higher value.  God is willing to turn away from the troublesome people Israel.  But Moses feels there was a higher value in God’s not abandoning them.  His own lot might be easier is he takes a chance with another people.  But he believes that God’s prestige would suffer:  among the Egyptians, and among the Canaanites.  Moses’ vision is not only for the good of the people Israel.  It is also for the larger issue of how the other peoples of the region will see and judge God.  Moses does want to give the Israelites another chance.  But he also wants the surrounding pagan nations to turn from their ways and accept God’s sovereignty.  What an incredibly broad vision Moses has!  It is the antithesis of the vision of Jonah, who does not want the Ninevites to repent.  That repentant spirit saves the lives of 100,000 people.  But Jonah only sees the survival of one of Israel’s intractable enemies.  He is blinded to the possibility that an enemy, if he accepts your god, will no longer be your enemy.  Not a guarantee, but a definite possibility.  Moses wants the Egyptians and the Canaanites to come to believe in the God of Israel.  Surely he sees this possibility and prays for it.
Perhaps it is the height of arrogance to think one has a better vision than God Himself.  But Moses thinks God will give him a fair hearing if he disagrees respectfully.  And Moses is correct – in both our examples.  Both times, God honours Moses’ willingness to take issue by yielding to his influence.  So we learn, not only from the actions of Moses, but from those of God as well.  We learn that, when someone honestly disagrees and has the courage of his convictions to stand up and express that disagreement, we owe him a fair hearing.  Not demonization.  Not isolation.  Not disparagement.  But a fair and respectful hearing.  And a willingness to accept the other’s argument as valid.  This, whether we change our own mind or not.
This Torah portion is about taking issue with God.  But from it we learn about how to take issue with one another.

Arguing with God?  It’s acceptable.  If we are arguing for good.  We learn that from this week’s Torah reading.  And, in spades, from next week’s reading, Parashat Korach.  Until then, Shabbat shalom! 

The Job of a Spy: A Drash for Parashat Sh’lach Lecha, Friday 13 June 2014

Almost everybody I know loves spy stories.  And I am no exception.  Ian Fleming’s 007 series.  John le Carre’s novels.  Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan stories.  Another author that Clara and I particularly enjoy reading is Daniel Silva.  His character, Gabriel Allon, is an Israeli Mossad agent who could only be called ‘the Reluctant Spy.’ He’d rather be working as an art restorer.  If you enjoy the spy genre but are unfamiliar with Silva’s work, we recommend you try him.
          What is it that we find attractive about spy stories?  The suspense and intrigue for one.  Most of us could not live ‘on the edge’ as spies do.  But we enjoy doing it vicariously through the authors’ prose and the characters’ work. 
We enjoy the bravery.  Most of us do not see ourselves as being particularly brave.  But reading of those who are, we take vicarious delight. 
And then the glamour.  Storybook spies live glamorous lives.  They jet around to all the world’s cities.  They have sex all the time.  Of course, it’s always good sex.  They get to shoot guns, kill bad guys.  They drink martinis, shaken…not stirred.  How could we not be attracted to these stories??!
          So when I entered the service of my country and was offered the opportunity to work in intelligence, I did not hesitate.  Sign me up!  But I became an electronic spy.  Same principle as in all the above stories.  Learn the secrets of your enemy.  Figure out what they mean.  Pass the information on to higher authority for exploitation.  So I targeted the Soviet Union during the bad old days.  I didn’t pound the pavements in Berlin and Moscow.  Rather, I flew off the coasts, sat on mountaintops and in offices deep in the Puzzle Palace where I listened to, and analyzed communications.  Not as glamorous as the spy stories.  Nor as heart-pounding, at least most of the time.  But intriguing, yes.
          So every year when we read Parashat Sh’lach Lecha, I get a bit nostalgic.  This is, after all, the portion with the narrative of the Twelve Spies.  One from each tribe, each one a ‘senior member’ of his respective tribe.  Moses sends them to scout out the Land of Israel.  To assess the strengths, and weaknesses, of the nations living there.  To prepare a report for Moses, the general, to help him plan the conquest of the land.  To do, essentially, what spies and intelligence forces have been doing throughout history, until this very day.
          I know that some people read the account of the spies and wonder, just what is the offence?  Perhaps they seem to be doing exactly what spies are supposed to do.  They scout out the enemy, return, and give their report.  Isn’t that a spy’s charter?  Why does the Torah make it clear that the spies have committed a grievous sin?  Is this an example of shooting the messenger?
          But if you think about it, the lesson registers loud and clear.  The spies go far outside their job description.  They report back, not to Moses, but to the entire people.  It’s an investigative reporter’s job to report heretofore secret information to the general public.  It’s a spy’s job to report back to his commander.  And the spies also go far beyond their charter of detailed reporting on their enemies’ strengths and weaknesses.  Instead, they spread panic.  The land is populated with giants!  We are like grasshoppers next to them!  We cannot go forward against those people!  As a result, the people begin demanding, once again, to be led back to Egypt.  Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks pinpoints it so well in his drash this week:  It’s the single greatest collective failure of leadership in the Torah.
          So what’s the lesson to take away from this piece of Torah?  I see two.
          The first lesson is about teamwork.  When operating in an organizational framework, don’t exceed your job description.  If you have been selected to fulfill a specific function, don’t misread your authority as being more than it actually is.  It helps if you have clear guidance on your job and its parameters.  It doesn’t help if your predecessors in the job habitually overstepped their charter.  But even if you such lack clear guidance, and work in the shadow of those who overstepped their bounds, it doesn’t absolve you of responsibility. 
And this doesn’t mean you should stifle your initiative.  When you think you see something more clearly than someone else, there’s no offence in bringing it to others’ attention.  Even if it’s outside your own area of expertise and your particular job.  Doing so is a sign of loyalty to the organization!  True leadership prizes team members who think outside the box, who are willing to point out things that others may have missed.  True leadership does not desire a room full of ‘yes-men.’  But once you’ve brought the facts that someone else may have missed to the attention of the decision-makers then you need to back off and let them use, or not use, the information you’ve provided.
The second lesson is about confidence.  The people Israel had a Divine commission to conquer the land of Israel.  The spies’ mission was to assess the specific difficulties that lay ahead.  It was not to inject pessimism and thus discourage the people.  Yes, their information indicated that the conquest would be a challenge.  It was the job of Moses, and his closest advisors, to use their information to plan the conquest.  It was not the spies’ job to discourage Moses, much less the entire people, from the very enterprise.
So too in life.  If something is challenging, that does not necessarily call into question whether it should be done.  Sometimes the challenge simply cannot be avoided.  Sometimes, while the challenge is formidable, the potential reward indicates that the risk is worthwhile.  But if we live our lives shrinking away from every challenge, then we consign ourselves to mediocrity.  Risk aversion leads to marginality.  For individuals, and for a team.

 Most of us will never work in the intriguing world of espionage.  Most of us will never experience the excitement, or the glamour of that world.  But when we read the account of the Twelve Spies of Israel, we can learn important lessons for everyday life.  About leadership.  Specifically, as Rabbi Sacks put it, about collective leadership which means all of us.  Shabbat shalom.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

…Out of Your Nose: A Drash for Parashat Beha’alotecha, Saturday 7 June 2014

When we were children, certain things that our parents said used to frustrate us to no end.  Remember that?  We vowed that, when we grew up and had children of our own, we would take a different approach.  Remember that??!  I remember the first time I caught myself responding to my son’s “Why do I have to do that?”  I responded with those immortal words:  “Because I’m your father and I say so.”  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, and as soon as my son turned away frustrated, I reflected.  Oy!  I’ve become my father!  That was a discomforting thought for a moment.  But then I realised that accepting your parents’ word is part of growing up.  Even when it isn’t what you, the child, want to hear.  Accepting that the answer isn’t always the one you want to hear, is part of growing up…part of life.  Another part of life, is finding as parents that our own parents weren’t as ‘bad’ as we’d thought them to be, back when.  So, even if it is at first disconcerting, we end up in effect ‘becoming’ our parents in significant ways.
           There is one expression I heard often from my mother as a child, which I think I’ve managed to avoid saying to my children.  Sometimes my mother would refuse me something and I would argue with her over it.  If it was something I wanted to eat, and she finally gave in and let me have it, she would often exclaim:  “You can have it, until it’s coming out of your ears!”  Even then, I knew she didn’t mean that literally.  Rather, she was expressing her frustration that I’d persisted in my whining until she could take it no longer and gave in.  Like many children, I learned exactly how long my mother would hold out.  I could calculate exactly how long I would have to keep up the nagging until I would get my way.
          So why have I avoided using this expression when giving in to my children?  Maybe because I’ve been a more difficult customer than my mother.
          So what’s the point of “coming out of your ears?”  Mum would make me eat or drink whatever it was, until I could stand it no longer.  Coming out of your ears meant having so much of it, that I became sick of it.  The things my mother would make me partake until they were “coming out of my ears” were things that were not intrinsically bad.  They were things that, in moderation, are not harmful.  But which, in excess, are not very good.
          In this week’s Torah portion, we find an example of this kind of whining, nagging behaviour.  It isn’t by children, but by the Israelites in the desert.  And we find an example of God, very parent-like, decreeing that His people will have that, which they desire, until they can stand it no longer.  He doesn’t use the expression “out of their ears,” but a close relative:  “out of their noses.”
          The people are in the throes of one of their periodic tantrums against the manna they’ve been eating.  During the sojourn in the wilderness, the people are not in the same place long enough to plant, cultivate, and harvest a crop.  There’s apparently no significant forage in the wilderness.  They are droving their livestock.  But the Torah does not tell us why they did not eat of their flocks and herds along the way.  It only tells us that they did eat manna, a white flaky substance, which they gathered and made into cakes that they fried and ate.  Manna represents a Divine gift.  It is a food that is there for the gathering, with little effort, in abundance, and it is nutritionally complete.  But the Israelites are not satisfied.  They want variety.  Moreover, they want meat!!!
          So they complain.  They nag.  Finally, God relents.  And He relents as a parent might to a nagging child.  He decrees that the Israelites shall have meat.  And they shall eat it every day for a full month.  Until – the Torah tells us literally – “it is coming out of [their] noses and making [them] nauseous!”
          I guess there are two lessons to be learnt from this reading.  First, some things are good – or at least, not harmful – in moderation but definitely not good in excess.  Meat is one of those, although vegetarians might disagree.  But most of us don’t think of meat as intrinsically harmful.  It provides essential protein in our diet.  Red meat in particular, gives us iron.  It does not contain carbohydrate.  On the other hand, meat in excess is not good for us.  It is more difficult than other foods, to digest.  It puts more fat in our circulatory systems. Although for this purpose some meats are worse offenders than others.  For most of us, eating meat in moderation is not a bad thing.  But if we eat and eat and eat meat, we will feel negative effects.
Like when we indulge at a churrascaria, a Brazilian-style barbeque where the meat is brought to the table until you tell the wait-staff to stop.  At such restaurants, one has a tendency to eat too much meat.  Or maybe you’ve driven across north Texas on Interstate 40 and stopped at The Big Texan, a steakhouse restaurant in Amarillo that advertises a 72 ounce steak – free if you can finish it!  That’s 2,041 grams!  No wonder they can make that offer; I’m guessing that few customers can actually finish it.  If you can’t finish it, you have to pay $ 72 – a dollar per ounce.  As many times as I’ve passed the place, I’ve never stopped; I can’t imagine getting back in the car and continuing the drive after even trying to consume over two kilos of steak.
          But perhaps the more important lesson from this reading, is the nature of human desire.  We need to learn that the desires of our hearts can be left unfulfilled – or gratification can be delayed – and it will not harm us.  For most of us, our parents served as the messengers of this lesson.  For that, we probably resented them…and unfairly so.  For the Israelites in the wilderness in this narrative of the Torah, it was God Himself who was the messenger.

          Some adults have had to re-learn the lesson.  I’ve met adults who act quite child-like in their pursuit of their desires.  This, even when such pursuit is at the expense of more important things.  When we are so hell-bent to get what we want, when we want it, we adults often lack someone to dispense that which we desire until it’s coming out of our noses.  Instead, we pursue it to the point where that pursuit causes us, and those closest to us, harm.  Sometimes grievous harm.  And that’s unfortunate – because it’s unnecessary.  Shabbat shalom.

Manna??! Manna??! Give Us Some Meat!!! A Drash for Parashat Beha’alotecha, Friday 6 June 2014

As many of you know, Clara and I have both recently lost a significant amount of weight:  13 Kilos for me and 10 kilos for Clara.  We feel pretty good, and we’re happy that our clothes fit us again.  We would like to lose more.  Since our achievement, we returned to more-of-less ‘normal’ eating and have mostly maintained the weight loss whilst we steel ourselves for another go.
          Being overweight is very normal today.  According to the World Health Organisation, in 2008 about one-third of the world’s adult population was overweight, whilst full-on obesity afflicted 11 percent.  Australia – and this will be no surprise to many – is much worse than these averages.  Two thirds of Australian adults are overweight, whilst one in four is obese.  That’s staggering.  And it’s not just about aesthetics.  The problem with obesity is that it leads to so many serious health problems.  Clara and I are at an age where it is easy – all too easy! – to put on extra weight.  We decided we wanted to maintain our good health and help ensure that we will be around to enjoy our grandchildren.
          I’m not going use this forum to advertise exactly how we lost weight.  Suffice it to say here that we did it primarily by using a flavoured protein shake as a meal replacement.  When we told our daughter, Ma’ayan what we were doing, she pooh-poohed the idea.  She warned us:  “Almost everybody who loses weight that way, gains it all back when they stop drinking the shakes.”
          In Mishnah Avot we’re challenged:  Who is wise?  He that learns from every one.  It would therefore be unwise to dismiss the words of our young, but very intelligent daughter.  Especially in light of this week’s Torah reading.
          As we know, our Torah records that God fed the people Israel during their 40-year sojourn in the wilderness with a substance called ‘manna.’  Today, manna is used as a synonym for a windfall of something wonderful.  Manna from heaven is what we call great sustenance, or really any great thing that we chance upon.  But the Torah records that the people repeatedly rebelled against the diet of the manna, a flaky, white substance that is pounded into cakes and fried.  They complained bitterly and repeatedly to Moses.  They pointed out a number of times including in this week’s Torah reading that in Egypt, despite the hardships of their lives there, they enjoyed some variety in their diet.  Specifically, they had meat to eat!
          The mysterious part of this whole provisioning in the desert thing, is that the Israelites were droving their cattle and other livestock with them on the Great Wilderness Trek of 40 years.  So they didn’t eat of the meat of their livestock for all that time?  If not, then why not?  If we don’t have an answer to the above question, and we do not, that doesn’t mean it’s an unreasonable question.  Not at all.  Rather, the lesson the Torah is trying to teach us here is unrelated to whether it was logical for the Israelites to slaughter some of their livestock, even occasionally, along the way.
          The point is that the Israelites’ physical needs were taken care of.  God made sure that they were fed with a food that was nutritionally complete, and that they had as much of it as they needed.  Even if it sounds as if it was gastronomically boring.  But the nutritive urge, as the Rambam called it, is only part of what drives us to eat.  For our ancient forebears, as for us, there is a pleasure-seeking element to it.  We eat because we enjoy eating.  And the foods that we enjoy eating are not always those that are best for us!
          I’ve never knowingly tasted manna.  But I have this to say about my protein shakes:  I’m happy they have helped me lose weight.  But when I was drinking two of them every day as meal substitutes, I craved variety in my diet.  Badly.  When I become hungry, I would want something savoury – not the sweet shake.  But more than anything else, I wanted meat!!!  Oh, I didn’t need it.  In truth, nobody needs to eat meat.  My shakes were nutritionally complete.  Taking them, and snacking on fresh veg, I didn’t need to worry at all about whether my diet was balanced.  But oh, did I crave real food!!!
          Just like the Israelites in the wilderness did.  So much so, that they began to view Egypt through rose-coloured glasses.  They began to recall with fondness the place, despite their enslavement there to the capricious Pharaoh.  Despite the precariousness of their lives there.  Despite the hardships.  Despite their inability there, to live lives of obedience to their God.  Just because they missed an occasional fish from the Nile, and an occasional cucumber, melon, leek, onion or garlic.  For a little fresh produce, and a little meat, they were ready to return and voluntarily enslave themselves to Pharaoh once again.
          When one reads this, one cannot help but achieve clarity on human behaviour.  One cannot help but begin to understand why we humans are so easy to manipulate.  To get us to participate in evil.  To prevent us from doing good.  Because most people are like the Israelites.  They are willing to accept an evil order in exchange for a few veg and fish and meat.  This, even when their nutritional needs are all taken care of!
          So for a little variety in foods, the nation was ready to turn against Moses’ leadership and give up their quest to be a free people under the sovereignty of God in their Promised Land.  That would have been a tragedy.  But the good news is that, in fits and starts, the people did follow Moses.  They ate the boring diet of manna whilst sojourning toward their date with destiny.

          As Clara and I prepare for Phase Two of our diet in hopes of losing some additional weight, it’s a good lesson to keep in mind.  And for anybody who has ever been called upon to temporarily sacrifice something they enjoyed for some greater good, it is an important lesson.  Whatever it is we might crave at a given moment, we can benefit greatly by taking the long view.  Often in life, there’s a choice between immediate gratification and doing what’s best long-term.  It’s an important lesson to remember.  Shabbat shalom.