Parshiot Vayakhel-Pekudei: "Coming Close" In The Service of God

BY: Aaron Levy

In this week’s Torah reading, we learn about the details of building the mishkan, or Tabernacle. This structure was an amazing accomplishment - a dwelling place for God in the desert. Parashat Vayakhel describes how Moses called Aholi’ab, Betzal’el, and others to engage in the melakha, the work of the Tabernacle:

Moses summoned Bezalel, Oholiab, and every wise-hearted man whose heart Hashem endowed with wisdom, everyone whose heart inspired him, to come close to the work, to do it.[1]

The question can be asked: Why does it say “to come close to the work?” The text should read “everyone whose heart inspired him to do it.” This reveals a very crucial aspect that goes beyond the construction of the mishkan; it teaches us an important principle of worshiping God that is very relevant to us. Before we engage in Jewish law, we should first get close to it, try and make it relatable and personal. We should ask ourselves: How can I, personally, understand and appreciate this particular law?

Later in the parasha it states:

He made the Laver of copper and its base of copper, from the mirrors of [women who reared] the legions who massed at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.[2]

Rashi asks, very reasonably, “Where did they get these mirrors?” Rashi explains that these mirrors were used by the Israelite women in Egypt. While their husbands were out performing slave-work, the women would go and bring them food and drink. Before they would go out, they would use these mirrors to make themselves beautiful thereby strengthening their husband’s desire for them. As such, they had many children, populating the Nation of Israel, and giving them “legions”.

Initially, however, Moses had reservations about using such mirrors, as they could be seen as a symbol of vanity. However, God disagreed and understood their importance. These mirrors were how the woman enabled themselves to feel connected to God. They were used to promote harmony in their homes and love between wives and their husbands. They, therefore, merited having such an integral role in the construction of the mishkan.

Clearly, there is something to finding a unique and personal way to approach God. We must find how a certain mitzvah appeals to us and use that aspect to perform said mitzvah. When I read Rashi’s commentary about the mirrors, I immediately thought of the actor and director of the movie Ushpizin, Shuli Rand. The actor was born to an observant family, but left Orthodoxy and became successful in theater. When he returned to Judaism and became a Breslover Hassid, he withdrew from acting, deeming it “inappropriate”. However, after eight years, he realized that theater is a part of him and he should figure out how to include this passion into his new life. Through this, Ushpizin was born. Rand was able to connect to Judaism through something that individually appealed to him. I think this is one way to understand the phrase “shiv’im panim laTorah” or “seventy faces to the Torah.”[3] Judaism encompasses so many different attributes and characteristics that each individual can find a way to relate to it and make it meaningful.

With that, I hope that we can spend this Shabbat trying to see the new ways in which we can incorporate our distinct personalities, talents, and passions into the worship and service of God. Shabbat Shalom!

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[1] Exodus 36:2

[2] Exodus 38:8

[3] Bamidbar Rabbah, Naso 13:15

Parshat Ki Tisa: The Power of Introversion

By: Jina Davidovich

In New York, art is present all around: in grandiose buildings, graffiti on the walls, and the myriad museums that litter the city streets. It is no surprise, then, that artistry makes a significant appearance in the first tabernacle, the dessert-bound mishkan, the place that we served God before all Jews made the grand exodus to the east coast. Although he does not have a Ninja Turtle named after him, Betzalel, the great artist of the mishkan, is a character who is literally shrouded in mystery. Prior to his appointment as the designer of the mishkan[1], Betzazel is never mentioned in any leadership role or even in a creative capacity. One would imagine that the hands who craft the very vessels that the Israelites would use to commune with God would have a more significant place in the text. Betzalel’s very name carries the connotation of obscurity. He is in the shadow (tzel) of God (El). Naturally, as an extrovert, my reaction to a figure that plays such a significant role within the Biblical narrative is to question why his character has not played a leading role in the text.

In a recent TED talk, filmed in 2012, Susan Cain, a Wall Street attorney, extols the virtues of introversion[2]. For Cain, introversion is not about the shy, quiet, student who sits in the back of a classroom and does not contribute to the group conversion, rather, the introvert is the individual who truly connects with his/her own creative spirit, and through independent work and thinking, comes to great ideas. Though she does not mention him explicitly, it seems that for Cain, Betzalel would present as a paradigmatic introvert.

While the nature of many great leaders is thought to come from their public personas or oratory capabilities, perhaps it is the man who is able to contend with his own mind who should be found the most virtuous. Indeed, in the creation narrative, man is made “betzelem elokim” - “in the image of God.” Interestingly, the words tzelem and tzel (the root of Betzalel’s name) share an etymological root. While this may imply something about the nature of God’s presence in the lives of man, that He is hidden in the shadows, perhaps it says something much more profound about the nature of man. The image of God can be read as a call for man to be autonomous over his own mind; just as God is autonomous over His world and His creations. Rather than expressing our grand ideas to the world, garnering attention, and exploiting our talents, it is man’s mission to contend with himself, his mind, and gain an understanding of how to utilize his God-given gifts without needing explicit recognition.

Rashi explains that Hashem bestowed Betzalel with ruach ha’kodesh. This elusive term, applied to many individuals throughout Biblical and rabbinic literature, can be understood in the following manner: being imbued with a Divine spirit is the recognition of one’s God-given talents, the hard work that is put in to hone them, and sharing them with the world. This is the very nature of Betzalel, he is the true embodiment of Susan Cain’s introversion and ruach ha’kodesh - the biblical model for those who have great ideas, but prefer to have their personas in the shadows, rather than in the spotlight of leadership.

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[1] Exodus 31:1-5.

[2] http://www.ted.com/talks/susan_cain_the_power_of_introverts.html

Parshat Terumah: Holy Space: Altered

BY: Mordy Labaton

The Mishkan is the earliest task of Jewish nationhood.  It is the first response to the challenge of creating a physical space to reflect the presence of G-d in the world. In Parashat Terumah, G-d introduces the idea of “holy space” to the Jewish people with a very specific blueprint of the Mishkan.  The notion of “holy space” in the form of a Mikdash will remain central to the Jewish people throughout history. As the nation grows and evolves, the role of the Mikdash is refashioned to respond to new spiritual realities.

The Haftara for Parashat Terumah, from The Book of Kings I: 5-6, is an opportunity to explore this process. It describes the building of Solomon’s Temple at a time when the nation is at its most powerful. In choosing this Haftara for Parashat Terumah, the Rabbis focus on the evolving role of the Mikdash. The juxtaposition of the two readings draws attention to the continuity of certain themes, as well as, the changes which occur as the Jewish nation develops.

The Mishkan created in the wilderness is an intimate space reflecting a young, vulnerable nation which has just entered into a covenant with G-d. G-d's presence among the people is expressed as an eloquent, yet simple equation.

                                           

                                                 וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ  וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם .

               “And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” 

(Exodus 25:8)[1]

At the infancy of the nation, for a people just learning how to relate to G-d, the presence of G-d must be constant and guaranteed.  The Mishkan symbolizes the presence of G-d among the Jewish people in the wilderness and as such, it parallels the unconditional nature of the relationship.

In the Haftara, this equation becomes more complicated. G-d speaks to King Solomon about the meaning of this great building project and sets forth conditions for G-d’s presence at this time.

           

     וַיְהִי, דְּבַר-יְהוָה אֶל-שְׁלֹמֹה לֵאמֹר. הַבַּיִת הַזֶּה אֲשֶׁר-אַתָּה בֹנֶה, אִם-תֵּלֵךְ בְּחֻקֹּתַי וְאֶת-מִשְׁפָּטַי תַּעֲשֶׂה, וְשָׁמַרְתָּ אֶת-כָּל-מִצְו‍ֹתַי, לָלֶכֶת בָּהֶם--וַהֲקִמֹתִי אֶת-דְּבָרִי אִתָּךְ, אֲשֶׁר דִּבַּרְתִּי אֶל-דָּוִד אָבִיך י וְשָׁכַנְתִּי, בְּתוֹךְ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל; וְלֹא אֶעֱזֹב, אֶת-עַמִּי יִשְׂרָאֵל. 

“This house you are building, if you follow My laws, and observe My rules and faithfully keep My commandments...then I will abide among the children of Israel and I will never forsake my people Israel.” (Kings I, 6:12)

                                         

 G-d makes clear to Solomon that His presence among the people is now conditioned upon their obedience to His word.  Since the early days of the Mishkan, the nation has grown. They are no longer a group of newly liberated slaves carried by G-d through the wilderness. The people have developed into a nation and they now have the power and responsibility to ensure G-d’s presence by fulfilling the terms of the G-d's law.

There have been misunderstandings regarding the very purpose of a sanctuary.  Solomon’s father David attempts to build a house for G-d to match his own palace.

רְאֵה נָא אָנֹכִי יוֹשֵׁב בְּבֵית אֲרָזִים וַאֲרוֹן הָאֱלֹהִים יֹשֵׁב בְּתוֹךְ

הַיְרִיעָה

“Here, I am dwelling in a house of cedar, while the Ark of the Lord abides in a tent” (Samuel II, 7:2)

He is rebuffed by G-d who reminds him that a Mikdash is not needed as a dwelling place for G-d. Solomon is taught similarly in our Haftara that the ultimate goal of his elaborate building project is for G-d to dwell among the people and that the Mikdash will be a reflection of His relationship with them.

G-d’s presence is conditional upon the nation’s upholding the Mizvot of the Torah.  The behavior of the people and the quality of the society which they establish will bring G-d into their midst.

In the desert, G-d initiates the project and the people respond from their hearts:

דַּבֵּר אֶל-בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְיִקְחוּ-לִי תְּרוּמָה:  מֵאֵת כָּל-אִישׁ אֲשֶׁר יִדְּבֶנּוּ לִבּוֹ, תִּקְחוּ אֶת-תְּרוּמָתִי.

“Tell the people to bring for me gifts, you shall accept gifts for me from every person whose heart so moves him” (Exodus, 25:2)

The donations flow until Moshe must ask the people to stop. (Exodus 36:6) The process is village-like. Participation is unanimous and enthusiastic. G-d is the architect and the director of all details of the construction.

Under Solomon, the accumulation of resources and labor is drastically different. The nation has grown into an empire. It has international status and an enormous bureaucracy. Cedar is imported from Lebanon, foreign craftsman are enlisted and the people of Israel are taxed for labor. This is a far cry from the voluntary and intimate nature of the Mishkan. The king himself is the director of this project whose dimensions are vast compared to the simple Mishkan of the desert years. What role will this magnificent structure play in the religious life of the nation?

The answer comes seven years later as we read further in The Book of Kings at the culmination of King Solomon’s building, during the dedication of the Mikdash. Yes, the building is grand and the process is public and elaborate. Yet when the powerful king turns to the people of Israel, assembled before the Temple he has created, he proclaims before G-d,

                                        

הִנֵּה הַשָּׁמַיִם וּשְׁמֵי הַשָּׁמַיִם, לֹא יְכַלְכְּלוּךָ--אַף, כִּי-הַבַּיִת הַזֶּה אֲשֶׁר  בָּנִיתִי

“But will G-d really dwell on earth? The heavens to their uttermost reaches cannot contain You, how much less this house that I have built!” (Kings I, 8:27).

He understands the message that we heard in Terumah, וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם. The purpose of the sanctuary is to reflect and sustain the relationship between G-d and His people. He describes the Temple as the place toward which the people will direct their prayers (Kings I, 8: 30) and he asks G-d to watch and to listen toward this place where the people will pour their hearts. He continues to list the situations in which Israel will turn toward the Mikdash to pray. There will be occasions which need judgment and repentance. There will be times of famine and times of war. The nation has grown and its needs have become complex. Solomon’s Mikdash will be the focal point of a mature Jewish society which has learned to reach toward G-d in prayer and to utilize holy space in their religious life.

The Jewish people under Solomon are no longer isolated in the desert. They are part of an empire and have expanded to be members of the world community. Solomon extends the impact of the Mikdash to the non-Jews from afar who “will hear about Your great name” (Kings I, 8:41-42). Unlike the Mishkan, which was closed to all but those of priestly descent, the Mikdash is potentially a religious focal point for all mankind.  Solomon's invitation to all peoples expresses yet another role for the People of Israel and for the Mikdash.  As a recognized nation on the world stage, the Jewish people are not only responsible for their own relationship to G-d but can be a medium through which the entire world reaches G-d. The Mikdash will be the center of that ideal.

The holy space of the Jewish people is an expression of the social and spiritual stages in their evolution. Recently emancipated from slavery, the Jews of the Mishkan stage are fragile. The desert is an incubator for a nation just beginning to reach out to G-d. The Mishkan reflects this need. It is an unconditional guarantee of G-d's Shekhina dwelling among them. As the Jewish people progresses and becomes a nation, their relationship to holy space necessarily evolves. The Mikdash of King Solomon reflects the religious mission of a mature people.  The Beit Hamikdash becomes the spiritual area through which man meets G-d and also the magnificent structure through which the values of Israel are represented to the world. 

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[1] All English translations are from the New JPS Translation 2003.

Parshat Mishpatim: Identifying The Eved Ivri

BY: Shimi Marcus

In Rabbinic sources, the laws discussed in the first seven verses of parshat Mishpatim are believed to pertain to a Jewish slave. This is based on the assumption that the word "עברי"(ivri) in the second verse is synonymous with “Jew” or “Israelite”. This understanding is reflected in the Daat Mikra commentary on the beginning of the second verse:

כִּי תִקְנֶה עֶבֶד עִבְרִי- When you, an Israelite, acquire for yourself an ivri slave, that is to say: a slave who is himself an Israelite.[1]

However, Professor Umberto Cassuto points out in his commentary to Sefer Shemot that the verse “uses the expression Hebrew slave (eved ivri) in its primary signification, which included not only Israelite slaves, but a wider category of bondmen.”[2] According to Cassuto, various Egyptian and Akkadian documents make it clear that the term Hebrew (ivri) does not connote a specific race of people but refers to a specific class of people. This class was composed primarily of enslaved foreigners of any race. Thus the laws and humanitarian regulations regarding the eved ivri in parshat Mishpatim are extended to all sorts of slaves, not just our fellow Israelites.

It seems that in the chumash itself, it is ambiguous whether or not ivri is a racial or social designation. Support for the theory that the term ivri is a social designation and therefore applicable to broader range of people, not just Israelites, can be found in Sefer Devarim (23:20) by the prohibition of charging interest[3]. There, in Sefer Devarim, Moshe wishes to tell us that the prohibition only extends to charging a fellow Israelite interest. But charging a non-Israelite interest is permitted. There, the text does not use the term 'ivri' to connote kinship between Israelites. Rather it uses the term achicha- “your brother” to signify that interest payments may not be collected from an Israelite. Thus, we can infer that had slavery regulations in Mishpatim been applicable to specifically Israelites, then the text could have used the term 'achicha' rather than 'ivri'.

However, support for the theory that the term 'ivri' is a racial designation, as opposed to one of class, can be brought from the following verse in  (14:13) Sefer Bereishit:                                                         

וַיָּבֹא, הַפָּלִיט, וַיַּגֵּד, לְאַבְרָם הָעִבְרִי; וְהוּא שֹׁכֵן בְּאֵלֹנֵי מַמְרֵא הָאֱמֹרִי, אֲחִי אֶשְׁכֹּל וַאֲחִי עָנֵר, וְהֵם, בַּעֲלֵי בְרִית-אַבְרָם.

 And there came one that had escaped, and told Abram the Hebrew--now he dwelt by the terebinths of Mamre the Amorite, brother of Eshkol, and brother of Aner; and these were confederate with Abram.[4]

In this verse, Abram is described as an ivri but also as having a brit (covenant) with his Amorite neighbors. The relationship between parties in a brit is not hierarchical wherein one party is subservient or inferior to the other. Rather, each party consensually agrees to fulfill certain obligations. The parties, as they come together and agree on those conditions, approach each other as equals. Thus, the term ivri here does not seem to mean someone who is of a lower social status. The term here designates Abram as a racially Hebrew man living amongst Amorites.

           

Despite this ambiguity regarding the true sense of the word ivri, Cassuto’s novel understanding offers us some valuable homiletical insights. Whatever the specific different halakhot may be regarding the treatment of Jewish slaves versus gentile slaves, it is clear that there is a strong humanitarian sense underlying the Torah’s treatment of slaves of whatever origin. In the civilizations that surrounded or interacted with Israel, this humanitarian sense is completely absent. As Martin Goodman remarks regarding slaves in the Roman Empire, “[A] a slave was property in the same sense that animals were property.” [5] Understanding the term ivri as Cassuto does, God’s choice to begin His instruction of civil and criminal law with the treatment of humanity’s least fortunate indicates His ethical priorities. We would be wise to imitate God and share those priorities, as well.

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[1] Translation is my own.

[2] Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus, (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1967), 265.

[3] Devarim 23:20

[4] ibid., Koren Tanakh translation.

[5] Martin Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem (New York: Knopf, 2007), 237.

Parshat Yitro: Exuberant Practicality

BY: ARIELLA NEWBERGER

This week’s parsha is named for one of the Torah’s most beloved figures. Though Yitro himself was not an Israelite (rabbinic opinions vary on this), he immediately and jubilantly praised Hashem, the G-d of Israel, above all other gods when he heard of the miracles surrounding the Israelites’ Exodus from Egypt:

And Yitro rejoiced for all the good which G-d had done to Israel; that He had delivered them from the hand of the Egyptians. And Yitro said: ‘Blessed is G-d who has delivered you from the hand of the Egyptians and from the hand of Pharaoh; who has saved the nation from beneath the hand of the Egyptians. Now I know that G-d is greater than all other gods, because of what had been dealt against them.’ [i]

Yitro followed these extolling verses with sacrifices to Hashem, described as olah and zevachim.[ii] These types of offerings are later commanded by the Torah to be given in the Tabernacle and the Temple, thus leading to a rabbinic dispute concerning the timing of this episode – whether it took place before or after receiving the Torah.[iii] No matter the actual chronology of Yitro’s visit, the Torah’s pshat (simple) indication of the timing serves an important literary function.

The passage describing Yitro’s visit to the Israelites’ desert encampment straddles a crucial area of the Exodus narrative and beautifully mirrors the role he played in the lives of those he most closely affected – especially his son-in-law, Moshe. His visit is the bridge between the overwhelming miraculous events that took place in Egypt and at Kri’at Yam Suf ( the splitting of the Red Sea), and their subsequent internalization by the people of Israel through mitzvot given to them at the Ma’amad Har Sinai revelation. Yitro’s personal reaction to Hashem’s miracles directly models the logic of the covenant set between Hashem and the Children of Israel immediately following his visit.

            In splitting the waters of the Red Sea for the Israelites and subsequently drowning their pursuers, Hashem effectively set the terms for the covenant between Himself and Israel which is verbalized in the first commandment just after Yitro’s departure. In a statement rather than a command, Hashem opened: “I am the Lord your G-d, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.”[iv] Through establishing this fact, Hashem laid down the reason to observe all the mitzvot that follow, beginning with the second commandment forbidding any form of worship of other gods: “There will be for you no other gods before Me…”[v]

 

            Nachmanides (Girona and Israel, 1194-1270) states in his glosses on Maimonides’ Sefer Hamitzvot that the numerical value of the word Torah, 611, in addition to the number 2, referring to the first two commandments surrounding belief in G-d, adds up to equal the total numerical value of all the tarya”g mitzvot, 613. It is therefore only through the observance of the 613 mitzvot that one might fully actualize their belief in the Torah and their belief in G-d.[vi] It is interesting to note that Yitro’s natural reaction to hearing of Hashem’s miracles, without even experiencing them himself, led him by joyful choice to the same conclusion of faith in G-d. He never personally required any covenant or commandment to do so. In contrast, the Israelites at this time needed outlined for them the logic of how their salvation leads to an expectation of worship in their covenant with Hashem.

            In another part of his visit, Yitro serves as a logical third party through which complex problems are boiled down to simple truths and concrete solutions. The Torah states that Moshe at this time would ‘sit in judgment’ of B’nei Yisrael. Of B’nei Yisrael it states that they ‘sought Hashem’ from dawn until dusk[vii], seeming to indicate a role of pedagogy on the part of Moshe in addition to that of exacting justice. If one were to presume the pshat timeline were accurate, it is understandable that this scenario would take place before the giving of the Torah; that the people of Israel were overwhelmed by what they witnessed in Egypt and at the Red Sea and wanted to further seek G-d but did not know how. They would therefore come as individuals to Moshe in order to do so. Moshe also frankly does not seem to know at this time how to transmit what he knows of G-d to the people in any practical fashion. 

            Along came Yitro and recognized that this was all too much for one man to do alone. He advised Moshe to set up a system of judges and to empower these layers of entrusted leadership to educate and adjudicate over groups of tens, groups of fifties, groups of hundreds and groups of thousands among the Israelites. Only unresolved cases would come to Moshe himself.[viii] Yitro is thus responsible for setting up a practicable system of pedagogy and justice that served and continues to serve as a model for generations beyond.

            Yitro is a model of both how to process and how to respond practically to overwhelming circumstances. He joyfully internalized Hashem’s miracles as proof that He is God above all others – not quite monotheism, but on the way – thereby giving us a model of a personal choice approach to covenant. He also understood the realistic limits of a single leader and created a systematized approach based on trust, transmission and education. 

May we all seek to emulate Yitro’s enthusiasm, positivity and practicality in our individualized approaches to faith in Hashem, the practice of Judaism and the way we live our lives beyond.

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[i] Exodus 18:9-11. Translations of the verses from Exodus are my own.

[ii] Exodus 18:12.

[iii] Babylonian Talmud, Masekhet Zevachim, 116a.

[iv] Exodus 20:2.

[v] Exodus, 20:3-6.

[vi] Sefer HaMitzvot of the Rambam, Mitzva 207.

[vii] Exodus 18:13-16.

[viii] Exodus 18:17-23.

Parshat Beshalach: Difficult Freedom

BY: JOSH HALPERN 

 Awe-inspired by the drama of the ten plagues, the Jewish people leave Egypt in a euphoric frenzy. Yet, with the Egyptian army in pursuit from the rear and the Sea of Reeds serving as a barrier in the front, the Jews want nothing more than to return to slavery and its guaranteed psychological and material security. Thus, the people call to Moses in desperation: “Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt? Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, saying, ‘Let us be, and we will serve the Egyptians, for it is better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness?’”[1]

Despite painful memories of persecution, the Israelites go “berserk” and long for slavery but ultimately, find salvation in divine intervention. Come Passover, Chazal obligate every Jew to internalize and “re-experience” this perplexing and miraculous narrative. The predicament of the modern Jew when confronted with this expectation is twofold: first, within the narrative itself, the fickleness of Jewish people in their commitment to God seems utterly irrational in light of the endless miracles God performs in Egypt. Second, the perpetually tyrannized, exilic Jew has drawn from a deep basin of shared experience in order to empathize with ancient Israel’s affliction. Yet, to the modern Jew, enjoying the benefits of democracy, the experience of subjugation is a foreign one and a closed chapter in Jewish history. In the eyes of modern man, the war against slavery has long been won! Therefore, I turn to the humanistic (and quasi-existential) psychology of Erich Fromm to breathe fresh life into the Israelite struggle for freedom. 

While under Egyptian rule, the Israelite’s experience never extended beyond the confines of the pyramid he was ordered to construct. As long as the Jewish slave proved healthy enough to work, he found his niche in the stability and consistency of social hierarchy. Sustenance, housing, and employment were all provided and practically predetermined, severely limiting the range of Israelite freedom. In apotheosizing the authoritarian rule and bowing subserviently, the Jew was offered a haven from the “perils of uncertainty.” Thus, the abolition of Israelite slavery threatened the Israelite’s security and self-conception. In an analysis of the breakdown of the medieval hierarchy, Fromm cuts to the crux of the freed slave’s psychic experience:

[Man] is freed from those ties which used to give him security and a feeling of belonging. Life has ceased to be lived in a closed world… the world has become limitless and at the same time threatening. By losing his fixed place in a closed world man loses the answer to the meaning of life; the result is that doubt has befallen him concerning himself and the aim of life.[2]

Rocked in the psychological cradle of slave labor, the Jew was subservient to the Egyptian monarchy. However, via the plagues, God exposes the flimsiness of the Egyptian empire’s social structure thereby undermining the source of Jewish security. In shattering Egyptian authoritarianism, God conveys to the world that they must dispose of the inequalities deriving from social hierarchies.

Yet when confronted with a choice between the uncertainty of ethical freedom and a security lying at the lowest rung of the social ladder, Jewish autonomy disintegrates. Fromm eloquently depicts the tragedy of the desert Jew: “Evil is man’s loss of himself in the tragic attempt to escape the burden of his humanity,” [3] Fearing the multitude of psychological and material challenges inherent in the experience of freedom, Israel commits an act of “evil” in longing for slavery (in their minds a “paradise lost”). Israel’s desire to return to their preexisting hierarchy is a dramatic attempt to regress existentially to a state of “pre-individualism”. In Fromm’s terminology, the regression is labeled as an incestuous symbiosis, where “the symbiotically attached person is a part and parcel of the ‘host’ person. He cannot live without that person, and if the relationship is threatened he feels extremely anxious and frightened.”[4] The fundamental psychological tendency underlying this phenomenon is man’s desire to completely shed his individuality and the responsibility it entails. The “crime” of the enslaved Israelite was that he evaded individuality by lodging his self-definition firmly in the pyramid of an Egyptian hierarchy. 

Liberation from the hierarchy has brought the Israelite to the bank of the Sea of Reeds, and presented him with freedom’s most fundamental challenge – an absolute choice: to take the plunge into the abyss of an unpredictable freedom or to passively submit to Egyptian rule. In the mind of the Israelite, the desert journey symbolizes freedom’s inherent mystery. Fear of the unknown subsumes Israel, and once again God extends “supernatural benefits” to his adolescent people in splitting the sea. 

Further, the splitting of the sea and the Israelites’ passage through it can be interpreted through the prism of Fromm’s thought. In Frommian psychology, incestuous symbiosis finds its purest form in the mother-child relationship. The mother’s relationship to the child during pregnancy, the apex of a mother’s symbiotic attachment to her child, and the raising of the child is defined by the tension between dependency and cultivation of a child’s autonomy. The passage through the Yam Suf symbolizes the beginning of Israel’s “rebirth” and severance of their symbiotic tie to Egypt. The need for God’s undying unilateral grace and the constant complaints and spiritual shortcomings of the wanderers in the desert indicate to the reader that Israel has failed to mature into a free and independent people and undo the imprints of slavery. 

Yet, while the desert wanderers failed to shed their slave mentality, servitude has sensitized the historical Jewish community to the dehumanizing pain underlying subjugation to the other. Fromm’s methodology points to man’s insecurity and fear of change as the psychological foundation upon which the societal hierarchy rests. In an attempt to marginalize human freedom and potential change, the hierarchy predetermines man’s social function. Man begins to view a contingent social construct as an absolute structure upon which man’s very self-definition is reliant. Only after reflecting on the miseries born from the deification of a social convention can the Israelite begin to realize the biblical ideal of freedom and the ambiguities entailed. Rabbi David Hartman offers the modern Jew a penetrating perspective on Exodus and its relevance: “The Exodus and the desert signify that only after the total need for unilateral grace and miracle has been left behind is the community ready to enter the Promised Land and begin to face the responsibility of building a covenantal society.”[5] Throughout the seder, one’s slave mentality must be shed and the covenantal responsibility for mankind internalized. Thus, the individual Jew must free himself from the clutches of dependency and make a choice: will he strengthen his self-conception by embracing the building process of moral development, or will he stifle himself with the security of indifference? 

An afterthought-

The modern Jew can relive the experience of national Exodus in reflecting upon collective Halakhik Judaism as it stands today. One must ask him or herself: does the halakha keep pace with the historical process of freedom and continue to oppose the inequalities within Orthodoxy and beyond it? Or have exile and fear of extinction driven the Orthodox community to stagnate and deify the halakha, losing sight of the ethical telos driving the legal process? In Towards Historic Judaism, Eliezer Berkovitz powerfully asserts the latter: “The rigidity and inflexibility of Judaism, as it has been handed down to us since the conclusion of the Talmud, is not of the essence of Judaism.”[6] While Exodus begins the long and tumultuous ascent toward freedom and equality, it is ultimately contingent upon the Jewish community of today to actively realize halakha’s ethical directive.

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[1] Exodus 14: 11-12 

[2] Fromm, Eric. Escape From Freedom, 80.

[3] Fromm, Eric. The Heart of Man, 148.

[4] Ibid. 104. 

[5] Rabbi David Hartman. The Living Covenant, 272

[6] Eliezer Berkovitz. Towards Historic Judaism, 30.

Parshat Bo: Bound In Memory

BY: MARCI BAYER

Parashat Bo details one of the most defining narratives of the Jewish people: their Exodus from Egypt. It describes the last three and most dramatic makkot (plagues), the laws regarding the Pesach offering, the laws regarding the holiday of Pesach, and the laws detailing God’s decree to redeem all first born children and animals within the nation. After all of these commandments instituted to remember the miracles that Hashem performed for his people the last line of the parasha says, “And it shall be for you a sign on your arm and a reminder between your eyes—so that Hashem’s Torah may be in your mouth—for with a strong hand Hashem removed you from Egypt.”[1]

            Rashbam, a French Tosafist (c.1085-1158), says that this pasuk merely connotes a remembrance: the people should constantly remember that they were taken out of Egypt and to follow the Torah. As such, they are commanded to place a physical reminder on their bodies[2]. Rashbam does not argue that this verse is the source of a commandment like his grandfather, Rashi. Rashi (France,1040-1105)writes that this is the source for the mitzvah of tefillin (phylacteries) - ceremonial objects containing certain biblical verses worn each day by Jewish men during prayer[3]. If Rashi’s interpretation is correct, then that begs the question: what does Yetziat Mitzraim, the Exodus from Egypt, have to do with tefillin? Why does the Torah place this commandment (if one does view it as a commandment) directly following such a dramatic narrative? If the two are linked, why would the Jewish people have to remember Yetziat Mitzraim every day?

            Many parshanim (commentators) discuss this question. Sefer HaChinuch (anonymous, 13th century Spain) working off of the Ramban (Spain and Israel, 1194-1270) says that Yetziat Mitzraim was the moment that the Jewish people achieved true emunah (belief in God). They saw His Oneness in the open miracles that were performed, truly showing them that all other gods were empty despite the practices of the other nations of the world. Hashem, as a jealous God, commanded them to remember this revelation everyday of their lives; They are to physically wear their memory of the event on their arms and heads as a sign of the commandments they must perform to always follow in His ways.

            A broader answer to this question is discussed by Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (Germany,1808 – 1888). He contends that Yetziat Mitzraim was the defining moment in Jewish history when God made the Jewish people His. He led them out of a land where they were enslaved and formed them into a nation of their own. With a strong hand He performed incredible miracles for them and they owed everything to him. The tefillin, worn every day, are a reminder of who they are and to whom their lives are dedicated. This knowledge informs their actions and thoughts, “to symbolize both our remembering and realizing the implications of the redemption and also giving up our hands to the result of the redemption, our belonging to God.”

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[1] Artscroll translation. Shemot, 13:16.

[2] Rashbam, Mikraot Gedolot. ibid., 13:16.

[3] Rashi, Mikraot Gedolot .ibid., 13:16.