Temple Torat Yisrael

It is hardly an astonishing assertion to state that this week's פָרָשָה / parashah / Torah Reading marks a turning point in the relationship between God and b'nai yisrael / the progeny of Israel.  It is in Yitro that Moshe will climb the heights of Sinai and return with luchot hab'rit / the tablets of the law.  The brit / the covenant between God and Israel is forged at this moment.

This moment of the revelation of the Torah is not the first time that Moshe has experienced unique, intense communications from and, indeed, conversations with God.  From the opening chapters of the book of Sh'mot / Exodus, with the iconic moment of the burning bush, God and Moshe are in almost constant communication.

This moment of revelation of the Torah is, however, the very first time that Israel experiences revelation as a community.  The passages of this week's parasha relate: "And Moses said to the people, 'Don't be afraid, because God is coming for the purpose of testing you and for the purpose that His awe will be on your faces so that you won't sin.'  And the people stood at a distance, and Moses went over to the nimbus where God was.  And Adonay said to Moses, 'You shall say this to the children of Israel:  You have seen that I have spoken with you from the skies.  You shall not make gods of silver with me, and you shall not make gods of gold for yourselves...In every place where I'll have My name commemorated, I'll come to you and bless you.'" (Sh'mot/Exodus 20: 17-20)

As our tradition developed from sacrifice-centric Israelite biblical religion to the halachah / Jewish law- based rabbinic Judaism we practice today, the centrality of community has been a consistent and treasured dynamic of our people.  There are so many elements of Judaism that guide us into community:  We need 10 adult Jews to conduct a service.  We need 10 adult Jews to read from the Torah scrolls.  We need a cemetery, which only a community can maintain.  We need kosher food, which requires a critical mass of Jews to sustain.  We welcome a new child into the world as a minyan, representing the entire Jewish people embracing this new child as one of "ours."  When one of our community passes away, we surround the mourners and help them bury their dead, we sit with them for a week (during shiva) and make sure they have company, meals and community support to say kaddish.

"In every place where I'll have My name commemorated, I'll come to you and bless you."  What does "commemorating God's name mean?"  I'd say it means standing together as a minyan, as a community, an uttering words that we cannot utter as individuals.  It is through Jewish community that we thrive.  It is almost impossible to sustain Jewish life in isolation:  we need education, we need the spiritual and emotional support of those who share that brit/covenant with us.

"In every place where I'll have My name commemorated, I'll come to you and bless you."  I've often said that our Jewish community is a blessing.  This revelation of God's confirms just that:  it is through Jewish community that we find blessing:  the blessing of God's presence, the blessing of each other's presence.

I am wishing all my Torat Yisrael members a warm "Shabbat Shalom" now because I will not be in Rhode Island this Shabbat.  For four years, I have enjoyed the privilege (and I really mean "enjoyed") of mentoring senior rabbinical students at The Jewish Theological Seminary of America (JTS).

The Legacy Heritage Foundation wanted to address the struggles of many tiny Jewish congregations around the United States and crafted a unique Fellowship program which grants funding to a select group of senior rabbinical students at JTS the opportunity to provide rabbinic leadership to congregations too small to sustain even a part-time rabbi on their own.  By definition, these students are working in congregations in which there is no rabbi in the community to provide guidance, serve as a sounding board, make helpful suggestions.  That's where I come in.  As a mentor, I speak with my rabbinical students as they prepare for their monthly visits to their congregations, I debrief them afterwards and help them process their experiences.

As a mentor, I also spend one Shabbat a year with each of my students so I can see for myself how they "present" on the pulpit, how they interact with the members of their communities, what teaching skills they  are mastering. 

So I will be in Reno, Nevada for Shabbat sitting in the back of the sanctuary taking mental notes about one of my very intelligent, creative, energetic and inspiring students.

This is a great Shabbat for me to be with Zach.  Not necessarily because Reno weather is better than East Greenwich weather (although it will be a few degrees warmer) but because our parashah/Torah reading this week begins with a short illustration of successful collaborative leadership.  Which is most certainly an approach that new rabbis should learn to appreciate.

At the beginning of Chapter 7 of Sh'mot/Exodus, towards the middle of the parashah, God, Moses and Aaron are gathered in a strategy session.  The goal is to extricate the Israelites from Egyptian slavery and to unequivocally prove to Pharaoh that the God of the Israelites is so universal a God, that the distance between the Israelite God's "home turf" of Canaan means nothing.  Geographical boundaries, prior claims of local pre-eminence by local Egyptian gods all count as nothing when the God of Israel is roused to redeem Israel.

God says: "You [Moses] shall speak everything that I command you; and Aaron, your brother, shall speak to Pharaoh, that he let the children of Israel go . . . and I'll harden Pharaoh's heart, and I'll multiply My signs and wonders . . . and Egypt will know that I am Adonay when I reach out My hand on Egypt, and I'll bring out the children of Israel from among them."   

According to our tradition, Moses will become the progenitor of the rabbinic role and Aaron became the progenitor of the Kohanim, the priestly caste.  At this pre-exodus moment though, they are learning how to work as a team: the vision conveyed by Moses is as crucial to the success of the effort as is the polished oration of Aaron.  The only way to move Pharaoh and to fill the children of Israel with the confidence to leave the familiar role of slavery is for the leadership to communicate well with each other, share a vision, and then to continually communicate and share with the people themselves.   Each brings strengths and gifts and shortcomings to the role of leader and it is only by working together that their strengths are elevated and their shortcomings diminished.  

Mountains can be moved with that kind of mutual respect and team work.

This week's parasha/Torah portion includes a passage that has become iconic for all people engaged in a relationship with God, and that has particular significance for those of us in the Conservative/Masorti denomination of Judaism.  

In the biblical account of this moment, Moshe is shepherding the flock of his father-in-law Yitro/Jethro in Midian.  Out in the middle of nowhere, Moshe is drawn to an astonishing sight:
"And an angel of God appeared to him in a fire's flame from inside a bush.  And he looked, and here: the bush was not consumed!  And Moses said, 'Let me turn and see this great sight.  Why doesn't the bush burn!?'" (Shmot/Exodus 3:2-3)

Back in the 15th chapter of Breishit/Genesis, in the evocative moment of covenant between God and Avram, we are first introduced to the association of God's presence with flame:  "And the sun was setting, and there was darkness, and here was an oven of smoke and a flame of fire that went between the pieces [of animals, echoing an ancient near-eastern treaty ceremony].  In that day, God made a covenant with Avram...." (Breishit/Genesis 15:17-18)

This same association will recur as God guides the progeny of Israel through the wilderness with a column of cloud by day and a column of fire by night.

In our parashah this week, the connection is firmly established: "And God saw that he turned to see. And God called to him from inside the bush, and He said:  'Moshe, Moshe.'
And he said: 'I'm here.'"  (Sh'mot/Exodus 3:4)

How can we interpret this intense image of the bush that is not consumed?  God's presence is the flame and the bush represents our world: rooted in the earth, organic and mortal.  As God's presence infuses the earthly bush, the bush is illuminated, elevated, enlivened . . . but it is not burned up even when filled with God's presence.  Here is an irresistible image of encouragement for those seeking to engage God in the real world . . . which is precisely the passion of Conservative Judaism: living in the real, modern, multi-faceted world informed by the wisdom of Jewish tradition and a passion for finding God around us.

Those who established our Conservative movement over a century ago, turned to this same iconic image of the burning bush to express their conviction that their evolving approach to Jewish life in America would similarly embody the eternity and passion and symbiosis of the burning bush.  Indeed, a beautiful relief of that image adorns the front of the Jewish Theological Seminary building . . . which is the photograph on the left below.

As you can see, the theme of the flame, associated with God's presence and the light of Torah, is a consistent theme in the logos of our movement's major organizations.  This week's parashah is "home base" for those of us who consider ourselves Conservative/Masorti Jews.

When I return to our "home base" image of the burning bush, I am recharged by the promise of that image:  I am reminded again that God's presence is not only inextricably part of Creation, of that organic, mortal world I inhabit, but that the fact of God's presence is meant to generate heat and light.  The heat of passion for my people and my tradition.  The light of Torah as cast by God.

Parashat Vaera                                              Torah Reading:  Exodus 6:2-9:35

If I were to write a subtitle for this week's parashah / Torah reading, it would be:  "This Isn't as Easy as It Looks."

We are familiar with the phenomenon of Moses's self-doubt:  Three chapters ago, at the iconic moment at the burning bush, God described the mission that will shape the rest of Moses's life.  Moses's immediate response was:  "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should bring out the children of Israel from Egypt?" (Sh'mot/Exodus 3:11)

God's response is: "I will be with you."  In other words, "don't worry, you've got the ultimate team leader to guide you, to inspire you.  I've got your back."

And off Moses goes, back to Egypt.

At the opening of this week's Torah reading, God presents Moses with his first script.  Tell the Israelites:  "I am Adonay.  And I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob . . . and I established My covenant with them, to give them the Land of Canaan . . . and I shall take you to Me as a people, and I shall become your God, and you'll know that I am Adonay, your God, who is bringing you out from under Egypt's burdens. . . . " (6:3,4,7)

Do you know what happens when Moses delivers the message?
"...they did not listen to Moses. . ." (6:9)  And although you'd think God would have followed the conversation, Moses reports back:  Here, the children of Israel didn't listen to me, and how will Pharaoh listen to me?!" (6:12) 

And sure enough, armed with a repertoire of wonders, besting Pharaoh's magicians trick for trick, Moses and Aaron present God's message:
"And Pharaoh's heart was strong, and he did not listen to them--as Adonay had spoken."  (7:13)

In preparing Moses, and Aaron, for their leadership roles in this enterprise of extracting the Israelites from Egyptian slavery, God has prepared the brothers for Pharaoh's resistance. 

But, from the evidence of the text itself it seems as though the Israelite resistance to God's message is a surprise.  We might assume that a bona fide message by a hand-picked messenger would carry a lot of weight.  That has to be the ultimate confidence-booster for the person delivering the message.  And yet, neither the Israelites, nor Pharaoh, listen to Moses.

Credibility is a tremendous issue when it comes to leadership.  This week's Torah reading sheds light on a number of issues relating to leaders, their message and who listens to them.

We come to understand that even a human being armed with the greatest truth in the world feels self-doubt when the moment of standing in the spotlight arrives.

We come to understand that it is crucial to understand the reality of the people who are meant to take in the message.

We come to understand that it is much easier to dismiss a not-readily understood message than to stretch to understand it.

There should have been no greater natural alliance than that of Moses and the Israelites, joined together by their relationship to the God of their ancestors and bound to each other by the goal of leaving Egyptian slavery behind them.

Moses and God missed one crucial step:  taking the time to build trust.  God has a history with this people: "I am Adonay.  And I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob . . . and I established My covenant with them, to give them the Land of Canaan . . . " but this generation does not know God the way Abraham, Isaac and Jacob did.  Moses has no history with this people:  he was removed from this community at birth and reappears to them speaking like an Egyptian noble.  With 20/20 hindsight, it is easy for us to posit the missing step . . . taking time to build experiences together, learning to speak the same language, building a collective history.

Moses and God might have felt that they didn't have the luxury of time to build that trust . . . there was a small window of opportunity to get the plagues delivered and to redeem the people.  The course of events would, of course, prove that Moses was a credible leader and the truth he delivered was indeed God's truth. 

Those of us who react to a new message by shutting out the message . . . and the messenger . . . might look with some humility at our Israelite ancestors and choose to allow for the possibility that we are being delivered of a truth we had never considered before.