Storahtelling

In the special Torah reading for the Shabbat of Passover, we continue reading about the Passover saga, starting from where the Seder left off: the day after the crossing of the sea.

Dayenu, cry the tired ex-slaves, on their eternal journey to freedom – enough already! But fed by manna, torn by ongoing strife, the children of Israel trudge on through the wilderness on their way home. Except that none of the “children” who left Egypt will actually make it there – their children, the next generation, born in Sinai, will inherit the promise.

This is Faith: Crossing this desert was probably just as much fun as it looks.Residues of how bitterly this story ends for so many are still in our teeth this post-seder morning, along with bits of horseradish and matzah crumbs.

Yes, we won and here we are, but at what price did we obtain freedom? Would they have left Egypt if they knew that they would die in unmarked graves in the middle of nowhere? Given the same opportunity today, would any of us make that sacrifice? Are we capable today of having so much faith in the unknown?

Faith is a big deal in this Passover story. Perhaps that's why our ancient sages chose the "post-golden calf" scenario for the weekly Torah portion that falls on Passover – telling us something about hindsight and perspective, teasing our endless fascination with our futures.

Even Moses, the greatest prophet, is eager to know what's ahead. Moreover, he wants to see the head – the very face of the boss for whom he labors. In a famous passage in Exodus 33 – the bulk of this week's tale – he pleads with the Divine for forgiveness for the cattle - worshipping Hebrews (which is granted, sort of), and then demands to see God.

What follows is a cryptic description of a revelation far more intimate than at Sinai – for most translators treat the event as “God showing Moses God's behind,” quite literally. Some translators surprise us by delving further into this metaphor – addressing the human demand for empirical knowledge that will enhance faith as well as the seemingly Divine reluctance to supply “proof.”

In chapter 33 God instructs Moses to stand inside the cleft of a rock, eyes covered by God's hands, until the following happens:

And I will take away mine hand, and thou shalt see my back parts: but my face shall not be seen (King James Bible 33:23).

Here the translators added a footnote to the word “back”: “As much of my glory as in this mortal life you are able to see.” Most translators render the Hebrew word “achorai" as “God's back parts,” breezing through this shocking striptease without flinching.Michelangelo even depicted the very muscular behind of the Lord on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, two panels away from that famous finger. (How did he get away with that?!) But the traditional Jewish translators simply couldn't bring themselves to portray God as so fundamentally human, and instead translated this verse as allegory:.

The Back of God?: If God were to show his back to Moses, it would probably look something like this.The Aramaic Pseudo Jonathan translation provides one amazing image based on lore: God shows Moses the divine (and possibly feminine) nape, adorned with the leather phylacteries, and Tefilin shel rosh, a blurred vision amid a mob of angels:

"And I will make the host of angels who stand and minister before Me to pass by, and you shall see the edge of the tephillin of My glorious Presence; but the face of the glory of My Presence you can not be able to see. "

Meanwhile Onkelos, the other premiere Aramaic translator, usually quite literal, gets very philosophical:

"And I will take away the word of My Glory, and you shall see that which is after Me, but My Aspect shall not be seen."

There is a lot of hide and seek going on during a Passover seder – broken matzahs traded in for expectations and prizes. But maybe the real hide and seek is more internal, echoed in this mysterious passage. If even the greatest of prophets cannot know the future, what about us mere mortals? Perhaps the search for faith -- for the ultimate proof of God, the possibility of hope in narrow places and hard times, the promise of redemption, something to hold on to during the long way home -- is even more difficult. It may not be much, but for us at Lauviticus Headquarters, seeing God's ass is plenty comforting, and we walk on, single file, all the way to the next part of the story.

Click here for the audio version. 

Click here for the podcast. 

Last week, we ventured into the mysterious terrain of the Leviticus sacrificial cult and its possible modern application. This week, we are delving deeper into the small print of the priestly procedures, focusing on one element that has a lot to do with the upcoming holiday of Passover: the mysterious matzah.

Passover is a product of an elegant evolution. Today it is an elaborate feast, but Passover started around 2,000 years ago as a ceremonial BBQ conducted outdoors under a full moon, with greasy hands, freshly slaughtered lamb and quick words of praise.

Unleavened Only: Jews all over the world wince at the sight of matzah, the no-bread holiday. It's hard to believe that at one time, religious leaders ate matzah year-round.We may have lost the BBQ but we did retain some of the key ingredients, including a carbohydrate much loved, loathed, and possibly lost in translation. What is interesting about this week's Torah episode, Tzav, is that it shows us how matzah was not exclusively reserved for Passover. Rather, matzah was a sacred food associated with priestly privilege and with the boundaries of what is “kosher” or “holy” all year round.

Chapter Six in Leviticus describes the procedure of the “gift offering,” a donation of flour or grain handled by the sons of Aaron, the high priest. Verses Seven and Eight describe what they did with the leftovers:

“What is left of the offering shall be eaten by Aaron and his sons; it shall be eaten as unleavened cakes in the sacred precinct, they shall eat it in the enclosure of the tent of meeting… It shall not be baked with leaven."

The Hebrew word for “unleavened cakes” is “matzot,” translated elsewhere as “bread without yeast,” “unleavened bread,” “flat baked goods” or “holy things.” Basically, it refers to a type of bread that does not undergo the natural process of “rising.” Matzot appear throughout Leviticus – a familiar item for several other sacrificial procedures that have nothing to do with Passover. So how did it become the food that is most strongly associated with this holiday?

We know matzah from the story of the hurried escape from Egypt: it was the original fast food on the run. While this story may be true history or Judeo gastronomic mythology, it is also possible that the practice of eating this symbolic bread existed separately, as a way to honor life's sanctity and promote nutrition.

The priests had to eat the leftover matzot at a specific time and place, much like our modern obligation regarding Passover. Symbolic and still unleavened, this is one tough cracker that made it into history and rose to the top of the Jewish food list – yeast or no yeast. Ultimately, matzah became an icon of potential, of hopeful possibilities yet to come.

Bread Of Taste: Even if matzah is the bread of hope, make sure you fill up on bagels, cookies, and the like before Monday.It is the bread of hope.

This Passover, as you take your first bite of this biblical bread, we invite you to take your time, appreciate the sacredness of the moment, the amazing history of what you are about to ingest, and the transmitted half-baked mystery that helps keep some nights more exciting and special than all others.

Have a delicious and meaningful Passover!

Click here for the audio version.

Click here for the podcast.

Remember when your cell phone ran out of battery when you needed it most? Or worse – your car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Or worse yet – on any given day of overload, you experienced major burn-out? These may seem like modern problems, but they were addressed thousands of years ago. In this week’s Torah episode, Mishpatim (Hebrew for “Laws”) the vital law for anti-burn-out is reiterated, among a motley crew of laws and regulations for kosher (i.e. holistic) living.Are You Working Too Hard?: You should only be doing six days of this, and then you need to recharge.

The one law that grabs our attention is the one that, perhaps, we need the most: how to take time to refresh, recharge, or recreate. These are all synonyms for one mysterious word that appears here in regard to the keeping of the Sabbath – a word that means both the human soul and the action that is required for the ongoing maintenance of the soul. Perhaps somewhere in this linguistic puzzle is a key to sustainable living.

Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest, so that your ox and your donkey may have relief, and your home-born slave and the resident alien may be refreshed (Exodus 23:12, JPS).

The word translated as "refreshed" is the Hebrew word naphash, translated elsewhere as “rest,” “quiet,” “pause,” or “may-pause-for-breath.” The word for “being” here is nephesh, which shares the same root consonants as naphash. Nephesh makes its first appearance in the creation narratives: “And God blew into his nostrils the breath of life and Adam became a living being” (Genesis 2:7). While these Hebrew words are similar, in English, that kinship between “soul” and “rest” disappears.

For modern creatures craving sacred time and effective time management, this word/law suggests the concept of “recreation” – another word that has lost its original definition (re-creation) and now means everything from golf to drugs.Aaaaahhhh...: But even if you can't make it to a beach, you should still find time to pause and refresh your soul.

And so Lauviticus would like to suggest: You will work for six days and on the seventh day have rest, so that your household rests and all who work for you and with you may re-create.

How do you recreate? And is it enough to recharge your batteries?

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

This weekly Torah episode honors Moses’ father-in-law Jethro, who was the High Priest of Midian. (The Midianites were the indigenous people of the Sinai Peninsula). Jethro journeys towards the Hebrew encampment at the foot of the Mountain of God, bringing along the First Family – Zippora and the two sons of Moses. The text does not reveal much about the family reunion, but we are told that Jethro, impressed by the deeds of the Hebrew Deity, proclaims his faith in this new God. Thus many traditions identity Jethro as the first official convert – a Hebrew by Choice. Midian, Jethro's Homeland: Jethro returns to this fertile land after his famous conversion. The Hebrews stay for God's famous declaration.

Choice – choosing and being chosen – is the key motif in this story. Jethro’s personal revelation is a prelude to the big act of the Revelation, which we get live from Mount Sinai, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and thick clouds. The Hebrew people (who were enslaved only chapters ago) are now invited, and possibly commanded, to make the choice of becoming a sacred nation – a God-chosen tribe. But unlike Jethro, who returns to the tents of Midian, the Hebrews are here to stay. Under the billowing mountain they become the Chosen People – a dense, challenging and oddly translated expression appearing here for the first time, verbatim from God:

Exodus 19:5 Now, then, if you will obey Me faithfully and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all the peoples. Indeed, all the Earth is mine (KJV).

The Hebrew word “segula,” translated here as “treasured possession,” is interpreted elsewhere as “special property,” “peculiar treasure,” “unique merit” and “special treasure.” The Pseudo-Jonathan translated it in this way: “you shall be more beloved before Me than all the peoples on the face of the earth.”
Mount Sinai: The site of God's contested proclamation.
“Segula” definitely has legal overtones; it refers to valued property over which "one has exclusive possession." Yet all of our translators struggle with this word that summarizes the binding and conditional covenant. There is much to say about the Chosen People concept and not all of it is positive. The historical “otherness” of the Hebrew tribe that premiers here this week has yielded both pride and painful prejudice. In the 2007 "global village," with anti-semitism (disguised and/or fueled by anti-Zionism) on the rise again, the Chosen issue affects politics, theology, and socio-economic tensions that impact the lives of millions. Can Jewish Identify continue to thrive while deeply examining and deconstructing this notion of an “elite human squad”?

Interestingly, the original Hebrew term does not, in itself, imply either exclusivity or preeminence. A plausible reading is that God cherishes the Hebrews and considers Israel a jewel in the crown of nations – but not the crown itself.

In support of this interpretation of Israel as a special nation with some unique gifts in a world of special nations, we note that the word “segula” may also mean “purple.” Although purple is a famously regal shade, it is only one hue among many, and it is comprised of other colors (red and blue). In the divine palate, a color may be distinct yet not superior to other colors. Maybe we are not the Chosen People – what a relief! Maybe this is just a fashion statement (it is Fashion Week in New York) and not a social boundary. Maybe we’re supposed to be known as The Purple People?
The Divine Palette: Purple is pretty, but there are lots of cool colors in the wheel. Are the Jews the Chosen People, or just one of many "special" nations?
Either way, this is one of those Biblical cases where the translation process becomes an opportunity for us to boldly explore how our past and present meet to create a better future. Parents and bosses know how challenging it can be to articulate the value of their children or colleagues without making invidious comparisons. Where in your family or workplace do you struggle with the concept of “value” or the word “special,” and how do you remind each person of his or her unique place?

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

This week, in the portion called “B’Shalach,” the great escape known as the Exodus continues, and the Hebrew runaways wade in the waters of the Sea of Reeds. (It is not the “Red Sea” – that is also one of the most infamous mistranslations in biblical history.)Sea of Reeds: The Hebrews flee from fish and Egyptians as they cross the Sea of Reeds.

No matter what you imagine the Exodus to be – historical, mythical, both or neither – the powerful image of a mass of humans fleeing towards freedom while being chased by soldiers is painfully familiar, as we see this today in war-torn areas worldwide. Like many modern attempts to personalize the stories of mass migrations, we focus on the plight of individuals, capturing the image of one person or one family. Sometimes intimate details can most effectively portray the bigger, often incomprehensible tales of our lives.

In this story, we focus on one word which describes what the Hebrews brought along on their journey, and/or who they left behind.

Exodus 13:18: “But God led the people about, by the way of the wilderness by the Red Sea; and the children of Israel went up armed out of the land of Egypt” (JPS Bible).

The Hebrew word “chamushim” is most often translated as “armed,” “harnessed,” “equipped for battle,” or “bearing weapons.” Though many Jews today carry weapons (I’m thinking of Israeli soldiers but also Sandra Froman, the new president of the NRA – a Jewish woman!), Bible readers prior to 1948 may have found this concept startling. But weapons may not have been the only things that they carried. Later in the story, after they cross the sea, Miriam leads the people in song, accompanied by drums. It is comforting to know that our ancestral runaways packed musical instruments, and not just weapons (and matza), for the road. Music Comforts the Hebrews on their Journey: They may have brought weapons, but they packed instruments, too.

But there is another way to translate the word “chamushim.” It could also be derived from the word for the number five: “chamesh.” Many Jewish commentaries and translators use this translation, suggesting that the Hebrews were divided into groups of five. For example, the Pseudo-Jonathan translates the verse this way: “…and every one of the sons of Israel left Egypt, with five children each."

The 11th century commentator Rashi, who quotes Rabbinic sources, has another interpretation: “Only one of five Hebrews left Egypt, while the other four, who refused to leave, died during the three days of darkness.”

According to this version, the Hebrews are not leaving with weapons, they are leaving in diminished numbers. How many preferred to stay behind in familiar territory, even if death awaited them? How many chose to leap into the unknown?

One of out five, or groups of five, with weapons and with drums, the heroes and heroines of this ancient journey sing their way across the Sea of Reeds, discover Manna, thirst for water, and win their first battle, all within four chapters. Next stop: Mount Sinai.

What do we pack for our own journeys across the threshold of new possibilities? And what or who, this time around, do we leave behind?

 

This past Monday marked Martin Luther King Jr. Day, honoring a courageous leader whose passionate sacrifice and prophetic speeches shaped an Exodus from the bondage of racism, offering dignity and freedom to an entire nation. Imagine a leader of such proportions and scope—with a heavy speech impediment. What if he or she has a stutter or the inability to make a coherent sentence? Oh well, yes, there is that man in the White House, but we mean real leaders, agents of prophetic change whose deeds and words motivate revolutions. How much of their power is derived form oratory ability?

Moses, the hero of the ancient Exodus, is famously known for just such a challenge. In this week’s Torah Episode, Va’Era, he continues to struggle against the mission that has been given to him at the burning bush: to free his people. In the second round of negotiations with the surprising deity with the ancient Hebrew resonance and new, unfamiliar name, Moses resists the role by claming that his lips are, literally, sealed—preventing him from delivering the Divine word to the King of Egypt.

The saga of Moses’ reluctance to accept this historic mantle is interesting enough, but what really grabs the translators’ attention is the idiom he uses for his inadequacy, somehow linking lips to penis, and body to national identity.

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

In the second round of negotiations with the invisible Deity, Moses resists the role by claiming that his lips are, literally, sealed - covered by a foreskin. He is speaking figuratively, of course, but what can this mean? That his lips that have not been denatured through a covenantal act, have not been dedicated to Divine service? That they have not been stripped of the covering of Egyptian, the language of his upbringing?

Translators have wrestled with this disclaimer in numerous ways:

Exodus 6:12, according to the King James Bible:
And Moses spake before the LORD, saying, Behold, the children of Israel have not hearkened unto me; how then shall Pharaoh hear me, who am of uncircumcised lips? (KJV)

Other translations replace “uncircumcised lips” with “impeded speech” (Etz Chayim), “difficulty of speech” ( Pseudo Jonathan) or “sealed lips” (Artscroll), creatively addressing the words AREL S’FTAIM as metaphor for what is otherwise a really peculiar physical condition. The word AREL is usually read as “uncircumcised, derived from the primitive root”: “to strip” or “to expose.”

So what's going on, Moses? Are you uncut and unsuitable or just not cut out for the job? Does your reluctance to be recruited for this campaign express itself in a stammering stage fright? Did you press a burning coal to your lips as an infant, as legends tell, so that you are forever marked and scarred? Did your infancy as a hidden child traumatize you, the maternal finger ever pressed over your lips to keep you quiet? Perhaps all of the above.

And the best we can do as translators is to offer our own: tongue tied, speechless, Moses refuses the nomination and prefers to stay where it’s familiar, back with the sheep.

Perhaps his progress shows us how personal limitations—real or perceived—can be made into advantages, transforming self and society in surprising and inspiring ways. Perhaps, too, his story reminds us of how important it is to have leaders who know their own weaknesses and find partners who can help them lead. After all, Moses' protests convince the Almighty to add a speechwriter and official spokesman to the Exodus Campaign: Aaron, the original translator or Divine Word.

Next week: Join the reluctant hero and his sidekick for the fight to freedom...frogs and all.

This week, Lauviticus welcomes you to the second of the five books, known to us as Exodus, but in Hebrew known as Shemot, the book of names. Exodus/Shemot takes us beyond the primal myths of Genesis into the socio-political reality of oppression, racism, poverty, human suffering and human hope, and ultimately towards the creation of a community bound by faith, ritual, and order.

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

The seed of this transformation is located in the prophetic myth of Moses, and in this week's telling of his heroic and humble beginning. His birth and that of countless other babies are described as a "swarming," implying a superabundant force. In the face of this prolific fertility, Pharaoh enslaves the Hebrews and issues an edict sentencing infant boys to death. Initially he employs the midwives as his instrument of enforcement, but they do not comply. Confronted, they reply with the verse we focus on this week:

The midwives said to Pharaoh, "Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous. Before the midwife can come to them, they have given birth." Exodus 1:19. Etz Chayim Translation

The Hebrew word in question here is CHAYOT – translated as either VIGOROUS or LIVELY (King James Bible), EXPERTS (Artscroll) or ANIMALS ( Richard Friedman's translation)

All these translations are valid, though seeing the women as animals who do not need midwives for birthing is perhaps the most challenging. Translating chayot as "animals" may be the best way the mid-wives know to explain to Pharaoh that their hands are tied: “You know these Hebrew women, they are like animals.” Cover story? Or racial slur?

But another way to read this verse is that the Hebrew women are ALIVE – full of life, zest, fight and determination. They are not degraded by their circumstances but powerful in their sacred duty of birthing the future. (Anyone seen the recent film Children of Men? It’s a powerful reminder of the awe-some and awe-full experience of birth.)

The classic Aramaic translator, knows as the Pseudo-Jonathan, took this approach as well. In his rendition of Exodus 1:19 he translates CHAYOT in a way that makes the mothers seems as heroines, not victims:

The Jewish women are not as the Egyptian, for they are sturdy and wise-minded: before the midwife comes to them they lift up their eyes in prayer, supplicating mercy before their Father who is in heaven, who hears the voice of their prayer, and at once they are heard, and bring forth, and are delivered in peace.

And so Lauviticus would like to suggest:

The Hebrew Women are not like their governing Egyptian sisters – for they are full of LIFE; The Divine is their midwife.

What, in your life, is so full of life and vitality, that against all odds, it will just burst out and change the world?

Shabbat shalom!

The December Dilemma—red and green versus blue and white—may be a new narrative for American Jews, but is actually, in some form, as old as the Bible. This week in the Lauvicus Blog, a deeper look at intermarriage and assimilation as Joseph marries an Egyptian princess and gets a new and perplexing name. Assimilation, right or wrong, is what this Hebrew man, newly named, brings to the table this holiday season.

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

Welcome back to the weekly installment of the Torah, verse per verse. These winter months it's all about Joseph (NOT Mary's man—his ancestor), the hero of the weekly Torah saga. In this week's episode, MIKETZ, we encounter a 30 years old man, freshly out of prison, summoned to the royal court to analyze the King's disturbing dreams. Very pre Freud, and very Cinderella-like, Joseph is propelled from prisoner to courtier within a matter of minutes, or verses, based on his uncanny talent of dream analysis.

Joseph's talent is favored by the king, who bestows honors: a new wardrobe(!), an Egyptian wife, a new job, and a new name. In previous explorations of this hero's journey we examined Joseph's garment and the meanings of its many changes, but the transformation here is even more radical: with one royal command, Joseph becomes an Egyptian. His new name is what particularly grabs our attention:

And Pharaoh called Joseph's name Zaphenath-paneah; and he gave him to wife Osnat the daughter of Poti-phera priest of On. And Joseph emerged in charge of the land of Egypt (Genesis 41:45 JPS)

The new naming places Joseph in the name-change convention that we made particular note of in our exploration of his younger brother Benjamin. But this time the name is not Hebrew to Hebrew, but Hebrew to Egyptian. Joseph is called Zaphnath-paaneah. Most translators merely transliterate the word, some try to figure out what it might have meant in archaic Egyptian. The Fox translation names him 'The God Speaks and He Lives.' The pseudo-Jonathan's is 'The man who reveals mysteries'. Some Medieval commentaries such as Maimonidies , on the other hand, think the name is Hebrew-derived, suggesting it means 'he who explains what is hidden'. Lauvitiucs would like to suggest: 'And the King renamed him: 'Know-It-All' and wed him to Osnat, the dauther of the Priest of On, PotiPehra, and a new ruler rose over Egypt.'

The long and the short of it is that Joseph, perhaps the archetype of the assimilated Jew, takes an Egyptian wife, an Egyptian name, and functions in a position of power in a culture not his own. Some see him as the ultimate court Jew who can be accused of a willing suppression of his outsiderness for the sake of safety and prosperity. Yet, like Queen Esther, Joseph, for whatever reasons and by whatever means, is just where he needs to be to rescue family and clan. Does his new name hint at a deeper meaning for what it's like to be a stranger in a strange land with super powers both honored and suspected?

Perhaps his cryptic new name suggests a function and an attribute that will have bearing on the lives of his descendents, assimilated Jews in many countries, for generations to come. Accused for being too smart, too rich, or too engaged in world politics, 'know-it-all' Jews, public or not, like Joseph himself, will reap the benefits and pay the price for analyzing the dreams and wishes of leaders and mobs worldwide.

But apart from world politics and the tricky role of Jews in history,
Joseph represents the inner voice that helps us analyze our dreams and plan our future. Who in your life, this time of year, is the voice that best serves your needs for clarity, vision, dream, a brighter future?

Bright Lights, Shabbat Shalom, Sweet Dreams

Lauviticus

 

 

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

This week, The Lauviticus Consortium of Scribes is delighted to welcome Julie Seltzer of the Storahtelling Tribe as a contributing Scribe! Thank you for your juicy contribution on the truth below the garb!

‘Tis the season for bundling up, dressing fancy and going to parties – but this week’s Storah peek is actually at what it’s like to be naked – as naked as truth. There seems to be a distinct link between the craving for lavish costumes and the need to unwrap the cover-up, and go behind the mask to reveal the hidden. Last week’s Torah tale featured the birth of Benjamin, and this week we are fully focused on his brother – the one famous for a coat of many colors, AND for what he had going elsewhere. A brief recap of the Genesis Saga brings us to VaYeshev – the tragic telling of how Jacob tried to settle down quietly in Canaan, only to discover that his beloved son and spiritual heir, Joseph, is reported missing, presumed dead, with only a bloody coat to serve as witness.

While Jacob is mourning, Joseph, betrayed by his brothers, is trafficked to Egypt, where he ends up a slave in the house of Potiphar, a courtier of the King. And, while her husband is tending the king, Potiphar’s wife tends to Joseph and tried to de-robe him (Joseph is “well built and handsome” [JPS], “fair of form and fair to look at” [Everett Fox]). She tries the verbal seduction approach before grabbing hold of his garment (in Hebrew: BEGED). Rejected, she then uses this BEGED, this article of clothing, as “evidence” that Joseph tried to rape her, landing the dreamer in jail, again.

Genesis 39:16: "And she placed his garment by her side, until his master came home."

The word BEGED appears here 6 times in 7 verses, forcing special attention to its presence, pointing us to the underlying truth by screaming out, “I’m a lie! Look underneath! Look deeper inside! I’m concealing something!”

One possible clue is found in the root of the word for GARMENT—BGD—exactly the same as the word for BETRAYAL. Joseph’s garment represents an act of betrayal that covers up the truth, just as his robe does when Joseph’s brothers dip it in animal blood to cover up their crime.

The garment as object of betrayal could, perhaps, voice a familiar (if timely) reminder to not get too hung up on the latest fashions. But here too, there’s much than meets the eye. (As if sharing a root with the word for “betray” weren’t enough, the text hints at another layer of meaning: the word BEGED is composed of the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th letters of the alphabet, forming a mirror image of the letters that make up the word “lie,” SHEKER, which are the second-to-last, third-to-last, and fourth-to last letters whereas the letters for “truth,” EMET, form a perfect triangle made up of the first, middle, and last letter of the alphabet.

So what does Joseph’s coat have to offer us at this annual time of its re-appearance? Perhaps a reminder to look deeper than the garment and the outer, and perhaps that we all want to get naked – to get at the naked truth, to fully know ourselves, for others to fully know us, and for us to know them. Even the way we share stories begins with an undressing: we prepare to share our most sacred stories by first removing the garment and revealing the unrolled, naked Torah scroll. Just as the Torah has a protective skin—without which the truth would be too overwhelming to access—we also need clothing for our souls. Though somewhat counterintuitive, creating and presenting ourselves through garment, cover, costume - is a way of accessing and sharing our nakedness.

Every time Joseph’s coat is taken off him, a new destiny and identity awaits him; like a snake, he grows new skin.

What, this time round, is your garment? And what’s between it and your naked truth?

Think about that after lighting the romantically inclined Chanukah Candles.

Merry Sabbath and Happy Holiday of Lights!

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

This has been a wild week in regards to reinterpreting and translating biblical concepts, and we refer of course to the Conservative Movement's wrestling with Ye Ancient Sodomy. History in the making, and translation carefully examined, since the word SODOMY is the creation of Tynedale—the translator resposible for the King James Bible. More about this saga in future –for now we turn to the wrestle of the week.
 
Last week's Torah tale saw the creation of the clan of Jacob and delighted the translator in all of us with the rich punning and wordplay in the names of the sons and daughter – the future tribes of Israel. The mythic process of naming reminds us how a biblical name rests on a root word that can turn a name into a characterization of a people. It is the youngest of the sons, born in this week’s episode, Vayishlach, that catches our eye: little Benjamin.
 
The context: The clan has returned to Canaan. Jacob has wrestled with an unnamed force and become Israel (the most famous of the name changes in the Bible). And right after the reunion with his brother Esau, it is Rachel's turn to give birth for the second and last time:
 

“But as she breathed her last—for she was dying—she named him Ben-oni, but his father called him Benjamin. Thus Rachel died. She was buried on the road to Ephrat—now Bethlehem.” JPS: 35:18

 
In a book where name changes are significant markers, here are two changes that happen so quickly they almost escape notice. One is historical, perhaps political: Ephrat is also known as Bethlehem. The more striking one is the emotional change: Ben-oni to Benjamin, Rachel’s last choice, Jacob’s revision—what’s the story?
 
The JPS Bible simply gives the two names and leaves the interpretive translation to the notes. Ben-Oni means son of my suffering (or strength); Benjamin, son of the right hand or son of the south.
 
The Fox translation calls him Son Of My Woe and Son of my Right Hand.
 
Oni might also be translated as wrong or iniquity, and there are commentators who see Rachel's name for her son as an admission of her guilt—and her death   as a punishment—either for stealing her father's idols or wishing another son after Joseph.  The reference to the South could refer to the tribe of Benjamin’s strategic importance in the south and of its role in bringing forth Israel's first King, Saul.
 
All these considerations of the name were in play this past Sunday when we gave a workshop for a group of Jewish men and women who had been bereaved by 9/11. Convened in the immediate aftermath of shock and pain, the group met regularly, traveled to Israel together last year, and continues to meet for facilitated sessions of support, sharing, and exploration.

For this group of survivors, the figure of Benjamin became particularly powerful. They knew as their own the face of loss, regret, guilt, and sorrow, and the face of strength, hope, and growth. For many, Jacob's immediate decision to override his wife's dying breath was seen as a brave and necessary act of claiming life over death. In fact each of them had been their own Jacob, wresting hope from loss, but wrestling with loss as a way of gaining strength.
 
Benjamin, who has hardly any story at all in the chapters which follow, stood in that circle as an emblem of bereavement and redemption. In his double-name, we acknowledged the two sides of the soul and saw our own stories reflected in him.
 
 Lauviticus would like to suggest:

“Rachel’s soul departed, and as she died she named him son of suffering, but Jacob named him son of right.”

 
Either way, we suspect the brothers probably just called him Ben for short, or – Sonny.
 

In addition to new Storahtelling posts every Friday, here for your enjoyment are the archives of the blog Lauviticus has been keeping since October, along with all of his podcasts. Peruse them this weekend -- we guarantee you'll wind up smarter on Monday.

Grok
Re-Create
Orgasm of Biblical Proportions
Alien Baby
Hamas!
I Got a Bone to Pick with You
Verse per Verse: Introduction

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to the podcast, click here.

Last week’s tale featured a traumatized Isaac mysteriously recreating in the bushes (thank you, readers, for your many odd suggestions as to what he was REALLY doing there) and meeting his bride, Rebecca, as she swoons off her camel. This week’s episode moves on with the breeding agenda as the next generation of patriarchs enters the stage: Jacob and Esau. So complex is this tale of the first pair of twins in history and their fateful struggle that a word is invented to explain the act of trying to comprehend the nature of duality. This word, DRASH, appearing this week for the first time, is the primary investigative technique in Jewish intellectual history. And who is the first person to actively use Drash as a tool for deeper understanding? A very pregnant Rebecca, matriarch to be, mother of meaning-making, possibly the pioneer of Jewish scholarship. So, what is it that she does exactly?

Chapter 25 in Genesis opens this week’s tale, TOLDOT – ORIGINS, tersely narrating the much-awaited pregnancy: Rebecca carrying the heir/s of Abraham’s dynasty. She is carrying twins, but she doesn’t know it, and as they kick in different directions, she is aware of struggle and puzzled by its meaning. Verse 22: ‘The children struggled together within her; and she said, "If it is to be this way, why do I live?" So she went to inquire of the LORD’. Genesis 25:22 KJV

The Hebrew action word we are fascinated by, being drash junkies ourselves, is LIDROSH, translated here as TO INQUIRE. Other translations suggest ‘to Supplicate’ ‘to Demand’ or ‘to Seek’. What is intriguing here is not only the act itself – but the journey that goes with it. What does it mean for a biblical woman to go and seek answers from the divine? How does one, then and now, go to solved existential dilemma that steer one’s insides in different, conflicting directions? WHO AM I, asks Rebecca, WHY ME? Her midrash-making is a bold question, a demanding plea, a mother’s insistence on clarity, a human quest for divine truth. Some commentaries say she went to a yeshiva, to consult the local sage (Shem, son of Noah, mythic father of the Semites, and apparently ageless) some say she went to the old women of the tribe, some say she went to Abraham, some, to an oracle. The 17th century rabbi Shlomo Efraim of Prague, known for his biblical commentary Kli Yakar, gives Rebecca’s drash action a startling existential spin: She went out to seek the identity of God, and learn the nature of life’s meaning.

Frankly, we are more interested in the question than in the answer, focused on the act of seeking. And while the different English translations help us to attain a glimpse into what MIDRASH may mean, it is to the extra terrestrial lingo that we turn for assistance. There is a word that comes from Mars that perhaps best explains what Midrash means, and that word is GROK.

GROK, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is a verb enabling one to ‘understand profoundly and intuitively’. "Grok" was introduced in Robert A. Heinlein's 1961 science fiction novel “Stranger in a Strange Land”. The book's main character is a Martian-raised human who comes to earth as an adult, bringing with him words from his native tongue and a unique perspective on the strange, strange ways of earthlings. To GROK something means to either understand it fully or - to drink it, thus becoming one with the other. So, assisted by aliens, Lauviticus describe the wonderful art of midrash thus:

‘The boys wrestled within her; and she said, "If this is life, why do I live?" and she went to grok God. Genesis 25:22 KJV

And you, dear reader, where do YOU go when two roads diverge in the wood of life and clarity is sought? how do you grok? Please comment here so this converstion is a two way street, just like the one Rebecca started...

Happy Thankgiving!

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

Welcome to weekly storah: verse per verse, E-Z access to biblical know-how one verse at a time. Lauviticus offers a glimpse at translations and their modern relevance to our lives.

Last weeks' Torah tale highlighted Sarah's sexual bliss, and this week's episode, occurring years later, narrates her death. The weekly tale is named after her – Chayei Sarah – the Life of Sarah, but quickly moves on to introduce the next generation in the soap opera called Genesis: Isaac and Rebecca.
Theirs, according to the biblical narrative, is a full-on desert romance complete with sunsets, camels, and a mysterious recreational activity, which, naturally arouses our interest.

The scene: late afternoon, a caravan of camels, carrying the bride from the East, approaches the fields, and the groom-to-be, alone among the bushes, looks up and understands: his life is about to change. What is Isaac doing in the fields before meeting Rebecca? The word for what he's up to out there is: LaSUACH. It is a unique word, only found here, and therefore other contexts, other usages do not help us. The word is oddly related to the Hebrew for ‘bush’ and also for ‘conversation’. Differently spelled, this same word means ‘to sink down’ or to ‘bow down’. So what is he doing out there???
Check it out – Genesis 24:63, in various translations:

And Isaac went out to MEDITATE in the field at the eventide: and he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the camels were coming. (King James Bible)

Robert Alter translates the action as ‘TO STROLL’, The ArtScroll Torah claims he went out to ‘SUPPLICATE’ in the fields’, …

But the winner of the creative translation for the week is the Aramaic Pseudo Jonathan:

 

And Isaac was coming from the schoolhouse of Shem the Elder, Noah’s son, along the way of the well where had been revealed to him the Living and Eternal One, who sees and is not seen. And he went forth to pray upon the face of the field at the time of evening;

So, is Isaac praying, meditating, strolling? Some of us think he is doing something called ‘grousing’ suggesting discontent and angst; imagine Isaac kicking stones in an empty field. This is the area where once he played with his brother, where once his mother lived – he is, possibly, not a happy camper. The one theme in common is the act of leaving home and going out to nature. Jewish tradition credits Isaac with introducing the afternoon prayer service – Mincha, the gift of introspection as the day ends.

But perhaps the word that best defines his mysterious activity in the field, just before meeting his wife to be is RECREATION. He is ready to create, ready to start afresh, and doing so while spending time alone, in leisure or angst, out among the bushes.

Lauviticus would like to suggest:

And Isaac went out to re-create, among the bushes, at evening time, and there, look up! camels approaching, sun setting, something is about to begin.

Give yourself the gift of recreation. Take time, Isaac style, for an afternoon stroll, and look up, a caravan of possibilities may be on the horizon.

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

This week, Lauviticus is celebrating a private birth of a lovely little girl, auspiciously echoed in the weekly Torah episode in which a much anticipated little boy is born.

Also, this week, a visit to that intimate domain which is most often referred to in the Scriptures as ‘Procreation’, otherwise known as ‘sex’. There’s lots of that this week – including wife-swapping and what will one day be known as sodomy, but our focus is senior citizen orgasms. There is a moment in this week’s tale, VaYera, when Sarah, at 90, hears the Divine promise of motherhood, and laughs to herself, at herself, a mythic laughter foretelling the name of her son. But at this moment in the story Isaac is not even a twinkle in her eye. it’s all about her, and her body. She laughs and then asks a mysterious question, recorded in Genesis, Chapter 18, verse 12:

"Now that I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I still have pleasure?"

The word here translated as pleasure is the Hebrew ‘Edna’. Derived from ‘Eden’ that origin dream place of perfection, this rare word ‘Edna’ is our word for the week, as we examine a wild variety of translations for it and suggest a new one.

‘Now that I am withered, am I to have enjoyment?’ This is JPS. The King James Bible, and most other English versions use the word ‘Pleasure’, while the Orthodox Stone Edition of the Artscroll Torah uses, for some odd reason, the expression ‘good skin’.

Commentaries go to town on this verse. The 11th century interpreter Rashi writes: ‘She looks at her uterus and at her breast, wondering, will this still work?’ The  Pseudo Jonathan translates this verse: ‘And Sarah derided in her heart, saying, Now that I am old, is it possible to return to the days of my youth, for me to have conception, and Abraham old?’

What’s striking here is that Sarah responds not to the promise of fertility, which one would think would be uppermost in her mind---all those barren years, and finally the promise of a child of her own---but to the prospect of pleasure, enjoyment, and sexual excitement: A return to the Garden of Eden. Is she talking about the bliss of orgasm?

God not only makes Sarah fruitful again; God makes her juicy. The laugh of the crone, tinged with irony and a sense of the divine ridiculous, rings also with the joy of remembered ecstasies, maidenhood and maidenhead, a sensual and sexual fulfillment which, for the moment, overshadows even the dream of motherhood.

Often in religious poetry---see the Song of Songs---sexual imagery may be a code for spiritual pleasure, carnal knowing a metaphor for divine bliss. Eden then is both the garden of earthly delights and the paradise of spiritual union. To honor the sacred sex life of our matriarch, Lauviticus would like to suggest:

‘And so Sarah laughed, privately: ‘post menopause, with an old man for a husband - am I to enjoy Eden once again?’

There are many ways to re enter the Garden of Eden. Beyond the obvious orgasmic option that sex has to offer, in whatever context and age – what is YOUR personal way to enter this state of mind and heart?

MazalTov and Shabbat Shalom!

Welcome to weekly Storah blog by Lauviticus : exploring the bible, verse per verse, with an E-Z pass to judeo biblical knowledge one verse at a time. We focus on translation, commentary, relevance of the ancient words to our modern lives.

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

This week’s tale is Lech Lecha – the call to adventure. We meet Abram, a man leaping with faith into the unknown. On the road he will become a general, a millionaire – and a father, later known as founding father of two rivaling nations. It is an inspiring tale about birth, hope, and tribal heritage- the touchstone story of what it means to belong – but it also has something to say about what it may mean to be a stranger in a strange land, to not belong at all, to be alienated.

In Hebrew, Abraham means literally ‘Great Father’, but he, our ancestor, is unhappily known by this name long before he produces an heir. Abraham isn’t happy about this barrenness, and in chapter 15 in the book of Genesis, instructed by God, he creates a terrifying and elaborate ritual event where a mysterious prophecy, nine sacrificial carcasses and a divine covenant assure him of the illustrious and complicated future of his seed. ‘You want kids’? God asks Abraham, ‘OK. But then know this: your children will be aliens for 400 years, strangers in a strange land. Take it or leave it. ‘ Abe takes it, and here we are today, products of that promise, curious about one word that appears for the first time in our history as part of Abrahams’ vision. The word is GER – Hebrew for alien, stranger, guest – or convert. One word, different translations, big difference:

Genesis 15:13
And God to Abram, “Know well that your offspring shall be strangers in a land not theirs, and they shall be enslaved and oppressed four hundred years”.
The Contemporary Torah ( a Gender Sensitive Adaptation of the JPS Translation)

Or, according to the Bible in Basic English Edition:

And he said to Abraam, truly, your seed will be living in a land which is not theirs, as servants to a people who will be cruel to them for four hundred years.

Other translations use 'Aliens', 'Strangers' , 'Sojourners' or 'Foreigners'. The grim prophecy describes the future of the Hebrew exile and slavery in Egypt, but also continues to promise liberation via the Exodus. Life, Abraham is told, will give your children a sense of security but also a great memory of loss. This prophecy, observed now, is perhaps an important reminder that brother and other are but a letter apart, and of equal origin.

Thus, this week, the blessing to a father and a family in the making, Lech Lecha – Go to find yourself, and fasten your seatbelt. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride…

What if you were Abraham, eager to father, and given this complex promise: Yes, you will have the children that will be your future – but they will also be slaves and despised foreign workers? Would you say YES?

This Week's Special Feature: See here for a letter to a father in the making:


Dear Avram:

A friend has invited me, as a father, to write to you as you cross the threshold into fatherhood. In particular he is curious to know how I understand the dread and foreboding that accompany this passage: the foretelling of exile, the meaning of becoming the stranger, the ger. What, he asks, is the link between paternity and estrangement?

Estrangement---the condition of the stranger--- is the crucible for soul-making. We no longer live in the Eden of symbiotic communion. We have all been uprooted from our native land and our ancestral homes, from the certainties of our parents, the securities of our childhoods. All of us must wander, must go to the world-school of alienation. We must experience the longing for be-longing and know how precious and how transient belonging is. (How quickly the experience of belonging turns into the having of belongings, and how quickly those things that belong to us become the idols we worship: even our children become "ours.")

The rites of estrangement in this story contain dread, dreams, dissociation and descent. The "smoking oven" will reappear in Jewish history. Soul is made of darkness as well as light. In the belly of the whale as well as on the top of Mt. Sinai, in Egypt as well as in Canaan. And each day as our children will encounter their alienation, their estrangement, they may encounter the Strange itself, which is the only face of God any of us can ever know.

You, Father Abraham, are the protagonist of our estrangement. You tell us that all our children must know that they are Others, even as you had to know it, wandering from your known past into your unknown future. Out of the experience of estrangement, we create, as you did, family, community, and nation. Out of estrangement---remembered and recurring---comes an appreciation for the transient gifts of love.

Yours,
Peter

Music for this week's blog: You are Never Alone: SO CALLED on Rooftop Roots Volume II: A JDUBub Mixtape

Welcome to weekly Storah: verse per verse, E-Z access to biblical know-how one verse at a time. Lauviticus offers a glimpse at translations and their modern relevance to our lives.

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

Divine wrath or ecological inevitability – almost every world culture has a flood myth, and this week, in a synagogue near you, the official Jewish version aka NOAH, will be chanted out loud.

What was so bad on earth to cause the flood?

The Hebrew word that describes the lifestyle that was doomed to extinction is loaded onto the word HAMAS. Translated most often as violence or outrage. It can also mean injustice, oppression, or cruelty. And if the word is familiar to you from current events, read on. More than linguistic ties between Hebrew and Arabic meet here.

Robert Alter translates the verse in Genesis 6:11 in this way:  'And the earth was corrupt before God and the earth was filled with outrage.'

The King James Bible talks of 'the earth… filled with violence'. Jewish Publication Society prefers ' Lawlessness'. Check your local bible for fascinating variations.

Umberto Cassuto, the late biblical scholar, suggests hamas means "a cold-blooded and unscrupulous infringement of the personal rights of others, motivated by greed and hate and often making use of physical violence and brutality."

These ancient and biblical meanings are eclipsed by the immediate association of the Hebrew word with the name of the organization currently leading the Palestinian Authority. In Arabic the word hamas means "enthusiasm" or "zeal" and in this case also an acronym for the Arabic phrase Harakat al-Mqawama al-Islamiyya (The Islamic Resistance Movement)

But while THIS Hamas echos that pre flood word, it is but one of many voices on the planet, bringing on new floods in complex and multiple ways. And for Jews, too, the word Hamas is of troubling mythic significance. Further on in Genesis, a bitterly barren Sarah, lashes out at Hagar, her proudly pregnant rival, and at Abraham, husband and Patriarch in the making: ‘My Hamas on you!’ her words of rage, outrage, too much pain, terrible violence resonate still. (Gen. 16:5)

Too much need, greed, zeal and despair have led the world once into divine rage and a fatal flood.  Maybe somewhere between that biblical rage and this modern reality is a common bond, a lesson to be learnt. Lauvticius would like to suggest this translation to pre-flood warning then and now: and the earth was filled with excess.

What, for each one of us, in our personal earths, is the excessive intensity that beckons introspection?

Let’s talk.

Lauviticus

For the audio version, click here.
To subscribe to this podcast, click here.

Verse per Verse, the weekly Storah Blog by Lauviticus, continues: the World's oldest re-run is off to a fresh start this Sabbath with the retelling of creation (or is it Intelligent Design?). One verse and one specific word jump up as troublesome to the modern translator, a bone to be picked: the word ‘tzelah’, rendered in almost all translations as ‘rib’, as in that famous rib, AKA ‘woman’. There are other, accurate, legitimate, equal- opportunity ways of retelling our evolution, and not surprisingly, history has not done much to promote them:

Here's the bone, Genesis chapter 2, verses 20-21, in three different translations:

• And the Lord God made Adam fall into a deep sleep, and he slept; and He took one from his ribs, and closed up the flesh. And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her to the man.
(The Torah, Plaut Edition)

• And He took one of his ribs, it was the thirteenth rib of the right side, and closed it up with flesh. (Pseudo Jonathan Aramaic translation)

• "...and He took one of his sides and He filled in the flesh in its place." (Artscroll Torah, The Stone Edition)

With the surprising exception of the Orthodox Stone translation, most English bibles translate tzela as rib. The word tzelah appears several other times in the bible, and always translated as ‘side’ as in ‘a single side of a specific structure’, as in Exodus 26:20 - ‘the second side of the tabernacle’; clearly ‘rib’ is used here and elsewhere as metaphor, so why is the human creation story taken literately???

We are not the only ones to question the difficulty of this biblical creation story and its placement of women as secondary to men.

Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish philosopher living some 2000 years ago, already offers the gender neutral solution: "The letter of this statement is plain enough; for it is expressed according to the symbol of the part, a half of the whole, each party, the man and the woman, being as sections of nature co-equal for the production of that genus which is called man." (The Works Of Philo)

It is amazing that 2000 years later, most people still know this word as ‘RIB’ and still consider the feminine inferior to the masculine. Translation makes a difference in our lives, politics, and policy making, and so Lauviticus would like to suggest picking that bone, discarding the rib, and rereading this verse: In the beginning, we were one, but different, and divided we stand…again.

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Shelley: To the Skylark

The Torah tale chosen for the first day of Rosh Hashanah is from Genesis 21 and describes the miraculous birth of Isaac – Yitchack – ‘the one who will laugh’. Ostensibly the text was chosen by the ancient rabbis for its focus on the theme of birth – Rosh Hashanah as the Birthday of the world. But as little Isaac grows up and is weaned from his mother’s milk, the family celebrates a feast, and amid the joy and laughter something happens that kills the party and splits the family. It all has to do with one troubling and mysterious verb. What does this tale tell us on the eve of a brave new year?

Beginning this week, we will explore using the PARDES interpretive model for our Storah-verse, offering four layers of meaning for our weekly verse. Peter Pitzele and I are editing this together and would love your feedback and ideas on utilizing this method.

(See the following site for a quick overview of the Pardes model: http://www.kheper.net/topics/hermeneutics/PaRDeS-1.htm

‘Write Down that Poem’ Deuteronomy 31.19

1. PSHAT/plain text and context:

‘Here You Stand- Nitzvaim’ and ‘There He Went- Va’Yelech’ are the two Torah portions that team up this coming Shabbat to form the lengthy weekly storytelling installment. The ‘You’ in the first portion refers to the entire nation of Israel, from first class to economy, and all foreign workers included. The ‘He’ in the second portion talks about Moses and his...

Continue reading...

‘Do not abhor an Edomite; for he is your brother’ (Deuteronomy 23:7) ’Ki Tetze; - loosely translated as - ‘Upon your departure’ is the weekly Torah Installment – an odd and harsh list of instructions for proper Hebraic conduct, practical and detailed. An attempt to give theatrical voice – ‘character’ to the many ‘legal cases’ in Ki Tetze would look like a Jerry Springer show: A rebel son is stoned to death by despairing parents, bloody sheets are spread in town gates to prove virginity, more public stoning procedures for various sexual transgressions. Also, the first official ‘Lost and Found’ is introduced, cross-dressing is prohibited, requirements given for minimum wage and daily pay to all day workers, Etc.

Click here for audio.

Welcome to the new Storahtelling Blog: VERSE PER VERSE: THE WEEKLY STORAH, presenting you with an EZ pass into Judeo-Biblical Knowledge, one verse at a time. Every Friday, a new blog entry will arrive in your mailbox, composed by Lauviticus, a consortium of storah scribes, highlighting a single verse or word from the weekly installment of the Torah, focusing on issues of translation and contemporary relevance, just in time for a new Sabbath. Each entry is composed of four sections, delving deeper in accordance with the mystical PARDES*, from Pshat, or simple meaning all the way to Sod: a secret possibility hidden in each of these weekly selections.

Join the conversation!

GENESIS 1: Don’t Know You From Adam

Pshat/Text
"This is the book of the generations of Adam. In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him". Genesis 5:1 (King James translation)

Don’t Know You From Adam? Now there’s an odd expression, origins disputed and official usage equally vague. It does, apparently, link back to the original ADAM, the primordial creature who is mythically responsible for our DNA, and whose precise gender is not too clear either. A close reading of the word ADAM in this week’s Torah Tale – Beresheet - the first of the annual cycle, reveals that Adam is referred to both as the male specimen AND the generic human being, of (at least) both genders. In today’s theological climate, where the Bible is used daily to demand public policy – this is a big deal. The socio-political translation of the word ADAM as always male has led to some of the worse chauvinistic assertions known to humanity. But different translations, some new, some bold, can restore the balance of human dignity to the masculine and feminine in all. One translated word makes a difference.

Genesis, Chapter 5:1 translated by Robert Alter in his new ‘The Five Books of Moses’ as:
‘This is the book of the lineage of Adam: on the day God created the human, in the image of God He Created him. ‘

But according to the popular JPS version, the second time Adam is mentioned in this verse it is not ‘human’ but ‘man’- ‘ This is the book of the generations of Adam. In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made He him’. In the original Hebrew both Creator and Created are males. At the risk of poetic license, ‘Lauviticus would like to suggest: This is the book of the line of Humans; God created the Human in the image of God.’

2. Remez: Clue

On one page in the Jerusalem Talmud dealing with vows, the sages debate what would make the best Jewish bumper sticker. Rabbi Akiva suggests a motto from Leviticus: ‘Love your friend as you would love yourself.’ But Ben Azzai differs and claims Genesis 5:1: ‘This is the book of the lineage of Adam’ as the supreme contender for the greatest teaching of Torah. (JT, Nedarim 9:4)

3. Drash: Commentary

Ben Azzai was a seeker who allegedly went mad in his journey into the Pardes – the orchard of mystery. Maybe he means to tell us, across the centuries, that even deeper than the bonds of friendship and social affiliation are the bonds of human affinity.

4. Sod: Secret

The creation of Adam is the creation of the human and thus of humankind and human-kindness, of humanism and humanity. This play of words raises a question: If the human is made in the image of the divine does this mean that divinity is possessed of some essential humanity? We hope s/he does.