Friday, January 15, 2010

"Let the peoples tremble...let the earth quake"

(Psalm 99:1)

This blog post was originally supposed to be about the drought here in Israel. The Sephardi Chief Rabbi of Israel declared yesterday, Thursday, a fast day. Rav Amar said, "Because of our sins the water situation is in a serious state. Our duty in this situation is to scrutinize and examine our actions and bring ourselves close to God with all our hearts. We must be repentant with broken hearts and anyone who is able should fast, if not a whole day, at least a half day." This is a tradition, that when winter hasn't been wet enough, the chief rabbi will call for the entire country to fast (which doesn't happen) in hopes of bringing the rain. I was going to write about communal responsibility taking care of our world, both spiritually and practically.

But then a 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti. If I were in the States this weekend, any synagogue that I might find myself in for Shabbat would be acknowledging the crisis and suffering, praying for the people of Haiti. In comparison with the tens of thousands dying under rubble, praying for rain, for this one teeny country, seems selfish and insignificant. No one is dying, today, because of the drought in Israel. Yet the drought is systemic, and absolutely affects people's lives and physical well-being. When I pray the words of the Gevurot, משיב הרוח ומוריד הגשם - Who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall, my intention is not only towards Israel, but towards this whole, dry region. In the West Wing episode, "College Kids," President Bartlet shares his daughter Ellie's teacher's opinion on why there's always been conflict in the Middle East: "It's because it's incredibly hot and there's no water."

The tradition of declaring a communal fast day in times of drought in Eretz Yisrael is rooted in the assumption that the drought is because of our human failings, as individuals and as a community. The liturgy is not in ecological terms, although many interpret it as such, but in the language of sin and forgiveness. When this language is contrasted with Pat Robertson's words about how Haiti deserved this as punishment for a pact with the devil, I'm challenged by the theology inherent in these fast days, that droughts are a punishment to Israel because of sin, whether the sin of not keeping Shabbat, of sinat hinam (senseless hatred), or the treatment of the Other. But I do believe that how we act communally impacts the world. It's easy to think of examples for the drought, especially since it requires all of us to collectively reduce water usage through lifestyle changes. My friend Josh G-S saw a greater distinction between the fast day and Robertson's words than I did. He pointed out that the fast day comes from within the Jewish community, rather than from an external individual accusing an entire country of sin. We call on ourselves to take stock of our actions, through prayer and fasting.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes in his commentary to the prayer ברכת השנים (blessing the years, in the Amidah) in the Koren siddur, that, "Israel is a place that teaches its inhabitants the need for prayer." So is the world. Both of these natural events cause people of all faiths to cry out in prayer. In my siddur class this past semester, we talked about the power of prayer, and whether or not it has tangible impacts on the world. We talked about how our prayers can change us, by reminding us of our ideal selves and the world as we believe it should be, and through that, change the world.

Yesterday at Pardes we said tehillim, psalms, for both those suffering in Haiti and for ending the drought in Israel. Isaiah asks, "Is this the fast I desire?" Hopefully, the fast day, the psalms, the prayers for Haiti will lead to not only prayer and introspection, but real, world-changing action.

Blessed is God, Ruler of the Universe, whose power and might fill the world.


Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Life's a Great Balancing Act

At a night encampment on the way, the Lord encountered him and sought to kill him. So Zipporah took a flint and cut off her son's foreskin, and touched his legs with it, saying, "You are truly a bridegroom of blood to me!" And when God let him alone, she added, "A bridegroom of blood because of the circumcision." ~Exodus 4:24-26
These verses, towards the end of this week's Torah portion, Sh'mot, have always seemed weird to me. They are out of place, a break in the narrative of Moses' first encounter with the Divine at the burning bush and his development as a leader.
In my chumash class at Pardes, we've been studying the book of Exodus all semester. More specifically, we've been studying Parshat Shmot all semester - we completed the first Torah portion of Exodus this week, just in time for it to be this week's portion. Studying it in this up-close, in-depth way gave me the chance to look at these verses on their own, rather than focusing on trying to place them within the narrative.

Rashi, the 12th century French commentator, in trying to understand why God is seeking to kill Moses, who has just been sent off to Egypt to free the Israelites, says that Moses didn't circumcise his son like he was supposed to, 8 days after his son's birth. However, he quotes Rabbi Yossi saying, "God forbid Moses was negligent! Moses said, 'I'll circumcise him and then I'll go out on a journey that's dangerous for the baby for the 3 days after his circumcision, instead I'll circumcise him and then stay put until he heals.'"

There's a conflict here between Moses' mission for the community and his responsibilities to his family and his son, a conflict that many people are personally familiar with. Moses' attempt to balance his communal and personal responsibilities almost led to his death! According to Rashi, these two are irreconcilable.

Ibn Ezra, a Spanish contemporary of Rashi, understands these odd verses by saying that circumcision can be postponed if the baby is ill or traveling, and that therefore Moses didn't circumcise his son on the 8th day so as not to delay in carrying out his mission from God. Ibn Ezra suggests that a messenger of God came to remind Moses to circumcise his child and then go on alone to Egypt, leaving the baby to recover with his mother at the night encampment. Ibn Ezra does not view the family's needs and the community's needs as completely in conflict, and finds a compromise allowing Moses to fulfill both, without neglecting his son or the Israelite people. This compromise requires the support of a third individual, Moses' wife Tzipporah, but with her help, he's able to find some balance in his life and his work.