Toldot

Genesis 25:19−28:9

Jacob inspires us to overcome our Esau-like desires for instant gratification and physical power.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson; Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

Esau is surely one of the most tragic figures of the Bible.

He is a simple man, whose robust nature leads him to exult in his own health, strength and energy. Esau loves to hunt. He revels in the outdoors and in bursting limits. Esau is a man of impulse. Like Rambo or John Wayne, Esau thrives on his tremendous power, his physical courage and his own inner drives.

Modern America admires that. We distrust the intellectual. Someone who thinks too much, or who is too sensitive to the feelings of others (or to his own feelings) is held in disdain. We prefer a man who can impose his own will through a show of determination and strength, someone who doesn't plan in advance, someone who can relish the moment and trust his own passions.

America accepts the romantic notion that the truest and best expression of who we are lies in the unbridled release of our feelings. Therefore, our feelings are not--and should not be--subject to control.

The Torah asserts, to the contrary, that every aspect of being human--heart, mind and soul--needs constant training, direction and restraint.
Conflcting Approaches

The story of Esau and Jacob is the story of these two conflicting approaches to being human. Esau comes home after a day of hunting and he wants to eat. Meanwhile, Jacob has prepared a pot of lentil stew. Here, the man of action meets the man of forethought. Acting on impulse, Esau demands to be fed.

Responding with calculation, Jacob agrees to sell his stew in exchange for Esau's birthright. Living in the present, Esau sees no benefit in his birthright. After all, it doesn't satisfy his hunger, so his parting with his birthright represents no real loss.

Jacob, on the other hand, lives with one foot in the future. Less powerful than his burly brother, Jacob compensates by using his mind and by weighing the consequences. He prefers to skip a meal if that means he will acquire the birthright of the covenant.

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Chayei Sarah

Genesis 23:1−25:18

By Rabbi Lewis Warshauer, Provided by the Jewish Theological Seminary, a Conservative rabbinical seminary and university of Jewish studies.

Memories of Mother

After Sarah's death, Isaac sees his mother live on in the values and person of his wife, Rebekkah.

A newspaper reader knows from the headline what the topic of the article will be. Not so with the Torah. The title of each parashah is its first significant word; whether that word tells what will follow is somewhat up to chance. In Parashat Noah, the title does tells us who will be the central focus of the narrative. In this week's parashah, the title Haye Sarah seems to be irrelevant, misleading and yet, perhaps, fraught with meaning.

Haye Sarah means "the life of Sarah." It is thus a strange introduction for a series of events that begins with her death. The opening verse of the parashah reads, literally, "Sarah's life was one hundred twenty-seven years" (Genesis 23:1). It then goes on to tell of her death and burial. The rest of the parashah describes the recruitment of Rebekah (Rivkah) to be Isaac's wife, her return to Canaan with Abraham's servant and her marriage to Isaac. If parshiyot [Torah portions] were given a title corresponding to their central character, this one would be Haye Rivkah ("the life of Rebekah"), not Haye Sarah.

Toward the end of the parashah, Sarah does reappear--not in person, but as a memory. We are told that after Isaac meets Rebekah, he:

"... brought her into his mother Sarah's tent and took Rebekah and she became his wife and he loved her. And Isaac was comforted after his mother's death" (Genesis 24:67).

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Vayera

Genesis 18:1-22:24

Balancing the Needs of Home and Community

Why did Abraham beg for mercy for the city of Sodom but not for his son Isaac?By Rabbi Joshua Heller:   

Provided by the Jewish Theological Seminary, a Conservative rabbinical seminary and university of Jewish studies.

Ever since I was a child, I've struggled with a fundamental question about Abraham's personality, a question which is posed by this week's parashah, Vayera. When God comes to Abraham to inform him that the city of Sodom is to be destroyed for its wickedness, Abraham responds aggressively by shaming God into agreeing to spare the city if 50 righteous can be found within it, saying,"Far be it from You! Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?" (Genesis 18:25). Then, with a bargaining style that would be the envy of any used-car buyer, teenager, or trial lawyer, he lowers the number to 45, to 30, to 20, to 10.
Abraham Takes Orders

In contrast, when God comes to Abraham and commands him,"Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and offer him as a burnt offering" (Genesis 22:2), Abraham does not respond and heads off to do God's will. How could Abraham care so deeply for strangers, and not fight for the life of his own son?

I stand further in awe of the zeal and single-mindedness that Abraham brings to his assignment. Rather than prolonging good-byes, he does not delay--arising and setting out first thing in the morning, and attending to many details himself. When God summons Abraham to offer up his son, (Genesis 22:1) God calls his name once, and Abraham responds "hinneni"--here I am. In contrast, when God's messenger calls upon Abraham to stop, at the last moment, (22:11), it is with a two fold repetition, "Abraham, Abraham"--Abraham must be asked only once to raise the knife, but twice before he will stay it.

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Lech L'cha

Lech L'cha, Genesis 12:1−17:27

Abram and God's Mutual Faith

As Abram and God demonstrate, Judaism understands faith as deep trust despite doubt, confusion, and suffering.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson:  Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the American Jewish University.

At a ripe old age, Abram receives a message from God, telling him that he will yet produce an heir, and that the child will inherit not only Abram's property, but also his father's covenant with God.

Surely God's promise would strain the credulity of even the most devoted follower. Sarah had been barren throughout her life. Now, her body no longer surged with the monthly cycle of women--childbearing wasn't even a possibility. And she herself testified that her husband was far too old to father children. Yet, despite biological reality, God tells Abram that he will have a child, and that his descendants will outnumber the stars in the sky!

In response to God's astounding promise, the Torah states simply that "because he put his trust in the Lord, he reckoned it to his credit." In that one ambiguous sentence, the Torah contrasts the rich complexity of biblical faith and the flimsy superficiality of the contemporary notion of faith.

American Definition

For most religious Americans, "faith" means belief in certain claims about the metaphysics of reality. Faith is perceived as a mental acceptance, a lack of doubt. Accordingly, true faith requires a willingness to refrain from too much thought, to ignore the difficult questions which life inevitably raises. And, as a result, when those questions do arise--as indeed they must--this faulty "faith" is often destroyed in its wake

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Rosh Chodesh/Parshat Noach

Bereshit 6:9-11:32

God Of Jews, God Of Humanity

The seven Noahide commandments mediate God's love for all of humanity and God's unique relationship with the Jewish people.

By Rabbi Bradley Artson

Provided by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, which ordains Conservative rabbis at the University of Judaism.The following article is reprinted with permission from the American Jewish University.

Is Judaism a particularistic religion, concerned only with the well-being and sanctity of the Jewish People, or is it also one of the universalistic faiths, expressing a concern for all humanity in every region of the globe? To the enemies of our people, Judaism is portrayed as a narrow, legalistic and particularistic religion. By focusing on the Chosen People--defined as the Jews--and their needs to the exclusion of everyone else's, Judaism seems to show an indifference to the rest of the world.

By its own admission, Judaism doesn't actively try to seek out converts--those who are attracted to our ways are welcome, but there is no burning drive to "Get the word out."

The God of the Bible is one who liberates the Jews from slavery, who gives them a path of life, who provides them with a Promised Land. Doesn't that focus make everyone else peripheral, indeed negligible?

On the other hand, the God of the Bible is also the Creator of the Universe, the planet Earth, and all that it contains. The Bible explicitly speaks of God's covenants with other people too--the Assyrians and the Egyptians to name just two.
Does God Have The Same Relationship With Everybody?

If God is the God of the whole world, then wouldn't God have the same relationship with everybody? The Torah presents that paradox to us--God is the God of the Jewish People, and also the God of all humanity. That dual set of concerns are mediated through the Laws of the B'nai Noah, the Children of Noah, a way that Judaism and halakhah (Jewish law) incorporate God's sovereignty and love for all people with God's unique mission for the Jews.

Noah is the direct ancestor of all people. Through one son, Shem, he is the father of the Jewish People, and through his two other sons, Ham and Japhet, he is the ancestor of Asians, Africans and Europeans, as well as their modern descendants.

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Bereishit

Genesis 1:1-6:8

The Two Creation Stories

An attempt to reconcile two opposing views of nature.

By Rabbi Ismar Schorsch, Reprinted with permission from the website of the Jewish Theological Seminary.

The opening chapter of a book is often the last to be written.


At the outset, the author may still lack a clear vision of the whole. Writing is the final stage of thinking, and many a change in order, emphasis, and interpretation is the product of wrestling with an unruly body of material. Only after all is in place does it become apparent what kind of introduction the work calls for.

I often think that is how the Torah came to open with its austere and majestic portrait of the creation of the cosmos. An act of hindsight appended a second account of creation. One, in the form of chapter two--which begins more narrowly with the history of the earth and its first human inhabitants--would surely have been sufficient, especially since it argues graphically that evil springs from human weakness. All else is really quite secondary.

I should like to suggest that the inclusion of a second creation story from a cosmic perspective, with all its inelegant redundancy and contradictions, was prompted by a need to address a deep rift that had appeared within the expanding legacy of sacred texts that would eventually crystallize as the Hebrew Bible. The unfolding canon spoke with many voices. Chapter one of Genesis was intended to reconcile conflicting views toward the natural world. Does reverence for nature lead to idolatry or monotheism?

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Parashat Hol Hamo'ed Sukkot

Exodus 33:12–34:26 and Numbers 29:17–22

This week's commentary was written by Dr. Alan Cooper, Elaine Ravich Professor of Jewish Studies and provost, JTS, 5771

Last month, an op-ed appeared in the New York Times under the title "Aw, Wilderness!"—an obvious play on Eugene O'Neill's "Ah, Wilderness!" While O'Neill's "wilderness" was a town in Connecticut, the op-ed was about the real thing, recalling the sad incident of a skier who got lost on a trail in northern Minnesota and died of exposure. In response, the Forest Service installed markers along the trail, but when the time came to replace them the agency refused to do so, claiming that the signs violated the 1964 Wilderness Act.

The article went on to discuss the problematic balance between preserving wilderness areas and providing safe access to them. An interpretation of the Wilderness Act tilted in favor of preservation led to the banning not only of signs, but also of vehicles and tools that might facilitate access and improve safety. "As a result," the author observed, "the agencies have made . . . supposedly open recreational areas inaccessible and even dangerous, putting themselves in opposition to healthy and environmentally sound human-powered activities, the very thing Congress intended the Wilderness Act to promote."

In response to the article, one correspondent wrote that the author had "a very different concept of wilderness than many of us. We want places where safety and survival are not guaranteed . . . and I'm willing to accept the risk inherent in visiting them." As another put it, "There must remain parts of our world that are true wilderness . . . without the safeguards and conveniences of the modern world. Lives are lost in such places, as lives are lost in the larger world, but it is nonetheless good to rely solely on ourselves when we go there."

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