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Cookbook, Scrapbook, Big Story -- What Is the Torah?

This was my D'var Torah for Parashat Bereshit 5785 (October 26, 2025), the start of the new Torah reading cycle. Here's a short video that does some of this from a similar angle.

Some of the best cookbooks are mostly not recipes. Each dish is the occasion for a story – of someone special in the family who passed the recipe along, or of a culture where this originates, or a time the author traveled to the place the recipe is from. Those descriptions can themselves be luscious, and the stories and images make the tastes even more layered when you actually make the recipe.

Should we think of the Torah as the original great cookbook? If you skipped past the introductory pages, say into the middle of Leviticus, it would totally seem like that kind of cookbook.

Scrapbooking – that’s a practice which has come a long way from scissors and bad glue. Forget about digital, I’m talking about the craft of scrapbooking. The fine papers to write on or paste on, handmade or marbled; the perfect sleeves to slip things into. Which could be anything from pictures to favorite poems to family trees. All of which tell a story -- the growth of a person, a family, maybe even over generations, helping us know who we are.

Should we think of the Torah as the original fabulous scrapbook? It’s on such beautiful parchment, presented so artfully. It’s got all kinds of things in it, with the perfect cover to slip it into and out of.

I am trying to get you thinking from other angles about what kind of book the Torah is, or if it’s even a book at all, as we embark for something like the 1500th or 2000^th-plus time leafing it through it.

It’s interesting that we call the Torah a “book” pretty automatically. It does seem to be in a book, or in a scroll, and every part of it looks pretty much the same, like one book. And yet it’s unlike every other book, where someone asks you “What’s that book about” and you can answer in a couple sentences. That’s not what we do -- we’re so used to considering the Torah’s parts – each story, each law, often each word.

So forget for a minute what you know, and consider the cookbook quality and the scrapbook quality of the Torah.

The Torah has recipes, lots of recipes, and stories of meals. It has travelogues and family trees. Price lists and blueprints and property deeds. Jokes – some pure slapstick, some edgy enough to get you cancelled and not just today, maybe even back then. Yes, laws and stories, but so many kinds of stories, traversing the known world and the mythical world, up mountains and into deepest hottest valleys, adventures and long slogs, crises and amazing triumphs, wrenching dilemmas and world-changing turnarounds.

Is there any other kind of single book that is like this? How do you classify this, what kind of genre or thing even is the Torah?

We’ll just have to call it – a Torah. It’s more than stories and laws, or laws and stories, which is often how we divide it. Halacha and aggada. It’s in a class all by itself.

So we’re starting today another year of reading it and hearing it and seeing it and acting it – and tell me there’s another book group you’re in that does all of those things! And if by chance there is, tell me that it does all of those things with the same book year after year.

We can get much out of Torah by focusing on each week’s installment, or even on a single episode or verse or word. But it’s a good idea also to zoom out and think about the whole thing, to consider what the big story is of the cookbook, the scrapbook, the Torah.

Stories are everything, and the best stories create our lives and our world, just as surely as we make stories and tell them.

I was going to say, “I don’t have to tell you that stories are everything”, but I do have to tell you, and I have to reassure myself. Last year when we began to read the Torah, Parashat Bereshit a week after last Simchat Torah, I worried out loud right here that in a world of bombs Torah would turn out to be too small, and the next week I worried out loud that in the world of lies Torah might nothing more than a temporary hide-out for us away from the world.

But lies get their energy out of stories too, and bombs are usually justified with stories. Stories give life and take life, even if they don’t do so as directly. So it is urgent that we think about what story we are trying to be within, as we start to encounter the Torah this year. Let me tell you what a few might be.

First a story I don’t think we should go with. The cookbook theory of the Torah I didn’t get from left field. There is a version of the-Torah-is-a-cookbook that was for a while the dominant academic theory about how the Torah was first assembled, by the original keepers of the sacred recipes, the kohanim, the priests. The idea is that the recipes for the holy meals, the offerings, were put in the middle part of the Torah for a reason by the priestly editors.

They wanted us to believe that the sacred meals are everything, that they were vital to keeping us connected with the Divine, and the stories in the cookbook helped us to understand why and what would happen if we didn’t. The cookbook told us that the Temple was the center of everything, and that we should admire the kohanim as priests and judges. Because we needed them to keep balance and keep us from changing the one good thing that was helping us keep our home and keep ourselves alive, as a small people in a vast world.

That was never the only view of what story the Torah is telling. And I don’t think it’s a good one even if you substitute our rituals for our ancestors’ and rabbis for kohanim. We should still cherish the recipes and the family stories around them, but that’s not the kind of cookbook the Torah should be for us.

There is another scholarly historical view that the Torah took shape when we were in exile, and that it’s the story of a people who have always been beloved of God no matter what seems to be happening around us. After all, the Torah is a scrapbook of the scrappy, full of pictures of when the first-born gets his comeuppance and the unlikely child emerges. Even Pharaoh is humbled and we come forward.

And though the Torah scraps far too many travel receipts, exile after exile, starting from the Garden of Eden and through our Genesis ancestors, the real story is that we are never permanently far from where we ought to be as the Jewish people. When we are not home, we are for most of the story in the desert heading toward a promised land, and we are never really detached from our destiny, only delayed. The brochures for where we’re going, pasted into the scrapbook in Exodus and Numbers, just get better and better.

And there is another view that the Torah got edited along the way two or three times when we were strong in our land, either really strong or stronger than we had recently been. Twice it was prophets and maybe even some renegade priests, who put this scrapbook together. They lived a bit north of Jerusalem, close enough to have the inside scoop but far enough for some critical distance. They weren’t satisfied with resting on the laurels of priests or kings, the Temple or royal power as it was.

So they assembled for us a story with the Exodus as its backbone. In Genesis we learn that we are part of humanity, and all of humanity arrived as the image of the amazing Creator. We Jews were brought onto the stage as a unique part of humanity, not because we are a different sort of human but because the Divine needed a tikkun for humanity, a pilot project that would affect the whole. Even God can’t control everything about the whole world once these majestic humans are part of it, so there’s Pharaoh out there, and we got caught by him. And we had to fight our way out and pray our way out and then spend a long time learning how not to let Pharoah seep his way into us – his way of power and the idols he imagined were real and his easy slide toward oppressing.

We would be a people at home again, we would rebuild ourselves, we would be empowered -- but we’d continue to be watchful of ourselves. In better times to build our spiritual strengths, and not to sell out and cut corners by taking advantage of our weakest. In worse times, not to lash out at each other, not to find the only answer in physical power, but to find it also in the same spiritual strengths.

Which of these stories, or their variations, will be the one we need this year, as we page through our ancestral scrapbook? Pore over the specific tales and teachings and words. Savor all the tastes and the keepsakes, the adventures and the. But don’t forget to keep the thread of the big story, the one we need to make powerful in the world of bombs and lies. Let’s find that together, week after week.

A Year of Jewish Ethics #1: Speech

 

Last Shabbat I spoke among other things about the imperative this year in particular that Jews immerse ourselves in our own teachings about ethics. To be connected and grounded as we deal with issues in the American and Jewish worlds, we need to make Jewish ethics a core of our Jewish selves. To help, I'm going to try to generate a weekly teaching.

Welcome to the first in a series of short weekly teachings about Jewish ethics, jumping off from the parasha, the Torah portion.

The first chapter of the Torah is about the power of speech and the ethics of speech. God creates everything through speech. On the first day, God simply says y’hi or, let there be light, and light comes into existence. On other days, God speaks an intention to create something and immediately creates it. There is no gap between the speech, the intention, and the reality that comes into being.

Words are that powerful – they make or change reality. Nothing is more powerful than spoken words. And the ethical ideal is how God speaks in the first chapter of Bereshit (Genesis). There is no gap between what we mean, what we say, and the reality we create. That is what true and faithful speech is.

In the morning prayers, we say Baruch she-amar v’haya ha’olam – Blessed is the One who spoke and the universe came into existence. Baruch omer v’oseh – Blessed is the One who speaks-and-acts. Speaking and doing are for the Divine one thing.

It’s important that we have that introduction, because once human beings arrive speech gets complicated. We have the snake who uses speech to manipulate, Adam and Chava (Eve) who use speech to speak part of the truth, Kayin (Cain) who uses speech to deflect. God speaks questions, to draw people out. God has to confront the possible difference between the generous speech that creates and provides, and the implications of declaring that if the people eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil they will die. Ultimately, God decides to delay carrying that out.

Speech is the foundation of Jewish ethics. The power of speech and how we ought to speak. It’s foundational within families, as the Torah says about the first human family. And it’s foundational in our widest world, as the Torah says by making speech the pillar of creation and the social order. How do we speak knowing how our spoken words create the world? How do we speak so that there is no gap between what we say and what we create?

Two Kinds of Darkness, Two Kinds of Light, Two Kinds of Torah

This is (I think) the D'var Torah I have for services this Shabbat tomorrow. The Torah reading begins with the very beginning of the Torah. It's one week since the Hamas atrocities began. Thank you to Rabbi Rebecca Rosenthal and Rabbi Aryeh Klapper for helping me unlock this, though if anything is off it's on me and not them.

*****

Last week on Simchat Torah, as we tried our hardest to celebrate especially for our youngest kids, knowing what we already knew, there was a verse I was chanting in the Torah that just gutted me even more. It’s the very last line attributed to Moshe in the Torah, his last words. The final line of Moshe’s blessing to the people said:

 

Happy are you, fortunate are you, people Israel, who is like you,

a nation saved by the Divine

your helping shield, whose sword is your pride.

Your enemies shall recant themselves to you

and you on their high places will tread.

 

Ashrecha Yisrael, mi chamocha, am nosha b’Adonai

magen ezrecha, asher cherev ga’avatecha

v’yika-chashu oyvecha lach,

v’atah al bamoteimo tidroch

 

And I thought in that moment, is it possible that not a single word or phrase of that Torah is true?

 

Not happy, not fortunate. Not saved; no helping shield. No Mi chamoacha, no callback to the moment of escape from Egypt, from danger into freedom, An enemy far from recanting, from going back on its essence -- and who is treading on whom today.

 

Was even our own Torah going to be turned on us, to mock us, and on our holy day no less and in the presence of our sweet little ones. Or was this some kind of invitation toward even more faith, a faith that Torah can be as powerful as the weapons and mutated imaginations that define our reality right now.

 

And with those wonderings ringing in my soul we turned on Simchat Torah to the very first verses of the Torah, the first words of our parasha today, and they too seemed unreal: the creation of light in a reality hitherto dark and formless all the way down.

 

This is the week we are starting the Torah again. Against the backdrop of murder and kidnapping and mobilizing and bomb shelters, mourning and fearing for our loved ones and our people, this is the week we start again fresh. Each year when we get to Parashat Bereshit we’re supposed to have become better prepared by the chagim (fall holy days) for a new year of Torah, to be more receptive to it than ever before. Yet we know ahead of us is for certain a week of more death, and certainly weeks and who knows how much of 5784. What kind of strength will Torah have, this week and beyond, and what kind of strength and wisdom can it give us?

 

Parashat Bereshit begins with perfection, everything in its orderly place, and humans created in the Divine image, b’tzelem Elohim, and the first humans, placed in a perfect garden -- with closeness to the Divine, the end of loneliness, and a charge simply to work and to protect their beautiful place.

 

Everything about the opening chapter was a revolution in human consciousness in its time, and I usually say in our time as well. But so quickly it all falls apart, and the parasha descends into exile, violence between brothers, and then violence enveloping the world. Until the parasha ends with only a single glimpse of hope, the birth of Noach: -- zeh v’nachameinu, this one will comfort us, will turn us around, mi-ma-aseinu ume-itzvon yadeinu, from our actions and the sadness our hands have wrought, min ha-adadmah asher erera Adonai, what we’ve made out of this earth that the Divine has cursed.

 

This is not an easy parasha to begin with, a parasha about new beginnings and immediate troubles. I thought about going to other Torah this Shabbat for the comforting we all need. But maybe it is the parasha we need nonetheless.

 

On the first day, darkness hovers over the face of the deep seas and chasms, and God says let there be light, y’hi or -- and there is. Vayehi or, light was, all of a sudden. And God saw the light, that it was good, ki tov, and immediately God separated the light from the darkness.

 

God wants light. And then God makes a decision to name the darkness. In the ancient world prior to the Torah, even in parts of the Bible composed earlier than the first chapter of Genesis, the creations stories would tell of realms beyond the reach of the gods, symbolized by deep and vanquishing waters and by endless darkness. But in our Torah God stakes a claim even to darkness. Gives it a name: laila.

 

Why would God want in on that? Especially if the light of the first verses is considered not physical light but Torah. Why would God want there to be something that is so profoundly opposite to Torah, as one of the first things in creation?

 

I can only think that there are two kinds of darkness. There is a darkness that says there is nothing in the world but violence, and even seeming goodness is just self-interest, or huddling together for safety and nothing more. Darkness is believing that is all there is, not just from time to time as we all do, but fundamentally all the time.

 

The Torah claims, I think, that darkness is something else. Some of it and maybe all of the moral darkness is made out of imagination and language and even out of connection, out of the capacity for organization and sustained effort -- twisted for sure, and encased in the hardest and thickest klippot, cases of iron and hatred.

This kind of darkness is made of the same things as its opposite -- as goodness, as light, as Torah. So God has no choice but to claim this darkness. And our hearts, connected as they are to all hearts with their roots in the Divine Heart, have no choice but to acknowledge it too.

 

And God is ambitious, and ambitious for the power of Torah against this darkness. Even knowing that it’s only through us, Divine image that we are but earthy nonetheless, that Torah will show its energy in the world.

 

So we have been taugh each day to say this blessing precisely when it’s actually light outside: Baruch Atah Adonai, Elohaynu Melech Ha-Olam, Yotzer Or u’Voray Choshech, Oseh Shalom u’Voray et Hakol. We thank God for fashioning light and creating darkness, making peace and creating everything.

 

On the fourth day, God comes back to work more on light, and God creates the sun and the moon. According to the midrash -- and thank you to my friend and colleague Rabbi Rebecca Rosenthal for pointing me to this Torah this week -- the sun and the moon were originally made the same brightness, and both were charged to shine all the time. The moon approached God and said: Is it possible for two kings to serve with only one crown? And God said: Then go and make yourself smaller. The moon said: I raised a valid point, so why should I shrink myself? And God said: Go and share the day with the sun, and also rule the night by yourself. The moon said: What good am I that way, as a candle during the day that no one sees? And God said: Then go and let Israel count its days and years by you. And let people see that sometimes you are small, and sometimes you disappear, and sometimes there is no other light but yours.

 

As there are two kinds of darkness, there are two kinds of light. A bright and certain light, so obviously guiding and warming the world, at times of peaceful unity and justice -- yes that is the light of the sun. But there is also moonlight, and Rabbi Rosenthal quotes a teaching from Rabbi Sharon Brous: That we Jews are moon people. “[T]he moon, like our spirits, is an object in motion. It will always come back around. For moon people, that is the essence of our spiritual mobility. ... the moon teaches us that even when no light is visible at all, even in the deepest darkness, our hearts trust and remember that the light will shine once again. Maybe even tomorrow. And—though it seems impossible to imagine today—it will even eventually reemerge in its fullness. Orienting our calendar around the moon means that hope is a muscle we practice month after month, year after year, generation after generation. It is a muscle that gets stronger as we use it.” We Jews have had long experience exercising that muscle, and now we need to build it even more.

 

Sometimes Torah is a light powerful like the sun. Twelve years ago, the week of this parasha, Hamas released Gilad Shalit, an Israeli soldier it had held captive for more than five years. It was among other things a testimony to the idea from our parasha that what Tzelem Elohim means is that we are accountable for the life of even a single individual, and the State of Israel did not break that faith with Gilad Shalit. That’s actually the Torah I taught for Parashat Bereshit right here on Shabbat twelve years ago.

 

Today, the light of Torah we need is more like the light of the moon. To continue to believe that the sanctity of human life is a powerful and guiding Torah, even during the weeks we are seeing more and more pictures of those who are captive and those being buried and more bombs. There is no Torah we can learn and go out and fix this with right now, even if we brought it to every minister and general and world leader. There is no Torah as that absolute a light. Still there is a Torah like the crescent moon that will help us locate ourselves, as I am trying to do right now with this Torah I am teaching, and Torah that will help us take a few steps in the right direction, even in the dark time we’re in.

 

In a few minutes we will bench Rosh Chodesh. We will anticipate the day this week when the moon disappears entirely and a new month commences, and we will beg God to give us a new month of blessing for us and for all the people Israel. How hard that prayer will be.

 

The name of the new month is Marcheshvan, which means “the eighth moon.” Eight is a special number. Marcheshvan is the only month of the Jewish year with no holy day at all beyong the new moon itself and Shabbat-- no celebrations, major or minor, not even a minor fast. Tradition says this particular new moon coming this week, the sky left only with stars, will some year launch the month when the Mashiach comes, when the messianic era begins. The month is beyond saved for the biggest festival that could ever be, the light that doesn’t ever end.

 

It won’t be this month. I pray that with as much darkness as already grips our souls, with as much fear as we have, that we will help each other perceive the light of the moon, even as a sliver, and not lose all hope even as we acknowledge the power of the darkness, the darkness still claimed by God. I pray that we will find a Torah of moonlight to guide us, and remain committed to finding it. May our loved ones be safe, may our mitzvot be powerful in the days ahead, for ourselves and for them.

 

Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Tov

 

So What Exactly Is The Torah?

We start the annual cycle of reading and studying Torah once again this week! So, what is the Torah when you zoom out and think about it as a whole, and not just story by story or teaching by teaching?

 

How to Use and Not Use Biblical Verses in Politics

This was my D'var Torah last Shabbat (June 16, 2018), in response to the back-and-forth between religious groups and Attorney General Jeff Sessions about what the Bible says about the policy of separating parents and children when families are suspected of crossing the U.S. border illegally.

One afternoon a young yeshiva bocher, a student immersed in the study of the tomes of the Sages, was on his break. He was wandering around the Bes Medrash, the library, going from aisle to aisle. Among all the tall and thick rabbinic treatises and commentaries, he came upon a book that was noticeably smaller than all the rest. He took it from the shelf and began paging through, and suddenly his face burst into a smile. The book was a Tanakh -- a Bible. The young yeshiva bocher took the book and sprinted to the study of the Rosh Yeshiva, the head of the yeshiva, and he screamed in excitement:

“Rebbe! You’ll never guess what I found! It’s a book full of quotations from the Talmud!”

This is often how the Bible is used -- it’s subordinate to something else. I’m poking fun at the world of traditional Jewish learning, but we see this too in politics, in political argument. I want to teach you two terms from the Talmud that I bet you’re going to want to start using -- and one is in Aramaic, so you will really sound like you’re in the know to boot. The terms are: מִדְרָשׁ midrash and אַסְמַכְתָא as’mach’ta.

Midrash is a word you may know -- it means inquiring into the meaning of words from Torah, digging into them, trying to figure out what the original words are saying as they apply to a situation today. As’mach’ta means, a prop. It’s the same root as a word you may know from the prayers, סוֹמֵךְ נוֹפְלִים somaych noflim, the one who holds up the fallen. As’mach’ta is when you don’t have a good argument, so you prop up your view with a verse from the Bible. Slapping a verse next to something for decoration. Or as’mach’ta is when you don’t really care whether people pay attention to your real argument -- but there’s a verse that’s related so you tack it on and figure people will pay attention to that.

In the Talmud, the rabbis often bring up biblical verses in the course of discussion, and they ask each other -- is that midrash or as’mach’ta? Is that your argument, are you really asking the verse what it says, or are you just trying to buy the power of a biblical verse without paying for it? The rabbis in the Talmud even have a way of rolling their eyes in writing when sniff out a weak as’mach’ta. You call that an argument? It’s just אַסְמַכְתָא בְּעַלְמָא as’mach’ta b’alma. That’s the yeshiva bocher, who finds a Bible in the house of study and thinks it’s just a book of things rabbis say to decorate an argument they are making.As I say, I’m really talking about the Bible and politics. When you hear the Bible quoted, when is it midrash, when is it really digging in for wisdom, for challenging the world, and when is it just as’mach’ta, a cheap trick to borrow some gravity and power and substance when it’s not really there?

This week we had a battle of the Bible verses, on the subject of immigration and in particular the policy of the United States at the borders of our country, to take children far away from their parents if they arrive illegally. On one side, the Attorney General of the United States, Jeff Sessions -- and on the other one side, well..... the Southern Baptist Convention and the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, and a whole bunch of others of us.

This week, at their national convention, the Southern Baptists passed, as they have before, a resolution on immigration reform including the principle of family unity, protesting at about the border. They gave a strong affirmation of the value and dignity of immigrants, making a whether Christian or not, and they issued a call to political leaders and clergy to speak and take action.

They quoted Genesis, Leviticus, and the prophets Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Zechariah, and also the Christian Bible of course.

Attorney General Sessions gave a speech this week in direct response to the Southern Baptists. We should always read the whole speech before reacting, check what’s in the press, make sure they aren’t quoting out of context. His whole speech is in fact on the Department of Justice website already. This is some of what he said, and while it’s not the whole thing I’m not omitting any words in the middle.

“Let me take an aside to discuss concerns raised by our church friends about separating families.Many of the criticisms raised in recent days are not fair or logical and some are contrary to law.

“First- illegal entry into the United States is a crime—as it should be. Persons who violate the law of our nation are subject to prosecution. I would cite you to the Apostle Paul and his clear and wise command in Romans 13, to obey the laws of the government because God has ordained them for the purpose of order.

“Orderly and lawful processes are good in themselves and protect the weak and lawful.

“Our policies that can result in short term separation of families is not unusual or unjustified. American citizens that are jailed do not take their children to jail with them....”

The attorney general quoted from an epistle of Paul in the Christian Scriptures, but he could have just as easily cited from chapter 29 of Jeremiah, the same Jeremiah the Baptists quoted.

Bible and Bible. I know, I hope, that we’re agreed about the cruelty of this policy; I hope there is one vision here you find more compelling, for a whole lot of reasons. But this is a biblical standoff, and what do we do with that? If one side has their verses and one side has theirs, what do we mean when we say that one side is right, other than -- it’s what I already think, so that’s what right? Is the Bible really adding anything here? It’s very important to me that your response to this isn’t: anyone can just find a verse for anything.I want to give you a way to think about this, and it includes a challenge even if you know this week who you agree with. It’s not about who has the best interpretation of a specific biblical verse. I think the most important way to think about this battle of the Bible verses is: midrash vs. as’mach’ta. Who is really searching the meaning of the verse, and who is just propping up their view with a shiny ornament.

I think of the Bible like the equalizer on a stereo or amp, in your living room or on the stage of an arena. On a good stereo, a good amp there is a series of dials -- from deep bass to high treble -- and each one corresponds to a different part of the sound, and you can adjust each one of them separately. You can silence one completely, or crank it up pretty high.

And the Bible is like that. Every verse in the Bible is like one of the dials on the amplifier of the Divine Voice. The question is: how much are you cranking up the level on each dial? When you are presented with a question of today, a question of policy, what does your whole equalizer look like?

There is one dial that should always be cranked up; it’s the fundamental bass all the time. It’s in Genesis 1, the verse that reads: ‘God created the human being in God’s image.” וַיִבְרָא אֱ-לֹהִים אֶת הָאָדָם בְּצַלְמוֹ Vayiv’ra Elohim et ha-adam b’tzalmo. When it comes to that dial, to paraphrase Spinal Tap -- ours goes to 11, all the time. If someone is quoting the Bible about a public policy issue and they don’t have that dial cranked up to the maximum -- you should stop listening. You know there is no midrash there, only as’mach’ta.

But after that, every verse has a range of settings that could be appropriate. Even the ones like what the Attorney General quoted. As long as you are thinking about how to set the dials, you are doing midrash -- you are inquiring into the sound of each verse, the setting of each dial. How that verse or that combination of verses, mixed in different ways, vibrates, penetrates your thoughts and grabs your emotions, stimulates your nerves and flexes your muscles into action. It should make you tremble, or move you to a joyful noise.

These past three years in particular, I have been thinking about all kinds of verses relevant to issues of immigration. About ahavat ha-ger, loving the stranger, and its relationship to v’ahavta l’rayacha kamocha, loving the neighbor. The relationship between loving the stranger and not oppressing the stranger, which in different verses are about economics, power, or the words we use. These verse don’t all say the same thing. How high should each one be set? And what about the kinds of verses like the one the Attorney General quoted?

If you never mess with the dials, if you set them once upon a time and never change them, then I don’t care what your view is, you are doing as’mach’ta -- the Torah is just a prop. The verse isn’t really for meaning or argument, it’s not revelation, it’s just plastic decoration.

There are verses that should have a maximum setting, and some that should have a minimum. To me, when it comes to the Bible and public affairs, we always have to remember that every word of the Torah was revealed in opposition to the powers of the world, to people emerging from slavery or to prophets calling kings and leaders to account. So Attorney General Sessions has his settings wrong, in the sense that his verse about orderly government can be more than zero, but it is set too high, and his image of God setting is far too low. And you can tell that for him it’s just as’mach’ta, and not midrash. He doesn’t hear the other verses at all. And even the verses he cites aren’t really where he learned his views about government and law. They are just for effect; the verses aren’t making him tremble.

At the same time, you can’t set your levels just once, to vibrate with one political party or movement. There is “love the stranger”, and there is a minimum that that verse should never be set below. But there are other dials too -- and any party or movement or leader who doesn’t allow you to fiddle with the levels, becomes a power that also has to be critized and corrected. If you zero out every dial but one, if you hear only one verse or just a few verses, and that’s all you want or all you get coming out of your stereo -- even if it’s Tzelem Elohim, the image of God -- then you’ll stop trembling, you won’t be moved to a joyful shout.  Your sound will be tinny, not rich and lush, and that is not midrash. Our political friends too can make our verses no longer resonate, if they turn off all the other dials. Just because we like it doesn’t mean this isn’t also using the Bible as as’mach’ta, a prop, a talisman.

There is right or wrong about the separation of families at the border -- and it’s wrong. But when it comes to how the Bible speaks to that, what I’m listening for is right or wrong and also more -- it’s midrash or as'mach'ta. I believe the religious folks this week are more right than the Attorney General, and partly it’s because they have a richer sound. They bothered to set a bunch of dials, and the Attorney General sounds like he set only one, and he did it once and has never gone back. They did midrash, and he just did as’mach’ta.

Let’s not any of us settle for biblical verses as as’mach’ta, even when we are surely right. We must never get in a position where the citation of a verse from the Bible is ho-hum. The Bible might be the smallest book on the shelf when it comes to public policy -- but it should pulse in a way no other resource does. It should not just inform our policies, but stretch our humanity. When you think you have the truth, that’s when you should check the levels every time, to make sure they are right each time you listen, each time you perform the sounds. That’s what will make the verses of Bible matter. Especially when we’re right about an issue that affects lives, life and death -- especially then, we as Jews, as religious people, should be the ones teaching verses from the Bible as midrash -- making the sound of justice better, sweeter, edgier, richer, so that the voice of the living God vibrates like a revelation, penetrating thoughts and grabbing emotions, stimulating nerves and flexing muscles into action.

 

Shabbat Shalom.

 

Starting Over: What Is the Torah?

What is the Torah? This week we start reading it from the beginning on Shabbat. We usually think about the Torah one story at a time, or one teaching at a time. What is the Torah when we zoom back? If you've got seven and a half minutes to listen, here are some thoughts on the Torah as a whole:

Rabbi Jon's 7-1/2 minute overview of the Torah

Parashat Bereshit: Why Do We Begin Again?

I love the few moments on Simchat Torah when we read the end of the Torah, and then read the beginning.  One minute Moses is on top of a mountain, surveying the whole Land of Israel, the Torah is recounting all the wonders and teachings, and the people are getting ready for the exciting next chapter in their land.  It is literally the high point!

And then...."the earth was formless and void, darkness over the face of the deep...and God said, 'Let there be light' and there was light!"

It's dramatic.  It's jarring.  It's particularly jarring to go back and realize how much of a climb we have to start again.  To go through all the difficulties of beginning -- Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, the Flood, the tribulations of the first mothers and fathers, just to get to Moses again.  Then all the difficulties in Egypt...that's what we'll be reading into the winter.

I was thinking about this question of why we do it.  Why we willingly rewind, so we have to reread and relive all of the difficulties that we know are coming.

It can't be that we believe that life simply repeats itself in an endless circle.  That's the view of the beginning of Ecclesiastes in the Bible -- there is nothing new under the sun.  (We actually got that out of the way last Shabbat, where in some congregations Ecclesiastes is read on Shabbat during Sukkot.)

The Sfat Emet taught about the Exodus from Egypt that it happened so quickly that it takes all the generations to truly explain its meaning.  So too with the entire Torah.  Even after some 2000 reading cycles, maybe more, we're still unearthing all that is hidden in the Torah.  There are some things there that only we -- the people of the year 5772, not the people of 5771 -- can find, understand, and make real in the world.  By virtue of who we are this year, and who the world is this year, and how our relationship with God is different this year.

The legacy of Eve and Adam, Sarah and Abraham, Moses and Miriam, are still unfolding through us.  We go back each year, to study that legacy.  We live forward each year, knowing each week that our lives are adding another chapter to theirs!  That we live not only as ourselves, but as the projection of the people we are reading about.  This week, the consequences of our study of Adam and Eve's decisions will play out somewhere in a way or in a setting where they never have before.  (Listen to congregant Terry Watterson's online audio Dvar Torah.)

The arc of the whole Torah is still thrilling.  God creates a world and seeks partners -- who will they be?  Two humans, all of their descendents?  A single couple, and their slowly growing family that becomes a nation?  How long until that partnership flowers -- one lifetime, hundreds of years?  Can it endure slavery, exile, or even the normal difficulties that go with learning something new and demanding?  (That goes for both God and the Israelites!)

That's the big story, and along the way are all the little stories and teachings that beckon for our attention.  Each of them is still not fully understood -- perhaps not even by God -- so we go together into another year.  From darkness and chaos, slowly and gradually toward the top of the mountain, where Moses is looking out in wonder at what we will do with it all in the new year.

Parashat Bereshit: Why Stephen Hawking Doesn't Rock My World

I recently heard a radio program about Stephen Hawking's new book, The Grand Design.  Written together with physicist Leonard Mlodinow, the book accounts for why things in our universe are so beautiful ordered.  Why the laws and conditions of our universe are suited for the development of life and human life.  Everything can be explained by the current state of theory in physics, without any recourse to a divine creator.  Though, the authors hasten to add, nothing in their theory refutes the idea that there might be a God.

I listened, but to tell you the truth, I yawned.

My own faith has nothing to do with whether the universe is expanding or contracting, whether there is life on other planets, whether the four basic forces in physics can be unified, whether quantum physics and general relativity can be integrated.  Or, for that matter, whether the six days of Creation in Genesis represent six metaphorical epochs, whether the "great sea monsters" of Genesis actually refer to swimming dinosaurs or ancient reptiles whose fossil remains have been discovered.

And each time a new observation arrives from Hubble, or a new bit of data emerges from a supercollider, I don't have to adjust spiritually.

I just don't think that the Torah is in any kind of quarrel with the physicists about the origins of the universe.  All the medieval Jewish commentators said, in one way or another, that the opening of the Torah is general, that it clothes deeper mysteries, that it is not a literal history.  To me the opening chapter is poetry and geometry, with its placid and unemotional description of the architecture of heaven and earth.  Then comes poetry and drama, as the humans spring into action and immediately change everything!

I do listen to the programs about physics and the origin of the universe.  I do think the discoveries that come from the atom are profound.  They are triumphs of the mind.  They lead to applications that, we pray, are useful for the good of humanity.  So I endorse the quest.

And I'm intrigued by comparisons between the Big Bang and the kabbalistic view of the universe emerging from a point of nothingness (Ayin).  Intrigued, but if the parallels weren't there I wouldn't lose any sleep.  The new book by Stephen Hawking, or new discoveries or theories, don't alter my foundation.

I experience Creator through the lens of this line in the morning service, right after Barchu:  Ham'chadesh b'tuvo b'chol yom tamid maaseh breishit.  We speak of "the One Who renews out of goodness, every single day, always, the making of the beginning."  More fascinating to me than the Big Bang is:  today.  We wake up, and the whole universe is here!  More mysterious than the atom are life, and awareness.

Science can describe them, model them, but the experience of them is beyond those descriptions.  The pulse of existence, awareness, aliveness, consciousness -- these are Creation.  The poetry of Genesis doesn't explain them, but it connects them.  The goodness we attribute to God:  that is the spiritual Big Bang, the first fact of our universe and each new day.