Why of all things would God want Israel to make Him a Sanctuary? After all, King Solomon said in 1 Kings 8 “the heavens cannot contain you, how much more this house that I have built!” Yet this is exactly what God wants, for in this week’s portion he commands Moses “let them make me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” If God is everywhere, unbound by space, then why create a home for Him?

The commentator Menachem ibn Zerach, from 14^th century Spain, commented in his book Tzedak Laderkh that the text does not say “that I may dwell in its midst (betocho) but rather among them (betocham.) This demonstrates that God’s presence does not rest on the sanctuary by virtue of the sanctuary but by virtue of Israel, for they are the temple of God.” As the servants of God, we play an important role. From our actions, we can either uplift God’s name or defame God’s name.

Malbim, a 19^th century Hasidic Russian commentator, takes the image one step further. He asserts that the true מקדש, or Sanctuary, is in the recesses of one’s heart-that each of us should prepare ourselves to be a dwelling place for God and a stronghold for the excellency of His Presence, as well as an altar on which to offer up every portion of his soul to God. Such a reading is surprising to many of us. We are so used to the מקדש as being a consecrated place on which animals are slaughtered and today where prayers are given to God, not our own bodies as serving as that Sanctuary.

Even though we tend to think of places as sacred rather than people, there is merit to the latter. The belief that the body is a Temple is profound, for it indicates that our bodies are not our own to use as we please but rather need to serve a higher purpose. Each fiber of our being is supposed to be utilized for a godly purpose, to serve the will of our creator. As we say each Shabbat morning, כל עצמותי תאמרנה ה מי כמוך, “all of my bones cry out, God who is like you?” True God dwells in a Temple, but not just the shul, for God can be found in each person who does מצוות and helps those around him/her.

A song by Randy Scruggs and John Thompson, originally intended for Church worship, has become commonplace in some liberal minyanim. The song goes like this: “LORD prepare me to be a Sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true, and with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living, Sanctuary for you.” The purpose of this song is not to annul the role of worship within a church or synagogue but rather to indicate that God can be found dwelling in each and every one of us wherever we are at. Our job is to be a servant of God, doing exactly what God wants from us even when it is difficult. This is the message of Sefer Ha-Hinuch, the Book of Education, published anonymously in 13^th century Spain, which states “God desires us to perform His commandments for not other reason but to promote our own well-being.” He references Deuteronomy 10:12-13, which asserts that following the commandments is for our own good. It is to our advantage to create a society where we are watching out for those who are vulnerable and need our help. Similarly, it is in our best interest to watch what we eat, to take time to rest, to let our land lie fallow. However, the author of Sefer HaHinuch is aware of how easy it is for us to go astray. That is why he comments that a Sanctuary is needed, “a place of the highest purity to purify the thoughts of man and reform his character.” While we should be serving God in all our deeds, both inside and outside the synagogue, at times we need a holy place such as this to center and redirect us in living the way God wants us to.

As I anticipate becoming a father, I think of the lessons I want to teach my child, of how I want to communicate that life has a higher purpose and that we were brought into this world to do holy, important and Godly work. I want to demonstrate that it is not just in a synagogue that we are the agent of God but rather with every fiber of our being each and every day of our lives. Our task is to create a dwelling place for God everywhere we go, where God can look at us and say “you’ve set a good example-this is a person who I am worthy of dwelling in his/her midst.” May this be our Terumah, our own personal contribution to the world.

A quotation often attributed to Mahatma Ghandi is “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” In other words, when you are wronged or oppressed, you should utilize Satyagraha, nonviolent resistance, rather than resorting to violence. Civil disobedience as a defined term goes back at least as far as Henry David Thoreau in the 19^th century and was epitomized by Martin Luther King Jr. just over 50 years ago. It’s very easy to say don’t fight violence with violence-that is, except when you are being attacked.

Judaism presents a very different approach to how to respond to an attacker. We know the famous rabbinic reference הבא להרגך השכם להרגו, “When one comes to kill you, arise to kill him.”[1]  In a similar vein we have this week’s reference to the penalty for damages: “If damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise.”[2] Sounds pretty fair and straightforward, right?

Those who know rabbinic exegesis on the Bible might think that the rabbis would love this. After all, one of their core principles is מידה כנגד מידה, measure for measure. This is basically “what goes around comes around,” that what you do to others will be done to you. It is therefore surprising to discover that this line of reasoning does not sit well with the rabbis, who reinterpret this biblical verse!

Starting with Talmud Bava Kama,[3] we see the following Mishnah: “One who injures another becomes liable (monetarily) to the other for five items: damage, pain, healing, loss of time and embarrassment.” In other words, injuries, or נזיקים, require monetary compensation. The Gemara, or commentary on this Mishnah, asks Why? Don’t we know in the Torah “an eye for an eye?” The response is Do not let this enter your mind, for look at the following example. Leviticus teaches “He who smites a beast shall make pay.”[4] Just as in the case of a beast one must pay compensation, so too in the case of a person one must pay compensation.

Now wait a second. This might be fine except the Gemara cuts out the second half of the verse! The verse in its entirety reads “He who smites a beast shall pay, but he who smites a person shall be killed!” Through cutting the second half of the verse, we change its entire meaning! Luckily, the Gemara recognizes that this might not satisfy us and brings in another reason why an eye for an eye means monetary compensation. In Numbers[5] it states “You shall not accept ransom for the life of a murderer.” The rabbis take this to mean that you cannot take ransom, or money, only for a murderer but anyone guilty of manslaughter or injuring another can pay through monetary compensation.

Why make two arguments, each of which appears to be weak? I believe it is because the rabbis, like us, were uncomfortable with the idea of exacting punishment in exactly the same way the offense occurred. They couldn’t get rid of the verse, for this is the holy Torah, so instead they reinterpreted it and (for those who did not buy the reinterpretation) they limited its applicability, as they did for the rebellious son. By stating that each of these examples was equal to a monetary amount equal to the offense committed, the rabbis administered justice for the offense while not doing it in the exact way proscribed by the Bible, a way with which they were uncomfortable.

What do we do when we’re uncomfortable with taking a text literally-especially if it’s a text that the rabbis did take literally? How do we balance making changes that we need to live in our modern society with not forsaking or abandoning the Torah? I would argue for us to follow in the rabbis’ exegetical traditions in keeping the text as it stands but in reinterpreting it in a way that it makes sense for our lives. Some would argue that this position is sacrilegious, as our generation is so much lower than previous ones in terms of our knowledge of Torah, so what gives us the right to reinterpret in the way they did? I would argue differently-that if we are not constantly reinterpreting, making changes from within the framework of Torah and Halacha, than we are following a tradition that is stale and which has lost its meaning. Yes it’s a slippery slope and one which must only be done with extreme caution and with utmost respect for those who came before us. However, I believe that it is a slope worth standing on. I would much rather make changes from within the bounds of tradition than to refuse any changes[6] and have people say “This no longer applies to me”; in other words to throw out the baby with the bathwater. This is not just me talking-a common phrase in the Talmud used for deciding Halacha is פוק חזי; to go out and see what the people are doing. Let us find ways to follow the rabbis’ example of revering Torah and tradition while concurrently utilizing exegetical reinterpretation to create a living Judaism. After all, the Torah says “You shall live by them,”[7] which the rabbis interpret as “Live by them-Don’t die by them.”[8]

[1] Numbers Rabbah, 21:4. This is in Chapter 3 of Midrash Tanhuma Pinchas referring to the verse צרור את המדינים והכיתם אותם.

[2] Exodus 21:23-25

[3] 83b

[4] Leviticus 24:21

[5] Numbers 35:31

[6] A point of view which unfortunately is becoming more common based upon the Hatam Sofer’s statement חדש אסור מן התורה, that innovation is forbidden from the Torah. That statement first appears in Talmud Kiddushin 38b

[7] Leviticus 18:15

[8] Sanhedrin 74a. Note that this only applies to violating a commandment to save your life (and the rabbis disagree about which commandments one must die for). It is often taken by liberal rabbis (like me) further-that we need to set halachic boundaries that our communities can live by-not the original intent of the passage.

One of my favorite lines in this week’s portion has always been “and you shall be to me a kingdom of Kohanim (priests) and a holy nation.” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asserts that this phrase is “the shortest, simplest, most challenging mission statement of the Jewish people.”[1] What does it mean to serve G-d as a kingdom of Kohanim, especially in light of the fact that most Israelites are not Kohanim? Rashi from 11^th century France defines the word “Kohen” as a prince, referencing 2^nd Samuel, [2] where it states that David’s sons were Kohanim. We know that David was descended from the tribe of Judah, not from Levi as Kohanim were, so therefore the term Kohen must have an alternative meaning.

Nachmanides, from 13^th century Barcelona, has a different understanding, writing that Kohen means servant. Our people’s task as they are about to receive G-d’s Torah is to commit to being His servants. G-d made us free from slavery so that we would serve Him wholeheartedly, as a Kohen must serve G-d through the offering of sacrifices.

The interpretation that I prefer is that of Rabbi Ovadiah Seforno, of 16^th century Italy. He interprets Kohanim as “instructing the entire human race that we should all call out in the name of G-d and to serve Him with one accord. Each of us is a Kohen of G-d,[3] instructed to teach Torah and live life in the most ethical manner. In being given the Torah, our task is to spread monotheism and our service of G-d to all the people of the world, to be the active agents of G-d, the “G-d Squad” if you will. This is a democratized process, not limited to the work of the Kohanim but rather one which applies to every Israelite.

The key is the democratization-that we are a “kingdom of Kohanim.” The obligation to follow a higher ethical and moral standard is not limited to a small subset of our people but rather applies to each and every one of us. G-d wants us to stick together as a people, united in our bringing His presence into the world.

Why then is the word Kohen used? Perhaps it is because Kohanim had to hold themselves to higher religious standards than Israelites. They were more limited in terms of what they could eat, who they could marry and where they could go. Unlike other Israelites they could not own their own land or venture off to acquire more material possessions. These restrictions were meant to focus them on the spiritual task of serving G-d and atoning for the wrongdoings of the Israelite community. Furthermore, the Kohanim had to be pure, without blemishes. All of Israel was meant to emulate the Kohanim-not to follow their restrictions but to conduct their affairs scrupulously, with honor and out of devotion to G-d.

The second part of the verse, being a גוי קדוש, a holy nation, is far less commented upon yet I believe equally as intriguing. What does it mean to be holy? No one’s 100 percent sure-it’s one of those things that you know when you see it. Many commentators define holiness as being “set apart.”[4] This makes sense when you think about the interplay in rabbinic literature between the גוים, all the other nations of the world, and the גוי אחד, the one, unique nation of Israel. Every weekday morning and afternoon, we pray that G-d שומר גוי אחד ושומר גוי קדוש, protect the one nation and protect the holy nation which is set apart from all others. In being a גוי קדוש, our actions need to be such that they separate us from the societal norms. This is not to say that we are any better than anyone else but rather that as a people we need to follow a high ethical and moral standard.

How many times have you cringed when you’ve heard of a Jew who did something illegal or unethical? How many times have you wondered if someone’s actions are “bad for the Jews”? We inherently know that we are a גוי קדוש, one nation which is supposed to rightly or wrongly follow a supreme moral example in our service of G-d. Our ancestors resolutely committed to it, proclaiming נעשה ונשמע, WE WILL DO AND WE WILL HEAR. This is of course easier said than done, as we see with the creation of the Golden Calf 40 days after Moses went up Sinai to receive the 10 Commandments. However, we resolutely made the statement that we strive to observe G-d’s will and set an example for all the other nations.

Let us think of ways that we can fulfill this mission statement, being united as a people in service of the Almighty and striving to always live in accordance with a high code of ethics. When we see a member of our community going astray, let us gently but firmly fulfill הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך, taking him/her aside and asking him/her to correct his/her behavior. May we every day emulate the precept of נעשה ונשמע, actively working to make this world more G-dly, more righteous, more ethical and more spiritual.

[1] Jonathan Sacks,  Covenant & Consersation: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible Exodus: The Book of Redemption London, England: Maggid Books & The Orthodox Union, 2010), p. 131.

[2] 2 Samuel 8:18

[3]Based off Isaiah 61:6

[4] See Rashi on Leviticus 19:2

The ninth plague, of darkness, is extremely telling. According to Midrash, the Egyptians could not see everything but the Israelites, in their neighborhood of Goshen, had full access to light. This was an all-consuming darkness, where “people could not see one another and for three days no one could get up from where he was.”[1] The medieval commentator Nachmanides describes the darkness as a fog-like condition which extinguished all flames. Ibn Ezra said it was so dark that the Egyptians could not even keep track of the passing days.

The Etz Chaim Chumash challenges the idea that this was a physical darkness, as why then would the Egyptians not light candles? It comments that perhaps it was “a spiritual or psychological darkness, a deep depression.”[2] After all, this is the ninth plague that has befallen the Egyptians, and it is one that attacks the sun, which they worshipped. Perhaps the Egyptians no longer believed there was hope for a better future, so why bother doing anything?

In such a condition of fogginess, confusion and depression, it was the perfect opportunity for Israel to enter into armed rebellion against the Egyptians or at least steal all of their belongings. However the Israelites did neither of these, instead leaving the Egyptians and their property untouched.

When one is vulnerable, surrounded by complete darkness, s/he realizes the kindness of others. As Samson Raphael Hirsch points out, this led the Egyptians to willingly give the Israelites their silver and gold during their exodus. It also led to some of the Egyptians joining with the Israelites in leaving Egypt. These Egyptians saw that because the Israelites left their belongings alone during a time of vulnerability that this was a trustworthy people who they could join, as opposed to staying in a harsh, Egyptian society.

This illustrates a core teaching of Judaism. As Jews we are not supposed to take advantage of the misfortunes of others, especially when they did not provoke the situation. The plagues were meant to be primarily against Pharaoh, to show him who G-d was, yet they affected all of the Egyptians. Our ancestors recognized that the plagues falling on the Egyptians did not give them the right to “run amuck” and plunder their belongings. It would have been enticing for a slave to turn on his master at the slightest opportunity, yet the Israelites understood that the plagues were there for a higher purpose, to demonstrate the power of G-d.

There are times in each of our lives at which we might feel schadenfreude, pleasure in the pain of someone else, especially if that person has exploited or taken advantage of us in the past. It is tempting to descend on him/her at this moment of great vulnerability. Our ancestors understood, however, that this human temptation was not something to embrace. The Egyptians were suffering enough from G-d, and our ancestors would soon be free from their tyranny. The compassion that they showed the Egyptians during this time would not go unnoticed. Perhaps our ancestors were starting to learn what it means to be a people of G-d: to show compassion and mercy to those who are in a weaker state, even when one can make a valid argument to do otherwise. May we learn from their example and make it our own.

[1] Exodus 10:23

[2] Etz Chaim Chumash, Page 377, note 23

Do you believe in magic? One of my Jewish Studies college professors asserted that there is magic in Judaism; the key is that “our magic comes from God and is good; others’ magic comes from man and is bad.” As we begin to read about the Ten Plagues in this week’s portion, I think a lot about divine magic. However, I want to start with the sign before the plagues, that of Aaron’s rod turning into a snake.

In most of the Torah, the snake is a bad animal. In Genesis, the snake talks Eve into disobeying God and eating from the tree of knowledge. In Numbers, the people are disobeying God and are struck by snakes, until a copper snake is mounted to heal them. Here, we have a snake as a sign of God’s presence.

What’s even more interesting is that Aaron’s rod can not only turn into a snake but also act on its own. When Pharaoh implores Aaron “show me a sign” and he throws his rod down and it becomes a snake, the Egyptian magicians are able to replicate this same act. The difference is that Aaron’s “snake” swallows theirs and then turns back into a rod. This is the start of the Israelite “magic,” under the control of God, superseding the Egyptian magic.

Why would Pharaoh ask Israel to show him a sign? Such a question is raised by Isaac ben Judah Abravanel.[1] Abravanel comments that it because Pharaoh has already questioned God’s existence. If Pharaoh does not believe in the Israelite God, but rather that he himself is god, why would he ask for a sign?

Furthermore after seeing the sign, why spurn Moses’ request to let the Israelites go-and not once but through 10 plagues! At least elsewhere, in the Book of Isaiah, King Ahaz of Judah spurns Isaiah’s attempts to show him a sign of God’s presence. Here Pharaoh asks for a sign but then disregards it. In Shemot Rabbah[2] Pharaoh clucks like a hen, saying “Such are the wonders of your God! Usually, people bring merchandise to a place where it is needed…Don’t you know that I am the master of all magic arts?” It is clear that neither Pharaoh nor his magicians were ready to embrace this magic, until the third plague when the magicians are forced to concede אצבע אלוהים, this is the finger of God!

Was it really the case that Pharaoh disregarded the miracle? Another Midrash in Shemot Rabbah[3] indicates that Pharaoh was shaken when he saw Aaron’s rod consume the others, thinking ‘what if he tells the rod swallow Pharaoh and his throne’? Pharaoh was forced to concede that this was a supernatural act, an inanimate object “swallowing” other inanimate objects. If a snake had swallowed another snake, Pharaoh could have conceded that it was following the laws of nature. We see later in the Torah other examples of Aaron’s rod acting supernaturally, like when it grows almonds on it in Numbers, indicating that he is the true High Priest.

Aaron’s rod is considered so great that according to Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers)[4] that “the rod”[5] was one of the ten wonders created at the beginning of the world. It was not an ordinary walking stick but rather something imbued with divine powers, utilized to give testament to God’s will.

We learn from Aaron’s rod that we do not need a magic carpet or a fairy princess with a wand to bring forth miracles; rather an everyday item, if imbued with the will of God, can produce the most fascinating of miracles. Magic in Judaism is a tool through which to recognize the power of God, as opposed to being utilized as an end to itself. The signs of God’s presence are in front of us; if only we choose to accept them. Ken yhi ratzon, may it be our will to do so.

[1] 15^th Century Spanish and Portuguese commentator (until exiled to Italy under the Inquisition) who had great wealth and who supplied provisions for the royal army under Queen Isabella. On a number of occasions he gave large sums to allow Jews to stay in Spain until he was expelled by the Inquisition.

[2] 9:4

[3] 9:7

[4] 5:8

[5] It does not specify whether it was Aaron’s or Moses’ rod. Most commentators say it was Moses’, yet both rods were used to perform supernatural wonders.

The cat’s out of the bag. Pharaoh discovers that the Hebrew midwives who he entrusted to kill the baby boys of the Israelites were actually allowing them to live. Instead of following his supreme command to kill their kin, they disobeyed and saved their lives. He asks the midwives “Why are you disobeying me?” and their reply is “The Israelite women give birth so vigorously, even before we come to them, they deliver the baby.”

Did Pharaoh really buy this explanation? Perhaps he did. After all, one of the words used to describe how quickly the Israelite population grew is וישרצו,[1] meaning that they multiplied like insects. It seems more likely, however, that Pharaoh did not, as he quickly changes his strategy to having all the people throw the baby boys into the Nile rather than having the midwives kill them.  Why then doesn’t he arrest the midwives for civil disobedience, for defying his order?

From most accounts it appears that the midwives are rewarded for their efforts. The continuation of the story reads, “G-d dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied greatly. And because the midwives feared G-d, He established homes for them.”[2] What is the purpose of the homes which are established? Who is the “he” who establishes homes? Who is the “them” for which they are established?[3]

Rashbam[4] views the two parts of the verse as separate from each other. Because the midwives feared G-d, he (Pharaoh) put them (the midwives) in homes, to guard them lest they allow more Hebrew children to live. As punishment for disobedience, Pharaoh put the midwives in a controlled environment, so he could keep an eye on them. The difficulty with this, however, is why would Pharaoh do an about face and change his command to throw the Israelite children into the Nile River? If he had control over the midwives, he should proceed with his plan of killing all the sons.

A more compelling way of looking at the midwives is that they were being protected from Pharaoh. Rabbi Saadia Gaon[5] asserts that it simply means that G-d protected the midwives. The midwives obeyed G-d, and in return G-d ensured that Pharaoh would not harm them. Midrash HaGadol[6] expands on this, affirming that Pharaoh did come to kill the midwives, and God put two walls around them, protecting them.

Rashi[7] has a different take, referencing the Talmud.[8] He states that the houses refer to the descendants of the midwives. Shifra, who the Talmud equates with Yocheved, was blessed to have the Kohanim and the Leviiim[9] descend from her, through Aaron and Moses. Puah, who is equated with Miriam, has royalty follow her line, as she is an ancestor of King David. The houses thus refer to the midwives’ descendants.

Hizkuni[10] expands upon Rashi’s idea, arguing that בתים, or homes, really means בנים, or children. The midwives undertook a daring task, putting their lives in danger to save others. In return, G-d ensured that their memory would endure forever through their descendants. For Hizkuni, one’s descendants are his home, as they ensure stability and permanence. Thus God gave the midwives the greatest gift they could ask for: families.

Rabbi Yaakov Tzvi Meklenberg[11] has a unique take, arguing that the midwives were not directly rewarded but that the entire people of Israel benefitted from their action. He states that because the midwives feared G-d, He (G-d) made for them (the people of Israel) homes. Rabbi Meklenberg points out that the them (להם) is masculine and so it could not possibly refer to the midwives; rather it must go back to the previous verse,[12] where it states “the people of Israel multiplied and increased greatly.” Because the midwives let the male children live, the Israelites increased in number, and because they increased in number, G-d established dwelling places for them.

The lesson to take from the example of the midwives is to do the right thing precisely because it is the proper thing to do. One needs to defy immoral commands, even if they come from the ruler of the land and even if they will not result in direct benefit for oneself. David Hazony wrote about the “six women and Moses.”[13]  Our redeemer from Egypt would not have been able to save the Jewish people if he, himself, had not been saved by six women.  Shifra and Puah, those faithful midwives, help to ensure his birth by creating a culture of civil disobedience. Miriam and Yocheved, his sister and mother, protect and hide him for as long as they can. Pharaoh’s daughter takes him into her home and adopts him.  Finally, his wife Tzipporah circumcises their son to stop an approaching angel who seeks Moses’ death. Without these women, there would be no exodus story. As the Talmud[14] declares: “As the reward of the righteous women of that generation were the Israelites delivered from Egypt.” May we be as righteous as the Hebrew midwives, doing the right thing at a time of great difficulty, and may it lead to our houses, our children, knowing and sharing our merits. That is the greatest reward for which we can ask.

[1] Exodus 1:5

[2] Exodus 1:20-21

[3] The latter two questions might appear to have obvious answers: the “he” is G-d and the “them” is the midwives. However, it’s not so clear cut, as we will see in the commentators.

[4] Rashi’s grandson who lived in 12^th century France

[5] Leader of the rabbinic academy in Sura (Babylon) in the 9^th century

[6] A 14^th century collection of Midrashim (rabbinic interpretations of biblical verses)

[7] 10^th century France and the grandfather of Rashbam

[8] Babylonian Talmud Sotah 11b

[9] The Jewish priestly class

[10] Hezekiah ben Manoah of 13^th century France

[11] 19^th century Prussia; author of HaKtav V’HaKabbalah

[12] Exodus 1:20

[13] From Jewish Ideas Daily, December 22, 2010. http://www.jewishideasdaily.com/4306/weekly-portion/shmot-six-women-and-moses/

[14] Babylonian Talmud Sotah 11b