The Hidden Comes To Light: Purim 2021

 The Hidden Comes To Light: Purim 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

As far as the Talmud is concerned, there is only one megillah (scroll): Megillat Esther, the Scroll of Esther. Even though five scrolls were ultimately included in the Bible, only this one has merited the importance of being known just by its form—THE megillah—rather than by its content, and the Talmud devotes an entire tractate to the laws and customs associated with reading this all-important scroll.

The entire thing (the whole megillah, as it were), is a bit like hamantaschen, the Purim pastry that we love so much. For it’s what’s hidden within the form that really matters, not so much the casing (though, admittedly, the entire cookie is delicious, not only its content).

One can find all sorts of messages secreted within the rolled parchment that contains the story of the miraculous (or not so miraculous) redemption of the Jews of ancient Persia. Even Esther’s name contains a hidden meaning. It could obviously refer to the Near Eastern goddess Ashtart, or it could more subtly refer to the Hebrew word hester, meaning “a hiding place.” There is much that is hidden here, including Esther’s Hebrew name—Hadassah—that she is commanded not to reveal. At least until the time comes for that.

Other than that, the Scroll of Esther takes a pretty classical comedic form: There are three pairs of characters: three males (one righteous, another a buffoon and a fool, the third totally and irredeemably evil); and three females (again, one righteous; a second whose pride overcomes her sensibility—the mark of a fool; and the third, totally evil). The symmetry obscures the fact that in most other comedies of this type there is yet a seventh character—often a clever servant who pulls the strings and manipulates the unfolding of the story. In Esther, of course, that missing element is a pretty important one: God. Yet nowhere in the story is God mentioned, and the absence is too conspicuous to be coincidental.

Throughout the Scroll of Esther there are many clues that point to God’s presence, but the moral of the story necessitates that it be not God who arranges the sequence of events—events that at first must seem perfectly random—but rather that it is we, human beings, who are ultimately responsible for the outcome of the story. It isn’t chance so much as our choices that determine the course our lives take. As Mordecai tells Esther, “If you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter, while you and your father’s house will perish.” 

There is no doubt in Mordecai’s mind that the Jewish People will survive the doom planned for it by the evil Haman; we have, after all, outlasted every empire that has tried to annihilate us, from ancient days to the most recent. At the same time, however, Mordecai understands that it is not divine but rather personal intervention that is responsible for the safety of individuals and their families. It is going to be Esther’s heroism that will bring about Haman’s downfall, with God simply sitting there, confident in the knowledge that the outcome of the story is pretty certain, safe as it were in the hands of the wise Mordecai and the courageous Esther. 

Purim means lots, referring to the roll of the dice by which Haman picks the date for the execution of his evil plans. But the reversal of fortune that sees Haman hanging from the very gallows he had built for Mordecai proves the point of the megillah: That very little is up to chance, yet so much more is up to us. It’s as important to understand history as it is to take a stand that might change otherwise-predictable outcomes.

In most Jewish communities it is customary to tell the story of Esther twice: Once in a traditional reading, in Hebrew along with the special chanting tropes. The second is often a satirical retelling called a Purim spiel. It’s telling that in most Purim spiels, at least in modern America, the traditional and literal ending is altered somewhat. No mention is made of how the Jews were granted the right to defend themselves. Maybe that’s because this bloody ending is a bit much for our sensitive and squeamish audiences (though in light of so much pop culture and particularly Hollywood movies, I tend to doubt that). Or maybe that’s because self-defense is so “unbecoming” of us Jews, who are expected to be super-human in our self-control and aversion to violence.

But the message of the importance of self-defense (and that’s exactly how this plays out in the ancient Scroll of Esther) is not lost on any modern Israeli today.

It’s been almost exactly 2000 years since we Jews were last able—or permitted—to defend ourselves against marauding, violent mobs. For far too long Jews have held on to an impossible faith in a God Who parts seas to save us, and Who, at the very last moment, plucks the innocent out of the ovens. The final important message of the Scroll of Esther is that we are obligated to defend ourselves and one another, and NOT wait for God to pull some hidden strings. Yet this message for too long has lain hidden beneath the veneer of comedy and wishful thinking, turning this vitally important book into not much more than a jest or a drunken dream.

Until modern times. Now we know better—or at least we should know better. 

For too many of us, especially in America, self-defense is not something we consider every day (or, thankfully, ever). Yet the Scroll of Esther teaches these three lessons: First, of course, to have faith in God’s eternal plan. Second, as we play our part in God’s plans, to be brave and to overcome our doubts and fears. Third and not least, when self-defense is called for, to stand firm with all our might. It’s a basic human right, one denied our People for thousands of years, yet one we must proclaim, insist on and stand for. 

We cannot take our chances on survival. Megillat Esther and the holiday it gave birth to—Purim—are not about philosophy or faith: They are all about the actions we must take and the stand we must make against evil and its perpetrators.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Memory and Vigilance: Shabbat Zachor 2021

 Memory and Vigilance: Shabbat Zachor

February 19, 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

By coincidence—or due to the vagaries of the Jewish calendar—my father’s yahrzeit this year falls this week, the week of Shabbat Zachor—the Sabbath of Remembrance. At this Saturday’s Torah service, the weekly portion from the book of Exodus is augmented by three verses from Deuteronomy, including the commandment to remember the evil perpetrated against the Jews by the Amalek. 

Following the Exodus from Egypt, as they were wandering in the Sinai Wilderness, the Israelites encountered many peoples and tribes, some friendly, others not so. One particularly devious tribe, Amalek, attacked the Israelites by stealth, in the depth of night. That in itself would have been bad enough—dayenu. However, they did something else. The Amalekites committed an atrocity of the utmost evil and cowardice, earning them a terrible and unremitting oath of revenge: They attacked at the rear of the camp, where the stragglers were; where the sick, tired and despairing huddled along with women, children and the aged. 

Amalek attacked the defenseless.

Zachor—Remember! “Remember what Amalek did to you on the way as you were coming out of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 25:17).

This verse is embedded in my memory, if for no other reason than that my father, of blessed memory, drilled it into me, year after year at this season.

You see, my father was in Israel during the Shoah, the Holocaust. He had left his home and family in Lwow (now Lviv) and, having managed to evade the British blockade, reached the shores of “Palestine” on a moonless night in April 1939. Throughout the years of the war, he didn’t hear from his family. It wasn’t until the war ended and mail service resumed that he finally received the dreaded news. By a strange and circuitous route, a letter arrived, written by his brother almost two years earlier, moments before he was forced into a cattle car that took him to Auschwitz. The letter told what happened to my father’s father, mother, brothers and little sister, describing the manner in which they were all murdered by the Nazis and their accomplices.

Needless to say, this letter transformed my father. But unlike another member of the kibbutz on which he lived, who received—on the same day—a similar letter, and who took his own life that same terrible day, my father took an oath: To live; to survive; and to remember to the last breath. My father vowed to teach, train and instruct my brother and me, as well as anyone else who would listen (and as a teacher, he had many students): To remember. Zachor—Remember the evil that was perpetrated against the Jewish People. Remember, and always be ready to protect and defend yourself and your people.

Evil is never accidental. It’s always deliberate and premeditated. It may lie dormant for a while, but time and again, ignorance and prejudice make the seeds of evil sprout and spread their poison. Anti-Semitism, one of the oldest, most vicious and deadly hatreds known to humankind, is a disease that has no antidote and no cure. Hence the need always to be vigilant. And we Jews, who have known persecution and violence throughout our history, don’t have the luxury to be complacent in the face of evil and hate. We know all too well how quickly a fiery sermon can turn into violence and how, in an instant, a burning torch can explode into a raging firestorm.

In the Jewish calendar, Shabbat Zachor is observed on the Sabbath before Purim—the holiday on which we read the Scroll of Esther. In this story, the evil Haman (said to be a descendant of Amalek) plots to annihilate the entire Jewish population of Persia. Mustering all her courage and cleverness, however, Queen Esther succeeds in warding off the disaster. By order of the king, the Jews are granted the right to defend themselves. The marauding mobs are turned back, and at least this time, impending doom turns into gladness and rejoicing.

The Amalekites may be long gone, but evil still remains, not bound by time or place. Through the lesson of the three verses from Deuteronomy that will be read this Shabbat, we have learned to recognize evil in every act of bullying and oppression, whenever and wherever weak and defenseless groups and individuals are attacked or assaulted.

In the last few years we have seen racism, gender bias and anti-Semitism turn into a maelstrom. The symbols of hatred appear overnight, etched into doorways, sprayed onto synagogue walls, evident in vandalized cemeteries, screamed in unison by mobs carrying torches and nauseating signs.

Fortunately most of us today are protected by the law (this wasn’t always the case, and it still isn’t in many places around the world). Additionally, for the first time in two thousand years, we also have an army dedicated to our protection and defense. But these precautions can be misleading. Modern society protects our freedom to say almost anything, yet it doesn’t always put in place the safeguards that are needed to keep words from turning into actions.

And that’s why we are commanded to remember. Zachor! Because sometimes we become too contented, even carefree. We focus on other matters that preoccupy us. We take things for granted—our rights, our freedoms, our safety—forgetting just how easily these can be taken away from us. 

Shabbat Zachor returns on an annual basis for two reasons: first, to remind us that if we let our guard down, if we ignore the warning signs, if we fail to take action against those who call for our annihilation, history will repeat itself. And secondly, that remembrance in itself isn’t enough: We must also call out and defend ourselves against those who seek to emulate Haman and Amalek. That is the lesson of Purim, and that’s why the Sabbath preceding the holiday is called Shabbat Zachor.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

What--More Commandments? Mishpatim.21

 What—More Commandments?

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Shabbat Mishpatim 2021

Because obviously one can never have too much of a good thing, the Torah doesn’t stop with just Ten Commandments. (That is so LAST week!). In this week’s portion, Mishpatim (“Judgments,” Exodus 21:1—24:18) the Torah gives us 53 more commandments, 23 thou-shalt’s, 30 thou-shalt-not’s. 

Not all these commandments are applicable today. We no longer fear witches as people did in old days, and we don’t persecute them today as people used to. Thank God for that.

Some other commandments in this portion deal with slavery—not only how we are supposed to set our slaves free every seven years, but also how we are to treat them while they ARE in our possession. They are not to be seen as property—say, land; or animals. They are, after all, human beings, created with the image of God inside them. We do wonder, however, why a people who had so recently been freed from slavery didn’t just outlaw the terrible practice altogether! 

Still, some other of the commandments are important and valid today. What to do if you see a lost animal—even if you know it belongs to a person you seriously dislike. Obviously (or not so obviously to some!) you have to return the animal to its owner. Everyone—even animals—deserve to be in their own home.

With 53 Commandments in these short four chapters, we could spend days discussing them—which ones we can follow, which we can’t, and which need to be changed.

And that’s the whole point of the Torah. While some people interpret the commandments literally, what we are really supposed to do is to study them, understand the point the Torah is making, and then reach a decision about whether they are still valid today or perhaps need to be adapted—or altogether discarded.

But where would we be without this basis for civilization? Without rules we would have chaos; nothing would ever get done, because we would argue about what’s right and what’s wrong. Or else we would have some dictator making the decision—right or wrong—for us.

Democracy is all about discussion, all about give-and-take. It isn’t an easy or simple way to conduct our lives, but it does allow everyone to voice their own opinion, to contribute to the entire community and people by simply casting a vote.

Of course, nothing is perfect—and democracy has its problems too. Over the past few months we’ve been watching our own system of government come dangerously close to collapse. Yet another problematic situation can arise, one that has been termed “tyranny of the majority.” In a government system—democracy—where the majority rules, what happens to the minorities? Are their voices suppressed? Do we listen to the minorities? Do we pay attention to them?

And that too, we have been watching over the past few months. The rights of Blacks; of women; of non-binary gender identification.

The Torah teaches us to listen to everyone’s voice, because everyone matters. Yes, times have changed since the Torah first appeared in our civilization, 3000 years ago. But what hasn’t changed is that its laws still form the basis for our law system. We have changed many of its laws: slavery, thank God—at least in our own country—is now illegal. Some laws, however, such as capital punishment still await for a brave society or leader to amend or annul. 

One of the commandments I see as very important in this parasha is the one that says that we must not follow evil or wrong decrees; that we must not be party to injustice, no matter how many people around us participate in this evil. Just because “everybody” around us does something doesn’t necessarily make it right. It isn’t easy to stand up and say: “This is wrong.” It takes courage. It takes a hero to do that.

One such hero was President Abraham Lincoln, whose birthday we observed today. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation stands as a huge monument to freedom and liberty today, but when he proclaimed it, it was revolutionary. The Civil War was fought around the idea that ALL people—regardless of color, race, religion or gender—are equal. There were many who didn’t share President Lincoln’s belief, and he paid the ultimate price for it. And yet the changes that he effected are still around today. While we still see inequality and injustice, because of this amazing and important Proclamation we are much closer to the vision the Torah holds before us: of a free and just world, where people, animals, the land, air and water are treated with respect, with dignity, with wonder, with gratitude.

That’s what the Torah contributes to our lives. That’s why we still study it, still looking for the truth behind its many ancient and perhaps primitive laws. It still holds a beacon of light and hope for all humanity, no less today than it did 3000 years ago. It still gives us hope and courage to be God’s partners, to make the world a better place for all its inhabitants.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

Moral Guidance For The Ages: The Ten Commandments

Moral Guidance For The Ages: The Ten Commandments

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Shabbat Yitro, February 5, 2021

How do we see God? Where can we find a force so great that can cause the universe to come into being—yet has no form or shape itself and is unmeasurable by any instrument we know?

From the day humans uttered the first “why?” people have tried to create an image of this force we so wanted and needed to believe in.

From the crudest and most primitive clay figurines to Michelangelo’s magnificent mural in the Sistine Chapel, visions of gods and goddesses fill our art and literature.

Individuals claimed to see the Divine in dreams or visions; they heard voices in the wind; they saw God’s presence in fires, plagues and other natural events.

And that’s why the Ten Commandments stay so unique in all of human experience. 

It isn’t only that God was revealed to an entire nation—in fact, both to those who were present there at the moment, and to those who were not yet born! It’s that we didn’t see God. We heard God. For while the stone tablets that Moses brought down with him from the top of Mt. Sinai still are a visual wonder (don’t you love the way they take form in Cecil B. DeMille’s movie of The Ten Commandments?), it is the contents that matter, not their shape.

Set apart from all other commandments in the Torah, this list of rules stands iconic in more ways than one. On several occasions, individuals have tried placing a monument of the Ten Commandments either on courthouse lawns, public squares, and even in the rotunda of the Alabama Supreme Court building. Though these displays were declared to be in violation of the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution—specifically the clause that is often interpreted to require separation for church and state—people haven’t stopped trying. 

What is it about these rules that make them so basic to our culture and civilization?

Maybe the answer lies in our genes: both our desire to believe in a supreme being and our need to get along with other members of our community are currently understood to be embedded in our DNA. The Ten Commandments pretty much symbolize, in tone and in content, both of these needs .

And yet, despite the clarity and forcefulness in which they are stated (actually twice—once in the book of Exodus, a second time in Deuteronomy), the Ten Commandments still leave room for interpretation. The commandment usually translated into English as “You shall not kill” actually states “You shall not murder.” The difference is essential to our understanding of this law today. What counts as “murder?” Is unintentional manslaughter murder? Is killing in self-defense murder? And how do you prove such cases? In these examples, the commandment is not an endpoint, but rather the beginning of the process that we call justice.

The 613 Commandments included in the Torah are understood to be God’s laws; yet few of them remain part of our legal system in their original form. “An eye for an eye,” often quoted by literalists, is no longer seen as valid punishment. Similarly, many other commandments that appear in the Torah have shown evolution and interpretation. 

The Jewish belief is that the Torah was given by God to human beings not only to uphold and observe, but also to serve as guidance for future cases. Our understanding of human psychology and diversity has enabled us to progress since the days of Hammurabi and even Moses. Our modern law system reflects humanity’s growth and maturation.

And yet, the Ten Commandments stand, fundamental, set in stone. 

What is it about these words? Perhaps the answer lies in the fact that language is how God chose to reveal Godself to humanity. Visions and dreams were and still are common; but hearing God’s voice rising above the thunder and lightning, even beyond the sound of the great shofar that sounded at the time of this Revelation—a sound that is taught as having been heard around the world, hushing all other sounds including the chirping of birds and barking of dogs—that sort of “vision” of God must stand alone and separate among all other human experience. 

All the other Torahitic commandments were relayed to the Israelites by Moses. These Ten were spoken by God, directly and through no intercessor or agent. That, if nothing else, gives them extra validity.

As such, they deserve to be studied and understood as standing apart from all the other commandments. They are fundamental to all human morality, to every system of ethics, to every moral code that exists as part of human culture and existence. 

Judaism allows no visual representation of God. Much as we try to imagine it, we have no idea what God’s physical form might be. Yet what we have been granted is God’s words. It is by hearing and comprehending these words that we bring God’s presence—God’s holiness—into our life. In themselves, they are not God. But they do tell us what God wants of us, how God expects us to guide our steps, to chart our course through our daily life: With meaning, with dignity, with love, and with a sense of holiness.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman