This week my husband asked:
Why is the Korban Pesach (the sacrificial lamb) roasted?
You can come up with your own answer, but his answer was because it is a sign of a rich person. When you roast a piece of meat, much of the fat drips away. A poor person would lament the loss of much of the meat. But a rich person is OK with parting with all that fat. It is yet another sign of freedom.
Which reminds me that when I started this blog, I intended to write about food and “you are what you eat”. So I’ll get started here, by saying: pay attention to how you cook the food, as well. Quick broiling is a healthy way of cooking. I am a big fan of steaming vegetables; I own three steamer inserts for my pots.
So maybe I haven’t blogged much about food, food choices and cooking methods because it comes across too preachy. And also, if you think my family only eats healthy food, hah! We do (the adults, anyway) have a tendency to sit around and discuss the junk food after we eat it. My eldest son at a young age could read the sugar amounts on cereal boxes and complain that the ones I bought did not have enough sugar.
I’ll save my complaints about kosher bakeries and hydrogenated fat for another post.
When I was in 5th grade, I had to write a paper on a plague. One of the ten plagues. So I chose Darkness, חֹשֶׁך . I remember drawing dark figures on yellowy manila construction paper. Sort of the like the image on the right.
The inspiration for this is Rashi’s commentary that there were two three day periods of the darkness. Why should it say ‘three days’ twice? During the first period the Egyptians could not see each other. During the second, no man could arise from his place.
I remember trying to visual people being paralyzed in their places. I also have a vague memory of classmates joking about Egyptians being stuck on a toilet, if that’s where they were.
So now as an adult, I like viewing the division of darkness into three types: physical, emotional and spiritual. The physical is what I have already described. Emotional would be like depression; one feels in a deep, dark gloom, but then when the darkness lifts, the feeling is freedom. Finally, for the spiritual or moral darkness, I will quote Rabbi Jonathan Sacks:
The greatest god in the Egyptian pantheon was Ra or Re, the sun god. The name of the Pharaoh often associated with the exodus, Ramses II, means meses, “son of” (as in the name Moses) Ra, the god of the sun. Egypt – so its people believed – was ruled by the sun. Its human ruler or Pharaoh was semi-divine, the child of the sun-god.
In the beginning of time, according to Egyptian myth, the sun-god ruled together with Nun, the primeval waters. Eventually there were many deities. Ra then created human beings from his tears. Seeing, however, that they were deceitful, he sent the goddess Hathor to destroy them; only a few survived.
The plague of darkness was not a mofet but an ot, a sign. The obliteration of the sun signaled that there is a power greater than Ra. Yet what the plague represented was less the power of G-d over the sun, but the rejection by G-d of a civilization that turned one man, Pharaoh, into an absolute ruler with the ability to enslave other human beings – and of a culture that could tolerate the murder of children because that is what Ra himself did.
When G-d told Moses to say to Pharaoh, “My son, my firstborn, Israel” He was saying: I am the G-d who cares for His children, not one who kills His children. The ninth plague was a Divine act of communication, that said: there is not only physical darkness but also moral darkness. The best test of a civilization is: see how it treats children, its own and others’. In an age of suicide bombing and the use of children as instruments of war, it still is.
One morning when Paro awoke in his bed
There were frogs in his bed, and frogs on his head
Frogs on his nose and frogs on his toes
Frogs here, frogs there
Frogs were jumping everywhere.
Listen to my daughter singing the song …
(Frog is drawn by me…a quick sketch with the pencil, then scanned into the computer and the greens were added in Photoshop.)
This post is dedicated to my dear friend Heidi Rosen and her mom, z”l (may her memory be a blessing). Hamakom yinachem otah b’toh avlai Zion v’Yerushalayim…
Heidi’s mom died after a long battle with cancer. This is also for all dear moms and daughters everywhere.
“Shemot is the best parsha in the universe!” declares my daughter. And no wonder…it’s action-packed, with women heroes, defiance of a totalitarian dictator, and the Children of Israel enslaved, but not for long. For her, the best part is how little Moshe is taken from the water by the daughter of Pharaoh. Miriam is standing nearby, and the daughter of Pharaoh’s servants are close by as well. Miriam will soon get her mother, Yocheved, to come nurse her own baby. See my daughter’s rendition of this event by clicking on the thumbnail.
When Moshe is born, Yocheved sees that he is “good”, ‘ki tov’. Aren’t all little babies good? Rashi explains that when he was born, the whole house filled with light. Rashi is referring to a midrash that it was supernatural sign, and therefore she hid him. He is alluding to the light from Breishit, where it also says ‘ki tov’, and it was good.
In his book Exploring Exodus Nahum Sarna points out the language here is not only an echo of Breishit, but later, when Yocheved places Moshe in a basket, it is called a ‘tevah’, echoing the language of parshat Noah.
These two literary allusions tie the book of Shemot (Exodus) back to the book of Breishit (Genesis). Just as God created the World, so He is the one who saves Moshe and will take the Children of Israel out of Egypt.
Sarna writes further about the word ‘suf’:
The container that held the infant Moses was placed among the “reeds”, in Hebrew suf, a term borrowed from the Egyptian for “papyrus/reed thicket.” The idea of the mother was to make sure that the infant would not be carried downstream. It may well be that the rare word suf has been selected in the present text because it is allusive, prefiguring Israel’s deliverance at Yam Suf (Sea of Reeds).
And for your listening pleasure, be sure to check out Ka Ribon by Pharaoh’s Daughter.
A beautiful song is in this week’s parsha of Vayechi. The scene is Yaacov on his deathbed, blessing his grandsons Ephraim and Menashe. Part of the blessing has become a pretty song that parents often sing to children at bedtime.
Translation in English:
“May the angel who redeemed me from all harm bless the youths, and may they be called by my name and the name of my fathers, Abraham and Isaac, and may they grow into a multitude in the midst of the land.”
Transliteration:
Hamalach hagoel oti,
Hamalach hagoel oti mikol ra
yivarech et hana’arim v’yikaray bahem sh’mi.
V’shem avotai, V’shem avotai Avraham v’Yitzchak,
v’yidgu larov, v’yidgu larov b’kerev ha’aretz.
Rashi states that “the youths” refer to Ephraim and Menashe. But I like to think of the youths as any kids that are in the room at the time the song is being sung.
For a hilarious post on how someone argued that children are supposed to get into trouble, because after all, the angel isn’t preventing the children from harm but redeeming them, see Maggid of Bergenfield.
For a scholarly post on how we Jews don’t usually worship angels, please read Josh Waxman’s post.
This is a continuation of The Golden Compass — Dust
I am pleased to say I could find no relationship between the Jewish concept of dust and Philip Pullman’s Dust. First, more on Philip Pullman’s Dust: it seems that there is some similarity between Pullman’s Dust and Buddhism’s dust. And Pullman will be producing a new book called ‘The Book of Dust’.
And now, back to Breishit for some thoughts on dust or afar(עָפָר):
Rav Frand has a post on the simile of dust :
The blessing of “k’afar ha’Aretz” represents the history of the Jews. Everybody tramples over the dust of the earth, but in the end the dust of the earth always remains on top. That same dust ultimately covers those who trample it.
One can read about Adam being made of clay, which is originally made of dust but then formed to become man in this post on Parshat Breishit:
Man was formed of the dust of every place on earth, and then kneaded into clay—whereas dust is diverse, yet uniform, clay is united.
Balashon has a post on the etymology of the word ‘Africa’, the source of which may be the word ‘afar’.
There is a Jewish concept called ‘avak lashon hara’, or the dust of evil language, but this uses the term avak and not afar. Avak lashon hara generally refers to traces of talk that may incite lashon hara, such as saying excessive praise.
Finally, on this Kol Torah post on Parshat VaYechi, Doniel Sherman explains how “For you are dust and to dust shall you return” refers to burial, in reference to Yaakov’s burial.
The Golden Compass, a new movie based on Philip Pullman’s novel, is creating controversy in the Catholic and Christian Right communities. I can’t say I blame them; having read the entire trilogy, his books are quite anti-Church.
That said, I am enamored of his books for the same reason that I adore the Narnia Chronicles (which Philip Pullman disdained). Not only are they great adventure, but the books make you think. About theology. About God. Or god, if you must. About where do we come from, and who is authority. One Conservative rabbi had a comment on how the books encourage b’chirah hafsheet, free choice.
One of the concepts I found intriguing was: Dust. I pulled out my handy-dandy JPS Tanakh and found dust in two pesukim in Chapter 2 of Breishit. What is the Hebrew for dust? I thought “afar” and my husband said “adamah”. It turns out the Hebrew is (Breishit 2:7):
עָפָר מִן-הָאֲדָמָה
afar min ha’adamah
dust from the earth
Then later(Breishit 3:19):
כִּי-עָפָר אַתָּה, וְאֶל-עָפָר תָּשׁוּב
kee afar ata, v’el afar tashuv
For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.
And just as the movie ended abruptly, I will end here abruptly.
To be continued (when I find some interesting insight to the word ‘afar’)…
Read Part II on Jewish Themes of Dust here
At our Friday night dinner table, my daughter (who is five) asked the question: Why didn’t Yosef send a letter to Yaakov? To let him know he was alive? My daughter’s answer was he was too busy. My son had a different answer, that Yosef did not want to shock his elderly father with the news. To which my daughter insisted that she was right! So my husband tried to explain that there can be multiple answers to a question. But I have the truth!, responded my daughter.
So I did a little research and found two more answers at a site called Shuvu Bonim:
There are several questions we could ask about the matter of Yosef. How is it possible that all those years he did not send any message to his father that he was alive and living in Egypt? Surely he could have done it with ease; he was the servant of Potiphar who was himself a high officer, the chief priest, (Bereishis 41:50, “Potiphera the Kohen of Ohn.” Rashi explains that Potiphera and Potiphar were one and the same, and the Ramban clarifies that, in this context, Kohen signifies a gentile priest). The possibility existed, and especially afterward, when he was made second to the king of Egypt. What would have been the problem to send a letter in the mail or with an Egyptian messenger? Egypt was then the world’s commercial center, and all the surrounding countries did business there, importing and exporting. It should have been no problem at all to find a courier traveling to Canaan.
There were two reasons why Yosef did not do this. Firstly, if Yaakov were to receive a letter that Yosef was alive and would know that the brothers had sold him, he would be angry with the brothers and punish them. With one glance, he could reduce them to a heap of bones. Yosef did not want that they should be punished, especially since the Jewish people still had to emerge from them. Secondly, if the brothers were to hear of his success, and, more particularly, that he had been made a king, they would never come to repent for what they had done. They would never feel any regret, they would say instead, “It was in our merit that he thrived, it was in our merit that he was made a ruler.” The Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer says that for forty years he was second to the king, and for another forty years he was the actual king. During his last forty years in Egypt, he was king, and he sought a way the entire time to bring the brothers to regret what they had done. He wanted them to come to true regret, from the depths of their hearts, so that the heavenly accusation against them would be stilled. Without that happening, they could not possibly continue to exist.
This is the way that the Beis HaLevi, who was the father of Rav Chayim Brisker and the grandfather of Rav Yosef Dov, the Brisker Rav, explains the verse, “And Yosef said to his brothers, ‘ I am Yosef. Is my father still alive?’ And they were unable to answer him for they were confounded before him.” (Beis HaLevi, Parshas Vayigash, Bereishis 45:3.) The Midrash comments on this, “Woe to us from the day of judgment! Woe to us from the day of rebuke! The brothers were unable to withstand the rebuke of their adversary.”
My own personal, psychologically-oriented explanation is Yosef had his own fears. He probably had a block on reconnecting with his family members. So in some ways, my daughter is right: he kept himself busy in order to avoid dealing with the deep-down pain he must have felt by his brothers’ rejection.
