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The parsha this week begins with God praising and rewarding Pinchas for an act he committed at the end of last week’s parsha; the killing of Zimri ben Salu, one of the heads of the tribe of Shimon, and Kozby bat Zur, a Midianite princess. He killed them because they were having an intimate relationship; “And behold a man from the children of Israel came and brought before his brothers a Midianite woman, before the eyes of Moshe and before the eyes of the entire congregation of Israel…” The Torah tells us that this was not a personal problem, but rather a communal one; “…and the people began to whore with the women of Midian. They called on the people to offer sacrifices to their Gods, and they ate, and bowed down to their Gods.”

The Rabbis have wondered why it was davka Pinchas who was the one to act against Zimri and Kozbi. Where were Moshe, and the other leaders of the people? We know they were aware of the situation; why did they not take action? Why was this relatively unknown member of the priestly family the one to act, and why did he act so violently? The Rabbis offer an interesting answer. Moshe, when faced with the sin of Zimri and Kozbi, did not know what to do. As the Rabbis say, “The halacha escaped him.” For some reason, Moshe, the law-giver par excellence, was at a loss as to how to respond legally to this situation. Pinchas, however, remembered the law: “He who has intercourse with a non-Jewish woman, zealots should kill him.” Pinchas, the zealot, and not Moshe, the law-giver, remembered this law, and acted on it.

This Rabbinic embellishment to the story only exacerbates our original problem. Why is this sin, the sin of intermarriage (or perhaps a very advanced form of inter-dating), not dealt with in the usual way, as other criminal acts in the Bible are dealt with: through a legal process, with witnesses, a court case, and a judicial decision? Why is it left for “zealots” to kill these particular sinners? It would seem that the Torah realizes that the crime committed by Zimri is the ultimate crime of passion – a crime rooted in deeply felt emotions, a crime rooted in love. Somehow, a crime of this nature eludes the rigors and strictures of the normal judicial process, which is why Moshe “forgot” the law in this case; after all, how can you legislate about love? How can you adjudicate emotions? That is why the only possible solution, the only possible response, if there is to be a response, must also be extra-legal; the passion of Zimri and Kozby can only be matched by the passion of Pinchas, the zealot. The response to the emotional crime committed here must itself be emotional.

To translate this into a less bloody and violent framework than the one in the parsha: Only an intense love relationship with God, the Torah, and the Jewish people can stand up to the act of intermarriage, which is itself an expression of love. The kinds of laws that work in other spheres of human activity will not work here, they do not apply. Only passion can stand up to passion.

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Last Updated on Tuesday, 29 June 2010 06:37

This week’s parsha tells the interesting story of the pagan prophet, Bil’am. Frightened by the approach of the Jewish people as they near the Land of Israel, Balak and the other Kings of Moav and Midian hire Bil’am to curse the Jewish people – “Now, please go and curse for me this nation, for it is too mighty for me; perhaps I will prevail, smite them, and drive them from the land…”. Bil’am takes the job, but, again and again, try as he might, his curses are turned by God into blessings: each and every time he tries to curse the Israelites, God miraculously puts the most beautiful poetry into his mouth, in which he praises the people Israel.

I have always felt that there is a bit of a strange game going on here. After all, God could, I imagine, allow Bil’am to curse the Jewish people to his heart’s content, and then simply ignore his words, or he could kill him, or turn him into a toad, or something. Why make such a big deal out of his words? Why does God seem to believe that what comes out of Bil’am’s mouth is important, and, therefore, He must perform this playful miracle of fooling around with what Bil’am says so that it comes out good for the Jews?

It occurs to me that if we discount the supernatural nature of a curse or a blessing, whatever that may or may not be, we are taught an interesting lesson about the power of the spoken word. Were Bil’am to successfully condemn the Jewish people, were he to curse and revile them, those words would have power: the Jews who heard them would be disheartened, the Midianites who heard them would be encouraged; the atmosphere, the balance, between these people would be effected, subtle and not-so-subtle psychological changes would take place, which would, apparently, weaken the Israelites and strengthen their enemies. If, on the other hand, Bil’am himself, prophet of Midian and Moav, heaps praises on the Jewish people, proclaiming “mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov…” – “How goodly are thy tents, Yaakov, and thy tabernacles, oh Israel” – that, too, has an effect; demoralizing the already nervous Midianites, and strengthening the resolve of the Jews.

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Last Updated on Wednesday, 23 June 2010 04:43

This week I want to do something a bit different. As I’m sure many of you know, in addition to reading in the synagogue the weekly Torah portion, there is a tradition to follow that reading with a short selection from one of the books of the prophets. Typically, this section, called the ‘haftarah’ or ‘leave-taking’ (the idea being that it is a kind of epilogue or coda to the Torah reading) is connected in some thematic way to the Torah portion. This week I would like to talk about the Torah reading together with the Haftarah.

In the Torah reading, near the end of the parsha, which, according to the Rabbinic understanding takes place towards the end of the 40-year trek through the desert, we are told that there was a water shortage: “Now there was no water for the nation, so they gathered against Moshe and against Aharon…saying…why did you bring the congregation of God into this wilderness to die there, us, along with our cattle…?” God appears to Moshe, and tells him to take his staff, assemble the community, and speak to a rock, which will give forth water. Famously, Moshe somehow gets it wrong, and commits what for him will be an ultimate, tragic sin, for which he will be punished by being denied entry into the Holy Land. Moshe assembles the people, and says, “Listen here, you rebels, from this stone shall we bring forth for you water?” Moshe then strikes the stone with his staff, twice, and water flows out of it. Subsequently, God informs him that by doing so he has sinned, grievously: “You did not believe in me, to sanctify me before the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this congregation into the land that I am giving them.”

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Last Updated on Tuesday, 15 June 2010 12:15

This week we read the story of Korach, who is traditionally seen as an arch-villain, the archetypal rebel against Moshe and Aharon – the ‘establishment’ of the Jewish people. When we look at it carefully, however, Korach’s complaint against the hegemony of Moshe and his brother, who between them and other members of their family run the entire show in the desert – has a compelling ring to it: “You’ve taken too much! For the entire community, all of them, are holy, and God is in their midst. Why should you exalt yourselves over the congregation of God?”

The complaint, to our ears at least, has a lot going for it. What is wrong with Korach’s desire for a more equitable division of power, which would involve and enfranchise “the entire community”? Would that not be a good thing? Does it not flow naturally from the democratizing tendencies we saw manifested a few week ago when Moshe, under attack from the people, delegated power to 70 elders, in an attempt to take some of the pressure off of himself, and involve others in the effort of governing and leading the nation? Korach’s position is also in sync with the suggestion made back at Mount Sinai to Moshe by his father-in-law Yitro – that he not judge the people by himself, but rather that he should establish a court system, whereby thousands of judges share the load with him. Is not Korach, who was himself a Levite and therefore part of the power elite, asking for the most basic of democratic principles – a fully participatory democracy, in which everyone is an equal partner? And if he is, why is he punished so horribly, by having the earth swallow up him and his followers?

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Last Updated on Wednesday, 9 June 2010 12:49

At the end of the parsha, Aharon and Miriam, the brother and sister of Moshe, speak badly of their brother. It is not crystal clear what they actually said, but the Torah tells us that it was something about the Cushite woman whom Moshe had married. After they speak, God appears to them, suddenly, and upbraids them for their behavior. Miriam is then punished with the skin disease tzara’at, usually mistranslated as leprosy (there is a kind of poetic justice – called by the Rabbis ‘midah k’neged midah’, or ‘measure for measure’ as Shakespeare translates it – in Miriam being punished with a skin disease for speaking badly about a woman identified as being black). Aharon, in the biblical narrative, seems for some reason to escape this punishment, although the Rabbis ingeniously read the text to say that he, too, was stricken in the same way. Moshe then prays for Miriam to be cured, and God responds in an interesting way: “If her father had spit in her face, would she not be put to shame for seven days? Let her be shut up for seven days outside the camp; afterwards she may be gathered up.”

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Last Updated on Wednesday, 26 May 2010 09:16