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Monday, March 21, 2016

Torah for Purim

Torah for Purim
Rabbi Ari Kahn

New:
Intrigue in Shushan
(Appeared in Jerusalem Post March 18th 2016)

Audio:
Vashti and Esther; Feminism and Post-Feminism

Drinking, Purim and Yom Kippur

Amalek Zaycher Zecher or Zachor

Cross-dressing for Purim




The Story of Esther Hidden and Revealed



Esther as a Precedent


The story of Esther hidden and revealed (analysis of the story based on the Rav, and the Zohar)


Esther From Purim to Yom Kippurim; An ancient postmodern perspective on Esther



Remembering and Understanding the war against Amalek


Ad Dlo Yada - Drinking on Purim


Kimu Vekiblu (Matan)

Purim/yom kipurim

The joy of Adar


Essays
Amalek a Question of Race? (Updated)

Parshat Ki Tisa - Purim 5769 Mar Dror: The Kohen Gadol and Purim/Yom Kippurim

The Heroism of Esther

The Book of Esther - A Multifaceted Book

PURIM / A Tale of Two Megilot

Purim and the Masks We Wear


Friday, March 18, 2016

Intrigue in Shushan

Intrigue in Shushan
Rabbi Ari Kahn[1]
Purim is a raucous holiday. With gifts and costumes and perhaps a little wine, it is a day (or, in Israel, what seems like an entire week) of celebration and happiness. What is the source of this festive atmosphere? Our automatic assumption is that an answer may be found in Megillat Esther, The Book of Esther that tells the story of this unique celebration and is read on Purim. And yet, the story told in the Megillah is a complex one, and, in fact, gives only a partial answer to our question. At the very least, we must admit that as far as the heroine of the tale is concerned, the story’s ending was not necessarily “happily ever after” on a personal level. More generally, the Megillah describes turbulent times, rife with existential danger, reversals of fortune, and dramatic changes of status; the complications are magnified when we read the text through the eyes of traditional rabbinic commentary.

Ahashverosh is introduced as a king who loves to party. We know very little about him from the text, other than the fact that he seems to be a gracious host, attentive and caring - that is, to everyone but his wife. We are provided with important background information about this Persian monarch by rabbinic tradition: Ahashverosh was a usurper to the throne. The real royalty was his wife Vashti.[2]
When Ahashverosh overthrew the king, the foremost symbol of his conquest was Vashti, whom he wished to display for all to see, like all of his other possessions and conquests. Thus, the order to parade Vashti before the officers and ministers of his court was no mere drunken whim; the very fact that he could order her to appear was proof of his power and authority. Although some 20th and 21st century writers have described Vashti as a feminist heroine, it would be best to avoid reading modern values into ancient sources, which may lead to an anachronistic reading of the story. It seems likely that the struggle between Vashti and Ahashverosh was not a battle between sexes as much as between classes, namely between the new ruling class and the old regime that had been ousted by force.

Vashti’s refusal to comply puts Ahashverosh in an untenable position; in fact, all the other nouveau lords and ministers understood the problem immediately: Vashti’s defiance threatened them as much as it did the king, for all of them had taken the estates and wives of the former aristocracy. They feared all the conquered women would follow Vashti’s cue, and a wide-scale rebellion would result. They urged Ahashverosh to nip the uprising in the bud, forcing him to choose between losing his trophy wife and losing his throne.
Theirs was not a loving relationship: Vashti detested the former stable boy[3]  who had risen to power through violence and ruthlessness, nor did she have any illusions about her husband’s priorities or methods. She made a conscious choice in favor of her own dignity by refusing to be put on display, choosing death over a life of subjugation and humiliation.

With Vashti gone, however, Ahashverosh was faced with a new problem: He was in desperate need of the stamp of legitimacy and nobility Vashti had provided. His most important trophy was gone, and he needed a new queen.
An empire-wide search was initiated, capped off by a bizarre and sordid contest: The winner would become queen and the losers would join the royal harem, the “stable” of the king’s mistresses. Ironically, but not surprisingly, Esther, the Jewish girl who had no desire to be queen, was chosen. Her disinterest, her lack of desire to win, her “standoffish” attitude, is precisely what reminded Ahashverosh of his not-so-dearly departed, aristocratic wife Vashti. Esther was the perfect Vashti replacement.
Things begin to move along smoothly for Ahashverosh: He subcontracts most decisions to his diabolical, megalomaniacal, anti-Semitic chief-of-staff, Haman. And as diabolical, megalomaniacal anti-Semites are wont to do, Haman conceives a plan to make the world Judenrein.

The pieces begin to come together; the gears begin to mesh. Esther, who has been perceived up to this point as passive, distant, even docile, reveals a completely different side of her personality, displaying leadership, spunk and brilliance. On the one hand she requests that the Jews fast and pray for her. On the other hand, she sets in motion a plan to divide and conquer, pitting the megalomaniacal Haman against her insecure, paranoid husband. She invites both men to a private party. The ever-suspicious Ahashverosh cannot sleep; he knows something is awry, but is racked with doubt. Is Haman plotting against him, or is it Esther? Are they perhaps in cahoots? Will he be forced, once again, to choose between two things he values – his wife and his closest advisor – in order to remain on the throne? Perhaps he should have both threats eliminated, have both Haman and Esther killed, despite the messy and inconvenient aftershocks? This is not, after all, the first plot to assassinate him. It had happened before, when, of all people, a Jew named Mordechai had saved his life.
Unable to sleep, in search of insight or precedent, he reads through old protocols, when his train of thought is interrupted by a commotion outside: Haman has come to the palace, uninvited, in hopes of convincing the king to have Mordechai executed. Ahashverosh, focused on solidifying his power, is keen to publicly reward Mordechai for his loyalty, as a means of staving off insurgency. For his part, Haman is completely focused on himself. Oozing megalomania, he can think of no one more worthy of the king’s largesse than himself, and suggests that the unnamed object of Ahashverosh’s favor be dressed in the king’s clothes and paraded through the city on the king’s horse by a member of court.

This is clearly not the wisest thing to suggest to an insecure ruler who is hyper-sensitive to the trappings of royalty. Ahashverosh’s suspicions about Haman are compounded by Haman’s own greedy grab at the spotlight. It is surely no coincidence that Ahashverosh, himself an erstwhile stable boy, commands Haman himself to lead the royal mount through the streets of Shushan: This is a demeaning job for a person of such high station, a clear demotion in the eyes of the king, and perhaps also a silent warning to his upwardly mobile advisor to tread carefully: The path between the palace and the stables can be a two way street.

One party follows another. On the second night, Esther levels accusations at Haman in language she knows will resonate in Ahashverosh’s tortured mind: Haman has been insubordinate, and has attempted to manipulate Ahashverosh into a self-destructive policy that would eliminate the king’s most loyal subjects and bring about widespread unrest in the kingdom. Soon Haman is led to the very gallows he had prepared for Mordechai, while Mordechai, and with him all the Jews of the kingdom, rise to unprecedented positions of respect and influence.

What is it that we celebrate, then, in the frivolity of Purim? An unbiased reading of the story leaves us nonplussed, because it seems no more than the story of a man who kills his wife on the advice of his best friend and then kills his best friend on the advice of his wife. For Jews, though, the story cannot be read without a very particular bias: For us, Purim is a joyous day. The Megillah is a microcosm of a very particular view of Jewish history, fraught with assimilation and heroism, existential danger and Divine intervention, and above all, Jewish survival against seemingly insurmountable odds. The Book of Esther celebrates our collective happy ending; it celebrates the miracle of Jewish survival, celebrated each year with food and drink and the exchange of gifts and good will. It celebrates the fact that the real and true King, the only King, the Master of the Universe, has stepped in to rescue us from annihilation throughout history, and it gives us hope that He will never abandon us, even in times of great darkness and danger. L’chaim!



[1] This article appeared in the “In Jerusalem” section of the Jerusalem Post March 18th 2016 page 12
[2] Talmud Bavli Megilah 10b
[3] Talmud Bavli Megilah 12b 

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Parashat Vayikra 5776 - Obedience

Echoes of Eden
Rabbi Ari Kahn
Parashat Vayikra
Obedience

The world of sacrificial offerings is a new, different and foreign world. As readers, we get lost in the strangeness of the entire subject, and do not pause to think about what we have read, to understand and internalize. The basic premise of sacrifice creates a world of responsibility, in which the individual bears responsibility not only for conscious behavior, for deliberate action - as is the case in the “normal” world - but also for accidental transgressions, for what happens when we lose focus, act absentmindedly or allow ourselves to be led astray by shallow thinking. In this strange parallel universe, even unintended outcomes become the individual’s responsibility, and must be atoned for.

This being so, we tend not to look for a system, for a method in the litany of offerings that comprise the bulk of the book of Vayikra. Have we ever attempted to discern common threads among the various types of sin offerings, or to create categories that would enlighten or inform? Is there something to be learned from the type of animal each sin offering involves? Which offerings are of large animals, and which of small animals? What obligations can be met by sacrificing fowl, and which by grain? Which offerings are comprised of male animals and which of females? Which transgressions are clustered together, and why? What can we learn from the implications of these groupings?

Leaving the micro analysis for a moment and turning to the macro, to the broad mechanics of Temple service, we are able to discern the objective of offerings in general: The Hebrew word for all ritual offerings is “korban,” a derivative form of the root krv– to come near, to approach. Sacrificial offerings afford the individual who has become estranged from God the means to return, to rebuild intimacy.

This objective is described time and time again in the verses of Vayikra as “a pleasant smell for God.” The commentaries are quick to note that this is, at best, an anthropomorphism: God has neither a nose nor a sense of smell, nor does He sit in heaven waiting to be placated by the smell of an earthly BBQ. One of our greatest commentaries, Rashi, explained this concept in a very different way, based on comments found in the Sifri, an ancient Midrash: Sacrificial offerings are not some type of magical divination, voodoo or “hocus pocus;” rather, the key to the korban’s efficacy is obedience.

Nichoach: [This word implies]Nahat ruah, pleasure of spirit, for I spoke and you fulfilled My will. (Rashi, Vayikra 1:9)

Man has sinned by neglecting, ignoring, or forgetting the word of God, but God allows man to correct this mistake by giving us a second chance to obey His command, thus making reconciliation possible. By bringing the precise offering in the precise fashion prescribed, in adherence to the Word of God - even when it bears no intrinsic logic - man is allowed to make amends. Rashi seems to be implying that the main consideration, the element in which God “takes delight,” is not the “pleasing smell” but rather that the Divine spirit is uplifted by man’s adherence to God’s command. The earlier failure to obey is healed by this new opportunity. Thus, the offering itself is almost irrelevant; it bears no intrinsic meaning, other than as an opportunity to exhibit submission to God’s Will and adherence to God’s command. The procedure is the offering; the precise attention to the details is what transforms the sinner and heals the rupture in the relationship.

In his commentary to Psalm 40:7, Rashi is even more emphatic:

You did not desire slaughter or meal-offerings; … You did not request burnt-offerings and sin-offerings. (Tehillim 40:7)

“Slaughter or meal-offerings:” [This refers to] the day the Torah was given, as it states (Shmot 19): “If you listen to the voice of God.” Similarly, [God] said (Yermiyahu 7:22), ‘For I did not speak to your fathers, nor did I command them on the day that I brought them out of the land of Egypt concerning burnt-offerings or sacrifices;’ I wanted to bring you close, and I had no need to burden you with daily or holiday (offerings). The only pleasure I derived was that I commanded and you adhered to My request, which is a small gesture. (Rashi, Tehillim 40:7)

The verse from the prophecy of Yirmiyahu cited by Rashi is a small part of an entire chapter that laments the behavior of the Jewish community. The Temple had become a place that did not celebrate mans adherence to the will of God. Quite the opposite: The chapter tells the tale of a city, of an entire society, in which strangers were oppressed, the weak and disenfranchised exploited, and justice trampled. Stealing, murder, adultery, and false witness had become the norm; decency was nowhere to be found. In that society, people deluded themselves into thinking that the Temple service would excuse their behavior. They believed that they could bribe God with offerings and save themselves through the merit of their sacrifices. Yirmiyahu attempted to open their eyes, to dispel their illusions by describing the gruesome fate that awaited their generation, and the Temple they had misused.

Sacrificial offerings are not magic; they are, however, a means through which man may come closer to God. They do not take the place of decent behavior, nor are they generally a remedy for deliberate transgressions. Sacrificial offerings bring about rapprochement only in conjunction with general adherence to the word of God. There is no magic involved. Unlike primitive cultures who believed they could force Gods hand or sway God from meting out punishment, Jewish sacrifice is a method of re-attuning an estranged individual to the Voice of God. This is the source of pleasure, the nachat ruach that God draws from the offering: A person who has become estranged, has taken the relationship for granted and become negligent in the service of God, now seeks a way back to intimacy. The precise adherence to the korbans rituals reaffirms the human desire to adhere to Gods commandments. Sacrifices brought in this spirit are a step toward perfecting the world, not a fig leaf for moral decay.

For a more in-depth analysis see:




 Echoes of Eden

Vayikra; Audio and Essays

Audio and Essays Vayikra

New Essay:
Obedience

Lectures on Vayikra:
A Pleasant Aroma

Introduction to Vayikra; Whither Korbanot

Kayin & Hevel; Proper and improper Korbanot

An Endearing Scent



Parashat Zachor – Haftorah

Essays Vayikra
VAYIKRa - Making Space for Holiness

Vayikra 5769 - Angelic Speech

Parashat Vayikra 5774 Intimacy

Vayikra - And He Called

The Mystery of the Sacrifices

Echoes of Eden Vayikra







Sunday, March 6, 2016

Parashat P’kudei - Clouds, From Both Sides

Echoes of Eden
Rabbi Ari Kahn
Parashat Pkudei
Clouds, From Both Sides

As the book of Shmot draws to an end, a cloud envelops and fills the newly completed Mishkan. In a general sense, we understand that this is what makes the Mishkan operational:

The cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and God's glory filled the Mishkan. Moshe could not come into the Tent of Meeting because the cloud rested on it and God's glory filled the Mishkan. [Later], when [God] raised the cloud up from the Mishkan, it [would be a signal] for the Israelites to move on, [and this was true] in all their travels. When the cloud did not rise, they would not move on, [waiting] until the day it did. God's cloud would remain on the Mishkan by day, and fire was in it by night. This was visible to the entire House of Israel, in all their travels. (Shmot 40:34-38)

What is the significance of this cloud? Although we may not have paid proper attention to it, we have seen this cloud but not really focused on it throughout the entire book of Shmot; we might say that the cloud has been a major subtext. Thus, when the Jews first left Egypt, the cloud accompanied them:

God went before them by day with a pillar of cloud, to guide them along the way. By night it appeared as a pillar of fire, providing them with light. They could thus travel day and night. The pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire at night never left [their position] in front of the people. (Shmot 13:21-22)

Always present, always in the background; like a vigilant mother, the cloud had been watching over them, protecting them. Although we generally think of clouds as ethereal, as a bit of heaven, the cloud had been their constant companion in a very real sense, separating between their camp and the Egyptian army, leading them through the sea, showing them the way forward. In a similarly real sense, when the time came for the Revelation at Sinai, God descended to earth, as it were, and appeared on the mountain in a cloud:

God said to Moshe, 'I will come to you in a thick cloud, so that all the people will hear when I speak to you. They will then believe in you forever.' (Shmot 19:9)

When Moshe was invited to ascend Mount Sinai to receive the Tablets, he climbed heavenward, making his way through the cloud:

As Moshe climbed the mountain, the cloud covered the mountain. God's glory rested on Mount Sinai, and it was covered by the cloud for six days. On the seventh day, He called to Moshe from the midst of the cloud. To the Israelites, the appearance of God's glory on the mountain top was like a devouring flame. Moshe went into the cloud, and climbed to the mountain top. Moshe remained on the mountain for forty days and forty nights. (Shmot 24:15-18)

These verses, describing the Revelation, bear a striking resemblance to the verses at the end of the book of Shmot that describe the completion of the Mishkan. Perhaps by considering the similarities between these two sets of verses, we may gain a better understanding of the final chord sounded as Shmot comes to an end, and, as a result, of the Mishkan itself.

The key, it seems, is the cloud: According to tradition, the protective cloud that had accompanied the Israelites out of Egypt dissipated when the people worshipped the golden calf. This seems to represent a strange, stern quid pro quo: The people were confused; they felt vulnerable and abandoned due to Moshes absence, and they failed to appreciate that Gods Presence was still very much with them in the form of the protective cloud. And because they turned a blind eye toward the ever-present manifestation of God, taking the cloud for granted, it was taken from them. This is the price to be paid for not appreciating Gods protection: The protection is revoked. The cloud vanishes.

In the aftermath of the sin, Moshe prays for forgiveness on behalf of the nation. He pleads that Gods presence return and dwell among the people. Moshe goes so far as to say that if God is not in their midst He may as well not go through the motions of allowing the Jews to continue their journey to the Promised Land (Shmot 33:15-16). Moshe understood that without God in their midst, their efforts would be futile, meaningless.

This, then, is the true significance of the final verses of Shmot: The cloud has returned. For the first time, the people are granted a clear sign that the sin perpetrated at the foot of the mountain, the sin that had banished the cloud, has been forgiven. The cloud expresses the rekindled intimacy between the Jewish People and God. Now that they are once again granted protection and guidance, they are able to move on, both spiritually and geographically, continuing their quest to create a holy society in the Holy Land.



 Echoes of Eden

Audio and Essays Parashat Pikudei