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Library:D'vrei Torah
Journey to Jerusalem
Shabbat B'ha'alot'cha
Aufruf Dvar Torah, Gila Gevirtz
June 9, 2001
Shabbat shalom.
Today's parashah, Beha'alot'cha, transports us back to the story of the ancient Israelites as they wander through the wilderness of Sinai. New to the responsibilities and routines of a free people, God's retinue of former slaves resists the transition from their Technicolor dreams of liberation to reality's more subdued tones. Nowhere is this more apparent than in their grousing response to the tedium of nomadic life and the exhaustion of journeying to the sacred land. Yes, it is their birthright, the land God promised them through Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob, Rachel, and Leah, but the demands of the spiritual and physical ascent are proving more rigorous and challenging than they had imagined.
Their pace slows...their bodies grow heavy with suspicion and desire. A murmur arises among the people-perhaps life in Egypt hadn't been so bad after all. Perhaps they are being tricked and misled, wooed with the patter of freedom when security lay nestled in the homes they had just abandoned. Surely the food of oppression surpassed this monotonous diet of no-fat, low-salt, high-fiber manna served meal after meal, day after day, month after month, year after year.
Overwhelmed by anxiety and gluttonous cravings, the Israelites re-vision Egypt as a latter-day Eden.
Mi ya'achileinu basar. If only we had meat to eat! [they wail.] Zacharnu et hadagah asher nochal bemitzrayim hinam; We remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt; hakishu'im, the cucumbers, v'eit ha'avatihim, the melons, v'eit hahatzir, the leeks, v'et hab'tzalim, the onions, v'et hashumim, the garlic. Ve'atah...And now...ein kol. there is nothing at all! Bilti el haman eineinu. Nothing, but this manna to look at! (Numbers 11: 4-6) ...Lamah zeh yatzanu mimitzrayim. Oh, why did we ever leave Egypt! (Numbers 11: 20)
Rabbinic descriptions of manna's savory appeal notwithstanding, at this juncture, the Israelites have no appetite for God's wonders, for they are obsessed with the gourmand's fantasy of paradise lost. Indeed, just as Esau - brother of Israel-traded his sacred birthright for a bowl of stew, the children of Israel stand ready to barter theirs for prime ribs smothered in onions.
On first reading Beha'alot'cha, I simply marveled at the Jewish impulse to canonize food issues as sacred text. But, as I studied the portion, my attention became focused on the ironic echo of Eden in the Israelites' recollection of life in Egypt. And then it occurred to me that perfection and oppression are actually two sides of the same coin; that a life in which all one's needs are perfectly met is as infantalizing and spiritually stultifying as a life that is characterized by enslavement.
Rabbi Harold Kushner takes up this very point in his book How Good Do We Have to Be? In discussing Eve and the notorious forbidden fruit incident, he says:
[Eve] is not the villain of the story [of Creation], enslaved by appetite and bringing sin and death into the world. [Rather] she can be seen as the heroine...[who leads] her husband into the brave new world of moral demands and moral decisions.
Kushner goes on and formulates an alternative to the Eden text. He describes how the entire Bible might have been reduced to a paltry two chapters had the rebellious daughter Eve not eaten from the forbidden fruit. Kushner's version goes as follows:
To both [Adam and Eve God] said, "For the rest of your lives, you will have full bellies and contented smiles. You will never cry and you will never laugh. You will never long for something you don't have, and you will never receive something you always wanted."
And the man and the woman grew old together in the garden, eating daily from the Tree of Life and having many children. And the grass grew high around the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil until it disappeared from view, for there was no one to tend it.
Rabbi Kushner's musings aside, the Bible tells us that, in fact, the first couple did eat from the forbidden fruit. And these many generations later, we can only imagine the lump that formed in God's throat when deciding, "the time has come to let My children go."
To be sure, without Eve and the exodus from Eden not only is there no story worth telling, there also is no life worth living. For a state of perfection requires nothing of us and therefore leaves our potential untapped. And, if it is true that in Eden our flesh would not have succombed to death, then it is also true that, had we remained in Eden, our spirits would have suffocated long ago.
We, the descendents of Adam and Eve, can only thank God that the master plan included a back off, a Plan B. For our world-humdrum and flawed as it is - is the perfect place for imperfect people! Come to think of it, maybe that was the plan all along. Maybe, leaving the perfection of Eden is the only way to become our distinct and richly-textured, human selves. Couched in more personal terms, we each are asked to heed God's ancient call - Lech lecha! Go forth beyond the security and confines of your parents' home. [Lechi lach!] Go forth and meet the challenges of a complex and imperfect world. Go. I promise, though it is no paradise, it is there that I will bless you and you will come into your own.
As individuals and communities, we all must struggle to find our way outside of Eden's gates. We Jews are no exception. Like so many young folks, we got off to a rocky start-at one point making a narrow escape from harms way and then wandering about in the wilderness trying to regain our bearings. A ragtag band of former slaves, disoriented by the vicissitudes of freedom and self-invention, we might have faded into oblivion had it not been for a loving care package from home-the Torah. This sacred canon was, and continues to be our blueprint for living as responsible, caring adults; for learning to sanctify the many ordinary details of our existence; for creating holy time, holy space, and holy partnerships - here, in the real world, where we work, and play, and make love, and raise families, and vote, and argue, and agonize, and celebrate, and grieve, and pray-turning our hearts toward Jerusalem, not Eden.
Here, where daily we confront our fears and our weaknesses as well as profit from our good fortune and strengths, we are taught to carve out meaning from the mundane and to add holiness to all that we do. For Jewish spirituality is not concerned with abstract notions of perfection but rather with the nuts and bolts of responding to life's everyday joys and challenges with sacred acts of justice, forgiveness, prayer, compassion, and tzedakah. And Jewish sacred spaces and relationships are not created on the distant shores of Never-Never land but in the intimacy of our homes and in the communal spaces in which we pray, celebrate, do commerce, and debate.
You are the people with whom Michael and I have built homes, celebrated, prayed, done commerce, debated, and even argued. You are the people with whom we have been imperfect and with whom we have worked toward improvement and understanding, tolerance and trust, worked to construct sacred spaces and responsive relationships. Our marriage may have been made in heaven but, like the Torah - lo vashamayim hi - it will not be lived-out in heaven but rather here, on earth, with you, with all life's flaws and all our shortcomings. And for this we are grateful.
Thank you for being a part of our lives and a part of our joy. Thank you for accompanying us on this the first step of our ascent to Jerusalem and the sacred covenant of marriage.
Journey to Jerusalem Copyright © 2006 by Gila Gevirtz
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