Honor your father and your mother, so that your days will be long on the earth that God, your God, is giving you. (Exodus/Shemot 20:12)
This is the fifth of the Ten Commandments in this week’s Torah portion, Yitro. You can read my blog post about it here: Yitro: The Heaviness of Honoring Parents.
Jethro (Yitro) and Moses, by James J.J. Tissot, ca. 1900
The portion Yitro also gives us a portrait of a father-in-law well worth honoring. Yitro visits his son-in-law Moses in the wilderness around Mount Sinai, where Moses he has led the Israelites and their fellow-travelers. The two men exchange greetings, with Moses bowing to the ground to honor his father-in-law.1 Yitro, a Midianite priest, rejoices over the good things that Moses’ God has done for Moses’ people, without showing a hint of jealousy.2 Then he makes an animal offering to God, and all the elders of the Israelites join him in the ritual meal.3 Finally, Yitro observes Moses wearing himself out by serving as the only judge for all his people’s disputes, asks him the reason, and then suggests a system for delegating authority.4 He leaves his son-in-law in a better position than when he arrived.
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As I continue to write my book on morality in Genesis, I am now wrestling with the story of a less admirable father-in-law. Judah, who once arranged to sell his brother Joseph as a slave,5 has three sons. He chooses Tamar as a wife for his oldest son, Eir.6 But Eir dies after the wedding.
According to the law of yibum (also called levirate marriage), a woman who is childless when her husband dies must be given a place in the household of the deceased through an arrangement in which the dead husband’s brother or nearest male relative impregnates her, and when she has a son her boy inherits her dead husband’s portion of the family wealth. Without yibum, the widow has no rights.
Judah dutifully sends his second son in to Tamar’s bed, but he refuses to perform, and shortly dies. Now Judah has only one son left, young Shelah, and he is afraid that Shelah will also die if he gets near Tamar.
Then Judah said to Tamar, his daughter-in-law: “Return as a widow to your father’s house until my son Shelah grows up.” (Genesis/Bereishit 38:11)
Tamar (veiled), by Marc Chagall
Tamar waits a long time in limbo, and then finally takes the yibum into her own hands. When Judah goes to the annual sheep-shearing, he spots someone at a crossroad whom he assumes is a prostitute waiting for a customer. It is Tamar, dressed like a prostitute and veiled so he does not recognize her. She asks him to give her his seal, cord, and staff as a pledge until he can pay her. When Judah sends his friend with the payment, no prostitute can be found. A few months later, when it becomes obvious that Tamar is pregnant, Judah condemns her to death for prostitution. After all, she was supposed to remain chaste until he arranged yibum for her again.
At the last minute, Tamar sends Judah his own seal and staff with the message:
“To the man whose these are his I am pregnant.” And she said: “Recognize, please: whose seal and cord and staff are these?” (Genesis 38:25)
At that moment Judah changes. He is the first person in the Torah to admit he was wrong.
And Judah recognized, and he said: “She is more righteous than I.” (Genesis 38:26)
He becomes an honorable father-in-law, returning Tamar to his household, where she has twin sons. Judah also becomes an honorable man, who eventually offers himself as a slave to protect his innocent brother Benjamin.7
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Not all parents-in-law, or all parents, are worthy of being honored. But we can still treat them with respect, for being fellow humans and for who they might become. The example of Judah reminds us that human beings can change.
Both modern English and biblical Hebrew use the word for “hand” (yad, יָד) in many idioms. And sometimes an idiom in an English translation of the Hebrew bible was adopted into English just because the “Old Testament” had so many English-speaking readers.
Beshalach: a high hand
The Israelites leave Egypt “with a high hand” in this week’s Torah portion, Beshalach. Here is the King James translation:
And the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he pursued after the children of Israel: and the children of Israel went out with an high hand. (Exodus 14:8)
In English we say people are “high-handed” when they act as if they have the authority to accomplish something by themselves, without consulting anyone or considering anyone else’s concerns. When the Israelites march out of Egypt, they feel arrogant for a change. The pharaoh who oppressed them has begged them to go, they are taking everything Pharaoh wanted them to leave behind, and they have just commandeered gold and other valuables from their Egyptian neighbors. They act as if they are invincible–until the Egyptian army catches up with them. (See my 2013 post: Beshalach: High Handed.)
In English we say “He was caught red-handed,” because a man at a murder scene with blood on his hands is probably the murderer. The idiom applies to anyone caught committing a violation in front of witnesses or with obvious, incontrovertible evidence.
But if you arrange for someone to die while you are elsewhere and there is no evidence that “your hand was in it”, you might never be implicated. Biblical Hebrew would phrase that idiom as “your hand was with” the obvious perpetrator. For example, King David asks a woman with an imaginary story about two sons “Is the hand of Joab with you in all this?” to find out if Joab’s hand is in her ploy to make him change his mind about his son Absalom (2 Samuel 14:19).
Vayeishev: don’t lay a hand on
This week I am writing the part of my book on Genesis about when Joseph’s brothers sell him as a slave to caravan bound for Egypt in the Torah portion Vayeishev. Initially, most of Joseph’s ten older brothers want to kill him, then throw his body into one of the dry cisterns in the vicinity. Reuben, the oldest brother, persuades them not to get blood on their own hands.
And Reuben said to them: “Don’t shed blood! Throw them into this pit that is in the wilderness, but don’t extend a hand(yad)on him,” in order to rescue him from their hand (yad) and return him to his father. (Genesis 33:22)
In colloquial English Reuben is saying: “Don’t lay a hand on him.” All the brothers cooperate by seizing Joseph, stripping off his fancy tunic, and throwing him into the cistern alive. Then Reuben wanders off while the rest of Joseph’s brothers sit down for a meal and Joseph pleads for his life from the bottom of the cistern. An Ishmaelite caravan headed for Egypt approaches, and one of the brothers, Judah, says:
What profit if we murder our brother and cover up his blood? Let’s go and sell him to the Ishmaelites, and our hand (yad) won’t be on him; for he is our brother, our flesh.” (Genesis 33:26-27)
What Judah does not say is that a slave sold in Egypt would probably have a short life-span.
Thus the Torah provides an example of how humans excuse their own behavior when they put someone in harm’s way or incite someone to commit a crime. If I didn’t do it with my own hands, they think, I’m not really guilty.
In Genesis, Joseph’s brothers realize that they are guilty after all, and that guilt haunts them the rest of their lives.
Plague of Darkness, Haggadah by Judah Pinchas, 1747
The penultimate plague in Egypt, just before the Death of the Firstborn results in the liberation of the Israelite slaves, is darkness.
For three days there is complete, impenetrable darkness, darkness so thick that it can be felt. “No one could see his brother, and no one could get up from under it, for three days.” (Exodus 10:23)
This is not only a physical darkness, but a psychological one. Click here to read my blog post on the subject: Bo: Impenetrable Darkness.
The Egyptians in this week’s Torah portion, Bo, are immobilized by darkness–by their inability to recognize other human beings as their brothers.
Today I have been writing about Jacob’s wrestling match in the dark night before he sees his brother Esau face to face for the first time in 20 years. Jacob wronged Esau by making him swap his firstborn rights for a bowl of lentil stew, and by tricking their father into giving him Esau’s blessing. Like other characters in the book of Genesis/Bereishit, Jacob gave the wrong answer to Cain’s question, “Am I my brother’s protector?”
Guilt drives Jacob’s behavior for 20 years. Now he is about to return home to Canaan, and he wants to make amends. But how can he face Esau?
What will it take for Jacob to forgive himself? Will he ever emerge from his inner darkness?
By the time I finish writing my book on moral psychology in Genesis, I will have some answers.
I am still writing my book, Tasting the Fruit: Moral Psychology in Genesis. Today I wrote about how Rachel steals her father’s household idols as she leaves home, sneaking off toward Canaan with her husband (Jacob), her son (Joseph), and her three fellow wives and their children (Genesis 31:1-21 in the portion Vayeitzei).
Why would Rachel steal the idols? Because they can be used for divination, and she does not want her father to know where she and her family are.
Idols (physical images of gods) are forbidden in the book of Exodus. One of the Ten Commandments declares: “You may not make for yourself a statue or any likeness of what is in the heavens above or what is on the earth below or what is in the waters from under the earth. You may not bow down to them or serve them.” (Exodus 20:4-5)
15th-13th century BCE storm god from Megiddo, Israel Museum
The books of Isaiah and Psalms make fun of idols, asking why anyone would treat a piece of inert wood, stone, or metal as if it could hear and speak. But the book of Genesis is a different story. The patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob do not use idols, but Jacob’s father-in-law Lavan does, and his daughter Rachel believes they can speak to him.
The idols Rachel steals are small enough to fit into a camel pack. They may look like the figurines of gods I saw last year in the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, all smaller than my hand.
Idols were standard religious equipment in Egypt during the 19th dynasty (1292–1190 B.C.E.), where Moses was born in this week’s Torah portion, Shemot. He would have learned about all the gods of Egypt and their representations in painting and sculpture after he was adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter. When he left Egypt as a young man, he went to live with a priest of Midian, and learned about the gods of the Midianites–probably including the god on Mount Sinai that later became the God of Israel.
Moses first encounters that god, God with a capital “G”, when he sees the bush on Mount Sinai that burns but is not consumed. God speaks out of the fire, not from an idol. Click here to read about it in my post Shemot: Holy Ground.
Today most of us do not hear strange voices in our heads, only the familiar subvocalizations of our own psyches. Yet many people engage in magical thinking. I can imagine staring a long time at a bronze figurine, and hearing it speak inside your head. And if the figurine said something that you did not consciously know, but that turned out to be true, you would stare at it again when you needed insight.
Unless it was gone when you got home, because someone had stolen it.
Solomon reading from the Torah, North French 13th c.
King Solomon orders a living baby cut in half in the haftarah that accompanies this week’s Torah reading, Mikeitz. It is his first act as a judge after God has granted him discernment between good and bad.
Two prostitutes who live in the same house come to him for judgment because they gave birth at about the same time, but one baby died in the night, and they do not agree on which of them is the mother of the living baby. (See my post Haftarat Mikeitz–1 Kings: No Half Measures.)
Since there are no witnesses, King Solomon declares the baby will be cut in half and each claimant will get half a baby. Then one woman begs him to save the baby’s life and give it to her adversary, while the other woman says dividing the baby is fair. Solomon then awards the living baby (unharmed) to the woman who wants to save the baby’s life, and says she is the mother.
Whether she was the birth mother or not, she is the one who deserves to be a parent–because she who would rather save a child’s life than insist on her own legal rights .
This week, as I continue to compose my book on moral psychology in Genesis, I am writing about the blatant favoritism of the parents in the Torah portion Toledot. In one scene, Rebecca disguises and instructs her favorite son, Jacob, so he can steal the blessing that Isaac wants to give his favorite son, Esau (Genesis 27:1-29).
The masquerade leads to one problem after another, and Jacob ends up fleeing to another country because Esau wants to kill him. Neither Rebecca nor Isaac is as callous as the second prostitute in King Solomon’s case. Rebecca never suggests anything that would physically harm Esau, and she chooses to lose her favorite son, Jacob, for an indefinite period of time in order to save his life. Isaac, after blessing the “wrong” son, pronounces two more blessings, a blessing for Esau and a parting blessing for Isaac.
But both parents fail to ameliorate the psychological damage they did long ago by neglecting one son and lavishing attention on the other. As the rest of Jacob’s life unfolds in the book of Genesis, he continues to feel unentitled, and to believe (like his mother) that he can only get what he wants through manipulation and deceit.
I think this is what the Torah means when it says God “visits the sins of the parents upon the children” (Exodus 34:7). The punishment is built in; we are all handicapped to some extent because of our parents’ shortcomings.
Yet I believe that if we can examine our own histories, and work on discerning between good and bad like King Solomon, we can think of alternative choices for the future, and make life better for ourselves and our children and everyone around us. May we all make it happen.
And [Joseph] came to Shekhem. And a man found him, and hey! He was going astray in the field. And the man asked him: “What do you seek?” (Genesis/Bereishit 37:14-15)
That is the opening of the first post I ever wrote on this week’s Torah portion, Vayeishev. I dusted if off and polished it up today, and you can find it at this link: Vayeishev: The Question.
I plan to expand on two of the points in that post when I write Chapter 9 of my book on moral psychology in Genesis. This week I’ve been writing Chapter 5, on the Torah portion Chayyei Sarah, which includes the story of how Abraham and his steward acquire a wife for Abraham’s son Isaac. “What do you seek?” is a good question for that story as well.
Abraham’s Solemn Charge, by Pedro Orrente, 17th cent., detail
When Abraham gives instructions to his steward for picking out the bride, he is seeking a woman who will keep Isaac on the path to provide descendants who will someday rule Canaan under God’s law. Since Abraham believes his son is weak and easily influenced, he wants Isaac to have a wife who is not a Canaanite but who will move to Canaan for the marriage.
Abraham’s steward has another agenda besides fulfilling his oath to his master. He seeks a bride who is generous and strong–perhaps because Isaac is withdrawn and passive, and the steward hopes a wife like that will draw him out.
Isaac himself seeks solace after his mother’s death, but it does not occur to him to look for it in a wife. He is surprised when his father’s steward arrives with a bride for him.
And the bride herself? Rebecca, Isaac’s first cousin once removed, is the one all three men have been seeking. But what does she seek, and does she find it in her marriage to Isaac? The Torah is silent on that subject, so I am making it the theme of my Torah monologue for Chapter 5.
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I like the word “seeking” because it means actively searching, not passively hoping that what you want will happen. I have been seeking a life of writing books for most of my 66 years, but real life is complicated, and I have only achieved my goal a few times, during years that were never long enough. This time, even though I am retired, I still have to keep saying no to all kinds of things in order to guard my writing time. That’s the hard part. The easy, delightful part is spending so many hours a day writing, and going to bed every night looking forward to writing again in the morning.
I have found what I was seeking. What do you seek?
Avinu malkeinu, we have missed the mark before you.
Avinu malkeinu, we have no king other than you.
avinu (אָבִינוּ) = our father.
malkeinu (מַלְכֵּנוּ) = our king.
These are the first two verses of a prayer sung from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur to ask God to forgive our misdeeds of the past year. (The new year, 5781, began on Friday evening, and Yom Kippur will end the evening of September 28, 2020 in the secular calendar.)
The Avinu Malkeinu prayer can be traced to the Talmud, which records a story about Rabbi Akiva’s prayer during a drought.1 Akiva’s teacher, Rabbi Eliezer, prayed for rain.
Rabbi Akiva, Mantua Haggadah, 1568
And he recited twenty-four blessings, but he was not answered. Rabbi Akiva descended before the ark after him and said: “Our Father, our King, we have no king other than You. Our Father, our King, for Your sake, have mercy on us.” And rain immediately fell. The Sages were whispering among themselves that Rabbi Akiva was answered while his teacher, Rabbi Eliezer, was not. A Divine Voice emerged and said: “It is not because this Sage, Rabbi Akiva, is greater than that one, Rabbi Eliezer, but that this one is forgiving, and that one is not forgiving. God responded to Rabbi Akiva’s forgiving nature in kind by sending rain.”2
Over the centuries more verses were added to Rabbi Akiva’s original two verses, all beginning with the words Avinu malkeinu.3
The first book of Isaiah, dated to the 8th century B.C.E., warns King Ahaz of Judah about dangers from other nations and urges him not to become a vassal of Assyria. The prophet calls God, not King Ahaz, malkeinu:
For God is our judge
Who issues decrees;
God is malkeinu;
[God] rescues us. (Isaiah 33:22)
A king here is not only a judge and a legislator, but also the one who rescues his subjects from foreign threats.
Prophet Isaiah, by Michelangelo, Sistine Chapel
The second book of Isaiah, dated to 540 B.C.E. or later, predicts that God will return the exiles in Babylonia to their homeland of Judah. The prophet reminds God that the Israelites are like children waiting for their parent to rescue them:
For you are avinu.
Even if Abraham did not know us
And Israel did not recognize us
You, God, are avinu.
Our redeemer from long ago is your name. (Isaiah 63:16)
A father knows his children, and if they become slaves he redeems them.
If God is like our father and our king, then each of us is like a child or a servant to God. In fact, the Musaf service on Rosh Hashanah includes a special three-part section with the following words after each set of shofar blasts:
Today the world is born. [God] makes all creations of all worlds stand in judgment, whether as children or as servants. If as children, have compassion toward us like the compassion of a father for children! And if as servants, our eyes hang on you until you pardon us and you release our verdict like a light, fear-inspiring Holy One!
What does it mean to be like a child to God?
Although children may be born with some instincts about fairness and kindness, they have a lot to learn. When they miss the mark, or even commit serious violations, children should be guided to realize that what they did was wrong and taught to repent, apologize, and make amends. A good human parent or mentor can do this with unflagging love for the child.
A child without help from an adult either misses out, or learns slowly through trial and error and close observation. The bible offers some rules about morality and about how to right the wrongs we do, but these hints are easy to overlook in the flood of narrative and ancient case law.
And although God may continue to love us when, like children, we miss the mark out of ignorance or naivety in a new situation, God does not provide the kind of instruction and guidance that humans can. Only after we have developed a mature sense of right and wrong, and a process for righting the wrongs we do, is it possible to hear the voice of God inside our own consciences. We need good humans in our lives before we can grow up and become good humans ourselves.
What does it mean to be like a servant to God?
In an absolute monarchy, the ruler’s subjects are like servants. Some are obedient minions of the monarchs themselves. Others are public servants who help, advise, and make requests of the monarch as they work for the good of the kingdom.
Do we serve God by obeying as many of God’s original orders to the Israelites as we can, even if God issued them several millennia ago? Do we take the biblical command to exterminate Canaanites as an order to exterminate Palestinians? Do we stone women who are not virgins on their wedding day? Do we obey other ancient rules that seem unethical by modern standards?
Or do we serve God by working for the good of God’s kingdom? In the book of Genesis God creates the world and then lets human beings rule over it.4 Now human beings are becoming absolute rulers of the world, and we are doing it badly; pollution has led to global climate catastrophe, and intolerance has prevented us from working together for mutual aid. We need to improve as human beings so we can rescue God’s world.
What does it mean for God to rescue us?
Here is the final verse of the prayer Avinu Malkeinu:
Avinu malkeinu,be gracious to us and answer us.
Even if we have no [good] deeds
Treat us with charity and kindness, and rescue us.
We pray for God, our father, our king, to forgive us for our failings the previous year and rescue us from the consequences. But as adults, we have to rescue ourselves—by doing the appropriate good deeds.
Now that I am no longer a child, I pray to the still small voice of God within for inspiration on how to recognize my misdeeds, how to make amends graciously, and how to change my approach to life so I can gradually learn to do better.
And when I think of God as a parent or a monarch, I imagine God silently praying for us wayward servants to pull ourselves together, turn around, and collectively rescue the world by doing what only human beings can do: teaching our children, restoring our planet, and treating everyone with charity and kindness.
Akiva ben Yoseif, called “Rabbi Akiva” in the Talmud, lived in Judea 30-135 C.E.
Talmud Bavli, Taanit 25b, The William Davidson Talmud, www.sefaria.org.)
The total number of verses used for the Days of Awe (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) ranges from 27 in the Yemenite tradition to 53 in the tradition of the Jews of Salonika.
For you must listen to the voice of God, your God, to keep [God’s] commands and decrees, those written in the book of this Torah; because you must return to God, your God, with all your levav and with all your nefesh. (Deuteronomy/Devarim 30:10)
In this week’s Torah portion, Nitzavim (“Taking a stand”), Moses tells the Israelites who are about to cross the Jordan that they must pay attention to and obey all of God’s orders recorded in “this book of Torah”–probably a reference to the book of Deuteronomy. The reason for observing all these rules is “because you must return to God, your God, with your levav and with all your nefesh.”
Therefore some classic commentators, including Ramban, Albo, and Sforno,1 wrote that the underlying command is to do teshuvah, i.e. repentance and turning back to God.
Moses continues:
For this command that I command you today is not too difficult for you, and it is not too far away. It is not in the heavens, to say: “Who can go up for us to the heavens and take it for us and announce it to us, so we can do it?” And it is not from across the sea, to say: “Who can cross over for us to the other side of the sea today and take it for us and announce it, so we can do it?” Rather, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your levav, to do it.” (Deuteronomy 30:11-14)
Sforno explained: “You also have no need for the wise men of the generation, who are far away, to expound it for you in such a manner that it will be possible for you (to do it) in exile.”2
The command to turn back to God is always possible to obey, even for those of us who are not “wise men”, because God helps us do it. Earlier in the Torah portion Nitzavim, Moses predicts that the Israelites will stray after other gods, and God will punish them by uprooting them from their land and sending them into exile in other lands. Then he says:
It will happen, when all these things have come upon you, the blessing and the curse that I placed before you, then you will turn back to your levav among all the nations where God, your God, has banished you. Then [if] you return to God, your God, and you listen for [God’s] voice … you and your children, with all your levav and with all your nefesh … then God, your God, will return to restore you and have compassion on you…” (Deuteronomy 30:1-3)
Furthermore,
Then God, your God, will circumcise your levav and the levav of your descendants to love God, your God, with all your levav and with all your nefesh, in order that you will live.” (Deuteronomy 30:6)
In other words, if you want to return to God with all your mind and all your desire, and you listen for God, then God will meet you halfway and open your heart so that you love God. Loving God makes completing teshuvah (return) a lot easier. (See my blog post Nitzavim & Yom Kippur: Centripetal Force.)
What does the Torah portion mean by: “Rather, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your levav, to do it”?
According to Albo, “The text is certainly alluding to teshuvah.A pointer to this are the words: ‘in thy mouth and in thy heart to do it’. Teshuvah involves confession of the lips and remorse of the heart.”3
Then why does your mouth (or the statement that issues from your mouth) come before your levav? Don’t you have to feel remorse in your heart before you can confess wrongdoing? Don’t you have to feel like turning back to God before you can do it?
No, at least not in my own experience. In a way, making teshuvah with God is like doing the right thing with people I don’t really like. I know I should be compassionate and fair with them, so I make an effort to acknowledge them, say something friendly, listen to them, treat them with respect. After I have done this for a while, I usually find myself caring about them. Good speech leads to good feelings.
Similarly, I often feel distant from God. It is harder for me to relate to God than to human beings, especially since I only have a vague concept of what the word “God” might legitimately mean. I used to take the easy path of atheism, ignoring my undefinable feelings of transcendence so I could deny God and avoid the problem.
On the Eve of Yom Kippur, by Jakub Weinles
But now I take the first step of teshuvah by turning toward God and listening for God’s voice. When I pray or ponder a piece of Torah, the words are in my mouth first. They echo in my consciousness, and sometimes an insight arises, as if from nowhere, as if from God. And I feel moved, as if my heart is opening. The thing that was in my mouth enters my heart.
Teshuvah is on the minds of many Jews at this time of year, as we approach Yom Kippur (“Day of Atonement”). May each of us find a way to let the spoken liturgy enter our hearts, so that as we turn toward God, God returns to us.
Rashi is the acronym for the 11th-century French rabbi Shlomoh Yitzchaki. Abraham ben Meir Ibn Ezra was a 12th-century Spanish rabbi. Ramban is the acronym for the 13th-century Spanish rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, also known as Nachmnaides. Yosef Albo was the 15th-century Spanish rabbi who wrote Sefer Ha-Ikkurim. Ovadiah ben Yaakov Sforno was a 16th-century Italian rabbi.
Ovdiah Sforno, Commentary on the Torah, translated by Rabbi Raphael Pelcovitz, Artscroll, 1997, p. 981.
From Yosef Albo, Sefer Ha-Ikkurim, translated by Aryeh Newman in Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Devarim, The World Zionist Organization, Jerusalem, 1980, p. 323.
Moses describes three rituals the Israelites must perform after they have crossed the Jordan and taken the land of Canaan in this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo (“When you come”). For all three, Moses reminds the people that they will be living in “a land flowing with milk and honey”.
Still Life, Caravaggio ca. 1595, detail
First he prescribes Shavuot, the annual pilgrimage to bring the first fruits of the year to the priests at the temple. Each farmer must bring a basket of fruits, give the basket to a priest, and recite a short history of the Israelites from the arrival in Egypt to the arrival in Canaan. (See my post Ki Tavo: A Perishing Aramean.) The recitation ends:
“And [God] brought us to this place and gave to us this land, a land zavat chalav udevash. And now behold! I bring the first fruits of the soil that you have given to me, God.” (Deuteronomy/Devarim 26:9-10)
zavat (זָבַת) = flowing, oozing.
chalav (חָלָב) = milk, drinkable yogurt.
udevash (וּדְבָשׁ) = and honey, fruit syrup.
Through this formula, each donor expresses appreciation to God for the bountiful land.
Payment of the Tithes, by Pieter Brueghel the Younger, 1617
The second ritual takes place every three years, when all farmers must set aside a tenth of their harvest and give it to the people in their towns who have no farms to feed them. When they have done so, they must recite this declaration to God:
I have rooted out from the house what is to be consecrated, and also I have given it to the Levite and to the resident alien, to the orphan and to the widow, as in all the commands that you commanded me. I did not transgress your commands and I did not forget. … Look down from your holy home, from the heavens, and bless Your people Israel and the soil that you have given to us as you swore to our forefathers, a land of zavat chalavudevash. (Deuteronomy 26:13-15)
The second recitation alludes to the reason why God “gave” the Israelites in a land of milk and honey: because they obeyed God’s commands. (God’s gift consists of helping the Israelites attack the inhabitants of Canaan, win a series of battles, and kill or subjugate the people. See my post Re-eih: Ownership.)
Altar on Mt. Eyval, photo by Raymond A. Hawkins
The third ritual that Moses prescribes takes place neither at the temple nor in the towns, but at twin hills near the town of Shekhem. As soon as they have crossed the Jordan, the Israelites must erect large stones on Mount Eyval and coat them with limewash, which hardens into a smooth white surface. (See my post Ki Tavo: Carved in Stone.) Then they must build an altar, make an offering, and write on the standing stones.
And you shall write on them all the words of this teaching when you cross over in order to come into the land the God, your God, is giving you, a land zavat chalav udevash, as God, God of your forefathers, spoke to you. (Deuteronomy 27:3)
Because God “gives” them such a bountiful land, the Israelites must record God’s teaching (torah) on the hilltop.
Next Moses describes the ritual. Half of the tribes must stand for the blessing on nearby Mount Gezerim, and the other half must stand for the curse on Mount Eyval. Then the Levites shout out the prescribed curses for disobeying God, and after each one all the people must say “Amen”. (See my post Ki Tavo: Cursing Yourself.)
What does it mean to say that a land is flowing with milk and honey? And why does Moses keep bringing it up?
What does it mean?
Oozing fig
The most literal explanation of zavat chalav udevash was offered in the Talmud, Ketubot 111b, where several rabbis describe seeing nanny goats dripping milk as they grazed under fig trees oozing syrup. Later commentary explained the idiom as referring to a land that is good for both raising livestock (which produce milk) and growing fruits (which produce syrup). An alternative explanation was that valleys are farmed everywhere, but in Canaan even the uncultivated hills provide food, because their vegetation produces herbage for wild goats (making milk) and flowers for wild bees (making honey).1
At least in years with enough rain. Earlier in the book of Deuteronomy, Moses (speaking for God) tells the Israelites:
And observe all the commands that I command you today, so that you will be strong and enter and possess the land that you are crossing into to possess. And so that your days will be long on the soil that God swore to your forefathers to give to them and to their descendants, a land zavat chalav udevash. For the land that you are entering to possess is not like the land of Egypt that you left, where you sowed seeds and your watered them by foot, like a vegetable garden. But the land that you are crossing into to possess is a land of hills and valleys, [a land that] drinks water from rain of the heavens. … And it will be, if you really listen to my commands that I command you today, to love God, your God, and to serve [God] with all your heart and with all your soul, then I will give rain to your land … (Deuteronomy 11:8-11, 11:13-14)
Canaan will be a land “flowing with milk and honey” as long as its new occupants, the Israelites, love and serve God, so that God provides rain to make the vegetation grow and bloom.
It occurred to me that milk also indicates fertility, and honey or syrup is a luxury, one of the choice products of Canaan that Jacob sends as a gift to Egypt.2 The basket of first fruits that a person bring to the priests may also contain the delicacy of fruit syrups.
Why does Moses keep bringing it up?
The phrase zavat chalav udevash, “flowing with milk and honey”, appears fifteen times in Exodus through Deuteronomy. The first occurrence is when Moses stands at the burning bush on Mount Sinai. God tells him:
“And I have come down to rescue [my people] from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up from that land to a good and spacious land, to a land zavat chalav udevash, to the place of the Canaanites and the Hittites and the Amorites and the Perizzites and the Chivites and the Jebusites.” (Exodus/Shemot 3:8)
The good news is that the land flows with good things to eat. The bad news is that the land is already inhabited by six other peoples. The next two references in Exodus mention the current inhabitants first, then sweeten the picture by calling the land “zavat chalav udevash”.3
This promise does not keep the Israelites from complaining about the uncertain food and water supply on the journey from Egypt to the border of Canaan, and suggesting that they give up and return to Egypt.4 Since the carrot is not enough, Moses adds a stick, handing down warnings that the Israelites must obey God if they want God to help them move into the land zavat chalav udevash.5
Eventually the next generation of Israelites does cross the Jordan, and conquers much of Canaan under the leadership of Joshua and, presumably, with the help of God. Thus the rituals Moses lays out in this week’s Torah portion include gratitude for possession of a land zavat chalav udevash.
Today we, too, must obey the rules in order to have land that is “flowing with milk and honey”. We have imperiled our whole planet through air pollution, and the global climate change that has already begun threatens to scorch areas that we used until now to produce food for our immense world population. We must obey the rules inherent in nature, starting now.
Already in our lifetimes the flow of milk and honey will diminish. The milk of fertility will dry up, and the honey of luxury will become scarce. We will have to develop new lands to recover at least part of the abundance that came to us as a gift—for we have not loved nor served our earth.
Nogah Hareuveni, Ecology in the Bible, Neot Kedumim, 1974, p. 11, cited in The Torah: A Modern Commentary, ed. W. Gunther Plaut, Union of American Hebrew Congregations, New York, 1981.
Genesis 43:11.
Exodus 3:17, 13:5.
The Israelites complain about the journey at least five times in Exodus 14:11-12, 15:22-24, 16:2-3, 17:1-4, and 32:1. Each time they are afraid they will die without reaching the land God promised, so they would have been better off staying in Egypt. They complain about the food and water on journey to Canaan at least six times in Numbers 11:1, 11:4-6, 13:31-14:4, 16:12-14, 20:1-5, and 21:4-5.
Numbers 13:27-14:10 and 14:22-35; Deuteronomy 6:3 and 11:8-9.
Once the Israelites have taken over most of Canaan and established their own country, Moses says in last week’s Torah portion, Shoftim (“Judges”), a king will have more important duties than wars of conquest, and some men will have more important duties than being soldiers. Battles are inevitable in the Torah, and advantageous to the winners; winning king expands his kingdom, and his soldiers get shares of the booty. But the portion Shoftim opens a door to an attitude that values peace.
In last week’s post, Shoftim: More Important Than War, Part 1, I covered the four rules a good king must follow, all of which would make a war of conquest more difficult—unless God intervened.
Later the portion Shoftim says:
If you go out to battle against your enemies and you see horse and chariot, more troops than you have, you must not be afraid of them, because God, your God who brought you up from the land of Egypt, is with you. (Deuteronomy/Devarim 20:1)
Individual men must still be prepared to die, but they should know that God is on the side of their country and their comrades.
If the war is defensive, protecting the kingdom from attack, then all able-bodied men who are age 20 and older must serve in the military.1 But if the war is offensive, designed to expand Israel’s border or its prestige, then four kinds of circumstances excuse men altogether from going to battle.2
Israelite house, artist unknown
1) Then the officials will speak to the troops, saying: “Who is the man that has built a new house and not chanako? He must leave and return to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man yachnekhenu.” (Deuteronomy 20:5)
chanakho (חֲנָכוֹ) = dedicated it, inaugurated it. yachnekhenu(יַחְנְכֶנּוּ) = he will dedicate it, inaugurate it. (From the same root as chanukah, חֲנֻכָּה = dedication; the name of the winter solstice holiday.)
According to Talmud Bavli (Sotah 43b) this exemption applies to any man who has not dedicated a new house, whether he built it, bought it, inherited it, or received it as a gift. What does it mean to dedicate a new house? According to Targum Yonatan, it means putting a mezuzah on the doorpost.3 But this takes only a few minutes, not long enough to stop a man from going to battle. Rashi wrote that dedicating a house means living in it.4
If the new owner died in battle, he would never know that another man was living there. But the Torah does not want to deprive the owner of the satisfaction of moving into the new house. In the Torah, a man who lives in his own house is the head of a household, no longer a dependent on an older family member. He should not be denied the joy of his new status.
2) “And who is the man that has planted a vineyard and not chilelo? He must leave and return to his house, lest he die in the war and another man yechalilenu.” (Deuteronomy 20:6)
Grape vine, artist unknown
chilelo (חִלְּלוֹ) = made profane use of it; made personal use of it. yechalilenu (יְחַלְּלֶנּוּ) = he will make profane/personal use of it.
The Talmud defines a vineyard as at least five grape vines, and extends the exemption to include those who had planted at least five fruit trees.5 No fruit may be harvested from a grape vine or a fruit tree for the first three years after it is planted. In the fourth year, all of its fruit must be donated to God—either brought to the priests at the temple, or exchanged for silver which is brought to the temple. Only in the fifth year can the owner eat the fruit himself, or sell it for profit.6
The book of Leviticus/Vayikra, in which these rules are laid out, is primarily concerned with the holy rather than the profane. But here in Deuteronomy, Moses emphasizes the importance of feeding yourself and your own household. After waiting four years for his vines or trees to mature, farmer should not be denied the joy of making a living from them.
Isaac and Rebekah, by Simeon Solomon, 1863
3) “And who is the man that has paid the bride-price for a wife and not lekachah? He must leave and return to his house, lest he die in the war and another man yikachenah.” (Deuteronomy 20:7)
lekachah (לְקָחָהּ) = taken her, had sexual intercourse with her, married her. yikachenah (יִקָּחֶנָּה) = he will take her, have sex with her, marry her.
Is the fiancé exempt from battle so that he is not deprived of intercourse with his bride, or so that he can beget children with her? This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, says:
When a man takes a new wife, he must not go out with the army for any purpose; he shall be exempt for his household for one year, and make his wife glad. (Deuteronomy 24:5)
This implies that a new wife must not be deprived of the joy of intercourse with her husband.
The Talmud, Sotah 43b, says that the bridegroom is sent home whether he paid the bride-price for a virgin or a widow, or he is doing his duty for his deceased brother’s widow. Under Israelite and Canaanite law, a childless woman whose husband died was is entitled to get a son through her husband’s brother. “And even if there are five brothers, and one of them dies in the war, they all return for the widow.”7 Perhaps giving the widow a son is so important that if one brother fails, another must be available. This Talmud passage implies that the purpose of the exemption is to get a new wife pregnant.
Whether the goal is to make the wife glad, or to have a child, a husband should not be denied the joy of living with his new wife.
Rembrandt history painting detail, 1626
4) “And the officials will continue to speak to the people, and they will say: “Who is the man who is yarei and rakh of heart? He must leave and return to his house, and not melt the heart of his brother [soldier] like his heart.” (Deuteronomy 20:8)
The Talmud (Sotah 44a) offers two reasons why a man might be fearful: Rabbi Akiva said the man would be terrified by the sight of a drawn sword; Rabbi Yosei HaGelili said the man would be afraid because of his sins (implying a view of the afterlife that was invented after the Hebrew Bible was written).8 Both of these reasons address fear, but not sensitivity. Perhaps the rabbis of the Talmud interpreted the sentence as describing the man as “fearful and weak-hearted”, making weak-hearted a synonym for fearful.
Talmud tractate Sotah 44b says the reason for this fourth exemption is that fear spreads, making formerly brave and hard-hearted soldiers feel qualms about going to battle.
But the officials could also be asking “Who is the man who is afraid and tender-hearted?” Since the adjective rakh applies to a mental attitude as well as physical condition, this man would feel tenderness toward all human beings, and be afraid of killing them rather than of being killed.
A tender-hearted man’s reluctance to kill could also spread to other soldiers if he were allowed to march with the troops.
According to the Talmud (Sotah 44a), all four exemptions are announced at once to spare a fearful man from embarrassment; for all the other men know, he is leaving the ranks and going home because of a house or vineyard or wife.
But what if the exemption for a fearful or tender-hearted man is parallel to the other three exemptions? Then perhaps he must also leave and return home for his own good. Maybe a peaceful, gentle man must not be denied the joy of living in peace.
What is more important than going to war?
Home.
Livelihood.
Family.
Peace.
Numbers 1:2-3.
The Talmud distinguishes between optional wars of conquest, and obligatory wars to defend the kingdom of Israel or Judah from invasion. (Sotah 43b-44b)
Targum Yonasan (a.k.a.Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, between 4th and 13th centuries C.E.) as cited by Rabbi Elie Munk, The Call of the Torah: Devarim, trans. by E.S. Mazer, Mesorah Publications, Brooklyn, NY, 1995, p. 205.
Rashi is the acronym for 11th-century C.E. Rabbi Shlomoh Yitzchaki.
Talmud Bavli, Sotah 43b.
Leviticus 19:23-25.
Talmud Bavli, Sotah 44a, William Davidson translation, www.sefaria.com.
See Talmud Bavli, Eiruvin 19a. Jews did not adopt the idea that souls survive death until the second century B.C.E. The idea of souls burning in an underground fire came from Greek and Persian sources, which Jews developed into the myth of Gehinnom (later called Gehenna) and Christians developed into the myths of Hell and Purgatory. The Talmud was written during the third through fifth centuries C.E.
Questioning Torah 