A biseleh midrash

  Photo Roy Mos on unsplash   The crimson thread between his horns, He stands at the gate and waits, his brother’s blood Staining the air sweet. He wonders how a small goat like him Can bear the congregate sins of twelve tribes, when it takes a large strong bullock to atone for the priest. And why it is he who is doomed to walk into the desert, his head as heavy As his heart, and what it is he must do To procure forgiveness for that people. And how he will find and turn Azazel So they might both come back into the fold And be treasured and loved again. How much wilderness must he endure, How much cold and how much darkness, Erring among bramble and stone. And how much being alone.

  Photo Gary Moreton-Jones (on unsplash) I may have gone a bit overboard, what with striking poses and brandishing my tool before the poor frightened ass, making her speak truth to the bigger ass that is her master and who sees nothing, but I could not resist; I am a dramaturge at heart. He is a sneaky one, that Balaam. (You did catch the problem in his behaviour, did you not?) It is my job to let him know that we are not fooled, and to make him confront his deceitfulness. To that end I wave the sword in his face, but the ass protects him by swerving out of the way. What a loyal soul, and righteous, too, loudly protesting the beating she gets as a reward from her still-unseeing master.  I open Balaam's eyes and explain matters, and I truly believe he finally gets the point when, having twice reluctantly blessed the Israelites, as God commands, he seems enraptured by the vision of their encampment: “How goodly your tents, O Jacob, / your dwellings, O Israel! / Like palm groves they

  Photo Andrew Dunstan on unsplash (An Open Letter to God) Tate in Himl: I can’t take it any more! I have read Your words, and the words of those that were close to You; there are so many instances in Torah, all through Tehillim, the Writings, Your Holy Prophets, where it says that You love those with a broken heart; that those who are battered by life, who have lost (something, anything—their husbands, their wives, their parents, their health, their faith), who have been made less than whole and hale, who are grieved at their sins, their infirmities, their succumbing to the wiles of the yetzer—that those are the ones that are special to You, the ones You lift up the way one hoists a small crying child into the sky until it laughs and is happy again. What I can’t take any more is that in many of those same texts there’s another voice! This other one is ... how shall I put it, not at all like You, not one bit, and I don’t understand how You can be both! I love You as the One who is

Photo @nasa (unsplash.com) They saw the God of Israel; and under His feet there appeared to be a pavement of sapphire, as clear as the sky itself. But God did not lay His hand on the nobles of Israel; they saw Him, and they ate and drank. (Exodus 24:10-11) What did they see? Something nice, for sure. Something to talk about back home: a god walking on a path of precious stones! Pretty. Really. "Were those real sapphires, you think?" "Yes, I figure they were.... More wine?" ----------------------------------- They were the youngest in the group; had been singled out by name to accompany their father, uncle, and the seventy elders. Time came for Moses and Joshua to go higher to meet the Presence of God. Before setting off Moses said to the elders, Wait here for us until we come back to you. (Exodus 24:14) He did not address his nephews, because ... because he had forgotten they were there. Nadab and Abihu had quietly left the group and hidden behind some boulders on

  Photo: Anastasiya Romanova Leah, Beloved Daughter: I do not know where in the wilderness this letter will reach you—if at all. Emet, son of Jehdeiah, returned for his wife who was too ill to travel when you all rushed off. She waited for him hiding in our chicken coop in the back. I hope they make it safely across the Sea and can rejoin your group. He did say that conditions were not good, that food and water and blowing sand were making progress difficult, and that people often doubted that they were indeed going to the promised land. I know you believe this man Moses and trust that the arduous journey will bring you to a place where you, Yoezer and the children will live and prosper. May it be so. I am well, and so far I have no regrets about not having joined the trek. I am old and might have slowed the group down too much; and everything I know is here in this house and this village. Of course I realize that Pharaoh came down hard on Yoezer and the other draftsmen, but still,

  Photo Matt Artz on unsplash Because I love him. Watched him be set adrift in his little toy boat, raised in splendor and opulence, with that innate sense of justice and care for the underdog burning undiminished--even if his actions mixed compassion with anger, righteousness with a desire for self-preservation. Later, when I saw him gently shepherd his flock, and heard him sing hesitantly to the newborn lambs, that is when I came to love him, this human, simple and complex at the same time, always trying his best, and getting it right as much as he was getting it wrong, but trying nevertheless. Both he and I had to learn to overcome frustration with the other, and my anger, reflecting his, had to be curtailed a number of times. But like two people in a marriage we learned each other’s ways, and grew in intimacy even when we wavered in our trust. Because I love him, dear Angels, that’s why I chose Moses to lead the people, not because he was smarter or better or stronger. I hope

             Image: Mohamad Babayan (unsplash) It’s just a stick, really, probably oak; the kind given to small round-eyed boys when they are first taken along to help with the sheep. The sticks get longer and stronger as the boys grow into men, but they remain what they are, an extension of the shepherd’s arm, almost part of his body. A shepherd without a staff is inconceivable. So when God says, “What's that in your hand?” (Exod. 4:2) Moses at first looks down, having forgotten that the knotted staff is where it always is. God shows him a magic trick using the staff, and from then on that simple wooden stick becomes a player in the drama of Israel’s redemption. Moses shows off the stick-to-snake trick to his people to establish his credibility, then Aaron gets a turn doing the same before Pharaoh. Held out over the Nile, the rod later makes the river run with blood; the rod summons the frogs and the lice. The rod is revered. The rod is feared. Back in Moses’ hands, it is the rod

                                                  Image: Joel Filipe There is no fight left in this people. No fight and no faith. They are like children, like sheep that in the morning bleat their complaints, but at noon obediently trot to slaughter. How does a people grow up to become defenders of justice, doers of good—a light to the nations? They must know that I love them fiercely so they remember promises made, and learn to walk tall and with love to spare, and be as fierce in their loyalty to Me as I am to them--even when life is not perfect. I will make an example of Pharaoh. Demonstrate that I have heard them, that I will guide them to freedom—if only they do their part to help themselves and bravely choose the covenant I first made with Abraham over material comforts. “Go to Pharaoh. For I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his courtiers, in order that I may display these My signs among them ... in order that you may know that I am the Lord.” (Ex.10:1-2) Bloo

Photo: Gary Ellis (on unsplash) - There’s a call ... - For me? - Not specifically.    It’s more of a cry, really, a crying out. - A cry? A crying out? Well ... - You’ve been expecting it ... - I have? - Yes, for four hundred-odd years. -Oh ... that’s quite a while! Wonder what kept them? I better go down. ------------------------------- Na'aseh v'nishma. At the beginning of Shemot these words are a long way off. Here it is words and names that come first, what is said more important than what is done. Who are you? What's your name? What if they don't believe me? Why me? Send someone more eloquent, I stutter! Moses is a skeptic, impressed by the pyrotechnics, but not by God's words. In exasperation God gives him magic tricks to perform to make believers out of his own people. They've been cut off too long. It is not only Pharaoh who doesn't remember Joseph. Year in, year out they bear the drudgery and abuse, because in spite of all the hard work they keep hav

Photo: Susan Wilkinson (@ unsplash) "You know that my wife bore me two sons. One of them went away from me, and I said, ‘He has surely been torn to pieces.’ And I have not seen him since.” (Genesis 44:27-28) If you are one of this man’s ten other sons, how do you feel when you hear this? Dad loved this boy way too much. Dressed him up like a doll, called him his sunshine. Did not love his other wives; did not give a fig about his other children. Now Israel loved Joseph best of all his sons.... And when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than any of his brothers, they hated him” (Genesis 37:3-4). There you have it. After Rachel died, Jacob pitched his tent out past Migdal-eder, leaving behind Leah, Bilhah, Zilpah and the children. Reuben, the oldest, saw his chance to send the old man a message: While Israel stayed in that land, Reuben went and lay with Bilhah, his father’s concubine; and Israel found out. (Genesis 35:22) That was it. Didn’t say a word to Reuben.

Photo: Dulcey Lima (on unsplash)   - Don’t cry, it’s just a stupid bug! - But it’s hurt! Look, its leg got crushed by a stone. Let’s take it with us and pray, God will make it better. - If God can fix bugs, then maybe God could get us some rain, so I don’t have to walk the sheep so far and have that huge rock rolled off the wellhead to water them. --------------------- The night is still; only the veils that cover her from head to toe make a slight swishing sound as she is led toward the tent. Father has told her not to say a word. She will try her best. Surely, if she is a good wife, he will come to love her for who she is. --------------------- God hears her silent weeping. She had a head start of seven days before he began spending his nights with Rachel. It wasn’t enough to prove herself worthy; it wasn’t enough to open his heart. She yearns for affection the way an open wound yearns for salve. But perhaps this child will make a difference, and he will no longer hate her.

  Photo:Trac Vu (@ unsplash) We tend to understand the dead backwards, that is, we look first at who they were at the end of their lives when assessing their character; we look at their deaths to form an opinion about their lives. With our current subject this is difficult, for we do not know when, where and how he died; nor do we know where and by whom he was buried. Friends and family agree that as he got older he spent more and more time outdoors, just walking, resting by the stream, napping in the orchard. These absences from home became more frequent and longer. One day he simply did not return, but no one can say exactly when that was. One can surmise that this behaviour constituted a return to the ways of his childhood, as it were, for the child loves to sleep in the field, his small back leaving an gentle impression in the still-warm soil, his eyes roaming among the stars, his heart growing wild and strong. He can distinguish most plants by their smell, he learns the routes ani

  Photo: Feri & Tasos (on unsplash.com) The land he has been coming to these forty years is spread before him like a woman waiting for his touch. He doesn’t feel his age, almost forgets the trials and the dust along the long way home. So many buried by the roadside where they fell, so many born along the roadside--now princes and priests, drawers of water, hewers of wood. They never heard the Great Ventriloquist but through his mouth, yet they will cross the river and possess the land. And then they will forget, cavort with godlets, and be taught regret. If he could go, he would remind them every day, and if they went astray he’d plead their case before The One Above! Please let me cross. He’s seen the Lord, he’s heard his voice, he never asked for chosenness, but there it was: the stutterer pushed front and centre, made to slay Pharao’s children with his tongue. Did it mean nothing?! No one is perfect, and he struc

  Image by Sixteen Miles Out (unsplash.com) It is a tree much like all the others: straight trunk, glossy leaves, pink-kissed blossoms followed by fruit that looks good to eat. Had he really been told that its name was Tree-of-the-knowledge-of-good-and-evil, and that if he ate of its fruit he would die that same day? And did the prohibition apply to her? And what did that mean, to die? And what was "evil”? Good, she knew. Elohim had made the world and everything in it. Elohim had made it, looked at it, and found it to be good. “Evil” too must be good, then. And so must death. But they were to live in ignorance, never knowing exactly what these words meant, how good evil was, and what it felt like to die. One bite would solve at least one mystery. It made sense that tasting the fruit would bring with it new knowledge. And it would quickly become apparent whether she felt different after. She could then decide whether or not to share that knowledge. Knowledge was good, surely! Elohi