Raising Sparks / Parshat Balak 2014

Xenophobia has been around as long as humans have walked the earth; it probably existed among earlier homo sapiens. It seems that whenever we create an “us” we have automatically designated a “them.” Israel escaped the clutches of a Pharaoh who saw only “us” and “them”:

 וַיָּקָם מֶלֶךְ-חָדָשׁ, עַל-מִצְרָיִם, אֲשֶׁר לֹא-יָדַע, אֶת-יוֹסֵף.

וַיֹּאמֶר, אֶל-עַמּוֹ:  הִנֵּה, עַם בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל--רַב וְעָצוּם, מִמֶּנּוּ

A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. And he said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us and rise from the ground.” (Exodus 1:8-9)

Now, nearing the end of their 40-year trek through the Wilderness, passing through Moab on their way to Eretz Yisrael, the Israelites encounter yet another king cut in the same cloth: Balak, son of Tzippor, king of Moab:

וַיָּגָר מוֹאָב מִפְּנֵי הָעָם, מְאֹד--כִּי רַב-הוּא; וַיָּקָץ מוֹאָב, מִפְּנֵי בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל. 

וַיֹּאמֶר מוֹאָב אֶל-זִקְנֵי מִדְיָן, עַתָּה יְלַחֲכוּ הַקָּהָל אֶת-כָּל-סְבִיבֹתֵינוּ, כִּלְחֹךְ הַשּׁוֹר, אֵת יֶרֶק הַשָּׂדֶה; וּבָלָקבֶּן-צִפּוֹר מֶלֶךְ לְמוֹאָב, בָּעֵת הַהִוא.

Moab was afraid because that people was so numerous Moab dreaded the Israelites, and Moab said to the elders of Midian, “Now this horde will lick clean all that is about us as an ox licks up the grass of the field.” (Numbers 22:3-4)

How remarkable that either Pharaoh or Balak would fear this disheveled band of former slaves. Fear is often expressed at hatred. That is the case with both Pharaoh, who responds by enslaving the Hebrew, and with Balak, who responds by seeking the services of the prophet Balaam to curse Israel.     

Torah never abides in a vacuum. It is a living, breathing document off which we bounce the events and challenges of our lives. An explication of this week’s parashah, Balak, demonstrates this. The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was partitioned three times in the late 18th century, ultimately wiping out a sovereign Polish nation for 123 years, by the Russian Empire, the King of Prussia, and Hapsburg Austria. The first partition, in August 1772, brought an enormous number of Jews into the Russian Empire. The second partition, in January 1793, included the town of Berditchev, where Rabbi Levi Yitzhak lived and taught. How to absorb “hordes” of Jews proved a dilemma for Russia as much as an impossibility for Balak. Russia feared their numbers and influence, not to mention “Judaizing,” a term deriving from the Christian New Testament^[1] that connotes the fear that (in this case, Orthodox Russians) would be drawn to Jewish ways and perhaps convert to Judaism. To us in the 21st century this may seem absurd, but it was a real and potent fear in the 18th century: Catherine the Great created the Pale of Settlement in 1791 following the failures of her predecessors to expel Jews entirely from Russia, unless they converted to Russian Orthodoxy.

In this environment, through the lens of the historical situation and exigencies of life, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev reads Balak. He notices that in Numbers 22:3, cited above, Israel is referred to first as “the people” and subsequently as “the Israelites.” Here is the verse again:

וַיָּגָר מוֹאָב מִפְּנֵי הָעָם, מְאֹד--כִּי רַב-הוּא; וַיָּקָץ מוֹאָב, מִפְּנֵי בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל

Moab was afraid because that people was so numerous Moab dreaded the Israelites… (Numbers 22:3)

Levi Yitzhak, in Kedushat Levi notes that Midrash Exodush Rabbah 42:6 and the Zohar 2:45b explain the use of the terms by telling us that am (“people”) refers to the erev rav (“mixed multitude”) that left Egypt with Moses. Torah tells us that other people attached themselves to the Jewish nation and escaped Egypt along with the Hebrews. The text itself, Levi Yitzhak, hints at why Moab feared the Israelites: the term וַיָּגָר (“feared” pronounced va-yagar) sounds very much like the term  גרים (geirim, “proselytes”). Balak was afraid his own people would convert and join the Jewish people, and thus he hated them.

We might be inclined to think that Levi Yitzhak would next explain why this is a problem for Moab, yet what he says is surprising, because it’s actually more of a problem for Israel:

This is why Moab feared the people greatly, meaning the mixed multitude, the proselytes who were joined to Israel. For they were numerous, and they were especially talented at raising up sparks…

For a hasidic mystic like Rabbi Levi Yitzhak, “raising up sparks” alludes to the Kabbalistic notion of the cosmic efficacy of studying Torah and fulfilling mitzvot.

Howard Schwartz, master of Jewish storytelling and mythology, explains Kabbalistic cosmogeny beautifully and succinctly:

At the beginning of time, God’s presence filled the universe. When God decided to bring this world into being, to make room for creation, He first drew in His breath, contracting Himself. From that contraction darkness was created. And when God said, “Let there be light” (Gen. 1:3), the light that came into being filled the darkness, and ten holy vessels came forth, each filled with primordial light.

In this way God sent forth those ten vessels, like a fleet of ships, each carrying its cargo of light. Had they all arrived intact, the world would have been perfect. But the vessels were too fragile to contain such a powerful, divine light. They broke open, split asunder, and all the holy sparks were scattered like sand, like seeds, like stars. Those sparks fell everywhere, but more fell on the Holy Land than anywhere else.

That is why we were created — to gather the sparks, no matter where they are hidden. God created the world so that the descendants of Jacob could raise up the holy sparks. That is why there have been so many exiles — to release the holy sparks from the servitude of captivity. In this way the Jewish people will sift all the holy sparks from the four corners of the earth.

And when enough holy sparks have been gathered, the broken vessels will be restored, and tikkun olam, the repair of the world, awaited so long, will finally be complete. Therefore it should be the aim of everyone to raise these sparks from wherever they are imprisoned and to elevate them to holiness by the power of their soul.^[2]

The Ari (Rabbi Isaac Luria, 1534-1572, sometimes known also as the Arizal, was the father of Lurianic Kabbalah) taught that “raising the sparks” is accomplished through Torah study and the performance of mitzvot, but not in a narrow and rigid sense. The Ari taught: “"There is no sphere of existence including organic and inorganic nature, that is not full of holy sparks which are mixed in with the kelippot [husks] and need to be separated from them and lifted up."

Raising the sparks requires more than cultural absorption, difficult as that is for one who converts to Judaism; it requires spiritual devotion and great commitment. Many who convert to Judaism come with a wealth of spiritual devotion and commitment. They are eager to cast their lot with the Jewish people and take on the obligations of Jewish life. If we are honest, most of us have said at one time another, “Some converts make the best Jews.” As Levi Yitzhak put it, “they were especially talented at raising up sparks.” Converts can be a challenge to Jews, born into the tradition, who have not had reason to carefully consider their identity and commitment. I have met many families whose dynamic is discomfited and balance thrown out of kilter by an eager and enthusiastic soul who joins Israel and joins that family, imbued with a desire to live a full Jewish life beyond the normal scope of the family.

Would that all of us, regardless of our background and upbringing, could come to Jewish tradition, learning, and practice, with the open eyes and searching soul of one who comes to it anew: questioning, challenging, appreciating, marveling, absorbing, adapting, shaping, and renewing traditions that have been passed from generation to generation—and then passing them along to the next generation with love and joy.

(Fireworks photos were taken July 3, 2014 in Columbus, Ohio.)

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

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^[1] But when I saw that they were not straightforward about the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, “If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?” (Galatians 2:14)

^[2] http://www.tikkun.org/nextgen/how-the-ari-created-a-myth-and-transformed-judaism.

"Why Did It Have to be Snakes? / Parshat Chukkat

Sometimes the very thing that kills also cures; that which hurts also heals; that which causes impurity purifies. Parshat Chukkat opens with the law of the red heifer, whose ashes are crucially necessary to removing the ritual impurity imparted by death. Yet the one who slaughters the red heifer and reduces it to ashes is by that service, rendered impure—this seems like the inverse. It is surprising how often that which hurts also heals.

Following the deaths of Miriam and Aaron, the Israelites complain yet again. This is the their last major rebellion but this time the Israelites rebel directly against God.

  וַיִּסְעוּ מֵהֹר הָהָר, דֶּרֶךְ יַם-סוּף, לִסְבֹב, אֶת-אֶרֶץ אֱדוֹם; וַתִּקְצַר נֶפֶשׁ-הָעָם, בַּדָּרֶךְ.  וַיְדַבֵּר הָעָם, בֵּאלֹהִים וּבְמֹשֶׁה, לָמָה הֶעֱלִיתֻנוּ מִמִּצְרַיִם, לָמוּת בַּמִּדְבָּר:       כִּי אֵין לֶחֶם, וְאֵין מַיִם, וְנַפְשֵׁנוּ קָצָה, בַּלֶּחֶם הַקְּלֹקֵל.

They set out from Mount Hor by way of the Sea of Reeds to skirt the land of Edom. But the people grew restive on the journey, and the people spoke against God and against Moses, “Why did you make us leave Egypt to die in the wilderness? There is no bread and no water, and we have come to loathe this miserable food.” (Numbers 21:4-5)

God’s response is a combination of what we would expect and also something surprising:

 וַיְשַׁלַּח יְהוָה בָּעָם, אֵת הַנְּחָשִׁים הַשְּׂרָפִים, וַיְנַשְּׁכוּ, אֶת-הָעָם; וַיָּמָת עַם-רָב, מִיִּשְׂרָאֵל.  וַיָּבֹא הָעָם אֶל-מֹשֶׁה וַיֹּאמְרוּ חָטָאנוּ, כִּי-דִבַּרְנוּ בַיהוָה וָבָךְ--הִתְפַּלֵּל אֶל-יְהוָה, וְיָסֵר מֵעָלֵינוּ אֶת-הַנָּחָשׁ; וַיִּתְפַּלֵּל מֹשֶׁה, בְּעַד הָעָם.

The Lord sent seraph serpents against the people. They bit the people and many of the Israelites died. The people came to Moses and said, “We sinned by speaking against the lord and against you. Intercede with the Lord to take away the serpents from us!” And Moses interceded for the people. (Numbers 21:6-7)

We find here a familiar pattern: God sends harsh punishment and the people relent—though not before many have died—this time asking Moses to plead their case before God. But then something unusual happens. God instructs Moses to fashion a seraph (a snake or serpent) and mount it on a pole. One who looks at it is healed from the bite of the seraph serpents or snakes. Why is it a snake?

Indiana Jones, heroic rough-riding adventurer and mild-mannered archaeology professor of the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark is afraid of only one thing: snakes. When he and Marcus toss torches into the Well of Souls, into which they must descend, Indiana realizes it is filled with thousands of slithering snakes. He mutters, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?” Ophidiophobia, the fear of snakes, is the most common phobia, afflicting one-third of all adults. Evolutionary biologists theorize that the fear of snakes, some of which are poisonous, was advantageous for human survival.

In parshat Chukkat, the Israelites encounter a scene not altogether unlike that in Steven Spielberg’s hit movie, but with a bizarre twist. The copper seraph indeed works as promised. What hurt them now heals them. What killed them now cures them.

We might understand the seraph snakes as representing the Israelites’ deepest fears, and the Copper Snake as affording them the opportunity to face their fears. The Israelites have much to fear, including the harshness of the Wilderness and their vulnerability among other desert-dwelling peoples (Amalek immediately jumps to mind). But perhaps most of all, they are threatened by their own fears, as we often are. We saw this clearly two weeks ago when we read the account of the spies who reconnoiter the Land of Israel. The report they bring back is in many ways highly accurate: a land flowing with milk and honey, whose produce is magnificent and whose cities are fortified. All true. It is their fear that colors the spies’ intelligence black and foreboding: “We cannot attack that people, for it is stronger than we.” (Numbers 13:31)

Can courage abide alongside fear? What does it take for people to convert their fear into courage? Mark Twain wrote: “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.”

Israeli neuroscientists Uri Nili, Hagar Goldberg, and Yadin Dudai of the Weizmann Institute in Rehovot, along with psychiatrist Abraham Weizman of Tel Aviv University, sought to understand how people react to fear, and move from avoiding it to confronting it. They scanned the brains of people acting out of courage, despite great fear. How better to do it than with…you guessed it: snakes. Since the Well of Souls was not readily available, these scientists put people in an MRI—head secured by a cage, body encased in a narrow tube— and secured a 5-foot long snake to a trolley on a conveyer belt just above them. The goal, the subjects were told, was to bring the snake toward their heads. The subjects were given two buttons to push. One button brought the snake closer to them and the other moved it further away: “Advance” and “Retreat.” Sounds a bit masochistic, doesn’t it?

The article reporting their findings in the journal Neuron is entitled, “Fear Thou Not: Activity of Frontal and Temporal Circuits in Moments of Real-Life Courage.” The scientists measured their subjects’ behavioral responses, brain activity, and physiological responses. It turns out that there are two separate drivers of fear: one is a physiological response we cannot control (sweating is the most obvious sign) and the other is our conscious level of fear. If both drivers are engaged, fear wins out and we succumb. But if only one driver of fear is engaged, we are able to overcome our fear and act with courage. What is more, the more the subjects did not succumb to fear, the more the brain region known as the subgenus anterior cingulate cortex lit up, and the more courageously the subjects behaved.

In other words, even if subjects had an innate physiological fear response, if they made the mental effort to face their fear, the subgenus anterior cingulate cortex ( the part of the brain that suppresses fear responses) quieted down the amygdala (the part of the brain that engenders fear in the first place). Clearly, it’s all happening in the brain, but the finding that the Courage Center (the subgenus anterior cingulate cortex) can overcome the Fear Center (the amygdala) is remarkable.

There’s no pill to pop here. But by facing our fears (as the subject in the Weizmann Institute experiment did quite literally) and employing our considerable mental powers, we can reshape our brains and conquer our fears. We watched Indiana Jones do it when he lowered himself into the Well of Souls, and Neville Flynn in Snakes on a Plane. We, too, can do it. Here’s one more picture to get us started.

What are you afraid of? Can you envision yourself staring into the eyes of Copper Snake without blinking and overcoming that fear?

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

The Next Spielberg Fllick? / Parshat Korach

Since Cecil B. DeMille is no longer among the living (zichrono livrakhah), but Steve Spielberg is alive and well, I nominate the magician of special effects to produce a movie that features Korach and his minions, rebelling against Moses and Aaron in the Wilderness, and then being swallowed up into the earth. No claymation here — with DreamWorks and their cosmic special effects, I imagine it would be something like this: the ground undulates and sways, a gap opens and the breach grows larger—against the backdrop of heart-pounding music. Then Korach, gesticulating wildly, screaming furiously, and writhing violently, falls into the gaping pit, spinning head over heel again and again as he plummets ever deeper into the abyss of Sheol, while all around people shriek in horror and flee for their lives…  I think it would probably have to be rated R for violence, but hey, after all, Korach’s the bad guy, right? He deserves what he gets, doesn’t he? Torah tells us:

Now Korach, son of Itzhar son of Levi betook himself along with Datan and Aviram, sons of Eliav, and On son of Pelet, descendants of Reuven, to rise up against Moses, together with 250 Israelites, chieftains of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute. They joined together in opposition to Moses and Aaron and said to them, “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s congregation? (Numbers 16:1-3)

The classical commentators vary only in nuance. Rashi^_, following Tanhuma^_, says “Korach betook” means he split off from the community, objecting to the selection of Aaron as High Priest. Nachmanides^_ says Rashi has misread Tanhuma: Torah is saying that something betook Korach, his heart carried him away from the community. They agree, however, that Korach sought Aaron’s position. Rashbam^_ and ibn Ezra^_ say that Korach took men with him to stand up to Moses; the word “men” is not found in the Hebrew, but is understood. Rashbam seems to believe that Korach wanted not Aaron’s position, but Moses’s position; Ibn Ezra says Korach resented Moses having removed the first-born status from the tribe of Reuben. Everyone clear on the scorecard? At the end of the day, all agree that Korach’s intentions were evil. He conspired with others to foment rebellion against the Israelite leadership, threatening the stability of the entire nation. So we can all agree that Korach got what he deserved, which Torah describes this way:

…the ground under them burst asunder, and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach’s people and all their possessions. They went down alive into Sheol, with all that belonged to them; the earth closed over them and they vanished from the midst of the congregation. (Numbers 16:31-34)

Over the centuries, Korach has come to represent the arch-villain, a demagogue pursuing power and control to boost his prominence. He ignores the welfare of the community in favor of his ego needs and over-inflated self-image. Korach thereby becomes the Rabbis’ poster child for controversies that are not for the sake of heaven. As Pirke Avot famously tells us: 

A controversy for heaven’s sake will have lasting value, but a controversy not for heaven’s sake will not endure… What is an example of a controversy not for heaven’s sake? The rebellion of Korach and his followers. (Pirke Avot 5:19)

Given the weight of tradition excoriating Korach, it is surprising to find a different perspective. Yet such exists. The 18th century hasidic rabbi, Meshulam Feibush Heller of Zbarash (1740-1795) provides a strikingly different, far more nuanced, and sympathetic lens for viewing the figure of Korach. In Yosher Divrei Emet he tells us:

Korach’s conflict with Moses took place despite the fact of Moses’s great humility, as the Torah states [Numbers 12:3 tells us: Moses was more humble than any person on the face of the earth]. Nevertheless, some grandiosity remained in certain things [Moses] did. He was ruler over Israel, and he conducted himself like a king over his people. Yet he did all this for God’s sake, to guide people in God’s service. This would not have been possible without someone to take the lead. Still, at first [Moses] did not want it. He refused, saying to God, Send whom You will (Exodus 4:13) until God forced him to accept the office.

Rabbi Meshulam reminds us to view the situation through Korach’s eyes. Moses played the part of king. Granted, it  was a position he neither sought nor wanted, and which God thrust upon him, but from Korach’s perspective, Moses played “high and mighty.” What Korach saw was arrogance and pomposity. This is the source of Rabbi Meshulam’s compassion for Korach:

Even though Korach possessed both intelligence and the holy spirit, a spark of envy remained within him. He had not purified his heart of it in a total way. Envy derives from that sense of grandness; he could not believe that Moses did everything by the word of God and that he was in truth so humble and lowly. [Korach] thought that Moses was using his exalted role in a way that opposed truth, that he had strayed from truth and erred in aggrandizing himself. Korach thought that it was Moses’s sense of his own greatness that cause him to exalt himself over God’s community, and so [Korach] said, Why do you raise yourselves above the congregation of Adonai? (Numbers 16:3)…

Rabbi Meshulam gives Korach the benefit of the doubt, and in that alone there is an important lesson for us. But the substance of his commentary is to point out that due to his own ego and gradiosity, Korach truly believed that Moses was abusing his role and straying from the straight path of God’s truth, indulging his ego by bathing in power. Korach’s focus, Rabbi Meshulam next tells us, was outward—on Moses—rather than inward, exploring his own feelings and motivations. Envy blinded Korach. Korach's radar picked up a signal he understood as Moses’s self-aggrandizement, because he could not recognize the grandiosity his envy had generated.

Neuroscience supports Rabbi Meshulam’s underlying assumption: We judge others far more harshly than we judge ourselves. Put another way, we condemn in others what we give ourselves a free pass on. In an article in Scientific American, Ozgun Atasoy takes aim at those obnoxious Dove commercials in which a forensic artists draws two pictures of the same woman he never sees: one based on her self-description, and one based on a virtual stranger. Lo and behold, the stranger describes a much more beautiful woman than the woman herself. Atasoy sums up the research—the real science—this way:  “The evidence from psychological research suggests… that we tend to think of our appearance in ways that are more flattering than are warranted. This seems to be part of a broader human tendency to see ourselves through rose colored glasses. Most of us think that we are better than we actually are—not just physically, but in every way.”^_ “Every way,” of course, includes morally. This describes Korach, but not only Korach.

Korach, it turns out, is not unique. He is all of us. Yes, he blundered on a big scale, which is why it would take the likes of Steven Spielberg and DreamWorks to do justice to the biblical story on a wide screen, but we blunder more often than we admit or even know, on a much smaller scale, thinking that only we are qualified to do some task or another, only we have the skills, expertise, intellect, or experience needed to do it right.

Rabbi Meshulam now comes to his point. He reminds us of the need to examine ourselves, our egos, our envies, our projections onto others, in the light of this model. He tells us:

…It requires great faith to always assign the lack to yourself, ever seeking submission and humility, even when it comes to doing good. Take care: it might be sinful self-exaltation that makes you want to do a mitzvah that is not required of you and that might be performed by somebody else. Do not think that you are more the right person to do it than your fellow, for that is grandiosity…

We all have a tendency toward envy that colors our view of others and removes us from objective judgment, particularly in matters of power, authority, status, and money. And in case you’re thinking, “Hey, this is human nature and there is nothing we can do about it,” the nascent field of “Cultural Neuroscience”—which emerged about a decade ago—tells us that culture makes a difference. Beth Azar writes in an American Psychological Association publication, supplies this striking example from the realm of morality and judgment: “When an American thinks about whether he is honest, his brain activity looks very different than when he thinks about whether another person is honest, even a close relative. That’s not true for Chinese people. When a Chinese man evaluates whether he is honest, his brain activity looks almost identical to when he is thinking about whether his mother is honest.”^_ Whatever else we might conclude about American and Chinese cultures, I bring this to make the following point: What we might have thought was hard-wiring in our brains is not. This means that our brains can also be rewired. 

Rabbi Meshulam Feibush Heller tells us that the key to rewiring is humility. The humility of Moses, so esteemed by our Sages, is within our grasp when we wrestle to tame the ego needs that envy generates. It’s not easy, but it’s possible.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman