Parshat VaEra - A Brief History of the Universe

I am going to tell a story.  The story is of a cosmic battle between good and evil, a story of primordial forces and moral choices.

Let’s start at the beginning of the story, and I really mean the beginning.  About 14 billion years ago, God created the Universe in a Big Bang.  In that primordial תהו ובהו  (chaos), the laws of physics reigned supreme.  Chemistry, as such, had no meaning yet, but soon, as atoms and molecules started to form in the early universe, basic laws of chemistry emerged.  In particular, there was one law, a fundamental part of both physics and chemistry.  It is known today as the second law of thermodynamics, and it shaped the developing universe. 

The second law of thermodynamics states that the universe is always trending towards a state of greater disorder.  Entropy, or chaos, is increasing at all times.  Any locally ordered state comes at the price of more disorder in the environment.  My professor of statistical mechanics many years ago suggested that the second law was simply an outcome of the fact that disordered states are much more numerous than ordered states, but Stephen Hawking has suggested that the second law is so fundamental that the passage of time can be defined as the direction in the space time continuum in which entropy increases.

The implication of the second law is death.  Nothing can live forever, nothing can last forever.  The Universe, in its infinite diversity, could create all kinds of structures and beings, but they are all, sooner or later, doomed to death and destruction.  Entropy always wins.

But then, about 4 billion years ago, something amazing happened.  In the ocean of a small green planet orbiting around an average sized yellow sun, molecules were randomly forming and unforming, entropy breaking them up before they could form anything significant.  Then in a divinely directed random event, a molecule developed a remarkable property.  In its short life span, before entropy broke it back up into its constituent pieces, this molecule could use the materials floating around it to build a copy of itself.  It cheated death.  As long as it could create a copy of itself once before breaking up, its structure could outlive the lifespan determined by the second law. 

But it gets better!  The molecule wasn’t a perfect copier.  Sometimes the copies were slightly different from the original.  Most of the time, the changes were either neutral or damaging.  The copy might be unable to copy itself again.  Once in awhile, though, a change improved things.  The molecule could make 2, then 3 then 10 copies of itself before entropy got to it.  The new, better molecules would quickly crowd out the older ones, using up the available raw materials faster. 

After 10 billion years of hegemony, physics had made room for biology.  Entropy still meant that all things died, but reproduction meant that living things could live beyond the time dictated by the second law, through their offspring.  Ordered states could get more and more complex, since they could build structure across generations.  The battle between biology and physics – between life and death - was joined.

Once the process started, it was unstoppable.  Molecules gave way to multi-molecular structures, which gave way to proto-cells, and then cells, and multi-cellular organisms and to whole ecosystems.  A great diversity of life began to spread across the Earth, not only in the ocean but on land as well.  And God saw that it was good.

And then, only a few million years ago, a creature evolved out of this great diversity of life that had a new capability.  It could look around itself and rather than simply automatically going on with the business of feeding itself and reproducing, it could ask “Why?”    God, who had been waiting for this new creature, breathed into it an immortal soul, and called it “human.”

Humans created a problem that was new to the Universe.  To quote Neo from the Matrix, the problem is choice.  Unlike all the creations before it, humans must choose their side in the battle between life and death.  The battle is no longer between impersonal, unthinking cosmic forces – it is a moral battle.  A battle in which we are called to choose sides.

We are now brought to the confrontation in our Parsha, only a few thousand years ago.

Our sages over the centuries have found the most basic of philosophical problems in our Parsha.  If, as we have said, the fundamental property of the human being is choice, how could God have taken that choice from Pharaoh, when his heart was hardened against freeing the Jews?  I don’t propose to delve deeply into this question, except to say that the philosophical crisis it created implies that it must be the exception that proves the rule – human beings have choice.

Pharaoh was the leader of a civilization that had chosen the side of death in the great battle of the Universe.  They built monuments to their dead that survive until today.  They saw the great life-force of the Israelites,

 ('וּבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, פָּרוּ וַיִּשְׁרְצוּ וַיִּרְבּוּ וַיַּעַצְמוּ--בִּמְאֹד מְאֹד; וַתִּמָּלֵא הָאָרֶץ, אֹתָם. (שמות א' ז

"And the children of Israel were fruitful, and increased abundantly, and multiplied, and waxed exceeding mighty; and the land was filled with them." (Exodus 1:7)

Their response was fear, enslavement, and murder.  In addition to choosing death as their ultimate value, they denied the choice existed. Entropy after all, would always win in the end.  The Israelites must not be given the freedom to choose.

Standing before this Pharaoh is Moshe, who has come to tell him that there is a God, the God of life, the God of freedom.  It is not enough for this moment of history that the Israelites be freed.  The civilization of death must bow before the God of life, who can cause the Nile to run with life-blood, and the land to teem with frogs and vermin and beasts, and who can also bring sickness, death and destruction in the service of life and freedom, when necessary.

At the forefront of our story is Moshe, who some 40 years later, will tell his people of the battle they must continue, and the choice they must make as he sends them off into their lives as a people:

 רְאֵה נָתַתִּי לְפָנֶיךָ הַיּוֹם, אֶת-הַחַיִּים וְאֶת-הַטּוֹב, וְאֶת-הַמָּוֶת, וְאֶת-הָרָע (דברים ל' ט"ו).

“Behold, I have set before you this day life and good, and death and evil,” (Deuteronomy 30:15)

הַעִדֹתִי בָכֶם הַיּוֹם, אֶת-הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶת-הָאָרֶץ--הַחַיִּים וְהַמָּוֶת נָתַתִּי לְפָנֶיךָ, הַבְּרָכָה וְהַקְּלָלָה (דברים ל' י"ט);

“I call heaven and earth to witness before you this day, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse; therefore choose life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)

The choice we have is a moral one – life is good and a blessing, death is evil and a curse. 

This is the battle of our Parsha, and the battle of our lives.  

Choose life.   As Moshe said,

 וּבָחַרְתָּ, בַּחַיִּים--לְמַעַן תִּחְיֶה, אַתָּה וְזַרְעֶךָ. לְאַהֲבָה אֶת-יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, לִשְׁמֹעַ בְּקֹלוֹ וּלְדָבְקָה-בוֹ: כִּי הוּא חַיֶּיךָ, וְאֹרֶךְ יָמֶיךָ

('דברים ל' י"ט-כ)

“Choose life, that you may live, you and your children.  To love the Lord, your God, to listen to God’s voice, and to cleave to God.  For that is your life and the length of your days.” (Deuteronomy 30:19-20)

Choosing life means choosing to love, to create, to build, to care.   It means choosing to see and to cherish the diversity of humanity and all life.    It means choosing to see the intrinsic value of each and every human being, and acting on the implications of that.  It is not a onetime choice.  It is a choice one must make over and over again throughout a lifetime.

Choose life.

(This dvar torah was originally delivered last year at my daughter's bat mitzvah)

Parshat Shemot: Moshe as anti-hero

In his book, Moses and Monotheism, Sigmund Freud offers an alternative understanding of the Exodus story.  Most of his ideas have been rejected by biblical scholars, both religious and academic, but he has one insight that strikes me as extremely powerful.

There is a motif in ancient mythology, from the Babylonian Sargon, through Greek, Assyrian and Roman stories of Oedipus, Perseus, Heracles, Gilgamesh, and many others.  It is repeated in modern stories such as Tarzan and even Luke Skywalker of Star Wars.  The story goes as follows:  A royal couple is blessed with a child, but the parents are concerned with a threat to the child and hide the child from sight, often with a family of low status.  The child eventually grows to be a hero, learns of his heritage and comes into his royal birthright.

Freud's insight is that while Moshe's story conforms to this ancient theme in its structure, it turns the particulars on their head.  Rather than being born to a royal family and being raised in secret by peasants, Moshe is born to slaves and is raised in the Egyptian royal family.  His coming of age and discovery of his heritage is not a discovery of royal birthright, but rather a challenge to the social order, and a rejection of his people's slavery.

The basic message of the ancient hero motif is that "blood will tell" – a person born to royalty will grow into a hero by nature of their family qualities.  Moshe's quality is different – he is compelled by his own nature to confront injustice and seek peace: killing the Egyptian overlord, intervening in the fight between his Israelite brothers, and rescuing the Midianite women from their tormentors.  He is the anti-hero, not seeking challenges and glory, but retreating to his shepherding until called by God.

This former member of the royal household now enters the palace as the leader of a slave revolt.    The stage is set for a confrontation between the ancient idea of royal divinity, of the right of the elite to rule over and oppress the populace, and the then-new Torah concept that all people are created in God's image.  The social structure is not a divine rule, but an affront to divine justice.  It is Moshe's role to say, and to prove through the plagues, that Pharaoh is no more a god than the slaves he rules over.  He can be brought low by the true God of the land, who wants people to be free.  It is not enough that the Israelites leave; they must do so in a way that demonstrates to all, for all time, that an oppressive social structure is not only not endorsed by God, but abhorrent to the divine will.

(First written for my daughter's bat-mitzvah last year)

Parshat VaYishlach - Struggling with God and Man

Yaacov Avinu's life has always resonated with me, perhaps because his story is the most problematic among the forefathers.  He has difficulties from beginning to end with personal and family relationships, with parents, brother, uncle/father-in-law, wives and children.  He lives a life of struggle to survive and prosper, facing exile and return, only to have his family shattered by an attack on his daughter, and later a terrible battle between his sons.

However, these travails and struggles are punctuated with moments of divine revelation.   When going into exile, he is visited by the vision of the ladder, promising divine purpose in his sojourn.  When it is time to return home, he has a dream showing God's hand in protecting him during his years of exile, and pointing his way home.    He struggles with how to live up to this divine purpose, and never feels confident, it seems, in his way.  He does what God says, but steals away in the night like a thief.

Yaacov's very name that he receives in the Parsha, Yisrael, means struggle.  It is most fitting that it has become the name of the nation that continues this same struggle to this day.

This week's parsha opens with Yaacov preparing to face the brother whose murderous intent drove him into exile twenty years previously.  Despite God's command to him to return home and guarantee of his safety, he is not confident in what to expect.  He faces his brother with trepidation, and prepares for the worst.  Despite all the years, the household and wealth he has built, the divine promise of protection, he obsequiously approaches his brother with gifts and apologies.

The day approaches where they must meet face to face.  Yaacov finds himself alone, in the dead of night, and finds himself in a deathly struggle with an unknown adversary.  When he realizes the angelic nature of his opponent, he insists on a blessing before releasing him.

He wakes in the morning with a new name, but his struggle does not end.  He does not take the blessing to mean that all is guaranteed to be well, that he can trust in God to give him a happy ending in his meeting with Esav.

Yaacov had personal visions of God's purpose for him, but he did not assume that he knew it meant that all would be well in his lifetime.  He knew it meant that he would not be wiped out completely, but there was no guarantee that there wouldn't be a lot of pain for him and his to face on the way.   Yaacov's faith teaches us that faith means to trust in the long-term of God's purpose, but to know that we may need to struggle every step of the way to get there.

Parshat VaYera - Making sense of Abraham

I have never understood Abraham.  At the beginning of the Parsha, he is told that a city of evil-doers will be destroyed, and he argues with God, challenging him to find another way.  His challenge to God: השופט כל הארץ לא יעשה משפט - Will the Judge of all the Earth not do justice? - rings as perhaps the most powerful truth to power moment in human history.

Yet, when asked to sacrifice his son, he silently acquiesces.  No argument, no challenge, no question.  How about a little pleading?   Why does he just saddle up the donkeys and set out to fulfill the mission?  How can this be the same Abraham who challenges God's verdict on Sodom?  How can this be the Abraham who is known to God as the one who will "instruct his children and his household after him, that they may keep the way of the LORD, to do righteousness and justice"? (Gen 18:19)


There is a beautiful poem about the Akeda that part of the Sephardic Rosh Hashana liturgy that describes Abraham and Isaac's experience of the three day trip to Mount Moriah.  The eight stanza of the poem describes the following:

דָּפְקוּ בְּשַׁעְרֵי רַחֲמִים לִפְתֹּחַ

הַבֵּן לְהִזָּבַח וְאָב לִזְבֹּחַ

They pounded on the gates of mercy to open 

The son who was to be sacrificed, and the father who was to sacrifice                

The poet seems to share my feeling - how could it be that Abraham and Isaac did not challenge God's command?   The text must have left it out, so the poet adds it back in.


While the poet's question resonates with me, it is hard for me to believe the text would leave such an important detail out.



Tradition holds that this the final of Abraham's ten trials.   The interpretation that makes sense to me right now is that Abraham failed this last one.  God chose Abraham to found the Jewish people because he passed 9 out of 10, but he did not get a perfect score.  He should have challenged.  He should have fought.  I have no sources to back this up, but it seems to me to be the only interpretation I can live with.  I cannot believe, given  Abraham's behaviour earlier in the Parsha, or for that matter, Moshe's behaviour when told the Israelites will be wiped out, that God wants us to accept his decrees passively.  My own moral compass cries out against Abraham's acquiescence.

The interpretation is very problematic.  The text seems to contradict it completely.  Abraham is blessed, because he did not withhold his son from God. (Gen. 22:16-18).  However, the text uses a very strange phrase: כִּי, יַעַן אֲשֶׁר עָשִׂיתָ אֶת-הַדָּבָר הַזֶּה, וְלֹא חָשַׂכְתָּ, אֶת-בִּנְךָ אֶת-יְחִידֶךָ.  I am still looking, but I can't find its parallel anywhere else in Scripture.  Why כי יען?  Why not just כי?  The root verb ענה, means to answer.  It indicates a counterpoint.  Perhaps we could read it, instead of כי יען meaning "because", but instead כי יען, meaning "despite." God chooses Abraham despite his failure to argue on behalf of his son.  However,  by hearing the voice of the angel telling him to stop, and by immediately bringing another sacrifice of a ram to atone for his sin, he has shown that he is still the right man for the job.  He missed his chance here, but he understood the message, and will not make the mistake again.

The Akeda stands as an icon of all the sacrifices we have had to make as Jews over the centuries.  It embodies our willingness to give our lives, and sometimes our children's lives for our faith.  I understand that theme, that message.  The selichot prayers make it clear that this is how the Akeda was seen at least through Ashkenazi eyes of the middle ages, as the Crusades forced them to sacrifice their children over and over.  I myself expect to send my children to risk their lives in the IDF.

However, I don't think we need to accept this sacrifice willingly or without question.  I think we need to fight it until we have no choice.  We have to challenge and question and look for alternatives.

Perhaps Abraham did eventually have to get to the top of that mountain and sacrifice Isaac. Maybe that is what is demanded from us in the face of a direct command from God.

But he should have at least argued first.

Abram Ha'Ivri - Connected or alone?

As my family embark on our journey to a mountain in the north, Parshat Lech L'cha has particular resonances for me this year.  We know what we are leaving, but we do not know what the future holds.  We are making plans as best we can, but trusting in God that he will show us the way.

It has always struck me that the midrashic interpretation of Abram's title of העברי - the Hebrew - is much more well known then the plain sense meaning.  If you ask your typical Jew, even those well educated, what the plain sense meaning of this title is, they will quote the midrash brought down in the name of Rabbi Yehuda:

כל העולם כולו מעבר אחד, והוא מעבר אחד

"The whole world on one side, and he [Abram] on the other"

However, the pshat or plain-sense meaning is that he was called עברי (Ivri) because he was a descendent of עבר (Ever) - the great-grandson of Shem (Noah's son).  Once this is pointed out, it seems quite obvious.

It seems to me that the midrashic interpretation and the pshat point to two opposite but complementary aspects of Abram's character and journey.  On the one hand, Abram is unique in his time.  He is separated out from all others to found a new nation under God.  He is the iconoclast who first confronts the idolatry in his father's house then leaves to be on his own in Canaan.  He is the עברי - on one side, when all the world is on the other.  This is the aspect that Rabbi Mishael Zion is talking about in his Dvar Torah this week on the BYFI website.

On the other hand, Abram is the עברי - the descendant of עבר, who continues to be deeply connected to the rest of the עברי family who remain in Haran.  Although he could easily have interpreted the command of לך לך - Go for yourself - as לך לבדך - Go by yourself - this does not even occur to him, as he takes his wife, nephew and household with him.  He maintains a connection with his family, and makes sure that his son and grandson maintain that connection, even marrying within the family.  As Menachem Leibtag points out, Abram is not singled out by the אלה תולדות - these are the generations - structure of the book of Genesis, but his father Terach is. Abram's brothers are not rejected from the covenant, but brought in through their daughters and granddaughters who are chosen to be the foremothers of the Israelite people.

Abram is both alone and connected, leaving home but not disconnecting from his family.  All of us who have made aliya can appreciate the difficulty of this dichotomy.  I feel it strongly as we make our next step north.  Forging one's own path while remaining deeply connected to the world is the challenge of Abram.

Shabbat Shalom