Gratitude and Thanks: The Ethical Wisdom of Rabbi Haim Sabato

When I first met Rabbi Haim Sabato, the setting was not the typical book-lined study or corner table at a literary café one would expect when meeting with a bestselling author. Instead, it was the Beit Midrash of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe in Ma’aleh Adumim, where he serves as a Rosh Yeshiva and teaches Talmud and the works of Maimonides. 

Best known for novels such as Aleppo Tales, Adjusting Sights and The Dawning of the Day, Rabbi Haim Sabato is also one of the leading Torah scholars in the world. He has published creative commentaries on the Torah and Talmud, including his beautiful book Ahavat Torah ("Rest for the Dove" in English), a series of essays on the weekly Torah portion. In Ahavat Torah, Rabbi Sabato seeks to highlight the Torah's ethical wisdom for life, following the classic genre of his Sephardic Rabbinic ancestors from Aleppo and Spain. 

This week's Torah Portion - Parashat Shemot - launches the second Book of the Torah, the Book of Exodus. Within this parasha, we learn of the enslavement of the Jewish people by the "new Pharaoh who did not know of Joseph," the harsh labor he imposed on them, the birth of Moses, the marriage of Moses to Tziporah, daugher of Yitro, and God appointing Moses to become the leader who will help bring the word of God back to Egypt and help liberate the Jewish people.

Throughout all of these experiences, Rabbi Sabato detects various expressions of gratitude for an act of kindness committed. 

He begins with Yitro, the man who would become Moses' father-in-law. Rabbi Sabato remarks that Yitro says only one thing in this parasha, but it is enough to discern his grateful character. Upon being told by his daughters that "An Egyptian man saved us from the shepherds, and he even drew water for us and watered the sheep," Yitro's response to them is "Then where is he? Why did you leave the man" Summon him and let him eat his bread" (Exodus 2:18-20).

"Yitro's thought process," says Rabbi Sabato, "teaches us that he was a man who felt gratitude. It was clear to him that he could not abandon the man who had saved his daughters."

In turn, says Rabbi Sabato, Yitro's son-in-law Moses also possessed the beautiful character trait of gratitude. Upon hearing God's voice from the burning bush instructing Moses to return to Egypt and begin the process of freeing the Israelites from slavery, Moses does not go until he receives permission from his father-in-law. "Let me go back to my brethren in Egypt and see if they are still alive" asks Moses of Yitro. 

Why did he feel the need to ask Yitro's permission? "Moses knows that gratitude is owed to the man who opened his home to him when he was a stranger in a strange land" says Rabbi Sabato. "This is why Moses feels he cannot leave Yitro's home without his consent, even though God commanded him to go. Moses is certain that this is how he should behave, and that this is God's will."

"Go in peace" responds Yitro to Moses, giving Moses his blessing. One man of gratitude interacting with another.

"The basis of faith lies in gratitude," says Rabbi Sabato, and "one who is grateful for a kindness done by a friend will eventually appreciate the kindness of God."

With regard to gratitude as an expression of "God's will," Rabbi Sabato points to a commandment later in the Torah, also rooted in our experience in Egypt: "You shall not reject an Egyptian, for you were a stranger in his land" (Deuteronomy 23:8). 

Rabbi Sabato sees this commandment to express appreciation towards the Egyptians as "one of the most powerful virtues in the Torah." 

"We express our appreciation," says Rabbi Sabato, "despite our bitter experiences in Egypt, and the Torah does not allow us to forget our sense of gratitude towards the Egyptians for hosting us when we were strangers in their land."

When Rabbi Sabato's family emigrated to Israel from Egypt in 1951, they went from living a life of luxury to the poor Beit Mazmil neighborhood of Jerusalem. Life in the Beit Mazmil ma'abara (transit camp) was difficult and painful, and many Sephardic Jews who experienced the ma'abarot harbored resentment for being placed in such poor living quarters.

"How do you feel about your experiences growing up in Beit Mazmil," I asked Rabbi Sabato. "Do you feel any sense of resentment for your family being placed in a transit camp?"

Rabbi Sabato's response to me: "While the experience came with pain and disappointment, I feel nothing but gratitude to God and the State of Israel for giving me and my family the privilege to fulfill the mitzvah of living in the Land of Israel. I bear no grudge or hard feelings at all."

"The basis of faith lies in gratitude." This beautiful wisdom for life is an expression of God's will, and is highlighted by the behavior of men of deep faith - Yitro, Moses...and Rabbi Haim Sabato.

Shabbat Shalom

Channeling Anger: Rabbi Isaac Arama and Aristotle

One of the outstanding features of medieval Spanish Jewry was the confidence to weave philosophical teachings into Biblical commentary. One of the exemplary voices in this genre was Rabbi Isaac ben Moses Arama, a 15th century Spanish Talmudist, Kabbalist and Bible commentator. Rabbi Arama's most famous work is titled Akedat Yitzhak, a brilliant commentary on the Torah blending classic Rabbinic sources and philosophy, particularly the works of the Greek philosopher Aristotle.

When quoting Aristotle, Rabbi Arama does so to illustrate a moral teaching and lesson that helps bring us to a deeper understanding of complex verses or narratives in the Torah.

In this week's Torah portion - Parashat Vayehi - the Book of Genesis comes to a close, and so does the life of the patriarch Jacob. In Chapter 49 of Genesis, Jacob gathers his sons around his death bed, and in poetic-prophetic language, tells them what lies ahead in their descendant's future. 

When he speaks about Simeon and Levi, he has very difficult words for them:

"Simeon and Levi are a pair, their weapons are tools of lawlessness. Let not my person be included in their council, let not my being be counted in their assembly. For when angry they slay men, and when pleased they maim oxen. Cursed be their anger so fierce, and their wrath so relentless. I will divide them in Jacob, scatter them in Israel" (Genesis 49:5-7).

Jacob's harsh words about Simeon and Levi are his final reflection on their vengeful behavior against the residents of the town of Shekhem, in response to their sister Dina being raped. While they felt they defended their sister's honor, Jacob did not approve of their behavior, as he felt it was not appropriate for a prophet of God to be suspected of lending his hand to violence and pillage. 

Since their behavior was so repulsive to Jacob, why did he force, or perhaps even pray, that Simeon and Levi should be "scattered in Israel"? Why spread their anger and zealousness?

In his Akedat Yitzhak commentary, Rabbi Arama addresses this question through the teachings of Aristotle:

Jacob here utters a truth which Aristotle has publicized in his Book of Ethics. He teaches that anger and temper, though undesirable qualities, may sometimes prove useful in arousing heroic behavior in human beings. Soldiers in battle are spurred to bravery and courage by anger and indignation. This idea is also expressed in the Bible, in the Prophet Isaiah, where God says: "My won arm brought victory, and My won rage was My aid" (Isaiah 63:5). In other words, anger in extremes is detrimental, but in moderation can be useful. Jacob had the same idea in mind. It was advisable that the qualities of anger and passion that had been concentrated in Simeon and Levi should be dispersed among all of the tribes of Israel. All of them would share some of it. A little spread everywhere would prove useful, but if concentrated in one place, would be dangerous.

Through the teachings of a Greek philosopher, Rabbi Arama transforms what appears like a curse from Jacob into somewhat of a positive blessing. He argues that their anger and passion had to be "scattered in Israel," for by scattering it and spreading it thin, the at times necessary qualities of zeal, anger and passion could actually serve as productive tools for all of the tribes of Israel. Anger, passion and zeal, when properly channeled and measured, could actually be a good thing. This is certainly not clear from the plain sense of Jacob's words, but Rabbi Arama does what many Sephardic- Spanish Bible commentators did so well: find deeper meaning, and even a life's lesson, in complex verses in the Torah, by employing wisdom from the library of world thinkers outside of Judaism.

Rabbi Arama's commentary is another brilliant reflection of the great teaching of Maimonides, the master of blending Torah, philosophy and science: "Accept the truth from whatever source it comes."

Concluding Note:

The above column brings us to the close of the Book of Genesis. In our reading the Torah "through Sephardic lenses," we have so far seen examples of three outstanding Sephardic medieval commentators (Nachmanides, Abarbanel and Arama), two brilliant philosophers and thinkers (Maimonides and Benamozegh), two Sephardic poems and liturgical pieces ("Avraham Avinu" in Ladino & "Et Shaarei Ratson" - the Akedah poem) and four 20th Century Sephardic Rabbis and leaders (Rav Uziel, Rav Nissim, Rav Shalem and Hakham Raful). Quite an illustrious group, and we've only covered Genesis! Still four more books of the Torah to go, and many more brilliant Sephardic minds through which to explore the Torah.

Stay tuned for next week, as we begin our Sephardic journey through the Book of Exodus. Until then, blessings and good wishes.

Shabbat Shalom

Nachmanides: Spanish Scholar, Jewish Debater and Man of Big Questions

Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban) - known as Nachmanides - is one of Judaism's most brilliant minds ever. Born in Gerona, Spain in 1194, Nachmanides was an ingenious Talmudist, Kabbalist and Biblical commentator. His commentary to the Torah stands out as one of the most creative and insightful commentaries in print.

One of the outstanding features of Nachmanides' commentary was his willingness to openly tackle the at times morally questionable behavior of Biblical figures. This comes to expression most powerfully in the Book of Genesis, where the stories of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs often reflect behavior patterns that seem to go against a moral code of conduct.

In the saga of Abraham, Sarah and their maidservant Hagar, Nachmanides openly criticizes Sarah's behavior towards Hagar and her request of Abraham to expel her and Ishmael from their home: "Sarah our mother sinned in dealing harshly with her handmaid," says Nachmanides, "and Abraham, too, by allowing her to do so."

Nechama Leibowitz comments on Nachmanides' open critique of Sarah, remarking that "he could not find any excuses to condone Sarah's behavior, nor could he present any psychological explanations in extenuation of her deeds. No appraisal of Sarah's character could condone the sin of 'Sarah dealt harshly with her.'"

Nachmanides' refreshingly honest approach actually brought many people closer to the Torah and Judaism. Through his commentaries, he made people realize that our Patriarchs and Matriarchs were human beings like all other human beings, filled with the same complexities as any of us. They are not angels or superhuman, rather they are flesh and blood, just like we are. Confronting their imperfections makes them more relatable, not as heroes, but as people we look up to despite their flaws. 

In that same spirit, Nachmanides asks a major question about Joseph. In this week's Torah portion - Parashat Vayigash - Joseph's brother Judah delivers a long and moving speech before Joseph, whom he cannot yet identify as his brother. In Judah's mind, he is speaking to the Prince of Egypt. During this emotional speech, Judah says: "We have an old father and there is a child of his old age, the youngest...if I return to my father and the boy is not with us, he will die" (Genesis 44: 18, 30).

These heart wrenching words about the potential death of his father move Joseph to finally reveal himself to his brother, for immediately following Judah's speech, the Torah says: "Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants...his crying was so loud that the Egyptians could hear...and Joseph said to his brothers, 'I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?'"

Joseph was moved and broken by Judah's emotional plea, but Nachmanides has a question: 

"Joseph would indeed be regarded as having committed a great sin: bringing anguish to his father, leaving him for many days in the position of being bereft and mourning for Simeon and him. Even if it was his intention to cause his brothers minor anguish, how did he not have compassion for his elderly father? After Joseph stayed in Egypt for many years and became chief and overseer in the house of a great lord in Egypt, how was it possible that he did not send a single letter to his father to inform him of his whereabouts and comfort him, as Egypt is only about a six-day journey from Hebron? Even if it were a year’s journey, out of respect to his father, he should have notified him."

While in the case of Joseph, Nachmanides does attempt to answer this difficult question by saying that Joseph could not tamper with the pattern of dreams from his younger days, and that he was waiting until those dreams were fulfilled as prophecies, Nachmanides' question nonetheless remains with us as a powerful critique of Joseph, one that raises bigger questions for us to ponder: Did power go to his head? Did he forget his roots, his family, and his aging father? Nachmanides' question brings us closer to appreciating the complexity and truth of Joseph's human nature, bringing us to a closer understanding of the lessons we may learn from Joseph's experiences. No matter what positions of power, wealth or success we may achieve, we must always stay in touch with our loved ones, and remember our roots and from where we came. Family must always come first.

What's interesting is that while Nachmanide's immense body of Biblical, Talmudic and Kabbalistic knowledge are certainly his intellectual legacy, one of the defining human, face to face experiences in his life was his famous Disputation at Barcelona in 1263. Here he was challenged to defend Judaism in the public arena, against a former Jew now named Pablo Christiani, and in the presence of the King of Aragon. This was not his private study facing books and texts, but the public domain, facing people, and one specific opponent. In order to succeed in his task, Nachmanides had to know more than his arguments: he had to understand human nature. This was a live showdown. 

Nachmanides won the disputation, fully displaying his deep knowledge of Jewish texts, but also showing his prowess as a skilled debater who knew how to psychologically wear down his opponent and defeat him. Winning a debate is more than knowing the facts and "out knowing" what he knows. You have to understand your opponent as a person.

How did Nachmanides learn to do that? Perhaps it had something to do with his Biblical commentaries, where he always sought a deeper understanding of human nature, such as raising difficult questions about Abraham, Sarah and Joseph. These tough questions gave him a more profound understanding of human beings. By probing the deeper character of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs, including their faults, Nachmanides ultimately gained a better psychological understanding of human beings. This ultimately helped him defeat his opponent at Barcelona and bring public honor to the Torah and Judaism. 

Big questions, when asked with respect, sincerity and knowledge, can ultimately produce big results. 

Shabbat Shalom

Born on Hanukkah, Destined to Lead: Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim's Miraculous Hanukkah Teachings

Born on the first night of Hanukkah in the year 1895 in Baghdad, a young man named Yitzhak was given the middle name Nissim - Miracles - by his parents, because of the miraculous holiday during which he was born. Upon his arrival to the Land of Israel in the year 1925, the young boy - by now a renowned rabbinic scholar - decided to turn his middle name into his last name, and thus he was known for the rest of his life as Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim. 

One of the most creative and outstanding Sephardic leaders of the 20th century, Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim served as the Rishon L'Zion - the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel - from 1955-1973. He followed his mentor and teacher Rabbi Uziel in this prestigious position, and was considered one of the most active leaders in spreading the light of Torah to a wide variety of audiences. His teachings were inspirational, always with a unifying message, and filled with pride in the Jewish people and a deeply spiritual belief in God. 

Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim did not believe in terms like "religious, secular, Haredi, Modern Orthodox, Reform". These divisive labels went against everything he believed, and he spent his entire career as seeking to inspire and unify the Jewish people. In fact, his first mission as Chief Rabbi was to develop a relationship with the leaders of the Kibbutz movement in Israel, most of whom considered themselves "secular." That was irrelevant to Rabbi Nissim, whose goal was not to "make them religious," but to enrich their Kibbutz lives with traditional Jewish customs,  connect them to the Jewish traditions of their ancestors, and let them decide how all of this would fit into their Kibbutz life.

What follows below is my translation from Hebrew of a beautiful Hanukkah message Rabbi Nissim delivered in Israel, to a group of Jews who did not consider themselves "religious." He delivered it with love, because he loved every Jew:

Hanukkah represents our nation's historic desire for freedom and independence, both from a spiritual and national perspective. In every generation, enemies arose who sought to deny us these freedoms, and when the Hasmoneans decided to take up arms against the evil Greek rulers who denied our religious and national rights, they did so as a small band of freedom fighters who were numerically outnumbered by their enemies, yet the "few triumphed over the many." This victory was against all odds. What was the secret weapon that the Hasmoneans possessed that led to this unlikely victory over such a massive army?

From time immemorial, the Jewish people knew their identity, mission and purpose: to be a unique nation distinguished in their deep faith in God, and through observance of God's commandments, to be a light unto the nations and fill the world with positive light.

It is from this place of deep faith and purpose that the Hasmoneans took up arms. They knew what they were fighting for and why they were fighting. This was not a "war for the sake of warfare" or to assert military superiority, rather a war fought for the spiritual survival of a people, their ideas and their ideals. These were the true "secret weapons" of the Hasmoneans, and because of the purity of their motives, God helped them by showing them Divine wonders and miracles.

As it was with the Hasmoneans, so too is to today, in our State of Israel. These days of Hanukkah that we celebrate here together hold a deep and unique meaning for us. From the time when the miracle of Hanukkah miracle happened until today, our people endured a difficult and challenging diaspora, the "birth pangs of redemption." We stayed strong and maintained our faith in God, until with the grace of God we merited to see the restoration of a Jewish government in our land. Yet as it was with the Hasmoneans, so too it is today, that with our renewed independence in our sacred land, our enemies near and far continue to threaten to destroy us.

With deep faith in God, and in our mission as a Jewish nation, our modern army - the "great-grandchildren of the Hasmoneans" - went to battle and faced our enemies who sought our destruction. Their determination, along with God's help, brought about the victories we merited to see in our days, that helped reestablish and secure our nation's independence in our ancient homeland. We were all witness to the renewed miracle of Hanukkah in our days, and it is now upon us to be worthy of that miracle by carrying out our higher mission and purpose in the world. 

My dear brothers and sisters, you saw first hand the miracles that God brought for us against enemies much greater in number than us. You merited to witness the Hanukkah story again, in our generation. Use this as an opportunity to strengthen your spiritual connection to God and the beautiful traditions of the Torah. Doing so will give our victories here a deeper meaning and bigger purpose, to bring light into the world. That is our legacy, and that is our future -- all of us, together. 

Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim was born on Hanukkah in 1895 in Baghdad, and died on Tisha B'Av in 1981 in Jerusalem. Tisha B'Av is the anniversary of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, but our tradition teaches that it is also the day upon which the Mashiach (Messiah) will be born. From darkness and destruction, says the Talmud, light and salvation will emerge. 

Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim's journey on earth began on the day when the Hasmoneans rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem, and ended on the day when that Temple was destroyed - but also the day when its redeemer will rebuild it. How symbolic that - in the spirit of both days - he spent his entire life helping to "rebuild the Temple" - the modern-day Temple called the State of Israel. He did so by bringing the light of Torah to multitudes of Jews from various backgrounds and walks of life, inspiring them to connect to their heritage, to one another, and to God.

Per the middle name that became his last name - Nissim - his life as a Jew who came from Baghdad to Jerusalem, and persevered under difficult circumstances to teach Torah to so many Jews in the small, new, socially struggling and embattled Jewish state - was indeed miraculous.

On this Hanukkah, we remember with love Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim, a brilliant Sephardic leader and Chief Rabbi. We pray that the light of his teachings continue to illuminate our journey today, and for generations to come.

Shabbat Shalom, Hodesh Tov and Hanukkah Sameach.

I Have a Dream: Hakham Abraham Harari Raful

One of the original faculty members of the legendary Sephardic Yeshivat Porat Yosef in the Old City of Jerusalem, Hakham Abraham Harari Raful was born in Jerusalem in 1895. A descendant of a prestigious line of rabbis from Aleppo (originally from Spain), Hakham Abraham Harari Raful was steeped in Torah study from childhood. His primary teacher was his father, Hakham Ezra Harari Raful, who taught his son Torah and also made sure he had a Jewish education by sending him to the Yeshiva that he himself opened, Yeshivat Ohel Moed, under the guidance of Rabbi Raphael Shlomo Laniado.

In his book Imrei Avraham, a collection of teachings on the Torah, the Siddur (he was also an outstanding Sephardi Hazzan) and the Jewish holidays, Hakham Abraham tells a moving story that relates thematically to this week's Torah Portion, Parashat Vayeshev. 

Beginning with this parasha through the end of the Book of Genesis, we read what we call "The Joseph Narrative," the intriguing stories of Joseph in Egypt. From the beginning of these stories, Joseph's personal dreams and his talent to interpret the dreams of others take center stage. His brothers call him "that dreamer" (Genesis 37:19), and in Egypt, Joseph gains fame in his ability to explain and interpret the dreams of the Baker, the Cupbearer, and, ultimately, of Pharaoh. 

"Joseph's deep connection to dreams," says Hakham Abraham, "calls attention to our relationship with our own dreams and those of our loved ones." He tells the story of a dream that his father, Hakham Ezra, had just a few days before passing away:

My father, the pious Rabbi Ezra Harari Raful, of sainted and blessed memory, had a dream just days before his passing, that he ascended into the Garden of Eden, and there he saw the palace of Avraham Avinu (Abraham our Patriarch). My father beheld Abraham's palace and saw that etched on the gates of entry were the words that defined the life's mission of Abraham: 

"I (God) have chosen Abraham so that he may teach his children the ways of God" (Genesis 18:19)

Upon awakening from this beautiful vision in the morning, Hakham Ezra interpreted his own dream in the presence of his family:

Abraham was a distinguished leader known for many different things he did in his life. He was the first Jew, he was the first to have a direct relationship with God, and the first to journey to the Land of Israel. He fought wars, dealt with world leaders, purchased our first-ever first plot of land in Israel, negotiated with God on behalf of Sodom, and was put through the most difficult test of his faith with Akedat Yitzhak (the Binding of Isaac). Yet, with all of this, God declared that the main reason Abraham was chosen was "so that he may teach his children the ways of God." The meaning of my dream must be that the most important mission of any Jewish parent's life is to educate their children "in the ways of God" - Torah, tradition and being part of the Jewish people.

If dreams reflect our subconscious, then what was on Hakham Ezra Harari Raful's mind just a few days before passing away? The education of his children, and the continuity of his family's traditions, as well as those of his people.

This dream connects to Joseph on levels that are much deeper than the mere act of dreaming. Who was Joseph? A young Hebrew boy who, through an intriguing series of twists and turns all rooted in dreams, ends up becoming the second most powerful man in Egypt. In Jewish tradition, he is the only Biblical figure with the title Tsaddik - righteous. Many wonder why a young man whose behavior so often seemed arrogant and elitist was given the title Tsaddik?

In his rise to power in Pharaoh's palace, Joseph got married and had two children, the boys Ephraim and Menashe. Here were two young boys born to a father who was from the Hebrew tribes and now became an Egyptian prince. How did that Egyptian prince, with his new clothing, appearance and power, raise and educate those two boys? In our terms, they were raised "in the diaspora, surrounded by assimilation."

Despite the atmosphere of the Egyptian palace and all of its temptations towards assimilation, Joseph taught his boys who they were - Hebrews descended from the tribes of Israel, from their grandfather Jacob. Indeed, their identity was so strong that they are the only grandchildren to attain tribal status in Israel. Joseph did not forget who he was, and made sure his children knew their history, their identity, and "the ways of God."

This explains the blessing we give our boys around the Shabbat table every Friday night: May God make you like Ephraim and Menashe. With all of the challenges, distractions and temptations to assimilate, we aspire to raise our children so that they are like Ephraim and Menashe - two boys who were raised in the thick of an environment foreign to their heritage and religion, yet retained their identity.

Hakham Ezra's dream about Abraham's palace and the centrality for parents to educate their children in "the ways of God" not only strengthens the Joseph story, but also illuminates the message of the holiday around when the Torah portions about Joseph are usually read: Hanukkah (which we begin to celebrate this coming Sunday night, November 28, 2021).

Hanukkah is the story of the Maccabees, a small band of freedom fighters who refused to allow assimilation to overtake the Jewish people. In the words of the classic Spanish Torah commentator Nachmanides, "without the Maccabees, the learning of Torah and the observance of commandments would have been forgotten in Israel."

What is the best "Hanukkah gift" we can give our children, male and female? The same gift Joseph gave to his sons Ephraim and Menashe, and - thousands of years later - Hakham Ezra Harari Raful gave to his son, Hakham Abraham Harari Raful - the gift of Torah, Jewish identity, Jewish heritage and Jewish education. 

I have a dream, that we will all take inspiration from these great dreamers, who, in their own minds, did nothing except fulfill their role as Jewish parents - to teach their kids.

Shabbat Shalom and Hanukkah Sameah

 

 

Tuesdays with Rabbi Shalem: Jacob and Jewish History

Born and raised in Jerusalem in the early 20th century, Rabbi Abraham Shalem was one of the 20th century's most outstanding representatives of the classical Sephardic tradition. A descendant of Hakhamim from Spain and Salonika (including his grandfather, Hakham Shmuel Shalem, author of the book Melekh Shalem, commenting on Maimonides and the Talmud), Rabbi Abraham Shalem studied under the tutelage of Sephardic Chief Rabbi Benzion Meir Hai Uziel in his yeshiva, received his Semikha (Rabbinical Ordination) from him, and was close to him personally, reflected in what Rabbi Uziel once wrote to him in their many letters they exchanged:"my relationship with you is like that of a father to his son."

I had the privilege of knowing Rabbi Shalem personally, and spent many, many hours with him in his beautiful apartment in Jerusalem. Every wall was lined with sacred books and world literature, but also with original oil paintings which he himself had painted.  Certificates and leadership awards he received from his many years as a community rabbi in Peru, Seattle and Mexico City also adorned the walls. I marveled at the many Sephardic manuscripts he transformed into books during his years as the head of the Sephardic Manuscripts division of Makhon Yerushalyim in Jerusalem, but I especially loved hearing all of his wonderful stories about his days as a student with Rabbi Uziel and all of the other Sephardic Hakhamim from the early days of the Zionist Yishuv in Jerusalem. Were I ever to put all of my conversations with Rabbi Shalem down into writing, it would be the rabbinical version of Mitch Albom's classic book Tuesdays With Morrie.

Speaking of books, Rabbi Shalem authored several brilliant books with his own insights into the Torah, halakhic issues and Jewish philosophy and theology. I am privileged to be the proud owner of all of his books, and I cherish the personal inscriptions in each one of them. 

In his book Eshed Ha-Nehalim, Rabbi Shalem's beautiful derashot (homilies) about the weekly parasha are the gems from whose wisdom I constantly draw upon. That includes his derasha to this week's Torah portion, Parashat Vayishlach.

Jacob is understandably anxious about his planned reunion with his brother Esau. The last time they were together was when Esau threatened to kill Jacob over the controversy regarding their father Isaac's blessing.

On the eve of this reunion, Jacob expresses fear, as he hears that Esau is on his way over with 400 men: 

"Jacob was greatly frightened, and in his anxiety, he divided the people with him into two camps" (Genesis 32:8)

Rabbi Shalem picks up on Jacob's fear over the potential confrontation with his brother, and explores it on a deeper level: "He who examines Jacob's fear more closely, and what Jacob experienced that night on the eve of meeting his brother, will see that his fear reflects not only that moment, but was on behalf of his descendants for many generations to come."

Jacob's fear, followed by the whole night he spent "alone wrestling with a man" is understood by Rabbi Shalem as a metaphor for all of subsequent Jewish history.

"The various trials and tribulations of the Jewish people," writes Rabbi Shalem, "the various confrontations with hateful enemies, the wars, the destructions, the persecutions and pogroms, the hatred and violence against the Jewish people -- all of these dark pieces of our history were part of Jacob's fears on that dark, lonely and anxious night."

Rabbi Shalem describes our nearly 2,000 years in exile as "one long night, when we wrestled with our enemies - like Jacob wrestled that night - to maintain our unique character, identity and faith as Jews. This struggle through that long, dark night of exile was a journey through the valley of tears in the shadow of death." Like Jacob our ancestor, we were alone in darkness.

Jacob's frightening struggle lasted all night "until the break of dawn" (Genesis 32:25). Rabbi Shalem reads "the break of dawn" as a metaphor for the return of the Jewish people to their homeland, after a long night in exile lasting nearly 2,000 years: "At the break of dawn, after all of the struggles and attempted destructions of our people, the enemy had not prevailed against us, much like the mysterious man could not prevail over Jacob. Like Jacob, we were limping and injured - physically and emotionally - but we survived and came home. Like our ancestor, who prevailed at dawn and had his name changed from Jacob to Israel, his descendants went from being the "Jews in the darkness of exile" to the "Jews who came back home" - to a place called Israel.

Rabbi Shalem was privileged to be a part of that "return home to Israel." His family left Salonika and moved to Jerusalem, and despite his many years of devoted service to Jewish communities in the diaspora, he now did so as an "emissary from Jerusalem," from a land and country - Israel - where his people now had control over their own lives and destiny.

Rabbi Shalem passed away in 2014 and was laid to rest in Jerusalem, at the Har Hamenuhot cemetery, the same cemetery where his revered teacher Rabbi Uziel was laid to rest in 1953. Rabbi Shalem's anio  (yahrzeit - anniversary of passing) is the 23rd day of Elul, Rabbi Uziel's the 24th of Elul. In life and in death, the rabbi and student remain close to one another.

Today, a very large collection of those beautiful books that lined Rabbi Shalem's walls in his apartment are proudly housed in the Emquies Family Sephardic Library of the Sephardic Educational Center in Jerusalem.

Rabbi Shalem's beautiful interpretation of "Jacob's fear" serves to inspire and remind us that in the face of darkness, loneliness, struggle and confrontation, we may get injured and hurt along the way, but with persistence, "Jacob will become Israel," meaning we will survive and prevail, both in our individual lives, and - per Jewish history - as a Jewish nation.

Shabbat Shalom

The Origins of Modeh Ani: Giving Thanks for Life, and for Ethical Life

Rabbi Moshe ben Makhir is one of the renowned 16th century Sephardic Kabbalists from Safed, Israel. Descended from a Spanish family expelled from Spain in 1492, Rabbi ben-Makhir was the presiding Hakham over a prestigious Talmudic Yeshiva that was first located in Ein Zeitim (north of Safed). After the Yeshiva was unfortunately robbed and looted, they eventually moved to Safed, where they studied Talmud amongst the great mystical circle of Sephardic Kabbalists.

Rabbi ben-Makhir authored Seder Ha-Yom (The Order of the Day), one of the most important works blending Talmud, Kabbalah, Halakha and Ethics. In his introduction to Seder Ha-Yom, he defines the purpose of the book: "To lay out the order one should follow in his days and nights, on Shabbat and holidays, the order of the entire year when sitting at home and walking on the way, when retiring and rising." 

The book encompasses teachings that include synagogue rituals, but in the complete spirit of the Torah, it also discusses Jewish law and practice away from synagogue life.

One of the elements covered in Seder Ha-Yom is how we treat employees. 

In this week's Torah portion, Vayetze, we are told of the tenuous employer-employee relationship between Jacob and his uncle Laban. Jacob expressed to Laban his disapproval and disdain of the type of employer his uncle was:

"These twenty years I have spent in your service...often, scorching heat ravaged me by day and frost by night, and sleep fled from my eyes. Of the twenty years that I spent in your household, I served you fourteen years for your two daughters, and six years for your flocks. You changed my wages time and again. Had not the God of my father, the God of Abraham and the Fear of Isaac, been with me, you would have sent me away empty handed." (Genesis 31:38-42)

Jacob's open indictment of his uncle's abusive style as an employer is countered by the Torah's ethical laws on how to properly treat an employee:

"The wages of an employee shall not remain with you until morning" (Leviticus 19:13) and "You shall not abuse a needy and destitute laborer, whether a fellow countryman or a stranger in one of the communities of your land. You must pay him his wages on the same day, before the sun sets, for he is needy and urgently depends on it..." (Deuteronomy 24:14-15).

In this very spirit, Rabbi Moshe ben Makhir comments on the Torah's philosophy of how we treat employees:

An employer who has a heart and loves people pays the wages owed to his employees immediately without delay. Furthermore, as an employer, he should not stand over their heads and critique every detail of what they are doing, rather even if they make a mistake at work, he should treat them with love and forgiveness. When he pays them, he should do so with love and with a positive spirit and good attitude. If the employee is impoverished despite the wages paid to them, the employer should display empathy for them and seek to help them. Such ethical behavior makes the employer a partner with God.

Rabbi ben Makhir outlines the Torah's beautiful philosophy of how a Jew is meant to behave outside the synagogue. Spirituality and Godliness are not exclusively within the domain of the "House of God," because the entire world is the "House of God." When we wake up in the morning, we should be thinking about how we treat others as much as how we pray to God.

Perhaps that's what Rabbi ben Makhir had in mind when - in the same book Seder Ha-Yom - he composed one of Judaism's most beloved prayers, the one we all recite when we wake up in the morning:

Modeh ani lefanekha Melekh hai vekayam shehehezarta bi nishmati b'hemla, rabah emunatekha

I give thanks before You, living and eternal King, for returning within me my soul in compassion; great is Your faithfullness.

More than just a statement of thanks to God for giving us another day of life, Rabbi ben Makhir's Modeh Ani statement points out that God granting us another day of life is an act of compassion and a sign of faith in us.

God is compassionate towards us by granting us life, so we should be compassionate towards our fellow human beings - especially those in need - by helping to improve their quality of life. God has faith in us to treat our employees with fairness, honesty and compassion. God grants us another day, not merely to live our lives in the endless toil towards wealth and fortune, but to live meaningful lives where we can live ethically and seek to help others. 

For those reasons, when we are blessed to wake up in the morning, the first thing we say is Modeh Ani, reminding us - as Rabbi Moshe ben Makhir did so poetically - that God grants us another day to fill the world with compassion and love.

Shabbat Shalom

"Mother of Jacob and Esau": The Humanitarian Teachings of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh

Can Torah commentary promote dialogue and call for peace between age old enemies? Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh believed it could. Born in Livorno, Italy in 1823 to parents originally from Fez, Morocco, Rabbi Benamozegh became one of Italian-Sephardi Jewry's most innovative, thought provoking and creative thinkers. His voluminous writings blend the depth of Talmudic and Kabbalistic texts with humanitarian values and religious universalism. His most famous work articulating this "Judeo-Universal" message is Israel et L'Humanite - Israel and Humanity. Originally written in French and subsequently translated into many languages, Israel et L'Humanite is the classic starting point for those who wish to be initiated into the unique world of Rabbi Benamozegh's thought. 

While this work of Jewish thought is deep, rich and fascinating, our entry into Rabbi Benamozegh's world will begin elsewhere, through Em La-Mikra, his masterful and controversial commentary to the Torah. Masterful, because he dared think out of the box and challenge his readers to think beyond traditional boundaries. Controversial, for those very same reasons. 

In this week's Torah portion, Parashat Toldot, we are introduced to a sibling rivalry that would last for several centuries beyond the Biblical period and spread far beyond the Middle East. Two brothers - Esau and Jacob - were born of the same parents (Isaac and Rebecca), but were destined to be rivals. Once the barren Rebekah conceived and carried twins in her womb, the Torah describes the foreshadow to their national rivalry. The children "struggled in her womb," and when Rebekah inquired of God as to why this was so, God answered:

"Two nations are in your womb, two separate peoples shall issue from your body." 

(Genesis 25:22-23)

Jacob and Esau had a tumultuous upbringing, and the most famous story about their childhood involves the controversial episode of their father's blessing. Esau was the firstborn, and his father's "blessing" belonged to him. Through a painful and disturbing sequence of events, we are told how Jacob "came in deceit" - at the encouragement of his mother - to take away his brother Esau's blessing and claim it as his own.

This morally questionable episode intensified the rivalry between the two brothers, who were, as predicted, destined to become the fathers of different nations - Esau, the Edomites, and Jacob, the Israelites. Esau held a deep grudge against his brother for stealing his blessing, and threatened to kill him.

Fearing for Jacob's life, Rebekah sends him to stay with her brother Laban. "Stay with him a while, until your brother's fury subsides," she says. Isaac agrees, and sends him off:

"Then Isaac sent Jacob off, and he went to Paddan-Aram, to Laban the son of Bethuel the Aramean, the brother of Rebekah, mother of Jacob and Esau" (Genesis 28:5)

The commentator Rashi is perplexed by the words "mother of Jacob and Esau." The Torah could have simply said Laban the son of Bethuel the Aramean, the brother of Rebekah. Why add that she was the "mother of Jacob and Esau"? Don't we already know that? Rashi admits to being stumped by these seemingly superfluous words: "I do not know what this teaches us," says Rashi.

Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh disagrees. He believes it teaches us something very deep, about the soul of a mother. In his Em La-Mikra commentary, Rabbi Benamozegh offers a creative reading of this and one more verse, producing the sensitive voice of empathy for a mother towards her children. 

He points out that just a few verses earlier, when Rebekah tells Jacob to flee to her brother's house to escape the wrath of Esau, she says "Let me not lose you both in one day" (Genesis 27:45). A brilliant philologist and grammarian, Rabbi Benamozegh points to the Hebrew term for "lose you" -eshkal -which actually means "bereaved" - as the key to understanding this verse. Rebekah's deepest fear, he says, is that her sons will meet up, engage in a physical struggle, and kill each other. 

No matter their sibling rivalry, the two rival nations they are destined to lead, or the controversy over their father's blessing that she herself initiated, both Jacob and Esau are Rebekah's sons. A mother's greatest fear is the prospect of losing a child she bore. Rebekah's ultimate nightmare was to "lose both in one day."

It is for this reason, says Rabbi Benamozegh, that the Torah provides an emphatic reminder of Rebekah being mother of Jacob and Esau. It's more than an editorial note, and it's much deeper than Rebekah's bio. It's the essence of who she is - the mother of two children, the mother of Jacob and Esau.

In post-Biblical history, the rivalry between Esau and Jacob persisted. The Talmud speaks of an "eternal hatred between Esau and Jacob," interpreting Esau's Edomites to be the Roman Empire, and ultimately, Christianity as a whole. The history between Esau-Edom-Rome-Christianity vs. Jacob-Israel-Judaism is drenched in the bloodshed of destruction, inquisition and religious persecution.

In light of his sensitive insight of Rebekah as the mother of Jacob and Esau, as a mother who utimately cared about both of her boys, Rabbi Benamozegh probed the idea of a cessation of hatred, indeed of a reconciliation, between the offspring of Rebekah's boys. In Em La-Mikra and elsewhere, Rabbi Benamozegh challenged his Jewish readers to move away from the rabbinic dictum of eternal hatred between Esau and Jacob, opting instead to see each other as the children of one mother who can both bring about spiritual enlightenment to the world. 

Such ideas (which I will explore in more detail in another posting, please God) were deemed controversial and heretical by many in the Ottoman Jewish world. The rabbis of Aleppo, Syria held a public burning of Em La-Mikra, and sent letters around the Ottoman Empire encouraging others to do the same. The rabbis of Damascus followed the example of their Aleppo brethren. The rabbis of Jerusalem did not go that far, but they did ban Em La-Mikra. Rabbi Haim Palagi from Izmir was the only vocal opponent of the book burnings, and he wrote a letter of support to Rabbi Benamozegh.

In a world continuously plagued by religious divisions that so often end in bloodshed, rather than burning Rabbi Benamozegh's works, it would behoove us to take heed to the insightful teachings of this brilliant Sephardic thinker.

Indeed, per the title of his brilliant work of Jewish thought, the future of Israel and Humanity hangs in the balance.

Shabbat Shalom

  

Et Shaarei Ratson: Sarah's Painful Death

Rabbi Yehuda ben Shmuel ibn Abbas was one of Sephardic Jewry's most gifted poets. Born in Fez, Morocco in the 12th Century, ibn Abbas is best known for his poignant poetic retelling of Akedat Yitzchak - the Binding of Isaac. The poem is titled either by its opening words - "Et Shaarei Ratson L'Hipateach" (The Time for the Gates of Will to Open) - or by its theme - "The Akedah" (The Binding). It is chanted by Sephardic Jews as the introduction to the blowing of the Shofar on both days of Rosh Hashanah. The moving lyrics and sentimental tune of Et Shaarei Ratson together create a deeply emotional atmosphere leading into the climactic moment when we hear the sounds of the Shofar.

(Et Shaarei Ratson in Ladino Translation)

Within this 14 stanza poem, the tenth and eleventh are known as the tear jerkers. When they are chanted on Rosh Hashanah, there isn't a dry eye in the synagogue. These stanzas poetically express Isaac's broken emotions in words to his father Abraham, just moments before the knife is wielded on him.

What was on Isaac's mind at this dramatic moment? Isaac was thinking about the one person who is completely absent in the Torah's telling of the Akedah - his mother Sarah. As Abraham prepares to lift the knife and offer his son as a sacrifice, the Et Shaarei Ratson poem relates the emotions Isaac must have felt in knowing that his mother was kept in the dark about the Akedah:

Tell my mother that her joy, her one remaining son, the son she bore at the age of 90, became a man and was subjected to the slaughtering knife. I would seek solace for her, but from where? I am pained for the mother who will cry and weep.

My words come from the slaughtering knife, please sharpen it father and tighten my bonds. When it binds my flesh, take with you the remains of my ashes, and tell Sarah, this is the scent of Isaac.

This week's Torah portion is named "Chayei Sarah" - Sarah's Lifetime - and it's opening verses actually tell of Sarah's death and burial. The telling of Sarah's death comes immediately after the Akedah, prompting the commentator Rashi to attribute Sarah's death to hearing the news about the Akedah. Rashi says:

"The narrative of the death of Sarah follows immediately on that of the Binding of Isaac, because through hearing the news that her son had been made ready for sacrifice and had almost been sacrificed, her soul was shocked to its core and she died." (Rashi on Genesis 23:3)

Many Jewish commentators read the Akedah as the story of Abraham passing the ultimate "test of faith" in God. Rashi's linking of Sarah's death to the Akedah, as well as ibn Abbas' poetic probe of Isaac's emotions about his mother, remind us of the heavy toll this episode took on Isaac and his mother Sarah. These deeper interpretations point to the reality that behind every heroic episode lies painful sacrifices. With the Akedah, an "almost-sacrifice" led to some very painful emotional sacrifices.

Jews read the Torah as our personal narrative. The stories of our Biblical ancestors are "our stories." Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z"l, whose first anio (yahrzeit) we observed this week, taught us that "Torah is a journey". We journey through the Torah and relive every moment - the triumphs and the tragedies - in our minds and in our hearts.

The Akedah is not just "a story from our past." It's personal, and painful, no matter how many times we read it. Despite our knowing that the sacrifice never went through, we continue to carry the pain and trauma of the Akedah to this day. The poem Et Shaarei Ratson helps us confront this pain and release our emotions. Whether in synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, or any other time we read it, Et Shaarei Ratson allows us to cry, not for the "great heroes of our faith," but for the poignant story about a son and his mother.

Shabbat Shalom

Tsedakah and Mishpat: Rav Uziel's Vision for Social Justice

On November 26, 1936, Rav Ben Zion Meir Hai Uziel delivered a lecture to a large gathering of rabbis in Jerusalem. Titled The Seat of the Rabbinate, Rav Uziel’s words were delivered as an introduction to that day’s elections for the Council of the Chief Rabbinate of the Land of Israel. Speaking to rabbis who would potentially join him as part of the Land of Israel’s national rabbinic leadership, Rav Uziel articulated a vision for what he felt were the priorities of the rabbinate in the Yishuv in Erets Yisrael (which eventually became the modern-day State of Israel):

"When it comes to public and national matters, the issue of Mishpat (The Torah’s Civil Laws) is a weighty and important responsibility on a rabbi, for it is these matters that establish the path of life towards success or disaster, peace or dispute within our community. God thus commanded us: “Execute the judgment of truth and peace in your gates” (Zecharia 8:16). 

Most people looking to create a “religious community” would begin by building a house of worship. God sees things differently. In the Torah, civil laws governing relationships between people (Bein Adam L’Havero) are legislated before the laws on building the Mishkan (Tabernacle - Judaism's first house of worship). Batei Din (courts of law) are legislated before the laws of the Mishkan, and the role of Dayanim (Judges) comes before any discussion of Kohanim (Priests). 

A large bulk of the Torah’s laws deal in matters that don’t seem “religious or spiritual” to most people -- personal injury, damages due to negligence, paying employees on time, borrowing items, lending money, the authority of courts of law - to name just a few. But these actually form the core of how the Torah envisions the definition and governance of a Jewish religious society. God knows that it’s much easier to behave “religiously” within the comfortable religious confines of a synagogue. The true challenge is maintaining that religiosity in the workplace and at home. 

In keeping with this core value, when he wrote his Mishpetei Uziel halakhic responsa (his masterpiece on matters of Jewish Law), Rav Uziel devoted a special introduction to the volume on Hoshen Mishpat (the section of the Shulhan Arukh that deals with Jewish Civil Law). He wrote:

"Amongst all of the Torah's commandments and halakhot, the Torah of Mishpatim -- which legislates civil and financial laws -- uniquely distinguishes itself, as it guides and directs the way of life for all areas and aspects of society." 

Rav Uziel bases his understanding of the centrality of civil law in Judaism on God's vision for Abraham and the Jewish people, as articulated in this week's Torah portion, Parashat Vayera: 

"This extensive body of civil laws reflects the unique character of Judaism, whose glorious splendor is manifest through Tsdedakah (Charity) and Mishpat (Justice), which are the legacy of Judaism’s founding father Abraham, about whom God said: “I have singled him out so that he will command his children and his household after him, that they will keep God’s way, doing Tsedakah and Mishpat” (Genesis 18:19)."

Rav Uziel’s vision of a Mishpatim-centered society was inspired by a long and rich tradition dating all the way back to Abraham. The "unique character of Judaism," says Rav Uziel, is expressed through our practicing tsdedakah (charity) and mishpat (justice), and Rav Uziel felt that the gatekeepers of tsedakah and mishpat would be Judaism's spiritual leaders:

"As you approach the seat of the rabbinate that you will sit upon after your election, take to heart that the full domain of mishpat -- including all of its problems & issues -- has been placed in your hands, and it will be upon you -- through trustworthiness, love honor and admiration -- to bring the entire nation closer to the values of Jewish Civil Law. Mishpat, Tsedek and Din Emet L’Amito-- justice, charity and the truthful execution of the law to its fullest extent of truth -- serve as the foundations for the unity of our nation." 

What is a rabbi’s role in society? Are rabbis only concerned with the kashrut of pots and pans, or does the kashrut of business practices also matter? Is the rabbi exclusively a caretaker of prayers and rituals, or does he care about social justice issues? Does he see halakha exclusively in the realm of the kitchen, mikvah and synagogue, or does he also find halakhic expression in economic matters such as the high cost of living and fair pricing for housing, and social problems such as drug abuse and domestic violence? 

"The Jewish people were singled out, or chosen, by God," said Rav Uziel, "to help bring tsedakah and mishpat into the world, so that society will become a better place to live." 

As long as we live in a broken world, practicing charity and justice remains our collective purpose as a Jewish nation.

Shabbat Shalom

                  

Cuando El Rey Nimrod...Avraham Avinu

It is one of the most beloved Sephardic-Ladino folk songs. Some might call it the national anthem of Judeo-Spanish Jewry. Generation after generation has grown up singing Cuando El Rey Nimrod, with it's catchy and upbeat chorus - Avraham Avinu, padre querido, Padre bendicho, luz de Israel.

Why has this heartwarming Ladino song about Nimrod the King and Abraham the Patriarch captured the hearts and imaginations of Ladino Jews for centuries? How does this song provide a beautiful source of commentary to Parashat Lekh Lekha, this week's Torah portion? 

At the end of last week's parasha, we learn of the birth of two individuals - Nimrod and Abram. The Torah describes Nimrod as "the first man of might on earth" (Genesis 10:8), but for Abram (later named Abraham), the Torah initially says nothing.

It is in this week's parasha that we meet Abram, but our meeting with him is sudden and abrupt:

"God said to Abram: Go forth - Lekh Lekha - from your native land and from your father's house to the land that I will show you. I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you shall be a blessing" (Genesis 12:1-2).

Who was Abram? What was his background story? Not only is the Torah silent on all of this, it tells us that our initial encounter with Abram happens at a later stage of his life: "Abram was seventy-five years old when he left Haran" (Genesis 12:4). What about his birth and childhood?

Enter our Ladino song, Cuando El Rey Nimrod, whose entire narrative is the telling of the birth of the man who came to be known as Avraham Avinu - Abraham our Patriarch.

In the first stanza, the song tells us how Nimrod - who by now is "King Nimrod", the mighty monarch of the ancient world - foresaw the birth of Abraham:

Cuando el rey Nimrod, al campo salia - When King Nimrod went into the fields

Mirava en el cielo y en la esterelleria - He looked at the heavens and at all the stars

Vido una luz santa en la juderia - He saw a holy light above the Jewish Quarter

Que havia de nacer Avraham Avinu - A sign that Abraham our Father was about to be born

We don't know who composed this charming Ladino song, but more intriguing than the composer is the composer's sources: where did the story of El Rey Nimrod foreseeing the birth of Avraham Avinu come from?

An ancient Midrash named Maaseh Avraham Avinu Alav Hashalom ("The Story of Abraham our Patriarch of blessed memory") tells that a sign in the stars forecast to Nimrod and his astrologers the impending birth of Abraham, a boy who would grow up to eventually put an end to idolatry. Nimrod orders the killing of all newborn babies. Abraham's mother escapes into the fields and gives birth secretly. At a young age, Abraham recognizes God and starts worshipping God instead of idols. He confronts Nimrod and tells him face-to-face to stop worshipping idols. Nimrod orders Abraham burned at the stake, yet when the fire is lit, Abraham walks out unscathed.

With its striking similarity to the story of Moses, this Midrash undoubtedly served as the source of inspiration for Cuando El Rey Nimrod. A charming Ladino addition to the original Midrash is that the "sign in the stars" that Nimrod saw was una luz santa en la juderia - a holy light above the Jewish Quarter. The composer clearly wrote this as a reflection of the Judeo-Spanish community's own  neighborhoods, known as La Juderia - The Jewish Quarter. Our song places the birth of Abraham in La Juderia, thus endearing him to the Ladino community as "one of their own."

The Ladino song as we have come to know and sing it with it's beautiful tune, is much shorter than the original Ladino poem. In the majority of the musical versions, only two stanzas from the original poem are chanted in the traditionally beloved popular tune. 

The second stanza of the musical version elaborates the narrative of Abraham's birth:

La mujer de Terah quedo prenada - When Terah's wife was pregnant

De dia en dia el le demandava - Daily he asked her the question

De que teniej la cara tan demudada? - Why is your face so pale?

Ella la savia el bien qu tenia - Already she knew the good she had within her

The beauty of this stanza is that it brings to life two people about whom we know nothing at all - Abraham's parents. Other than his name, we know nothing about Abraham's father Terah, and the Torah does not even discuss Abraham's mother.

The Ladino poem tells us that Abraham's mother had a premonition that she would give birth to a child whose life might initially be threatened (hence her face was "pale" or distraught), but would ultimately bring good to the world (hence "she knew the good she had within her").  Indeed, the Midrash tells of Nimrod threatening the young Abraham's life, as does the original lengthier Ladino poem.

It is the chorus of this Ladino song which warms our hearts every time we hear it:

Avraham Avinu, padre querido - Abraham our Patriarch, dear father

Padre bendicho, luz de Israel - Blessed father, light of Israel

The Hebrew term Avinu - which literally means "our father" - has two meanings here. One is "our patriarch," the honorable title given to Abraham as the founder of Judaism and the Jewish people. But it also takes on a more personal tone - padre querido - dear father and padre bendicho - blessed father. Abraham is both our "national father" as well as our collective "personal father." His teachings about monotheism enlightened a dark, idolatrous pagan society, and our song appropriately calls him luz de Israel - the light of Israel. 

Avraham Avinu - both the person and the beloved Ladino song - continues to bring light into our lives. May we live by the light of Avraham Avinu's enlightening teachings, and may many more generations sing the heartwarming Ladino lyrics and tune of Avraham Avinu.

To read the original full length Ladino poem, click here http://www.jewishfolksongs.com/en/cuando-el-rey-nimrod

To hear Yehoram Gaon -- the padre querido of Ladino music of our generation - sing his beautiful rendition of the Ladino song, click here: 

Shabbat Shalom...Buen Shabbat!

Human Nature and the Persistence of Evil: Reflections from Don Isaac Abravanel

Sitting in his study in Venice, Italy in the late 15th Century, Don Isaac Abravanel spent many hours reflecting upon Jewish history, Jewish destiny and the meaning of human existence. A scholar of Rabbinic Literature well versed in philosophy, Abravanel sought to infuse the Torah with a deeper perspective, offering the student of Torah much more than stories and commandments. The result of these reflections is Abravanel's brilliant commentary to the Torah, where through a series of questions and insights on each Torah portion, he frames the Torah's verses as profound meditations on life.

Parashat Noah is not a happy story. It describes a devastating deluge where "All existence on earth was blotted out - man, cattle, creeping things and birds of the sky; they were blotted out from the earth" (Genesis 7:20). All breathing beings on earth were destroyed by the flood, and "Only Noah was left, along with those with him in the ark" (Genesis 7:21).

What led God to unleash this devastating flood that - minus one family and some animals - wiped out all that lived and breathed on earth?

The Torah tells it best:

"The Lord saw how great was man's wickedness on earth, and how every plan devised by his mind was nothing but evil all the time...the earth became corrupt before God, the earth was filled with violence" (Genesis 6:5,11).

The flood achieves its devastating goal, and Noah survives. Now what? As Noah and his family step forth from the ark, what was on their mind? What challenges would they be facing as the only survivors of a corrupt society that was washed away in a flood? 

Abravanel explores the anxieties and doubts that Noah and his family confronted as they made the frightening transition back into the world. This was the same physical world they left when they boarded the ark, but all life as they knew it would now be gone. A bleak, empty earth, void of human life. Eerie and surreal.

"There is no doubt in my mind," says Abravanel, "that as Noah and his family stepped foot outside of the ark, they did so with a sense of astonishment and mourning on the past, along with fear and uncertainty for the future."

If the past society was so corrupt, what were they astonished by? Why were they mourning? For who?

"They mourned the death of their relatives and loved ones," says Abravanel.

In an emotionally sensitive insight, Abravanel posits that despite the Torah's description of a totally corrupt society, there were nonetheless select individuals who may have been good people that Noah and his family considered "loved ones." No society can entirely be labeled as evil. Individual exceptions always exist, and apparently they did, according to Abravanel. The loss of these friends, family, neighbors or acquaintances in the flood must have been very painful for Noah. He and his family now faced - with a sense of astonishment - the harsh reality of moving ahead in an empty world.

But since corruption was entirely wiped out, why would Noah and his family feel afraid and uncertain about the future?

"Noah and his family felt uncertain about the future of humanity," says Abravanel, "as they feared the renewal of violence amongst humanity. They feared that disputes would once again arise amongst brothers, and that brothers would spill each other's blood, exactly as happened with Cain and Abel."

A morally corrupt and violent society was entirely wiped out. However, Noah and his family were remnants of that society, and while they were seemingly "more righteous in their generation" than the others, they were still human beings. The "Cain and Abel gene" was within them. What direction would this "new society" take? Abravanel raises this deeply philosophical question as one of the fears and uncertainties faced by Noah and his family.

It's not by chance that Abravanel commented this way on the Noah story. Abravanel relocated to Italy after experiencing one of the most brutal chapters in Jewish history - the last years of the violent Spanish Inquisition, and the devastating expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492. Despite being a distinguished diplomat and financial advisor to the Spanish monarchy, he was first and foremost a Jew, and he left Spain along with the rest of the expelled Jewish community.

In the aftermath of this flood of violence unleashed on his people in Spain, Abravanel sat in his study in Venice, and as he read the Noah story, he found within Noah the same anxieties that he himself felt. 

Abravanel certainly had loved ones in Spain for which he mourned, who were either murdered or forced to convert by the Spanish inquisitors. That, along with the painful memories of the persecution of his entire community, must have been traumatic for him, as a "survivor" of the inquisition.

But now that he found relative safety away from Spain, he faced the same fears that Noah did: would other countries, rulers and leaders once again arise against the Jews, torturing them and murdering them with the same Cain-like cruelty of the Spanish inquisitors? With this violent episode behind him, could the same thing happen again? Indeed, would the future of humanity as a whole continue to be drenched in a flood of blood?

From Noah to the Spanish Inquisition, all the way to present times, Abravanel's reflections on the persistently violent nature of the human condition continue to haunt, plague and challenge our world.

Shabbat Shalom    

In the Beginning: Launching Our Journey through Classical Sephardic Torah

In launching this blog dedicated to studying the Torah through the lenses of "Classical Sephardic" commentators, we begin by asking the question: how do we define the expression "Classical Sephardic"? Does "Classical Sephardic" mean the rationalist interpreters of the Torah, who sought to blend Torah with philosophy and science? Or does "Classical Sephardic" mean the mystical interpreters who brought us the world of Kabbalah? The answer, in my opinion, is both. 

The beauty of the "Classical Sephardic" world of Biblical interpretation lies in its diversity of approaches to reading, understanding and interpreting the Biblical text. Both the rationalist philosophers and the mystical kabbalists originated in "Sepharad," and each school of thought produced monumental works that help us probe the depths of the Torah in uniquely creative ways. 

Both genres of "Classical Sephardic Torah" were studied and further developed in the Sephardic rabbinical academies of the Iberian Peninsula, the Middle East and North Africa, as well as in the Land of Israel. They eventually found a home in many Eastern European Yeshivot and Hasidic towns, where they were also furthered and commented upon in depth. The "Classical Sephardic" world of Biblical interpretation -  both rationalist and mystical - continues to define the world of Torah commentary for all Jews - Sephardim and Ashkenazim - until today.

Looking at the very first Torah portion - Parashat Bresheet - "In the Beginning" - we are tasked with the overwhelming decision, metaphorically for this Torah portion, of "where to begin?". 

We begin with Maimonides - Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon - the great halakhist (legal scholar) and philosopher. Maimonides belongs to the rationalist school, but many would question his inclusion as a "Biblical commentator," as he did not compose a systematic "verse by verse" commentary to the Torah. Maimonides chose to "comment" on the Bible by exploring some of the deepest and most difficult questions that arise out of Bible study. The result of his exploration was his monumental work of philosophy, "The Guide of the Perplexed" (Moreh Nevukhim in Hebrew translation, Dalālat al-ḥā'irīn in the original Arabic).

One of the many perplexing questions raised by Maimonides is one that continues to perplex many until this day: is the account of the creation of the world presented by the Torah in the Book of Genesis meant to be taken literally, or is there a deeper meaning and purpose behind it? 

To this question, Maimonides says:

The account of Creation given in the Torah is not, as is generally believed, intended to be in all its parts literal. The literal meaning of the words might lead us to corrupt ideas and form a false opinion about God. It is therefore appropriate to refrain from examining this subject superficially or unscientifically. We must blame the ways of some ignorant preachers of the Bible, who think that "wisdom" consists of knowing the mere explanation of the words. If one wishes to understand these verses, it is appropriate to do so with intellect, after having acquired a proper knowledge of the demonstrative sciences." (Guide of the Perplexed, 2:29)

To Maimonides, the so-called "conflict" between the Bible and Science is not a conflict at all. Throughout "The Guide," Maimonides encourages the study of  physical and natural sciences as a mandatory prerequisite for a proper understanding of the Torah, and as a way of deepening our relationship with God. He interprets the Torah's first chapter, where the world is created by God but described in completely physical terms, as the Torah's message that in order to come closer to God, we must first study science:

Natural science borders on Divine science, and the study of Natural science precedes that of Divine science, as has been made clear to whoever has engaged in these matters. It is for this reason that God caused His book to open with "the Account of the Beginning," which, as we have made clear, is natural science.  (Introduction to Guide of the Perplexed)

In other words, the best way to understand "In the Beginning" is to study science. This study of science is not for the sake of "scientific knowledge" alone, but ultimately to draw us closer to God, the creator of the sciences.

In "commenting" on Genesis this way, Maimonides did more than solve the riddle of a textual difficulty within a Biblical verse. Maimonides opened up an entirely new philosophy of Judaism, where Torah, philosophy, science, medicine and theology harmoniously coexist. In that sense - metaphorically for this Torah portion - Maimonides launched a "new beginning" for Judaism, one that continues to inform our Judaism to this very day.