And

which

 had never been throughout the entire land of

Egypt since it had become a nation.

(Shemot 9:24)

within the hail – Our rabbis did not interpret within

where its meaning is like the word bein – "between" – marking

a division between two things. Rather it is like kol asher betokho – everything

within it – which refers to the inside and middle of something, for the

hailstones were hollow in the middle, which was full of fire, like the seeds

inside the peel of a pomegranate. From the outside, the fire looked like a

candle inside of a lamp.

(HaKtav VeHaKabbala, loc

cit)

The Song of Songs of Solomon – Of Him Who possesses peace and Who deals

peacefully with His creations; the sun shines on the righteous and on the

wicked and He makes peace between the angels, as it is said, He Who makes

peace in His heights, that the water does not extinguish the fires of

lightning, and the lightning does not burn the water. The sun and the moon and

the stars are formed of fire and they rush and move yet there is peace between

them and they do not harm each other. And so you find, fire flaming within

the hail – that they both [the fire and the hail] would descend together as

one and would not harm each other. And similarly at Mount Sinai its clouds

dropped hail and burning coals on the earth. It is impossible for an ox to even

look at a lion, but in the heavens the ox and the lion appear together in the

Chariot.

(Yalkut Shimoni Shir

haShirim 980)

The

Experience of History and Impatience

Yaakov

(Jeffery) Green

In memory of our dear son

Asher Ze'ev

Who fell to his death a year

ago at the age of 28.

Think for a moment about the tens of thousands of Hebrew slaves born

after the rise of the Pharaoh who did not know Joseph but who died before the

Exodus from Egypt. Those Israelites missed the redemption; they missed the

foundational event of Jewish history.

We can know what we missed by being born too late, but we cannot know

what we will miss by dying too soon. The way we experience the historical

events that take place in the course of our lives is dependent upon various

circumstances, most of which we do not choose or have any control over: when

and where we were born, to which parents, into which social class, and so on. It

is rare that a person can choose and shape his fate as the Israelites did upon

their Exodus from Egypt.

Such is the nature of life within the framework of history, and

throughout the generations, Jewish thinkers have been aware of this aspect of

the human predicament. It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of the

temporal dimension in Judaism. We believe in a God Who interferes in history. He

is reflected in history and our relationship with Him changes in the course of

history. However, this understanding of God's role in the changing world of

historical events creates a theological paradox: How can a perfect and

unchanging God create and administer an imperfect and ever-changing world?

The Torah is untroubled by this paradox. The Torah is aware that we

change. Every year the Jewish People arranges for itself a new encounter with

the Torah, and we – as individuals and as a corporate body – are not who we

were in previous years. We have undergone events in our private lives – successes

and failures, joyous occasions and mourning – as well as broader historical

events: 5769 will be remembered as a year of global economic crisis, as the

year in which an African-American was elected to serve as president of the USA,

as the year of Israel's war in Gaza – and yet more may be on its way. In such a

year we seek certain messages in the Torah and we find them.

There is no absolute Torah. There is only the Torah which comes to light

when we read it in our own changing context; it is precisely because we see

ourselves – both as individuals and as the corporate Jewish People – in the

Torah that it remains relevant. Acting as a mirror, the Torah has always shown

us and continues to show us different figures according to whoever stands

before it and how they look into the "mirror."

When I read our parasha's opening verses in the light of my interest in

changes of personal and historical contexts, the reciprocal and changing

relations between God and the Israelites come forth as their central topic. When

God speaks to Moses He emphasizes the link with the past – He is the God of the

Patriarchs – but He also announces certain changes in His status

vis-à-vis the people.

The parasha opens with a formulation that is often repeated throughout

the Torah: And God spoke to Moses, and said to him. Instead of

continuing to read, let us stop here and consider the meaning of those words. Today

God no longer speaks directly to people. No one conducts direct negotiations

with his Maker. A deep and significant change has taken place in the history of

our relationship with God.

In a seemingly unnecessary move, God immediately identifies Himself: I

am the Lord. Moses is supposed to know who was talking to him, but God

wants to make sure he will not err. That is why He continues to mention His

connection with the Patriarchs; He appeared before them as El Shaddai – a

different dimension of Divinity whose nature is a matter for disagreement among

the commentators.

But My name the Lord I did not make known to

them – the revelation of the

Lord's Name – the Tetragrammaton – to Moses is a matter of the greatest importance;

it is a sign of the move from God's earlier relationship with the Patriarchs to

His future relationship with the People Israel.

The covenant between God and the Patriarchs was concerned with the right

to live in the Land: to give them the land of Canaan, the land of their

sojournings in which they sojourned. Now, however, the covenant will not be

limited to the dwelling place of the Patriarchs and their families (true, these

were not merely nuclear families consisting of parents and children, but rather

large households which included servants and other hangers-on). God says: And also, I

heard the moans of the children of Israel. This is no longer a matter of elite

individuals with whom God has a personal relationship; rather, God is talking

about an entire people: whom the Egyptians are holding in bondage.

God

continues: and I remembered My covenant. This is yet another new

historical development. For quite some time, perhaps during the period in which

the Israelites did not moan or complain but instead submissively accepted

servitude, God chose not to remember His covenant. Next God tells Moses exactly

what he should say to the Israelites: I am the Lord – God identifies

Himself just as He had identified Himself to Moses. Then He describes what He

has set out to do, stage by stage. First, He will put an end to the suffering

of servitude: I will take you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians,

and I will save you from their labor. He describes the means He will use to

achieve these ends, i.e., "personal intervention": and

I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. This

will result not only in cessation of the burdens of the Egyptians, but also in

a change of status for the Israelites: And I will take you to Me as a

people, and I will be a God to you. This will also involve a change of consciousness:

the burdens of the Egyptians. Finally, God links the distant past of the

Patriarchs with the promised future: I will bring you to the land,

and I will give it to you as a heritage; I am the Lord.

God

concludes by repeating His opening words: I am the Lord. This conclusion

emphasizes the deep change of status to be undergone by the people. God's Name

had been unknown until He revealed it to Moses but now it will be known to all.

This impressive promise is followed by deep disappointment: Moses

of [their] shortness of breath and because of [their] hard labor. Just as

God is capable of not remembering His covenant, so too, human beings can fail

to hear God's word because they are troubled, because of shortness of breath.

They are not yet ready for the intimate connection with God that will develop

later in the wilderness of Sinai. Indeed, here God's word is just a single example

of a broad category of things that shortness of breath keeps them from

hearing, which includes messages from other people, from nature, and from their

own consciences.

Here, by the way, we can glimpse Moses' greatness. In the end of last

week's parasha he complained: yet You did not save Your people. Given

that negative impression, it is surprising that Moses did not quit his mission

and return to Midian. God understands Moses' psychological state – shortness

of breath – and that is why He identifies Himself in the beginning of our

parasha. The condition of shortness of breath can keep one from hearing

at all; it can also cause one to mistake messages coming from a non-authoritative

source for the word of God.

We, of course, do not live in a period in which God speaks words of truth

directly to prophets. We live in a period in which each individual message must

be judged on its own merits and in terms of criteria which are neither always

clear nor fixed. Our placement in the stream of history involves a lack of

certainty. Often, the historical importance of a deed only becomes clear after

quite some time. What would appear more important: an Egyptian royal dynasty or

a family line of shepherds in Canaan? We have already received a definite answer

to that question, but we will have to wait a long time to receive answers to

other existential questions; perhaps we will not receive the answers during our

short stay in this world.

I began my remarks by mentioning the case of the Hebrew Slave who died

before the Exodus from Egypt, thus missing out on the redemption. That is only

one kind of missed opportunity. Since the significance of events changes in the

light of later events and in the light of how they are interpreted by each new

generation, in our generation we are also limited in our ability to understand

both the past and the present. We must accept that limitation with humility and

not allow it to cause us shortness of breath.

Jeff Yaakov Green is a translator

A Tribute to

Micky Rosen

On 11 Kislev (December 7th 2008), Rabbi Micky Rosen, the founder and

moving spirit of Yakar, died after a brief illness.

Micky Rosen (he was called thus by all) was a man of many parts. He was a

deeply religious person – a strictly observant Jew, a Torah scholar deeply

involved in learning and teaching, a man of prayer; a man who loved the Western

humanistic tradition, and had a lively interest in art, music, literature; a

person deeply committed to the values of democracy, tolerance, and the dignity

of every human being. Yakar, which he founded in London in the early 1980's and

in Jerusalem a decade later, and most recently in Tel-Aviv, reflected these

concerns. It was (and is!) a "Center for Tradition and Creativity" – a

place that combined the functions of synagogue; Beit Midrash/learning

community; a center for the arts, music and culture; and an arena for social

concern.

His social and political concerns were particularly unusual within the

Israeli Orthodox world. Within a milieu that tends to be nationalistic and "hawkish"

on the Arab-Israel conflict, he was an outspoken advocate of peace with the

Palestinians and of their rights as human beings. An important facet of Yakar

was its Center for Social Concern that served as a forum for public discussion

of controversial issues, and invited spokesmen from all viewpoints, both Jew

and Arab. As such, it was a place where Palestinian spokesmen were regularly

invited to participate in discussions of the burning national conflict; at one

point, Yakar also held a joint Midrasa/Bet Midrash, at which Jews and Muslims

together studied sources of both traditions, at an effort at mutual

understanding. The Center is headed by a former South African, militantly

anti-apartheid journalist, Benjamin Pogrund. Micky believed in tolerance, and

had a great deal of curiosity about different people and their world-views. He

seemed to enjoy inviting diverse people to Yakar, and enjoyed the role of

interviewer, which he performed with great aplomb.

Mickey was drawn towards Hasidism, but of a very specific type – without

the personality cult of rebbes, and without the complex Kabbalistic

superstructure. He found a home of sorts in the school of Psyshkhe (Przysucha),

a school which demanded a rigorous spirit of truth, of honesty with one's self,

of authenticity, and eschewing conventional models of external "frumkeit"

(piety) or ecstasy. In recent years, he was much engaged in writing a book on

the thought of Reb Simhah Bunim, which was published less than a year before his

death: The Quest for Authenticity: The Thought of Reb Simhah Bunim (Jerusalem – New York: Urim,

2008).

Prayer constituted a central part of who he was. Under his leadership, a

special style of prayer was developed within the Yakar community, one in which

song and melody played an important role in preparing the soul for prayer. Micky

constantly stressed the importance of sincerity and authenticity in prayer; when

leading the davening at Yakar, he tried with all his being not to strike a

false note, steering a path between the Scylla of superficial enthusiasm and

the Charybdis of rote reading of the words or cloying sentimentality. For him,

the essence of prayer was not so much beseeching God for one's needs, nor

praising and extolling God as such, but the yearning for communion, the quest

for God's presence. This approach is perhaps best summed up in the words of

Psalm 139, which served him as a kind of motto:

It is beyond my knowledge;

It is a mystery; I cannot fathom it.

Where can I escape from Your spirit?

Where can I flee from Your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, You are there;

If I descend to Sheol, You are there too!

פליאה דעת ממני,

נשגבה לא אוכל לה

אנה אלך מרוחך ואנה

מפניך אברח

אם אסק שמים שם אתה,

ואציעה שאול הנך…

In addition to all this, there was a little-known element of real heroism

in the way he conducted his life. For many years, indeed, throughout most of

his adult life, he struggled with a serious degenerative disease. Yet despite

the restrictions this imposed upon him, he never felt sorry for himself: he saw

life as an arena for action, for working, for doing things – and those of us

who were privileged to know him saw him thus as well – as a dynamic, vital

person, full of life.

He was his own man, who possessed his own inner compass; he was a

non-conformist – if you will, a kind of "English eccentric" in

Rabbinic garb. Oblivious to "trends," he had a clear vision of what

Yakar was meant to be – a center for a certain type of Jewish cultural,

religious and ethical renewal (in this respect joining, in his own modest way,

the tradition of such people as Rav Kook and Hillel Zeitlin). May his life-work

continue to yield fruit after him, and may his memory be a blessing.

Yehonatan Chipman

Subjugation

of the Subjugators

Why did He bring frogs upon the Egyptians? Because they had subjugated

the Israelites, ordering them "Bring us abominations and crawling

things." Therefore He brought upon them frogs, and when they would pour

into their glasses, they would fill up with frogs.

(Shemot Rabbah 10:4)

If we examine the places that were disturbed so disrespectfully by the

frogs, we find reference to all the instances in which the Egyptian masters

embittered the lives of their Jewish slaves. As slaves, our fathers had no

homes, no private family rooms, no sleep, no proper bread (our own lekhem

oni – "bread of affliction" reminds us of this), in all these

places these timid creatures promenaded and showed the Egyptians what it means

not to be able to quietly enjoy one's house, one's bed, one's bread, without

having to fear every moment disturbance by annoying entries.

(Rabbi Shimshon Rafael

Hirsch, Shemot 7:28)

A Time for Peace or a Time for War?

In contrast to many of the

parashat hashavua sheets distributed in synagogues, we try to involve ourselves

with Torah rather than current political issues. At the same time, we also

choose to present and emphasize the values of justice, peace, respect for human

beings, and love of the stranger from a Torah perspective. We feel that this

perspective is not otherwise given clear expression. Furthermore, Shabbat

Shalom is printed well ahead of the week in which it is distributed, so

that we cannot react to current events in "real time."

In any case, as these lines are

being written the war in the south of the country has not yet ended. We hope

and pray that by the time this issue of Shabbat Shalom reaches its

readers that all of the residents of southern Israel and also all of our

neighbors who are not involved in terror, will have been able to return to

their normal lives, free of disturbances and threats.

Pinchas Leiser, Editor

If you enjoy Shabbat Shalom, please consider contributing towards

its publication and distribution.

• Hebrew edition distributed in Israel

  $700

• English edition distributed via email $

  100

Issues may be dedicated in honor of an event, person, simcha, etc.

Requests must be made 3-4 weeks in advance to appear in the Hebrew, 10 days in

advance to appear in the English email.

In Israel, checks payable to Oz VeShalom may be sent to Oz

VeShalom-P.O.B. 4433, Jerusalem 91043.

US and British tax-exempt contributions to Oz VeShalom may be made

through:

New Israel Fund, POB 91588, Washington, DC 20090-1588, USA

New Israel Fund of Great Britain, 26 Enford Street, London W1H 2DD,

Great Britain

Please note that the NIF is no longer accepting donations under $100

PEF will also channel donations and provide a tax-exemption. Donations

should be sent to P.E.F. Israel Endowment Funds, Inc., 317 Madison Ave., Suite

607, New York, New York 10017 USA

All contributions to either the NIF or PEF should be marked as

donor-advised to Oz ve'Shalom, the Shabbat Shalom project. For Donations

to NIF, please mention that Oz veShalom is registered as no. 5708.

About us

Oz Veshalom-Netivot Shalom is a movement dedicated to the advancement of

a civil society in Israel. It is committed to promoting the ideals of

tolerance, pluralism, and justice, concepts that have always been central to

Jewish tradition and law.

Oz Veshalom-Netivot Shalom shares a deep attachment to the land of

Israel and it no less views peace as a central religious value. It believes

that Jews have both the religious and the national obligation to support the

pursuit of peace. It maintains that Jewish law clearly requires us to create a

fair and just society, and that co-existence between Jews and Arabs is not an

option but an imperative.

5,000

copies of a 4-page peace oriented commentary on the weekly Torah reading are

written and published by Oz VeShalom/Netivot Shalom and they are distributed to

over 350 synagogues in Israel and are sent overseas via email. Our web site is

www.netivot-shalom.org.il.