Dvar Torah: Is it Jewish to celebrate your enemy's death? (Bet David)

 

Of all the Jewish holidays, Pessach is my favourite. It started many years ago when my family and I were invited to a seder while visiting Baltimore. The people who invited us had a tradition in which each year, one family member would be responsible for the ritual aspect of the seder. This role included consulting several haggadot and selecting what would be read and what would be sung that year. I was amazed— in my family, the main function of the seder was simply to bring everyone together. We had all the appropriate food, the seder plate, and everything else, but we did not open the haggadah, and we certainly did not discuss its contemporary meaning. However, that year in Baltimore, something magical happened: the texts became starting points for conversations about freedom in our world, about contemporary slavery, and about the many communities still suffering from oppression. Since then, I have collected haggadot that include contemporary perspectives and, every few years, I try to compile a new haggadah for my family, drawing from these different sources.

I especially appreciate the section of the seder when we remove drops of wine from our cups as we recite the מכות, the hits inflicted upon Egypt and the Egyptians. This serves as a symbol that we should not rejoice in the suffering of others. For many years, I have included in my family’s haggadah a reading of a midrash in which God criticises the angels for dancing in celebration when the Israelites reached the other side of the Sea of Reeds in safety, not recognising the death of the Egyptian soldiers in the water. “The work of My hands are drowning in the sea and you say songs?!”, God would have said, according to two parallel passages in the Talmud. [1] I have always been moved by this passage because it acknowledges that, while the downfall of our oppressors may have been necessary for our liberation, it still involved the loss of human lives —people created in the Divine image, with the same intrinsic value as any of us. As Prof. Daniel Statman, from the University of Haifa and the Shalom Hartman Institute, put it: “We rejoice in the redemption of our ancestors as they crossed the Sea, but the joy is restrained, because so many Egyptian lives were lost.” [2] A passage from Proverbs reinforces this understanding: “If your enemy falls, do not exult; If he trips, let your heart not rejoice.” [3]

It was only this past week that I realised that the midrash has a more complicated take on the issue. While doing some research about Shirat haYam, the “Song of the Sea” the Israelites sang upon safely arriving at the other margin, which is replete with militaristic images and celebrations of the fall of Egypt, I found a continuation to the text I never knew existed. After the rabbis comment on God criticising the angels for celebrating without acknowledging the death of the Egyptians, they add: “God does not rejoice, but causes other to feel joy.” [1] 

That means: it was not right for the angels to sing, but regarding the Israelites, it was not only acceptable for them to celebrate the deaths of the Egyptians, it was God who had caused it! That new understanding came to me as a shock!

As I continued my research, I found several contemporary commentators who felt good with a perspective that made me uncomfortable… One of them wrote: 

“Why would God tell the angels not to celebrate and yet allow the Jews to sing? And God’s people were dying because He himself killed them!

What God is saying to the angels is that this is not a happy day for Him. He did not create the Egyptians for them to do evil, but they chose evil, and now evil had to be eliminated. But the Jewish people had suffered at the hand of the Egyptians; they not only had the right to celebrate, they must celebrate.” [4]

Some of these commentators even propose a different reading of the Talmudic midrash. To them, when God chastised the angels, mentioning “the work of My Hands”, it was a reference to the Israelites, not to the Egyptians. And they quote another verse from Proverbs, that says: “When the wicked perish there are shouts of joy.” [5]

This might have seemed a purely theoretical debate some time ago, but given the conflicts in which we have been recently involved, in Israel and in other parts of the world, they became quite concrete for a lot of people. How are we supposed to react when we hear the news that leaders of Hamas, Al-Qaeda or ISIS were killed? Is joy appropriate, or should we adopt a more sober reaction? What about situations in which those killed were not armed combatants, but civilians “on the other side”?

Returning to Prof. Statman:

“These conflicting readings reflect two opposing attitudes found in times of national or religious conflict. Both start with the premise that the most important goal, one to which all energies must be channeled, is the defeat of the enemy. In the case of the Israelites vs. the Egyptians, surely God’s main concern is to make sure that the Israelites are neither killed by their pursuers (or by the sea), nor forced to return to Egypt.

But beyond this premise, a gap opens between the two positions. According to the former, there is also genuine concern for the human beings on the enemy side; at the very least, regret for their deaths or suffering, at the most, an active effort to reduce harm and mortality. According to the latter position, the humanity of those who threaten is depersonalized, which has the effect of blocking genuine empathy with the suffering of people on the other side, a fortiori, the adoption of strategies aimed at the actual reduction of enemy casualties.”

An article in the Jewish Chronicle attempted to reconcile these two perspectives:

“Maybe the dramatic image of the sea splitting is the actual metaphor for this dichotomy. The two shores of the sea represent the two sides of the story. And we must pass through the middle, preserving and valuing life, yet not drowning in war and hate. The middle path between justice and mercy is a difficult one to tread and at any moment we can be washed away.” [6]

I learned a tradition from a very dear professor of mine, Rabbi Ebn Leader. Ebn would fast on Taanit Ester (the fast that precedes Purim), Taanit Bechorot (the fast that precedes Pessach and applies only to firstborns, which was not his case), and on Yom HaZikaron (the day before Yom HaAtzmaut, in remembrance of those fallen for the establishment of the State of Israel, a fast not codified in the Jewish tradition or common Israeli practice). His reasoning was that these three holidays — Pesach, Purim, and Yom HaAtzmaut — marked situations in which we conquered our freedom, but they all came at the expense of too many lives, on our side and on our opponents’. He taught that, while it is appropriate to celebrate our victories, we must also acknowledge the price they exacted.

May we find a road that lets us recognise our own pain and celebrate our victories in current conflicts, while not dehumanising those whose circumstances of life simply placed them on the other side of these conflicts.

Shabbat Shalom

 

[1] Talmud Bavli Megilah 10b and Sanhedrin 39b.

[2] https://www.hartman.org.il/rejoicing-in-the-death-of-ones-enemy/

[3] Proverbs 24:17

[4] https://aish.com/celebrating-the-fall-of-evil/

[5] Proverbs 11:10

[6] https://www.thejc.com/judaism/why-did-we-sing-when-the-egyptians-drowned-t1anz5d2[1] Ex. 17:14

Dvar Torah: Blotting out the memory of the concept of Amalek (Bet David)

When my children were younger, I did not allow them to watch The Lion King, the Disney film. It is a shame because it is a charming story and a visually stunning movie, but there was one detail that deeply bothered me: all the hyenas were portrayed as evil. There were good lions and bad lions. Mufasa, who now has a new movie about him, is an example of a good lion—his brother Scar, on the other hand, is the arch-villain who betrays his brother’s trust, has him killed, and seizes the throne. The hyenas were Scar’s main allies, but to my disappointment, there were no hyenas who sided with Mufasa or Simba, nor any who challenged Scar’s most malevolent actions.

I did not allow my children to watch the movie because I feared then, as I fear now, a worldview in which certain groups of people are intrinsically characterised as purely evil. It seems to me that this is where the corrosive seed of prejudice resides. As Jews, we know all too well how it feels to be judged based on our religion or ethnic identity, and throughout history, we have paid an enormous price for other people’s misconceptions of who we are.

If, during the Shoah, Jews were characterised as rats, and during the Rwandan genocide, the Tutsis were labelled cockroaches, then I feared that some group could one day be called hyenas, justifying their elimination.

Eventually, my children grew up, my censorship was lifted, and Mel and I even took my daughter to see The Lion King: The Musical.

At the very end of this week’s parashah, the Israelites are attacked by Amalek. In this week’s reading, we are simply told that the Israelites fought against Amalek at Rephidim and that the course of the battle depended on the position of Moshe’s hands: if they were raised, the Israelites would prevail, but if he became tired and lowered them, the Amalekites would gain the upper hand. Eventually, Yehoshua led the Israelites to victory. God said to Moshe: “Inscribe this in a document as a reminder, and read it aloud to Yehoshua: I will utterly blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven!” [1]

The same episode is recounted in the book of Devarim, parashat Ki Tetzeh. There, we are given additional details about what happened at Rephidim: “Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey after you left Egypt—how, undeterred by fear of God, they surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers at the rear. Therefore, when your God ה׳ grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that your God ה׳ is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!” [2]

You may remember this second passage, as it is read on the Shabbat before Purim, known as Shabbat Zachor, the “Shabbat of Remembrance.” This name reflects the paradox that we are commanded to remember Amalek by blotting out its memory from under heaven.

In attempting to understand why Amalek—of all the peoples who persecuted and attacked the Jews—is the one whose memory we are commanded to erase, some commentators highlight the cowardice of attacking a group of former slaves who were exhausted from their journey, ambushing them from behind, and slaughtering the poor, the innocent, and the weak. Moreover, the people of Israel were not even passing through Amalekite territory; Amalek had to cross the lands of five other nations to attack them. [3]

Nechama Leibowitz, one of the most influential biblical commentators in the early decades of the State of Israel, wrote about this episode: “Where the fear of God is lacking, the stranger who is homeless in a foreign land is liable to be murdered.” [4]

When the Israelites conquered the land, they were commanded to completely wipe out Amalek, and King Shaul lost the crown for failing to do so. King David also waged war against the Amalekites but did not succeed in eradicating them completely. I confess I find it deeply troubling even to write and say these words—recognising that our religious tradition includes an instruction to completely eliminate another people. For those who, like me, feel unsettled by this story, I return to my drashah from last Shabbat morning, in which I argued that sometimes we need to say “No!” — even to God.

Amalek, then, became the archetype of pure evil in Jewish tradition. Haman, the villain of the Purim story, is traditionally considered a descendant of Amalek. Many would say that Hitler was a descendant of Amalek, and it is difficult to refute the idea that these two figures really embodied absolute evil.

The traditional Jewish position, established centuries ago, is that ancient nations can no longer be identified, and therefore, there is no longer any Amalek. Yet this has not prevented people from manipulating the concept for political ends. [5] Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman accused all Jewish members of the Jewish section of the Soviet Communist Party of being part of the “seed of Amalek.” Israeli politicians and extremists have labelled Yasser Arafat — and sometimes even the entire Palestinian people — as Amalek. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef z”l, perhaps the most important Sephardic rabbi in the history of the State of Israel, once called Yossi Sarid z”l — a leader of Meretz and a former Minister of Education with whom he disagreed politically—a “seed of Amalek.” Rabbi Shalom Cohen even referred to the entire Modern Orthodox community as “seed of Amalek” during the elections for Israel’s Chief Rabbi. [6]

As I said, the mere possibility that a person or a group of people could be the incarnation of absolute evil has caused immense suffering and destruction in our world. It is time to truly blot out the memory of the concept of Amalek and to completely remove this paradigm from our consciousness.

Shabbat Shalom.

 

[1] Ex. 17:14

[2] Deut. 25:17-19

[3] A Torah Commentary for Our Times, Volume II: Exodus/Leviticus, p. 39-31

[4] Studies in Devraim, p. 253

[5] https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2023/11/benjamin-netanyahu-amalek-israel-palestine-gaza-saul-samuel-old-testament/

[6] https://he.wikipedia.org/wiki/עמלק#עמלק_כסמל

Celebrating and Connecting Through Song and Dance

It might be just me, but music and poetry have the power to transport me through time and make me feel emotions from different periods of my life. Some songs from the early 1980s, for example, instantly transport me to the back seat of my parents’ car at the start of my adolescence, bringing back that unique mix of emotions so characteristic of that age. Choref 73 (Winter of 73) revives the tears I shed in the late 1990s, when I was living in Israel and the country was struggling to recover from the trauma of Yitzhak Rabin’s z”l assassination. Some songs stir feelings of indignation, excitement, and political activism. Others awaken our romantic side, and there are those that help us mend a broken heart.

There are also songs of collective celebration. I’ve heard that when South African teams win major championships, “Shosholoza” is the song that best captures the joy and excitement of these moments. Watching videos of the street celebrations after the Springboks won the Rugby World Cup in 2023, I could clearly see the pride and national unity it evoked.

Now try to imagine how the Israelites must have felt as they crossed the Sea of Reeds and, upon reaching the other shore, realised they were finally safe after centuries of oppression and enslavement. When I try to picture that moment, I see an explosion of happiness and relief, a crowd almost out of control, crying, singing, dancing—some in absolute ecstasy, others struggling to believe what was happening.

This Shabbat’s parashah includes Shirat haYam, the song Moses, Miriam, and the people sang after they had crossed the Sea of Reeds. According to scholars, it is one of the oldest sections of the Torah, and its unique layout on a scroll resembles concrete poetry. (Come to shul on Saturday morning to see it for yourself!) It is a song of victory, expressing gratitude for God's redemption of the Israelites and, at the same time, a sense of satisfaction over the fate of their oppressors, the Egyptians.

All things considered, Shirat haYam reveals the humanity of the Israelites, celebrating with song and dance as they embrace the new reality of freedom. Even though these events happened thousands of years ago, the poetry of the text and the many melodies created for it over the centuries can transport us to that very moment and to the raw emotions it elicited. This is the power of music and poetry, as well as of tradition and ritual: they connect us to previous generations, allowing us to feel their emotions and celebrate their victories.

May this be a Shabbat of peaceful emotions, of calm presence in the moment, and of songs that soothe the soul and rekindle the spirit.

Shabbat Shalom.

Dvar Torah: Parashat Boh (Bet David)

 

Um Exemplo de Vidui Positivo, inspirado nas lições de Rav Kook:

(Leia este artigo antes, para um pouco de contexto para o Vidui positivo)

Amamos, 

Brincamos, 

Cuidamos, 

Demos de nós mesmos, 

Esperamos com paciência, 

Fizemos o nosso dever, 

Ganhamos sem zombar, 

Honramos o  próximo, 

Influenciamos para o bem, 

Jogamos fora só o que não tinha mais uso, 

Limitamos nosso consumo,  

Melhoramos em tudo que conseguimos, 

Negociamos em boa fé, 

Observamos com cuidado antes de fazer, 

Protestamos conta injustiças,  

Quisemos o bem para o mundo, 

Reconhecemos os bons atos dos outros, 

Solicitamos ajuda quando precisamos, 

Tentamos com  afinco, 

Usamos nossos talentos só para o bem, 

Vislumbramos um futuro melhor, 

Xeretamos com respeito pela privacidade dos outros, 

Zangamo-nos sem perder o controle. 

Iom Kipur: uma oportunidade criativa para encontrarmos nosso passado e redefinirmos nosso futuro

Um novo olhar para Iom Kipur como oportunidade criativa

Os valores, narrativas e tradições de Rosh haShaná e de Iom Kipur estão profundamente relacionados ao conceito de t'shuvá, o processo de revisão das nossas condutas e de seus impactos que é sintetizado na palavra “retorno”. As Grandes Festas judaicas são uma oportunidade de reavaliação de onde estamos em relação à pessoa que gostaríamos de ser e de adoção de ações corretivas que retornem nossa rota de vida aonde gostaríamos que ela estivesse.

Talvez o momento da liturgia em que esse esforço se torna mais evidente é no Vidui, o momento da reza no qual confessamos nossas transgressões de forma pública e privada. As rubricas mais emblemáticas do Vidui são aquelas que elencam nossas transgressões em ordem alfabética, o “Ashamnu” e o “Al Chêt”, que parecem estar dizendo “de A a Z, nós erramos de todas as formas possíveis”. No contexto dessas rezas, t'shuvá quer dizer olhar para o passado com a coragem necessária para identificar nossos erros e assumir nossa responsabilidade por eles.

Recentemente, no entanto, entrei em contato com uma visão sobre t'shuvá que a coloca diretamente em diálogo com a criatividade. Interpretando uma lição do rabino do Gueto de Varsóvia, no qual ele dizia que a t'shuvá é também um processo de criação, o rabino Jan R. Uhrbach escreveu: 

T'shuvá é um tipo de criatividade. Como ato criativo, não é um simples retorno. T'shuvá é um retorno para frente, um retorno a algo que nunca existiu, um retorno a uma nova criação. Voltamos a quem sempre fomos e deveríamos ser, mas ainda não nos tornamos. Voltamos ao crescimento e à possibilidade que estavam adormecidos dentro de nós e ainda não floresceram, assim como uma escultura se esconde dentro de um bloco bruto de pedra. Esse é o sentido em que a t'shuvá é um ato criativo. É por isso que o processo de t'shuvá, por mais doloroso e até humilhante que seja, é de fato muito alegre e esperançoso. É um processo criativo no qual imitamos Deus e nos tornamos parceiros do Divino na obra da Criação. E o que estamos criando? Nós mesmos. [1]

Essa perspectiva, que busca identificar o que podemos nos tornar no futuro, complementa aquela que enxerga na t'shuvá um processo de análise de como fomos no passado. Assim, paradoxalmente, passado e futuro, se unem para voltarmos a ser quem ainda não fomos. Não olhamos apenas para o que deu errado no passado; nos permitimos sonhar e vislumbrar possibilidades que podemos atingir no futuro. O rabino Art Green, construindo sobre uma tradição rabínica que associa Iom Kipur com a data em que Moshé desceu do Monte Sinai carregando o segundo jogo de Tábuas do Pacto, interpreta Iom Kipur como a nossa oportunidade anual de definir os termos do nosso relacionamento com Deus: 

[Iom Kipur] é a época em que cada um de nós renegocia nossa aliança com Deus. Esculpimos nossas segundas tábuas, transformando a infinita demanda divina em uma com a qual estejamos preparados para viver. Este é o momento em que decidimos o que manteremos da tradição e o que deixaremos de lado por um tempo (sim, todos nós, mesmo os mais devotos, tomamos essas decisões), quais os principais presentes de caridade que daremos e quais adiaremos, que mitsvot faremos no reino humano e a quem estamos prontos para perdoar entre aqueles que nos fizeram mal. Não é só Deus quem toma as principais decisões nesta estação do ano. Deus pode decidir se viveremos, mas temos que decidir como viveremos a vida que nos é dada.

Os Iamim Noraim pareciam, inicialmente, pedir a admissão de nossa impotência. Ao enfrentarmos a mortalidade e a fragilidade humana, todas as nossas ilusões de poder e controle se afastam de nós. Mas aqui vemos um Iom Kipur que é sobre o poder humano, nosso poder de nos refazer renovando nossas vidas e nossa aliança com o Eterno. [2]

Na tradição, Iom Kipur é apontado como um dos dois dias mais felizes do ano [3]: o que poderia trazer mais felicidade do que a oportunidade de imaginar possibilidades futuras e caminhos para torná-las realidade?!

E na prática, o que podemos fazer?

Este processo de t'shuvá reconsiderada, abre a possibilidade de apontarmos também para os acertos do passado, da mesma forma que fazemos para os equívocos. Assim, as últimas décadas têm visto o florescer de listas lidas em Iom Kipur como parte do Vidui, que enumeram o que fizemos de melhor no ano que se encerrou, também em ordem alfabética, como se dissessem “de A a Z, nos esforçamos de todas as formas possíveis e muitas vezes acertamos no que empreendemos.” Essas listas, baseadas em um ensinamento do Rav Avraham Itschac Kook de que “assim como há um grande benefício na correção da alma na confissão das transgressões, também há um grande benefício que (…) [aconteça] o reconhecimento das boas ações que fizemos”, apresentam um ponto de partida para que cada um de nós possa preparar sua própria relação de acertos, mesmo que não chegue a todas as letras do alfabeto. Uma dessas sugestões encontra-se aqui.

Que seja um jejum tranquilo, que este seja um momento de transformação pessoal e de encontro com quem sempre soubemos que podemos ser.

[1] Dov Peretz Elkins, Rosh Hashanah Readings: Inspiration, Information and Contemplation, Jewish Lights Publishing: Vermont, 2006, pg. 5-6. [2] Art Green, “Prefácio: Nossos Dias de Espanto – Alguns Pensamentos sobre a Época”, in S. Y. Agnon, Days of Awe: A Treasury of Jewish Wisdom for Reflection, Repentance, and the Renewal on the High Holy Days, Schoken Books: New York, 1995. pgs. xiii-xviii [3] Mishná Taanit 4:8

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