March 13th: Ki Tisa
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
There are some interesting pairs in Jewish tradition—two ways of doing things that are similar but slightly different. Why, for instance, are there two versions of Mi Chamocha? Why are there two versions of the peace prayer at the end of the Amidah—Sim Shalom and Shalom Rav? Why are there two versions of the God-loves-us-with-the-Torah prayer just before the Shema? In all these cases, one is assigned to morning services and the other is assigned to evening services—even though the prayers themselves are not particularly morning-oriented or evening-oriented. Why? Tradition does not give us an answer, so we are left with theories and speculations.
One of the theories is that, as the Jewish tradition grew and developed, different communities did things differently. Everyone sang Mi Chamocha, the two passages from the Song of the Sea in Exodus 15 to celebrate God’s saving power: “Who is like You, O Lord, among the mighty?! Who is like You, glorious in holiness, awesome in praises, working wonders?” and “The Lord will rule forever and ever!” The middle connecting passages, however, developed differently. Some communities used: “The freed slaves sang a new song to You there on the shore of the sea. Together, they gave thanks and sang…” Other communities used this middle part: “Your children saw Your might, there at the splitting of the sea. “This is my God,” they cried, singing…” When there was an effort to standardize things—as happens in religions and cultures, those in charge decided to respect both versions by keeping them and assigning them to different services. “Tradition” was thus both preserved and adjudicated by Tradition.
By the way, this theory may also explain why the main prayer, the Amidah or Shemonah Esreh (Hebrew for eighteen), actually has nineteen blessings. Some communities used eighteen; others used nineteen. To compromise and standardize, the “eighteen” name was preserved, but nineteen blessings were prayed.
I bring up this liturgical history as a way of possibly explaining the Golden Calf incident in Exodus 32. It is such a strange story—how, just weeks after witnessing amazing miracles from God, the people turn to expressly forbidden worship. After being freed from Egypt, crossing the Red Sea, and receiving the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai, how could they doubt God and worship a calf?!
One theory sees the story as a means of reconciling two different worship modes—and subjugating one to the other. In many of the ancient Middle Eastern religions, the gods are depicted as sitting or riding on animals. There is an Egyptian god who stands on the head of a crocodile. There are Mesopotamian gods who ride on rams or bulls. There is mention in the northern part of ancient Israel—where the Ten Tribes lived, of a god named El who rides a bull. Could this be the context of the Golden Calf? Rather than making a new and different god to worship, could the people have been trying to solve the problem of Moses’ disappearance at the flaming and smoking top of Mount Sinai? Could the calf have been an attempt to invoke God’s presence by providing the deity with a ride?
If this sounds far-fetched, consider the fact that the Ark of the Covenant was designed (by God!) to have two angels—angels on whose wings God would rest/sit when dwelling among the people and speaking to Moses: Here are the instructions from Exodus 25.17-22 for the top of the Ark of the Covenant: “You shall make a cover of pure gold, two and a half cubits long and a cubit and a half wide. Make two cherubim of gold—make them of hammered work—at the two ends of the cover. Make one cherub at one end and the other cherub at the other end; of one piece with the cover shall you make the cherubim at its two ends. The cherubim shall have their wings spread out above, shielding the cover with their wings. They shall face each other, the faces of the cherubim being turned toward the cover. Place the cover on the top of the Ark, after depositing inside the Ark the Tablets that I will give you. There I will meet with you, and I will impart to you—from above the cover, from between the two cherubim that are on top of the Ark of the Covenant—all that I will command you concerning the Israelite people.” In other words, the Torah describes God resting on the Ark—between the cherubim—just like other ancient Near Eastern gods who have places for them to reside/ride.
So, when we have a story about a Golden Calf being very much against the wishes of God, could this be a way of reconciling two ancient Israelite traditions—one from the northern tribes where God sits on a bull’s head, and the other from the southern tribes (Judah and Levi) who believed that God rests between two golden cherubim?
Sometimes, when there are different ways of doing things, the Tradition can incorporate both into assigned roles. Other times, the Tradition must decide which will be continued and which will not. So, rather than seeing human disloyalty in the Golden Calf incident, perhaps what we are really seeing is an adjudication and reconciliation dynamic in which two traditions are joined.
A final and random thought: When Moses descends from Mount Sinai, the stone Tables of the Covenant in his hands, he and Joshua hear the noise of the Golden Calf celebration in the camp below. Joshua says, “There is a cry of war in the camp,” but Moses says, “It is not the sound of the tune of triumph, or the sound of the tune of defeat; it is the sound of a song I hear.” (Exodus 32.17-18) It is an interesting little moment where two people hear the same sounds but interpret them differently. I never thought too much about it until I was walking one of our greyhounds on the beach. As we were walking along, we approached a very loud party in the distance—some young people drinking beer, listening to music, and loudly participating. I recognized it for what it was, but our greyhound stopped in his tracks. He seemed to hear like Joshua, “There is a cry of war in the camp!” and fear showed in his body. To him, the party sounded hostile, and we needed to find a different route. There are all kinds of places to learn Torah, and walking a greyhound on the beach is one.