February 3rd: Beshallach
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
The problem with Biblical literalists is that the Bible is not internally consistent. There are a variety of opinions on most subjects, and pretty much any position can be supported or denied with a chosen quotation. Is killing wrong? Sometimes yes; sometimes no. Is idolatry okay? Usually not, but sometimes sort of okay. Is only kosher food allowed? Sometimes yes, and sometimes no. What about the priesthood: who should be the priests? Some passages insist on just the descendants of Aaron; other passages assign the holy task to the whole tribe of Levi.
The Biblical text is full of koshis—anomalies, contradictions, or mysterious omissions, and a lot of Rabbinic effort goes into adjudicating the competing points of view and resolving the myriad contradictions. As a result, Judaism is better seen as a chorus of earnest voices rather than a single-minded set of dicta. The Tradition is self-aware of this dynamic and gives voice to its reality in a number of stories. Among them is about the ongoing debate between Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai—the schools of thought that followed the teachings of the sages Hillel and Shammai. The Midrash goes like this: “For three years, the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai argued. One said, 'The halakha is according to us,' and the other said, 'The halakha is according to us.' Finally, a heavenly voice spoke: ‘These and these are both the words of the living God…’” (Talmud Eruvim 13b.10-11)
(This same kind of adjudicating can be seen in the centuries of work of Christianity’s Church Fathers and in the subsequent tradition of Canon Law. There is a lot of work to be done in wresting religious dogma and doctrine from the many views found in ancient texts.)
This dynamic of multiple voices in a chorus is important to remember when one studies this week’s Torah portion. In one of the most dramatic passages in the whole Bible, the Lord splits the Red Sea so that the Children of Israel can walk through it on dry land. When the Egyptians follow them in murderously, they are swallowed by the sea and perish. That is in Exodus Chapter 14. Then, in Chapter 15, we have Shirat Hayam, The Song of the Sea, a poem which recounts the miraculous event and praises God as a “mighty man of war.”
“I will sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and drive He has hurled into the sea. The Lord is my strength and my song; He is become my deliverance…the Lord, the Warrior—Lord is His name… In Your great triumph You break Your opponents; You send forth Your fury, it consumes them like straw!” (Exodus 15.1-3, )
Some of us may not be comfortable with such a bloodthirsty God. We may prefer to think of God in more loving terms, or in less anthropomorphic terms. Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan was among those who think of God as more a force in the universe rather than a giant personage. And, for those who sense in the Divine a conscious and approachable spiritual personality, the notion of murder and mayhem executed by God may not seem right—or worship-able. What does the Bible say? What does Judaism say about this? The answer is that there are many different human impressions of God, and both the Bible and subsequent Judaism are full of these different understandings.
In the case of our rather savage song, we must remember the savagery of the situation—and the enemy: “I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil; my desire shall have its fill of them. I will bare my sword—my hand shall subdue them!” (Exodus 15.) Had the Lord not saved us there at the Red Sea, imagine the brutality of the massacre of our ancestors! Facing certain death, our people found themselves, all of a sudden, on the other side of the sea and safe—with the people who had murder on their minds floating dead in the water. Is this the time for a tranquil meditation on the vagaries of life, or is this the time for releasing the fear and anxiety with screams and songs and dance? Is this ancient song a philosophical treatise, or is it a celebration of narrowly escaping the jaws of death? Does this reflect the totality of God, or does it reflect what the singers have just experienced? I think that this view of God’s participation in the world is one of many different voices in the Bible and Jewish thinking about the ineffable and inspiring Presence we call God. This is one voice in the Jewish chorus.
This, by the way, brings up a pet peeve of mine about Christian mischaracterization of the Hebrew Bible. I do not know who originated this notion, but it is not uncommon to hear that, “The God of the Old Testament is angry and vengeful, while the God of the New Testament is kind and loving.” Such an interpretation is not born out in any way. Yes, there are moments of anger and violence in the Hebrew Bible, but there are also examples of Divine compassion and loving. Does not the Psalmist speak often about “Ki le’olam chasdo / that God’s lovingkindness is eternal!?” And, if one looks at the whole Christian Bible, it becomes quite apparent that, along with “turn the other cheek” and examples of Jesus’ kindness and love, there are also passages speaking about eternal pain and suffering for those who do not accept “the truth.” Fiery lakes in Hell are not exactly warm and cuddly or loving. The fact is that God is described in all kinds of terms in both the Jewish and the Christian Bibles, and trying to categorize either one as univocal is remarkably inaccurate. It gets us back to the problem of fundamentalists choosing a few passages as the totality of the Bible’s view of anything.
An example of our chorus of views comes in the Midrash about the angels and Shirat Hayam. According to the story, the angels hear Moses and the men praising God, and they join in the song with great enthusiasm. Rather than appreciating their participation, the Lord shushes the angelic chorus with, “How can you sing while My children are floating dead on the water?!”
Notice how the Midrash does not have God shushing the Israelites. The Holy One, it seems, is of two minds, caught between celebration and grief, between justice and compassion. On the one hand, the Egyptians are murderous and evil and deserve judgment. On the other hand, they are errant children of the Most High who could have/should have chosen a more moral path. Justice and sadness and anger and regret are all emotions that the Rabbis intuit on God’s behalf, and this ambivalence projected onto the Divine reflects the many thoughts that arise in such intense and difficult situations.
Life is never simple, and one-liners seldom do justice to the complexity of human experience. One of the most wonderful aspects of our Tradition is that we approach every subject with both idealism and practicality, with both judgment and compassion, and with both truth and understanding. Our chorus of thoughtful voices is a hallmark of our people’s wisdom, and it is worthy of both respect and celebration.