February 14th: Yitro
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
One of the most iconic and misleading images of a Jew is Michelangelo’s Moses. Sculpted for the tomb of Pope Julius II in Rome, it shows Moses seated and holding the Ten Commandments on his lap. It is perhaps the greatest sculpture ever done, but the horns on Moses’ head make the masterpiece problematic.
The horns are based on a mistranslation of Exodus 34 which describes Moses’ appearance after the revelations on Mount Sinai. (There were several. First is the one we read this week, when Moses is up on the mountain as God proclaims the Ten Commandments to all the people. Second is the one described when the laws of Mishpatim and the instructions for building the Mishkan /Tabernacle are given—and when God gives Moses the first set of the Ten Commandments. Third is when Moses reascends the mountain to carve the second set of the Ten Commandments and hopefully “see God’s Face.”) When he descends from God’s presence—with the second set of stone tablets, he is changed.
“As Moses came down from the mountain bearing the two tablets of the covenant, Moses was not aware that “ki karan or panav b’dab’ro ito / that the skin of his face was radiant since he had spoken with God.” (Exodus 34.29)
The Hebrew word karan means beams as in beams of light. However, karan or keren can also mean horn—as in the horn of an animal or a cornucopia, a horn filled with plenty. (In modern Hebrew, this keren/cornucopia image is used for various charitable funds—like Keren Kayemet, The Jewish National Fund which in in charge of reforestation in Israel as well as agricultural development, and Keren Hayesod, The United Israel Appeal which funds and augments cultural, educational, and charitable efforts in Israel. Lots of our UJA money goes to this Keren Hayesod.)
The Vulgate (the Latin translation of the Bible used by the Roman Catholic Church) renders karan as horns. Whether this was due to a mistake or to anti-Semitism is a matter of historical debate. However, in a Christianity working very hard to distinguish itself from Judaism and to vilify the Jews (and get the Romans to hate the Jews instead of the Christians), turning the most famous Jew into a horned creature seems a little convenient. Countless generations of Jews have been suspected and examined for their horns—and vilified as non-human demons. We do not know how Michelangelo felt about this, but he was clearly at the mercy of the Catholic Church and was forced to reflect their views in other works. A glaring example is his amazing sculpture of David in which the very Jewish boy is uncircumcised. An otherwise amazing work, the detail reflects a de-Judaizing tendency in mediaeval Christianity. The Brit Milah, the Covenant of Circumcision (also known as the Covenant of Our Father Abraham) is a Jewish sacrament long and continually practiced from the days of the Patriarchs—and specifically mentioned as a Hebrew custom in the Biblical books from David’s time.
In any event, the real issue is the radiance that Moses picks up on the mountain and apparently keeps for the rest of his life. Being in close proximity to God has its lasting effects.
Though Moses asks God for a closer relationship—and gets the radiance as a result of the encounter, the rest of the Israelites population is of divided opinions on the matter. In Exodus 19—the story of the Revelation of the Ten Commandments, some of the Israelites are attracted to the proximity of the Lord, and others more frightened.
“Mount Sinai was all in smoke, for the Lord had come down upon it in fire; the smoke rose like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain trembled violently. The blare of the horn grew louder and louder. As Moses spoke, God answered him in thunder.” (Exodus 19.18-19)
Apparently, many Israelites begin to rush to the mountain—a development which concerns God, and so Moses is sent running down the mountain to warn them off.
“Go down, warn the people not to break through to the Lord to gaze, lest many of them perish.” (Exodus 19.21)
After God pronounces the Ten Commandments, the people seem suitably overwhelmed.
“All the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the blare of the horn and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they fell back and stood at a distance. ‘You speak to us,’ they said to Moses, ‘and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die’…so the people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick cloud where God was.” (Exodus 19.15-18)
There is a curious ambivalence among most people in re proximity to God and the holy. Most of us are attracted to the holy to some degree, but there is also the fear of too much religion. For many of us, a lot of time and thought go into figuring out for ourselves the right dosage of religion and tradition. We want enough because religion and God are important, but we do not want too much because there are other things in life which are important and perhaps fun. It is not even an irreligious thought: God gives us the world to tend and enjoy, and it seems inappropriate to spend all of our time praying. Or, as God says to Moses, “You have stayed long enough on this mountain.” (Deuteronomy 1.6) There is a time to pray and study, and there is a time to work and play.
This ambivalence between holiness and practicality—and the attraction to and fear of God—is reflected in a mysterious tale from the Talmud:
“The Sages taught: Four entered the pardes (Divine Orchard), and they are as follows: Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher (Elisha ben Abuya), and Rabbi Akiva…Ben Azzai glimpsed at the Divine Presence and died. Ben Zoma glimpsed at the Divine Image and lost his mind. Acher beheld the Divine Image and lost his faith—became a heretic. Only Rabbi Akiva came out safely.” (Chagigah 14b)
How did Akiva emerge unscathed—and with secret wisdom revealed only to him? One answer is that “he entered in peace, and he departed in peace.” He approached the Divine with equanimity and humility, treading the road with both the spiritual and the practical in mind. Another explanation: “he entered, and he departed”—meaning that he dosed himself and did not try to drink it all in at once. He absorbed the amount of holiness he could handle and knew when it was too much. He dosed himself and was able to live a