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During the Jubilee Year 2000, Pope John Paul II designated the Second Sunday of Easter as “Divine Mercy Sunday” in the Catholic calendar, a feast also observed in some places by other Christians. Mindful of Divine Mercy Sunday, as well as the emphasis given to mercy by Pope Francis and its centrality to Christianity at large, the following reflection considers the Hebraic depths of 'mercy'. Let’s begin with a beautiful Hebrew word: Rahamim, meaning “compassions”, “tender mercies”. Its root is rehem, which means ‘womb’. Thus, God is rahum, compassionate, merciful. Divine love is ‘womb-like’, with the intensity of a mother’s love for her child. This image is a powerful starting point for thinking about mercy in the Hebrew Scriptures. Mercy can be described as the divine response to the cry of distress. Scripture abounds with the cries of people in distress: those in grave danger, perhaps afflicted by physical or mental illness, trapped in poverty, grieving the loss of loved ones, abandoned, far from home, fearful, perhaps sinful, wounded, lost, uncertain of the future. The Hebrew psalmist expresses such anguish in ways that touch the raw, visceral depths of human experience: “All my bones shall say, O Lord . . .” (Ps 35:10). Another Hebrew word that signifies mercy is hesed, which can be translated as steadfast love, loving kindness, even loyalty. Here, mercy is not simply an instinctive movement of goodness, but a conscious, freely-willed response, a choice made because it is the right thing to do. "For great is his steadfast love towards us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures for ever” (Ps 117:2). The Scriptures repeatedly tell us that God, forever faithful and compassionate, is moved by the predicament of God’s people and reaches out, drawing them out of isolation and entrapment, relieving pain and restoring to wholeness. “I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down and fed them.” (Hosea 11:4) Time and again in the Hebrew Scriptures, in both masculine and feminine imagery, we see the face of a tender God turned towards those in need of comfort, rescue, healing. God who is merciful uplifts on eagles’ wings, cherishes, nurtures, protects and does battle on behalf of the children of Israel. God signals personal, active presence through messengers, angels, cloud, fire, God raises up leaders and responds to hunger and thirst with lifegiving rains, water from rock, manna and miracles. In the midst of this great tradition which knows divine mercy, emerges Jesus of Nazareth. Through Jewish eyes and ears, Jesus sees and hears the predicament of the people and the cry of the individual in the crowd. As a faithful Jew, he is moved with compassion, at times with great sighs and tears. His Torah-based worldview leads him to act, with healing words and deeds. He encourages, challenges, praises, forgives. He spends himself in service, in teaching, and is unafraid of robust engagement with the ‘other’. According to Christian belief, mercy has a name, a face, a voice: Jesus Christ, Word made flesh, Divine Mercy Incarnate. In proclaiming Christ as merciful Saviour, Son of God, we acknowledge with gratitude the epic story of God’s everlasting love affair with the Jewish people; it fuels our own Christian story and continues to speak to us today. In the words of Pope Benedict: “Christ, the Son of God, became flesh in a people, a faith tradition and a culture which, if better known, can only enrich the understanding of the Christian faith. Christians have come to this deeper understanding thanks to the death and resurrection of Christ (cf. Lk 24:26). But they must always be aware of and grateful for their roots. For the shoot grafted onto the ancient tree to take (cf. Rom 11:17-18), it needs the sap rising from the roots.” (2012 Apostolic Exhortation, Ecclesia in Medio Oriente, 21.) Considered within the frame of all three Abrahamic religions, we acknowledge, too, that in Islam the names of God include Al-Rahman and Al-Rahim, meaning "Most Compassionate", "Most Merciful". By Teresa Pirola, 2021; an adaptation of her work in River of Mercy, Streams of Joy: Reflections in the Jubilee Year of Mercy (CSO Catholic Diocese of Broken Bay, 2016). Scripture: NRSV.

A key biblical text that fuels the interpretative energies of both Jews and Christians during Passover and Easter respectively is the parting of the Red Sea in Exodus 14. Let’s explore that passage here, inspired by the storytelling traditions of Judaism (midrash). Note the creative brilliance of the Jewish sages as they manoeuvre their way through the sacred text. Their approach is reverently ‘playful’, revealing rich spiritual insights within a single verse of Torah. “But you lift up your staff, and stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it, that the Israelites may go into the sea on dry ground” (Exodus 14:16, NRSV). At first glance, the parting of the Sea reads like an ‘out of the blue’ miracle. However, the speculations of the midrash fill the ‘gaps’ in the biblical story and reveal a more complex process before the waters actually part. One midrashic source [1] tells how Moses queries God’s command. Quoting from scripture, he suggests to God that perhaps the waters were not destined to be divided. How does God reply? By quoting Torah! “You have not read the Torah from the beginning, where it is written, ‘And God said: Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together’ (Gen. 1:9). It was I who made the condition at the very beginning that I would one day divide it.” Convinced, Moses goes to divide the sea, but a new obstacle appears, for “the sea refused to comply, exclaiming, ‘What, before you shall I divide? Am I not greater than you? For I was created in the third day and you on the sixth.’ When Moses heard this, he went and reported to God, ‘The sea refuses to be divided.’ What did God do? He placed His right hand upon the right hand of Moses...” Here the midrash makes a link with Isaiah 63:12 where God “caused his glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses, who divided the waters before them.” The midrash continues: “When the sea beheld God, it fled, as it says, ‘The sea saw it, and fled’ (Ps. 114:3). What did it see? It saw God’s right hand placed on Moses, and it could no longer delay, but fled at once.” The sea’s reaction seems to surprise Moses, for he asks of it, “Why do you flee?” Quoting Psalm 114:7, the sea replies, “‘At the presence of the God of Jacob,’ because of the fear of the Holy One, blessed be He.” At this point, Moses raises his hand over sea, and the sea divides. But not only that... “all the waters that were in all the fountains and wells and other places became divided.” Here the midrash pays close attention to Exodus 14:21 which “does not say that ‘the water was divided’, but ‘And the waters were divided.’” The midrash ends on a note of triumph, celebrating the greatness of the God-Moses partnership: that "caused His glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses" (Isa. 63:12). Many fascinating reflections can be stimulated by this delightful and insightful midrashic text. For instance, it can remind us that just as the parting of the Red Sea is not an automatic event but a process with questions to be answered and obstacles to be overcome, so too is the path of faith (such as adult Christian baptism) a journey with questions, challenges, doubts. Yet, when the time comes for God (and us) to act, God acts decisively, grace flows in abundance! At the celebration of the Easter Vigil in my church, I listen for and cherish the prayer that follows the Red Sea reading: “Father, even today we see the wonders of the miracles you worked long ago. You once saved a single nation from slavery, and now you offer that salvation to all through baptism. May the peoples of the world become true sons and daughters of Abraham and prove worthy of the heritage of Israel.” • 1. Exodus Rabbah 21, 6. See Freedman & Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah: Exodus (New York: Soncino Press, 1983). © Teresa Pirola, 2012. lightoftorah.net. Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of the Light of Torah website. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry arising from the Catholic community, encouraging reflection on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The Exodus reading selected here anchors both Jewish and Christian traditions in their reflections on freedom and redemption.

Tomorrow night (27 March 2021), Jewish communities commence the Passover Festival. Meanwhile, Catholics enter Holy Week, and prepare to celebrate Easter (4 April). May we all, Christians and Jews, be strengthened at this time of year through our respective journeys of remembrance and festivities of freedom and redemption! So much of Christian liturgy is grounded in Jewish story and ritual. For example, when I gather with my Catholic community on Holy Thursday, we will be drawing sustenance from the same chapter of the Book of Exodus (ch 12) read in Jewish communities on the first day of Passover. Whilst the selection of verses differs,[1] we draw from the same sacred story. The following reflection explores parts of Exodus 12 through the lens of traditional Jewish commentary. Perhaps it can bring an added layer of appreciation to our experience of Holy Week. Exodus 12:1-28 | Ritual action shapes us In Exodus 12 we find the story of a momentous event that shapes Israel as a people and is told and retold through generations to this very day. The Passover. The ritual meal that the Hebrews shared on the night of their exodus from Egypt. With this story comes the first comprehensive list of religious precepts that we find in the Bible. Many more will follow, especially in Leviticus. But here, at the critical turning point that is the Passover, we find the first. Read this passage in Exodus 12:1-28, then let’s revisit verse 14. “This day shall be a day of remembrance for you.You shall celebrate it as a festival to the LORD; throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance" (Exodus 12:14). Note all the instructions detailing how this festival is to be remembered (in Exodus 12:1-28). Why does the sacred text interrupt the exodus story with a list of seemingly tedious domestic duties and laborious legalities? Doesn’t this contradict the essence of the narrative which is all about liberation? The Jewish sages have pondered this question over the centuries, and so can we. What insights might we glean from Jewish interpreters? A key insight is found in the Sefer Ha-Hinukh: [2] “Consider well therefore your occupations and pursuits; for you will be influenced by them and not vice versa. Do not be lulled into a false sense of security as if to say: ‘seeing that my heart is perfect and unimpaired by its belief in God, what harm is there if I occasionally indulge in worldly pleasures, in idling in the streets...engaging in vain and boastful talk with the scorners...Why should they influence me?’” The text goes on to say that “actions shape character.” How fitting, say Jewish commentators, that Israel should commemorate its central salvific event by not only telling the story but performing an elaborate set of ritual actions. “Now that you know this, do not be puzzled by the large number of precepts connected with the commemoration of the miracles of Egypt.” We are led to ponder the nature and value of ritual, how over time it shapes our very being, and our collective identity. In the Church's ancient tradition there is a Latin phrase lex orandi, lex credendi: the law of prayer is the law of faith; the Church believes as she prays. Ritual worship is not something separate from our stated creedal convictions but profoundly integrated in the one movement of living faith. As Catholics, we can appreciate, too, how Jewish practices of remembrance, prayer, thanksgiving and blessing (especially over bread and wine), and the public reading of Torah, have inspired and shaped our central ritual act of worship: the Eucharist. We don’t just tell the salvific story of Christ’s death and resurrection, we also perform an elaborate multi-faceted ritual which we call the Mass. But wait! Didn’t Jesus warn against ritual excess, where worship becomes mere lipservice? Indeed, yes. And from where might Jesus the Jew have gleaned such ideas? Again, from the Hebrew Scriptures, from the Jewish prophetic tradition such as we hear in Isaiah: “Their worship of me is a human commandment learned by rote” (29:13). The prophets of Israel warned against distortions of ritual excess, and they also warned against lack of practice. Convictions of the heart are expressed in concrete action, while our actions form and strengthen the convictions of the heart. What we believe and what we do, ritually and ethically, go hand in hand as we seek to love and worship and serve God. This delicate interplay is core to Christian discipleship, and we find it in the Scriptures and traditions of the Jewish people. Reflection Ponder your experience of religious ritual. For example, which ritual details of the eucharistic celebration are especially formative of your character, your attitudes and response to life and faith? Do you experience the Eucharist as an “action that shapes character”? • 1. Exodus 12:1-8, 11-14 in the Roman Catholic Lectionary; Exodus 12:21-51 in the Jewish cycle of readings. 2. Ha-Hinukh: first book of religious instruction among Jews of the Middle Ages. Cited by Leibowitz, 179-180. Sources: Leibowitz, New studies in Shemot (Jerusalem, 1996). Scripture: NRSV. © Teresa Pirola, 2013. lightoftorah.net. Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of the Light of Torah website. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry arising from the Catholic community, encouraging reflection on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... More about the Jewish Festival of Passover Jewish communities celebrate Passover 28 March - 4 April 2021, beginning at sundown on 27 March. Two online starting points for basic information about Passover: Judaism 101 and Etz-Hayim – Tree of Life. And more here at Aish.com… “Five powerful ideas at the heart of Passover and its message: memory, optimism, faith, family and responsibility.”

After all the action-packed stories of Genesis and Exodus, upon reaching the Book of Leviticus the reader notices the lack of movement. The entire book is set at the foot of Mount Sinai. There in the wilderness, God calls and speaks, forming the people by unveiling a series of instructions: how to worship, how to behave, how to deal with transgression. Through a system of order and repeated ritual, the identity of Israel, as God’s holy, chosen people, is solidified. As we read these texts it helps to be reminded of the ever-searching human heart desiring to express its encounter with divine mystery, in ancient times as much as today. Having gathered volumes of insightful and creative commentary over the centuries, Jewish tradition can help us considerably as Christians in finding a lively connection with Leviticus. Traditional Jewish methods are painstakingly attentive to the tiny details of expression, and employ imaginative storytelling techniques (midrash) to enlarge the meaning of the text. Take, for example, the opening verses of Leviticus (1:1-2): The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: Speak to the Israelite people, and say to them... The two verbs in verse 1 were of particular interest to the rabbinic mind. Why does the text say that the Lord called and spoke to Moses? Are both verbs really necessary? What deeper meaning can we find here in the apparent redundancy? By the tone with which someone calls your name you can usually predict the sentiments of the message to follow! Likewise, the Rabbis interpret ‘call’ as a relational indicator preceding the message itself. God addresses Moses as an intimate, ‘like one whose hand is affectionately laid upon his son,’ [1] as one with whom there is an existing relationship forged through shared purpose and activity. The call comes not as a thunderous voice for all to hear, but from the Tent of Meeting, i.e., from close by, from a site of great significance for both Moses and God. But how does this thought relate to the chapters of ritual material that follow? Let the rabbinic voices reply in the language of story... Scripture describes three ‘calls’ to Moses: at the burning bush, at Mount Sinai, and now as he is to be presented with Israel’s ritual code. But, say the Rabbis, Moses repeatedly resisted God’s call. At the burning bush he had to be convinced to confront Pharaoh. Having completed this task, he tried to step down from his public role, but God called him again, this time to lead the people out of Egypt, across the Red Sea, to be fed by manna and quail, to receive the Law at Sinai, and to build the Tabernacle. Moses did all this, felt he had done enough and again tried to retire from leadership. At this God said: I have one more great task for you: teach my people to live as a holy nation. Thus did God call Moses to a further work, by entrusting him with a code of holiness, the Scriptures which we Christians refer to as Leviticus, and which Jewish communities also know by its Hebrew name Vayikra, ‘he called’. The midrashic picture of Moses as a reluctant prophet-leader, gradually finding himself more and more enmeshed in God’s service, speaks volumes to the life of faith. How many of us have offered a tentative ‘yes’ to an invitation to be involved in a parish or in a particular work of the church, only to look back years later and see how it was the gateway to so much more - perhaps a lifetime of discipleship! Similarly, we can think of people who, in their twilight years, were called by God to make their greatest contribution of service to society. From here, there are many thoughts we could share from our experience of ‘God’s call’, in its blessings and challenges. And all this from a single verse of Scripture, creatively interpreted by way of time-honored Jewish approaches to the sacred text. • 1. Leviticus Rabbah, 1, 15 Sources: Friedman & Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah: Leviticus (London: Soncino, 1983); Munk, The Call of the Torah (New York: Mesorah, 1992); Schorsch, Canon Without Closure (New York: Avi, 2007). Scripture: NJPS © Teresa Pirola, 2012. Reproduction for no-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry arising from the Catholic community, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Vayikra, the Torah portion read for the coming Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom.

Prior to the Golden Calf episode, God had given Moses detailed instructions about how the Tabernacle was to be constructed. Now, after the Golden Calf episode, the Tabernacle instructions are implemented. Now that the Lord and his people have resolved their differences, doubt and disobedience are replaced by willing cooperation and the Tabernacle building proceeds with enthusiasm. Do you agree? Let's examine this claim more closely, in conversation with the Jewish sages who have pondered these Scripture verses. Read Exodus 35:21-29. Notice its similarity to the words of an earlier Torah passage (i.e., before the Golden Calf episode): “You shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart is so moved” (Exodus 25:2). We find repeated in 35:21-29 this wonderful picture of community giving, do we not? Why then, do we find a Talmudic teacher, Rabbi Yehuda Ben Pazi, saying, “Can we read these verses and not shudder?”[1] What might cause an attentive reader to shudder, or to at least pause before affirming the favourable scene depicted by the text? Ponder and discuss this with a friend. Our Rabbi continues, noting how the Torah records two instances of community giving: On the one hand, when the people were asked to donate for the good purpose of the construction of the Tabernacle, the verse states: 'And they came, both men and women, as many as were willing-hearted, and brought…an offering of gold to the Lord' (Exodus 35:22). This indicates that only the generous among the people brought donations. On the other hand, when the people were asked to donate for the evil purpose of the Golden Calf, it states that not only the willing-hearted but: 'all the people broke off the golden rings which were in their ears, and brought them to Aaron' (Exodus 32:3). [1] So perhaps we shudder to think that the energy being channelled into the present holy task was once directed to an idolatrous task. The memory of the Golden Calf, which involved "all the people" (32:3) in an enthusiastic pooling of gold jewellery, causes the sages to read the present Torah portion with caution. Even the description of each "willing-hearted" person is cause for pause... Were all the people involved this time in this act of giving, or only those whose hearts were moved? Then again, perhaps you took a more optimistic message from the text, like that found in the Midrash where Israel is compared to a king’s daughter. She is a fair maiden but one day her face is sunburnt. In response to those who mock her, she confidently replies that with the appropriate care her fair complexion will return! So it is with Israel, reasons the Midrash. The people have been damaged, but they heal. Further, they turn the things (gold ornaments) used for sinful purposes into a means of making amends and giving glory to God. [2] Ramban (12th century Torah scholar) concurs with this optimism. For Ramban, this is the whole point of the Torah’s repetition of construction detail: to indicate that while the Tabernacle building task remains the same as in previous Torah portions, the people (post-Golden Calf) are morally and spiritually in a very different place. Do you agree? Contribute an insight of your own in lively discussion with a friend (see havruta-style learning). Notice how traditional Jewish approaches to Scripture seek a holistic view of the sacred text. Each Torah portion tells a story that sheds light on a story in another part of the Bible, leading us to puzzle, ponder, and enter deeply into the mysteries of faith and life. Think of a period in your life which was ‘interrupted’ by a major event/crisis. Afterwards, what was the same, and what was different? In what way had you changed? 1. Jerusalem Talmud, Shekalim 1:1. Cf. Leibowitz, 665 and online English translation of Talmudic texts at sefaria.org. 2. Midrash Aggada, Terumah 26, quoted in Leibowitz, 667. ‘Midrash’ refers to Jewish storytelling traditions. Bibliography: Leibowitz, New Studies in Shemot (New York, 1996); sefaria.org. Scripture: JPS. © Teresa Pirola, 2013. lightoftorah.net Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry arising from the Catholic community, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... This week’s reflection concludes our journey through the Book of Exodus. Next week we turn to the Book of Leviticus. The reflection above refers to Parashat Vayakheil*, the Torah portion read for the coming Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! *Note: In 2021, a double portion is read: Vayakheil-Pekudei.

The Exodus story of the rebellion at Mount Sinai, where the Israelites erect a golden calf, raises an interesting question. Up until this point the Israelites had witnessed miracle after miracle at the hand of God who had delivered them from Egypt. Having been lifted so high, how could they fall from grace so suddenly, embracing pagan idolatry in the blink of an eye? This question intrigued generations of Israel’s sages. Let’s join in the discussions of Jewish commentators . . . When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron, and said to him, “Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” (Exodus 32:1) Was the Israelites’ sin really idolatry? Read 32:1 carefully. Are the people trying to replace God or simply looking for a visual symbol to sustain their faith in God at a time of insecurity? Moses, after all, has been gone a long time. Yes, he is up the mountain communing with God, but if he is any kind of responsible leader shouldn’t he be back by now? The sages note that the Hebrew word boshesh, ‘delayed’ (32:1), can be translated as ‘shamefully-late’. Drawing from the Oral Tradition of Judaism, some commentators propose that the people were seeking not another god, but rather another leader like Moses. Others say that the real sin of the people was their attempt to devise their own prescriptions for worship rather than wait for Moses to come back with a list of God’s explicit wishes. Yet other sources do not support this view. Psalm 106:20 (“They exchanged their glory for the image of a bull that feeds on grass”) plainly describes idolatry. So too does the Talmud: “By worshipping the calf the Israelites indicated that they accepted idolatry.”[1] Rashi [2] seems to agree: “They desired many gods.” But if their sin was idolatry, we are back to our original question: how could a people raised so high, fall so far? Perhaps the answer is not so hard to find when we reflect on the fact that any kind of lasting transformation of character takes time. A dramatic conversion or miracle may begin the process, but lasting transformation only comes through persistent application of beliefs and principles in the crucible of daily living. It involves the “inevitability of gradualness” says Maimonides.[3] Having been reared in slavery, the Israelites were hardly capable of rising up with the strength to fight giants. “God in his wisdom contrived that they wander in the wilderness till they had become schooled in courage, since it is well known that physical hardships toughen and the converse produce faintheartedness.”[4] Table topic: Think of other biblical stories where a person or community of apparent invincible faith was suddenly shown to be fragile or morally weak? E.g., King David; Peter the Apostle; the Galatians. Why are these stories of 'failure' important to us? Journal topic: Draw a timeline tracing your own journey to maturity; e.g., as a man/woman, as a spouse/parent, as a committed Christian, etc. Highlight the ‘character building’ events of progress and setback, success and failure. Is there a ‘golden calf’ moment marked on your timeline? 1. Avodah Zarah 53b. 2. Rashi: revered 11th century Torah scholar 3. Maimonides: 12th century, revered post-Talmudic authority on Judaism. 4. Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed, cited by Leibowitz, 555. Bibliography: Fox, The Five Books of Moses (New York, 1995); Freedman & Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah (London/New York, 1983); Leibowitz, New Studies in Shemot (New York, 1996). © Teresa Pirola, 2013. lightoftorah.net Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry arising from the Catholic community, encouraging Christians to reflect on the Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Ki Tisa, the Torah portion read for the coming Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat Shalom!

“You shall make sacred vestments for the glorious adornment of your brother Aaron. And you shall speak to all who have ability, whom I have endowed with skill, that they may make Aaron’s vestments to consecrate him for my priesthood” (Exodus 28:2-3). In the Book of Exodus the Israelites are guided, in meticulous detail, to create a system of worship. Chapter 28 turns to the making of priestly vestments. Why does the sacred text present a long, tedious list of details? Can priestly vestments really be that important? Let’s begin our reflection by considering the meaning of clothing today. What does your own choice of clothing signify? Why do we give authority to people in uniforms? How does festive or sacred clothing affect our experience of time and place? What messages are communicated through a piece of cloth? Jewish commentaries on this passage have interpreted the significance of clothing in various ways. For example, says Benno Jacob [1]: have you noticed that the Genesis creation account makes no mention of God teaching man and woman how to make a fire, till the soil or build a house. All is left to their initiative, except for one thing: God makes clothes for them. Not only does God make ‘garments of skins,’ but God actually ‘clothes’ them (Gen. 3:21). Just as royalty are clothed in fine robes, God clothes man and woman as a sign of their consecration to be parents of the human race. Following the divine example, Moses clothes Aaron and his sons as a sign of consecration to priestly office. Other commentators [2], favouring an allegorical interpretation, view the priestly clothing in moral terms. To put on a garment is to be vested in qualities of fine character, to be God-like. “O Lord my God... You are clothed with honour and majesty, wrapped in light as with a garment” (Psalm 104:1). This idea is used to solve a contradiction in the text: Why does God command Moses to make the garments in v.2, then command the people to make the garments in v.3? The allegorists explain the double-command like this: The garments in v.2 refer to the instruction in holiness that Moses is to give the priests. The garments in v.3 refer to the outer garments of cloth that symbolize these inner ‘vestments of the soul.’ Note that the people who are to make these outer garments are described as ‘skilled’ (v.3). In the Hebrew, to be ‘skilled’ is literally to be ‘wise of heart.’ Only the ‘wise of heart’ understand the true meaning of the garments and the inner virtues they represent. Food for thought: In Jewish practice, a prayer shawl (tallit) with fringes (tzitzit) at the corners is worn. The fringes are a reminder of a Jew’s responsibility to observe God’s commandments (mitzvot). A blessing is prayed before wearing the tallit. In St Paul's Letter to the Ephesians, readers are urged to “clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:24). This week, examine more closely what you wear, where you wear it, and why you wear it. What are you ‘saying’ by your dress customs and choices? 1. Jewish biblical scholar, 1862-1955. 2. E.g., Malbim, 19th century Russian-Jewish rabbi. Sources: Leibowitz, New Studies in Shemot (Jerusalem, 1996). Scripture: NRSV. © Teresa Pirola, 2013. lightoftorah.net Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website.

In 2021, the one-day Jewish festival of Purim commences at sundown on 25th February. Learning about another’s religion is always enlightening. However, when it comes to Christians learning about Judaism, the blessings are magnified indeed, given the deep links between the two traditions. This certainly rings true in my own faith experience as a Catholic. Since I began paying attention to the Jewish liturgical calendar I have often been led to parts of my Bible which previously escaped my attention. Since I began paying attention to the Jewish liturgical calendar I have been led to parts of my Bible which previously escaped my attention. Take, for example, the celebration of the Jewish festival of Purim. Purim celebrates an event of deliverance-from-evil told in the Book of Esther. It is the melodramatic tale of how the beautiful Queen Esther, herself a Jew living in an ancient Persian empire, saved her people from a massacre at the hands of a villain named Haman. These days, Purim has the character of a fun-filled victory celebration. The rejoicing of Jewish communities has a carnival atmosphere: costumes, masquerades, plays, parodies and plenty of wine! Food baskets given as gifts for friends and for the poor are also part of Purim activities. However, the primary commandment related to Purim is to hear the reading of the Scroll of Esther (the Megillat Esther). This reading calls for active participation from Jewish congregants. Engaging with the biblical story, playfully (yet respectfully), it is customary to boo, hiss and make loud noises at the mention of Haman’s name, ‘to blot out the name of Haman.’ Of course, the Book of Esther is integral to my own Catholic faith tradition; I find it in my Bible* and hear it proclaimed as part of the lectionary. It has been preserved as a divinely inspired sacred text, the word of God. And yet, in my experience, this lively biblical story does not usually attract much attention in Catholic parishes or classrooms. In a spirit of learning from the Jewish people, Purim is a fitting time to discover, or rediscover, this part of our Scriptures (and to cheer the heroine Queen Esther!) as part of our own Catholic biblical formation. Along with the joyful character of Purim, a sombre note sounds. In the Jewish calendar the Sabbath prior to Purim is called Shabbat Zachor, ‘Sabbath of Remembrance.’ On this day an added reading from Exodus tells of Amalek, traditionally identified as a biblical character of cruelty and an ancestor of Haman. Thus, while Purim brings to mind a moment of salvation for the Jewish people, the ever-present reality of human suffering and the commitment to resist evil are also remembered on Shabbat Zachor. On the day (or a few days) prior to Purim observant Jews observe the Fast of Esther recalling Queen Esther’s personal fast and that of the Jewish community prior to Esther’s intervention on behalf of her people (Esther 4:16). Purim closes with friends and family gathering for a special afternoon meal. If you have Jewish friends, neighbours or colleagues, ask them to teach you more about Purim. Invite conversation based on your reading of the Book of Esther. Allow this ancient story, packed with timeless meaning, to enliven your biblical and interfaith sensibilities. * Note: Catholic Bibles include certain textual differences and additions compared to the Jewish Bible, which trace back to use of the ancient Greek version of the Hebrew Scriptures. © Teresa Pirola, 2011 lightoftorah.net Reproduction permitted for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website.

Join in this Torah reflection with Light of Torah readers exploring the Exodus story. . . Having received the stone tablets inscribed with the Decalogue (‘ten commandments’), in chapters 25-27 of the Book of Exodus the Israelites now receive from God the task of building the Tabernacle: a portable shrine that will house the precious stone tablets. Unless you are an architect with an interest in ancient temple structures, at first glance the details in this part of the Torah may test your patience! But let’s stay with the sacred text, empowered by rabbinic insight, and see if we can unlock meaning for our lives. Read as much of these chapters as you can, then let’s focus on a single verse: 25:2. Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart is so moved” (25:2, JPS). Note how three other translations express this: “...from all whose hearts prompt them to give” (25:2, NRSV). “...from every man whose heart makes-him-willing” (25:2, Fox). “...from every man whose heart motivates him” (25:2 Stone ed., Mesorah). What do you read in your bible? A close reading of this verse has led Torah commentators to view it as shedding light on the whole Torah portion. Can you see why? Following Rashi (11th century Torah scholar) we note that this building task is not only dedicated to the Lord’s name, it is to be a voluntary effort, an expression of goodwill. It does not involve coercion, guilt or competition but hearts willingly moved, rightly motivated. How different is this work to the forced labour under Pharaoh’s rule! As a work of love, it is to be lifegiving, uniting the Israelites in a common goal, forming them as a people dedicated to the Lord’s service. We are reminded that the gift of self, freely given, is at the heart of faith. An ethos of community service is a hallmark of both Judaism and Christianity. When someone or something is precious to us, we tend to be aware of intricate details. “I love the way that lock of hair falls in the middle of her forehead,” says the romantic lover. “Note how the pattern on the tiles has a subtle ‘tree’ motif,” says the proud homeowner. Details overlooked as irrelevant by an ‘outsider’ are the mark of specialness to the ‘insider’ who is intimately connected with and applies significance to those details. In this light, can we start to hear the Torah text not as a tedious list of construction ingredients, but as a hymn of praise to the Living God? As the people are called to willingly gather, pool their offerings, contribute their skills and expend their energies, a sacred focal point will emerge in their midst which will have enduring significance for ages to come. Note the interpenetration of ordinary earthly tasks and an extraordinary spiritual perspective. Reflection Reflect on the gift of a willing heart. Think of a time when your heart was ‘so moved’ to undertake a great labour of love. What intricate details were part of that experience? Are there rituals/works in your life that were once a delight but are now undertaken with a sense of joyless obligation? What steps can you take to rediscover the original reason and enthusiasm for your giving? Bibliography: Freedman & Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah: Exodus (New York: Soncino, 1983); Herczeg, ed., trans. Rashi: Commentary on the Torah (New York: Mesorah, 1999); Schorsch, Canon Without Closure (New York, 2007). © Teresa Pirola, 2012. lightoftorah.net. Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of the Light of Torah website.

Lent and Holy Week are times for Christian teachers and preachers to be particularly vigilant in their handling of the lectionary readings, in order to avoid subtle messages that do harm to the Jewish people and their traditions. For example, where the Gospel depicts Jesus as saying, "Do not imitate the hypocrites" (Mt 6:16), we can take care to avoid sweeping statements that suggest the 'hypocrisy' of ancient Judaism (this would be a serious misuse of the text), and instead point out that Jesus critiques elements of his own tradition, from within, as a faithful Jew. All religions are prone to the ‘hypocrisy’ described by this text. We can also highlight the positive ways Jewish society is depicted in the Gospels. For example: “But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right hand is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you” (Mt 6:3-4). Prayer, fasting and almsgiving are traditionally part of the Church’s season of Lent. All three are mentioned in the Gospel of Ash Wednesday (6:1-6,16-18). Presented there is a picture of the Jewish community to which Jesus belongs, a community which takes for granted the importance of prayer, fasting and almsgiving. Jesus calls for these actions to be undertaken in a spirit of humility. This teaching was, and continues to be, integral to Jewish understanding. For instance, in the Talmud we read: ‘One who gives charity in secret is greater than Moses’ (Baba Bathra 9b). ‘Humility is the greatest virtue of all’ (Abodah Zara 20b). Recall, too, a theme resounding in the Hebrew scriptures: ‘True sacrifice to God is a contrite spirit’ (Psalm 51:17).

"When you come upon your enemy’s ox or donkey going astray, you shall bring it back. When you see the donkey of one who hates you lying under its burden and you would hold back from setting it free, you must help to set it free” (Exodus 23:4-5). These verses from the Book of Exodus resonate with the teaching of Jesus to ‘love your enemies.’ Examine them carefully. Read them aloud. Ponder the detail of the text. Note its setting: amidst rules against slander and the perversion of justice (23:1-3, 6-8) and concluding with a verse about protection of the stranger (23:9). Discuss your observations with a friend. Why would these verses appear here? Perhaps because personal animosity has a tendency to lead to slander and false witness. Likewise, the stranger, the ‘outsider,’ is vulnerable to being treated as an enemy. Note how this teaching is phrased as a case study. It is not a general prohibition against mistreatment of another; it calls for an active response of returning good for evil and offers two concrete examples. The second example is especially pointed. Returning a stray beast (v.4) could be done via a third party while avoiding any contact with its owner. Raising the felled beast (v.5), however, requires direct contact with its owner as both parties engage in a common task for good. Rabbinic commentators compare “When you come upon...” (v.4) with “When you see...” (v.5). Even if your enemy’s plight is seen from a distance you must leave your path and make your way to him to give assistance. The phrase ‘‘and you would hold back” (v.5) also comes under the sages’ microscope. To overcome within oneself the instinct for evil is the moral task of every person. A just society is built on lifegiving deeds, enacted even when one’s feelings dictate otherwise. In Jewish legal tradition we find this case: If a friend requires help unloading his donkey, and an enemy requires help loading his—our first duty is to attend to our enemy in order to discipline our instincts. [1] Clearly, compassion for enemies is by no means unique to Christian teaching; it is embedded in Judaism. For example, in the story of the crossing of the Red Sea the Torah celebrates victory over Pharaoh's army, the oppressor of Israel. But an oft-quoted rabbinic commentary on this text describes the scene thus: “The ministering angels wanted to sing a hymn at the destruction of the Egyptians, but God said, ‘My creatures are drowning and you are busy with song?’” [2] Reflection In the light of today’s Torah discussion reflect on your understanding of the teaching of Jesus to ‘love your enemies’ (Mt. 5:44). What in particular caught your attention in the interpretative insights of the Jewish sages, and how does it enrich your biblical awareness as a Christian? 1. Bava Mezia 32b. 2. Megillah10b. Bibliography: Larsson, Bound for Freedom (Mass., 1999); Leibowitz, New Studies in Shemot (New York, 1996); Montefiore & Loewe, A Rabbinic Anthology (New York, 1974). Scripture: NRSV. A note on the Gospel In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy’” (5:43). In fact, the saying that Jesus quotes is not found in the Jewish Scriptures. It appears, however, in texts that form part of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ancient manuscripts discovered last century at Qumran, near the Dead Sea).

“Now Mount Sinai was all in smoke, for the Eternal had come down upon it in fire...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) Moses’ reception of the Decalogue (‘Ten Commandments’) on Mt Sinai, in the sight and hearing of the people gathered, is a powerful biblical scene. The Book of Exodus describes this moment as theophany. There, in the presence of the whole community, God reveals the Torah, the divine teaching that welds the God-Israel relationship into an everlasting covenant. God who is beyond all things draws his people into the Divine Presence in a new way. Reading Exodus 19, one can’t help but notice the amount of preparation involved in the lead-up to the Decalogue: the public gathering, sights and sounds, sense of awe, the solemnity of Moses’ approach... Before the Lord actually speaks the Ten Commandments, what is the text trying to tell us about this moment? As the Jewish sages of old ponder this event they note that the text speaks of fire, smoke, thunder before and after the Decalogue, but there is no mention of them during the Decalogue itself. Says the creative storytelling of the Midrash, when God speaks the earth falls silent: "When God gave the Torah, no bird twittered, no fowl flew, no ox lowed, the Seraphim did not say ‘Holy Holy,’ the sea did not roar... The whole world was hushed into breathless silence and the Voice went forth.” (1) Amidst the celestial drama the sages detect an exquisite thread of loving intimacy as God draws close to his people in an unprecedented way. It’s not just ‘what’ is said in the celebrated Ten Commandments, it is ‘how’. Even silence can be interpreted. According to Rashi, when the text says that ‘Moses led the people out of the camp toward God’ (19:17), it suggests the meeting of lovers. (2) As Israel goes out toward God, God goes forth to meet Israel like a bridegroom going out to greet his beloved. Likewise, the Talmud connects the Sinai revelation with the day of the Sabbath since in the Jewish understanding this is the day of intimate union—for wives and husbands, and for human beings and their Creator. So convinced are the sages of the radical depths of the relationship forged between God and Israel through the gift of Torah that in the Midrash we find the angels appalled at the idea! “When Moses ascended to heaven, the angels complained... ‘What is a mere mortal doing here in our midst?’ God replied, ‘He has come to receive the Torah.’ The angels replied... ‘It is fitting that you give Torah to us in heaven. Why? Because we are holy and pure and it is pure and holy... far better that it remain with us.’” (3) Abraham Heschel (4) observes that in Jewish sacred writings Torah’s heavenly essence is personified: Torah is God’s darling daughter whose splendour never wanes, even after she departs from the divine domain to be among mortals. While not to be equated with the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation, Christians will note a certain resonance here with their own belief in the divine Son. Heschel himself remarks on this “as a striking example of similarity-with-difference between Judaism and Christianity.” (5) There is much to ponder in this Torah text as interpreted by Jewish tradition, which can enrich our own Christian view of the Ten Commandments and help us to better grasp why we refer to Jesus as the ‘Living Word/Torah.’ 1. Exodus Rabbah 29:9 2. Rashi: 11th century Torah scholar, France. 3. Midrash on Psalms 8:2 4. Heschel, 20th century Jewish theologian. 5. Heschel, Heavenly Torah, 323. Sources: Freedman and Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah: Exodus (London/New York: Soncino, 1983); Herczeg, ed., Rashi: Commentary on the Torah (New York, 1999); Heschel, Heavenly Torah, (New York, 1996); Munk, The Call of the Torah (New York, 1994). Scripture: JPS. © Teresa Pirola, 2012. Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website: lightoftorah.net