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“Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with beings divine and human, and have prevailed” (Genesis 32:29). In the book of Genesis we find the story of Jacob’s wrestling match with a mysterious man. This is a minefield of symbols to be interpreted humanly and religiously. To comprehend the text we need to view it in the context of the story of Jacob’s reunion with his brother Esau. Jacob, together with his household, is heading home after a twenty year sojourn outside the land of Canaan. Along the way he learns that his brother Esau, together with 400 men, is coming to meet him. Fearful that Esau still harbours murderous rage over a long-ago conflict, Jacob prepares for the worst (Gen. 32:4-22). The night before the two brothers meet, Jacob wrestles with a mysterious figure, thought to be a divine representative (Gen. 32:23-33). And what happens the next day? “Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him...he kissed him; and they wept” (Genesis 33:4). Esau’s reaction is startling. Last time they were together Esau was out to kill Jacob. Now he shows nothing but love toward his brother who deceived him all those years ago (Gen. 27). Could the events of the night before have had something to do with this dramatic change of heart? Jewish interpreters [1] certainly think so, in some cases viewing Jacob’s wrestling partner to be ‘the ministering angel of Esau.’ Before Jacob is ready to meet Esau in the flesh, he has to undergo a spiritual confrontation. There are multiple ways to approach this text. One way is to explore it from a psychological angle. Thus, Jacob is seen to be wrestling with his personal history, anxieties, guilt. The blessing he grasps is the blessing of having endured a crisis, of having confronted his inner demons and matured in the process. In this view, Jacob emerges a new person: free from fear, at peace with himself and those around him. Esau senses this, it disarms him, and reconciliation is possible. Does this interpretation speak to you? Was there a time when you wrestled amidst crisis, ‘alone’, ‘in the night’ and came through a stronger, wiser, more mature person? There is another current in Jewish interpretation: one that relates Jacob’s ordeal to the struggle of the Jewish people in coming to terms with the fact of their election by God. After all, wouldn’t it be easier to fit in with society; to not be identified by circumcision, Shabbat or dietary practices? It would certainly have saved centuries of persecution, sorrow. Yet struggle is part of fidelity. To live the Torah means to strive for the ways of God; not settling for moral mediocrity nor despairing of the possibility of a transformed earth. Yes, it entails wounds that at times produce a limp. But it also holds the priceless blessing and responsibility of belonging to God and God's people. Certainly, Jacob’s story draws us to be attentive to the fact that throughout their history the Jewish people have had to struggle against extraordinary odds, and have prevailed, time and again, to grasp anew the irrevocable blessing of their identity. (These words are not intended to romanticise the idea of fidelity through struggle, which has entailed a terrible cost to Jewish lives.) Amid the political complexities of our own time, there are those who are quick to judge the Jewish people on account of certain government policies of the modern state of Israel, rather than making appropriate distinctions between the two. Yet “Israel”,[2] whether understood as a nation state or as a covenantal people, produces plenty of its own critics and prophets from within, and this too forms part of its struggle for self-determination. It is important for Christians to ponder the biblical moment in the book of Genesis when God’s choice of Abraham finds new expression in and through Jacob's struggle. It is vital for understanding Judaism, Jesus, and our own call to ‘be’ church—not replacing God’s covenant with the Jewish people which endures eternally, but rather learning from its truth. As St Pope John Paul II said on his visit to Sydney (26 November 1986): “For the Jewish people themselves, Catholics should have not only respect but also great fraternal love; for it is the teaching of both the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures that the Jews are beloved of God who has called them with an irrevocable calling.” • 1. Sources: Herczeg, ed., The Torah: With Rashi’s Commentary (New York, 1999); Leibowitz, New Studies in Bereshit (New York, 1994); Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary (New York, 2006); Sacks, Covenant & Conversation (Jerusalem, 2009). Scripture: NJPS. 2. The term "Israel" has multiple meanings. It can refer to the biblical land; the name given to the patriarch Jacob or to one of the twelve tribes issuing from his progeny; the political nation state named Israel (either in its ancient or modern context). “Israel” is also a theological reference to the Jewish people, from their origins in history to their ultimate destiny in accord with God’s designs. © Teresa Pirola, 2011. lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry based in the Catholic community in Australia, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4 - 36:43), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! Download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, courtesy of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

Then Jacob kissed Rachel, and broke into tears” (Genesis 29:11). Thus begins the love story of Jacob and Rachel in the book of Genesis. The setting for their first encounter is a well (Genesis 29:1-14). Rachel is there tending her father’s sheep, whereas Jacob has just arrived, having fled his home in Beersheba after causing a major family upset. His brother Esau wants to kill him so, on the advice of his mother Rebekah, Jacob sets out on a journey to the household of Rebekah’s brother Laban who lives in Haran. While seeking his uncle, he stops at a well where a shepherdess named Rachel turns out to be Laban’s daughter. Jacob’s outburst of emotion upon seeing Rachel is puzzling, is it not? Why does he weep? Jacob’s outburst of emotion upon seeing Rachel is puzzling, is it not? Why does he weep? Sometimes it is interpreted romantically: ‘love at first sight.’ Indeed, in the creative interpretations of the Jewish tradition, the sages identify Rachel as the love of Jacob’s life, a love story marked by difficulties and sadness, including Rachel’s premature death. Says the revered Torah scholar Rashi, through divine inspiration Jacob foresaw that one day Rachel would not be buried with him—thus he wept. But perhaps there is another way to explain this verse, starting with the episode preceding the scene at the well. From where has Jacob just come? From a powerful encounter with the divine. During an overnight stop he has a dream in which the Lord God speaks to him of his destiny and role in the unfolding Abrahamic covenant. (Read the account of ‘Jacob’s Ladder’ in Genesis 28:10-22.) Upon waking, Jacob is awestruck by what has just occurred, his amazement beautifully phrased in verses 28:16-17. Even so, the revelation is also a confusing, disturbing experience. God promises ‘I will watch over you,’ yet Jacob knows he is a marked man in Esau’s eyes. God promises the gift of the Land, but Jacob is about to leave that Land to live in exile. God promises descendants, yet Jacob is leaving behind familial security. A moment filled with promise occurs amidst risk, danger, loss. This young man has a lot to process! Is it surprising then that by the time he reaches the well after a desert journey he is a mass on pent-up emotions? And what happens at the well? We may think it’s all about Rachel. But look carefully at the text: the most frequently mentioned person is Laban. In just three verses (9-12), Laban is referred to (by name, as father, as brother, as kinsman) no less than seven times. And in verse 10 reference to Laban’s identity as Rebekah’s brother is repeated twice. Repetition, teach the Jewish sages, should fire our interpretative energies. How might the Torah be speaking to us? When Jacob sets eyes on Rachel, who does he see? The love of his life, or the face of his kin? What does he feel? Romantic love, or the relief of reaching familial shelter? In the view of Rabbi S.R. Hirsch,[1] Jacob constantly carried with him the memory of his mother, Rebekah. In Rachel—Rebekah’s niece—he recognizes the living image of his mother. Yes, he also recognizes a potential spouse. But here too other dynamics may well be at work as Jacob is confronted by the realization that God’s promise of descendants is soon to be fulfilled... As noted earlier, this is a tumultuous time for the emotional-spiritual psyche of a young man who is both a fugitive and a servant of God—and at the sight of Rachel it all comes tumbling out. “Then Jacob kissed Rachel, and broke into tears” (Genesis 29:11). What do you think? Is this a plausible reading of the text? It is certainly one which leads us to ponder those times in life when spiritual, geographic and relational upheavals coincide. Do you have a story like that? How does the Torah speak to you? • 1. S.R. Hirsch: a leader in Jewish religious/educational life in 19th century Germany. See Munk, 390. Sources: Herczeg, ed., The Torah: With Rashi’s Commentary (New York, 1995, 1999); Leibowitz, New Studies in Bereshit (New York, 1994); Munk, The Call of the Torah (New York, 1994). Scripture: NJPS. © Teresa Pirola, 2011. lightoftorah.net Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry based in the Catholic community in Australia, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Vayetze (Genesis 28:10 - 32:3), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! Download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, courtesy of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

Genesis 26 tells a story from the adult life of Isaac. It is a story strikingly similar to a story about his father, Abraham, in Genesis 20. Like his father, Isaac receives the Lord’s blessing and prospers. Like Abraham, he goes to the land of Gerar to escape famine and has a similar exchange with the local king. Like his father, he digs wells and finds water... Read chapter 26, especially verses 1-18, and prayerfully ponder the details of the sacred text. After sharing your initial observations of Chapter 26 with a friend, let’s focus on a puzzling statement found in v.15: “Now the Philistines had filled with earth all the wells that his father’s servants had dug in the days of his father Abraham” (Gen. 26:15). Water is essential to sustaining life in the desert. The Philistines were as dependent as Isaac’s family on water for their survival. Why would they go to such lengths to block the wells, even having them ‘filled with earth’ which would effectively make them difficult to find again? Generations of Torah students have been intrigued by this question. What thoughts and insights do you bring to the discussion? The sheer insanity of the Philistines’ action has led some commentators to conclude that the story of the wells carries intense symbolism. As the patriarchs laboured to release life-sustaining water out of parched ground, they were also creating a flow of living faith in the midst of a land of idol worshippers. The action of the Philistines, then, symbolises the forces of hard-heartedness that seek to stop the lifegiving action of God, with deathly consequences. But what evidence from the text and tradition support this interpretation? Carefully revisit the text before reading on. “Isaac dug again the wells of water that had been dug in the days of his father Abraham...and he gave them the names that his father had given them” (v.18). Isaac digs for water, but not indiscriminately. He operates in the footsteps of Abraham, honouring the ways of his father. According to Jewish storytelling traditions, just as Abraham had named certain places with titles that reflected his relationship with God (see Gen. 21:31; 22:14), Abraham had named the wells in a similar fashion. Thus, in eradicating the wells the Philistines were attempting to extinguish the very mention of the God of Abraham. Amidst opposition, Isaac is persistent in recovering both the wells and their names. Like his father, his efforts bring forth what the Hebrew text calls mayim hayim: ‘living water.’ This is followed immediately by the Lord’s appearance to Isaac: “I am the God of your father Abraham...” with the added divine assurance, “Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (v.24). For reflection: Isaac sought to be faithful to the religious traditions of his father. What challenges have you experienced in your efforts to remain faithful to the traditions of your ancestors? A fragile relationship exists between human harmony and availability of the earth’s natural resources. Discuss in the light of Genesis 26. • Bibliography: Eskenazi & Weiss, eds., The Torah: A Women’s Commentary (New York, 2008); Leibowitz, New Studies in Bereshit (New York: Lambda); Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary (New York, 2006). Scripture: NRSV. © Teresa Pirola, 2013. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry based in the Catholic community in Australia, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Toledot (Genesis 25:19 - 28:9), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! Download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, courtesy of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

Genesis 26 tells a story from the adult life of Isaac. It is a story strikingly similar to a story about his father, Abraham, in Genesis 20. Like his father, Isaac receives the Lord’s blessing and prospers. Like Abraham he goes to the land of Gerar to escape famine and has a similar exchange with the local king. Like his father he digs wells and finds water... Read chapter 26, especially verses 1-18, and prayerfully ponder the details of the sacred text. After sharing your initial observations of Chapter 26 with a friend, let’s focus on a puzzling statement found in v.15: “Now the Philistines had filled with earth all the wells that his father’s servants had dug in the days of his father Abraham” (Gen. 26:15). Water is essential to sustaining life in the desert. The Philistines were as dependent as Isaac’s family on water for their survival. Why would they go to such lengths to block the wells, even having them ‘filled with earth’ which would effectively make them difficult to find again? Generations of Torah students have been intrigued by this question. What thoughts and insights do you bring to the discussion? The sheer insanity of the Philistines’ action has led some commentators to conclude that the story of the wells carries intense symbolism. As the patriarchs laboured to release life-sustaining water out of parched ground, they were also creating a flow of living faith in the midst of a land of idol worshippers. The action of the Philistines, then, symbolises the forces of hard-heartedness that seek to stop the lifegiving action of God, with deathly consequences. But what evidence from the text and tradition support this interpretation? Carefully revisit the text before reading on. “Isaac dug again the wells of water that had been dug in the days of his father Abraham...and he gave them the names that his father had given them” (v.18). Isaac digs for water, but not indiscriminately. He operates in the footsteps of Abraham, honouring the ways of his father. According to Jewish storytelling traditions, just as Abraham had named certain places with titles that reflected his relationship with God (see Gen. 21:31; 22:14), Abraham had named the wells in a similar fashion. Thus, in eradicating the wells the Philistines were attempting to extinguish the very mention of the God of Abraham. Amidst opposition, Isaac is persistent in recovering both the wells and their names. Like his father, his efforts bring forth what the Hebrew text calls mayim hayim: ‘living water.’ This is followed immediately by the Lord’s appearance to Isaac: “I am the God of your father Abraham...” with the added divine assurance, “Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (v.24). For reflection: Isaac sought to be faithful to the religious traditions of his father. What challenges have you experienced in your efforts to remain faithful to the traditions of your ancestors? A fragile relationship exists between human harmony and availability of the earth’s natural resources. Discuss in the light of Genesis 26. • Bibliography: Eskenazi & Weiss, eds., The Torah: A Women’s Commentary (New York, 2008); Leibowitz, New Studies in Bereshit (New York: Lambda); Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary (New York, 2006). Scripture: NRSV. © Teresa Pirola, 2013. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry based in the Catholic community in Australia, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Toledot (Genesis 25:19 - 28:9), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! Download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, courtesy of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

'Sarah lived one hundred twenty-seven years; this was the length of Sarah’s life. And Sarah died in Kiriatharba (that is, Hebron) in the land of Canaan; and Abraham went in to mourn for Sarah and to weep for her.' (Genesis 23:1-2) These verses open a portion of the book of Genesis which, in the Jewish cycle of Torah readings, is known as ‘the life of Sarah’. It is a curious title considering that this Torah portion, extending over two chapters, opens with her death! Already we are being drawn into a fascinating question: how might the biblical stories that follow these verses, occurring after Sarah has died, be revealing of her life? How might the aftermath of Sarah's death be revealing of her life? One answer arises in the midrash, the creative storytelling traditions of Judaism. The midrash observes that Sarah’s death occurs just seven verses after one of the most compelling passages in the Bible: the Akedah (Gen.22:1-19), the story known to Jews and Christians respectively as the ‘binding’ or ‘sacrifice’ of Isaac. According to the Rabbis, the near-death of Isaac is such a traumatic event that, upon learning what her husband almost did to their son, Sarah dies of grief. [1] It is an arresting thought. In the face of a firm tradition by which both Jews and Christians esteem Abraham for his unwavering obedience to God’s command to offer Isaac as a sacrifice, the midrash throws a spanner in the works: Sarah’s grief. It is a grief so devastating that it sounds a ‘No’ to the forementioned event, or at least raises a serious doubt. Perhaps the path of obedience to divine commands is a little more complex than it first appears—not only for Sarah, but for Abraham. In this light, can we sense a deeper reason why Abraham’s mourning is recorded (Gen. 23:2, see top of this page)? Taking up this midrashic insight, present-day commentators such as Rabbi Rona Shapiro note that it opens the door to fresh insights into Abraham’s relationship with God. If we look closely at the Genesis narrative which continues after Sarah’s death, we see that Abraham is never quite the same person again. Previously his faith was characterized by large-scale, public events. In pursuit of his God he travelled to foreign lands, fought wars and mounted a dramatic rescue for his kidnapped nephew. He negotiated with kings, argued with God about justice for the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, and scaled a mountain to accomplish a horrifying feat for a faith-testing God. But after Sarah’s death, his activity changes. It is predominantly domestic: he buries his wife, he arranges a marriage for Isaac, he marries again and attends to the future of his children in such a way as to prioritize Isaac. Perhaps, says Rabbi Shapira, Abraham—through Sarah’s death—has heard a different divine voice: not theophany on a mountain top but the transformative power of relationships. He has heard a truth which, at her moment of death, Sarah understood with terrifying clarity: there is no special holiness to be found gazing at the stars if your own child’s life is at stake. Holiness is right here: at home, in the joys and struggles of everyday family life. Whether or not you favour this interpretation, I am sure you will agree that it raises challenging questions concerning the complexities of discerning God’s call… Food for thought, from inter-generational conversations around an ancient biblical text. • 1. Ecclesiastes Rabbah 9:7, §1 Bibliography: Bialik and Ravnitzky, eds., The Book of Legends (New York, 1992); Freedman and Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah: Ecclesiastes (New York, 1983); Rona Shapiro, 'Chaye Sarah' in Goldstein, ed., The Women’s Torah Commentary (Woodstock, VT, 2000), 70-74. Scripture: NRSV. © Teresa Pirola, 2011. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. 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 Chayei Sarah (Genesis 23:1 - 25:18), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! Download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, thanks to the generosity of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

Recommended viewing: Difficult Texts Regarding “The Jews” in Matthew’s Gospel: A Socio-Political Framework Online Webinar from Sisters of Our Lady of Sion Australia This presentation explores the text known as the “blood curse” of Matthew’s Gospel (27:25) which has so often been misused over the centuries, causing harm to Jewish people. This is an opportunity to gain insight into the text drawing on sound Christian biblical scholarship in a post-Nostra Aetate context that fosters respectful relations between Christians and Jews. The presenter is Sr Celia Deutsch NDS, a sister of Our Lady of Sion and renowned biblical scholar and educator, currently Research Scholar in the Religion Department at Barnard College/Columbia University. An insightful response to her presentation is provided by Fr Chris Monaghan CP, President and Lecturer at Yarra Theological Union, Melbourne. The webinar will be of interest to teachers, pastoral associates and all lovers of the Word. Hosted by: Jewish-Christian Relations Team, Sisters of Our Lady of Sion, Australia, with support from Garratt Publishing.

Our focus this week is Genesis 22:1-19. In Christian tradition this passage is known as 'the sacrifice of Isaac'. In Jewish tradition it is known as 'the binding of Isaac'. The horror of the narrative grabs our attention and draws us into the text with understandable questions and objections: Why would God ask a father to sacrifice his own son? Many Christians are familiar with this reading as part of the Easter Vigil, and it also appears as part of the weekday morning service in many Jewish prayer books. What is so important about this passage to warrant its prominent placing in the liturgical traditions of both Jews and Christians? Read Genesis 22:1-19, then join the sages in a close reading of verses 3-4. “Abraham rose early, saddled his donkey, chopped wood for the burnt offering, took Isaac his son and his two lads, and set out for the place that God had spoken of to him. On the third day, Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place from afar” (Gen.22:3-4). Our Torah passage speaks of a three-day journey from Abraham’s home to the point where he can see his God-given destination. Do you notice anything odd about this part of the text? What is odd about this text? Perhaps you noticed that the Torah offers no detail about the three-day journey. Details about his preparation are aplenty: rising early, saddling his donkey, chopping wood, etc. But from the moment he is on his way: the text suddenly falls silent. Like a fast-forwarded video, the story skips to the end: “On the third day...” Think about that. Abraham has just set out with a horrific task: the sacrifice of his own son. He has three days, in the presence of his son, to consider what he is about to do. Surely, those days must have been filled with anguish! Surely, he must have undergone feelings of bewilderment, anger, doubt, pain... surely! And yet the text records nothing about the journey. No dialogue, no thoughts or feelings, no events, no geographical or human point of note. Prayerfully ponder this. How do you interpret the Torah’s silence? Are there some things that are ‘unspeakable’? Do they need to be voiced at all? Are there some things that are ‘unspeakable’? This silence bothered the sages deeply. In fact, in the midrash we find imaginative stories filling up the silence of those three days. According to one midrashic tradition—one that perhaps depicts the internal struggle of conscience—Abraham is visited during his journey by a satan, a tempter, who hurls at him one reason after another as to why he should abandon his journey. Abraham persists. Another tells how Abraham comes to a river crossing. The waters are dangerously high and Abraham has every excuse to turn around and go home. Instead, he plunges in up to his neck, and the waters recede. (What other water crossing comes to mind here?) Perhaps we are drawn to reflect on the ‘legitimate’ excuses that deter us from pursuing God’s call to its final conclusion. In this way, by being attentive to what is 'absent' in the text, the midrash prevents us from treating the story of Abraham’s faith as blind, robotic obedience. It leads us to a deeper, more sensitive contemplation of the human struggle involved in discerning and following God’s call. Far from being fanciful storytelling, the midrash voices the questions and insights of generations of believers as they encounter God’s living word.• Table topic: Join in the conversation of the sages. How does the text’s silence stimulate your engagement with the Torah? If you were to tell your own midrashic account about what happened during those three days, what would you say? Can you imagine Jesus wrestling with this sacred story as part of his own discernment and desire to do the will of the Father? Bibliography: Bialik & Ravnitsky, eds., The Book of Legends (New York: Schocken Books, 1992); Leibowitz, New Studies in Bereshit (New York: Lambda, 1994). Scripture: JPS, NRSV. © Teresa Pirola, 2013. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. 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 Vayeira (Genesis 18:1 - 22:24), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! Download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, thanks to the generosity of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

Lekh Lekha: “Go-you-forth” (Hebrew). These words of God launch Abraham (here called Abram) into a journey that has him leave his homeland and kin, to go “to the land that I will show you” (Genesis 12:1). A straightforward command? The wisdom passed down through generations of Jewish Torah commentators reveals interpretative subtleties. E.g., “Go by yourself. This is one journey which must be made alone” (Hirsch); “Go to yourself, go to your roots, to find your potential” (Chasidic interpretation); “Go for yourself, for your pleasure and for your benefit. There, I will make of you a great nation; whereas here you do not merit having children…” (Rashi). Let's engage our biblical imaginations. Abraham, what did you hear that day? Ponder this question. Put yourself in the shoes of Abraham. What makes a wealthy man living in ancient Mesopotamia leave all that is familiar for the sake of a land and future as yet unknown? Is he, as stories from Jewish tradition suggest, spiritually restless? Can restlessness be a search for God? Can restlessness be a search for God? The Ramban (13th c. Jewish scholar) said that “one should love God with an excessive, powerful love, till one’s soul is totally involved in love of God, and one is constantly obsessed by it, as though ill with love sickness...” Does this describe Abraham? Does his restlessness reveal a passionate lover of God, prepared to risk all, to follow God anywhere? And what of Abraham’s wife, Sarah (here called Sarai)? We are told in Gen. 11:30 that “Sarai was barren; she had no child.” And yet four verses later, God is promising Abram, “I will make of you a great nation” (12:2)! Now doesn’t the text have you puzzling over that? Your puzzling is a clue that a powerful biblical insight is at hand... In rabbinic commentary we hear that “Wherever it is written ‘there is not’, there eventually is.”[1] Or, to quote a Christian biblical scholar of our own times: “Barrenness...is an effective metaphor for hopelessness. The marvel of biblical faith is that barrenness is the arena of God’s life-giving action.”[2] The marvel of biblical faith is that barrenness is the arena of God’s life-giving action. Just when the situation seems hopeless, the divine word breaks through, inviting a creative response. A husband and wife, cloaked in restlessness, disappointment, but also in hope, set out together for a far land. Lekh Lekha. They "go forth" with a new kind of faith in the God of surprises. Reflect Restlessness... wandering... disappointments... daring new adventures... how are these realities woven into your own story of life and faith? Can you relate to Abraham, to Sarah, and to the family left behind? Remember Resist the temptation to just "settle". Keep learning. Keep asking questions. Never give up. Keep an open mind and heart. No answer is ever final. The love of God opens up infinite possibilities. 1. Bereshit Rabbah 38:14 2. Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982), 116. This article is based on a teaching by Br Jack Driscoll CFC, PhD. © Teresa Pirola, 2012. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. 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 Lekh Lekha (Genesis 12:1 - 17:27), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! As we enter this new year of Torah, download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, thanks to the generosity of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

The story of Noah’s Ark (Genesis 6:9–11:32) is well known and loved by Christians from childhood. Yet how many of us have explored the character of Noah through a Jewish interpretative lens? Take for example, this verse: Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age; Noah walked with God” (Gen.6:9). A straight-forward verse complimenting Noah, right? Not so for the Jewish sages of old! Through centuries of Torah study employing traditional interpretative methods, we find a lively debate as to whether Noah’s righteousness was all that it appeared to be. Pause to ponder this, revisiting Genesis 6:9 and its surrounding verses. Why do you think Noah’s virtue might be called into question? Pause to ponder this: Why do you think Noah’s virtue might be called into question? The sages were intrigued by the phrase ‘in his age’ and interpreted this qualification in diverse ways, some to Noah’s credit and others to his discredit. E.g., Noah might have been blameless ‘in his age,’ but what a wicked age it was! If Noah had lived in a righteous age he would have appeared mediocre by comparison. Then again, argued others, it is very difficult to be righteous in the midst of wickedness, therefore Noah’s efforts are all the more praiseworthy! Noted, too, was how Noah’s reaction was quite different to Abraham’s response in the face of God’s anger. Think about it: God has just told Noah he is going to annihilate the world, and Noah voices no objection! Does he not have a single question to ask God as he builds his ark? Does he have no concern for those about to perish? Is he bent only on saving his own household? How different he is to Abraham who cries out to God on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen.18:16-33). And to Moses, who begs God not to destroy his people after the Golden Calf episode (Exod. 32:7-14). This ancient text confronts us with timeless questions. At what point does obedience cease to be a faith response and become ‘blind obedience’? Do we relate to God as passive robots or as full-blooded disciples willing to embrace the anguish and holy struggles of our world? The sages probed the Hebrew text further, noting that while Noah walked ‘with’ God (6:9), Abraham walked ‘before’ God (17:1). In the Midrash (the creative storytelling traditions of Judaism), we hear the voice of Rabbi Yehudah who depicts Noah as sinking in the mire of a godless generation but with the desire to extricate himself.[1] Unable to do so, God comes to his aid saying, ‘walk with me.’ Abraham, by contrast, was stronger in virtue. Says Rashi,[2] 'Noah needed support, but Abraham strengthened himself and walked in his righteousness by himself.' Further, Abraham was charged with a divine mission to announce God’s word to others; but Noah could save only himself. Noah’s path was one of survival, Abraham’s was a path of mission. What is gained by such comparisons? If we find ourselves lulled into a one-eyed view of a Bible story, the Jewish sages remind us that the word of God holds multiple layers of meaning, and calls for our active engagement. It is a holy task to bring our questions of faith—robust, surprising and challenging—to our reading of the sacred text. Which raises the question: are we Catholics too ‘polite’ with the Bible? What do the sages teach us by their insistent questioning and lively debates? Bringing your own interpretative energies to bear upon this Scripture passage, what do you think: Was Noah a righteous man? What does it mean to be righteous? 1.Bereshit Rabbah. 2. Rashi: 11th C., France. Considered the greatest of Jewish Torah commentators. Quoted in Leibowitz, 63. Sources: Etz Hayim: Torah & Commentary (New York: JPS, 2001); JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis (Philadelphia, 1989); Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit (New York, 1994); Schorsch, Canon Without Closure (New York, 2007). Scripture: JPS © Teresa Pirola, 2012. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of Light of Torah website. Download the PDF version. 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 Noach (Genesis 6:9 - 11:32), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! As we begin a new year of Torah, download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, thanks to the generosity of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

A new idea has extraordinary power. It can be embraced, rejected, or ignored, but what one cannot do is ‘unthink’ it. So says creative thinker Edward De Bono, and so ‘says’ the first creation account in the opening chapters of Genesis (1:1-2:4). For what do we find here but the quintessential innovative idea, uttered as God’s creative word, that brings into being the universe and sets it upon its dramatic course of cosmic productivity. Human beings can embrace it, reject it, or (try to) ignore it, but what they cannot do is ‘uncreate’ it! We are enmeshed in a history set in motion by God who is intimately involved in, yet utterly free of, the world and ridiculously optimistic in our regard. Genesis 1 invites us to reflect upon this radical innovation and optimism that grounds our very being. There is the challenge of over-familiarity with this text. We have heard the creation story so often, from childhood bible stories to parish Easter vigils. But the invitation is to listen again and, more than listen, to speak it out loud and hear it from each other’s lips. And when we do, what do we hear? With the help of the translation of Everett Fox, what can be heard in a fresh way is the text’s methodical rhythm. Fox points out that the closer one gets to the Hebrew text and the sensuality of the Hebrew language, the more obvious this is. (In the NRSV, too, if we read slowly and deliberately, the rhythmic structure can be appreciated.) God said: Let there be light! And there was light. God saw the light: that it was good. God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light: Day! and the darkness he called: Night! [Fox] What is interesting here? Certainly the repetition of ‘God-plus-verb’. But what is strange about it? The austere language and plodding sound-pattern makes it all seem so orderly, effortless. God says, God sees, God separates, God calls… and it is so! Surely the creation of the world cannot be that easy! But here lies the power of the text’s structure to communicate its central message. God is portrayed as being totally in control of, and at peace with, the creative process. There is gradual ascent, but no urgency; nothing is forced. God gets there, when God is ready (Fox, 10; Plaut, 19). Yet there is a paradox. There is methodical rhythm and sense of careful order, yes. But on the other hand, as our Torah text unfolds, it bursts at the seams with imagery that is anything but calm and restrained: unwieldy growth spurts, lifegiving abundance, joyful abandon. As a wind (ruah) from God sweeps over the waters, a dark, formless void comes to life. Subtle repetitions underscore the fertility of the emerging scene; for example: “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed… fruit trees of every kind….that bear fruit with the seed in it” (v.11). Then again, waters bring forth not just living creatures but “swarms” of them (v. 20). The earth itself is created to [re]create; to bring forth, having been brought forth. Plurality and diversity are inscribed in the act of creation, as indicated by the repeated phrase (nine times) ‘of every kind’. Wild animals, sea monsters, and all those ‘creepy-crawly’ things (I wonder why that term “creep/creeping” is mentioned five times) find a home in water or soil. On Day Five, living creatures are judged to be ‘good’, blessed, and commanded to reproduce. On the sixth day, human beings are created, elevated, blessed, entrusted with responsibility, called ‘exceedingly good’ and told to reproduce. And as if that isn’t enough, behind the creation story Jewish tradition abounds with even more creation stories. In brief, one of them goes like this: God consults with Torah before creating the world. When Torah expresses her scepticism as to whether the world can survive human sinfulness, God assures her that human goodness will indeed prevail. After all, God has already created repentance….[1] God is not only creative, but decisive and optimistic in the act of creating! Then, in the final verse of our text, we hear: “These are the toledot of the heavens and the earth: their being created” (Gen. 2:4). Literally, toledot means ‘generations’ or ‘births’. Some translations render it ‘story’; Plaut, ‘chronicles’. In the NRSV it is ‘generations’, and in Fox’s translation, ‘begettings’. Genesis will continue to unfold with generational stories—stories of sexual unions, pregnancies and births… longed-for ones, difficult ones, successful ones. But the overarching theme of generational fecundity and continuity starts right here ‘at the beginning’ (Gen.1:1). It sets the tone for the entire story of Israel. The God of Israel is the One who brings forth LIFE. We hear it also in the voices of the prophets. At all times, even in its most grievous chapters of exile, Israel is called to trust in “the One who created the heavens…, who made the earth… who gives breath to its people” (Isa. 42:5). God’s covenant with Israel is inseparable from God’s creative act. Created as we are in the divine image, we too are equipped with extraordinary lifegiving power. How terrifying! There is so much that dampens our creative spark: rejection, failure, the slavery of unbridled work schedules. Little wonder that people pull their heads in, saying, “I’m not the creative type.” Some are afraid to have a child. The story of our beginnings calls us not to be afraid But the story of our beginnings calls us not to be afraid; to believe that, embedded in our very existence, is a desire to burst forth, spill over, share, and extend the very life force, natural and spiritual, that pulses within us. Isn’t that what 2 Timothy is getting at - "God’s gift was not a spirit of timidity...” (1:7) - and the kind of confidence the Gospel has in mind with reference to the power of faith to uproot a tree and plant it in the sea (see Lk. 17:6)? Our creative efforts are not to be obsessions, but work embraced in freedom, in love. For unlike other gods, Elohim (the Hebrew name for God used in the first creation account) creates with ease, not struggle; calmly sets the sun and the moon as if hanging lanterns, resisted by no creature. Here our Torah text can be seen as Israel’s critique of surrounding cultures [Fox, 12; Plaut, 20]). Most importantly, Elohim sets limits to the creative labor and sanctifies Sabbath rest which becomes “the first sign of revelation within the act of creation itself”.[2] The picture is of a completely sovereign Creator in whom we can have total trust. To be human, then, is to have confidence in one’s innovative powers, but in a relaxed way, trusting in a divinely creative source beyond self. • For Reflection and Discussion: God is my Creator. Ponder this intimate relationship. Think of one aspect of your God-given creativity that has been dimmed by hurt, cynicism, sin. How does God want to ‘recreate’ that part of you? Take steps that will help the healing process. 1. Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews. 2. Rosenzweig, The Star of Redemption, quoted by Fritz, 'Sabbath Rest and Sunday Worship', The Way Supplement (2000/97). Bibliography: Fox, The Five Books of Moses (New York, 1995); Fritz, ‘Sabbath Rest and Sunday Worship’, The Way Supplement (2000/97); Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, (1909; www.sacred-texts.com/jud/loj/index.htm); HarperCollins Study Bible: NRSV (London, 1993); Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary (New York, 2006). © Teresa Pirola, 2012. www.lightoftorah.net This article may be reproduced for non-commercial use with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. 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 Bereshit (Genesis 1:1 - 6:8), the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical cycle. Shabbat shalom! As we begin a new year of Torah, download your free Jewish and Christian Liturgical Calendar, thanks to the generosity of Etz Hayim-Tree of Life Publishing.

I will always remember the month I spent in the Australian bush on an Outward Bound course. No tents. Just creative use of a bivy sheet became my dwelling at night. That and a desert-hut sojourn in the Negev stand out as unforgettable experiences. Close to nature, stripped of all ‘creature comforts’ and technological securities, I couldn’t help but be confronted by my human vulnerability and the great spiritual questions surrounding my existence. Little wonder that educational and vocational organisations will include such experiences in their formation programs. Which raises the question: for Christian churches in the city and suburbs, should parishioners be encouraged to undertake an annual camping trip as a regular spiritual practice (modified to cater for various levels of physical ability)? Can you imagine this, say, as part of bible study or sacramental preparation? Leave all the conveniences of your home. Come away, outside. Live simply. Gaze into the night sky and, like Abraham, listen to your God. The idea is not fanciful. In fact, a similar idea in more sophisticated form is already embedded in the liturgical calendar of Jewish communities: the festival of Sukkot (Hebrew: ‘booths’). Every year in September/October, many Jewish households build a sukkah (a hut or temporary dwelling with four walls and a roof of branches) in the vicinity of their homes. During the seven days of the Sukkot festival, they leave their houses and spend time in these porous, fragile dwellings; a physical reminder of their vulnerability and dependence on God for gifts of shelter, food, warmth, protection. Originating in ancient harvest celebrations, Sukkot recalls the biblical story of the Israelites’ desert wanderings. “You shall live in booths for seven days...so that your generations may know that I made the people of Israel live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God” (Lev. 23:42,43). During Sukkot many Jews eat their meals in their sukkah, and some sleep there as well. In this way they recall the nomadic lifestyle of their ancient ancestors and the constant care of their God. Sukkot is a joyous festival that inspires a serious attitude of faith. As one Jewish author puts it, “Sukkot is a reminder not to become entombed in our homes, a reminder of a different kind of shelter made of openness and faith. It is a reminder of the long time ago when we followed the Lord into the desert, and painfully learned the meaning of trust.”[1] Hospitality and outreach to the homeless are also important to the practices of Sukkot. [And, yes, COVID lockdowns certainly bring their own challenges to these stated principles - see the table-topic below.] The meaning of Sukkot involves more than a humanitarian ideal of simple living. It maintains a critical connection with the verse: ‘I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God’ (Lev. 23:43). At its heart, Sukkot is about identity; it calls a chosen people to remember their origins: in the active, liberating movement of the Lord God in history. This is why the trappings of wealth are so dangerous. They can lead to complacency, a forgetting of who one really is in the sight of God. How might Sukkot inspire Christians, in their own spirituality practices? Here are five tips: Give thanks for the gifts of shelter, protection. Offer hospitality, especially to someone in need. Or, give financial support to an outreach for the homeless. Eat outdoors. Dine under the stars in your backyard; enjoy a coffee under a morning sky. Draw close to God in nature. Read Scripture from Exodus and Numbers and ponder the stories of the Israelites on their wilderness journey. Tell your own story, or that of a friend or family member who has known exile or wandering; perhaps as a refugee or immigrant. Be happy. Resist becoming entrapped in your worries and cares, however real. Trust God enough to be able to smile, laugh, enjoy life’s blessings. A table topic, in this time of pandemic: What new or different insight does this year's experience of pandemic and lockdown bring to the themes of Sukkot (such as awareness of the the fragility of life, and trust in God) mentioned above? © Teresa Pirola, 2013, 2021. lightoftorah.net. Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website. [1] Michael Strassfield, The Jewish Holidays (New York, 1985). Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry based in the Catholic community, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to the festival of Sukkot during which this Sabbath falls. The designated Torah readings are Exodus 33:21 - 34:26; Numbers 29:17-34. Shabbat shalom!

'[God] found them in a desert region, In an empty howling waste. [God] engirded them, watched over them, Guarded them as the pupil of God's eye. Like an eagle who rouses its nestlings, Gliding down to its young...' (Deut. 32:10-11). Our Torah passage is taken from the ‘Song of Moses.’ We pick up the story in the Book of Deuteronomy, just prior to Moses’ death and to the Israelites’ long-awaited entry into the promised land after forty years in the wilderness. Moses is remembering the divine kindnesses bestowed by God on the Israelites in the story of their tumultuous, developing relationship. Jewish interpreters noticed something missing in this text. Jewish sages and scholars who have studied this passage over the centuries notice a curious ‘absence’ in the text. Asks Abravanel, [1] 'What was the reason that Moses did not mention here the departure from Egypt which was the first kindness...prior to their entering the wilderness? How could he say that God found them in the wilderness when God really had found them in Egypt?' Why is the exodus event absent? Anticipating such a question, Rashi [2] sees the wilderness emphasis as showing forth Israel’s faithfulness to God. He associates this passage with the words found in the prophetic utterance of Jeremiah where the Lord remembers with pleasure Israel’s fidelity: ‘The devotion of your youth, Your love as a bride— How you followed me in the wilderness’ (Jeremiah 2:2). Says Rashi, it was in the desert that the Israelites 'accepted upon themselves God’s Torah and kingship...They were drawn by faith...' But does this approach really answer Abravanel’s question? After all, Israel exhibited a great deal of rebellion in the wilderness and our Torah portion reproves Israel for its waywardness. Can we suggest another reason why Moses begins his Song not with the Exodus from Egypt but with the wilderness experience? An alternative view from Nehama Leibowitz [3] reminds us to think about the audience Moses is addressing. They are not the generation that left Egypt but rather the next generation that was raised in the desert. Perhaps, then, Moses is speaking to the experience closest to the hearts of his listeners. Then again, continues Leibowitz, a stronger explanation can be found by pondering the real purpose of the Exodus... It was not simply to remove the people from the slavery of Egypt but to lead them somewhere positively extraordinary: to be a nation who is given the Torah, God’s 'teaching,' thus entering into covenant with God... and this sublime vocational calling takes place in the wilderness, at Sinai. In this light, the image of the eagle (which also appears just before the giving of the Torah on Sinai) is certainly apt. 'You have seen...how I bore you on eagles wings and brought you to Me' (Exodus 19:4). 'Like an eagle who rouses its nestlings...' (Deuteronomy 32:11). The image of a parent eagle teaching its young to fly illustrates the action of God who prepares Israel to receive the gift of Torah and thus to grow into a life of covenant, of living as a holy nation, as God’s own treasured people. Reflecting on this image, how might it speak to us about the way God continues to call and teach each person? In what ways does the above discussion contribute to our appreciation of the wilderness/desert as an image and theme encountered in Scripture? What further insights emerged from your Torah reading? 1. Isaac Abravanel (1437-1508) 2. Rashi: Rabbi Shelomo Yitzhaki (1040-1105) 3. Nehama Leibowitz (1905-1997) Bibliography: Goldstein, ed., The Women’s Torah Commentary (Vermont, 2000); Herczeg et al, The Torah: with Rashi’s Commentary (New York: Mesorah, 2001); Leibowitz, Studies in Devarim (New York, 1996). Scripture: trans. JPS, D. Stein, in W.G. Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary (New York: URJ, 2006). © Teresa Pirola, 2013. lightoftorah.net. Reproduction for non-commercial use permitted with acknowledgement of website. Download the PDF version. Light of Torah is a grassroots ministry based in the Catholic community, encouraging Christians to reflect on Torah with the help of Jewish insights. More... The reflection above refers to Parashat Ha'azinu (Deuteronomy 32:1-52), which is the Torah portion read for this Sabbath in the Jewish liturgical calendar. Shabbat shalom!