Saying Thank You Is Not Enough – Ekev 5785

Moses is speaking to the Israelites from the Eastern side of the Jordan River. He is preparing them to enter the Promised Land without him. Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, he worries about the new challenges that the people will face as they transition from wandering in the desert to settling in the Promised Land. So he tries to set them up for success.

Moses reiterates how, during the past forty years, God has provided for all of their needs. They ate manna from heaven. Their clothes never wore out, and their feet did not swell. God’s providence was immediate and direct. As a result, the people were constantly aware of their dependence on God for daily survival.

All of this will change when they cross the Jordan.  First, the good news. The land is “a good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill; a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat food without stint, where you will lack nothing; a land whose rocks are iron and from whose hills you can mine copper.”

In other words, the Israelites will no longer need to rely on God’s miraculous daily beneficence. Their prosperity will now come from the land itself. And so Moses instructs them: “When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you.” V’achalta v’sava’ta u’verachta. This is the basis of the obligation to recite Birkat Hamazon – the grace after meals. It is a reminder, recited multiple times a day, that one of the most mundane activities of which we take part, eating, is a manifestation of Divine grace. 

But Moses knows that this will be insufficient. In the very next verse, he offers a warning against what will inevitably follow success and prosperity. Hishamer L’kha – “Take care.”  Literally, “Guard yourselves, lest you forget the Lord your God and fail to keep His commandments, His rules and His laws, which I command you today.”

Moses predicts that when the Israelites become wealthy and successful, they will forget all about God who brought them out of Egypt and sustained them through the wilderness.  Their hearts will become haughty, and they will say to themselves, “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.” This attitude will ultimately lead to their downfall. They will suffer the same fate as the Canaanite nations who dwelt there beforehand.

In these brief verses, Moses expresses two opposite views of human character. In the first, he sets a perfectly reasonable expectation on the Israelites to give thanks to God when we eat. To acknowledge and praise the ultimate source of blessing in our lives. It seems to me that this is a fairly easy commandment to follow. Observant Jews do not seem to have too much difficulty reciting brachot over food. We’ll be doing exactly that for kiddush in a few minutes. 

But then, immediately afterwards, Moses all but admits that it is not going to work. Either we are going to forget to express our gratitude altogether. Or, our expressions of gratitude will not matter, and we will succumb to hubris, crediting all of our success to our own efforts and hard work.

The commentator Nachmanides explains Moses’ warning. The Israelites will forget about what it was like when they were enslaved in Egypt, when they did not have power and wealth. Back then, it was much more obvious that basic survival depended on God. But when they become successful, they will forget about those former times when they had no power. They won’t realize that the strength that enabled them to prosper came from God as well.

Moses’ predictions are born out in the biblical history of ancient Israel. It seems to me that they are pretty accurate depictions of basic human tendencies as well. We tend to relate to our material success as something we earned. Either because I worked really hard for it, or because I am just a really great person who deserves what I have, or because I am too lazy to really think about how I got to where I am. Moses warns that saying “Thank you” to God is not enough.

When kids are really young, we try to teach them to say thank you. I hand a treat to a toddler, and their parent says “What do you say?”  Don’t get me wrong, it is a valuable lesson, and an important habit to inculcate.

And, if I do something nice for someone, and they do not acknowledge it, it can feel pretty bad.  Like I have been taken for granted. 

Something I have learned in my house is that saying “thank you” by itself doesn’t really matter. Thanks are expressed through actions.

My spouse makes a beautiful meal. After enjoying it, I look deep into her eyes, utter a most heartfelt “thank you for that wonderful dinner. I especially loved how you slow roasted the brussels sprouts.” And then I walk over to the couch and start watching TV while the dirty dishes are all over the kitchen.

This is all purely hypothetical, of course. 

Moses’ instructions to the Israelites are also quite simple.  Gratitude is expressed through actions. This is a theme that Moses returns to over and over again. The way for the Israelites to express their gratitude for the blessings they enjoy is by following God’s commandments. But not only that.

Later on in the parashah, in another one of Moses’s warnings, he tells us to “cut away the thickening about your hearts and stiffen your necks no more. For the Lord your God is God supreme and Lord supreme, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing food and clothing.—You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

Here, the counter to stubbornness and haughtiness is caring for the stranger. This is what the all-powerful God of the universe wants from us.

Moses draws the contrast between an attitude of self-importance, stubborness, and entitlement on the one hand – and gratitude, observance of the commandments, and caring for the weak and powerless on the other.

Almost three and a half thousand years later, not much has changed. 

Thanks, It’s Not Enough – Vayetze 5784

This Shabbat of Thanksgiving weekend carries with it special significance. Fifty Israeli hostages are in the midst of being released as we speak. We must be grateful for their freedom, and pray for their and their families’ healing from the harm—physical, psychological, and emotional—that they have suffered after more than 40 days in captivity.

While feeling gratitude, we must also cry out that it is not enough. We want more. The remaining 190 hostages must be returned home. Israelis fleeing from the northern and southern borders, from the shadow of Hamas and Hezbollah rockets, must be able to go back and live in peace. Antisemitism around the world must end.

It is difficult to celebrate in the midst of loss and fear.

This morning’s Torah portion, Vayetzei, can be seen as a second beginning to the story of our Jewish family. You’ll remember that Abraham’s journey begins when God instructs him to leave his land, his birthplace, his father’s home, and embark on a journey to a new land. As Abraham and Sarah set off, he is already a wealthy man, the head of a great household.

As our parashah opens, Jacob begins his journey in the opposite direction. Like his grandfather, Jacob is leaving his land, his birthplace, and his father’s home. He is going back to Haran, however, away from the Promised Land. He leaves with nothing but the shirt on his back.

God appears to Jacob in his famous dream at the top of a ladder, upon which angels are rising and descending.

I am the LORD, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac: the ground on which you are lying I will assign to you and to your offspring. 

Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants. 

Remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.

Awaking, Jacob declares, “Surely the Lord is present in this place, and I did not know it.” Then Jacob makes a vow, incorporating much of what God has just promised him:

If God remains with me, if He protects me on this journey that I am making, and gives me bread to eat and clothing to wear, 

and if I return safe to my father’s house—the LORD shall be my God. 

And this stone, which I have set up as a pillar, shall be God’s abode; and of all that You give me, I will set aside a tithe for You.

It is a standard vow formula. Note what Jacob asks for from God: protection on his journey and the eventual safe return to his home. No time frame is given, but Jacob promises allegiance and tithing to God if these conditions are met.

How does it play out? Jacob makes his way to the house of his uncle, Laban. Let’s fast-forward through the next twenty two years. Jacob marries Leah and Rachel, has twelve children with them and their two handmaidens, Bilhah and Zilpah.

He works the entire time for his uncle Laban, whom he makes fabulously wealthy. Despite Laban trying to cheat Jacob, Jacob still manages to prosper himself as well. We learn that God has been taking care of Jacob this entire time, ensuring that Jacob will be successul despite the adverse conditions under which he  lives.

Finally, the time arrives for Jacob to return home. Consulting with his wives, Leah and Rachel urge him to make the journey as well. They know exactly what kind of men their father (and their brothers) are. So Jacob sneaks away with his household while Laban is off shearing sheep.

Laban takes off in hot pursuit. This is where I’d like to return to the details of the story. Observe how Laban treats Jacob, the assumptions he makes about him.

Before reaching Jacob, God appears to Laban in a dream with a warning: “Beware of attempting anything with Jacob, good or bad.”

Overtaking Jacob, Laban accuses his son-in-law of carrying off his daughters like “captives of the sword.” He insists that he would have sent Jacob off with a great party, but then flexes his muscles: “I have it in my power to do you harm; but the God of your father said to me last night, ‘Beware of attempting anything with Jacob, good or bad.’”

It turns out, that is exactly what Jacob was afraid of: “I was afraid because I thought you would take your daughters from me by force.”

Jacob complains to Laban that he has been duplicitous and manipulative the entire time that Jacob has spent with him, changing his wages constantly. If not for God’s protection, Jacob would be returning empty-handed, exactly as he had arrived 22 years earlier.

Consider next how Laban responds and what it says about how he really feels about Jacob:

The daughters are my daughters, the children are my children, and the flocks are my flocks; all that you see is mine. Yet what can I do now about my daughters or the children they have borne? 

Come, then, let us make a pact, you and I, that there may be a witness between you and me.

Laban does not want to recognize Jacob as an equal, as the head of a household, as a political entity in his own right. He does not respect Jacob’s marriage to Leah and Rachel, nor the possessions that he earned fair and square. If it were up to him, Laban would take it all for himself.

The only factor that brings Laban to the negotiating table, or the negotiating pillar, as it were, is God’s protection. Or, put a different way, Jacob’s power. Jacob is negotiating from a position of strength.

They assemble a pillar and a mound and strike a treaty, each side promising not to cross past the location, that is to say, the border, with ill intent. Now Jacob can return home. 

It seems to me that this story captures much of the experience of the Jewish people for the past two thousand years. Alone in the world, mistreated and taken advantage of by more powerful neighbors. Somehow managing to keep going despite it all, and only earning our seat at the table through strength. And let’s be clear, Jacob’s power is not one of military might. His is a spiritual strength and a cleverness, an understanding of human behavior and motivations.

As we tell the story of our people over the past two thousand years, we point to these qualities to explain how our ancestors managed to retain their identity despite so much oppression and persecution.

The past seventy five years has seen a change. For the first time since the Maccabees, Jews have been able to bring our physical might into the world. The state of Israel has survived, and thrived, because it has retained the spiritual and intellectual cleverness of Jacob, while adding military power.

As it turns out, that is what other nations respect. It is what has brought enemies to the negotiating table in the past.

The forces that would deny us are still loud. So called Anti-Zionism is nothing more than Laban telling Jacob “The daughters are my daughters, the children are my children, and the flocks are my flocks; all that you see is mine.” He denies Jacob’s right to be a political entity. There is no convincing Laban to see Jacob differently. But he can be forced to come to the negotiating table. Jacob is prepared to negotiate when he does. 

Returning to the beginning, has God’s promise to Jacob been fulfilled? God has protected Jacob during his exile. He has blessed him with wealth and family. He is now poised to reenter the Promised Land. We know that as the story continues, Jacob’s position will remain tenuous, and he will continue to struggle for recognition and respect for the rest of his life. He is grateful to God, and he wants—and demands—more.

This is where we still find ourselves. God’s promise is incomplete. Whether in the land or outside of it, we continue to struggle against those who deny our right to exist.

As for the return of our hostages, our Jewish family, such negotiations only succeed from a position of strength. It is not for me to judge whether the price was worth paying. I trust that those who make these decisions have more information than any of us.

Regardless, it is a time for thanks and relief, as well as for saying, “it is not enough,” redoubling our efforts to bring home those who remain in captivity. 

Disappointment and Thanks – Vayetze 5780

I got the idea for this D’var Torah from “Can We Be Grateful and Disappointed at the Same Time?” in The Heart of Torah, by Rabbi Shai Held, pp. 60-63.

It is no exaggeration to point out that the Torah pays much more attention to its male characters rather than its females.  Even when women do play a role in the story, there tend to be  fewer details and less character development.  So it is especially important for us to pay attention to our biblical heroines.

Let’s talk about Leah.  When we think of Leah, what comes to mind?

She is the older sister of Rachel. She is unloved. She has weak eyes. She has lots of children. Does she have any positive traits?

She is one of the Matriarchs.  But even we demote her.  Listen to our egalitarian siddurElohei Sarah, Elohei Rivkah, Elohei Rachel, v’Elohei Leah.  She comes last, even though she is older than her sister Rachel.  It’s like we are mentioning her name out of a sense of obligation.

Let’s see if we can learn more about Leah, who after all is one of our Matriarchs.  What does she teach us?

As the story opens, we hear about Rachel, who is beautiful and shapely.  Presumably, she has many suitors.  After all, Jacob falls in love with her as soon as he sees her.  Jacob agrees to work for seven years to win her hand.

Throughout this time, we hear about Leah only once.  The Torah tells us that Lavan had two daughters.  Leah has “weak eyes,” in contrast to Rachel, who is “shapely and beautiful.”  This brief description of the sisters foreshadows the events to follow. The ambiguous description of Leah’s weak eyes is ironic, given that Leah is the one whom others fail to see. 

In a society in which a daughter is only married by her father’s arrangement, it is safe to assume that Leah has never had a suitor.  Nobody has come asking for her hand.  Without deception, her father seems to think, he will never marry her off.  On the night on which Jacob is supposed to marry Rachel, Laban substitutes Leah.  

Leah is so invisible that Jacob does not even notice until the next morning.  How does he react?  Does he have anything kind to say after spending the night with Leah?  He does not utter a single word to his new wife.  Instead, he lets his father in law have it. “What is this you have done to me?  I was in your service for Rachel!  Why did you deceive me?”  (Genesis 29:25) He is furious.  We can picture the froth spraying out of Jacob’s mouth.

But what of Leah?  Imagine her feelings as she sits there shamed and embarrassed.  Leah already knows how little her father thinks of her.  Her husband has just confirmed that he shares those feelings. How heartbreaking.

A week later, Jacob marries Rachel.  The Torah wastes no time informing us that “Jacob cohabited with Rachel also; indeed, he loved Rachel more than Leah.”  (Genesis 29:30)

Then we catch the first glimpse of compassion, although it does not come from any human source.  “The Lord saw that Leah was unloved and He opened her womb; but Rachel was barren.”  (Genesis 29:31) She may be invisible to her father, her husband, and presumably her sister, but God sees Leah.

She names her firstborn son Reuven, offering two explanations for her choice:  “Ki ra’ah Adonai b’onyi—”The Lord has seen my affliction”—and ki atah ye’ehavani ishi—”Now my husband will love me.”  While the Torah tends not to describe the inner feelings of its characters, Leah’s sadness, disappointment, and desperation are all too clear. She has another son, whom she names ShimonKi shama Adonai ki-senuah anokhi—”For the Lord has heard that I am unloved.” Leah names her third son Levi, explaining atah hapa’am yilaveh ishi—”This time my husband will become attached to me.”

Notice the verbs she employs for her first three sons:  ra’ah, shamah, yilaveh.  See me.  Hear me.  Become attached to me. Leah, unloved, feels unseen, unheard, and untouched.  She is desparate for recognition.

Then she has a fourth son, whom she names Judah, YehudahHapa’am odeh et Adonai—”This time I will praise the Lord.” Something has changed.  The name Leah chooses does not reflect her suffering and disappointment.  Her home life is still the same.  Jacob still ignores her.  But she seems to have made peace with it.  With Yehudah, Leah offers her thanks to God.  She is begins to carry gratitude along with her disappointment.

In the Talmud (BT Berakhot 7b), Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai declares: From the moment when the Holy Blessed One created the world, there was not a single person who gave thanks to God until Leah came and thanked him by declaring, “This time I will praise the Lord.” This is not precisely true.  There have been others who have given thanks to God, and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai surely knows this.  So what is he getting at?

Rabbi Shai Held suggests that earlier expressions of thanks in the Torah all come from a place in which everything is wonderful.  According to the Midrash, Adam offers a prayer of thanks when he notices how perfectly assembled the human body is. Noah makes a sacrifice to God after he safely exits the ark on to dry land with his family and all the animals.

Leah, in contrast, is not happy with her situation.  Life is far from wonderful for her.  But for the first time, she is able to express appreciation alongside her disappointment. Emphasizing the lesson, this child, Yehudah, the child of gratitude, is the one who will rise above his brothers.  Even though he is the fourth born, Yehudah will step forward to be the leader in the negotiations with Joseph in Egypt. Yehudah, the tribe will become the dominant tribe in the South.  King David will come form Yehudah, and when the monarchy divides, Yehudah will transition into the southern kingdom.  Eventually, of course, Yehudah becomes the adopted national identity of the people of Israel, and today we call ourselves Yehudim.

We do not often think about the origins of that name, how it emerges out of a condition of sadness and disappointment.  But does it not express a fundamental truth of human existence?  Life is not how I expected or hoped it would be.  But in that incompleteness, I still strive to see the good, and to express gratitude.

The name Yehudah offers a fitting complement to the other name of the Jewish people, Yisrael, which Jacob receives after wrestling with the angel.  “You have striven with beings divine and human and prevailed.”  Life is a struggle.  To be a part of the children of Israel is to stay engaged with it.

Yehudah is about being able to hold thanks and disappointment in the same hand.  If we look at the long history of our people, we see that it is a fitting name indeed.  Has there ever been a time without disappointment?  Through it all, we have struggled to retain a sense of optimism, and to give thanks whenever the opportunity arises.

We learn this lesson from Leah Imeinu, our Matriarch—Leah.