OzTorah

He sends Eliezer back to the family’s homeland in order to find a suitable wife for Isaac, showing the importance of choosing a partner from one’s own people.

Eliezer chooses Rebekah for her gentleness and kindness, indicating that it is not just good looks but good character that one should look for in a wife or husband.

Rebekah is asked whether she wants to marry Eliezer’s master’s son; marriage is too important to be foisted on anyone without their consent.

Why is it the man who takes the initiative to find the woman?

The sages say (Kidd. 20a) that because Adam’s rib was taken in order to create Eve, a man goes in due course “to find the lost treasure: the treasure does not go looking for him”. Hence the choice of Rebekah is the discovery of the soul-mate destined for Isaac from the time of creation.

The first steps in making the marriage of Isaac and Rebekah are rational; next comes the emotional thrill of seeing the dream come true.

As Eliezer and Rebekah approach home, Isaac is out in the field – meditating, according to the text; praying, in the view of the sages – and Rebekah sees him and the rest is history.

But the Torah text is careful not to say that they fall in love and then marry. Instead, it tells us that Isaac marries her and (thereafter) he loves her.

Their life together has its moments of tension, but they love each other to the end. In that respect it is truly a marriage made in heaven.

Euripides remarked, “Marry and, with luck, it may go well. But when a marriage fails, then those who marry live in hell”…

Marriage can be wedlock, a couple happy in a world of their own – or a padlock, where they feel they are chained and imprisoned, and only want out.

Much depends on whether the couple decide to make marriage a lifetime career, with a commitment to remain in the marriage and work it out if problems arise.

Assessing Abraham in old age, the Torah says, “HaShem had blessed him with all” (Gen. 24:1). What was the nature of his blessing?

The sages offer many theories. The most obvious is that Abraham had material possessions – flocks, herds, and whatever else was highly esteemed in those days. But the Yalkut’s interpretation is, Avraham hayah mevarech et hakkol – “Abraham blessed all (other people)”. His blessing was that he brought blessing to others.

The message is important for Australia a year after the Pauline Hanson phenomenon emerged*.

Yes, she is unimportant in herself, with no proven record of research, responsible consultation or acknowledged wisdom. Yes, the nations that criticise Australia because of her racist views often have unclean hands themselves. But the fact is that nowhere in Australian society should views such as hers find a home or reception.

What should we as Jews be doing? We have been blessed in Australia; we have always tried to bring blessing to Australia. Our duty today is to stand up, speak up and show up intolerance and inhumanity.

There were times in history when we needed voices to speak up for us, and they did not always come. Precisely because we know what it is to be denied a fair go, we must exert ourselves to speak for indigenous Australians and whatever groups in Australian society need our care and concern.

If Australians on all sides respond to racism in this fashion we will deserve the blessings we enjoy.

* This article was first published in 1997.

Q. Is a lawn cemetery permissible in Jewish law?

A. Yes, subject to the following conditions, quoted from a ruling by Chief Rabbi Lord Jakobovits:

1. The whole of the grave space must be clearly marked and identified.

2. Each grave should be indicated by at least a small headstone which can be flat and on a level with the grass.

3. The cutting of the grass over the grave must be carried out in such a manner that no human feet step on any part of the grave although they can step over it.

4. No benefit is to be derived from anything removed from the grave, so that grass cuttings taken therefrom should be burnt or otherwise destroyed.

Q. In your opinion, what is the best time of the year?

A. It can’t be winter, because I don’t enjoy the cold or the driving rain, even though some people say that your mind works best in cool weather (they argue that that’s why the summery Pacific Islands have not produced many great thinkers).

It can’t be summer, even though I like the sunshine and the warmth.

I don’t have a very high opinion of autumn, because I don’t like seeing the days get shorter and the environment look increasingly gloomier.

This doesn’t leave me with much choice. By a process of elimination I have no option but to say I like the spring.

But actually I do like springtime, because it’s the time of year that is full of hope, promise and potential, and because that’s when nature’s at its best.

I think that’s a Jewish as well as a personal answer. I know the sages say (Mishnah Avot 3:9) that you shouldn’t break off your studies to remark on the beauties of nature, but they didn’t take their own advice seriously.

Rashi says (on Ex. 13:4) that it was kind of God to redeem the Children of Israel in spring when it is pleasant weather, and we can add that redemption and springtime both symbolise a new beginning.

The Talmud says (Shab. 88b) that when the Torah was given, the world was filled with springtime perfume. Shir HaShirim too praises the time of year when nature is fragrant (5:13).

Roll on the spring!

The words are from Abraham’s time, but the thought is ageless: “Shall the Judge of all the earth not act justly?” (Gen. 18:25).

The way God runs the world is not always easy to fathom. So often it just doesn’t seem fair.

Yehudah HaLevi offers an answer in his Kuzari: the creation as a whole is good, and everyone can see it. So any particular Divine act must be part of an overall pattern of good, and if we can not see the goodness in a specific moment it may be because our vision is too limited.

Other philosophers have their own approach; indeed every philosopher has to tackle the question sooner or later, and the range of philosophical explanations is vast.

But Rav Soloveitchik makes an important distinction between moments that can be approached philosophically and moments that can’t.

When a real human being is in pain it does not help to start with philosophical analyses of the problem of evil. At that moment it is all too cold, too analytical, too academic.

Someone has died: is that a time to say dispassionately that death is a universal human experience and sooner or later everyone must die?

Try talking like that and you’ll deserve the rebuke, “Yes, yes, but why was it my mother (or father or spouse or sibling or child) that God had to take, and why did it have to happen this way, and why did it have to happen now?”

There is a time for philosophy, but there is also a time for quiet, sympathetic companionship – there is a time for talking, and a time simply for being there.