OzTorah

The cast of characters in this week’s portion is both human and animal.

The Midrash looks at both categories and suggests elaborate data about each. One of its favourite subjects is the dove which No’ach sent out of the Ark. The Torah says, “The dove found no rest for the sole of its foot” (Gen. 8:9).

A Midrash in the Jerusalem Talmud asks, “Why are the people of Israel likened to the dove?”

This is how it answers: “As all other birds fly around, they get weary and need to rest on top of a tree or a rock, but the dove simply folds one of its wings and flies with the other”.

The lesson seems to be that Israel can never be still.

Is this what the rabbis mean when they say that there is no rest for the righteous, either in this world or the next?

One explanation of the Midrash about the dove is that Israel – the people and the State – can never afford to relax its guard but must be constantly alert and look after itself.

In a wider ethical sense it says that there is never a moment in world history when the forces of mischief die down, when the flood waters abate, when mankind is safe. Social and ethical problems never vanish from the stage of history.

The Jewish people as the source and agent of moral regeneration cannot relax. The struggle for peace, truth and justice must be fought at every hour of every day, whatever the enemy’s guise of the moment. After every deluge comes chaos and the need to rebuild and rehabilitate.

Israel’s values, visions and ethical energies will never be able to retreat into “rest for the sole of its foot”.

The first lessons that Man learned were how far he could go, both physically and metaphorically.

Physically he felt safe as long as the Garden of Eden lasted – but then came the expulsion which propelled him into an often unfriendly world.

Thereafter his physical adventures and experiences sometimes brought discovery and delight, sometimes doom and destruction.

Metaphorically he started with the moral bounds set by his Creator, but soon (if one may mix the metaphors) he tested the waters and attempted to break loose into areas that God had forbidden.

Why did he step out of line? The Torah says (Gen. 8:21): because “the inclination of his heart was ra min’urav”, which some translate, “evil from his youth”.

If that were correct it would suggest that man’s sins were inevitable, bound to happen, part of his make-up – and one wonders why he was punished simply for being himself.

But the translators had another option: to say that min’urav meant “because of his (moral) youth”.

He was not yet morally mature enough to handle his competing inclinations, the passions and energies which could lead him in opposing directions.

Only time and experience would teach him how to cope.

Q. Should we blame God for earthquakes, hurricanes, storms and tsunamis?

A. Judaism is not a doctrinal monolith but a work in progress. It accommodates a range of views, on most of which it constantly addresses and generally modifies tentative positions as they arise.

In relation to the age-old problem of evil, it works on two interconnected levels – the intellectual (“Can our minds understand the nature of God?”) and the pastoral (“Can we handle the reality of our pain?”).

Disaster comes in two forms: moral disaster and physical disaster. In the first category man typically uses his free will to bring harm to others, even to himself.

In this category we do not usually ask, “Why did God do this?”, but “Why did God allow this to happen?” This is a major problem, but different from your question.

It is hard to apply the name moral disaster to nature’s so-called “acts of God” which include earthquakes, hurricanes, storms and tsunamis. Conventional language calls them “acts of God” because they generally cannot be blamed on human beings.

If, however, we say they are brought about by God, we want to know His purpose.

If we deny that they were brought about by God, we imply that there are forces other than (and probably opposed to) Him.

Either this implies that He has abdicated and no longer bears responsibility for the world, which contradicts the constant Biblical assertion that He is the Lord of History and the world is not ownerless (hefker) – or it raises the dualistic thesis, which posits rival powers of Light and Darkness, Good and Evil: a view denied by Scripture, e.g. in Isaiah’s assertion that God creates both good and evil (Isa. 5:5-7).

The boundary between good and evil is fluid. Out of good can come evil and out of evil can come good (B’rachot ch. 9). Were it not for supposed “evil” urges, human progress would be impossible (Sukkah 52a). What we perceive as evil derives from God as does that which we call good.

Even that which we call evil is approved by the Creator: all that He made is called “very good” (Gen. 1:31; Onkelos translates the Hebrew tov me’od as takkin, stable, firm – part of the pattern of a functioning universe).

God is thus the power behind the phenomena of Nature, the force that produces storms (Psalm 29), earthquakes (Ezek. 3:12-13), and floods (Gen. 6). All are signs of His might.

But very often they produce suffering – pain to human beings, injury to the environment. Are we meant to say that the suffering too is “very good”?

It’s an age-old problem. Every time there is a disaster it rears its head.

Let’s look at some possible approaches:
1. “God sends the disasters as a punishment for sin.” If so, how can He be a good God? It is no comfort to say that He is punishing or warning the human race, because after Noah and the Flood, He promised not to do so, at least by means of a flood (Gen. 8:21-22).

2. Alternatively, “God has no control over the disasters”. If this is true, how can He be all-powerful? By definition God knows what He is doing (Deut.32:4) and nothing is too hard for Him.

3. “Man causes some of the disasters because he doesn’t protect the environment properly.” But God has some control even though He gave man free will; why doesn’t He step in and stop the disaster from causing such harm? What about disasters which man could not have predicted or prevented? Can’t God create a miracle like the parting of the Red Sea (Ex.15)?

4. “We don’t know the answer – but this doesn’t absolve us from helping to alleviate the suffering.” Emil Fackenheim and others say our task is not to understand but to respond. This may be true – but doesn’t it let God off the hook?

5. Many sources (e.g. Psalm 91:15) say that God shares our pain. Harold Kushner says that He sits shivah with us, joining us in lamenting the tragedy. He is on our side, but doesn’t He feel even a little guilty?

6. “It’s not a perfect world.” The Emunah Ramah of Abraham ibn Daud and others have a concept of “plenitude” which says that God has no duty to create a perfect world; there are built-in fault-lines, and disasters are bound to happen. However, regardless of what God is or is not obligated to do, chapter 1 of Genesis constantly states that He called his Creation good. Nothing is said about defects or flaws.

7. Disasters must be seen in perspective. There is more good than evil in the world. God gives us many blessings which we should recognise and enjoy and not constantly complain about what we lack.

8. Just as we humans have to improve ourselves and our world in order to be ready for the Redemption, so God has to do His part to improve things in order to bring about the End of Days (cf. Ezek. 38:19-20).

One day we might come closer to an answer to the problem. In the meantime we are still crying, still seeking understanding and assurance.

Q. Why do we read the same Torah over and over again every single year?

A. I once asked the question of one of my teachers.

He said that as far as he was concerned, reading the same Torah passages inspired him to study the material each year through the eyes of a different commentator. This year it might be Rashi, next year Ramban, then Ibn Ezra and so on.

There is so much rabbinic literature that one is not likely to run out of commentators, but one can always go back and find new insights in the commentators one looked at in the past.

A Chassidic rebbe had a slightly different approach, though in his case the question that he was answering was rather different.

He was asked about the confession of sins on Yom Kippur.

Why, said the questioner, do I beat my breast every Yom Kippur and confess my sins, and end up committing the same sins all over again the following year?

The rebbe took the questioner over to the window.

“Do you see the little child playing in the garden?” he asked.

“He is my grandson. He is just learning to walk. He stands up and then falls over. Finally he will learn how to stand up properly and how to walk without falling. In the meantime he cries and his parents come running. Eventually he will manage on his own!”

So it is with us. Every year we read the same Torah. We discover how to live our lives. In time we succeed in living by the laws of justice, truth and humanity.

In the meantime we need the annual reminder, and when we cry out to God He comes to our aid.

Q. Where does the name Simchat Torah come from?

A. Simchat Torah is really the second day of Sh’mini Atzeret (the day after Sukkot), which is why the Kiddush and other prayers refer to it as “this eighth-day festival of assembly”.

Developing an idea from the Sefer HaManhig of Rabbi Abraham Ibn Yar’chi (13th century), one might say that Rosh HaShanah helps us to make peace with God, Yom Kippur with our own soul, Sukkot with our home, Sh’mini Atzeret with nature and Simchat Torah with the Torah.

Each occasion is a simchah.

The one that concludes the series equips us to know how to maintain each of the treaties.

When we study the Torah and live by its precepts, we remain on good terms with God, keep our soul in good shape, have a firm basis of family and community, have good relations with nature, and cherish the Torah that gives our life meaning.

Historically, the Simchah part of the name probably comes from the ancient Sukkot traditions, especially Simchat Bet HaSho’evah, “The Festivity of the Water-Drawing” of ancient times (Mishnah Sukkah 5:1).

As our ancestors encircled the altar on Sukkot, so do we encircle the bimah carrying the Torah scrolls. We rejoice in and with them, happy that we have concluded the yearly readings and can at once re-commence the cycle.

It is thus Simchat Torah, our rejoicing over the Torah – or possibly it is the Torah’s rejoicing over the Jewish people, who remain faithful to their tradition despite every temptation to weaken in and even, God forbid, abandon it.

The name Simchat Torah was probably unknown before the Middle Ages. It is first mentioned by Rav Hai Gaon in the 11th century.

Alternative names were Yom HaB’rachah (Day of Blessing, because on it we read the final blessing which Moses gave Israel before he died), and Chag HaSiyyum (Festival of Conclusion – either the conclusion of the Torah or that of the festival of Sukkot).