For most Bible readers, Jesus’ status as the “Son of God” describes his divinity. Conversely, when Jesus calls himself the “Son of Man” the title seems to denote his humanity. Yet, it’s usually the other way around: “son of God” is a phrase for a human being, and “son of man” describes divinity.
On the surface, it would seem to make sense that “son of God” would be a moniker that marks one’s affinity to God or divine status. For instance, when Peter says of Yeshua, “You are the Messiah (Χριστὸς; Christos), the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16), one would expect that Peter refers to his divinity. But these titles do not denote divinity in Israel’s Scriptures. The Hebrew term “Messiah” (משׁיח; Mashiach), or “Christ” in Greek, means “anointed one,” and this same language appears in the Psalms to describe the earthly Davidic king who is also called God’s son. The psalmist says that the nations set themselves “against the Lord and against his anointed one (משׁיחו; mashicho)” (Ps 2:2), and this anointed king responds, “The Lord said to me, ‘You are myson (בני; beni); today I have begotten you” (2:7). Thus, when Peter calls Jesus the Messiah and Son of God, he is making a declaration about Jesus’ royal status as David’s descendant.
The same reference to royalty holds for God’s description of Solomon. While it will be David who has a son, the Lord assumes fatherhood over the earthly king, saying, “I will be his father, and he shall be my son (בני; beni)” (2 Samuel 7:14). Elsewhere in the Bible, sonship under God doesn’t include any insinuation of divinity. For instance, Exodus describes the entire people of Israel as the son of God when the Lord tells Moses, “Israel is my firstborn son (בני בכרי; beni bekhori)” (Exod 4:22). To give an example from the Gospels, Luke’s genealogy ends a long list of fathers and their sons with “Adam [son] of God” (Lk 3:38), but the evangelist does not imply that Adam was divine. Instead, “son of God” is a title for individuals who have a close relationship with God, but who are not deific themselves.
On the other hand, “son of man” (or “son of humanity”) sounds like it should describe a terrestrial human being. After all, God calls the earthly Ezekiel “son of man” (בן אדם; ben adam) almost a hundred times (e.g., Ezek 2:1-8; 3:1-25), so shouldn’t Jesus’ self-application of “son of man” mean the same thing? But Ezekiel is written in Hebrew, and Jesus would have spoken Aramaic. While the two languages are related, “son of man” means something very different in the Aramaic text of Daniel than it does in the Hebrew Ezekiel. In a night vision, Daniel sees “one like a son of man” (בר אנשׁ; bar enash) approaching the heavenly throne on the clouds and receiving divine “dominion and glory” from God (Dan 7:13-14). In Aramaic, “son of man” denotes divinity. This why the high priest charges Yeshua with blasphemy when Jesus says, “You will see the Son of Man (υἱὸν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου; huiòn tou anthrópou) seated at the right hand of Power and coming with the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14:62). It was not blasphemous for someone to assert that he was the “Messiah” or “son of the Blessed,” as the priest puts it (Mk 14:61)—he knew these terms were used of mortal men in their Scriptures—but for Jesus to equate himself with Daniel’s divine “son of man” was a step too far.
To modern Bible readers, it may seem paradoxical that “son of man” denoted divinity and “son of God” meant a mortal. Jesus is both “Son of God” and “Son of Man”—human and divine—but the meaning of these titles isn’t necessarily self-evident today. In the ancient biblical world, things are not always what they seem! Luckily, a look into Scripture’s Jewish languages and contexts can illuminate its original intent.
In order to read Paul’s allegory in the way it has been read for centuries by the Church, some beliefs had to be presupposed: First, Ishmael was just a byproduct on the way to Isaac, and only Isaac was essential in God’s plan; secondly, the Sinai Covenant (and Old Testament) was just a byproduct on the way to the New Covenant, and only the New Covenant was essential in God’s plan. In this scenario, Galatians 4 can really be read as an allegory of bad and good—as an equation where the byproducts all point only to the final, essential parts. This two-dimensional, linear, reading sees only two parallel lines in Paul’s text: the Ishmael–Isaac line and the Sinai Covenant/New Covenant line, where the latter and better parts replace the former “imperfect” ones. Sadly, many traditional Christian commentators throughout history have read these verses in precisely such a way, using this allegory as a “biblical” means of rejecting the importance of the Sinai covenant, Torah, and Israel.
Yet, we can’t ignore Paul’s text, even though it is not an easy one. We need to understand exactly what Paul meant by it and not be discouraged or misled by traditional Christian interpretation. Yes, it has been read and interpreted wrongly for centuries, but there are many verses in Scripture that have been read and interpreted wrongly for centuries, and we cannot ignore them or fear them simply because of this centuries-long misinterpretation. It is time to restore the original interpretation—it is time for a paradigm shift.
Personally, I believe there is much more to this passage than a simple two-dimensional allegory, as the Church has commonly viewed it. Let’s turn to an analogy from geometry: try placing a three-dimensional figure on a flat surface – lumpy and bulging, it will never be able to shed the additional dimension. Of course, this analogy is limited: it’s impossible to compare a revelation from the living God to a lifeless geometric figure. Yet, it gives us a glimpse of this ‘additional’ dimension which is always present when comparing the revelations of God with the logic of men. It gives us a sense of the multi-dimensional character of God’s truths, which can only be confined to the flat and two-dimensional plane of our understanding in such a way that renders them devoid of their original volume.
I think this has been the main problem with this text all along: Although all Scripture undoubtedly has additional ‘dimensions’ beyond our human reading and comprehension, some especially significant and prophetic pieces just refuse to fit into two-dimensional human interpretation, and therefore cannot be understood without revelation. Paul’s allegory is one such text. That is why we need to approach it with awe and humility—seeking to restore the original dimensions, volume, and meaning that the Lord intended to be there in the first place.
It’s like seeing a hologram instead of drawing. First, you are absolutely overwhelmed with this additional dimension, this unexpected and surprising depth in something that you expected to see as flat and two-dimensional. Then, gradually you begin to distinguish the details that you never knew were there. And if, instead of a flat linear comparison between the sons and the covenants—where “the better son” replaces the first one, and “the better covenant” replaces the old one—we begin to perceive a multi-dimensional piece of God’s revelation, we have to be very careful in order not to devoid it of its original volume, and in order to distinguish the details!
Paul opens his text with the statement: “Abraham had two sons.” We have every reason to believe that this statement is extremely important to him—and to God. Once again, we need a paradigm shift here. There are two columns in this allegory. Therefore, we need to see a dual pattern in this text, which is completely different from the traditional parallel linear reading we just spoke about (where “the better son” replaces the first one, and “the better covenant” replaces the old one). Imagine a family tree with two lines coming down from the father: The different sons have different families, and each should be presented as a separate branch of this tree. In no family tree would one son replace the other. The same is true here: Abraham’s two sons have two completely different families and destinies, and the family tree, with its two branches, reflects this—but it still has to have two branches, not one!
Yes, Abraham had two sons, therefore, God’s plan cannot include only one. The prophetic picture would not be complete if there were only one son. Any picture of God’s plan for humanity is one-sided and incomplete if Ishmael and his descendants are not part of the picture. The same is true of the covenants: They both belong in the picture of God’s plan, just as both sons belong in Abraham’s family tree. We cannot see it if we read Paul’s text as just a linear and progressive comparison. However, once we restore the original meaning and the original volume, once we change the paradigm, and once we see a hologram and not a drawing, we can recognize that both sons are there, and both covenants are also there.
Indeed, we must be very clear regarding the objective of Paul’s allegory: He is trying to explain to his readers (mostly Gentiles, but also some Jewish believers) the relationship between the two covenants, not the relationship between Sarah and Hagar or Isaac and Ishmael. The personages from Genesis are just symbols for Paul. They are the constants in the equation he is building; the unknown in this equation is the relationship between the covenants. However, today we were able to establish the fact that Paul’s allegory has two columns: just as Abraham had two sons, and one does not replace the other, the same is true of the covenants—there are two covenants, but the latter does not replace the former. Next time, we will try to answer some difficult questions raised by this text: for example, why and how does Hagar symbolize the Sinai Covenant? And, are there any hints in the Hagar/Ishmael story that allude to Paul’s allegory?
Today is our Independence Day and it is my great joy and privilege to congratulate my readers on Israel’s 74th Birthday. Most of my readers, for years or even decades, have been faithfully interceding for the Land and the people – have been standing together with Israel and the God of Israel. Therefore, this is also your joy and your celebration!
Some of you probably know that our Independence Day starts immediately after our Memorial Day. Yom HaZikaron, the Day of Remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror, is a national day of mourning – and considering the disproportionately high number of orphaned families, a tally almost impossible to fathom for a country as tiny as ours, one can only imagine how heart-wrenching this day is. Therefore, one of the most peculiar experiences one can have in Israel is this incredibly jarring transition from the most difficult, the most tragic day of the year, to the most joyful and festive day of the year! It is hard enough that these two days follow one another, but if I remind you that in Israel the day starts at sunset, this transition becomes almost surreal. “And there was evening, and there was morning” – Yom HaZikaron, Memorial Day, the most difficult day in Israel’s year: memories, ceremonies, sirens, tears; and then, once again: And there was evening, and there was morning – and with tears still lingering in the eyes, the country is plunged into the festivities of Independence Day.
Of course, a lot of questions could be asked on these special days, all of them pertaining to the Israel/Arab, or Isaac/Ishmael relationship. Shouldn’t we look for answers in Scripture? Shouldn’t we try to recognize the biblically-based, spiritual reality in the everyday lives of these two different peoples, who are both incredibly close and incredibly hostile at the same time? I have written several times that I believe that God speaks to us, even today, through weekly Torah portions – and sometimes, when the Parashah seems especially important, I feel prompted to talk about it. This is the case with last week’s Torah Portion, Acherey Mot, and it is against the Memorial and Independence days’ background that we approach this portion today.
The mysterious Leviticus 16 discusses the special Yom Kippur service in the Tabernacle and in the Temple. The chapter describes the highlights of this service: the sacrifice of a goat for a sin offering, the High Priest’s confession on behalf of Israel, his entry into the Holy of Holies, and the dispatching of the Azazel Goat. Let us read those verses together:
He shall take the two goats and present them before the Lord at the door of the tabernacle of meeting. Then Aaron shall cast lots for the two goats: one lot for the Lord and the other lot for the scapegoat. And Aaron shall bring the goat on which the Lord’s lot fell, and offer it as a sin offering. But the goat on which the lot fell to be the scapegoat shall be presented alive before the Lord, to make atonement upon it, and to let it go as the scapegoat into the wilderness.
Sin and guilt offerings were common in ancient Israel, but this ceremony was absolutely unique. Why is this so? As Charles Feinberg wrote, “no more significant truths could possibly engage the mind of the believer than those set forth in this chapter of Leviticus.” So, what is the meaning of this ceremony? And what is the connection between Leviticus 16 and our Independence Day?
There are many commentaries on Leviticus 16 – both Jewish and Christian. Today, however, I want you to see the profound connection that, for some reason, has been overlooked for centuries. Years ago, I was writing a book about Abraham’s sons, Isaac and Ishmael – and to my great surprise, in order to unlock the ancient mystery of Abraham and his two sons, God had led me to the scriptural key of Leviticus 16. Before that book, I had spent a lot of time contemplating he sacrifice of Isaac in Genesis 22. However, when I started to write the book, I began to see Genesis 21 side by side with Genesis 22. I started to realize that Abraham had to sacrifice both sons; that there were actually not one, but two sacrifices in the old patriarch’s life; that Genesis 21 – the banishment of Ishmael – was also extremely tortuous and painful for Abraham and was just as much about sacrifice as Genesis 22. Of course, there is no point of comparison; we cannot ask Abraham whether Genesis 21 or 22 was more difficult for him, or which devastated him the most. The two sons of Abraham were chosen for two completely different destinies, and therefore these two chapters are very different. Still, both chapters speak about sacrifice, and nothing makes this more clear and convincing than Leviticus 16!
I was absolutely stunned when I saw the incredible resemblance between Leviticus 16 and Genesis 21 and 22. How perfectly Abraham’s double sacrifice is reflected in the sacrifice of the two goats! Abraham had to sacrifice two sons: one was sent into the wilderness, the other offered as a burnt offering. Likewise, the High Priest had to sacrifice two goats: one was sent into the wilderness, the other, burned as an offering.
How do I know that this connection, between Genesis 21-22 and Leviticus 16, is not just something far-fetched by my imagination? Well, I do have solid proof of this connection. As most of you know, the High Holidays are the crucial points in the Israel calendar year. These days, starting from Rosh HaShanah and ending with Yom Kippur, are very important for almost everybody in Israel – and they are clearly very important to God. Therefore, it’s impossible to ignore the amazing fact that the Rosh Hashanah reading consists of Genesis 21 and 22, while the Yom Kippur reading is Leviticus 16. It does make this connection very clear, doesn’t it?
Leviticus 16 might help us understand better the Isaac-Ishmael dynamic. A scapegoat was sent out alive into the wilderness while another was sacrificed! In this sense, Ishmael should be happy that he is not the one chosen for death. I often think that if Genesis 22 had come before Genesis 21, the whole history of humankind might have been completely different: Instead of envy and jealousy, Ishmael would have had compassion toward his brother and gratitude for his own destiny. The terrible hostility and tension that have marked a large part of the Isaac-Ishmael relationship might not have been there from the outset. However, this is not the case, and we might ask, why? Why are these crucial chapters set in this particular order?
I do believe that this reversed order is part of the mystery the Lord wants to reveal to us here – and you can read my book in order to uncover this mystery. One of the main themes of this book is that of restoring what was broken and making it whole again. That’s why I turn to Scripture: we do need a spiritual X-ray here. Yes, of course, real life is much more complex and multi-faceted than a biblical story, but isn’t that the case with an X-ray as well? A person is much more complex and unique than his or her X-ray shows: we see no personal features on an X-ray; we can’t recognize the individual by his X-ray, – and yet, an X-ray is definitely needed in order to see what must be healed: to see where the fracture is and what should be done to heal it. The broken has to be healed! Abraham had two sons—and the family picture will not be complete until they are both in this picture. These are my thoughts on our Independence Day.
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Passover & Elijah: Ushering in the Great Redemption
It is a Passover tradition to have an extra place at the seder table for the prophet Elijah. I saw a Passover haiku (form of short poetry) which read:
On Passover we Opened the door for Elijah Now our cat is gone.
It’s a fun part of the celebration to expect Elijah at this time: we leave the door open, call his name, and prepare a place for him in expectation. Why? What has Elijah got to do with Passover? He came about 500 years after the Exodus from Egypt. The first Passover is thought to have happened over three thousand years ago, and Elijah was taken from the earth in 849 BC. How did he get mixed up in all of this?
Elijah ushers in the Great Redemption
Understanding Elijah’s part in Passover is impossible if we do not understand the Jewish concept of ‘geula’ or redemption (גאולה).
The theme of redemption is central to the Feast of Passover, as Israel was set free from slavery. However, both Jews and Christians can all agree that the feast prophetically points to another level of redemption to come. It lays down a pattern for the Ultimate Redemption.
Christians interpret this, by and large, to be the pivotal weekend when the Messiah redeemed us from sin by surrendering His life to be our Passover Lamb. Jewish people, on the other hand, look to the “Great and Terrible Day of the Lord”, when the Messiah will come to rule and reign.
But could it be that both are right?
Christians often think Jewish people are missing a trick or two in their expectation that the Messiah would come to crush their enemies, but that’s because Christians forget that that’s exactly what the Bible describes over and over again. The second coming of Jesus is woven all through the Old Testament—not just the book of Revelation. The reason Jewish people expect a mighty warrior is because that is what has been promised.
The Messiah is coming with a winnowing fork to sort the wheat from the chaff, and the future for the chaff is not looking good. All of us who love righteousness long for Him to come and put things right—to establish His kingdom rule and do away with wickedness. The only reason for delay is to extend the chance for the wicked to repent and be saved. Ismar Schorsch from the Jewish Theological Seminary puts it like this:
With the door ajar, we intone four verses that call upon God to visit those who have afflicted Jews with retribution. In the contemporary Seder, the moment lends itself to remembering the obscenity of the Holocaust… The impact of historical events on the mood of the Haggadah merely rendered what was implicit explicit. The original matrix had been set long before by the haftarah: a second redemption would right the wrongs of history.1
And that’s what all creation is groaning for: wrong to be put right by our loving Creator.
On the Shabbat before Passover, the reading (the haftarah) comes from Malachi chapters 3 and 4. Schorsch explains that the choice of this haftarah from Malachi added a messianic undertone, bringing messianic anticipation to the celebration as well as the comfort of looking back on what God has done.
Passover looks back on God’s redemption of Israel when He delivered us from Egypt, but also forwards to the Great Redemption of the whole world which is yet to come.
Here’s how Malachi chapter 3 begins:
“Behold, I am sending My messenger, and he will clear the way before Me.Suddenly He will come to His Temple—the Lord whom you seek—and the Messenger of the covenant—the One whom you desire—behold, He is coming.” (Malachi 3:1)
Guess who the messenger is who will come and prepare the way? Elijah. His identity is revealed at the end of the book.
“Behold, I am going to send you Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and terrible day of Adonai. He will turn the hearts of fathers to the children, and the hearts of children to their fathers—else I will come and strike the land with utter destruction.” (Malachi 4:5-6)
Jesus identified John the Baptist as fulfilling this prophecy (Matthew 11:14). John the Baptist indeed fulfilled the herald’s role, preparing the way for the Messiah, and John himself understood his role was that prophesied in Malachi, echoing the words about winnowing and burning away the chaff:
“As for me, I immerse you in water for repentance. But the One coming after me is mightier than I am; I am not worthy to carry His sandals. He will immerse you in the Ruach ha-Kodesh [Holy Spirit] and fire. His winnowing fork is in His hand, and He shall clear His threshing floor and gather His wheat into the barn; but the chaff He shall burn up with inextinguishable fire.” (Matthew 3:11-12)
The fact that Jesus did not come bearing a winnowing fork disqualified him in the sight of many Jewish people, but as we know, much of Scripture carries both the “now” and the “not yet” at the same time.
Yes, John the Baptist was Elijah. Yes, Jesus is the Messiah who came 2000 years ago to bring redemption. But yes, there is more to come: Elijah will precede the second coming of the Messiah, who will usher in his kingdom rule and fulfil the longing of our hearts.
He will redeem all things to himself. His first coming did not involve the burning of chaff that John proclaimed, but his second will.
Promises for Israel
Who can endure the day of His coming? Or who can stand when He appears? For He will be like a refiner’s fire, and like soap for cleaning raw wool. And He will sit as a smelter or a purifier of silver, and He will cleanse the sons of Levi, and purify them like gold or silver. Then they will become for Adonai those who present an offering in righteousness. (Malachi 3:2-3)
In this passage we see God making promises to Israel which have not yet come to pass. He promises to purify Israel, and that they will be pleasing to Him once again. He promises not to consume Israel in judgement, and also that they will be back in the land, being a blessing to the whole earth.
“All the nations will call you blessed. For you will be a land of delight.” (v.12)
“So they shall be Mine,”—says Adonai-Tzva’ot—“in the day I make My own special possession. So I will spare them, as one spares his son serving him.” (v.17)
Clearly, these things are still to come. At the moment, the nations rage and we are warned that eventually all will turn against Israel (Zechariah 12:3). Yet this promise to be globally recognized as a blessing will one day come to pass. We also see similar promises of redemption and transformation of Israel in relation to the world throughout the prophets, in Isaiah, Ezekiel and Zechariah.
The beginnings of redemption
In Jewish expectation, the beginnings of the geula, the Messianic expectancy, will inevitably involve sufferings, troubles and wars for Israel… as well as the physical restoration to the land of Israel before the Messiah is to come. There is also the expectation of national salvation, a conviction that Paul the Apostle shared:
For I do not want you, brothers and sisters, to be ignorant of this mystery—lest you be wise in your own eyes—that a partial hardening has come upon Israel until the fullness of the Gentiles has come in; and in this way all Israel will be saved, as it is written,
“The Deliverer shall come out of Zion. He shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob. And this is My covenant with them, when I take away their sins.”
Concerning the Good News, they are hostile for your sake; but concerning chosenness, they are loved on account of the fathers— for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. (Romans 11:25-29)
This certainty of God’s irrevocable promise to Israel still stands.
“For I am Adonai. I do not change, so you, children of Jacob, are not consumed. From the days of your ancestors you have turned aside from My statutes, and have not kept them. Return to Me, and I will return to you.” (Malachi 3:6-7)
When the people of Israel have regathered to their land, when Jerusalem calls out to their Messiah “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord”, the Messiah will come. But not for the first time – He said He would return. And He will put all things right. Prepare the way of the Lord!
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It certainly feels this way if you understand Hebrew. For instance, at the end of the story, when Tamar brings out Judah’s personal items, she says, “Discern, I pray thee”(הַכֶּר־נָ֔א). This expression, הַכֶּר־נָ֔א – discern, recognize, appears only twice in the entire Torah, and can you guess where it is first used? Right in the previous chapter, when the brothers bring Joseph’s coat to Jacob and say, “Discern please whether it be thy son’s coat”.
The deceiver was deceived! Judah’s heart was pierced by these words and by the realization of his own sin that came back to him in these words. The eyes of his heart were opened, he confessed and repented – and amazingly, all this can be seen in the Hebrew text. When Tamar dressed up as a prostitute to trap Judah, she was waiting “at the entrance to Eynaim”, a name that doesn’t mean anything in English. In Hebrew, however,Petach Eynaim means the Opening of the Eyes.
See the hidden messages of the Scriptures
Thus, the message of the story of Judah and Tamar can only be fully understood in Hebrew – or at least, with Hebrew. This is the story of Judah’s change of heart, of the opening of the eyes of his heart. Torah wants us to know that the Judah that comes to Egypt is a very different person from the Judah who sold his brother.
For the last two weeks, we have been watching the people of Israel building the Tabernacle. This sanctuary was to accompany the Jewish people throughout their long journey in the wilderness and was to be set up in the Land of Israel when they eventually arrived there. Finally, in the very last chapter of the book of Exodus, it is finished. And then—what happens next?
Then the cloud covered the tabernacle. A thick cloud covered the newly built Sanctuary. Because of this cloud, Moshe himself was unable to enter the Sanctuary. Can you imagine? After all the effort which had gone into this building, it was covered by a cloud and seemed to be totally inaccessible and totally useless.
Of course, we all know now that it was God’s presence, not just a cloud! However, think of the moment when it first happened: how could they know exactly what this cloud was? Oh yes, I am certain that Moshe had faith, that he didn’t doubt or question God, but I am also quite sure that there were many there who were grumbling, wondering why in the world they had spent so much time building the very thing that now seemed to be so useless, so inaccessible.
We also have this choice: to recognize the presence of God, the hand of God, the voice of God—or to just see a cloud interfering with our plans, something that ‘just happened’ to us. In an amazing way, like everything in Torah, this choice is reflected by the very first word of the book – VaYikra. In the original Hebrew text, the word Vayikra has one specific feature: it’s written with a miniature aleph at the end. There are three sizes of letters in Torah – regular, oversized and miniature – and every time we see a letter of a different size, we should look for a profound explanation. So, why do we have this miniature aleph here?
Our sages have offered different explanations, but here is the one that I absolutely love. The Hebrew word “VaYikra” without the aleph would read “VaYiker,” which means, “and it happened”. There is a huge and truly ontological difference between the worldview based on Vayikra “and He called,” and the worldview based on VaYiker “and it happened”—between seeing just a cloud making the Mishkan inaccessible, and recognizing His very presence covering the Tabernacle. Our sages say that when the Red Sea split, all the seas in the world split at the same time—because the Lord always leaves us the choice to perceive His miracles as just some natural events. While we are here on this earth, everything, absolutely everything, can be seen as something that ‘just happened,’ as opposed to something that He called into being. However, faith knows that there is a little aleph beyond everything that ‘just happens’ —and it is this aleph that makes all the difference and reminds us of God’s hidden ways.
The Spiritual Topography
The book of VaYikra (Leviticus) is placed in the very center of the Torah: there are two books before, and two books after. There is so much action before Leviticus— all the wonderful events and stories of Genesis and Exodus, all the great narratives that make for such dramatic and colorful pictures in children’s Bibles. There is also some action after this book, in Numbers and in Deuteronomy, although the very tone of the stories of the last two books is completely different from the first two. However, here, in VaYikra, there is almost no narrative, and virtually no action—everything stands still here.
Rashi says: “Thirteen times in the Torah, God spoke to Moses and Aaron together, and corresponding to them were thirteen other occasions where God spoke only to Moses.” This is one of those times. Here God speaks to Moses only. I imagine when God first began speaking here, that Moses was confused, perplexed, even dismayed for a time. It’s not that he had never heard His voice before this book – by the time we enter this book, Moses is already a great and accomplished leader who knows very well the voice of the Lord and has done amazing things for Him and with Him. He had just led the people out of Egypt, received the Ten Commandments, completed building the Tabernacle, and I suppose, after all these activities, he was ready to just go on. I’m sure he expected the Lord to keep giving him some practical guidance and instructions: “Lord, what do you want me to do next? What do you want me to build for you? Where do you want us to go?” But there is no going or building in VaYikra. Instead, the Lord speaks of sacrifice.
Do you know that in Hebrew, the root karav ((קדב), from which the words lehakreev, to sacrifice, and korban, sacrifice, are formed, is the very same root that forms the word lehitkarev, to come near, to draw near, to come closer. Yes, it is that simple: if you want lehitkarev leElohim—to come closer to God—you have to learn lehakreev, to sacrifice. The entire book of Leviticus (VaYikra) is about that. And only when we learn to sacrifice, does the real closeness, the true intimacy with God, come.
We have another reminder of God’s hidden ways on this Shabbat. This Shabbat is again one of those Special Shabbatot that are referred to by a special name: “Shabbat Zachor”. Shabbat Zachor (“Sabbath [of] remembrance שבת זכור) is the Shabbat immediately preceding Purim. On this Shabbat, at the end of the Torah Portion, we read Deuteronomy 25:17-19: “Remember what Amalek did to you on the way when you went out of Egypt…“
Deuteronomy 25:17 describes an incident in Exodus 17:8-16, just after the children of Israel crossed the sea. On the third day of their travelling in the wilderness, the army of Amalek attacked them. Miraculously, the Jewish people defeated the Amalekites; however, what does that have to do with Purim, that happened almost a thousand years later, and what must we remember?
And here we are back again to that little aleph – to God’s hidden ways. Parashat Zachor is read on the Shabbat before Purim because the story of Purim actually began hundreds of years before Esther, with Saul and Agag. This was a hidden beginning: Haman was a descendent of Agag and a descendant of Amalek. Like his fathers, he was an enemy of the Jews and therefore wanted to entirely wipe out the Jewish nation. Mordecai had to destroy Agag’s descendant, Haman, because King Saul did not obey God and destroy Agag. Next time, we will talk more about Purim and its hidden beginning.