TORAH PORTION: CHOL HAMOED PESACH

Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach

April 8, 2023 | 17 Nissan 5783

Torah: Exodus 33:12-34:26 Triennial: Exodus 33:12-34:26

Maftir: Numbers 28:19-25 Haftarah: Ezekiel 37:1-14

In this week's Torah Sparks, you'll find a D'var Torah on the parashah by Bex Stern-Rosenblatt called "Meeting the Gaze of Moses", Vered Hollander-Goldfarb offers observations in her d'var haftarah titled "Exodus: Greather the Second Time Around", and Ilana Kurshan reflects on mishnah in a piece called "Selling Your Cow with Apple Pay".

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D'VAR TORAH

Meeting the Gaze of Moses

Bex Stern-Rosenblatt

Parashah


This week, on Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach, we once again have the opportunity to read the beautiful and borderline irreverent passage in which Moses asks to see God’s kavod, God’s presence or glory.  The lead-up to Moses’s big ask is exquisite - Moses and God dance around the topic, one more polite than the next, as they reconfigure their relationship in the wake of the Golden Calf. 


The words both Moses and God use focus on sight. Moses starts his speech by asking God to “see,” to “look.” He’ll remind God to “see” that this people, Israel, is God’s nation. Repeatedly, Moses reminds God that God likes Moses, literally that Moses has “found favor in his eyes.” This emphasis on sight is striking. Rashi explains that Moses is reminding God to look back to God’s own words, to reflect that to which God has already acquiesced. Ibn Ezra reads “see” as Moses asking God to look at him, to behold the difficult situation in which Moses finds himself.  Either way, the request to be seen is a call for remembering and for taking responsibility.  


God agrees to the request of Moses, explaining that God’s face, perhaps meaning God’s presence, will go with the Israelites. Moses had two requests, for God to see and to let him know who would lead the Israelites with him. God responds definitively to the latter request. God perhaps also responds to the first request, the call for sight, by sending his seeing mechanism to be with Moses. God puts God’s face at eye level with the Israelites, becoming their perpetual beholder. 


All this talk of God seeing Israel, of God bringing God’s face to Israel, contextualizes God’s response when Moses famously requests to see God’s kavod.  Setting up an aspects-of-God parade, God will allow various attributes of God to pass before Moses’s face while Moses is wedged in a rock. But God will not allow Moses to see God’s kavod or God’s face. The relationship defined here is clear and asymmetrical. God is present, God’s face is present with the Israelites, so that God can see them and can behold Moses. But Moses is not to see God’s face. 


But Moses does glimpse something. We read that God permits Moses to see God’s ahor. Many modern translations render this word as “back.” Moses catches a view of God as God leaves. It is unclear what God’s back is supposed to be or why Moses would be allowed to look at it. One possibility, brought to us by Rashi, is that God shows Moses the knot of tefillin behind his head. However, “back” is not the only way the word has been understood. Targum Onkelos, a second century Aramaic version of the Torah, renders ahor  and penai, which I have been translating as “face,” as directional terms, reading the verse to say, “You will see that which is after me, but what is before me shall not be seen.” The Avot de Rabbi Natan understands these terms as references to the world to come and to this world. Moses may see one but not the other. Diana Lipton, a current biblical scholar at Tel Aviv University, suggests based on careful readings of rabbinic texts, that we may understand the ahor as referring to the future and penai as referring to the past. God permits Moses to glimpse the future but not the present and not the past. God reassures Moses by showing him the continuity of the Jewish people long after Moses is gone. 


God does not reveal to Moses the mysteries of how people work in his present time or why the Golden Calf happened. Rather, God lets Moses know that we will be ok even after Moses is gone. God fully sees Moses, answering the true question that Moses is asking. 


On Pesach, we do the opposite. We gaze deeply into our past, reliving the Exodus. In doing so, we see the penai rather than the ahor. In looking towards the past, we see God’s face, dwelling securely among the Jewish people. 


For more on the idea of ahor as the future, check out Diana Lipton’s article, "God’s back! What did Moses see on Sinai?.”

HAFTARA

Exodus: Greater the Second Time Around

Vered Hollander-Goldfarb

Haftarah


After two seder nights we get the idea: the greatest event of the Jewish people was the wondrous Exodus from Egypt, the land of bondage (not just for us). It set us on course for the rest of our existence always looking back to that formative experience which will color our narrative and our legal system. We left the land of bondage for us and the land of plenty (if you were an Egyptian master) and headed to the land of Israel to finally live in the land intended for our nation.


Then came the exile. We were thrown out of the land. The Exodus from Egypt unraveled. We were no longer a free and independent people living in our own land. While prophets warned of the possibility of exile because of our behavior, the reality of such a possibility did not sink in. Does anyone really imagine being forced out of their home? That was not built into the narrative.  


It is in the setting of the community exiled to Babylon that Ezekiel speaks. Explaining the unsettling description of the dry bones scattered on the floor of a valley, Ezekiel says that the dry bones are the people of Israel. They describe themselves as dried bones, as people whose hope is lost. (The word for hope is “tikvah”.  Naphtali Zvi Imber gave a modern reading of this chapter in his poem that would eventually be the basis for Hatikvah – Israel’s national anthem.) Ezekiel promises this dispirited group that God will take them out of their graves and bring them to the land of Israel. Whether this is intended figuratively or literally is debated.


This explains the need for Ezekiel’s prophecy, but not the choice to read this prophecy as the haftarah on Shabbat Chol Hamoed Pesach. It might have to do with the message of Pesach itself.  We have spent a great deal of time telling the story of the Exodus, our story of redemption. Now we face a problem. Anyone following the story will be able to point out that the redemption that we are touting failed in the end. We are not in the land promised to our ancestors but rather in another exile. Don’t we see how pointless it is to talk about our Exodus and our going to the land when we have been kicked out of it and returned to a status of sojourners in foreign lands?!


The prophecy of Ezekiel has come to speak to every generation that found itself as dry bones at the bottom of a valley. It promised a future redemption more miraculous and amazing than even the exodus from Egypt, the ultimate measuring stick of the Tanakh. As we tell ourselves the great story of God taking us out of Egypt, Ezekiel has helped Jews through the centuries believe that it can happen again, just greater. We have not lost our hope.

MORE

Selling Your Cow with Apple Pay

Ilana Kurshan

Adventures in the Mishnah with My Kids

Pesachim 4:3


It is late and Matan is tired, but to his credit, he never says no when I suggest we study together. And so I open to the fourth chapter in tractate Pesachim, which is about customs that vary from place to place. We’ve already learned that in some places it is customary to work on the day before Pesach, and in some cases it is not; the Mishnah has now digressed to other local customs unrelated to the Passover holiday. Matan and I have a custom to learn a mishnah every night, so I’m glad we’re not giving up just because it’s been a long day.


The topic of tonight’s mishnah is the prohibition on selling animals to non-Jews. It’s forbidden to sell large animals to non-Jews, but when it comes to small animals, the law varies based on local custom. In a place where it’s customary to sell small animals to non-Jews, one may sell them; in places where it’s customary not to do so, one may not. 


“Small animals like my goldfish?” Matan asks.


“No, small animals like sheep and goats. As opposed to large animals, like cows and oxen.”


“That’s good,” said Matan. “I wouldn’t want to sell my goldfish.” 


I want Matan to understand the principle underlying this ruling. “No one is selling your goldfish, don’t worry. But what is it the rabbis are worried about? Why wouldn’t we be allowed to sell animals to non-Jews?”


Matan thinks it over. “Maybe we’re worried that they’ll kill them and eat them with cheese, and then they won’t be kosher?” 


“OK,” I concede, because it’s a reasonable guess. “But we don’t really care if non-Jews eat cheeseburgers. They don’t have to keep the laws of Kashrut.”


I show Matan the commentary on the mishnah, which explains that the rabbis were concerned lest the non-Jew borrow the animal for a trial period and make it work on Shabbat while it still technically belongs to the Jew. The Torah teaches that on Shabbat, it is not just Jews who must rest, but also their animals; if a non-Jew is borrowing or trying out a Jew’s animal on Shabbat, the Jew is responsible for the Shabbat violation. 


“OK, but then why does it matter if the animal is big or small?” he asks. 


We learn that small animals like sheep and goats are not used for farm labor, so we’re not worried that they’ll be made to work on Shabbat. That’s why in some places, it was permitted to sell them. But in other places, it was customary not to permit people to sell small animals out of concern that they would eventually come to sell large animals, and then those animals might work on Shabbat.


Matan remembers something. “Yeah, but didn’t we learn that story about the Jewish cow that refused to work on Shabbat? An animal that once belonged to a Jew would know not to work on Shabbat.” I’m impressed that Matan remembers. A while ago we studied a midrash (Pesika Rabbati 14) about a Jewish man who suddenly became very poor and had to sell off his remaining assets. He sold his cow to a non-Jew, but a week later, the non-Jew returned it to the seller dissatisfied. “The cow you sold me worked for me for six days, but then on the seventh day, it refused to work anymore.” The Jew realized that his cow had internalized the law of desisting from labor on Shabbat. When the non-Jew came to understand what was happening, he was so impressed that he ultimately converted to Judaism. “But that was a special case,” I tell Matan. “The rabbis tell us we can’t rely on miracles. Most cows wouldn’t realize that it’s Shabbat and stop working.” 


“OK, but if you sell it, it’s not yours anymore, so why do you care?” Matan asks. I explain again about the trial period – you might let the non-Jew test it out first, and you might even rent your animal to a non-Jew, in which case he might make it work on Shabbat even when you are still the real owner. 


“Hmm, that’s a problem with the new feature of Apple Pay, which lets you buy something by paying a little bit at a time,” Matan says. I know better than to ask questions. I don’t want a lesson on the latest Apple Pay update, and how it differs from buying on credit. Fortunately Matan stays on topic. “Let’s say that non-Jew pays for the cow on Apple Pay, so he pays only a little bit at first. He can still take the cow home and start using it. If he makes it work on Shabbat, it’s a problem for the Jew, because the cow is still partially his until the non-Jew pays the full price.” 


“I guess so,” I say, wondering whether anyone has ever purchased a cow on Apple Pay. Matan, like the rabbis, enjoys thinking up unlikely hypothetical situations to explore the full implications of the law. 


At the end of the mishnah, Rabbi Yehudah comments that if the animal is injured, then it may be sold to a non-Jew regardless of its size, because injured animals are not used for farm labor. But the rabbis disagree. “Why would anyone want to buy an injured animal?” Matan asks. 


I show him the commentary on the mishnah, which explains that even an injured animal can be used to turn a millstone, for instance. “Or to kill and eat as a cheeseburger,” Matan adds.


Matan yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. I can tell that he’s really tired now, after he’s had to turn this Mishnah around in his head like a millstone. “Good night,” I tell him. He burrows under his covers like a small animal and I turn out the light.

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