November 21st: Toldot
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
One of my favorite movie cliches is the training montage, a series of quick scenes in which a character or group of characters prepare for a mission or game (or heist). The goal is for the audience to get a gist of the process, but without spending too much time. There is a delicate line between so much training that the viewers’ attention will lag and so little training that the viewers will not adequately “feel” the character’s determination and struggle.
The Rocky movies are famous for such training montages. Inspired by the famous Rocky theme—or Eye of the Tiger, or, in the case of Rocky IV, the two songs that accompany the dueling training montages of Rocky and Ivan Drago, we “train with” Rocky as he sweats, strains, worries, and struggles. And we are with him when he climbs the seventy-two stairs of the Philadelphia Museum of Art—or a nameless mountain in Russia—and yells to the universe that he is ready. We have struggled with him and know that victory awaits!
As in all narratives, the idea is for us to get a glimpse of the characters’ reality—not to live it ourselves. The story teller’s task is necessarily reductive.
Another cliché—delightfully parodied in The Muppets (2011)—is traveling by map. Rather than investing the movie time to show an actual journey—which could be long or difficult or impossible, the viewer is shown a map and a cartoon boat or plane moving across it. Reality is not the point; we just need the transition so we can get on with the narrative.
I mention these unrealities because they represent fallacies into which we can sometimes fall. When the bad things in life come, we may wish that we could travel by map or be limited to a suffering montage, but alas. Real people must summon their patience and gird their loins.
Think of the 400 years we spent as slaves in Egypt. Generations were born as slaves and died as slaves—the harshness of Egyptian oppression as all they knew. Reality for them was so much more than the bitterness of horseradish or parsley dipped in metaphorical tears. A deeper study of their suffering and perseverance would ask how they managed to find inner strength and faith. When it is our time to suffer, how can we learn from Tradition and find resilience?
Another struggle comes to our attention this week. Rebekah and Isaac marry with great hopefulness, but they spend many years waiting for children. Though the Torah’s focus is on the birth of the twins Esau and Jacob—and the brouhaha of their rivalry, notice the time frame of frustration and hope:
“This is the story of Isaac, son of Abraham. Abraham begot Isaac…Isaac was forty years old when he took to wife Rebekah, daughter of Bethuel the Aramean of Paddan-aram, sister of Laban the Aramean. Isaac pleaded with the Lord on behalf of his wife, because she was barren; and the Lord responded to his plea, and his wife Rebekah conceived….Isaac was sixty years old when they (Esau and Jacob) were born.” (Genesis 25.20-26)
When we celebrate Passover, we do just that. We mention the hard times but move quickly on to celebrating God’s miraculous rescue. Before we even start, we already know the eventual and blessed conclusion, but that was not the case for the ancient Hebrew slaves. They did not know when their nightmare would end. In the case of Isaac and Rebekah, we know that the many years of infertility will eventually end and that twin sons will bless the couple. But what were Rebekah and Isaac thinking during those long years?
My goal is not to plunge us into the despair with which previous generations wrestled. We have troubles of our own, and dwelling on their tzoros will help neither them nor us. This could be why Tradition doses us in remembering our past difficulties. Like training montages or traveling by map, we need enough to inspire appreciation, but not so much as to destroy hopes.
And yet, we are more than just observers of life; we are livers of life and sometimes sufferers. While our Tradition often presents celebratory history, the fact is that Judaism has also helped Jews though dark days. It may be thus helpful for us to reflect upon our other sacred stories, the ones which tell of suffering, patience, and resilience. There is holiness in them, as well.
We could think about how our mother Rebekah put on a brave face and found meaning in her life even as she wondered if she would ever be a mother. We could think about how the Hebrew slaves put foot in front of foot every day, trying to endure the oppression and trying to find meaning in life despite terrible conditions. We could think about how our European ancestors found meaning and hope despite poverty and the ever-present Cossack. While part of Faith includes believing that God will rescue us or grant us our fondest hopes, a large part of our Judaism also involves searching and finding the blessings that are present.
Some guidance comes from the ancient Sage Ben Zoma in Pirke Avot (4.1): Who is rich? He who rejoices in his lot,” or as I like to render it, “Who is rich? One who rejoices in blessings that are available.” More than just an insight about appreciation, Ben Zoma’s larger lesson involves working within the parameters of our limited circumstances.
“Who is wise? One who learns from everyone.
Who is mighty? One who controls his/her evil inclination.
Who is rich? One who rejoices in blessings that are available.
Who is honored? One who honors other human beings.”
In the gap between our idealized lives and our real lives, Ben Zoma counsels us to seek meaning in what we can do. What are our opportunities for finding meaning? What are, in that gap, the possibilities for joy, for service, for appreciation, or for holiness?
Judaism has always been a profound mixture of spirituality and practicality. We need to take care of ourselves and our world, but we also need to expand our vision and search for God’s Presence in our lives.
The Lord is present always:
Helping us, pushing us, lifting us,
Teaching us, guiding us, saving us.
God’s power can be seen in our lives, and we can feel it within.”