February 6/7: Yitro
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Why does God give the Torah to Israel? Why choose the Israelites for a special covenantal relationship? “You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, how I bore you on eagle’s wings and brought you to Me. Now then, if you will obey Me faithfully and keep My covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all the peoples. Indeed, all the earth is Mine, but you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” (Exodus 19.3-6)
Being God’s Chosen People is a singular honor, but it also turns out to be a heavy responsibility, and the two themes live in a kind of holy tension in Jewish thought. In one Midrash, there even seem to be “dueling” endings—one focusing on the honor and the other focusing on the challenges that come from being “God’s people.”
The Midrash begins with God’s desire to share Torah and holiness with humans. God begins with the greatest of the seventy nations of the ancient world and offers them the Torah. Instead of accepting the honor, that nation’s leaders ask for examples of the mitzvot. When God details the Ten Commandments, they turn down God’s offer. “But we love murdering, stealing, idolatry, and committing adultery; we cannot accept this law.” God then goes to another of the great nations, but the story is the same. They ask for examples and, when presented with God’s commandments, they say No to the Divine. God continues to try, offering the Torah to sixty-nine of the seventy nations, but no one will accept the Torah. Finally, God’s last resort is Israel—a puny and undistinguished nation, one mired in slavery for generations and whose hope has been lost. “When Moses spoke to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by cruel bondage.” (Exodus 6.9) Nonetheless, God offers the mitzvot to Israel.
At this point, the story has two different endings.
Ending #1 picks up on a figure of speech in Exodus 24.7: “Na’aseh v’nish’ma: We will do and we will hear!” The original usage seems to be as a hendiadys reflecting enthusiastic approval, but one ancient Rabbi takes the phrase literally. Noting that the Israelites say “Na’aseh/We will do,” before they say “V’nish’ma/We will hear,” the Darshan (Midrashist) perceives the Israelites’ intense piety and trust in the Lord. Rather than asking for examples or imposing conditions, they accept the Torah immediately, agreeing to God’s covenant before even knowing its contents. Our holy ancestors are exemplars of faith.
Ending #2 picks up on a different figure of speech, one in Exodus 19 (v.17): “Moses led the people out of the camp toward God, and they took their places at the foot of the mountain.” The Hebrew for “at the foot of mountain” is “b’tach’tit hahar,” words which literally mean, “under the mountain.” The intended meaning is that the Israelites were standing next to Mount Sinai and experienced the optical illusion that makes a tall object seem like it is looming overhead. However, one enterprising Darshan seized upon this idiom and crafted a very different approach to the story. After going from one nation to another and finding no one to accept the Torah, God turns to the last choice and resolves not to be turned down again. Holding Mount Sinai over the heads of the Israelites—so they are “tach’tit hahar/under the mountain,” God makes them an offer they cannot refuse: “If you accept My Torah, you shall be a ‘kingdom of priests and a holy people.’ If not, I’ll drop the mountain on you, and this shall be your grave.” Rather than accepting the covenant out of piety, we are forced into it.
Why would someone craft such a tale? Why would a Sage claim that our holy covenant was made under duress—and suggest that our ancestors were victims instead of pious volunteers?
It is helpful to remember that Midrash is art—a creative literary way of expressing thoughts and feelings. This means that Midrash is not history or fact, but instead an artistic and emotional comment about Biblical or religious concerns. While the first Midrashic author wants to bolster our pride and sense of purpose, the second Midrashic author seems concerned about the many burdens of being God’s Chosen People. While it is certainly a great honor, the mitzvot are numerous and challenging—and they prevent us from participating in things our non-Jewish neighbors get to enjoy. There is also the persistence of anti-Semitism, a plague that has threatened and victimized us for millennia. Our pride in our Jewishness is strong, but sometimes we need to give voice to our efforts and struggles—to vent emotionally the fact that our lot has not been easy. To me, this second Midrashic ending is an artistic form of catharsis and commiseration—of “singing the blues” about the burden of being God’s people. We may be proud, but we also need to acknowledge to ourselves that our chosen-ness is quite a burden.
Burden is an interesting way to characterize our chosen-ness, but that is exactly the way the Rabbis speak of it in the Talmud: Ol Malchut Hashamayim/The Yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven. The mitzvot are compared to the weight of an ox’s yoke and the load that the beast pulls. We are proud to be God’s “oxen,” but the work is very hard. Hillel uses this term in his instructions for conversion. The ger first immerses in a mikvah and then “accepts the Yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven” to become Jewish. The term is also found in the prayerbook’s Al Ken N’kaveh, the third paragraph of the Alaynu that looks forward to a perfect world (and precedes Bayom Hahu):
Al ken n’kaveh l’cha Adonai Elohaynu, lir’ot m’herah b’tif’eret Uzecha…Vikab’lu chulam et ol mal’chutecha…”
We therefore hope in You, O Lord our God, soon to behold glory of Your might…when every one will accept the yoke of Your Kingdom…”
We usually look for theology in our sacred literature, but being Jewish also involves the whole range of human emotions. I see both Midrashic endings as emotional responses to the lived realities of our chosen-ness. One crows about our ancestors’ great piety to bolster our own spirits, and the other sings the blues about how hard we must work for God. God is present in every aspect of life—in the spiritual, the intellectual, the emotional, and the physical, and our Tradition’s theological truths reflect every aspect of our relationship with God. We are holy and honored—and emotionally involved in keeping our sacred covenant.