By Rabbi Monique Mayer

I once had a conversation with someone Jewish who said that he “does his own thing” by meditating or praying in nature, and that communal worship or involvement is unnecessary to be Jewish. And then the story of the burning bush came to mind: Moses is tending Jethro’s flock and–wandering in the wilderness–he comes to Horeb, the mountain of God. Moses is alone (except for the sheep) when he suddenly notices a bush bo’er ba’eish (Exod 3:2), ablaze with fire. In that moment, he makes a connection with God, and God speaks to him mi’tokh ha’sneh (Exod 3:4), from the midst of the bush. It’s rather perfect. Moses has a profound spiritual experience in nature, by himself.  If the story ended there, it would fully support the notion of Jewishness not requiring community; however, Moses’ encounter at burning bush isn’t the end of the story. From out of the bush, God charges Moses with the mission of bringing the people out of Egypt. Moses cannot be a Jew by himself. He must engage with community. Indeed, he’s enjoined to lead.

This week’s portion contains a parallel experience. It, too, takes place with Moses in nature. Indeed, the event occurs at the very mountain where Moses encountered the burning bush. The mountain itself is bo’er ba’eish (Deut 4:11), ablaze with fire, and God speaks from amidst this fire, mitokh ha’eish (Deut 4:12), just as he spoke from amidst the burning bush. But the experience is profoundly different. Moses is not alone. The entire house of Israel is present.

Why fire? What does fire represent? In recent days we’ve witnessed the destructive power of fire–in Europe, in California, in Greece–burning out of control and destroying whatever is in its path. Yet the fire in the bush and on the mountain is different. When Moses encounters the bush unconsumed by a fiery glow, he is not physically burned; instead, the fire touches his soul, igniting his inner fire and passion–even with resistance–strengthening him to take on the role of leadership.  Similarly, when the people witness the fire on Mount Horeb, they–like Moses at the bush–absorb some of that fire into their consciousness as they (at least for that moment) accept the full responsibility of Torah and the commandments, together, as the people Israel.

Fire can create, fire can also destroy.

Here we are, in a week in which the Jewish community experienced two devastating days. On Monday was the passage of the judicial reform bill by the Israeli Knesset, eliminating the power of the Israeli Supreme Court to reverse governmental decisions that don’t pass a “reasonableness test”, igniting passions on all sides of the issue and threatening to burn the country to the ground. And Thursday was Tisha B’av, the 9th of the Hebrew month of Av which commemorates the destruction of the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem, which were themselves burned to the ground. Our tradition teaches the primary reason for the destruction of the Second Temple was sinat chinam, baseless hatred (BT Yoma 9b:8). Sinat chinam does not result from being harmed or offended by another. It is a consequence of putting one’s interests above all else, thinking one knows better than anyone else, so that another’s opinions or actions are viewed only as a potential threat to one’s position or stability. The Sages teach that the people during the Second Temple studied Torah, worshipped, and performed the requisite acts of kindness, yet how they acted toward individuals and groups with which they disagreed, with sinat chinam, brought down God’s house.

As Liberal Jews, we don’t believe in divine punishment for misbehaviour and in-fighting. And yet, in this day and age, we might consider that how we act toward and respond to each other in community can ultimately determine whether community is built or destroyed. We can defend our own corners, promoting our ideas and principles at the expense of others. Or, we can open ourselves up to possibilities and ideas that we might not have considered. We can hold grudges and paint those who disagree with us in a negative light. Or we can embrace differences and find peaceable solutions to personal and communal disagreements.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, first Ashkenazi chief rabbi of British-mandated Palestine, said that:

“If we were destroyed, and the world with us, due to baseless hatred, then we shall rebuild ourselves, and the world with us, with baseless love — ahavat chinam.” (Orot HaKodesh vol. III, p. 324).

We must counter sinat chinam with ahavat chinam. How do we do this? We commit to our principles while becoming partners to building bridges with those whom we view in opposition. We practice deep listening. And we come to build, not to destroy.

Kein y’hi ratson–may it be God’s (and our) will.

Recent Commentaries