As the curtain opens on Act II Scene 1 of the exodus from Egypt we find Moshe at what is perhaps the lowest point in his career. He had accepted a mission from God to free his Israelite brethren from Egyptian bondage. He had returned to Egypt from the safety of Midian and confronted Pharaoh. That confrontation does not go as well. Pharaoh makes the conditions for his Hebrew slaves even more harsh and the process of yetziat mitzrayim, the exodus, stalls.
Moshe despairs and turns to God with frustration at having been given an impossible task. Our parasha opens with God’s curious response:
וַיְדבֵ֥ר אֱלהִ֖ים אֶל־מֹשֶ֑ה וַיֹ֥אמֶר אֵלָ֖יו אֲנִ֥י ה׳׃
וָאֵר֗א אֶל־אַבְרהָ֛ם אֶל־יִצְחָ֥ק וְאֶֽל־יַעֲק֖ב בְא-ֵ֣ל שַד-ָ֑י ושְמִ֣י ה׳ ל֥א נוד֖עְתִי לָהֶֽם׃
“I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as El Shaddai, but I did not make Myself known to them by My name Adonai.”
What is this about? Is this a history lesson? It does not make sense as a history lesson. The Torah is clear that the patriarchs encountered that name of God.
Rashi explains that Moshe and God were not having an abstract conversation about theology. Moshe was being encouraged.
לא הודעְתִי אֵין כְתִיב כַאן אֶלָא לא נודעְתִי, לא נִכַרתִי לָהֶם בְמִדת אֲמִתות שֶלִי, שֶעָלֶיהָ נִקרא שְמִי ה’, נֶאֱמָן לְאַמֵת דְבָרי, שֶהֲרי הִבְטַחְתִים וְלא קיַמְתִי:
The Torah does not say לא הְודעתִי or “I did not make myself known” to them in this way, but rather it says, לא הְודעתִי or “I was not known by them” in the passive voice in this way. The patriarchs did not experience God’s attribute of keeping faith. I made promises to them that were not fulfilled in their lifetimes.
The patriarchs and matriarchs experienced God’s promise in the abstract. Moshe, and his entire generation, would see God’s promise actualized. This name of God, the four-letter name of God, is the name that represents God’s attribute of faithfulness and keeping faith and this is how God would become known to Moshe.
We’ve seen how Rashi understands this encounter. Let’s throw in some Rambam, some Maimonides, to make it interesting.
In Judaism, all theology is ethical. This is the central insight of Maimonidean philosophy. Human language cannot describe God because human minds cannot comprehend God. At most, we can declare what God does not do and which attributes cannot describe God. God does not have a body. God is not mortal or weak or ignorant.
What then to make of the descriptions of God that are in the Torah itself? Descriptions of God are educational:
אבא שאול אומר אדמה לו מה הוא רחום וחנון אף את תהא רחום וחנון
“Just as God is merciful, so you should be merciful. Just as God is gracious, you should be graious,” the rabbis taught. Maimonides, subtly changes the language of this famous Talmudic teaching.
מה הקב”ה נקרא רחום – אף אתה היה רחום; הקב”ה נקרא חנון – אף אתה היה חנון; הקב”ה נקרא צדיק – אף אתה היה צדיק; הקב”ה נקרא חסיד – אף אתה היה חסיד
“Just as God is called merciful, so should you be merciful.” See what Maimonides does? We cannot say anything about God and so the rabbinic statement is shifted in a subtle but significant way. God is CALLED merciful. The Torah describes God in certain ways not because human language and human attributes can appropriately be used to describe the Divine, but because the Torah contains descriptions of God and these descriptions are means of ethical pedagogy.
The Torah teaches us how to act in the world and which virtues to cultivate by describing God with those virtues. God tells Moshe, “I am the One who fulfills my promises. I am the One who can be trusted to actualize the commitments that I make so that they become real in the world and not just in theory.” Moshe was told that he and his generation would experience God in this way. Maimonides tells us that this encounter is recorded in the Torah so that the world can experience us in this way.
Some of you might remember that I shared a joke with the congregation on Yom Kippur a few years ago. Remember the story about the man who moved to a new neighborhood and was desperate to find a dry cleaner? Eventually he sees a shop with a big sign outside that says “we press suits.” Thinking his search has finally come to an end, he brings his suit to the shop and ask the clerk to press the suit. The clerk says to him, “I’m so sorry. We don’t press suits; we make signs.”
[Do you remember? There is a rule of thumb among rabbis that you need to wait three years before repeating jokes, two years before repeating anecdotes, and can repeat the core Torah content after only one week since nobody remembers anyway. I actually got to test that theory when I accidentally wrote and delivered a nearly identical sermon to one I shared two years ago, same jokes and all, I didn’t remember until I looked up the earlier sermon for an entirely different reason a week or two later.]
On occasion, every one of us, falls into the pattern of just being “sign makers.” Presenting ourselves in a certain way, claiming to value certain priorities, and committing ourselves to others in ways that do not hold up to scrutiny. It’s a joke. But recently, as I’ve asked myself this question, are my commitments and values and priorities real or am I just making signs, I have not found the experience to be funny at all.
I have moments when I fear, that I just make signs. And while I feel a little bit guilty inviting you to experience existential angst, I nonetheless encourage you to ask yourself that hard question. If you want to avoid the guilt and the angst, you can just be more effective than I have been at aligning who you really are with whom you claim to be. Press suits.
And, this question can be asked on the macro level as well. Does Klal Yisrael, the Jewish people, live up to our professed values and ideals? Are they slogans only or do they describe our behavior and how others experience us? As Americans, do the commitments of our nation’s founding documents, the sentiments that get carved onto marble monuments, still accurately describe the way our national life is organized or the ways that we are perceived at home and abroad?
But, I would like to divert your attention, as well, to focus on a scale in between the personal and the national. I’d like you to ask if our shul presses suits or if we just make signs? Our website says:
“Welcome! We are a dynamic Modern Orthodox community enriched by our unique and diverse backgrounds. We strive to learn, build relationships, and positively impact our families and the greater community. Located steps away from the lakefront in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood, we engage the modern world while treasuring Halacha and tradition.”
That sounds great. And, I think it’s all true. We don’t just make signs. But, we cannot be complacent and there is an ever-present risk of our community devolving into mere “sign-making.” We cannot claim to be a “dynamic Modern Orthodox community” if we do not maintain a steady and reliable daily minyan. In recent months a few minyan regulars have relocated and we are now in a situation where we might not have a minyan altogether if a regular minyanare goes out of town for the day, or is home with a cold.
We can’t claim to be “welcoming” if a woman coming to shul to say kaddish on a yahrzeit finds the Ezrat Nashim entirely empty. We can’t claim to treasure Halacha and tradition if we only sit down with our friends and family for Shabbat and holiday meals without reserving an extra seat for a visitor or someone looking for hospitality.
Of course it is important to have small intimate Shabbat meals with your family. Of course there are legitimate reasons why someone might not be able to attend minyan at shul in the morning or in the afternoon because of work or domestic responsibilities. . But, when it’s possible and appropriate, more of us need to step forward more often to make sure that our shul’s core mission is actualized here on the ground in Lakeview and not just as words on our website. If every individual in this room right now took it upon himself or herself to attend one weekday tefilah each month, our community’s religious life would be transformed. If each individual or family present in shul this morning took it upon themselves to set one extra seat at the table on just one Shabbat meal each year, our communities capacity to be warm and welcoming would be radically expanded.
In the coming weeks the shul’s hospitality committee will launch a new initiative where we will encourage each household in the shul to select in advance one Shabbat over the course of the year when you will prepare to accept a guest or two from the shul. Any woman who is willing to be called a day or two in advance to attend minyan when we know another woman will be observing yahrzeit can let me know about your availability.
The task of religious self-improvement is the task of a lifetime. On a national level, the task of creating a “more perfect union” is a job that each generation bequeaths to the next. And, as a shul, the task of making sure that our wishes and aspirations on our website describe our reality and our genuine strivings is not something that can happen overnight. But at every scale, we need to be asking ourselves if we press suits or just make signs.
The pivot towards redemption in this week’s parasha is framed as the actualization of God’s promises. With that actualization our experience of God was transformed and God’s promise-keeping was introduced to the world. If we actualize our own capacity as those who keep-faith and actualize our promises and stand behind our words, that too can be a moment in which we pivot, as individuals, as a community, and as a nation, towards redemption.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 