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behar

from the mountain

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“This land is your land, this land is my land … this land was made for you and me.”

We buy and sell property. We hire surveyors to measure the boundaries to the inch. We exchange money, take out mortgages, put our initials on pages upon pages of legalese, hopefully understanding most of them. We sign deeds, have them notarized, embossed, sealed, and recorded, and we lock them away in safe deposit boxes.

Mine Mine Mine. I bought it. It’s mine.

Parasha Behar reminds us that this is all illusion. We are but sojourners.

The land belongs to God.

We want to get our money’s worth. If we’re going to farm, we want to squeeze as much produce as possible out of our land.

But God says no.

Every seven years, the land gets a year off.

At first glance, it may look like this is an agriculturally motivated decree, that maybe it’s better for our financial well-being in the long run, to give the land a year off. Kind of like crop rotation and the fallow field concept.

It’s not.

This is not about us nor is it for us, not about our wealth-oriented goals. It’s about the land. It’s for the land.

The land belongs to God.

And God says that after seven times seven years, the land reverts back to its ancestral owner, no matter who has bought or sold it in the interim.

Humans, Jews in particular, are not the only ones who get to enjoy the gift of Shabbat. Work animals are entitled to a day of rest, and in this parasha we learn that the land, too, receives this gift. 

We get to take a time out from our busy lives of producing and consuming so that we can reflect and praise God, and the land is due the same consideration.

But, not only are we entitled to it, we’re commanded to observe Shabbat.

It’s the same for the land. The land is commanded to observe its sabbaths. And the land needs to share that tidbit of information with us in our Torah so that we understand and don’t try to deprive the land of its right to obey the laws of its own Torah, keep its own covenant with God.

Because, kol han’shamah t’halel Yah. All that breathes praises God.

You do, of course, know that the land is a living thing. Not just the things on the land or the things that grow from the land. The land is alive.

I bet you’ve heard that the hills are alive with the sound of music. That’s no metaphor. Listen carefully and you’ll hear the marvelous cacophony of voices, praising God in every moment. Some voices are easier to hear than others. Birds sing, insects hum, dogs bark. But listen! The trees are joining in. Listen even harder! The rocks, the mountains are singing God’s praises.

Ezekiel listened and he heard some angels calling out,

“Kadosh Kadosh Kadosh, Adonai tzeva’ot. Melo kol ha’aretz k’vodo,”

and the other angels responding with

“Baruch k’vod Adonai mi’m’komo.”

“Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts. The whole world is full of God’s glory.”

and

“Blessed is the glory of God from God’s place.”

This is no civilized call and response, not a polite responsive reading from the siddur.  It’s a pandemonius roar of all voices crying out at once, concurrently. The angels, the elephants, the fish, the moose, the mountains, the land. Perhaps we don’t hear it because it’s so loud that we’ve tuned it out, the way one only notices white noise when it stops.

The only creation in God’s universe that needs reminding is us. Humans. Those beings with free choice. And so we need to be commanded not to interfere with the rights of other creatures to praise and to live as they’re commanded. We’re not to interfere with the land’s natural propensity to praise God, as it’s been commanded to do, as it desires to do above all else.

The land belongs to God, not to us. And yet we wage wars over the possession of land.

Behar reminds us that the land breathes. The land is alive and a being in its own right. It longs for peace so that it may praise God unencumbered, so that it may praise God without being made unclean with the blood of humanity, with rotting corpses, with tears, and with horror. And the land can do nothing in itself to safeguard that right. The land is at our mercy.

Woody Guthrie may not have been a prophet, his words are not Torah, but he’s not far off. The land belongs to God and we are to treat it as such, because this land was made for you and me. For all of us. To live upon it in peace.

So, if you’re sitting on a bench and someone else comes along, someone who needs to sit, don’t run away, but don’t cross your arms and plant your butt more firmly, either.

Shove over.

There’s room for everyone.

So what shall we eat?

When it comes to Middle Eastern Cuisine, it’s hard to separate the dishes of the region as belonging to one particular culture or another. Is it Israeli? Lebanese? Arabian? Palestinian? It depends upon who you ask. Cuisines evolve. As people emigrate from one region to another, they bring their culinary traditions with them, and after enough time has passed the dishes they brought become an integral part of the local food. Sometimes it’s a spice or a presentation that distinguishes one country’s version of a recipe from another. One thing we do know—sharing food is one of the best ways to bring people together.

Many years ago, my family owned a building in Brooklyn. There was a store on the street level and two apartments above it.

In the mid 90s, a Lebanese family was renting the top floor. One afternoon I needed to discuss a repair job with them, so knocked on the door. The woman answered. She spoke very little English, but I managed to get her to understand what I needed to tell her. Then I made the ultimate mistake. I sniffed the air and told her that whatever she was cooking smelled amazing. My day was over. She grabbed me by the arm and gently but forcefully guided me into a chair in the kitchen and made me sit. She brought me some food and told me to eat. I ate. I didn’t know what it was, but it tasted as good as it smelled. I told her it was delicious. She brought me another plate with something else. And then another. I asked her to please sit and eat with me. She told me it was Ramadan and she couldn’t eat until after sunset, but I should eat. And the dishes kept on coming. Long after I felt like I was going to explode, I finally begged her to stop. She did, reluctantly, but then packed up a bunch of food for me to take home. As I was leaving she said, “Men fight. Women make food. If women were in charge we’d all be too busy eating to fight, and we’d have peace.”

I’m quite convinced she was right.

 Let’s eat and pray for peace.

Gazan smashed avocados are the Palestinian version of guacamole. It’s a delicious start to our meal. Serve with Challah, or swap out the challah for pita this week. Or serve both!

I’m going to make one of the most popular soups of Israel, Marak Katom, or Orange Soup. It gets its name, not from the fruit, but from the orange vegetables that define the dish.
You start with pumpkin, carrots, and sweet potatoes, and then you take it from there. Every cook lends their own personality and flavor preferences. I think you’ll agree that this version is fabulous.

For the entrée, I’m taking my inspiration from a recipe by Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley, swapping out their lovely salmon kebabs for thick fillets of whatever white fish looks best at the market, but keeping their spice mix and parsley oil. Because more is more, I’ll finish it with a drizzle of tahini and a drizzle of pomegranate molasses.

I’ll pair it with a warm ptitim (also known as Israeli couscous) pilaf, made gorgeously ruby colored with roasted beet. Copious amounts of fresh chopped dill and tangy sheep’s milk feta make the flavor irresistible, and a knob of sweet butter brings it to a crescendo with a silky finish. The color of the ptitim next to the white fleshed fish is gorgeous, and the drizzle of deep red pomegranate molasses balances the colors on the plate.

And now I’m craving something green. Fasolia bi Zeit is a very popular side dish, hailing from Palestine, Jordan, and Syria, but enjoyed throughout the Middle East. I’m putting my own twist on these simple delicious string beans by adding some chopped pistachios.

And finally, dessert. Malabi, a silky pudding that was brought to Israel by Mizrahi Jews, will be a perfect finish. I’ll serve it with some Walker’s Shortbread cookies for a little crunch.    

Menu for Parasha Behar

Golden shabbat challah and/or fresh pita

gazan smashed avocados

Marak Katom (Israeli Orange Soup)

Spiced Chilean Sea Bass with Parsley oil

ruby ptitim pilaf with dill and feta

Fasolia bi Zeit (Middle eastern string beans) with Almonds

malabi (rosewater pudding)

shabbat Shalom!