ki tisa
parashat Ki tisa, Exodus chapters 30—34
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and thoughts…
ki tisa
Moshe’s greatest moment.
Imagine his state of mind, standing on the mountain with the stone tablets in his hands, having just had the closest encounter with God that any human has been granted before or since. But God breaks the spell by telling him what’s going on in the real world.
In his absence, the people he’s been leading have created an idol to worship. Moshe is shocked and horrified. He’s in such a rage that when he descends the mountain and sees it for himself, he actually smashes the tablets of the law, written by the “finger” of God. A freaking cow! Made out of gold!
After he has seen the shadow of the Glory of the One!
Can you imagine?
So there they were, on the mountain. Moshe and God, united in fury. God is so enraged that God wants to wipe the Israelites off the face of the earth.
Imagine the emotions. The feeling of vindication. The promise of power.
The opportunity to do things over, your way,
Better.
The promise of legacy.
God has decided that this people are not worth the trouble, that they’re incorrigible.
Moshe is the only one worthy. God tells Moshe that God will smash these people (as Moshe ultimately smashes the tablets) and start over. Moshe will be the father of the great nation. They will be the children of Moshe, not the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
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And Moshe says no. In fact, he pleads with God not to destroy them, to give them a mulligan (for the golfers out there), another chance. Moshe uses logic. He asks, “What will it say about You, if the people You liberated from Egypt never make it to the promised land?” And God relents. God teaches Moshe the entire law and waits as the Word of HaShem is inscribed by the human hand.
Moshe said no. He turned it down. Perhaps this is why it’s said that he was the humblest human of all time. It makes me wonder if Moshe loved Israel more than God did. Regardless, this is Moshe’s greatest moment.
And what does it say about God? I think it actually says a lot about evolution.
When we think of evolution, we think of Australopithecus becoming Homo Habilus, that sort of thing. But we, as individuals, also evolve. I know my thinking has changed over my many decades. I’m still me, but in many ways I’m a better version of me, a more me-ish me. That’s evolution, too.
As we’ve evolved, genetically, socially, and personally, God has been right there with us, always getting to know us better. The God that I know is the same God who knew us 10,000 years ago, but that God, the One God, has evolved right along with us. Ein Sof is Ein Sof, but Adonai is now more Adonai-ish than Adonai was back then. A being with free will is what TheName wanted. Someone to have a genuine relationship with. God wanted to teach, but also to learn.
Over the millennia we have cried out to our God, pleaded with our God. We’ve shaken our fists at the sky in anger, and we’ve joyfully danced with reckless abandon. And God hears. And God considers. And God evolves.
A four-year-old once explained it to me this way—If God is everything, and if every person sees God in a different way from anyone else who ever lived, then every time a new person is born, God gets bigger. Because if God is everything, and there keeps being more everything, then God has to keep being more to keep being everything.
Clever boy. Anyone know a nice Jewish girl?
We’re a stiff-necked people. We hear that phrase a lot. What does it mean? Did they sleep in a bad position and wake up with a stiff neck? I’ve been there. We all have. It hurts like crazy, sometimes for days.
The prevailing opinion of the meaning of this phrase is, of course, stubborn. But when I had a stiff neck, I couldn’t turn my head to the left or to the right. I could only see what was directly in front of me. You can miss a lot, with that limited perspective.
When Moshe ascends the mountain for a second time, he’s not given new tablets written by “the finger” of God. The people aren’t ready, are not deserving, to receive this level of holiness. And so Moshe is instructed to write the words that God tells him to write, in human form, in a way that perhaps the Israelites can handle.
And then comes the part that makes my heart pause in my chest:
Moshe longs to see God’s Glory. Moshe’s greatest desire is to come even closer to God, to know
God completely. Alas, no one, not even Moshe, can look upon that Glory directly and continue to live a human life. The constraints of being physical render this impossible. And so God tells him to hide himself in a cleft of the rock, from where he will be able to gaze upon God’s “back” as God passes by him. And what does he hear? After all that has transpired? God does not show him the qualities of Divine judgement, the anger and fury that was so recently expressed.
What Moshe is shown is God’s thirteen attributes of Mercy. Mercy and Love—these are the predominant attributes of the One. And they’re the words we still cry out today, on Yom Kippur and at any time when we are in dire need of God’s mercy.
“Adonai! Adonai! God, Compassionate and Gracious, Slow to anger and Abundant in Kindness and Truth, Preserver of kindness for thousands of generations, Forgiver of iniquity, willful sin, and error, and Who Cleanses (but does not cleanse completely, recalling the iniquity of parents upon children and grandchildren, to the third and fourth generations)” click here for a detailed explanation.
It’s Mercy and Lovingkindness that are God’s Glory.
So, what’s happened? Through this extraordinary encounter between Adonai and Moshe, it seems that this time, God was both teacher and student. And ultimately, as undeserving as we were, the children of Israel came out on top.
And God tells Moshe, “Whenever Israel sins, let them recite this in its proper order and I will forgive them.”
And Adonai was faithful to the covenant with Avraham and led us to the land of milk and honey.
God’s Mercy and Love prevails. For me, that’s astounding. It’s humbling. And it’s mind-blowing. And it reminds me that my approach with others should be the same—love before judgment; everyone gets a mulligan…at least one
It’s all about two. Two tablets. Two chances. Two approaches. I guess “two” will be my theme.
Two challot? That’s standard! (if you’re wondering why, check out this page.)
Ok, the soup…two matzo balls is a no-brainer. But maybe something different from the standard chicken soup…we could have our greens in the soup, rather than with the entrée…I’m going to go with my garlicy Green Soup, a purée of spinach, parsley, asparagus, and arugula. Super healthful and also super tasty. (Even the toddlers like it.)
It occurs to me that stuffed zucchini halves, 2 halves per person, could resemble the two tablets of the law in the center of the plate. We can do two versions, one with meat and one vegetarian…in a Syrian-style sauce with cherries, dried fruits, tomato, and tamarind—sweet and tart, mercy and judgement. Now the sides…a pilaf of rice and vermicelli that’s chock-full of root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, golden beets, and some sweet peas for good measure…that’s really all that’s needed.
Except for dessert. That’s also needed. I’m thinking I’m in the mood for a nice fruit tart.
Desserts for Shabbat can be challenging for me. It’s often a meat meal, or one that has a meat version and vegetarian version, which means that dairy is out. That really puts a strain on my repertoire. I’ve often been heard chanting the mantra…baking and butter begin with B.
But if there’s one thing I love, it’s a challenge.
This one wasn’t much of a challenge. How to make pastry cream without dairy? Use coconut milk! I’ve been a fan since childhood, when every now and again my dad would come home with a coconut. My brother and I would wait with anticipation as he banged out the eyes with a big nail and a hammer, strained out the milk for us, and then used the hammer to break the whole thing into negotiable pieces.
If you love coconut, you’ll find there’s no sacrifice to be made with this fruit tart.
So, what shall we eat?