shemot

names

A new king, who did not know Joseph, arose over Egypt.

And so begins the tale of our enslavement and redemption. Everything we’ve read so far in the Torah, all of Beresheet, has been our backstory. It’s all been leading up to this moment, to this series of events that ultimately will define who we are. But before we dive in, let’s consider the title of our parasha, the title of the book we’re about to read.

The name of the first book of Torah is Beresheet, or Genesis according to the gentile world.  The meaning of the two words is essentially the same—while we have a slightly different take on the meaning of beginning, we’re all in agreement that what we’re talking about is a beginning.

Not so the second book that we begin this week. Exodus, in Greek, means going out. With most books, the title tells you what it’s about, and this title tells us that the most significant theme of the book is God’s taking the children of Israel out from Egypt and out from slavery. That makes perfect sense because—clearly—that’s what the story is about.

But we know the second book as Shemot, Names. On the surface the reason seems to be simplistic. Each book of Torah is called by the first word in the book, and every parasha is known by its first word. (Not counting, of course, words like, “God said to Moshe,'“ or just about every parasha would have the same name!) So, while by chance the word Beresheet happens to tell us what that book is about, it seems that Shemot does not.

That got me thinking. Nothing in Torah is random. Is it possible that, even though we’re reading a story about leaving Egypt, maybe there’s another meaning, a hidden meaning? Could the concept of “Names” also be an important theme of this book?

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Think back to 9th grade English class. A distraught Lady Juliette cries… “Wherefore art thou Romeo?”  

In other words, “why do you have to be Romeo? Why can’t you deny your name and take on some other name? All our problems would be solved!”

Shakespeare seems to be telling us that names shouldn’t matter, that in and of themselves they have little meaning. But, if Romeo Montague were instead called Shlomo Finklestein, do you think that he’d still be that same dashing, irresistible young nobleman with whom the teenage Juliette was so besotted?

Or would that name make him into some other person?

He’s Romeo because that’s what makes this Juliette’s story. If he were not Romeo, there’d be no story here, no epic tale. Yes, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. If a rose smelled like maple syrup it would still smell sweet.  But, would it be a rose?

 I think God disagrees with old Willie. Clearly, God thinks names are very important. After all, one of the first things God has Adam do is to give a name to each creature, according to its nature.

Let's take a quick peek ahead into next week's parasha, Va’eira. The parasha begins with God saying to Moshe, “I am Adonai.” Why would it begin with God introducing God’s self to Moshe? Did God forget that they’ve already met? They’re already pretty deep into the project here!

Back in Parasha Vayigash a few weeks ago, we considered why God would feel the need to introduce Godself to people who should already know who God is. Once again, that issue arises. Why does Va’era, “I appeared,” begin with God introducing God’s self to Moshe?  

What’s happening is that God is telling Moshe that, from now on, God is going to relate to Moshe through a different name. God says, your forbearers knew me as Romeo, but I’m sharing a secret with you that I’ve kept hidden until now. I am Shlomo Finklestein!

I think God is saying to Moshe, “In our first conversation, I told you that my name is ‘I will be as I will be.’ That’s the name I gave you to share with the children of Israel. I suppose you’re now wondering, Wherefore art thou Adonai?”

For your forbearers I was EI Shaddai because that's who they needed me to be in order to hear their summons, for their growth, for their call to action, for their epic story. As El Shaddai I told Abraham, ‘Lech Lechah’— go take a walk for yourself.  For you, I am Adonai because that is who you need me to be for you now, in order for you to become who you must be, for you to become who I need you to be.”   

Adam looked at the funny animal with the long curved neck and the hump and declared, “Camel!” A camel is a camel is a camel. It’s going to look like a camel, think like a camel, and act like a camel, every time. It’s a camel.

Human beings are more complex than camels. Each of us has an innate sense of who we are, as we look into the mirror of our own eyes. But others have their own lens through which they see us. I think, now that I've attained a certain age, that I know who Debra is. But I have many titles, and I imagine that each one has its own definition of "Debra." I’m mother, I’m daughter, I'm sister, I’m wife, I’m friend, I’m colleague, I’m congregation member...the list goes on. Perhaps, the truth of who each of us is, is a prism made up of all these different perspectives. In order to get to that ultimate truth, one would have to be able to see all these angles concurrently.

Sometimes we need the keen perspective of another to help us see what we need to do, who we need to be. And in moments when we aren’t seeing the whole picture clearly, sometimes we need someone to intervene on our behalf.

Because Moshe's wife was a Midianite and their son was born in Midian, Moshe hadn't bothered to circumcise the boy. But, in no way could Moshe return to Egypt and approach b'nai Yisrael as an Israelite, as one of them, without earning that name of "a father in Israel." And so, God set forth to kill Moshe during the family's journey back to his home. Zipporah understood this, and quickly circumcised the child herself, grabbing a nearby rock to do the deed. In that moment, Zipporah was transformed; she became a "mother in Israel."

If a name is going to belong to us, that name has to be earned.

According to the mystics, God has 72 names by which God appears.  Maybe one of the things that Shemot is telling us is that God meets us where we are. God is forever revealing Gods’ self to each of us, appearing by the name that we need God to be in that moment so we can hear the summons, hear our call to action. We look into the totality of God and the particular refraction we see at any time is the one that will lead us to grow and go forward in our own epic tale. Sometimes that can be intellectually stimulating, sometimes spiritually enlightening, sometimes emotionally comforting, and sometimes it’s less than comfortable, but it’s always geared toward furthering our soul’s journey.  

It’s up to us to notice that the shrubbery is on fire.

So what shall we eat?

A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. Juliette might have had Pollastro Arrosto in mind when she made that famous statement. In this 14th century Italian dish, chicken is roasted with orange juice, cinnamon, and rosewater. Since sweet oranges had not yet made it to Italy, we must assume that sour oranges were what the recipe called for. In my adaptation, I’m using bitter orange marmalade. A feast that featured this dish might also include blanched and sautéed fennel, mushrooms sautéed with onion, and a pasta.

The lasagne of the 14th century is very different from the cheesy baked dish we know today. Squares of pasta sheets were layered with spices—sometimes with grated cheese and sometimes with almond milk, sweetened with sugar and infused with saffron. One would eat this creation by picking up a stack of these squares with a sharp stick. While that sounds like fun, (my grandkids would love it!) I'm going to go with modern conventional silverware. For our version of the dish, we're going to boil sheets of lasagne, cut them into squares, and dip them into a lightly sweetened bechamel made with walnut oil, almond milk, and saffron. We'll stack them and finish the dish with more of the sauce poured over.

But where are the greens? You know I can't do dinner without greens! There’s some question over whether or not greens would have been included, as they were thought by some to be peasant food, and the nobility would be horrified to eat peasant food. Peasants or otherwise, we will include them. We'll start our meal with a hearty soup made with mixed greens and white beans in a garlicky stock. It's delicious and nutritious and comes together in minutes if you’ve got stock on hand. For the vegetarians who will forego the chicken, the beans will also supply the necessary protein for a balanced meal. With all the other dishes being served, I promise that no one will go away hungry if you skip the chicken.

The desserts we enjoy today are very different from the sweets one might find in medieval Europe. Sugar and spices were very expensive and were only available to the wealthy. Fruit was highly suspect and many doctors advised against them. If they were to be eaten at all, it was best to cook them. These pears poached in red wine would have been a lovely finale to an upper class dinner.

This might well have been the meal—or at least part of the meal—served at the Capulet dinner table that evening, before our young heroine retired to her balcony.

Menu For Parasha Shemot

a journey to 14th century italy

GOlden shabbat challah

minestra

greens and white beans in broth

Pollastro Arrosto 

chicken roasted with orange, cinnamon, and rosewater

lasagna alla Capulet

with a béchamel of saffron and almond milk, poudre forte

finocchio—caramelized fennel

mushrooms sauté with onion

pears poached in red wine with warm spices

shabbat shalom!