Seven or eight years ago, in the living room of my house in Bristol in the West of England, my jaw dropped when a representative of my pension company asked me what my goal was for five years ahead. Goal? I knew that some people set goals in their lives and worked towards them – maybe some of you here do – but for me it was a quite alien idea. That’s not how my life has worked. Rather, looking back, I seem to have responded to what my heart, or my soul, or maybe God, demanded of me at any given time. That is why I have several times changed profession to follow the needs of heart and fulfillment.
But let’s look at the other, perhaps more common, scenario. If I have a long-term goal (a goal, that is, of a this-worldly nature) I work towards it. To a greater or lesser degree I devote my life to looking out for steps that will take me closer to my goal. If I am in prison, and someone who owes me a favour is getting out, of course it is quite reasonable for me to say "Speak a good word for me into the ear of the king", which is exactly what Joseph, the current hero in our Torah cycle, says to the king’s cup-bearer.
He puts his trust in man. Worse than that, he puts his trust in an Egyptian. But isn’t that what we need to do, if we are to get where we want to get? Isn’t getting on in Jewish life all about knowing the right people, having an aunt who has a friend who can speak to... As we know, Joseph gets nowhere with his "trust-in-man" move. The cupbearer forgets, and this week’s Parsha starts by telling us that two full years have elapsed before the story picks up again, this time with Pharaoh’s dreams and the Hebrew prisoner being hauled out of jail to interpret them.
The famous comment from Rashi is that the reason Joseph had to wait a further two years was that he placed his trust in an arrogant one (an Egyptian) and didn’t place his trust in God. Rashi uses as his proof-text Psalms 40:5 – Happy is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who turns not to the arrogant or to followers of falsehood. I don’t know about you, but I have always nodded piously at that teaching of Rashi’s, without really thinking about it. Yes, of course Joseph should have trusted in God. But for heaven’s sake, that’s a bit tough on young Joseph isn’t it? To get punished with two years extra jail-time for a few hopeful words to someone who owes him, and who has the ear of the king?
It seems we have two quite distinct world-views. In one, we trust in God to guide us through life. In the other, God is in his Heaven and we get on with life here on earth as best we can. The first two verses of that same Psalm 40 give the first view very clearly (and very appositely for Joseph):
I put my hope in the Lord;
he inclined towards me and heeded my cry;
he lifted me out of the miry pit,
the slimy clay,
and set my feet on a rock,
steadied my legs.
It’s a beautiful and inspiring hymn of trust.
But our tradition is not short of examples of the second world-view, that we should do whatever we need to, to run our lives and in particular to get ourselves out of trouble. Look at what Jacob does in Vayishlach, which we read just a couple of weeks ago. Full of fear at what will happen when he meets his brother Esau, Jacob first divides his people and livestock into two camps, so that at least one will have a chance of escaping. Having taken such worldly precautions, then and only then does he turn to God in prayer.
And let’s look forward a few weeks to Beshalach and the scene when the Children of Israel have escaped form Egypt, only to find themselves caught between the Red Sea in front of them and the massed army of the Egyptians behind them. The story is quite odd. The people turn to Moses with sarcasm (was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness?) and Moses’ response to the people is couched in terms of faith, reassurance and encouragement: "Do not fear; stand by and witness the deliverance which the Lord will work for you today." You’d think God would be pleased with Moses, but astoundingly God says to him Ma titzak alai? – what are you crying out to me for?
The Midrash (in Mechilta) gives quite a few versions of what God is really saying here. In one of them, the Holy One tells Moses that all the people have to do is to go forward. Another has God saying that the people are faced with a dire situation: the sea lies in front of them and the Egyptians are pursuing them – and you stand there praying at length?! What are you crying out to me for? There’s a time for brevity and a time for lengthiness.
God isn’t saying, "Don’t worry Moses, just trust me and you’ll all be fine!" It’s more like: "For heaven’s sake, get off the phone and act".
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Maybe we can find a clear message in Chanukah – a celebration of a miracle, the lasting of the oil. Perhaps we can find a teaching of trust here: we may not know how we’re going to get out of this scrape, but let’s just light the lamp with the oil we’ve got – and trust.
Of course Chanukah is not so simple. We have two completely different stories. The historical story is told in the Book of Maccabbees, which didn’t make it into our Jewish Bible, and which makes no mention at all of any miracle of lights. It is the story of uprising and civil war, including the Hasmoneans’capture and cleansing of the Temple in Jerusalem. This historical picture is reflected in the Chanukah passage of Al HaNissim, which we read in the Modim blessing of the Amidah, and in the Nodeh lecha blessing of Bircat Hamazon. Certainly God is seen in this passage as being the true author of the Hasmonean success, just like many people see God’s hand behind the Israeli military victory in the Six Day War. But no mysterious, super-natural, intervention.
It seems that was fine for the sages in Eretz Yisrael who developed this liturgy, but not so for the later rabbis of Babylonia as evidenced in the Babylonian Talmud. Having examined ways of lighting and not lighting the Chanukah lamps, they suddenly, and famously, ask Mai Chanukah? What – after all – was this Chanukah they’d inherited? The Talmud refers to an earlier formulation found in what is called Megillat Ta’anit, (where Chanukah is listed as one of 37 days in the year when there should be no eulogies and no fasting). Megillat Ta’anit asks why we light lamps on Chanukah, and answers that when the sons of the Hasmonian won their battle and entered the Temple, they found there eight pieces of iron, set them up, and kindled lights in them. From this, it seems, the Babylonian Talmud developed the miracle of the oil. They did this as they needed a miracle, a theological reason for the extra-biblical festival which otherwise seemed only to celebrate a victory in war by a zealous group – the Hasmoneans – who were soon to become rather secular and corrupt.
So we have two Chanukahs, a victory over the Syrian Greeks who sought to stamp out Judaism (and over the Jewish Hellenizers who, like the majority of Jews today, rather enjoyed the prevailing secular culture); and a celebration of a super-natural miracle. An act of man and an act of God.
* * *
Where to we put the emphasis as we take steps along the path of our own lives? Who decides on the destination we walk towards? Are we guided by our own goal-making and the steps necessary to meet those goals? Or is there space for something other?
One of my favourite phrases in the Torah is in Chayai Sarah, where Eliezer sets out, on the bidding of his master Abraham, to find a wife for Isaac. He arrives at the spring and asks for God’s help, painting a scenario that (if it comes to pass) will be an indication he’s found the right girl. When Rebecca appears, she follows that scenario exactly and the text goes on: "The man stood gazing at her, silent to know (macharish lada’at) whether the Lord had brought success to his mission or not." Macharish lada’at. The verb to be silent comes from the same root as chairaish, deaf, which first drew my attention to it. Eliezer was, as it were, deaf to all else so he could listen to God.
This seems to me to be a beautiful partnership of human and God. It is neither about sitting back and waiting for a miracle, nor is it about thinking one can manage without God. We all know the famous words in the story of Elijah: but the Lord was not in the wind ... but the Lord was not in the earthquake ... but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire a still small voice.
The still small voice reminds me of that verse in Psalms that Rashi uses as his proof text: Happy is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who turns not to the arrogant. Aren’t we being arrogant if we imagine we control our lives, if we set our goals and coolly work towards them, without listening in to the still small voice? Perhaps like Eliezer, it is possible for us to listen to know whether our path is right, whether it is what God wants for us.
I wish you Shabbat Shalom, Chodesh Tov, Chag Urim Sameach and a 2006 in which God lights your path to a life of fulfillment.