Eikev, Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25
Shabbat, July 31, 2010 / 20 Av, 5770
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pp. 1,379–1,408; Revised Edition, pp. 1,226–1,250
The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, pp. 1,089–1,114
Second Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 49:14–51:3
The Torah: A Modern Commentary, pp. 1,599–1,603; Revised Edition, pp. 1,251–1,254

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D'VAR TORAH   
Eikev: Rain for All Seasons
Amy R. Perlin

The climate debate over global warming rages in political and academic circles, commanding media attention daily. A recent article in The Washington Post¹explored the dramatic change in Australia’s rainfall, which has resulted in a decade of drought. Today, the Jordan River is more of a creek than a river, and geologists are worried that the Dead Sea is drying up. The thing most prayed for on our planet is “rain . . .  in season” (Deuteronomy 11:14). The Torah teaches us that the world began as water, and the water crisis looms dark on our planet’s current horizon. We need rain now, no less than our ancestors who farmed the soil of biblical Israel.

So our portion this week states, “If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving the Eternal your God and serving [God] with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain (m’tar) for your land in season, the early rain (yoreh) and the late [rain] (malkosh) (11:13ff.). Our Torah commentary² says that the yoreh falls in October and early November, and the malkosh in late March and early April with the majority of Israel’s rain falling in December and January. When I complained that all it did was rain during two visits to Israel in December and February last year, Israelis reprimanded me: how dare I complain about Israel’s most precious and cherished resource? Israelis appreciate the gifts of rain for arid soil to blossom.

Rashi explains yoreh as “the rain which falls in the time of sowing and drenches the soil,” and malkosh as “the rain which descends before the harvest and fills out the grain on the stalk.” These two rains, the early and late, are the most important for agriculture. There is an awareness of Israel’s agriculture in this portion that again lends support for the theory that Deuteronomy was written while the people were already inhabiting the Land. There are many biblical, Talmudic, and midrashic quotes about rain testifying to its importance for the survival of the Land of Israel and the Rabbis’ knowledge of the cyclical nature of rainfall over time.

Our Torah portion this week contains the second paragraph of the traditional Sh’ma(Deuteronomy 11:13–21), which was removed by our Reform liturgists for its agricultural content and theological implications. Theologically, according to our portion, observance of the mitzvot and obedience to the commandments result in rainfall. Obedience to other gods results in divine anger and the “shutting up of the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce” (Deuteronomy 11:17). We are told that if we fail to observe mitzvot we will perish from lack of rainfall.

As you might imagine, this was a problematic theology for rational, classical, urban Reform Jews of the nineteenth century approaching the Sh’ma for daily worship. Linking observance of mitzvot to rainfall was not a modern or scientifically supportable concept, and positing a God who punishes with drought and famine did not seem consistent with the Reform concept of personal autonomy and choice in the observance of mitzvot. Many of us find a disconnect with a description of our God as “climate controller in chief.” We are more likely to blame human greed and consumption, neglect, and pollution for modern day climate problems than we are to turn the rainfall over to a providential and punishing God. As the president of Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, Rabbi David Ellenson points out: “Simply put, it presents a doctrine of reward and punishment that most liberal Jews have found problematic, if not offensive. It has therefore been removed from most liberal prayer books in the modern era” (quoted in My People’s Prayer Book, Volume 1: Traditional Prayers, Modern Commentaries – The Sh’ma and Its Blessings, Lawrence A. Hoffman, ed., [Woodstock, Vermont: Jewish Lights Publishing, 1997], pp. 104, 108).

A commentary on the Principles of Reform Judaism states, “Most early American Reform prayerbooks retained the first paragraph of the Shema (V’ahavta, “And thou shalt love . . .”) but removed the Second [Deuteronomy 11:13–21] and most of the Third paragraphs. Some Reform congregations are now re-instituting these sections. The Second Paragraph (V’haya im shamoa, “And if you listen to My mitzvot. . . ”) states that there is a relationship between the faithfulness with which the Jewish people observe the mitzvot and the orderly conduct of nature. This statement in the Principles affirms our obligation to preserve and protect God’s creation, of which we are a part. Contemporary insights into the fragility of our environment underscore the traditional Jewish commitment to take care of God’s world” (see http://ccarnet.org/documentsandpositions/platforms).

If we see our portion through new eyes, the eyes of the environmentally aware, we can see that our actions do have an effect on the weather. For example, allowing the Land to have fewer trees leads to erosion, which, in turn, leads to greater runoff and less absorption of the precious commodity of rain. Our new understanding of the environment brings new meaning to the words of our portion that Reform liturgy once discarded. The portion implies that our behavior determines rainfall and the productivity of the Land. Whether we believe that our fulfillment of the mitzvot determines whether God provides rainfall in the Land of Israel, we would all certainly agree today that the sanctity with which we appreciate the environment is a factor in determining the quantity and quality of rainfall on our planet, including in the Land of Israel.

Our passage from Eikev has a long history in Reform Judaism. It may not be appropriate liturgy for us, but it offers us an opportunity to understand our relationship to our environment, our God, and the teaching of Torah that showers our lives with blessing.

1. Blaine Harden, ”A lingering pool of disbelief,” The Washington Post, December 9, 2010 (http://tinyurl.com/yg6334l).

2. The Torah: A Modern Commentary, rev. ed., ed. W. Gunther Plaut [New York: URJ Press, 2005] p. 1,239)

Rabbi Amy R. Perlin, D. D., is a summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Princeton University, and was ordained from the New York School of HUC–JIR in 1982. She is the senior rabbi of Temple B’nai Shalom in Fairfax Station, Virginia.

DAVAR ACHER  
Awe and Activism
Annie Belford

Years ago, I hiked up a California mountain. I walked until I reached the peak, and as I looked out I saw the low clouds above covering the valley and ocean beyond; I could just make out the tops of ocean islands peeking through the cloud cover. As I took in the view, I was overcome with emotion. Never before had I felt so connected to the world around me or sensed holiness in nature. I was full of awe, and could only cry. 

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel discusses this kind of experience when he says, “awe is an intuition for the creaturely dignity of all things and their preciousness to God; a realization that things not only are what they are but also stand, however remotely, for something absolute” (God in Search of Man [New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1955], p. 75). When we experience awe, we gain deep respect and gratitude for the world around us—and ultimately, for God. 

Before our Torah portion goes into the details of the challenging theology that Rabbi Perlin describes, Eikev reminds us of the necessity of these feelings: “For the Eternal your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill . . . a land where you may eat food without stint, where you will lack for nothing. . . When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the Eternal your God for the good land given to you” (Deuteronomy 8:7, 9–10). Whether we find that awe through study, prayer, activism, or hiking up a mountain—in the end, it cannot help but commit us to change the way we relate to the world, to work for climate change and sustainability—and in the end, to connect us to “something absolute” in everything around us.

Rabbi Annie Belford serves Temple Sinai in Houston, Texas.

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