A few months ago, I was cleaning out some of my old things from my dad’s house and I came across the dot-matrix-printed copy of the d’var Torah I delivered at my bat mitzvah – Parashat B’haalot’kha 1991. In the shul where I grew up, it was the custom for the celebrating child to speak about the Haftarah rather than the Torah portion.
Although I was a day school student who was engaged in her Jewish learning, I was still 12 years old while working on this and had only a very basic understanding of Jewish history and how the Prophets fit into it. The Haftarah, from the book of Zechariah, was way beyond my ability to fully comprehend. Looking back at that time, I think I only got that the Haftarah was chosen for the parashah because they both spoke about the Menorah – the parashah referencing the Menorah from the mishkan and the Haftarah referencing a vision of a Menorah that would grace a restored Temple.
The younger me’s lack of understanding was evident in what I had written, which mostly seemed heavily influenced by what my rabbi said I should write. And yet, even though I didn’t really follow what it was talking about, I always thought of the Haftarah as my Haftarah. That sense of ownership has remained with me and I love getting to share my Haftarah with the many students I’ve celebrated with whose b’nei mitzvah took place on weeks when we read the same parashah.
As a child, I didn’t have any sense of the historical context of the Haftarah – the Babylonian exiles returning to the land of Israel, permitted, but not quite ready, to reestablish their religious practices and rebuild a fragmented, disillusioned community. Our lives are worlds apart from the lives of those who lived in the time of Zechariah, but the challenges faced by the returning exiles feel not so far away from our own, especially in the polarized political climate that we can’t quite seem to escape.
Even all those years ago, when my understanding of the Haftarah had not yet developed there were two verses that always stood out to me. Their message was one I appreciated then, and is one that I think we need to hear now.
The opening verse of the Haftarah reads: “Shout for joy, Fair Zion! For lo, I come; and I will dwell in your midst—declares GOD.” (Zechariah 2:14) The phrase “I will dwell in your midst” recalls God’s promise to dwell among the people with the creation of the mishkan. The phrasing is a little bit awkward there, as well as here, and multiple commentaries note that the words actually mean “I will dwell within you.” These words are a promise of hope and closeness, in a time when rebuilding a sacred community seemed nearly impossible.
Now, as in the time of Zechariah, it is so easy to feel far away from our spiritual center, far away from God, far away from each other. When we feel alone, we tend to act alone, forgetting that we are deeply connected to each other, turning people who are different from ourselves in belief or opinion into enemies. The promise of reconnection is a cause for joy, as Zechariah prophesies, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Unlike during the time of the Prophets, we cannot expect an angel or a miracle to do the work for us - we need to figure out how to make that reconnection and reconciliation happen.
This we find in the other verse that I’ve always kept close to my heart. Near the end of the Haftarah, we read: “Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said GOD of Hosts.” (Zechariah 4:6) In its context, this verse is telling us that the reestablishment of the Jewish community in the land of Israel and the Temple will not come about through military means. Instead, God’s spirit will guide the people to these goals. For us today, this message rings true.
We will not solve our problems, our disconnection and disagreements, by fighting against one another. We will only begin to do so when we allow ourselves to see God’s spirit in others, whether they agree with us or not. Then we can make room for the Divine presence to dwell among and within us.
Shabbat shalom.