you what ye shall do. And he shall speak for thee unto the people; and he shall be, yea he shall be to thee as a mouth, and thou shalt be to him as a god.”
When the reading ended, many fathers in the congregation turned to their sons, touched their heads, and recited a blessing. Meanwhile, the reader rolled up the scroll and handed it to the bearded man beside him, who placed it on the altar beside the other scrolls. Now a younger man strode forward, said a brief blessing in Hebrew, and began to speak with an animated voice in ordinary, everyday language. Josef was glad for that—he would understand it better than Hebrew. Men in the congregation paid more attention now. The only distractions were occasional noises made by little boys.
“If we look for the literal or plain meaning in this passage, it is clear,” said the speaker. “The Lord supplies exactly what we need in proportion to our need for it. Moses didn’t speak well. The Lord said, ‘I will be with your mouth and teach you what to say.’ Moses asked him to pick someone else. The Lord said, ‘I know that your brother Aaron can speak well. I will be with your mouth and his mouth, and he will speak to the people for you.’ The plain meaning is simple enough: Moses needed a spokesman, and the Lord gave him one. But let us look more closely at the text. It says Moses was heavy of speech and heavy of tongue. What does this mean? It means words did not roll off his tongue, but sat heavily like lead pellets in his mouth. Speaking was difficult because his tongue was weighed down by words of fear, complaint, and refusal. However, the Lord would soon replace the words of lead with words of gold, still heavy but shining and beautiful.
“The Lord had given a mouth to Moses in the first place and promised to inspire his mouth, to fill it with good words and empty it into Aaron’s ear. Aaron would be glad in his heart when he saw his brother Moses again. Aaron had the willingness that Moses lacked. Each brother had something the other needed: Moses had words, Aaron had speech. Neither could do the Lord’s work alone. This is how brothers should help each other and support each other. We are all of us brothers and should do likewise.”
“But what if my brother tries to cheat me?” called out a man from his seat in the congregation.
“We should not squabble and fight among ourselves as some of you do far too often. Where does that lead us? It leads to death. Remember the first brothers, Cain and Abel. They squabbled and what was the result? As our great Rabbi Scholomo says, ‘Cain quarreled with Abel and found a pretext to kill him.’ It leads to death. We must work out our differences peaceably. You may appeal to an arbiter if necessary.”
A man seated near the back spoke up, “My brother is always short of money, on account of his laziness. Should I give him charity when he asks?”
“That is for you to decide. Of course you must encourage your brother to work for himself and to support his family. But also remember that Aaron lifted Moses’ hands high when he could not. ‘When the hands of Moses became heavy, they took a stone, and put it under him, and he sat thereon; and Aaron and Chur supported his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; and his hands were steady until the going down of the sun.’ And because of this, Israel defeated Amalek. Moses, in sympathy with his suffering people, would not sit in comfort, but on a stone, and Aaron would not rest while his brother needed help. Remember this when your brother needs help.”
“Torah and Talmud are fine to study in the schoolroom,” cried out yet another man, “but they are far removed from our daily lives.”
“There you are wrong,” said the preacher. “If you study the commentaries, especially the commentaries of our good Rabbi Scholomo, you will find that Scripture is truly for school and house. The Rabbi uses analogies and logic and stories (wonderful stories of real people) to teach us how to apply the text in our lives. We learn that the Bible is not only a book of law, but also a source of purpose and hope. It appeals to the heart as well as the head.” When no more questions came, the preacher bowed his head and recited a poem in Hebrew. Josef thought he recognized it, perhaps one of the Psalms, about Israel’s love for Zion and for the Torah that came forth from Zion.
After the preacher had finished, two of the bearded men opened the box on the altar and laid the scrolls inside. A man seated in the front row went forward with a taper and lit the oil lamp on the altar, to indicate that the Torah was in its place. More prayers were said.
When the bearded men sat down, a tall, slender man walked forward and faced the congregation. He was pale and not very steady on his feet. Trying to suppress a cough, he explained that his father had died and he did not have sufficient funds for the burial. Could anyone help him? A few hands went up. The cantor came down the aisle, approached each man who raised his hand, secured a pledge, and recited, “God bless Levi (or Samuel, or Elihu) who will contribute such-and-such to a charitable cause.”
The cantor returned to his place at the front. He read aloud the names of donors who, over the past week, had redeemed the highest pledges, thereby purchasing the right to perform certain functions at the next Sabbath service. Everyone hoped to be selected, Mosche explained, for the honor of lighting the lamps or reading Torah. Some of those whose names were not called muttered their disappointment. The cantor raised his voice over the murmurs, reminding the congregation to return later with contributions pledged for the poor box.
Now an old bearded man stepped forward and stood in front of the altar. With both hands he was holding a large, silver cup. Josef knew the service was near its end. Mosche had told him that when the rabbi blessed the wine it was time for him to leave. Otherwise he would be caught in the crowd of people going toward the door and would have to pass under the rabbi’s nose.
Yet Josef did not move. He was fascinated to watch the rabbi turn and lift the cup toward the altar, like a priest would do during the Mass. Josef wanted to hear the blessing, to know whether the words would be the same as the priest said, but just then he felt a sharp poke in his side. Mosche motioned for him to get out quickly. Josef tip-toed to the door, pushed it open a crack, and slipped through. He walked across the courtyard and found a spot beside the wall where he could watch people coming out. Soon the door opened. Just inside, Josef could see several of the bearded men standing, including the one holding the cup of wine. Every boy who came through the door took the hand of one of the bearded men and kissed it. The man, in turn, put his hand on the boy’s head and blessed him. Then the boy was allowed to take a sip of wine from the cup.
Mosche went through the line with the others. Josef was eager to talk with his friend about the service; he was glad when Mosche broke away from the crowd and came over to him. They went out the gate and into the street.
“What did it taste like?” asked Josef.
“You mean the wine? It’s good. Kind of sweet, but not as sweet as honey.”
“Who was the preacher?”
“One of the scholars who studies in the Jeschiba. You were lucky he was the speaker—some of them are really boring.”
“Why do people promise money instead of bringing it in their wallets?”
“On Sabbath day, we’re not supposed to touch real money. So instead we make pledges. Later we bring our money to one of the rabbis, who passes it on to the people who need it.”
The boys talked about other parts of the service as they walked slowly toward Market Street. At the corner, Mosche said he couldn’t go any further.
“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday. Will you go to Mass with me then?”
Mosche frowned. “I didn’t promise I would go. I just said I’d think about it.”
Josef made a wry face. “Okay. You tell me when.”
