In this week's Torah portion, Yisro, we read. "And Moses went up to G-d, and G-d called to him from the mountain saying, 'So shall you say to the House of Jacob and you shall tell to the Children of Israel.'"
Rashi, the foremost Torah commentator explains that the "House of Jacob" refers to the women and the "Children of Israel" refers to the men. He also explains that when you teach Torah to women it should be in a gentle way, emphasising the positive and the rewards for keeping the Torah and its commandments. However, to the men, speak harshly, and tell them the punishments for not observing the Torah and mitzvot.
Why such a difference between women and men when it comes to teaching the Torah? Why does G-d tell Moses to first talk to the women and only after the men? What general lessons, about how to talk to women, can we learn from here?
Jewish women have a special place in Jewish life. Most of the nurturing and upbringing of the next generation are in their hands. The Jewish woman is also the backbone of the Jewish home, if she wants her home to be more kosher, it will be, if she wants it to be more observant, it will be. The future and Jewishness of her family are under her influence.
It stands to reason that G-d would want the women on board first because so much rests on them. Therefore, women need to be knowledgeable in Torah and mitzvot, so they can create a Jewish atmosphere in their homes and their environs.
According to Jewish tradition, women are naturally spiritual and close to G-d. This is the reason why they don't need harsh words to be convinced to do what they sense is right. Harsh words would only have the opposite effect, they only cause women to close up and become unreceptive.
This is also a lesson for men. The success of your home depends on your relationship with your wife and that is dependent on your tone of voice.
A successful Jewish home, affects the family, the community, the Jewish people and ultimately, the whole world. This is the power of a Jewish home, this is the power of the Jewish woman.
On my first trip to Israel in 1978, my travelling companion wanted to climb Mount Sinai. It seemed like a fun Jewish adventure, so I went with her. I remember waking up way too early, that it was way too hot, and that the guide kept talking about Moses. What I remember now, so many years later, is that most everything he said went in one ear and out the other.
I often wonder: what message was playing so loudly that I couldn't hear that G-d gave the Torah to the entire Jewish nation on Mount Sinai? (I have since learned that we actually don't know where the real Mount Sinai is, but I don't think that was the problem.)
I'm fairly sure that the guide related the Sinai story pretty much like that—a story—but I am definitely sure that hearing it didn't even raise a question in my mind about what it meant to be Jewish, other than being smart, funny and persecuted.
Clearly, it would have taken much more than a day trip up any mountain to free my head of all the information that had nothing to do with G-d and Torah.
I was a pop-culture sponge, and my mind was packed with tidbits of trivia, much of it from my favourite childhood pastime: watching television. Cartoons, sitcoms, soap operas; nothing was too dumb. Watching TV was what Americans did, and I did it exceedingly well.
But, nine years later, when I was ready to listen and decided that I wanted to become observant, it was challenging not to be frustrated, even saddened, by the amount of pop-culture “stuff” that had hoarded precious storage space in my brain, never to be emptied. Instead of learning which way to turn during the Amidah prayer, I had been watching The Beverly Hillbillies. I can still remember the names of all the cast members, but when I go to the synagogue, I often need help.
This brings me to this week's Torah portion, and what I learned from that television series in particular.
The show's creators probably didn't intend to make the connection, but one of the main characters on The Beverly Hillbillies was named Jethro, which is also the English translation of the name of this week's Parshah, Yitro. This means that year after year, whether I like it or not, when it's Parshat Yitro, that show's theme song plays in my head.
This Torah-television connection may seem ironic, especially because Parshat Yitro contains the pivotal event for the Jewish people and the entire world—the moment when G-d gave the Torah on Mount Sinai.
But it makes sense in light of the original Jethro/Yitro's identity. He was Moses' father-in-law, a Midianite priest who enjoyed tremendous status and high regard in the world, largely for his unparalleled expertise in the field of idol worship. When a maven like Jethro recognized that this G-d was the One and Only, then chose to convert to follow Him, it sent a powerful spiritual message to the world for all time: Everything about a person, including the past, has the potential to be transformed into holiness.
That's why this magnificent Parshah is named after a convert who once served as an idolatrous priest.
And for me, that message is a priceless gift, although it took many years for me to be grateful for my history. Who knows what part the emptiness of entertainment played in igniting my desire for a life of meaning? The knowledge that my current effort in the realm of G-dliness actually elevates my past is a great joy for me—one that allows me to laugh a little more about the things that feel like they will stay in my head forever.
