(no subject)

Today I'm writing the bit in Exodus where the people donate to the building of the tabernacle. They bring gold and silver and miscellaneous rich and rare materials, and they keep on bringing, and eventually the tabernacle artisans plead with the people to stop bringing stuff because they're overwhelmed.

Comment from passer-by: Hah! That doesn't happen any more!

And she meant, hah, people these days aren't so generous, wouldn't it be nice if we were as generous as the Jews of old!

And whenever this story is brought up in sermons, that's the thrust. "Goodness, weren't those people a splendid example? They gave so much that the tabernacle fund couldn't cope! Give generously!"

Today this irritates me. Of course that doesn't happen any more. And it's not the people, it's the temples.*

Since when did a temple ever say "Thanks, we've got enough now," eh? I ask you. Whoever heard of a temple without bottomless coffers?

That is, people probably donate as generously as they ever did. It's not that people's ability to give is any different, it's the establishment's ability to take. The builders of the mishkan were able to stop taking when they had enough for their immediate needs.

Okay, the economics of a tabernacle in the mishkan and a contemporary synagogue are totally different things, and it makes sense for a synagogue to fill its coffers in anticipation of rainy days and leaky roofs. Totally.

But I resent the implication that people today are less generous than they used to be. Why not frame the sermon so that the implication is "Goodness, weren't the Tabernacle staff lucky! They knew that if they were running out of stuff, more would happen somehow!" Cast the comparison on the establishment rather than on the laity, why not?


* Solomon's Temple, Herod's Temple, the Great Synagogue of PreWarEuropeanCity, Temple BiblicalNoun-BiblicalName down the road, etc. Doesn't matter.

(no subject)

Wondering about the midrash on Esther, as well.

At the beginning of the story, the king sends for Queen Vashti to show her off to his mates. And she says she's not coming, whereupon everyone gets into a gigantic tizzy lest it get about that Vashti got away with saying no to her husband, and they dethrone her and all sorts of nasty things, and generally overreact.

Which you can read as being tremendously misogynist, if you like. Or you can be a bit more subtle and read it as satire - the megillah poking fun at people who overreact when their wives don't do as they say.

The midrash, somewhat later, goes to great lengths to explain exactly why Vashti deserved everything she got. It says she was a slut, she was rude to the king and humiliated him in front of his friends, she made Jewish girls work on Shabbat with no clothes, etc.

So if you read the story in light of the midrash, people's reaction to Vashti saying no is totally proportionate.

Why is the midrash so invested in doing this? Does it take the first reading above and have problems with the idea that the biblical characters are overreacting? Does it take the second reading and just not get the idea of satire, or not accept that the Bible can do satire if it wants? Or what? I'm intrigued.

ETA: livredor points out that what the midrash is doing is emphasising a doctrine of just reward and punishment, which is something the midrash rather likes doing - in part because the midrash is often directed at communities in exile who are rather miserable and need to be able to pin their hopes on something - so what it's doing makes sense in its own context. Good.

She also points out that in midrashic parables, a king often represents God. Accordingly, stories where kings do unjust and rotten things are sort of disturbing. So if the king appears rotten and unjust, the midrash-influenced reader is going to feel like it's God being rotten and unjust, and the midrash is going to want to address that, by providing extra background which makes the king/God appear perfectly reasonable. This also makes sense.