Other names of this sort are Arpachshad (a small but delicious fish occasionally placed on pizza?), Asenath (whose name has the misfortune to be pronounced Osnat in Modern Hebrew; sounds like an Egyptian with post-nasal issues), Malchizedek (which is perfectly acceptable in Hebrew but is often pronounced weirdly in English, as something like mal-cheese-edek), and everyone’s perennial favourite, Habakkuk.

Can you think of any others? What are your favourite funny-sounding Biblical names?

Anyway, this particular chapter relates the story of how God sent manna to the Israelites in the desert. Reciting it on this particular day is supposed to be a segulah for a good livelihood and good sustenance. (A segulah is a ritual object or action that has some kind of magical mystical power: nine times out of ten it suffices to substitute the word ’superstition’.) This chapter is known as Parashat Ha-Man, or in proper Ashkenazic Yiddishy Yeshivish Hebrew, Parshas Ha-Mon, which means ‘the section about manna’. Some people seem to recite it every day—the Yerushalmi maintains that if you do, you will never go hungry—but there is a particularly special segulah on this day to say it. What narishkeit.

You can find the complete text in Hebrew here, along with the traditional before- and after-texts, along with the late antique Aramaic translation of Onkelos, for whatever that’s worth. It also seems to be on pages 181c–181f of my ArtScroll prayer book. Since the text is only available in Hebrew (except for ArtScroll’s awful translations), I will translate the silliest parts of this superstition for your reading and deriding pleasure below. My snide comments are in italics and parentheses. For a translation of Exodus 16.4–36, please consult a quality translation. But seriously, if you’re skipping work to spend more time in shul to make sure to recite this section with extra devotion, expecting that God above will make His bounty to fall out of the sky and onto your family’s dinner plates, then you might be in for a bit of a surprise when your paycheck gets docked for the missed work.

Parshas Ha-Mon

It is said in the sources that he who recites Parashat Ha-Man every day will not lack a livelihood, and beforehand he should recite ‘May it be Your will…’. He may recite Parashat Ha-Man even on the Sabbath; only the prayers for livelihood should not be recited on the Sabbath. (Because it doesn’t count as a prayer for livelihood if you don’t say that’s what you’re doing! How’s God going to know the difference?)

May it be Your will, Lord our God, God of our ancestors, that You provide a livelihood for all Your people, the House of Israel, as well as my livelihood and the livelihood of the people in my household besides, in comfort and not in trouble, in honour and not in disgrace, in permission and not in prohibition, so that we will be able to perform Your worship services and study Your Torah, just as You provided sustenance to our ancestors in the wilderness, in a barren and desert land. (Because it totally worked out for the Israelites in the desert, didn’t it, when God sent sustenance and those sorry ingrates rebelled. I’m sure He had some good method for dealing with that, didn’t He. Oh wait, yeah, in the very next chapter, there is no water for the people, and they go nuts. Good planning there, God.)

(Exodus 16.4–36 is read here. Seriously, go read it. If you do, you’ll find that the food in your refrigerator has suddenly doubled. Or at least it will seem to have doubled if you dig deep enough inside.)

אֱהִי כֹּפֶר לְעֹפֶר קָם בְּלַיִל
לְקוֹל כִּנּוֹר וְעוּגָבִים מְטִיבִים
אֲשֶׁר רָאָה בְּיָדִי כוֹס וְאָמַר
שְׁתֵה מִבֵּין שְׂפָתַי דַּם עֲנָבִים
וְיָרֵחַ כְּמוֹ יוֹד נִכְתְּבָה עַל
כְּסוּת שַׁחַר בְּמֵימֵי הַזְּהָבִים.

I’d die for him, the fawn who woke at night
To the beautiful voice of strings and flutes,
Who saw the goblet in my hand, and spoke:
‘Drink, from between my lips, the blood of grapes!’
The moon looked like a letter yud inscribed
Upon the cloak of dawn in golden ink.

—Samuel ibn Naghrela (Shmuel Ha-Nagid, 993–1056)

קְרָב דּוֹמֶה בְרֹאשׁוֹ אֶל יְפֵיפָה
אֲשֶׁר כָּל אִישׁ לְשַׂחֶק בָּהּ יְאַוֶּה
וְסוֹפוֹ כַּזְּקֵנָה הַמְּאוּסָה
אֲשֶׁר כָּל שׁוֹחֲרָה יִבְכֶּה וְיִדְוֶה.

At first, War is a lovely girl;
Every man lusts to play with her.
But she ends up a horrible hag;
Her former suitors weep in pain.

—Samuel ibn Naghrela (Shmuel Ha-Nagid, 993–1056). From his collection Ben Mishlei, ‘Son of Proverbs’

מַה־יָּפ֧וּ פְעָמַ֛יִךְ בַּנְּעָלִ֖ים בַּת־נָדִ֑יב חַמּוּקֵ֣י יְרֵכַ֔יִךְ כְּמ֣וֹ חֲלָאִ֔ים מַֽעֲשֵׂ֖ה יְדֵ֥י אָמָּֽן׃ שָׁרְרֵךְ֙ אַגַּ֣ן הַסַּ֔הַר אַל־יֶחְסַ֖ר הַמָּ֑זֶג בִּטְנֵךְ֙ עֲרֵמַ֣ת חִטִּ֔ים סוּגָ֖ה בַּשּֽׁוֹשַׁנִּֽים׃ שְׁנֵ֥י שָׁדַ֛יִךְ כִּשְׁנֵ֥י עֳפָרִ֖ים תָּֽאֳמֵ֥י צְבִיָּֽה׃ צַוָּארֵ֖ךְ כְּמִגְדַּ֣ל הַשֵּׁ֑ן עֵינַ֜יִךְ בְּרֵכ֣וֹת בְּחֶשְׁבּ֗וֹן עַל־שַׁ֨עַר֙ בַּת־רַבִּ֔ים אַפֵּךְ֙ כְּמִגְדַּ֣ל הַלְּבָנ֔וֹן צוֹפֶ֖ה פְּנֵ֥י דַמָּֽשֶׂק׃ רֹאשֵׁ֤ךְ עָלַ֨יִךְ֙ כַּכַּרְמֶ֔ל וְדַלַּ֥ת רֹאשֵׁ֖ךְ כָּֽאַרְגָּמָ֑ן מֶ֖לֶךְ אָס֥וּר בָּֽרְהָטִֽים׃ מַה־יָּפִית֙ וּמַה־נָּעַ֔מְתְּ אַֽהֲבָ֖ה בַּתַּֽעֲנוּגִֽים׃ זֹ֤את קֽוֹמָתֵךְ֙ דָּֽמְתָ֣ה לְתָמָ֔ר וְשָׁדַ֖יִךְ לְאַשְׁכֹּלֽוֹת׃ אָמַ֨רְתִּי֙ אֶֽעֱלֶ֣ה בְתָמָ֔ר אֹֽחֲזָ֖ה בְּסַנְסִנָּ֑יו וְיִֽהְיוּ־נָ֤א שָׁדַ֨יִךְ֙ כְּאֶשְׁכְּל֣וֹת הַגֶּ֔פֶן וְרֵ֥יחַ אַפֵּ֖ךְ כַּתַּפּוּחִֽים׃ וְחִכֵּ֕ךְ כְּיֵ֥ין הַטּ֛וֹב הוֹלֵ֥ךְ לְדוֹדִ֖י לְמֵֽישָׁרִ֑ים דּוֹבֵ֖ב שִׂפְתֵ֥י יְשֵׁנִֽים׃ לְכָ֤ה דוֹדִי֙ נֵצֵ֣א הַשָּׂדֶ֔ה נָלִ֖ינָה בַּכְּפָרִֽים׃ נַשְׁכִּ֨ימָה֙ לַכְּרָמִ֔ים נִרְאֶ֞ה אִם־פָּֽרְחָ֤ה הַגֶּ֨פֶן֙ פִּתַּ֣ח הַסְּמָדַ֔ר הֵנֵ֖צוּ הָֽרִמּוֹנִ֑ים שָׁ֛ם אֶתֵּ֥ן אֶת־דֹּדַ֖י לָֽךְ׃

How fair are your feet in sandals, O daughter of a prince! The curves of your thighs are jewels, the work of a skilled craftsman. Your navel is a round goblet—let mixed wine not be lacking! Your belly is a heap of wheat encircled with lilies. Your two breasts are two fawns, twins born of a gazelle. Your neck is an ivory tower; your eyes are the pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bat-Rabbim; your nose is the tower of Lebanon which inclines its face towards Damascus. Your head is as Mount Carmel upon you, and the hair of your head is crimson—a king is held captive in your tresses.

How fair and how beautiful are you, O love, in pleasures! Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are grapefruits. I said, ‘I will climb the palm tree, I will grasp its branches. Please—let your breasts be like grape clusters on the vine, and the scent of your face like apples, and the roof of your mouth like the best wine, going down sweetly for my beloved, causing the sleeping lips to move.’

Come, my beloved, let us go out to the field; let us sojourn in the villages. Let us rise early and go to the vineyards. Let us see if the vine has blossomed, whether the grapes are appearing, whether the pomegranates are flowering, and there I will give you my love.

—Song of Solomon 7.1–9, 10–12