Personal Parsha Prose: Recent Episodes
Sarah Rochel Hewitt
Due to the world’s most awesome mother-son roadtrip, I was unable to write a new Dvar Torah. The Dvar Torah below was originally posted on August 6, 2021.
Parshas Re’eh: The Deeper Purpose of Shamor
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Yehudis bas Leah, Yona Yaakova bas Mina, Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Mindel Batsheva bat Nechama Zelda, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Yaakov ben Esther Malka.
Being an observant Jew requires vigilance. It requires constant consideration of one’s actions and whether those actions reflect the standards of Jewish law and the spirit of Torah morality. One of the most commonly repeated words of command in the Torah is the term shamor, which is translated most frequently as either guard or observe. The most famous usage of the term shamor is the mitzvah of Shabbas, as part of the duality of shamor v’zachor, guard and remember, in which the lo ta’aseh, the prohibitions of Shabbat that enforce “rest” are the means of guarding the holy day while the positive actions fulfill the instruction of remembering it.
Devarim 12:28, in parshas Re’eh, has a different, and rather interesting, pairing of the word shamor: “Shmor v’shamata es kol hadevarim haeleh…Guard and you shall hear all these commandments that I command you in order that it will go well for you and your children after you forever, because you will do what is good and what is right in the eyes of Hashem your God.” Some commentators connect this statement solely to the section in which it is contained, to the discussion of the permission to eat [kosher] meat freely, the prohibition against eating blood, and the reminder that any animals designated for sacrifice must be brought upon the altar. However, the fact that the pasuk refers to kol hadevarim haeleh and that the verse promises that “it will be good for you and your children after you forever because you will do what is good and what is right in the eyes of Hashem your God” lead many commentators to see this as a separate statement – independent and pertaining to both mitzvos and the way in which one leads one’s life. The goal of guarding and hearkening to the mitzvos is to lead a life in which one does hatov v’hayashar, what is good and what is right.
According to the Tur HaAruch, Moshe used shmor v’shamata because “he wanted to include matters which go beyond legislated mode of behavior and which fall under the category of ‘do what is fair and good,’ to go beyond what is demanded of them in order to demonstrate that they act in the spirit of the Torah voluntarily and not under compulsion and threat of penalty” (Sefaria commentary translations). In order to live properly, one must do more than observe the mitzvos, one must observe the mitzvos in order to “hear” the deeper ways of the law, in order to find the spirit of the law that leads one to a moral, upstanding life.
The Ramban hints at this idea as well, saying that the verse is talking about more than static laws: “He [Moshe] did not mention here the statutes and ordinances, nor His testimonies and His commandments, but said all those words in order to include in this observance the good and the right” (ibid). Indeed, Rashi is even more specific in what is being discussed in this pasuk when he explains that “Hatov, what is good, refers to action that is proper in the eyes of the Heavenly Father, while hayashar, what is right, refers to an action that appears proper in the eyes of men” (ibid).
Let us step back a moment and reflect on shamor’s other famous pairing in order to gain a deeper understanding of how guarding leads to hearing and how they, together, lead to a good and upright life for all one’s generations. In the dual commandments of Shabbas, shamor v’zachor - guard and remember, zachor refers to all of the positive mitzvos of the day – to making kiddush and motzei, to lighting candles, and etc. These are the beautiful actions that fill our neshamos with joy, that are passed down from generation to generation with personal flourishes, but that also, all too often have faded away when not powered by shamor. Guarding the prohibited actions of Shabbas can, from the outside, seem fussy and difficult. One must understand, however, that in order to remember Shabbas, we must observe it, guard it. In order to pass on the beautiful tradition of candles and kiddush, one must guard the entire day.
So too is the pairing of shmor v’shamata. In order to live a life that is good and proper, and to pass it on to one’s children, one must begin by guarding/observing the mitzvos. In so doing, one will then come to “hear” them, to understand the impact that they have on one’s life and to connect with them on a deeper level. For instance the mitzvos discussed in Devarim 15, which review the laws of shemitah as it pertains to loans, also delves into how one should treat the poor. Knowing that the Torah says “Give to him readily and have no regrets when you do so, for in return the Lord your God will bless you in all your efforts and in all your undertakings” (15:10), one can move beyond the letter of the law of giving without hesitation to creating organizations that seek out ways in which to give and to improve the lives of those in need. One mitzva explored, heard, understood…leads to more. It leads to bigger and better. It leads to leading an upright life.
The Ohr HaChaim points out about Devarim 12:28: “Our verse may also remind a person who is in the habit of fulfilling a particular commandment and is fully aware of what it entails not to say that he does not need to study this commandment. Moshe tells us that study even of commandments which we fulfil as a matter of routine is a separate mitzvah and is not to be neglected” (Sefaria). Shmor v’shamata is both a philosophical and a practical mitzvah. Just as we must always guard/observe the mitzvos of the Torah, so too must we always be seeking to understand the mitzvos and their impact on us, as well as the importance of using the mitzvos to lead a life that is truly hatov v’hayashar, what is good and what is right.
Have a beautiful Shabbas.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Eikev, like much of Devarim, presents Moshe telling Bnei Yisrael about the connection of their actions and their settlement in the Promised Land. Indeed, it opens: “If you will heed these ordinances and safeguard and perform them, Hashem, your God, will keep the covenant for you, as well as the kindness that He swore to your forefathers. He will love you, bless you, and multiply you. He will bless the fruit of your womb; the fruit of your soil: your grain, your wine, and your oil; the offspring of your cattle and the choice of your flocks—in the land that He swore to your forefathers to give you” (Devarim 7:12-13).
Among the numerous places in the parsha where Moshe emphasizes this dynamic, there is an interesting word - chashak. In Devarim 10:15, Moshe says: “Only(yet) to your forefathers chashak Hashem, to love for them, and He chose their descendants after them; and he chose their seed – you(pl) – from all of the people, like this day.” If you notice that the translation of chashak was skipped that is because it appears to be a word that does not truly translate. One source has it as “Hashem was drawn out,” while another source says that Hashem “desired.” A third source translates chashak as “had a delight.” The Rav Hirsh translation (1966) is “find pleasure,” although that is the translation of the German translation.
None of these translations truly change the tone of the pasuk, and yet it makes one wonder what might be significant about this word. To explore that question, one must see in what other contexts the word is used.
Moshe used chashak in a similar context in Devarim 7:7, when he told Bnei Yisrael: “It is not because you are the most numerous of peoples that Hashem grew attached to you and chose you—indeed, you are the smallest of peoples.” Then, as in this week’s pasuk, he goes on to tell them that Hashem was drawn to them, “because He would keep the oath which He swore unto your fathers” (7:8). … There is an implication of Hashem loving Bnei Yisrael in a way that is not completely of His own volition. (Don’t stress, that is meant in a completely anthropomorphic way!) There is a sense that Hashem has resigned Himself to His love for us for the sake of our forefathers.
In fact, that sub-text is oddly supported by other places where this word is used:
Devarim 21:11 – “and you see among the captives a beautiful woman and - v’chashaktah - you desire her, you may take [her] for yourself as a wife.”
Bereishis 34:8 – “And Hamor spoke with them, saying, ‘My son Shechem his soul – chashaka - has a liking for your daughter. Please give her to him for a wife.’”
Strange, is it not? But let us think about it a little deeper. In both the story of Dina and the case of the aishes yafat to’ar, there is an implication that the love, the desire, is one directional. That it is almost out of their control. That’s important. That’s what Moshe needs Bnei Yisrael to understand - not the lack of control but the one-directionality of it.
When Moshe tells Bnei Yisrael in both places in Devarim that Hashem loves them, us, because of our forefathers, he is not just telling us that we have not earned Hashem’s love. That message comes out pretty loud and clear. He is telling us that the love of Hashem for us, and even for our forefathers, is something as yet unreciprocated.
In us, as in our forefathers, Hashem does see something special, something unique. When Avraham Avinu recognized Hashem’s oneness, he ignited the existing spark of Divinity that rests in all who are Btzelem Elokim, and Bnei Yisrael will forever radiate that light ignited by Avraham… That light, that power to see the Divine in the world and bring it out, is our beauty. Our charm is our ability to have a relationship with Hashem – but it is nothing more than charm and beauty if we do not do the work. A relationship cannot be formed if it is one sided.
The Torah is the path to meeting Hashem’s desire for us. It isn’t enough to just say “I love Hashem.” That is a superficial declaration. Rather, Hashem provided us with the mitzvos so we could come close to Him, so we could see and reflect His beauty.
Having looked at the word chashak from Devarim 10:15, we have, perhaps, another layer of understanding of the next pasuk: “You must therefore circumcise the foreskin of your heart and cease being stiff-necked” (10:16). Let go of the idea that you have somehow already merited Hashem’s love. You haven’t, but you can. And that is the message we can take from Devarim 10:15 - know that what Hashem wants most of all is for us to reciprocate His chashak.
Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.
Parshas Va’Eschanan is always read on Shabbas Nachamu, the Shabbas after Tisha B’Av. It is the parsha that extols the connection of Hashem and Bnei Yisrael, which should reflect the deeper experience of Tisha B’Av. This is the time when we see Hashem in our pain, when we recognize that our tragedies are a reflection of our distance from Him, and that it is up to us to work on bringing ourselves closer so that Hashem can remove the cloud of hester panim, of His hiding Himself away.
If we are honest with ourselves, we understand that the distance we experience today – the distance from Hashem and the distance from our own inner spirituality – is our own fault. Humanity has such a great desire to assert its independence and to challenge the status quote that we often break away from our spiritual core in our attempt to grasp it. We want proof of God and proof of our neshama because that is, many wrongfully believe, the only way we can understand the Divine. Somewhere deep within us, we have this notion that if we could just “see” the Divine then all of our problems would be solved, but, really, the solution lies in NOT seeing Hashem.
Parshas Vaeschanan contains one of the core prayers of Jewish life: Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad. HEAR o’ Israel Hashem is our God, Hashem is One. Not See – Hear. The act of seeing is rooted in the physical. If I can see it, I don’t have to have faith since I have evidence. I don’t have to do any internal work to accept and understand. Hearing, on the other hand, is an internal process. Sound enters our ears, so to speak, and reverberates throughout our being. They say that the eyes are windows to the soul, but you don’t enter through a window. The entry doors, then, are the ears – for they are responsible for hearing, for listening.
Moshe understood the human desire for something physical. Afterall, he remembered the first generation’s reaction to his delayed return from Har Sinai, how they demanded that Aaron create the Golden Calf because they feared that they had lost Moshe, their physically visible connection to Hashem. And so Moshe says to the people gathered at the border of the Promised Land: “For your souls’ sakes, therefore, be most careful—since you saw no shape when Hashem spoke to you at Horeb out of the fire—” (Devarim 4:15) and reminds them of all the prohibitions of creating forms of avodah zarah. This is Moshe warning the people that they will never be able to make Hashem concrete because, as they experienced, He is so much vaster than the visible world.
Rabbeinu Bahya explains this pasuk as a statement of truth: “Seeing that you know clearly that you did not see any phenomenon, image, at the time when Hashem revealed Himself, you must take care in the future never to make such a likeness…” (Translation from Sefaria). You must take care in the future not to believe that there can ever be such a likeness. A physical likeness of Hashem would be limiting, and Hashem is limitless.
There is an interesting thing about the idea of hester panim, about the hidden face of Hashem. Panim is a plural word, always. Why? There are many responses to this question, but one such answer might be that a face is a reflection. People see in one another’s face mirrors of themselves. When we smile at someone, they most often smile back. When we like someone, they become beautiful. Our neshamos are reflections of Hashem. When Hashem hid His face from us, it also meant we lost something of ourselves, and that something, perhaps, is an understanding of our strength as spiritual creations.
Noting how Devarim 4:15 refers to guarding nefshoseichem, your souls, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsh draws attention back to the interconnectedness of the soul to the Divine. The emuna that we inherited from Avraham Avinu is not something one can assess in one’s physical DNA. There’s no chromosome. It’s a “mutation” so to speak, in one’s spiritual DNA. It’s a link through that which cannot be seen or touched. This, according to Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsh, can be learned from this pasuk:
“…Besides God, there is only one other being of whose individual reality and personal existence, although invisible and unable to be realised by any of our physical senses, each one of us bears within himself the direct certainty of conviction, and that is our soul, our נפש. It is that, therefore, which reflecting back on oneself makes one comprehend the real existence of something which is invisible and intangible, and by the certainty of the conviction of one’s own self comprehend the conviction of the existence of God. As sure as we are of the existence of our own self so are we of the existence of God.” (translation from Sefaria)
The self of spirituality exists on a plane that we cannot see and we cannot touch. The questioning of God leaves us with the question of how we each are who we are because “nature vs nurture” and gene predictions still can’t explain the whole. But if you are very quiet and you listen, you can start to understand that the very nature of humankind, the very nature of the world itself, is all one and that one is Hashem. This is the truth that we will see – yes, see – in the time of Beis Hamikdash, bmheira biyameinu.
I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas.
Sefer Devarim begins with Moshe’s recounting of the journey of Bnei Yisrael after they received the Torah. It is interesting, however, that in the first perek of his recounting Moshe deliberates on two points: the creation of the system of judges and the reaction of the people during the reports of the scouts. The question, of course, is why these two items are so specifically detailed, and the answer might very well be because they demonstrate the contentious nature of Bnei Yisrael.
Sefer Devarim is understood to be both a review of the people’s history and a prophecy of all that will come to Israel. Integral to that future would be both our structured community order and, unfortunately, our penchant for questioning Hashem and getting ourselves in trouble. This latter trait, alas, has seen us, time and again, in the cross-hairs of Hashem’s ire, at a point where Hashem finds it necessary to bring forth all of the dire warnings we have been given in order to remind us of the role we accepted at Sinai.
When you look at Devarim as prophecy, the following pasukim stand out as having an interesting opportunity for interpretation:
“Yet for all that, you have no faith in the Hashem your God, who goes before you on your journeys—to scout the place where you are to encamp—in fire by night and in cloud by day, in order to guide you on the route you are to follow. Upon hearing your loud complaint, Hashem became angry and vowed: Not one of those involved, this evil generation, shall see the good land that I swore to give to your fathers—" (Devarim 1:32-35).
Moshe is speaking of a very specific incident and yet perhaps it could be understood as more. The place we are to encamp is our ultimate destination, the time when we achieve the status of a goy Kadosh and a mamleches kohanim. To reach that role, we must be able to truly recognize our dynamic relationship with Hashem. Sadly, however, like our ancestors, we often lack faith in Hashem and the future because we fail to recognize the fire by night or the cloud in the day; we fail to understand Hashem’s constant guidance as referenced by the fire and the cloud.
The fire in the night represents – perhaps - those times that might be labeled difficult - in truth, tragic. Fire is hot and dangerous. Fire burns away the fringes. But think of a forest fire, a necessary act of nature so that the forest can grow back stronger and fresher. When we “have no faith in Hashem,” we fail to see that these challenges serve a purpose. It allows us to grow stronger.
The cloud by day represents the good times, the times of success – the times when the Jewish people flourish and thrive – the day. Why then, you might ask, “a cloud”? In the good times, Hashem is also obscured. He hides behind a cloud so that we do not see Him directly; and He does so with good purpose. Hashem needs Bnei Yisrael to follow His path with absolute bechira, free will, and so He hides Himself away. But we, in our stubborn, human existence, fail to see beyond the cloud.
Thus it is that Moshe’s words in Devarim 1:32-33 describe the future – our present – in which the Jewish people (and yes this means both frum people and not frum people) lack in emuna. That lack, that inability to hold on to our faith in God (although, thank God, there are many exceptions) leads to the delay in the ultimate redemption, and thus reflecting Devarim 1:35: “Not one of those involved, this evil generation, shall see the good land that I swore to give to your fathers—”
It’s hard, if you pay attention to what is going on in the world, not to find correlations. Hashem gave us the opportunity to return to the Promised Land, but now, as our enemies grow bolder – as lies permeate the news with the conviction of fact – there are Jews themselves that are digging a hole for our people. We have, Baruch Hashem, many Kalevs and Yehoshuas, many people who understand the incredible nature of Eretz Yisrael and the relationship of Bnei Yisrael with Hashem. But there are far too many around the world who believe the lies about themselves – and it is both terrifying and depressing to watch because all of our history is already laid out for us if we look in the Torah.
Right now, we seem to be approaching “night” and the fire seems to be getting hotter for Jews around the world. if there is one way to turn back the tidal wave of anti-Semitism, it is right here: Emuna. Belief – beyond belief. Not only must we embrace and strengthen our emunah, but we must use our emuna to fulfill the Torah.
(Please note, it is clear in the Torah that the pillar of fire and the cloud were matters of Divine protection. This Dar Torah is just looking at them metaphorically in light of the world today.)
MAZAL TOV! Parshas Devarim is the anniversary of these Divrei Torah, the first of which “Eleh Devarim”, was published in 5778 (2018). Here is the link – https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2018/07/these-are-words.html - and it is terribly sad how similar the message is – and to think how far that date was from October 7th and the world we live in now!
May Hashem Moshiach bmherya biyamenu. Have a beautiful Shabbas, which is a taste of the world to come.
In this week’s Parsha, Parshas Matos Masai, the thirty-third chapter of Sefer Vayikra provides a repetitively phrased detailing of the travelling of Bnei Yisrael. They traveled here. They travelled there. They travelled here. They travelled there, and so forth and so on.
Not surprisingly, the great list of journeying begins in Mitzrayim: “They set out from Ramses in the first month…” However, rather than just recording the journey, as is done for most of the rest of the perek, the Torah includes some extra details: “It was on the morrow of the Pesach offering that Bnei Yisrael started out defiantly, in plain view of all the Egyptians. And the Egyptians were burstory. We all known the joke about Jewish hoying the dead that Hashem had struck down among them – every first born – whereby Hashem executed judgement on their gods” (Vayikra 33:3-4).
These details are fascinating because, if you think about it, these two brief, dare I say poetic, verses stated a truth about Jewish history. The Mitzrim are the protype of our oppressors throughout hilidays– they came to kill us, we won, let’s eat… well, except for the eating part. Remember, almost all of our great enemies are gone from the world, but we are still here.
One of the hardest truths for we as people to understand is that every great oppression that we as a nation faced was purposeful. Let’s take a biblical step back to Bereishis. The oppression of Bnei Yisrael in Mitzrayim was not a twist of fate; it was divinely orchestrated. The Mitzrim, on a celestial level, were given a Divine role to help shape the descendants of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov by pressuring them – as promised to Avraham at the Bris Bein Habaturim. And the common question is: If Hashem told Avraham that the people would be oppressed, why were the Mitzrim punished in such a devastating way. The answer: they took it too far. And, really, it’s all there in the Torah.
If you think back to Shemos, the enslavement of the Israelites began with what could be seen as a logical concern. They were worried about a minority population taking power. Slavery seems like a terrible and drastic measure to us, but not 100% impossible to understand. This logical concern was the permitted oppression – the oppression that Hashem foretold to Avraham during the bris bein habaturim. However, Pharoah and his Egyptians found more and more reasons to be paranoid of the Jews. When Pharoah started ordering babies killed, this no longer had anything to do with the oppression Hashem needed Bnei Yisrael to go through. This was when they took the power Hashem had given them and abused it, and this is the reason that the Mitzrim eventually suffered so drastically that they could barely acknowledge Bnei Yisrael were leaving (as noted in our quoted pasukim, Vayikra 33:3-4).
In an era like the one that appears to be unfolding before us now, the world keeps trying to point to a legitimate reason for their hatred. They point to Israel but attack all Jews because, really, anti-Semitism is the super-natural vehicle pushing Bnei Yisrael in the direction of redemption. And in such an era, we cannot lose sight of these verses: “…Bnei Yisrael started out defiantly, in plain view of all the Egyptians. And the Egyptians were burying the dead that Hashem had struck down among them…” It is an incredible reminder. This too shall pass, and we shall remove ourselves from our enemies in their clear view, but they will be too busy picking up the pieces to be able to witness the Divine hand.
Those who have chosen to go beyond reason and logic in their hatred of the Jewish people will be struck down, and we, who have held fast to our faith, will walk out defiantly and in plain view.
Am Yisrael Chai and Shabbat Shalom.
The immediate thought when one sees a title like “Do You Stand Out” for Parshas Pinchas is that it is an obvious grab at a Dvar Torah. The parsha opens with Hashem publicly commending Pinchas for standing up for His honor. Pinchas’ actions, as the commentaries relay, could, with just a slight variance of moment, with a slight shift in intent, have been a crime. However, because his intentions were correct and his actions were done in just the right way, because his only thought was for Hashem, Pinchas became a Cohen with his brothers and Klal Yisrael learned what purposeful zealotry was.
Pinchas, however, is not the only one who stands out in this parsha. One could almost call it a motif. For instance, here too is where five women - Machlah, No’ah, Choglah, Milkah, and Tirtzah – distinguish themselves in the Torah. It is often mentioned how rare women are named in the Torah (although the genealogical recounting in Parshas Pinchas pauses, so to speak, to callout both Serach and Yocheved), and that reflects the true greatness of these 5 women because being named in the Torah with details – outside of a genealogical listing – represents significant action.
Again, like Pinchas’ zealotry, this is a popular topic for divrei Torah. These women didn’t let convention stop them from approaching Moshe and asking for the right to inherit. And, again, like Pinchas, one can imagine that their actions when they first approached Moshe raised some eyebrows.
It is not just the fact that these were five women who approached Moshe – although that is not without its significance – it is the fact that they requested a change to Torah that had been delivered to them. It is interesting to note that there are only two examples (although I could be wrong) of Moshe being approached to change the law after it has been given. One is the request that led to Pesach Sheni, and the other is the request of the tribe Reuven and Gad to stay on the far side of Yarden. Having the courage to make a case for themselves is significant – all the more so, as with Tzelaphchad’s daughters and the men who asked for Pesach Sheni, when it is done l’shem shemayim.
Their actions could, perhaps, be interpreted as acts of quiet zealotry. While Pinchas had only moments to act, Tzelaphchad’s daughters received the law, processed it, and refused to accept that their family branch would be cut off from their inheritance in the Land of Israel. That last bit is the important part. The daughters’ concern was for a portion of the Promised Land, not gold or jewels or wealth. Their concern was to have their father’s household be equal in its elevation.
This parsha contains the public acknowledgement of greatness of one other person: Yehoshua. Like Pinchas, Yehoshua’s significant actions are not recounted in this parsha. However, when Hashem tells Moshe that he will not enter the Promised Land and Moshe requests that Hashem appoint a leader, Hashem tells Moshe to take Yehoshua bin Nun, “asher ruach bo” – who has a spirit in him.
What does the spirit mean? One idea is that it refers to the midrash of the yud added to his name before he entered the land of Canaan with the other scouts, how Moshe subtly changed his name to give him extra spiritual strength in the journey to come. This extra experience changes him and leads him to grow into the person best able to succeed Moshe.
The fact is that the congregation did turn against them during the reporting of the spies, but they held their ground. And afterwards, they could have been looked at with aspersion for having brought havoc upon the people by contesting the majority. But that didn’t stop them. In a piece on Parshas Shelach, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacs notes that having the ability to stand apart was not difficult for Calev as he had the natural spiritual courage inherited through his descendance from Yehuda. Yehoshua, however, had no such support. He had to work for it. In fact, Moshe even recognized that when he changed his name from Hoshua to Yehoshua. The name change, according to Rabbi Sacs, tells us something important. “Anyone who has experienced a name change has been inducted into a growth mindset.” That stayed with him, and Hashem here recognizes his significance.
Pinchas, Tzelaphchad’s daughters, and Yehoshua were all honored in the Torah because their actions, which could have been misconstrued or caused them to be derided by Klal Yisrael, were of pure intent. They are praised because they stood up for Hashem.
It should, however, be noted, that the parsha also expands itself when it lists the names of Dasan and Aviram as the sons of Nemuel of the tribe of Reuven (as well as Kozbi, the seductive Midianitess – not to leave out a wicked woman). Dasan and Aviram stood up for the wrong thing. They, the commentaries say, were the actual instigators more-so than Korach, and their deeds are repeated here. They stood up for the wrong thing and are so castigated.
Most people will not have the opportunity in their lives to stand out the way Pinchas, Tzelaphchad’s daughters, and Yehoshua did. Nevertheless, they are people we can – and must – use as role models. We must look to Pinchas to remember that it is important to call out what is wrong, but to do so in the proper way. We must look to Machlah, No’ah, Choglah, Milkah, and Tirtzah to know that it is important to ask questions within the law because the Torah is a living law. We must look to Yehoshua to not stop at one great act but to ride forward on our spiritual strengths. Most of us may never rise to such true greatness, but we still need to find our own ways to stand out.
Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas
Parshas Chukat Balak: Unseen But Very Present
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Yaakov ben Esther Malka. And L'ilui Neshama Masha Frayda bas Binyamin.
Let me start this week’s parasha piece of with a question: Do you feel puzzled, on some level, by the current surge in anti-semitism? Does it leave you, as it does me, with a desire to ask what exactly is going on in the universe? If you have any access to social media, you are too well versed in the irrational avalanche that is cascading against us.
Here’s the thing about the world that is so fascinatingly brought out by this week’s parasha. What you think you know is going on in the world is only a particle of truth of what is going on in the world. Let me explain with a detour… Are you familiar with the not so trivial trivia question of which parsha does not contain the name of Moshe? The correct answer is Tetzaveh, but Parshas Balak comes awfully close. Moshe is mentioned in this Parsha (when not paired with Chukas) only 4 times, and those in Perek 25, which recounts the events after Balaam tried to curse Bnei Yisrael.
Perhaps you think I did not explain my declaration concerning our complete ignorance of what is going on in the world. Well, in the entire three perakim that describe Bilaam’s hiring and his attempts to curse Bnei Yisrael, the term Israel is only mentioned 12 times – out of 81 verses (in 3 chapters). And each of those times is explaining either the view point of Bilaam or are part of his cursed blessings.
What is missing in this entire section of the Torah is any indication of what Bnei Yisrael was experiencing at the time. Imagine, our forefathers were just pleasantly encamped, and, somewhere high above them, there is a powerful man shouting that which was meant to be a curse upon them. Imagine, our forefathers were going about their daily lives collecting manna, and, on a not-so-distant mountain, brachos – blessings – are being rained down upon them. And all the while they have no clue – zip, zero, nadda. There is no line in the Torah such as: “And Bnei Yisrael looked up from their tents and heard the words of Balaam,” Or …”saw their enemy above them.” Or even, in anyway knew who Balak or Balaam actually were at that point. There is no pasuk that speaks of Moshe trying to stop Balaam or asking Bnei Yisrael to daven that his words be reversed.
Parshas Balak reflects a truth of the world. There is SO much more happening around us that we don’t see, so what we do see must always be understood as limited.
Interestingly, one question that has been asked is why Balak was panicking. From a geopolitical standpoint, one could argue that he was panicking because Bnei Yisrael had just defeated the Emorites and the Bashonites, which is true - but the entire fighting came about as defensive action after the Israelites asked for permission to cross through their lands. Balak, however, is Moav, and Hashem had no intention of Moav being displaced. But all these events take place before Bnei Yisrael even get there. Balak’s narrative starts off with him and his people being in a panic over the Israelites – who haven’t done anything to them.
Propaganda. False rumors. Fear mongering…. Panick and attack…and beyond all that are the orchestrations of Hashem. Sometimes, such as in Parshas Balak, our people come away unscathed (although real damage occurs in the aftermath), Other times, we face tremendous challenges, and we go through a terrible and difficult period of suffering and then growth. At all times, however, there is far more going on then we see. Above us, beyond us, away from us… curses are turned into blessings.
So may we see it soon.
I wish you all a good Shabbas
Here is a question on Parshas Korach…
The story of Korach begins like this: “Korach son of Yitzhar son of Kehat son of Levi took himself aside, together with Dathan and Aviram sons of Eli’av, and On son of Pelet, descendants of Reuben. They confronted Moshe together with 250 men from the Israelites, including the princes of the community, summoned for the meeting, and other men of repute. They assembled against Moshe and Aaron. They said to them, ‘You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire community—all of them—are holy, and God is in their midst. Why do you raise yourselves above God’s assembly?’” (Bamidbar 16:1-3)
Two hundred and fifty men…That’s not Korach and a few neighbors on the block. That’s not a spontaneous reaction. That’s planning. That’s setting about and shmoozing to encourage and enflame. So why doesn’t the Torah relay Korach’s actions of creating this small mob? Then again, one could also ask: Why doesn’t the Torah straight out say what the Midrash tells us, that Korach was jealous, that he wanted to be elevated the way his cousins (Moshe and Aaron) were?
Obviously, these are rhetorical questions because the Torah is full of narratives whose motivations are obscure. Just look at how ambiguously Yaakov’s interactions with Esav are described. But let’s explore one idea… We know from the end actions that Korach was full of negative feelings about the choice of leaders. We know, from the Midrash, that his discontent was stirred and enhanced by his wife. We know, from the first pasuk, that he joined himself with Dasan and Aviram, who were already marked as malcontents. He didn’t, one can assume, speak only to the 250 people who agreed with him; we can assume that there were people he talked to who disagreed … He was probably walking around fuming from within for several days before he steps forth into the parsha.
So what? Well, one thing about the Torah is that, in so many ways, it affirms being human. It recognizes that we have negative feelings and it gives room for them. He’s not punished for the before. The question is what do we do with those feelings. Do we find a way to understand the situation from a new angle, find a way to fix a problem, find away to take on a new role and perspective, or do we, ya know, lead a rebellion.
The very suddenness of Korach’s rebellion has allusion to its insipient nature. We know Korach was sneaking around because there is no statement of a grumbling started among the people of Israel. There is just Korach and Dasan and Aviram bringing 250 men to confront Moshe and Aaron. All his work was kept in the dark recesses so as not to draw attention. If it feels secretive, it probably isn’t wholesome.
Now, you may ask an obvious question. How is one to know if their complaint is legitimate? We see in history that sometimes change is necessary, and that undercurrent gatherings like Korach’s are powerful forces of change. … the fact is that Korach’s choice of bringing a group with complaint to Moshe could be seen as him making a legitimate move.
The turnkey phrase is the last line of the third verse “Why do you raise yourselves above God’s assembly?” Korach wasn’t asking why Moshe and Aaron merited their positions; he is asking why they raised themselves above. He is revealing a lack of bitachon that Hashem runs the world even in minutia, that Hashem structured Klal Yisrael this way. He is making it personal – raise yourselves up, indeed!
And perhaps we should address the other side of that coin of humanity, which is Moshe’s initial reaction because, really, if you think about it, it is an incredibly strange reaction. He fell on his face before them and called on Hashem to judge the truth.
The most normal reaction would anger… despair… both normal. And really, probably most normal… incredulity. Moshe had every reason to turn around and laugh at what they said, or to sarcastically question their sanity. Moshe would have every right to have gone off on a mad tirade about taking too much upon himself when he faced down Pharoah or led the nation through the sea or was the one who went up to Har Sinai when all the rest of Bnei Yisrael were too afraid. Instead, Moshe took everything that they said to heart, and he took them seriously.
Perhaps you are right now thinking that Moshe DID get mad. You’re right.. but only later, only after Dasan and Aviram blatantly and rudely refuse to meet with him and, instead, accused him of bad leadership and even verbally spit at him in Pasuk 16:14 by saying “Even if you gouge out the eyes of those men, we will not go up.” Only then does he get angry.
But after the group first comes to him, Moshe really stops and worries and asks Hashem to make a judgement, because unlike their accusations, Moshe assumes that there is a possibility of truth to their accusation.
This piece is going to wind down ineloquently… there are lots of lessons one can take from the Parsha of Korach, but perhaps one of the most important one is that in ourselves and in others, we must recognize (as Hashem does throughout the Torah) how utterly human each of us is. You may have feelings of jealousy; you’re human. You may have moments of insecurity; you’re human. When those feelings and moments come, accept your humanity but look to Hashem for guidance, cling to the Torah for a way to overcome and elevate.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Shelach, contains one of the most well-known stories of Bnei Yisrael in the desert – the story of the spies. Actually, I prefer the term scouts, so I will use that henceforth because it is more accurate as to what their initial endeavor was meant to be. They were checking out the land that they were going to conquer…and then it became more of the conceptual idea of spies because from the perception of 10 of the scouts, they were now spying on enemies.
The story of the meraglim covers a large portion of the parsha and takes most of the attention. Following the scouting and spying, following the crying of the nation, and following the disastrous decision of a large group of Israelites to try to enter the promised land after all of that, the Torah reverts to laws, and in the sixth aliyah there is an interesting set of pasukim: “If you-all unwittingly fail to observe any one of the commandments that Hashem has declared to Moshe—anything that Hashem has enjoined upon you-all through Moshe—from the day that Hashem gave the commandment and on through the ages. If this was done unwittingly, through the inadvertence of the community, the whole community shall present …. The whole Israelite community and the stranger residing among them shall be forgiven, for it happened to the entire people through error” (Vayikra 15:23-24, 26).
When you realize how close this is to the narrative of the scout – separated, really, only by the command to separate challah… food of thought for another time… it makes us look back and think about the significance of unwitting actions.
Let’s look back at the meraglim. These men were chosen because of who they were. They were leaders, great men. Surely those men did not go with the intention of creating problems or rejecting Hashem’s plan, THAT would have been mentioned in the Torah, one would surmise. They got to the promised land, panicked, and returned to then publicly mislead Bnei Yisrael about Eretz Canaan.
They did something that had terrible consequences, but they, most likely, started off with good intentions. One of the most critical and fascinating aspects of Jewish life is how significant intention is. Not always, but often, one’s intention can shape, on a spiritual level, the effectiveness of one’s actions. This is important because, if you hadn’t noticed, most of us are pretty darn human. Humans mess up all the time, make mistakes all the time, but Hashem knows that; He expects that. Most of the time our mistakes are harmless, but sometimes they are massive. And, in truth, even when it comes to mistakes, intention matters.
The mefarshim actually explain these verse, 15:23 on, as referring to idolatry – when the whole group goes astray on idolatry. Basically, if you, you know, accidentally start worshiping false gods…which, to you and me of the 21st century, sounds rather ridiculous. Religious actions, one would think, should be very intentional thing given that they are centered on devotion. Let’s go back to the meraglim…
The meraglim were great men. Each man was a leader of his tribe. They were devout. They wanted to serve Hashem -- And they went wrong. Should not this idea have applied to them? Did they really expect to infect all of Bnei Yisrael with doubt? One hopes not, but they also didn’t stop when they were corrected. And they also weren’t the whole community, since Yehoshua and Calev were trying, in vain, to defend Eretz Yisrael. They had warning even as they were leading the klal astray, and they, the 10 leaders, ignored it.
The meraglim were not evil men of ill intent. They set out with honest goals, then, unwittingly, took the wrong message from everything they saw and refused to be reminded of the wonders that Hashem does. Had they listened to Yehoshua and Calev…well, the story would be different then, wouldn’t it. For now, let us just take this as a reminder that even with the best intentions one can go astray, but once one goes astray, all is not lost if one realizes the error of his ways.
Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas… and really hoping I made sense!
This week’s parsha post will be rather quirky because, alas, I am still working my way through my pile of grading… It’s the raw side of being a teacher. Speaking of teachers, I see a particularly easy segue into this week’s Dvar Torah: How do we know that Moshe Rabbeinu was the first of Klal Yisrael’s teachers? It’s right there in pasuk 16:14 – “I cannot carry all this people by myself, for it is too much for me.” – Every teacher has days when they have just this feeling!
In all seriousness, however, in the middle of Parshas Behaaloscha, after Bnei Yisrael are led by the eruv rav to want meat over manna, Moshe “heard the people weeping, every clan apart, at the entrance of each tent” (16:10). And he goes to Hashem fed up and frustrated. The people are too much…why? It isn’t their complaints specifically; Moshe knows that Hashem can do what ever is needed. It’s the complaining. It’s that when people get to that level of complaint, they are not able to be talked down – they aren’t able to see that they are being unreasonable.
But, it’s also more than that. Moshe is an empath…Moshe feels their pain – his deep caring and empathy long proven beginning from the connection to the Israelite slaves even as he lived in the palace and through his days as a shepherd when he worried even after one little lamb. Imagine being an empath and all that feeling of urgent want coming at you. Moshe wants Bnei Yisrael to feel secure, which they expressively do not. He wants them to feel secure not just because it will make his life much easier, but because he KNOWS that there really is no better place to be than where they are at and they just can’t see it as he does. He wants them to understand the world with the Divinely guided senses that he has, and they can’t, and that hurts him.
Hashem understands. Hashem sees that Moshe’s seeming anger is actually pain. And so Hashem tells Moshe: “Gather for Me seventy men from the elders of Israel of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting and let them take their place there with you.”
Now I may be an English teacher, but mathematically speaking 70 doesn’t seem like quite enough to manage the needs of all of Bnei Yisrael. If there are 600,000 men of fighting age, then there are far more than a million in total… and just 70 elders plus Moshe. Also, if you hadn’t noticed, 70 is not divisible by 12, so it wasn’t as if Hashem was setting up a representational system in that every tribe had the same number of elders.
Since I am an Engllish teacher, I will present a metaphoric idea. Seventy represents the bones of the nation. In many ways, seventy is a continuum. It’s the multiplication of teva, nature, with infinity. Numerous commentaries bring down the correlation of the 70 elders to 70 descendants of Israel who came down to Egypt with Yaakov. What is important about that correlation? Over and over, Jewish society is built on 70. These were not the first seventy elders (though the first 70 died in Terebitha), and they were not the last (Indeed, did not Napoleon gather 70 rabbis plus one to try to form a new Sanhedrin!) But more than that, human civilization is built on 70. At the tower of Bavel, the Midrash says, Hashem split the people into 70 languages, and throughout the Midrash and aggadata we hear of the 70 nations.
With Moshe and 70 elders, Hashem was laying down the foundation of building civilization, because a civil society needs a multi-faceted government. Everything cannot depend on one person or they either abuse that power or give up, the way Moshe feels in this perek, because there are so many different needs and different personality types and different ways of finding solutions. And 70 seems the perfect numerical unit for addressing this plurality of needs…an idea aligned with a statement in Bamidbar Rabbah – not connected to this particular perek – that reminds us that shivim panim bTorah, there are 70 faces to the Torah.
This brings us to another concept brought down by quite a few commentators. Rashi attributes the idea to Sifrei Bamidbar. The commentary stems from the fact that Hashem did not literally say 70 men of the elders of Israel, He says 70 man – eesh – of the elders. He uses the singular. This, along with the description, “of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people” lead us to understand that the men Hashem specifically had in mind were particularly unique, as Rabbeinu Bahya put it: “G’d meant that Moses was aware that the people in question had demonstrated empathy for the people in Egypt absorbing physical punishment on their own bodies rather than inflicting it on their charges. The officers were the ones of whom we read in Shemos 5:14 that ‘they were beaten by their Egyptian counterparts’ for having displayed sympathy for the Jews they were in charge of. They had acquired experience in the qualities needed to deal with the people, and they had established a reputation for fair play.”
Hashem saw that it was Moshe’s empathy that was causing him pain and frustration in dealing with the people, and while that did not feel so good for Moshe, it was exactly what made him a good leader. And Hashem wanted those who would share some of the burden of caring for Bnei Yisrael to have that quality to.
It was, perhaps, Hashem reminding Moshe - or the Torah reminding us all – of another fundamental concept. Hashem initially was going to create the world solely through His persona of Elokim – justice, but, before He began, He realized that a world based on justice, rules and laws, would not stand, and so He brought forth His attribute of rachamim, compassion. Moshe wanted help so Hashem sent him the necessary number 70 for setting up a court but made certain that those men were men of empathy, the critical characteristic of a true leader.
And so, even as I face the chaos at the end of the school year and wonder how we survived the complaints and the challenges, I think back on my students and recognize the special and unique place they hold in my heart, and how I look forward to starting all over again next year… or I will look forward to that, just as soon as I finish these essays.
An additional thought that came up as I was reading the pasuk: “Gather for Me seventy men from the elders of Israel of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting and let them take their place there with you.”
I saw commentaries on the use of “lee” to Me, but as I read I was struck by the incredible compassion within Hashem’s response. He doesn’t say get these elders to help you for your sake. Hashem claims these elders. “Gather for Me.” And at the end of the pasuk, He says: vhityazvu sham eemach – they will take their place WITH you.
At this moment of vulnerability for Moshe, Hashem doesn’t thrust another layer of leadership on him. He doesn’t say, “Okay, go form a committee to help you.” He tells Moshe to bring Him the men, that these elders will be His and that they will be WITH Moshe.
It’s a subtle but profound lesson. When someone is overwhelmed, the solution is not to give them an additional level of responsibility…a lesson perhaps in the business world, but in day to day life – When someone is overwhelmed, don’t just tell them an organizational plan that they should implement – don’t add to their pile. Look to help them get out from being overwhelmed first. See the real problem going on.
Parshas Naso: Gifts with Thought
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Masha Frayda bas Goldie, Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Yaakov ben Esther Malka.
Parshas Naso is the parsha at the end of which the Princes of the Tribes of Israel bring their gifts to the Mishkan. The gifts are, well, they are a bit of a challenge to read through because they repeat, and repeat, and repeat. As is well known, each of the princes of the tribes gave the exact same gift.
They brought both a silver bowl and a silver basin filled with fine flour with oil, a gold spoon with incense, a young bull, a ram, a 1-year lamb, and a 1-year he-goat, as well as two bulls, five rams, five he-goats and five lambs.
It is, of course, important to know what the princes brought since this was part of the momentous occasion, but why did Hashem want it written over and over. Once for each prince who brought the exact same thing. Why not just say ‘and each of the princes brought their own gift of:…’ there could even have been a concluding line pointing out how each one was exactly the same. Instead, it repeats what seems to be exact same 5 pasukim 12 times – which is 638 (58 x 11 repeats) words in a text that we usually speak of as having no excess words.
Some commentators say that the exactness of the repetition is precisely the point, that it expresses the chashivus given to each prince and his offering, so none was more important than the other. Others say that since the Torah does not waste words, we can learn that while the offerings appeared exactly the same, there was something that made each one unique. And, of course, there is the conversation about how the equality of the recording of the princes’ gifts is a reminder that there is no stratification between the tribes of Bnei Yisrael.
This is an obvious launching point for an examination of Klal Yisrael’s need to unify and look at each other as equals. ______(dramatic pause)___________ Ok, well, you all know that. Actually, what seems fascinating when looking at the parsha is to notice that before the great big hullabaloo of the princes’ gift giving, one can easily miss the fact that the princes brought something else. As is noted in Bamidbar 7:13, they also brought six draught carts and twelve oxen - a cart for every two chieftains and an ox for each one. These things, however, were given by all of the princes together. So one cart, two princes with an ox of each drawing the cart.
The carts, it seems obvious to say, were bringing the gifts of both princes, and one could just assume that this was basic, mundane utility – which, it seems Moshe did, because, as recorded in the next pasuk, Hashem literally had to tell Moshe to accept the carts as part of the offering, not to just unload them as meaningless transport. And this was what the tribal princes had in mind, according to many commentaries. They recognized that all of the artifacts of the Mishkan had to be moved from place to place.
As may be remembered, the princes brought their gifts now after having declared that they would wait until everyone donated and then give what ever else was needed, but nothing was needed because Bnei Yisrael gave so generously from their hearts. None of the materials for the mishkan were needed, but what about something mundane, like the ability to transport the mishkan.
The silver bowls and golden spoons and perfect animals for karbanos were the gifts of the princes – the stately gifts that represented their status as leaders and their understanding of the foundations of the people’s avodah. Their intentional delivery of these gifts in ox drawn carts that they also planned to give was a demonstration of thinking one step beyond, one step toward “how can I help my brethren;” for, indeed, these carts were intended for the Leviim from the start of the princes’ planning. But Hashem had to instruct Moshe to see it and recognize it, and this, in many ways, made the carts more valuable than the offerings.
It is also interesting that the conversation about the carts and the oxen is recorded when the wagons are still laden with the princes’ gifts. Logically, it would make sense that after the carts were empty, after all those repeated verses, and before they were taken away, they were then presented as a gift to the mishkan. Perhaps the order is a subtle reminder of the well-known idea that Hashem values actions that are bein adam lchavero over actions that are bein adam lmakom.
Perhaps, as well, we have a little lesson hear on the impact of thoughtful giving – giving when one looks and sees a need and does or gives. It sounds simple, even obvious, but seeing an unstated need takes thought and consideration, which is the ideal way to approach everything we do in this world.
What do the words “mom” and “if” have in common? Not much in the English language, but in Hebrew they are written with the same two letters: Aleph and Mem. The connection of Eem (if) and Eim (mom) is a wonderful lesson in both parenting and hashgafa (Jewish thought).
Parashat Bechukosai begins, for the first 10 verses, by describing the amazing, successful society that Israel will have if they live by the laws (and spirit of the laws) of the Torah. But the tone changes starting with verse 26:14, and the Torah begins listing the dreadful consequences that will arrive if they do not.
Reading the punishments has striking correlation to the historical reality that is seemingly predicted in the Torah: exiled from the land, beaten down by the other nations, suffering under hardship…. Throughout most of time, as was once a common phrase, it wasn’t easy to be a Jew.
But verse 26:14 begins with the word “v’eem – and if.” God is Omniscient. He knows everything that is going to happen and the verse might rightly have said “kee lo tishm’oo – when you will not listen to me.” God knows Klal Yisrael’s weaknesses, and there had been plenty of demonstrations of it immediately following the exodus from Egypt and throughout the journey through the Wilderness.
God saw the Jewish people’s potential to do the right thing. If He spoke to the Children of Israel with the language of a given, with the prediction of their fall, then it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Throughout the parsha, as the consequences escalate, the language is continually that of “and if you didn’t listen to the above,” because at each level, Hashem believes that the Children of Israel have the ability to correct themselves, to do teshuva.
This is the connection of eem and eim, if and mother. A mother, by nature, loves her child unconditionally and constantly expects to see them succeed. Parenting requires discipline, but at each level of discipline a parent believes that the child will overcome their urge and will choose to do the right thing.
God loves the Jewish people and so God offers them a warning of what will come if they stray from the path of the Torah, but that warning is laced with the hope that these things will not come to pass.
Have a wonderful Shabbas!
In the province of Quebec, when a couple gets married their names remain the same. From one perspective, this is a lot easier than all the paperwork to change one’s legal name after marriage. From a different perspective …it sometimes leads to other bureaucratic conundrums (so what name to I put on this cheque to pay my kid’s friend’s mom back!). While here in Quebec this is actually a legal matter, in other modern Western countries, many women make this choice as a statement of independence (which is different than those who do so because of an already developed career under their maiden name). From this week’s parsha, however, one may be able to extract a bit of perspective on marriage and independence.
Before discussing marriage, let us look at the end of Parshas Emor, where there is the story of Shelomith’s son who was stoned to death for blasphemy and cursing God. Put that way, the story sounds appropriately…biblical. Obviously cursing God is a grievous sin, particularly from someone who had lived through all of the miracles in Mitzrayim and the splitting of the Sea. But the story, or the way it is presented in the Torah, is a bit…odd:
“There came out among the Israelites someone who was the son of an Israelite woman and an Egyptian man. And a fight broke out in the camp between that half-Israelite and a certain Israelite man. The son of the Israelite woman pronounced the Name in blasphemy, and he was brought to Moses—now his mother’s name was Shelomith daughter of Dibri of the tribe of Dan—” (Vayikra 23:10-11).
The Midrash adds a great deal of important information that helps us understand exactly what the fight was about and why the nameless man was specifically described as the son of Shelomith. Let’s face it, not many people in the Torah are identified by their mother. To recap for those who are not familiar with the Midrash, as the son of an Egyptian, the blasphemer did not have a patrilineal line to connect him to a tribe. His mother, however, was from the tribe of Dan, and so they went to live among them. Some in the tribe felt he didn’t belong…and, well, one thing led to another. (If you’re interested on the Personal Parsha Prose insights on this Midrash… https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2020/05/blog-post.html)
There are many aspects about this small section of Torah that are unexpected and interesting. The history that led to the situation is complex, but at the heart of it all is a critical idea that identity matters on a family level. In building a civilization, which is what the Children of Israel were doing (and which we must continue to do), who you are matters.
This is not to say that Bnei Dan were correct in evicting this man from their camp because he had no patrilineal line – that is a far more complex question. It is, however, a recognition of the fact that the Torah wants us to build cohesive units within the greater nation. The great monument to Hashem’s eternity that is Klal Yisrael is make up of units* and tribes and families and, eventually, individuals. But each individual has significance to the units they are part of.
This concept also appears earlier in the parsha when the Torah discusses the daughter of a Kohein: “If a priest’s daughter becomes a layman’s wife, she may not eat of the sacred teruma; but if the priest’s daughter is widowed or divorced and without offspring, and is back in her father’s house as in her youth, she may eat of her father’s food. No lay person may eat of it—" (22:11-12).
The final aliyah of this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayetzei, seems like a soft and lovely path of closure to a long and tumultuous chapter of Yaakov’s life. The aliyah begins right after Yaakov has demonstrated to Lavan that his idols are not in their camp, and Lavan must let Yaakov and his family finally leave. Suddenly Lavan plays the part of a caring father, and Yaakov accepts it and agrees to a covenant. (Acceptance, of course, does not mean belief.)
There are, to my mind, some fascinating elements to the way this seemingly agreeable covenant occurred. A quick run down of events: Lavan declares his affiliation to his daughters and declares a need for a covenant, Yaakov takes a large stone and erects it as a monument. Yaakov has his kinsmen – whom many mefarshim believe to be the brothers of Lavan - gather stones to form a mound on which they share a meal. Everything goes so well that Lavan names the place “Mound of Testimony” (in Aramaic) and Yaakov names it Gal-Ed, which could be interpreted as having the same meaning.
After they share a meal, Lavan announces their covenant, invoking Hashem and then warning Yaakov against hurting his daughters or adding another wife. He then makes a fairly odd statement:
“Here is this mound, and here is that monument that I have erected between me and you. This mound will be a witness, and the monument will be a witness, that I will not cross over to you beyond this mound and that you will not cross over to me beyond this mound and this pillar, with hostile intent” (51-52).
They agree to this covenant, and Yaakov slaughters animals “bahar,” on the mountain, and invites Lavan and his allies to eat together.
Think about that. The covenant that they are signing is that they shall never infringe on each other’s paths. This man spouting words of care and protection for his daughters does not believe that his daughters’ family will live in peace with him. This man who has made Yaakov’s life so difficult – switching brides, indenturing him to work, playing funny games with his actual pay (in sheep), and etc…is worried that Yaakov might come back and bother him? And look a little closer…Lavan states that he will not go beyond the mound but adds a tiny stringency that Yaakov will not go beyond the mound and the pillar. Why is there a distinction? (A question I can’t answer.)
The pillar and the mound are striking contrasts. Yaakov sets up a singular pillar. The kinsmen gather a mound of disconnected stones and then eat upon it. There is an unquestionable difference, and Yaakov sees it too.
Let us pause for a moment here to explore Yaakov’s choice of name. Gal is the word used for the mound of stones that had been collected. Rabbi Behaya, interestingly, points out that this term is an allusion to the name used by those who worshipped the sun (asserting that Lavan and his kin were sun-worshippers). This being said, this adds a possible layer of interpretation to these verses. Yaakov’s pillar is a declaration of Hashem as the singular Supreme Being. Lavan’s mound is a representation of polytheism, which makes it philosophically fascinating that this is the place upon which they ate a meal – taking care of their own needs above the true idea of solemnity – while later Yaakov makes a feast on the mountain, away from the spot of the pillar. Perhaps this section could be seen as an allusion to the different dynamics of the man-to-God relationship of Yaakov and Lavan.
Taking it all a step further, one could see a strange political foreshadowing i
One of the greatest challenges of the age of social media is the ease with which one falls into the pit of comparison. Experts are constantly relaying what deep damage this is causing to adolescents in particular, but to many adults as well. The need to compare ourselves to others is natural; when acted on in a healthy fashion, it is a means for regulating oneself, for assuring oneself that they are maintaining what could be called the social contract of their community, but it can be quite devastating.
In the Torah observant world, we often look similarly to our patriarchs and matriarchs to find ideals, thus one may be rather surprised when one takes a closer look at the marriage of Yitzchak and Rivka.
Through this week’s parsha, Parshas Toldos, we see an outline of their marriage - although it is important to remember a few details from last week’s parsha, as well, such as their age difference and Rivka’s enthusiasm upon meeting Yitzchak. If one expects to find perfection and synchronicity in a reflection on the marriages of our avos and imahos, then one is, perhaps, missing one of the greatest treasures of our heritage. Perfection belongs to Hashem alone.
From the very beginning of the parsha, the Torah presents us with the fact that Yitzchak and Rivka did not naturally function as a unit. Bereshis 25:21 describes how they davened to Hashem for children: “Yitzchak pleaded with Hashem, his wife opposite him…,” and Rashi citing Bereishis Rabbah (63:5) on this phrasing says that “He stood in one corner and prayed whilst she stood in the other corner and prayed.”
Throughout the parsha we see Rivka in her essential nature - she is strongly emotional and she reacts. She reacts to the fighting of her twins in the womb, she reacts to her eldest son’s wild nature (by favoring the other - which, one could speculate, came from protecting him from his brother’s antics), she reacts to Yitzchak promising Esav the blessing, and so forth. Her reactions are often for the good of the future, of course, but nevertheless, we see a pattern throughout the parsha of their dynamic opposition to one another.
But the Torah also reveals a different side to the relationship of Yitzchak and Rivka. When they go to Gerar, Avimelech comes to understand that they are married and not siblings when he sees them “frolicking” together. At this point they are a long married couple who have raised difficult children (when put together), and yet they still Mitzachaik (everyone can look up the different definitions and interpretations of what they were doing.) Additionally, more subtly, when Esav first marries, the Torah relates that “they were a source of bitterness to Isaac and Rebekah” (26:35). They were both equally affected by their son’s marriage to these women because they were a unit; they were partners.
Regardless of the deep romanticization of marriage that has taken place over the last century or so, the fact is that marriages are complex relationships. In the age of mass media, it is too easy to look at images of marriage and think of it as one lovely frolick, but marriage is work and marriage is dynamic and Yitzchak and Rivka provide us with a template for understanding that two people can form a unit with different ways of achieving their mutually recognized goals - and maintain their affection and respect for one another (Which is, perhaps why, in a separate, fascinating exploration, one could see how each parent was drawn to the child more similar in nature to their spouse…but not today).
We can’t look to the media or modern culture to understand what the goal of marriage is, and we should not look to other people around us because we will never have the bigger picture of what their relationships truly look like. As in all that we do, we must look to the blueprints set before us and learn and grow individually and together from our beautiful Torah.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Chayei Sara, is a parsha of negotiation. Avraham negotiates with Ephron and the Hittites for the cave of machpela, then Avraham compromises with Eliezer (if you don’t find anyone, come back and he can marry your daughter – per the Midrash), and then, of course, there is complex and extremely subtle negotiations with Rivka’s family. The only place we do not encounter compromise in this chapter is the final aliyot, and those verses hold a tremendous lesson about our people and our place in the world.
The idea of Bnei Yisrael as the “Chosen People” is one that often appears to be the cause of great friction in history. In modern history, it has fostered accusations of exclusivity, even as the two other Abrahamic religions sought to claim themselves as the replacement for our nation. From the very start of our people, however, Avraham set a precedent about the importance of the dignity of all people, not just one set of people.
Avraham had eight sons. Yitzchak, the only son of Avraham and Sarah and the one who had proven himself dedicated to accepting and embracing Hashem’s will, was his heir both spiritually and materialistically. Avraham’s other sons, however, meant a great deal to him. He did not ignore them or try to do less for them – or at least we do not see any description of that being the case.
As Avraham reaches his final years, he takes his other children well into account. He doesn’t leave the other children hanging around and dependent. Thus “to Avraham’s sons by concubines Avraham gave gifts while he was still living, and he sent them away from his son Yizchak, eastward, to the land of the East” (Bereishis 25:5-6). Avraham wanted his sons to have the opportunity to grow and flourish even as he set the task of continuing spiritual development on Yitzchak. He gave them gifts and set them up to grow and flourish in their own rights. Indeed, these sone (most recognizably, Midian) became nations in their own right to the East of the Promised Land
And then there was Yishmael. Avraham did not include Yishmael in this gift giving and yet he also did not include his natural first born in his will. Why? Because Hashem had already seen to Yishamel. Hashem had already promised that He would “make him fertile and exceedingly numerous. He shall be the father of twelve chieftains, and I will make of him a great nation” (Bereishis 17:20). Also, he was far older than these other sons and already well established in the lands that would become his own.
The fact that Avraham treated Yishamel with dignity and love is suggested by the fact that Yishamel returned to bury Avraham: “His sons Yitzchak and Yishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamre” (25:9). There was love. There was acceptance. But, in these final aliyot, we see that there was no negotiation.
The world today – as it has for many generations – wants us to compromise. It wants us to enter into negotiations of identity that would min our inheritance and shift their beliefs into primacy. This is something we cannot do, or we will have betrayed the greatness of Avraham Avinu. From the beginning of the spiritual nation, he set a precedent. Yitzchak is the heir, but everyone else is beloved and treated with dignity.
One of the most unique and differentiating aspect of Judaism throughout the ages is that it not only accepts that there are people who will not share our religion, but that we can show them love and generosity. It is a lesson that we must share with the world, and it is a lesson that, sadly, many of us need to be reminded of as well.
May you have a Shabbas of peace.
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, and Sharon bas Shoshana.
We are all, I would comfortably say, familiar with the stories of the greatness of Avraham Avinu. We know that in a culture of avodah zara, Avraham recognized that there could only be one Creator, one singular greater power who needed no intermediaries. When no one seemed to understand, he sought (and succeeded) in building a relationship with Hashem. We know that Avraham destroyed the idols in his father’s idol shop. We know that he didn’t hesitate to take his wife and leave his homeland. We know he arrived in his Promised Land only to find it wracked by famine. And those were just his early years.
Rarely do we focus on the fact that Avraham’s early years begin in Parshas Noah and that where his genealogy is listed – right after the narrative of the Tower of Babel – is also surprisingly significant. Thinking about genealogy – or, more precisely, the overlapping of the biblical generations – it seems rather perplexing how it could be that while Noah and his sons still lived people could “lose sight,” so to speak, of the Oneness of Hashem. They were still aware of Hashem, but they didn’t understand how to connect with Him. This led to both the avodah zara by which Terach made his money (one might even hypothesize that people over-complicated just talking to Hashem and thus created the distance) and the desire of Nimrod to lead the people to build the tower.
Migdal Bavel is an interesting narrative in that it is a collective story. No one person is given focus, and the actions are detailed in a plural format. Indeed, some commentaries say that the people joined into the project of building the tower because it was promoted as a project of unity.
These events happened in the lifetime of Avraham, when he was in his 40s according to Midrashic calculation, although we would only know this from careful study of the genealogy that follows. The question naturally seems to follow: How did Avraham react to this call for all people to come together and build a great city and incredible tower?
According to the Pirkei D’Midrash Eliezer, “Avram, son of Terah, passed by, and saw them building the city and the tower, and he cursed them in the name of his God, as it is said, ‘Swallow up, O Lord, divide their language’ (Ps. 55:10). But they rejected his words, like a stone cast upon the ground…” (24:7).
Obviously, this curse reflects the storyline of the consequence laid down by Hashem, but the Midrash also highlights the fact that Avraham was already a person of enough consequence to feel it worthwhile to speak up. (It should be noted that other Midrashim/commentaries say he condemned their actions only later, when he heard of it. The Ibn Ezra
I wasn’t going to write as things are still crazy after the chagim…but then I thought, it’s the first parsha of the year! If I want to maintain my commitment to this, I have to write. So, that being said, please forgive this very off-the-cuff, poorly prepared dvar Torah as an exercise in discipline.
Parshas Bereishis: Kayin and Hevel in the 21st Century
This past Simchas Torah was a chag whose simcha was doubled by the release of the last living hostages from Gaza. Two years ago, our generation of Jews received a devastating shock – we were well and truly part of b’kol dor va’dor, in every generation they stood to destroy us. More so one can say that over the last two years many Jews were equally shocked to realize the truth of Eisev soneh es Yaakov, and Esev hates Yaakov.
There are many events in the Torah that we can point to as explanations for what our nation has gone through, but perhaps the root of it is in this very first parsha: jealousy. Kayin and Hevel (Cain and Abel) were the two eldest children of Adam and Chava (Eve). As the first descendants of the most unique creation of the Boreh Olam (Creator of the World), they should have gotten along splendidly; after all, aside from the twin sisters described in the Midrash, who else did they have to hang out with. Instead, their relationship was destroyed by jealousy – and not just any jealousy, but a jealousy related to God’s approval.
Kayin and Hevel both sought to praise and thank Hashem in bringing their offerings. When Hevel’s offering was accepted over Kayin’s (for reasons I won’t go into here), Kayin reacted with violence. Inherently, Kayin could not leave room for someone else to hold top rank. Indeed, he could not accept that he might be able to learn something from someone else. (Interestingly, I read somewhere that he was, in fact, the more creative of the two brothers and yet he was the one who could not accept the success of the other.)
What does this have to do with the events of the last two years? There are analogies of human nature that offer us a new perspective on the times we are living through. Those who seek to destroy us are descendants of Yishmael, the elder of the two sons of Avraham but also the one who was not chosen to carry on his father’s legacy of bringing a relationship with the Divine into the world. Over and over again, Bnei Yishmael seethes to claim the heritage of Yitzhak, although they do not necessarily express this clearly the way Bnei Eisav wrestles with Bnei Yaakov.
Interestingly, the spiritual battle of Eisav and Yaakov is different. It’s in some ways, more refined. Eisav wants to prove itself right; Yishmael wants to prove itself only.
Yes, we’ve jumped throughout Sefer Bereishis, but these sibling battles come back to their great-great-etc-uncle. What do you do when Hashem, the Ultimate Father, says that your brother will be the path forward? Kayin’s reaction was violence, but what Bnei Yishmael fails to recognize is that Kayin’s violence was a short-term victory. Ultimately, it was his even younger brother’s descendants who populated the earth (Noah being a descendant of Seth).
The Torah shows us, clearly, that life – that history – is full of cycles. Alas, one such cycle is that of jealousy (although that is not really the right word for any of the Biblical rivalries) and violence. Why this is necessary in the world is a question that I would say none of us can truly comprehend, but the facts of history prove that it is. Knowing that these are cycles and that our job, the job of Bnei Yisrael, is to hold strong and cling to Hashem is the essence of Jewish survival, and it’s all there in the sefer we start this week.
(And now I must get ready for work!)
Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas Bereishis!
I often imagine that if I lived in a different time, feeling the necessary awe of Elul would be easier. It’s a logical conclusion given how often the inspirational speakers share stories of the mighty figures of our past – and even common stories of their incredible grandfathers or great-grandmothers or etc. We often find it easier to imagine that their lives were simpler – certainly they weren’t easier – and that that earnest simplicity allowed them to flourish in their emunah.
The basic fact of the matter is, however, that emunah isn’t easy, and, probably, it was never meant to be easy. If it was designed to be easy, it wouldn’t have merit; it wouldn’t shift the balance of one’s neshama. If it was easy, it would make it impossible for people to have bechira, free will.
A discussion of bechira, however, leads to many questions of hashgacha and Divine intervention. Did Hashem make something happen or did I make choices that caused results in reality… were those results always going to occur? Such questions, of course, drop one back into a question of emunah, of trying to understand to view the world with the understanding that Hashem allows this incredible duality of our existence – our choices matter AND Hashem runs the world. The question of bechira also leads us to the famous statement of Rabbi Hanina, who said: “Everything is in the hands of Heaven, except for fear of Heaven.”
Yiras Shemayim is one of the most important goals of a Jew’s spiritual development, and, like emunah, one of the hardest. Hashem made humankind with a strongly driven ego. We have trouble completely sublimating ourselves to anyone, let alone remembering that all that we accomplish is an accomplishment of our Creator and we are merely His conduits in this world. Developing our yiras shemayim is not just a goal, though, it is a mtizvah in and of itself.
According to Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, the Ramban, it is only through developing our yirah that we can get to ahava, which is another mitzvah in the Torah. And Ahavas Hashem is the ultimate achievement of a relationship with Hashem.
Reading all of that is, in and of itself, somewhat overwhelming. We have so much we are meant to achieve spiritually, and – at least as my experience tells me – it only sounds easy. It is a constant spiritual and emotional battle of will to be active in our emunah, to be striving to have yirah, and to take the steps to achieve ahavah.
In Sefer Devarim it is made clear that Hashem has always been prepared for us to slide back down from our achievements, to have moments of greatness and moments of utter failure. This up and down journey is the path Hashem made for us because it fulfills our mission of tikun olam. When we have completed this tumultuous journey, when we have made as much progress in enhancing the world and ourselves as we possibly can, then Hashem will pull us into a new era, which we refer to as the era of Moshiach.
In that era, we are told in parshas Nitzavim, “then God, your God, will ‘circumcise’ your heart, as well as the heart of your offspring, [enabling you to] love God, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul, for the sake of your very life” (Devarim 30:6).
Sforno explains that this idea of circumcising the heart is about removing the very things that make emunah so much work for us today. He says: “He will open your eyes so as to remove every erroneous conception that has prevented you from recognising the theological truth of all aspects of the Jewish religion. Once these ‘blinds’ have been removed from your eyes you will realise that everything G’d has done was out of His love for you” (Sefaria)......
Parshas Ki Tavo is, when taken as a whole, a complex parsha. It starts with the mitzvah of bikkurim and includes the tithes, the creation of stones inscribed with law, and the curses and blessings that were to be declared upon entering the land. The vast majority of the pasukim in the parsha, however, are the Tochacha, the terrible consequences that will happen if the people stray from the right path.
Within all that, there is an interesting set of verses that seems, at the outset, to be not so interesting: “You have affirmed this day that Hashem is your God, in whose ways you will walk, whose laws and commandments and rules you will observe, and whom you will obey. And Hashem has affirmed this day that you are, as promised, God’s treasured people who shall observe all the divine commandments” (26:17-18).
As incredibly important as these ideas are, they have been stated numerous times throughout the Torah. This leads to the question of what is unique in this inclusion. The answer lies in one of my favorite subjects (just ask my students!) – word choice and grammar. In Hebrew, pasuk 17 declares: Es Hashem he-e-marta hayom lihiyot l’cha l’-l-okim, and pasuk 18 states: V’Hashem he-emeercha hayom lihiyot lo l’am segula. The two pasukim are mirrors in their language. More than that, however, Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch notes that aleph – mem – reish “in the Hiphil only occurs here (17) and in the following verse (18). In that form it can mean nothing else than to cause somebody else to say something.”
Rav Hirsch translates the pasukim as “‘You have brought it about, you have caused it to be said that He must be your God; and God has caused it to be said that you must be an am segula to Him.’ That is to say Israel’s solemn promise to God and God’s pledged Word to Israel has not remained, so to say, a private matter, it has become internationally know, a fact engraved in the mind of the world.”
The wording of these two pasukim has intrigued commentators throughout history. In the sefer Lessons from Targum Onkelos (Vol II), Rabbi Yehoshua Dovid Portowicz explores the translation of these two words by Onkelos, since he used the word chativa in place of he-ehmar. Chativa seems to be a unique word that each commentator understands differently. Rashi, however, explains Onkelos’ word choice as “praise and importance,” although he himself understood the words of he-eh-mar to mean “separated” or “divided.” This separation, according to this understanding, is not between God and Bnei Yisrael, but rather separating Hashem from false deities and Klal Yisrael from the nations of the world.
The word he-eh-mar comes from the root aleph mem reish, which is the root of the word emor, to say. More than that, Emor is the root of the verb by which Hashem created the world. Once again, we are reminded that words have power, that words make things happen.
Rabbi Portowicz does not actually translate the word chativa itself in his analysis of the Onkeles, but rather explores the fact that so many commentators understood it to be a reflection of something that was created. Quite beautifully, the Aruch (Natan ben Yechiel) teaches “in the name of Rav Hai Gaon: “chativah” means “a special picture.” The lashon he-eh-marta and he-eh-meercha comes from “wool” sewn onto a garment in the form of a picture or letters to decorate it. This indicates something recognizable that there is nothing like it; there is no Gd like Hashem, and there is no nation like Yisrael. The Aruch [says] ‘You made Me one chativah in Olam Hazeh; I will make you one chativah in Olam Haba.’ Hashem will reward us in Olam Haba, middah k’neged middah for being special in Olam Hazeh.”
Parshas Ki Teitzei: We Make Choices
Parshas Ki Teitzei is one of those parshios that discusses a wide variety of mitzvos, and very few of them link together in any way other than that they are commandments we must uphold. Some of the mitzvos appear to be chukim, laws that we cannot understand. Indeed, this parsha includes the mitzvah of shooing away the mother bird, a mitzvah of definite action- who purpose is rather mysterious and spiritual. Other mitzvos, however, are exceedingly practical. For example, it includes both the commandment to maintain a hygienic army camp and the prohibition against withholding or delaying wages from a worker.
Included in these mitzvos are several pasukim dealing with the very serious issue of not fulfilling one’s vow. “When you make a vow to Hashem your G-d, do not put off fulfilling it, for Hashem your God will require it of you, and you will have incurred guilt; whereas you incur no guilt if you refrain from vowing. You must fulfill what has crossed your lips and perform what you have voluntarily vowed to Hashem your God, having made the promise with your own mouth” (Devarim 23:22-24).
Making a vow – which some say can be as simple as stating “I promise to…” - is incredibly powerful. Each of us, every human being, is btzelem E-lo-kim, made in the image of G-d, and Hashem created the world by speaking. What we say matters…but what about what we do not say.
Dvarim 23:23 is a fascinating sub-statement: “Whereas you incur no guilt if you refrain from vowing.” If you don’t vow, you won’t get punished for not fulfilling your vow. That seems a fairly obvious statement, but for all of its simplicity, it is actually a rather powerful reminder. Each of us has control over our words. Each of us has control over our actions.
If you don’t want to risk breaking your word, then be careful how you give those words. Indeed, in Sukkah 46b, the sages quote Rabbi Zeira: “A person should not promise to give a child something and then not give it.” His reasoning there is that the child may learn to lie, but underneath is the same foundation – our words matter even in situations where we don’t think they are such a big deal, like promising a child a cookie. That concept then expands to the idea that if you don’t want to risk breaking a Torah commandment, do not put yourself deliberately into a situation where you will come to do so.
Most of us are not tzadikim. Most of us find ourselves in situations here or there where we must make an active choice against our personal desires in order to maintain our commitment to being ovdei Hashem. Sometimes, being totally honest, we put ourselves in those situations - deliberately. Devarim 23:23 is a soft, subtle reminder that we have the power to choose where our actions might lead.
Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.
Parshas Shoftim: Siege
One of the discoveries I made when I began studying Torah as an adult was that war was not something contradictory to Torah - that it is something which the Torah actually commands of us, at appropriate times. To be honest, I remember the first time I truly paid attention to the final chapters of Megilas Esther and realized just how many people were killed and I was truly taken aback. War, it seems, is a human condition that Hashem does not expect people will live without.
Why this is so is, perhaps, an impossible question to answer. And there are many life-realities that are discussed in the Torah that we today find difficult to swallow – such as the fact that slavery is not only not prohibited but is regulated within Torah law. It is the tendency of every generation, of course, to believe that they have reached the pinnacle of civilized thought, that they know better then those who came before them, and that they will be able to live differently then the “barbaric” ways of former generations.
If only that were so. And if only the world did not see, time and time again, that the Torah’s dictates and boundaries are astonishingly prescient of the needs of the Jewish people
War is the subject of the final aliyah of Parshas Shoftim, and it is disturbingly appropriate for the final weeks of 5785. Devarim 20, verses 10-21, discuss some of the most direct laws of warfare. Before attacking a city not within the area which Hashem specifically instructed Bnei Yisrael to conquer, the Israelite army must offer terms of peace. If they do not accept peace and subjugation, the Israelite army should lay siege. In foreign towns, the innocents (women and children) were to be allowed to live, while in the cities of the land, total conquest was warranted “lest they lead you into doing all the abhorrent things that they have done for their gods and you stand guilty before Hashem your God.” The section concludes with the law not to cut down fruit trees when besieging a city, but trees that do not produce fruit might be cut down.
It seems unnecessary to point out the relevance of the laws of siege to current history. However, we might need to remember that the goal of siege is for there to be less warfare and more surrender, and today we have both siege and warfare.
Perhaps though, the most important part of Parshas Shoftim is that which comes before the last aliyah, in the first 10 verses of Perek 20. Before the Israelite army goes to war, they are to be addressed by a kohein, who shall say: “Hear, O Israel! You are about to join battle with your enemy. Let not your courage falter. Do not be in fear, or in panic, or in dread of them. For it is Hashem your God who marches with you to do battle for you against your enemy, to bring you victory.” He then calls forth those who can be exempted from armed service, allowing those who are afraid or lacking in faith, to slip away.
The first section of Perek 20 drives home several important points. Critical to how we behave is remembering our relationship with Hashem. Our strength comes from our belief in Hashem. Additionally, not forgetting that bein adam l’chavero is almost always as important as bein adam l’Makom, and whether a comrade fights alongside or goes home to his freshly planted vineyard, he is still part of the nation.
Here in the month of Elul, as we reflect on that which is important heading into the Days of Awe, we can remember that Am Yisrael’s strength – no matter whether in Israel or in chutz l’aretz – is putting Hashem first in our vision and respecting our brethren.
Wishing you a good Shabbas.
Parshas Re’eh: The World’s Delight
A common discussion among those who are just exploring religious observance is whether Judaism follows asceticism, denying oneself worldly pleasures in an effort to achieve holiness. Judaism, however, has a very positive view of worldly things, meaning that Jewish philosophy encourages us to use the physical to uplift ourselves and the world. Bless the food that you are enjoying. Use your home to hosts guests. Enjoy the beauty of nature as a means of praising the Artist. There have, of course, been individuals or groups that have taken upon themselves extra fasting or that which might appear like asceticism, but the underlying philosophy has never been that the physical is bad.
This week's parsha, Parshas Re'eh, includes a section on the laws of kosher animals. "A-ha!" a skeptical person might argue noting that Judaism frames the physical world in good and bad this way. However, this, again, is only when one looks at Torah through an outside perspective. The non-kosher animals are not bad, they just have roles in the world other than food.
Because aspects of the physical world are our tools for elevating ourselves, we do not label them good or bad. All of the world is Hashem’s creation; therefore, none of it is bad. However, just because something is good (or isn’t bad) doesn’t mean that it is good for us. This is one of the biggest and most important concepts that we have in Judaism. Just because you can do/have/take something, doesn’t mean you should.
We are not able to truly understand the chok that underlies the laws of kashrut – why cows are fine to eat but not rabbits – because we are unable to witness the spiritual ramifications of our diet. (Unlike eating cakes and candies without limit, which we do see the results of.)
Interestingly, the laws of kashrus recorded in Devarim 14 are followed by the commandment to set aside a tenth of all one’s yield from the field and to consume it “in the presence of Hashem your God, in the place where [God] will choose to establish the divine name, so that you may learn to revere Hashem your God forever” (14:24). If, however, a person deems himself too far to bring his tithe, the Torah states: “You may convert them into money. Wrap up the money and take it with you to the place that Hashem your God has chosen, and spend the money on anything you want—cattle, sheep, wine, or other intoxicant, or anything you may desire. And you shall feast there, in the presence of Hashem your God, and rejoice with your household” (14:26-27).
It is almost easy to miss those words, uvchol asher tishalacha naphshecha – anything that your soul desires. Take the financial value of your tithe, go to this holy place, and enjoy the fruits of your labor – whatever you like (obviously kosher) – and do it with Me (Hashem).
Hashem gave Adam and Chava dominion over the world and all that is in it. Hashem gave humankind bechira so that we can choose to have a relationship with Him, and one of the ways Hashem shows His love to us is through giving us a physical world with pleasure. We, in return, demonstrate our love and respect for Hashem by taking those gifts in the manner that best enhances our spiritual selves.
This week, as we enter the last month of the year – the month in which we proclaim that Hashem, the King, is “in the field,” nearby and ready to hear our petitions – let us demonstrate our joy in this relationship by rejoicing in His full Creation.
Have a good Shabbas.
It seems to be that this year there has been a surge in the publication of works on Emuna, on faith, and Bitachon, trust in Hashem. The works, both old and new, line display tables of the Jewish bookstores, and it is impossible not to recognize the tremendous need that Jews today feel for connecting to our True Source.
The topic of emunah in the 21st century can be complicated. Those of us raised in the mixture of western society know that emunah means far more than faith or belief, even as we live surrounded by a society in which faith and belief are the end goals of religion. Indeed, even in the most recent of movements of wokeism, what you believe is what defines truth. That is not emunah.
Emunah takes work. That work is defined almost succinctly by Devarim 10:12: “And now, Israel, what does Hashem your God ask from you all, just that you fear with awe Hashem your God to walk in His path and to love Him and to serve Hashem your God with all your heart and with all your soul.” Neither Moshe nor the Torah define this as Emuna, but our tradition teaches us that true emunah and bitachon (faith and trust) in Hashem means knowing that all that Hashem does is for the good and therefore trying to do everything in the way that Hashem wants.
If the Torah makes clear what we need to do to serve Hashem, why do we need so many books on emunah? Perhaps part of that answer comes from our very human desire to ignore the idea that Hashem created and runs the world on a concept of consequences, on cause and effect. Hashem controls every aspect of the universe (as the parsha also notes: Behold, the heavens to their uttermost reaches belong to your God Hashem, the earth and all that is on it!) but He set that universe up to specific parameters and then set even more specific parameters for the Jewish people.
This week’s parsha, which talks so much about what Bnei Yisrael must do and feel, is parshas Eikev. which opens: “And it will be the consequence if you obey these rules and observe them carefully, your God Hashem will maintain faithfully for you the covenant made on oath with your fathers” (7:12). Eikev, consequence, that which comes from an action… this is how Hashem created the world. The world has consequences. Emunah has consequences. In the Shaar Habitachon it is pointed out that if a person is determined to believe in the power of money or avodah zarah or even himself, then Hashem allows him to live life with that delusion, allows him to experience the consequence of that false faith.
When one lives with emunah and bitachon, however, the consequences result not in a demonstration of wealth and glory but in the symbiotic relationship in which a person truly lives to love and serve Hashem and therefore feels the constant wealth of Hashem’s blessing.
We today publish so many books on emunah because in the age of technology and in an era of hedonism, those consequences are harder and harder to witness. We live in a time where things seem to be going so very wrong and yet understanding how it is wrong is a critical part of emunah and bitachon. Even in the darkest moments, Bnei Yisrael must hold fast to the fact that “Yet it was to your ancestors that Hashem was drawn out of love for them, so that you, their lineal descendants, were chosen from among all peoples—as is now the case” (10:15).
This Shabbas, or whenever you can throughout your days, take a moment and think about that most critical relationship. Start with gratitude, with the recognition of what Hashem has provided, and take the steps to let your emunah grow. (There are probably several books I might suggest!)
We are all works in progress on emuna and bitachon. It’s a journey; it’s work – But it’s worth it.
...Va’etchanan continues Moshe’s parting words to Bnei Yisrael, and one can see within his words his deep love for the people he has led. The second aliyah, which is Devarim 4:5-40, begins with a statement of the greatness of Klal Yisrael – a statement that is meant to be an eternal warning and inspiration: “See, I have imparted to you laws and rules, as my God Hashem has commanded me, for you to abide by in the land that you are about to enter and occupy. Observe them faithfully, for that will be proof of your wisdom and discernment to other peoples, who on hearing of all these laws will say, ‘Surely, that great nation is a wise and discerning people’” (Devarim 4:5-6)
The chukim and mishpatim of Bnei Yisrael were Divinely unique in their path to set the nation on track both civilly, morally, and spiritually. The laws were designed to address bein adam l’chavero, bein adam l’atzmo, and bein adam l’Makom. And the laws were given to help Bnei Yisrael become a unique example that people would wish to emulate.
Moshe needed the people to know that it is a path of greatness and that it is a path that requires great effort: “But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and so that they do not fade from your mind as long as you live. And make them known to your children and to your children’s children” (4:9).
These verses may seem like a continuation of previous admonishments in the Torah, but they are unique because these are not Hashem’s words, these are Moshe’s. The verses within this section of the parsha weave between “I”s and “You”s. When Moshe is telling the people what they should and should not do, it is not a rebuke but a testament of his love for them, his love that came at a tremendous personal cost.
“Now Hashem was angry with me on your account and swore that I should not cross the Jordan and enter the good land that your God Hashem is assigning you as a heritage” (4:21). Moshe hurts, emotionally, because he cannot enter the land with the people. But this is not Moshe complaining. This is Moshe trying to make certain that the people before him and the generations to come receive the most important message. Hashem keeps His word, always. Indeed, numerous commentaries discuss why, at the opening of the parsha and here, Moshe claims his punishment is “on your account.”
As summarized on Aish.com: “The Ohr HaChaim takes this same approach to its inescapable conclusion: Had Moshe entered the Land, the Temple would have been built – and could never have been destroyed; such was the spiritual power of Moshe. Had the Jews sinned despite this spiritual center, God would have destroyed the people, while the building [the temple] would have remained standing, intact and unscathed. God did not allow Moshe to enter the Land so that He could take out his "anger" on the building, on the stone and mortar of the Beit haMikdash, rather than on the people who had transgressed. The people would be exiled, not annihilated. Thus, Moshe rightly explains, his own punishment was ‘for your sakes.’”
Moshe’s punishment is “on your account” looking forward, not backward. And looking forward, Moshe knows: “When you have children and grandchildren, and are long-established in the land, and you become corrupt and make a sculpted image, the likeness of anything, and do evil in the eyes of God, your God, provoking Him to anger. I call heaven and earth this day to witness against you that you shall soon perish from the land that you are crossing the Jordan to possess; you shall not long endure in it but shall be utterly wiped out from it” (4:25-26).
Note the use of the personal pronoun “I.” This is Moshe speaking. This is not Moshe conveying Hashem’s words, but Moshe passionately telling the people that he knows that they ...
Parshas Devarim begins Moshe’s presentation of the events that transpired to the Jewish people and the travels they made. It may see strange since that which he describes in the second half of the parsha took place within the last few years, but it is objectively difficult to understand the significance of the times one is living through. Moshe is, therefore, reframing the events – the wars and interactions with the nearest neighbors of the Promised Land – to strengthen the faith of the people before him and to clarify history for the generations to follow.
Given that Bnei Yisrael have not yet entered the Promised Land, there is an impressive amount of conquest that occurs in Parshas Devarim. Specifically, Moshe goes into great detail about the wars with the Amorites and the Bashonites, specifically about how powerful they were and how they resided in the lands of giants. Indeed, Moshe even states that the bed of Og, King of Bashan, was “nine cubits long and four cubits wide according to the cubit of the man” (Devarim 3:11). While the detailing of these tremendous victories may have been an excellent pep talk before entering the Promised Land, anyone reading the parsha cannot fail to note that these nations were wiped out completely, “At that time we captured all his towns, and we doomed every town—men, women, and children —leaving no survivor” (2:34). And there is no denying, from a 21st century perspective, that this is shocking turn of events. It is so shocking a statement that it is easy to forget that Bnei Yisrael did not attack the Amorites, but, rather, they requested safe passage. The response was a full out attack, and the results were as stated above.
Bnei Yisrael was not then, nor is it now, a bellicose nation. There is no instance in the Torah before they arrive at the Land of Israel where Bnei Yisrael specifically set out to conquer land. In fact, Hashem was very specific with them about not attacking land that He had promised to other nations such as Edom, Amon, and Moav. It was only once the Amorites and Bashanites attacked that Hashem gave the enemy “into their hands.” And it was only once these nations had been defeated that it was determined to be acceptable for two tribes, upon their own request, to settle there. What Parshas Devarim makes clear is that Bnei Yisrael had one goal, and that was the land that had been promised to and surveyed by Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov.
Underlying everything that is occurring in Parshas Devarim is the idea of the Divine promise of land. It is a foundational belief of Judaism that Hashem owns the world and determines the specific lands of the nations. Thus, the area of Har (Mount) Seir is specified for Edom and etc..
It is nearly impossible to come to Parshas Devarim for a second time during Israel’s current state of war and not use this as an opportunity to make grave political statements about the situation. There is no desire for the atrocities of war – in the wars above and in future wars, utter destruction only came at the command of Hashem. War in the Torah has a goal, and that goal – except for the directives against Amalek – is twofold the protection of the people (thus the Midianites, Amorites, and etc) and settlement of the Promised Land. And even in the wars of conquest yet to come, there were instructions on the means of avoiding utter cruelty.
The current situation is incredibly complex. War is a terrible thing, and it is always most cruel and devastating to the one’s least involved in the war itself. We do not have, today, a Divine voice telling us how to finish this war, and so we are left in the human quagmire. What we do know is that defending ourselves to our full strength against one who attacks us is as well-documented in Jewish tradition as the preciousness of the Promised Land.
This Shabbas is Shabbas Chazon, ...
Warning: This Dvar Torah may upset people with strong feminist views.
Parshas Matos-Masai begins with a topic that, on first read, might seem troubling to a modern-day woman. After one verse (30:3) stating that a man who makes a vow is required to uphold that vow, the Torah goes into a rather detailed explanation of the vows of women and, some might say, how easily those vows can be nullified.
Bamidbar 30:4 begins with basic terminology: v’eesha ki tidor neder – If a woman makes a vow… but the first example is quickly explained to be a woman still living in her father’s house for reason of her youth. This woman, living in her father’s house, can make a vow or a self-imposed obligation and must keep it…unless her father objects (30:6) that day. If she has taken it upon herself while single and then gets married, her new husband can nullify that vow (30:9). Verses 11-17 describe the similar rules that apply to a married woman making a vow or a self-imposed obligation but in more detail, details that offer us great insight into the importance of communication in marriage.
The husband of a woman who makes a vow has the ability to nullify the vow of his wife, but only if he does so within the day of hearing of her vow. This, it should be pointed out, is an interesting use of language. The nullification does not have to occur on the day the vow was made, but rather on the day that her husband learns of the vow. She is not, it appears, under an obligation to tell her husband about her vow, which allows her time to lay down the foundations for him to understand her actions so that when he does learn of them, he will not object.
The Torah is then very explicit: “If her husband offers no objection from that day to the next, he has upheld all the vows or obligations she has assumed: he has upheld them by offering no objection on the day he found out” (30:15).
The Torah goes to great length stressing that the husband has one day to object to the vow or self-imposed obligation. If he objects two weeks later, or even two days later, he shall bear the guilt for every time his wife does something contrary to her vow or obligation.
The Torah wants marriage and family to succeed. It recognizes a dynamic in the pairing of male and female for him to seek a sense of being respect and her to seek affection and “protection” (yes, this is a broad generalization and a far more complicated discussion). The husband is given the role of head of the house because he needs that respect. That role does not mean he is greater/she is lesser. It is practical in that, until most recent history, a man’s role was to be protector and provider. He needed a strong sense of importance to do his job well, a sense of others depending on him. This need has not changed, even in the world of white-collar jobs and two income families. Torah philosophy consistently defines the masculine as the giver, and the giver thrives on being needed and respected for his efforts.
The feminine, on the other hand, is the receiver and thus the one who feels fulfilled by being given to. These definitions create the dynamic brought to fruition in halacha for a “Head of the Household.” This dynamic is precisely the issue at play in the question of vows, and the unstated solution to a sense of restriction is communication.
It is easy to see the subject in these pasukim as seconding women, except that there are some very specific words that show it is not about women per se but about a woman’s place in her family. The first halacha stated above is for a woman living in her father’s household due to her youth. This may set off concern to the modern-day reader, but the actuality is clarified in the Shulchan Aruch: “After six months of adulthood (physical maturity as defined by halacha), she is fully independent, and the father no longer has authority over her vows” (Shulchan Aruch Yoreh De'ah 234:1). One could
Parshas Pinchas is a parsha that focuses on bravery and heroism, on stepping forward in order to ensure that the correct path is followed. The greatest heroics in Parshas Pinchas, however, are not the remembrance of Pinchas’ act of casting his spear at the unabashed Zimri and Cosbi. Rather, the greatest act of bravery came from Machla, Noa, Chagla, Milca, and Tirza.
The story of the daughters of Tzelafchad is well-known. They requested of Moshe that they inherit their father’s portion in the upcoming allotments of the Promised Land. Moshe asked Hashem what to do. Hashem not only stated that the sisters were correct but set out the laws of inheritance to include daughters when there is no male heir.
The sages note that these women were “wise, they are interpreters [of verses], and they are righteous. [That] they are wise [can be seen from the fact] that they spoke in accordance with the moment, (they presented their case at an auspicious time). As Rabbi Shmuel bar Rav Yitzḥak says: Tradition teaches that Moshe our teacher was sitting and interpreting in the Torah portion about men whose married brothers had died childless, as it is stated: “If brothers dwell together, [and one of them dies…]” (Bava Batra 119b:).
Bamidbar Rabbah 21:11 states: “What was their wisdom? It is that they spoke at that moment when Moshe was engaged in the portion of the inheritances: ‘To these the land shall be distributed’ (Bamidbar 26:53). They said to him: If we are like a son, let us inherit. If not, let our mother be subject to levirate marriage.” If a woman who bore a daughter did not need to go into a levirate marriage, then one could understand that a daughter had rights to inheritance like a son when there is no son.
Their claim was not a fancy or a whim but a complex aspect of halacha. Their goal was similar to the goal of the levirate Marriage – that the name of their family would not be lost to history.
We don’t often think of something like a legal assertion as being heroic, but what happened with the daughters of Tzelaphchad was as brave as that which happened with Pinchas. Pinchas knew the law and carried out that law by killing Zimri (and Cosbi). The daughters of Tzelaphchad knew the law and stood up to declare that it need to be enforced.
They did something incredibly difficult and brave. They stood up and spoke out for themselves.
This may not seem like such a brave thing, but it is something which should not be dismissed. The other recorded times in the Torah when someone approached Moshe with a challenge or a request things didn’t turn out so well (the spies, Korach, the complainers). The Or HaChaim notes that the Zohar in Parshas Balak comments that the daughters confronted Moshe with others around because they were worried that he would hold a bias against them. He writes: “Why would [women] who have been described as righteous by the Talmud assume that Moshe had hatred in his heart against them or their late father? … It is possible that they were afraid that just as with the people who had complained in Parshat Beha-a-lotcha, as well as the spies who had forfeited their inheritance in the land because they had raised their voices against Moshe and against G'd, Moshe would rule similarly against them on account of the sin of their late father” (Or HaChaim on Numbers 27:2:3).
The real bravery was not overcoming their fear of bias, however. Rather it was that these women saw that the law needed to be clarified and they did not leave it for someone else to speak up. Whether we like to discuss it or not, approaching the ...
The parsha of Shelach is one that reverberates through history. It is, as is commonly known, the source of Tisha B’av, as the day that the Jews cried out their fear of entering the Promised Land was the 9th of Av; and, alas, throughout history, Hashem has given us reasons to feel true sorrow on that day.
Parshas Shelach is a parsha from which one can mine deep hashgafic questions and delve into the relationship of Klal Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael. This year, however, it seems almost cavalier to discuss the situation in Eretz Yisrael, as if it is minimalizing the events taking place, chas v’shalom. However, not noting the important connections to this week’s parsha would, perhaps, be obscuring an opportunity to work on ourselves as individuals and as a nation.
One of the most frequently spoken of lessons from Parshas Shelach is one of distorted reality and the power of language. The scouts returned and described what they saw in such a way as to disparage the land and make it seem as if a terrible fate awaited them. And the nation believed them… and cried… and were punished. We often wonder how this could have happened - how leaders of the shevatim could have forgotten everything Hashem had done for them and seen such a negative space.
The sin of the scouts has been writ large in 5785. It hasn’t been just our enemies who have vilified klal Yisrael, but our own fellow Jews who have joined rallies that distort reality and spread lies, that repeat old tropes of anti-Semitism in a new light. What started as a sliver of negative voices persisted and grew throughout the last almost 2 years, and it has an effect. Doubt begets doubt; people are drawn to a negative world view and a sense of doom - just look at the news.
Noticing the effect of these voices, however, is a reminder to Klal Yisrael that our view of the world - of world events and of personal events - should be filtered with the lens of bitachon.
One of the primary concepts that are drawn from Parshas Shelach is the importance of understanding emunah and bitachon. On the verge of entering the Promised Land, the people asked Moshe if they could send men to scout out the land. They spoke of their motive as a need to know what they would be facing, as a lacking in themselves, but they were projecting. They were not doubting their abilities; they were doubting the divine promise. Their emunah was strong; they did not doubt Hashem as the ultimate power. What was lacking was their bitachon, their belief that Hashem intercedes for them in the common actions of mankind. Bnei Yisrael could believe in miracles, especially after they had lived through so many wondrously- miraculous situations, but they had trouble believing in the continued manifestation of that help. They looked at the world from their perspective only and neglected to remember the basic bitachon. What we perceive as miracles are simply larger demonstrations of what Hashem does every moment of every day of every life.
This is all too relatable to 5785. In truth, this lesson is relatable in all times - not just in crisis. It is all too common to believe in Hashem and to believe in His guidance of the world, while, at the same time, not truly trusting what the future will bring. Bitachon in its highest practice is understanding that Hashem will make the best future for you (whether it is what you want or not does not always reconcile). We try to view the world as if it is in our control, but far, far greater guidance is always at play.
The world at large wants to believe that they have control, that they have power. They want to attribute their successes to themselves alone (and their defeats, of course, to someone else). Those who have joined the ranks of Hamas supporters, who chant terrible slogans and look the other way, deliberately, at acts of violent anti-Semitism believe the reality they are looking for rather than the r
Do you know what happened on the 20th of Iyar, the second month of the year when you count from Passover. Before you invest time trying to remember all your high school classes or to rack your brain thinking of a holiday that falls on the 20th of Iyar, know that it is a date with a rare status. It is in the Torah, but it is not a chag.
The 20th of Iyar was the day the Jews left Horev, left the base camp around Har Sinai. It was a big deal. They weren’t leaving Har Sinai with the intent to go wander in the Midbar for 38 more years. They were heading for the Promised Land.
What is interesting is that the Torah provides us with such a specific date. One might think that it was something we would continue to note, that there would be some spiritual resonance as we see on so many other specific dates. Wasn’t Hashem assembling us and setting us in motion an indication that we were ready?
Bnei Yisrael probably thought so. They probably thought they had resolved their issues. I mean, look at the time frame: They had been at Har Sinai almost an entire year, and that can feel like a long time. True, a little over forty days after they arrived they had undone themselves with the Chait Haegel, but there had been repercussions – deaths – and there had been heartfelt teshuva. Moshe had returned again to the mountaintop for another forty days, and thus the first 100 days (roughly, obviously) had passed.
To a human being, one year (and we see this is less) can feel like an incredibly long period of time. And while research may suggest that it takes two months to form or break a habit, changing deeper personal issues, such as addiction, requires a much longer commitment. Bnei Yisrael’s habits had changed. They seemed more present and capable on the externals because they were more focused on the right actions and goals, but deep down they had not truly repaired their weaknesses. Bnei Yisrael only looked ready on the surface. From the very chapter where we are set in motion, we see the fading of our spiritual resilience. Hardly had the nation set out then the complaints began. Most famously, from this week’s parsha, is the demand for meat. There was literally food falling from the sky and a raucous group of people wanted to know where the McDs was, so to speak.
So why did we go? Why did Hashem begin the journey since, surely, He understood Bnei Yisrael’s true state? Perhaps the answer is that the journey had to start. Ready or not here I come, as we all say in childhood. You can’t grow if you stay in the same place. You have to take the journey in order to get to the destination. You have to fight your own inclinations in order to really change.
Moshe, a man, was frustrated and distraught by the continual complaints and weaknesses of Bnei Yisrael, as we see in Bamidbar 11:11-15
Moses said to God, “Why have You treated me, Your servant, so badly? Why have I not found favor in Your regard, that You place the burden of this entire people upon me? ......I cannot carry the responsibility of this entire people alone, for it is too hard for me.If this is the way You want to treat me, please kill me first, if I have found favor in Your regard, so that I not see my evil.”
Hashem’s anger, perhaps, was not at their actions but at the frustration at the fact that so many of them were not doing the necessary internal work that was necessary. He did not care that they wanted meat; He cared that they thought He could not provide it. He cared that they could not see beyond the immediate and the physical when the going got tough – and it wasn’t that tough.
Parshas Bamidbar: Organizing Ourselves for Society
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Sharon bas Shoshana, and Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah
Do you get the sense that the world is “messy” right now? Like there was a period, perhaps even less than a decade ago, when it felt like the world was starting to come together as a cohesive-ish unit (okay, barring Israel and the Divinely ordained disconnect), but now everything seems to be breaking down? Certainly, there is a sense from the news (which, of course, loves to poke and enflame problems) that law and order has dissolved in Western Society.
This week, we are brought back to Sefer Bamidbar. In English, this sefer is known as the Book of Numbers because it opens with a counting of Bnei Yisrael. The beginning of Sefer Bamidbar is about something incredibly important on a more global scale. The first parsha of Sefer Bamidar is about order. This week’s parsha not only covers Moshe taking a census (because knowing how many people one has is important), but also appointing tribal leaders, providing placement instructions for each tribe during encampment, and organizing the specific jobs for maintaining the Mishkan.
These events, this parsha, is placed in time, according to the Chabad.org source, one month after the inauguration of the Mishkan and several weeks before the Jews will depart from Mount Sinai…” At Har Sinai, our nation was forged into a unit. We received the Torah, and that was wonderful, but we couldn’t move forward in living a full Torah life until we put into place the necessary systems to do so.
In just a few days, we will celebrate Shavuos, that holiday the commemorates and celebrates receiving the Torah on Har Sinai. The Torah is a blueprint for living, for fulfilling our spiritual tafkid (purpose). Many mitzvos put order to the spiritual world, but here Hashem made certain that we put order to the physical world of our people as well.
It is often said that the politics swings like a pendulum. A leader takes things too far to the left, and the right swoops in to correct. In far too many situations, the swing of that pendulum is extreme. Chaos on the left; Suffocation on the right – And most people, really, just wanting to live in the moderate middle (or a little the right or a little to the left). From Parshas Bamidbar we are reminded that for society to move forward, we must stop and take stock of who we are, organize ourselves for our strengths, choose good leaders, and only then can we begin to move forward.
This was short, sweet - I hope- and probably a little chaotic, but I hope it gave you a sense of connection to the parsha and the times we live in. I wish you all a good Shabbas and a Good Yom Tov.
Bein adam l’chavero, the mitzvos between one person and another, are the bedrock of civilization. More than that, these Torah’s mitzvos are – to be blunt – fascinating in their constant application to every aspect of life.
This week’s parsha, Behar-Bechukosai starts with the laws of Shmittah, during which the Jewish nation demonstrates their deep trust in Hashem and their Divinely imposed respect for the land. It then moves on to the laws of the years of Yuval, Jubilee, and through that discusses the many limitations of selling property in the Holy Land. Basically, in summary, one can really only lease land on a pro-rated scale as it must revert to its original portioning at the coming of the Yuval.
Through these discussions of real estate, however, comes the very significant commandment of Al Tonu Eish Et Ahav – you must not cheat one man to another.
From here come the laws connected to Onaas Devarim, using words to hurt another. These laws cover such subtle issues as misleading a salesman that you might have the intention to buy something when, in all honesty, you are simply price comparing. You cannot give a fellow Jew the impression that you are going to give them business on false pretext. That, of course, is just one example. The unfortunate “opportunities” for onaas devarim are…multitudinous, almost as vast as the opportunities for lashon harah and rechilus, and the primary reason for this is that most of us have an incredibly difficult time being truly mindful of our speech and actions.
The idea of “vexing” – of causing hardship or wrongness – is so important that it is mentioned twice in the same perek, which seems a little odd. In pasuk 14, it says: “When you sell property to your neighbor, or buy any from your neighbor, you shall not wrong one another.” Three pasukim later, in verse 17, it states: “Do not wrong one another, but fear your God; for I Hashem am your God.” This verse uses different language than Pasuk 14. It uses Lo instead of Al. Both are Hebrew words, and both share a basic word meaning foundation (indeed, they are both composed of only an aleph and a lamed), but they are subtly different.
In the first verse, it is an immediate command – Al Tonu – Thou shalt not. When you are in the middle of your land deal, when you are thinking about how much profit you can make or what corners can be cut, there is a mandate upon you to think of what is being done to the other person.
In the second verse is Pasuk 17: “Do not wrong one another,” Lo Tonu puts that onus on the person to prepare to avoid ways of hurting others. The first verse could lead one to mistakenly think that this injunction against “wronging” is only connected to business, to real estate specifically, but Pasuk 17 comes to make certain it is clear that it is remembered throughout all aspects of life.
This might leave the question of why there are two pasukim when the second covers it all. This goes back to the subtle difference between al and lo. Al is a reminder in the moment, when an “impossible-to-resist” opportunity is sitting in front of you and you know you can make a clear profit, but that profit will be to the excessive cost to your fellow. That is when you must remember that our goal in life is to emulate Hashem, to do good in the world…not to make the most profit.
In the plethora of laws that are laid down in the Torah, simple statements like “Do not wrong one another” are easy to pass over. We read it and almost shrug in our conviction that this is not something that we do anyway. But in our day to day lives, amid the constant navigation of family, friends, community, and business, it is easy to focus on ourselves and our needs. We need ...
Vayikra focuses on the kohanim, Aaron's sons, but we take the laws and information in there and see how it applies to the larger nation as well. Parshas Emor opens with the oft-discussed restrictions on the family members whose funerals a kohain may attend. For some, it seems shockingly restricted. Attending a funeral is a means of demonstrating love and true respect for the departed, and that that should be denied feels, from certain perspectives, almost cruel.
Something that feels cruel, however, does not, in Torah law, supersede that which is necessary. It is necessary for the kohanim to maintain their distance from death because it affects their ability to serve in their role of spiritual channel.
Kohanim were meant to live their lives differently than the rest of Klal Yisrael - not better, not worse, just differently. Differently, however, can be abused. Differently can cause society to split into haves and have nots, and it seems as if, perhaps, in the first half of Vayikra 22, the Torah is making certain to guard the Kohanim from falling into an abuse of their status.
Vayikra 22 begins: “Instruct Aaron and his sons va’yinazaru from the sanctified donations of Klal Yisrael and not to profane My holy name; these that they dedicate to Me, I am Hashem.” Va’yinazru is an interesting word that is interpreted in one place as ‘to be scrupulous” and in another as “they must abstain” and in the Rav Hirsh translation as “keep themselves apart from.”
The Kohanim received the offerings of Klal Yisrael, and it is very clear from other halachot that once an item is sanctified for donation, it holds a unique status. Some of that which is donated to the Mishkan/Beis Hamikdash is burnt up in sacrifice and some is given to the Kohanim to consume. From an outside perspective, this may seem to offer the Kohanim a rather substantial boon. After all, at the most basic level of all trade is the need to gather food, and here the Kohanim have food delivered to them.
Vayikra 22 protects the Kohanim from abusing their largesse. First, the parsha makes clear that a kohain in a state of impurity may not eat from the consecrated food. Although it did not take long for a kohein to purify himself, it is still a reminder that he is at this table purely because of his unique role. More significantly, the Torah delineates that the sacred donations may not be eaten by a layman, by a non-kohein who is residing with the kohein, or by a hired worker of the kohein. A slave owned by the Kohein may eat.
These laws emphasis that the right to consume the consecrated food should not be taken lightly. One might also see in this the idea that the access a Kohein has to the consecrated food, which was of the highest quality meats, could not be used for outside influence. A Kohein could not invite a neighbor from whom he wanted a favor, a potential business partner, or even his future son-in-law if he wasn’t a Kohein, to partake in this food. This food, Hashem is stating is for you and yours alone.
But what of the daughters. The Torah clearly states that if a Bas-Kohein marries a layman, she may no longer eat of the sacred gifts. The only way she would return to her family’s consecrated feast would be as a childless widow or divorcee. And now, once again, it could be argued that this feels cruel.
According to the Torah, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husband’s tribe. A kohain's wife, whether born into a family of kohanim or not, may eat of the consecrated food, so too the daughter of a kohain who becomes part of another tribe may not. There is equivalency. There is in this also a level of protection from lower scruples. For most of history, marriages were arranged based on a perspective of benefits to each party. By stating outright that a bas-Kohein becomes of the other tribe, it nullifies...
This week’s parsha is Parshas Acharei Mos Kedushim. It is well known that this double parsha has an incredible number of mitvos in it. Many of these mitzvos make perfect sense to us, such as revering our parents and not swearing falsely. Others need a little more explanation. Like most things in the Torah, however, taking a deeper look at these mitzvos, reading the parsha from a different angle – so to speak, provides a new perspective on the world.
One law that does not appear to need explanation is “Anyone among the Israelites, or among the strangers residing in Israel, who gives any offspring to Molech, shall be put to death; the people of the land shall pelt the person with stones…” (Vayikra 20:2). Molech was the deity figure of a cultish religion in the region of Israel. The followers of Molech practiced child sacrifice; they sent their children into the flames.
It is fair to say that it is inconceivable to us today that someone would sacrifice a child, that people would join a cult that specifically required one to burn a child to death. Children are the future.
Actually, Jewish tradition is intriguingly bi-lateral: On the one hand, we believe that our elders and those who came before us are closer to Torah and are to be given absolute respect. As it says, also in this week’s parsha: “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am Hashem” (Leviticus 19:32).
On the other hand…Well, don’t get in the way of a Jewish mother… so many of our halachos are focused on teaching our children and preparing them for the future. Every child is a bracha, a gift from Hashem, so how is it possible that anyone would be tempted to join a cult that glorifies killing children?
The answer is zealotry. Misdirected zealotry turns people into monsters. The Torah has made clear that Hashem wants people to celebrate life, not death. And we see this distinction even in modern times. Think of the famous Golda Meir quote: “We will only have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate us.” Far too many young people have died in the last year and a half conflict, and we – as a nation – grieve every death, even as our enemies embrace it.
Zealotry leads one to embrace a death cult; perhaps such drive stems from an insatiable desire to prove one’s fervor, to demonstrate one’s righteousness. Perhaps it is a drive that comes from wanting to experience a tangible sacrifice, something one can always hold on to and announce how loyal one is, what one was willing to sacrifice. Yet, as we learned in the recent parshios and as is vaguely referenced in the title Acharei Mos, Hashem does not want uncalled for offerings.
What happens when one “wakes up” from zealotry, when one calms and looks to move forward in life. If one acted like a zealot but followed one’s own council, then the next step might be regret. If one acted like a zealot and offered one’s child to the powerless false god of Molech, then one might feel anguished over the possibility destroyed.
And now, if you think about it, it makes sense that the 4 pasukim in Vayikra 20 that are stressing the prohibilion against Molech are followed immediately by, “And if any person turns to ghosts and familiar spirits and goes astray after them, I will set My face against that person, whom I will cut off from among the people” (20:6). We often find connections between side-by-side passukim, so how does turning to ghosts and familiars connect to Molech? Perhaps this pasuk is alluding to causing death and regretting it. Perhaps these two verses are set against each other because when the mania of zealotry comes down, one may be so bereft as to seek out the dead.
Interestingly, Vayikra 20:6 is not ...
Last week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, is weighed down by the distressing details of the death of Aaron’s two sons. While these deaths are dealt with completely in that parsha, it is interesting to note that the parsha we read next week is “Acharei Mot, After the Deaths.” It is not the fact that Nadav and Avihu’s deaths were significant enough to mark a time connection that is particularly interesting, but rather it is the fact that Shemini and Acharei Mot are separated by two parshios (that are generally read as one). Perhaps, there is something to be learned from these two parshios breaking the narrative of the deaths and the divine instruction that follows thereafter.
The first of these parshios is Tazria, and the primary subject matter of Tazria is the diagnosis and “treatment” of tzaraas. In reading the biblical description of the disease, it seems almost strange that this was consistently translated simply as leprosy since there are so many permutations of the ailment. More importantly, tzaraas is not a medical condition; it is a unique spiritual malady with an underlying pathogen that is actually a disease of the tongue - lashon harah (Though, to be fair and honest, there are other aveiros that are connected to tzaraas as well). The treatment for tzaraas is isolation and repentance, because this is how one begins to repair - to whatever extent it is repairable - the discord sown by lashon harah.
Parshas Metzora, the second parsha, continues the topic of the resolution of tzaaras and also discusses the transference of the marks of tzaraas from a person to an inanimate object and how to deal with it. One of the correlations of tzaraas and lashon hara is the factor of pride, of ego. Lashon Harah most often stems from our need to feel more significant than someone else, or, said more succinctly, to put others down.
So now back to the original question. Why does the narrative of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, and the aftermath commandments of Hashem have tzaraas interrupting it? Perhaps it has to do with Hashem knowing how humanity works. Here in the Torah is a story that is ripe for the picking for lashon harah. These men were struck down in front of the entire congregation. Everyone witnessed their ‘sinning.’ Everyone witnessed their consequence. Public information, right?
Wrong. Discussing what happened to Nadav and Avihu is important because we are meant to use every part of Torah to grow, spiritually. Speculating on salacious details because they are interesting or they are relatable, however, is no longer l’toeles. Let’s be honest with ourselves, there are a wide range of Torah based suggestion to what Nadav and Avihu did that day… and there is a reason that the most widely remembered is that they were drunk.
Tazria-Metzora is followed by Parshas Acharei Mot, which begins: “Gd spoke to Moshe after the death of Aaron’s two sons, when, having drawn near to Gd, they died. Gd said to Moshe: ‘Speak to your brother Aaron, and tell him that he must not come whenever he wishes into the Sanctuary beyond the partition Curtain…’”
After the completion of the inauguration, Hashem provides Aaron with instructions on proper etiquette in the Mishkan. The Torah demonstrates learning from what happened without hashing it out to pieces.
If you think about it, the placement of Tazria-Metzora – parshios in which the dangers of lashon hara is a constant theme - in the middle of the story of Nadav and Avihu is brilliant. There are few other such places in the Torah where there is wrong-doing and consequence, and yet, respect for the righteousness of those who received the consequence all at once. The sages have made many postulations as to what... https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2025/05/parshas-tazriametzorah-not-random.html
This week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, contains one of the most unsettling narratives in the Torah: The death of Aaron’s sons. The parsha describes the activities of the inauguration of the Mishkan on the eighth day after its completion. In the middle of the long inauguration service, Aaron’s sons, “Nadav and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Hashem foreign fire, which had not been enjoined upon them.” (Vayikara 10:1). Their motivation is examined and discussed by the sages and throughout the commentaries of all ages. There are those who condemn them for levity or intoxication, and there are those who focus on their misplaced inspiration. Whatever the reason for their bringing an offering that had not been required, the result was the same: “And fire came forth from Hashem and consumed them; thus they died before Hashem”(10:2).
It is obvious why this story is upsetting. Aaron’s sons died - publicly, dramatically, and in the middle of the most auspicious ceremony Klal Yisrael had endeavored upon. Even more discomforting for many people is the fact that Aaron and his two remaining sons could not stop the inauguration and absorb their shock. They had to go forward and complete the inauguration before reacting to the loss of their immediate family members, which is odd in itself because in Jewish tradition the death of an immediate relative puts one in a state of limbo until the burial of the body as soon as possible.
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As humans, as survivors, as the ones who are left behind after a death, we have a hard time seeing the positive for the neshama. We are focussed on what we have lost. Protecting life is the ultimate goal - the primary instinct is, afterall, the survival instinct - because only in life can our neshama grow and flourish. The more our neshama can grow here in Olam Hazeh, the more it will be able to receive the Divine presence in Olam HaBah, and so we focus on the potential of life without, usually, remembering that death also frees the neshama from its battle, or better competition, with the goof, with one’s physical needs and desires.
When reading parashas Shemini, our immediate reaction is based on our mindset of death as a complete negative. Perhaps, however, from the words that tell us that Nadav and Abihu died before Hashem we are reminded that death is the doorway to a higher plane of existence (when we are ready, ad mesh v’esrim for each of you who reads this!)
Wishing you all a good Shabbas.
Why is this night different from all other nights? That famous question may be special to the Seder, but it is also extremely appropriate for tonight. The answer is that tonight (and tomorrow night as a mirror of living in chutz l’aretz) is the only time on the Jewish calendar that we bentch licht with the bracha of lhadlik neir shall Yom Tov and do NOT make a shehehcheyanu. It is the only true “second days of chag” since that is simply the misnomer people use for Shemini Atzeret in order to make planning easier.
People talk about Shavuos having few distinguishing marks compared to the other holidays, but at least it has a Shehecheyanu. The last days of Pesach is/are the most understated yom tov we have; all that is unique about it are the things that we don’t say – such as the shehcheyanu and the extra perakim in Hallel.
On the last days of Pesach, we read about the crossing of the Yam Suf, for this was when it occurred. One would think that an event as prominent in Jewish history as the crossing of the Yam Suf would merit a unique holiday; and given how close it is to Pesach, it would have made sense for such a holiday to be structured like Shemini Atzeret – a joined but unique holiday. So why isn’t it?
I can’t answer that question. But I can make some of my own reflections.
One of the most critical concepts in Judaism is the fact that every person has bechira, free will. Every person has the ability to choose right or wrong. No one is forced to follow the Torah; the world is built on concepts of reward and punishment and consequences for choices and actions. With that in mind, think about the other Shlosh Regalim.
--On Sukkos we move out of our homes and into temporary dwellings, making an active choice to celebrate trusting Hashem. Shemini Atzeres is a response to Hashem asking Bnei Yisrael to spend one more day with Him. We choose to meet His request.
--Pesach commemorates Yetzias Mitzrayim, and it is a well-understood idea that 4/5 of the Bnei Yisrael remained – some say because they did not believe in the possibility of redemption or that they were those too far drawn to Egyptian society, wishing to be like the Mitzrim. These are both choices. Those redeemed were those who chose to accept Moshe as the redeemer.
--Shavuos is the holiday we say celebrates Hashem giving Bnei Yisrael the Torah, but, in truth, it is the holiday of Bnei Yisrael receiving the Torah. It is not, as one might think, the same thing. Bnei Yisrael said Naaseh v’Nishmah; they chose to accept their role as Gd’s chosen nation.
The Shlosh Regalim, the primary Yom Tovim, all celebrate choosing. The crossing of the Yam Suf is one of the most profound moments in the formation of Am Yisrael, indeed of the world. It was not, however, a moment of choice. Bnei Yisrael were surrounded on four sides, three by the enemy and the fourth by the sea.
Most of us have had moments where we wished Hashem would give us a sign, a personal sign. We want miracles. Indeed, when we talk about the Yam Suf, many of us wonder why we can’t have a neis of our own. The answer, very simply, is bechira. If Hashem showed us open miracles, then we could not choose to put our own will over Hashem’s.
The Shlosh Regalim do not commemorate miracles. They commemorate the choices that are the foundation of Bnei Yisrael’s relationship with Hashem. Perhaps that is why, in the time of the Beis Hamikdash, we would leave our homes and travel to Jerusalem – an action, a choice to act. Miracles happen all around us, constantly. Most of them are understated, as they should be. Most of them we don’t notice, and so we are able to live our lives making choices. The final days of Pesach are understated because Kriyas Yam Suf could only have happened for those who made the choice to follow Moshe and be redeemed. But the crossing of the sea itself was not a choice, just a miracle.
Parshas Vayikra: Responsibility
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta
If you enjoy antics about the different generations, then you have probably noticed that comments on the generation most recently entered into the workforce are frequently characterized as being irresponsible (ok, every generation seems to say this about those below), unanchored, and lacking a sense of personal responsibility. The last of these characteristics has been a growing concern in Western society, often blamed on a childhood that focused on participation prizes and an emphasis on feeling good.
You might, at this point, be wondering what this has to do with this week’s parsha. This week’s parsha, Parshas Vayikra, begins the third book of the Torah, the one that appears to have the least narrative and the most repetitive seeming text in its descriptions of the sacrifices to be offered in the Mishkan. When you read it through on a micro level, it is easy to focus on one sacrifice or another, for, indeed, there is a wealth of fascinating insight embedded in Sefer Vayikra. When you look at it on a Macro level, for instance using the “Aliyah Summary” offered on Chabad.org, a different level of insights can be attained.
It is easy to look at Sefer Vayikra and think “yada, yada, yada…” Not that it isn’t important, but there is no Mishkan or Beis Hamikdash and there are no karbanos being offered, so how is this relevant to me. Obviously, we are all supposed to live with a mind-frame that Moshiach can come at any moment, but that is – in all honesty – an ideal that some of us live up to some of the time (but we always strive to live up to). It is also easy to understand why someone superficially studying Vayikra would want to turn their minds from it, which is a natural reaction to feeling overwhelmed.
Being honest, Sefer Vayikra is overwhelming; not because it lists so many different types of korbanos, although that is the surface level reason, but because it demands personal accountability and responsibility. This is particularly true when it comes to the sin and guilt offerings.
It’s one thing to accidentally turn on a light on Shabbas, thus being mochel Shabbas, feel bad about it and, perhaps, make a private statement of apology to Hashem. It is an entirely different thing to accidentally machalel Shabbas and then have to not only demonstrate one’s error in public but also have to be honest with oneself about how much one could afford for the korban. Would one bring a sheep or a bird?
We despair, rightly, of the fact that we live in spiritual galus with Hashem’s face hidden from us. The level of our spiritual galus makes us more and more like that common world generation, makes it harder and harder for us to see and understand our direct responsibility in the world. There is a famous remark of the Chofetz Chaim on how an earthquake in Japan that killed no Jews still had to be seen by the Jewish people as a judgement on their actions in the world. In the days of karbanos, a person had tangible consequences for their actions, even when accidental, and was therefore, perhaps, more inclined toward mindfulness.
There are many opinions on what it means to be part of “the chosen nation.” While it is a privilege to be member of Bnei Yisrael, it is also a tremendous responsibility. This is one of the things we learn, and relearn, when we examine the karbanos in Parshas Vayira.
Shabbat Shalom
There is something extraordinarily profound about the opening of this week’s Parsha, Parshas Nitzavim-Vayelech. Unlike many parshios that start with Vayomer or Vayidaber or a few common phrases, this week’s parsha begins with words to which we must take heed. Atem – You all, Nitzavim – are standing, Hayom -this day, Coolchem – all of you, Lifnei Hashem – in front of Hashem.
It's powerful, yes because we are on the cusp of the Yomim Noarayim, on the days when we stand before the Sovereign Judge and ask that He see us with favor. But it is also powerful because it specifies “All of you” and “This day.” The unity that we all so frequently pontificate about is something necessary everyday, and Devarim 29:9 immediately reminds us of the tremendous power of our unity.
The opening of the parsha goes on to express who is included in “all of you”: men, women, and children; Jews by birth and “Jews by choice”; and those who seem, in some eyes, to be the lowest level of society. Every descendant – physical and spiritual - of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov is included in coolchem because everyone of these neshamos understands the trials and tribulations that took us out of Mitzrayim, out of the narrow straits of the world, and separated us from the nations. Then the Torah reminds us “And you saw their abominations and their repugnant idols of wood and stone, silver and gold which were with them” (29:16).
It is a strange pasuk – which might be why it is a fairly well-known one. And where once we understood this pasuk to refer to those who worshiped idols – which were a threat to our nation in the days before the Anshei Knesses Hagadola davened for the removal of the taiva for avodah zara - it came to be understood as a reference to Christianity and Islam – wood or the cross and stone for the Black Stone of Mecca.
Just as the commentators understanding of the idols of wood and stone, silver and gold passed the test of time as the Western World was dominated by the other Abrahamic religions, so too we can look at our world today – a world in which religion seems to bear a political role far beyond belief systems – and recognize the necessary warning of abominations.
As the US Presidential election approaches, Jews in the country with the second largest Jewish population* in the world need to decide for whom to vote, and the choice – at least from my perspective – seems impossible. The country has polarized to the right and to the left. To the left is stone. The stone is a cold heart that finds it difficult to acknowledge the atrocities committed on October 7th or to sympathize with Jewish students harassed on their college campuses. To the left are people who have embraced the rallying cries of the anti-Israel protesters and don’t even understand the murderous meaning of “From the river to the sea.” To the left is the delusion of safety among people who claim to have no bias but who have been empowering anti-Semitism for years.
To the right is wood. To the right are people who speak with fiery rhetoric about protecting Israel’s right to exist, but who, more and more, have been open to embracing men and women with deeply troubling beliefs. To the right are people who sound trust-worthy but whose values, historically, lean toward defining Jews as other.
The idols of wood and stone are still with us today, still luring us into trouble. The antidote to those troubles, however, has already been stated. “You are all standing this day before the Lord, your God…” (Devarim 29:9). Hayom – this day – tells us that this pasuk is important in every era. Coolchem – all of you – tells us, once again, about our most powerful weapon, which is Jewish unity. ...
*possibly the first by a few thousand different according to the Jewish Virtual Library
As an English teacher, I often ask students to take a large concept and break it down to its most simplified form. Parshas Ki Tavo is, therefore, rather fascinating in its structure in that Bnei Yisrael are first presented with what could be considered a skeleton list of behaviors to be avoided lest one be cursed followed by an extremely detailed composition describing life when blessed by Hashem verses life when cursed by Hashem.
The skeletal list of curses, which one expects from the text to be paired with a similar list of blessings but is not, are fascinating. They do not mention any of the halachos that we most associate with living a Torah life, and they do not mention anything about the avodah, although the mishkan and its actions have taken up a large percentage of the Torah thus far. In fact, of all the curses listed, only one could be considered bein adom l’makom – and that one prohibits the making of idols and setting them up in secret, which is a very specified avodah zara.
In other words, Hashem is not saying to curse the person who does not keep Shabbas or who eats non-kosher food or who violates the holidays, even though these topics are related numerous times in the Torah. But one who violates basic human decency, that is whom one should curse, and the actions for which one shall be cursed are oddly specific: insulting one’s parents, moving a landmark, misdirecting a blind person, taking a bribe to be a false witness, and etc. Taken as a whole, however, they create broad brush strokes of decency.
The only one of the curses that is not hyper-focused, so to speak, is the concluding “Cursed be whoever will not uphold the terms of this Torah and observe them.—And all the people shall say, Amen” (Devarim 27:26). The debate, which one can even say is ongoing as rabbis today prepare divrei Torah, is whether this refers to the just completed list to which it belongs or to the Torah in its entirety. But that is a mute point for now.
There is one other subtle unifying factor of these curses. They are all private acts, things that might be done when – or because – there are no witnesses.
The curses and the blessings are to be recited just before Bnei Yisrael enter the Promised Land. This warning of the temptations that might follow, the lure of selfish violations of decency, is declared just before Bnei Yisrael are going to leave the safety of Hashem’s palpable presence. These curses are a mother or father telling their newly adult child not to overspend on their credit card. It might not seem problematic and it’s so easy to do, but the repercussions for the future are serious.
The curses of transgressors of decency may be directed at entering the Land of Canaan in Parshas Ki Tavo, but the curses are a warning no matter where one lives. And the temptations are far greater in gulus than when Bnei Yisrael lived in the spiritually infused Promised Land, where the recognition of Torah and Hashem was ever-present. So here we are, 2 long millennia in exile constantly encountering a world in which the mores of society are ever changing. Ours, however, should not. Gulus is a world in which Hashem’s face is hidden, in which we struggle to feel the spiritual around us, but the necessity of being a good person – of not doing ill to another even when one thinks they cannot be caught – never goes away.
I wish you all a good Shabbas.
arshas Ki Tezei – All for One or One for All
In America, every person is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness – a philosophical statement of rights, if nothing else. It sounds lovely, and it does appear to be the heart of western society today. The question for a Dvar Torah, however, is what does that have to do with Torah. Do these values line up with Jewish values? Let’s look at them in reverse order and see how they compare to the mitzvos of Parshas Ki Tezei, or at least some of them.
The pursuit of happiness is an abstract concept. One assumes that it was not meant to mean that every person should put themselves and their specific wants as first priority, but it does seem that this is how society has devolved in the decades that have passed. The halachos of the Torah in this week’s parsha, however, emphasize that the pursuit of happiness takes second priority to the “pursuit” of a harmonious community. Thus we have the commandment, and the detailed rules expanded upon in the Torah she’baal peh, of returning a lost object (Devarim 22:1-3) and, similarly, the halachos of helping even an enemy if his oxen have fallen on the road. We put others first.
The right to liberty is defined in the Merriam-Webster dictionary as the quality or state of being free; the power to do as one pleases, the freedom from physical restraint, and the freedom from arbitrary or despotic control. Is this different than the Pursuit of Happiness? Happiness is stating that how I feel matters more than other people. Liberty means that my choices need to be without constraint. But in this week’s parsha, we learn about the laws of Yibum – the law by which a man must marry the widow of his brother if his brother died without children. There are, of course, halachos to exempt oneself, but the idea remains a firm part of Torah. A person does not necessarily have liberty in a Torah world. Even the most intimate aspects of a person’s life are constraint by law.
The right to life seems like an incredibly basic entitlement. And, in truth, most of Western Civilization is built on a Judeo-Christian foundation that places tremendous importance on life. But stating that one has a right to life implies that one has a right to no-life, that one can throw one’s life away or choose not to live. There is no right to life in the Torah; there is a responsibility to life. We see this in Parshas Ki Tezei in Devarim 22:8: “When you build a new house, then you shall make a parapet around your roof, that you shall not bring blood upon your house, if any man fall from there.”
It is a person’s responsibility to protect life – even on a roof-top upon which they never choose to tread. This verse, this one simple verse, reflects the identity of Klal Yisrael. Why are the numbers so disparate in the current war? Because it is built into us to know that we must protect life, that life is precious, and that life is not a right but a responsibility. Sadly, in the State of Israel, one must not only build parapets around rooftops but safe rooms and bunkers. The government invests in such evolved protection because every life matters.
Western civilization has taken the American Founding Fathers’ call to the right for Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness to its extreme, and, as a result, we’ve lost far too many Jews to attrition and assimilation. The evolution of Western society has allowed Jews an unprecedented opportunity to live peacefully in our gulus, to feel like we can be both who we are religiously and still be part of our host nation. And that is fine – I myself am a proud American and a proud Canadian – as long as being a Jew is what shapes our moral outlook.
Parshas Ki Tezei could be read as a list of rules, a review of halacha learned throughout the wandering in the Wilderness. Within that list, however, we see the true dignity of Torah: return a lost object...
As school years begin across the northern hemisphere, millions of children are sitting in their classrooms, looking at their teachers, and asking, “Why do we have to learn this?” It was even noted at a recent teacher training conference that this question can be hard to answer specifically for a history teacher. Kids don’t generally resonate with “Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” Nevertheless, the truth of this statement is highlighted in the current global climate when leadership in so many countries is shifting. Many people were in denial over the possible return of nationalism, and, equally, it still astonishes many that countries could choose to follow the path of Communism that failed so gloriously in the USSR.
What, you might be wondering, does this have to do with the parsha, parshas Shoftim? Shoftim has a wealth of fascinating subsections and verses that could, indeed, be connected to our current situation – some literally and some more figuratively - but in a world rocked by leadership debates it seemed pertinent that we are reminded of the Torah’s dictates on a Jewish king. It is famously known that the Torah prohibits kings of Israel from owning too many horses or marrying too many wives. It is also common knowledge that each king is obligated to write two Torah scrolls, and the reason for this is “so that his heart will not be haughty over his brothers, and so that he will not turn away from the commandment, either to the right or to the left, in order that he may prolong [his] days in his kingdom, he and his sons, among Israel” (Devarim 17:20).
Devarim 17:20 may be speaking of the ancient kings, of the men who reigned in the days of the Beis Hamikdash, and of royalty when all of klal Yisrael understood the Divinity of Torah. But the instructions in the Torah are often those which most resonate throughout time and regardless of place. Now we look at our world today and we have to wonder. “…so that his heart will not be haughty.”
Is there a politician today about whom one can say they are not haughty? Is there a “world leader” for whom it isn’t apparent that they are always going to put themselves first, to adjust the rules as they need them? Sadly, not really. And this is not a statement about any one particular party or figure; this is all of them.
Except now we are in Elul. Now we are in a time when we are meant to focus on Kingship – as it is said: “The King is in the field.” Now is the time to approach Hashem and supplicate Him even as we draw close, spiritually, and remember His awesomeness.
The verses on choosing a human king are separated out as their own aliyah (sheini). The message is important. Human leaders are, by nature, easily led to think themselves godlike in their power, untouchable by the world. (As an aside, haven’t you ever wondered when a politician gets caught in a public scandal how someone who lives under constant press coverage could believe they could have a secret life?) Once upon a time we thought that if we got rid of absolute monarchies, we would solve the problem of leaders who were led astray by arrogance, by wealth, or by their own frivolous whims, and so we moved to democracies hoping that these leaders would always remember to whom they were responsible. But anyone who must face election cycle after election cycle inevitably must build up their ego and must cater to special parties. This is history. History shows us how human leadership is… human.
In the closing days of Av, all of Klal Yisrael was devastated by the news of the monstrous execution of six of the hostages. It rocked our world. They were so close to freedom after suffering so long. For all these months we prayed for their lives, and Hashem said yes. For all these months we prayed for their freedom, and then Hashem said no. And we don’t really understand. We want to understand why such a terrible thing has occurred, but we never wi
For thousands of years, the Jewish people have prided themselves on being unique, on following a different path, on having a mission. In order to, please Hashem soon, fulfill our ultimate goal of being a mamleches kohanim, a nation of priests–a nation that leads the world in matters of spirituality and holiness (and thus ethics)-we need to hold ourselves to different standards; and that is often really very hard. Living in galus, the imperfect state of the world, has forced us to be surrounded and, thus, influenced by nations and peoples who have different goals. It is up to us to navigate that path between.
In this week’s parsha, Parshas Ra’eh, there is a seemingly short and simple pasuk that could easily be overlooked as a simple wrap up to the subject being discussed but is far more impactful than might be realized. Pasuk 12:4 states: “Lo ta’asoon ken la’Hashem E-lo-kay’chem. Do not do thus to Hashem your Gd.” The pasuk follows instructions to Bnei Yisrael that upon entering the Promised Land they should make certain to destroy all the places where the other nations had worshipped false gods. Indeed, the pasuk before says: “And you shall tear down their altars, smash their monuments, burn their asherim with fire, cut down the graven images of their gods, and destroy their name from that place.”
The preceding pasuk, however, is exactly what makes this pasuk so curious. It seems as if the Torah is telling Bnei Yisrael not to tear down or destroy anything that is part of the avodah to Hashem, but that seems like an obvious statement. The entire focus of the Torah is getting to the Promised Land to fulfill the ultimate means of serving Hashem, so who would even think to tear down Hashem. That would seem to fall under prohibitions against blasphemy and rebellion and the like.
Perhaps it is this conundrum that has led a great number of wise scholars to interpret this pasuk as meaning that one should not worship Hashem in any way that is similar to the worship of Avodah Zara. It isn’t as simple as don’t carve images or designate holy trees. Taking Jewish worship and shaping it to reflect modern standards is a slippery slope. Just look at where the introduction of an organ led… And it is tempting. Seeing outsiders in the throes of their own faith could very well lead one to wanting to bring that passion or joy to Jewish prayer. If you’ve ever seen gospel, it is full of energy and joy that is aimed at God. But it is not for us. We can be inspired by that to inflect more energy and joy into our own avodah, but we should not transform our avodah to mimic theirs.
Don’t worship like the others and don’t destroy the places or vehicles of avodas Hashem-one verse with two very different understandings, and yet they are both relevant comments on life in our modern day galus. These two instructive interpretations merge in that much of popular culture seems to thrive on erasing religion. For thousands of years of history, one could not have imagined a world where so much secularism reigned. Jews avoided the ways of worship of other nations–to the point that it is common to avoid even giving directions using a church as a landmark–but now we must be wary of the penchant for the world around us to diminish, if not erase all together, the Creator of the Universe.
There is one more powerful aspect to this verse: “Lo ta’asoon ken la’Hashem E-lo-kay’chem. Don't do thus to Hashem your Gd.” The power is in our hands. Hashem instructed us on how to connect to Him, and He commanded us what to do or not do according to His “Creator’s Manuel,” His omniscient view of all things. The word La’asot, as in ta’asoon, means to do or make. It is a powerful word that implies just how much bechira, free will, each of us has. Hashem gave us control over our relationship with Him, because, ultimately, that is the only way we will be able to fulfill our role as a mamleches kohanim.
This past week was…intense. Not a few people went into last Shabbas wondering if this week would see unthinkable disaster or, perhaps, ever-yearned for salvation. With Iran threatening to attack and reports insinuating that they would do so on Tisha B’Av, the Jewish world held its breath. And life continued forward as before. And many wondered, even as they were grateful for the lack of attack, why or when – and even why we keep cutting to the edge of a new era but are unable to get there.
There are many interesting aspects to this week’s parsha, Parshas Vaeschanan, that could speak to the situation in which we are living. In particular, it is interesting to look at the second half of perek hey (5), starting at pasuk 20, which is the beginning of the fifth aliyah. In the parek, Moshe is describing the reaction of Bnei Yisrael to hearing Hashem at Har Sinai, at the giving of the Aseres Hadibros.
“And it was, when you heard the voice from the midst of the darkness, and the mountain was burning with fire, that you approached me, all the heads of your tribes and your elders. And you said, ‘Behold, the Lord, our God, has shown us His glory and His greatness, and we heard His voice from the midst of the fire; we saw this day that God speaks with man, yet [man] remains alive. So now, why should we die? For this great fire will consume us; if we continue to hear the voice of the Lord, our God, anymore, we will die....You approach, and hear all that the Lord, our God, will say, and you speak to us all that the Lord, our God, will speak to you, and we will hear and do’” (Devarim 5:20-24).
In other words, the people stood at Sinai, saw the thunder, heard the lightening, listened to Hashem’s voice, and grew terribly afraid. They knew that they were receiving something sublime, that they were experiencing a moment that would take them to another level of existence – and they backed away from it. They feared it. They asked Moshe to intervene for them.
The Rambam listed 13 tenets of Jewish faith, the Ani Maamins, and one of those is “I believe with complete faith in the coming of Moshiach, and although he may tarry, nevertheless, I wait every day for him to come.” Waiting – yearning – planning – pining for Moshiach. This is what a Yid does.
But, to say something controversial…
It is part of the human condition to fear change. It is natural to be afraid of the unknown. And as much as we all may express our emunah, true emunah and bitachon is incredibly difficult to achieve. Over the past few weeks, the question of what to daven for has been a conundrum. If one davens that this is Moshiach coming, does that mean one does not daven for peace and stability. And if one davens that the enemy backs down, is that buying more time until global decisions necessary for spiritual change are made?
Bnei Yisrael at Har Sinai were at an inconceivable level of spiritual awareness, and their fear drove them to make space between themselves and the Divine. Have we grown past that? Can we? Ani Maamin b’emunah shelaima bviyas Hamashiach…but is that enough? Believing Moshiach is coming, wanting Moshiach to come, preparing for Moshiach – but will we be able to embrace Moshiach when he comes?
This week’s parsha is named Va’eschanan, which means “And I entreated.” This week’s Shabbas, however, is known as Shabbas Nachamu, after the opening words of the Haftarah, which mean “Console, console My people," says your God” (Yeshiyahu 40:1). There is a tremendous lesson of bitachon in the two names associated with this Shabbas. When one takes it upon themselves to truly beseech Hashem, to reach out and entreat Him for help – whether that be asking Hashem to send Moshiach or asking Hashem to help one get to the level of emunah to fulfill the ani maamins – then one will be able to witness Nachamu, the consolation and comforting of our nation.
Without question, Jews around the world are “holding our breath” this Shabbas. For many of us, we do not remember a Nine Days that felt so rife with threat – and we in the diaspora are experiencing only a small sliver of that tension. Some may be asking “How did we get here?”, while others are pondering “How can the situation be saved?”
This Shabbas is known as Shabbas Chazon, which technically translates into the Shabbas of vision but receives the name because chazon, vision, is the first word of the Haftara, the opening lines of Sefer Yishayahu (Isaiah). Shabbas Chazon is always the Shabbas right before Tisha B’Av, and it is also always Parshas Devarim. Within that duality lie responses to both questions.
How did we get here? Parshas Devarim begins with Moshe reviewing the actions of Bnei Yisrael throughout their sojourn in the Wilderness. Most significantly, however, Moshe focuses on the appointment of the spies who so thoroughly led the nation astray. And it is only here, in Devarim, that we learn the subtle details of how Moshe felt about their request to spy out the land and how troubled he was by their lack of bitachon. Here it is that we are reminded that had we, meaning the whole of klal Yisrael, not cried out in self-pity that Hashem was leading us to our destruction, all of history would have been different. We are reminded of how often Klal Yisrael can be its own worst enemy.
How did we get here? Hashem makes it clear in Yishiyahu’s vision that all of our trials and tribulations stem from our own behaviour. We bring upon ourselves destruction because we did not learn from our mistakes, because we allowed our society to become selfish and sinful. More importantly, even as we practiced perfect sacrifices and orderly rituals, it is clear from Yishayahu’s words that we lost the ikker, the heart, of the Torah – which is about creating a true and just society.
How did we get here? Ritual and ceremony, and even prayer, mean little without actual bitachon. Without bitachon, we cannot set up a just society because we work under the pretense that we control the outcome and so our instincts for self-preservation kick in. Alas, as pointed out in Shaar Habitachon (I believe), the ways of Hashem are such that when mankind believes in a force other than Hashem – be that an idol or money or people or self – Hashem leaves them in their delusion.
Parshas Devarim wraps up with the assignment of land to Reuven, Gad, and half of Menashe on the far side of the Yarden. This is significant because it reminds us of an important aspect of bitachon, which is knowing that we are in a relationship with Hashem, that Hashem listens to our opinions and desires as well.
How can the situation be saved? Loftily stated – by creating a society built on bitachon. This doesn’t mean religiosity, but rather “Learn to do good. Devote yourselves to justice; Aid the wronged. Uphold the rights of the orphan; Defend the cause of the widow” (Yishayahu 1:17). One can build a truly just society only when one truly comprehends that Hashem runs the world for the good of all and that we are each only tools for His will to be carried out.
Of course, life, and faith and individuality are far more complicated than just saying trust Hashem, and true bitachon is an exceptionally hard feat – made even harder by a host society that asserts its rights to self-expression and self-fulfillment above all else. Most of us are self aware enough to know that we as individuals are not in positions to shape national policy – or often even community behaviour. What we can shape is ourselves.
Will Iran attack? Might Hezbollah go rogue? Are our synagogues safe? We must daven that this evil will pass, but we can’t just daven in a vacuum. We have to do our hishtadlus by incorporating acts that lead to just-ness and by building our bitachon.
Shabbat Shalom.
War… It means far more to us today than it did a year ago. Indeed, after the actions of this week it means far more to us today than it did a month ago. The war we hoped would come to a quick and victorious end hovers on the precipice of regional escalation. And this calls to the question the conundrum of the very existence of war.
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Perek lamed -aleph actually presents a particularly relevant call to arms. “So Moshe spoke to the people, saying, ‘Arm from among you men for the army, that they can be against Midian, and carry out the revenge of the Lord against Midian’” (31:3). God has instructed Moshe to arm Bnei Yisrael to fight the Midianites as his final leadership act before he dies.
Quite clearly, this is neither a war of defense nor a war of conquest, but specifically a war of revenge against the Midianites. To those of us raised in the 20th or 21st century Western culture, the idea of a war of revenge seems anything but religious or Godly. Nevertheless, that is exactly what Hashem ordered.
What was it that needed to be avenged? Parshas Balak, it may be recalled, contains two nations trying to interfere with the Jewish people. Balak was the king of the Moabites, and, according to the commentaries, they had reason to be concerned about the Israelites. Chizkuni, on pasuk 25:17 states: “whatever the Moabites had done, they had done because they had believed that they had a legitimate reason to fear for their lives from the Israelites. Furthermore, the Israelites had already taken possession of lands which used to be theirs before Sichon had conquered it from them in war.” The Midianites, however, also busied themselves with Balak’s war, and Rashi points out on Bamidbar 31:2 – “The Moabites entered into the matter out of fear, because they feared that they might plunder them, since about them it was stated only, (Devarim 2:9) “Do not contend with them in battle”; but the Midianites, however, had got excited (had interfered) in a quarrel that did not concern them.”
As much as we may disagree with their ideology, the Palestinian battle has a morsal of reason to it (which is not to say that any of their means of fighting are legitimate or that their distortions of history are acceptable. There is a country for Palestinians as understood by the term as those who lived in the Ottoman entity of Palestine and that is the Kingdom of Jordan that was created from the majority of the original territory…but I digress). However, what have Houthis of Yemen to do with it? What does Iran have to do with it?
But there is a deeper issue at hand as well. What was it that the Midianites did to the Israelites? They followed the advice of Balaam of Moav and attacked Israel on a moral level. They lured them into licentious behavior so that Hashem would turn His favor away from them.
So much of the world today seems to believe that Israel wants to be aggressive, that Israel deserves to be judged and condemned. That sentiment is not just about Israel and Zionists, but as we see through the general increase in anti-Semitism, it is about all of Klal Yisrael. The global situation today, while it is actually bringing many Jews closer to their Judaism and the community, is derailing the Jewish nation from their greater responsibility, which is to be an Ohr LeGeula, a light unto the nations.
We are not in a world today where Hashem directly communicates. We have no great leader to tell us exactly what to do and how. But we do have to recognize that through all the trials and tribulations our nation is going through, it is up to us to remember our mission. It is up to us to make an even greater effort to make a Kiddush Hashem and show the world who we truly are. We also have to know and recognize that it is okay to fight, it is okay to engage in war, to let the truth shine through.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Pinchas, is often associated with discussions of zealotry, even though Pinchus’ great act is recorded at the end of Parshas Balak, which was read last week. Pinchus’ renown comes from the fact that he took a spear and, with it, killed a Midianitess and a prince of the tribe of Shimon in one shot. He didn’t do it as a reaction. He didn’t do it in anger. He didn’t do it to show himself as smarter or stronger or holier.
Pinchus’ actions were spurred by an inherent understanding of the order needed in the world and how the actions of Zimri and Cosbi broke that order. Pinchus was that finely attuned to the Divine will, even though he was the only one of his family who had not been elevated to the kahuna. Of course, that leads right into this week’s parsha’s actual discussion of Pinchus, which is that Hashem recognizes that Pinchus has the inherent nature of his immediate family and makes him a kohain.
For some reason, knowing that it is Parshas Pinchas and that this week is the opening of the 2024 Olympics in Paris strikes a chord. Pinchus set himself into a dangerous situation – not only because those lured out by the Midianite women were, one might assume, not quite in their right mines due to enflamed passions, but also because those looking on might have reacted with violence to his action as a natural next step. And yet he still did that which was right.
One could, of course, immediately state that the Olympics are striking example of goals that are far outside of a Torah lifestyle, but the world is what the world is and the Israeli athletes who wish to represent the Jewish nation have stepped out of their tent, so to speak, and into a seethingly dangerous situation where once again passions are enflamed.
Balaam could not curse Bnei Yisrael, and so he found an alternate route. The State of Israel’s enemies could not crush Israel, and so they found an alternate route. Balaam sent women to seduce the men into sin. Just as Balaam was able to recognize Bnei Yisrael’s weak point, so it is today, only our weak point is international perception and, oddly enough, Israel’s own strength. Today, Israel’s enemy has been using an exceptionally well-honed PR campaign as well as professional protesters and they have enflamed the world.
Alas, today none of us are on a caliber anywhere close to Pinchus, for we live in an era of hester panim, of obfuscation. However, we can remember that what Pinchus did was, most importantly, a kiddush Hashem.
There is a general presumption that this upcoming display of nations showing their best athletes, but really their national pride, will see Israel met with ire that has a high likelihood of spilling into violence, especially when we have seen it before.
As Israel heads into this fraught situation, and, in truth, in the global situation that we now face, remembering Kiddush Hashem is incredibly important. The Jewish people, individually and collectively, must seek to be above other nations’ standards of behavior. This isn’t about whether Israel is right or wrong in its actions in Gaza – that is certainly far beyond my scope of understanding. Nor is this a statement of how one should react to the protestors directly – again a complicated question. Kiddush Hashem is about each of us as individuals.
We most often think of Kiddush Hashem as that which reflects Torahdig behaviour to others. There is, however, another element – which is inward. Facing a sea of hate and disparagement, we each have to know that our neshamos have unique missions and our worth and our value and our identity come from that, come from Hashem who assigned Bnei Yisrael a role. Remembering that fact, even when everyone around you is either acting against logic or cowering from reacting, leads to true kiddush Hashem.
Parshas Balak – Was Balaam Holy?
Dedication: Please Hashem, guard our nation from strife both internal and external!
Today’s Dvar Torah will be loosely cited and may not lead to a conclusion. It is, in some ways, a thought experiment. Certainly, these thoughts are answered by many great Torah minds in depth, but it seems beneficial to bring them to the forefront.
One of the most frequently spoken about topics in Jewish life, and one of the essential concepts in Jewish life, is bitachon. Trusting in Hashem means trusting that He is constantly and absolutely in charge. It sounds simple; it isn’t.
Those who master bitachon never want. This is the premise of being a baal bitachon. This statement, however, leads to many questions, especially for those of us who are not masters in our own bitachon. We’ve seen impoverished tzadikkim and incredible Torah teachers struck by terrible illnesses, which lead us to the question of – well if that’s never wanting, what will be for me!
It isn’t simple. In the sefer “Becoming a Ba’al Bitachon,” Rabbi Yechezkel Abramov, discuss the different understandings of this idea and spends time examining the opinion that Hashem gives baal bitachon the outcome they seek verses a baal bitachon sees in every outcome that Hashem has provided that which was best. Interestingly, these two ideas are critically important in this week’s parsha.
In parshas Balak, the Torah introduces Balaam. Balaam is considered the equal of Moshe in his ability to recognize Hashem in the world. He is the prophet of the nations, a balance to Moshe’s greatness.
Balaam fully recognized Hashem’s constant hand in this world so much that he received direct responses, which makes him far greater in bitachon than most people. Balak came to him because up until this point, Balaam had a magnificent record of having his requests fulfilled. One could even wonder if Balaam’s absolute faith that what he requested would be given made him a baal bitachon, equal to those whom we revere as tzaddikim.
On the other hand, when Balaam actually stood to pronounce curses upon the Nation of Israel, what came out were blessings. Hashem answered Balaam's prayers; He just answered them in the way that was best for the world and therefore best for Balaam.
It is fascinating, when you read the parsha, to notice how calmly Balaam seems to react to each curse turned blessing. And when Balak rages at him, he says: “But I even told the messengers you sent to me, say ‘If Balak gives me his house full of silver and gold, I cannot transgress the word of the Lord to do either good or evil on my own; only what the Lord speaks can I speak” (24:12-13).
Balaam really does come across as a baal habitachon. And that leads to further questions. What does it mean thatBalaam is a smarmy person who accepts money to curse a nation and later plots for the moral dissolution of the Israelite men? What does it mean that he is seen as a prophet by other nations and that a wicked king seeks him out in particular.
It means that Balaam was not a baal bitachon because while Balaam recognized that Hashem was the Master of the Universe and the One in charge, he felt no need to accept a moral code upon himself. Indeed, from his choices at the end of the parsha when he advices that the Midianite women go out to seduce the men of Israel, one can almost see an underlying defiance of the yoke of shemayim, one can sense a desire to find a work-around to the path Hashem has set for the world.
One of the most acknowledged facts about the Torah is that its “heros,” for lack of a better word, are human. They have flaws. So too, the “villains,” for lack of a better word,” have middos that we can emulate. Esav is renowned for kibbud av, Lot understood hachnassas orchim, and Balaam had bitachon. We look at people and too often we judge
Dedicated to a refuah sheleima to the injured chayalim and to a speedy redemption for all of the hostages.
In a fascinating book I am currently learning with a friend, there is a commentary noted about Miriam and Miriam’s well. (Alas, the book - The Moon’s Lost Light by Devorah Fastag - is at home in Canada, where I am not, so this will be an imperfect citation.) All of Bnei Yisrael could see the greatness of Moshe and the greatness of Aaron; they were not, however, quite so aware of the greatness of Miriam. Yes, she led the women in song after kriyas Yam Suf – and certainly the women looked up to her, but the whole of Bnei Yisrael still did not necessarily view her greatness on par with her brothers. Hashem wanted Bnei Yisrael to recognize Miriam’s inherent greatness, and so He removed the well that traveled with Bnei Yisrael in her zechus so that Bnei Yisrael could realize just whom it was that they had lost when she died.
The book brings up this commentary in order to discuss the fact that throughout history there has been the tendency to give less credit to women then to men, but Hashem draws no such distinction. There is, however, a broader lesson that can be discussed within the general realm of bein adam l’chavero.
What is greatness? The fact is that greatness is a human judgement factor. We see people who lead others or who excel in certain skills or who do extraordinary things and we attribute greatness to them, whereas we overlook the everyday mother of 8 who keeps her children well-fed and well-loved and filled with a feeling of positive self-image and we don’t think “ah, there is greatness.” We don’t look at a man who chooses a trade and learns it well and provides for his family physically and emotionally while still maintaining his davening and learning schedules and define him as great. We acknowledge them. We maybe praise them. But we don’t give them crowns of greatness.
The question of “greatness” might, however, really come down to the level of neshama. What was an individual’s tafkid, and what was their potential? The person holding down a steady job and being kind to their family might be “great” because that was the tafkid they need to achieve or because did so above and beyond what circumstances would have made one assume.
Everyone can’t be a “Great,” or the superlative loses its meaning. There are some people who we need to crown with leadership, spiritually, politically, or culturally. But it is within us to look at each person, to acknowledge each person, and try to see their greatness, to try not to overlook them as simple or average.
I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas.
Over the last several months, we have all been following the somewhat befuddling events taking place on major university campuses, and spreading beyond. People are lining up to follow the anti-Israel contingent because they think that they are doing the right thing, but in so doing, they have reverted to plain old anti-Semitism – vandalising synagogues and taunting Jewish students.
Many of the people participating in these protests are not clear on the specifics; they don’t know what river or what sea; they ignore the non-stop history of violence against Israel that rarely lets up. But they believe, they truly believe, that they are fighting for justice, for what is right.
While the context is vastly different, it is interesting to consider how mob mentality effected Bnei Yisrael when one well-spoken man spoke out strongly for what he perceived as justice even as it flew against that which was Divinely ordained. Korach stood up to speak against Moshe and Aaron monopolizing the leadership because perceiving this as truth allowed him to rationalize his jealousy. Datan and Aviram grabbed onto the spirit of Korach’s ire and fanned the flames of his sense of righteous indignation. Had Korach stopped to see who it was who was rallying to his side, had he remembered their history of rabble-rousing, well perhaps things would have ended differently.
What of the members of the nation who followed Korach, who stood against Moshe and Aaron? Sincerity is a lovely motivation, but one can sincerely believe in the wrong thing. Over the last decades, how often has the society we lived in revised its moral compass. What once was wrong is now right, because that is what happens when what is right and fair and just are determined by how we feel. Korach felt that Aaron as Moshe’s brother having the kahuna was unjust, that one family should not share the leadership, and he truly believed that. His righteous indignation also blinded him to the simple fact that Moshe and Aaron had both been given their roles by Hashem.
The followers of Korach who were consumed by heavenly flame are not considered wicked or evil people. They were misled by their hubris and by the ever-human desire to create that which is “fair.” When people start clamoring for “fair” or “right,” they often forget that the universe has rules because the universe has a Ruler. Hashem appointed Moshe and Aaron to their respective leadership roles, and after that, nothing else mattered. Hashem declared a specific role for Bnei Yisrael, and a special homeland, and whether others think that is fair or just, doesn’t actually matter. What matters is whether we are following the right path as set out in the Torah, that we are doing the will of Hashem. When we don’t follow the will of Hashem, the blueprint of existence that Hashem gave us, then there are consequences.
The path of history is long and those who are shouting their righteous indignation and anti-Semitic poison now sincerely, it is sad to say, believe that they are fighting for justice. They ignore the non-stop rockets that have been sent into Israel for years, they minimize the barbarity of the attack on civilians, and they fail to acknowledge the hostages that are still being held. Over the last century society has chosen to believe that all people can come together and determine a rightness of being in the world. This too is hubris – because politics and pride and jealousy color every decision made. Organizations like the UN and the International Court claim objectiveness when this is an impossible feat for the human psyche.
After Korach’s Levites perished, Hashem commanded Eleazar HaKohein to gather the fire pans and beat them into a covering for the alter. They weren’t buried, hidden or destroyed. They were transformed, elevated so that ever after people could be reminded of that which had occurred and remember that Hashem has a plan, whether you like it or not.
The penultimate subject of Parshas Shlach Lcha begins with anonymity. “And it was that when Bnei Yisrael was in the Wildreness, and they came upon a man gathering wood on Shabbas” (Bamidbar 9:32). While the Midrash provides details on the who, where, when, and even why, the fact that it is written in such an ambiguous and anonymous manner communicates in itself something profoundly meaningful.
Before exploring the wood-gatherer further, however, let us look at the very beginning of the parsha. “These are their names: For Reuben, Shammua ben Zakkur. For Simeon, Shaphat ben Hori. For Judah, Caleb ben Jepphunneh. For Issachar, Yigal ben Joseph. For Efraim, Hoshea ben Nun. For Benjamin, Palti ben Raphu. For Zebulun, Gaddiel the son of Sodi. For Joseph, for Manasseh, Gaddi ben Susi. For the tribe of Dan, Ammiel the son of Gemalli. For Asher, Sethur ben Michael. For Naphtali, Nahbi the son of Vophsi. For Gad, Geuel ben Machi. These are the names of the men Moshe sent to scout the Land…” (13:4-16).
The parsha starts out with recounting the journey of the spies, how they went into the Promised Land, looked around, and declared that the land was too difficult and dangerous for them. Ten of these 12 men led Bnei Yisrael into despair, into crying out that they were being led to their death. Their behavior effected not just Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness, but every generation since.
Parshas Shlach highlights two places where people did wrong, where there were actions and punishments and significant consequences. Their crimes were very different, but it is interesting to note that whereas the wood-gatherer is given anonymity, the spies are listed by name. This leads us to two interesting and opposing questions. What is similar about these two situations? What is the difference between them?
The two main narratives of Parshas Shlach are connected in a very subtle way. According to tradition, had Bnei Yisrael entered the Promised Land at that time, they would have done so with Moshe as their leader, and they would have been given a situation much as we imagine the forthcoming days of Moshiach (bimhairah b’yameinu). But with all the blessing that includes, it also precludes spiritual growth, and Bnei Yisrael really weren’t ready for that. Similarly, it is a well-known statement that if Klal Yisrael keeps two consecutive Shabbasim, they will bring Moshiach, and, again, they weren’t ready for that. In fact, several commentaries assert that the wood-gatherer acted deliberately in order to break the second Shabbas and to teach his brethren about the true significance of guarding Shabbas because they were not yet spiritually strong enough.
Both actions had dire consequences for Klal Yisrael, so why are the spies named but the wood-gatherer left anonymous?
The wood-gatherer was a man who sinned. Whether he sinned on purpose, as some commentaries say, or by accident, whether he chose to ignore the warning he received or didn’t understand the consequences of his actions, he was just a member of the kehilla. His transgression was grave. And while there is an idea that except for him Klal Yisrael would have kept a perfect Shabbas, that is also not a foregone conclusion. Someone else might have erred.
The spies, on the other hand, were not just members of Klal Yisrael. The Torah wants it made clear that they were men of significance, that they were leaders of their tribes. Interestingly, the Torah describes the wood-gatherer’s actions from the point of being caught, after the act is done; the narrative of the spies, on the other hand, is related from before they acted.
We live in an era where celebrity comes and goes, where too many people are pushing for their five minutes of fame, where everyone and their brother seem to think that if they have a smartphone with a camera they can be touted as experts on something or other. But being known, being famous, being...
We all know that history repeats itself. We all know that there are few constants in world history as anti-Semitism. We all just didn’t expect to be living through the end of such a short period of a golden age, an era when Jews are able to flourish and thrive. And this golden age has been particularly significant after the drastic devastation of the Holocaust.
It is fair to say that while there are other nations who have a history of being oppressed, there is no nation on earth that has experienced anything resembling the cycle of success and persecution as the Jewish people. But even with the knowledge of this history of the world, we, as individuals, are still trying to understand why now – why so soon – and why here.
The world is a journey, a march through time. When Hashem made us a nation and set in motion our journey from Mitzrayim, Hashem knew that it would be a long path ahead of us. Hashem told us that we would come into the Promised Land and that we would mess up and be kicked out. Hashem told us that we would transgress and lose our way and that we would face devastating punishment, persecution and exile. The warnings are not subtle.
But in His Torah, and in His relationship with the Dor HaMidbar, Hashem also provided the guidance for us to build our Emuna and Bitachon that would allow us to survive thousands of years of challenge. Hashem provided us with all of our needs, our sustenance, our clothing, etc. We wanted for nothing, not even water. Understanding Hashem’s capability to give everything a person needs reassures us in every generation that Hashem does give each person what he needs, on an individual level rather than just on a national level. The key is maintaining Emuna and Bitachon (no easy task).
The unceasing cycle of Jewish history, so prominent in our perception right now as we try to understand the seemingly sudden and rampant anti-Semitism, is part of the journey and the unknowable pattern of exile and movement. It is also something we can find allusion to (and take comfort from) in Bamidbar 9:22 - “Whether it was two days or a month or a year—however long the cloud lingered over the Mishkan—the Israelites remained encamped and did not set out; only when it lifted did they break camp.”
The Dor HaMidbar did not move through the Wilderness at a steady pace. They did not know how long they would be on the move before they stopped and encamped, and once they encamped, they did not know how long they would stay. They knew only one thing – that Hashem would let them know what they were to do.
It is interesting to note the Ohr Hachaim’s commentary that explains, in summary, that Bnai Yisrael were not “anxiously awaiting instructions to move.” The verses in perek tes are meant to demonstrate how the Dor HaMidbar “completely assimilated themselves to what appeared to them to be G'd's wishes in the matter….[they] did not pre-empt G'd's instructions when it came to making or breaking camp…” (translated by Sefaria).
Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness did not go forward and look at every rock and crag and wonder if this was where they would camp. They didn’t harass Moshe with “Are we there yets?” When they were moving, they were moving with purpose, and when they were told to settle, they settled completely. They were aware that they might have to move, but it did not stop them from unpacking, so to speak. They were not anxious because they understood that everything was up to Hashem.
Right now, it feels like an appropriate time to be anxious. However, when we reflect on the core traits of emuna and bitachon that our ancestors fostered in the Wilderness, we realize that anxiety serves no purpose. There are challenges, very real and very scary challenges, as we journey forward. We must, however, be like the Dor HaMidbar and know that our way in this world is all Yad Hashem.
Parshas Bamidbar – Flying Our Own Flag
Dedicated as a prayer for victory and peace, for the return of the hostages and the safety of soldiers and civilians alike.
On my way home from the grocery store yesterday, I passed something I had only seen on the news – a man draped in a Palestinian flag. It had started pouring, so his 8-man band of companions holding BDS signs and such had taken refuge under the overhang, but this man – this lone man draped in a flag - was standing close to the roadway to remain visible.
I grew up pledging allegiance to a flag and attending assemblies where the stage was flanked by the American flag and the flag of the State of Israel. I know the power of the flag, the sense of identity that it imbues, and I have always taken for granted the degalim – the flags or banners - that are mentioned in parshas Bamidbar. When I saw that man draped in a flag for which I want to presume he has little understanding, I wished only that I had my own Israeli flag on hand to wave out the window (I did not). And then I realized that we were in parshas Bamidbar, the parsha of flags.
I was rather surprised when I googled the history of flags and saw attributions of the first use of flags to the Middle Ages (a bit ridiculously late in history), to the Roman Empire, or to ancient Egypt, but no mention of the flags of the Shevatim. Flags, according to the common encyclopedic histories, were developed for times of war so that troops knew where they should gather…and to whom. In battle the soldiers could find their general, or quite often their king, by looking for his banner. For a Judeo-Christian cultural norm (such as Encyclopedia Brittanica) to ignore Bamidbar’s flags seemed quite odd to me, especially as one can certainly read about the encampment of Israel as a military formation.
Bamidbar is known in English as the Book of Numbers because its first chapter is an accounting of the number of men in each tribe who were eligible for the army. Since the second perek then details the layout of the Israelite encampment and specifies under which banner each tribe shall set up their camp, a connection is easy to perceive. In fact, according to chazal in Bamidbar Rabbah, the use of flags for military divisions came from the flags of the shvatim, as is written in Bamidbar Rabbah 2:7:
“With the insignias” – there were insignias for each and every prince: a banner with a color for each, and every banner like the color of the gems that were on Aaron’s heart, from which the empire learned to make a banner, with colors for each and every banner” (Bamidbar Rabbah 2:7).
The insignias of the banners of the Shvatim were more than just identification devices, just as the encampment of the nation is such a specific order was far more significant that a military formation. An army arranges itself to both protect its general or king and to present strategically placed troops for the best offense and defense. The encampment of Bnei Yisrael was arranged in segments so that each tribe had equal access to the Mishkan, which sat at the heart of the camp.
The purpose of Bnei Yisrael is to serve Hashem, to remind the world that it has a Creator and that there are right ways and wrong ways to live. Being a theologically based society could lead to the belief that we must be a monotone society, all following the path in the same way. But each tribe had its own insignia, its own strengths and weaknesses and ways of doing things, and each shevet had its own unique color, the flag color matching the color of its stone on the urim v’teumim. Each shevet had its own unique means of communicating with Hashem and of being a vessel for the Divine in this world.
Ever heard the term hangry? It’s a great term because it captures a very real feeling of frustration and anger that build to an irrational point until one eats, and then the sun comes out again. Hangry often starts even before one feels one’s stomach grumbling. Sometimes one suffers from pre-hunger hangry due to anxiety – when one worries that that there will not be food on hand. The thing about being hangry is that it takes away one’s ability to be kind, to be thoughtful, to be generous…to be a basic mentsh.
Those familiar with Parshas Behar, might be wondering what being hangry has to do with this week’s parsha, especially as the parsha seems to have the laws of Yuval as its specific focus. In Perek chaf-hey, which is the majority of the parsha, we learn a lot from what seems a bit of an incongruous interruption. This seems to happen a lot in parshios in Vayikra, but that’s a thought for another time.
Perek chaf-hey starts with the commandment to observe the shmittah, the resting of the land every seven years, and an explanation of how everyone will be taken care of by that which grows naturally. Immediately thereafter, starting in verse 8, the Torah instructs the people that after the seventh shemittah year is completed, it will be time for the Jubilees year, which is observed on the 50th year. The perek goes on to detail how not only will the people once again “only eat the growth direct from the field” (25:12) – for a second year in a row – but also, depending on one’s circumstances, be expected to move. Normal human anxiety would already be starting to kick in, and then the Torah goes on to instruct the people on business limitations associated with Yuval such as the assessment on land sales based on the sales’ proximity to the Yuval year. Everything is always pro-rated. This directive is contained in pasukim 14 – 16.
Having basically instructed that land sales aren’t really sales at all, the Torah goes on to state: “You shall observe My laws and faithfully keep My rules, that you may live upon the land in security; the land shall yield its fruit and you shall eat your fill, and you shall live upon it in security. And should you ask, ‘What are we to eat in the seventh year, if we may neither sow nor gather in our crops?’ I will ordain My blessing for you in the sixth year, so that it shall yield a crop sufficient for three years” (25:18-21).
Everything seems up to par with the similarity of the promises of the bountiful yield of shmittah year and the blessings that will come for Jubilee. So what might be the connection to the idea of hangry? The crux is the wording that says “ki tamru, and should you ask.” Really? Hashem is giving you direct instructions and anticipating the questions of those instructions?
Yup. Because Hashem made us, and Hashem set in us the so-called survival instinct that sets off anxiety. Hashem knows that when we fear we will not get enough food, have enough of a sense of security, that we get selfish, and protective, and stingy. And while Hashem responds with the promise of an abundance in the earlier yield, He also presents a different solution, a key ingredient to everything in the Torah.
Between the two sets of verses mentioned above is pasuk yud- zayin, 17, which states: “And you shall not wrong, one man his fellow Jew, and you shall fear your God, for I am the Lord, your God.” This would be no mystery if just such a commandment hadn’t been stated in verse 14, in the added measure that “you shall not wrong one another” (25:14). Why is it saying so again? What exactly is this extra injunction?
While many commentators connect Vayikra 25:17 specifically to not cheating one’s fellow in business dealings, particularly connected land sales and the concepts mentioned connecte
If you’ve been counting the way I’ve been counting, then congratulations on making it this far in Sefiras Haomer. (Trust me, there are years I missed counting on day two!) More seriously, if you’ve been counting the way I’ve been counting, then you are fulfilling a mitzvah from this week’s parsha: “And you shall count for yourselves from the day after the day of rest, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the waving, seven weeks shall be completed” (Vayikra 23:15).
It is a fact that we take our holidays very seriously. Vayikra 23 is just one of several places in the Torah where they are listed in detail, which actually makes it easy for one to just glance over them when reading the parsha and sort of nod to one’s self. Yup – Pesach, omer, Shavuos…yup, Seventh month…got it, yes. Tucked in among those perakim, however, is an extra commandment – one that seems to have nothing to do with the holy days. It is the only verse in Vayikra 23 that is, seemingly, unrelated to the holidays. It says: “And when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not wholly reap the corner of your field, neither shall you gather the gleaning of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor, and for the stranger: I am the L-rd your Gd” (Vayikra 23:22).
The obvious question, of course, is why this verse is here at all since it seems to take away from the general subject. While one can insert basic principals of logic, such as “Seeing that the principal period of harvesting commences around the time of Shavuot, the Torah chose to speak of this season first, when discussing special laws of benefit to the poor connected with the act of collecting the harvest” (Chizkuni, Leviticus 23:22:1), this only answers the question of what is the connection, not of why it was connected here.
Shavuos is a strange holiday. In the Torah it has no official date, just that it is celebrated at the end of the count. It is a convocation without any specific rituals. Much of how we celebrate this chag is based on minhagim rather than rules, such as all night learning and eating dairy. If we lived in an agrarian society, as Bnei Yisrael once did, Shavuos might have a more potent impact as we would be right in the middle of the spring harvest. We would have been working for weeks, and we would be highly aware of all the effort that went into the production of the food. If we were running a farm, we might come to feel that all the grain we had brought for the omer offering was enough to lose from one’s hard work. But, “Perhaps the Torah wanted to inform us that the owner of a field from which the barley for the Omer sacrifice has already been taken is still subject to the variety of tithes the farmer is commanded to leave for the poor when he harvests his field” (Or HaChaim on Leviticus 23:22:1). The Or Hachaim goes on to say that the Torah interrupts itself here, in Vayirka 23, so that a person would not think that their barley field would “no longer be subject to the legislation of the various donations which have to be separated from the harvest” (ibid.).
This is a very practical and efficient understanding of the verse. Perhaps we can add to that an understanding for the Jewish generations of the 21st century, most of whom are not agrarian and none of whom yet have access to the Beish Hamikdash.
Reaping the harvest of the land is the glorious culmination of hard work. Our chagim are the gathering times that we today, with our long-distance families and our overbooked lives, can look forward to as a time to get back to what is most important – our spirituality and our relationship with God. On all of these holidays, we must stop and be aware not just of how fortunate we are but also on how we can help others in a dignified and meaningful way.
This reminder could be inferred for any of the more agriculturally aligned holidays – the shlosh regalim. ...
How much time in your day-to-day living do you spend thinking about Hashem, how to get closer to Him or what He really wants from you? This week’s parsha brings us to the quintessential command for living – holy you shall be. So simple to say; not so simple to implement or even to understand on its deeper levels.
There are many ways that we can think about being holy. Simplistically, one might say it is to be religious, to be part of the community that lives life to a higher standard. Many of these standards, mitzvos and laws, are set down in this week’s parsha, Parshas Kedoshim.
There are many fascinating structural elements to this parsha, such as the frequent repetition of Ani Hashem, that are intriguing to explore.One of these interesting elements can be found in the thrice repeated prohibition regarding Ohv and Yidoni, which seems to most often be translated as ghosts and familiars.
If this gave you pause, that is not surprising. Most of us knew that there was a prohibition against necromancy; that in itself is not odd. What is interesting is how it flows in and out of the parsha that is generally subdivided into multiple, brief topics. This prohibition is mentioned in 19:31, 20:6, and 20:27 – the last pasuk of the parsha. Allowing for the concept that there are no extra words in the Torah, there is then a question of what distinguishes each of these perakim.
Interestingly, when set one after another, the three verses read as follows:
19:31 – Do not turn to ghosts or to familiars, do not seek to be defiled by them. I am the Lord your God.
20:6 – And the soul that turns to ghosts or familiars, to go astray after them, I will set My face against that soul and cut him off from his people.
20:27 – A man or a woman that is within them [meaning divines through] a ghost or familiar shall be put to death. They shall stone them with stones. Their blood shall be upon them.
From this perspective, there appears to be a progression from commandment not to do so, to the consequence of seeking such “guidance,” to the punishment for the one who performs those actual rituals of “communication.” And the verses go from no punishment, to a punishment that is generally considered spiritual, to a punishment that is physical – to death. One might deduce from this progress that the man or woman mentioned in verse 27 has gone beyond negating holiness to being one who destroys the holiness of others.
But one still needs to ask why these pesukim are not set one after the other since they are so obviously related. Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsh provides interesting insights, both on 19:31 and 20:6, on deeper concepts that might be drawn from these prohibitions in each of their locations. Verse 19:31 follows a restatement of keeping Shabbas, but, more significantly, it precedes the commandment “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am Hashem” (18:32). Rav Hirsh points out how this is the “complete positive opposite.” Perhaps we should understand from here that a person who seeks guidance from ghosts and oracles and familiars should do far better to seek that guidance from those who have lived and experience a great deal of life, particularly those who have steeped themselves in Torah.
Similarly, 20:6, which describes those people who actually turn to this guidance, comes immediately after Hashem reiterates His feelings about those who turn to Moloch. The worship of Moloch was hideous and included the burning of children. It is also interesting, however, to note the name of this false god and how it so closely reflects the term Melech, king. Hashem is Malachei Hamelachim, and this avoda to...
https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2024/05/parshas-kedoshim-three-times-ghost.html
The dictionary definition of the term “civilization” is, in my opinion, rather funny. According to Oxford Words, it means: “The stage of human social and cultural development and organization that is considered most advanced.” Why is this funny? Because it is based on an incredibly subjective reality. Who, after all, gets to determine what “advanced” means? And yet, for centuries Western “Civilization” has done just that.
Perhaps the decline started during the era of the enlightenment, but many would say that it accelerated in the 1960s, when the concept of free expression transformed into a cult of personal liberation. Over the last half a century, however, there has been an increased whittling away at tradition and community that has led to a society in which the adulation of “freedom” has become the be all and end all. This is certainly not everyone – quite probably not even the majority – but it is a voluble minority filled with news makers and cultural idols.
We have just completed the holiday of Pesach, the holiday of freedom. Our concept of freedom, however, is not about celebrating our individual identities. It’s not about what “I” want or who “I” am above all other things. This is, in fact, a major aspect of this week’s parsha, Parshas Acharei Mot.”
Breaking into personal honesty here, this has always been a parsha that made me uncomfortable. In fact, it was one of my son’s bar mitzvah parshas, and I remember worrying that one of the other children had read it too closely (and, indeed, she did tell me that she read it in English, but asked no further questions). An entire perek of the parsha, perek yud ches, is a description of whose nakedness one shall not uncover. On the whole, it is a summation of the Torah’s prohibition against incest, but it goes farther than that. How we behave in our most intimate moments is a basic foundation of a society.
The fact that I felt uncomfortable with this perek was a reflection of many things, and among them was the understanding that the general society in which I was raised was filled with an ever-growing counter-culture that abhors the idea of personal limitations. The 21st century mores of personal rightness make sense in an advanced technological “civilization” wherein we have a sense of being able to control all things. We “make” meat without a cow. We grow plants without dirt. We build machines that can think. Why would we accept ancient dictates of right and wrong when we obviously know better?
Our so-called advanced civilization appears, right now, to be calling for support of terrorist organizations. There is a masochistic urge to support ideologies that diametrically oppose Western Civilization. Our society rejects itself and, particularly among young adults, there seems to be a great self-hatred even as there is a vaunting of the ideal of absolute personal expression.
Something’s wrong.
This year I read Perek yud ches with a different perspective. Societal norms for intimacy – whether adhered to by all members or not but that are recognized and accepted as norms – are foundation stones. The term civilization is built from the term civil, as in civil law. The civil laws in the Torah are known as the mishpatim, and they are often defined as the laws that are necessary for a just society (no stealing, no murder, etc.). The laws in Acharei Mot are mishpatim, even if they deal with the most individual and personal choices of life.
It is straight forward and honest. To build a civilization, a place of advanced social and cultural development, one must look to tradition. Hashem gave klal Yisrael a blueprint that sets out rights and wrongs because when human beings start to believe that they know best, ego and hedonism play powerful roles in swaying our perception. Granted the ability to make and create, given our inherent power, we tend to forget that He who created the world, and Who creates the...
A beautiful, new set of freshly toiveld silverware sparkles in my hand as I gently dry it in preparation for the upcoming holiday. I smile, humming as I work because I feel happy that my Yom Tov table will look so pretty. Suddenly I start to wonder about redemption and Moshiach and what my joy in my pretty Amazon purchase bodes for my attitude toward redemption. Am I too attached to my home and my possessions? If Moshiach came now and this Pesach we celebrated the true call of redemption, would I be happy to, or even capable of, picking up and leaving?
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a bracha and an honor to be able to make a beautiful Yom Tov. We use the material to elevate us as we focus on the spiritual. The Torah doesn’t promote ascetisism. It’s okay to own and enjoy nice things, and it is even encouraged to fulfill mitzvos in the most beautiful way.
In an interesting way, we even see this in the roots of Pesach. During the ninth plague, Hashem made certain that we had the nice things. The plague of darkness provided Bnei Yisrael with the opportunity to discover the gold and silver that they would later request from the Egyptians, payment for the years of servitude. They later used that gold and silver, each person of their own desire, to build the mishkan.
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Dedicated to the women and men who have been held far too long in captivity. Please, Hashem, may we see their redemption soon.
Language has a profound effect on how we think about the world around us. That sounds like an obvious statement. It’s something we all know, but it isn’t something we think about.
A vast number of divrei Torah about this week’s parsha, Parshas Tazria, will say something about language. They will address the great sin of lashon harah, evil speech, which refers to gossip and tale bearing. The strangest part of that fact, however, is that the parsha appears to be talking about the kohanim diagnosing skin ailments and assigning “quarantine” times until the stricken person could return to the camp.
The connection of lashon harah and these skin blemishes has much to do with the pain one can cause another person through lashon harah. Interestingly, the source of lashon harah is most often jealousy, and jealousy comes from judgement. It is, unfortunately, human nature to look at what others have or what successes or praises they have achieved and to measure (in our minds) their worthiness.
Why is that interesting? Perhaps because one of the most amazing things about the way Parshas Tazria is that it is written without judgement. One of the unusually frequent words in this parsha is “V’eem,” “and if.” And if this should happen or if a blemish comes to look like… then this is the next step.
When-If. If-When. We don’t often think of these two words as being opposite, but, in many ways, they are like the plates of a scale. How one uses them makes all the difference in their impact. If one is talking about something positive, saying “When one does good” or “When this shall happen,” is incredibly positive. However, using “when” for the negative – “When you sin” or “When this shall occur” – is ominous.
If it is human nature for people to be judgmental, and if those feelings tend to release themselves through lashon harah, then really the discussion of tzaraas should use the term when: when this happens, this is what one should do. Instead, there is the frequent use of If. In other words, there is no assumption that people will fail, that people will incur upon themselves this spiritual-physical consequence.
There is, in this, a brilliant message for building one’s self-confidence. As much as we know that humans are frequently fallible, that we can be petty and self-centered and jealous, and that we are often unaware of the damage that we do, Hashem believes that we can live up to this standard; but, just in case, He provided us with a warning system, which is Tzaraas.
As we travel our journey through Olem Hazeh, this is a powerful lesson. We don’t expect to falter in the path of our life, but IF we do, the means to fix our mistake has already been provided.
On an added note, this is an excellent thought to keep in mind heading into Pesach. Getting rid of all our chametz can be a laborious process that requires meticulous care in the cleaning process. It is something every household does – but if you fail, if a granola bar falls off the top shelf of the towel rack on the first day of Chol Hamoed…Hashem prepared the cure, since the ownership was nullified. One cannot depend on the nullification statement to not prepare one’s house for Pesach, but if something happens, you are already covered. IF something happens.
Have a wonderful Shabbas and an easy week of Pesach prep.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, could be said, if one looks at it broadly, to about honest motivations. Torah Judaism puts tremendous importance on a person’s intention. Indeed, what one has in mind when doing an action can often be the difference between its being a mitzvah or not.
The last Perek (chapter) in this parsha talk about non-kosher and kosher animals. It deliberately details 4 animals as being almost kosher, which, of course, is not kosher at all. The camel, the hybex, and the hare are all noted as chewing their cud but having feet that are falsely similar to split hooves. The pig, on the other hand, is noted as having split hooves, but only appearing to chew its cud. Chazal, the sages, speak of it as a deliberate attempt by the animal to deceive one into thinking it is kosher – it is a deliberately false intention. And as we all may have noticed, there are few animals as vilified among the Jewish people as pigs (even if they are just as unkosher as any other non-kosher animal).
The pig is a rather drastic example of the intention to deceive. However, let’s be honest – almost all of us have either lacked intention or had the wrong intention while doing a mitzvah, at least once in our lives. That doesn’t mean we had a mean or negative intention, but we just didn’t have the right intentions. Sometimes that is okay. Sometimes that leads to Sheh lo lishma, bo lishma – that wasn’t for the sake of heaven, to being for the sake of heaven. But sometimes, when it is really important, we need to really take ourselves into account; we need to think through our actions before we rush forward.
his is one of the lessons of Nadav and Abihu. They watched their father, Aaron, perform the avodah perfectly, and they witnessed that “A fire went forth from before Hashem and consumed” the offering. It was a moment of sheer awe. Indeed, the entire people shouted and fell on their faces (Vayikra 9:24). The very next pasuk, 10:1, then describes the actions of Nadav and Abihu performing the service themselves and being consumed by flame.
Imagine what this must have looked like for Klal Yisrael. These young kohanim jump up to perform a service and are struck down. Their actions looked kosher, but they weren’t.
The are a multitude of commentaries about what they did that caused them to be punished so drastically. There are those that say that they were drunk, based on the commandment not to drink when performing the avodah that is written later in the parsha. There are those that say that their rash action was the result of arrogance, of a sense that they were equally important as their father. Or perhaps it was the zealousness of youth. These commentaries all speak to an underlying error in intention. They performed the ritual correctly, although they had not been instructed to do so, but their intentions were more selfishly motivated.
On the other hand, there are commentaries that speak of Nadav and Abihu’s good intentions. One could see how these youths brought their offering out of overwhelming love for Hashem. They have just witnessed the success of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the culmination of what the klal had been working toward. They had just gotten a direct and positive response from Hashem. If this, they might have thought, is what Hashem wants, then we shall give Him more.
The intention, in that case, was beautiful, and yet it was still wrong because it was lacking a fundamental understanding that living by Hashem’s Torah means we don’t act purely on impulse. The emotion of love, even love for Hashem, is tempered by yira, fear in the sense of the awe of knowing that this world has a right way and a wrong way.
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Parshas Vayikra and Purim: Leadership and Unity
Dedicated to the chayalim fighting so bravely to protect our people, to the release of the hostages, and to a refuah shelaima for Asher Eliyahu ben Sarah Rochel
There are many conversations within the Jewish community about leadership. We are a community that has a complex relationship with out leadership. We both depend and demand on them, assuming that they will save us from our own failings and be ready to shoulder the weight of our unceasing needs. That dynamic, alas, is made even more difficult by the layers that are woven into our communities. Not only are there different hashgafot, but there are political groups, charity groups, and communal need groups who all believe that they have priority – and that they are the one’s with klal Yisrael’s best interest at heart.
Community is particularly important at this time of the year. Although, famously, Haman accused the Jewish people of being scattered and ununified, it is interesting to wonder if this became reality following Achashverosh’s party, to which, it is noted, all the Jews came.
All the Jews attended the party, including the leadership, including – according to some opinions – Mordechai. One can only contemplate what impact this had on the average Jew. Perhaps hesitant yet excited for an elongated feast at the palace, they saw the attendance of their leaders as tacit acceptance of the celebration. Going out on a limb, one might even ponder whether that feast and that accepted intermingling among the other nations, was not a significant step toward the creation of the lack of unity that Haman pointed out to Achashverosh. After all, do we not see such things in North America today, that the very acceptance we found in the United States during the 20th century has led to a terrible lack of unity (not to mention the rates of assimilation).
This year, Purim has the rare situation of falling out on Sunday. This Shabbas, in addition to being erev Purim and parshas zachor, is also the first week of Sefer Vayikra. This week’s parsha reads like an ongoing description of the different types of sacrifices – when they are brought and how they are offered. Nestled amongst these sacrifices, in Perek Daled, are the guilt offerings for transgressions committed inadvertently. The perek delineates the actions that need to be taken for those who unintentionally violate a commandment for which, had it been done it willfully, there would be a punishment of karais. The perek speaks first of an anointed kohain, then of “the entire community of Israel,” then of a nasi – a monarch, and then of a regular individual.
While the sin of the High Priest is attributed to his interaction with the people, it is interesting to note the description of the sin listed as “the entire community of Israel (4:13). Here the language used is “kol adas Yisrael,” and it is understood as a reference specifically to the Sanhedrin, to the congregation of learned scholars whose role it was to decide halacha. In this situation, according to the commentaries, the Sanhedrin made a decision without realizing that it was contrary to a mitzvah and their error caused the people to sin. Once the sin is known, action is taken immediately.
Now we can look back at the unspoken question of how the leaders of Klal Yisrael, even scholars, could attend Achashverosh’s feast. How could leaders lead the nation astray? This is the danger of a shogeg, an unintentional transgression. At the time of Achashverosh’s party, for whatever their reasoning (like Mordechai who was employed by the king), there were leaders who attended the feast. Their actions led the people of Israel to assume permissions that led to a diminishment of the people, to a state where an enemy such as Haman could rise in strength.
However, looking back to Vayikra, when the Torah brings down the shogaig of the nasi (unintenti
This week's parsha, Parshas Pekudei, is the last parsha of Sefer Shemos and is mostly - well, almost entirely - focused on the completion of the pieces of the Mishkan and its assembling. Like all parshios, Parshas Pekudei is named for the first significant word in the parsha, and, as so often happens, there is important subtext to the use of this word.
“Eleh pekudei haMishkan…This is an accounting of the Mishkan…” (Shemos 38:21).
The word “pekudei” is strong and informative. The parsha opens with pasukim that specify exactly how Bnei Yisrael's donations were used in producing the pieces in the Mishkan. The Midrash, however, explains why the accounting happened at all. There were, it seems, actually people who suspected Moshe Rabbeinu of pocketing some of the gold and silver. Here was a man who had walked away from royalty, who had dedicated himself to the people, and who had spoken to Gd to beg for the lives of the entire nation! How could anyone possibly suggest that Moshe had misappropriated funds?
In the book “Rav Chaim Kanievsky on Chumash,” it is noted that Rav Chaim pointed out that the avnei zikaron, the remembrance stones” are written in Parshas Tetzaveh without a vav in the word zikaron (rememberance) but with a vav in this week’s parsha. When written without the vav, Rav Chaim states, “zikaron always indicates a positive remembrance: remembering a merit or a promised reward” (p. 439). The added vav, however, indicates that the remembrance has grown wider. “While the stones could still serve as a remembrance of their [Bnei Yisrael] merits, they could now also remind Hashem of their sins, if they proved unworthy” (ibid.).
The difference of Tetzaveh and Pekudei? The chait haegel (sin of the golden calf). We all understand, on some level, how terrible the chait haegel was. The chait was transformative - and not in a good way. Beyond losing the ultimate connection with Hakadosh Baruch Hu, we, the Jewish people, lost faith in ourselves.
In a way, the chait haegel had an impact on Bnei Yisrael that is similar to the effect on all of humanity that came from Chava eating from the eitz hadas (the tree of knowledge of good and bad). This one act shifted the perception of everyone ever after. Prior to the eating of the fruit, humanity was able to perceive the world with innocence, without an inner yetzer harah. After they ate, however, Adam and Chava saw the world so differently that they could no longer look at each other without seeing nakedness.
At Har Sinai, Bnei Yisrael reached an incredible level of kedusha. They were raised onto a spiritual level that should have made them see the world in a way that, well, to be honest, we today just cannot fathom. I imagine that they would have had a unique perception of Hashem’s din and rachamim. And when they set out to have Aaron make the egel, it is understood by our sages that they did so out of a desire to have a means of getting closer to Hashem because there were subtle insinuations of doubt of Moshe’s return. The whispers that Moshe had been gone too long were as insidious as the serpent making Chava doubt herself by showing her that the tree was safe to touch.
The sin happened. The sinners were rebuked and also forgiven. Their understanding of the world - their place in the world - however, had shifted once again. Before the chait, Bnei Yisrael was focused on Hashem and connecting to Him, so Hashem could plan that the avnei zikaron were reflections of their merit. After the chait, however, Bnei Yisrael must live with the knowledge that they are capable of such sin and that their friends and neighbors are capable fo such sin. The only way that anyone could have accused Moshe of misusing the funds for the Mishkan was if they had had such thoughts themselves, and such thoughts could only have power if one doubts oneself and thus everyone else.
When Bnei Yisrael ...
Dedicated to the safe return of those still in captivity.
“Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” If ever there was a degrading statement that deserved to be disproved, it is this. Those who teach because they “can’t” make terrible teachers; and those who teach because they are inspired and wish to inspire others...well, you can judge.
As odd an opening as this might seem for a Dvar Torah, it is actually highly apropos for this week’s parsha, Parahas Vayakhel, which contains a fascinating verse on this subject: “And also the gift of teaching has He put in his (Betzalel’s) heart, both he and Ohalieb, the son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan” (Shemos 35:34). Moshe had just finished explaining that Hashem had filled Betzalel with all sorts of engineering and artistic knowledge so that he would be able to take charge of the building of the Mishkan, and yet it was noteworthy to mention that equal to all these gifts was the fact that Hashem had filled him with the ability to teach.
Teaching is not easy, especially if the subject being taught is one which the person teaching knows by instinct. If one is born with a natural musical talent, it can be challenging to teach someone who is less inclined to hear the music.
There is, of course, greater significance to this verse. The people are making the Mishkan. All the people who wish to participate in the process, all the people who want to contribute their efforts in whichever way they can, are going to come forward. But by including this detail - that Betzalel and Ohalieb have been given a talent for teaching in addition to engineering and artistry – Moshe is making certain that even those who are uncertain of their skills and talents can come and join.
Additionally, there is an important message for Betzalel and Ohalieb: Just because you have a natural talent, just because you may be the most talented, does not mean that you should do it all alone. Natural talent is a gift, a privilege… and, as we all know, with great privilege comes great responsibility. You must do things with your talent, and you must share your talent with those who want to learn.
This may seem a short and simple Dvar Torah, but it has many applications to life. The Mishkan was built by Klal Yisrael working together. The only way this happens if there is coordination and delegation, and Hashem made a statement of His expectation of that behavior by highlighting that a talent for teaching was gifted to them. Transmitting knowledge, be that Torah or science or the arts, requires its own significant capability, and it should not be minimized. But, also, we each must share our individual knowledge and talents so that we as a nation, as a people, can fulfill our role in this world.
I wish you all much hatzlacha in finding your own special gifts and finding the people with whom to share it.
Shabbat Shalom
If you were to be given a pop quiz on all the immediate consequences of the cheit haegel, the sin of the golden calf, you would probably say that people died and that Hashem distanced Himself from the nation. Both of these are correct. Most people who learn parsha will recall that the Leviim strapped on their swords and meted out punishment so that “three thousand men fell from among the people” (Shemos 32:28). Furthermore, the people were struck by a plague, although the Torah does not give a specific count of how many died because of it.
The other primary consequence that is generally discussed is Moshe begging Hashem not to destroy the nation. Hashem agrees, but He also tells Moshe that He will send His malachim to help them as they go, “But I will not go in your midst, since you are a stiff-necked people, lest I destroy you on the way” (33:4).
If the second question on this pop quiz was to ask how jewelry is connected to the cheit haegel, there would, again, be little hesitation in responding: the men eagerly gave the family jewelry to Aaron to create the golden calf. Jewelry, however, is also significant among the consequences of the sin. It is written:
“When the people heard this harsh word [that Hashem would not go in their midst], they went into mourning, and none put on finery. Hashem said to Moshe, ‘Say to the Israelite people, “You are a stiff-necked people. If I were to go in your midst for one moment, I would destroy you. Now, then, leave off your finery, and I will consider what to do to you.”’ So the children of Israel divested themselves of their finery from Mount Horeb.” (33:4-6).
This small section of the Torah, so easily glossed over by the momentous actions occurring all around it, is rather intriguing. To break it down: Bnei Yisrael express their regret and despair by refraining from adorning themselves. Hashem responds by telling them to “leave off your finery.” They do so.
Just as a minor point, one might be asking what jewelry or finery was left. However, Aaron specifically asked for gold earrings, and there was plenty of other jewelry still left. There is, however, a question of the final verse specifying “their finery from Mount Horeb.” Some commentators explain this as jewelry they wore when they received the Torah while others believe that it refers to jewelry that represents receiving the Torah (for instance the idea that they each received a spiritual crown or set of crowns). It is significant that the Hebrew word used for this finery, as the Chabad website translates it, is “edyam,” the root of which appears to be ayin-daled, which also forms the word for “ed,” which means witness.
This section of verses is a fascinating example of the human propensity for self reflection. Hashem announces that He will not be travelling with the nation. The people assess themselves and recognize that they are not the same as they were at Horeb, they recognize their own spiritual failing and find a physical means of expressing this.
From that perspective, Hashem’s response is, need I say, endearing…like a parent who realizes the limit of his/her anger at the child and tells the child to go away so that he/she may figure out what to do. Pasuk hey (5) is Hashem’s reassessment of the nation based on their own self-assessment. The fact that they recognize their spiritual failing and accept the responsibility of it, and still want to fight for their relationship with Hashem – that is how Bnei Yisrael is stiff necked! That is why Hashem must “consider what to do to you.”
What did Bnei Yisrael leave behind? They left behind the divine glory that they were obviously not ready to own, that we are still, to this day, not ready to own. But that is significant.
Bnei Yisrael went from the 49th level of tumah to receiving the Torah and experiencing divinity in an extremely short period of time. They may have wanted ...
What sets the kohanim apart from the rest of Bnei Yisrael? Today, many scientific minds might say that the answer feels like it might be solely DNA, the ancestral traits that lead back to a single progenitor. But DNA is a blueprint to the individual elements that make up a person. We now know that people can have genetic markers for a predisposition to be a morning person or to dislike cilantro. The DNA passed down to all of the male descendants of Aaron the Kohain does give them a distinctive trait; it just isn’t physical.
Speculatively, one could say that the genetic make-up that came straight from Aaron is a unique connection to spirituality, which he was born with. But the fact that the role of the priests was initially intended to be fulfilled by the firstborn, and then it was designated to the Leviim, and then it was given to Aaron and his sons indicates that it was not something inherent that Aaron was born with but rather that there was some form of transformation…
I will gladly state that everything that follows is purely speculative. In this week’s parsha, Parshas Tetzaveh, there is a detailed description of the specific ceremony of inauguration that Aaron and his sons were to undergo. They were bathed and dressed in their very unique garb and then anointed. Once Aaron and his sons were prepared, the following karbanos took place in this specific sequence: A bull was slaughtered, its blood was applied to the altar, its fat burned, and then, after the fats, the rest of it was burnt. Then two rams were brought forward. The first ram had its blood sprinkled, but then all of it was burnt for the raiach nichoach, a satisfying aroma spirit. The second ram, however, was the source of blood that was placed on the right ear cartilage, right thumb, and right big toe of Aaron and his sons. Afterward, the Torah states: “Take some of the blood that is on the altar and some of the anointing oil and sprinkle upon Aaron and his vestments, and also upon his sons and his sons’ vestments. Thus shall he and his vestments be holy, as well as his sons and his sons’ vestments” (Shemos 29:21).
One of the things that stands out about this ceremony is the placing of the blood on the ear, thumb, and toe. Actually, and quite interestingly, it was noted on Aish.com that the only other place this specific ritual is mentioned is in connection to one who has recovered from tzaras and must be ritually purified. In no other place in the Torah do we have a marked physical indication of attaining a different spiritual level, except, perhaps with the means of inaugurating the kohanim. What is the connection of one who has recovered from tzaras and Aaron and his sons on the verge of attaining the kahuna, and what does either have to do with one’s ear, thumb, and toe?
There is an alternative medicine practice known a reflexology. Its critical act is to press on specific pressure points that activate natural healing and stress relief. What is fascinating is that reflexology focuses on three main body parts – the foot, the hand, and the ear.
The person suffering from tzaras needed healing – spiritual to affect the physical. But why were the ear, thumb, and toe significant to the kohanim? The term healing is generally connected to the dismissal or cure of an illness, but, perhaps, when we speak of healing that is connected to the spiritual, we must think of it as a rectification. The person who suffers from tzaras goes through a process of ridding himself of a yetzer hara (not THE yetzer hara, but an active aspect of it) and therefore fixes something spiritually in order to rejoin the nation. Aaron and his sons needed to rectify their spiritual essence to be ready to take on their new roles. This rectification was a transformation that they then passed on to their descendants.
The kohanim needed an immediate spiritual transformation, but the one suffering from tzaras had to do teshuva i
Dedicated to all of the brave chayalim who are defending our people in Eretz Yisrael.
One of the most difficult things to achieve in life is true bitachon. Bitachon means trusting that Hashem is totally in control and that everything that happens to you in life is just as Hashem wanted it. These concepts are easy when we see situations of supreme hashgacha pratis, like being late for a bus that then gets a flat tire so that if you had been on it, you would have actually been late for work. In living regular life, however, bitachon is, for most people, a challenge. And the challenge is, quite often, just a question of self-awareness and thinking about Hashem – something we mortals often forget about.
Recognizing Hashem’s hand in our lives is all about perspective, but getting that perspective takes work. There is heavy spiritual lifting, one might say, because by the very design of this world, Hashem does not want His control, His planning, to seem obvious. Hashem created humankind with an aspiration for success so that we would have a natural instinct to strive for something – and what it is that we strive for is our bechira, our free choice, to choose.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Teruma, is all about the instructions for building the Mishkan. The commentaries argue about the significance of the Mishkan having rings on the feet and rings on the corners (and if this is an accurate understanding of where the rings go) as well as which staves were never removed. But the Meshech Chachmah, as noted in the Sefer Talelei Oros, says: “Ostensibly, the purpose of the poles was to carry the Ark, as the Torah specifically states (25:14), ‘To carry the Ark with them.” Nonetheless, this was all an illusion, as the Talmud (Sotah 35a) tells us, ‘The Ark carried its bearers.’ In actuality, the poles were required because God decreed in His infinite wisdom that the Ark should be carried in a manner which gives the outward but erroneous impression that the bearers are carrying it.”
This is the essence of the challenge of bitachon. We look at life and assume that the successes we see other people achieving are based on something we can calculate and imitate. In fact, their successes…as well as their challenges and their failures… are all suited to their specific neshamos.
One might say that human nature requires us to believe in the power of our own effort. This is true. The part of us that is tied to this world desires a sense of success. Our goal as Jews, however, is to connect our lives to the part of ourselves that is spiritual, and that part of ourselves, the Neshama, is strengthened by seeing Hashem’s hand in everything.
If Hashem determines on Rosh Hashana how much money each person will have in the year to come, why do people feel that if they just stay at the office several hours longer they will become wealthier? This is not to say that it won’t help one become more successful, but one becomes more successful because that was what was meant to happen.
Hashem instructed that the Ark should be carried in such a manner that human effort seemed necessary. Hashem arranged the world so that is seems as if human effort is required. And it is, but not for the reasons we imagine. The hishtadlus we do puts us in the places we need to be and provides us with the opportunities for elevation and connection to Hakadosh Baruch Hu.
Working on bitachon is something we have to do day in and day out – and not without success. Most of us have had moments… but the work is making those moments into our reality. It isn’t easy. It’s a lifetime of effort. Every moment of that effort, however, is step closer to Hashem.
I wish you all a good Shabbas and hatzlacha in all your hishtadlus. May the path to where you need to go be filled with simcha.
Parshas Yisro: Joining a Nation
This will be a very short piece due to circumstances of travel…
The beginning of Parshas Yisro describes the arrival of Moshe's father-in-law and his wise advice to Moshe on how to set up a system of courts so as not to be overwhelmed. Hisbwisdom had a profound impact of the burgeoning nation, but Bnei Yisrael also had a profound impact on Yisro.
When Yisro and Moshe are reunited, Yisro states: “Now I know that Hashem is greater than all gods, yes, by the result of their very schemes against [the people]” (Shemos 18:11). This statement, according to the commentaries, describes why Yisro has chosen to convert, to join Bnei Yisrael. It was not the might demonstrated by the plagues or the awe inspired by the splitting of the Sea, but rather the precision of the plagues in their mida for mida (trait for trait) punishment of the Mitzrim.
The understanding that Yisro joined Bnei Yisrael is interesting unto itself, but it is also I threshing that he did not stay with Bnei Yisrael. “Then Moses bade his father-in-law farewell, and he went his way to his own land” (ibid 18:27).
We are all familiar with the discussion that tries to define the Jews. Are we a nation? A religion? A culture? A tribe? And the answer is yes. Each one of these terms has its own decisions and nuances that could be used to describe an aspect of Bnei Yisrael, but none relays a complete description.
This week, I became a Canadian citizen. I did not do so because I saw something inherently good about being Canadian (which, of course, there are things to list), and I was not required to give up anything particular to who I am (dude, multiculturalism!). I became a citizen because I have lived there for 16 years and wanted to vote.
If Yisro wanted to join a nation, he would have stayed. But Yisro was declaring himself part of something bigger. He was giving up his previous life - the gods he had explored, the common beliefs with his neighbors. He was taking on an internal change.
The famous statement made about not being able to stand in the place of a Baal Teshuva is perhaps even more so true of a convert for they are truly casting off the life they had heretofore built. Yisro knows he can't go with Bnei Yisrael, perhaps because of his great age, nevertheless, we know the Yisro, in his core essence, bring Bnei Yisrael with him - and for each of us, in our day to day life, when we are not in our community or our shul or our usual Jewish life routine - need to take this inspiration with us.
Parshas Beshalach – What About the Walls
Dedicated to those who remain as hostages, may they know freedom soon, and to the brave chayalim who are fighting for Bnei Yisrael.
In this week’s parsha we read, about the incredible events that took Bnai Yisrael through the Yam Suf. The description is vividly familiar – waters parted, dry land on which to walk, an army bearing down behind, and walls of water on either side. When we hear of the walls of water, many of my particular generation might conjure up, a little too easily, images from Spielberg’s Prince of Egypt, which was a beautiful imagining but not necessarily how one should learn Torah.
There is something very significant about the way Bnei Yisrael walked through the Yam Suf. It is not just that they crossed on dry land, but that the waters formed a wall for them on their right and on their left. This idea was so important that the Torah mentions it twice in the span of a few verses, in Shemos 14:22 and 14:29.
There are, of course, the practical understandings brought down in the commentaries. In between pasuk 22 and 29, the Torah describes how the Egyptians entered the Sea and how the waters came crashing back down on them. The second mention of the walls of water is to emphasize the fact that there were still Israelites in the Sea, that Bnei Yisrael hadn’t fully crossed, but that the water remained parted where they were walking.
The repetition of these words, however, brought forth thoughts about walls. Walls are protection; they are security. One might ask why the Torah goes through the effort of stating that the wall formed on their right and on their left. Why was it not a wall before them, like a shield preventing water spillage from before them? Why was it not a wall behind them for a sense of security?
The most obvious answer is that the Egyptians needed to feel that it was possible for them to follow Bnei Yisrael. This was the way to guarantee their final ultimate demise. As to why not before them… the fact that this is not stated indicates that the Sea split in one grand motion.
There is a beautiful metaphor within the imagery of the splitting of the Sea, within the significance of the walls forming to the right and to the left. The way forward is the miracle, the path made by the Divine. The way backward is not an option. And on either side are walls of water. The water creates a path; it gives shape to the way that the mass of people needs to move forward. In Jewish tradition, water is symbolic to Torah. The Jewish people are blessed to have the opportunity to surround themselves with Torah and thus be able to find the path forward in life.
It is easy to wonder how the people perceived those walls? They must have been stupendous, miraculous. And if you were willing and wanting to perceive the miracle… what joy and splendor awaited. But what about those who found it so awesome as to be terrifying, perhaps to those of the erev rav whose faith was so negligeable. Then what did those walls look like?
We won’t ever know, and so we must delve into the metaphysical understanding of krias Yam Suf.
Sometimes in life we feel like we are stuck, that we are trapped in situations that are harmful to us spiritually. And sometimes we are, and we must remove ourselves, must hurry forward. Many times, however, we need to take a look at the walls and see their source, and understand that everything that occurs is part of Hashem’s plan, is the Mayim Chayim of life.
Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.
Modern conversations about religion often focus on the question of what a person gets from having faith. Security, responsibility, a sense of belonging, etc. are all within the range of answers that those studying religion from the outside hypothesize as the source for humanity’s drive toward belief. These inquiries are often paralleled to an assumption that one’s beliefs are meant to make one happy, and happiness is very important to the 21st century mindset.
In reality, however, the Torah is not meant to make sure that you, the individual, are living the happiest life you can. Hashem cares that you, the individual, are living life to your utmost potential. It’s not about living your best life but living life as best you can.
There is a fascinating section of this week’s parsha, Parshas Ki Tavo, that seems to speak to how differently the Torah’s life philosophy is to modern day philosophy. It says: “And Moshe commanded the people on that same day, saying: ‘These shall stand upon Mount Gerisim to bless the people when you have crossed the Jordan: Shimon and Levi and Yehudah and Yissachar and Yoseph and Binyamin. And these shall stand upon Mount Ebal on the curse: Reuvain and Gad and Asher and Zevulan, Dan and Naftali” (27:11-13).
Based on these verses, it would seem the Torah was about to introduce the recitation of a list of blessings. Instead, it dives right into the Leviim announcing the curses: “Cursed be the man that makes a graven or molten image, an abomination of God…and all the people shall lift up their voices and say: Amein” (27:15).
Why does the Torah immediately proceed with punishment, with curses? Why doesn’t it say: “Blessed is the man who remains faithful to Hashem in all ways”? Why doesn’t the Torah bless the person who respects his parents, maintains boundaries, helps the blind man not to stumble, and so forth?
Have you ever heard the popular parenting lectures that stress praising a child for not misbehaving? It is sometimes included under positive re-enforcement. And it’s lovely…in theory. But as a parent, it’s hard to think that one should say “Good job for not smacking your brother today!” because we expect our children to know not to smack each other.
Living a Torah life is about constraining oneself away from behaviors that are inherently anti-social – not meaning behaviors that make you hard to be around, but behaviors that are damaging to society. The false gods of celebrity and power, so potent in this day and age, have created a society in which everyone feels that they get to define the rules, that everyone’s truth is equal. The Torah announces: “Cursed be he who insults his father or his mother,” and we see, all around us, a society that played with diminishing respect for parents (Hi Bob and Sally!) and now faces a dilemma in which any voice of authority is viewed as optional. Children demand of their parents, and the parents fold…Parents blame the schools, and no one is remembering that the act of respecting is meant to come from the child.
The Torah was given to Moshe to give to the Bnei Yisrael not as the rule book for when we live in the ideal world but rather for the time before that. Hashem instructs Moshe to instruct the Jewish people before they go into the Promised Land and to present these words of Cursed be the Man as the formula for reminding Bnei Yisrael of the expectations upon them. In listing these verbal curses, however, Hashem is presenting a potent message: You know what the right thing to do is, and in doing it the blessings come naturally. Act in such an ill-befitting manner and be cursed.
We may not see the constant praise, the reward --- the blessing, for living the way we are supposed to, but we must always be aware that for creating a broken social norm, we shall surely be cursed.
Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas
The most universal “good deed,” an often-used mistranslation of the word mitzvah, is that of tzedakah. On one level, it seems simple and basic: give charity to help the poor. The truth, as is clear to anyone who has studied Torah, is that it can be a most complex mitzvah with many variations in the way that it can be achieved.
This week’s parsha contains three pasukim that detail three different mitzvos that seem like the same thing:
When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that Hashem your God may bless you in all your undertakings. When you beat down the fruit of your olive trees, do not go over them again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow. When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.
This is a very agrarian means of giving charity, and since we are no longer a primarily agrarian society, it can seem like a quaintly beautiful commandment. Whatever you forgot to collect wasn’t meant to be yours.
These verses, however, leave other questions - not the least of which is how they can be applied today. First, however, one might question why the Torah isn’t more concise. Why did it not just state that during the harvesting of wheat, olives, and grapes, any remnants are to be left to those in need? Why use repetitious language instead? Another question might be: Why wheat, olives, and grapes?
These seemingly repetitious pasukim have two stark differences between them. The first is the type of food. Wheat represents bread. Olives represent fat, as the oil. Grape represents wine, which has been a staple of human civilization especially when water could not always be trusted to be healthy. Bread and water are the commonly thought of as the basics for survival, but the dignity of the poor is just as important as the dignity of the rich, and the Torah identifies the ability of the common farmer to give it to those in need.
The second interesting difference is the descriptive noun used to define the way they are harvested. Wheat is reaped – slashed down and collected. Olives are “beaten” from the tree. Grapes are picked off the vine. The first with a scythe, a tool, the second with one’s strength, and the third with one’s hands. One could derive this down to the use of mental power (creating tools), gross motor power, and fine motor power. There are many ways to give tzedakah. Additionally, the verbs used in these verses are beautifully telling:
1-Lo tashuv l’kachto, do not turn around to collect it. Do not specifically turn back to look.
2-Lo tpha’air acharecha, do not go over the boughs – but the verb is specifically related to the term adornment, for the olives adorn the tree.
3-Lo soillel acharecha, do not glean, and interestingly this verb connected to the meaning of acting severely.
By looking more closely at the specific words used in these pasukim, we can garner a deeper understanding of the mitzvah and, perhaps, respond to the ever-present question of how such a seemingly agrarian mitzvah can be reframed to fit our more urban existence. It comes down to being aware that those in need should have more than the basics of bread and water; they should be able to have basic, simple comforts as well. Each of us is capable in our own way, whether through the earning we make technology, physical activity, or something more refined, of helping others. And when we help, we must not look back to question our actions, we must not demean, and we must not act severely with those through whom we are fulfilling this mitzvah.
Giving charity might be an important good deed, but consciously following the laws of tzedakah is a path to righteousness.
This week’s parsha, Parshas Shoftim, is best known for the pasuk “Justice, justice, shall you pursue” (Devarim 16:20). This pasuk is a cornerstone of Torah living and the important parameters of halacha – that we are to try to emulate Hashem and create a just society. It is not an easy task, and it is not always an easily understandable concept when we examine the parameters set by the Torah.
As an example, this week’s parsha also contains the laws of the egel arufa, of the heifer killed as an atonement for a man found slain outside of a city’s boundaries. The basics are thus: If a body is found between two cities, a measurement is taken to determine to which city the body is closer. The elders and judges of that city, along with kohanim, must then take a calf that has never been yoked to a valley and break its neck, washing their hands over it and declaring “Our hands did not shed this blood, nor did our eyes see [this crime]. Atone for Your people Israel, whom You have redeemed, O Lord, and lay not [the guilt of] innocent blood among your people Israel” (Devarim 21:7-8).
How is this justice? It is assumed that the elders and the judges represent the upstanding citizens of the city, those who are least suspect of such a crime (we won’t get into the wonderful plots of modern-day murder mysteries). Why must they assume any level of responsibility?
The most widely discussed answer is that there is a responsibility to the fact that a guest in their city was sent on his way without consideration, without escort. Interestingly, the sefer Taleli Oros cites “Zeved Tov observes that the verse writes shifcha with a hey at the end rather than shifcho, which would be the grammatically correct form. He explains that the hey is an allusion to the five things that a host is required to provide for a poverty-stricken guest: clothing, food, drink, shelter and escort.” In the case of the man found in the field, this last one is assumed to have been lacking.
This does not, however, resolve the question of why the elders and the judges are responsible. Can they really be expected to know every guest or stranger who appears in the city and then leaves it? That seems a bit high of an expectation, especially in a larger city.
Dr. Arnold Lustiger writes in Chumash Mesoras Harav, based on the teaching of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik: “It is almost frightening how demanding the Torah is concerning the leadership that goes hand in hand with power. It is a responsibility that encompasses not only direct action but indirect – in fact, very removed – action. Of course, the leader is responsible for all his actions. His judgement must be right; he must not accept bribes; he must act in accordance with the principles of justice and charity. However, he is also charged with responsibility for things and events that are, prima facie, far removed from his concerns and interests. The people wielding power are the ones responsible for and guilty of the crime (Vision and Leadership, p.48)” (Lustiger 167).
The laws of the egel arufah teach us that there is an expectation on the elders and judges to establish a culture in which the casual taking of a life could never be acceptable, in which a stranger would never be left to wander off to another town without protection. This might mean that they make certain to live in the ideal and to demonstrate righteous living and-or it might mean that they establish regular patrols to maintain civil law.
The egel arufa has very defined parameters. It is a halacha that is meant for living in the land of Israel in a time when we have elders and judges and kohanim. But the Torah is eternal, and all that we learn in it applies to us in all living situations. Each of us is or can be a leader in our own way. A parent is a leader of a family. An organizer is a leader in the community. A citizen who strives to be a kiddush Hashem is by nature a leader
In the beginning of this week’s parsha, there is a seemingly benign description of the giving of the manna. This description is a prelude to a direct contrast to what Bnei Yisrael could expect after entering the Promised Land, which is a land flowing with milk and honey, a land of wheat and barley, vines and figs and pomegranates, a land of oil producing olives and honey - a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, you will lack nothing in it” (Devarim 8:8-9). This description of Eretz Yisrael is well known, but it is not commonly realized how it contrasts with the manna.
This section of the Torah begins with the statement: “And He afflicted you and let you go hungry, and then fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your forefathers know, so that He would make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but rather by, whatever comes forth from the mouth of the Lord does man live” (8:3).
The language here seems quite drastic. Did Hashem afflict them? Did he let them go hungry? It is almost possible to read this in a sarcastic nuance… how many times have we heard our children whine - or complained ourselves - “I’m starving.” Moshe here is reflecting the overwrought emotions of the nation when they complained and demonstrating to them that Hashem answered them with something miraculous, something incredible - food from the heavens.
The manna was meant, according to pasuk gimmel, to teach Bnei Yisrael to recognize the ultimate source of our sustenance, which is Hashem. However, after reminding them further of the good Hashem did for them and the filial relationship they have with Hashem, Moshe tells them:
“For the Lord your God is bringing you to a good land, a land with brooks of water, fountains and depths, that emerge in valleys and mountains, a land of wheat and barley, vines and figs and pomegranates, a land of oil producing olives and honey, a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, you will lack nothing in it, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose mountains you will hew copper” (8:7-9).
Life and sustenance are about to get more complicated. There will be variety - which one did not have with manna. There will be abundance - in contrast to the manna that could be collected for only one day’s portion. And there will be work - which was not a facet of living in the Wilderness.
One can, perhaps, see in this a fascinating comparison to Adam HaRishon. Adam was placed in Gan Eden and given everything that he needed to live a peaceful life. After the chait (sin), he had to work (“By the sweat of your brow shall you live). It was a curse, but it was also a means of enhancing humanity’s awareness of their need for Hashem.
Bnei Yisrael’s time in the desert was always limited because mankind after the initial chait cannot exist long term on unending benificence but must put in effort. Thus the manna was simple, pure, and, perhaps one might even say, limited. The wilderness was like Gan Eden in that everything was provided, but in truth, the Promised Land was the destination - lush like Gan Eden, but requiring effort, and in requiring effort also requiring Bnei Yisrael to know and acknowledge that all things come from Hashem. Indeed, the next pasuk of the perek says: “And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and you will bless Hashem your God for the good land that He gave you” (8:10).
Moshe was telling them that they were on the verge of entering the world of abundance and variation, but that they should never forget that sustenance is not their acheivment, it is a gift from Hashem. They must do the work, but they must let the work lead them to appreciate Hashem’s graciousness.
Human beings crave a sense of success and accomplishment. In many ways, this was lacking in the wilderness...
Yesterday was Tisha B’av, tomorrow is Shabbas Nachamu, and today is the short space in between where we can contemplate that dynamic. This is the closest those two days ever come together, and that offers us a profound opportunity to contemplate the real possibility of transitioning from gulus to geula. For many of us, as much as we intellectually do yearn for Moshiach and a new era, there is a stumbling block in fully accepting the concept. Partially this is because of our natural tendency to feel safe in the space in which we are living, and partially this is because we have trouble truly believing in redemption.
The parsha read on Shabbas Nachamu is always Va’eschanan. It is the second parsha in Sefer Dvarim, the sefer that was written on the precipice of great change. This parsha starts with Moshe’s personal tragedy – with the one time in which his beseeching Hashem was rebuffed. But in this, there is much that we can learn about the importance of wanting to move forward. Moshe tells the people of how strongly he pleaded with Hashem to encourage them to go forward. He was their safety in the wilderness, but he was ending, and the next era was already being prepared for them. That Shabbas Nachamu’s parsha contains this rich depth of yearning is an excellent reminder that even if we have just observed another day of desolation, even if Hashem has not granted us redemption yet, we should still be driven to ask and ask and ask again.
The word redemption means “the action of regaining or gaining possession of something” or “the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.” It has both a both physical and a metaphysical meaning, and this is essential to the Jewish idea of redemption, of Moshiach. On a physical level, we will return to the Promised Land. On a metaphysical level, we will once more be ready, as a people, to be on the spiritual level of avdei Hashem. And while most of us in the 21st century can now understand the possibility of the physical return, the state of the world, the state of the Jewish people in particular, makes us worry that we will never earn redemption – and this, too, is answered in Parshas Va’eschanan.
Moshe recaps the giving of the Torah at Har Sinai and the great and glorious purpose of the Torah just before he plunges into the sure and certain declaration that future generations will stray and be punished and return. And then he recites the Aseret Hadibros, the Ten Commandments - the same and yet different. This is a powerful reminder to us of the very real possibility of spiritual redemption. Bnei Yisrael messed up bad, and Hashem gave them another chance. Hashem wants Bnei Yisrael to succeed. Hashem wants to bring about an era in which He can remove the Hester Panim, the hiddenness He bears to mankind. He gives us opportunities upon opportunities.
Tradition tells us that the reason that Hashem tells Moshe, “Do not continue to speak to Me further about this matter” (Devarim 3:26) is because if Moshe had asked one more time, Hashem would have relented. This is what is important about Parshas Va’eschanan.
How often in the Torah did Moshe implore Hashem on behalf of Bnei Yisrael. Hashem wants to forgive. Hashem wants to push us to the next era. Bnei Yisrael gathered around a golden calf, seemingly the ultimate spiritual fail, and Hashem still gave them another chance, a new set of commandments, because Hashem is aware of the glorious potential within us. Nachamu, be comforted, because while redemption has not come yet, it will.
There is a powerful message in the timing of Parshas Va’eschanan. Don’t give up on imploring Hashem until He tells you not to say another word (should we ever be on such a level!) and be comforted. Hashem wants to hear our pleas, and Hashem wants to give us another chance. Believing this whole heartedly, we can go from desolation to comfort in an instance. May that time come speedily.
*Personal Parsha Prose began as a personal project I named Eilu Devarim in 2018 after leaving my job of 19 years. I wrote my first Parsha Essay on Parshas Devarim 2018. While some parshios were skipped some years, every parsha has at least 4 unique pieces. All Personal Parsha Prose, along with other writing, can be found on http://cthedawn.blogspot.com/
May you all have a beautiful and inspiring Shabbas.
Want a lesson in faith? Want to know about bitachon and emuna? The hard truth is that most people, even those of us who profess to be religious, are constantly delving into this matter. Emuna is something one strives for, one grasps and holds onto, and one rejoices in when it is recognized.
Parshas Beshalach is a parsha that is laden with opportunities to talk about emuna and its significance. After all, it is in this parsha that we read about the splitting of the red sea. These are the chapters in which the Children of Israel sing Shira. Here we read about water flowing from a rock.
What is most fascinating about Parshas Beshalach is that it starts with an incredible insight into the challenge of faith. A person may know, deep in their soul and even intellectually without doubt, that God exists and plays an active role in one’s life, and that person might still waffle in their faith. The proof is in the cloud and the fire. “And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to cause it to lead them on the way and at night in a pillar of fire to give them light, to travel day and night. He did not move away the pillar of cloud by day or the pillar of fire at night [from] before the people” (13:21-22).
The pillar by day and the fire by night is significant when one thinks about the fear Bnei Yisrael felt and expressed when they discovered themselves trapped between the Egyptian army and the Sea of Reeds. “They were very frightened, and the Children of Israel cried out to the Lord. They said to Moshe, “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us to die in the desert? What is this that you have done to us to take us out of Egypt? Isn't this the thing [about] which we spoke to you in Egypt, saying, leave us alone, and we will serve the Egyptians, because we would rather serve the Egyptians than die in the desert?’” (14:10-12).
Surrounded by signs of Divine favor and protection, the Children of Israel could still doubt the path they were on, could still question the journey to the promised land. And Hashem would still reach out and help them, even though they questioned him then.
This is a profound, personal lesson. Struggling with emuna and bitachon happens to the vast majority of people. Our responsibility is to work through it. And when Moshe cried out to the people that they should not be afraid (14:13), Hashem stopped him and told him to push them onward. Hashem also told Moshe that He was going to push them forward as well, for Hashem explained to Moshe that it was His divine plan pushing the Egyptians against Bnei Yisrael.
In the midst of their dire situation, Bnei Yisrael seems to have forgotten, or at least ignored, the mighty pillar of protection. Perhaps, even more significantly, what they had trouble understanding was the fact that the very challenge they were facing was also part of Hashem’s plan.
Moshe pushed them toward the Yam Suf and, the Midrash tells us, Nachshon ben Aminadav took his famous first step into the Sea. The rest is history… the rest is shira – singing praises to Hashem - and gifts of man and water in the wilderness. The rest is human nature causing Klal Yisrael to forget again and again that the plan is all from Hashem, and the plan is ultimately for their good.
Emuna, when attained, is powerful. It energizes and enlightens. But the feeling can be fleeting because another challenge lies just ahead. Parshas Beshalach provides a reminder that being in a place where one needs to work and push to grow in emuna is normal. And even when we doubt – even when we have trouble recognizing that He put both the challenge and the cure before us – Hashem will provide a path forward.
Parshas Noah: Did Noah Drink Alone…
Dedicated to a Refuah Shelaima for Chaya Sofya Sara bas Mera
Jewish tradition contains a great deal of ceremony that includes drinking a cup of wine. There is Kiddush at the Shabbas meals, and Yom Tov meals as well…Not to mention four cups of wine at the Pesach Seder. There’s wine drunk under the chuppah, and even wine given to the babe at the bris (to sooth him and numb him from the pain to come). And there is often a great deal of wine on Purim and Simchas Torah. And yet, on the whole, Jews are not known as a drunken people, perhaps because at each of these occasions at which wine is drunk, one is meant to be sharing time with others.
The first mention of wine in the Torah comes in Bereishis 9, in Parshas Noah. After the world has been destroyed and Hashem has made the covenant of the rainbow with Noah, the Torah states: “And Noah began to be a man of the soil, and he planted a vineyard” (9:20). Most commentaries immediately flag the fact that planting a vineyard was what Noah chose as his very first action. One would think that he would first plant food. Noah planted a vineyard and immediately the Torah tells us that he drank and got drunk and embarrassed himself. His son, Ham, derided him while his other two sons, Shem and Yafes, tried to treat him respectfully. When Noah woke from his wine induced slumber, probably with a fearsome hangover, he cursed Ham’s son Canaan.
This famous story, when looked at a little closer, leads to some rather fascinating realizations about how we read the Torah. Telling time in the Torah is not always a simple thing, to say the least. With its string of conjunction vav’s, and…and…and…, it often sounds as if one thing happened right after another, and they are therefore related. Certainly, one reading the narrative of Noah imagines it all happening as consecutive action. Noah and sons get out of the Ark, build an altar for an offering, receive Hashem’s blessing and covenant, and set to farming the land and plant a vinyard. There is no mention of a passage of time, which makes Noah’s taking to drink seem all the more unacceptable.
But then there’s Canaan. When Noah gets drunk and goes “uncovered in his tent” (9:21), the Torah tells us: “And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father’s nakedness” (9:22). After Noah awakens, he doesn’t curse Ham, but rather Ham’s son Canaan. Not surprisingly, given the pacing of the Parsha, most people don’t stop to question where Canaan came from. After all, it is stated quite clearly that only Noah and his wife and his three sons and their wives got onto the Ark. The subtly active role of Canaan in these verses tell us that Noah did not just hop out of the Ark and think about getting drunk.
Given the fact that the Midrash states that Noah and his sons and Noah’s wife and his sons’ wives kept themselves apart while the flood ravaged the land, we can assess that Canaan was not even conceived until after the catastrophe. But then, if Noah turned to farming so soon after the covenant of the rainbow, how old could Ham have been at the time of Noah’s drunkenness? Researching grapes, one finds that there is a common assessment that it takes from 3-7 years for a grapevine to bear fruit. Once we are realizing that these situations did not take place with the immediacy that is implied in the pacing of the verses, one can now recognize that by the time Ham insulted his father’s dignity, Canaan was already a child old enough to be influenced by the actions of those around him…if not already a young adult.
This leads to a basic question of why Noah sought to get drunk. One might have thought that Noah was drinking as a means to forget the destruction of the world that he knew, but now we know that a significant amount of time has passed.
Three times in Parshas Vayelech the verse Chazak Vayamatz, be strong and courageous, is uttered, and three times in Parshas Vayelech the text goes into detail about the future downfall of the nation. Be strong, lead them well, expect them to fail, and Hashem will still remember His covenant… this is the message that Moshe receives from Hashem and that Bnei Yisrael receives from Moshe.
It is, of course, not by chance that Parshas Vayelech is read at the auspicious time of the Yomim Norayim, the “High Holidays.” And during a leap year (such as this year), we are granted the opportunity to look at Parshas Vayelech on its own and to focus on its unique message… a message that is particularly important to remember as we contemplate the impending celebration of Yom Kippur.
It could, perhaps, be said, that Yom Kippur is a celebration of humanity. This may seem like a shocking statement, but only until we realize that if there is one unified character trait of all of humanity, it is that, try as we might, we make many mistakes. We are not creatures of instinct, like the animals, nor beings of obedience, like the angels. There has never been a perfect human nor a perfect society. ...
Parshas Nitzavim: Life Love Life
(Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chaya Sofya Sara bas Mera)
With Yom HaDin (the Day of Judgement) imminently upon us, the end of Parshas Nitzavim is, one might say, rather comforting. Love Hashem and live… More specifically: “To love Hashem, you God, to listen to His voice, and to cleave to Him because He is your life and the length of your days” (Devarim 30:20).
This should not be difficult. One should logically be able to easily recognize that Hashem provides for all of our needs, and this should be the natural source of love. It seems so simple, as does what would be the obvious next step: Since we love Hashem, we want to do His will, and so we listen to Him and cleave to Him.
For something so simple, it is taking an awfully long time to achieve success. Generations of men and women have come and gone, and we still await the day when the majority of us succeed at loving Hashem on this fundamental level.
The key to this puzzle is the previous pasuk, when Moshe calls upon the heavens and the earth to witness the covenant, and he tells Bnei Yisrael: “Life and death I have placed before you, the blessing and the curse. And you shall choose life in order that you will live, you and your descendants” (30:19).
What does it mean to choose life so that you will live, why is love the key?
Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe (Rav Wolbe on Chumash 2, Rabbi Yitzchak Caplan) notes that “serving Hashem with ‘love and favor’ is reserved solely for humans.’ He compares this to how it is pointed out in Bircas Krias Shema (the blessings of the Shema) that all of Hashem’s creatures do His will with “fear and trepidation.” Rav Wolbe explains that the human ability to love is what sets us apart. Animals may have loyalty and faithfulness, but it is different than love.
Love is, perhaps, the most complex emotion. We crave to have it and we crave to give it because, I think, ideally love is the absolute balance of give and take. Finding that balance, however, is not easy. For individuals, every relationship has a different dynamic that strives to create that balance, which, even when achieved, remains precarious.
Hashem is asking Bnei Yisrael for eternal love, for maintaining the balance of give and take forever. Hashem’s giving is the ultimate give – it’s life. It isn’t just food, clothing, and shelter. It isn’t just breathing and thinking. It is more than ease in this world or happiness. If one can get to that ultimate balance, to true ahavas Hashem, one will be able to view the world in a completely new way, to rise above the physical and thus truly live.
What is the take to achieve that balance? What is it that Hashem wants from us in this give and take? Hashem wants us to want it fully. He wants us to want to take all that He gives properly, with joy and gratitude.
It sounds easy, but the balance of love becomes unbalanced when one feels forced. The balance of give and take becomes unbalanced when one side feels as if they are indebted to the other. It no longer feels like love, it feels like obligation.
This is perhaps the root of why the simple mitzvah of loving Hashem is so incredibly difficult. We think of being a taker as being something negative. But when we take something properly, something given out of love, we are not actually taking. Rather, we are receiving. Being a receiver – accepting what is given in love – is an extremely powerful act of giving. But if we feel we are taking or if we feel we are being forced to receive, we resist. Then we seek to claim our might and our autonomy, because it proves that we are not a taker.
This is why Moshe challenges the people with the need for bachira, the need to choose. To ...
This week’s parsha, Parshas Ki Tavo, is – in the dramatic language of olden times – a great and terrible parsha. It goes from the highest of the high to the lowest of the lows, from the promise of wonderous blessing to details of an excruciating fall. Listen and be blessed; reject and become abject.
Living a life of faith, as such might be called in the modern era, isn’t easy. The world around us does not proscribe much to religion anymore, especially to religion that includes laws and limitations. Look around. Even with the threats of distant wars, economic recession, and climate change, humankind – at least in the Western World – has never lived so easy. Man and his mind are master, and faith is a very nice afterthought.
Parshas Ki Tavo, however, contains a stimulating reminder that Torah is not simply about faith. Neither God nor Moshe are, in Ki Tavo, telling the people to believe in something. This is what is. God is, repeatedly, handing Bnei Yisrael a contract, a covenant, and telling them that, whether they will realize it or not, He will always be holding up His end of the relationship.
Is faith involved? Of course. Faith is involved in every relationship. Let’s be honest with ourselves. Even basic business contracts require faith, and they also, quite often, include penalizations for when one party or the other does not “act in good faith.” Follow the commandments and be blessed. Break the commandments and be cursed.
The last perek in Parshas Ki Tavo could easily be overlooked, especially as only the first 8 pasukim are in this parsha. In Perek chaf-tes, Moshe calls the People of Israel to him, although they were, according to the general understanding of the Torah, already present. Nevertheless, he gathers their attention and reminds them, in pasuk alef and pasuk beis, of the great deeds they saw with their eyes. Then, in the third pasuk, Moshe negates the importance of their sense memories.
“But Hashem did not give you a heart to recognize, and eyes to see, and ears to hear, until today” (29:3). Here and now, as the covenant is about to take its full and complete effect, when Bnei Yisrael are finally to enter the land of Israel – or, as noted in 29:7, settle in the land promised to the tribes of Reuvain, Gad, and half of Menashe – [here] is when our relationship with Hakodesh Baruch Hu gets defined. Here and now is when we will truly be able to recognize, to see, and to hear…
“Keep therefore the words of this covenant and fulfill them so that you do everything …” 29:8 but incomplete. There is an interesting word in verse 8. The word Taskeeloo. In most translations, this pasuk says that we should keep the mitzvos to be prosperous in everything we do. Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch, however, saw something very profound. The root of the word taskeeloo is sin – chaf – lamed, which is the root of the word saychel. Saychel can be translated as intelligence, but it is a word that has the implication of common sense.
Rav Hirsch says this word determines: “The natural meaning of the mind acting with understanding and discernment is applicable everywhere. Derech Hasaychel always means to conduct oneself reasonably, sensibly. Here too, what it says is: if you lose sight of the words of this covenant, you will not only be acting wrongfully but also unreasonably, unwisely. After all that you have experienced, you must indeed know that your weal and woe depends on your conscientious regard of them.”
Rav Hirsch is pointing to the idea that by remembering everything that happened to us in the wilderness, it becomes clear that one should not deviate from the laws of the Torah. Perhaps, one could also see a connection of 29:3, which refers to the senses, to 29:8, which reminds us of our saychel. Here is a cornerstone of Jewish philosophical debate. We don’t believe in Hashem; we know Hashem exists.
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Society today, like societies throughout history, struggles with the ever-ongoing conflict of selfishness and selflessness. On the one hand, it seems logical that society must take care to balance the haves and the have-nots, the wealthy and the poor. On the other hand, it also seems logical that a person should be allowed to enjoy the benefits of their hard work. And while this conflict is often discussed as the basis for political-economic ideologies, it is a struggle most of us must contend with on a regular basis.
The most obvious moments of philosophical crisis between selflessness and selfishness are in acts of giving charity. Having worked hard for one’s financial stability, it is difficult to give away one’s money without pause, without resentment. And yet we do.
For many, the act of giving fills the basic need to feel as if one is overcoming their own selfishness. It feels good – it feels right – to help someone in need. Others give out of a sense of obligation, out of knowing that tzedaka is a mitzva. Some give merely out of a desire to be seen as good. And others give out of a pure urge to help uplift one’s fellow human being.
The conflict inherent in charitable giving is addressed in many, many ways throughout the Torah. In this week’s parsha, Parshas Ki Seitzei, the Torah states:
“When you beat down the fruit of your olive trees, do not go over them again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow” (24:20-21).
As a farmer, it would seem most natural to make a second round to make certain that the crops were properly harvested, if not to go over one’s field multiple times. A farmer puts in long hours and hard work to grow his crop, and it is natural that he should feel as if he earned every ounce collectible.
If the Torah was only commanding the farmer to be charitable then it would make more sense for the farmer to be told to collect all of his crop and then distribute a portion to the needy. This would be truly active giving – and there are commandments to do just that. The mitzvos of Devarim 24:20-21, however, are a reminder of far more than our need to give to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow. The consideration for those in need in these mitzovs is done in such a way as to create a constant reminder that each of us is nothing more than a “middleman,” a means to an end so to speak.
It is human nature to feel that the money one has is theirs by right. These mitzvos, however, are another reminder that everything in the world is given by Hashem. The “olives” you – the proverbial farmer - shake down are the olives you were meant to have. You took care of the olive grove, but Hashem is the ultimate source of the olive trees and their fruit. Be generous with others just as Hashem has been generous with you.
The translation to modern times is obvious, I think. Most of us don’t harvest olives or gather grapes, but we do collect our pay. We earn our money, but the ultimate source of all of earnings is Hashem.
One might think that Devarim 24:20-21 does not have much practical usage in a non-agrarian society. My paycheck is put straight into my bank account, and there is no room for forgotten fruit to be left for the poor. The message, however, remains just as significant. That which we have is ours by the graciousness of Hashem; so too is that which we have to give.
In the larger world we are inundated with conversations about global economics, about investments and portfolios, about earning and saving. From the Torah, from the place where we are shown the world from a spiritual perspective, we are reminded that the “global” economy depends not on profit but on emulating the generosity of Hashem.
Have a beautiful Shabbas.
Parshas Shoftim covers a range of topics, most of them at least at some length. There is however, one topic that seems to be a verse that stands alone: “You shall not move your neighbor’s boundary, that the earlier ones set as borders in your inheritance, in the land that Hashem your God will give to you for an inheritance” (Devarim 19:14).
This is a good law, of course. It is not just good because it is a Torah law; it is a good law because it seems to be a base-line of normal civilized behavior. Moving the boundary line of a neighbor’s property implies theft of the most despicable kind. It is subterfuge. An inch and an inch and an inch…and suddenly there is a foot of difference between the original property allotments. Thus, Hashem declaring a prohibition of just such an act seems appropriate
What makes this pasuk interesting, and not just appropriate, is its placement. The verse comes just before the Torah discusses the requirement of two witnesses in any case needing judgement. The requirement for two witnesses is followed by a discussion of what will happen in the case of a false witness. A man who would bear false witness is as despicable as a person who would move a boundary line. They are both malicious acts performed in devious ways.
Additionally, the first thirteen verses of Devarim 19, just before the prohibition of moving the boundary line, discuss the cities of refuge. These verses go into detail about what constitutes manslaughter and what is, in fact, premeditated murder. The section concludes with a ruling of what to do when a murderer flees to a city of refuge, and that is to show no pity.
“You shall not move your neighbor’s boundary, that the earlier ones set as borders in your inheritance, in the land that Hashem your God will give to you for an inheritance” (Devarim 19:14). In this seemingly disconnected pasuk, one might see the kernel of rot. Envy and jealousy are at the heart of the one with criminal intent, and revenge drives the victim who has already been harmed. Envy and jealousy that lead to such devious plotting also leads to enough hatred to strike down another Jew or to attempt to bear false witness against him.
We are not in the Promised Land, as even in Eretz Yisrael we are not living under Torah law, but the laws of the Torah are for all times and all places. Do not move the boundary line of your brother can impact so many areas of our lives, from the obvious - not stealing property - to the far less obvious transgression of claiming credit for someone else’s ideas or even of playing mind games that affect another person’s emotions.
May we all find satisfaction with the plot that Hashem has granted us and may we constantly look out for one another.
Shemita, the seventh year, is known as the year when the Promised Land is to lie fallow. Of equal significance, Shemita is the year in which all debts between Jews must be forgiven. This remission is described in Parshas Re’eh, in Devarim 15, where the word evyon is used six times. Evyon, which is translated as destitute (by Artscroll), is not a common term. The term usually used for someone in need is Oni.
The first use of Evyon in Devarim 15 is in the fourth pasuk, right after the Torah states that one may collect from a foreigner but not from one’s brethren (meaning fellow Jews). Devarim 15:4-5 states: “There shall be no destitute among you – since Hashem will bless you in the land that Hashem our God is giving to you as an inheritance; if only you heed Hashem your God and take care to keep all these mitzvos that I command you today.”
The last use of the word Evyon in Devarim 15 is in the eleventh pasuk, right after the Torah instructs the people not to hesitate to lend money to their fellow Israelites even if it is close to the Shemita year. Devarim 15:11 states: “For there will never cease to be destitute in your land, which is why I command you: open your hand to your poor and your destitute in your land.”
How is it possible that Verse 4 states that there will be no destitute and verse 11 states that there will always be destitute? The commentators (and I apologize for not noting which ones) describe the juxtaposition of verse 4 and 11 as the ideal and what will be reality. If Bnei Yisrael were to keep all of the mitzvos, as stated in pasuk 5, then the nation would have absolute balance and bracha. Alas, the chances that all of the generations would manage to live up to this ideal were predictably low. Therefore, Moshe reproves the people against their own human nature, warning them not to withhold help. “Rather, open your hand to him and lend whatever is sufficient to his need” (15:8). Giving with an open heart, Moshe assures the people, is the path to bracha.
There is little to question over the fact that giving with an open heart, without hesitation or worry over one’s own well-being, is a very difficult standard to achieve. It is a way of thinking, a way of being, that comes from deep felt bitachon, a complete trust in Hashem’s management of the world. That in itself could be the lesson of Devarim 15: 1-11, but…
It is interesting to investigate the use of this word evyon; perhaps all the more so because it is used in conjunction with the word oni in 15:11. Rashi, quoting Leviticus Rabbah 34:6, states that the term evyon “denotes one who longs for everything (because he lacks everything).” This is not just poor, not just needing a hand up. The evyon has nothing, and it is a very sad state of society when there are people who reach that level of destitution.
Rather than reading 15:4 and 15:11 as juxtapositions of the ideal and the realistic, perhaps these seemingly contradictory verses offer an important insight into the justness of Torah law. If Bnei Yisrael were to keep all of the mitzvos, then society should operate in a way that everyone’s basic needs are met. It isn’t just a bracha from Hashem. It is the very mechanism of the mitzvos bein adam l’chavero functioning properly. Neighbors should be looking after neighbors. People should be living v’ahata l’reicha kamocha. If they live in such a fashion, no one should slip through the cracks and reach rock bottom.
Living an upstanding Jewish life requires constant perseverance in rejecting human natures more self-centered motivations, which stem from an instinct for survival but are excellent tools of the yetzer harah (evil inclination). It is not easy to give with a smile, without hesitation or suspicion. Hashem knows this. The Torah is giving us an ideal to strive for, and it is up to us to take the steps (large or small or even baby-steps) to achieve it.
In this week’s parsha, Parshas Eikev, there is an interesting repetition of the idea of eating and being satisfied that is located in Devarim 8:10 and 8:12. Although it is not so uncommon to find repetition in one section of the Torah, in this case the repetition is actually a juxtaposition of the right way to live life and the wrong way to live life. Verse 8:10, which states “And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for the good land He has given you,” is the conclusion of the description of the experience of Hashem’s fatherly love, a love in which we are sometimes tested in order to help us grow strong and a love in which we are rewarded with a wonderful, fulfilling, and independent national life.
Devarim 8:12, on the other hand, is a warning. On its own it reads: “lest you eat and be satisfied, and build good houses and dwell therein.” A seeming bracha except for that word lest…Lest you “forget the Lord, your God, by not keeping His commandments, His ordinances, and His statutes, which I command you this day” (8:11), the previous pasuk.
The same idea of eating and being satisfied – an allusion to comfort and wealth – is transformed from an act that brings reward to an act that leads to destruction, and the biggest difference is the inclusion of the action of blessing, the active acknowledgement of Hashem. Devarim 8:7-10 describes living in a beautiful land of abundance. So does Devarim 8:12-13. The difference is that these latter verses are a warning against becoming haughty and forgetting all that Hashem did for us, in which case we risk being destroyed as Hashem destroyed the nations that came before us in the land.
How do we avoid the “lest”? How do we keep from becoming haughty? The key, we learn in Parshas Eikev, is love. It sounds a bit corny, but the term love (ahava) is used seven times in this weeks parsha. Sometimes it is Hashem’s love for Bnei Yisrael, as in 7:13: “And He will love you and bless you and multiply you; He will bless the fruit of your womb and the fruit of your soil, your grain, your wine, and your oil, the offspring of your cattle and the choice of your flocks, in the land which He swore to your forefathers to give you...”
Other times, however, later in the parsha, the word love is used in the language of commandment, in the language of instruction: “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord, your God, ask of you? Only to fear the Lord, your God, to walk in all His ways and to love Him, and to worship the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul” (10:12).
The question is frequently asked in relation to the first paragraph recited after Shema, the paragraph known as v’ahavta (Devarim 6:5-9), how can one be commanded to love? Love is an emotion. Love is a feeling. But Jewish tradition speaks of love as something we can build and control. Love is a feeling that is directly connected to acts of giving. The more one gives to another, the more one loves that other. In order to love Hashem, we must give to Hashem, which seems an impossible act.
How can Bnei Yisrael give anything to Hashem? He is the Almighty. It is an overwhelming concept, but it is achievable and the Torah explains how: “[Therefore] you shall love the Lord, your God, keep His charge, His statutes, His ordinances, and His commandments, all the days” (11:1).... https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2022/08/parshas-eikev-love-eat-pray.html
Va’eschanan el Hashem – “And I implored to Hashem…” Thus Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest prophet and teacher in Jewish history, states at the beginning of this week’s parsha when he reminds the people that he is going to die and will not lead them into the Promised Land.
Well, goodness! Let’s be honest…If Moshe’s pleading with Hashem didn’t work, what chance is there that my prayers will? We read about Moshe’s “crime” of striking the rock instead of speaking to it, and we (meaning an average, ordinary person) wonder how this could be considered such an unforgiveable error. The only real answer is that the world, Hashem’s world, is so much bigger than we can understand, and, in many ways, this is an undercurrent of this weeks parsha.
Parshas Va’eschanan’s first independent perek - since it starts with the last seven verses of perek gimmel – begins with Moshe’s warning to the people to “listen to the decrees and the ordinances that I teach you to perform, so that you may live, and you will come and possess the Land that Hashem, the God of your forefathers, gives you. You shall not add to the word that I command you, nor shall you subtract from it, to observe the commandments of Hashem your God, that I command you” (4:1-3). And again, the most honest reaction one might have is to wonder what might be wrong with enhancing one’s devotion, with adding laws to make society more zealous or remove a law for the sake of making the world more just. But the Torah tells us straight out that this is not something we are capable of, not even the most holy of us can cross the line of God’s commandments…
…because then we all do. Moshe’s repetitious reminder against creating a carved image of any type is followed immediately by the declaration that “When you beget children and grandchildren and will have been long in the Land, you will grow corrupt and make a carve image of anything, and you will do evil in the eyes of Hashem” (4:25).
The consequence of our betrayal shall be – has been - our scattering through the nations, our loss of “rank,” so to speak and, more significantly, our lack of connection. When we think that we can understand Hashem enough to create carved images or enough to transform His laws, that is when we become lost. That is when we must seek our way back to the basics so that the covenant can be revived.
Devarim 4:29 speaks of this process. It says: “From there you’all (to represent 2nd person plural) will seek Hashem, your God, and you will find him if you’all search for him with all your heart and with all your soul.” This is a fascinating and revelatory pasuk. The actions that must be taken are stated in second person plural, but the other verbs and pronouns (including Hashem Elokecha) are second person singular. We as a people must come to understand what our laws and our role in the world mean, but each individual must find his/her own path within that law, they must find the path with their heart and their soul individually.
Moshe lists all the wonders and miracles and proofs of Bnei Yisrael’s unique relationship with Hashem, but all these miracles were done, Moshe explains, “in order for you [Bnei Yisrael] to know that Hashem, He is the God. There is none beside him” (4:35). And they were done for klal Yisrael, for Moshe, for the people who left Mitzrayim, and for the people gathered before him that day…all these miracles were done because “He loved your forefathers, and He chose his offspring after him…” (4:37).
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Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Sofya bas Mera
As a lover of language, there is something spectacular about the subtle flexibility of the Hebrew language. The addition of a letter at the beginning of a word can transform the meaning of the entire sentence, and the shift of a suffix alters the pronouns associated with the word. This subtle nuance of language can add a tremendous message to pasukim, and in Parshas Devarim, the pronoun that Moshe focuses on for the first time is, perhaps, the most important one that Bnei Yisrael must remember as they look at their past and head into their future.
Us… Our. These are powerful terms. These are terms that create a nation. These are terms that it would behoove us to remember today, as we begin Tisha B’Av (Shabbas, with the fast on the Sunday, the 10th of Av). It is well-known that the destruction of the second Beis Hamikdash is attributed to the lack of unity among the Jewish people. The greater “Us” was shattered into us and us and us. It is, sadly, a rift that we have not yet healed – indeed, it has continued to splinter into ever greater discord as the generations proceed.
What is unique about the use of “Us/Our” in Parshas Devarim? Verse 1:6 states: “Hashem, our God, spoke to us in Horeb saying…” If you just read the parsha, the wording feels so common, so un-noteworthy, that it does not make one pause and reflect – especially as it occurs so early in sefer. But, from what I can see, this terminology “our God” is actually rather uncommon in the Torah. The last time the term was used was in Sefer Shemos, and then only in the context of Moshe and Aaron speaking to Pharaoh. It has not, until this point, been used to address the people.
In Shemos, Vayikra, and Bamidbar (Bereishis being a unique sefer), Moshe frequently reiterates to the Children of Israel – or is instructed to reiterate to them – the commandments of God. In these three sfarim, however, Moshe almost exclusively speaks in the second person. He speaks, consistently, to the Children of Israel and talks to them about “Hashem Elokeichem, the Lord your God.” And while he is addressing them as a whole through the second-person plural, it is, in syntax, distancing. It is a language that, if nothing else, segregates the speaker (Moshe) from the audience..... https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2022/08/parshas-devarim-us.html
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Sofiya Sara bas Merah and for a continued refuah for Leah Nechama bas Shulamit.
Listen to the news in many Western countries and you might hear contradictory reports about there being too many people on the planet or direly low rate of population growth in a particular country. Obviously, these reports are focused on very different concerns; nevertheless, they highlight our natural interest in how the world fulfills the most basic human commandment, the first commandment of the Torah, which is to be fruitful and multiply.
It is well known that peru urevu is a mitzvah that Jewish law takes seriously, and so one must question the fact that the Jewish people are now, and have always been, a tiny sliver of the population. Of course we can point to the horrors of modern history as to why our population is small today, but the fact of the matter is that we have always been an insignificant percentage – numerically speaking. The constant devastations that have limited our numbers are accounted for in many of the upcoming parshios in Sefer Devarim that make clear the consequences of our betrayal of the covenant, but perhaps we can find in this week’s parsha a different perspective – a hope filled perspective - on our size. Perhaps, looking at the description of the borders of the land, we might see that this was the plan all of long.
The borders of the Promised Land, as delineated in Perek 34, do not create an enormous territory. In the next Perek, Hashem specifies that the Leviim were to have 48 small cities, six of which were to be cities of refuge. The size of our land appears to be not much different than that of the State of Israel today, which we know is smaller that most states in the United States. There have always been kingdoms of far greater land mass. If Hashem had intended the Jewish people to grow strong in the way that other nations have grown strong – through physical presence and force of population - would He not have sanctified a far greater territory as that destined for Bnei Yisrael.
One could argue that more land was not needed for the nation that Hashem brought forth from slavery in Egypt, but the Promised Land (even with more territory as delineated elsewhere) was never large. It wasn’t large because it was something far greater. This small swath of land nestled against the Mediterranean is the land Hashem promised Avraham, it is the land walked and known by our forefathers. It was never “big,” but it was always holy.
Other than nodding our heads at the fact that we remain a small nation, what can we gain from considering the size of the Promised Land, the limitations this infers for the future population? Bnei Yisrael are pledged with being an “Am Kadosh” (a holy nation), a “mamleches kohanim” (a nation of priests), and so forth. The kohanim among the Jewish people were a small sliver of the population, descendants of one man out of thousands. And the kohanim were given the honor of replacing the firstborn sons of the nation, which is, again, a small percentage of a population. To be holy means to be separate, or to separate one’s selves, and to form a people that can truly live up to that title, implies that there will be limits. Bnei Yisrael is not destined to conquer the world with an army or to overpower the world with might. Bnei Yisrael is destined to present to the world the very real possibility of living a life dedicated to serving Hashem. .....
Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Leya Nechama bas Shulamit
Parshas Balak is a rather strange portion of the Torah. Not only does the Torah present a non-Israelite who appears to have a level of intimacy with Hashem that, until now, has seemed unique to Bnei Yisrael – indeed to Moshe in particular - but there is also a talking donkey and an angel with a sword. These attributes, however, are not what make Parshas Balak so confounding. The most perplexing aspects of Parshas Balak are the seemingly contradictory messages that, when examined closely, illustrate the ever-present tension of bechira (free-will) and the Divine hand in the world, and how important that tension is to the Divine Plan for life.
For those unfamiliar with the narrative, Balaam, a non-Israelite “prophet” whose spiritual connection matched that of Moshe, was asked by King Balak of Moav to curse the Israelites. He tells the emissaries of Moav that he can do nothing without Hashem’s approval, and, when he seeks that approval, he is told no rather firmly (22:12). Balaam sends the messengers home, but Balak sends more emissaries, offers greater reward. So Balaam once again requests to do this task for Balak, and “God came to Balaam at night and said to him, ‘If these men have come to call for you, arise and go with them, but the word I speak to you-that you shall do’" (Bamidbar 22:20).
No hesitation. No mulling over the words. Balaam wakes in the morning, saddles his she-donkey, and heads to Balak. And this angers God greatly. But, it seems necessary to ask: Didn’t Hashem give Balaam permission to go with these men, and, if so, how can Hashem be angry at him?
Obviously, Balaam missed the tone of the permission, but one doesn’t want to think of Hashem being “Passive-Aggressive.” Indeed, that is not the point at all. Hashem gave him permission to go, but Hashem also provided Him with the framework to make the right choice, to choose to follow the path already set out for him at the very outset. It was, one might presume, obvious to Hashem that Balaam had already determined the course of his actions, and the only way to stop him would have been to alter his will.
Having free will means that one has the ability to ignore the very obvious proper path; one has the freedom to make bad choices (even over and over and over). Of course, having the freedom to choose the divergent path does not mean that there are no consequences to those choices. There are, indeed, consequences. The Children of Israel chose to listen to the report of the scouts and believe ill of the Promised Land; Hashem let them react, let them be fearful and angry…but their reaction meant that they could not enter the land immediately, that they were not ready.
On his journey to meet with King Balak, Balaam’s she-ass sees an angel with a sword and balks. Balaam gets angry with the ass and eventually strikes it; at which point both the she-ass and the angel speak to him. In this moment, Balaam is facing a higher level of communication than almost anyone in the Torah does. He is being prevented with a direct message of displeasure from Hashem, and yet he still has the choice to ignore it.
It used to be that when people used the term “the good old days,” they were referring to a time of their youth or childhood. In 2022, when we refer to the good old days, many of us are referring to anytime before 2020.
The fact of the matter is that here in Parshas Chukas we have confirmation that it is human nature to paint the past in a euphoric light. “Why have you taken us out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place” (Bamidbar 20:5). Right, because Egypt was better than being in the Wilderness in which Hashem has been taking care of everything!
It’s true, the Children of Israel were frightened that they were losing leaders, that they needed a new source of water. But the exaggeration of the term hamakom harah, this evil place, tells us a lot about their state of mind. Even if one were to say that they felt this way because they had witnessed their brethren dying, it still does not make sense. Every death was clearly attributable to the punishment determined and declared by Hashem after the incident of the spies. The closest thing to “evil” that occurred to them was having consequences for their own behavior, and yet this was enough for them to think back fondly on Egypt. Perhaps we can understand it like a university student who is suddenly faced with new standards of work and responsibility and thinks back on the idyllic life they had in high school, when in reality they spent high school wishing for something else.
Idealizing the past is normal. It’s easy. After all, we have already survived that state of being, and so we know that we can continue to do so. Indeed, often when we look to the past, we see not just how we survived, but how we thrived – no matter what those circumstances actually were…and that longing for the safety and security of the past colors not just the then, but the now as well. Especially when the present gets difficult.
“Why have you taken us out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place; it is not a place for seeds, or for fig trees, grapevines, or pomegranate trees, and there is no water to drink” (Ibid).
We forget, rather easily, that life is a journey, that our goal in life is to grow and to attain spiritual rewards. For Bnei Yisrael in the wilderness, that ultimate spiritual reward was the land of Israel, and that place in the desert was only a stop on the journey … so of course it did not have seeds or fig trees, grapevines or pomegranate trees. It wasn’t supposed to.
The rose-colored glasses with which we view the past are often the direct result of our current day discontent. Every moment of our lives is colored by that which has come before. Human beings are expert complainers, experts at looking around and wondering why the world is not meeting our standards. What we need to become are experts at looking ahead. Today is hard; tomorrow, imertz Hashem, I will be planting grapevines and pomegranate trees.
The last chapter of Parshas Korach describes some of the privileges of being either a Kohain or a Levi. To sum it up quickly, the priests are able to eat many of the sacrificial offerings, including, often, select portions. The priests receive the best of the gifts that the people bring to the Temple, the firstborn of the flocks and herds, and the payment of the redemption of the firstborn. The Levites receive a tithe (1/10th) of the crops of Bnei Yisrael, but from all that they receive they must take a tithe as well and bring it to the priests. These privileges, these rights to eat from the offerings and to receive the tithes, were in compensation for the services they were to perform for Bnei Yisrael as well as for the fact that they would receive no land of their own.
Receiving the maaser tithe alleviated the need of the Levites to work the land. It made certain that they were provided for. But, if one examines the actual system, one notices that this was nothing in comparison to what was now granted to the Kohanim, who, at many points in Jewish history, actually had a great deal of wealth. This may always have been Hashem’s plan, of course, but if one follows the text of the parsha one might notice the subtle irony that this increase in wealth for the Kohanim, this elevation of the priesthood yet farther from the rest of Bnei Yisrael, was a direct result of Korach’s rebellion.
Korach, a Levite, approached Moshe and charged him with nepotism. He said to Moshe: “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and Hashem is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves [Moshe and Aaron] above Hashem’s congregation?” (Bamidbar 16:3).
On the surface, Korach’s argument was that the sons of Amram held too much power, too much honor, among themselves. He railed against the fact that Moshe had appointed Aaron as High Priest when Moshe was already like a king, even though they had both been given their roles by Hashem.
Commentaries frequently discuss the question of Korach’s underlying motivation. Korach was already placed well above most of Bnei Yisrael. The Midrash informs us that not only was he a leader among his family, but he was both exceptionally wealthy and a well-regarded scholar. Furthermore, he was a Levi, and thus had already received the elevated role of serving in the Mishkan. In trying to dissuade him and his followers, Moshe cried “Is it not enough that the God of Israel has distinguished you from the congregation of Israel to draw you near to Him, to perform the service in the Mishkan of the Lord and to stand before the congregation to minister to them?” (16:9).
Korach and his followers lost their argument when Hashem caused the earth to swallow Korach and sent heavenly fire upon the followers. The dramatic end to the rebellion does not quell the unrest. The people complain the next day that Moshe and Aaron were responsible for the violent end of the rebellion. Hashem struck the people with a plague and then sent Aaron into the people to accept their atonement and be saved from the plague. At the same time, a staff for each tribe was put in the Holy of Holies and the next morning Aaron’s staff budded almond blossoms and almond, thus ending any doubt to Aaron’s having been chosen by Hashem.
People often joke that students taking classes in psychology are prone to “diagnosing” their friends, to analyzing the personalities of those close to them. The truth is that it is human nature to want to understand what makes others “tick,” most probably as a way to help us understand our own motivations. Parshas Shelach is a parasha that leaves particularly gaping opportunities for asking the question “But why?”
You might think that this question is directed at the primary narrative of Parshas Shelach, the narrative of the scouts who misrepresented Eretz Yisrael to the nation and therefore caused their entire generation to be denied entry into the Promised Land. And, indeed, understanding why they behaved as they did is the source of a great number of commentaries and divrei Torah. Tucked at the very end of the parsha, however, is a completely different narrative - that of the man who gathered wood on Shabbas and received the death penalty for it.
Have you heard the recent trend in conversations about how children require more grit, about how the younger generations of our age lack a sense of stick-to-itness. The experts point to the increase in attention issues, to online shopping’s near-instant gratification, and to a lack of job loyalty when compared to older generations. One might think that children being raised in a Torah environment, in a society with intricate rules and sometimes lengthy rituals, would not have the same issues, but we do. Just think about the difference in the selection of kosher food thirty years ago and today…as a minor demonstration. There is almost nothing we must defer having or having a near perfect imitation of (Why should there be fish shaped like shrimp?) We have, in many ways, lost the art of accepting limitations.
Although there have been some some-what modern era examples, most of us today have trouble imagining the life of a Nazir, of a person who has dedicated themselves to Hashem and taken a special vow not to cut their hair, not to partake in anything made from a grape plant, and not to come in contact or proximity to a corpse. We understand, perhaps, the drive for dedication, the urge to gain control over one’s spiritual life – indeed, we see people taking such steps today in cutting themselves off from technology that they feel brings them down spiritually. Withholding from using technology, however, is an understandable reaction; withholding from cutting one’s hair or eating stuffed grape leaves is far less concrete.
Within the laws of the Nazir described in Parshas Naso, there is a wonderful lesson in having grit. We assume that a person who becomes a Nazir does so at a point of high motivation, whether the source of that motivation is positive or negative. To make such a defined and encompassing vow, a vow that becomes publicly obvious, requires a driving force. Being vigilant to keep the prohibitions during the entire time period requires dedication and mindfulness. But true grit comes into play when:
"And if any man die very suddenly beside him, and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it… And he shall consecrate unto God the days of his Naziriteship, and shall bring a he-lamb of the first year for a guilt-offering; but the former days shall be void, because his consecration was defiled” (Bamidbar 7:9 &12).
Imagine a Nazir - a week in, three weeks in,to the usual 30 day vow -sitting at the park and the man next to him has a sudden heart-attack and dies on the spot. Without question there is a trauma for anyone just from having watched this tragic event occur. For the Nazir, however, there is a deeper impact. All of the time he has passed as a Nazir until now is null and void, defiled and done. And he starts again.
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I struggled this week so it's short and a bit underdeveloped but, well, there is too much cooking to do to give it more time. :)
Not Counting and Counting
With the confluence of Shabbas, Parshas Bamidbar, and the 49th day of the Omer, it seems impossible not to think about numbers and how significant they are in Jewish life. We are known as the People of the Book, and here we are…moments before celebrating receiving the Torah…and we are surrounded by numbers.
The Jewish people’s relationship to counting is interesting. It is, perhaps, a reflection of our ability to control life. Parshas Bamidbar begins with Hashem commanding Moshe to take a new census of the Jewish people, to count them by tribe and by the houses of their fathers. This is not the only census of Bnei Yisrael in the Torah, and yet we know that Jewish law tells us that we may not count the Jewish people.
The Jewish people are a designated force in the world. We are meant to show the world what it means to live by Divine guidance. This also means that we must show the world our trust in Hashem. Counting ourselves, focussing on our physical number and our worldly strengths or weaknesses, shifts the focus away from acknowledging Hashem’s ultimate control.
Klal Yisrael’s numbers, then - and now, have never been awe-inspiring, until you focus on the fact that the numbers have always been almost insignificant in comparison to the rest of the world population. However, having given us the responsibility of becoming an am kadosh, Hashem did give us control of time. This is most often recognized in discussions about the declaration of Rosh Chodesh, but as we approach Shavuos we are reminded of that which we have a responsibility to count.
We count our days, we count our weeks, and we count our years. We live in a cycle of sevens, longing for the step into the eighth day, into the time of being beyond the confines of the natural order and living in the Messianic age with a full understanding of Hashem.
As we finish our count of the Omer on the day from which the Jewish people draw their strength (Shabbas), may we all be zoche to enter Shavuos truly recognizing the power of the Torah and Hashem’s true malchus.
Parshas Bechukosai starts with a promise of bracha – of rains in their time and peace in the land – if Bnei Yisrael will follow Hashem’s mitzvos. If, however, Bnei Yisrael does not follow in Hashem’s ways, then Bechukosai presents a detailed and awful list of consequences. Among the descriptive terms is one verse that is particularly perplexing: “I will break the pride of your might. I will make your heaven like iron and your land like copper” (12:19).
This verse, which is meant to instill fear, begins the second level of punishment; These are the consequences if Bnei Yisrael doesn’t heed the panic and the disease and the fevers, the famine and the violence, all of which is their first warning of being terribly off track. But what does this verse mean? Beyond a basic threat, what purpose does this metallic metaphor serve?
Rashi notes that the difference between iron and copper is that copper exudes water, while iron does not – and that the combination of dryness in the sky and moisture in the earth, will intensify any famine. And still the question remains. With so many possible words to describe a punishment like drastic change in climate, why this metaphor of iron and copper?
The common characteristic of most metals is that they are hard – even the soft metals. Iron and copper are utilitarian metals, natural elements that can be transformed and used. The transformation, however, takes great heat and hard pounding. Perhaps Hashem threatens them with making the world iron and copper to remind Bnei Yisrael that it is their own hardness, their own stiff-necked mida, that was the cause of their downfall.
This suits well with common translation of the first half of the pasuk: “And I will break the pride of your might.” To be a stiff-necked nation infers that our pride is great, that we place our will at an inflexible height.
In this pasuk, however the term used for pride is an odd Hebrew word, ge’own. As noted by many commentators, it has within it an inference to the Beis Hamikdash because it can also be translated as majesty or exaltation. The Kli Yakar points out that in Devarim 28:23, Moshe threatens the opposite - that the heavens will be like copper and the earth like iron. This, the commentator notes, indicates that Vayikra 12:19 is speaking of First Temple because “It is known that iron is harder than copper. In the first Temple Period, their main sin was toward Heaven, through the worship of the stars and the constellations …Therefore the heavens were as hard as iron” (translation via Sefaria).
When our pride kept us from doing teshuvam from heeding the warning from Hashem, then Hashem destroyed the place where our true pride should have been focused.
Sometimes it is hard for us to relate to the actuality of the Beis Hamikdash and even harder to grasp the desire for avodah zarah. And if we are not sure whether we still retain the trait of being stiff necked, we do, at least, know that each of us has a yetzer harah to lead us down a path of gaivah (pride) once in awhile.
As Klal Yisrael today, we live in the world after our great punishments, in a seemingly unending era of exile in which we once again see the hatred of the nations festering. Here, in Bechukosai, we have a reminder that we must take down our pride, be flexible in our path in order to truly serve Hashem, and strive to do proper teshuva.
Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas.
This week’s parsha bears in its weave a striking reminder of the role of emuna and bitachon in Jewish life. The Torah is a guidebook, the mitzvos are our laws, but the real fabric of Jewish life is our emuna and bitachon, our faith and trust, that Hashem is the King of Kings.
There are very few mitzvos that are more demonstrative of the inherent emuna demanded by Judaism than the laws of Shemita, and it is with Shemita that Parshas Behar begins. Here Hashem provides a more expansive commandment to let the land lie fallow every seventh year, and here Hashem forthrightly declares: “And should you ask, ‘What are we to eat in the seventh year, if we may neither sow nor gather in our crops?’ I will ordain My blessing for you in the sixth year, so that it shall yield a crop sufficient for three years” (Vayikra 25:20-21).
Sometimes the seeming anomalies in the Torah, the non-sequiturs that seem like interruptions to a coherent theme, are places in which we can learn fundamental truths about ourselves and the fabric of the world. This is so in Parshas Emor, a parsha that starts with the protections of the sanctity of the kohanim and then discusses the holidays. Just as it appears to be returning to the topic of the kohanim and the service of the Mishkan, however, a completely unrelated narrative is introduced, and thus there is a flag for special observation.
The 18th chapter of Sefer Vayikra begins a section of the Torah in which Hashem dictates a long list of laws for Moshe to give to Bnei Yisrael. It starts with a very important statement that the Children of Israel must not do like the ways of Egypt, the land from which they had come, or the ways of Canaan, the land to which they were heading, “and in their statutes you shall not walk” (Vayikra 18:3). This injunction against assimilation is followed by what, at first, appears to be simple guidance for staying true to the new path Hashem has put before Bnei Yisrael, and yet the two verses that follow are anything but simple when looked at more closely.
“My ordinances you shall do, and My statutes shall you keep, to walk therein: I am the Lord your God. You shall keep My statutes and My ordinances, which if a man shall do, he shall live by them: I am the Lord” (18:4-5).
There are many parshiot in Sefer Vayikra that are difficult for us to truly understand. While Vayikra most often deals with sacrifices and the actions of the kohanim, in parsha Tazria the subject turns to a seemingly mysterious skin ailment for which a person must be isolated outside of the encampment of Bnei Yisrael. This ailment is quite often mistranslated as leprosy, which we now know is a contagious bacterial infection. The actual affliction, tzaraas, has no real English translation.
From reading the parsha and the multitude ways in which tzaraas can appear, one might wonder at the frequency of diagnosis. While diagnosis is a medical term, and there are many dermatological medical conditions, tzaraas could only be determined by a kohain. This is important because the source of tzaraas is not viral, bacterial, or auto immune; it is spiritual. Tzaraas is caused by the inimical yet pervasive behavior of lashon harah, speaking badly of others.
Lashon Harah is one of the most impactful transgressions of Jewish law. It is famously stated by Hillel that the essence of Torah is “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor: that is the whole Torah while the rest is commentary; go and learn it.” Loshon Harah, or, better, refraining from lashon harah, is critical to this essential dynamic of bein adam l’chavero (interpersonal relationships).
The laws of guarding one’s speech are complex and rather extensive. Lashon Harah can be the obvious gossip or verbal denigration of a person, but praising a person publicly can also fall into categories of speech to be cautious of. And this, the complexity of the laws of Lashon Harah, is a fascinating fact when reviewing parshas Tazria.
One might expect that a spiritual affliction such as tzaraas to have very clear and obvious symptoms. One might expect one or two fairly consistent descriptions of how the skin blemish would look. And yet, while there is only one perek dedicated to the subject, that perek is 59 pasukim long. The parsha goes on and on… if it looks like this and if it looks like that, if it is on a bald spot and if it is on hair, if it goes away and if it comes back, and etc. For the description of an affliction that must be diagnosed by a priest, that’s an awful lot of detail and variation.
When we remember that tzaraas is an affliction that is caused by a spiritual malignancy, by an act that undermines the fabric of interpersonal relationships, perhaps we can better understand why tzaraas is not described in a straight-forward way. Lashon Harah is certainly not straight-forward. If one were simply told not to speak ill of another, one might refrain only from outright statements such as “Jack is a liar.” But Lashon Harah, like tzaraas, is not simple.
The Torah does not specify the laws of Lashon Harah, but the lengthy discussion of tzaraas as expressed in the parsha is an excellent indicator of just how varied and complex the source of the disease can be.
We today can only imagine what it would be like to live in a world where our physical selves manifest deficiencies in our spiritual selves. Instead, we must put in great effort to guard our tongues and monitor our actions knowing that this is how we not only keep our own neshamos healthy, but how we strengthen klal Yisrael and the whole world.
This Dvar Torah is dedicated to continued besoros tovos/refua shelaima for Rivka Bas Golda.
Parshas Vayikra – Attention in the Details
Parshas Vayikra is not an easy parsha to stay focussed on while reading it. The repetitious nature of the list of karbanos (sacrifices) requires deliberate concentration, and that is, perhaps, particularly appropriate to note when discussing the fourth perek of Sefer Vayikra, the perek dealing with offering for unintentional sins.
Before looking at Perek daled, it is interesting to note that the first three perakim, each of which focuses on a different type of offering, each refer differently to the person who brings the sacrifice and, then, only once at the beginning of the specific perek. Perek aleph, which discusses elevation offerings, refers to “adam ki yakriv, a human (adam as the term for the most basic level of humanity) who brings an offering” (Vayikra 1:2). Perek beis, describing the various mincha offerings, uses the phrase “Vnephesh ki takriv, When a person (with the inference of a life spirit) offers” (2:1). Perek gimmel, which is a peace offering, does not actually mention who is bringing it but takes a more passive form of “If his offering is a feast peace offering” (3:1).
The fourth perek, which describes the unintentional-sin offering, returns to the term, nephesh/person, but only for one pasuk, 4:2, before it seems to repeat with a different subject. Thus we have: “Speak to Bnei Yisrael, saying: If any person shall sin through error, in any of the things that God has commanded not to be done, and shall do any one of them: if the anointed priest shall sin so as to bring guilt on the people, then let him offer for his sin, which he has sinned, a young bullock without blemish to God for a sin-offering” (4:2-3).
While the perek begins with a general person, it immediately switches to specific person. And whereas the previous three perakim used only pronouns to refer to the person bringing the offering at all points after the first mention, in perek daled the person (or persons) bringing the sin offering changes a total of four times. The offering of the anointed kohain begins at 4:2. At 4:13, the subject switches to “kol aidas Yisrael/the entire congregation of Israel.” Pasuk 4:22 describes what must happen if the one who sins unintentionally is a prince of the people. Finally, at verse 27, the text refers back to the nephesh, the person.
The fact that this is some sort of hierarchy is, it seems, obvious. For that very reason, it seems important to recall that the offering being discussed is for unintentional sin. There was no intent. The transgression occurred because the person was either not paying attention, was not meticulous enough in his/her actions, or because they chose, at that moment, not to care enough to put their full effort in.
That the offering is for unintentional sin brings a different significance to the hierarchy. The fact that the anointed priest is mentioned first informs us of the weight of his responsibility. He had to be the type of person who would not slip into laxity of concentration, who would be conscientious of his actions at all times. Why then, one might ask, is the congregation of Israel mentioned next. This goes to the concept, perhaps, of kol Yisrael areivim zeh l’zeh, all of Israel is responsible for one another. We can only get to a state where the entirety of the klal sins unintentionally if we do not act as guardians of each other (appropriately, of course, not as hashgafa police). We all have to care.
That a prince and a person are distinguished is an additional reminder that being a leader requires one to know that he or she must live to a higher standard. How often do we see those in positions of power knocked down for an infraction that only happened because of their position of power? How often does one see the attainment of power, fame, fortune, and etc, lead to a relaxation
Parshas Pekudei, the last parsha in Sefer Shemos, concludes the inspired undertaking of the building of the Mishkan. The parshiot pertaining to the Mishkan are vastly detailed, listing what was to be made, how it was made, that it was made, and now, in this parsha, how it was all to be assembled.
The phrase the “Yoke of Torah” is heavy with implication. A yoke is a burden baring collar. A yoke brings to mind oxen struggling through a field, and therefore, to many, it might register a sense of enslavement. And yet a yoke, while it looks heavy and uncomfortable, is designed to help spread the weight of whatever burden is being borne.
This week's parsha is Parshas Beshalach. It is an exalted parsha that captures some of the most important moments in the formation of the Jewish nation - specifically, the crossing of the Yam Suf (Sea of Reeds) and the singing of the great Shira (song). And yet, interestingly enough, it is also a parsha full of downfall and disappointment. All too often the Israelites balk at challenges both simple and exaggerated during their journey in the Wilderness.
Parshas Bo – Dark Times
This week’s parsha has much to unpack, but given the world in January 2022, this Dvar Torah will focus on Mitzrayim and Choshech, Egypt and Darkness. While darkness was the penultimate plague that punished the Egyptian people, choshech seems particularly significant to Mitzrayim.
Mitzrayim is the Hebrew name for Egypt. Egypt is a place, a country on the Northern edge of Africa. Mitzrayim, however, is far more than a place. It is, according to Jewish tradition, like a state of mind. At the heart of the word is tzar, which means narrow, and tzara, which means trouble. The end of the word, is a pluralization, and the mem at the beginning is the preposition “from.” Mitzrayim, then was a place of narrow troubles.
How do we get to the “Promised Land”? A pat answer might be: “Just get on a plane.” Alas, we all know that the real answer is that this is a question that our people have been asking for generations, because the term “Promised Land” implies far more than just a physical location. It alludes to the an era of residing in a state of universal understanding of our role in the world in relation to our Creator. It refers to what we call the era of Moshiach. And so we contine to strive with the question of how we can get to the “Promised Land.”
If one reads Parshas Vayigash as the simple narrative conclusion of the story of Yoseph bringing his family to Egypt, one might miss an interesting verse that, perhaps, has resounding implications for the Jewish people: “And he sent his brothers, and they went, and he told them, “Do not be agitated on the way” (Bereishis 45:24).
Parshas Mikeitz: More Than Seven Fat Cows
Dedicated l’ilui neshama Dovid Chaim ben Shmuel Yosef haCohen
Last week, Stephen Sondheim, a brilliant Broadway writer and composer, passed away. In one of his famous musicals, Into the Woods, there is a line that says “Oh if life were made of moments/Even now and then a bad one/But if life were only moments/Then you’d never know you had one.”
The reason the character sings these words is not particularly relevant. What is relevant is the underlying thought that life cannot always be spectacular, because then we would not be able to recognize the moments that were special. This lesson can be found in this week’s parsha as well.
What is your dream? This question, put recently to a group of high school students, needed to be clarified. What did the teacher mean by “your dream”? Did the teacher mean what images popped into the students’ heads when they slept, or was the sought-after answer a far more difficult question of what it was that the students hoped to achieve in their lives? What the teacher wanted doesn’t matter now, but it certainly makes one wonder why it is that the word dream can have such disparate meanings.