Parshas Bereishis 5786 The holiday season has drawn to a close, our Sukkas have been dismantled, and we now look forward to the quiet and contemplative winter months. As the weather cools and the day shortens, it is time to enjoy the long peaceful evenings in the warmth of our homes and families. All of nature is settling in to rest from the labors of spring and summer, and to renew its energies for the coming spring. The winter serves a similar purpose in our Jewish lives as well. The past six months have been spent discovering and celebrating our heritage: our birth and purpose as a nation with Pesach, Shavuos and the seven intervening weeks of Sefira; the three weeks of lamenting what could have been and the seven weeks of preparation for what will yet be; and the high holiday season of rededication to our eternal task. We now settle down to rest and apply the lessons we have learned. But before we enter this special time of year, we have one more day of celebration. The Shabbos which we are about to begin is popularly referred to as Shabbos Bereishis. There is much more to that name than the fact that on this Shabbos we will be reading Bereishis. It is the subject of Bereishis that interests us. Bereishis, as its name suggests, tells of the genesis, the beginning of our world. This is no fantastic mythology. There are no warring gods, each trying to gain mastery as the primary shaper of the world's fate. Nor are there blind physical forces, coming together in a marvelous Providential accident to create a perfectly balanced universe. Bereishis is the story of a free-willed Creator, acting with full awareness and intent to create a world of kindliness. The wording of the story makes it abundantly clear that there are mystical secrets of creation hidden under the surface. But what is openly told is that one free-willed Creator created the universe in six days and rested on the seventh. From that time forward he gave the world to mankind to continue the creative process he had begun. But on every seventh day we set aside our labors and pay homage to the Creator and Master of all. Creation is the Truth which Shabbos celebrates. Shabbos Bereishis is the time when we learn and internalize this Truth. During the coming months, the swiftly westering son of winter will force us to close our businesses quite early on Fridays. When we make our way to and from the Synagogue on Shabbos, we will be walking through cold and wet weather rather than traveling in the comfort and convenience of our cars. In so doing, all of us as one united nation testify to that great Truth which Bereishis teaches us.
Parshas Noach 5785 Last week’s Parsha ended with a lengthy genealogical table of the first ten generations of mankind. Over the course of these very long generations, spanning sixteen centuries, society had deteriorated to the point that G-d saw the need to bring its development to an abrupt halt. The existing order would be utterly destroyed in a global deluge, and mankind would be provided with a new beginning, under new conditions, less favorable to the type of degeneration which had prevailed prior to the flood. Our Parsha begins with Noach, the last of these ten generations, and his children. Noach would be chosen for his righteousness to survive the flood and to be the founder of humanity afterward. Unlike with the earlier nine generations, the Torah introduces Noach’s children with more than just the bare facts of their names and ages: “These are the offspring of Noach: Noach was a righteous man, he was perfect in his generations; Noach walked with G-d. Noach fathered three sons: Shem Cham and Yefes.” At face value, the words “Noach was a righteous man…” is a parenthetical statement. The Torah is giving us the names of Noach’s three sons, with a brief interjection in praise of Noach. However, the Midrash does not take it that way. According to the Midrash, our verse is to be read simply: “These are the offspring of Noach, Noach was a righteous man”. A man’s first offspring is himself, his own accomplishments. Noach’s “righteousness”, his “perfection” and his “walking with G-d” were the first products of his labors. For five hundred years before his children were born, Noach labored on perfecting his own character. Independent of who his own children might turn out to be, he first raised one child to perfection, a character of enduring value, whatever might come after. We may never neglect our own spiritual growth, using our children as a promissory note to excuse our own failures, any more than we may neglect our children’s upbringing. We are all G-d’s children, and we are responsible for our own development, no more or less than for that of our children. More, we will never succeed at raising our children according to standards to which we do not hold ourselves. Our children’s upbringing begins when we ourselves are children, and continues long after we have passed, until they themselves reach the end of their time on this earth.
Parshas Noach 5786 Last week's Parsha ended on a somber note. It described how mankind had become corrupted both morally and socially. Marriage had lost its sanctity and property rights were no longer respected. Left to itself, society could not hope for a better future. It would continue deteriorating until it brought about its own destruction. G-d Himself would have no other way to end the corruption than by a universal flood. But man is never left to himself, and G-d is never at a loss. In our Parsha, we do read about a universally destructive flood. But very significantly, the flood did not destroy everything. One family, a family which was very much human and part of the pre-diluvian world, was chosen to survive the flood and rebuild society. Individual representatives of every other species were also chosen to survive the flood. The manner in which these were saved from among all their contemporaries was as obvious an act of G-d as the flood itself. G-d's aim cannot have been to destroy a hopelessly wicked world, nor yet to make a second attempt at a failed enterprise. The flood was a Divine act of salvation for mankind and for the world. G-d's world would not be destroyed but reordered. What was unsalvageable and doomed to failure under the old order would now be guaranteed a better future. Not a future without challenges and failures, but a future that would eventually allow the world to accomplish the perfection for which it was destined. Of particular interest is the manner in which G-d chose to save Noach. As noted, it was an active intervention on G-d's part, involving a series of Miracles that must have been required to preserve Noach and his myriad charges for a year in the Ark. But G-d wasn't satisfied to save Noach solely by a miracle. He required Noach to work for the miracle, to spend many years constructing a box of tremendous proportions. Nor did G-d leave any detail of the Ark’s construction to Noach's good sense and creativity. “Three hundred cubits the length of the Ark, fifty cubits its width, and thirty cubits its height.” The roof, which would naturally have been sloped, was required to be constructed just so as to have its pinnacle be exactly one cubic wide. A window was ordered, and three floors with numerous compartments for all the animals. G-d, all powerful and unlimited, instructed Noach that he would be saved, but only in this very precise way. Only if he made the effort to construct the ark and construct it to these very precise specifications. The specific purpose of each of these specifications may be beyond us to understand, but mankind was taught an all-important lesson at that time: the lesson it had failed to learn from the Tree of knowledge and its later experiences. Mankind was taught that its salvation, its survival and its happiness and good fortune are dependent on nothing other than strict obedience to G-d's law. To perform the Mitzvah precisely as commanded, whether its many details appear to us significant or trivial, just because it is G-d, our Creator, who commanded it.
Parshas Lech Lecha 5785 “Lech Lecha - Go for yourself.” Avraham was instructed to separate from his family home, his land and birthplace, everything and everyone he knew, and to wander in search of the Promised Land. As an alien he would have no rights, in no land would he be protected under the law. For his safety and livelihood he could rely only on the grace of G-d. This command from G-d was not intended only as a trial of faith. In order for Avraham to fulfill his destiny as father of the Jewish People, to stand alone against all the world and teach faith in the One G-d and a life of kindliness and virtue, it was imperative that he distance himself from his former surroundings and the idolatrous influence of his family and culture. But Avraham did not make the journey alone. In accepting this challenge he was joined by his nephew, Lot. Lot, as much as Avraham and Sarah, forsook their family and country to follow after G-d. He recognized the truth of Avraham’s teachings and pledged himself, in hardship or in ease, to learn them and live by them. For this, he deserves the same praise as do Avraham and Sarah. And yet we do not remember Lot among our great men, we do not count his descendants among the Jewish People. Lot is presented by the Torah and remembered by us as one who barely escaped the destruction of Sodom, and who in his refuge fathered two sons through incest with his daughters. The descendants of those sons were the nations of Amon and Moav, those historic enemies of the Jewish People and of morality and compassion, forever banned from entry into the circle of the Jewish family. Lot journeyed far with Avraham. But once they had attained riches and were ready to settle in the future Land of Israel, Lot failed in the end at the trial of wealth. He looked on the fertile and affluent land of Sodom, and forsook Avraham to settle there. His “Lech Lecha”, his distancing from evil influence in order to absorb the teachings of Avraham’s G-d, ended with this new trial. He parted from Avraham and immersed himself in the corrupt culture of Sodom and Gemmorah - and was lost. All of us, at some time or other, find ourselves confronted by this choice between two paths. The one leads to opportunities for Torah learning and the company of Torah sages, the other to greater wealth and physical comfort; the one to spiritual growth and true contentment, the other to temporary gratification. As we consider these choices in life, we must always bear in mind the fate of Lot, who exchanged his great destiny for a brief sojourn in Sodom.
Parshas Lech Lecha 5786 The old order, having forgotten G-d, had been washed away in a flood, and only one righteous family was allowed to survive. The descendants of that family misused their opportunity to rebuild a society which would remain faithful to its humanity, and was divided into separate nations and tongues. Out of that family of nations, only one man was to be found who was fully faithful to G-d. That man, Avraham, was chosen to found a nation which would lead mankind back to G-d. His descendants, alone among the nations, would have as their national mission the study and fulfillment of the Word of G-d. Not a fertile land or a powerful and prosperous country, not yet a well-ordered society, founded on the farseeing wisdom and virtue of its founders, was to be the aspiration of Avraham's descendants. Their highest aspiration and greatest achievement would be the realization of G-d's presence on earth, and the dedication of every aspect of their lives to Him. But they would not accomplish this by withdrawing from life and practicing abstinence and quiet meditation. They would live fully, and engage with all the joys and challenges of life. But they would live their lives with G-d and for G-d, and allow G-d's word to govern every detail of their activities. And just thereby would every moment of their lives be endowed with meaning and purpose, and be the source of endless joy and fulfillment. More than any other nation, their fortunes would be dependent, not on the skillful management of their leaders and lawmakers, but solely on their dedication to their national task of studying and living the word of G-d. They would serve as an example for all other nations, a living lesson that only in a life under G-d's guidance and dedicated to G-d can we as people find lasting happiness. The name of the nation descended from Avraham is Israel or Jacob. But in its dealings with other nations, it is referred to with the descriptor “Hebrew”. The name Hebrew, originally applied to Avraham himself, signifies “from the other side”. Avraham came to Canaan from across the Euphrates. He remained on “the other side” of an ideological rift between the culture of his time and himself. Avraham was not afraid of the ridicule of his contemporaries. He was not afraid to stand alone with his ideals. He stood for G-d, one man against the world, and he did so with quiet confidence that, not only would he remain unharmed and in fact respected but, with time, G-d's Truth for which he stood would transform and conquer the world.
Parshas Vayera 5785 In the opening episode of this week’s Parsha, we are introduced to Avraham’s foremost quality. The Torah relates in great detail the careful attention Avraham paid to the needs of others, and his extreme exertion to secure the opportunity to extend hospitality and to exercise it to the greatest degree. We are not given all this detail to illustrate one isolated incident in Avraham’s life: the story is given as an insight into the character of Avraham, a single example, the prime example, of his conduct at all times and in all of his interactions. Avraham was a man of kindness, a man whose life was dedicated to the exercise of kindness toward everyone around him. Avraham was ninety nine years old. He was recovering from his recent circumcision and was in severe pain. The weather was unusually hot, so hot that no one was out. But Avraham did not spend the day resting. He sat at the door of his tent, anxiously hoping to meet a lone traveler who might be in need of food or drink. When he did observe a group of travelers, he ran to greet them, as though their appearance was the answer to all his prayers. So grateful was he at their arrival that he addressed them not as strangers or even as friends, but as “my masters”. He did not offer but begged them not to “pass by your servant”. They were given water with which to wash and a place to rest in the shade of a tree, specially planted for that purpose, while Avraham set his entire household in motion to prepare a feast for them. No leftover food from the pantry for the honorable sirs: Avraham hurried Sarah to prepare three full loaves of fresh bread, while he himself ran to slaughter three calves, in order to give each guest the very best cut of veal. Nor did Avraham allow one of his many servants to serve the meal. He himself, this tremendously wealthy man, held in the greatest honor by kings, personally waited on his guests. Where did Avraham learn such behavior? In a world ruled by a Nimrod and dominated by the culture of Sodom, where would he have been exposed to such dedication to the practice of kindliness? It was by observation of none other than the Creator Himself. Avraham observed that G-d had created an entire universe for the sole purpose of bestowing kindness. He observed the vast complexity of the sun, the wind and the rain, all carefully planned so as to provide light, warmth and water of a perfect quality for our health and enjoyment; the great variety of foods growing from the ground and made readily accessible to us, perfectly designed to provide the particular nutrients we need and the tastes, smells and textures we enjoy; the fabrics that sprout from the earth and from the backs of animals, from which we can produce clothing and shoes to protect our bodies and our dignity. Avraham beheld a world of kindliness and made it his life work to emulate its Creator. (Based on Rabbi Avigdor Miller: The Beginning)
Parshas Vayera 5786 In the Torah readings for this week and last week, we follow the life of Avraham, the first of our three patriarchs. We read about his dedication to the one G-d, Whom he followed, in isolation from his family and everything familiar to him, to a strange land and hostile surroundings. There he was to proclaim to an apathetic world a radical new faith in one G-d, all powerful but all knowing, and intimately concerned and involved with even the most trivial details of our human lives. During his long life, Avraham retained his faith and dedication through many trials, never doubting the great future promised him and his descendants. G-d had promised Avraham that his descendants would become a great nation, through whose national life and personal example all of mankind would be led back to the one G-d. But from where would those descendants come? Avraham and Sarah had no children, and as they continued to age it became less and less likely, eventually impossible, that they would ever have children. But G-d's promise was not in vain, and neither of them ever doubted it. When Avraham was ninety-nine years old and Sarah was eighty-nine, they were informed, each in a separate prophecy, that their long awaited child would be born one year later. When Avraham heard he laughed, when Sarah heard she laughed, everyone who heard laughed. They laughed out of joy, but also out of disbelief. That an elderly couple, childless in their youth and now long past the age at which they could hope for children, should now be granted a son, was laughable. That they could have any hope for such a son, other than to become an orphan from the cradle, was ridiculous. That they should hope not only to enjoy their son, but to raise him to adulthood and leave him as their legacy in this world, the father of a great nation of their descendants, was preposterous. The world laughed then, and the world continued to laugh as it watched this great nation carry out its work through the centuries, with or without any apparent means of survival, never ceasing to believe in its historic mission and glorious destiny. The laughter has still not died from the lips of a world which fails to see the hand of G-d guiding our history. Avraham named his son Yitzchak, which signifies he will laugh. In the end it will be he, Yitzchak or G-d Himself, who will laugh. When the impossible survival and ultimate success of the Jewish nation and its mission will have proven irrefutably the intimate presence and constant guidance of G-d, when all the world will have discovered that the happiness which has forever eluded it is to be found in a life of devotion to G-d, then will the laughter change from ridicule to joy at the long awaited realization of the world’s destiny. Based on R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, Commentary to Genesis
Parshas Chayei Sarah 5785 Yitzchak, Avraham’s heir and the future forefather of the Jewish People, had come pf age. The time had come to identify the woman who would be his partner, the foremother of the Jewish People. Avraham did not entrust this task to just anyone: he assigned it to his oldest and most trusted servant, Eliezer. No Canaanite girl would be chosen as Yitzchak’s wife. Eliezer was to find a member of Avraham’s family who was worthy of that great role. Eliezer is described in the Talmud as not only an elder among Avraham’s servants. He was also the foremost transmitter of Avraham’s teachings to the world. He was Avraham’s foremost disciple, who had fully absorbed the teachings of his great master, and passed them on to his own disciples. If there was anyone in Avraham’s household who understood the gravity of this great task, it was Eliezer. Avraham did not hesitate to entrust Eliezer with his own will, which granted all of his considerable estate to Yitzchak. And yet, with regard to identifying a wife worthy of Yitzchak, Avraham did not trust Eliezer. Before Eliezer set out, he was made to swear a dread oath that he would faithfully fulfill his mission in every detail to Avraham’s specifications. Avraham understood that the woman Yitzchak would marry would define, possibly to a greater extent than the great Yitzchak himself, the character of Avraham’s descendants. He understood that nothing was more important to the success of his own mission, than the legacy he would leave behind. His earthly estate was a small matter, a bit of property in this transient world, with which his capable servant and disciple could well be trusted. But the Mother of the Jewish People - that was a matter that could not be left to chance. Every possible precaution had to be taken to ensure that only the finest would be chosen. Too often we find ourselves confusing our priorities. Our estate, a lucrative profession for our children, these are the things with which our minds are occupied. But the son or daughter which we take into our family as a spouse for our child, the spiritual future of our grandchildren and descendants, these take second place in our considerations. As we read this story on Shabbos, let us internalize the lessons contained therein: the anxious attention given by Avraham and Eliezer to the upbringing of the prospective bride, her excellence of character and devotion to acts of kindness. And when we have the opportunity to send our own children out into the world, let us keep in mind what is really important to their future and that of their descendants.
Parshas Chayei Sarah 5786 Last week's Parsha ended with the glorious episode of the Akeida. This was the last of ten times that Avraham's faith in G-d was tested. G-d instructed Avraham to take his only son, his legacy and the sole heir of his work in this world, and offer him up as a sacrifice to G-d. It was a senseless Command, it went against everything Avraham had known and taught about G-d throughout his long career. It also went against his kindly nature. Indeed, it was only intended as a test. G-d never intended to allow Avraham to actually go through with it. But he did not reveal this to Avraham until the very last moment as the knife was about to fall on Yitzchak's neck. In the closing scene of last week's Parsha, we see Avraham and Yitzchak with their two servants returning to Be’er Sheva after their sublime experience with G-d. This week's Parsha opens abruptly with the sudden passing of Sarah, Avraham's wife and Yitzchak’s mother. According to the Midrash, it was no coincidence that Sarah's sudden death occurred immediately after the Akeida. Out of fear of scaring her, Avraham had not told her about G-d’s Command. But Sarah got word of what was happening in some other way, and she died of shock. We can well imagine how Avraham and Yitzchak took Sarah’s death. They had just come from an experience of the most exalted devotion and ecstasy, and were suddenly entered into grief and mourning over the loss of their wife and mother. It would not have been lost on them that her death was a direct result of the great act they had done at G-d’s Command. Might they have felt some resentment toward G-d, or at least some regret that they had accepted the challenge? But that itself was a part, and not the least part, of the test of the Akeida. To accept G-d's will and fulfill His Command, however hard it may have been, was only the first part of their test. The second, and perhaps the harder of the two, was to accept the resulting tragedy without questioning G-d or regretting what they had done. Both Avraham and Yitzchak were fully willing to go through with the Akeida. Both felt it their duty to fulfill G-d’s Will, and neither had any aspiration other than to fulfill G-d’s Will. They understood that only the greatest happiness awaits those who live by G-d’s Word, but never was that the basis for their obedience. Whether it brought good fortune or bad, G-d’s Command was the only law of their lives. We, their descendants, are committed to following G-d’s Torah. If at times we fall short of our aspirations, we experience sincere regret and resolve never to repeat our errors. G-d expects nothing more, and accepts our commitment to continuous improvement. But what if we do come through and fulfill the Mitzvah, but allow the consequences to cause us to regret what we have done? Is that anything other than a commitment to decline? If ever we feel inclined to throw away our greatest accomplishments through regret, we may recall the image of Avraham and Yitzchak, in mourning but satisfied that they had done G-d’s Will, as they stood at Sarah’s freshly filled grave.
Parshas Toldos 5786 It was the day of Avraham’s death, and a fifteen year old Yaakov was preparing the meal of consolation for his father. His twin brother, Esav, arrived hungry from the field and felt tempted by the red color of the stew. Yaakov offered to give it to him in exchange for his birthright, which Esav considered a bargain: “Behold I am going to die! What is this birthright to me?” (Bereishis 25:32) Yaakov gave him bread and stew, he ate and was gone - back to the fields and his hunting. Yaakov was left with the birthright: the spiritual leadership of the family and the responsibility to carry on the great mission of Avraham and Yitzchak when his time came. When Esav traded the great spiritual heritage of his father and grandfather for a bowl of stew, it was with the words “Behold, I am going to die.” In a much later time, the prophet put similar words into the mouths of Esav’s spiritual heirs: “...eat and drink, for tomorrow we will die” (Yirmiyah 22:13). Esav sees in death an end to his life-long pursuit of food, drink and entertainment. He wishes to enjoy his brief time in this world to the greatest extent, and a moment spent in spiritual pursuits is a lost opportunity for pleasure. When there is stew to be had and hunting to enjoy, he has no time for the birthright and its responsibilities. Yaakov also knows that he will one day die. He knows an end will come to the opportunities of this world, and that he must carefully conserve the time that remains to him. But in Yaakov’s view, the value of his time is not measured in the enjoyments it affords. He sees his enjoyments only as means to attain his ultimate goal. His activities, no matter how mundane, are all part of a greater spiritual pursuit. Each moment granted him in this life is a gift, another Mitzvah opportunity, and is not to be wasted. We, the descendants and legacy of Yaakov, are aware that we live for a higher purpose. The years allotted us in this world are the time we have to make our small contribution to the great mission of the Jewish People, and the resources granted us are our tools for that task. We live blessed lives, knowing that each of our activities and enjoyments has meaning beyond the moment; that, properly used, each of our moments is a contribution to Eternity.
Parshas Vayetzei 5785 The first Book of the Torah, to which our Parsha belongs, contains the story of our ancestors, down to their descent to Egypt. Although this history contains only three Mitzvahs, it is no less a part of G-d’s Law for our lives than any other Book of the Torah. In the Book of Bereishis we are instructed not by G-d’s direct command, but by the example set by the lives of our great ancestors. In our Parsha we see Yaakov, the third and final Patriarch, forced to flee from the familiar surroundings of his parental home. For twenty two years he would be far from the holy, G-d inspired atmosphere in which he was raised, from the Torah teachings of his father, mother and their surviving ancestors, Shem and Ever. He would be forced to find his own way in the home of an unscrupulous uncle, to build a pure, Jewish home of his own in the toxic environment of Charan. He arrived with nothing but his staff and G-d’s assurance for a better future. It is against this background that we must view the impeccable integrity Yaakov displayed in his dealings with Lavan. Yaakov’s first words upon arriving in this strange land were to reprimand a group of shepherds who were being dishonest in fulfilling their duties. His own behavior in the trying years ahead more than showed him as living up to those same expectations. For seven years he faithfully watched Lavan’s sheep. He remained at the pasture through the hot days and cold nights, never daring to sleep if it might endanger the flock. If ever a sheep went missing despite all his care, he took personal responsibility for it and paid for the loss. Yaakov was a paid worker, and he fulfilled the terms of his employment, however unreasonable they may have been. At the end of seven years Lavan did not keep to his stipulation. He gave Yaakov the wrong daughter’s hand and demanded an additional seven years of labor before he would fulfill his original promise. But Yaakov did not relax his integrity in the least way. He continued to fulfill the agreement exactly as before, and tended to Lavan’s flocks with more than perfect care. No matter that his employer had knowingly cheated him into the present arrangement. His word was inviolate, and not a penny would he earn dishonestly. When subsequently Yaakov stayed on for another six years in exchange for sheep of his own, Lavan changed the terms of his employment no fewer than one hundred times, constantly cheating him of his rightfully owed wages, but at no point did Yaakov’s honesty waver. Throughout all twenty years he served with perfect honesty, despite being penniless and constantly maltreated. This was the life that Yaakov lived, and this is the legacy he left to us, his descendants. When we find ourselves tempted to deal with less than perfect integrity, we remember the story of Yaakov and Lavan. If ever we are confronted with people who are unreasonable, unfair or dishonest, we learn from the example of Yaakov never to compromise our own values, but to fulfill our words with absolute honesty.
Parshas Vayishlach 5785 Yaakov had escaped from the treacherous uncle, but he had now to contend with the murderous brother. He sent a large gift in an attempt to appease Esav, but nevertheless prepared his family for the event of a violent encounter. Against the possibility that they would be overpowered, he grouped his people into two camps, so that one could make a last stand to hold off Esav’s forces long enough for the other to make its escape. Having done what little he could on his own, he turned to the only real effective preparation there is by appealing to G-d for help. In the event, there was no need to resort to arms. When Esav arrived, Yaakov bowed in submission seven times, followed by all four of his wives and their children. Esav was moved to compassion and hugged and kissed Yaakov. Esav then offered to travel together with Yaakov, or at least to dispatch some of his men as an escort. Yaakov tactfully turned down Esav’s offer, promising to visit at some unspecified future date, an engagement that will be kept when Mashiach visits Esav’s descendants at Mount Seir. Our sages saw more in Yaakov’s behavior than an emergency measure to meet the necessities of his own circumstances. They took this episode as an instruction to us for all future time, whenever we find ourselves exiled among the nations. In all our interactions with our host nations, we are to carefully study Yaakov’s interaction with the gentiles of his own time, and use him as our guide. Yaakov teaches us to treat our host nations with the greatest respect, whether or not they are deserving. We send gifts and bow to Esav seven times rather than engage him in combat, however justified. We may see through Esav’s gentlemanly outward demeanor and respect the virtues of the innocent Jewish family. But in dealing with Esav we follow our ancestor’s example and say “my master Esav”, and “to find favor in the eyes of my master”. We recognize our status as exiles in lands that are not ours, and are concerned not with earning the recognition of our neighbors, but with retaining the internal moral integrity of our own communities. We gladly concede to our hosts the mastery in their own lands, provided we can carry on with our lives and work peaceably and safely as their guests.
Parshas Vayishlach 5786 This week's Parsha has been referred to as the Parsha of exile. It depicts Yaakov in his relationship with his brother Esav, a relationship which for twenty years had been strained to the point that Yaakov had to fear for his life. The relationship between these two brothers is taken as a portent to the relationship their descendants would have throughout history. Whenever we have had dealings with Esav’s descendants, whenever we have had to prepare ourselves for dangerous encounters with the nations around us, we have turned to the story of Yaakov for inspiration and guidance. We learn from Yaakov to be far more concerned about defending our right to serve G-d than demanding other rights and freedoms. Like Yaakov, we are content with our lot among the nation so long as we are left alone to fulfill our duty. There is one lesson we can learn from Yaakov which is often overlooked. In one of the more mysterious moments in this week's Parsha, Yaakov found himself alone at night on one side of a river, after his family and all his possessions had already crossed to the other. He had helped them across, but for reasons we are not told, he went back by himself. There he was attacked by someone whom Yaakov recognized as an angel. The two struggled throughout the night until, at dawn, the angel begged to be released. Yaakov refused to release the angel unless he would first bless him. According to tradition, this was the angel which represents the spirit of Esav. He had been sent to challenge Yaakov over his spiritual role in the world in relation to Esav. At dawn, having fulfilled his mission, he asked to be released to join the heavenly choir in singing to G-d. Yaakov refused to release the angel until he, representing Esav, conceded his claim to the fateful blessings Yitzchak had conferred upon Yaakov as his birthright. This very important incident was a portent to the future struggle between Yaakov’s and Esav's descendants throughout the years of our long exile. At dawn, when that long night ends, Yaakov will remain undefeated. But he will not wish to overthrow Esav. He will only wish to continue serving G-d undisturbed, and more, to have Esav come to accept and even join in Yaakov's great mission. But how did this prophetic encounter come about? How did Yaakov come to be alone on the far side of the river if he had already crossed with his entire family and all his possessions? The Midrash answers that Yaakov went back for some small, insignificant items that he may have forgotten. To us, it seems madness to risk his life for something so small, especially for so great a man as Yaakov. But the Midrash teaches that precisely because he was so great a man, he understood the value of even the smallest gift from G-d. As Yaakov demonstrated for twenty years at laban's house, he was the model of scrupulous honesty. Even when he was repeatedly cheated by his uncle, he never ceased to treat his responsibilities with the greatest seriousness. Never once did he attempt to protect himself and take his due through dishonesty. For such a man, every penny he owned was earned with perfect honesty. It was a gift from G-d, gotten with G-d's blessing, to be used in G-d's service and not to be wasted. If G-d's service required him to gain Esav's good graces through an extravagant gift, Yaakov had no trouble parting with his possessions. But to waste a single penny honestly gained, to discard one of G-d's gifts, no matter how small, and leave it unfulfilled and unutilized, that Yaakov would not and could not do.
Parshas Vayeshev 5785 Vayeshev Yaakov - Yaakov settled down to rest. At the end of a long life of suffering: persecution at the hand of his brother, exploitation by his uncle, a long separation from his family, the abduction of his daughter and the loss of his wife, Yaakov hoped to spend his final years in quiet retirement. But there remained one more trial which he would have to face, the longest and most difficult of all. Yaakov’s most beloved son was Yosef, the youngest but one and the first from his most favored wife. There was a mutual lack of understanding between Yosef and his brothers which led to suspicion and mortal fear. Eventually, Yosef’s brothers saw no other way to save themselves than to do away with Yosef. They stopped short of actually killing him, but instead sold him into slavery in a far away land from which he could never be expected to return. To Yaakov, they sent Yosef’s robe, stained with goat blood to give the appearance that Yosef had been attacked and killed by a wild animal. Yaakov went into mourning, not only over his son but over the future nation which it was his part to father. He prophetically understood that the loss of any one of the twelve tribes of Israel meant that the Jewish Mission had failed before it began. For twenty-two years, Yaakov believed his son was dead. For twenty-two years, Yosef lived alone and oppressed in the strange and morally corrupt Land of Egypt. For twenty-two years Yaakov’s sons assumed their wayward brother had come to a bad end in that land. The entire family remained in a state of mourning over their son and brother, and over the grief of their father. Reuven blamed his younger brothers for their lack of mercy, and they all blamed Yehudah for his lack of leadership. Where was G-d in all this? What did G-d do to alleviate the suffering of this righteous family? Why did G-d not intervene to prevent the injustice done to Yosef or the suffering inflicted upon Yaakov? In these darkest moments in the lives of our ancestors, G-d was immediately at the center, as the main actor in the story. As Yosef was being carted down to Egypt by his new masters, he was on a mission from G-d to save his family and all the people of Egypt and Canaan from starvation, and afterwards to make arrangements for the survival of the Jewish People during their historic sojourn in Egypt. As Yaakov mourned over the supposed loss of his son, he was being prepared to fulfill the long foretold destiny of exile and rebirth into nationhood. When Yehudah was rejected by his brothers and sent to live on his own, G-d was leading him to the woman with whom he would unwittingly father the ancestor of Mashiach. What seemed to the human actors as a great tragedy, the failure of their purpose on this earth, was in fact the fulfillment of G-d’s plan for the beginnings of salvation for their family and for all of mankind.
Parshas Vayeshev 5786 Vayeshev Yaakov - Yaakov settled down to rest. At the end of a long life of suffering: persecution at the hand of his brother, exploitation by his uncle, a long separation from his family, the abduction of his daughter and the loss of his wife; Yaakov hoped to spend his final years in quiet retirement. But it was not yet time for him to rest. He would first have to part from his son, whom he would assume dead for twenty-two years. Only by forfeiting his homeland and taking his family into exile would Yaakov reunite with his son. The Midrash has G-d criticizing Yaakov for wanting to rest in this world, and admonishing him to be content with the reward that awaits him in the world to come. We can well imagine the type of retirement Yaakov sought. He wished to be free of the troubles he had faced for many years, and for the life of peaceful solitude that his father and grandfather had enjoyed. He wished to return to the pursuit that had occupied the early years of his life. In his youth, Yaakov was described as “a simple man who sat in tents”. His brother was an outdoorsman, a hunter who lived by the sword. But Yaakov was simple. He preferred to remain indoors in quiet study and meditation. For twenty-two years he had been forced to live a life of hard labor and difficult challenges. Yaakov proved himself quite capable of the task that was put to him. What was much more difficult for Yaakov was what resulted from his labor. His long years of contending with Esav and Lavan made it very difficult to focus on his studies as he wished. During the difficult days and nights of labor and care he had very little focus left to meditate on G-d and His Torah. Now that he had returned to his father's house, he wished to be let alone by his earthly cares to cultivate the spirit. But God wills it otherwise. Not in this world but in the next will it be given us to rest from our labors and retire into a peaceful existence in quiet repose with God. As long as we are here in this world, we are to face the challenges of this life, and just through those challenges to cultivate our spiritual growth. By observing the Torah and living by its ideals, just in the most difficult of circumstances, by looking just to the Torah for comfort and guidance for the challenges in our lives, we improve ourselves and the world around us, and earn our rest in the hereafter.
Parshas Miketz 5784 As we conclude the joyous celebration of the Chanukah season, we remain aware of the precarious position in which we as a nation find ourselves. War continues in Israel, many hostages have still not been released, and antisemitism is steadily rising throughout the world. The world has forgotten the sympathetic mood which so briefly prevailed in October, and has turned to blaming worldwide Jewry for the war crimes of its enemies. This frustrating situation calls to mind the complaint of Yosef (Joseph) in last week’s Parsha (Bereishis 40:15) “For I was kidnapped from the land of the Hebrews, and here, too, I did nothing, that they cast me into prison”. But therein may lie a message of hope for our times. At the age of seventeen, Yosef was kidnapped and left to die by his own brothers. His brothers later reconsidered and decided to sell him into slavery in Egypt. In all likelihood, he would never see his family again. Once there, he served faithfully in the home of an Egyptian nobleman. When he stood up for his moral principles and resisted the advances of the lady of the house, she turned the blame on him and had him imprisoned for allegedly violating her. Yosef was rewarded for his faithfulness to his master and to morality by an indefinite sentence to the dungeons of Pharaoh’s butcher. It was after ten years of languishing in prison that Yosef allowed the above complaint to escape his mouth, in the hope that a fellow prisoner would advocate for him after being released. However, another two years went by after the release, and there was no sign that Yosef would ever be set free. Our Parsha begins with the words “Vayehi Miketz” - “It was at the end of two years (after the above narrative) - that Pharaoh had a dream”: the dream which would lead to Yosef’s release. The Midrash (B.R. 89:1) wonders about the word “Miketz” - “at the end” - seemingly, a more appropriate expression would be “after two years” Pharaoh had a dream. The Midrash explains by citing another instance of the word Ketz. Iyov (28:3) says “He assigns a Ketz - an end - to darkness”. To Yosef, languishing in prison for twelve years, it seemed that this dark period in his life would never end. He could never have predicted the very unlikely circumstance that would lead to his release. But Providence had ordained an end to Yosef’s darkness, and the predestined time had arrived. In the royal palace, far from the dungeons, His Majesty’s rest is interrupted by a disturbing dream. The entire court is aroused to attempt to interpret the dream but no one can. It is then that the butler recalls the time he once served in prison and the Hebrew slave he met there. Yosef is rushed out of prison and in short order is elevated to the position of viceroy. We cannot know what lies ahead for us, when or how this will all end. But we do know that there is a preordained “Ketz” - a Providentially ordained End to our suffering of which only Hashem is aware. The developments which lead to that End may go unnoticed, or may appear as cause for alarm, but in its time, ישועת ה’ כהרף עין - Hashem’s Salvation will come in the blink of an eye, unforeseen and unpredicted. Until then, we join Yosef in putting our trust in Hashem, and will participate in the blessed life of those who “make Hashem their hope (Tehillim 40:5)”.
Parshas Miketz 5785 The Parsha of Miketz is one of hope and trust in G-d. Its name evokes the Ketz: the preordained End - unforeseeable, inaccessible, but ever present - of all our labors; the Day when G-d’s Master Plan for this world will be made apparent and the meaning of each stage in our centuries-long journey made clear. The story of Miketz invites us to contemplate one aspect of G-d’s constant management of our lives. A severe famine was about to begin which would affect all of the known world for seven years. The famine would be doubly devastating, because it would follow after seven of the richest years in history. No one would be prepared, empires would fall and their people would starve. Even the rulers of Egypt, the wealthiest and most powerful men of the time, would soon succumb. The only warning that anything was amiss was a vague premonition in Pharaoh’s dream. But twenty years before any of this was to happen, G-d had set in motion His plan for the survival of mankind. A young man in Canaan was betrayed and sold into slavery in Egypt. There he was framed and sentenced to prison, where he met and aided two of Pharaoh’s servants. When Pharaoh had the fateful dream, he happened to have at hand the only man in the world who could warn him of its ominous meaning and advise him on how to properly prepare. When, seven years later the Nile failed to rise, vast stores of food had already been made ready which would sustain not only Egypt but all the lands around it for seven years. Of course, all of this was only a small part in G-d’s Plan. The famine had its own purpose, as did Yoseph’s presence in Egypt and the trial with his master’s wife. But no detail is so small as to escape G-d’s notice, and no one is so unimportant as to be ignored. Among all the great matters of Destiny, G-d concerns Himself with the sustenance of the least of His creatures. How often do we find ourselves anxiously worrying not only for today’s bread, but for our livelihood in decades and even generations to come? As soon as we have secured our present needs, we exhort ourselves not to rest until we have made provision for our old age, and then for unforeseen losses of income. Even once we have all we could ever need for our own futures, we continue to worry about providing an inheritance for our children and grandchildren. Certainly we must act responsibly and do our part in providing for ourselves and our families. But we may do so without worry, always aware that it is G-d Who provides, and that He never overlooks our needs. We need never sacrifice our peace of mind, and certainly not our duties to G-d, for the sake of our livelihood. We do what little we can and must, and rely on G-d for His blessing.
Parshas Vayigash 5784 This week’s Parsha opens with a dramatic scene which should give us all pause to stop and consider how we view our lives. Yosef had been sold into slavery by his brothers twenty-two years earlier, and was now a ruler in Egypt. His brothers had now come to Egypt in search of food to save their families from starvation and, unbeknownst to them, had come face to face with their long-lost brother. Yosef had accused them of being spies, locked them up in prison, set them up to be framed for robbery and forced their father’s hand at allowing the youngest brother, Binyamin, to join them in a second journey to Egypt. On their second trip, Yosef had given them an entirely different reception. He had played the smiling politician and, to their surprise and consternation, invited them to a state dinner in their honor. He had then framed them a second time for robbery and sentenced Binyamin to slavery for the crime. The other brothers were devastated by the thought of how their elderly father would be affected by the loss of yet another son, the only living memory remaining to him of his most beloved wife. It is against this backdrop that Yehuda, the leader of the family who had pledged to protect the youngest brother, confronts the Egyptian ruler in the opening scene of this week’s Parsha. We hear his impassioned plea for the return of Binyamin, in which he attempts to evoke Yosef’s pity for the fragile health of “your servant, our father”, and even offers himself as a slave in Binyamin’s stead. Yosef responds to this speech with five words (in the original Hebrew) which leave his brothers stunned into silence: “I am Yosef - is my father still alive?” This rhetorical question was a challenge to which Yosef’s brothers had no answer. Did your father survive when you sold me into slavery? Were you concerned then for his fragile health? Do you really have the right to criticize the person you thought was a tyrannical ruler, or might you have been living a lie for twenty-two years? [A word of clarification is in order here. Our ancestors were very great and holy men whom Hashem chose as the progenitors of His People, and their decision to sell Yosef was certainly a carefully calculated Torah decision, which must be the subject of careful and reverent study. Nevertheless, Yosef’s declaration opened their eyes to something they had not considered.] The Midrash (B.R. 93:10) sees in this scene a picture of how we are all judged. How often in our own lives are we confronted with Yosef’s reproach? How often do we look on with righteous indignation, only to realize that we are watching none other than ourselves? How often do we justify our actions and try to quiet the little voice that questions whether we are being fully honest with ourselves? Let us hold on to the image of Yehuda and Yosef and take a good look at our life decisions. Let us listen for that little voice, maybe even invite the input of the louder voices of those around us, and consistently take the time to think, and challenge ourselves and the assumptions by which we run our lives. (Based on Beis Halevi, Vayigash)
Parshas Vayigash 5785 Yosef had disappeared from home as a young man of seventeen, and Yaakov had taken him for dead. For many years, Yaakov refused to be comforted. He would go to the grave mourning for his son and a future that would never be. But now, after twenty two years, hope was rekindled from the least expected source. Yaakov heard that Yosef was still alive, and was none other than the viceroy of Egypt with whom his sons had been treating. He would go down to Egypt to meet his now grown son and see with his own eyes if this was still the same Yosef that he had raised. Before arriving in Egypt, Yaakov sent Yehuda “to prepare the way before him” (Bereishis 46:28). Yehuda was to find out the way to the Province of Goshen and make arrangements for accommodations that would be to Yaakov’s liking. But the Midrash (Tanchuma 11) identifies one specific, indispensable instruction which Yaakov gave to Yehuda. He was to prepare a House of Torah study, a place from which guidance and instruction would be issued to the young Israelite family that would live in Goshen. Yaakov understood that there was more to his descent to Egypt than a simple reunion with his son. He was well aware of the ancient prophecy delivered to his grandfather at the Covenant of the Parts: “Know you that your your seed will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and they will enslave them and afflict them, four hundred years” (Bereishis 15:13). He understood that although this prophecy had already been fulfilled in part during his own lifetime and that of his father, the seed of Avraham had yet to fully experience bondage in a foreign land. When Yaakov stopped in Be’er Sheva on his way to Egypt, he knew well that it was to bid a final farewell to the land of his fathers, a land to which he would never return in this life. When he sent Yehuda to prepare for the family’s arrival, it was not to ensure a comfortable visit, but to make arrangements for a centuries-long exile. The very first condition for the survival of the Jewish People in Egypt was a center for Torah study. Their political position in Egypt could be entrusted to Yosef. Their living conditions and material prosperity they could arrange for themselves. These considerations were secondary to the spiritual survival of Yaakov’s family, for the survival of the Jewish People as Jews. He himself needed to oversee the establishment of a Yeshiva, a house of study where the spirit of Judaism would be cultivated. Only in its halls could the soul of the nation be preserved. From the very beginning of our history, from our first ancestor who had to face life in exile, has been handed down this fundamental instruction: it is not the Synagogues or the community centers, but our Houses of Study which hold the key to our survival among the nations. How many churches are there in our own country with Hebrew letters engraved into their walls? How many old established Jewish neighborhoods are there to which no Jew can now safely visit? As many as failed to establish Yeshivahs. As many as built magnificent Synagogues with beautiful services, but failed to cultivate the spirit of Judaism and transmit the Torah to their children.
Parshas Vayigash 5786 “I am Yosef; is my father still alive?” These were the simple words with which Yosef revealed himself to his brothers. These latter were shocked and embarrassed into silence, and did not respond until Yosef had said quite a bit more, and kissed all of them. Yaakov, also, was shocked into confusion when he heard that his son was still living. He was unsure whether to believe the news, and only recovered when he saw the wagons Yosef had sent to collect him. Yaakov and his family travelled to Egypt, and the Torah recounts the emotional encounter when father and son were reunited after twenty-two years when they despaired of ever again meeting each other. The Midrash (B.R. 93:10) sees much more in Yosef’s words than a dramatic and emotional revelation to his brothers. It takes them as words of rebuke. It hears in them a faint echo of the words with which each of us will be challenged when we stand before G-d in judgment, and in the dismay of Yosef’s brothers a small hint of our own. What in the words “I am Yosef” suggests such rebuke as would leave Yosef’s brothers unable to respond? Yoseph's brothers had lived with one assumption throughout their lives. In all their experience with Yosef they saw in him one whose pride had brought him to such conceit as to fancy himself the rightful ruler of the family. They were convinced that he would stop at nothing to eliminate them and set himself up as the sole spiritual heir of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov and their Divine mission. And they saw Yosef as anything but worthy of that role. This was no base sibling rivalry. It was the considered opinion of Yaakov’s ten sons, the greatest assembly of Torah sages that ever was, that this wicked imposter was a danger to the family and their great heritage. He had to be sent far from harm if the covenant of Avraham was to be saved. So convinced were they of their view that never once in twenty-two years were they bothered by the thought that perhaps they had done wrong. So convinced were they that never in all their dealings with the maniacal viceroy of Egypt did they suspect that perhaps he was their lost brother. That he knew all their names and ages, that he demanded to meet their remaining brother, that, of all the multitude which had come to Egypt they had been singled out to purchase directly from the viceroy, and to be mistrusted, maltreated, invited to a state dinner and framed; none of these things raised in them the suspicion that they were perhaps dealing with the one person in the world who might bear ill-will toward them. After all, that one person was unworthy of ruling. If he still lived at all, G-d certainly would not suffer him any greater honor than to be the lowest slave of the least of Pharaoh’s subjects. “I am Yosef!” These simple words gave the lie to everything they had believed. Here they had suddenly found their brother, not as a street sweeper in the back alleys but as the honorable ruler of all Egypt. And in that high position, they did not find him perverted by the corruption of Egyptian society as they might expect of the arrogant and conceited brother they had sold. They could clearly recognize in him a pure son of Yaakov, whose language, appearance and behavior toward them reflected nothing but the unstained, morally innocent upbringing they had all shared. His dreams, always thought to have been conceited fancies, were suddenly revealed as G-d sent prophecies. Their ill-treatment of him, all the distress they had caused their father, always thought to have been their uncomfortable but absolute duty, was suddenly revealed as a grave miscalculation and unforgivable sin. His brothers were unable to answer him. There was nothing they could say when everything they had believed was called into question. There was no way to express their horror when they were suddenly awakened to the possibility that their judgment, and the severe action it had led to, had perhaps not been quite as impartial and unprejudiced as they had believed. They were silent as they considered the gravity of what they now realized they had done. “I am Yosef!” Are we prepared with a response to this small declaration? When the justifications we constantly repeat to ourselves, when the half developed premises and assumptions on which we build our lives, are called into question, will we have a ready defense? It is now, while we yet have the opportunity for change and growth, that we should be asking ourselves these questions. Life is far too serious a matter to be conducted thoughtlessly. Only if we approach our life decisions with the most careful consideration, and seek guidance from the most objective and G-d fearing of advisors, can we hope to make the choices by which our lives will have been worth living.
Parshas Vayechi 5784 The Patriarch Yaakov was on his deathbed, preparing to give his last will and testament, to deliver his dying prophecy about the part each Tribe was to play in the Jewish Nation. But before summoning the rest of his sons, Yaakov singled out Yosef and bestowed upon him the special privilege of fathering two of the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Yosef’s two sons, alone among Yaakov’s grandchildren, would be elevated to the patriarchal status of Yaakov’s own sons. He then conferred a blessing which would forever echo in the mouths of his descendants when blessing their own children: “By you shall Israel bless (their children) saying ‘may G-d make you like Ephraim and Menashe’” (Bereishis 48:20). Ephraim and Menashe, the two sons of Yosef, are here designated as the archetype of well-bred Jewish children. The hopes and dreams of all future Jewish parents for their own children can be considered fulfilled if those children will but grow up to be like Ephraim and Menashe. What was unique about these two, among all of Yaakov’s children and grandchildren? Why do all Jewish parents to this day continue to pray that their children will be just like them? The twelve sons of Yaakov were all great Tzadikim, saintly men whose devotion to G-d was unparalleled in any subsequent generation. They and their children were raised in a home built by Yaakov and his wives to cultivate an atmosphere of Holiness and dedication to true Jewish ideals. Their grandfather, Yitzchak, was still living when all of them had reached adulthood, and they had the opportunity to absorb his influence, as well, as they were growing up. Not so Ephraim and Menashe. They were raised among the elite of Egyptian society, a caste society built on the degradation of human life which glorified immorality and the practice of witchcraft and idolatry. The highest ranking officials and priests would have been regular guests in Yosef’s house, and Yosef’s children can not have remained untutored in the standards and values of the surrounding culture. That these two children could remain pure and innocent under those circumstances; that Yaakov could look at them once they had grown and see the image of his own children, worthy of founding Jewish tribes of their own, is testimony to the power of Yosef’s spiritual influence on them and to their own moral integrity. This quality would be essential for the continuance of the Jewish Nation. From the time of Yaakov’s death until the most distant future, Jewish children would be born and raised among many different cultures. They would interact, to a greater or lesser extent, with societies whose ideas and values would be foreign to those of the Torah. They and their parents would be tasked with withstanding such influences and preserving purely Jewish homes, where Torah values continue to be taught and lived regardless of the circumstances. It is for this reason that Yaakov bequeathed to us a formula with which to bless our children, a prayer for success at raising them in the spirit of Ephraim and Menashe, so that, no matter how many generations pass, no matter how many different cultures and societies the Jewish Nation encounters in its wanderings, Yaakov will still be able to discern his own spirit in the children of his latest descendants. (based on Eved Hamelech)
Parshas Vayechi 5784 Yaakov had been reunited after twenty-two years with his son, Yosef, and had been granted peace for the final years of his life. He lived for seventeen years in Egypt, in the company of his reunited and reconciled family. For seventeen years, he watched his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow up and carry on his way of life in a foreign land. Now, in his final hours, he was able to look on his many descendants with confidence that his legacy would survive the centuries of servitude and affliction, and that his children would leave Egypt as true Sons of Israel. As Yaakov spoke to Yosef and blessed him for the last time before departing this life, he recalled the long and difficult life he had lived before coming to Egypt. He remembered fleeing from his murderous brother and his years of being maltreated by his uncle. He remembered having to face his brother after many years, not knowing whether his family was about to face a violent end. He remembered his daughter being abducted and misused, and taking his son for dead for so many years. He remembered his sons being framed and imprisoned by the viceroy of Egypt, and fearing for the life of his only remaining child from Rachel. Yaakov recognized that through all his many troubles, it was G-d who guided and protected him. His blessing to Yosef and his children was that they, in their turn, would be guided and protected by the same G-d. “The G-d before Whom my fathers walked, Avraham and Yitzchak, the G-d Who shepherds me from my birth to this day… may He bless these children.…” (Bereishis 48:15-16). “Who shepherds me” or, as Onkelos renders, “Who feeds me”. Who feeds me! After all he had suffered, through all his years of enjoying G-d’s special guidance and protection, Yaakov never forgot that simple and all-important truth, that the sustenance G-d provides each of His creatures is no less miraculous than any other of His celebrated acts. Of all the miracles and salvations Yaakov had experienced, he chose this one constant beneficence to define his relationship with G-d. Every moment of our lives, our survival depends on the food we eat. The nutrients by which our bodies are sustained and the energy with which our bodies function are derived from food. Food is the product of a perfectly calibrated balance of wind, rain and sun, heat and cold, growth and decay. All of nature joins together as one vast factory for the production of food. Earthworms till the soil and bees pollinate flowers. Birds transport seeds and squirrels plant trees. Animals fertilize the soil and men gather, distribute and prepare the products of nature for consumption. Teeth, lips, tongue, esophagus, stomach and intestines digest food and break it down into its components. Blood delivers the appropriate nutrients to each cell in the body. This magnificent and carefully designed apparatus attests to the infinite wisdom and kindliness of its creator. Yaakov, in the final moments of a life of contemplation, could only bow in awe and gratitude, secure in the knowledge that the G-d Who had so miraculously fed and sustained him could certainly be trusted to guide his descendants to their destiny. Even as we declare in our daily prayers that that G-d Who “sustains all life in His kindness” will certainly “revive the dead in His great mercy”, and gratefully dedicate ourselves, whenever we have partaken of a meal, to Him Who “feeds and sustains us always, every day, every moment and at all times”.
Parshas Vayechi 5786 After a long life of suffering, Yaakov was finally permitted to settle down in his last years. His family was reunited and, unlike his father and grandfather, he was able to look on all of his descendants and see in them his legacy. Yaakov spent his final seventeen years in Egypt, surrounded and respected by all his children and grandchildren. But he would not depart this life without first seeing to one final task, that of assuring his descendants would never come to think of themselves as Egyptians. They had been forced to settle in Egypt and no matter how long they remained there, they were never to forget where their true homeland was. Yaakov made Yoseph swear that Yaakov’s remains would be immediately brought back for burial in the Land of Israel. For 210 years in Egypt, Yaakov's descendants would know that the patriarch who had brought them down to Egypt, was not buried there. When Yaakov made this request, he called it "kindness and truth" (חסד ואמת). There are two meanings of this expression, both of which teach important lessons. One is “true kindness”. To bury the dead is considered true kindness because nothing is expected in return. How often do we perform acts of kindness only to earn approval or something else in return? How often is our kindness no more than a selfish and self-serving act? Of course one can pay his last respects for ulterior motives too. But at least from the recipient of his kindness he can expect nothing in return. This kindness, considered a very great mitzvah by the Torah, should inform all of the good we do and remind us to do it because it is right and not for personal gain. The second meaning of this expression is "kindness defined by truth”. When kindness is driven only by emotion, we bestow it without discretion. We may at times give what is undeserved or what is not beneficial. Or we may feel another’s need with such urgency that we act prematurely and do more harm than good. At other times we will not feel moved to give what is rightfully deserved or what duty demands. “Kindness and truth” - we are to bestow kindness. Not because that is what we are moved to do, and not because we hope to gain thereby, but because it is our duty before G-d. We give what and to whomever G-d’s Word instructs us to give, in the way and because G-d instructs us to give it. Anything else, we withhold.
Parshas Shemos 5784 “And she called his name Moshe, and she said ‘for from the water I drew him’” (Shemos 2:10). The greatest prophet in history, G-d’s chosen messenger to lead His people out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, the man who would serve as transmitter of the Word of G-d - was given his name by an Egyptian princess. We have no record of the name his mother gave him, nor does the Torah ever use any of the other six names which refer to him (Megillah 13a). The Torah, the Jewish Nation, and G-d himself have always referred to him only by this one name, the name given him by his Egyptian foster mother. Let us recall the circumstances behind the giving of the name Moshe. Pharaoh had suddenly forgotten the salvation brought about for Egypt by Yosef and Yaakov, and instigated the first antisemitic craze in history. He used senseless arguments to incite a mass panic among his people, making them look at the Jews with a fear and loathing that can only be described as paranoia. Allegedly in the interest of national security, he enacted emergency measures to curb the growth of the Jewish population by enslaving them. When the Jewish problem did not fix itself, he resorted to having Jewish babies secretly murdered. He then ordered the overt killing of all baby boys, for fear that one of those boys would grow up to be the savior of the Jewish People. It was just at that time of frenzied ethnic purging that the princess happened to be bathing in the Nile when she noticed a basket floating in the water. When she opened it and identified a Hebrew baby inside, she decided to risk her life by openly defying her father’s decree. She did not drown the child, but took him as her own, to be raised in Pharaoh’s house, right before his eyes. Nor did she attempt to hide her act of treason. She gave the child a Hebrew name which openly commemorated and drew attention to the fact that she had drawn him out of the water: Moshe - the child whom I drew from the water. Moshe is the name by which this child would forever be remembered. Whenever we recall his name we refresh in our minds the conviction that G-d’s plan will not be frustrated, and will move forward no matter how ridiculous it seems. Slavery and affliction had been decreed for the Jewish people; slavery and affliction would materialize. Yosef would be forgotten, Yaakov would be forgotten, the Egyptian nation would lose its senses, and G-d’s decree would unfold. Salvation had been promised; the savior would survive. Pharaoh could kill every Jewish child, but this one child would survive. Indeed, his life would be saved by Pharaoh’s own daughter, and he would be raised as a prince in Pharaoh’s palace, and G-d’s plan would continue unhindered. But the Midrash (S.R. 1:26) asserts that there is an even more important reason for the retention of the name Moshe. Moshe never forgot who it was that saved his life, who took her life in her hands and defied the royal decree so that he could live. He never forgot that she saw to his care and raised him as her own son. The Torah, the Jewish Nation and G-d Himself will never forget the benefit that this noble soul bestowed upon our people by saving Moshe, and we have no other name for him than that given him by her. Gratitude is a paramount virtue. It inspires us to honor our parents, to respect the laws of the land in which we live, and to obey the wishes of our Creator. It is this virtue that the Torah wishes to teach us by always using the name Moshe, and no other.
Parshas Shemos 5785 The Book of Shemos takes us away from the histories of the patriarchs and from the land of Israel, into the lives of our ancestors in Egypt, a full generation after the death of the last of Yaakov’s children. The guests from Canaan had become a large nation, and a new government was now in power in Egypt. Under the new regime, the advantages conferred upon Egypt by Yosef and Yaakov were forgotten, and the Jews became enemies of the state. They were gradually and deliberately turned into a slave class, to be feared and subdued, subjugated and tortured. In his paradoxical impatience to be rid of the Jews, Pharaoh decreed that all Jewish boys be drowned at birth. It was about this time that we read (Shemos 2:1) “A man went, of the House of Levi, and took a daughter of Levi.” Later on we will learn the names of this couple, that they were of noble birth and in fact were leaders among the Jewish People. We will learn that they had already had two children prior to this episode, from which we must conclude that this was not a first marriage, but a remarriage after a separation. For the time being, however, all we are told is that they were “a man of the house of Levi” and “a daughter of Levi”, ordinary people who married and had a child. But not at all under ordinary circumstances. The Gemara (Sotah 12a) tells us that Amram and Yocheved had separated out of fear for their future children. They feared having sons who would be drowned in the Nile. As leaders among the people, their behavior affected not only themselves, but also the many others who learned from their example. Their six year old daughter, Miriam, criticized them for preventing future Jewish children from being born. She accused them of being more murderous than Pharaoh, as their behavior would destroy not only the boys, but also the girls. They were murdering children not only in this world, but also in the afterlife. Her parents accepted the criticism and remarried, and all those who had separated again followed their example. The result was the birth of Moshe, who not only was saved from destruction but grew up to be the savior of Israel. The children of the other marriages were also not drowned, as Pharaoh’s decree was rescinded as soon as Moshe was born. Miriam, future prophetess and leader of her people, but at the time just a little girl, taught us invaluable lessons about our duties to G-d and man. To deprive children of the opportunity to live is no different from taking their lives. To marry and have children is a Mitzvah like any other. With this Mitzvah as with any other, it is not given us to speculate about the potential results. Our duty is to do whatever is in our power to fulfill G-d’s command. As for results, we place our humble efforts before G-d and trust Him to do with them as He sees fit.
Parshas Shemos 5786 Our Parsha opens after the deaths of Yaakov’s twelve sons. The Egyptians’ disposition toward their former saviors shifted, and quite suddenly the Israelites came to be viewed as an urgent threat to the survival of Egypt. Emergency measures were taken to control population growth. The Israelites were subjected to slavery and torment, but they continued to increase. When all else failed, Pharaoh resorted to direct murder. He ordered the Jewish midwives to inconspicuously kill the Jewish boys as they were being born, and disguise their Acts as stillbirths. These heroic women risked their lives to defy the King's command. They not only allowed the children to live, but cared for them and fed them. When the king took them to task for disobeying him, they told an open and easily detectable lie, that Jewish women generally gave birth before the midwives arrived. This heroism is typical of the Jewish women of that time and of later times, who were always ready to sacrifice their lives to preserve Jews and Judaism. But the Torah does not praise them for their courage, their selflessness or their kindness. The one accolade the Torah has for the Jewish midwives is that they feared G-d. “The midwives feared G-d and they did not do as the king of Egypt had commanded them; and they preserved the children.” Goodness, morality, courage: these virtues were certainly present in the Jewish midwives. But these alone would not have inspired them to such heroism. Only through fear of G-d, the consciousness of an authority far greater than any mortal king, could cause them to do what they did. The Hebrew word for fear is Yir’ah (root ירא). The word for seeing is Re’iya (root ראה). The two roots share both of their primary radical letters, and are, in the Hebrew conception, closely related concepts. Yir’ah is not an emotion related to dread and loathing. It is a state of mind related to sight. Yir’ah is conceived as a deep awareness of the superiority of another being or entity, to the point of being moved to fear and awe, but also reverence, adoration and even love. We can well imagine how aware these Hebrew slaves were of the dreaded King Pharaoh. They had seen him and spoken to him, and they had grown up in a society that not only served him but worshiped him as a god. They well understood that to disobey him meant death or torture. But they were even more aware of the invisible G-d. To them, He was even more present than Pharaoh; their respect for Him was even greater, and they well understood that it was far more important to obey Him than any mortal king. “The midwives feared G-d and they did not do as the king of Egypt had commanded them; and they preserved the children.” As we read this glorious and heroic story, we admire the Jewish midwives for their fear - their Yir’ah - of G-d. But to admire them is insufficient. The Torah tells us this story so that we can apply its lessons to our own lives. Not the empty lesson that we ought to be like them, or that we ought to feel ashamed of ourselves if we are not. We are to strive toward their Yir’ah. We are to make it our life’s work to attain such awareness of G-d Who, though unseen, is more present and relevant in this world than anything else to which we pay so much attention. In what way are we to strive to attain Yir’ah for G-d? Not by wishing for it or by feeling guilty if we have not attained it. We attain Yir’ah by making ourselves aware of G-d. We discover G-d and learn what He wishes us to know of Him through constant and intense Torah study. We communicate with G-d and learn to appreciate His imminence through consistent and thoughtful prayer. Most importantly, we integrate G-d into our lived experience by carefully and studiously fulfilling His Will, as expressed in the Mitzvahs He has prescribed for us.
Parshas Vaera 5784 Vaera - with this word Hashem responds to the complaint lodged by Moshe at the end of last week’s Parsha. “Vaera - I appeared to your forefathers as Kel Sha-ai but was not known to them by My Name, Hashem. I established My covenant with them to give them the Land of Canaan… and I have heard the cries of the Children of Israel… and I will take them out from the toils of Egypt ....” Moshe had complained that ever since he had been sent to deliver the Jews from slavery things had only been made worse for them. In his frustration, he even allowed himself to say “Why have You done evil to this nation, why have You sent me?” Hashem here responds that salvation had been promised long before to the Patriarchs and would certainly materialize. Rashi, quoting the Midrash, sees in the wording of this promise a subtle reproach for Moshe, as if to say, “When I established My covenant with your forefathers, they did not question me. They did not express impatience for the fulfillment of the covenant or complain when they were treated as strangers in the land promised them. Although they never witnessed the manifestation of My Name, Hashem, with the fulfillment of My promises, they never questioned Me. My name is Hashem and you can trust in Me that I will fulfill My promise to redeem the Jewish People.” To be fair, Moshe can hardly be blamed for his question. In contrast to the case of the forefathers, it was not his personal wellbeing with which he was concerned but that of an entire nation, a nation that had been entrusted into his care. Moshe was perfectly justified in praying for them and asking G-d to have mercy on them. That is one of the primary functions of a Jewish leader. Moshe is blamed rather for the wording of his complaint, which implied that Hashem had done something harmful to the Jewish People. One of the meanings of Hashem’s Name is that everything He does, really everything that happens in this world, is a step toward ultimate good. In fact, it is a step along the most direct path toward ultimate good, no matter how negative it may appear to those experiencing it. A prime example is the Jews’ slavery in Egypt. It would have been a much more pleasant experience for G-d’s chosen people had they enjoyed independence and prosperity on their own land from the start. However, it would not have served G-d’s plan to have provided them with a pleasant experience. More, it would have been to the detriment of the people themselves and to their special calling. The Jewish Nation was not chosen to develop like other nations, to enjoy prosperity and create a strong national commonwealth, and then to fade into history. The Jewish Nation is to be G-d’s nation, born and developed under His special protection, its rise and fall to be directly tied to its devotion to G-d. For this special calling it was essential that the nation would undergo the most severe dehumanization of Egyptian slavery, later to be redeemed and reborn under the patronship of G-d. Hashem took issue with the complaint that He had done something harmful to the Jewish People. Nothing He does is harmful. “Elokim spoke to Moshe and said to him ‘I am Hashem’ (Shemos 6:2)”. Elokim, G-d’s name that represents judgment and severity, identifies Himself as Hashem, the name that represents kindness. However severe things may seem, they will eventually be revealed as the infinite kindness of G-d.
Parshas Vaera 5786 Last week we met Moshe, the man who was chosen as G-d’s messenger to Pharaoh. He was to deliver the Jewish people from bondage and lead them to Mount Sinai and on to the Promised Land. Moshe was the greatest of prophets, the only man who could be trusted with the mission of receiving and faithfully transmitting G-d’s Law to the Jews. He would become the man who we revere as our prophet, whom no subsequent prophet can contradict, and upon whose word our Torah stands. As we read through the Torah, we will discover that this man, alone among men, ascended on Mount Sinai to the realm of angels, and remained there for forty days and nights without food or water. He spoke to G-d “face to face, with a clear vision and not in riddles”. G-d performed many miracles through him in Egypt, at the Red Sea and in the desert. What does the Torah tell about the birth of this supreme prophet? Of what lofty stock did he come, and at what propitious hour was he born? “A man went from the house of Levi and took a daughter of Levi. The woman became pregnant and gave birth to a son.” A man and a woman, two ordinary human beings, married and had a child. He was not an only child. He was not a firstborn child or even of the firstborn tribe. The Torah gives us his entire genealogy, along with that of the primary families of the older two tribes. Moshe had an older sister and brother. He had cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. He was a child like any other, and he grew to be a man like any other. We have no legends about the birth of our prophet. We ascribe to him no supernatural abilities or G-dly tendencies. We neither worship him nor associate him in any way with the Deity. We revere him for his accomplishments. We admire his selfless devotion to G-d and to the mission he was assigned, his supreme efforts toward mastering the lessons of the Torah and applying them to his own character and to the nation he taught. Moshe would not have had it any other way. He attained the greatest level not only of prophecy but also of humility. To the greatest extent possible he made himself available to the people, to teach them and guide them. He spent his life teaching the people and wanted nothing more than to have them all surpass him. He was ready to sacrifice himself for his people. To a greater extent than any of his successors, Moshe never made a name for himself. He is depicted as nothing but an instrument in the hand of G-d, and nothing he did is made to sound like his own accomplishment. Not even in death did he leave us a burial place which might later be reduced to a shrine. He was a messenger of G-d, and he left us to continue in the service of that same G-d. But just because Moshe was an ordinary man, the more are we beholden to emulate him. Never can we claim to be of lesser stock than our great men. We are all of us in the service of the same G-d, and we can and must strive for the same perfection.
Parshas Bo 5784 After close to a year of resisting the pressure of seven plagues, Pharaoh was willing to negotiate with Moshe to allow some of the Jews a three day reprieve from work to attend their religious festival in the wilderness. Moshe, however, was unwilling to negotiate. He demanded that all the Jews be released, that the festival would be attended by “our youths, our elders, our sons and our daughters, our sheep and our cattle (Shemos 10:9)”. Pharaoh would not hear of it. He had Moshe banished from his presence with the words “Let the men go and worship Hashem, for that is what you are pressing for!” To the eyes of the Egyptian king, Moshe’s request was nothing but a poorly conceived hoax. If the Jews really had in mind a religious festival, why should any but the men go? What do commoners know of the Divinity, and what part can women and children possibly play in a religious service? Bring the elders and priests to worship your G-d, and let everyone else remain in Egypt. But this was no hoax. Jews have no clergy to represent them in religious service. They have no class of priests which devotes itself to the Divinity while commoners live a godless life. There is no event, activity or belief in the life of a Jew which falls outside the realm of his Religion. “Our youths and our elders, our sons and our daughters, our sheep and our cattle”, every member of the nation and his possessions are consecrated to Divine service. From earliest childhood, a Jewish boy or girl begins training into Torah study and observance. As appropriate to his age and maturity, a Jewish child participates in all the same religious activities as do his or her parents and studies the same Torah literature as do the most experienced scholars. Once the child reaches the age of only twelve or thirteen and has barely attained the intellectual and physical faculties of an adult, he or she is considered to have reached maturity and is obligated in full Torah observance. Having reached adulthood, every Jew, man or woman, young or old, rabbi or layperson, observes and worships in exactly the same way. Nor is the Jew’s religion confined to meditation and prayer. The Jew invites G-d into every part of his life, every meal he eats, every pleasure he enjoys. Each is an opportunity to do a Mitzvah, to recite a Beracha, to express gratitude and devotion to G-d. Judaism is not a religion, but an invitation to elevate every aspect of our lives from the animal to the human, from the physical to the spiritual, and that is a service that applies equally to men, women and children. To the eyes of a Moshe or an Aharon, it was unthinkable that the men would travel to the wilderness to conduct a religious ceremony and leave the women and children behind. What value would the service have if it did not represent the whole of the people, if it did not call upon the women and the boys and girls to participate, if it failed to evoke in the youngest children and babies the aspiration to one day become active participants? “With our youths and our elders we shall go, with our sons and our daughters, with our sheep and our cattle, for we must make a festival to G-d!”
Parshas Bo 5785 The Exodus from Egypt, or more accurately, G-d’s miraculous intervention in the affairs of man to extract one nation from another, is an event in our national memory which represents G-d’s absolute mastery over His creation. So important is this event to the continued survival of our faith, that we are commanded to recall it to mind every day and night, and to retell it in all its detail every year on its anniversary. Through recalling this event, we are reminded of all the fundamental ideals taught in the Torah. We internalize the lessons that G-d created the world, that He is all-knowing and is aware of our actions, that He concerns Himself with our actions and our behaviors toward one another, and favors those whose behavior reflects the ideals for which He created the world. But G-d does not content Himself with having us review our history and the ideas it teaches. He demands that we concretize the memorial with three symbolic acts. We have not fulfilled our duty on Pesach Eve until we have partaken of the Pesach sacrifice, Matzah and bitter herbs, and discussed their meaning in detail. We have not properly commemorated the Exodus unless we abstain from eating leavened bread and from engaging in constructive activities during the first and last days of the holiday. G-d wants us to commemorate the Exodus not only with thoughts and words, but also with actions. The entire Torah is a Book of actions. In this Book, faith and ideals are never treated directly, except as they translate into actions. G-d’s unity and the love of G-d are taught as verbal affirmations to be repeated each morning and evening. Fear of G-d is expressed in service. Love and honesty are taught in the form of specific duties toward our fellowmen. Actions are the primary expression of our relationship with G-d, and no phase of our activities is allowed to go without some special religious observance. G-d knows that we live active, busy lives, and He does not wish to stand on the periphery of those lives, an object of faith and devotion to be remembered at the end of a long day of labor. He wishes to be fully part of our activities. He wishes to be invited into our kitchens and sitting rooms, our offices and our bedrooms. He wishes to join us when we travel and greet us when we arrive home, take part in our celebrations and comfort us when we mourn. Judaism has as its goal not devotion to an abstract ideology but the consecration of life itself. To live a full, active life, but on a higher plane: a plane on which normal, everyday activities are sanctified and elevated to acts of duty, acts whose ultimate purpose far surpasses the mundane, worldly pursuit of enjoyments, that is the ideal of a Jew.
Parshas Bo 5786 After hundreds of years of suffering, the ancient prophecy of redemption was finally fulfilled. For twelve months, the Egyptian overlords had been struck with ten terrible plagues. For one year, they had been too preoccupied with their own troubles to afflict their Jewish slaves. Nine times pharaoh had refused to be convinced, but now at the tenth, he and his nation not only allowed but urged and rushed the Jews to leave their land. The long-awaited day of freedom had finally come, but where were they to go? They, their parents and grandparents had all been born in Egypt. Egypt, as unfriendly a land as it was, was the only home they had ever known. Mixing clay and straw to make bricks was the only skill they had ever learned. The ancient homeland of their ancestors was separated from them by a vast and impassable desert. It was held by seven powerful nations of giants, well trained for war and protected by tall battlements. And the Israelites were no longer a small clan of seventy. They had become a great nation of millions. Men women and children, old and young, without any means of obtaining food or drink, shelter and clothing, even the most basic necessities of life. They were free, but they were stateless and friendless. Where indeed could they go, other than back to the same huts they had occupied under their former masters? “The children of Israel traveled from Ramses to Sukkos, 600,000 strong - the men, aside from children.” It was a great leap of faith, to step out of Ramses, the only home they had known for over two hundred years, the only place in the world where they knew how to survive. 600,000 men, an equal number of women, with their young children, their old and their sick, into the uninhabitable desert. They were armed only with their Matzah, the leftover unleavened bread from their Pesach celebration. With that symbol of faith on their shoulders they marched out of Egypt with not a care in the world. Was there nothing to eat or drink in the desert? Bread would fall from heaven and water would flow from a rock. Were they going to a place of severe heat and poisonous snakes? Miraculous clouds would surround them and bear them in comfort to their destination. Would they face war, untrained and unprepared? Fortifications would sink into the ground, boulders would fall from heaven on their enemies. The invisible God who had delivered them from suffering would deliver them unharmed to their ancestral land. God never forgot their unquestioning faith. “So says G-d: I remember for you the love of your bridehood, the kindness of your youth, when you went after me into the desert, to a land that was not sown.”
Parshas Beshalach 5784 There is a popular discussion point which is often brought up at the Passover Seder. Moshe plays such a central role in the story of the Exodus. He is the great leader chosen by G-d to speak to Pharaoh and demand the release of the Jewish slaves. He becomes G-d’s instrument to bring the ten plagues upon the Egyptians, and G-d’s foremost prophet to communicate to the Jewish people. Yet, on Seder night, when we retell the story of the Exodus in all its detail, Moshe does not get even a word of mention. Why is this central figure not mentioned even once in the Haggadah? Many have pondered over this question, but it would seem that Moshe himself has already provided the answer. This week’s Parsha tells the story of the initial stages of our ancestors’ sojourn in the desert. Very soon after the dramatic climax of the tenth plague and the excitement of the Exodus, the reality set in that there would be a long road ahead of them, through an uninhabitable wilderness, before they could reach the Promised Land. Very severe trials lay in store, specially arranged by G-d for the education of the newly born Jewish Nation. In the first month of the journey, their faith was put to no fewer than four very difficult tests. The dreaded enemy overcame them at the Red Sea, and as far as anyone could see their journey was about to come to a bloody end; they traveled three full days in the desert heat with no sign of water; their provisions ran out in the wilderness where they could not be replenished; they again arrived at an encampment where there was no water. We can well imagine the sense of panic which accompanied each of these trials. Each time they felt their leader had failed them, and had led them and their families into the wilderness without making the proper arrangements for food, water or defense. “Is it for lack of graves in Egypt that you took us out to die in the desert?” “If only we had died at the hand of Hashem in the land of Egypt… for you took us out to this desert in order to kill this whole congregation from hunger.” “Why did you take us out of Egypt to kill me, my children and my livestock from thirst?” Moshe responded each time with one consistent message. It was not he who had taken them out of Egypt, and it was not he who was to provide for them in the wilderness. Moshe was not the leader of this expedition. It is G-d and G-d alone who leads the Jewish People, and it is G-d alone to Whom they must direct their concerns. “Stand and see the salvation of G-d”; “In the evening you will know that it is Hashem who took you out of Egypt”; “What are we, that you incite murmurings against us?”; “...Hashem hears the complaints that you incite against Him - but what are we? Not against us are your complaints, but against Hashem.” “What are we?!” - With these much celebrated words Moshe made it quite clear how he viewed his role in the Exodus, how we should view his role in the Exodus, how we should view the role of anyone who subsequently holds a position of leadership among the Jewish People. A teacher, perhaps; a prophet who transmits to us the word of G-d, but never anything beyond that. Moshe, no less than anyone else, was to be a servant of the One G-d. Hashem, for a Moshe as much as for anyone else, is the only One to Whom we look for our protection and wellbeing. Moshe is indeed not mentioned in the Haggadah. Nor would he have dreamed that it could be otherwise. The lesson that he lived and taught through his entire life was that he was neither leader nor lawgiver, and that the only leader of the Jewish Nation is G-d Himself.
Parshas Beshalach 5786 The Exodus from Egypt taught the lesson of G-d’s mastery over the forces of nature and the world which He created. The journey through the desert taught us how to apply the lesson. Our Parsha begins that journey, and faith, as applied to real life, is the theme which runs through the entire Parsha. When our ancestors left Egypt, they were not informed of the course they would be taking. They were shown a cloud and a pillar of fire, which they were to follow unquestioningly from one encampment to the next. Without knowing where they were being led, they had to trust in G-d to bring them through the desert to safety. But they were not brought by the shortest path to the Promised Land. G-d rejected the direct path because it was close (Shemos 14:17). He led them through the desert, toward the impassable Red Sea. He had them double back toward Egypt before continuing their journey. They were to face the dangers of the Egyptian army, the desert and the sea, and trust in G-d to deliver them. After seven days of travel, the Israelites arrived at the sea. Behind them was a powerful army, their former masters of two centuries. They cried out to G-d, but the sea remained as unmoving as ever. G-d did not split the sea, but issued the order to continue traveling. Only after they had entered the sea did it miraculously split. Upon arriving on the other side, the journey continued through the desert. Millions of people travelled for three days in the desert without any provision for water. When they found water it was undrinkable, and a special miracle had to be performed to sweeten it. Soon the food supply began to run low, and here began the great lesson of the Manna. G-d did not provide a new source of food which would sustain the Israelites throughout their journey. He provided the Manna-bread: exactly enough for one day. This miraculous bread fell from heaven to be collected in the morning. However much one collected, he arrived home with one day’s supply. If he attempted to save some bread for the next day, he awoke to find it full of worms. For forty years, the entire nation was always one day away from starvation. For forty years, our ancestors could only rely on G-d that the Manna would fall again tomorrow. The one exception was Shabbos. Each Friday, a double portion of bread was collected. It did not rot over night but stayed fresh for Shabbos. On Shabbos, there was no Manna to be found in the fields. Thirst and hunger were not the only dangers in the desert. The Israelites were reminded that they were, as ever since, surrounded by hostile nations, and again, their only hope for protection was G-d. When they looked up at Moshe’s hands raised in prayer and remembered G-d their Protector, they were victorious. When they forgot G-d the battle turned against them. We today no longer live in an uninhabitable desert. We no longer face imminent starvation or attack. But the lessons we learned from the desert must always remain with us. No matter how much we have or lack, we must always remember that it is G-d who provides our sustenance and protection. We are permitted and required to care for ourselves, but never may we do so in a way that compromises our duty to G-d. We do our part, but we trust in G-d to care and provide for us.
Parshas Yisro 5784 “And Yisro heard (Shemos 18:1)”. These are the opening words of our Parsha, and these are the words which enunciate the fundamental characteristic that set Yisro apart from the rest of the world. Yisro heard about the miracles of the Exodus from Egypt. He heard about the miracles at the Red Sea and about the miraculous Manna-bread. He heard about Amalek’s assault and the Jews’ miraculous victory. Yisro wasn’t the only one who heard about these events: “Nations heard and trembled, fear gripped those who dwell in Philistea; the inhabitants of Edom were confounded, the powerful of Moav were gripped with trembling, those who dwell in Canaan melted (Shemos 15:14-5).” The dramatic downfall of the great Egyptian Empire and the miraculous events surrounding their former slaves were certainly not kept quiet from the world. But unlike the rest of the world, Yisro did something about it. Yisro didn’t content himself with reading the news in the paper and chatting about it during his coffee break. He took the time to stop and consider the significance of what he had heard. He asked himself how it should affect his view of the world, and what practical response it demanded of him. After careful consideration, Yisro came to the conclusion that the only correct response was to learn more about this nation and its G-d. Once he was decided, he wasted no time in picking up and traveling to their desert camp, and once there he made a quick decision to join the Jewish People. “And Yisro heard” - Yisro was the one person who really understood what it means to hear, the one person who was always listening for something that would give direction and meaning to his life, the one person who was able to recognize that “something” when it presented itself. And he wasn’t afraid to act. He wasn’t held up by the life he would be leaving behind, his wife and six of his daughters, his home or his wealth. He had heard. He had heard and understood, and he didn’t hesitate to act immediately on his conviction. The Torah holds this man up to us as an example of the seriousness with which we should approach life, of how we should never allow an experience or a lesson to pass us by and leave us unchanged. We were put on this world to discover the truth, and having discovered it, to act upon it immediately, without looking back.
Parshas Yisro 5785 Our Parsha is named for a man of principles. A man who was not easily swayed for good or bad, but once convinced, stood by his conviction no matter the cost. Before making a decision, he thoroughly studied the subject in all its implications, and then made a firm and unalterable decision. Yisro was not brought up with belief in one G-d, and his path to becoming an honored member of the Jewish People was a long one. He began as a trusted advisor to Pharaoh, with a position of great honor in Pharaoh’s court. But when the question arose regarding the Jewish problem, he was unwilling to be party to the murderous ideas of the other advisors. He resigned his post and fled Egypt. In Midian, Yisro became a pagan priest, an expert in the theology of all the world religions of his time. He worshiped every idol, joined and rose in the ranks of every cult, and became a great leader among his people. But with each religion he studied, he recognised the falsehood of its ideology. After he had studied and participated in all the world’s religions, he came to the conviction that none of them were true, and once again, he gave up his position of honor and renounced idolatry. He became a despised member of Midianite society, and he and his family were shunned, but he remained true to his principles and refused to live a life of hypocrisy. At the time of the Exodus, while all the world was discussing the remarkable goings on in Egypt, Yisro was carefully studying the news that came to his ears. He heard about the ten plagues, and considered the implications of each. He heard of the Exodus and the crossing of the Red Sea, and he took to heart what they had to teach. He heard of the Manna and the miraculous war with Amalek, and he decided he must travel to the desert to meet this great nation and its G-d. He left his home, his family and his wealth. He forsook the society in which he had lived, if not in honor at least in comfort. He travelled to the barren desert and there was convinced of the truth of the Torah. Yisro did not question what he must do. He followed his conviction and severed the final ties with his past. He converted and joined the Jewish People. It has been said that the greatest distance is that between the mind and the heart. Too often we are convinced in our minds but our hearts do not follow, and we remain, against our better judgment, forever unchanged. As we read the story of Yisro this Shabbos, let us take to heart the lesson of his life, and gain the courage to follow, without regard for our comfort, the dictates of our conscience.
Parshas Yisro 5786 This Shabbos we will be reading about the giving of the Torah. The revelation at Sinai and the Ten Commandments are the two highlights of this week’s Parsha. I would like to highlight a comment Rashi makes in his commentary at the beginning of that episode, just as the Israelites arrived in the region of Sinai. There the Torah says (Shemos 19:2) “They travelled from Rephidim and came to the wilderness of Sinai, and Israel camped there, opposite the mountain”. Although Israel was a large nation with a multitude of people, the Torah refers to them in the singular. Rashi explains that at that encampment the entire nation was as one man, with one heart. These words of Rashi (in Hebrew, כאיש אחד בלב אחד) have become a proverb and are frequently repeated and put to song. The importance of unity and the evils of strife are greatly stressed in Judaism. Strife is what brought destruction upon the second temple, and what prevents the advent of the third. Peace is one of the primary elements that allows the community to function and allows G-d to bestow his blessing upon the community. Many have moralized about the evils of strife and taught that peace must be bought at any price. People study conflict, trying to discover its source and cure, not realizing that the very next line of Rashi provides the solution. In the much less frequently quoted next line, Rashi says that at every other encampment there was strife and discord. If indeed there usually was strife, what was unique about this one encampment at Mount Sinai? What inspired the peaceable relations which prevailed specifically and only at this encampment? I believe that the answer to this question solves the riddle of strife. When our ancestors arrived in the Sinai desert, they arrived with one purpose, to learn the Word of G-d and obey. They wished to receive instruction from G-d on how to live their lives according to the dictates of his will. They were not focused on themselves and their own needs and wants. They were focused solely on hearing what God wanted of them. When we focus on our needs and wants, there cannot but be strife. Everyone has his own needs, which are inevitably in conflict with those of others. Even when we focus on the needs of others, or the needs of the world around us, the causes in which we are interested are different from those in which others are interested. Selfish or selfless, my pursuits are not yours, and cannot but conflict with yours. Not so when we devote ourselves to Torah, the revelation of G-d’s Will. G-d’s Purpose is all encompassing and contains no contradiction. When you and I are both devoted to the Torah, we have no goal or purpose other than to fulfill G-d’s Will. You and I both do our work for G-d in the particular sphere in which each of us is placed by circumstance and ability. Your work in no way conflicts with mine, because both are in the service of the same larger purpose. My needs and wants in no way conflict with yours, because both share the higher purpose of allowing us to continue our work for G-d. All of us wish to see peace in our communities and in the world. But peace can only be gained through our devotion to Torah.
Parshas Mishpatim 5785 Last week we read about the Revelation at Sinai and the giving of the Torah. The end of this week’s Parsha adds more details to the description. Sandwiched in the middle of the narrative is the subject of Mishpatim, the social laws of the Torah, which deal with such mundane issues as theft, damages, injuries and custodianship, as well as marital harmony and care for the poor. This section begins with the “Vav” prefix, which means “and”, to emphasize that the presentation of these laws is not a break in the sublime narrative of the Revelation, but is the natural continuation of the story. Judaism knows of no distinction between ritual and interpersonal law, between worshiping G-d and living justly and harmoniously with others. Both ideals were taught to us at Sinai by the same G-d and transmitted with equal reverence and seriousness. The same G-d whom we met in a display of fire and smoke amid thunder and lightning, who demands our allegiance and that we observe His Law, demands also that we deal honestly and charitably with our fellow man. There can never be a conflict of interest between our “religious” and our “social” obligations. Both are obligations toward G-d Himself, and are given equal attention. But beyond being equally important, both obligations are equally defined and dictated by one and the same Torah. No human legislature has ever existed for the Jewish Nation, no man-made system of morality. Jewish laws and morals were not developed by human caprice to fit the mood of any particular time or to satisfy temporary pragmatic considerations. The Jewish court knows only the immortal Law of the Torah, Jewish ethicists know only the moral code of the Torah. This Law and this Code are designed by the Creator of mankind, in accordance with His perfect understanding of the nature and needs of humanity and of human society. They reflect His infinitely objective perception of equity and justice, of charity and benevolence. We have no need to speculate and develop theories about ethics and sociology. We need only study and follow the Word of G-d and allow the Creator’s Law to instruct us. Mishpatim, the section on social laws, is the natural conclusion to the Giving of the Torah. After accepting the Ten Commandments and the Tablets of our Covenant with G-d, we then wait expectantly for Him to set out His expectations of us, not only for the observation of religious rituals, but also, even primarily, for the conduct of our personal lives and of the society which we are to establish.
Parshas Mishpatim-Shekalim 5786 This Shabbos we will be reading the first of the four special Parshas which help us prepare for Pesach. The name of this Parsha is Shekalim, and its subject is the power of community. No individual can see to all of his worldly and spiritual needs. Only with the combined skills and resources of the entire community can our national and individual lives function. Nor should the individual be lost in the collective. Each individual is to develop his own abilities and propensities, but to use them not only for his own benefit but for that of the world around him. When we lived on our own land, the center of our national life was the Temple. The upkeep of the Temple and the service that took place therein, was supported by the community. The yearly tax that supported the Temple and other national institutions was half a Shekel from each man, collected before Pesach. It was based on the contribution required by the Torah in connection with the original Sanctuary in the desert. Jewish tradition honors this memory with the institution of the half shekel each person donates to charity on Purim. Parshas Shekalim is the passage in the Torah that commands the half shekel donation. The reading of Parshas Shekalim was originally instituted as a reminder to the public to see to their annual contribution. Today we read it in commemoration of that time. But this short passage contains important lessons for our own time and our own communal involvement. The Torah teaches that the contribution was to be precisely half of a shekel. The wealthy were to give no more and the poor no less. At other occasions, everyone is welcome to contribute as much or as little as his means and generosity allow, but this annual donation had to be exactly half a Shekel. No individual is complete by himself. Each person, no matter how capable or how wealthy, is only a half. He is complete only when he joins with his neighbor in shared responsibility. But, as the Torah emphasizes, the shekel is made up of twenty Gera coins. Half a Shekel, the donation of each individual, is ten Gera. It represents his “full ten”, the full count of his abilities and resources. No two people share exactly the same abilities or resources, and no two people are expected to contribute to the public good in the same way. But every individual is expected to be fully dedicated with whatever humble contribution he has to make. If he gives this, he has given his full ten, no matter how small that may be. Every individual is expected to rely on every other, and to offer himself to be relied on. If he does this, he has dutifully joined his half Shekel to that of his neighbor. At this time, as we prepare for the busy spring season of reawakening, let each of us think what he has to contribute to the welfare of his neighbors. This one has time, that one has talent, a third has financial means. Each of us is responsible not only to himself and his family, but to the betterment of his community and the larger world.
Parshas Terumah 5784 The Jewish nation, freshly released from centuries of bondage, had just received the Torah, the seal of their everlasting covenant with G-d. They were now instructed to build the Mishkan, a physical edifice dedicated to G-d, a home for G-d from which He would make Himself known in this world. This would be the center and focal point of the Jewish camp, it would be their gathering place and their place of worship. It was from here that G-d would speak to Moshe and teach the Law by which the Jewish people would live for all time. The Mishkan was not to be the work of a specific group of people, funded by the wealthy and supervised by priests. A collection would be made from the entire people, every Jew would donate his half-Shekel coin. Whoever felt inspired to contribute more than the minimum donation would give whatever he could in gold, silver, copper, green and purple dyed wool, silk, linen and goat-skins. Whoever discovered in himself the talent to work these materials would contribute his time and skill to the cause of building the Mishkan. And the people answered the call. The vast funds needed for this magnificent edifice, in a matter of days were not only collected to the last penny but were exceeded. For perhaps the first and last time in history, people had to be asked to stop contributing because the coffers were full to overflowing. A great number of people, who until recently had experience only in laying bricks and mixing cement, overnight became skilled artisans. Men and women presented themselves to the overseers, ready to do whatever work they would be called upon to do. For more than two months, all the resources and labor of the Jewish people would be focused on this great task of building a physical home for G-d. All this enthusiasm was engendered by the prospect of creating a physical space where G-d would make His presence known, specifically His presence in the midst of the Jewish nation. This nation values nothing more than its special relationship with G-d, and every member of the nation was eager to play some part, no matter how small, in creating a home for it. We no longer have the Mishkan. The Temple is for us a distant memory and a long awaited future. In their place we have our Synagogues and our places of Torah study. We have the Torah and the Mitzvahs with which we celebrate our relationship with G-d. We commit ourselves to these and enthusiastically devote our time and resources to their furtherance. By studying the Torah and keeping its Mitzvahs, by gathering together in the Synagogue to study and pray, we create a home for G-d on earth.
Parshas Terumah 5785 Our Parsha begins the second half of the Book of Shemos, which is devoted to the building of the Mishkan. The Torah prescribes in all their detail the form and materials for the Mishkan, and each of the holy vessels and priestly garments that would be used therein. It then goes on to describe how these instructions were carried out. But before construction could begin, a collection had to be made of all the necessary materials. It is this collection that gives our Parsha its name. “Speak to the Children of Israel, and they shall take for me a Terumah (Shemos 25:1).” For lack of a better translation, a Terumah is a donation, to be solicited from the entire nation for the sake of the building effort. But the Torah does not say they shall give donations, but they shall take donations. A donation to the Mishkan is in fact not something given but something received. The greatest aspiration of the Jewish People, our greatest fulfillment as a nation, is to regain the closeness with G-d enjoyed by our Patriarchs and Matriarchs. The homes of Avraham and Sarah, Yitzchak and Rivka, Yaakov and his wives, were places where G-d’s presence could be felt. One entered their homes and felt himself transported into a heavenly realm, in which G-d was not an abstract idea but a real, tangible presence. One experienced a blissful awareness and closeness with G-d, a taste of Heaven here on earth. To be given that opportunity once again is the constant dream and aspiration of our nation. The Mishkan, and later the Temple in Jerusalem, were replicas of the holy homes of our Patriarchs. When it was announced that the time had arrived to reestablish the home for G-d which the Patriarchs had built, to re-invite G-d into the Jewish camp, the people were overcome with enthusiasm and excitement. They considered it the greatest privilege and joy to donate toward building this great edifice. Their donations were not gifts but opportunities to take part in realizing the intimate relationship G-d has with His world and His People. They were indeed not giving but taking. Building the Mishkan is not the only thing that develops our close relationship with G-d. Every Mitzvah we do brings us and our world closer to G-d, and G-d closer to us. By engaging in prayer, Torah study and Mitzvah observance, we are strengthening our relationship with G-d, and making His presence more apparent in this world. Fulfilling a Mitzvah is not our gift to G-d, but G-d’s gift to us. When we participate in a religious service or a Mitzvah observance, let us turn our focus away from the effort or discomfort involved, and focus instead on the great opportunity given us, to look beyond the mundane and engage with G-d.
Parshas Terumah 5786 After presenting the Torah, G-d's instruction for a life of meaning and service, to his world, G-d commanded his people to erect a sanctuary for him on earth. The Mishkan, as it was called, would be a temple, a physical edifice representing the Divine teaching of the Torah. It was built around the Ark, the repository of the Torah. It would contain the Menorah, the lamp of G-d's inspiration to the world, and the Altar of assent to G-d through dedicated service. And it would contain a Table. A table of plain wood, plated with just a thin layer of gold on the top. On the table would always stand twelve loaves of bread, ordinary bread baked in an ordinary oven to be consumed by ordinary people. This Table, of all the accoutrements of the temple, the Torah designates as “the pure Table”. Revelations, light, rapturous devotion; these are common to all religions. What sets our Torah apart is the Jewish table, the pure table. Not in the Temple and not at the altar, but at his dining table does the Jew seek G-d. A family, not kneeling but sitting down at table, is the Jewish picture of G-dliness. A father and mother, bound in a pure and lawful marriage, innocent children who are sons and daughters of both. The faces of all reflect the satisfaction of a life of duty to G-d. Bread is brought to the table that was obtained through perfect honesty, and shared with those less fortunate. No morsel is served but that has been prepared with meticulous care taken to see that it is Kosher. No bite is taken before G-d has been blessed for providing food. No one rises from his seat once satisfied before again thanking G-d for his sustenance. The repast is taken with dignity, and the conversation is elevated. No, a dining table is not out of place in the Jewish Temple. Nor was it thought at all irreverent to refer to its inner Hall as a bed chamber. The Torah consecrates not only our meditations and devotions, but every aspect of our lives, to G-d.
Parshas Tetzaveh 5785 Tetzaveh continues the theme of the building and consecration of the Mishkan, focusing primarily on the priestly garments. The first two verses, however, discuss the oil to be used for the Menorah, how it was to be prepared and lit. It was to be absolutely pure oil, from the very first drops pressed out of the olives. The officiating Cohen was to take care to fill the Menorah with enough oil to last through even the longest winter nights. He would then hold a flame to the wicks, never removing the flame until they were fully kindled, ready to burn entirely on their own. As Rabbi S. R. Hirsch points out, this information seems out of place in the book of Shemos, which deals with the construction of the Mishkan, and not the service that would take place there. We would expect the Menorah lighting to be discussed in the book of Vayikra, together with the rest of the Temple service. The fact that it is taught here, at the construction of the Mishkan, makes it more than just one of the services that took place there. Its placement indicates that the Menorah lighting is an essential component of the Mishkan itself. The Menorah and its seven lights do, indeed, stand for the central meaning and message of the Mishkan. The Mishkan, and later the Temple in Jerusalem, were constructed around the Ark of the Torah. Its innermost and holiest chamber housed the Ark, and the outer chamber and courtyards represented the spread of the Torah’s teachings and their application to the lives of the nation beyond. The Mishkan is not a shrine at which to kneel or a temple in which to offer sacrifices. It is a living edifice, built as a model for the Jewish home, a center from which inspiration can be drawn for the real, lived experience of the Jewish Nation. If the Mishkan is a model of the centrality of Torah in the lives of the nation, the Menorah is the lamp from which shines the light of the Torah. The flames of the Menorah represent the teaching of Torah and the light of inspiration for the elevated and meaningful life the Torah offers. The relationship between the Menorah and the teaching of Torah gives relevance to our Parsha beyond its literal application. The Menorah’s oil had to be absolutely pure. Torah must be transmitted in its pure, unadulterated form. The Torah does not tolerate any altering or tempering of its message to accommodate the sensitivities of the student. Flame had to be applied to the lamps until they could continue burning unassisted. The Torah teacher must diligently work with his students until they can carry on without him. The task of a Rabbi is not to benefit the community with his own esoteric brand of expertise. It is to apply himself to spreading knowledge throughout the community until he himself becomes superfluous.
Parshas Tetzaveh 5786 This week’s parsha, Parshas Tetzaveh, continues the theme of the Mishkan, the portable Temple which would accompany the Jewish people throughout their travels in the desert. The Mishkan was the center and focal point of the Jewish camp, the place which served as their rendezvous with G-d, where they would come to worship and draw inspiration for the life that G-d wants us to live. The central feature of the Mishkan, ensconced in its holiest chamber, was the Ark which contained the two Tablets of the Law and the Torah scroll. The Ark and the Torah which it contains are to be the focus of our lives and the goal toward which we strive. The message of the Mishkan, the life toward which it was to train the people, is one centered around the Torah, dedicated to the Torah, a life every part of which is to be permeated by the Law and Spirit of the Torah. We picture the Mishkan, with its outer court and inner sanctuary, leading back to the innermost chamber where the Ark sat under the Cherubim, and we see one message emanating from that chamber, through the sanctuary and the court, out to the nation encamped around them. This one message is the Torah, the life which the Torah instructs and inspires us to lead. We are reminded that it is this which stands at the center of our nation. Not political or military power, not the doctrines of a priestly caste, but the Word of G-d emanating from the sanctuary and guiding us toward our national destiny. But in order for us to hear that message we must study the Torah. We cannot know what it means to live by the Torah unless we study it. Unless we take the time and effort to discover the Teachings of the Torah, unless we devote ourselves to the task of understanding the Torah, we cannot learn to make the Torah part of our lives. In order to invite G-d into our world we must first be taught who G-d is and what He demands of us. This is something we can only learn from the Torah. Study of the Torah was the primary pastime of our ancestors in the desert. Only a small fraction of the forty years in the desert was spent traveling. The rest of their time was spent studying the Torah. The newly created Nation of G-d spent its time passionately seeking out the word of G-d, enthusiastically studying what it means to be the People of G-d. When they arrived in their own land, they continued to study the Torah, seeking G-d’s guidance on how to build a society around the Ideals of the Torah. Throughout all the centuries and millennia since, the Jewish Nation has been a Torah nation, spending its time and energies on studying the Torah and internalizing its Teachings, seeking its guidance and living its message. Let us learn from our predecessors and follow their example. Let us take time out of our days, an hour before we begin our daily business, an hour before we retire at night, whatever time we can make for ourselves, and think about the meaning of our lives. Let us take the time to attend Torah classes, to join study groups, at least to study the Torah on our own. Let us not allow a day to go by without looking into the Torah and asking it to guide our life choices and instruct us on how to live. Only in this way can we make G-d part of our lives, only in this way can we call ourselves true Jews.
Parshas Ki Sisa 5784 “Moshe turned away and descended from the mountain with the two Tablets of the Testament in his hands: tablets written on both of their sides, from this (side) and that they were written. The Tablets were the work of G-d, and the writing was the writing of G-d, engraved on the Tablets. (Shmos 32:15-16)” These tablets, formed and written directly by the hand of G-d, were of the most miraculous nature. The writing was not engraved only on the front of the Tablets, but bored right through to the back. Those letters which are fully closed, such as ם and ס, were carved through in the same way as all the other letters, and the area inside them remained miraculously suspended in space. But the writing on the back of the Tablets was not inverted: “From this side and that they were written”. The writing which bored through the Tablets from one side to the other could be read equally from either side, and miraculously appeared on either side to be written in the same direction. According to some, they could actually be read equally well from all four sides. The letters of the Ten Commandments were “חָרוּת”, given free reign over the material on which they were written. They were not bound to the physical properties of the stone, nor indeed did they appear to be written on stone at all. They stood independent of their housing, the Word of G-d to His people without any intermediary context. G-d’s Torah has no context. It does not belong to any specific time or place, it was not developed for a particular society or political system. It stands alone as G-d’s thought, G-d’s program for the perfection of human society and the world we inhabit, and was formed before the universe came into being. It does not conform to the physical or cultural reality in which it finds itself, but can be read “from all sides”, anywhere in the world and in all situations. If G-d’s Law seems outdated or inappropriate to a certain time or place, it remains suspended there, ever present and ready to be taken up and recognized as the most relevant response to every reality. We, the People of the Torah, have read these two Tablets from all angles. We have found in them inspiration and instruction for the endless range of circumstances we have experienced. In our long journey through every corner of the world, surrounded by the full spectrum of societies, under all varieties of governments and political systems, the Torah has guided our lives and decisions. In bondage and freedom, autonomy and oppression, the Jewish people, under the direction of the Torah, has formed a society more just and peaceful, moral and pure, than any other they have encountered. As we move forward in our continually changing world, facing new realities and new challenges, the engraving on the two Tablets remains unchanged, the one thing that remains fixed, by which we can orient our perspective. We may see that engraving from a new angle, never before imagined, but the writing remains unchanged. We continue to faithfully follow the Torah’s direction, and the Torah continues to provide us with its timeless inspiration and guidance.
Parshas Ki Sisa 5786 The past two Parshas have taught us about the Mishkan in all its intricate detail. G-d gave very specific instructions about the form each of the vessels was to take, the materials and complex weave to be used in the tapestries and the priestly garments, and the required dimensions for each part of the Mishkan and its vessels. Now the time had come to implement the instructions and build the Mishkan. Numerous skilled crafts would be employed. Threads had to be spun out of each of the several materials and twisted together. Gold, silver and copper had to be formed into vessels of intricate shapes. Wooden planks of tremendous size had to be made and tapestries and garments had to be woven. Where were all of these diverse skills to be found in Israel? Those newly freed slaves knew no craft other than mixing clay and laying bricks. Where were the artisans, the spinners and the weavers? G-d identified one Bezalel to be the lead architect and instructor to all the others. He was to learn all of these crafts and teach them and apply them. Under him would be any man or woman who felt endowed with the necessary abilities. Who was this Bezalel? He is named as a Judahite, a grandson of Chur. Chur appears once in the Torah as a prominent leader left in Moshe's place when the latter was away on Mount Sinai. From Chronicles we know that Chur was the son of Calev and Ephrath, which latter is identified as Moshe’s sister Miriam, great prophetess and leader of the Jewish women. Fine lineage, but of Bezalel himself we know almost nothing. We do know that his great-grandfather, Calev, was a young man at the time, so Bezalel could not have been more than a child. This was to be the master architect who would oversee and teach all of the artisans with all of their various crafts. It is certain that Bezalel was an especially gifted child, but from where was he to learn all of those various crafts? But if G-d assigned him to the task, he was equal to it. So with all the artisans and craftsmen who worked alongside him. They saw the task at hand, they recognized it was they who were called upon to do it, and they trusted that G-d had endowed them with the faculties necessary. We do not have the privilege of being singled out by G-d for our individual tasks. But we are aware of the individual circumstances each of us has been assigned, and we recognize the tasks that need to be done in G-d’s service. And if G-d has placed us in just these circumstances, with just these tasks before us, then we know we are called upon to accomplish them, and that we are endowed with all the necessary skills and abilities.
Parshas Vayakhel 5784 When Moshe let out the word that donations were required for the building of the Mishkan, the Jewish community responded with unmatched enthusiasm. In a few short days all the gold, silver, copper, wool, linen, skins, wood and precious stones had been collected. Out of all these donations, the Torah focuses on one of them and tells us where the material came from and what it was used for: “He made the copper basin and its copper base with the mirrors of the congregated women, who thronged to the entrance of the sanctuary (Shemos 38:8)”. That these mirrors had served the purpose of enhancing physical appearance did not make them in any way unfit for incorporation into the Temple. Quite the opposite, G-d considered this to be the most worthy donation of all (Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 9). More, they were to be formed into the vessel which would be used to enhance the purity of the servitors in the Temple and the purity of Jewish marriages. There is nothing in human life that is despised by the Sanctuary of G-d. There is nothing in human life that does not have a holy purpose. G-d did not see in these mirrors the vanity or immodesty of their owners. He saw the holy mission for which the women had risked their lives in Egypt. When the Jews were slaves in Egypt, their masters forcibly broke up their families in order to control the population. The Jewish women set themselves the holy task of ensuring the future of the nation. They risked their lives to enter the men’s camp and visit their husbands. They brought food and drink to restore the men’s spirits, and they brought copper mirrors to adorn themselves. This heroic act prevented the extinction of the Jewish Nation, and those mirrors deserved to be immortalized in the Temple. In normal times, when the basic functions of life are not so difficult, they are no less heroic and no less holy. Every Jew who lives a pure life, who engages in normal physical activities but dedicates those activities to G-d, who sees in every struggle a challenge to deepen his or her relationship with G-d and further G-d’s work in this world, that Jew’s mirror is no less a religious object than any other, no less beloved by G-d than any other.
Parshas Vayakhel 5785 For several weeks we have been reading G-d’s instructions for the building of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle that would serve as G-d’s home among the Jewish people in the desert. At great length, G-d described to Moshe the precise dimensions, materials and adornments for the beams, tapestries and the holy vessels that would comprise this great edifice. The completion of the Mishkan would represent a great milestone in the history of the Jewish people. It would be a fulfillment of the ultimate goal of having G-d dwell among them, a return to the glorious days of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs. Building the Mishkan was the most important task the Jews would be given to perform during their travels, to facilitate, through the combination of all their skills and efforts, the presence of G-d on earth. We can well imagine the great excitement with which the announcement was received that Moshe had completed his study under G-d and was now ready to transmit the instruction to the people. Our Parsha opens with the words Vayakhel Moshe: “Moshe gathered the entire congregation of the Children of Israel and said to them ‘these are the things that G-d has commanded you to do’”. The entire congregation assembled, carefully listening for the long awaited instructions. Moshe began - “Six days shall work be done, but on the seventh day there shall be for you a holy (day), a Shabbos of rest for G-d”. The great pronouncement for which Moshe assembled the nation was not the Mishkan. Those instructions could wait for a later address, to be given in the next passage. What the nation had to hear immediately upon Moshe’s descent from Mount Sinai, what was of far greater import than the instructions for the Mishkan, was Shabbos. Shabbos is the day of rest which defines us as Jews. It is the day which connects us with G-d, and it may not be violated for any reason, even to build the Mishkan. Building a home for G-d on earth is our small contribution toward G-d’s purpose. It is representative of all the Mitzvahs of the Torah, which guide us to direct our mastery of nature to the fulfillment of G-d’s will. G-d created man as the one being made up of both body and soul, who both experiences and interacts with the physical world and connects with his mind to the spiritual. It is man’s part to master nature and create a world for himself and his needs, but to use that world toward his spiritual pursuit of G-d’s Mitzvahs. Every Mitzvah is our humble effort toward creating a home for G-d on earth, an idea epitomized in building the Mishkan. But on Shabbos the Jew is commanded to lay down his hammer and his spade. He releases his hold on nature and declares before G-d that his world and everything he has produced are G-d’s. He envisions himself at the end of his labors, having accomplished all that G-d wishes of him, and presents it all before the Master. It is this great day that gives meaning to the other six. By resting on the seventh day we remind ourselves of the ultimate G-dly purpose of our work-day labors, and of G-d for Whom we labor. To violate the Shabbos is to deny G-d’s mastery of our world, to usurp G-d’s place and set ourselves up in His stead. No Mitzvah is more essential to the Jew than to declare, through observing the Shabbos, that all our labors are for G-d. Such was the very first, and the very most important message which Moshe had to relay upon returning from Sinai.
Parshas Vayakhel-Pekudei 5786 After receiving extensive instructions on how to build the Mishkan, it was time for Moshe to transmit the order to the Jewish people. But before he could deliver those instructions, he had first to proclaim the primacy of an institution which is even more important than building a home for G-d on Earth: the institution of Shabbos. For over two months the entire nation was to focus on nothing other than preparing to rewelcome G-d into its midst. Anyone with means would contribute materials, and every able-bodied man and woman would engage in building the Mishkan. But only for six days out of each week. On the seventh day, even G-d's work would be put aside and Shabbos would be observed. “Six days shall work be done, but the seventh shall be holy for you: a supreme day of rest to G-d”. Indeed, G-d himself rested on the seventh day of creation. When G-d created His world, He completed the work of seven days in just six. On the seventh, He rested. When He turned over the world to His creatures to perfect and complete, He gave it to them for only six days of every week. The seventh day remains His. On that day we do not pursue our calling, but lay down our hands and present to G-d all that we have produced. But if we rest on the seventh day, when will its work be completed? Is one seventh of our capacity to be wasted, one seventh of our life’s work to be left undone? The Torah answers in the careful wording of the sentence we have quoted: it does not say “Six days shall you work”, but “Six days shall work be done”. Only for six days is there work to be done. The seventh is a day of rest, set by G-d himself and established as an immutable law of Creation. What we complete in six days is the task G-d has set before us. As the sun sets on Friday we lay down our stewardship of the world and allow G-d to bless the products of our work-week. By resting on the seventh day we acknowledge and declare that all our labors are for G-d, and that everything we accomplish is a gift from G-d. It is only our seventh day of rest that gives meaning and significance to the otherwise mundane pursuits of our lives.
Parshas Vayikra - Purim 5784 This week, on the eve of Purim, we celebrate a new beginning as we turn to a new book of the Torah. We are immediately struck by a strange phenomenon in the very first word of this book: the Aleph (א) at the end of the word is one quarter of the size of the rest of the letters. Aside from being the first letter of the alphabet, Aleph is a word which means “learn” or “teach”. It has been suggested that the small Aleph hints at the training of young children. It was the children who served as guarantors at the giving of the Torah (Midrash Tehillim 8), and it was they whose prayers and Torah study averted the decree of Haman (Esther Raba 9:4). Hashem’s affectionate call to Moshe, indicated in the word “Vayikra”, was for the benefit of these same guarantors. King David said, “From the mouths of children and sucklings You have founded your power (Tehillim 8:3)”. G-d’s goal for His world will not be accomplished by winning the loyalty of our men and women to the spirit of Judaism, but by imparting to our boys and girls an appreciation for that spirit and by raising our future men and women to a life of Torah study and observance. Purim comes with many Mitzvahs which adults must observe, but it is also a special opportunity to involve the children. Tell your children the story of the Megillah and help them enjoy its retelling in the Synagogue. Dress them in costume to symbolize the hidden miracle of the Megillah. Teach them the joy of giving by bringing them along as you deliver gifts of food and distribute charity to the poor. And invite them to share with you the joyous Purim feast, as you sit down with your family and friends to celebrate the miracle of Purim and our identity as Jews.
Parshas Vayikra 5785 We have begun the new month of Nissan, the month of our redemption from Egypt, and this week we begin a new book in the Torah. The Book of Shemos concluded with the completion of the Mishkan and the reintroduction of G-d’s presence among the Jewish People. The Book of Vayikra, which we open this week, discusses the service that was to be performed in the Mishkan, the various types of offerings by which we strengthen our relationship with G-d and pledge ourselves to Him. This discussion opens with an unusual word: “Any man (adam) from among you who shall present an offering to G-d…”. The choice of the word adam for man, as opposed to the usual ish, is taken as a subtle allusion to Adam, the first man. Any offering we might present must resemble the offering brought by Adam at the beginning of his life. At that time, Adam was the only man in existence. All the world belonged to him, and there could have been no question of dishonesty in acquiring the animal he offered. When we offer up our own animals, we are warned against anything but the highest standards of honesty in obtaining them. Many of us might think this warning superfluous. It seems obvious to us that G-d would not accept stolen goods as an offering to Him. G-d, however, has a much deeper awareness of our nature than we ourselves have, and He saw the need to include the warning in the Torah. It is human nature to focus on one goal at a time, and as we work toward that goal, we often lose sight of the effect of our actions on other areas of our lives. In our enthusiasm to perform Mitzvahs and further our relationship with G-d, we may well become blinded to potential blunders we may make along the way. We often become so focused on accomplishing one Mitzvah that we may transgress many others in the process. The Torah therefore reminds us that our duties before G-d form one inseparable whole, and that we must never lose sight of one for the sake of another. To offer up stolen goods, or goods gotten through anything less than perfect honesty would indeed be reprehensible, and could by no means help us achieve closeness with G-d. Equally so, to attempt to accomplish any good thing for G-d at the expense of violating His own command can by no means be considered an accomplishment. We enter into this season of renewal with resolve to faithfully carry out G-d’s will, in its entirety, as He sets it out in His Torah.
Parshas Vayikra 5786 The third Book of the Torah is referred to as Leviticus, or Toras Cohanim in Hebrew. It consists almost entirely of laws pertaining to the Temple service, which was performed by the Cohen. But that is not to say that this Book is less relevant to the rest of the nation. The Temple Service does not belong to the Cohen any more than to other classes of people. Nor does the Cohen stand in place of the people, seeing to the religious duties of the nation while the public remains distant from the temple. The Cohen is no more than a servitor to the people, the people's representative in the Temple Service. His ministrations are meaningful only when they represent the mood of the people. Only when the life of the nation reflects the ideals expressed by the service is there any significance to the Temple and its service. And what ideas does the service express? What is intended by the magnificent Halls of the Temple and the sacrifices that are offered therein? That is best answered by the Torah's term for sacrifices. The Torah never refers to them as sacrifices, possessions grudgingly relinquished to satisfy G-d's demands. The Torah never refers to them as offerings, animals offered up on G-d's altar to appease his wrath and propitiate his good will. The Torah uses the word Korban, which signifies an instrument for drawing closer. The Korban, symbolically, is a meal shared with G-d. When two people wish to develop a closer relationship, they break bread together. When man wishes to form an intimate relationship with G-d, he does so by symbolically inviting G-d to partake at his table. The animal sacrifice which feeds the fire on G-d's altar expresses nothing other than the sincere desire of the bringer to offer himself up in devotion and dedication to his service of G-d. But what of a friend who extends an invitation out of a sense of duty, or to gain some benefit from his guest? What of a family gathering where artificial smiles conceal everyone’s relief that it will soon be over until next year? What form of closeness does such a meal reveal, or what kind of relationship does it foster? When the Korban becomes a sacrifice, when the Cohen becomes the nation’s proxy to relieve its religious burdens, then the temple, its service and its servitors have no value. As we enter in on this new book of the Torah, we renew our dedication not only to paying our dues to the Torah but to a life devoted to the Torah and our relationship with G-d. As we enter this new month of Nissan, the month that celebrates our redemption, we endeavor to restore the relevance of the Temple and its service.
Parshas Tzav 5784 This week’s Parsha opens with the word “Tzav”, meaning “command”, by which Moshe was instructed to command his brother Aaron regarding the procedures for the Olah offering. However, the word “Tzav” means much more than just “command”. It connotes urging and encouragement. It was not enough for Moshe to instruct Aaron on what to do. He had to develop excitement for the Mitzvah and encourage Aaron to instill enthusiasm into his observance. According to Sifra, this was especially appropriate to the Olah offering, which offers very little physical incentive for its performance. Many Mitzvahs, such as celebrating Shabbos and the holidays, are physically enjoyable. Others are relatable and emotionally rewarding. It is the rest of the Mitzvahs that we tend to approach with a less interested attitude, performing them dispassionately, out of habit. Over time, this disinterest can turn into neglect or even cynicism and disdain. Such Mitzvahs require a special “Tzav”, an urgent encouragement, to develop enthusiasm for them. Without the Tzav, they fall away, and it is never long before the rest of the Mitzvahs, our connection with Judaism, follow. The preservation of Jews for Judaism is commensurate with our enthusiasm. Enthusiasm is produced by cultivating an appreciation and an emotional attachment for the Torah and its Mitzvahs. The way to cultivate that attachment is by studying the Torah. When we study the Torah, we gain an understanding of our faith and the many practices by which it is expressed. We discover the importance of each detail and the rich meaning behind every observance. We are exposed to the Divine Thought which drives this world and instructs us on how to perfect it. Take this Torah in hand, study its contents, seek teachers who can properly transmit its meaning. Torah study must be a serious and absorbing pursuit, and only through Torah study can we develop a meaningful connection with its traditions and observances, with Judaism.
Parshas Tzav - Shabbos Hagadol 5786 Parshas Tzav continues the overview of the laws of Karbanos begun in Parshas Vayikra. It repeats the five categories of Karbanos, Olah, Shlamim, Chatas, Asham and Mincha, and adds some details that were left out in Vayikra. One of the laws taught in this Parsha is that the Kohanim are to light the fire on the Altar and see to it that it never goes out. From next week's Parsha we know that the fire on the Altar did not require human input. It was a miraculous fire that came down from heaven to burn the Karbanos on the Altar. And yet the Torah orders that lighting and maintaining the fire be included in the service. The Chinuch explains that it is improper for miraculous occurrences to remain obvious. Mishlei (22:2) teaches that G-d’s Honor requires us to maintain a respectful distance, and not to make ourselves overly familiar with Him and His secrets. Although a fire from heaven is an open miracle, we are to conceal the miracle at least somewhat by appearing to maintain the fire. G-d himself follows this policy. Even when he miraculously split the Red Sea, He first caused a strong wind to blow through the night, to give at least some pretense that the wind caused the sea to split. Even with the most open miracles, G-d allows room for disbelief. This Parsha is always read immediately before Pesach (in non leap years). Pesach celebrates the one time in history when G-d departed from His policy of concealment. In Egypt, He performed numerous open miracles before multitudes of people. His purpose was to demonstrate for all time before all mankind that He, although hidden, is always present and active in this world. The open miracles of the Exodus alert us to the hidden miracles that we experience every day. G-d's policy of concealing His miracles is much more pronounced with His constant miracles that He conceals in a cloak that we call nature. The word nature refers to miracles of infinite wisdom and planning. The only difference between these and the supernatural is that they occur more frequently. The course of nature is followed with such consistency that we can catalogue each of its phenomena into immutable laws of physics and chemistry. How those laws were put into place and what makes them so immutable, no one can say. But their unchangeability is so taken for granted that when they are broken we call it supernatural. But it is just at those times when G-d chooses to suspend the laws of nature that all mankind is able to see Who it is that creates and controls those laws. Pesach is a time to carefully study the miracles of the Exodus, their purpose and their effect. In doing so, we internalize the Torah’s teaching of G-d’s constant presence and absolute sovereignty.
Parshas Shemini 5784 The Jew’s life is marked with many observances and rituals, laws and restrictions. Our Torah is not content with the Synagogue service, but enters into our kitchens, our dining rooms and bedrooms, bringing us the word of G-d which challenges us always to elevate even mundane, daily activities to the level of a religious experience. In few areas is this more apparent than in the dietary laws. A Torah Jew can’t enter a grocery store without being reminded of his G-d, as he exercises the utmost care in choosing only those foods which have been certified as strictly Kosher. When packaging and storing his purchases, he again takes care to prevent meat and dairy foods from getting mixed together. He keeps separate dishes and silverware for meat and dairy, and never prepares both for the same meal. Before serving fruits and vegetables he anxiously examines them for any insect infestation, and when preparing his dough he makes sure to separate Challah. When a Jew travels, he doesn’t rely on finding food at roadside restaurants or in airport terminals. He carries his food or makes arrangements for Kosher airline meals. For the week of Passover, his vigilance is redoubled, as he meticulously avoids the smallest admixture of Chametz in his food. These laws fit into the category of “Chukim”, those Mitzvahs by which the Creator regulates our usage of His world, limiting it to what is most beneficial to our unique mission as Jews. Only the Creator can know His creations well enough to understand how they should best interact with one another, and only He can prescribe an appropriate code of conduct for those interactions. We accept these laws both dutifully and lovingly, knowing that we are obligated to the G-d Who commands them, but also that He does so for our greatest benefit. By keeping Kosher, we take instruction from the Creator Himself on how to preserve the sanctity of our bodies for our holy task as Jews. We reject any food deemed by the Creator to disturb our spiritual equilibrium, and admit only those foods which allow our minds and bodies to remain receptive to the ennobling influence of His Torah.
Parshas Shemini 5785 Parshas Shemini tells of the eighth and final day of the dedication ceremony for the Mishkan, the Tabernacle in the desert. This joyous celebration, held on the first of the month of Nissan, marked the culmination of six months of labor and the realization of the eternal Jewish dream of creating an earthly place of closeness to G-d. Moshe, who had served as High Priest for the duration of the inauguration week, turned over the office to his brother Aharon, and together they performed the final rites before being rewarded with the visible manifestation of G-d’s presence. But amid the festivities of this historic day there was tragedy. In their enthusiasm to make their own contribution to the devotions of the day, the two older sons of Aharon overstepped their bounds and entered illegally into the Sanctuary. They attempted to offer up their own incense on the Golden Altar, something explicitly forbidden by the Torah. In this they failed to consult either with Moshe their teacher or with their own father. The heavenly fire which had accepted the dedication offerings brought by the nation did not receive the incense. Instead, it descended to consume the two young Cohanim who had offered it, and the joy at the inauguration was dampened. Although they erred in offering up this incense, and particularly in failing to first consult with their elders, the sons of Aharon are remembered as deeply righteous people. Moshe himself said that they surpassed their father and himself, and that their loss would be mourned by the whole of the nation. Ever since that day, there have been individual Jews who have elected to perpetuate their memory by observing the first of Nissan as a day of fasting and mourning for these two great men. There is, however, a positive aspect to this story, and in one sense it was an integral part of the dedication of the Mishkan. With the offering of incense, Nadav and Avihu wished to show their devotion to G-d. But they erred in attempting to contribute their own innovation to the Service. Our duties before G-d consist of the commands of the Torah, and only through them are we expected to express our devotion. We are not at liberty to lay aside the Word of G-d in our pursuit of ways to serve Him. The tragedy of the deaths of Nadav and Avihu on the day the Mishkan was dedicated forever impressed upon us that only by obedience, never by the arbitrary innovations even of the greatest among us, can we serve G-d. (Based on Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, Commentary to Vayikra)
Parshas Tazria-Metzora 5785 This week we read the double Parsha of Tazria-Metzora, which together cover the topic of Tzara’as, a disease often erroneously identified as leprosy. Although Tzara’as can present as a discoloration of the skin, it is clear from the description of the Torah that this disease is not biological but spiritual. The Torah describes Tzara’as as affecting not only skin but also clothing and houses. It may be examined only by certain people and under certain circumstances. If shown to be of biological causes, the Torah leaves it to the patient’s discretion whether to seek treatment. If, however, the infected patch is seen to exhibit the very specific characteristics of the spiritual disease of Tzara’as, the patient (or the garment or house) is put under quarantine until the patch begins to return to normal. This miraculous disease is visited upon people as a result of the misuse of speech. Its cure is effected through temporary exclusion from society and being required to dress and behave as a mourner. Those whose high social standing has led them to such disdain for others as to speak negatively of them are put to this isolating and humbling experience. They are reminded that G-d values the dignity of every human being, and that no one may use the gift of speech to harm others. Only by learning humility and regaining a proper appreciation for the dignity of others will the afflicted person be healed and restored to his own dignity. In the Haftarah for Tazria we are reminded that being overly proud affects not only our social relationships but also the quality of our own lives. Na’aman, the Aramean general, suffered from Tzara’as, and it was beyond the skill of the medicine-men of his own land to cure him. He continued to suffer until a Jewish slave-girl advised him to seek the aid of the prophet Elisha. It was beneath the dignity of the great general to treat with a simple prophet, so he instead sent word to the king of Israel. Elisha, however, insisted that Na’aman come to him. Still, Na’aman could not lower himself to come before the prophet to seek aid. He arrived at the prophet’s door with horses and chariot and waited for Elisha to come forth to greet him. Elisha did not appear. He did not come forth to wave his hands and mutter incantations of healing over his honorable guest. Instead, he sent a messenger to instruct Na’aman to bathe seven times in the waters of the Jordan River. Na’aman departed in wrath at Elisha’s failure to treat him with the honor he expected, declaring that no waters in Israel could hold a greater curing power than those of Damascus. For the Aramean general, it was easier to return from his long journey empty handed and to continue living in suffering than to accept Elisha’s treatment with humility. It is to our own loss that we have so little trouble understanding him.
Parshas Metzora - Pesach 5784 Pesach is called the Festival of Freedom. We celebrate our freedom from Egyptian bondage, when G-d brought us out of Egypt and into a special relationship with Him as His people. From Egypt, He brought us to Mount Sinai and then to the Land of Israel. He gave us His Torah, the Teaching by which we are to live, and His Land, the Land of the Torah. When we relate the story of the Exodus at the Pesach Seder, we are instructed to dwell not only on the Salvation at the end of the story but also, in fact primarily, on the inhuman suffering we underwent for centuries previously, and the lowly beginnings of our ancestors before Abraham. Passover must never become a triumphant nationalist holiday, celebrating an independence accomplished by human means. We remind ourselves that it was G-d who redeemed us and that only G-d could have redeemed us. We do not celebrate freedom from bondage as an opportunity to pursue pleasure or economic and political success, but as an opportunity to pursue that special relationship which G-d offered us when He made us a nation. This week’s Parsha continues the same theme. We read that the miraculous disease called Tzara’as affects not only people but also houses. The Torah stresses that Tzara’as will be visited on houses in the Land of Canaan that I give to you”(Vayikra 14:34). It is when we become proud and think of the land as ours, when we forget that the land was given by G-d, that Tzara’as is visited upon us as a reminder (see Arachin 16a). The Land of Israel is not the political possession of the Jewish people. It is the Land of the Torah, owned and governed by G-d, and given to us as the land in which we can best study and observe the Torah. This Pesach, we celebrate our freedom amidst increasingly uncertain circumstances. The state of Israel is at war and the nation of Israel is everywhere under attack. We are reminded that our identity as Jews and our independence as a nation are not determined by our political status or by the opinions of our neighbors, but by the extent to which we fulfill our calling as G-d’s people; that our freedom is not measured by the rights we are granted or by the safety and prosperity we enjoy, but by the extent to which we use our freedom to serve G-d, to study His Torah and observe His Mitzvahs.
Parshas Tazria-Metzora 5786 The bulk of this week’s Parsha focuses on the subject of Tzara’as, a mysterious disease that affects the skin of the body or head, and can even spread to clothing and houses. The Torah prescribes that a Cohen impose up to three waiting periods in order to determine the nature of the disease. If certain conditions are met, the infected person is exiled until the growth fades. When taken superficially, this Law appears to be a safety measure to protect the public from a highly contagious disease. However, a careful examination of the details make it quite clear that this is not the case. We are not instructed to make any attempt to root out people who have been infected. The Torah waits for the leper to approach the Cohen of his own volition. Even then, if the affliction is noticed during the week of celebration following the leper’s marriage, or during national days of celebration, the examination gets postponed until afterwards. If the infection is smaller than a certain size, or if it does not present in one of four specific shades of white, or even if it fits the prescribed description but never spreads or develops a white hair or a healthy spot, the leper is dismissed. Furthermore, the Torah insists that it be a Cohen who performs the examination and pronounces the verdict, even if by his own admission he is not the most competent man. From all these details it is clear that public safety is not at all the consideration behind the Tzara’as Law. Tzara’as is rather a spiritual illness, whose cause is to be sought more in the realm of moral integrity than of medicine. This is made even more apparent by the fact that Tzara’as is not limited to people: it also affects clothing and houses. Our Sages tell us that Tzara’as was visited on people as a result of the misuse of speech. One who used speech to harm others would be forced by Tzara’as to leave their company. He would be made to experience the feeling of isolation which he caused to others with his thoughtless words. He would be given the opportunity to reflect on the value of peaceable relations with his neighbors and to resolve to be more reserved with his tongue in the future. Thereby, the affliction would fade away as miraculously as it appeared, and he would be ready to rejoin society. Tzara’as was a great gift to the Jewish people by which they were given a visible manifestation of the spiritual harm caused by the lack of proper restraint in moral matters. That we lack this gift today is not a sign of greater restraint but of lesser sensitivity. We today would not be able to survive such a regimen of visible reminders of our indiscretions and open calls to repent. Nevertheless, we can study this Parsha and be reminded that, seen or unseen, our words and actions are not without effect, for good or otherwise.
Parshas Acharei Mos - Kedoshim, 5785 Parshas Kedoshim begins with a chapter on social justice, repeatedly admonishing against partiality in the courts, or any other form of imbalance in our brotherly feelings and treatment of our fellow human beings. The Torah does not content itself with general (and therefore empty) preachings of love and fairness, but enunciates very specifically its expectations for the Jewish State and its justice system. We are instructed to provide for the poor by leaving certain parts of our crop to them. We are warned against maltreating or taking advantage of those who are compromised by their financial status, physical disabilities, or social class. Our justice system must be entirely impartial, taking care not to favor the wealthy, and equally so not to unfairly pity the poor. However, justice and fairness can never be secured by public policy alone. The Torah focuses no less on our private lives, and demands that we deal honestly with our customers and employees. Wages must never be withheld or even delayed, but must be paid immediately upon the completion of work. Business must be conducted with absolute honesty, weights and measures must be carefully maintained and cleaned to avoid overcharging. Even our speech and dispositions toward our neighbors do not escape the scrutiny of the Torah. We are admonished against tale-bearing, vengeful behavior or feelings, swearing falsely and any other form of falsehood, even in thought. We are to judge others favorably, never to bear hateful thoughts against others, and generally to seek the welfare of society and all its members. But what is to ensure that we follow these laws? What system could possibly be put in place that would elevate them from an empty utopian dream to a practical reality? What guarantee do we have that we will live up to the lofty summary by which the Torah introduces this chapter - “Be holy, for I, Hashem your G-d, am holy (Vayikra 19:2)”? The answer is provided by the Torah in a second introductory statement (19:3): “Each man, fear your mother and father, and guard My Sabbaths, I am Hashem your G-d”. The upright and just Jewish society demanded by the Torah will be based on a sound moral education for the entire population. For that, two prerequisites must be met. First, every child, and later every adult, is to be raised to have the utmost respect, even reverence, for his parents. It is to them that he owes his existence and, no less importantly, it is they who are to educate him and raise him as an upright and productive human being and Jew. If he is to properly express his gratitude to them, or if he is to properly gain from their upbringing and training, he must look at them and treat them with the greatest reverence. Even more important is the institution of Shabbos. Each week, by ceasing productive labor for an entire night and day, every member of the Jewish Nation is educated and instilled with the principle that our lives and work is not ours but G-d’s. Even more than to our parents, we owe our existence and prosperity to G-d, and only in Him do our lives and work gain meaning. This lesson is reiterated each and every week without interruption throughout our lives, not through an inspiring sermon but through the real, practical experience of willingly and intentionally relinquishing our active, productive lives in favor of a day of repose and contemplation.
Parshas Emor, 5786 The book of Vayikra, also called Toras Cohanim (Leviticus), deals primarily with the Laws of the offerings and those who bring them. The final chapters of this Lawgiving form the first half of our Parsha, and focus on the conduct expected of Cohanim, the servitors in the Temple, and on their fitness for service. They are not permitted to offer up an animal which is in any way blemished or deformed, nor may a Cohen serve if his own body is blemished or deformed. The institution of Karbanos, the offerings on G-d’s Altar, is intended as an opportunity for us to present our own humble gift to G-d. The sacrifice of an animal is not a gift that G-d can use for any purpose, or an offering which appeases Him, but is a token of dedication, symbolic of laying down our lives and putting ourselves at His service, not in death and martyrdom but in an active life of energetic service, devoted to the worship of G-d and the betterment of mankind. It is called “Korban”, from “Karev”, a symbol which represents and enhances the intimacy of our relationship with G-d. To offer up a sick or wounded animal would be to present a symbol of halfhearted devotion and grudging dependence. It would represent a relationship to which we turn only in times of sickness and distress, but which gets neglected in tranquility. The Torah, on the other hand, asks for our full devotion, our enthusiastic pursuit of this relationship. Only from the finest and healthiest of our flocks, the perfect, unblemished animals, are we to select these symbols of closeness and intimacy with G-d. Not only the actual gift, but the Temple in which it is offered and the person of the officiating priest are to express the elegance due to G-d’s Majesty and the excited devotion a relationship with Him deserves. The Temple must be built of the finest materials available, and the officiating priest must be without deformity or blemish. Not because there is anything unworthy in deformity, nor yet because G-d has any need for our ostentation, but because we, the worshipers, have greater respect for things done in proper form, and because anything less would be for us a sign of disrespect. We today, despite the absence of a Temple and its offerings, must still attend to our own Divine Service with the same close attention and care. It is insufficient that we direct some of our spare time and excess resources to worthy causes, or that we approach our G-d for comfort in times of sickness and mourning. Torah study, Prayer, and Mitzvah observance should occupy an important place in our thoughts, and time should be made for them in our daily, healthy and tranquil workday lives. The best of our time, energy and resources should be dedicated to this most important of relationships, and we should cultivate it in times of mourning and celebration, distress and joy.
Parshas Behar, 5784 Once every seven years, the Torah commands that the fields of the Land of Israel lie fallow. No plowing, seeding or harvesting is done, no pruning or weeding. All agricultural work comes to a halt for one full year out of every seven. For food, the people of the land are to rely on the surplus promised by the Torah (Vayikra 20:21-2) for the sixth year. The seventh year is named Shemita, the year of release. It is to the Land what the seventh day is for its People: Shabbos, a time when we relinquish our hold on our possessions and the products of our labors, a time set apart and dedicated to G-d. After seven Shemita cycles, the fiftieth year is consecrated as an additional Shabbos year, called Yovel. The break in agriculture is extended to that year, all Jewish slaves are released, and any landed property sales in Israel are rescinded. The purpose of these laws is expressed by the Torah itself (Vayikra 25:23): “The Land shall not be sold permanently, for the Land is Mine; you are aliens and sojourners with Me”. The Land of Israel was given to the People of Israel as the scene of their national development. The Land would be theirs as a permanent home, to live in and to enjoy. It is there that they would cultivate those most important functions of their existence and mission, the study and observance of the Torah. But no matter how many centuries we live in the Land, we must never forget that it is not our possession. It is G-d’s Land, and we are His guests. He never relinquished possession of the Land, and He allows us to enjoy it only so long as we recognize it as His and use it for its purpose, the furtherance of the Ideals of the Torah. Shemita and Yovel serve to repeatedly remind us of the true Master of the Land, and of our status as vassals to Him. When we withdraw from our normal agricultural occupations in the seventh year, when we treat the produce of that year as sacred, only consuming it in the prescribed manner, when we willingly relinquish our rights to what is rightfully ours as legally purchased property, we acknowledge before G-d and declare to ourselves that the Land is His. In a wider sense, all Mitzvahs can be viewed this way. Aside from the unique meaning and symbolism inherent in each individual Mitzvah, there is the overarching significance that by observing G-d’s Laws we declare His mastery over us and our possessions. We recognize that whatever we have is ours to enjoy only by the grace of G-d, to be used only within the limitations set by G-d and ultimately, in the service of G-d.
Parshas Behar-Bechukosai, 5785 In a little over a week we will be celebrating the holiday of Shavuos. Shavuos commemorates the introduction of the Torah into this world, the day on which it began its transformative influence on the Jewish nation and on all of society. Each year on this great day we relive the experience of receiving the Torah, and renew our commitment to study and observe it. For seven weeks we have prepared for Shavuos by examining and improving our personal relationship with the Torah, so as to give meaning to our renewed commitment. One important reflection for this time of year is provided by the curious name of Behar, the first of two Parshas we will be reading this week. Behar, like every Parsha, is named for its opening phrase (Vayikra 25:1): “G-d spoke to Moshe at Mount (Hebrew: Behar) Sinai”. This sentence seems an unusual way to introduce the Parsha, which focuses primarily on one Mitzvah, the institution of Shemita. The revelation at Sinai does not take place in our Parsha, nor does it have any special relevance to Shemita. Rashi explains that the Torah invokes Mount Sinai as a reminder that this Mitzvah and every Mitzvah comes to us in all its detail from that original revelation. When G-d spoke to us at Sinai, He transmitted the Torah to us in its entirety. No detail was left vague or ambiguous, and nothing was left for us to develop further. If the details of certain Mitzvahs are omitted from the Written Torah, we are not to understand that they were filled in at a later date. G-d elaborated fully in His original conversation with Moshe at Sinai, and Moshe then repeated all he had learned to the people. The entire Torah as we have it today, with all its observances and the myriad specific laws which govern them, originates from no other source than G-d Himself. This perspective is essential to the Jewish faith, and is the key to the survival of Judaism. No man-made code could have commanded the undying respect that the Torah has, regardless of how logical and moral it seemed to those who first composed it. It is the Divine authorship of the Torah in all its detail, and the fact that no rational challenge has ever been posed as to its authenticity, that has allowed the Torah to remain the sole governing force for the lives of an entire nation, far beyond the time, place or society in which they first encountered it. In our preparations to reaccept the Torah and rededicate ourselves to its observance, we do not focus on our cultural or historic ties with the Jewish people, the Jewish state or Jewish culture. We renew our ties with G-d Himself, Who transcends time and space, Who is our G-d and Creator, whether we are aware of it or not, and Who alone has the wisdom and authority to set down the moral Law for our lives.
Parshas Bechukosai 5784 Our Parsha is known as the Parsha of the Tochacha, the covenant in which we are warned of the gravity of our commitment or noncommitment to the Torah. As the nation born and brought up under the special care and tutelage of G-d, our national wellbeing is dependent not on the quality of our military or our economic policies, but on our dedication to studying and keeping the Torah. Our relationship with G-d, through the Torah, is to be our collective aspiration and national endeavor. All other successes are of secondary importance, though they will naturally follow from this primary success. But the words chosen by the Torah to open this covenant are not “If you will study My Torah” or “If you will observe My commandments” but אם בחקתי תלכו - “If you will walk with My Laws”. What is meant by this unusual turn of phrase? What does it mean to “walk with” the Laws of the Torah? Judaism is much more than a religion, and its practices encompass much more than sacred rites and holiday observances, or yet philanthropy and social work. Judaism is God’s program for the enoblement of every area of our lives. It turns every mundane act into a meaningful, G-dly experience. Through keeping the Mitzvahs, we transform ourselves and the way we view our world. Through studying G-d’s Torah, we begin to see our lives and the world around us from His point of view. As Jews, we do not confine our relationship with G-d to the Synagogue service. We refer to the Torah for guidance on how we dress, what we eat and how we conduct our business. Our family and social relationships, our careers and our aspirations in life, our worldviews, opinions and feelings, all these are part of our Jewish experience, our relationship with G-d. Nor does all this become a stifling of our individuality or enjoyment of life. The Torah gives meaning to our otherwise mundane lives, provides an understanding of what we are, our place among our fellow creatures, and the purpose and significance of our existence. Only the Torah gives us the ability to truly enjoy life, by making everything we do into something important, every enjoyment another opportunity to develop a connection with G-d. To observe the Torah is not to “keep” its laws or to “study” its teachings. It is to “walk” - to make our journey through life with the Torah as our guide, as the most important purpose behind our actions, as the inspiration for our view of the world.
Parshas Behar-Bechukosai 5786 This week we read the two concluding Parshas of the book of Vayikra. Both of these discuss the institution of Shemita, the sabbatical year to be observed in the Land of Israel every seventh year. During that year, all agriculture ceases and the land is allowed to rest. After seven Shemita cycles, the fiftieth year is observed as an additional sabbatical year. In the agricultural economy of the Land of Israel, these Shemita years were a supreme act of faith. Still today, those of Israel's Jews who earn their bread through farming express the greatest trust in G-d when they set down their tools and leave their fields for the year. When referring to Shemita, the Torah uses a phrase found at few other Mitzvahs. It calls for a Sabbath for G-d. Every Mitzvah is for G-d, but this one is specially designated as such. The Seforno sees in this an indication of one of the purposes of this mitzvah. Farming is a demanding task. From dawn to dusk, during each day of every season, the farmer is occupied with his work. For a nation of farmers, what time is left for the primary national pursuit of Torah study? To that the Torah gives its answer: a Sabbath for G-d. Every seventh year, when agriculture must cease, every farmer forsakes his field and returns to the Beth Midrash. He dedicates an entire year to Torah study and Divine service. But the Torah does not content itself with just one out of every seven years. Every seventh day G-d requires us to rest from our labors and observe a Sabbath for G-d. Without the distraction of weekday activities and diversions, the Jew finds his time free for prayer and Torah study. Three times a year, an entire week is set aside during which every man must make pilgrimage to the temple. These, and other Torah obligations, create a constant traffic to and from Jerusalem. There, every Jew is exposed to the Sages of the Torah and their teachings. These Mitzvahs are G-d's gifts to the Jewish people, to ensure that they never lose track of their real purpose in life. But one such gift he grants to all mankind: the gift of night. The onset of evening puts an end to our workday activities and allows us time to focus on the higher calling of our lives. For us as Jews, to reconnect with our Torah and its message. We must never fail to appreciate these gifts and use them wisely.
Parshas Bamidbar - Shavuos 5786 We are approaching the final week of preparation for Shavuos, the “Festival of Weeks”. This Holiday is not assigned a calendar date by the Torah, but is described as “the fiftieth day”, the culmination of seven weeks of counting, from the second day of Pesach when the sickle is first raised over the stalk. Not the first day of Pesach, our Independence Day, nor yet the second day, when the harvest is symbolically begun, do we celebrate as the pinnacle of our national glory. It is then that we begin to count, מֵהָחֵל חֶרְמֵשׁ בַּקָּמָה, from the sickle up to the Giving of the Torah. Only with the Torah do we receive our purpose as well as our means of continuity. These seven weeks are a time of anticipation but also a time of preparation, in which we ready ourselves mentally, emotionally and spiritually to reaccept the Torah. We work to enhance our commitment to the ideals and observances of the Torah - individually, communally and nationally. We further our study of the Torah, seeking a deeper understanding of G-d and His vision for the world, and commit to devote ourselves to the fulfillment of whatever our research might uncover. We meditate on the grave responsibility placed on us, as we remind ourselves of the tragic history of the Sefira weeks throughout the millennia, but also on the great privilege and happiness granted us when we allow the Torah to direct our lives. It is quite appropriate that in this the final week of our preparation we begin a new book of the Torah, the Book of Bamidbar, called “Chumash Hapikudim” or “Numbers”. The book opens with the Jewish Nation encamped around Mount Sinai, anxiously awaiting the order to break camp and begin their final march to the Promised Land. Before they could begin traveling, they had to be counted and put into formation. Every man of serviceable age (twenty to sixty) was tallied and identified. Each segment of the nation was given its place and responsibility. The numbers of each tribe, each three tribes, the firstborn, the Levites, the adult Levites and the nation as a whole were all ascertained and duly recorded. But it was not for war that the nation was preparing. This was the Nation of the Torah, “the Hosts of G-d” (Shemos 12:41), marching onward to the Land of the Torah to found a Kingdom for the Torah.
Parshas Naso 5785 Among the Mitzvahs in this week's Parsha is the Mitzvah of Birkas Cohanim, the Priestly Blessing. This blessing belongs to the Divine service in the Temple. But, unlike the rest of the Temple service, the Priestly Blessing remains part of our service even today. In Sephardic communities, and in all communities in the land of Israel, the Priestly Blessing is pronounced every morning, but among Ashkenazic communities outside of the land of Israel, we wait for the festive mood of the holidays to pronounce it. Informally, the words of the Priestly Blessing are used by parents who wish to bless their children at the onset of Shabbos and Yom Kippur, or before they set out on a journey. It is deeply significant that the Priestly Blessing is considered to be part of the Temple service, and that the wording of the blessing may not depart from the words prescribed by the Torah. This blessing is not bestowed by the Cohen: it comes from G-d himself, and it is essential that those receiving the blessing understand that. We, the congregation, stand with our eyes down, our gaze averted from the Cohen, and wait expectantly for G-d to bless us. The leader summons the Cohen to bless the congregation, and dictates, word by word, the prescribed blessing. The Cohen, too, takes the posture not of one who bestows blessing on the community but as one who performs his duty before G-d and pronounces the blessing prescribed by G-d. He stands, hands outstretched, with a Tallis over his head, and repeats, word by word, the blessing dictated by the leader, taken from the Torah. He proceeds and follows his blessing with a declaration that he stands to perform the commandment given by G-d to bless the Jewish people. Having fulfilled his duty, the Cohen also waits expectantly for The blessing promised in the Torah, “and I (G-d) shall bless them”. Them, both the blessed and those who bless. Whether we hear this blessing on a daily basis or, as is the common custom among Ashkenazim, we hear it only on the holidays, it is a great privilege to be able to participate, whether by giving or receiving the blessing, in this great Mitzvah. Every member of the congregation, both Cohanim and non-Cohanim, are given the opportunity to receive this special blessing from G-d. Perhaps the greatest benefit we can gain from this blessing is the daily - or seasonal - reminder that not only this blessing but all our blessings are from G-d. The effort that we expend and the hopeful prayers that we offer up serve only as a conduit for G-d's blessing. Yevarechecha Hashem, may G-d bless you, Veyishmerecha, and preserve for you that which He has given. (Based on Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, Commentary on Numbers)
Parshas Behaalosecha 5784 Our Parsha begins by repeating a Mitzvah which has already twice been mentioned in the Torah. This week’s Haftarah, as well, is a selection from the book of Zacharia which has already been read earlier in the year, on the Shabbos of Chanukah. The Mitzvah in question is the daily lighting of the Menorah in the Temple, and the subject of the Haftarah is Zacharia’s prophetic vision of a Menorah, and the angel’s explanation of what it symbolizes. The Menorah is a candelabra, a bearer of light. As the angel explained to Zacharia, this light symbolizes the Spirit of Hashem, His guiding light which would lead Israel to victory over those forces which hinder our historic mission of furthering G-d’s honor and promoting His Will. Not a victory of armies or of force, a violent conquest of lands and peoples, but a victory of the Spirit; a victory of G-d’s Light, His message to the world of kindliness and compassion. The Temple which Zacharia and Joshua were about to reestablish, in the face of hostility and opposition from Israel’s neighbors, would be devoted to teaching and spreading this message. They were promised that with the Light and the Spirit for which the Menorah serves as a symbol, they would overcome the obstacles hindering the Temple’s completion, and that with time, that Light would continue to spread further and further abroad, until it would accomplish total victory. Not long after the joyous celebration that marked the completion of that Temple, the forces of opposition again arose to subdue the message and the spirit fostered there. This time it was the Greek empire, encouraged and aided by renegade Jews, that attempted to hinder our mission by force. And again it was not force of arms but the light of the Menorah, the light of a single undefiled flask of oil, that was victorious over all the hosts of Greece and the doctrine they taught by the sword. Today, although the Menorah no longer shines in the Temple, its light and its promise is still preserved in our yearly commemoration of that miracle. G-d’s Light and Spirit, the force which will eventually win over mankind to G-d, still burns for eight nights of Chanukah in every Jewish home. But this Light and this Spirit are nothing other than the Torah. It is the Torah and its message which are symbolized in the Menorah of the Temple and of Chanukah, and it is the Torah which will claim victory, first over the Jewish people and later over the world. Our Torah study, our constant endeavor to integrate and live by the Torah’s message and to follow the practices which actualize that message, these are the things that will bring about the eventual victory of the light of the Menorah. As Aaron witnessed the elaborate gifts given by the leaders of each of the twelve tribes in honor of the Mishkan’s inauguration, he felt regretful that he and his tribe of Levi were not represented. As consolation, G-d reminded him of his unique contribution in the form of lighting the Menorah. The Tribe of Levi are the Torah teachers, and theirs is a contribution much greater than gifts and offerings. They preserve and cultivate the Torah itself, they kindle the Menorah which represents the Torah’s Light, they would found the second Temple and defend it against Greek influence, and they would establish the eternal symbol of that victory as the light of the Chanukah Menorah. Aaron, his descendants and their tribe, would be the bearers of the light which will have the final victory.
Parshas Behaalosecha 5785 This week's Parsha begins with the Mitzvah of Menorah. It describes how the menorah looked and how it was to be lit. It then says “Vaya’as ken Aharon - and Aharon did so”. Rashi, quoting Sifrei, makes an interesting comment to the effect that the Torah here intends to praise Aharon for performing the Mitzvah exactly as prescribed. This comment is perplexing. What great praise is it to Aharon that he did exactly as G-d commanded? Isn't that to be expected? The Dubno Magid explains with the following analogy. Three patients visited a doctor with the same complaint, and the doctor gave identical instructions to each. One patient followed the instructions exactly and was cured. The second, who was himself a doctor, disagreed in some details with the treatment plan. He modified the doctor’s advice and unfortunately succumbed to his illness. The third patient was also a doctor, but he approached his craft with more humility than the second. Although he also did not fully agree with the instructions, he recognized that his doctor had the greater expertise, and accepted his advice. The humility of this third patient saved his life. Our relationship with the Mitzvahs of the Torah is similar. Many do not presume to understand G-d’s purposes. We follow His instructions without questioning. Those of us who are more learned, however, run the risk of becoming arrogant and making our own judgments as to how the Mitzvahs should be observed. Aharon was very learned and had a deep understanding of the inner meaning of the mitzvahs. But he did not allow himself to question the Torah’s commands. He understood that however learned he may have been, G-d knows better, and his Commandments must be followed to the letter whether we understand them or not. We live in a time of unprecedented access to information. Anyone can form an opinion about anything and have his opinion confirmed by innumerable like-minded individuals. We are all self-proclaimed experts on every subject and there is nobody who can disabuse us of that notion. If Aharon's behavior was an important lesson in his time, it has become indispensable in our own. The Torah is given to us to study: to open it up and read its contents; to carefully consider their meaning and their implications for our lives; to meditate deeply and internalize their message. The Torah is not given us to read into it our own theories or to express our own opinions about its contents, however well informed they may be. The Torah is God's revelation to man. It is for us to study and practice, not to compose.
Parshas Shelach 5784 Of the several themes in this week’s Parsha, it is the last which is most relevant to our daily lives. Parshas Shelach ends with the Mitzvah of Tzitzis, tassels which are tied onto the four corners of our garments. Because this Mitzvah is only done during the daytime, it is only binding upon men. Even they are under no absolute obligation to wear Tzitzis. It is only when a man happens to wear a four cornered garment that he must affix Tzitzis to the corners. Nevertheless, by time honored tradition, it has become a universal Jewish practice to wear a large four cornered garment with Tzitzis (the Tallis) during morning prayers, and to wear a smaller four cornered garment (colloquially called Tzitzis) throughout the day, in order to ensure that we are availing ourselves of this great Mitzvah at all times. The meaning behind the Mitzvah of Tzitzis is stated explicitly in the Torah: the Tzitzis strings are to serve as a constant reminder of all the Mitzvahs of the Torah, warning us to keep the Torah and not to stray into any misjudgement in our values or morals. The Torah stresses that we are to see the Tzitzis and be reminded of the Mitzvahs. It is for this reason that many wear the Tzitzis, or at least the Tzitzis strings, outside of their clothing where they are readily visible. The Gemara (Menachos 43b) takes this a step further. There, Rebbi Meir compares the Tzitzis to a personal emblem that wealthy people would have stamped in clay or gold and affixed to the clothing of their servants. This emblem would serve as a symbol of servitude, and removing it was viewed and punished as a sign of insubordination. The Tzitzis that we affix to our garments are similarly a symbol of our status as G-d’s servants, with the one difference that we wear our symbol with pride. It is our greatest honor that G-d deems us worthy of serving Him, and we are proud to bear the symbol of our status. In fact, according to Tradition, the right to wear this symbol is itself a special honor, bestowed upon the Jewish People as a reward for the virtues of our ancestors, Avraham and Shem. It is a symbol that should be borne openly and proudly, an advertisement to the world which declares “here is one of G-d’s people”. Let us then use this week of Parshas Shelach as an occasion to rededicate ourselves to the special Mitzvah of Tzitzis, to wear Tzitzis and to wear them openly, to take the time to notice the tassels hanging from our garments and to remember all the Mitzvahs and ideals of the Torah, and to take pride in bearing the symbol that marks us as the Nation of G-d.
Parshas Shelach 5785 Over a year after the Exodus from Egypt, the Jewish people had arrived at the borders of the Promised Land. Before entering the land to conquer it, they decided to send Scouts ahead to reconnoiter the land. Although our Parsha presents this idea as coming from G-d, a comparison with parallel passages elsewhere in the Torah reveals that the people initiated it. As they were about to enter the land they began to worry about their ability to conquer it. They came to Moshe in a state of panic to request that he send the scouts ahead. The opening line of our Parsha, in which G-d orders the spies to be sent, is to be taken not as a command but as permission. This ill-fated mission did not have G-d's approval. The people should have trusted G-d to safely deliver them to their new land. However, G-d does not force people into proper behavior. If the nation wished to approach the task ahead as if it were solely in their hands, G-d was not going to interfere. Moshe chose the very best of each tribe, twelve men whom he could trust to fulfill their mission faithfully. But this mission, which began with a lack of faith in G-d, ended in tragedy. When the twelve spies observed the giant proportions of the people of Canaan, all but two of them were terrified. The report they brought back to the Jewish camp threw the people into a panic. Throughout the camp, people could be heard crying that their triumphant entry into the Promised Land would turn into a march to their death. For any other nation this reaction would be expected. But from the people who had witnessed G-d's miracles in Egypt, at the Red Sea and in the desert, who had been present at the revelation at Sinai, much more was expected. Their year in the desert was to serve as a school of faith in G-d. They were to have learned to expect similar miracles in the future. The conquest of so fortified a land and so giant of people would not pose any difficulty for G-d. To march into the land fully expecting G-d to deliver it into their hands should have been the result of their year of training. It would have set the tone for the Jewish Kingdom in Israel, the kingdom of the Torah whose survival is dependent not on its military ability but on its relationship with G-d. That the nation chose to rely on themselves rather than on G-d set the tone for a very different kind of kingdom, a kingdom that would eventually lapse into materialism and idolatry. What should have been the first night of a new life on our own soil protected by G-d, instead planted the seed of its downfall. The night on which our ancestors cried in the desert was Tisha B’Av, the night that would mark the destruction of both temples in Jerusalem, the night on which their descendants would cry every year throughout the centuries. The lesson which was never fully learned from our miraculous existence in the desert would instead be learned from our miraculous survival through centuries of persecution. When we have fully internalized this lesson, when we have recognized that our success as people and as Jews is measured only by our loyalty to the Torah, that it is only G-d who decides the fate of individuals and nations, the state of economies and the outcome of wars, then and only then will we re-enter the promised land, this time forever.
Parshas Korach 5784 Parshas Korach tells the story of Korach, Moshe’s cousin, who raised doubts as to the legitimacy of Moshe’s leadership. Ostensibly, he was concerned for the honor of the entire Jewish people, whom G-d had called a holy nation and a kingdom of priests. He claimed that this great nation was above the need for leaders, and could govern itself. Hidden behind this claim was an ambition to install himself as leader of the Jewish people. More importantly, however, by intimating that Moshe had seized leadership of his own accord, Korach implied a doubt as to whether Moshe’s had actually been sent by G-d, thus calling into question Moshe’s prophecy and the entire Torah given through him. G-d responded immediately and unequivocally, and Korach and his followers were miraculously swallowed into the earth. This episode was to serve as an everlasting testimony to the truth and immutability of the Torah. This narrative opens with an unusual phrase - “וַיִּקַּח קֹרַח, and Korach took,” followed by a list of Korach’s followers - without telling us what it is that Korach took. According to one Midrash, he took a Tallis, the four cornered garment mentioned in the immediately preceding passage from last week’s Parshah. Only this Tallis, rather than being adorned with a single blue thread as prescribed in the Torah, was dyed entirely blue. Korach used this prop as a mockery of Moshe’s transmission of the Torah. According to the Torah Law, a white Tallis need only be adorned with one blue thread, and yet a Tallis dyed entirely blue does not satisfy the Tzitzis obligation. He similarly scoffed at the idea that a Mezuzah, which contains only two passages from the Torah, better fulfills the Mitzvah than a house full of Torah scrolls. Rabeinu Bechaye explains that these arguments were intended as a subtle suggestion that a nation which is entirely holy does not need leaders. Each member of the nation can develop a relationship with G-d on his own, without the guidance and inspiration of others. Kli Yakar adds that these two Mitzvahs, Tzitzis and Mezuzah, are designed as reminders of G-d and His Torah and Mitzvahs. Korach argued that the great Jewish nation, inspired as it is with enthusiasm for G-d and His Torah, needs no such reminders. Jews can be trusted to constantly bear in mind their special connection with G-d and remain inspired to keep His Mitzvahs, without the aid of formal symbols. This is indeed an elegant attestation to the greatness of the Jewish people and their devotion to G-d and the Torah, which has been borne out through thousands of years of unparalleled tenacity and fidelity. And yet - we are not at liberty to alter the least detail of the Torah. The Torah and its Mitzvahs are the secret behind the unfailing preservation of our faith. It is not the quality of our characters or the eloquence of our preachers, but our constant study of the Torah, coupled with the subtle reminders and symbolic acts which are its Mitzvahs.
Parshas Korach 5785 The story of this week's Parsha centers around Korach, Moshe's cousin, and his monumental fall from greatness. Korach was a man of great spiritual stature, one of the select few who was allowed to handle the holy Ark. He also possessed great material wealth and was widely respected among the Jewish people. Even the greatest must beware of their human shortcomings. Korach became jealous of his cousins, Moshe, Aharon and Elitzafan. His jealousy led him to descend into a struggle for power and honor. He challenged Moshe’s authority and ridiculed the Torah. He even questioned the divine nature of Moshe's mission and of the Torah he taught. Such dissension at so high a level could not be allowed to continue. G-d miraculously caused the earth to swallow Korach and his family. But Korach was not alone. He had two hundred fifty followers, themselves men of great repute, leaders among the Jewish people. They were drawn into Korach’s rebellion, and suffered a fate similar to his. The Torah makes the point of recording that most of Korach’s followers were from the tribe of Reuven. That tribe’s place was on the south side of the Jewish camp, in close proximity to Korach’s family. It is no coincidence that its members were most affected by Korach’s negative influence. It is true that two hundred fifty is a small portion of the entire tribe. Nevertheless, the tribe of Reuven suffered because of its association with Korach. People are social creatures and although we may believe that we can think for ourselves and avoid the negative influence of others, we cannot remain unaffected by those around us. It is very important that we choose our friends and associates wisely. Our Parsha also gives us an example of someone who benefited from associating with a positive influence. One of the names given at the beginning of the Parsha among Korach’s followers is On, son of Peleth. But his name is nowhere to be found after the first verse. The Midrash explains that although initially he had been taken in by Korach and his group, his wife convinced him to abandon them. She even effectively concealed him when Korach’s messengers arrived to summon him. By marrying this worthy woman, On saved his own life. The Midrash also points out that the tribe that lived closest to Moshe, Yissachar, produced a great number of Torah scholars, due to the positive influence of Moshe. For this reason, the Torah puts a serious focus on cultivating Jewish community, exposing ourselves to Torah scholars and Torah centers, and avoiding the company of those who have a negative attitude toward Torah. By actively seeking out an atmosphere of commitment to authentic Torah values, we are taking responsibility for the continued Jewish development of ourselves and our descendants.
Parshas Chukas 5784 Parah Adumah - the “Red Heifer”. This rather unusual Mitzvah forms the first chapter of our Parsha. It involves locating a cow which is entirely red - not a very common occurrence - and ritually slaughtering it: not, as we might expect, on Temple premises, but “outside the camp” - on Mount Olives, east of Jerusalem. The cow is then completely burnt, and its ashes are mixed with water drawn from a spring. This water gets stored for use in the purification process for anyone who has come in contact with a human corpse. The water is sprinkled on his body on the third and seventh days of the purification, after which he is fit to reenter the Temple. Although the Parah Adumah water is specially prepared for the purpose of purification, anyone involved in its preparation (but not the one who actually sprinkles the water) becomes ritually defiled (Tameh), and must himself immerse in a Mikveh. This seeming contradiction, that the water both purifies and defiles, baffled even the one whom Scripture declares the “wisest of all men” - King Solomon. This Mitzvah falls into the category of “Chukim”, Mitzvahs for which we cannot identify the rationale. In fact, the Torah introduces it as the quintessential “Chok” with the phrase זֹאת חֻקַּת הַתּוֹרָה - “This is the Chok of the Torah”. It is the one Mitzvah which neither a Moses nor a Solomon could ever fully understand. It is the quintessential Mitzvah which we must accept on faith and perform dutifully, although its meaning eludes us. The division of Mitzvahs into “Mishpatim” and “Chukim”, respectively Mitzvahs which we do and do not understand, is one made by the Torah itself. However, it is one which has often been less than fully understood, leading many to lose respect for one or the other category. Because the Mishpatim are considered to be intuitive, some have argued that we are not bound by the Torah’s prescriptions, and are at liberty to choose laws of our own design. Others have learned to view the Chukim as arbitrary forms, rituals which at one time were found to inspire, but which are to be replaced or altered as necessary. In fact, neither of these is correct. Both “Mishpatim” and “Chukim” are G-d given Laws, and both are equally binding. Both are designed for our ultimate perfection and refinement by one and the same infinite Intelligence. Both reflect G-d’s infinite understanding of the unique nature and needs of every creature which He Himself created, and delineate accordingly the relationship we should have with each. They differ only in subject. Mishpatim direct our interpersonal relationships, whereas Chukim teach us the most beneficial conduct in all other areas of our lives. The one we can appreciate on our own, the other we must allow to instruct us. Neither could we have designed ourselves to such perfection, and neither is in any way arbitrary. (Based on Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, commentary to Leviticus 18:4)
Parshas Chukas 5785 In our Parsha, the narrative of the Torah jumps ahead thirty eight years, to the final year in the desert. At this point Moshe and his older siblings, Aharon and Miriam, were already quite old. The first event recorded in the Parsha is the death of Miriam. Following her death, there was a shortage of water in the Jewish camp, and a miracle had to be performed in which water was obtained from a rock. Now this was not the first time the problem of water had to be solved. For forty years the Jewish people had been in a waterless desert. Some provision would have to have been made for water. If we recall what is recorded earlier in the Torah, this was not the first time that a rock miraculously gave forth water. This same rock had been providing water throughout the forty years in the desert. How did it come to pass that now, at the end of the forty years, there was no water to be had? Rashi tells us that it was due to the death of Miriam that the miraculous well dried up. Immediately after Miriam’s passing, her people were given clear testimony of her importance to them. They were shown that the great miracle of their water supply in the desert had been provided in her honor. This virtuous woman was of a lofty spiritual stature, no less than her great brothers. Miriam was to the women of Israel what Moshe and Aharon were to the men. She was their leader and teacher, who nurtured their physical and spiritual development to the point that the women remained much more faithful to the Jewish spirit and to G-d than did the men. It is to her, as much as to her brothers, that we owe the absorption of the Torah’s teachings into the intellectual, moral and cultural fabric of the Jewish Nation. Of all this the Torah says almost nothing. It is only from the prophet Micha that we hear a hint of who Miriam was. “For I took you up from the Land of Egypt, and from the house of bondage I redeemed you. And I sent before you Moshe, Aharon and Miriam. (Micha 6:4)” Miriam is listed alongside Moshe and Aharon as one of the three great leaders of the Jewish people. We need not wonder at the fact that the Torah is so quiet about this great woman. Miriam, as leader and teacher of the women, exemplified that supreme virtue by which Jewish women are distinguished. She did not lead by exposing herself to the public eye. She was the quintessential mother in Israel, who influenced the nation with quiet modesty from the privacy of her home. The Torah describes her exactly as she was, and in the only way she would have wanted to be described. Quiet, unassuming, with an immeasurable impact and influence on her nation.
Parshas Balak 5785 Parshas Balak interrupts the narrative of Moshe’s prophecy and introduces the non-Jewish prophet, Bilam. Bilam was hired by the Moabite king, Balak, to use his prophetic powers to protect Moav against an imagined threat of annihilation at the hand of the Jews. He was to place a destructive curse upon the Jewish nation that would allow the Moabites to defeat them in battle. As is clear from the Book of Micha (6:5, from which this week’s Haftorah is taken), Bilam’s supernatural power was no superstitious delusion, but an actual threat to the Israelites. Had he succeeded in uttering his curse, it would have had the intended effect. However, G-d intervened and forced Bilam to exchange his curses for blessings, resulting in four moving and inspired prophecies about the greatness of the Jewish people and their destiny. Our Sages tell us that Bilam was a man gifted with great intellectual abilities. He was granted a perception of the Divine unequaled by any prophet other than Moshe himself. In fact, we are told that although the Torah (Bamidbar 12) dilates on the unequaled level of prophecy experienced by Moshe, and declares (Devarim 34:10) “there arose in Israel no other prophet like Moshe”, among the nations there did arise a Bilam, who was Moshe’s equal. Unlike Moshe, however, Bilam’s intellectual and prophetic abilities had no positive effect on his character. Although he was granted a clear and accurate perception of G-d’s ways, he remained a coarse and degenerate man. Rather than use his unusual abilities in perfecting his character and helping others, he used them to further indulge the three fatal flaws which the Mishna (Avos 5:19) attributes to him: pride, greed and an insatiable appetite for physical pleasures. Bilam would not deign to have any but the highest ranking noblemen as his escort (Bamidbar 22:13-15); he made clear that he deserved the entire royal treasury and the greatest honors in exchange for his service (22:18, 37); he initiated the plot of degeneracy among the Moabite women, designed at demoralizing the Jewish people (Bamidbar 31:16), and himself engaged in bestiality. A highly developed intellect does not by itself translate to moral perfection. It is only by exposing the intellect to the Divine truths of the Torah, and thoughtfully practicing the Mitzvahs which express those truths, that one can hope to accomplish moral growth and improvement of character. What Moshe had that Bilam lacked was the refining power of the Torah, which imposes the necessary restraints and allows us to control our abilities and channel them in a meaningful direction.
Parshas Pinchas 5784 At the end of last week’s Parsha, we read about the incident with the daughters of Moab, who seduced the Israelites and influenced them to engage in idolatry. Before Moshe could fully respond, the situation deteriorated drastically. Zimri, one of the princes of Israel, made a public demonstration of defiance by openly bringing a Moabite princess into his tent. Tradition has it that he added a scornful remark about Moshe’s own marriage to Tziporah, a Midianite woman. (Of course, she had been duly converted and married to Moshe.) Moshe and the elders were shocked into inaction by this blatant act, and stood weeping at the entrance to the Tabernacle. Pinchas, the grandson of Aharon, recalled the Talmudic dictum Kanaim Pogeim Bo, that in such instances the offender is to be summarily executed without trial, and took action. At great risk to his life, he entered Zimri’s tent and caught him in his sinful act. Without thinking of the possible consequences, Pinchas impaled both the Jewish prince and the Moabite princess with his spear. Immediately, the situation was resolved and G-d’s punishing plague ended. Our Parsha opens with G-d’s response to Pinchas’ act, as delivered to Moshe: “Pinchas… has deflected My wrath from the Children of Israel, by being jealous on My behalf, that I need not destroy [them] in My vengeance; therefore, say to Him, I extend to him My covenant of peace….” A covenant of peace - in response to an act of bloodshed! The Torah does not view this double execution as a necessary sacrifice, nor yet as a commendable act of heroism. It is nothing less than an act of peace! Instructions for peaceable relations with others are written across every page of the Torah. Do not take revenge, do not even bear a grudge against those who have wronged you. Judge everyone favorably. Do not slander your fellowman, nor yet bear any unfavorable or possibly harmful tale about him. These and numerous others are the Torah dictates which have raised up the most peaceful of all nations, among whom violence and feuding is virtually unknown. We must always be ready and willing to forgo our rights and our property, to forgive any insult to ourselves or to our honor, if that will allow us to go on living peaceably with our neighbors. But such forbearance and patience can only be applied to what is ours to forgive - our own rights and our own honor. Where G-d’s honor is concerned, where a Zimri attempts to lead the nation into open rebellion against G-d, we are not at liberty to remain silent. Each of us becomes responsible to take up G-d’s cause and to restore to Him the loyalty of His people. In doing so, by being jealous for G-d’s honor, we spare G-d the necessity of doing so Himself. We restore peace between Him and His nation, as well as within His nation, between the defectors and those who will not bear to witness this slight to G-d. Rarely are we called upon, as Pinchas was, to actually take up arms: often a kind word suffices. When we exercise the utmost care never to confuse G-d’s honor with our own, never to be drawn into personal battles in the name of G-d, to remain forbearing and patient when the insult is to ourselves and our property, even as we exhibit the utmost inflexibility with regard to G-d’s honor, we are rewarded with G-d’s special aid in restoring peace. When there is at least one man or woman in Israel who is willing to take up for G-d, to be the one who forgoes his own honor to revive the loyalty of the nation, his or her just reward is the Covenant of Peace.
Parshas Pinchas 5785 At the end of last week's Parsha, we read about the heroic act of Pinchas, Aharon’s grandson, who stood up for God's honor when large segments of the nation were defecting against God. After Bilam had failed at his attempt to harm the Israelites through the spiritual means of cursing them, he advised Balak to accomplish their undoing by undermining their moral integrity. Balak dispatched the daughters of Moav to seduce the men of Israel. These succeeded not only at demoralizing the people, but also at drawing them toward idolatrous practices. The defection began with the common people, and this Moshe could address. But when one of the leaders of Israel, the head of the tribe of Shimon, joined the rebellion by defiantly bringing one of the Moavites into his tent, Moshe had no response. He and the other elders were shocked into silence, and stood crying at the entrance to the Tabernacle. Among all of the leaders of Israel, it was only Pinchas who kept his senses through the confusion. He stood forward and brought justice upon these two. As the law requires, he caught them in their sinful act and executed both the Jewish man and the Moavite woman. In so doing, Pinchas saved the rest of the nation from destruction. The defection was brought to a halt, and God's wrath was averted. Our Parsha opens with a commendation for Pinchas’ heroic act by God himself. In return for restoring peace between God and Israel, Pinchas was granted God's covenant of peace. The Torah then gives us the identity of the two sinners who Pinchas executed. One was Zimri, prince of the tribe of Shimon. The other was Cosby, a Moavite princess, daughter of the high king of Moav. This information is not extraneous; it is an essential part of the Torah's praise for a Pinchas. They were not common people against whom he took his stand. By killing the prince of Shimon, he risked earning the enmity of the entire tribe. When he killed a foreign princess, he risked not only his own life but the future relationship between the two nations. Doing so would raise strong criticism from the entire Jewish people. But Pinchas did not consider his own safety or reputation. He did not do what was popular or what would create favorable headlines. When standing up for the honor of God, he did not stop to think about himself. He did the deed that needed to be done. He did what was right, and in doing so not only did he save his Nation but he earned himself recognition from God himself, recorded in the Torah for eternity.
Matos-Masei 5785 This week's Parsha begins with a discussion of vows, a subject the Torah takes very seriously. The power of speech is what distinguishes man from animals, and every word we utter is sacred. If we swear to do something or not to do something, our word is binding. This is doubly true when we invoke G-d's name and swear by it. The Torah does make provision for a vow that needs to be absolved, but this step should only be taken in cases of necessity. In fact, the Torah takes our words so seriously that we are discouraged from ever taking oaths. The risk of potentially violating the oath is one we should be very slow to take, and the utterance of unnecessary vows is considered a grave sin. There is one exception where we are not discouraged from binding ourselves with an oath (although even this should only be done with careful discretion) and that is when we swear to do a Mitzvah. Interestingly, such an oath is not legally binding. We have all sworn at Sinai that we would keep the Torah, and the reiteration of that oath does not make it any more binding. In that sense, swearing to keep a Mitzvah could be seen as an unnecessary oath, something to be avoided. Nevertheless, when done with the proper discretion, it is considered proper to take such an oath. Notwithstanding the fact that it is not legally binding, in our own minds we feel ourselves beholden by our given word more than by the oath we took at Sinai. It is proper to do whatever is necessary to encourage ourselves to fulfill our obligations before G-d. Michtav Me’elyahu sees in this a lesson with much wider applications in our Torah observance. We tend to disdain a good deed which was done with ulterior motives. We prefer to not perform a Mitzvah at all then to do so for some external reason. The Torah teaches that this is not a proper attitude. Certainly we should strive to fulfill the Mitzvahs without ulterior motives. But we are deceiving ourselves most dangerously if we believe that we will fulfill our duty before G-d even if we avoid any encouragement to do so. We should not disdain to utilize whatever means are necessary to encourage ourselves to do Mitzvahs. It certainly is proper to turn our Torah obligations into social obligations in order to coerce ourselves to fulfill them. We should attend a synagogue service or a Torah class, knowing that we will feel a social obligation to return next time. We should keep company with those before whom we are uncomfortable transgressing the Torah. If by this means Mitzvahs will be accomplished, it is certainly worthwhile.
Parshas Devarim 5784 The fifth and final book of the Torah, which we begin reading this week, consists of Moshe’s final messages to the Jewish people, delivered in the last month of his life. Moshe would not live to see his people across the border into the Land of Israel. The Kingdom of the Torah would be established by a new leader, without the benefit of Moshe’s direct guidance. Before departing this life, he prepared the people for the challenges they would now face as a sovereign nation on its own land. They would be expected to study and observe the Torah, to internalize and live by its teachings, not in the meditative solitude of a wilderness, but within the busy realities of communal and national life. Moshe reminded the nation of the challenges they had already faced in their devotion to the Torah and its ideals, and rebuked them for those times when they had failed G-d’s expectations. The setting for this final address is described in seemingly unnecessary detail: “Across the Jordan, in the wilderness, in the plain, opposite Suf, between Paran and Tofel, and Lavan, Chatzeiros and Di Zahav”. What does the Torah mean to tell us with all these details? The Sifrei explains that the Torah is describing not where Moshe’s address was delivered, but the locations in which the Jews had erred over the course of their journey through the wilderness. Moshe did not deliver his rebuke openly so as not to shame his audience. Instead, he expressed his message in subtle hints, by mentioning the names of these locations. The message was immediately understood: Moshe knew he could rely on his audience to understand his hints. In that great generation, it could be taken for granted that the people were most interested in their spiritual growth and self improvement. They wanted to hear anything Moshe had to say that could help them in realizing this goal, and whatever they heard was given the utmost attention, with a view to how it applied to each of them individually. Every member of the audience listened carefully for some criticism that might refer to him, with the intent of correcting whatever faults he might have. When they heard Moshe’s rebuke, however subtle and delicate the delivery may have been, they immediately understood and applied the lesson. None of us is above criticism, and receiving it is a privilege, an opportunity for growth and improvement. But we must listen very carefully if we are to recognize this opportunity when it offers itself. Quite frequently, we hear remarks or experience events which could well draw our attention to those areas of our lives and conduct which deserve to be reexamined. But the only way these gifts can benefit us is if we are solicitous about hearing the subtle hints and studying how they apply to us.
Parshas Devarim 5785 The book of Devarim, which we will be beginning this week, is a record of Moshe's final words to his people before he passed on. This speech was delivered in the last month of his life. It begins in this week's Parsha with a review of the events of the past forty years, when the Jewish people had been in the desert. Moshe highlighted some of the errors which they had made and the consequences of those errors. Moshe's hope was that he could help the people improve as they set out on their future development as a nation without their great leader. The first subject he discussed was the episode that had occurred thirty-eight years earlier when he sent scouts to visit the land of Israel. These had seen the land and appreciated how good it was, but they were intimidated by the proportions of the Canaanites, whom they would have to conquer. They returned to the Jewish camp with a discouraging report. Only two of the scouts, Yehoshua and Kalev, had confidence in G-d's power to deliver the promised land into their hands. They attempted to calm the nation and encourage them to enter the land, but the other ten Scouts had already swayed the people. All the Jewish men (although not the women) spent that night crying and accusing G-d of bringing them to the promised land in order to destroy them. When Moshe reviewed this episode 38 years later, he reported that the spies had said the land was exceedingly good, “but you (the people) did not want to ascend (to the land of Israel)”. Although ten out of the twelve scouts had given quite a different report, Moshe was referring to the remaining two, Yehoshua and Kalev, who had said the land was very good. Had the nation really trusted in G-d and wanted to follow him into the Promised Land despite whatever difficulties they would have to face, only the positive report of Yehoshua and Kalev would have made a difference to them. The other ten they would have ignored. Moshe understood, and explained to the people, that it was only because they were too afraid to face the Canaanites with trust in G-d, that they paid any attention to the other ten spies' negative report. The night our ancestors spent crying and accusing G-d was Tisha B’Av. This Saturday night we will be observing Tisha B’Av. We will spend the night crying as our nation has done for two thousand years. If the nation which had been miraculously brought out of Egypt by the power of G-d, was not yet ready to calmly place their trust in G-d as they entered into their next challenge, and they were able to become so discouraged that they spent the night crying in despair, then they would have to learn trust in G-d through centuries of Exile in which G-d would be their only comfort and protection. As we sit on the floor in mourning this Saturday night, and appreciate and cry over our lost closeness with G-d, we bring ourselves one step closer to restoring that relationship and returning to our land.
Parshas Vaeschanan - Nachamu 5784 Our Parsha continues Moshe’s final address to the Jewish People before his passing. The opening word of the Parsha, after which the Parsha is named, is Vaeschanan. Moshe relates that, following his preliminary conquest of the Transjordan region of the Land of Israel, he begged to be allowed to enter the Land proper. It had been decreed that neither Moshe nor Aaron would live to see the Jews arrive and settle in the Promised Land, and Moshe prayed for this sentence to be lifted. According to Tradition, Moshe repeated this prayer no fewer than five hundred and fifteen times, before G-d finally ordered him to stop praying and accept the sentence. The Gemara (Sota 14a) is bothered by Moshe’s fixation on entering the Land of Israel. Moshe had lived a full life, and had reached the advanced age of one hundred and twenty years. He had achieved the highest level of prophecy available in this life, and had mastered, transmitted and observed every aspect of the Torah. The time had come to depart to his well earned eternal reward. Could he possibly have been concerned with entering the Land and tasting its fruit before he died? The Gemara responds that in fact, Moshe’s concern was not with experiencing the Land, but with fulfilling those Mitzvahs which only apply in the Land. Israel is the Land of the Torah, and many of the Mitzvahs of the Torah can only be fulfilled there. Even those Mitzvahs which do apply everywhere are more effective in the Land of Israel. Most notably, the spiritual nature of the Land makes it most suitable for gaining a proper understanding of the Torah. Moshe begged to be allowed to experience these benefits, to bring his Torah study and observance to its completion in the Land of Israel. This week we observed Tisha B’Av, our national day of mourning over the Temple and the Land of Israel, and transitioned into the Shiva D’Nechemasa, the seven weeks of consolation over our loss. Our focus is fixed on the tragedies of the past, our struggles in the present, and our faith in G-d’s promises for the future. With Moshe, we pray for the fulfillment of those promises, the restoration of the Temple and the Jewish Nation. But like Moshe, we are not concerned with the loss or restoration of our political homeland and the security and prosperity it affords. Our wish is for the restoration of the Land of the Torah, and the Torah-study and Mitzvahs that can be best accomplished therein. We wish for the peace and tranquility we require in order to be able to focus on the Torah, and full freedom to fulfill its Mitzvahs.
Parshas Vaeschanan - Nachamu 5785 At the end of last week's Parsha, Moshe recounted how he had led the conquest of Trans-Jordania. Although G-d had told him that he would not be entering the land of Israel, Moshe had been permitted to begin the process of conquering the land. In this week's parsha, Moshe relates that he had thought that perhaps G-d’s decree had been revoked, and that he might be permitted to complete the task he had begun. The Parsha opens with the word “Va’eschanan, I prayed”. Moshe exerted himself in prayer, begging to be allowed to enter the Land of Israel and complete the mission he had begun by bringing the Jews out of Egypt. After asking and being refused many times, according to tradition no fewer than five hundred and fifteen times, Moshe received the command from G-d to stop asking. G-d told him that he had already accomplished his mission here on Earth and was ready to move on to the next world and enjoy his eternal reward. Although Moshe was severely disappointed, he had to put an end to his prayer and accept that G-d's decree would remain irrevocable. There is much to be learnt from Moshe's prayer. Often, we find ourselves discouraged when we pray and there seems to be no answer. We feel as though G-d does not hear or does not wish to hear. Moshe taught us to never stop trying. G-d knows what we want and he knows what we need, but he wants us to develop a relationship with him through prayer. Even Moshe, whose relationship with G-d was better developed than anyone else's, still needed, at the climax of his life here on Earth, to continue striving to connect with G-d through prayer. G-d knew from the beginning that he had no intention of accepting Moshe's prayer. He could have silenced him immediately and saved him the trouble. But G-d wanted to hear five hundred and fifteen prayers from Moshe, and He wanted Moshe to attain the spiritual development that could be gained through exerting himself in prayer so many times. But after five hundred and fifteen prayers G-d said no. When we don't immediately attain what we pray for, it is not correct to say that our prayers were not answered. Our prayers were answered, and the answer was no. Like a father, G-d knows much better than we do whether what we ask for is really good for us. G-d constantly bestows upon us benefits that we have not asked for, and we express gratitude. When we do pray and our prayers are granted, we also express gratitude. But it is perhaps when our prayer is not granted that we should express the greatest gratitude. G-d has heard our deepest wishes and refused them - not because they are not important to Him, but because, as only He can know, He has something even better in store.
Parshas Ekev 5784 In this the third part of Moshe’s final address, he turns to the imminent entry of Israel into their land. We read about the greatness of the Land of Israel, its physical fertility and its spiritual stature as the focal point of G-d’s government of the world. This land was promised to the Jewish People, and they would now finally enter and take possession of it. However, there is one consistent message upon which the Torah dilates at great length throughout the Parsha. Israel would conquer their land through battle, yet it is not by military strength that they would own and keep the land; Israel would cultivate the land and achieve great prosperity after long labor, yet their prosperity would not be accomplished or perpetuated by their own efforts; the land would be given them as a gift by G-d, yet they would not be allowed to take that as a sign of their own worthiness, as if they had earned the gift. Israel’s right to possession of the land, and its ability to maintain possession of the land, are not dependent on the greatness of its military, on its industry and the success of its economy, nor yet on the imagined favor of G-d. Such criteria for success apply to other nations and other lands. But the Land of Israel, and the People of Israel, stand and fall by one thing only - loyalty to the Torah. On the individual, communal and national levels, Jews must study and observe the Torah, if they are to survive as a people and a sovereign nation. The experience of the Jews in the desert was deliberately orchestrated to teach this lesson. Jewish history does not begin with military conquest or agricultural success. It begins in a desert, where food and water were not to be had, the habitation of venomous snakes and scorpions which endangered the lives of any who dared to trespass. That millions of Jewish men, women and children survived, without provisions and without experience in desert living, was only accomplished by open miracles. Water flowed from a rock, bread fell from heaven, skin and clothing were miraculously preserved against the elements. By creating this arrangement, G-d was demonstrating that the Jewish nation would not be allowed to live by normal means. They would live by G-d’s word alone, by their loyalty to G-d and His Torah. If ever they did not uphold that loyalty, it was again through open miracles that they were reminded of their dependence on G-d. These were lessons which were to be learned and remembered throughout Israel’s history. The Land of Israel belongs to the People of Israel by birthright. But only when we live up to the name of Israel, when we carefully study the Word of G-d and live by it, each of us and all of us collectively, can we expect to be allowed to return there undisturbed.
Parshas Ekev 5785 Ekev, the word for which our Parsha is named, literally means heel. As the Torah uses it idiomatically, it means “as a result of” (on the heels of). Our Parsha opens with a description of the good fortune that the Jewish Nation will enjoy as a result of (as reward for) its loyalty to the Torah. The Midrash, however, draws attention to the Torah's choice of idiom and derives an important moral lesson from the literal meaning of the word Ekev - heel. The Midrash sees this expression as a reminder to us of those Mitzvahs that tend to get “trodden underfoot”: those Mitzvahs which, for whatever reason, we tend to feel are less important or somehow less binding than others. Each of us has certain Mitzvahs to which he attaches special importance; perhaps attending High Holiday services, honoring the memory of a parent or contributing to charitable causes. Other Mitzvahs we deem to be less important. We focus less on them because they seem trivial, or because they require too much effort, or perhaps because we were not made aware of them until later in life. Which Mitzvahs those are is unimportant, and varies from person to person. But whichever they may be, the Torah teaches that it is just those Mitzvahs which most require our attention. Those Mitzvahs which we “tread under our heels”, which get neglected and forgotten, need our special attention so that they can be restored to their rightful place of centrality in our lives. The Torah even goes so far as to hang the fortune of the Jewish state and its entire population on the attention we pay to just these Mitzvahs. To think of any Mitzvah as trivial is to view it as a social construct, a piece of Jewish culture enshrined as law, and its observance a matter of one's personal connection to the Jewish people. But the Torah is much more than that. It is the word of G-d, Creator and Teacher of mankind, giving us instructions for what behaviors are both most beneficial to us and, more importantly, are His Will and Command. No Mitzvah is trivial if it is commanded by G-d, and not the tiniest detail is insignificant that G-d has deemed important to mention. Our observance of the “big” Mitzvahs, those whose importance we recognize, reflects nothing on our character. But the Ekev Mitzvahs, the Mitzvahs we have trouble appreciating, are the real tests of our loyalty to G-d and His Torah.
Parshas Re’eh 5785 In Parsha Re’eh, Moshe begins the legal portion of his final address. In this and the next several Parshas, numerous Mitzvahs are either taught for the first time or repeated and expanded upon, with a special focus on their relevance to the Land of Israel. With the Mitzvahs in the Book of Devarim, the Torah prepares the Jewish People for their imminent transition from the intimate communal life they enjoyed in the wilderness to existence as a great nation, spread across the breadth of a wide land. No longer would every individual have easy access to the Sanctuary, and no longer would it be possible for one leader to regularly impart Torah lessons to the entire population. In the Land of Israel, special institutions would be required to ensure that the Ark of the Torah remain at the center of national and private life, and that the teachings of the Torah and the Torah sages continue to reach the ears and hearts of every Jew. Our Parsha repeatedly stresses those Mitzvahs which would consistently direct the steps of the nation toward the Temple. All aspects of the Temple service, including individual free-will offerings, could only be performed in the central Temple in Jerusalem. A tithe of all produce had to be consumed within the walls of Jerusalem, and a tithe of all kosher livestock had to be offered up on the central altar. The first of each year’s fruits had to be presented to a Cohen in the Temple. Three times each year, every Jewish man had to make a pilgrimage to the Temple in honor of Pesach, Shavuos and Succos, and both men and women would be required to present themselves in Jerusalem in order to participate in the Pesach offering. Judaism can and must be practiced regardless of where a Jew finds himself, and as a rule the Torah has always been enthusiastically embraced throughout Israel. But the opportunity to celebrate the spirit of Judaism together, as a nation, in one national center, was one which served as a constant source of spiritual renewal and inspiration. Jerusalem was home to the Holy Temple, where G-d’s presence could be tangibly felt. It was there that the Temple Service took place, through which the People of Israel, the nation and all its individuals, rededicated themselves to G-d. The Temple served as the seat of the Sanhedrin, the highest Torah authority, and in Jerusalem could be found its members and their students, the great Torah teachers. Jerusalem and its Temple, and the Torah which they represented, were the heart of the nation. The constant traffic between Jerusalem and the rest of the land was its pulse. We today are dispersed over the earth. We do not have the Temple, and Jerusalem is no longer what it once was. But to whatever extent possible, we must endeavor to hold together, to worship together and to draw inspiration from the Torah together, to seek out the company of Torah sages and to avail ourselves of their teachings. We can not content ourselves with practicing Judaism in our private lives, but must gather in our “Synagogues” (lit. “places of assembly”) and Batei Midrash (places of Torah study), together to absorb the Torah’s message and perpetuate it.
Parshas Shoftim 5784 The name of this week’s Parsha is Shoftim - judges. As the name suggests, this Parsha begins with a treatment of the judicial system in the Jewish state. We are enjoined to avoid any partiality or favoritism, both in the appointment of judges and in the exercise of justice. The Sanhedrin, the supreme Jewish court, is to be the final authority on the correct understanding and application of the Torah. The lower courts and academies are permitted and encouraged to express their views, but in cases where a conclusion cannot be reached the Sanhedrin is called upon to decide. Once the Sanhedrin has handed down their considered opinion, the decision is final and binding as Torah Law. Aside from the judicial branch of government, the Torah goes into detail about all other positions, or potential positions of power in the Jewish state. The king, the priests, the prophets and the military; each of these entities is given its due place, its powers and limitations. The king is to be respected and revered by the populace, but he is prevented from amassing too much wealth, too many wives or too many horses. He is required to write his own copy of the Torah and keep it with him at all times. The priests are to fulfill their duties as servitors in the Temple and as Torah teachers, and they are to be given their modest tithe, but they are not permitted to demand it, or to receive a portion of the land or of spoils of war. The prophets are to transmit the word of G-d to the people, regardless of how unpopular a message they have to deliver. Their word is to be respected, but only so far as they can prove themselves genuine messengers of G-d. Never is a Jew permitted to consult with oracles or practitioners of the occult. Anyone who falsely claims prophecy, whether from G-d or from an idol, even when in agreement with the Torah, is to be severely punished. In time of war, an army is to be raised to defend and protect the nation. But before marching forth, the army is reminded that it is not they but G-d who wages war. If they have any part in victory, it is in reciting the Shema and otherwise earning G-d’s assistance. Any soldier who is less than fully confident in his right to G-d’s protection is dismissed from service, and it is only the most righteous who are allowed to participate in active combat. If we take these laws in aggregate, we see a nation governed by the Torah and only the Torah. The king, the clergy, the military: none of these are the most honored among the Torah Nation. It is the Torah teachers, the Torah academies and the Torah courts which are to be given the highest esteem. Not men of wealth or prowess but of righteousness and Torah scholarship are to be revered. All other officials and people of importance are in place only to support and enforce the Torah. The true leader of the Jewish people is G-d, and the expression of His will is the Torah.
Parshas Shoftim 5785 Parshas Shoftim outlines the makeup of the Jewish state. It begins with the authority of the Sanhedrin, and continues with the position of the king, the priests and the Levites. The end of the Parsha discusses the procedure for war. It begins, in chapter 20 verse 1, When you go out to war against your enemies and you see horses and chariots, a multitude larger than you, do not be afraid of them; for the Lord your G-d is with you, Who brought you up from the land of Egypt. The Torah then instructs us to dismiss, immediately before engaging with the army just described, large regiments of soldiers from service. Anyone who has recently built a house or gotten married or planted a vineyard, and anyone who is afraid to enter into combat, is sent home from the battlefield. It is with a much diminished army that we finally go to face the enemy. The remaining soldiers are perhaps older, settled down after more than a year of marriage and home ownership, and have fully internalized the message with which this chapter opens: Do not fear them for the Lord your G-d is with you. The command “not to fear them” is given as an offhanded instruction. And yet, perhaps nowhere else does the Torah make so difficult a demand. We are to march onto the battlefield, in full sight of the enemy and within range of his artillery, without any fear for life and limb. And that, not because we have been trained to control our emotions or because we have forgotten all fear in the excitement of battle, but because The Lord your G-d is with you. The Torah demands that our awareness of G-d and His absolute sovereignty be such that we see no cause for alarm. The uncountable multitude of the opposing army and the deadly power of his weaponry is to impress us in just the same way as so many ants defending their hill. This precept is no idealistic sermon about faith, but a legal requirement under Torah law. Nor is this law given to an elite class of priests, but to any ordinary citizen who has been conscripted into the Jewish army. Every Jew is expected to internalize the lesson of our Torah and our history, that G-d is all powerful, all knowing and intimately present in our lives, and that no obstacle poses a greater challenge to G-d than any other. But is this anything other than the demand made of us on every page of the Torah? The Torah requires us to observe its Mitzvahs regardless of circumstances. We are to observe the dietary laws even in places where Kosher food is not to be found and if necessary we must go hungry (provided we are not putting our lives at risk). We are to conduct our businesses and all our financial concerns with the most scrupulous honesty, even at great risk to our financial security. We are to observe Shabbos, even if that entails a serious sacrifice of our personal comfort, convenience, enjoyment or financial security. We are expected not to allow any obstacle to discourage us from observing the Torah. At times, our Torah observance will come at a significant cost to our financial position, to our respect in the eyes of friends and family, or to our comfort and convenience. But we observe the Torah willingly and joyfully, despite all obstacles, secure in our faith that G-d, Who gave us the Torah, has the power and will to see to it that our loyalty will never bring us to any harm.
Parshas Ki Setzei 5785 Among the many Mitzvahs given in this week’s Parsha, there is one upon which the Torah bestows special importance as a fundamental condition for G-d’s personal attention and care. The Torah teaches that at all times, even in times of war, we are to pay the utmost attention to maintaining the holiness of our “camp” - our surroundings and environment. We are to ensure that our camp is clean: that a special place be designated, away from our dwellings, for the execution of our bodily functions, and that anything unclean be properly buried and hidden from view. More generally, we are commanded to adhere, even under conditions of war, to the highest standards of morality: that we exercise the utmost caution in avoiding exposure to indecent dress or behavior. From this Mitzvah is derived the Law that we may not permit ourselves to utter any Berachah, prayer or Torah thought in the presence of excrement or of people who are not dressed in accordance with the Torah’s standards. But by no means does the Torah limit this Mitzvah to the Temple or Synagogue, to the “holy” occupations of prayer and Torah study. The principle of holiness is quite deliberately taught in the context of a military camp. The purity of mind and body demanded by the Torah applies in all circumstances. Even when we find ourselves far from home, engaged with our comrades in the life and death struggle of war, we are to maintain our purity and morality. One of the defining characteristics of Jewish society has always been our careful attention to morality and proper dress. Jewish sons and daughters have always prided themselves in their purity and self respect, never taking their cue from the wider society to dress in order to attract the attention of people around them. As Jews, we pride ourselves in our purity of expression, never engaging in coarse, unrefined speech or manners. We dress, speak and behave in a manner which reflects an awareness of G-d in our lives, and of our high calling as human beings and Jews. And it is precisely this that earns us G-d’s presence among us, and His special protection. The Torah teaches: “Let there not be seen among you any nakedness, lest He turn away from after you (Devarim 23:15).” G-d is holy and He wishes His servitors to emulate His holiness. When we guard our own holiness and purity, in our dress, in our speech, in what we allow ourselves to see, hear or read, we invite G-d, the most pure and holy, into our midst to guide, guard and protect us.
Parshas Ki Savo 5784 When a Jew harvests his crop in the Land of Israel, there is a special Mitzvah he must do before enjoying the fruits of his labor. He takes the first of each fruit to ripen from among the seven species for which the Land of Israel is praised, and brings them to the Temple as a gift. This gift of the first fruits, called Bikkurim, was presented with great fanfare. The seven individual fruits were placed together with other fruits into beautiful baskets, and placed into wagons pulled by oxen with gilded horns. People would travel to Jerusalem in large groups, and would be greeted with excitement by the dignitaries and commoners of the city. The group would approach the Temple, and each individual would present his gift at the Altar. The Torah provides a special declaration to be made when presenting Bikkurim. Therein, the giver reviews the miraculous manner in which the Jewish People developed from a small persecuted clan into a great sovereign nation with its own land. How the patriarch Yaakov had been maltreated by Lavan and his descendants by the Egyptians. How the Israelites had nevertheless thrived and become a powerful nation, distinct and separate from the culture and society around them. How their oppression had worsened until they cried out to G-d and He delivered them with great wonders. How the Israelites were then led to the Promised Land and given it as their own. And now, declares the celebrant, I have brought the first fruit of the land which You, G-d, have given me. Gratitude - this is the purpose of the Mitzvah of Bikkurim. Gratitude for the fruits which have grown this year, gratitude for the land on which they have grown, gratitude for the wider Jewish homeland and nationhood. The Hebrew word for gratitude is Hakaras Hatov, recognition of goodness which has been bestowed. Gratitude is not just an emotion or an expression of proper etiquette. It is a recognition, an admission, that what I have is mine by the grace of someone else, and that I am indebted to that person for his beneficence. My crop, my land, my nation and country, are not mine to take pride in. They are gifts from G-d, and they are mine only so long as I recognize that and behave toward them accordingly. We are constant beneficiaries of G-d’s kindliness. Each time we eat or partake of any of the goodness of this world, we are inspired to rededicate ourselves to Him with a Beracha of thanks and praise. But as we consider how indebted we are for this one food, we are reminded that we are only able to partake of it by means of the great gifts of teeth, lips, a tongue and taste buds. And these in turn are valueless without a heart and lungs, and a healthy digestive system. We are indebted to G-d for the medium of air, custom crafted for our survival and enjoyment. At every moment we have the opportunity for Hakaras Hatov, to recognize and appreciate the kindliness of G-d, and to make some small gesture of appreciation by living in the manner that He asks of us. As we approach the end of the Jewish year, let us take the time to reflect, not on the one or two hardships we have suffered this year, but on the infinitely more numerous benefits we have enjoyed by the hand of G-d, and attempt to express our appreciation.
Parshas Ki Savo 5785 Our Parsha opens with the Mitzvah of Bikurim, a Mitzvah that has been mentioned several times before. Bikurim is the gift of the first fruits, which are to be brought to the Temple and presented to the Cohen before the altar. This Mitzvah is only done in the land of Israel, and only while the Temple stands in Jerusalem. It only applies to those seven crops for which the land of Israel was known, wheat, barley, grapes, figs, pomegranates, dates and olives. The first of each of these to ripen in a given year is to be set aside and designated as the gift of Bikurim, and later given to the Cohen in the Temple. Our Parsha adds a special declaration to be made upon presenting the Bikurim, in which the giver declares his gratitude to G-d for the land of Israel and its crops, as well as for the miraculous history of the Jewish Nation, their Exodus from Egypt and their settlement of the land of Israel. Bikurim is unique among the annual gifts given from our crops to the Cohen, Levi and to the poor. The other gifts have as their purpose the maintenance of their recipients. But the Mitzvah of Bikurim, by every detail of its laws, shows itself to be an entirely symbolic act. The Cohen is never explicitly specified as the recipient of this gift; the Torah only orders that the Bikurim be brought “to the house of G-d”. The Torah then prescribes the lengthy declaration of gratitude to be made upon presentation. In addition, the Torah only requires one individual fruit from each of the seven species listed: two kernels of grain and five fruits could hardly be intended for the support of the Cohen. The accepted usage of Jewish tradition also put significant emphasis on the symbolic nature of Bikurim. All other Priestly gifts were treated like taxes. In the harvest season, the Cohanim and Levites would travel to the granaries to receive their due. Bikurim, on the other hand, were made into a national festival. The individual Bikurim fruits would be placed in golden baskets and decorated with additional fruits of many kinds. These would be placed on wagons pulled by oxen with gilded horns. Large groups would join together as a procession to bring their Bikurim to the Temple. When they arrived at the gates of Jerusalem, the dignitaries of that city would come out to greet them with music and praise, and accompany them into the city. What does the Mitzvah of Bikurim symbolize? By designating this small gift of the very first fruits of each crop, by decorating it in so festive a manner and by going through the considerable effort of bringing it to Jerusalem to be placed before the altar; a Jew declared, once every year, that his crop, gotten by long and difficult labor in the field, is not his at all. It, like all of our possessions and everything in this world, is G-d's. Our crop, Our land, our nationhood are only ours by the grace of G-d and by his miraculous management of Israel and of mankind. Our possessions are given to us only as a result of our dedication to the Torah, and are only meaningful to the extent that we dispose of them in carrying out the Torah. With the first fruits of our crops we symbolize this, and with our entire fortunes we live it.
Parshas Nitzavim-Vayelech 5784 On the final day of Moshe’s life, as he prepared to commit his flock to his devoted student and successor, he gathered the nation to hear his final words, which form the last four Torah portions. Moshe begins by entering the Jewish People into an everlasting covenant with G-d, binding them for all time in an oath of fidelity to G-d and His Torah. This covenant follows immediately after another, concluded in last week’s Parsha, and only by paying careful attention to the wording can we discover what was added by this second oath. Our Parsha begins with the words “Atem Nitzavim - you are standing: the heads of your tribes, your elders and officers, every man in Israel; your children, your wives, the converts that are in your camp, from your wood-choppers to your water-carriers; to enter you into the covenant [with] G-d…. (Devarim 29:9-11)” Moshe addresses himself, not to the nation as a whole or to its individual members, but to each rank within the nation, standing at attention to participate in the covenant. He then explains the purpose of this new covenant (v. 12): “In order to establish you (plural) today as His nation, and that He will be your G-d….” In contrast, the earlier covenant was addressed to each member of the nation, and its purpose (the loyalty of each individual Jew to the Torah) is assumed to be self understood. This final covenant that the Jewish People made before entering the Land of Israel was not just one of individual loyalty to the Torah. That, each of them had already accepted and sworn to. What they added now was an oath of fidelity as a nation. As soon as the Jewish People stepped over the threshold of their land, it would no longer be sufficient for each member to see to his own duty to G-d. From now on, each Jew would be responsible to ensure, to the best of his capabilities, that not only he but the entire nation remained loyal to G-d and His Torah. Every Jew, within his own greater or lesser sphere of influence, is obligated to inspire and encourage those around him to greater attention to the Laws of the Torah. No one, whether he be an influential leader, elder or officer in a position of responsibility, or a private citizen, the father or mother of a family, or yet a member of the lowest class of servants, unnoticed by anyone but his small circle, can purport to have fulfilled his duty before G-d, if he has not done everything in his power to ensure that those around him are equally conscientious. But Moshe adds another clause to this new covenant: “Not with you alone do I make this covenant… but [also] with all who are not [yet] here today (v. 13-14)”. Even if we live our personal lives in perfect harmony with the Laws and principles of the Torah, even if we live in a time when throughout the nation there is nothing wanting in loyalty to G-d, we can not be satisfied that we have fulfilled our duty unless we can declare with full confidence that we have done all we could to ensure that our children and grandchildren, to the very last generation, will be recognizable as Torah-true Jews. (based on Ohr Hachaim)
Rosh Hashanah 5785 Another year has come and gone, another cycle of birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. We are one year older, one year wiser, and one year more or less accomplished. The world around us has undergone one more year of events, of greater or lesser significance. Our reflections, as we approach the end of this year and the beginning of the next, are very familiar to us. The end of this year feels very much the same as the end of last, which was the same as ten and twenty years ago. We anticipate the coming year ending in much the same way as it begins. Where can we find meaning in the never ending passage of years, and in the brief span allotted to us within those years? We are interrupted from these gloomy thoughts by the shrill call of the Shofar. This simple, unadorned ram’s horn recalls out of the distant past a man who was prepared to offer up his own son if G-d so willed it. It recalls a son who willingly submitted himself to the ultimate sacrifice to fulfill an incomprehensible command of G-d. It recalls the momentous declaration of G-d that the pair had passed the test, and that they and their descendants would forevermore serve G-d, not in martyrdom but in full lives of duty fulfilled. The voice of this horn echoes the great Shofar call that announced the revelation at Sinai of that Law which transforms every ordinary home into a temple, every mundane activity into a sacred service. In it is a hint of that future Shofar call which will mark the end of the world’s struggle to discover G-d, and announce the beginning of an era when He will be known and revered by all. It is this horn that G-d chooses to be played at His coronation each Rosh Hashanah. It is this sound that startles us out of inaction, to make the most lively and energetic effort to examine our path in life, to rededicate and redirect ourselves toward a more meaningful relationship with G-d. When we allow the sound of the Shofar to enter into our consciousness, its three simple notes to recall to our minds the dedication of Abraham and Isaac, the revelation at Sinai and our future redemption; when we allow the Shofar to challenge our thinking, to remind us of who we are as Jews, who we should be as Jews; when we allow ourselves to hear in the Shofar’s call a summons to make G-d and His Torah a central focus in our lives, to see in every mundane act an expression of our relationship with G-d; we discover in that relationship and through that relationship a deeper meaning to the events and activities of our lives. The new year no longer marks another step on an endlessly repeating road. It marks the end of so many days, hours and minutes of life fully lived, ennobled and elevated by serving G-d, and the beginning of another cycle of days, hours and minutes with an even deeper appreciation of G-d and dedication to His service.
Rosh Hashanah 5786 We have reached the end of the year 5785. Only a few days remain until Rosh Hashanah, the first day of 5786. The month of Elul with its reflective mood has nearly passed, and the Days of Awe are upon us, a time for repentance and reconciliation. What are our sentiments as we approach these days? On the one hand, Rosh Hashanah is a Yom Tov, a festive time of year. In every Jewish home, preparations are being made for the holiday. Round loaves of bread have been baked to replace the usual braided loaves, and honey has been purchased in place of salt. Honey cake is being prepared for dessert at our festive meals, and other special foods have been obtained to symbolize a good year to come: apples to be dipped in honey, pomegranates, dates, black eyed peas, leaks, carrots, beets, fish and fish heads. Our festive clothing will be laundered and ironed, our hair will be cut, we will bathe and the men will immerse themselves in the Mikvah, all in anticipation of this great day. On the other hand, Rosh Hashanah is a day of judgment. In a few days, every creature will stand at attention to be examined by the Master. The day that we mark as our New year is the day on which G-d completed the universe and all of its creatures, His subjects. Every year on that day, G-d examines each of His subjects and passes judgment on the service each has rendered over the past year. Decisions are made: what assignment will be given to each for the coming year? What resources will be allotted to each to accomplish that assignment? Will this year's task call for wealth or poverty, health or illness, peace or disturbance? Which of them is to be retired from service this year? It is in a solemn and fearful mood that we pray to be granted another year to serve G-d in comfort and health. But these two moods, the festive holiday spirit and the solemnity of the day of judgment, are really one. On the anniversary of creation, the day on which G-d created His very first subjects, we gather together to celebrate and renew His coronation. We stand at attention and proclaim him our King, we bend our knees and swear fealty. We raise our horns and play a salute and a call to arms. We answer the call and make a careful examination of our past service, and pledge a year of redoubled dedication. We can well be at once jubilant, as we celebrate and swear fealty to our great king, and solemnly cognizant of the awesome responsibility that entails. With rejoicing and love of G-d, we declare Him King and pledge our loyalty and dedication. With fear and solemn resolve, we willingly accept His judgment and whatever task He may assign us this year. It is by this devotion and dedication, more than anything else, that we will be deemed worthy of another year of happy devotion and service to G-d.
Post Rosh Hashanah Reflections Rosh Hashanah is the time of year when we get to see the Jewish community with all its members. People who are absent from services throughout the year all turn out for Rosh Hashanah and our synagogues are filled to capacity. When the Shofar sounds to announce our King and to summon all of His subjects to pay homage and to stand before Him as He passes down His judgment, every Jew rushes to present himself. In the days following Rosh Hashanah we reflect on G-d’s judgment. We attempt to make amends and sue for pardon, as we prepare for the final judgment of Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur, we again expect to see large crowds of people filling the synagogues with their prayers for the new year. Almost all jews, even those whose connection with Judaism and Jewish observance is otherwise unexpressed, participate in our national day of fasting and repentance. It is quite pleasing to see so many Jews gathered together in solemn convocation. It is encouraging to know that even today, the masses of our nation are still inspired to reconnect with their Heritage at this time of year. Still, we cannot help but ask ourselves where we will all be in a week's time. What will happen to our Jewish sentiments once the High Holiday season is behind us? Will Rosh Hashanah’s inspiration carry us into the new year with renewed dedication and commitment, or will we put it away in a drawer to be taken out and dusted off next year? When we attend next year's High Holiday service, and the High Holidays service ten and twenty years from now, will our children and grandchildren be standing there with us as sons and daughters of the Jewish Nation, or will apathy have replaced the enthusiasm we observed in our parents and grandparents? It is to answer all of these questions that we are given this week of Teshuva. The week following Rosh Hashanah and leading up to Yom Kippur is our opportunity to decide what we will do with the inspiration of this holiday season. And only we can make that decision for ourselves. Only we can choose between devotion and apathy, renewed commitment and neglect. Only we can decide to educate ourselves about Torah and Judaism, and rediscover the rich heritage about which most of us know so little. It is up to us and only us to take advantage of the reflective mood of this season to make meaningful change in our lives and attitudes toward Judaism. And nothing but our own free will determines our decision. No one compels us one way or the other, and no person or circumstance prevents us from carrying through with our convictions. We are fully at liberty to accept the lesson of Rosh Hashanah to improve our connection with Judaism. Family, friends and colleagues can learn to recognize that our devotion to G-d is a reflection of our own convictions, and is in no way a judgment on anyone else. Over time they can come to respect our dedication, and perhaps be inspired by it. But whether or no, the opinion of others is of no concern to us. Rosh Hashanah has taught us our duty before G-d, and if we are determined to act on it, no other commitment should be so important as to discourage us.
Yom Kippur 5785 The Day of Atonement has arrived. The pristine white covers on the Ark and Bimah are illuminated by the many lights that have been lit in honor of this holy day. The congregation, also arrayed in pure white, silently waits in solemn anticipation for the service to begin. The Torah Scrolls are removed from the Ark and presented to two dignitaries. These reverently hold the Scrolls and flank the Chazan as he begins chanting the ancient, haunting tune of Kol Nidrei. As Kol Nidrei draws to a close, the assembled exclaim three times in the words of the Torah (Bamidbar 15:26) what they hope and trust will be affected by their repentance on Yom Kippur: “It will be forgiven to the entire congregation of the Children of Israel… for it came to the nation inadvertently (בִּשְׁגָגָה)”. The day of awe and joy, solemnity and jubilation, judgment and reconciliation, has begun. But are we to understand from the Kol Nidrei that this great day only atones for inadvertent sins? Do our repentance, prayer and righteousness, our fasting, introspection and positive resolutions only affect what we have done unintentionally, leaving us fully responsible for our deliberate commissions? Is there no way for us to make good on past failures, no path forward to a more righteous life, to repair the damage to our relationship with G-d? The Chafetz Chaim explained that in fact all of our sins, whether commissions or omissions, deliberate or otherwise, can be classified as שְׁגָגָה - oversight. We may well have been aware of our actions, aware even that they were not in accordance with the demands of the Torah. Our behavior may, according to the strict meaning of the word, fall into the category of זָדוֹן, wanton sin. And yet we declare before G-d at the opening of our Yom Kippur service that our errors were just that - errors: failure to properly estimate the gravity of the Torah’s demands, a lack of appreciation for our obligation to G-d and the seriousness with which we must approach His commands. We declare before G-d that, had we properly understood what we were doing or failing to do, we would never have dared fail His expectations - a powerful plea in our defense. But our very defense places the most serious obligation upon us for the future. We arrive at Yom Kippur having heard the call of the Shofar only a week ago. We have heard the summons to redirect our thoughts to G-d, to examine our actions under the light of these thoughts and to follow His lead toward a better future through more careful attention to Torah study and observance - and we have answered the summons, as evidenced by our present recognition of our error in judgment. With this new recognition we beg G-d to forget our past - but we declare ourselves absolutely responsible, and ready to meet His expectations, for the future.
Yom Kippur 5786 We are approaching Yom Kippur, the final sealing of the judgment that was begun on Rosh Hashana. We are preparing for a day of fasting and prayer, to ask for forgiveness for all our sins. We can pray for that at any time of the year, but Yom Kippur is a unique time when G-d is specially disposed to forgive us. Yom Kippur is an opportunity which we are only given once a year, when G-d makes it easier for us to cleanse ourselves of our sins. But on Yom Kippur, we seek much more than just pardon. The Torah teaches us a way of life which is true to our nature and that of the world around us. When we keep the Torah, we perfect ourselves and our world. When we have lived our lives in a way that is not aligned with the Torah, we incur more than just guilt. We forfeit the spiritual and moral purity with which we are natively endowed and by which we are naturally attuned to what is good and right. By sinning, we habituate and incline ourselves to further moral decline, making it progressively more difficult to improve. We lose our sensitivity to moral right and wrong, and we are left with a despairing guilt and self-loathing. Enter Yom Kippur. On this great day, we are given the opportunity to break away from our past and set out on a new path for our future, uninhibited by the failings of the past year. G-d promises to recreate us for a fresh beginning and a new future. On Yom Kippur we sue for pardon; but we also pray that G-d restore our innocence, that he remove the ill effects of our past indiscretions on our character and on our environments, and allow us to continue, unencumbered, on our quest for perfection and for the execution of G-d's will. But none of this happens without a sincere effort on our part to break with the errors of our past. Teshuva, the effort to return to G-d and His service, is required of us before we can ask G-d for purification. We must take meaningful steps to realign our behaviors with the expressed will of G-d in his Torah, and only then can we expect him to miraculously grant us success.
Sukkos 5786 We have concluded the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Our judgments have been written and sealed and our sins have been atoned for. We now enter into the joyous Festival of Sukkos. We celebrate with our bouquet of green plants and the yellow Esrog, which the Torah considers the most beautiful fruit. For seven days, eight in the diaspora, we leave the security of our well constructed homes and the shelter of their protective roofs, and spend the week in a temporary dwelling, under the inadequate cover of the S’chach. The S’chach cover for the Sukkah must be made of plant material that has been severed from the ground but that has not been fashioned into any tool or implement. The Sukkah provides shade, but offers little protection from cold or rain. During the week of Sukkos, we eat and sleep only in The Sukkah, and generally use the Sukkah as we would our home. In the event that weather renders remaining in the Sukkah especially uncomfortable, we are exempt from this mitzvah. Generally, the Mitzvah of Sukkah as such does not bind us with any affirmative obligation. The Sukkos festivities notwithstanding, we might choose to remain in the house and neither eat nor sleep. The Mitzvah only requires that if we choose to eat a meal or to sleep, we do so only in the Sukkah. However, paralleling the obligation to eat Matzah on the two Seder nights, we are required to eat in the Sukkah on the first two nights of Sukkos. This obligation is fulfilled by eating at least an egg sized piece of bread in the Sukkah once it is fully dark. The mitzvah applies even in the event of rain, but without pronouncing the blessing on the Sukkah. The Sukkah teaches us an important lesson. Throughout the year, we live under the protection of our man-made structures. The roof over our heads symbolizes our self-sufficiency and our ability to protect ourselves from the elements. For one week in the year, we remove the roof and dwell under the protection of G-d Alone. Only His plants, that no human hand has manipulated, stand between us and the elements. After this short week, when we return to the safety and comfort of our homes, and by the efforts of our own labor, are spared from troubling about the rain and snow of the coming winter season, we will not fail to remember that all our possessions, our wealth and well-being are given to us only by the grace of G-d. That however we may have secured our existence by the work of our own hands, it is none other than G-d Who provides the protection, safety and comfort that we enjoy. And that it is our loyalty to G-d and His kindness, rather than our efforts, that determines what we have and how much we can enjoy it.
Chanukah 5786 This Chanukah began with news of tragedy. The ongoing deterioration in sentiment toward Jews has led to yet another act of violence, this time in the form of a massacre of innocent people in a civilized country. How are we to respond? We could hide in fear or proudly preach courage and defiance. We could stamp our feet in indignation or talk about love and forgiveness. We could make public displays of anger or conduct vigils and sing dirges to share our grief. We could make sage observations about the fault of those who have fomented ill-will, or discuss ways and means of educating the public. Would any of these things help improve our situation? If so, which? If not, what should we do instead? To do nothing at all seems cold and irresponsible, to do something seems valueless. Antisemitism is no new story, and the madness of it is no new observation. Since Scriptural times, it has been a given that the Jews are the world’s enemies. Jews are the lower class, Jews are the bourgeois; Jews are too kind, Jews are too cruel; Jews are too conservative, Jews are too liberal. Whatever ideology is in style or whatever party is in power, the Jews are its antithesis and need to be suppressed. Those who counter these popular opinions are silenced, those who defend Jewish conduct are ridiculed. But what if we are going about this all the wrong way? What if we are focusing too much on the effect, and missing the cause? What if antisemitism is not a problem to be studied and solved, but the solution to a problem? And in a world created by an all-powerful, all-knowing and all-loving G-d, could it be any other way? In a world still ruled and governed by that same G-d, could so pervasive and inexplicable a phenomenon as antisemitism be anything but a carefully and lovingly designed arrangement? Chanukah celebrates not political or religious freedom, not a miraculous victory against tyranny, nor yet the one-time miracle of the Menorah’s lights, but the Divinely orchestrated arrest of a gradual drifting away from G-d. Not the Greeks but their Jewish sympathizers initiated and encouraged wholescale defection from the Torah. Not Antiochus but G-d arranged for oppressive laws which would compel the remaining faithful to rise up against popular opinion. Not the Maccabees but their enthusiasm for G-d and His Torah won the day against Greek ideology and oppression. In this and every time of tragedy, it is not for us to react in shock and grief, in anger and indignation, and continue the endless and futile discussion of why and how these things continue to happen. It is for us to turn inward and ask ourselves how we can improve in the one area that really gives meaning to our lives, in the one area that can have any real effect on our standing in the world. Where do we stand in our relationship with G-d? Where do we stand in our Torah study and observance? How can we use this event to bring ourselves, our families and our communities closer to G-d and His Torah? If as a result of this tragedy one Jew turns to G-d in heartfelt prayer, if another increases his Torah study, and another improves his Shabbos observance; if those who have died inspires us as a nation to take action, not by publishing messages of anger and despair but by drawing closer to G-d, then we can say they have not died in vain.
The Fast of Esther Purim is possibly the most festive day in the Jewish calendar. It is a day of feasting and gift giving, and celebrating the story of Esther and Mordechai. One of the peculiarities of this exciting celebration is that it is preceded by a day of fasting. The Fast of Esther is observed on the day before Purim, or, if that falls on Shabbos, the Thursday before. The Fast of Esther is often thought to commemorate the three day fast which Esther declared before visiting Achashverosh. Mordechai and Esther understood that the Jewish people would not be saved by political machinations, but by fasting and praying to G-d. In fact, as hinted in the Megillah, when Esther approached the king to make her case, her words were addressed not to the Persian king but to G-d, King of the universe. Before approaching Him, she saw fit to prepare with a nationwide period of fasting and praying, renewing their relationship with G-d and making amends for past errors. But that is not the fast we commemorate during the Purim season. Esther’s fast, and the resultant miracle of Haman’s downfall, took place eleven months earlier, during the Pesach holiday. The day before Purim marks the anniversary of a different miracle. The thirteenth of Adar was the day on which Haman’s decree was to have taken effect. Orders were given, written and sealed with the royal signet, for all Jews, men women and children, to be annihilated. All of the populace was to take part in the killing, and the Jews would not be under any protection. The royal edict, once signed, could not be rescinded, even by the king himself, but it could be modified by a fresh edict. At the behest of Esther, a new law was signed, allowing the Jews to defend themselves, and be avenged on those who tried to destroy them. The date was unchanged, and a war would still be fought, but it would no longer have the backing of the Persian empire. There would be a war between the Jews and their enemies, namely the people of Amalek, Haman’s nation. With this miraculous reversal, the Jewish nation successfully defended itself, and won the victory we celebrate on Purim. It is a remarkable thing, recorded throughout Scripture, that Jews have always gone to war fasting. Our ancestors well understood that victory was not to be won by force of arms, but by G-d’s will. The best way they could prepare to fight for their lives was not by resting and nurturing the body, but by fasting and praying to G-d - and they won. It is this fast, and this faith in G-d, that we commemorate on the Fast of Esther. We prepare ourselves for a proper appreciation of the miracle of Purim by putting it into context, in a fully experiential manner, of how it was brought about.
Lessons from Chametz Burning Another joyous holiday season has come and gone, we have bid farewell to friends and relatives and locked away our Pesach dishes in their special cabinets. The festive experiences and family gatherings have become memories as we move away from Pesach and into the summer. But the ideas we have absorbed and the lessons we have learned over the holiday must not be allowed to recede into the past or get locked away in storage. We would be remiss if we didn’t take the time to reflect and to internalize the sentiments and perspectives we have gained through celebrating Pesach together. One ritual I have always looked forward to is the burning of the Chametz on Passover Eve. On the night before Passover, we conclude the weeks’ long preparation and cleaning by carefully searching the house for any remaining crumbs of Chametz that have not been eaten or discarded. In the morning we burn whatever we have found. Symbolically, the Chametz Burning is associated with an inner emotional and moral cleansing. We prepare ourselves for the Holiday of Freedom by attempting to recapture our inner freedom from pride and excess. Having burnt the Chametz, we experience a catharsis and joyful serenity, and feel prepared to begin the holiday of Pesach, physically and emotionally cleansed of Chametz and all that it symbolizes. But burning Chametz requires fire. How often in modern life do we have the opportunity to practice the skill of building a fire? After several attempts at accurately reproducing what was demonstrated to me at campfires when I was a child, I managed to create and sustain a small blaze. Building fire is an art: a sustainable fire requires logs; logs won’t catch without being exposed to a large enough fire for sufficient time; a large enough fire won’t last long enough unless the logs are immediately ready at hand; having the logs too close at hand will smother the fire; keep them too far and they won’t catch. I piled twigs together and lit a piece of paper around them. The flame was short lived but very large: large enough to get the twigs burning. Very quickly, before the twigs were spent, I added larger sticks to enlarge the fire. As soon as they had caught, I suspended a single log over them, ready to catch as the fire grew. The fire was now large enough to continue burning for a while - but not indefinitely. Every few minutes, as soon as one log appeared to be burning well, another log had to be added against the inevitable decline of the first: not too close, but certainly not too far. In our religious and communal lives, we can’t expect to have a full-blown fire from the start. We need to begin with something small: a small Mitzvah-commitment; an incremental step forward in the growth of our community. But we cannot rest there. As soon as one small step has been taken, another larger step must follow. Our growth as individuals and as a community needs constant tending. As soon as one commitment even begins to look like habit, another must build upon it; as soon as one communal goal has even begun to be accomplished, another initiative must be put forward. And most importantly, only together, as a community, can we accomplish real spiritual growth. If we drift apart, the fire dies down and is extinguished.
Pesach 5785 Spring is here. The days are lengthening, buds are beginning to emerge and birds are returning from their winter migrations. The spring breeze brings us sounds and smells which are young and fresh, but are filled with the memory of uncounted springtimes past. Each year at this time of hope and renewal, we celebrate our birth as a nation with the eight day holiday of Pesach. We gather together with friends and family to partake of symbolic foods and to raise four toasts to Redemption. We relive the Exodus, and reincorporate the ancient story into our living experience. No matter how many centuries go by, our springtime holiday continues to renew the youthful enthusiasm of our earliest beginnings. As we begin to tell the story of the Exodus on Pesach night, the Haggadah introduces us to four different sons. Each is intrigued by the proceedings at the Seder, and each one formulates his question on his own level. The one asks a well-formed question, and demonstrates his readiness to listen and understand a full explanation. The second expresses wonder at the unusual observances, but does not go beyond that in articulating his question. The third is altogether at a loss to express what he wishes to ask. The fourth son has no question. He is disillusioned by the burdensome demands of religion, and he expresses his frustration with a scornful remark. The answer to all four children is the same. Each child must hear from his parents that in these observances they find their fulfillment and meaning. Each parent must share with his children the excitement with which he approaches the Seder and Jewish observance in general. The father explains the special rituals and their significance, and recounts the story of the Exodus. The mother leads her family in joyful celebration and rededication to G-d. Each child must receive the same message, but each must hear it in a way that is appropriate to his own intelligence and disposition. No child may be overlooked for lack of understanding, and no question may be left half answered because it is too difficult. As for the child who is at present too cynical to be reached, at the least his parents must express and demonstrate their own firm conviction about the importance and relevance of their Jewish observance. It is this focus on our children that makes Pesach a time of constant renewal, the source of our undying commitment and eternal survival.
Lag Baomer 5785 This Friday, we interrupt the serious mood of the Sefirah period to celebrate the minor holiday of Lag Baomer. During this thirty third day of the Omer, we do not observe the mourning which characterises the rest of Sefirah. We are permitted to cut hair, listen to music and celebrate weddings. We omit the Tachanun prayer. For many Jews, Lag Baomer is marked with bonfires and special festivities. On Lag Baomer we are reminded of a very difficult time in Jewish history. Large parts of the Jewish people had defected and been lost to Judaism. Rome had conquered Judea and destroyed the Temple. The remaining Jews were made to tread delicately around the political sensitivities of a paranoid empire, not infrequently finding themselves subject to harsh repressive measures. But for the Sages of the Torah, political freedom was not the foremost concern. The great visionaries of that time saw far beyond their own difficulties and made it their life work to preserve the Torah for Israel. Our literature from that period reflects a culture of robust and energetic Torah study, without regard for the external circumstances in which the nation and its leaders found themselves. One individual who stands out to us even among the spiritual giants of that time is Rabbi Akiva. In spite of every discouragement in his personal life, Rabbi Akiva rose to be one of the greatest Torah teachers of his time. To a large extent, it is the personal sacrifice of him and his noble wife that we have to thank for the continuity of Judaism down to our own time. Rabbi Akiva was not given the opportunity for a formal education in his youth. It was only at the mature age of forty that he left home, at his wife’s insistence, to seek instruction from the sages. Despite his age and lack of experience, Akiva excelled in his studies. He soon became a colleague to his masters and himself gained a following of twenty four thousand elite students. These, however, were not destined to be Rabbi Akiva’s legacy. They all died tragically in a plague during the weeks between Pesach and Shavuos, and it is for them that we mourn during this period. Although by this time Rabbi Akiva was an old man, he did not allow himself to get discouraged by the tragedy and leave his work in younger hands. As long as he still lived, he saw it as his responsibility to transmit the Torah and preserve it for the future. He traveled to the south of Israel and gathered five promising students, Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Shimon, Rabbi Yosi and Rabbi Elazar. Under his influence, these five became the greatest Torah teachers of their generation, essential links in the chain of Tradition. Rabbi Akiva continued teaching, through increasingly unstable times, until he was brutally martyred for his efforts at the age of one hundred twenty years. But he had succeeded at his mission, and the Torah had been saved. The Torah tradition continued uninterrupted through Rabbi Akiva’s five students, down through the generations to us. It was on Lag Baomer that the plague ended which had taken the lives of Rabbi Akiva’s earlier students, and it was on Lag Baomer that Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, one of Rabbi Akiva’s later students, completed his own task on this earth. On Lag Baomer we celebrate the continuity of the Torah, the undying life of the Jewish nation.
Thoughts on the Torah readings for Shavuos Yom Tov is a joyous time of celebration, honored with special clothing and festive meals, shared with family and friends. The atmosphere is especially festive at Shavuos time, when all of nature seems to be celebrating with us. The trees are in bloom and the weather is warm, and we are excitedly preparing for the holiday. But the festivities are only a part of our observance of the holidays. Each Yom Tov is also a time for spiritual growth, as we connect with the theme of the day and try to elevate our relationship with the relevant aspect of Judaism. Our sages have selected special readings from the Torah and the Prophets to help us accomplish this. The readings for each of the festivals give us an appreciation for the significance of the day and provide inspiration for further growth in that area. Shavuos focuses on our receiving the Torah. With the Torah reading, we relive the revelation at Sinai, when the entire nation was granted the sublime experience of prophecy. The world stood still and the mountain shook, flames flared and lightning flashed, the heavens opened and the nation saw that there is nothing beside G-d. Every Jew then heard words of Torah directly from the mouth of G-d. The experience was one of such overwhelming awe and bliss that angels had to be sent to revive them. So intimate and direct a connection with G-d on a national scale was unique in history. It remains the most cherished moment in our collective memory, and it is with deep nostalgia that we anxiously await the promised time when G-d will again speak with us and reveal the inner meaning of His Torah. But even today we relive that experience, at our own level, every time we connect with and study the Torah. The Haftarah for Shavuos brings us to the rivers of Babylon, shortly before the destruction of the First Temple. The prophet Yechezkel was shown a mystical vision of what is referred to as the Divine Chariot, the inner secrets of G-d’s relationship with the world. Few of us have the initiation to understand much from the veiled language of this chapter. Instead, it raises our aspirations to the scope and depth we have yet to add to our understanding of the Torah. But we do not allow ourselves to depart from Shavuos with only a theoretical appreciation for the Torah. Judaism is first and foremost a religion of practical observance. The Torah presents us not only with a system of belief and thought but with G-d’s directions for our way of life. On the second day of Shavuos we read the story of a woman who sacrificed every material benefit to pursue a Torah life. Ruth was not willing to live a life that was contrary to her convictions, regardless of the hardships she would have to face. She accepted the Torah with a full understanding of the responsibility involved, and lived and died with the knowledge that she had fulfilled her duty before G-d.
Shavuos and the story of Ruth Seven weeks ago we celebrated the Exodus from Egypt. All nature awakened to greet the season of our national birth. The birds’ song was heard again as they returned from their winter homes, the trees began to put forth their buds. But the winter chill had not yet left the air. The ground was still damp with melting snow. The Exodus marks only a hopeful beginning, our first steps into the world as G-d’s people. There remains the long road from Ramses to Sinai, the forty-nine days of spiritual preparation before receiving the Torah. We arrive now at the foot of Mt. Sinai, anxious to experience the long awaited revelation from G-d. We have begun to mature as a nation, and the world around us celebrates the full bloom of springtime. The days are approaching their longest, the weather is warm but not too hot, the trees are full of bright green, not yet darkened by heat and drought. We celebrate the Torah, our national treasure and vocation, amidst a vision of the paradise it promises. The story of Ruth takes us away from this idyllic imagery to a time of drought and national poverty, a time of disorganization and uncertainty. It follows the tragic life of one wealthy family which was driven to live in a foreign land among strangers. Of the four who set out, only one would return, and she only after losing her husband, her two sons and all their wealth. It was to this unhappy widow that Ruth chose to join herself. Ruth was born into the privilege and comfort of royalty. She was not drawn by the hope of wealth or power to join Naomi's noble family, but by Naomi's good character and virtuous life, despite her reduced circumstances. Ruth was well aware of the restrictions the Torah would place on her. She understood that she would live with Naomi in poverty, and that few men would risk their family names by marrying a Mobabite convert. She may well have foreseen that three generations would pass before her children’s legitimacy was finally established. Had she known it, the house she established would eventually produce the Jewish monarchy. Ruth herself would live to see her great-grandson build the Temple in Jerusalem. A distant descendant of her house will one day bring Jewish history to its final conclusion. But all that was beside the point. The Torah expresses G-d’s Will for this world, and indeed promises eternal happiness. But a Ruth need not see that happiness realized in the immediate present to recognize her duty before G-d. In comfort and in suffering, in life and in death, she would remain faithful to G-d’s Word.
The Three Weeks This Shabbos is the second in our three week period of national mourning over the destruction of the Temple. Throughout the Three Weeks, we express our sentiments by observing certain outward signs of mourning: we avoid cutting hair and shaving, we do not listen to music or attend weddings, and we postpone all large purchases until after Tisha B’Av. With the beginning of the month of Av (this coming Sunday night), our observance of mourning intensifies. We refrain from consuming meat or wine (with the exception of Shabbos), as well as laundering and, as a rule, bathing. On Tisha B’Av itself, we fast all night and day, and behave like mourners in their Shiva week, by sitting on low stools and not wearing leather shoes or extending greetings to each other. But for how many of us are these signs of mourning no more than superficial gestures? How many of us actually experience the emotions that are so movingly expressed in our Tisha B’Av prayers? The Three Weeks can be viewed as a time of reckoning, an assessment of our connection with the Jewish People and our relationship with G-d. Our participation in Shabbos and holiday celebrations, while commendable, often reflect our own enjoyment no less than the importance we attach to our Judaism. It is the sad times, the times when we get together to share in grief, that test the strength of a relationship. Looked at more positively, the Three Weeks are a time for reflection, a time to reflect on those outward signs of mourning and to learn the lesson they were designed to teach. What could be so tragic about the loss of the Temple as to warrant such an outpouring of emotion as these symbolic acts suggest? What could be so lasting about this grief as to make us unconsolable after so many centuries? Most importantly, what appreciation do we lack that prevents us from participating, on a deep, emotional level, in these days of national mourning? The Temple in Jerusalem was more than a place of worship. It was more than a national landmark or symbol. The Temple was a “Tent of Meeting”, our rendezvous with G-d. It was the center of Torah knowledge and knowledge of G-d, the place in which G-d’s presence in the world and among the Jewish People was most apparent. It is not over the loss of our political independence or over the physical edifice of the Temple that we mourn. It is the intimacy of our relationship with G-d, the opportunities the Temple afforded us to serve G-d, and the honor which was thereby given to G-d, that we miss. But the only vehicle we have for gaining an appreciation of that relationship, an understanding of what we lack when it is compromised, is the Torah. Indeed, it was precisely the neglect of Torah study, and the consequent lack of understanding of G-d, that caused our ancestors to slowly drift away from the conduct expected of the People of G-d, and eventually lose the Temple. As we reflect on these weeks of mourning over the Temple, and express our hope for the restoration of the Temple, it is imperative that we strengthen our ties to the Torah and intensify our efforts to study it.