Active Faith (Lech Lecha #3)

One interesting understandings of the name Yisrael is as He Who Wrestles with God. As the Torah clearly states, the Children of Israel are a stiff-necked people; we wrestle with God because basic, blind faith is not the foundation of our relationship with the Divine. The thirteen principles of faith, as enumerated by Maimonides, are referred to as Ani Ma’amin, which is usually translated as “I

believe.” But the grammar is a little awkward. On OU.org (from 2006), there is a definition of the term ma’amin that states that translating it as believe or one who believes is inaccurate because “the grammatical form is ‘hepheil,’ the ‘causative,’ rather than ‘pa’al,’ the ‘active,’ indicating a more pro-active verb. In other words, believing in something of a spiritual nature, requires an effort of the mind and the imagination of the individual, and is not merely a passive ‘act.’”

It may seem strange to speak of Yisrael, the name given to Yaakov after he wrestled with a Divine messenger, in a dvar Torah of Parshas Lech Lecha. Perhaps, however, it is the perfect spot, for does not any journey of achieving active belief begin with lech lecha – go for yourself. More than that, within the parsha and the journey of Avram, we see that even the greatest of believers has questions and seeks assurance.

In five separate instances in Parshas Lech Lecha, Hashem speaks to Avram and reassures him. The first appearance is the command of lech lecha, go for yourself. This was Hashem’s first direct communication with Avram. His second is shortly thereafter, when Avram and family arrive in Canaan and Hashem declares that “to your seed I will give this land” (12:7). These two promises are necessary since they are, in a way, explanatory of why Avram should make this journey and to confirm that this is the land he will inherit.

But when Avram finds his promised land suffering a dire famine, Hashem doesn't speak to him or offer a reassurance. Avram didn't need it. He was on a journey. There was no questioning from Avram because he was actively moving forward. He went to Egypt, and, for his hishtadlus (effort), he eventually saw the necessity of going to Egypt, to acquire wealth and to demonstrate Hashem’s direct protection of his family.

After such a dramatic journey to Egypt and back, it seems, then, particularly interesting that it is only after the departure of Lot that Hashem felt the need to repeat His promise. After Avram sends Lot away, Hashem immediately speaks to him of inheritance and ownership of the land, commanding him to “walk the land, to its length and to its breadth,” (13:17).

The first time Avram separates from Lot, Hashem knows Avram will benefit from reassurance. After all, Lot had been with him on his entire journey thus far. The second time they separate, after Avram intervenes in the war between the kings, rescues his nephew, and sends Lot away again, Avram steps forward to question his childlessness. “O Lord God, what will You give me since I am going childless, and the steward of my household is Eliezer of Damascus?...Behold, You have given me no seed, and behold, one of my household will inherit me” (15:3-4). Avram trusts Hashem, but he is willing to question Him. His question is a request for clarity, for seeing the path forward. For this, Hashem instructs him in the Bris Bein Ha’baturim, the Covenant of the Parts, and provides him with a prophetic testimony of the future.

It is interesting that Hashem does not feel a need to reiterate his promise to Avram for another 13 years. Perhaps because Avram was seeing how his wish for a son when it is fulfilled in Avram’s time frame is not the path set out by God. Avram’s oldest son is Ishmael, the son of Hagar. For 13 years, Avram must have struggled to understand how this child – willful, devious, and so oppositional to Avram’s journey – could be his heir. Avram must have wondered how Hashem could fulfill his promise of a child and made that child so not right for journey ahead. But Hashem needed Avram to see and to understand so that he could accept Hashem’s request and requirement of bris milah. His watching Ishmael prepared him for the physical covenant made through his body that was necessary for Yitzchak to be born, for the spiritual DNA to pass from parent to child. This too was the moment when he developed past his own wants to one who could fully understand that he needed to heed Hashem’s desires for him. This understanding was critical for the coming test of the Akeida.

Lech Lecha is a parsha of emuna. Most of us have grown up reading it in awe of Avram’s seemingly blind faith to leave his home and everything familiar. But it was never blind faith. It was always about being ma’amin, an active and engaged believer. And from here we can learn how it is through being a ma’amin that we develop a true relationship with Hashem.

This dvar Torah is dedicated to a refuah shelaima for: Binyamin Yisrael ben Chanita, Dovid Chaim ben Tzipora, Melech Chaim ben Bella, and Chaim Yehoshua ben Frumit.

Seeing God (Bereishis #2)

 Bereishis: Seeing Good

When the time came for the Ribono Shel Olam, Master of the World, to make the first human being, the ministering angels made themselves into competing counsels. Some of them said, ‘don’t create humans,’ and the others said, ‘create them.’ The angel of chesed (kindness) said, ‘create them, for they will do acts of loving kindness.’ Then the angel of emes (truth) said, ‘do not create them, for they will be full of lies.’ The angel of tzedek (righteousness) said, ‘create them, for they will establish justice.’ The angel of shalom (peace) said, ‘do not create them, for they will be in constant strife!’ What did the Ribono Shel Olam, do, but grab up emes and hurl it to the earth. Whereupon the ministering angels said before the Ribono Shel Olam, ‘Ruler of all worlds, what have You done? Why have You so chastised the chief of your court? Let emes arise again from the earth’ (Bereshit Rabba, 8:8).

The Zera Shimshon, as recorded by Rabbi Nachman Seltzer, explains that “the Ribono shel Olam listened to what emes was saying. When it was time to create man, He threw emes down to earth, forcing it to play a role in a world whose default setting is one of compromise, and which desperately needs truth to balance the scale so the compromises bring it close to truth and ultimate justice” (page 46).

Truth was cast to earth, and yet we are all aware of how difficult a time humankind has both with sticking to the whole truth and with discerning when people are or are not telling the truth. Indeed, this seems even more so the case in recent times, when rather than participate in conversation, many feel justified in shouting their opinions rather than researching facts. And even when facts are known they are used as justifications for one point of view over another rather than as information upon which a person can use their own free will and critical thinking. Indeed, a little more of that necessary spirit of compromise would be greatly beneficial.

While things feel more desperate today, one could look at history and suggest that this is simply the way of the world. Humanity has always struggled with balance and compromise. God cast truth to the earth, but truth itself was hidden in the world. More importantly, the ability to see absolute truth – to understand the greater picture from all perspectives – remained purely in the hands of the Ribono shel Olam. This is perhaps reflected in the first chapter of Bereishis, when it is written on the first day: “And God saw that the light was good. And God separated between the light and the darkness” (1:4).

We see here, in the very first steps of creation, the seeming necessity of division, of having two sides to contrast against one another. Could there be light if there was not darkness? Rabbi Yonason Eibeschutz, quoted in Sefer Talelei Oros:

Observes that normally good qualities are recognized in contrast to their opposites. For instance, if we see a good person and an evil person we recognize the goodness of the first by contrasting it with the evil of the second. Therefore, the order of the verse should have been reversed. The recognition of the goodness of the light would come as a result of its contrast to darkness. However, this limited vision only applies to human beings. God knows the value of everything in absolute terms.

Humankind can only choose what they believe is good based on what they believe is bad. But being able to look at the integral essence and know something is good is a quality reserved for the Divine. This is how the world needs to be if it is not to be torn apart by division. Free will demands that we have to shape our morality, even within the parameters guided by Torah, just as Free Will necessitates the lack of open miracles so that we might retain the ability to make choices.

It is easy, of course, to sit here and write a reminder to all that humankind’s hold on truth is fluid. We like to make much of being on the right side, of the us versus them, which leads, unfortunately, into a thought pattern of good verses evil. But rather than focusing on the division, or on claiming to be the light – the good and true - perhaps we need to spend more time thinking about how our world thrives on differences.

There is a phrase that has become quite common in the media and in public discourse: “My Truth.” No phrase brings to mind so quickly the fact that humans are incapable of pure objectivity. We always have an agenda of some level or another. And in a world where truth is so heavily influenced by perspective, it is especially important to remember that the ultimate decision of what is good is in the hands of Hashem.

Lessons From The Year To Come 2020 (Nitzavim-Vayelech 2020)

This year, we will not blow the shofar on the first of Tishrei. This year, we will fast on a Friday. This year, we will make certain to finish our Purim Seudah early. And this year, we will not burn our chametz on erev Yom Tov. For the last six months we have worried and made jokes about the state of 2020, but now we are looking ahead and we realize that next year really will be different. Rosh Hashana the First Day is on Shabbat. The tenth of Teves is on a Friday, as is Purim. The first seder is Saturday night.

Each of these small calendar changes, when thought of on their own, seem odd and perhaps a bit of a nuisance. They may even make you uncomfortable. What is Rosh Hashana without shofar? How can we fast on a Friday? Indeed, how does one make a great Purim Seuda on a Friday? (Hint: Brunch, for those who, like me, love fancy breakfast foods!)

When we step back and look at the calendar as a whole, we realize that it is an amazing thing, especially in the wake of Covid. First the structure of our daily lives was “shaken,” and now, by the brilliant nature of our calendar, our Jewish sense of time has also been undermined.

Perhaps more significant is the fact that this double shake up affects all of Klal Yisrael, a fact that brings to mind the beginning of this week’s parsha, Parashat Nitzavim-Vayelech: “You are all standing this day before the Lord your God, the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp…in order to establish you this day as His people, and that He will be your God, as He spoke to you, and as He swore to your forefathers, to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov” (Devarim 29:9-12). As we well know, the scare of the pandemic affected everyone, rich and poor, powerful and simple. So too, every Jew, no matter where they live, will have to take a moment and think as they prepare to observe 5781’s calendar.

When Moshe spoke those words to Bnei Yisrael, both he and they were facing the future, so to speak. They all knew that his death was imminent. For the Children of Israel, this meant that they needed to be resolved to be brave and move ahead. But while Moshe’s Hayom, this day, may have meant that specific day on the edge of the Promised Land, the recording of hayom in the Torah reminds us that every pasuk of the Torah is eternal. Every pasuk has meaning in every generation, and every day we have to look and understand its implications for our life.

This day, this hayom, now in 2020, the effects of Covid are making an impact on the lives of Jews in every country. All around us, people are speaking about living with a “new normal.” No one really knows what that means, so we do not think about what comes next. We look to the future and picture life as we would like it to be…crowded shuls filled with uplifting tefillos, sukkot filled with joyful guests, and our children attending school without rules and fear. And here we come to Rosh Hashana to look at our upcoming year and see one irregularity after another.

When the world first shut done and we all participated in the peculiar preparations for Pesach, I thought perhaps the time had come…that Moshiach was coming softly and somewhat gently (without a frightening precursor war of Gag Umagog). Pesach came and went, though, and we all settled into new routines. But the new routines kept changing, and we kept receiving different memos on policy, and we realized that the very idea of these expectations must be changed.

It’s Elul, and if there is one message I can concoct between this month of cheshbon hanefesh and teshuva and our lives in 2020 with a crazy 5781 calendar, it is that we Jews should recognize that change, that something different, is an opportunity. A new year is a new slate, a new chance to grow and reach our individual potential. As the world around us shouts that we must live our lives by a “new normal,” perhaps the message is not, after all, about masks and social distancing, but about ourselves. We must remember a different hayom (this day) from Parshat Nitzavim: “Behold, I have set before you this day life and good, death and evil” (Devarim 30:15). What stronger allusion to Rosh Hashana can their be?

Every Rosh Hashana is momentous. This year, however, with the world discomfited by a global pandemic and civil unrest, we have to seize the opportunity to bring out our holy light and shine.

How do we do so? It’s a great question, and one that our nation has struggled with throughout the generations. Perhaps, for right now, we need to remember the repeated words of Parshat Vayelech: “Chazka v’emetzBe strong and courageous!” Don’t take Covid-19 lightly but contemplate the potential messages of this modern-day plague and the beginning of strange new year.

When It's Ours (Ki Tavo #3)

"Yet to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear .... " (Devarim 29:3). This seemingly simple verse is tucked away at the far end of Parsha Ki Tavo, easily missed after reading the heavy words of the Bikkurim declaration, the list of actions worthy of being cursed, and the terrifying description of the path away from Torah and Hashem. In context, these are words of gentle tochacha, as Moshe wonders at how those who had witnessed so many miracles and wonders could still harbor doubts and complaints. And yet, at the same time, this verse is comforting. From our ages old vantage point, our people have borne witness to everything that was promised and everything that was forewarned. We have seen, as well, just how challenged each generation, and each individual, is to be all that Hasherm hopes for us to become. Devarim 29:3 tells us that this too is Divine. 

Parshas Ki Tavo contains some of the most terrifying and heart-wrenching words in the Torah. After 15 verses describing an idyllic life should Bnei Yisrael "obey the Lord your God, to observe faithfully all his commandments" (28:1), the next 53 verses describe the nightmare of going into gulus - nightmares we have seen come true throughout history. Knowing that we can see the actual unfolding of those curses, one must wonder how it is possible for us to continually make the same mistakes. And there in 29:3 is a hint of the answer: that our ability to understand, to see, and to hear the Divine messages that resonate all around us comes from Hashem. 

One could, of course, take this theory, brush their hands off, and declare life solved - they will take on Torah and mitzvos when Hashem makes them ready. That person, however, is missing the more important meaning, which is that this is part of the process of coming to devakus, to clinging to Hashem.  Perhaps there is significance to the fact that this parsha is read in the month of Elul. Right here in pasuk 29:3, there is a rallying cry for teshuva, tefila, and tzedaka. Open your eyes to the needs of others around you - tzedaka. As you daven, listen to your words and try to understand them - tefila. Make connections to other people properly, with empathy and understanding of how they approach the world - teshuva (repairing your relationships bein adam l’chavero). These actions are critical for the neshama to connect to Hashem, and they prepare one, in incremental steps, to receive the ultimate gift from Hashem, which is being able to understand how to be a proper eved to Him. 

On this pasuk, 29:3, Rashi's commentary says In:

I have heard that on the day when Moses gave the Book of the Law to the sons of Levi, as it is written, (Deuteronomy 31:9) “And he gave it to the priests the sons of Levi”, all Israel came before Moses and said to him: Teacher Moses, we, too, stood at Sinai and accepted the Torah, and it was given to us; why, then, do you give the people of your tribe control over it, that they may tomorrow say to us, “Not to you was it given, but to us was it given”? Moses rejoiced at this matter and in reference to this he said to them, (Deuteronomy 27:9) “This day have you become the people [of the Lord thy God]”, meaning, Only this day have I come to understand that you are attached to and have a desire for the Omnipresent.

Only when Bnei Yisrael stood up to take hold of their birthright, stood up to claim it with joy and passion, was Hashem able to complete the process that began at Yetziat Mitzrayim.

Parshas Ki Tavo begins with the required statement recited by one who brings an offering of Bikkurim, first fruits. It is the famous lines of the Passover Haggadah that begin: "An Aramean sought to destroy my forefather…” and continues to summarize going to Egypt and the oppression that followed until Hashem rescued Bnei Yisrael and brought them to the Promised Land. Why recite this history every year? Because every generation, and within that every individual, is on its own unique journey to reach a point where Hashem grants them a mind to understand, eyes to see, and ears to hear - where Hashem helps them claim Torah and Jewish life in their hearts. 

Our communities today are filled with men and women who stepped forward and chose Torah, but it is a process that must happen throughout one’s lifetime. More importantly, it is a process that we must teach to our children, so that they can reach the promised future of the Torah because they have been blessed with understanding, and because they make the active choice to claim it as their own. 

What’s the Shoo For? (Parshas Ki Tetze #3)

Shiluach Hakan, shooing away the mother bird, is just one of the numerous mitzvot detailed in this week’s parsha, Parshas Ki Tetze. The mitzvah itself seems simple, if not oddly mundane: “If you come upon a bird’s nest in the road, on any tree, or on the ground, and it has fledglings or eggs, if the mother is sitting on the fledglings or the eggs, you shall not take the mother on the young. You shall send away the mother and [then] you may take the young for yourself, in order that it should be good for you and you shall lengthen your days” (Devarim 22:6-7).

Many people cite the mitzvah of shiluach hakan as an example of the Torah’s compassionate treatment of animals, but then why take the fledglings or the eggs in the first place? Would it not be more compassionate to just keep walking? Perhaps, however, in this mitzvah we are able to witness the Torah’s overall combination of practicality and compassion. One’s practical, more animalistic self, comes upon a nest and thinks about food, about taking the easy prey, the sitting hen, and perhaps her young ones too. It is food, after all, and one has to have food. One’s compassionate, more spiritual self, thinks about all creatures being part of Hashem’s creation and would, perhaps, forego the whole idea. But in this one peculiar mitzvah, Hashem illustrates a path of compromise: Listen to your body - if you see a nest and want the eggs, you are probably hungry – but heed your soul – think about what you are about to consume, that this is part of the great creation and there is a compassionate way of behaving.

Nachmanides does not agree with the idea that shiluach hakan is a mitzvah about kindness to animals: “...The reason for the proscription is to teach us the trait of mercy and that we not become cruel. Since cruelty spreads in the soul of a man, as it is known with butchers that slaughter large oxen and donkeys, that they are 'people of blood,' 'slaughterers of men' [and] very cruel. And because of this they said (Kiddushin 82a), 'The best of butchers are the partners of Amalek.' And behold, these commandments with animals and birds are not mercy upon them, but [rather] decrees upon us, to guide us and to teach us the good character traits...” Nechama Leibowitz clarifies that “Nahmanides refuses to entertain the notion that the sending away of the mother bird is dictated by considerations of cruelty to animals. The precept is governed by purely educational considerations to inculcate kindness and compassion in our dealings with one another (Studies in Devarim, 219).

Whether the mitzvah of shiluach hakan is meant to teach the importance of kindness to animals or to bear a lesson to us about treating one another properly, it is a bit of a strange mitzvah, particularly in the modern age. One might question how frequently it would actually happen that a person would be walking by the road, see a bird's nest, and think to take the bird's young. Of course, for many generations we were an agrarian society and we lived in a far more ecologically diverse area, but still, one would probably have to be pretty hungry to look at a random nest and think “meal!” The fact of the matter stands, however, by the understanding that the Torah is relevant in every time and every place, so there must be some other – deeper – way to understand the mitzvah of shiluach hakan.

If we are not talking about a real bird (although the actual bird scenario is one that does happen and should be literally applied), but rather the idea of a bird and its nest, then the lesson of compassion in our dealings with others is truly transferable. It is interesting to note that this week’s parsha begins with the words ki tetze, when you go out. And while the phrase is referring to the verse "When you go out to war against your enemies...", there is an indefiniteness to the use of the word ki, when. It is not going to happen to every one, but when it does, be prepared. Shiluach hakan is very much of a “when you go out” mitzvah. It is not something that will definitely happen, and it is not something that one can create a scenario to make happen. Indeed, the pasuk describing the mitzvah emphasizes that the nest would be something that one comes upon. So too, in our every day lives many of us will not be in a position to have to choose a combination of seeming cruelty to effectively be both practical and compassionate.

Knowing that the Torah very much believes that "words can kill," perhaps we have the opportunity to understand this mitzvah differently. It is all too easy in the desire to rebuke or castigate individuals to condemn entire groups of people But if one thinks of the larger community as the mother and the individuals as the fledglings, then perhaps we have a modern means of applying the lessons of intuitive compassion inherent in shiluach hakan.

Two Witnesses (Shofteim #2)

Reading through Parshas Shoftim, one might notice that the requirement of two witnesses in a court case was instructed in two separate places. It is described in Devarim 17:6-7 and 19:15.” The witness requirement – two appropriate people who not only saw an act happen but tried to prevent it by warning the perpetrator of the consequences of his actions - is a foundation point of the Jewish legal system. Its repetition in the parsha whose most famous pasuk is “Justice, Justice shall you pursue” (16:20) reinforces its importance.

Not living in a situation where the Torah legal system can be applied, one might wonder at what lessons can be taken from this concept of witnesses. Perhaps first and foremost is that the hoped for role of the witnesses is to prevent the transgression in the first place. This is the significance of being part of a community because when one is part of a community ones’ friends and neighbors will help one stay on the right path. More importantly, perhaps, is a lesson that one should not surround oneself with patsies who agree to one’s every action but that one should learn to heed naysayers as well, lest one come to be too arrogant to believe their own fallibility and ignore the warnings of misdeeds when it matters most.

Of course, this is based on the assumption that people want to stay on a good path, that crimes happen as a result of impulse and/or circumstance and not a specifically chosen desire to do evil. Hashem quite obviously understood that such people as these do exist, and that they may try to “play” the law; Thus the warning against the consequence of being a false witness: “If a man who testified is a false witness, if he has testified falsely against his fellow, you shall do to him as he schemed to do to his fellow. Thus you will sweep out evil from your midst” (19:18-19). Being part of a community, a good community, helps keep people from wicked ways, and using wicked ways to undermine the community’s system of justice cannot be permitted.

The great sages quoted in Pirkei Avot speak of the importance of being amongst others. Joshua ben P’rachia advices “Make for yourself a rav, acquire for yourself a companion, and judge all men favorably” (1:6), and the great Sage Hillel instructs: “Do not separate yourself from the community” (2:4). We live in a time when independence and individuality is heralded as a prime value, but the assertion of one’s individual rights must always be balanced by the needs of sustaining the greater community, which protects each of its individual members.

The Actions of Others (Eikev #3)

It would be lovely to live in a world where people did not judge one another, where the way one dresses, or the neighborhood one lives in, or the family into which one was born did not have any impact on what someone else thought of them. It would be wonderful if we lived in a world where people were patient enough to listen to the whole of a story, from all perspectives, before deciding who is right and who is wrong, or more drastically, who is righteous and who is wicked. Alas, until we enter the promised future of messianic times when the "wolf will dwell with the lamb" (Isaiah 11:6), we must focus on recognizing this predisposition to judgementalness and learning what purpose it can serve in ourselves. For this, we can turn to this week's parsha, Parshas Eikev

About to send B'nei Yisrael to conquer the promised land, Moshe warns the people: "And when the Lord your God has thrust them from your path say not to yourselves,'the Lord has enabled us to possess this land because of our virtues,' it is rather because of the wickedness of those nations who the Lord is dispossessing before you " (Devarim 9:4). The important part of this pasuk is not that the people of the land were wicked, but that the people of Klal Yisrael should not see the punishment - or the reward, for that matter - of others as a reflection on themselves. They were destroyed for their wickedness, therefore, we are righteous? No, quite the contrary. Seeing the consequences doled out to others should be a warning, a cause for questioning - if we are to have this land, what must we do to avoid such a fate?

Moshe spoke these words to Bnei Yisrael in the wilderness, but it can certainly apply to interpersonal interactions in any era. When someone acts in a way that upsets you, do not speak ill of them or berate them, rather take a few moments and assess whether you act in a similar way and if this is a character trait that you yourself can improve on. 

Interestingly, the next verse sounds almost verbatim to 9:4. "It is not because of your virtues and your rectitude that you will be able to possess their country; but it is because of their wickedness that the Lord your God is dispossessing those nations before you, and in order to fulfill the oath that the Lord made to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (9:5). No actions occur outside the vacuum of history and concurrent life. When politics do not go your way, recognize and acknowledge that the long term plan is very long and extremely well hidden in front of our faces. Someone might be elected today due to a cause that began a hundred years ago or for an effect in an as-yet-unknown future. When that person that cut you off speeds into traffic and get pulls over, do not take it as a time to gloat. Maybe he was late for a job interview or maybe his being pulled over saved him from an accident. The ticket is punishment for his actions not a reward for anything you did. Perhaps you merely witnessed these events as an opportunity for you to become a more conscientious driver. 

In case the message was missed, the text does it again! "Know, then, that it is not for any virtue of yours that the Lord your God is giving you this good land to possess, for you are a stiff necked people” (9:6). Because human nature likes to gloat, one should never settle on one’s high-horse and assume their own virtues - that their right is the only way. In fact, Moshe immediately reminds Bnei Yisrael just how prone to misdeeds they are when he says: “Remember, never forget, how you provoked the Lord your God to anger in the wilderness” (9:7). 

We are in a time of supreme judgementalness. Our society has become a hot-pot of assumptions about what other people are thinking, wanting, doing… Moshe’s triple warning toward self-reflection is thus particularly pertinent for us to contemplate. God will dole out the consequences as needed, our job is simply to work on being our best selves as ovdei Hashem. 

Statues (Va'Eschanan #3)

In this week's parsha, Parshas Va’eschanan, we read Moshe's recitation of the Aseres Hadibros, the Ten Commandments. Just as when they are first recorded in Sefer Shemos, hereto one cannot help but sense the majesty and import of these first fundamental mitzvot. While most of the Aseres Hadibros are easily understood well across the spectrum of time and space, the Second Commandment can seem a bit archaic to those of us in the 21st century: "You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image, any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth below, or in the waters beneath the earth" (Devarim 5:8). The implication of the prohibition is that this is connected to avodah zarah, idol worship, because the commandment continues: “You shall not bow down to them or serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am an impassioned God, visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations of those who reject Me, but showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments” (5:9-10).

Upon first reading, one might easily scoff at the foolishness of making a statue for worship. It is easy to forget that we benefit from the prayers of the Anshei Knessesst Hagedola, who prayed that the urge for idol worship would be removed from the people. Deeming ourselves advanced and educated, we do not question that the statuary in our modern society are either artistic creations or the commissioned work of artisans designed to commemorate and/or communicate. 

Statues are powerless, obviously - and, yet, such a belief may be short-sighted. Rioters pulling down public statues are wrong for their brazen acts of destruction, for their lack of civil civic behaviour, and for their desire to ferment chaos and rewrite reality how they see it. However, perhaps their actions are a means of helping us realize that while we may not believe these statues are gods, we should not believe that graven images have no power.

The Aseres Hadibros is not the only place in Parshas Va’eschanan where the making of statues is prohibited. Moshe says to the people, "And you shall watch yourselves very well, for you did not see any images on the day that the Lord spoke to you at Horeb from the midst of the fire. Lest you become corrupt and make for yourselves a graven image, the representation of any form, the likeness of male or female" (4:15-16). - Here, Moshe is reminding the people that the greatest moment in their history cannot be encapsulated in one specific form. He is, in a way, instructing them that they cannot, with their mortal hands, capture the momentuous occasion of God giving them the Torah. It has already been recorded in its best form in the Torah itself. 

The perek continues with several similar prohibitions, such as not looking to the heavens and finding stars and celestrial objects to worship. One might easily question whether the prohibition of creating graven images was meant only for images which one intended to worship or includes images that are artistic. In truth this is a far larger topic, but there is room for leniency as long as, according to the Ba’al Ha’Turim’s understanding, one makes the form imperfect and incomplete (missing a finger, bust of a head, etc).

It is interesting to note that the prohibition of creating graven images is repeated one more time in this same perek. After telling them that he was to die, Moshe says: "Beware, lest you forget the covenant of the Lord your God, which He made with you, and make for yourselves a graven image, the likeness of anything, which the Lord your God has forbidden you” (4:23). This is not simply a repetition. This is significant. Moshe knows how much the people depend on him, how much faith they have put in him as a means of connecting to Hashem. He does not want a repeat of the cheit haegel.

But what if, one might ask, they just wanted to create something to memorialize him, a way to try to capture his personage for future generations? This is the question we can relate to, and it can be answered with another question - Can a statue capture a man in his full essence or fully articulate the values of a society? Essentially, the answer is no. At the time of their commissioning, most of the statue that are now at the heart of the controversy were created with the idea of capturing the essence of something society felt was important. Time changed, history was reinterpreted, a new generation decided that those values were wrong and these remnants of the past could and should be destroyed. 

Imagine if a statue of Moshe had been made. Beyond the risk, noted by many mefarshim as the reason we do not even know where he is buried, that it would come to be worshipped in its own right, such a statue would forever limit our ability to relate to him beyond that image. Our understanding of Moshe and his role in bringing us the Torah must be understandable for every generation, not a limited image. 

At the end of the Second Commandment, Hashem states: “I, the Lord your God, am an impassioned God, visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations of those who reject Me, but showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments” (5:9-10). Ultimately, what is right and what is wrong in our times and in times past and in the future  is up to God to decide, for his understanding of time and place is truly limitless. 

How Generations Change (Devarim #3)

It is interesting to note that when Moshe begins his final address to Klal Yisrael, a review of all that they have experienced as a nation, he does not begin with leaving Egypt, crossing the Sea, or even receiving the Torah at Sinai. Instead, he begins with a listing of their journeys and the setting up of a system of civil courts. The only laws that appear to be repeated in Parshas Devarim are commandments meant to ensure impartiality in the judicial system. While the parsha speaks of several occurrences in the wilderness, the two most prominent seem to be the incident of the scouts and the land allocation of Reuvain, Gad, and half of Menashe. Thus it is worth wondering at Moshe’s choice of these the two main narratives for the opening parsha of Sefer Devarim.

Although both of these stories are recorded in Sefer Bamidar and read just a few weeks before Parshas Devarim, they occurred years - actually decades - apart. They are, in truth, opposites: the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end. When the scouts returned from the Promised Land and put fear in the hearts of the nation, that was the end of the first era of Klal Yisrael’s journey. The raw energy of emergence, of change, of becoming a nation at Sinai, here proved itself unsustainable as the driving force of this nation. Even after all of the blatant miracles and God’s forgiveness after the Golden Calf, the people demonstrated an inherent inability to truly trust Hashem or believe in their own worthiness.

The generation that saw “explosive” miracles, that sang the great Shira at the Yam Suf, blunted their own spiritual fire. Certainly, part of this came from their having begun as slaves, and possibly some of it was because the actual impact of each of their experiences had been so majestically miraculous.

Moshe was able to grant the request of Reuvain and Gad because this generation was different from their fathers’ generation. They knew of the great and wonderous miracles, but the miracles in their own lives – while still spectacular to us today – were both more subtle and more constant.  When we today think about the generation of the wilderness, we think of how wonderous it must have been to have been close to active miracles, to have witnessed a cloud descending on the Tent of Meeting or experienced life fully provided for by Hashem (manna, water from Miriam’s well, ever-lasting clothing…). But for that generation, raised since their youth surrounded by these active miracles, it must have been difficult to even perceive them as miraculous – this was just life. Hashem was a tangible presence in their lives – providing cause and effect, consequences such as Korach being swallowed by the earth. And even though their life was “easy,” they were ready to go forward and put in the necessary work and effort.

The granting of the land in response to the request from Reuvain and Gad demonstrated the difference of this second generation to that of their elders. Their request was not a demand, as, it is now explained, had been the idea to send the scouts. Indeed, according to numerous commentators, when Moshe says: V’tikravoon eyli koolchem, and you gathered around me all of you, he is subtly describing how the generation that came from Egypt had forced the idea of the scouts upon him, how they were impatient and demanding. The second generation, however, was willing to put their own effort into building their towns and fighting beside their brethren. They represented how Klal Yisrael as a whole was ready to begin the last stage of their journey to enter the Promised Land – ready to fight and to work and, most importantly, to trust in Hashem.

Thousands of years later, we reside here in galus, and we yearn for redemption. We sigh and we hope and we wonder – and yes, I think it is a thought that crosses everyone’s mind once in a while – we wonder why we do not have such open miracles as those of our ancestors. We imagine how much easier it would be to have emunah shelaima – complete faith – if we just witnessed an open miracle or two. And we are not asking for Yam Suf; we would be satisfied with Miram’s well or heaven-sent manna. But perhaps Moshe opened his address this way to Klal Yisrael because he was not speaking only to the people before him, but to the generations upon generations to come. Open miracles are not the answer, they do not build a strong core of bitachon. In order to prepare for the conclusion of our own journey, we need to learn to accept the constant miracles that surround us with gratitude, put our trust in Hashem, and be ever-ready to work on moving forward.

A brief note of thanks and a dedication:

Parshas Devarim marks the anniversary of my writing Parsha posts. I have now completed two years, although I cannot say that I have managed every week in either year (thank you Corona!)

This Personal Parsha Prose was written on Friday, 3 Av 5780, the yahrtzeit of my Great-Grandfather Elias Gartel, l’ilyui neshama Eliyahu ben Yitzchak Halevi.

Channelling Zealotry (Pinchus)

Every few years, the world seems to grow angry. Protests and fighting seem to increase. It would seem that now is the perfect time for the world to examine the parsha of Pinchas, which begins with a declaration straight from God that Pinchus’ actions, detailed at the end of the previous parsha, were righteous.  One might sum Pinchas up by saying: Once there was a man named Pinchas who slew two people and received the praise of God because he did so out of zealotry to defend God’s honor and the rightfulness of the Children of Israel. In this day and age, however, perhaps that narrative should include a line that says: Don’t try this at home!

Upon first reading the narrative of Pinchas, one comes away with a belief that Pinchas’s action, which was to throw a spear at Zimri and Cosbi in an act of acute immoral behavior, was accepted by all as praiseworthy. However, as noted by numerous commentators, the very fact that God had to “step forward,” so to speak, and pronounce Pinchas’ actions as right and proper is an indication that many people believed that he was culpable for murder, that he did wrong by slaying a prince (Zimri).  Certainly, Pinchas immediately explained his actions, and certainly there were many people who supported him and understood why he did what he did. The fact that God spoke up for him is a reminder of how precarious it is for anyone to assume that their actions are righteous, that their zealotry is pure. Only by God specifying that it was indeed true that Pinchas had intent only for God’s honor are we assured of this fact.

We live in an era without overt Divine intervention – meaning in ways such as Hashem speaking to us. We can only make assumptions of understanding how Hashem runs the world, and therefore we cannot even hope to be accurate by announcing that any particular behaviour is the reason for current situations. We many want to be like Pinchus, but we do not have the clarity of righteousness that Pinchus had. Therefore, we have to be careful in how we manage the zealotry of our anger. Of course, as members of a modern society we would never think of literally killing another person. Instead, we destroy them with words, with posts that cut apart their lives.

Pinchas was unique in that he was able to harness his zealotry, his fiery passion, to focus completely on God and honoring God. The honest truth is that most of the time people speak in righteous indignation, about any subject, there is a piece of them, maybe even a very, very small piece, that is speaking up for their own honor. Perhaps the small voice is to be recognized by the crowd of like-minded thinkers, or perhaps it is to be acknowledged for the cleverness of the remark or the astuteness of the observation, or perhaps even just to help shape the world into the way in which the speaker truly believes it is meant to be. But it is rare that the goal is be a continuation of God’s will, as was Pinchas’.

This does not mean that we should hide our beliefs or not stand up for what is right. There is actually an incredible juxtaposition in how to handle different situations when one reads forward in the parsha and comes to the narrative of the daughters of Tzlephchad. As the rules were being laid out for the division of the Land of Israel, somewhat based on the numbers accounted for in a new census, the daughters of Tzlephchad stepped forward and stated that as they had no brothers, they should, by right, inherit the portion that would have been their dead fathers. Moshe took their case to Hashem, who agreed with the five sisters. It is a segue into the laws of inheritance, but it also shows that sometimes passion that is harnessed into rational discussion can bring about change through more structured channels.

The daughters of Tzelaphchad presented a “landmark” case, shifting the laws of inheritance. One could say they took a chance of being rejected. One could argue that orderly channels are often clogged and unavailable. These points are true, in the modern world, and so what we must aim for is to find a middle ground. Hashem gave humankind the Torah, and He set the Jewish people with the task of being a light unto the nations. It is up to us to maintain those laws, to build a Torah society – but to do this we must learn to refrain from tainted zealotry and to include passionate righteousness in our quest to bring holiness to the world.

Repetitive for a Reason (Shelach)

 There is an accepted idea that there are no wasted words in the Torah, which makes it rather interesting that twice in this week’s parsha, Parshas Shlach, the Torah literally repeats itself. Furthermore, these two repetitions appear to be at opposite ends of the narrated events, as if bookmarking the events and alerting us to the fact that we must learn from our ancestors’ actions.

The first repetition is at the opening of the parasha: “Send for yourselves men to scout the Land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Children of Israel; send one man one man from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them” (Bamidbar 13:2). Most translation don’t write “one man one man,” but the Hebrew text is written “eesh echad eesh echad.”

The second use of repeating language is as the episode of the scouts comes to a conclusion. Having undermined their own mission and with the entire gathering of the Children of Israel having panicked at their words, Hashem doles out His displeasure by condemning the entire generation to live out their lives in the Wilderness. “You shall bear your punishment for forty years, corresponding to the number of days – 40 days – that you scouted the land: a year for a day a year for a day. Thus you shall know what it means to thwart Me” (14:34). Once again, most English translations do not include the word repetition, but the Hebrew is written: “yom lshana yom lshana.”

Is there a connection to these two repetitions? Double language in the Torah is a means of stressing a point. What that point may be is one that we have to consider. 

The first repetition is “one man one man,” which reminds us that each person is unique. Hashem did not tell Moshe to round up random individuals, but rather to think through the choices of the unique individuals. Judaism has a very strong ideology of each person being singularly important in their own right and as part of the general community of the nation. This is part of the lesson of eesh echad eesh echad. Hashem was hoping that the men chosen to be scouts could each demonstrate their abilities to be their own man, so to speak. To not need to do as the crowd does. Two of the scouts, Yehoshua (Joshua) and Caleb, were men of such caliber. The lesson for us is that we do not have to go with the crowd, to be part of the multitude. This brings us to the second repetition, yom lshana. The root of the word shana, which means year, is the same root as the verb to change or to make different. When we are able to stay true to our essential selves, we can come to yom lshana, day for change. Whether that means making changes for ourselves, like self improvement projects, or making changes to affect the world as a whole, positive change can only come from understanding our own unique gifts.

Looking at the language of yom lashana, one could also find a similarly significant message. While the usage here is that the letter lamed is the preposition "for" (a day for a year), the word lashona by itself is connected to lashon – language – and thus to the lashon harah (wicked speech) that the scouts spoke about the Promised Land. When one brings this shift in meaning to the first repetition – eesh echad eesh echad, one man one man – one can see the lesson that each person is responsible for their own speech. A person can easily be carried away by a crowd speaking lashon harah, but that is not an acceptable excuse for speaking negatively or gossiping about someone. This was the case of the scouts, who, except for Yehoshua and Caleb, did not have the courage to raise their voice separately but followed the lead of the crowd.

Lessons on the importance of speech are always meaningful. The double down of the repetitive language in Parshas Shlach is a message that encourages us to be strong and know that if we can stay true to ourselves (and be a Kiddush Hashem through our own unique talents), we can use each day to make a positive change on the world.

Time and Community (Behar)

This week’s Dvar Torah is about keeping track of time and the Torah’s overall goal of personal accountability. The Torah states: “You shall count off seven weeks of years…seven times seven years” (Vayikra 25:8). You shall count off - Is it odd that the instructions are so obscure? When I stopped and thought about it, I realized I would have expected the instruction to be more objective, something like: and it will be after seven weeks of years… But this makes one think about time. In the Torah, as noted by Rabbi Sacks pointed out, we have a lunar cycle (months) and a solar cycle (seasons) and then we have Shabbat, which is not attached to any celestial cycle. Shabbat is the seventh day, the day we count to from the end of one into the next. Day One is Sunday, Day Two is Monday, and etc and so forth.

The interesting thing about Shabbat is that it is up to us to count those days, to pay attention and remember what day it is. This is the heart of the hypothetical conversation of what does one do if one is not certain what day it is (if one is cut off from the community…the answer is, of course, ask your local Orthodox Rabbi).

When you think about it, there are actually quite a number of counting exercises in the Torah. We count for Shabbas. We count the Omer every year. We count the years til Shemittah. And we count for the Yoval.

To be quite honest, this can be challenging on one's own. However, much of the challenge is alleviated by living in a larger community that works together so that we can all keep track of our time-mitzvos. If I lose track of the Omer, I am surrounded by people I can ask. As Shemitta year approaches, I get announcements and updates.

Hashem expects us to be able to take responsibilities for ourselves, so he gives us responsibilities. But Hashem also knows that the best way for us to meet those responsibilities is as a team, a community, and, interestingly enough, He gives us guidelines for being a good team throughout Parshas Behar, the very parsha in which He instructs us of our longest counts (Shemitta and Yoval). Here are some of the significant pasukim in Parshas Behar:

1) “When you sell property to your neighbor, or buy any from your neighbor, you shall not wrong one another” (25:14).

2) “Do not wrong one another but fear your God: for I the Lord am your God” (25:17).

3) “If your kinsman, being in straits, comes under your authority, and you hold him as though a resident alien, let him live by your side. Do not extract from him advance or accrued interest, but fear your God. Let him live by your side as your kinsman” (25:35-36).

Our society is made up of a great swath of people. Some people are very on top of things, so to speak. They have no trouble keeping track of time or objects. Others are more, shall we say, broadly focused, but that same laxness in time keeping may make them easier among people. The point is, we are one nation, one people, one collective group, and Hashem helps us stay that way by reminding us that the land is our privilege and our responsibility, and the only way to keep the privilege of our land is by taking responsibility for its mitzvot which occurs when we, klal Yisrael, think of ourselves as a wonderfully single whole, a complete unit.

As we head into Behar-Bechukosai, let us remember that it is our bond as a community that is our strength and lets us continue to work hard to be present for one another.

Desecration and Curses (Emor)

 The final verses of Chapter 22 of Vayikra, at the heart of this week’s parashas Emor, seem, in some ways, to fold in upon themselves. “You shall not profane My holy name, that I may be sanctified in the midst of the Israelite people—I am the Lord who sanctifies you, Who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God, I the Lord” (Vayikra 22:32-33). It would seem obvious that in a place where God’s name was being profaned the ability to truly sanctify God’s name would be greatly hampered.

Vayikra 22:32, the commandment not to create a chillul Hashem, is one that is frequently discussed within the Jewish community. We try to be pointedly aware of when our behavior reflects badly on our people, and thus on God, and we teach our children to strive to be a Kiddush Hashem always. One might think that the latter should come first, that we would be instructed to strive to sanctify God’s name and, in this way, we will avoid profaning it. But Hashem knows human nature and that it is easier to prohibit bad behavior than to specifically encourage good behaviors. Think how many times parenting experts say that you should try to praise good behavior – like praising your children for not fighting – except that is actually a much harder task.

Indeed, God adds an extra incentive for this behavior, reminding the people that it is He who brought us out of slavery and, more importantly, that He sanctifies us. We must avoid chillul Hashem because we are sanctified constantly by our very existence outside of slavery, and our state of being constantly sanctified by Hashem and recognizing it is how Hashem is sanctified in the midst of the people. Our behavior must be a constant reflection of the fact that we are sanctified.

It is, however, also interesting to note that these verses are the conclusion of a perek of sacrificial dos and don’ts that are specifically directed to the kohanim: “The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and to his sons, that they shall separate themselves from the holy [sacrifices] of the children of Israel, which they sanctify to Me, so as not to desecrate My Holy Name” (22:1-2). And yet, it still has incredible implication for all of our people.

This chapter is followed by chapter 23, which is a complete listing of the festivals, of the ability of the Jewish people to sanctify time in honor of Hashem. Chapter 24, the final chapter of the parsha, begins with a discussion of the menorah and the showbreads, but then switches to the seemingly out of place story of the son of an Israelite woman (named Shulamit) and an Egyptian man. This son of an Israelite woman quarreled with an Israelite man, and the son of the Israelite woman ended up cursing God’s name. He was arrested and eventually stoned.

The Midrash and the commentaries provide the background to this story. The mother was a woman who was considered flirtatious and provocative. She was from the tribe of Dan, and, therefore, this man believed that he had a right to a place in that camp, but the Danites disagreed. They brought the argument to Moshe. When the court did not side in his favor, the son of the Israelite woman was so angry he cursed in God’s name.

Although certainly the man’s actions were his own, one cannot help but speculate what might have happened if he had been treated with more kindness by the Tribe of Dan (not to say that they were wrong, specifically). He should have been treated in a way that would have recognized his innate B’tzelem Elokim and connection to the Jewish people through his mother* – after all, along with all the Jews, he was protected from the plagues, traveled safely through the Sea of Reeds, received the Torah at Sinai, and survived by eating the miraculous manna in the Wilderness. All of these were Divine acts that kept him safe and sound – he could have come to be one who was able to sanctify Hashem’s name.

This is, of course, speculation. However, it brings us back to our more global understanding of avoiding chillul Hashem in order to allow kiddush Hashem (desecration/sanctification of God’s name). If we do not adhere to measures of kindness and moral behavior, we risk creating situations where God’s name is the opposite of sanctified. Everyday, within our homes and when in public, we have the opportunity, and sometimes the challenge, of these hand-in-hand mitzvot.

*As he was born prior to Mount Sinai and the giving of the Torah, he was subject to patrilineal descent rather than matralineal, which then became halacha.