Nitzvaim-Vayelech: Thought for this time of year

Every Elul, I participate in a phenomenal group of women who share divrei Torah throughout the month (and into Tishrei, until Yom Kippur). This is my piece this year, which tied in to the parsha:

This week’s parsha is a double parsha that is known by the name of Nitzavim-Vayelech, And they stood-And he went. The two parshios have fascinatingly different tones of voice. The first parsha, Nitzavim, is deep and heavy and frightful. Moshe declares to the people: “You are all standing here today…”to enter the covenant before continuing on to reiterate the horrible fate that awaits Bnei Yisrael should they go astray. Vayelech, on the other hand, has a much gentler tone as Moshe speaks in the first person, inducting Yehoshua and comforting the nation that even if they fall, Hashem will uphold His covenant.

There are, it would seem, two primary approaches to the month of Elul. (1) Watch out! Elul is coming, and so it is time to tremble at the awe of the upcoming days. There are countless descriptions of the great fear and trepidation the greatest of our leaders feel at this time. But then there is (2) the Elul of Ani l’dodi v’dodi li – I am to my beloved and my beloved is mine – when we are constantly reminded that “The King is in the field” and that Hashem wants us to approach Him and to bring Him our personal requests.

So which is it? Am I supposed to be worried and fearful and scared of being judged? Or am I supposed to be joyful about the opportunity of getting closer to Hashem? Fear and Love don’t feel like emotions that one can embrace at the same time. And neither is easy; both paths are incredibly difficult. Most of us have moments of true awe, an honest feeling of tension at the idea of being judged. But we don’t really live with it. There’s too much going on. And the same can be true for living with the constant energy for seeking out Hashem in the field. I desire to seek out my relationship with Hashem all the time but reality puts me at about 4%, if I am being generous.

The double parshios of this Shabbas remind us that these two perspectives on Elul, on life really, can and do exist side by side. “Nitzavim – And they stood” is a parsha that evokes trembling. It starts with the declaration of the eternity of the covenant, describes the depth of anger against anyone turning against Torah, and concludes with the imperative to choose life. This is the awesomeness of Hashem. As we enter Elul and move into Tishrei, we are standing in a spot to perceive the greater picture, to understand that as members of Bnei Yisrael, we are part of something much bigger and far grander than our own simple lives, but that we have deep and specific responsibilities.

“Vayelech – And he went” is a softer parsha. It is a parsha of encouragement presented in the first person. It is a parsha that reminds us of Ani l’dodi v’dodi li. Because there is in it an inference of second chances and new opportunities. Giving second chances is the essence of belovedness.

I have always preferred to focus on the Ani l’dodi, the seeking out a relationship, figuring out how to crown Hashem anew in my life. I avoid the fear and trembling – not because I don’t think it is important but because I don’t know how to even get close to it, let alone achieve it. But in putting together my thoughts for this dvar Torah, I have come to see how the two are really one. A relationship requires work and attention and responsibility. The fear - the trembling -- is not fear of punishment but rather the fear of disappointing Hashem because “I am to my Beloved as my beloved is to me. “ And because I fear disappointing Hashem, I must seek Him out in the field and enhance the relationship by reminding myself that Hashem wants to do for me and all I need to do is reach out.

Good Shabbas

And Shana Tova if I don’t get time to post.

Parshas Ki Tavo – Curses to Grow By

Modern conversations about religion often focus on the question of what a person gets from having faith. Security, responsibility, a sense of belonging, etc. are all within the range of answers that those studying religion from the outside hypothesize as the source for humanity’s drive toward belief. These inquiries are often paralleled to an assumption that one’s beliefs are meant to make one happy, and happiness is very important to the 21^st century mindset.

 In reality, however, the Torah is not meant to make sure that you, the individual, are living the happiest life you can. Hashem cares that you, the individual, are living life to your utmost potential. It’s not about living your best life but living life as best you can.

 There is a fascinating section of this week’s parsha, Parshas Ki Tavo, that seems to speak to how differently the Torah’s life philosophy is to modern day philosophy. It says: “And Moshe commanded the people on that same day, saying: ‘These shall stand upon Mount Gerisim to bless the people when you have crossed the Jordan: Shimon and Levi and Yehudah and Yissachar and Yoseph and Binyamin. And these shall stand upon Mount Ebal on the curse: Reuvain and Gad and Asher and Zevulan, Dan and Naftali” (27:11-13).

 Based on these verses, it would seem the Torah was about to introduce the recitation of a list of blessings. Instead, it dives right into the Leviim announcing the curses: “Cursed be the man that makes a graven or molten image, an abomination of God…and all the people shall lift up their voices and say: Amein” (27:15).

 Why does the Torah immediately proceed with punishment, with curses? Why doesn’t it say: “Blessed is the man who remains faithful to Hashem in all ways”? Why doesn’t the Torah bless the person who respects his parents, maintains boundaries, helps the blind man not to stumble, and so forth?

 Have you ever heard the popular parenting lectures that stress praising a child for not misbehaving? It is sometimes included under positive re-enforcement. And it’s lovely…in theory. But as a parent, it’s hard to think that one should say “Good job for not smacking your brother today!” because we expect our children to know not to smack each other.

 Living a Torah life is about constraining oneself away from behaviors that are inherently anti-social – not meaning behaviors that make you hard to be around, but behaviors that are damaging to society. The false gods of celebrity and power, so potent in this day and age, have created a society in which everyone feels that they get to define the rules, that everyone’s truth is equal. The Torah announces: “Cursed be he who insults his father or his mother,” and we see, all around us, a society that played with diminishing respect for parents (Hi Bob and Sally!) and now faces a dilemma in which any voice of authority is viewed as optional. Children demand of their parents, and the parents fold…Parents blame the schools, and no one is remembering that the act of respecting is meant to come from the child.

 The Torah was given to Moshe to give to the Bnei Yisrael not as the rule book for when we live in the ideal world but rather for the time before that. Hashem instructs Moshe to instruct the Jewish people before they go into the Promised Land and to present these words of Cursed be the Man as the formula for reminding Bnei Yisrael of the expectations upon them. In listing these verbal curses, however, Hashem is presenting a potent message: You know what the right thing to do is, and in doing it the blessings come naturally. Act in such an ill-befitting manner and be cursed.

 We may not see the constant praise, the reward --- the blessing, for living the way we are supposed to, but we must always be aware that for creating a broken social norm, we shall surely be cursed.

 Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas

Parshas Shoftim: The Weight of Leadership

This week’s parsha, Parshas Shoftim, is best known for the pasuk “Justice, justice, shall you pursue” (Devarim 16:20). This pasuk is a cornerstone of Torah living and the important parameters of halacha – that we are to try to emulate Hashem and create a just society. It is not an easy task, and it is not always an easily understandable concept when we examine the parameters set by the Torah.

As an example, this week’s parsha also contains the laws of the egel arufa, of the heifer killed as an atonement for a man found slain outside of a city’s boundaries. The basics are thus: If a body is found between two cities, a measurement is taken to determine to which city the body is closer. The elders and judges of that city, along with kohanim, must then take a calf that has never been yoked to a valley and break its neck, washing their hands over it and declaring “Our hands did not shed this blood, nor did our eyes see [this crime]. Atone for Your people Israel, whom You have redeemed, O Lord, and lay not [the guilt of] innocent blood among your people Israel” (Devarim 21:7-8).

 How is this justice? It is assumed that the elders and the judges represent the upstanding citizens of the city, those who are least suspect of such a crime (we won’t get into the wonderful plots of modern-day murder mysteries). Why must they assume any level of responsibility?

 The most widely discussed answer is that there is a responsibility to the fact that a guest in their city was sent on his way without consideration, without escort. Interestingly, the sefer Taleli Oros cites “Zeved Tov observes that the verse writes shifcha with a hey at the end rather than shifcho, which would be the grammatically correct form. He explains that the hey is an allusion to the five things that a host is required to provide for a poverty-stricken guest: clothing, food, drink, shelter and escort.” In the case of the man found in the field, this last one is assumed to have been lacking.

 This does not, however, resolve the question of why the elders and the judges are responsible. Can they really be expected to know every guest or stranger who appears in the city and then leaves it? That seems a bit high of an expectation, especially in a larger city.

 Dr. Arnold Lustiger writes in Chumash Mesoras Harav, based on the teaching of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik: “It is almost frightening how demanding the Torah is concerning the leadership that goes hand in hand with power. It is a responsibility that encompasses not only direct action but indirect – in fact, very removed – action. Of course, the leader is responsible for all his actions. His judgement must be right; he must not accept bribes; he must act in accordance with the principles of justice and charity. However, he is also charged with responsibility for things and events that are, prima facie, far removed from his concerns and interests. The people wielding power are the ones responsible for and guilty of the crime (Vision and Leadership, p.48)” (Lustiger 167).

 The laws of the egel arufah teach us that there is an expectation on the elders and judges to establish a culture in which the casual taking of a life could never be acceptable, in which a stranger would never be left to wander off to another town without protection. This might mean that they make certain to live in the ideal and to demonstrate righteous living and-or it might mean that they establish regular patrols to maintain civil law.

 The egel arufa has very defined parameters. It is a halacha that is meant for living in the land of Israel in a time when we have elders and judges and kohanim. But the Torah is eternal, and all that we learn in it applies to us in all living situations. Each of us is or can be a leader in our own way. A parent is a leader of a family. An organizer is a leader in the community. An upstanding citizen who strives to be a kiddush Hashem is by nature a leader whom others will emulate.

 The current civilization has prioritized living one’s true life and has accentuated a culture of “me” while claiming that this is a truly free and just society. The clamor of the modern world is to be an influencer by being the loudest or the brashest or the most “free to be me.” But leadership, as the Torah reminds us here with the laws of the egel arufah, is really about the weight of responsibility for the entire community.

Parshas Eikev - From Manna to Minim

In the beginning of this week’s parsha, Pashas Eikev, there is a seemingly benign description of the giving of the manna. This description is a prelude to a direct contrast to what Bnei Yisrael could expect after entering the Promised Land, which is a land flowing with milk and honey, a land of wheat and barley, vines and figs and pomegranates, a land of oil producing olives and honey - a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, you will lack nothing in it” (Devarim 8:8-9). This description of Eretz Yisrael is well known, but it is not commonly realized how it contrasts with the manna.

This section of the Torah begins with the statement: “And He afflicted you and let you go hungry, and then fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your forefathers know, so that He would make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but rather by, whatever comes forth from the mouth of the Lord does man live” (8:3).

The language here seems quite drastic. Did Hashem afflict them? Did he let them go hungry? It is almost possible to read this in a sarcastic nuance… how many times have we heard our children whine - or complained ourselves - “I’m starving.” Moshe here is reflecting the overwrought emotions of the nation when they complained and demonstrating to them that Hashem answered them with something miraculous, something incredible - food from the heavens. 

The manna was meant, according to pasuk gimmel, to teach Bnei Yisrael to recognize the ultimate source of our sustenance, which is Hashem. However, after reminding them further of the good Hashem did for them and the filial relationship they have with Hashem, Moshe tells them:

“For the Lord your God is bringing you to a good land, a land with brooks of water, fountains and depths, that emerge in valleys and mountains, a land of wheat and barley, vines and figs and pomegranates, a land of oil producing olives and honey, a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, you will lack nothing in it, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose mountains you will hew copper” (8:7-9).

Life and sustenance are about to get more complicated. There will be variety - which one did not have with manna. There will be abundance - in contrast to the manna that could be collected for only one day’s portion. And there will be work - which was not a facet of living in the Wilderness. 

One can, perhaps, see in this a fascinating comparison to Adam HaRishon. Adam was placed in Gan Eden and given everything that he needed to live a peaceful life. After the chait (sin), he had to work (“By the sweat of your brow shall you live). It was a curse, but it was also a means of enhancing humanity’s awareness of their need for Hashem.

Bnei Yisrael’s time in the desert was always limited because mankind after the initial chait cannot exist long term on unending benificence but must put in effort. Thus the manna was simple, pure, and, perhaps one might even say, limited. The wilderness was like Gan Eden in that everything was provided, but in truth, the Promised Land was the destination - lush like Gan Eden, but requiring effort, and in requiring effort also requiring Bnei Yisrael to know and acknowledge that all things come from Hashem. Indeed, the next pasuk of the perek says: “And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and you will bless Hashem your God for the good land that He gave you” (8:10).

Moshe was telling them that they were on the verge of entering the world of abundance and variation, but that they should never forget that sustenance is not their acheivment, it is a gift from Hashem. They must do the work, but they must let the work lead them to appreciate Hashem’s graciousness.

Human beings crave a sense of success and accomplishment. In many ways, this was lacking in the wilderness. But with the freedom to achieve comes the possibility of forgetting the ultimate source of success - Hashem. Remembering that everything - our trials and our triumphs, our successes and are failures - come from Hashem, is not an easy task (as i think most of us know). In Parshas Eikev, the Torah records Moshe’s eternal reminder to help us stay focussed on the real work we have in this world…to follow the path of Hashem. 

I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Va’Eschanan – How Supplication Can Be Comforting

Yesterday was Tisha B’av, tomorrow is Shabbas Nachamu, and today is the short space in between where we can contemplate that dynamic. This is the closest those two days ever come together, and that offers us a profound opportunity to contemplate the real possibility of transitioning from gulus to geula. For many of us, as much as we intellectually do yearn for Moshiach and a new era, there is a stumbling block in fully accepting the concept. Partially this is because of our natural tendency to feel safe in the space in which we are living, and partially this is because we have trouble truly believing in redemption. 

The parsha read on Shabbas Nachamu is always Va’eschanan. It is the second parsha in Sefer Dvarim, the sefer that was written on the precipice of great change. This parsha starts with Moshe’s personal tragedy – with the one time in which his beseeching Hashem was rebuffed. But in this, there is much that we can learn about the importance of wanting to move forward. Moshe tells the people of how strongly he pleaded with Hashem to encourage them to go forward. He was their safety in the wilderness, but he was ending, and the next era was already being prepared for them. That Shabbas Nachamu’s parsha contains this rich depth of yearning is an excellent reminder that even if we have just observed another day of desolation, even if Hashem has not granted us redemption yet, we should still be driven to ask and ask and ask again.

The word redemption means “the action of regaining or gaining possession of something” or “the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.” It has both a both physical and a metaphysical meaning, and this is essential to the Jewish idea of redemption, of Moshiach. On a physical level, we will return to the Promised Land. On a metaphysical level, we will once more be ready, as a people, to be on the spiritual level of avdei Hashem. And while most of us in the 21^st century can now understand the possibility of the physical return, the state of the world, the state of the Jewish people in particular, makes us worry that we will never earn redemption – and this, too, is answered in Parshas Va’eschanan.

Moshe recaps the giving of the Torah at Har Sinai and the great and glorious purpose of the Torah just before he plunges into the sure and certain declaration that future generations will stray and be punished and return. And then he recites the Aseret Hadibros, the Ten Commandments - the same and yet different. This is a powerful reminder to us of the very real possibility of spiritual redemption. Bnei Yisrael messed up bad, and Hashem gave them another chance. Hashem wants Bnei Yisrael to succeed. Hashem wants to bring about an era in which He can remove the Hester Panim, the hiddenness He bears to mankind. He gives us opportunities upon opportunities.

Tradition tells us that the reason that Hashem tells Moshe, “Do not continue to speak to Me further about this matter” (Devarim 3:26) is because if Moshe had asked one more time, Hashem would have relented. This is what is important about Parshas Va’eschanan.

How often in the Torah did Moshe implore Hashem on behalf of Bnei Yisrael. Hashem wants to forgive. Hashem wants to push us to the next era. Bnei Yisrael gathered around a golden calf, seemingly the ultimate spiritual fail, and Hashem still gave them another chance, a new set of commandments, because Hashem is aware of the glorious potential within us. Nachamu, be comforted, because while  redemption has not come yet, it will.

There is a powerful message in the timing of Parshas Va’eschanan. Don’t give up on imploring Hashem until He tells you not to say another word (should we ever be on such a level!) and be comforted. Hashem wants to hear our pleas, and Hashem wants to give us another chance. Believing this whole heartedly, we can go from desolation to comfort in an instance. May that time come speedily in our days.

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Devarim* – Food, Water, and Dignity

Parshas Devarim* – Food, Water, and Dignity

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Chaya Sofya Sara bas Mera, Tova bas Perel, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Betzalel Tzvi ben Chaya Yocheved.

This week’s Dvar Torah is going to start with a question that might sound a little foolish. What did Bnei Yisrael eat and drink in the Midbar? If you answered manna and water from the ba’eir Miriam (Miriam’s well), then you are probably wondering why such a simple question is being asked…

If Bnei Yisrael ate manna in the wilderness and had a constant source of water, then why does Moshe discuss – not once, but twice – offering to pay for food and water? This occurs twice in Perek Beis of Devarim, and this fact is, truly, food for thought. (Ok, I couldn’t resist).

Perek Beis begins with Hashem telling Moshe that the people have circled Har Seir long enough, and it is time to move forward. In doing so, they will be passing through the land of Bnei Esav. “You shall not provoke them, for I will not give you any of their land not so much as a footstep, because I have given Mount Seir to Esau for an inheritance. You shall buy food from them with money, that you may eat, and also water you shall buy from them with money, that you may drink” (Devarim 2:5-6).

The Perek then continues to describe the movements of the Israelites, including the fact that there were 38 years between Kadesh Barnea the water of Zered. It mentions interactions with Moav and Ammon, cousins who were not to be disturbed, until Bnei Yisrael comes to the land of the Amorites, where Sichon is king. Upon reaching the border of the Amorites, Hashem told Moshe that He has put the dread and fear of the Israelites into these people, but Moshe proceeds with diplomacy. He sends messengers and says “Let me pass through your country. I will keep strictly to the highway, turning off neither to the right nor to the left. What food I eat you will supply for money, and what water I drink you will furnish for money; just let me pass through” (Devarim 2:27-28).

The simple question is why did Bnei Yisrael need to buy food and water if they had manna and a continuous water source? The deeper question is what can we learn from the fact that Bnei Yisrael offered to buy food and water when it was not needed. 

This is, of course, pure postulation. Perhaps from Perek Beis of Devarim, we can learn about acting humbly and respectfully before other nations. The Jewish people are known as the Chosen nation. Hashem promised Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov that their descendants would be blessed. This does not mean that we have the right to be lofty over other nations, but rather that we have responsibilities as the mamleches kohanim, the kingdom of priests. 

In the verse that follows the recollection of being told to offer to buy food and water from Bnei Esav, Moshe states, “For the Lord, your God, has blessed you in all the work of your hand…” Bnei Yisrael was blessed in the wilderness with Divine care-taking. They were given food and water, but within the territory of another nation was not the time to exult. This was a lesson Moshe heeded when they then came to Sichon’s kingdom. Moshe knew already, for Hashem had told him, that this nation would be afraid of Bnei Yisrael, and that this is where the conquest would begin. Moshe, however, did not approach them in a bellicose manner, but rather with a fair and equitable offer. The Amorites refused and attacked and were defeated, but the significance is the fact that Bnei Yisrael behaved in a morally upstanding manner. 

The national implications can, and should, be reflected on an individual level. Just because one can, doesn’t mean one should. Having natural talents or specific skill-sets is valuable, of course. More important, however, is knowing how to treat others with respect and dignity. 

*Personal Parsha Prose began as a personal project I named Eilu Devarim in 2018 after leaving my job of 19 years. I wrote my first Parsha Essay on Parshas Devarim 2018. While some parshios were skipped some years, every parsha has at least 4 unique pieces. All Personal Parsha Prose, along with other writing, can be found on http://cthedawn.blogspot.com/

May you all have a beautiful and inspiring Shabbas.

Parshas Chukas-Balak – Water, Words and Women

This week’s parsha contains the infamous story of Moshe hitting the rock. It is infamous because it becomes a punishable offense that is the catalyst for Moshe not being permitted to enter the Promised Land. There are, to be honest, a great number of questions on this incident – enough to cover multiple divrei Torahs. 

Moshe hits the rock to try to restore the well of Miriam that stopped flowing upon her death. The connection of Miriam and the well is deciphered from this specific sequence of events, from the fact that the Torah states that she died and was buried and the people had no water. The connection itself is never stated directly in the Torah, but the Midrash correlates the three great miracles – the water, the manna, and the pillar of cloud – to the three leaders, Miriam, Moshe, and Aaron (in order of miracles). 

Why water to Miriam? It has been noted by the sages that the water was connected to Miriam for two reasons. The first was in connection to her following her baby brother as his basket floated down the Nile. Her natural nurturing instincts, going to such great lengths, are reflected in the production of water in the Wilderness. 

The second connection is her great recognition of the miracle of the kriyas Yam Suf when she burst into song and led the women to sing their own unique shira. Miriam understood the power of words to capture an essence of Hashem’s glory. Understanding that Miriam’s well flowed as a direct result of her lifting up her voice, of her using her words, casts an interesting light upon the actions in Bamidbar 20. Moshe is told to speak to the rock and hits it instead. He is told to use Miriam’s power, the power of her voice – which we know, that for all the speaking Moshe does in the Torah, he did not see himself as a man of words – and perhaps this was to tap into the feminine power of words.

Are words a feminine power? The sages say, “Ten measures of speech descended to the world and women took nine measures of speech” (Talmud Kiddushin 49b). Hashem used words to create the world. Women have both a large measure of the power of words and the power of creation. None of this is a coincidence, nor is it a coincidence that water is the most essential element for life. 

What is the connection of words and water? Like water, words are always powerful. They can nourish, and they can destroy. There are times when the words need to flow quickly, and time when they need to trickle gently. 

It is interesting to recall that the Torah is referred to as Mayim Chayim, living waters. There are infinite discussions about the role of women in the Torah world, about the nature of Judaism and whether it subjugates women. These are modern terms. When we delve into the Torah, we find answers of our own. We do not hear of Miriam’s connection to the essential water source until both she and the well are gone, and then only in a manner of inference. Because women, like sources of irrigation, are often the unseen wellsprings of our communities. But when the water is not there, it is something for which our people cry out, because we recognize the inherent power of the voice of women that was given sound by the uplifting shira Miriam sang after the people crossed the Yam Suf.

The Torah is the blueprint of the world. There are layers upon layers of meaning in the world that the are physical manifestations of the divine complexity of the Torah. The interplay of water, words, and women is just one that can help guide us in living our richest spiritual lives.

Parshas Korach – Wielding Words

 The next time we read Parshas Korach, the United States will be enmeshed in the last months of a federal election. Perhaps now, as the race is just revving up, it is appropriate to look at Parshas Korach and learn about leadership. Assuming no one reading this will be contending for office, one might wonder at the significance of this topic to the average person. The answer is that we are the ones who, in a democracy, are the ones who must assess the candidates for their actual leadership skills, and one of the critical factors that must be assessed is their use of pronouns of responsibility. This does not refer to anything associated with identity, but rather the very subtle way in which people use language.

 “Moshe sent for Dathan and Abiram, sons of Eliav; but they said ‘We will not come! Is it not enough that you brought us from a land flowing with milk and honey to kill us in the wilderness, that you would also lord it over us? Moreover, not to a land of milk and honey have you brought us, nor given us an inheritance of fields and vineyards. Will you gouge out the eyes of these men? We will not come up!’” (Bamidbar 16:12-14). This response occurs after Moshe has already spoken privately to his cousin Korach, the initiator of a rebellion of 250 leaders against Moshe and Aaron. Korach’s first followers were Dathan, Abiram, and a man named On, who quickly saw that this was not the right path.

 Although Korach had started the rebellion with speaking among the people and gathering a following, Moshe spoke to him (in pasukim ches – yud aleph 8-11) privately and on a personal level addressing the question in a more individualized way by pointing out that Korach and his sons were already elevated in status by the fact that they were Leviim. When Moshe called for Dathan and Abiram, however, they responded with hyperbolic public accusations. Every phrase is rife with inuendo:

 “Is it not enough that you brought us from a land flowing with milk and honey - [and then] - Moreover, not to a land of milk and honey have you brought us, nor given us an inheritance of fields and vineyards.” … Note the You and the Us. They aren’t talking of just the two of themselves, but they are speaking of Bnei Yisrael and placing the blame squarely on the singular You of Moshe. Dathan and Abiram speak of the Land of Mitzrayim as a land of milk and honey. This is how they remember their enslavement? Of course not. This language is carefully chosen to mirror the promises Moshe has recited. All the more so, it creates a juxtaposition to their statement of what has not yet occurred – their entry into the Promised Land.

 “to kill us in the wilderness” … And again the Us implying not just themselves but the people all around them. It is important to note that the inference here is causal, that Moshe led them to a place to be put to death. There is no acceptance of any responsibility on the part of themselves (as part of the nation) for the generation’s remaining in the wilderness. You brought us to die has a very different tone than and we are dying.

 Bnei Yisrael were brought to the brink of the Promised Land, and they were not permitted to enter because of their own lack of trust in Hashem. One of the reasons that this generation could not enter the Promised Land is precisely the behaviour being demonstrated here – the inability to take responsibility for their own actions.

 “That you would also lord it over us?” … This entire phrase is a red flag in any political debate. It is an accusation to which any defensive response buries the opponent in either difficult to believe humility or the appearance of arrogance. The line between being a leader and being a ruler is very fine, and in the realm of outside opinion, that line is very easily crossed. Moshe quite consciously led Bnei Yisrael and did not rule them, but once this aspersion was cast, it would be hard for others not to wonder at his actions.

 “Will you gouge out the eyes of these men?” And now the ultimate manipulation. Moshe never threatened them or anyone else. Moshe called them to come to speak with him, but their response implies Moshe’s desire to punish the entire group (the 250 men) in a most violent method. Dathan and Abiram are creating an implied threat in order to make themselves seem greater.

 “We will not come up!’” This is both the first and the last phrase of their response, which is a classic rhetorical maneuver. Stated alone and it seems a simple refusal; stated as the bookends of this dramatic response and it is a statement of their virtue.

 The fact that Dathan and Abiram’s response can be sliced apart to highlight elements of propaganda says far more about them than even their decision to involve themselves in Korach’s machlokes. And Moshe’s responding action does the same:

 “And Moshe was very distressed (with anger). And he said to Hashem, ‘Do not accept their offering. I have not taken a donkey from a single one of them, and I have not harmed a single one of them.’ Moshe said to Korach, ‘You and your entire congregation should be before the Lord. You, they, and Aaron tomorrow…’” (16:15-16).

 There are several profound things about Moshe’s response, not the least which is the fact that he speaks to Hashem first. Moshe’s immediate action is to pray and to take a moment of self-reflection. His prayer, “Do not accept their offering,” demonstrates that Moshe was concerned that perhaps Hashem would not side with him, that perhaps he had done something wrong. And so, he asks for Hashem’s help specifically. His self-reflection is his declaration that he has not taken a donkey nor harmed a single one of them. Moshe somehow seems worried that Hashem will hear in Dathan and Abiram’s accusation of his bringing the people to die and lording it over them, an actual accusation of wrongdoing.

 Moshe’s next response is to repeat, with more details, the instructions he gave in 16:5, which is that they should come in the morning for a test before Hashem. Moshe removed himself and his ego from the conversation. Moshe is focused on the goal of serving Hashem properly, not of solidifying his leadership. He doesn’t get into a petty shouting match with the rebels. He presents an opportunity for them to prove their point. And, as the parsha goes on to explain, they fail.

 Words are powerful tools that must be wielded wisely. In Parshas Korach, we see a spiritual method of “think before you respond,” which is turn to Hashem and reflect on your own actions before you respond. More importantly, we must always be active listeners and readers who dissect the words we are fed. This is true in every aspect of our lives – from politics to friendships to family dynamics.

 I wish you all a Shabbas of peace.  

Parshas Naso – An Offering of Jealousy and Remembrance.

The parsha of the Sotah is, for many people, an uncomfortable one to read. If you are a woman of the current age, it feels unbalanced, unfair, and almost cruel. In the world at large, a man’s philandering wi considered just as grievous as a woman’s, and yet, in Torah, there is no concept of a cheating husband because, one could argue, the Torah permits a man to have four wives. There are many explanations for why there is this distinction, not the least of which is the basic, practical need to be assured of the paternity of children. Part of it, however, also has to due with the assumed nature of men and women, even as old fashioned and anti-modern thought as these Torah concepts may be (although these natures are still readily apparent, no matter what the modern culture wishes to assert). 

In Parshas Naso, the pasukim describe the process of accusing a Sotah. Among the instructions, it is described that “that party shall bring his wife to the priest. And he shall bring as an offering for her 1/10th ephah of barley flour. No oil shall be poured upon it and no frankincense shall be laid on it, for it is a meal offering of jealousy, a meal offering of remembrance a reminder of sin” (Bamidbar 5:15).

The different perspectives throughout history of marital dynamics, of the nature of husbands and wives and their relationship, has always colored the interpretations of the pasukim relating to the Sotah. Thus the Or Hachaim who lived in the 16th/17th century relates this pasuk to Adam and Chava and the “original sin,” stating: 

“When the Sotah drinks this mixture of water, earth and the residue of the holy name of Hashem that dissolved in that water, the name of the meal-offering as ‘reminder of sin’ is most appropriate if she has indeed been guilt of marital infidelity…Whoever is familiar with the sin of Eve who had been contaminated by sexual intercourse with the original serpent, and who had thus been disloyal to her husband, will realise that the sin the Sotah is guilty of is indeed the original sin committed by man, i.e. woman” (translation via Sefaria).

Relating Sotah only to the idea of a cheating wife is, in some ways, simplistic. A pasuk such as 5:15 tells us that there is so much more to it. What does the Torah mean that it is “a meal offering of jealousy, a meal offering of remembrance” when it is one meal offering? If it is a “reminder of sin,” meaning the original sin, as the Ohr Hachaim proposes,” why is it connected to jealousy? 

The descriptors of this particular mincha offering are subtle warning signs to both the husband and the wife. To the wife it is a warning that the husband will be vindicated if she is untrue, that he can and will bring her forward to the high priest and have his wrongs made right. To the husband, however, it is a warning that jealousy, too, is an avaira, that the course he is embarking on will have deep ramifications, even if his wife is proven innocent. 

Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsh points out that “the husband can prefer to have the marriage concluded, or the wife, without admitting any guilt, can prefer divorce to continuing the marriage after her innocence has been proved, or simply does not wish to undergo the test. Neither the husband not the wife can be forced to have the test made.”

The wife, if she has been unfaithful, need not die. He can let her go; they can just end the marriage. By pursing the process of Sotah he is, most likely, seeking some level of revenge or to assert his dominance. (Unless he knows her innocence and feels a need to make a very public assertion of it.) If the woman is willing to undergo the Sotah waters after her husband accuses her, it seems this would be an assertion of innocence, for she would simply die. If she refuses to partake in the Sotah ceremony, it seems this would be reason enough to simply end the marriage.

The great and painful sin of the situation of the Sotah is, in truth, the real original sin – but not the one this foreign phrase refers to. The sin of the Sotah is the underlying inability of the couple to build a relationship, the foster two halves into a whole, to overcome jealousy. Hashem is not asking the impossible of the husband. Hashem understands jealousy, and we, the Jewish people who have gone astray, remain here – alive and thriving. 

Just some food for thought. Hope you have a beautiful Shabbas.

SHAVUOS – The Chizuk of a Metaphysical Marriage

There is, going around on social media, an adorable replica of the typical engagement announcement/invitation to an engagement party that have become all the rage for parents to send out to their family and friends. This replica, however, has in place of the names of the bride and groom, Hashem and Klal Yisrael. Shavuos and Matan Torah are often compared to a wedding, to the time when the Jewish people are wedded to Hashem. It’s a beautiful and sweet analogy… sort of.  

Marriage is a word that we think should conjure up the emotions of love and trust. That is an ideal that some people are blessed to have on an individual level, but many are not. But, on a metaphysical level, our marriage with Hashem is one that Klal Yisrael can depend on.

It’s interesting to note that there are a lot of relationships in the Book of Ruth. Naomie is married to Elimelech, who alters the entire course of what was probably a normal, steady, happy life for his wife and their sons by deciding to move them to Moav. It isn’t a simple move. According to tradition, he moved to avoid the onus of responsibility to use his wealth to support the people of Yehuda during a time of famine or to avoid seeing his people suffer. Either way, he fled ignobly to a country known to be at odds with Israel and quite often the source of their suffering.  

The Midrashim make it quite clear that the move was not the desire of Naomi, but a woman goes where a woman must. She lived in Moav and raised her family, and she never stopped longing for her homeland. Her sons married local princesses. Her husband died. Her sons died. Through all that she remained steady and was then ready to return home.  

Steady, loyal Naomi was the woman that Ruth and Orpa saw. This was the woman that inspired them to want to stay with their foreign, former mother-in-law when life in a palace potentially awaited them. Through whatever pain or suffering or turmoil Naomi went through, she had one constant, and that was a desire to return to her old life. Not the old life as the wife of a wealthy merchant prince, which she knew was a life that was now long lost to her. She was yearning to be among klal Yisrael, to be in a place where her neshama could best connect to Hashem. 

What Ruth followed when she followed Naomi, when she crossed into the land of Yehuda, was the desire to be part of something truly holy, something far bigger than she had ever known. She wasn’t interested in joining a new nation, per say. Ruth wanted to follow her mother-in-law because she wanted to be in the same relationship with the Divine that Naomi was. They had both experienced hardship. They had both suffered from widowhood and were left, in the end, childless. But Naomi still had her unwavering commitment to Torah and avodas Hashem, and to the understanding that Hashem still loved her as a member of His people no matter where she had been. This is what Ruth longed for. This is what she sought. 

The marriage of Hashem and Klal Yisrael is about commitment. It’s about a commitment to being committed. It means knowing that in all times – good, bad, or otherwise – the relationship is one’s foundation. Naomi knew it. She did what she had to do, but she did not lose track of who she was or where she was meant to be. And Ruth saw that and knew that a commitment of that magnitude meant something. It was beyond the commitment of a mortal concept of love or partnership, because Klal Yisrael became, with the acceptance of the Torah, partners with Hashem, and Hashem is an unfailing, ever-giving partner. Those who recognize it, give with steady, honest devotion to the best of their abilities. And Ruth wanted to be in that relationship with the Divine. 

At some point in most of our lives, we are like Naomi and like Ruth: strangers – individuals in a strange place with few, if any, people whom we know, let alone trust. Almost all of us have, as well, had times in which we suffered silent anguish, when our pain or our pride was so great that we could not share our troubles with anyone around us for fear that just mentioning it would burst us apart. Most of us, in spite of the challenges or the fear or the sense of a void, choose to move forward, choose to maintain a commitment to the eternal essence of the Jewish people…and that is what the holiday of Shavuos is all about. It’s about commitment.

Shavuos is once again upon us. The celebration of receiving the Torah at Har Sinai. The anniversary of our commitment. So pull out some wedding cake (cheesecake), stand up to a good book (Torah, Rus….), and celebrate your ongoing, ever-present relationship with the Hashem.

Parshas Acharei Mos-Kedoshim: Holiness and Our Parents

The double parsha of Acharei Mos- Kedoshim begins with Hashem’s instructions for Aaron (and any future kohain gadol) on the process of attaining atonement for the Jewish people.  As is well known, the Biblical Yom Kippur service required Aaron to take two goats, one for an offering and the other to receive the sins of Bnei Yisrael and then be cast off a mountain. The Torah describes the process thus: “Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites, whatever their sins, putting them on the head of the goat; and it shall be sent off to the wilderness through a designated agent” (Vayikra 16:21).

 

Kol avonos Bnei Yisrael – all of the sins of Bnei Yisrael. How in the course of this one ritual could the kohain gadel confess ALL of the sins of Bnei Yisrael? Unfortunately, that would probably take a lot of time. Chizkuni explains, citing Sifre, that the kohain gadol would make a general statement saying: “The Children of Israel committed inadvertent sins, deliberate sins as well as sins reflecting their obstinacy against the Lord.”

 

The ritual was fulfilled by a blanket statement covering every type of aveira because every type of aveira transgressed the defining mitzva of the second parsha of the week: Kodeshim tiheeyu, holy you shall be, and it continues “for holy am I, the Lord your God” (19:2).  The commandment to be holy is a complicated one given that to be holy like Hashem requires a level of perfection that most individual humans cannot even imagine.

 

Parshas Kedoshim then includes an extensive list of mitzvos. Actually, the parsha contains the commandment for holiness in two places. First in the pasuk cited above and again in the next Perek: “You shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I, Hashem, am your God. You shall faithfully observe My laws: I, Hashem, make you holy” (20:7-8). It is interesting to note then, that both commandments to be holy are followed by references to halachos of kibbud av v’aim. Vayikra 19:3 says: “Each man you shall revere his mother and his father, and My Sabbaths you shall observe.” Vayikra 20:9: “If anyone curses his father or his mother, that person shall be put to death; that person has cursed his father or his mother—and retains the bloodguilt.”

 

These two mitzvos are a fascinating reflection of the rest of the mitzvos of Parshas Kedoshim in that they included commandments that are both positive and negative. This is, perhaps, an excellent reminder that in our work on being holy, we should neither be fully about restrictions nor only about action. The Torah provides a structure of balance, as well as a recognition that the human condition is…complicated.

 

Think about it: If I revere my mother and my father, fulfilling the first mitzvah, then it seems impossible that I should ever come to curse my parents. All too often, however, life puts us on unforeseen paths that lead us to unexpected situations.

 

But why kibbud av v’aim? Why is this mitzvah so strongly connected to the commandment to be holy? Perhaps we should look at it from the perspective of the famous gemara that says that there are three partners in the creation of a human being – the father, the mother, and Hashem. Thus how we treat our parents is a reflection of our relationship to Hashem. (The optimal word here is “treat,” and this is not to suggest that one must accept an abusive or negative parental relationship. However, even in a negative situation, one can still remember the basic level of hakaras hatov to those who gave one life.) If one cannot treat their parents with some level of reverence for having given them life, for having raised them to adulthood, for having instilled in them the basic morals and mores of being a good person, how can one hope to have the proper reverence to emulate Hashem?

 

How one treats one’s parents is also a significant indication of how one treats other people. The mitzvos listed in Parshos Kedoshim makes clear that the Torah ideal of being holy is firmly rooted in bein adam l’chavero, interpersonal mitzvos. A person’s first and most ongoing interpersonal relationship is, normally, with one’s parents. And while childhood and teenagehood may be fraught with the natural battle for independence, once a person emerges into adulthood, they should be able to see and understand the inherent value of that relationship. A person who demonstrates generosity to the poor and restraint in judgements but who has no boundaries of behavior in this primal relationship cannot attain holiness because they are lacking a fundamental value.

 

Kodeshim tihiyu ki kadosh ani Hashem E-lo-keichem, holy you shall be because holy am I Hashem your God, is also understood to infer that attaining holiness is possible because of Bnei Yisrael’s inherent relationship with Hashem. The relationship comes from our parents. We can be holy because our parents, and our parents’ parents, and our parents’ parents’ parents, and etc, strove to maintain their relationship with the Divine. For while ““The Children of Israel committed inadvertent sins, deliberate sins as well as sins reflecting their obstinacy against the Lord,” they continued, throughout the generations, to strive toward the ultimate goal of being an am kadosh.

Parshas Tzav – Preparations

Perhaps the most honest statement a person today could express about this week’s parsha, and many of the parshios in Sefer Vayikra, is a confession of ignorance. We can imagine the sensations of holiness. We can conceptualize the ebb and flow of the offerings. We can discuss every detail of the necessary prayers and rituals. But, in truth, for most of us of the modern era (and even the not so modern era), the actuality of bringing live animals to a priest for him to slaughter and cut up and burn is extremely foreign. Indeed, as residents of a Western culture, one might even feel a negative taint to the concept - perhaps because we have come so far from being an agrarian society.

 

So what can one share in a Dvar Torah on the parshios of Sefer Vayikra? The sanctified rituals of the holy offerings may be distant from us, but the work of avodah is not. We may not serve Hashem in the same way as our ancestors, but we dedicate ourselves to His service in ways unique and significant to our own generation.

 

Parshas Tzav includes a description of Aaron and his sons’ investiture into the priesthood. This meant Moshe dressing them in their special garments and anointing them. This meant Moshe preparing offerings and burning them. This meant Moshe anointing the priests again, this time with oil mixed with blood from the altar, before they then consume the sacrificial meats.

 

The investiture of Aaron and his sons into the priesthood meant Aaron and his sons being instructed to remain in the Ohel Moed for seven days: “…until the day of the completion of your investiture days, he will inaugurate you for seven days. Everything done today, Hashem has commanded to be done [seven days], to make expiation for you. You shall remain at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting day and night for seven days, keeping Hashem’s charge—that you may not die—for so I have been commanded.” (8:33-35).

 

In order for Aaron and his sons to go through the full process of investiture, to achieve the full level sanctification, they must repeat the process dictated in Parshas Tzav for seven days. This week-long preparation resonates in particular at this time of year when our lives are full of preparation and repetition. Clean a room, and clean it again, and clean it again until the final check. Detailed preparation and waiting… waiting to get to a point of being able to perform our ritual celebrating the freedom of becoming Avdei Hashem.

 

Our avodah, particularly at this time of year, doesn’t necessarily feel like the concept of avodah discussed in the Torah. We talk about our tefilla being the equivalent to the avodah in the Beis Hamikdash. That is avodah as service, but avodah also means work. In the first half of Nissan, whether you are working on preparing your house or reviewing and mastering all of the laws of the holiday, the work is real, and real work can feel tedious and repetitive, especially when one studies the same texts year after year. But such repetitiveness plays an important role in our preparations.

Aaron and his sons spent seven days going through the same service in order to prepare themselves to be the spiritual leaders of klal Yisrael. Every day they were dressed in their vestements, and everyday they listened to Moshe instruct them on the rites of the sacrifice, and everyday they ate the meat of the sacrifices that Moshe brought. These were men chosen out for their spiritual greatness. These were people who had already been working on preparing themselves for their roles.  How easy it would have been for them to get frustrated at the repetition of their passive roles during these seven days. “And Aaron and his sons did all the things that Hashem had commanded through Moses” (8:36).

 

The process of preparation has its own level of significance and importance. For each day that they stayed in the Ohel and repeated the process of the day before, they garnered a more profound understanding of their responsibilities. Preparation is never just a means to an end, but rather a process unto itself. It may get frustrating. It may be challenging. But it must be viewed for its own inherent purpose and benefit.

 

There are many people who rejoice at the idea of going away for Pesach. The idea of not spending hours cleaning multiple rooms or “turning over” the kitchen seems enviable, and yet there are few Jews one would meet who do nothing to prepare their homes, because the process, too, is part of the celebration.

 

Wishing you all a good Shabbas, and a Pesach that is kasher and sameach and spiritually uplifting.

 

Parshas Vayikrah - Just Salt Here

My children tend to use an excessive amount of salt in their food. No matter what is served, their first instinct seems to be to grab the salt-shaker and pour. In a world where the supermarket offers a diverse selection of salts, they are generally out of touch with the incredible properties of this mineral.

In Parshas Vayikra, salt is mentioned in one pasuk - which, in a parsha that seems quite repetitious in its wording, should draw our attention. “And all of your meal offerings you shall salt; you shall not omit the salt of the covenant with your God, with all of your offerings you shall offer salt” (Vayikra 2:13).

Vayikra 2, where this verse is found, is a discussion of the Mincha offering, which accompanied the sacrifices. The mincha offering was a meal offering that was generally composed of flour, oil, and frankincense.. and, it seems, salt.

Commentators such as Rabbi Shimshon Rephael Hirsh make it a point to note that there is no bris related to salt but rather that here the Torah is comparing the covenant between Bnei Yisrael and Hashem to salt. The metaphor here is to the preservative nature of salt, which can conserve food for exceptionally long period of time. The bris of Hashem, the Torah and His promises to the Jewish people, is that which sustain us.

Rav Hirsh notes that salt is both a preservative and a corrosive, and, therefore, states: “If we…remember that decay is nothing but the working of the beginning of a new structure, we can take salt generally to represent unchangeableness. It closes an object into itself, and renders it not susceptible to exterior changing influences. To that extent it completely expresses the idea of bris, the basic underlying meaning of which [is]…to be separated and apart, quite independent and unaffected by outside influences.”

There are many fascinating characteristics one can discuss about salt. Most famously, it is an essential element in food preparation, not only because it enhances both taste and texture, but also because it acts as a binder.

 Additionally, when studying the Torah, one finds that salt has a linguistically fascinating feature. The Hebrew word Malach (salt) is a homonym for Malach, which means rule. The covenant between Hashem and Bnei Yisrael, His specific constitution (lhavdeel) for our people, is our preservation. The Torah is ever enduring. One could say further that our minhagim and our traditions are that which enhance the taste and texture of our lives. Finally, the decree to salt is reserved for the mincha offering, for the offering that accompanied almost every other type of sacrifice, because the karbanos bound us to Hashem and raised up our love for Him.

 We do not have a Beis Hakidash today, and we may have a hard time envisioning the actual offering of the avodah. Nevertheless, we place the salt upon our tables and we dip our challah in salt so that we, too, can be constantly reminded of the incredible power of the Torah and the ever-enduring relationship of Hashem and His people.

 

Shabbat Shalom.

Parshas Ki Tisa – It’s Really About Bechira

The incident of the Golden Calf is one of the strangest narratives in the Torah. How could everything degenerate so fast? How could Bnei Yisrael go from hearing Hashem’s voice at Har Sinai to demanding that Aaron make an idol for them, and how could Aaron actually help them?  And one last question might be, why does it seem as if Hashem is surprised; couldn’t Hashem have sent Moshe earlier to correct their mistake?

The Chait Haegel, the incident of the Golden Calf, is a critical moment not just in Jewish history, but in the development of the relationship of Hashem and Bnei Yisrael. In some ways, one could say that it is a crucial narrative to understanding the concept of bechira, free will.

“And Hashem said to Moshe,” Go, descend, for your people whom you have brought from the land of Egypt have acted corruptly. They have quickly turned away from the path that I have commanded them; they have made themselves a molten calf! And they have prostrated themselves before it, slaughtered sacrifices to it, and said: ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who have brought you up from the land of Egypt.’ And Hashem said to Moshe: ‘I have seen this people and behold they are a stiff-necked people’” (32:7-9).

Why does Hashem tell Moshe as if Hashem had not known what was happening? After all, Hashem is omniscient. Hashem was aware of the actions of the people before they were fully aware of their own actions. The intent of the people is explained as the people’s panicking over a miscalculation of when Moshe would return, so all Hashem had to do was demonstrate that Moshe was fine or send Moshe down early. Instead, Hashem let the people run their course.

 Forty days earlier, Bnei Yisrael made a choice that, according to the Midrash, was not 100% a choice. At Har Sinai, Bnei Yisreal accept the Torah when they declared Naaseh v’nishmah, we will do and we will listen. But, according to the Midrash, they accepted the Torah with a mountain over their head, with a threat of destruction. Commentaries who discuss this midrash discuss its impact on the concept of bechira, free will.

 Receiving the Torah at Har Sinai was an exceptional moment in many, many ways. The very nature of the world was altered at that moment. The desert mountain sprouted flowers. Lightening was seen and thunder was heard (a poetic take on the text – sorry).  It was now the time to enter into the era of the Torah, and so, on some level, even bechira was suspended.

 Forty days later – forty days into having accepted the covenant with Hashem – the nature of the world was back in order. The people had full bechira, and, therefore, Hashem could not intervene.  And since the people acted of their own free will, Hashem could, and did, react to their choices (which, of course, put in motion so many other critical moments to the world, as it was designed).

 The Chait Haegel was Bnei Yisrael’s first great misstep, but – as all parents know – one has to let a child make mistakes in order for them to grow. Falling is part of learning to walk.

 There are many questions one might ask on the text of Shemos 32, both because one wants to understand how those who, only a little over a month before, had heard Hashem and accepted the Torah could cry our for and celebrate an idol and because the text itself is filled with fascinating nuances. And in this, too, there is a lesson.

 Life is not simple. No person and no people act from one singular motivation. Hashem is aware of all of the factors that impact each and every one of us, as an individual and as a nation. But Hashem leaves it up to us to choose our responses, to put our choices into action. We do not control the shape of the world, but we have been given the ability to take an active role in shaping our individual lives. 

Parshas Titzaveh - The Significance of Color

Small children often think, perhaps jokingly, that the lives of their parents or grandparents was once in black and white, like the old pictures. It is a cute joke or a sweet inquiry on the part of naïve children who believe that all grown-ups are old and color is a modern day invention. In some ways, however, thinking of the past as a monochromatic world is not limited to children. It is not just the fact that our own personal memories are more subdued than real life. The 21^st century feels bright and vibrant and pulsing with attention seeking behavior. Every step “forward” in technology feels like it changes the spectrum of the life we live. In 2019, there was an article about students at MIT creating “the blackest black,” and, in 2020, there was an article about students at Purdue creating the “whitest white”; we seem to believe that we actually have the power to create improved color.

 

And so it is that we often think of the ancient past in faded tones. We have a natural instinct to think of the men and women wandering in the dessert dressed in neutral tones, in grays and tans and beiges. Parshas Titzaveh, however, reminds us that the most spiritually elevated of our ancestors was swathed in lush color. The garments of the kohain gadol were not somber, but rather were richly worked with blue and purple, crimson and scarlet, and, of course, gold. The Choshen Mishpat was deliberately stones of different colors.

 

So what? It isn’t particularly revealing that they created color in the wilderness, that the Mishkan and the bigdei kahuna (priestly garments) were designed to be beautiful. What can we of the 21^st century learn from this? We aren’t building the Mishkan. We have token kibbudim (honors) for those we recognize as kohanim since we do not have the Beis Hamikdash. And we have no kohein gadol for whom to produce magnificent garb. Perhaps, however that there is a reminder of the basic Jewish value of embracing and creating beauty. This is not an aspiration of art for art’s sake or fashion for vanity, but art and clothing for elevation. Hashem wants us to emulate His ability to create. In many people, it is a driving force of their neshamos.

 

From an outside point of view, particularly in our “advance technological age” with its flashing lights and blackest blacks, the religious world looks austere. It looks old-fashioned and thus muted. In many ways, our own communities strive for that appearance as a contrast to the outside world. And it is a value of our nation to maintain a separate identity, a distinguished appearance that sets us apart and maintains our traditions.  

 

In some ways, however, our traditional communities have been creating their own blackest blacks and whitest whites. When we learn about the flash and color of the bigdei of the kohain gadol and the Mishkan itself, there is, perhaps, a reminder, that color is beautiful. Color brings joy and joy brings gratitude and seeing dignified, richly hued clothing, like seeing a glorious sunset or a beautiful rose, provides an opportunity to thank Hashem for the pleasure of sight.

 

In describing the clothing of the kahain gadol, Parshas Titzaveh also details the creation of the choshen, of the breastplate that bore twelve precious stones. Each stone represents a different tribe, and each stone had its own unique color and characteristics  - and it is interesting to note that some of the stones are multi-colored. The beauty of the Jewish people is our diversity within the same world, how there are “70 faces to the Torah.” We all share the same goal, the desire to serve Hashem and to elevate the world we live in, but how we do that is unique. Those unique shades of being, the colors of who we are, are what represent our people at its most elevated state.

Parshas Va’eira: Chaos and Wonders

We live in a complex world. We live in a world that is full of the unexpected, the unexplained, and, sometimes, the unimaginable. And while you might be thinking of rare birds or hidden desert waterfalls, of glittery bioflorescent microorganisms or something as bizarre as the blob fish (which is pretty wonderously ugly), the world’s wonders are far more than those we see in nature. There are wonders in world events. There are wonders in human behavior. And there are wonders in the our personal spiritual worlds as well. 

This weeks’ pasha, Parshas Vayera, is all about wondesr. It records seven of the ten plagues that assailed Mitzrayim. The makkos were truly wondrous. Each one was rife with power and symbolism. And each one sounds terrifying to live through.

The Midrashim make it clear that none of the plagues effected the Israelites. According to tradition, the water in Jewish homes stayed water, and the Mitzrim had to buy clean water from their own slaves. Similarly, the frogs went into every home in Mitzrayim, but not into the homes of Bnei Yisrael. Nor were the Children of Israel covered in lice. 

It is interesting to note, however, that the protection of the Israelites from the impending devastation is not mentioned by Moshe to Pharoah until the fourth makka, the plague of swarms of insects, when Moshe says: “And I will separate on that day the land of Goshen, upon which My people stand, that there will be no swarm of insects there, in order that you know that I am the Lord in the midst of the earth” (Shemos 8:18). 

Until the fourth plague, there was, perhaps, doubt among the Israelites as to what was going on in their world. After all, they had not lined up in support of Moshe. When Moshe and Aaron’s first attempt at talking to Pharoah failed, the Israelites’s lives were made more difficult. This certainly would not have fostered trust in their minds, so why would they believe that he would really be able to protect them. 

Imagine what it must have been like to be an Israelite during these 1st few plagues. Terrifying yet wondrous things were happening all around you. Yes, those beings afflicted were your tormenters, your taskmasters, and while it would have been wonderful to see them suffer, imagine the anxiety of waiting to see what effect this would all have on your life. 

Now add to the sudden chaos the fact that Pharoah’s necromancers were known to have powerful magic and that they had already demonstrated an ability to change water in to blood. They were also able to call up frogs from the Nile. This sort of magic was not foreign to them. Indeed, they even believed that they could create lice from dust; and it was only when they failed to do so that the threat of their abilities was truly muted (even though their blood and frogs were inconsequential compared to the actual makkos).

Mitzraym continued to descend into chaos, becoming a terrifying place. The Israelires were safe, but they could not have been unaffected. Many Israelites took Moshe’s path, but many did not. We know from tradition that only one fifth of Bnei Yisrael followed Moshe into the Wilderness. The other 80 percent did not, it seems, see or appreciate that Bnei Yisael stood apart. 

On Pesach we make declarations about “every generation.” This is reality. Every generation has to face times of strife and times of chaos. We do not live in a time of revealed miracles or miraculous plagues (Thank God) or unquestionable leaders. But the Jewish people now, as always, live on a path all of our own. When the chaos of the world seems overwhelming, look back at Mitzrayim. We aren’t promised a life without pain, a life withough fear, or a life without challenges, but we were promised, as a nation, that we would be set aside and protect. And so we are to this day. 

Shabbat Shalom