Parsha Behaaloscha - The Source of the Taiva

In a parsha whose name seems to speak of a path of elevation – Behaaloscha, In your Going Up – it is interesting to find a chapter that speaks of a path of descent, of Bnei Yisrael falling low. The chapter is Perek t“h, and the main discussion of the perek is the complaints of the people about their food in the Midbar. It is a fascinating study in human psychology. The complaining in Perek t“h is not a single extended event, but it is sequential. It begins with a general sense of unease, a feeling among the people that leads them to grumble or look askance or even to just have heavy hearts of malcontent. It earns them God’s ire and Moshe’s prayers.

 

The second situation is, according to 11:4, set off by the riffraff, the camp followers whose allegiance to Hashem and the nation is highly suspect. They do not trust Hashem, and their lack of essential emuna undermines Bnei Yisrael. The people begin to speak of a longing for the foods they once ate in Egypt because food is comfort, it’s the familiar, and it gives direction to the sense of unease that is building inside of them. By looking back to Egypt, by looking at the outside world, they build false memories of a happier life. These false memories overshadow the facts, block out their ability to see the brachos that they have before them – namely at this juncture, the blessing of the manna, which fell as dew and, according to the Midrash, tasted like whatever a person wished it to taste.

 

This second time of discontent was almost as subtle as the first, and yet it was far more damaging. It undermined the nation because the people feared openly expressing their feelings. Perhaps each complaint seemed petty in their mind, and so they let it sit inside and fester. Or perhaps they did not wish to bother Moshe, but instead they let their unease continue to build within. By never speaking openly of their thoughts, however, they never had the opportunity to question them. Instead, they spoke of their longing and worries only in close quarters, in ways that created echo chambers and perpetual angst.

 

The final act of discontent is not a complaint. There are no words spoken. Rather it was expressed in action. When Hashem blew a squall of quails off course to land at the encampment of Bnei Yisrael, the Israelites gathered them with more than just enthusiasm. They gathered the quail “day and night and all the next day” (Bamidbar 11:32). Hashem presented them a path to what they thought they wanted, and those who were overwhelmed with taiva, with desire, fell to it in a way that proved that they could not be ovdei Hashem (servants of Hashem), for they were so detached from themselves they could fall upon the meat like animals. They gathered it day and night and all the next day, and it was a contrast to the Manna, which was gathered once a day – a sufficient amount. The quail made them ill. Their gluttony proved their disrespect and disregard for the steady, comforting blessing of manna that came from Hashem.

 

The underlying tragedy of the incident of the quail – highlighted by the language of the beginning of the perek that the people were like mourners or that the people took to complaining – was that the discontent really came from within, not from actual deprivation. The people were rife with emotions. They were overwhelmed at their new spiritual undertaking and believed they would not live up to Hashem’s expectations (R’ Shimshon Rafael Hirsch). They were disturbed by the tediousness of the journey (Rashbam) and the discomforts of travel (Rabbeinu Bahya). They were worried and already sorrowful at the thought of fighting (and perhaps of people dying) to conquer the land (Daas Zkainim). In modern terms, one might say that the people complained about food because it was familiar, that they “ate their emotions.”

 

What, one might then ask, is the connection of this discontentment to the secondary theme of Perek t“h, which is the granting of prophecy to the 70 elders who were gathered together at God’s command? Perhaps they were called forth now as a counterweight to the erev rav, the riffraff who lacked any spiritual anchor. Hashem granted them a share of the Holy Spirit that rested upon Moshe and, in so doing, allowed the entire nation to see that what Hashem asked of them was possible, that the promises He made were far more real than the watermelons they dreamed of back in Egypt. Instead of one man (Moshe) to whom some could probably not relate, Hashem gave them a Sanhedrin, a court of elders to whom they could look to find guidance – men who had come from backgrounds similar to their own.  

 

The choosing of the elders happened before the quail arrived, and it seems that the goal of returning hope and joy and a spiritual goal worked for many of the people. While the Torah says that the people went out to gather the quail, it does not say all of the people, and when the Torah records those who died of the gluttonous plague, the Torah says that the place was named as a reminder of those who had had the craving, inferring that not all of the people grabbed for the quail.

 

In a parsha titled with a theme of elevation, the discrepancy of a chapter detailing the nation’s descent into discontentedness may seem out of place, until one remembers that the Torah is a guidebook. Perek t“h demonstrates how something that seems like an external taiva (craving, desire) – in this case the quail – may, indeed, be a deeper reflection of a spiritual anxiety, and the way to sooth a spiritual anxiety is to draw oneself close to those who have a deep spiritual connection and can help you raise yourself up.

 

  

Parsha Naso – What the Nazir Saw

 The commentators say that the reason the portion of the Nazarite comes immediately after the discussion of the Sotah is because anyone who has seen the Sotah in her disgrace will wish to abstain from wine in order to avoid such a scenario happening again. This statement brings to mind the frequent conversations that one now sees online about the effects of trauma, driving home a bit of understanding at how horrific it was for others to witness the Sotah ceremony or perhaps even to witness the deterioration of the relationship that led to the ceremony.

The Sotah, the wife accused of adulterous behavior who must drink from a ritual formula that could, if she is guilty, cause “her belly shall distend and her thigh shall sag” (Numbers 5:27), is a drastic seeming section of the Torah. As horrible as one might perceive it, especially from a 21st century point of view where such strict monogamy seems to no longer be an accepted cultural norm beyond the religious community, there is much to be fascinated about in the Torah’s description of the process. Most particularly, the fact that great stress is placed on the husband’s attitude of jealousy and suspicion – emphasizing that getting to the point of bringing a woman forth to drink from the Sotah water is not simply a result of her behavior but of the dynamics of their relationship. Even having warned her before witnesses, the husband can choose to divorce the woman before publicly humiliating her with the test of the Sotah, before proving her wrong or, more drastically, making certain she suffers.

The fact is that it is very rare to see a Torah commandment that is so dependent on the emotional space of the people involved. And as we all know, human emotions can become extreme, which is, perhaps, what leads to the Nazarite. The person who takes a Nazarite vow is reacting to the world around them by attempting to control outside factors that influence their emotions.

The most obvious of these factors is alcohol, which a Nazir abstains from to the extreme in that the Nazir may not even taste something made with any part of the grape. Alcohol influences emotions differently for different people. In many, it lowers inhibitions, relaxes one’s concern about social mores and appropriate interactions. … which might lead to flirting and inappropriate behavior between people who should not be acting thus. It also can enhance one’s sense of self, meaning one’s righteous ire and one’s need to prove a point (often with anger – think of those notorious bar fights). In other words, it might make one more prone to jealous, suspicious thoughts even when the other party is innocent or make one prone to clutch on to a need to prove that they were right about their spouse.

Another major factor in seeking to control that which influences our emotions is attraction/love/lust. The second restriction of the Nazarite is cutting the hair, which Yochanan Kirschblum, in his book Thinking Outside the Box (published by Israel Bookshop), notes is really the only physical attribute given to us by God that we can shape and mold (without outside application such as make up). Most people put a great deal of their physical identity into their hair (or even their hair covering, in the case of married women). By letting one’s hair go “au natural,” without a razor or scissor touching the Nazir’s locks, one is setting a reminder to themselves that vanity, the primping and preening that lead to attraction/love/lust are the side of our emotional being that is connected to our more animalistic side, and one must look at one’s fellows (and be looked at by one’s fellows) for what is in their heart and soul. Looking at the world “all done up” in physical charm was, perhaps, what led to the terrible events of the Sotah.

The third powerful emotion is sorrow or despair. When a person witnesses a tragedy, particularly if it is one they have a hard time understanding the reasoning for, there is a desire to disconnect, to hide from the facts, or to fight to bring justice when one thinks justice has been mishandled. And while in this discussion, the Nazir may, perhaps, have witnessed the Sotah trial, watching a core of Jewish life be destroyed, that is a singular situation. A far more common situation is dealing with death. Witnessing or connecting to death can take a person, emotionally, out of focus from the world. The Nazir, who must, of course, still live in the world and be aware of death and sorrow, must set him or herself apart from the full impact of these emotions. The Nazir does so by refraining from any contact with a corpse, which for many people today seems easy but nevertheless having the need to remain conscientious of it at all times acts as a guard for the Nazir not to let the emotions of sorrow or despair become overwhelming.

Taking a Nazarite vow is an extreme reaction. While it is praiseworthy to want to protect oneself from letting one’s emotions become destructive, the Torah commands the Nazir to bring a sin offering at the end of their avowed time because, according to one widely held opinion, they have added unnecessary constraints to their life – perhaps inferring that the God given laws of the Torah were not enough (chas v’shalom).

It is interesting to note that the Nazir adds constraints, almost punishments, on his/her own life. The husband of the Sotah adds punishment to the life of his spouse. There is a prescribed death penalty for adultery, and there is the fact that Hashem knows all of our deeds and will offer our rewards and punishments as best suits His will. The ceremony of the Sotah, however, is for suspected adultery, and, in choosing this path rather than divorcing the wife whom he must surely have come to hate, the husband is adding his own level of punishment.

We live in a world that can be very confusing. There has been so much pain and suffering that we have witnessed – and pain and suffering always stand out, although there have been many wonderful blessings in the world as well – that it is easy to start demanding constraints and to suspect others of misbehavior and causing these tzoros. But the lesson that we can take from the Nazir and the Baal Sotah, perhaps, is to remember that Hashem created the world and gave us His Torah. Hashem and His Torah are perfect, we do not need to add to it, we need to strive harder to live up to it.

Parshas Bamidbar - Sometimes the Unexpected Happens

The third chapter of the fourth book of the Torah begins with what appears to be a straightforward recounting of the history of the kahuna, the priesthood. It does so as an introduction to the detailed accounting of the tribe of Levi, having already recorded the enumeration and placement of the other tribes in the first two perakim. All of this counting is why the English title for the book is Numbers, but in Hebrew it is called Bamidbar, In the Wilderness.

Midbar, the Hebrew word for wilderness, is actually rather interesting in itself. The core of the word is devar, which means word or thing, and the prefix mem usually represents the idea of "from," as in having come from or having derived from. This becomes even more interesting when one realizes that Bamidbar leads to Devarim, the fifth book of the Torah, which has the same core root and means "words" or "things," and which is the sefer that recaps almost all of the Torah from the Exodus on, including the laws. (Devarim is often referred to as the Mishne Torah or Second Torah.) In order to get to Devarim, to the end of the journey and the place of Hashem's words. Bnei Yisrael had to get through the wilderness.

While it is true that there are some people who prefer life on the wild side, most people by nature desire basic structure and stability. We build homes and families so that we can go about our lives with a sense of security that there is a place where our basic needs will be met. Indeed, we agree to live by rules and laws and mores so that those homes will be protected. Sometimes, however, we end up in the wilderness, whether deliberately so as one heads to new ground or by wandering because one has lost their way. This fact, that life does not always follow the plan that we expect it to, need not weaken our movement to our final goal - to structure and stability and, ultimately, to Devarim, the words/things with which we serve Hashem.

This is a lesson we see in Bamidbar 3. Sefer Bamidbar begins with who (the specific counting of Bnei Yisrael) and how (the detailed directions on the organization of their encampment) Bnei Yisrael got through the Midbar - that is until perek gimmel (chapter 3), which begins:

"This is the line of Aaron and Moshe at the time that the Lord spoke with Moshe on Mount Sinai. These were the names of Aaron’s sons: Nadav, the firstborn, and Avihu, Elazar and Ithamar; those were the names of Aaron’s sons, the anointed priests who were ordained for priesthood. But Nadav and Avihu died by the will of the Lord, when they offered alien fire before the Lord in the wilderness of Sinai; and they left no sons. So it was Elazar and Ithamar who served as priests in the lifetime of their father Aaron" (3:1-4).

A quick summary of the Levites' responsibilities follows, and then "The Lord spoke to Moshe, saying:I hereby take the Levites from among the Israelites in place of all the firstborn, the first issue of the womb among the Israelites: the Levites shall be Mine. For every firstborn is Mine: at the time that I smote every firstborn in the land of Egypt, I consecrated every firstborn in Israel, man and beast, to Myself, to be Mine, the Lord’s" (3:11-13).

Think about what the Torah has just pointed out! It was intended that Aaron and all four of his sons would be Kohanim, but Nadav and Avihu died. The firstborn were intended to be the ones to serve the Kohanim. Hashem even announced that He had sanctified them for this purpose, but they proved themselves unfit and the plan was "adjusted" for the tribe of Levi to assume that role. Slight shifts in the plan but all part of the ultimate journey through the wilderness.

Life often send us on unexpected paths, some times heartbreaking detours that drastically shift a structure of their life foundation. The path ahead seems less clear and perhaps there is a desire to throw one's hands heavenward and ask Hashem why. We who are on our journeys through the wilderness do not get to have the answers - and that is so very hard - but here in Bamidbar 3, Hashem does provide a guided response. The wilderness holds the unpredictable, but the journey must go on and so one must adjust. One must reframe their world and live it differently than expected, but one must always continue to move forward.

Parshas Emor: Finding Meaning in the Holidays

Although we know that the names of parshios are based on the first significant word in the divided section, Emor – Say – is appropriate even for the second chapter, the section that discusses the Jewish festivals. In chapter 23, each of the holidays is introduced by the phrase: “Vayidaber Hashem el Moshe laymor, And God spoke to Moshe to say.” The phrase is used as follows: 23:1 - it leads to an announcement that the festivals designated as a holy convocation are about to be listed, Shabbas above all, and then Pesach (23:1-8). 23:9 – is a discussion and description of the bringing of the omer and the counting of the 50 days until the offering of the loaves on the 50th day, which is Shavuos. (23:9-21). 23:24 – introduces a short section only two verses long that tells the people of the holiday of the Shofar (23:24-25). 23:26 – is the description of Yom Kippur. (23:26-32). And 23:33 – instructs the Jewish people about Sukkos (23:33-36). After 23:33-26, the Torah states, “These are the appointed festivals of Hashem that you shall proclaim as holy convocations to offer”… and then lists the offerings.

It seems a neat and tidy package set off at the beginning and end by a firm declaration that these are the holidays. And yet, that it is not exactly neat and tidy because there are two strange discrepancies that completely ignore the “And God Spoke to Moshe to say” pattern. The first are verses 23:22-23, which is skipped in the above summary. The second are verses 23:39-43.

In the middle of the description of the holidays and at the conclusion of the instructions on the holiday of Shavuos, the Torah seems to interrupt itself to say: “When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not remove completely the corners of your field as you reap, and you shall not gather the gleanings of your harvest for the poor and the prostelyte shall you leave them. I am Hashem, your God.” As significant a mitzvah as this is, it is not a commandment specifically connected to either the seasonal mitzvah of counting the Omer (and the laws of what you can or cannot do with the Omer during that time) or the holiday of Shavuos. And with the addition of the last three words, Ani Hashem Ehlokeichem (“I am Hashem, your God”), it is almost as if these two verses were taken from parshas Kiddushim and dropped randomly into the description of the holy convocations during which special offerings were to be brought as part of the holiday celebrations.

The second incongruity is that the perek does not conclude with Verses 23:37-38 declaration that these are the appointed time. The perek continues on with a second description of the holiday of Sukkos, a description that includes the commandments of lulav and esrog and the dwelling in booths (sukkos) and is not introduced by “And God spoke to Moshe to say.” This subsection begins with a far more descriptive explanation of the time: “But on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you gather in the crop of the Land, you shall celebrate Hashem’s festival…”

That these two sets of verses are the “exceptions to the rule” in Chapter 23 signifies, perhaps, that there is a connection. Both sections remind us that, ultimately, everything we have truly belongs to Hashem.

The mitzvah of leaving the corner of one’s fields for those in need to come and glean from is a mitzvah not only of tzedakah, but also a reminder of Hashem’s Dominion. That which we have is a blessing from Hashem, and we must share it with our brethren.

The holiday of Sukkos, particularly our dwelling in temporary huts, has a similar “theme” that is only established in this final subsection of the perek. When it is time to rejoice in the gathering in of the crops, leave your sturdy house and your fine possessions and come dwell under the sky so that you remember that the ultimate source of blessing is Hashem.

One can also see significance in the order of these two sections. Although Chapter 23 is primarily about days of not working and the sacrifices to be brought to the Mishkan or Temple, underlying it all is a hint toward the agricultural cycle of the year, and agriculture is a general reference to parnasa (income). We begin in the spring by celebrating ourselves as a nation, and, almost immediately, we are reminded of the importance of mitzvos bein adam l’chaveiro – of taking care of one another. We end the year reflecting on our relationship with Hashem, and are reminded that Hashem is the ultimate source. One might think that it should be the opposite. Indeed, because of the name Rosh Hashana, we often think of the holidays of the seventh month as the beginning of the year. So too, when we think about spirituality we often think that it starts with the mitzvos bein adam l’makom, the mitzvos between man and God. But in Judaism, the interpersonal mitzvos come first. We must recognize that Hashem gives us blessings so that we can emulate His care of others in order to be able to recognize our true relationship with Him.

Parshas Kedoshim - For Our Daughters

 Let's talk about Shabbas... again. On a casual basis, without researching or counting, it is quite possible to suggest that there is no other topic in the Torah that is so often repeated - except, perhaps, the prohibitions of idolatry - than Shabbas. Other mitzvos, which seem obscure but are also detailed and complex - like don't mix wool and linen, are given very brief "attention" from the Torah. But it often feels as if Shabbas is mentioned once, or more, in every parsha. In Vayikra 19, it is even mentioned twice, in both Vayikra 19:3 and 19:30.

In this particular Dvar Torah, the verse being discussed is 19:30. Before citing the verse, it is important - and interesting - to discuss the structure of this particular section of Vayikra's Parshas Kedoshim. Perak yud'tes (Chapter 19) begins with Hashem telling Moshe to command Bnei Yisrael: "You shall be holy, for holy am I, Hasham, your God" (19:2). Throughout the rest of the perak, every 1 to 5 verses are punctuated with the words Ani Hashem or Ani Hashem Ehlokeichem. Therefore, what is interesting about Vayikra 19:30 is not the verse alone, but also the verse to which it is attached: "Do not profane your daughter to make her a harlot, lest the land become lewd, and the land become filled with depravity. My Sabbaths shall you observe and My Sanctuary shall you revere - I am Hashem" (19:29 - 30).

Before a debate of modern mores on women's rights kicks off, let us please remember that 20th/21st century feminism is not the Torah's goal. In our day, it is the responsibility of every Jew to understand the Torah's values and live them in a modern context. Our current era is quick to rise and decry a perceived patriarchal tone without looking for a deeper purpose to the laws and going beyond how we know they were lived for thousands of years in less liberal societies.

Verse 29 could be read as a directive of family values. The word for profane is t'challel, which is the same verb as chilul Hashem, most often translated as a desecration of Hashem but is also understood as doing an act that causes others to devalue Hashem and Torah.

Throughout the Torah, there appears to be a great emphasis on teaching our sons - although one might debate the male noun/pronoun is also used for mixed gender multiples and the Torah does not waste words with he/she and his/hers. While most commentators discuss verse 29 in a context of not encouraging improper relations, one might be able to read it as a call for being particularly conscientious in our treatment of our daughters, particularly in their teenage years when a warning such as this seems most practical and when most would say our daughters are prone to be sensitive about how they are treated.

This idea is certainly a far leap from traditional understanding of this verse, however, it makes certain sense in connection with "My Sabbaths shall you observe and My Sanctuary shall you revere" (19:30). As is so often the case, Hashem is providing a cure even before the illness. Shabbos is when we spend the most time with our families. Guard the Sabbath to guard your family. "My Sanctuary shall you revere" uses the term mkadshei, my holy places. When we demonstrate reverence for places designated as holy, we can learn and remember that Hashem has provided us, we who live without a Mishkan or a Temple, with opportunities to turn our homes into mikdashei me'at, we must put reverence in our home so our homes can be filled with kedusha.

What about the phrasing of 19:29 that says "lest the land become lewd, and the land become filled with depravity"? This part of the verse only emphasizes the fact of how important treating our daughters properly is. Notice that the verse does not talk about daughters in the plural, but rather "your daughter." A daughter of Israel grows up, imertz Hashem, to be a wife and mother, as well as a plethora of other titles. In these roles of wife and mother, she is the critical transmission point of Klal Yisrael, and each daughter is significant from stopping the land from being filled with depravity.

One final thought - verses 29 and 30 are coupled and concluded with Ani Hashem rather than Ani Hashem Ehlokeichem. Although I have not, right now, sat and studied each section of Vayikra 19 to confirm this thought, it is interesting to ponder the distinction between the exclusion and inclusion of Ehlokeichem. We know that the Divine name Ehlokim reflects din, justice/law, and the Divine name Hashem reflects rachamim, compassion. The fact that Vayikra 19:29-30 concludes with just Ani Hashem is another subtle lesson. Observe the Sabbath, revere the holy places, and raise your daughters - raise the future homes of Klal Yisrael - guided by rachamim.

Parshas Tazria/Metzora – The Challenge of Identity

 Society has always, in one way or another, acknowledged the connection between one’s emotional well being and one’s physical well being. In Medieval Times (and, alas, far after the so-called Dark Ages), doctors treated people’s psychological unwellness by treating their “Humors” (bodily fluids). In more recent times, we know that stress causes ulcers, thyroid can cause depression, and etc. It is clear that our bodies and our minds are deeply entangled. And yet it is still incredibly difficult, at least for me, to understand the parshiot of Tazria-Metzora, of an “illness” of the soul being reflected by a physical ailment. (And I will certainly note that I think a big part of my challenge is having grown up with the English translation of it being leprosy and then discovering that leprosy was caused by a bacterial infection and learning that leprosy is really just a very bad translation.)

As one reads the parsha one learns about the physical appearance of the blemish, and, in truth, the idea of strange discoloration is something that most people can envision and understand. But what about the very strange situation described in Vayikra 13:12-17:

If the eruption spreads out over the skin so that it covers all the skin of the affected person from head to foot, wherever the priest can see—if the priest sees that the eruption has covered the whole body—he shall pronounce the affected person clean; he is clean, for he has turned all white. But as soon as undiscolored flesh appears in it, he shall be unclean; when the priest sees the undiscolored flesh, he shall pronounce him unclean. The undiscolored flesh is unclean; it is leprosy. But if the undiscolored flesh again turns white, he shall come to the priest, and the priest shall examine him: if the affection has turned white, the priest shall pronounce the affected person clean; he is clean.

“If a person’s entire physical being becomes covered in a blemish” - this isn’t Vitiligo, the slow process of pigmentation loss. It is, as the pasuk notes, an eruption of blemish. Having just been taught that this very type of blemish indicates a spiritual impurity, the Torah is now teaching us that an entire body covered in this very blemish is to be declared pure, and if a patch of regular skin appears, then he is impure. It is, one could say, a rather shocking and confusing passage. Shocking because it is hard to imagine one erupting in a blemish that could cover the entire body, and confusing because said person goes in and out of the state of pure and impure.

The process, as I understand it, is that it starts as an initial impurity that, after having been declared impure, quickly spreads over the entire body. Now that it is over the entire body, the kohain looks at it and declares that it is not an impurity, it is a skin issue. If it is everywhere, it is clean and the person is pure. However, once it has been declared pure, or shortly thereafter, it shifts again and retreats creating a patch of the person’s original skin. Now the kohain says “Wait a minute, it is not a skin issue, it is an impurity.” This can go back-and-forth multiple times. As long as it is completely one way or the other, the person is pure, but the patches shift the person back to impurity.

In a way, this speaks greatly to the question of identity, a topic that appears to be a hot button issue today but, in reality, has always been an important part of human nature. Think about the stories of kids in high schools (public) who went “Goth,” declaring that they were asserting their independence, but it was clear that what they were asserting was their group identity.

We all, as human beings, struggle with identity. When we figure out how to be completely our true selves, we are pure. However, when we let that niggling self doubt of our path enter our minds, we are no longer are pure selves. This does not mean we should not question ourselves, that we should not follow correction of a halachic or hashkafic path of Torah, that we should not be involved in constant growth and readjustment.

One could give an extreme example, such as allowing comments made during a religious debate to cause one to question Torah, chas v’shalom. Without proper care, that small impurity can worm its way into one’s sense of self, can make one doubt things that are known to be truths.

One could also think of the silly, more mundane moments when who we are and what we like is challenged by other people. For instance, a person like sardines and enjoy having them for lunch, but the guy at the next seat tells him that eating sardines is weird. One could respond, “Well, , that’s your opinion” and continue eating sardines. But, quite often one might, instead, begin to worry that he is doing something unacceptable.

This is very normal for human beings to do. Our goal, and one of the biggest challenges of being people of faith in an unfaithful world (to sound like a charming book cover) is that we need to have tenacity to hold on to our point of view, to our inherent identity. If we let a random, outside thought create a blemish, then we must stop and recalibrate ourselves all over again, to get to the point where we can once again know for certain who we are and what our purpose is. Is this a natural process - yes! Is it a challenging process - yes! Is there something we can do about it - yes! It is what our people have always done. We study, we learn, and when we worry about the first signs of a patch of impurity, we take it to our spiritual experts, and we ask them for guidance.

*What I write here now are purely my thoughts, with no commentaries or midrashim having been researched, although someone may find something similar somewhere I want it to be stated because it is just my unbacked up ideas.

Parshas Shemini: Avoiding Emotional Judgements

 When one studies Torah, one is not just learning about the history and laws of the Jewish nation. Studying Torah is about learning life skills on a range of levels. In Parasha Shemini, we have the opportunity to learn about the hazards of letting our emotions decide our judgement of other people’s actions, and we do this through Moshe.

Moshe had a temper. It's a fact that we don't often think about because… well because he is Moshe. He is the ultimate eved Hashem, and is even called out in the Torah for his great humility. And while that is true, it is also true that there are several references to him reacting in anger. Some people have, perhaps, read that statement and felt offended at the presumption of negative traits. On the contrary, the idea of Moshe having a temper attests to the fact that he had enough passion to lead our stiff necked ancestors. Even more importantly, in every case of anger that is expressed in the Torah, Moshe’s primary reaction is about the honor due Hashem or protecting the Jewish people (even from themselves).

In Parshas Shemini, Moshe's emotion are very complex. The Mishkan is finally ready to be inaugurated. In the midst of the elaborate santicifaction ceremony for which has prepared for days, Nadav and Abihu are struck down for bringing an unasked for offering. Their deaths must be overlooked so that the sanctification can be completed, so Moshe must help his brother and two nephews put off their reactions. Aaron and his sons go on to a series a specific offerings. But something seems to have gone wrong in the completion of the ceremony, at least according to Moshe, for the Torah suddenly states: "Moshe inquired insistently about the he-goat of the sin-offering for behold it had been burned! And he was wrathful with Elazar and Itamar, Aaron’s remaining sons" (10:16).

Hashem commanded very specific steps and sacrifices for the day that the Mishkan was sanctified. Several of the sacrifices were meant to be eaten by the kohanim, Aaron and his sons, including the he-goat of the sin offering. Why then, Moshe needed to know, did they burn it?

The Torah’s words that Moshe “inquired insistently” and “was wrathful” tell us that he was led by his emotions in his reaction. Perhaps Moshe saw this as the kohanim being unable to take and follow instruction, that they could not truly serve Hashem properly. More humanely, perhaps he was worried that Elazar and Itamar had also, like their brothers, performed the service improperly and that they too might die. However, as Hashem did not appear to react, as he had with Nadav and Abihu, Moshe’s strong actions speak of underlying emotion driving him forward.

To conclude the situation, Aaron stepped in and said: “Was it they who this day offered their sin offering and their elevation offering before Hashem? Now that such things befell me - were I to eat this day's sin offering would Hashem approve?" (Vayikra 10:19).

In stepping between Moshe and his sons, in declaring his role and responsibility, Aaron was also explaining to Moshe that the deaths of Nadav and Abihu had effected the inauguration, even without their stopping and reacting. Aaron, Elazar, and Itamar were all now in a state known as onen. It is the first stage of mourning - after the death but before the burial. An onen is very limited in the performance of mitzvot, even if they are kohanim performing a service in the Mishkan or Beis Hamikdash.

Being both onanim and kohanim, Elazar and Itamar could not participate in most of the offerings. As the Kohen Gadol (high priest), however, Aaron was allowed to perform the offerings. As for why two goats and the meal offering were eaten but one sacrificed goat was not, Aaron’s response implied enough to remind Moshe that the goats that were eaten were sacrifices ordered specifically for the inauguration and were therefore allowed to be consumed, whereas the he-goat of the sin offering was actually an offering of Rosh Chodesh and could not be consumed by an onen, even the Kohen Gadol. The first two could be offered by Aaron and eaten by the priests, the third had to be burnt whole since none of them were permitted to eat it.

When Moshe saw the sacrifices done differently than he had instructed, he reacts with emotion he grows irate with a holy passion to do Hashem’s will properly. He investigates and lays blame rather than asking questions. But in pasuk 10:20, after Aaron has defended his sons and explained the halachic nuances, Moshe is humbled - and here is the lesson to be learned. While the verse simply says "Moshe heard and it was good in his eyes," the Midrash tells us that Moshe declared that he had forgotten the law that Aaron had just retaught him.

Parshas Shemini is where Moshe recognizes the price of temper. Vayikra Raba points out that ''because Moshe became angry at Elazar and Itamar, he forgot the laws of mourning." It is interesting to note that we can know, from future incidents, that Moshe does not completely lose his temper. Indeed, according to many commentaries, he lost his ability to enter Eretz Yisrael because, in a moment of temper, he struck the rock rather than speaking to it to draw forth water.

Just as Moshe could have quietly apologized rather than declare that he had forgotten the law and thus humble himself before the people, the Torah did not have to include these details. But everything in the Torah is meant to help us grow as individuals. Right now, we are living in a time of great tension. People have many emotions quivering under the surface as they try to put on a good face. Let us remember to hold back out judgements on each others’ behavior because far too often there are facts we do not know and reasonings we may have forgotten.