Parshas Lech Lecha: The King with No Name

Parshas Lech Lecha: The King with No Name

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for  Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Sharon bas Shoshana, and Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia.

Parshas Lech Lecha is well known for Avram’s journeys, but it also contains the rather complicated and confounding story of the war between the Four Kings and the Five Kings. The full story is about the complicated politics of liege kingdoms and betrayed loyalty. Within that story, however, there is the intriguing spiral of alliances between people and people and between people and moral choices.

 

It might seem, at first glance, that the only significant aspect of this story is that the Four Kings took Lot captive, causing Avram to join the war. If that were the case, however, the Torah could merely state that in the war between these kingdoms and those kingdoms, Lot was taken captive, Instead, Hashem prioritized recording the history of the situation:

 

This was an ongoing conflict. The Four Kings, led, it seems by King Chedorlaomer of Elam, are major aggressors. They conquer the region of the Dead Sea and subjugate it for 12 years until the Five kingdoms of the region rise up and reclaim their sovereignty. Not long thereafter the Four Kings start fighting and conquering a large swath of other territory (the Rephaim, the Zuzim, the Emim, the Horites) until, eventually, they conquer the Amalekites and Amorites. Seeing how close to their borders their former conquerors are, the Five Kings “went forth and engaged them in battle in the Valley of Siddim.” But the Four Kings were practiced aggressors and defeated the Five Kings, ravaging the cities of Sodom and Amorah and taking Lot hostage… which is when Avram gets involved.

 

For many of us civilian minded people, wars such as the one described often feels shocking. There isn’t even a pretense of something to argue about (like possibly joining Nato) that fuels that aggression of the Four Kings. They want to rule the region; they want it all. It is important that Avraham’s descendants see that from the very beginning, this land was one that came with strife, that people fiercely desired. It is also important that one sees the great length Avram is willing to go to in order to rescue a part of his family, even though that family member had distanced himself from most of what Avram stood for.

 

Perhaps by describing the long-term scenario - of how the Five Kings knew with whom they were making a battle and then two of the kings ditched their allies and fled - Hashem wanted us to understand why Avram reacted so adversely to the overtures of the Five Kings after the war, insisting on taking no reward and, once Lot was saved, distancing himself from them once again. These same kingdoms, the Torah soon reveals, were not people with whom Avram wanted to interact. Had the kings of Sodom and Amorah not fled, perhaps treaties could have been signed or, at least, the cities might have been subjugated rather than overtaken and looted, but Bera and Birsha put themselves first and foremost.

 

There is, however, one additional peculiarity about this war. The Five Kings are listed as: King Bera of Sodom, King Birsha of Amorah, King Shinab of Admah, King Shemeber of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela, which is Zoar. The Torah goes to great length to name all the kings involved. It isn’t that the kingdom of Elam fought the kingdom of Sodom (choosing just one name from each side). Four Kings are named on each side, and then there is “the king of Bela, which is Zoar.”  Why isn’t he named?

 

The Torah names people of significance. It names people who did great good and people who did great evil and sometimes just people whom Hashem felt deserved specific acknowledgement for their actions. Although the narrative of the war of the kings comes before Hashem directly expresses the morally lost nature of Sodom and Amorah, the character of these kings  was so unpalatable that just being associated with them by name implies one’s own low moral character.

 

Perhaps the King of Bela was spared his name to show us that he was not like Bera and Birsha. Such a contemplation is, perhaps, supported by the fact that in parshas Vayera, the malach agrees to Lot’s plea to spare one town, and that town is then called Zoar. He wasn't noteworthy for either good or evil…he simply was, and that was enough to merit his city being spared. 

 

The portrayal of the world in modern media is one of constant violence, hedonism, and moral degradation. The news media makes it seem as if everything is extreme, and, yet, the vast majority of people whom I know have no inclination do violence and live rather moderate, mostly moral, lives. Of course we should strive to be worthy of mention for the greatness we achieve, but we should also remember the benefit of not joining our name to the names of the wicked.

Parshas Noah – Standing Apart

We are all, I would comfortably say, familiar with the stories of the greatness of Avraham Avinu. We know that in a culture of avodah zara, Avraham recognized that there could only be one Creator, one singular greater power who needed no intermediaries. When no one seemed to understand, he sought (and succeeded) in building a relationship with Hashem. We know that Avraham destroyed the idols in his father’s idol shop. We know that he didn’t hesitate to take his wife and leave his homeland. We know he arrived in his Promised Land only to find it wracked by famine. And those were just his early years. 

Rarely do we focus on the fact that Avraham’s early years begin in Parshas Noah and that where his genealogy is listed – right after the narrative of the Tower of Babel – is also surprisingly significant. Thinking about genealogy – or, more precisely, the overlapping of the biblical generations – it seems rather perplexing how it could be that while Noah and his sons still lived people could “lose sight,” so to speak, of the Oneness of Hashem. They were still aware of Hashem, but they didn’t understand how to connect with Him. This led to both the avodah zara by which Terach made his money (one might even hypothesize that people over-complicated just talking to Hashem and thus created the distance) and the desire of Nimrod to lead the people to build the tower. 

Migdal Bavel is an interesting narrative in that it is a collective story. No one person is given focus, and the actions are detailed in a plural format. Indeed, some commentaries say that the people joined into the project of building the tower because it was promoted as a project of unity. 

These events happened in the lifetime of Avraham, when he was in his 40s according to Midrashic calculation, although we would only know this from careful study of the genealogy that follows. The question naturally seems to follow: How did Avraham react to this call for all people to come together and build a great city and incredible tower?

According to the Pirkei D’Midrash Eliezer, “Avram, son of Terah, passed by, and saw them building the city and the tower, and he cursed them in the name of his God, as it is said, ‘Swallow up, O Lord, divide their language’ (Ps. 55:10). But they rejected his words, like a stone cast upon the ground…” (24:7). 

Obviously, this curse reflects the storyline of the consequence laid down by Hashem, but the Midrash also highlights the fact that Avraham was already a person of enough consequence to feel it worthwhile to speak up. (It should be noted that other Midrashim/commentaries say he condemned their actions only later, when he heard of it. The Ibn Ezra actually comments that he was part of the building at the beginning.)

Obviously, it is not surprising to us that Avraham stood apart and condemned this act once he realized the true purpose of the building project. What is fascinating, however, is how we can relate to what Avraham experienced even today.

The building of Migdal Bavel seemed to be a project of unity: “And they said, “Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world” (Bereishis 11:4). However, an idea such as was proposed is not often spontaneously generated by a group. It comes from a source who shares that idea with many. In this case, the generator of the idea was Nimrod, whose very name stems from marad, rebellion, and who is described as charismatic but vastly power-hungry leader.

But, one could say, what could be negative about building and protecting oneself? In this one pasuk, we can see the beautiful arc of rhetoric that would eventually come to be known as propaganda. Firstly, there is the “Bandwagon,” the method of making people feel that they need to get on board with everyone else. Then there is “Camaraderie,” making people feel as part of the whole. Then we see the beautiful subversion of the underlying problem (in this case “making a name for ourselves – which belies a concept of unity) by the rhetorical trick of “fear” – lest we be scattered. 

Avraham saw through the words and stood outside of the rest of the people. 

In the last few years, since the evolution of social media, our world has been swept up in a constant torrent of propaganda. This, as we know, has been particularly potent among the young people. The most powerful of these, as we have seen, has been the anti-Israel movement and the propagation of the Israel as oppressor narrative by university educators. They have taken words and pieces of history and twisted them at the behest of forces that they do not understand. We have seen, over the last two years, the people protesting for Gaza and Hamas who wouldn’t survive a week living in Gaza because their core values are so antithetical to Hamas. We have seen how easily young people have taken up chants and slogans that they barely even understand. And once they have accepted that Israel is bad, they have spread that sentiment to classic anti-Semitism… 

It has become obvious that so much of what has gone on in the west is because people are desperate to join in a movement that makes them feel like they are doing something good, but they are missing the underlying goal, which is far more than the destruction of Israel. 

Like our forefather, we stand on the side and watch as language that seems to be the same language we are speaking is taken and twisted. We watch as the media, with a few deliberate modifiers, shifts the narrative. Language has once again become a tool for evil, and we are standing on the side wondering how they can twist language in such a harmful way. 

There is no great take away, nothing we can learn as to how to change the world we are in right now other than to remain steadfast in the path set by our forefather. Like Avraham, we must look past what “everybody” does, and we must constantly work on building our relationship with Hashem. 

Parshas Bereishis: Kayin and Hevel in the 21st Century

I wasn’t going to write as things are still crazy after the chagim…but then I thought, it’s the first parsha of the year! If I want to maintain my commitment to this, I have to write. So, that being said, please forgive this very off-the-cuff, poorly prepared dvar Torah as an exercise in discipline.

 

Parshas Bereishis: Kayin and Hevel in the 21^st Century

 

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Sharon bas Shoshana, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, and Binyamin ben Simcha.

 

This past Simchas Torah was a chag whose simcha was doubled by the release of the last living hostages from Gaza. Two years ago, our generation of Jews received a devastating shock – we were well and truly part of b’kol dor va’dor, in every generation they stood to destroy us. More so one can say that over the last two years many Jews were equally shocked to realize the truth of Eisev soneh es Yaakov, and Esev hates Yaakov.

 

There are many events in the Torah that we can point to as explanations for what our nation has gone through, but perhaps the root of it is in this very first parsha: jealousy. Kayin and Hevel (Cain and Abel) were the two eldest children of Adam and Chava (Eve). As the first descendants of the most unique creation of the Boreh Olam (Creator of the World), they should have gotten along splendidly; after all, aside from the twin sisters described in the Midrash, who else did they have to hang out with. Instead, their relationship was destroyed by jealousy – and not just any jealousy, but a jealousy related to God’s approval.

 

Kayin and Hevel both sought to praise and thank Hashem in bringing their offerings. When Hevel’s offering was accepted over Kayin’s (for reasons I won’t go into here), Kayin reacted with violence. Inherently, Kayin could not leave room for someone else to hold top rank. Indeed, he could not accept that he might be able to learn something from someone else. (Interestingly, I read somewhere that he was, in fact, the more creative of the two brothers and yet he was the one who could not accept the success of the other.)

 

What does this have to do with the events of the last two years? There are analogies of human nature that offer us a new perspective on the times we are living through. Those who seek to destroy us are descendants of Yishmael, the elder of the two sons of Avraham but also the one who was not chosen to carry on his father’s legacy of bringing a relationship with the Divine into the world. Over and over again, Bnei Yishmael seethes to claim the heritage of Yitzhak, although they do not necessarily express this clearly the way Bnei Eisav wrestles with Bnei Yaakov.

 

Interestingly, the spiritual battle of Eisav and Yaakov is different. It’s in some ways, more refined. Eisav wants to prove itself right; Yishmael wants to prove itself only.

 

Yes, we’ve jumped throughout Sefer Bereishis, but these sibling battles come back to their great-great-etc-uncle. What do you do when Hashem, the Ultimate Father, says that your brother will be the path forward? Kayin’s reaction was violence, but what Bnei Yishmael fails to recognize is that Kayin’s violence was a short-term victory. Ultimately, it was his even younger brother’s descendants who populated the earth (Noah being a descendant of Seth).

 

The Torah shows us, clearly, that life – that history – is full of cycles. Alas, one such cycle is that of jealousy (although that is not really the right word for any of the Biblical rivalries) and violence. Why this is necessary in the world is a question that I would say none of us can truly comprehend, but the facts of history prove that it is. Knowing that these are cycles and that our job, the job of Bnei Yisrael, is to hold strong and cling to Hashem is the essence of Jewish survival, and it’s all there in the sefer we start this week.

 

(And now I must get ready for work!)

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas Bereishis!

 

 

 

Elul Group 5786

 The following Dvar Torah is more of a personal reflection piece. It was written as part of an AMAZING Elul group I have been participating in since 2002 (I think), in which each person is responsible for sending out a Dvar Torah during one of the 40 days from Rosh Chodesh Elul until Yom Kippur, giving tzedakah that day, and reciting  one section of Tehillim each day. It is longer than my usual piece…

 

This past Friday, erev Shabbas Shuva, I was working furiously throughout the morning to finish some last minute changes that I needed to my lesson plans for the day. When my first class (9-9:45) finished, I ran home to put up the cholent, start the soup, and daven Shacharis. By the time I had taken care of everything, it was 10:50, and I knew that I needed time to head back to school for my 11:20 class, since Fridays have alternate side parking so I might have to walk a bit. As I was about to leave,however, I was startled by a deep, rumbling crash and a sudden brightening of my living room. I think I knew what it was before I even turned around… the long wall of my modular sukkah had crashed down. 

 

Let me take a step back to explain that two years ago I bought a brand new sukkah. For years we had had a creative DIY sukkah that, among other things, required my ex-husband’s ingenuity to put together. I wanted the freedom of my own sukkah that I could do myself, which was what I expected from the modular. Came year two, however, and I hired someone to put it up because I felt overwhelmed at construction. The price was far steeper than I expected. As this year’s holiday season approached, I asked around for prices, and even the teenagers were charging upwards of $300. I just… it just… I was determined that we could do this ourselves. I recruited my 15 year old (ok, I recruited everyone, and my girls quickly bailed), and we set to it before Rosh Hashana because I wanted to leave time to hire someone if it didn’t work out. 

 

We ran into problems fairly quickly. Certain board just wouldn’t go straight. But, I persevered and, the next day, put it all together, noting that I didn’t have enough wood to connect all the straighteners – things were a little wobbly - but no storms were in the forecast so should be fine. My son mentioned a time or two that we should ask the person who sold us the sukkah to come and look at it, and I deflected. The last thing I wanted to do was ask anyone else for help! – Motzei Shabbas, I texted the guy, and he agreed to come help me tomorrow morning…so, hmmm, that wasn’t really a big deal, and if I had done it earlier, perhaps I would have saved myself a sukkah panel (as one did truly break in the fall).

 

This Dvar Torah isn’t about Sukkos. It’s about the very significant idea of asking for help.

 

I hate feeling ineffectual or incapable. I hate feeling pathetic. I hate feeling dependant. That is all to say…I hate asking for help, and I think that in this I am not alone. (Go on, raise your hand if you are like me!) 

 

The very human hesitation on asking for help is something that is the backside of the discussion of what we need to do during the Yom Noarayim. We come to Rosh Hashana to crown Hashem as our King, which means recognizing that Hashem is the source for everything that happens to us and all that we have. Then comes Yom Kippur, when we face Hashem as the Judge and ask Him to forgive us our transgressions, which means we appeal to His Rachamim to wipe our slates clean. 

 

It’s very interesting to think about these two concepts together. We know that during Elul there is the concept of the King being in the field, being available for us to speak to him directly. Many of us think of this as a time to beseech Hashem for the things we hope for in our lives or as a tool of teshuva and asking for forgiveness for our sins. How many of us ask Hashem to help us with those very short-comings? How many of us think of the acts for which we seek atonement and think about asking Hashem for the koach to overcome them? 

 

If you’re like me, along with the idea of teshuva and atonement is the idea of overcoming our inadequacies. If I have been delinquent on the mitzvah of, let’s say, giving maiser - and I feel like it is an annual occurrence - I most likely enter Yom Kippur thinking about how I am going to set up a new accounting system, keep better track of my income and my 10%, or perhaps set up a separate account with automatic withdrawals. These are all excellent strategies, but how often do we include Hashem in the solution? How often do we ask Hashem to help us help ourselves? 

 

Here’s where I get a little raw and overly honest. Coming into the Yomim Noarayim, I was struggling with davening, with feeling like my tefillah was a conversation, with the sense of connection to emunah. I was worried about Rosh Hashana because I was filled with such a longing for that rare, wonderful feeling of connection and in such dread of missing it. The first day my davening was ok, but the second day was work – I worked hard to be present and mindful at what I was doing, and still I felt it wasn’t enough until the moment when I did stop and I spoke honestly from my heart to ask Hashem to help me connect. It was a lovely but far too brief moment, not quite the heights of inspiration, but closer. The next day, however, I was back to struggling through davening and worrying about Yom Kippur.

 

During the vidui section of Yom Kippur, some of the Al Chaits I connect with most sincerely are the ones translated as brazenness, stubbornness, being “stiff necked.” Certainly, there are different interpretations of these Al Chaits, but for me I can see the connection in them to my challenges with tefillah and emunah. I keep mistakenly believing that I have to solve my challenges alone, that my struggles in emunah and tefilah lay on my head and are a problem for me to fix. This distills Hashem to a piece of my problem rather than an active part of my solution. This is the constant brazenness of humanity, because the matter stems from the belief that all is in our control. 

 

I know this Dvar Torah has gotten long, and I apologize and hope it was not too long winded.  Today is the 6th day of Tishrei. We have three more days before Yom Kippur. These are the days of teshuva, of repentance. As part of that process, let us add the important element of asking Hashem to help us overcome the challenges we face - negative feelings for others, resistance to davening, poor accounting skills on maiser. Recognize your failing, confess them and repent on them, but don’t forget that Hashem is our King who wants to see the best for His subject, and therefore wants to be a part of the solution.

 

Thank you to all the wonderful ladies who took the time to share their thoughts and their lives over the past month. I often did not have the opportunity to respond individually as I would print them in clumps to read on Shabbas, but they were definitely at a new level this year. And thank you Caryn and Ruthie for the dedication you put into this project every single year! 

 

I am going to give tzedakah this year to Canadian Friends of Yad Eliezer, which is now called B’Ezri in Israel. 

 

Parshas Nitzavim: Striving for Emunah

I often imagine that if I lived in a different time, feeling the necessary awe of Elul would be easier. It’s a logical conclusion given how often the inspirational speakers share stories of the mighty figures of our past – and even common stories of their incredible grandfathers or great-grandmothers or etc. We often find it easier to imagine that their lives were simpler – certainly they weren’t easier – and that that earnest simplicity allowed them to flourish in their emunah.

 

The basic fact of the matter is, however, that emunah isn’t easy, and, probably,  it was never meant to be easy. If it was designed to be easy, it wouldn’t have merit; it wouldn’t shift the balance of one’s neshama. If it was easy, it would make it impossible for people to have bechira, free will.

 

A discussion of bechira, however, leads to many questions of hashgacha and Divine intervention. Did Hashem make something happen or did I make choices that caused results in reality… were those results always going to occur? Such questions, of course, drop one back into a question of emunah, of trying to understand to view the world with the understanding that Hashem allows this incredible duality of our existence – our choices matter AND Hashem runs the world. The question of bechira also leads us to the famous statement of Rabbi Hanina, who said: “Everything is in the hands of Heaven, except for fear of Heaven.”

 

Yiras Shemayim is one of the most important goals of a Jew’s spiritual development, and, like emunah, one of the hardest. Hashem made humankind with a strongly driven ego. We have trouble completely sublimating ourselves to anyone, let alone remembering that all that we accomplish is an accomplishment of our Creator and we are merely His conduits in this world. Developing our yiras shemayim is not just a goal, though, it is a mtizvah in and of itself.

 

According to Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, the Ramban, it is only through developing our yirah that we can get to ahava, which is another mitzvah in the Torah. And Ahavas Hashem is the ultimate achievement of a relationship with Hashem.

 

Reading all of that is, in and of itself, somewhat overwhelming. We have so much we are meant to achieve spiritually, and – at least as my experience tells me – it only sounds easy. It is a constant spiritual and emotional battle of will to be active in our emunah, to be striving to have yirah, and to take the steps to achieve ahavah.

 

In Sefer Devarim it is made clear that Hashem has always been prepared for us to slide back down from our achievements, to have moments of greatness and moments of utter failure. This up and down journey is the path Hashem made for us because it fulfills our mission of tikun olam. When we have completed this tumultuous journey, when we have made as much progress in enhancing the world and ourselves as we possibly can, then Hashem will pull us into a new era, which we refer to as the era of Moshiach.

 

In that era, we are told in parshas Nitzavim, “then God, your God, will ‘circumcise’ your heart, as well as the heart of your offspring, [enabling you to] love God, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul, for the sake of your very life” (Devarim 30:6).

 

Sforno explains that this idea of circumcising the heart is about removing the very things that make emunah so much work for us today. He says: “He will open your eyes so as to remove every erroneous conception that has prevented you from recognising the theological truth of all aspects of the Jewish religion. Once these ‘blinds’ have been removed from your eyes you will realise that everything G’d has done was out of His love for you” (Sefaria).

 

Understanding the idea of Hashem doing only that which is good for us, even when it seems to cause us pain and suffering, is one of the greatest challenges of emunah and bitachon. One might think, upon reading Devarim 30, that if one just waits long enough, everything will be taken care of. However, it is the very work of developing one’s emunah and bitachon, of letting the world see emunah and bitachon, that is the work of an eved Hashem – that is the work that will gets us to Moshiach.

 

Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch comments on this pasuk: “And by everything that you have lived through in the past times of trial, and by what God now lets you live through in this final geula, at last every orlah, everything ‘intractable’ will be removed from your heart and from your children’s hearts for ever, so that henceforth ‘God’ and ‘your life’ are identical for you, and just as your breath is an indispensable part of your life, so will the consciousness of God, the consciousness and feeling of the nearness of His bond of the Torah to you, and your nearness to it will be so much a part of your ‘living’, that with the whole of your heart and soul you will be absorbed in love of Him.”

 

Parshat Netzavim is always read in the time before Rosh Hashana, in the time when we are standing before the heavenly gates and striving to truly recognize Avinu, Malkeinu, the dual relationship of Hashem as He Who Judges Us and He Who Loves Us. As we approach this ultimate day of emunah, each on our varying spectrum of proper awe, let us take strength from Parshat Nitzavim that the work we do now in Elul and throughout the Aseres Yemai Teshuvah – and, in truth, throughout the year as we continue to strive for spiritual growth – is the work that is laying the foundation for the era of Moshiach, when we will be free of the orlah that interferes with the connection we so desperately desire.

 

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas and a Ksivah v’chasimah new year – a year full of joy and clarity and strength, and a year in which peace comes upon us.

Parshas Ki Tova – Words that Express Relationship.

Parshas Ki Tavo is, when taken as a whole, a complex parsha. It starts with the mitzvah of bikkurim and includes the tithes, the creation of stones inscribed with law, and the curses and blessings that were to be declared upon entering the land. The vast majority of the pasukim in the parsha, however, are the Tochacha, the terrible consequences that will happen if the people stray from the right path.

 

Within all that, there is an interesting set of verses that seems, at the outset, to be not so interesting: “You have affirmed this day that Hashem is your God, in whose ways you will walk, whose laws and commandments and rules you will observe, and whom you will obey. And Hashem has affirmed this day that you are, as promised, God’s treasured people who shall observe all the divine commandments” (26:17-18).

 

As incredibly important as these ideas are, they have been stated numerous times throughout the Torah. This leads to the question of what is unique in this inclusion. The answer lies in one of my favorite subjects (just ask my students!) – word choice and grammar. In Hebrew, pasuk 17 declares: Es Hashem he-e-marta hayom lihiyot l’cha l’-l-okim, and pasuk 18 states: V’Hashem he-emeercha hayom lihiyot lo l’am segula.  The two pasukim are mirrors in their language. More than that, however, Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch notes that aleph – mem – reish “in the Hiphil only occurs here (17) and in the following verse (18). In that form it can mean nothing else than to cause somebody else to say something.”

 

Rav Hirsch translates the pasukim as “‘You have brought it about, you have caused it to be said that He must be your God; and God has caused it to be said that you must be an am segula to Him.’  That is to say Israel’s solemn promise to God and God’s pledged Word to Israel has not remained, so to say, a private matter, it has become internationally know, a fact engraved in the mind of the world.”

 

The wording of these two pasukim has intrigued commentators throughout history.  In the sefer Lessons from Targum Onkelos (Vol II), Rabbi Yehoshua Dovid Portowicz explores the translation of these two words by Onkelos, since he used the word chativa in place of he-ehmar. Chativa seems to be a unique word that each commentator understands differently. Rashi, however, explains Onkelos’ word choice as “praise and importance,” although he himself understood the words of he-eh-mar to mean “separated” or “divided.” This separation, according to this understanding, is not between God and Bnei Yisrael, but rather separating Hashem from false deities and Klal Yisrael from the nations of the world.    

The word he-eh-mar comes from the root aleph mem reish, which is the root of the word emor, to say. More than that, Emor is the root of the verb by which Hashem created the world. Once again, we are reminded that words have power, that words make things happen.

 

Rabbi Portowicz does not actually translate the word chativa itself in his analysis of the Onkeles, but rather explores the fact that so many commentators understood it to be a reflection of something that was created. Quite beautifully, the Aruch (Natan ben Yechiel) teaches “in the name of Rav Hai Gaon: “chativah” means  “a special picture.” The lashon he-eh-marta and he-eh-meercha comes from “wool” sewn onto a garment in the form of a picture or letters to decorate it. This indicates something recognizable that there is nothing like it; there is no Gd like Hashem, and there is no nation like Yisrael. The Aruch [says] ‘You made Me one chativah in Olam Hazeh; I will make you one chativah in Olam Haba.’ Hashem will reward us in Olam Haba, middah k’neged middah for being special in Olam Hazeh.”

 

This is reflected powerfully in one of the understandings of the Ohr Hachaim on pasuk 18: “Still another thought which may be concealed in our verse is that Hashem, the attribute of Mercy, will participate in judgment of the Jewish people. While it is true that G'd judges everyone and every nation according to their just deserts, i.e. lihiyot l’cha l’-l-okim, in your case, G'd the merciful will cause the Israelites to say (to acknowledge) that His judgment is fair, i.e. they will bless the Lord even when they experience what appears to them to be a harsh judgment” (Sefaria).

 

These are powerful words to hear before the parsha dives into the devastating Tochacha. Here in the parsha in which we read the dramatically devastating punishments that will befall our nation, we also receive the incredibly important reminder that our relationship with Hashem was forged in the wilderness. He will always be our God; we will always be His nation. The relationship is inseverable.

 

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas and hoping we all have time to contemplate that what we do with this special relationship is a constantly shifting dynamic. How much we claim Hashem through tefilos and mitzvos and basic ahavas and yiras Hashem is a measure for how much the world can respect us as the Am Segula.

 

Parshas Ki Tetze: We Make Choices

Parshas Ki Teitzei is one of those parshios that discusses a wide variety of mitzvos, and very few of them link together in any way other than that they are commandments we must uphold. Some of the mitzvos appear to be chukim, laws that we cannot understand. Indeed, this parsha includes the mitzvah of shooing away the mother bird, a mitzvah of definite action who purpose is rather mysterious and spiritual.  Other mitzvos, however, are exceedingly practical. For example, it includes both the commandment to maintain a hygienic army camp and the prohibition of withholding or delaying wages from a worker.

 

Included in these mitzvos are several pasukim dealing with the very serious issue of not fulfilling one’s vow. “When you make a vow to Hashem your G-d, do not put off fulfilling it, for Hashem your God will require it of you, and you will have incurred guilt; whereas you incur no guilt if you refrain from vowing. You must fulfill what has crossed your lips and perform what you have voluntarily vowed to Hashem your God, having made the promise with your own mouth” (Dvarim 23:22-24).

 

Making a vow – which can be as simple as stating “I promise to…” -  is incredibly powerful. Each of us, every human being, is btzelem E-lo-kim, made in the image of G-d, and Hashem created the world by speaking. What we say matters…but what about what we do not say.

 

Dvarim 23:23 is a fascinating sub-statement: “Whereas you incur no guilt if you refrain from vowing.” If you don’t vow, you won’t get punished for not fulfilling your vow. That seems a fairly obvious statement, but for all of its simplicity, it is actually a rather powerful reminder. Each of us has control over our words. Each of us has control over our actions.

 

If you don’t want to risk breaking your word, then be careful how you give those words. Indeed, in Sukkah 46b, the sages quote Rabbi Zeira: “A person should not promise to give a child something and then not give it.” His reasoning there is that the child may learn to lie, but underneath is the same foundation – our words matter even in situations where we don’t think they are such a big deal, like promising a child a cookie. That concept then expands to the idea that if you don’t want to risk breaking a Torah commandment, do not put yourself deliberately into a situation where you will come to do so.

 

Most of us are not tzadikim. Most of us find ourselves in situations here or there where we must make an active choice against our personal desires in order to maintain our commitment to being ovdei Hashem. Sometimes, being totally honest, we put ourselves in those situations. Devarim 23:23 is a soft, subtle reminder that we have the power to choose where our actions might lead.

 

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.