Parshas Emor: No Nepotism…An Indirect Insight from the Parsha

Sefer Vayikra focuses on the kohanim, the sons of Aaron, but, as with all of Torah, we take the laws and information in there and see how it applies to the larger nation as well. Parshas Emor opens with the oft-discussed restrictions on the family members whose funerals a kohain may attend. For some, it seems shockingly restricted. Attending a funeral is a means of demonstrating love and true respect for the departed, and that that should be denied feels, from certain perspectives, almost cruel.

 

Something that feels cruel, however, does not, in Torah law, supersede that which is necessary. It is necessary for the kohanim to maintain their distance from death because it affects their ability to serve in their role of spiritual channel. (This is another thing that is difficult for those of us in the long diaspora to fully understand.)

 

Kohanim were meant to live their lives differently than the rest of Klal Yisrael - not better, not worse, just differently. Differently, however, can be abused. Differently can cause society to split into haves and have nots, and it seems as if, perhaps, in the first half of Vayikra 22, the Torah is making certain to guard the Kohanim from falling into an abuse of their status.

 

Vayikra 22 begins: “Hashem spoke to Moshe saying, “Instruct Aaron and his sons va’yinazaru from the sanctified donations of Klal Yisrael and not to profane My holy name; these that they dedicate to Me, I am Hashem” (22:1-2). Va’yinazru is an interesting word that is interpreted in one place as ‘to be scrupulous” and in another as “they must abstain” and in the Rav Hirsh translation (which is, of course, a translation of a translation) as “keep themselves apart from.”

 

The Kohanim received the offerings of Klal Yisrael, and it is very clear from other halachot that once an item is sanctified for donation, it holds a unique status. Some of that which is donated to the Mishkan/Beis Hamikdash is burnt up in sacrifice and some is given to the Kohanim to consume. From an outside perspective, this may seem to offer the Kohanim a rather substantial boon. After all, at the most basic level of all trade is the need to gather food, and here the Kohanim have food delivered to them.

 

Vayikra 22 protects the Kohanim from abusing their largesse. First, the parsha makes clear that a kohain in a state of impurity may not eat from the consecrated food. Although it did not take long for a kohein to purify himself, it is still a reminder that he is at this table purely because of his unique role. More significantly, the Torah delineates that the sacred donations may not be eaten by a layman, by a non-kohein who is residing with the kohein, or by a hired worker of the kohein. A slave owned by the Kohein may eat.

 

These laws emphasis that the right to consume the consecrated food should not be taken lightly. One might also see in this the idea that the access a Kohein has to the consecrated food, which was of the highest quality meats, could not be used for outside influence. A Kohein could not invite a neighbor from whom he wanted a favor, a potential business partner, or even his future son-in-law if he wasn’t a Kohein, to partake in this food. This food, Hashem is stating is for you and yours alone.

 

But what of the daughters. The Torah clearly states that if a Bas-Kohein marries a layman, she may no longer eat of the sacred gifts. The only way she would return to her family’s consecrated feast would be as a childless widow or divorcee. And now, once again, it could be argued that this feels cruel.

 

According to the Torah, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husband’s tribe. The wife of a kohain, whether born into a family of kohanim or not, may eat of the consecrated food, so too the daughter of a kohain who becomes part of another tribe may not. There is equivalency. However, there is in this also a level of protection from lower scruples. For most of history, marriages were arranged based on a perspective of benefits to each party. By stating outright that a bas-Kohein becomes of the other tribe, it nullifies the greed of seeking out to become a kohain’s son-in-law.

 

Being a kohain comes with privileges, but it also comes with a vast responsibility. It was never meant to be taken lightly, and it was certainly not meant to create fiscal class. The rules of who could eat from the table of the Kohanim were a protection of the integrity, and from these rules we can be reminded of the need in our own lives to be scrupulous in our action and to hold firm boundaries even with those who are close to us.

 

Parshas Acharei Mos – Kedoshim: Embrace Life

Dedicated to a refuah sheima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta and Sharon bas Shoshana.

This week’s parsha is Parshas Acharei Mos Kedushim. It is well known that this double parsha has an incredible number of mitvos in it. Many of these mitzvos make perfect sense to us, such as revering our parents and not swearing falsely. Others need a little more explanation. Like most things in the Torah, however, taking a deeper look at these mitzvos, reading the parsha from a different angle – so to speak, provides a new perspective on the world.

 

One law that does not appear to need explanation is “Anyone among the Israelites, or among the strangers residing in Israel, who gives any offspring to Molech, shall be put to death; the people of the land shall pelt the person with stones…” (Vayikra 20:2). Molech was the deity figure of a cultish religion in the region of Israel. The followers of Molech practiced child sacrifice; they sent their children into the flames.

 

It is fair to say that it is inconceivable to us today that someone would sacrifice a child, that people would join a cult that specifically required one to burn a child to death. Children are the future.

 

Actually, Jewish tradition is intriguingly bi-lateral: On the one hand, we believe that our elders and those who came before us are closer to Torah and are to be given absolute respect. As it says, also in this week’s parsha: “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am Hashem” (Leviticus 19:32).

 

On the other hand…Well, don’t get in the way of a Jewish mother… so many of our halachos are focused on teaching our children and preparing them for the future. Every child is a bracha, a gift from Hashem, so how is it possible that anyone would be tempted to join a cult that glorifies killing children?

 

The answer is zealotry. Misdirected zealotry turns people into monsters. The Torah has made clear that Hashem wants people to celebrate life, not death. And we see this distinction even in modern times. Think of the famous Golda Meir quote: “We will only have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate us.” Far too many young people have died in the last year and a half conflict, and we – as a nation – grieve every death, even as our enemies embrace it.

 

Zealotry leads one to embrace a death cult; perhaps such drive stems from an insatiable desire to prove one’s fervor, to demonstrate one’s righteousness. Perhaps it is a drive that comes from wanting to experience a tangible sacrifice, something one can always hold on to and announce how loyal one is, what one was willing to sacrifice. Yet, as we learned in the recent parshios and as is vaguely referenced in the title Acharei Mos, Hashem does not want uncalled for offerings.

 

What happens when one “wakes up” from zealotry, when one calms and looks to move forward in life. If one acted like a zealot but followed one’s own council, then the next step might be regret. If one acted like a zealot and offered one’s child to the powerless false god of Molech, then one might feel anguished over the possibility destroyed.

 

And now, if you think about it, it makes sense that the 4 pasukim in Vayikra 20 that are stressing the prohibilion against Molech are followed immediately by, “And if any person turns to ghosts and familiar spirits and goes astray after them, I will set My face against that person, whom I will cut off from among the people” (20:6). We often find connections between side-by-side passukim, so how does turning to ghosts and familiars connect to Molech? Perhaps this pasuk is alluding to causing death and regretting it. Perhaps these two verses are set against each other because when the mania of zealotry comes down, one may be so bereft as to seek out the dead.

 

Interestingly, Vayikra 20:6 is not the only place in the parsha where ghosts are mentioned. Just before the Torah enjoins us to rise before the aged, as quoted before, there is a verse that is oddly similar to Vayikra 20:6. Vayikra 19:31 reads: “Do not turn to ghosts and do not inquire of familiar spirits, to be defiled by them: I Hashem am your God.”

 

The two passukim are remarkably similar. The earlier verse, however, commands one not to consult ghosts or familiars, while the later verse fiercely describes the consequences of doing so. The warning, verse 19:31, precedes the injunction to honor the aged. Together, these two verse could be understood with the message of “Stop looking to those who have passed, to the generations no longer accessible, and see the treasure you have before you in the men and women of age and wisdom.” The verse of consequence, when paired with the warnings against Molech that precede it, is, perhaps, a cautioning from Hashem that their actions are not reversible. Sacrifice is sacrifice.

 

When you put these two topic pairings together, you come up with one definitive fact (other than ghosts are a no-no). Judaism is about life and living. We value life; we value the potential of life in all children, and we value the experience of life in those who have lived longest. The parsha of Kedoshim is a parsha dedicated to being holy - and the way to be holy is to truly live.

Parshas Tazria/Metzorah: Not a Random Interruption

Parshas Tazria/Metzorah: Not a Random Interruption

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta and Sharon bas Shoshana

 

Last week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, is weighed down by the distressing details of the death of Aaron’s two sons. While these deaths are dealt with completely in that parsha, it is interesting to note that the parsha we read next week is “Acharei Mot, After the Deaths.” It is not the fact that Nadav and Avihu’s deaths were significant enough to mark a time connection that is particularly interesting, but rather it is the fact that Shemini and Acharei Mot are separated by two parshios (that are generally read as one). Perhaps, there is something to be learned from these two parshios breaking the narrative of the deaths and the divine instruction that follows thereafter.

 

The first of these parshios is Tazria, and the primary subject matter of Tazria is the diagnosis and “treatment” of tzaraas. In reading the biblical description of the disease, it seems almost strange that this was consistently translated simply as leprosy since there are so many permutations of the ailment. More importantly, tzaraas is not a medical condition; it is a unique spiritual malady with an underlying pathogen that is actually a disease of the tongue - lashon harah (Though, to be fair and honest, there are other aveiros that are connected to tzaraas as well). The treatment for tzaraas is isolation and repentance, because this is how one begins to repair - to whatever extent it is repairable - the discord sown by lashon harah.

 

Parshas Metzora, the second parsha, continues the topic of the resolution of tzaaras and also discusses the transference of the marks of tzaraas from a person to an inanimate object and how to deal with it.  One of the correlations of tzaraas and lashon hara is the factor of pride, of ego. Lashon Harah most often stems from our need to feel more significant than someone else, or, said more succinctly, to put others down. 

 

So now back to the original question. Why does the narrative of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, and the aftermath commandments of Hashem have tzaraas interrupting it? Perhaps it has to do with Hashem knowing how humanity works. Here in the Torah is a story that is ripe for the picking for lashon harah. These men were struck down in front of the entire congregation. Everyone witnessed their ‘sinning.’ Everyone witnessed their consequence. Public information, right?

 

Wrong. Discussing what happened to Nadav and Avihu is important because we are meant to use every part of Torah to grow, spiritually. Speculating on salacious details because they are interesting or they are relatable, however, is no longer l’toeles. Let’s be honest with ourselves, there are a wide range of Torah based suggestion to what Nadav and Avihu did that day… and there is a reason that the most widely remembered is that they were drunk.

 

Tazria-Metzora is followed by Parshas Acharei Mot, which begins: “Gd spoke to Moshe after the death of Aaron’s two sons, when, having drawn near to Gd, they died. Gd said to Moshe: ‘Speak to your brother Aaron, and tell him that he must not come whenever he wishes into the Sanctuary beyond the partition Curtain…’”

 

After the completion of the inauguration, Hashem provides Aaron with instructions on proper etiquette in the Mishkan. The Torah demonstrates learning from what happened without hashing it out to pieces.

 

If you think about it, the placement of Tazria-Metzora – parshios in which the dangers of lashon hara is a constant theme - in the middle of the story of Nadav and Avihu is brilliant. There are few other such places in the Torah where there is wrong-doing and consequence, and yet, respect for the righteousness of those who received the consequence all at once. The sages have made many postulations as to what Aaron’s sons were punished for, and those discussions were l’toeles, to provide guidance for Bnei Yisrael. But how easy is it to descend into that which is not l’toeles when speaking about them possibly being drunk, or etc? But how easy is it to descend into that which is not l’toeles when speaking about anyone?

 

This sequence of parshios certainly reminds us of the complexities of life. What one sees on the outside is not necessarily what is truly involved. A person covered 100% from head to toe with a skin affliction, who would appear to be the loudest billboard for his own guilt of something, is not a metzorah. Life is not always how it looks, so don’t speculate on the lives of others.

 

Life is a constant path through other people’s actions. We can choose to watch them and judged them and make assumptions about them, or we can choose to accept that Hashem is the king and the ultimate judge. 

Parshas Shemini: Death with Meaning

This week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, contains one of the most unsettling narratives in the Torah: The death of Aaron’s sons. The parsha describes the activities of the inauguration of the Mishkan on the eighth day after its completion. In the middle of the long inauguration service, Aaron’s sons, “Nadav and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Hashem foreign fire, which had not been enjoined upon them.” (Vayikara 10:1). Their motivation is examined and discussed by the sages and throughout the commentaries of all ages. There are those who condemn them for levity or intoxication, and there are those who focus on their misplaced inspiration. Whatever the reason for their bringing an offering that had not been required, the result was the same: “And fire came forth from Hashem and consumed them; thus they died before Hashem”(10:2).

It is obvious why this story is upsetting. Aaron’s sons died - publicly, dramatically, and in the middle of the most auspicious ceremony Klal Yisrael had endeavored upon. Even more discomforting for many people is the fact that Aaron and his two remaining sons could not stop the inauguration and absorb their shock. They had to go forward and complete the inauguration before reacting to the loss of their immediate family members, which is odd in itself because in Jewish tradition the death of an immediate relative puts one in a state of limbo until the burial of the body as soon as possible. 

Jewish tradition has one of the most comprehensive and compassionate rituals of mourning. From the period of aninus, when a person is not required in mitzvos until the burial of the dead and official start of mourning, through the staggered stages of shiva, shloshim and the annual yahrtzeit, the mourning is guided. While these practices seem to be primarily for the emotional benefit of the immediate family, they are understood to benefit the neshama as well. 

Surely, Nadav and Abihu had not erred to such a level that their deaths should be ignored. Surely, their father and brothers felt the pain of loss that is at the heart of the state of aninus. 

Beyond the fact that Aaron, Elazar, and Itamar were in the middle of invoking kedusha into Mishkan, there was something unique about Nadav and Abihu’s passing. Let us look again at the final phrase of 10:2 - “vayamootu lphnei Hashem - and they died before Hashem”(10:2).

Hashem sent a fire that consumed them, which is a pretty definite statement of their being killed. Why does it need to state that they “died before Hashem,” which is not common phraseology at all?

This question is mulled over by many commentators, as is what it meant exactly that they were consumed. For instance, Chizkuni notes:

וימותו לפני ה, “They died in the presence of the Lord. [This is an unusual expression. Are we not all, at any given moment, “in the Presence” of the Lord?] Rabbi Eliezer says this expression teaches that they did not die until having left the sacred precincts and being in the antechamber where Levites were permitted. We have proof of this from verse 4 where the cousins of these brothers, by the names of Mishael and Eltzafan were charge with removing their bodies from there for burial. But why did the Torah say that they died before the Lord (i.e. inside the Tabernacle)? Perhaps they did die there but later an angel pushed the bodies outside to where the Levites were permitted. Rabbi Akiva on the other hand said that they did die inside the Tabernacle. Since they were still wearing their garments which had not been burned by the heavenly fire, their cousins hooked their spears into the outer garments and dragged them until they were outside the sacred parts of the Tabernacle.

 

This is a very practical exploration of the language, but there is a spiritual side as well.  Nadav and Abihu were killed because they acted of their own accord. They brought incense when it wasn’t specifically called for during a very detailed inauguration. Their intention was to honor Hashem, to celebrate Hashem. There was no intention of disrespect or mockery or even vanity. They truly wished to draw closer to Hashem, as is understood by the majority of the commentaries. 

During the inauguration of the mishkan, it was incredibly important, however, that the nation not be shown a hefker observance, an anarchy of emotional reaction of set structure. The Mishkan, the place of ultimate holiness and service to Hashem, had to be respected completely, and on this first day of usage, the point needed to be driven home that their “inspiration” did not negate rules and order. 

On the other hand, their death was, perhaps, an embrace of Hashem. As Rabbeinu Bahya notes ”…The kind of death described here by the words ‘in the presence of the Lord’ means that their body and soul underwent a ‘surgical’ separation, the fire entering their bodies through their nostrils separating soul from body. We must be careful not to understand the verse as saying that their souls were burned, i.e. that they lost their claim to the hereafter. If that were so the words, “by those very close to Me I become sanctified,” which Moses told Aaron in G’d’s name, would not make any sense. Why should the souls of people G’d describes as close to Him be destroyed, burned?”

As humans, as survivors, as the ones who are left behind after a death, we have a hard time seeing the positive for the neshama. We are focussed on what we have lost. Protecting life is the ultimate goal - the primary instinct is, afterall, the survival instinct - because only in life can our neshama grow and flourish. The more our neshama can grow here in Olam Hazeh, the more it will be able to receive the Divine presence in Olam HaBah, and so we focus on the potential of life without, usually, remembering that death also frees the neshama from its battle, or better competition, with the goof, with one’s physical needs and desires. 

When reading parashas Shemini, our immediate reaction is based on our mindset of death as a complete negative. Perhaps, however, from the words that tell us that Nadav and Abihu died before Hashem we are reminded that death is the doorway to a higher plane of existence (when we are ready, ad mesh v’esrim for each of you who reads this!)

 

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

 

Pesach End Days: Understated with Purpose

Why is this night different from all other nights? That famous question may be special to the Seder, but it is also extremely appropriate for tonight. The answer is that tonight (and tomorrow night as a mirror of living in chutz la’aretz) is the only time on the Jewish calendar that we bentch licht with the bracha of “l’hadlik neir shall Yom Tov” (or Shabbas v’Yom Tov) and do NOT make a shehehcheyanu. It is the only true “second days of chag” since that is simply the misnomer people use for Shemini Atzeret in order to make planning easier. 

People talk about Shavuos having few distinguishing marks compared to the other holidays, but at least it has a Shehecheyanu. The last days of Pesach is/are the most understated yom tov we have; all that is unique about it are the things that we don’t say – such as the shehcheyanu and the extra perakim in Hallel. 

On the last days of Pesach, we read about the crossing of the Yam Suf, for this was when it occurred. One would think that an event as prominent in Jewish history as the crossing of the Yam Suf would merit a unique holiday; and given how close it is to Pesach, it would have made sense for such a holiday to be structured like Shemini Atzeret – a joined but unique holiday. So why isn’t it?

Well…

Of course, I can’t answer that question. But I can make some of my own reflections. 

One of the most critical concepts in Judaism is the fact that every person has bechira, free will. Every person has the ability to choose right or wrong. No one is forced to follow the Torah; the world is built on concepts of reward and punishment and consequences for choices and actions. With that in mind, think about the other Shlosh Regalim. 

--On Sukkos we move out of our homes and into temporary dwellings, making an active choice to celebrate trusting Hashem.  Shemini Atzeres is a response to Hashem asking Bnei Yisrael to spend one more day with Him.  We choose to meet His request.

--Pesach commemorates Yetzias Mitzrayim, and it is a well-understood idea that 4/5 of the Bnei Yisrael remained – some say because they did not believe in the possibility of redemption or that they were those too far drawn to Egyptian society, wishing to be like the Mitzrim. These are both choices. Those redeemed were those who chose to accept Moshe as the redeemer. 

--Shavuos is the holiday we say celebrates Hashem giving Bnei Yisrael the Torah, but, in truth, it is the holiday of Bnei Yisrael receiving the Torah. It is not, as one might think, the same thing. Bnei Yisrael said Naaseh v’Nishmah; they chose to accept their role as Gd’s chosen nation. 

Choice – Choice – Choice. The Shlosh Regalim, the primary Yom Tovim, all celebrate choosing. 

The crossing of the Yam Suf is one of the most profound moments in the formation of Am Yisrael, indeed of the world. It was not, however, a moment of choice. Bnei Yisrael were surrounded on four sides, three by the enemy and the fourth by the sea.  

Most of us have had moments where we wished Hashem would give us a sign, a personal sign. We want miracles. Indeed, when we talk about the Yam Suf, many of us wonder why we can’t have a neis of our own. The answer, very simply, is bechira. If Hashem showed us open miracles, then we could not choose to put our own will over Hashem’s.

The Shlosh Regalim do not commemorate miracles. They commemorate the choices that are the foundation of Bnei Yisrael’s relationship with Hashem. Perhaps that is why, in the time of the Beis Hamikdash, we would leave our homes and travel to Jerusalem – an action, a choice to act (and why we have Pesach Sheni when those who could not come but wanted to could, make up their absence). Miracles happen all around us, constantly. Most of them are understated, as they should be. Most of them we don’t notice, and so we are able to live our lives making choices. The final days of Pesach are understated because  Kriyas Yam Suf could only have happened for those who made the choice to follow Moshe and be redeemed. 

But the crossing of the sea itself was not a choice, just a miracle.

I wish you all a wonderful Shabbas, a wonderful Yom Tov. May we continue to make choices that bring us closer to Hakadosh Baruch Hu

A Truly Personal Parsha Prose Prior to Pesach I

  don’t know how many of you are like me, but I felt like sharing some personal thoughts and reflections now, as I sooth my aching feet after a full day of the domestic avodah necessary to prepare for Pesach. As those who know me well will attest, neither housework nor the need to be meticulous suits me very well. The emotional energy of it is almost as draining as the physical action involved. The worry of having missed something, of having shrugged off something important, or of having just plain forgotten an entire set of drawers is always present with me during the days leading up to Pesach. (Don’t be alarmed, I haven’t worked myself into enough of a tizzy to be cleaning any of my light fixtures!)

 

All this physical Pesach prep usually leaves me with a lack of time to do the spiritual preparations, to focus on why this ritual-filled meal is so important to me, to my kids, and to the entire Klal Yisrael. Indeed, I do try to direct my attention in that direction, and every year in my head I dream up different ways to make my family’s seder more engaging and interactive.

 

Growing up, my family’s seder consisted of going around the table and each taking a turn reading a paragraph. As I became more observant, commentaries were added into the round-robin reading. At a larger table with kids of various ages, however, too many extra added commentaries can deflate the excitement, and trying to find creative ways to spice up the seder is often met with dead eyed stares or subtle sighs.

 

This week, I listened to a wonderful shiur by Rabbi Joey Haber during which he gave ten ideas for enhancing the seder. During one of those suggestions, he mentioned how his own family is more into debate than discussion. It made me contemplate how I yearn to create a vibrant, exciting seder full of laughter and memorable moments during which my children are inspired and deepen their connection to Hashem. When I was younger, I made game sheets, question flash cards, and even, one year, drawings for those perfect illustrative moments. But not only were they, shall we say, unappreciated… by the other members of the seder, they were difficult for me to integrate as the reading went on.

 

To be honest, even haggadot full of what must be cool commentary, purchased fresh each year, can be difficult to manage during a seder as there is little time to read ahead and make sure the commentary will be well met by the rest of the table.

 

Listening to Rabbi Haber, I thought about my own family’s preferences and realized, not for the first time, that, well, we have no one style. Hashem blessed me with 5 very individual children, and so my seder - or my anything - will always be a balancing act between creativity and straight-forward text, between drashot and singing. Everyone has their own needs, and the seder must address them all.

 

It's a beautiful reminder about one of the most integral aspects of the Pesach offering. The eating of the Pesach offering was a communal event, and it still is. The seder brings people together to talk about Yetzias Mitzrayim. The significance of Yetzias Mitzrayim, beyond Hashem demonstrating His greatness, was that it was the forging of a nation.

 

When Hashem brought us out of Mitzrayim, we went from a large familial group to a nation, to a people with structure and culture and expectations of each other.  Most importantly, that nation was woven together by faith, by a recognition of Hashem in our lives. Fairly stated, emuna is a very difficult thing to maintain, especially in trying times. Also, fairly stated again, emuna is not one size fits all. Different people are inspired by completely different facets of Torah, but the core remains the same.

 

Mitzrayim was a place but, chazal notes, it is also a concept. Mitzrayim refers to a narrow or constricted place, and as we note in the Haggadah when we speak of Every Generation facing those who wish to destroy us, it is a concept that repeats itself – as we see all too well today. But we hold on and our faith, our belief that Hashem fulfills His promise of redemption, remains.

 

At the seder, we will call out that who ever needs should come. It doesn’t matter who you are; it matters that you want to come and celebrate our redemption for Mitzrayim. Who ever needs isn’t just about having food for the seder. Needing food is just one form of wanting. Some people need safety. Some people need family. Some people just need other people because life circumstances has left them alone, and the korban Pesach could not be offered and eaten alone (I mean, I guess if one was really, really, really a good eater they could eat a whole kid-goat alone!). Who ever is in need, come to our seder. It doesn’t matter if you want to say drashot, hold debates, sing gustily, or just sit and absorb – come and join, and you will add to our seder.

 

As the final preparation day dawns, I hope to have time to peak into my newest haggada (Rav Hirsh – so excited), to write down thoughts to share, perhaps even to prep my questions. It probably won’t happen, and it likely won’t be well-met by my children eager to bring their own flavor into the seder. And that is totally okay. That too is part of the annual Seder preparation.

 

Have a beautiful Shabbas and a Chag Kasher v’Sameach. Don’t forget to take time this Yom Tov to appreciate the diversity in your own family and the diversity within our nation. Take time to thank Hashem for being here after “In every generation.” (This week’s parsha, Tzav, does talk about the Thanksgiving offering given by one whose life was spared… you make the connection). And don’t forget to take the opportunity to express yourself at your seder.

purim list

 

In case you are curious, the link has brought you to a post on my Parsha Blog. Feel free to take a read :)

Sarah Rochel

Parsha Titzaveh/Zachor: The Purpose of Remember

It is almost Purim. It is almost time for our annual celebration of the miraculous survival of the Jewish people as the entire “known” world turned against us. That “almost” has reoccurred in history far too often, and many of us feel as if we are in the middle of the beginning of yet another one.  That “almost” began, as we remind ourselves every year on the Shabbas before Purim, when the nation of Amalek stealthily moved in behind the weary yet exultant Bnei Yisrael.

 

This week, as we read parshas Zachor after the usual Torah reading, it is important to contemplate this important word: Zachor. Why do we make an extra reading of the section of the Torah describing these events? Yes, obviously, because Hashem literally instructed us to remember what Amalek did to us, but what are we actually supposed to focus on? We must remember the choice Amalek made to fly in the face of Hashem’s obvious involvement. However, we also have to remember that even though we were easily overpowered in the physical sphere, Hashem protected us through Moshe, through the strength of the spiritual over the random strength of the physical.

 

The importance of remembering Amalek is that we must remember all of it:  Their evil deeds, Hashem’s protection, our dependence on Hashem, and, perhaps, most significantly, the fact that we as a nation are absolutely not meant to see the world as random, as lacking constant Divine intervention. We, as Jews, are meant to recognize and thank Hashem for the mercy He put in the world. Indeed, Remembering Amalek is one of six specific commandments to remember, and in all of them we can demonstrate the significant divine rachamim as well the din.

 

In this week’s actual parsha, however, Hashem commands Moshe to incorporate symbols of remembrance FOR Hashem.  This week is Parshas Tetzaveh, the parsha in which the Torah describes – in extreme detail – the clothing of the kohan gadol, and therein it is written:

 

Attach the two stones to the shoulder-pieces of the ephod, as stones for remembrance of the Israelite people, whose names Aaron shall carry upon his two shoulder-pieces for remembrance before Hashem…. Aaron shall carry the names of the sons of Israel on the breastpiece of decision over his heart, when he enters the sanctuary, for remembrance before Hashem at all times (Shemos 28:12 and 29).

 

It is interesting to note that the two places where Aaron is commanded to place the names of the Shevatim are on the shoulder-pieces and over his heart. We think of the heart in association with affection, and it was through the breastplate over the kohain gadol’s heart that Bnei Yisrael was able to receive communication from Hashem. But why place the names of the Shevatim on the shoulder pieces, on a spot often associated with bearing a burden?

 

Bnei Yisrael accepted upon themselves the Yoke of Torah out of true reverence and love for Hashem. The Torah is wonderful, but the term Yoke of Torah exists because it not only controls our lives, but it forces us, in many ways, to work hard in this world – spiritually – just as Yaakov had to fight to get to the level wherein he received the name Yisrael.

 

We are asked to Remember events such as the attack of Amalek so that, looking at the full picture, we recognize Hashem’s true control over the world, so that we remember that Hashem will save us even from the ultimate evil. Hashem asks us to place stones of remembrance in the bigdei kahuna so that when he sees the names of the twelve sons of Israel He will focus on the burden we assumed and the heart with which we strive to connect. The commentator Haamek Davar notes on Shemos 28:12: As a remembrance. In Tehillim (115:12) it is written, “Hashem has remembered us; He will bless.” This teaches us that when God ‘remembers’ the B’nei Yisrael it is in order to bless them.”

 

Hashem doesn’t need symbols to remember Bnei Yisrael, He wants the symbols to be inspiration for us to know that Hashem sees us for who we are, that Hashem remembers the foundation of our nation. And for that He blesses us. But also, in commanding Moshe to create these objects of remembrance, Hashem is, perhaps, indicating to Bnei Yisrael our best forms of advocacy: Remembering who we are, where we came from, and what that means – that we, like our ancestors, are avdei Hashem who work constantly to connect to Hashem.

 

I wish you all a meaningful Shabbas.

Parshas Teruma – Far More Than A Registry

Parshas Teruma can be a difficult parsha to understand. On the one hand, it is from this parsha that we understand giving to Hashem from our hearts, and, on the other hand, it is from this parsha that we receive a very exacting set of instructions for building the Mishkan. It’s almost like, l’havdil, Hashem sent out a housewarming party invitation and included an Amazon wish list (come celebrate and bring me a gift, but these are the gifts that you should buy). 

 It's a silly analogy, of course. Party registries seem… tacky. We see them and we roll our eyes until we start thinking about what to bring and are suddenly grateful that the host told us what they want or need.  Parsha Teruma is no housewarming party; the building of the Mishkan was to allow a Divine Presence to dwell among the nation and therefore required strict delineations. Herein is one of the most beautiful aspects of Jewish tradition – it requires strict adherence to rules and yet cultivates a creativity that is both spiritual and intellectual. 

 It is a wonderful process that cannot be imitated in any human legal system because one of the most subtle yet important aspects of halacha is intention. This is the critical factor in all that is required in Parshas Teruma – Hashem wants the people to have the intention of making the choice for themselves and giving from their heart. Exceptionally specific instructions are necessary for creating this dwelling place, but this is not simply a building. These directions are not about technical blueprints; they are also about creating a space of reverence and a place of beauty - a place for the Shechina to dwell.

 The Mishkan and the Beis Hamikdash are both out of our reach for now. There is no physical space in which the Shechina can dwell so we each try to build our own space within ourselves, a space where we can feel that connection. We do this through living Torah. We do this through not just following detailed rules but by observing them with the intention of giving to Hashem as our ancestors did in the building of the Mishkan. 

 It almost sounds easy to have the right intention. That is deceptive. It isn’t simply about telling ourselves that we are doing mitzvos to serve Hashem, that we are giving tzedakah because all we have comes from Hashem or that our Shabbas rest is focused on emulating Hashem’s rest on the seventh day. It is really, really feeling it. And this takes work. Shemos 25:2 doesn’t use the term want rotze; it uses the term nadav, which is inspired – a richer, deeper, innate desire.

 Today is Rosh Chodesh Adar, which means we turn our thoughts toward Purim. Esther HaMalka went to the palace and married the king because Mordechai told her this was what she needed to do. She took his guidance, and she did it because he was her guardian and he was a gadol. Certainly, she comforted herself that this was Hashem’s will. However, it was – one can infer – not until Mordechai said those fateful words to her -  that Hashem will use a different shaliach, but perhaps this is why she in the palace – that Esther was able to really connect her ratzon to Hashem’s ratzon and thus find courage and then inspiration from within herself. She followed what she was told she needed to do but she attained greatness when she put her whole self into that doing. 

 Truly being able to give “yidvenu leebo” (yes, I know, it doesn’t work grammatically) is an aspiration. It’s toil. It’s hard work, but it is good work. 

 As an extra note. We have heard numerous stories now of released hostages finding their connection to Hashem during their trials and tribulations. They are toldos Esther Hamalka – to coin my own phrase. They are the offshoots of Esther, of finding inspired connection through trauma and challenge.  Hearing about these young women who tried to celebrate the chagim in whatever way possible is inspiring and it is a sharp reminder to those of us living comfortably that the work is upon us to do ourselves, without a cauldron of pain. 

 May we all be blessed to keep working on finding the inspiration from within rather than it being pressed upon us by dire circumstances. May we each enjoy Shabbas inspired and connecting to it as a day of joy to Hashem.

Parshas Mishpatim – Ahava, Yirah, and the Giving of the Luchos

 It is both tempting and daunting to use this Dvar Torah to capture some significant message in this momentously difficult time for the Jewish people. We are a nation in shock, filled with sorrow and rage and, in truth, overwhelmed at the incomprehensible brutality we have witnessed. And the pasuk that most stood out in this week’s parsha was the warning against an ox that has gored before. An ox that gores the first time is returned to its pasture. An ox that has gored before cannot be trusted. Perhaps we need learn from this basic truth… violent nature does not just disappear, does not just shift. Know with whom we are dealing.

 

This week’s parsha is Parshas Mishpatim. It is interesting to note that tradition divides Jewish law into three categories: Chukim, the laws the reason for which are unclear to us like kashrus and shatnes; Edos, the laws commemorating significant moments such as the holidays; and Mishpatim, which are generally understood to be the laws of civilization – laws that any rational society would naturally adhere to… (like don’t kill and don’t kidnap, but there I go again, so I shall begin again.)

 

This week’s parsha is Parashas Mishpatim, and it is interesting to note that one could read its final chapter, Perek 24, in the same manner in which one reads the second chapter of Bereishis. It feels like a repetition, but is, instead, a different perspective. The first description of the creation of the world uses only the name Elokim, which indicates the mida of Din/Justice. The second iteration includes the name Hashem, expressing that the divine attribute of Rachamim/Compassion was added into the creation.

 

Shemos 24 returns to the account of the receiving of the Torah on Har Sinai but with a much more restrained tone. It tells the details of the preparation of Moshe and Aaron and the elders. However, since the Torah never wastes words, one wonders why Perek 24:1-18 is here. Why wasn’t all of this included in Parshas Yisro?  

 

There is an important and common discussion in Jewish texts about Ahavas Hashem (Love of Gd) and Yiras Hashem (Reverence for Gd – often translated as fear). Serving Hashem out of love is the ultimate goal, and it sounds easy. After all, we humans naturally love. We love our parents, our children, our siblings, our friends, our spouses… Of course, we also love hockey (if you’re my son), chocolate, coffee, cake, dogs, etc. Okay it’s a common comment on our overuse of the word love, but that overuse is an excellent description of just why we are taught that to get to true Ahavas Hashem, we must first truly achieve Yiras Hashem. If one really thinks about how tradition discusses love – which is, in many ways, the ultimate giving to someone else without losing oneself – one realizes that it isn’t such a simple emotion, especially when it comes to Hashem.

 

This is not to say that we do not feel Ahavas Hashem, chas v’shalom, but it is a difficult emotion to sustain.

 

Yirah, on the other hand, lends itself to a constant acknowledgement that our actions have consequences. The most common translation of Yiras Hashem is fear of Gd. Fear, however, is connected to the negative, to maintaining mitzvos so that one is not negatively affected. Yirah, as reverence implies. is a deep respect and recognition that Hashem is there as the ultimate Melech whose rule is beyond our comprehension. One can follow rules and respect authority with or without love as an acknowledgement of greater wisdom. Through this wisdom, we hope, of course, to get to Ahavas.

 

There is another interesting aspect of the human concept of love, and that is our natural propensity to wish to demonstrate it in broad, bold gestures (or, for the more introverted, in significantly meaningful moments).

 

And this brings us back to the topic at hand, the giving of the first luchos part one and part two. Har Sinai was an ideal. Bnei Yisrael had true clarity about Hashem, the world, themselves, the importance of Torah…. Everything at Har Sinai was big. It was bold. And perhaps this overwhelming expression of love was why, ultimately, the people sought out another moment of incredible connection with the cheit haegel because they couldn’t maintain that level of Ahavas Hashem but had not yet comprehended the role of Yiras Hashem to get there.

 

The second iteration of the days leading up to the giving of the Torah are about the straight-forward actions of the days of preparation. The text itself is much more restrained, which make it interesting to note that when we celebrate receiving the Torah on Shavuos, we elaborate of the pasukim of Yisro – the mountain blooming, the thunder and lightening, the greatness of the event – and in that context we often reference the term “Naaseh v’Nishma, We will do and we will listen.” This statement, however, is not written in parshas Yisro, but rather here at the end of Parshas Mishpatim. In Parshas Yisro, the people declare “All that Hashem has spoken we will do” (19:8) – absolute devotion, unconditional giving.

 

In Shemos 24, after the parsha lists many practical halachos that, it is understood, were given over to the people before Moshe ascended the mountain, we find the words Naaseh v’Nishma (24:7).  Naaseh vNishma is a statement of Yiras Hashem, of doing and listening and processing Hashem’s will. It isn’t jumping into an unsustainable.

 

Rashi notes that the world was meant to be created with Din alone, but Hashem realized that it was unsustainable, so He added Rachamim to the creation. Similarly, the ideal connection to Hashem is pure Ahava. That, however, may not be attainable for most people, and so we have a different path – a path of reverence in which we experience love and fear and a host of emotions in our understanding the full and complete nature of Hashem.

 

It often seems as if the world is full of contradictions. Din or Rachamim? Ahava or Yirah? The praising of obvious evil… The Torah makes it clear that the world, and our role in the world, will always be complex, and that He will always provide us with a path forward.

 

Parshas Yisro: Seeing Humanity

This week’s parsha, Parshas Yisro, contains what could be consider the foundation stone – well, stones, really - of Jewish law. The Aseres Hadibros, also known as the Ten Commandments, are delivered to the Jewish people at Har Sinai. On the surface, the Aseres Hadibros seem like easy-to-follow basic rules of society, and they are, except that each of the Ten Commandments is a path to a multitude of other halachos that shape the Jewish nation.

It is fair to say that most people would agree that laws are good, that they are important, and that they are applied on every level of society. In our homes we have rules, and we expect those rules to be followed. Interestingly, however, the entire history of the Jewish people - of humanity, in fact – seems to be a never ending serious of people not listening to the rules.

So lets think about the importance of breaking rules. One of the most essential distinctions of human life is bechira, free will. Bechira is the human ability to actively choose our  path in the world, and this means breaking rules. We need bechira because if we didn’t have the capacity to break rules, then the rules would be meaningless.

What is particularly interesting is that in this week’s parsha one could see a far more subtle fact: Hashem almost expects people to make the wrong choices. Hashem knows how great the yetzer harah, the inclination to do the wrong thing, is, and this is subtly alluded to just before the delivery of the Aseres Hadibros.

 In Shemos 19:21-22, Hashem tells Moshe to descend to the people and warn them not to come forward to try to see Him. He even specifies that the priests, who at this stage were the bachorim (firstborn), must guard themselves as well.

 This is where the text takes an interesting little blip. Moshe responds to Hashem by saying “The people cannot ascend Mount Sinai, for You have warned us, saying, ‘Make a boundary around the mountain and sanctify it.’” Hashem warns against the people surging forward in a desire to see what is occurring, and Moshe basically responds with the naivety of a proud parent who believes their child would never do anything wrong.  Even with all of his experience as to the willfulness of Bnei Yisrael, which he had a taste of in Mitzrayim (though far more was yet to come!) and his direct witnessing of the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart, Moshe firmly believes that the boundary he set up around the mountain is enough.

 Hashem, however, is wise to the ways of mankind. Afterall, the very first humans, the very first creations to whom He gave bechira, almost immediately made the wrong choice. And, in thinking about it, there are some fascinating parallels here.

 The tree from which Adam and Chava were told not to eat was the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad. Rabbi Immanuel Bernstein on the ou.org website notes a fascinating commentary by the Meshech Chachma:

[The Mechech Chachma] explains that the snake was not trying to convince Chava that she would not die if she ate from the tree, contrary to what Hashem had said. Rather, he was arguing that if she and Adam truly valued closeness to Hashem, then they should be prepared to do anything that would bring that closeness about, even if it meant that they would die! Since eating from the tree would make them more Godlike in the sense of knowing good and evil, they should be prepared to do it even if it required them give up their lives…

 Har Sinai could be seen as a parallel to the Eitz HaDaas. Bnei Yisrael were about to receive a new level of wisdom and understanding of the world. How great and ultimately fulfilling it would be to get even closer during this process.

 Hashem understood, as proven by Chava, that a general warning  - and even a simple barrier – was not enough. So Hashem told Moshe: “Go, descend. Then you must ascend, Aaron with you; but let not the priests or the people break through to come up to Hashem, lest [God] break out against them” (19:24).

 Hashem told Moshe to go down right then and announce the prohibition of ascending another time. By doing so, Moshe was re-enforcing that barrier and the previously stated prohibition. The fact that Moshe came down the mountain JUST to remind them of the danger they were in lest they breech that barrier was another layer of protection because it emphasized how serious Hashem was.

 At Har Sinai, Bnei Yisrael accepted upon ourselves a very great responsibility. We showed our love for Hashem by jumping forth to accept the yoke of Torah. Hashem has great expectations for us, but Hashem is also not naïve as all humans are. He recognizes our vulnerabilities and our fallibilities, and that is why Hashem is truly the ultimate Melech Hamalchim.

Parshas Beshalach - The Constant Response

Dedicated to a Refuah Shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Nacha Itta.

There are so many topics in this week’s parsha that one could make relevant toward the state of the Jewish people today. One could explore that idea of purposeful confusion, of how Hashem led Bnei Yisrael in a roundabout path in order to lead the Mitzrim after them, just as Hashem leads our people on a circuitous route through history. One could talk about feeling cornered by an enemy (enemies) and needing a clear path forward. And, one could write about the need for two arms in battle - the physical fighting force and the spiriYtual fighting force. 

I’m not going to write on any of those topics herein. 

The Torah only uses two pasukim to discuss Miriam’s song: “Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took her timbrel in hand, and all the women followed her with timbrels and dancing. Miriam led them in responsive song, beginning, ‘Sing to God for He is most exalted; horse and rider He cast into the sea’” (Shemos 15:20-21).

One could wonder about the fact that it doesn’t state that Miriam and the women sang, but rather that Miriam led them in responsive song, and that song repeated teh words of Moshe’s song. Stated that way is sounds like a negative, like a trope that can be parsed as women being simple followers rather than powerful in their own right. This, of course, we know is not true. 

Thinking a little deeper, there is another interesting distinction between the two songs. Moshe’s song begins: Az Yashir - and there are many discussions about the grammar here, about the use of the future tense form of the noun (not to mention singular, but we will not go into that here). The song was sung and the song will be sung upon the ultimate salvation. Here now, and then - 1, 2.

Miriam’s song, however, is immediately thereafter. It says and she answered, but perhaps the answering was a way of stating that it isn’t now and then, it’s constant. Miriam took here timbrel and the women all followed with their instruments. Sing a song unaccompanied and it is beautiful; sing a song with a full accompaniment and it resonates new depths. 

Miriam and the women responded to the song taught by Moshe and that response, perhaps, demonstrates that the song was not just for now and then, but that it must resonate through our lives. They took it up with timbrels and dancing, with their whole being - physical and spiritual.

This Dvar Torah is being written in Yerushalayim, where I am visiting my daughter in seminary, and so I have our young women particularly in mind. These young women have come from all over the world to learn how to make Torah sing in their own voices. It is a different experience than the young men who come here to study in Yeshiva, who sit and learn and delve int ot he gemara. The education they are receiving at Seminary is meant to take them from the defined lanes of high school into a world where they will become the foundations of the Yiddishkeit of their future homes. They are not learning theoretical concepts or delving into the complex arguments under the law, but rather, they are formatting a constant response as the teachers push them to build themselves as individuals. In these Seminary programs there is plenty of music and dancing and expressions of joy because these women are learning how to live Torah.

This Dvar Torah has no specific takeaway conclusion, as I so often like to include, but rather it is a salute to our young women and their teachers…and to all women who remember that it is the women who bring the constant response and who make the Torah sing in their lives and in their homes.

Parshas Bo: The AUdacious Ego

 Parshas Bo: The Audacious Ego

Dedicated to a Refuah Shelaima for Moshe Aharon ben Necha Itta and Tanchum Shlomo ben Rayza Bryna

This week’s parsha describes the terrible events of the last three plagues and the ultimate downfall of the great Egyptian monarchy (although it would, we know, rise again). This week’s parasha explains great and mighty events such as the blackening of the sky by a sea of locust who landed on the fields and devoured everything in their path. This week’s parsha is full of darkness and death.

This week’s parsha contains the unmistakable calamity of absolute narcissism.

                                                                                                                                                

There is a fascinating verse buried amidst all the chaos of the final plague: “Take also your flocks and your herds, as you said, and begone! And may you bring a blessing upon me also!” (12:32).  After the Death of the Firstborn, Pharoah is finally ready to send the Israelites – all of the Israelites – to go to the Wilderness to worship Hashem. After generations of slavery, after trying to kill their babies, after all the extra inflicted hardship, how does he possibly have the audacity to ask for a blessing! As if setting them free is no big deal.

 

It’s audacious. It’s outrageous. It’s… well, when we really stop and think about it, perhaps it isn’t so surprising. The easy response is to say, “Well, we all know people like that.” People who are do oblivious to clues. We all know people we want to label as narcissists, who put themselves before everything and take no responsibility for the messes they may make. Pharoah is just perfect profile of the personality – although one could argue that his royal life made it so he could be no other way. Pharoah’s ridiculous ego is present throughout the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim. He reacts to Moshe and Aaron by stating that he doesn’t know who Hashem is. He deliberately toys with them about whether he will send them to the wilderness. More significantly, even as his land and people are plunged into chaos and despair, Pharoah doesn’t care.

 

Indeed, one can see how the Egyptian people felt by their immediate reaction to Pharoah’s release of the Israelites…… “The Egyptians urged the people on, impatient to have them leave the country, for they said, ‘We shall all be dead’”  (12:33).

 

The fact that the Torah includes this detail of Pharoah asking for a bracha allows us to examine the significance of what he did. Obviously, it is included for us to really understand who Pharoah was and just how flawed he was. It serves as a warning about autocrats who rule a country based on a sense of their own personal power. Warnings about such a grandiose concept, however, is really a warning about who each of us has the potential to become. We can say it’s human nature to focus on ourselves, but Jewish tradition constantly reminds us that we need to be above base human nature.

Parshas Va’eira – The World Cannot Choose

If you know the story of the Exodus then you know that Hashem hardened Paroah’s heart. It’s one of the most repeated tropes in the many discussions of the narrative. Most often, however, it comes up far into the plagues. It is the source of great discussion and debate: What of Paroah’s bechira - especially as his actions impacted all of Mitzrayim? If Paroah didn’t relent, then no one was going to help the Israelites. This, of course, leads to the deeper question of: How can Paroah be punished if Hashem was the one causing his heart to be hardened?  The hardening, tradition teaches us, was already there. Hashem did not change the man.

 

This week’s parsha, Parshas Va’eira, introduces the beginning of the plagues, and it introduces the hardening of the heart of Paroah. It came from the very beginning and is mentioned three times before the first plague, the plague of blood. The first mention is verse 7:3, where Hashem informs Moshe: “And I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, that I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt.”  Having heard this, Moshe and Aaron went to Paroah and had their show down with Paroah’s magicians, but their expectations must have been very low. When the snakes of the magicians were eaten by Aaron’s snake, the Torah relays: “Yet Paraoh’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them, as Hashem had said.  And Hashem said to Moshe, ‘Paraoh is heavy of heart (stubborn); he refuses to let the people go.’” (7:13-14).

 

In English, these verses look both very similar and very different. All three of them contain the word lev – heart. However, 7:3 uses the verb kashe, verse 13 uses chazak, and verse 14 uses the word kaved. Hashem promises Moshe that he will make Paroah’s heart hard. However, what we see happening is that after being confronted with Aaron’s obviously mightier staff-snake, Paroah made his own heart strong. There was nothing supernatural about it. And thus Hashem’s statement in verse 14, that Paroah’s heart is stubborn. Hashem used the term Kavaid Lev. The word Kavaid means heavy, but it is also associated with the word kavod, which means “honor.” 

 

Hashem did not need to strengthen Paroah’s heart, Paraoh’s own ego refused to allow him to recognize Hashem’s greatness, that there was a possibility that he was not the ultimate authority.

 

This is a deep truth of the world, that we all know. Power breeds power. Paroah, who reigned over the most powerful nation in the ancient world, could not humble himself to acknowledge that something beyond him was happening. Hashem did not have to worry about fulfilling His promise to strengthen Paroah’s heart because his heart was already burdened with too much kavod.

 

We, or at least I can speak for myself, keep hoping that the world will open its eyes and see the truth. But even if they do, are they capable to admitting they were wrong? A stand once taken is hard to come down from, and so we fight almost alone. Is this Hashem’s will actively blinding the nations or were their hearts already hardened?

The truth, alas, is that this question pushes at our brains but is, in fact, irrelevant. If their hearts were already hardened than it was so because of Hashem, Who stated that we would be a hated nation. Thus, either way, the events of this era – as of so many eras in the past – is the will of Hashem. What is left to us to ponder – and many of us have and do – is what Hashem requires of us in light of the path the world has taken. That, I would say, is the true bechira.

Vayechi: Death, Blessings, and Life Choices

 

Vayechi – Death, Blessings, and Life Choices

If one were to boil this week’s parsha down to its most basic elements, Parshas Vayechi would be said to be about death and blessings, blessings that all focus on “this will be you when I am gone.” Death and blessings sound like a strange combination of themes as we tend to think of death as the ultimate negative, and even more so when we remember that the name of the parsha translates to “And he lived.”

 

He lived. Yaakov lived. For 17 years Yaakov lived in a land not his own, and, in many ways, he flourished. It was not, one would assume, his ideal life. He was not where he wanted to be as he understood the kedusha of Eretz Yisrael, but it was where Hashem told him that He wanted him to be. It is a sharp contrast to the commentaries surrounding the beginning sentiment of “Vayeishev,” “and he dwelled,” where Yaakov is criticized in the Midrash for settling into complacency.

 

Because Yaakov lived his life in the best way he could for being in a less then ideal state (an ability he had proven already during his sojourn with Lavan), his last years had a tremendous impact. The Torah describes the funeral procession set for him by Paroah and the fact that there was a period of national mourning throughout Egypt. Some of this was a reflection of the nation’s feelings for Yosef, but a reaction so grand only occurs from respect, nay – reverence, for the deceased himself.

 

Yaakov’s choosing to LIVE those 17 years, rather than just accept his altered state, gave him the kochos, the spiritual strength, to end his life in a way that carried his life forward. He focused his ability to see the world on a spiritual plane to provide guidance and shine light on the deeper journey ahead for each of his sons and, thus, strengthening them. Yes, even the blessings that were tochacha were the means of shoring them up against the challenges that were to come. Yaakov on his deathbed focused not on his own end but on the future that was to come.

 

Today is Aseres B’Teves. It is the shortest fast day on the calendar, but it is also noted as the most significant of the minor fasts of mourning the destruction of Jerusalem. Today represents the beginning of the end of what had been an idyllic time when the first Beis Hamikdash was the heart of our nation. We fast to mourn our loss and to spur on teshuva so that we can return, so that Hashem will redeem us. But as this year it overlaps with Vayechi, perhaps we must recognize a different lesson in our mourning.

 

Like Yaakov Avinu, we are not living in our ideal world, we are separated from the greater spirituality, but that is not a reason to live any less. That is not a reason to become complacent, but rather it is a reason to bring that ideal world as close to where we dwell as possible. And this does not apply only to one’s physical location. Yaakov did not live an easy life. From sibling rivalry to in-law troubles, from Rachel’s dying to Yoseph’s disappearance, from trouble with Shechem to famine in Canaan… But he did not let that stop him from living. Often times life takes a hard turn, but it is our job to persevere.