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.