Parshas Emor: Identity in the Unit

In the province of Quebec, when a couple gets married their names remain the same. From one perspective, this is a lot easier than all the paperwork to change one’s legal name after marriage. From a different perspective …it sometimes leads to other bureaucratic conundrums (so what name to I put on this cheque to pay my kid’s friend’s mom back!). While here in Quebec this is actually a legal matter, in other modern Western countries, many women make this choice as a statement of independence (which is different than those who do so because of an already developed career under their maiden name). From this week’s parsha, however, one may be able to extract a bit of perspective on marriage and independence.

 

Before discussing marriage, let us look at the end of Parshas Emor, where there is the story of Shelomith’s son who was stoned to death for blasphemy and cursing God. Put that way, the story sounds appropriately…biblical. Obviously cursing God is a grievous sin, particularly from someone who had lived through all of the miracles in Mitzrayim and the splitting of the Sea. But the story, or the way it is presented in the Torah, is a bit…odd:

“There came out among the Israelites someone who was the son of an Israelite woman and an Egyptian man. And a fight broke out in the camp between that half-Israelite and a certain Israelite man. The son of the Israelite woman pronounced the Name in blasphemy, and he was brought to Moses—now his mother’s name was Shelomith daughter of Dibri of the tribe of Dan—” (Vayikra 23:10-11).

 

The Midrash adds a great deal of important information that helps us understand exactly what the fight was about and why the nameless man was specifically described as the son of Shelomith. Let’s face it, not many people in the Torah are identified by their mother. To recap for those who are not familiar with the Midrash, as the son of an Egyptian, the blasphemer did not have a patrilineal line to connect him to a tribe. His mother, however, was from the tribe of Dan, and so they went to live among them. Some in the tribe felt he didn’t belong…and, well, one thing led to another. (If you’re interested on the Personal Parsha Prose insights on this Midrash… https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2020/05/blog-post.html)

 

There are many aspects about this small section of Torah that are unexpected and interesting. The history that led to the situation is complex, but at the heart of it all is a critical idea that identity matters on a family level. In building a civilization, which is what the Children of Israel were doing (and which we must continue to do), who you are matters.

 

This is not to say that Bnei Dan were correct in evicting this man from their camp because he had no patrilineal line – that is a far more complex question. It is, however, a recognition of the fact that the Torah wants us to build cohesive units within the greater nation. The great monument to Hashem’s eternity that is Klal Yisrael is make up of units* and tribes and families and, eventually, individuals. But each individual has significance to the units they are part of.

 

This concept also appears earlier in the parsha when the Torah discusses the daughter of a Kohein: “If a priest’s daughter becomes a layman’s wife, she may not eat of the sacred teruma; but if the priest’s daughter is widowed or divorced and without offspring, and is back in her father’s house as in her youth, she may eat of her father’s food. No lay person may eat of it—" (22:11-12).

 

Now it is clear that the daughter of a kohein would be able to eat from the teruma while she was still part of her father’s household; and it makes sense that if she should be widowed or divorced and without children that she would likely return to her father’s household. If she returned to her father’s household, surely, she would have to be able to eat what the rest of her family ate. However, as the commentator Chizkuni points out, these verses teach us that while she is married to or the mother of those who are not kohanim, she does not have that status. She is fully part of the family and tribe of her husband and/or her children.

 

Many people in the modern era would take issue with this idea – that a woman’s “identity” should be absorbed into her husband’s identity. Afterall, women are powerful forces unto themselves, and the idea that a woman should take her place in society based on her husband is almost blasphemy (ok, I couldn’t resist). Sure, they would say, it made sense when a woman needed a husband to survive in the world, when the marriage partnership was divided between provider and nurturer, but today women are often the breadwinners, or at least the equivalent earners to their partners, and being independent is not a survival challenge.

 

The argument makes sense,,, when you are focused on the individual. The Torah, however, is focused on the community. The community is Klal Yisrael, it’s the tribe, and it’s the family. Marriage, from a Torah perspective, is a building of units. When two people get married, they become one unit and that unit must have solidarity in their identity. That concept in no way negates the importance of each woman’s sense of self, but it forms a necessary process in the raising of children, in the fostering of identity within a family unit, and in the recognition that the klal is what we are essentially building.

 

It is easy to get caught up in ideas of rightness when talking about identity. What other topic is so ripe for the argument of self-fulfilment? So much has changed in the last 150 years in the status of women and the socialization of men and women that it is terribly easy to immediately assess the Torah as ignoring a woman’s right to her own identity. That argument misses the larger picture because it leads to a false narrative. Independence and self-fulfillment are important – without question – but, to spin John Donne’s famous quote: no woman is an island.

 

I wish you all a wonderful and beautiful Shabbas and may you all feel yourselves included in the units of the nation.

 

*by units I mean the association of groups of Tribes together in the Midbar.

Parshas Acharei- Mos/Kedoshim – Holy Closed Circuit

You might have heard, here or there, that a big part of Jewish life is to be holy. Are you there? Yeah, me neither. The fact is that most of us must, must think of passages with commandments for being holy as sources of inspiration and aspiration. I am inspired to aspire to holiness. I want it, and, more than that, I want to want it even more. The ever-prevailing question, however, is how do I truly attain it?

 Talking about holiness is not new, and Parshas Acharei- Mos/Kedoshim is particularly well known for the conversation, for the repetitive instruction to be holy for Hashem is holy. The final such statement, in the penultimate pasuk, has, however, a slightly different tone to it: “And you all shall be to me holy-ones, for holy am I, Hashem; and I have set you apart from the nations to be for Me” (Vayikra 20:26).

 This isn’t the typical commandment to be holy. This is an existential statement about the Jewish nation. You are holy and you are separate from the nations and you are claimed. You, as a nation, cannot be any other way – people may fall away from the nation, but the nation will always be a holy core that is irrevocably attached to Hashem. It is almost like a closed circuit in which one thing leads to another that leads back to the beginning so that all must perpetually exist together. Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsh says: “God has breathed in us with the breath of life emanating from His holy being. This breath of God's holy nature is the cause of our ability to be holy, and the reason for our duty to be holy is against the holiness of God, to Whom we belong, Who has given us the command to be holy; and who only recognizes us being His as long as we do not deny our belonging to Him, but show it by striving to attain holiness.” 

Being holy isn’t easy. It’s about action, and thought, and motivation. It’s about understanding that being set apart from the nations is because in order to be what Hashem needs us to be, we have to be different. We have to have a unique identity as those who are striving to make the ultimate connection, which is not an easy job – and you’re welcome, nations of the world. We know this is not an easy job because this verse comes after a long string of commandments that show us how striving to be holy, to follow Torah, comes into every walk of life – whether that be eating or hiring employees or etc.

It should be noted that Rav Hirsh does not highlight Jewish exclusivity. In fact, quite the opposite, he says on this pasuk: “It is as one who first picks out the best from the lesser good and then goes on an on picking out the good ones; but one who picks the bad out of the good, throws the bad away, and has nothing more to do with them.” So that in no wise does Jewish thought look on the choice of Israel as a rejection of the rest of humanity. It regards the choice of Israel only as a beginning, only the restarting of the spiritual and moral rebuilding of mankind, only the first step to that future where many nations will attach themselves to God, and become His people, and Israel's sanctuary will not only be the central heart of Israel but the centre of mankind who will have found their way to God.”

 Being holy requires separation, but we can never forget our deeper mission, which is to be a light unto the nations to bring them to see Hashem in the world. They won’t always like us. They might often hate us. But Hashem made a promise, and it has remained true, that there is a Jewish nation that holds fast and strives with all of their might to give themselves to Hashem, to live truly holy lives – mind, body, and soul.

 Right now, in the 21^st century, we have many enemies among the nation longing to pull us away, knock us down, and even make us disappear. They will not succeed, and if we want to be part of the reason why, we must act – inside and out – in the path of Hashem.

 

Parshas Tazria- Metzorah – What is the Contagion?

When most people write about or discuss this week’s parsha, Tazriah/Metzorah, they immediately make it clear that the affliction most-often translated as leprosy is a spiritual affliction and not the unfortunate disease carried by the Mycobacterium leprae bacteria. Because of its sever physical manifestation, leprosy was, for most of history, a disease for which people were shunned – which makes it understandable why the disease symptoms described in parsha for which people were sent out the camp was so named. But everything in our mesorah makes it clear that the various types of tzaraas have nothing to do with bacteria or viruses.

 

One might, however, stop and wonder about Vayikra 13:45: ‘“As for the person with an affliction: their clothes shall be rent, their head shall be left bare, and their upper lip shall be covered over; and they shall call out, ‘Impure! Impure!’” Why is the matzroa covering his upper lip? Many answers are given, but the Ibn Ezra notes “He shall cover his upper lip so that he does not harm anyone with the breath of his mouth.”  Was there some sort of contagion to Tzaraas if it was a spiritual affliction?

 

Furthermore, it is most puzzling that the one who is suffering for having spread loshen hara is now meant to walk about shouting “Impure.” We know that lashon hara, gossip and rumors, are toxic particularly because they end up embarrassing someone and thus, from a theological construct, murdering them. So why does Hashem put the matzora in a position to embarrass himself unless he truly is a danger to someone else?

 

Let us take a step back and contemplate what brings a person to a state of a tzaraas affliction. Lashon hara – and lashon hara is generally the result of jealousy. To get to the point of a matzora, not just one with a suspicion of tzaraas, but truly stricken, one must have had a rather decent amount of ill-will.

 

The discussion of the matzora easily makes it seem that one who discovered themselves in this situation went out from the camp, did teshuva, and returned home. But sometimes it took longer than the set amount of days. Sometimes the Kohain declared that the matzora was not yet cured… It was not just that his physical affliction still remained. It was that the negative energy was still eating away at his soul. He was still jealous.

 

Perhaps when this matzora calls out that he is unclean, he is alerting anyone who nears him that he still has an urge to speak lashon hara. The dangerous element that the Ibn Ezra refers to is not germs as we think of them today, but the miasma of negativity, the inclination to feel that this situation in which he or she finds themselves is, perhaps, not really their fault or their responsibility.

 

Until the matzora does true teshuva, the matzora cannot be healed. True teshuva is not only repenting from the lashon hara and fortifying oneself not to do so again, but really, in one’s heart of heart, recognizing why it was done and letting go of what ever pain led the person down that road in the first place.

 

There is a pithy statement that acknowledging a problem is half the battle. Perhaps in the commandment that the matzora call out that he is unclean is the cure to that fact itself. Hashem understands human nature – obviously – and this is the manner is which a person can learn to face the truth of his/her own doing.

 

We don’t have tzaraas today, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to work to take responsibility for our thoughts and feelings. In truth, however, it just means that it is a lot harder to do so.

 

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas and hatzlacha on the journey of self-improvement that is living Torah.

Parshas Tzav – For the All Nighter

 Parshas Tzav starts out with a seemingly straight-forward instruction: “And Hashem spoke to Moshe, saying: Command Aaron and his sons thus - This is the ritual of the burnt offering: The burnt offering itself shall remain where it is burned upon the altar all night until morning, while the fire on the altar is kept going on it” (Vayikra 6:1-2).

 

Why, one might ask, does the Torah that wastes no words, define the time the oleh is burned as “Kol halaylah ad haboker…all night until the morning”? When else does the night end if not in the morning? Why do these two extra words have to be added?

 

But wait, before that can be answered, one has to realize that the burnt offering was not an exclusively night activity. There were many different times when an “oleh” was brought, and, in fact, just three pasukim later is the instruction that in the morning, “The priest must kindle wood upon it every morning, and he must arrange the cut-up pieces of the morning daily ascent-offering upon it” (6:5).  The question therefore arises as to why Hashem began the laws of the oleh with instructions that it must be minded all night.

 

The evening offering of the oleh is the first of each day – remember: vayehi erev, vayehi boker. It is right that the offering made in the late evening or in the dark of night is explained first, but that does not explain the extra wording.

 

Now some people are what we call “night owls.” They can stay up all night, repeatedly. But they are not morning people. Perhaps Hashem wanted to give those night-owl Kohanim a job well suited to them. In truth, however, even the night owls rarely stay up ALL night, it just feels like they do.

 

Hashem included the term ad haboker because all night means all night. It does not say ad ayelet hashachar, until the crack of dawn, which could easily be assumed to be the start of morning. But that moment of ayelet hashachar actually precedes boker. Boker implies a time by which one can start to discern what things are because there is now light.  

 

Defining boker does not explain why Hashem included it in this pasuk. The Kli Yakar has several interesting thoughts on this pasuk (which I encourage you to go look up ), and he begins his commentary thus:

 

Command Aaron and his sons, saying. The term command [tzav] always implies urging, both immediately and for generations. Rabbi Shimon said: The Scripture needs to especially emphasize urging in situations where there is financial loss. Urging is only needed in places of laziness, and it is written ‘Laziness casts one into a deep sleep’ (Proverbs 19:15), and it is written ‘How long will you lie down, O lazy one?’ (Proverbs 6:9). Here, the commandment involves tending to the fire burning all night until morning, and there is concern that due to the natural laziness in people, one might fall into slumber and ruin the sacrifice (Translation from Sefaria).

 

The financial loss that the Kli Yakar is referring to is that the offering will be incomplete and thus ruined if the fire goes out. But the idea is acknowledging the challenge and risk of a statement of all night. Ad Haboker is a push, a definition that the kohein tending the oleh understands that he himself cannot define when “all night” is over. He must stay up and alert until the morning.

 

How is this relevant to us today? As a schoolteacher, I am often faced with the implied question of why an assigned work is necessary. Sometimes an assignment really isn’t necessary for a particular student to learn the lesson, but they need to do it anyway because they are learning a work ethic. Hereto, Hashem’s very specific command kol halayla ad haboker teaches us an ethic of diligence even when it is difficult.

 

It is particularly relevant as we near the seder, a moment in the Jewish calendar in which night time is highly relevant. There is an encouragement to stretch the seder far into the night  - but to eat the afikomen before halachic midnight – and that isn’t always easy for some people, especially after a very busy day of preparations. And this thought can help us, can inspire us, to stay diligent and alert throughout the seder. (Trust me, that’s a lecture to myself!)

 

I want to wish you all a beautiful shabbas and a chag kasher v’sameach, and may all of you in Eretz Yisrael have only seder night to be up all night. Let peace be upon you and no more horrid nights in bomb shelters.

Parshas Vayikra – Beautiful Bread

 Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Masha Frayda bas Goldie, Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Yaakov ben Esther Malka.

 

In just a few short weeks, the majority of the Jewish people (those not afflicted with gluten issues!) will be pondering the many ways we shall once again enjoy fresh hot challah or a steaming bagel while we stare at the lechem oni before us. “Bread of affliction” the Passover matzah is indeed to those of us who relish the taste, the feel, the sight, the smell … well, the everything of bread.

 

This is not, however, a Pesach Dvar Torah. This is a Dvar Torah on Parshas Vayikra, but within this first parsha of the third sefer of the chumash, the love of bread is easily recalled. The second perek of Parshas Vayikra discusses the mincha offering. The first description of the mincha offering is that of grain – of choice flour – that, after wetting it with oil, the Kohain can scoop up and “poof” into the fire so that it goes up in smoke. There are, however, two other types of mincha offering that are immediately described: a grain offering baked in an oven and a grain offering prepared on a griddle.

 

There are many reasons why a person might bring prepared grain as opposed to loose flour for their offering – perhaps it was easier to transport. It is interesting, however, that the verses describing the pre-prepared offerings are followed by an unobtrusive instruction: “Break it into bits and pour oil on it; it is a grain offering” (Vayikra 2:6).

 

It’s such a simple line and such a no-big-deal commandment, and yet there remains the question of why. What is significant about these offerings that in order to be properly offered on the mizbayach, they must be destroyed?

 

As noted earlier, bread is a funny thing. It is incredibly simple to make, perhaps the simplest food on earth, and yet it is a food that people revel in, indulge in…fight their tayva for! Bread represents basic survival, and bread represents indulgence and comfort. The simplest form of bread is a combination of flour and water – that is not the mincha offering. A mincha offering is a little more elevated than simple bread as it is always a combination of flour and oil – even the mincha soles, the poof of flour into the flame, is flour with oil.

 

Flour is necessity, but oil is comfort. Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch says (on Vayikra 1:1) that flour is “generally used as the basic idea of food, of nourishment, as a symbol of the necessities of life, can be accepted without further proof, and to bring flour as a mincha as a sign of homage, would express the idea that the condition for our very existence lies in the hands of Him to Whom the sign of homage is brought. If oil is added… to the general conception of simply ‘nourishment’ is added the idea of ‘comfort.’” Adding Frankincense, as is done in the case of the mincha soles, moves it from comfort to luxury. In his commentary on verses 4-7, Hirsh posits that the mincha offering expresses acknowledgement to God for food, comfort, and satisfaction.

 

Bread is a miraculous food, and it is the ultimate partnership between Hashem and mankind because Hashem provides the seed, the kernal, that mankind transforms into sustenance. Think about the process of making bread. In truth, it seems almost miraculous that any human ever figured it out… hmm, if I just crush this little hard bit down a lot and add some water and then throw that in the fire!

 

Of course, mankind took things a step or three further. We make our bread beautiful (just think of the challahs of your Shabbas table) and we give meaning to our bread. We take pride in “putting bread upon the table.” Thus, we might also note that bread, as much as it is symbolic of Hashem’s gift of food, also represents mankind’s hubris, the desire to say: “Look what I’ve accomplished.”

 

The idea that bread can represent pride is particularly interesting when one notes that the prepared mincha offerings are called matzah in the Torah. They are unleavened. We think of matzah and immediately, according to so many discussions from early education on, we consider matzah to already be humble, to not have risen as chametz does. But the unleavened offering of the mincha was not the matza of Pesach, the lechem oni – the bread of affliction/the poor man’s bread. Pesach matzah is bread and water, and a touch of salt, I believe. But the mincha included oil. It was richer. It was enticing. It was the taking of sustenance and bringing it to the next level.

 

This leads back to Vayikra 2:6 and the commandment to break apart the mincha offering before it goes into the fire on the alter. The mincha soles, the basic flour offering, although mixed with both oil and frankincense, is bread before it is bread, The bread or griddle cake that was brought was “completed” by human hand and breaking it is a reminder of the miraculous nature of bread, as sustenance, as gift from Hashem.

Purim 5786

Purim Thoughts 5786

There is one element of the Purim story that has always bothered me, and it seems relevant in multiple ways at this time. Achashverosh is the king from hodu ad kush. He has the power to, on the spur of the moment, execute the queen - the one who is actually of royal blood - and then declare laws about wives obeying husbands...but he isn't allowed to reneg his permission for people to attack Jews?! The best he can do is declare permission for Jews to defend themselves?

This just seems...odd. It wasn't like he had a Parliament or Congress  (or a National Assembly) to answer to. He was an absolute monarch who could spend the nation's treasury on a 180 day party!

But, as with so many concepts in our Jewish lives, that discussed in antiquity takes a suddenly new and jarring meaning when looked at from where we are in technology. For instance, al kanfei nesharim seemed like a fantastical idea - people flying from the four corners of the earth (which, of course, has no corners) is no longer so fantastical in an age of airplanes.

So why wasn’t Achashverosh’s power so all-powerful? Social media has amplified what has always been true, what we have always “mosheled” (did I just create a new verb?) about lashon harah - once an idea is released, it is nearly impossible to undo. Achashverosh’s terrible letters went out, and those who had reason to hate Jews not only had time to put preparations into place, but to spread their insidious hate. They had time to wear-down the basic morality most people probably had wherein they knew it would be wrong to attack their neighbors. They had time to revise history and to de-humanize. 

How easily we have seen that once a story hits the news (Israel bombs hospital!) it is nearly impossible to discredit it. It’s been published, so it must be real. And even in the 21st century when we are all so acutely aware of the trappings of the internet and social media, most of us fall for it anyway. 

It wasn’t as simple as Achashverosh being unable to revoke a decree he had passed. It was that trying to revoke that law would have proven near impossible. Months of energy that had gathered behind their preparations to attack the Jews could not be undone in so short a time period – but the tables could be turned and the Jews could defend themselves.

When I was in my 20’s and first did a close reading of the Megillah, I was horrified at the numbers killed on Purim - 75,000… not Jews, but our enemies. What is easy to forget, when looking at figures, is that the people who were killed were those who came to attack. The Jews were given permission to “assemble and fight for their lives; if any people or province attacks them, they may destroy, massacre, and exterminate its armed force together with women and children, and plunder their possessions” (8:11).

That was the power of the underground campaign. Even knowing that the king had permitted the Jews to defend themselves, tens of thousands were still willing to attack because their hatred had taken over both their morality and their sense of self preservation!  Were the instigators all Amaleck, like Haman Ha’Agagi? Perhaps - but even in the time of Esther, those lineages were already blurred and the ability to fulfill the commandment of wiping out Amaleck was no longer contemplatable because we could not tell who was Amaleck (except, you know, the guy flaunting the Agagi title). 

We live in a world today where we can watch hate spread. And I feel I must be blunt and say that that is a two way street as well - there are plenty of Jewish “influencers” who create anger against others forgetting that we can no longer cast blanket statements on the character of nations since we can no longer truly identify the 70 nations. 

In the last few years, we have all watched in amazement and horror how anti-Semitism has become more acceptable and how easily people not only look the other way but find reasons to excuse or accept it. And while the answer in the Purim story came from a miracle of reversals, we must follow the lessons of Megillas Esther. We must be clear in who our enemy is - as Esther articulated about Haman. We must stay calm and set the stage up to be heard properly - as Esther does when she invites the king and Haman to a private party. We must turn to Hashem and daven - as she asked the Jewish nation to do.

I wish you all a frielichen Purim and may we all come to understand the miracles hidden in our time and let them draw us closer to Hashem.

This Dvar Torah was written in honor of my father’s yahrtzeit today: Avraham Ephraim Beryl ben Yaakov HaLevi. 

Parshas Mishpatim: It’s Not My Fault

Teaching teenagers can be an exciting and insight -inducing experience. It is so easy to listen to them, scratch one’s head, and wonder if you did such things at their age. But, alas, as they say, “Hindsight is 20/20” and “if I knew then what I know now.”  Wow, if only I could have had my current wisdom as a young adult…and there is still so much of the world that perplexes me. But back to high school students - teenagers, as a sweeping generalization, still embrace the childhood gut-reaction of avoiding fault. A talking student will quickly advocate for herself  by declaring that everyone was talking, and a student with a wrong answer will not hesitate to determine exactly how the teacher led her astray. (And tempted as I might be, I won’t elaborate on due dates and personal responsibility).

You may be wondering what this has to do with Parshas Mishpatim. The fact of the matter is, though, that interacting with teenagers all day provides a profound perspective on humanity as a whole and the Jewish nation in particular. Hashem is “our Father,” and I doubt very much that we count as adult kids. 

Being totally honest with ourselves, most adults are equally eager to avoid accepting responsibility for our actions. Sometimes it’s something serious, but even for tiny things - like needing to turn around when you’ve gone the wrong direction and so you look at your watch and pretend you forgot you had to be somewhere in the other direction. What, when you get right down to it, is there anything wrong with having just gone in the wrong direction? Nah - human beings do not like to be wrong, to have others think we are wrong, or to really take full responsibility.

In Parshas Mishpatim, which is law after law after law, however, Hashem demands us to recognize our culpability. “If a man takes his animals into someone else’s field or vineyard, and he lets them trample or graze in this other person’s field or vineyard, he must make restitution with the best of his field or the best of his vineyard” (22:4).  No, you can’t blame it on the animals. You can’t claim it was the wind. You can’t say it’s the nature of the world for animals to trample and graze. You have to take responsibility. You put them there. You let them go there. 

This doesn’t mean the Torah doesn’t recognize the power of nature or the fact that not all things are in our control (I mean, beyond that idea that everything is only in Hashem’s control…). If an ox gores once, the owner isn’t held responsible - the animal is. It is assumed that there is something problematic with its nature, since the Torah even prohibits the animal’s meat from being sold. An ox who gores repetitively, however, is a different story. If someone knew that there animal had the potential to be dangerous and destructive, he should have kept that ox behind thicks walls… Beyond the fact that it probably should have been put down the first time it gored. 

The reminder that each human being has the blessing of bechira, of free will, is everywhere in these laws.

Mishpatim are often commented on as being the structure of any civil society. It is said, sometimes, that any civilization would come up with similar rules in order to function. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. But no law in the Torah is that simple because Hashem wants the Jewish people to be the best that they can be as human beings both corporeal and celestial. We take our laws of ancient times and we transform them into applications for today and for every age.

“If a fire breaks out and spreads through thorns, so that it consumes stacked or standing grain or a field, the one who kindled the fire must make restitution” (22:5). Here is an ancient law that resonates in every generation. Don’t go into a dry forest and play with matches! The destruction that could follow will be your fault!

Teenagers often think that they are invincible. Sometimes, the Jewish nation falls into that trap too. Hashem, however, always knows our potential for greatness, and the lies we tall ourselves are perfectly clear to him. 

Parshas Yisro- Sent Away

 What can we learn from the Torah? Yeah, that seems like a bit of a trick question since the answer, from a hashgachic point of view, is everything. The Torah teaches us mishpatim and mo’adim and chukim. The Torah provides us with an understanding of our ancestry, our peoplehood, and our goals as a nation. But the Torah also teaches us about people and about relationships, and, in those relationships, there is almost always a lesson about our relationship with HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

 At the beginning of this week’s parsha, Parshas Yisro, there is quick mention of Moshe’s wife, when it is stated that “So Jethro, Moshe’ father-in-law, took Zipporah, Moshe’ wife, after she had been sent home” (Shemos 18:2). It’s an interesting pair of words that ends the pasuk: Achar Shiloocheyha. After he sent her away.

 One could wonder at the relationship of Moshe and Tziporah. The term has a disturbing sense of rejection to it. Of course, the Midrashim tell us that Tzipora returned to her father’s household before Moshe entered Egypt because Aaron pointed out that Moshe erred in bringing them into the terrible situation of the Egyptian enslavement. Once this was pointed out, Moshe did not hesitate to send them back to her father’s house.

 The language, however, has weight to it. Why doesn’t the Torah say that Yisro took Tziporah, Moshe’s wife who was residing with him, who had returned to him, whom he had protected, etc. Rather, it very specifically puts that onus of their separation on an action of Moshe’s.

 Before one jumps to the conclusion that this infers chastisement, let us read even further into this word choice. Everything in the Torah is a metaphor for living life as part of the Jewish nation, and we often talk about klal Yisrael as the bride of Hashem. As it says in Yeshaya 62:5: “And as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride,/So will your God rejoice over you.”

 It is easy, almost obvious, to think of sending someone away as rejection – until one knows the deeper sequence of events. Moshe sent Tziporah away to protect her, to keep her and their young sons from the many layers of danger in Mitzrayim. We, the beloved Jewish people, have also been sent away, and this too, while we can’t understand it, is to protect us from dangers.

 In this week’s parsha, Tzipporah is reunited with her husband just before the nation arrives at Horeb and Moshe goes up the mountain to receive the Torah. The giving of the Torah unified the people. In the days to come, it will be time for God’s bride to be brought back so that the Torah can once again fill the land and our souls.

 Hoping this made sense. Good Shabbas to all.

Parshas Beshalach: Oh Food

“Mom! What’s for dinner?” Oh, how so many women dread that question. Taking care of a family seems to require making this same decision over and over and over – although many households have solved this by having a static weekly menu so that the question becomes moot. If it’s Monday, it must be leftovers…(not to ignore “taco Tuesdays”).

 It seems that in the Midbar, that “beloved” cry was transformed from “Ma” to “Mo” – “Hey Moshe, what’s for dinner? I’m staaaarrrrvvvvinnnnnngg!” Ok, really, they said: “If only we had died by God’s hand in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the pots of meat, when we ate our fill of bread! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to starve this whole congregation to death” (16:3). But, we all know that if they were modern day teenagers it’s kind of the same thing because, like modern day teenagers, they weren’t starving. They hadn’t even been out of Mitzrayim that long. What they were “starving” for was a sense of security, which was difficult since, at this point, they were a very insecure people.

 Like many a modern mother, Hashem held them to the words of their complaint, that they had “sat by the pots of meat” and ate their fill of bread. Why didn’t they say that they ate meat? Why use such odd phraseology as “sat by the pots of meat”? As every human being knows, food is often about far more that the desire of our mouths. Walking into a house where a brisket is in the oven or some chicken is roasting brings one a sense of hunger, yes, but also a sense of premeditated pleasure. Food is a multi-sensory gift to our goofs, our bodies.

 The night before the mahn, the camp was covered in quail – a short statement in the Torah that is easily overlooked in the midst of the far greater miracle that was about to take place. The night before the mahn, they prepared succulent dishes that must have filled the camp with the same overwhelming pleasure as sitting by pots of meat. Good things are coming – yum, yum. It was to be their last sensory culinary experience, for the next day “there was a fall of dew about the camp. When the fall of dew lifted, there, over the surface of the wilderness, lay a fine and flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground.” The manna had arrived.

In a most fascinating situation, while the “fine and flaky substance” is first mentioned in 16:14, it is not named until pasuk lamed-aleph (31). During those 15 or so pasukim, the Toah explains the rules of manna, about the fact that it will be gathered and brought to their tents in quantities of one day’s need, about the pointlessness of holding it overnight since it would not keep, and, most significantly, about the double portion before Shabbas.  Only after a week’s worth of mahn exhibiting its miraculous measurements of precisely the right portion for each household and the wonderous double fall of Shabbas, is the heavenly “bread” named. “The house of Israel named it manna; it was like coriander seed, white, and it tasted like wafers in honey.”

 After a full week, the women of nation threw up their hands. How many times could they call up nd yell “Come and get your, um, er, stuff that fell on the ground”? How often could they say, “Alrighty, seed-like food for supper!” The ground-fall needed a name and some of the oldest commentaries on the Torah note that the Torah’s use of word “the house of Israel,” beis Yisrael, means that it was the women who named the food (Mechilta).

 This is significant because it underscores the important role that women play in the spiritual life of Bnei Yisrael. As Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsh notes:

 Getting and keeping the feeling of being happy and contented with moderation, trusting in God and His providing, is above all dependent on the women of the household accepting this spirit, and on their care of and adherence to the spirit of living. It is therefore significant that it was just the women who first recognized the Manna as the gift from God to each individual of his due sufficiency, and by giving it the name Manna fixed this idea so that it should constantly be taken to heart.

 

The flesh of the quail, as pleasurable as it may have been, was fleeting because it fed the goof – thus why the complainers remembered sitting by the pots. It was a sensory seeking experience and one that often led to simply wanting more. The bread, however, they ate until they were full. They ate until they were satisfied. The Manna was equivalent to the bread they missed, to the foundation of a home. When they named the bread of the wilderness Manna, which comes, some say, from the interrogative Mah – What, they were highlighting the fact that every time one ate it, one had an elevation of the spiritual seeker in that one had to wonder at the wondrousness of what it was.

 Or perhaps even the women in the desert named it after the perpetual family call of  “What’s for dinner”….

 Wishing you all a wonderful Shabbas.

Parshas Bo – Wait, What Did He Just Say?

It would probably be a fair assessment to say that I am not alone in looking at the world today and shrugging in complete puzzlement. It feels like the last 5 or 6 years have brought a bizarre shift in both geopolitics, domestic policy, and economics. It often seems as if we are faced with the bizarre experience of politicians talking out of two sides of their mouths – saying one thing but meaning another.

“That’s what politicians do,” some of you might be saying, and the proof is right here in this week’s parsha. In Parshas Bo there is a particularly strange pasuk that easily makes one hesitate and reread to try to understand what just happened.

The parsha begins with Hashem instructing Moshe and Aharon to return to Pharoah and describe to the court the next terrible plague that is to come. They are warned, however, that Hashem will harden Pharoah’s heart so that Hashem can overturn Egypt in a way to strengthen Am Yisrael for all of our generations (note: that’s not how it is expressed). They go to the court and describe the devastation to be wrought by a terrible swarm of locust. They leave, and the court goes crazy. “Pharaoh’s courtiers said to him, “How long shall this one be a snare to us? Let those involved go to worship the ETERNAL their God! Are you not yet aware that Egypt is lost?” (Shemos 10:7). On a side note, it is interesting that this dire reaction is to the one plague that has any sense of something natural. Perhaps because they knew, from experience in life, how truly terrible a locust swarm could be…and, of course, their land and lives were already quite devastated.

Pharoah listens to his courtiers, which is in itself fairly incredible, and calls Moshe and Aharon back to the court and offers to let them go to worship Hashem in the wilderness. When he inquires as to whom they plan on taking with them, he is told “We will all go—regardless of our station—we will go with our sons and daughters, our flocks and herds; for we must observe Hashem’s festival” (10:9). Pharoah’s reaction, when read initially, is truly peculiar:

“So he [Pharaoh] said to them, ‘So may the Lord be with you, just as I will let you and your young children out. See that evil is before your faces. Not so; let the men go now and worship the Lord, for that is what you request.’ (10:10-11).

The Torah does not state any emotion on Pharoah’s part leading into his statement, and so it could seem that he is actually seeing things their way. “So may the Lord be with you.” Pharoah is invoking Hashem’s name, and it almost seems as if he is blessing their endeavor. More than that, it almost appears as if he is encouraging them when he says: “I will let you and your young children out.” It seems he is saying that everyone can go.

It is therefore rather startling when Pharoah declares that “evil is before your faces.” It seemed that only a moment ago Pharoah was accepting this request; he’d even appeared to bless them that Hashem should be with them! Thus we see that Pharoah truly knows how to speak like a politician, how to couch in his words the poison of double-speak. The Netziv remarks in Haamek Daver that Pharoah’s wording here is meant to imply that he is acting from compassion: “Pharaoh asked, ‘Who is going to provide for your needs in the desert? Will you not die of hunger?’ This is the significance of his warning, ‘for evil confronts you.’ That is, you are seeking your own misfortune by taking your little ones into the barren desert.”

Pharoah invokes Hashem’s name so that he can appear as if he is thinking of their welfare. The implication that he knows better than Hashem how to protect both Bnei Yisrael and his own people is his narcissistic vulnerability.

This pasuk can be read as a statement of sarcasm, that his first two phrases were said drenched in facetiousness. That understanding hinges on the word k-asher. K-asher, broken down, means “like that” but is generally used to mean “when.” Hashem will be with you when I will send you and your littlest ones… but that time isn’t now, with the implication that that time may be never because he was quite aware that the Israelites, if they left with their children and their flocks, would never return. (I mean, duh, why would they!)

One could, however, look at this pasuk as a critical moment. Perhaps Pharoah’s first phrasing of the pasuk – “So may the Lord be with you, just as I will let you and your young children out.” – was genuine. But Hashem has already told Moshe that Bnei Yisrael will not be leaving Mitzrayim yet. He has said outright that He will harden Pharoah’s heart. This beat, separated by a little esnachta (the trope mark that looks like a wishbone and signifies something like a period) is the moment Hashem hardens Pharoah’s heart. This is the moment that Hashem reminds the world both then and now, that there is a plan that must be fulfilled.

Do we understand why things are happening in the world today as they are? I certainly don’t. Watching the incredible rise in anti-Semitism that followed the attack on October 7^th was mind-fuddling, and it was, to me at least, absolute proof that Hashem runs the world and was fulfilling His word on what living in galus would be like. When Jews start to feel comfortable and complacent in their exile homes, the world reminds us that comfortable and complacent is not the space we are meant to be living in. When Pharoah starts to feel a tad bit of compassion for his own people and begins to relent, Hashem hardens his heart…because there is a plan. There is always a plan - it is just far, far, far too broad for us to see.

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas. For those in Montreal – stay warm! Be safe! For those south of Albany – stay home! Be safe!  For those of you not expecting the joys of winter…well, I may be jealous.

Parsha Shemos: Gd Knows

 Parsha Shemos: God Knows

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, and Yaakov ben Esther Malka.

 

In the first parsha of the Torah, we learn how Hashem made man in His image…and, alas, ever since then it seems that man has been trying to do the reverse – make God in man’s image. Ok, it’s a bit of a pithy thing to say, but, in many ways, not so far from the truth. Even today when Western society has moved far away from statuesque idolatry or that Greek pantheon, most people tend to have an understanding of Hashem that reflects God as they want or expect Him to be. Sometimes that is the all-loving, all-forgiving, “if I’m just a good person God will accept me” deity, and sometimes it’s the fire and brimstone deity who will punish those who cross a person’s moral line.

 

Hashem is all-knowing, of course. And Hashem does reward the righteous and punish those who deserve to be punished. The calculations for all of that, however, are well beyond our means of understanding…and understanding that is critical criteria for this week’s parsha, Parshas Shemos.  Parshas Shemos – well, indeed, sefer Shemos and, in truth everything thereafter – is a testament to the difference in how we mortals view the world and Hashem’s comprehension of all the moving pieces and His understanding of what, ultimately, needs to happen and is thus “good.”

 

The parsha opens with a recounting of the names of the 70 who came down with Yaakov to Egypt, and here we must remember that when Yaakov hesitated to come, Hashem told him it was what he should do. But was it good? We see quite quickly into the parsha that it really wasn’t what one would say is for the good because the Egyptians turned on Bnei Yisrael rather quicky once Yosef’s generation had passed.

 

One of the primary factors of the events in Mitzrayim (beyond, of course, the foretelling of the oppression by Hashem and it being the means of forging the nation) was Pharoah’s belief that he could shape his world. He wished to kill Jewish boys because an astrologer gave him a foretelling, and he believed that he had ability to thwart it. He believed that he could remove himself from infanticide by trying to recruit the Jewish midwives to do it, but their better nature could not be turned. He believed that he could ignore Moshe because, as he himself declared: He did not know Hashem.

 

In contrast, however, there is Moshe. The Torah tells us that when Moshe was born, his mother saw that he was “good” (Shemos 2:2). Of course there are lots of interpretations of what that means, but perhaps it is an allusion to his innate connection to the Divine.  Think about the fact that only his youngest years were spent in an environment of kedusha, when he was nursed in his mother’s house. The Torah only first records him interacting with any Israelites is when he stops the taskmaster from killing a slave, and he stops him by striking him with, as the Midrash tells us, the actual name of Hashem. This is an incredible level of connection for someone who had no one to teach him the ways of Israel, which makes it even more perplexing that Moshe does not immediately agree when Hashem instructs him to go back to Mitzrayim.

 

When Moshe asks Hashem what he should tell the Israelites when they ask for Hashem’s name, the response is more than just a message for Bnei Yisrael. It is a message for every person… “And God said to Moses, “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh,” continuing, “Thus shall you say to the Israelites, ‘Ehyeh sent me to you.’” Ehyeh-asher-Ehyah – I am that I am or I will be what I will be…

 

Moshe, with his inborn special connection to Hashem, cannot alter the path that Hashem wants to occur. None of us can. We can judge the world all that we want. We can look at individuals or whole groups of people or situations and declare that they are wrong, that they need to be different, but we are mere mortals. To be frank, we know nothing except what we see and what we feel, but Hashem… Hashem doesn’t just know everything, Hashem IS everything.

 

And while for the moment you may nod your head and say of course, it’s an incredibly difficult idea to hold in one’s mind.

 

I wish you all a beautiful Shabbas, and let us all come to truly accept that it is all Hashem.

 

Parshas Vayechi: Touching on Temporal

 Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chana Zelda bat Gittel Yita, Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, and Binyamin ben Simcha.

 The perception of the passage of time is one of the most puzzling elements of being alive. There are days that feel unending, and weeks that go by in the blink of an eye. One can look back at a year that just passed and wonder how it is over so quickly while, at the same time, feeling like events from the beginning of the year happened in a different era. This odd temporal distortion that we all do seems to be a significant facet of this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayechi.

 For those who are fans of science fiction, the term temporal is not so mysterious, although in such reference it often is used in time travel scenarios. It is, in truth, a rather complicated word in that its essential meaning in relation to time is of something finite and specific to a set of time, but that it is used for situations inferring moving in/out of time periods shows that it rings with something far more philosophical.

 Parshas Vayechi is very much a parsha about time, but time in a very biblical framework. Everything that occurs in sefer Bereishis echoes through Jewish history yet to come but is powerful in its own time as well.

  The first section of the parsha is Yaakov on his sickbed calling Yosef and Yosef’s sons to him so that he may bless them specifically. The action is occurring in one time period, but it is an action that will affect to Jewish people for the rest of history as he adds these grandsons into the framework of the shevatim.

 The second, and primary, section of the parsha is Yaakov’s blessings to his sons, and, when read carefully, one notices here a true temporal split. Yaakov in the prophetic state of blessing his children, speaks in future, past, and present tense. Some sons are critiqued for actions in their past, while others are given hints to the future. For Yaakov Avinu on his death bed, timing had little significance, but time had tremendous significance.

 The third section of the parsha is about death and burial, which is the ultimate reminder that our time is certainly not eternal. Through his instructions for burial in Maaras Hamachpela, Yaakov is actively tying his earthly existence to the spiritual chain of his forefathers and making certain that their great accomplishments in bringing the spiritual down to earth will not be tainted.  According to numerous mepharshim, Yaakov was so specific about the burial place in order to protect it, for it was well known that Esav still felt entitled to it. It was for this reason that he specified that he had already interred Leah there – he had already prepared it in advance, with some mepharshim even suggesting that he had dug his own space in advance.  

 It is the final section of the parsha, however, that has, perhaps, the most to offer on the business of time. Yosef does not even bother to try to be buried immediately in Eretz Canaan.  He lets the royal staff prepare him in their usual fashion (embalmment), and his funeral was the done with the fanfare like one of the great nobles of the country – which he was. But Yosef is aware that Hashem has lifted the Jewish people out of any normal pattern of time or mazal, and he makes his brothers promise to take him with them when they leave Mitzrayim.

 When you really think about it, it’s a weird request. He’s going to be dead. His brothers are all older than him (except Binyamin), so they too will not live much longer… It is quite obvious, therefore, that he is not talking to his generation. In making this promise for the future, Yosef is making time fold in so that he is alerting the generations of Bnei Yisrael to come that time as we see it has little meaning. He has perfect faith that his body will not remain in Mitzrayim. He has perfect faith that redemption will come, that Bnei Yisrael will return to the land promised to them through Avraham Avinu.

 The idea of time travel is alluring and appealing. It is natural to wish to turn back time and fix the errors of our ways (whether our own or those of the distant past), and it is quite normal to harbor a deep curiosity with what the future will look like. Alas, as far as scientists have yet proven*, only Hashem has the power to truly be in all three tenses at once. Yet while we may not be able to fix the past or see the future, Hashem makes it clear that the impact of the Jewish people is rarely limited to the here and now.

 Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.

 

*just kidding, not comparing scientists!