Parshas Ha'azinu: Non-god and Non-people

It is a basic, Jewish theological tenet that the Torah contains everything that has or will happen to the Jewish people. Commentators often point out the odd double language in last week's parsha, hestair astaire panai - I will shortly hide my face - as an allusion to Purim, or the fact that the 25th word in the Torah is ohr, light, and the miracle of Chanukah occurred on the 25th of Kislev. All the more so, it is almost impossible to read the descriptions of Hashem's intended punishments for straying from our relationship with Him, recorded in multiple parshiot, and not see how it has come to pass. The Torah is more than a history book, it is a blue print of history.

Parshas Ha’azinu is almost completely a transcription of the song that Moshe wished the Jewish people to transmit to each of the coming generations. The song ends with redemption, with Hashem stepping in and destroying Israel's enemies. Before that, however, there is a great deal of rebuke-filled prophecy of the times when Bnei Yisrael will fail, will desert Hashem and go in foreign ways.

The Torah uses a wide variety of terms to describe the false gods that might lure Bnei Yisrael, such as asherah, pesel, matseva, elohim, and etc. However, in Parshas Ha’azinu, one finds a fascinating and unique set of terminology: “They provoked Me with a non-god, angered me with their vanities; so shall I provoke them with a non-people, with a vile/foolish nation shall I anger them” (Devarim 32:21). The unique language here is the “non-god,” in Hebrew b’lo-el, which is parralleled by the non-people, b’lo-am.

Perhaps this is the Torah's subtle reference to the Jewish dilemma of the 21st century. We are not being enticed by idolatry. The church is no longer trying to lure in unsuspecting Jews, as it did for many centuries. We are not being threatened with death to force us to convert. In our era, an era that would feel very foreign philosophically (since technologically this would be an obvious statement) to anyone transported from even the 19th century, we must survive something completely new. Bnei Yisrael must maintain our covenant with Hashem in a world that might invoke the “name of the Lord” but whose general idea of religion seems empty compared to era's past. We live in a generation that celebrates "b’lo-el."

And who shall provoke us in this era according to Ha’azinu? B’lo-am, a non-people, which some might say is becoming a definition of North American life where the very ideas of Jewish community, nationality, and unity are being pushed to the side for the rights of the individual. Rashi comments on the phrase “with a vile/foolish nation shall I anger them,” saying: “these are the ‘Minim,’ the heretics. So indeed, it states, (Psalms 14:1) ‘The heretic (נבל) hath said in his heart There is no God’ (Sifrei Devarim 320:10; Yevamot 63b).” And Sforno explained that it referred to a people “possessing neither their own language nor alphabet (Gittin 80)."

So much text in the Torah is dedicated to reminding Bnei Yisrael to stay away from idols or false gods that some might see the growing lack of religion among American youth as a blessing, the dissolution of a threat. But now we can see that this very situation is also warned about in the Torah, and what follows, the Divine retribution that is then described, is terrible. Fire, famine, and general disaster, because falling victim to a theology of b’lo-el is just as terrible as worshipping false gods.

It is commonly understood that we today stand in the shadows of the end of days. It is newly 5,782 on the Jewish calendar and the world as we know it is set, according to tradition, to last until the year 6,000. It is therefore, perhaps, not surprising that the description of the dangers of being enticed by a culture of b’lo-el and b’lo-am is found only here, at the penultimate parsha of the Torah. The song of Ha’azinu is the last thing that Moshe taught the Jewish people, after teaching them this song, he blesses the people and is gathered unto his fathers, as it says, and Joshua takes his place to lead the people forward. Ha’azinu is the song that Moshe wished the people to pass down for generations, so that we today could know that this too was foretold.

Our struggles, our downfalls, and our suffering are the result of cause and effect. Alas, we are victims of our own doing. Parshas Ha’azinu, however, gives us something more than hope. It assures us that while our downfalls may be harsh (ok horrible), Hashem is ready and waiting with our salvation.

This Dvar Torah is dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Dovid Chaim HaCohen ben Tzipora

Parsha Vayeilech: It Might Be My Fault

The human gift for rationalization is a common topic for divrei Torah during the month of Tishrei, during the weeks when the Children of Israel even today spend time in self reflection and teshuva (repentance). Rationalizing is one of the great tools of the yetzer hara (the evil inclination) in that it is the most natural path for convincing oneself that what is right is wrong and what is wrong is right, or even that something is not quite such a bad thing to do. It is a tool that goes hand in hand with shedding accountability, with an inclination to blame.

On a national level, these behaviors have been at the heart of our people’s greatest downfalls, and we were well and truly warned that this would be so. In Parshas Vayeilech, Hashem calls Moshe to the Tent of Meeting to begin the process of Moshe’s end. Hashem tells Moshe quite clearly that when he is gone, the people will go astray. Not only will they look to foreign gods, but Hashem forecasts that “they will forsake Me and break My covenant that I made with them. Then My anger will flare up against them, and I will abandon them and hide My countenance from them. They shall be easy prey, and many evils and troubles shall befall them. And they shall say on that day, ‘Surely it is because our God is not in our midst that these evils have befallen us’” (Devarim 31:16-17).

Reading this verse, one might be astounded at the chutzpah, at the very idea that they who turned aside from Hashem’s ways could then blame their woes on the absence of Hashem’s presence among them. But this is the yetzer hara. This is human nature’s self-defense mechanism protecting the psyche. No one likes to admit when they have caused their own misfortune.

It is interesting to note how wordy verse 17 is. There are 15 words before the people’s reaction (And they shall say…), which is longer than most single pasukim in the Torah. Here too is an allusion to this being more than a happenstance reaction. Hashem is showing the mechanism of the yetzer harah’s tools. Between “they will forsake Me and break My covenant that I made with them” and the people’s complaint of abandonment, there is a lengthy description of God’s reaction – lengthy in particular since the promise of His anger has been described before. Herein is the explanation of how we so easily externalize fault because if there is any delay in the cause and effect, then we often choose to be blind to the connection.

The end of verse 17 should really state “Surely it is because our God hid himself from us when we did not follow His ways that these evils have befallen us.” The lesson here is perfect for this time of year, for the Aseres Ymai Teshuva (the Ten Days of Repentance). How did our choices bring us to the point where we could or did do those transgressions for which we need to repent this year? There is no time like the present, when we are striving to recognize, confess, and repair our actions that have been cutting us off from our connection to the Divine, for us to really stop and determine our own role in the challenges that we face.

 

Elul 2021 - Learning from the Women of Rosh Hashana

 This year I dedicate my Dvar Torah to my amazing sisters, none of whom are biological but all of whom have given me so much helpful love and support.

 

In honor of these wonderful ladies, this Dvar Torah will focus on the women of Rosh Hashana. It is interesting to note that when the sages chose the portions of the Torah and the Neviim to be read on Rosh Hashana, the primary focus, specifically on the first day, is on women. The Haftarah of the first day, the story of Chana, is commonly discussed in its connection to the holiday, but if you ask most people what the Torah portion of Rosh Hashana is, the response is the Akeidah. However, the Akeidah is not read until the second day of the holiday and the first day is the narrative of Sarah and Hagar.

 

While there are many explanations of why these portions were chosen, what stood out to me was that in studying Sarah and Hagar and Chana and Penina, we discover a stunningly complex portrait of human emotions. This could be said about many places in the Torah, but the emotions in these portions contain important lessons to us as we face these auspicious days each year. Let us look at them each more closely:

                                 

Penina: As it is written in the text of Shmuel, Penina is a minor but greatly flowed character. She was Elkana’s other wife, who had proven herself quite fruitful (10 children) and who is noted for having taunted Chana “Moreover, her rival, to make her miserable, would taunt her that the LORD had closed her womb. This happened year after year: Every time she went up to the House of the Lord, the other would taunt her, so that she wept and would not eat” (Shmuel I 1:6-7). The Midrash tells us, based, perhaps, on the fact that the text highlights that she did this most when they went up to the House of the Lord, that Penina taunted Chana with the intention of pushing Chana to pray.

Regardless of her intentions, she caused Chana tremendous amount of pain. Eventually, the blessing (her 10 children) which she had wielded as a cudgel became the source of her sorrow as, also according to the Midrash, they perished parallel to Chana’s own growing family. It took the death of eight of her children for her to gather herself and seek out forgiveness from Chana, which she was immediately given.

Rosh Hashana is the Day of Judgement, but it is also the day on which we coronate the King of kings. We do so by acknowledging that God is omniscient and omnipresent, that God knows what each of us needs and when. Had Penina simply loved her children and appreciated her own blessings, rather that use her blessings as a way to taunt Chana, then no consequence would have ensued. Yes, she should have encouraged Chana to pray, but flaunting her own bounty was not the appropriate way to do so. Rather she should have separated the two actions, encouraged Chana to pray and loved her children to raise them up in the ways of Hashem. In this way she would have demonstrated her true gratitude to the King of kings.

Hagar: Hagar is one of the most complex characters in the Torah. It is easy to see her as bad because it is human nature seeks a villain to contrast our heroes, but the truth is never that simple. We are first introduced to Hagar when she is presented to Avram for a wife to bear children by Sarai. The Midrash tells us that she was from the royal court of Egypt and that she chose to be a handmaid to Sarai because she was aware of the uniqueness of Avram and Sarai. When she becomes pregnant immediately, the relationship of Hagar and Sarai devolves. She was rude and arrogant to Sarai, and Sarai was cruel to her. Eventually Hagar fled and was then sent back by an angel. She loses that baby but quickly becomes pregnant again, gives birth to Ishmael, and all seems fine for many years until they are sent away by Avraham at Sarah’s insistence. In the wilderness into which they wandered, Hagar gives up on her sick child, lays him by the well, and sits down to cry. While the Torah states that God hears the cries of the boy, He responds to Hagar and promises her that he will live and thrive.

Although some criticize Hagar for giving up on her son, for placing herself far from him when she expected him to die, this story also teaches us about tears. It is ok to cry. On Rosh Hashana, as we stand before the King of kings and we wish to beseech him for help, it is ok to cry. It is ok to ask. And when we ask, miracles can happen. This seems like an obvious message, but if many people are like me, this is far more challenging than it seems. In our culture today we are taught not to ask for help, to be strong and available to help others. But when things get tough… it is more than ok to cry.

Sarah: Sarah’s emotions throughout her long involvement with Hagar are quite fascinating. She must have had some level of trust and appreciation for her handmaid to choose her as a second wife for Avram, to choose her to be the one to have a child, and yet once Hagar is pregnant, it causes her a tremendous amount of pain. It was probably not just Hagar’s behavior, her loftiness, that led Sarai to afflict her, but a level of pain sourced from her own burning desire to have a child. The Torah makes is clear, however, Sarai treated Hagar so harshly that Hagar fled. Once she returned, however, we hear no more of the dynamics between the two women. When Sarah tells Avraham to send her and Yishamel away, it comes from a place of rational thought, the result of her observations of Yishmael’s behavior and not from animosity toward Hagar.

Rosh Hashana is the beginning of the Aseres Ymai Teshuva, the ten days of repentance. Studying Sarah’s behavior in regards to Hagar demonstrates how one can actually be successful in the hardest part of the act Teshuva, not repeating the same mistake. This might sound surprising since it appears that Sarah very much mistreats Hagar a second time, but the two stories only seem similar until one reads them closely. One can assume that Sarah never “warmed” back up to Hagar. One can only imagine a strained relationship. But Sarah does not appear to afflict her maid servant further after she returns and gives birth to Yishmael. She keeps them with the camp even after she has born her own child. As we enter the days of Teshuva we can learn from Sarah the simple message of you can do better.

 

Chana: There is not much to say about Chana and Rosh Hashana that has not already been written somewhere and so I will simply add here the words from the commentary of Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch that I found so powerful:

“Thus the picture of Hannah, enduring, wishing, hoping, self-examining, praying, comes before our mental eye on Rosh Hashana, and wishes to lead us out of the tangled turmoil of our lives thither where peace and tranquility beckons to us too. Accordingly, her words sound warningly (2:3) how God tests our real feelings, and “how each single deed is reckoned up by Him,” hence the importance and responsibility of every single person; and then refers, (verse 6) to the vicissitudes of the external circumstances of life and declares how it is always the same God of Love (Hashem) Who reveals Himself in every phase of fortune…”

In addition to teaching us how to pray and teaching us faith in the continued hopes that our prayers will be answered positively, Chana’s prayer reminds us that everything – EVERYTHING – comes from Hashem.

Last year we stood on the threshold of Rosh Hashana and the universal prayer seemed to be that the next year would be better. Alas, that same sentiment pervades today as in addition to the challenges of the Pandemic (different as they are in each location and every situation), the strife and struggle of the world seems only to be increasing. On a personal level, I look toward Rosh Hashana just a few hours away and I wonder what it is that I should daven for exactly… my own personal struggles – unexpected, unwanted, and, as yet, unappreciated – have left me grappling with a need to understand. But when I look to the women of Rosh Hashana, I see a path to help me forward – appreciate my blessings, let myself cry out my pain to Hashem, work hard to do better in my most challenging situations, and know that everything – the good, the bad, and the ugly – is part of Hashem’s plan.

I wish you all a Shana Tova. I cannot express enough my gratitude to Ruthie and Caryn for continuing this program year after year and my admiration for each woman in participating.

 

I will let you know later where I give tzedakah today.

 

Parshas Ki Tavo: Of Course You Need A Basket

Parshas Ki Tavo begins with the mitzvah of Bikkurim, the offering of the first fruits. It is not the first time that the mitzvah of Bikkurim is mentioned in the Torah, but it is the only section in which the ceremony is described in detail. The specifics - taking one’s first fruits of the Promised Land to the Kohein in the House of the Lord and reciting a special declaration – are generally well-known from the holiday of Shavuos and from the annual reading of the Bikkurim declaration as part of the text of the Haggadah. Familiar as the mitzvah may be, there is always something new to be found in the familiar words of the Torah…

The mitzvah of Bikkurim is introduced thus: “When you enter the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it, you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil, which you harvest from the land that the Lord your God is giving you, put it in a basket and go to the place where the Lord your God will choose to establish His name” (Devarim 26:1-2).

Bringing the first fruit of the harvest makes sense as an offering; it is almost instinctual. In fact, the very first offering to Hashem was an offering of produce brought by Kayin the son of Adam, who was a farmer (as opposed to Hevel, who was a shepherd). While the requirement of a fruit offering is logical, the wording of the pasuk itself is odd in that it in includes the instruction v’samta va’tene, and you shall place them in a basket. Once might assume, and perhaps it was so in practicality, that one would buy a nice basket in Jerusalem (or close to the designated spot before the Beis Hamikdash was complete). But the pasuk is rather straightforward – “You shall place it in the basket and [THEN] you shall go to the place.”

 The question here is why is it necessary to include an instruction to put the fruit in a basket? Since no one was walking to Jerusalem holding a collection of figs in their hands, it seems obvious that the fruit needs to be put in something. So here we learn that the Bikkurim are not just to be put in any vessel on hand, but specifically in a Tene.

This term, tene, is found 4 times in the chumash, and all of them are in Parshas Ki Tavo – twice in perek 26, in the direct commandment, and twice in perek 28, as part of the blessings and the curses and as an obvious reference to the harvested first fruits. It is therefore apparent that a tene is a rather unique basket. By definition, according to the sages, it was a fairly simply basket woven together from willow branches. Taking an esoteric turn, one might note the oddness of the shoresh (root of the word) Tes – Nun – Aleph, since words that start with Tes are uncommon, as are words that end with Aleph, and one might notice how these three letters are all firmly rooted to the ground, like a tree.*

The inclusion of the instruction to place the fruit in the tene tells us that there is significance to this act in and of itself. Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsh comments, based on Sifri, that by placing that bikkurim in a basket specifically created for this demonstrates that these fruits are to be transported elsewhere.  Rabbi Sholom Wineberg, based on the teaching of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (on Chabad.org), notes that the nature of the tene limits the amount of fruit that one can bring, which reflects  the Baal HaTurim’s discussion that since the numeric value of the letters of tene add up to 60, one should bring 1/60^th. Finally of interest here, Chizkuni comments that one adds dignity to carrying the fruit on the pilgrimage by carrying it in a special container.

 While the tene may have been intended as a simple basket of woven willow, the Mishne describes the ceremony thus: “The rich would bring their bikkurim in baskets overlaid with silver or gold, while the poor used wicker baskets of peeled willow-branches, and the baskets and the bikkurim were given to the priests” (Mishnayos Bikkurim 3:3). It starts with a simple basket made of willow in which to carry the fruit and then, in time, the baskets get fancier until eventually those who can (or think they can) are bringing baskets covered in silver and gold. Whether the intention was the honest desire to enhance the mitzvah or a more selfish urge of one-upmanship, the fancier baskets actually changed the ceremony, as described in Talmud Baba Kama 9a, where it notes that when the Kohanim were given the bikkurim of the wealthy, they returned their baskets to them, but when they received the baskets of the poor, these baskets were kept.

 One might go back to simple wordplay and note how similar in sound tene (Tes-Nun-Aleph) is to the command form of the word Give, Ten (Taf-Nun). The silver and gold overlay ultimately kept one from giving the entire offering to Hashem, since it says: “You shall go to the priest in charge at that time and say to him, ‘I acknowledge this day before the Lord your God that I have entered the land that the Lord swore to our fathers to assign us. The priest shall take the basket from your hand and set it down in front of the altar of the Lord your God” (Devarim 26:3-4). The Kohein is meant to take the basket too, but such an enhanced basket is no longer its pure natural element. It is less connected to the offering which it carries.

 As we approach the High Holidays, perhaps there is a lesson that we can take from the mitzvah of bikkurim and the history of this uniquely named basket. On the Yomim Noraim (the Days of Awe), we bring ourselves before Hashem. Now is not the time to overlay ourselves with silver and gold, either physically or spiritually. Enhance the Yom Tov by dressing nice, but not for a fashion show. Prepare yourself for the Yom HaDin (Day of Judgement) by coming forward honestly, not with your actions overlaid by pretty rationalizations.

 The mitzvah of Bikkurim is one which we can only complete in the Promised Land in the days when Hashem once again choose a place to establish His name (bimhera b’yameinu/speedily in our days!) But the lessons we can take from the mitzvah are with us every day.

 

*There is a fascinating discussion of the etymology of the word, perhaps it even being an Egyptian word, but Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein once could read here: https://ohr.edu/yhiy/article.php/8981?showobject=1

 

Parshas Ki Tetze: Taking One’s Own Measure

We are now halfway through the month of Elul, the month of preparation for the Jewish New Year. Rosh Hashana – head of the year – is, in truth, a misnomer that downplays the importance of the day. There are several “new years” on the Jewish calendar, but there is only one Yom HaDin, Day of Judgement, and it is for the Yom HaDin that we prepare throughout the month of Elul.

Preparing during Elul means different things to different people – hopefully more than just the cleaning, cooking, and shopping that the holiday season inspires. Some people begin the process of Cheshbon Hanefesh, of taking an accounting of their souls and reviewing their behavior over the course of the last year. Others focus on the future and begin to create lists of actions or character traits they wish to improve on in the year to come. There are, of course, those who stop to calculate how “good” or “bad” the year that past has been to them, and there are those who waste time worrying of who should be seeking them out to ask for Mechila (forgiveness).

Overall, though, the month of Elul is when Jews around the world focus on teshuva, repentance, and it is no surprise that one can find inspiration and direction on this process from the words of the parsha. This week is Parashas Ki Tetze, which covers a tremendous amount of halacha, listing most of the laws in a rapid-fire style and leaving deeper explanations for the Oral Torah.

Parashas Ki Tetze concludes with the commandment to remember the actions of Amalek, the nation who dared to attack the Israelites immediately after they exited the Yam Suf, theSea of Reeds and whom the Jewish people are commanded to destroy. One interesting aspect of the discussions of Amalek is that some commentators compare Amalek to the Yetzer Harah, the evil inclination, and see the commandments to annihilate Amalek as an injunction to constantly work against our natural desires that go against the moral fiber and the basic mitzvot of the Torah. It is no easy task, and it is a task in which every person must engage every single day.

Before the Torah speaks of Amalek, however, it addresses an important halachic situation that appears to be only randomly connected to remembering what Amalek did. In fact, it appears to be completely commercial in nature, and yet could, like the command to wipe out Amalek, be instructions for deeper moral fortitude: “You shall not keep in your pouch two different weights, one large and one small. You shall not keep in your house two different measures, one large and one small. You shall have a dull and honest weight, a full and honest measure, in order that your days will be prolonged on the land which the Lord your God gives you. For whoever does these things, whoever perpetrates such injustice, is an abomination to the Lord your God” (Devarim 25:13-16).

At face value there is absolutely no question that this section of the parsha is talking about fair commerce and making certain that there is not even a hint of dishonesty in one’s business. However, if one would find a theme in the preceding sections of Perek 25, it would be the avoidance of embarrassing another person. Indeed, the very first law, which is against adding any lashes to a flogging punishment, concludes “lest … your brother be degraded before your eyes” (25:2).

So how does a prohibition of uneven weights and measures connect to avoiding the embarrassment of another and the war against Amalek? And how does any of this tie into Elul?

One of the greatest challenges of human nature is judgementalism. On a developmental level it is necessary to study the behaviour of those around us and even to categorize behaviours as good and bad. But most often we go far beyond judging a behavior and judge other people as good and bad. Once we are busy weighing the actions of other people and measuring their value, then we must remember these pasukim (verses). How often do we live by a double standard – judging others for actions that we ourselves have, at other times, done? How easily do we criticize a neighbor or even a loved one for behaviors that in our own selves we excuse and rationalize? How common is it to publicly raise an eyebrow over someone else’s life only to close one’s door and act in the very same manner?

It is said that one of the reasons Amalek is considered evil is because they represent the belief in happenstance and chaos over the belief in Divine intervention. When we believe that we have the right… when we believe that we have the ability … to judge another person’s actions (especially when those actions have nothing to do with ourselves), then we too are, in a way, declaring a diminished belief in Hashem’s control of the world.

This brings us back to Elul. The Yom HaDin is fast approaching, and there is only one person whose behavior we must measure – our own selves. Do not worry about who needs to ask you for mechila, and do not judge them if they do not. Rather think about your own behavior, turn and evaluate your own year. Once your have put aside weighing the merits of others, you can focus on the greatest struggle of all (the one we avoid by focusing on others), and that is the constant work of overcoming the yetzer harah that impedes us from drawing closer to Hashem.

 

 

Parshas Shoftim: The Risk of SelfDelusion

The second perek of Parshas Shoftim appears to have four main topics of discussion. The first, and shortest, is the prohibition of bringing an animal with a blemish as an offering to Hashem. This one verse statement is followed by the instructions of how the discovery of a man or a woman who is serving avodah zarah should be handled, including a warning for the necessity of multiple witnesses for capital punishment. The third topic of Devarim 17 is what to do when there is a complicated dispute, which includes a firm reminder that if one comes to seek superior judgement, it cannot then be ignored. Finally, the perek reiterates the warning to the future kings of Israel against having too many horses, too many wives, or too much wealth, as well as the need for the king to write for himself two sifrei Torah. While the four topics seem randomly put together – perhaps, as if, in giving his final address, Moshe was moving to whatever topic came to mind – there is actually an overarching theme, and that theme is a warning against self-delusion. 

What does self-delusion have to do with the prohibition of bringing an offering with a blemish? This is actually quite obvious to anyone who has ever walked out of the house with a slight stain on their shirt and decided that if anyone noticed they would simply act as if it just happened or they had no idea it was there. Obviously, it is possible for someone to bring an offering without knowing there is a blemish, but that is not the case being discussed. The prohibition is against bringing an animal with a blemish, thus implying that one knew that the animal was inadequate. A person would only bring an unacceptable offering if one believed that it was not that important, that Hashem would understand, or if one only really cared that others saw one bringing an offering and not on the actual quality of one’s avodah. 

The case of the man or the woman who serves avodah zarah seems obvious at first since anyone who chooses idols or the worship of the son or moon or etc is deluding themselves by denying Hashem’s rulership. But actually, within this section is a far greater warning – the danger of bearing witness. Why do we not condemn a person based on a singular eye-witness account? Because the chance that the information has been distorted is too great. In all capital cases, including this one, those who are witnesses are also the one’s who begin the ultimate punishment. The man or the woman who worships avodah zarah has committed a terrible sin, but before one sets them on a path of execution, one must be one hundred percent certain lest their own actions lead them to the traumatic role of taking another’s life. 

In the third discussion, that of seeking higher judgement, there is, once again, a warning. Do not seek out judgement unless you truly want justice. If you are only out to win, to turn the law to your favor, then you set yourself up at great risk, for seeking a higher ruling and then ignoring it becomes a capital offense. 

The laws of the king complete this perek and, in truth, can be interpreted for every member of Bnei Yisrael. Power is the easiest path to self-delusion and corruption. Any person who attains power, and that can be interpreted differently by different people depending on their own life situations, can easily believe that their achievements are a statement of their inherent goodness or strength of character or intelligence. How often do we see famous people fall to misfortune because they believe that they can break the norms of society, that laws and mores do not apply to them? For this reason, the Torah speaks to the top-most persona in the Jewish nation, the king, and lays out openly the easiest ways for a man to be led astray and the best means to prevent it.

The Torah is a book of law and a theology of truth. In all matters of halacha and hashkafa, being honest about one’s intentions is paramount. Moshe, in his final recounting of the Torah, grouped these sections of law together because they all subtly highlight the very varied ways in which every person has the ability to delude themselves that they are acting with the best intention. One might think that bringing a sheep even with a little blemish is still bringing a sheep, but, in fact, it is rather the completion of the self-delusion that one is acting on the will of the Divine rather than basic human instincts. This simple example is the foundation of all of these subjects. No matter one's station, a person must stop themselves from being corrupted by selfish instinct and evaluate the true motives of their actions.

Parshas Ra’eh: The Deeper Purpose of Shamor

Being an observant Jew requires vigilance. It requires constant consideration of one’s actions and whether those actions reflect the standards of Jewish law and the spirit of Torah morality. One of the most commonly repeated words of command in the Torah is the term shamor, which is translated most frequently as either guard or observe. The most famous usage of the term shamor is the mitzvah of Shabbas, as part of the duality of shamor v’zachor, guard and remember, in which the lo ta’aseh, the prohibitions of Shabbat that enforce “rest” are the means of guarding the holy day while the positive actions fulfill the instruction of remembering it.

Devarim 12:28, in parshas Re’eh, has a different, and rather interesting, pairing of the word shamor: “Shmor v’shamata es kol hadevarim haeleh…Guard and you shall hear all these commandments that I command you in order that it will go well for you and your children after you forever, because you will do what is good and what is right in the eyes of Hashem your God.”  Some commentators connect this statement solely to the section in which it is contained, to the discussion of the permission to eat [kosher] meat freely, the prohibition against eating blood, and the reminder that any animals designated for sacrifice must be brought upon the altar. However, the fact that the pasuk refers to kol hadevarim haeleh and that the verse promises that “it will be good for you and your children after you forever because you will do what is good and what is right in the eyes of Hashem your God” lead many commentators to see this as a separate statement – independent and pertaining to both mitzvos and the way in which one leads one’s life. The goal of guarding and hearkening to the mitzvos is to lead a life in which one does hatov v’hayashar, what is good and what is right.

According to the Tur HaAruch, Moshe used shmor v’shamata because “he wanted to include matters which go beyond legislated mode of behavior and which fall under the category of ‘do what is fair and good,’ to go beyond what is demanded of them in order to demonstrate that they act in the spirit of the Torah voluntarily and not under compulsion and threat of penalty” (Sefaria commentary translations). In order to live properly, one must do more than observe the mitzvos, one must observe the mitzvos in order to “hear” the deeper ways of the law, in order to find the spirit of the law that leads one to a moral, upstanding life.

The Ramban hints at this idea as well, saying that the verse is talking about more than static laws: “He [Moshe] did not mention here the statutes and ordinances, nor His testimonies and His commandments, but said all those words in order to include in this observance the good and the right” (ibid). Indeed, Rashi is even more specific in what is being discussed in this pasuk when he explains that “Hatov, what is good, refers to action that is proper in the eyes of the Heavenly father, while hayashar, what is right, refers to an action that appears proper in the eyes of men” (ibid).

Let us step back a moment and reflect on shamor’s other famous pairing in order to gain a deeper understanding of how guarding leads to hearing and how they, together, lead to a good and upright life for all one’s generations. In the dual commandments of Shabbas, shamor v’zachor - guard and remember, zachor refers to all of the positive mitzvos of the day – to making kiddush and motzei, to lighting candles, and etc. These are the beautiful actions that fill our neshamos with joy, that are passed down from generation to generation with personal flourishes, but that also, all too often have faded away when not powered by shamor. Guarding the prohibitted actions of Shabbas can, from the outside, seem fussy and difficult. One must understand, however, that in order to remember Shabbas, we must observe it, guard it. In order to pass on the beautiful tradition of candles and kiddush, one must guard the entire day. 

So too is the pairing of shmor v’shamata. In order to live a life that is good and proper, and to pass it on to one’s children, one must begin by guarding/observing the mitzvos. In so doing, one will then come to “hear” them, to understand the impact that they have on one’s life and to connect with them on a deeper level. For instance the mitzvos discussed in Devarim 15, which review the laws of shemitah as it pertains to loans, also delves into how one should treat the poor. Knowing that the Torah says “Give to him readily and have no regrets when you do so, for in return the Lord your God will bless you in all your efforts and in all your undertakings” (15:10), one can move beyond the letter of the law of giving without hesitation to creating organizations that seek out ways in which to give and to improve the lives of those in need. One mitzva explored, heard, understood…leads to more. It leads to bigger and better. It leads to leading an upright life.

The Ohr HaChaim points out about Devarim 12:28: “Our verse may also remind a person who is in the habit of fulfilling a particular commandment and is fully aware of what it entails not to say that he does not need to study this commandment. Moshe tells us that study even of commandments which we fulfil as a matter of routine is a separate mitzvah and is not to be neglected” (Sefaria). Shmor v’shamata is both a philosophical and a practical mitzvah. Just as we must always guard/observe the mitzvos of the Torah, so too must we always be seeking to understand the mitzvos and their impact on us, as well as the importance of using the mitzvos to lead a life that is truly hatov v’hayashar, what is good and what is right.

 

Parshas Eikev: Where Are My Blessings?

Where is my bracha? Read this as a great and piteous cry. Perhaps one theme that  (somewhat subtly) recurs in Parshas Eikev is that if you follow the ways of the Torah, your life will be blessed. So I want to know what I did to deserve this - my own current situation that is full of pain and for so many other people in my life who are struggling through situations of terrible suffering. I am not perfect, indeed I have a long way to go, but I try to follow Torah and Mitzvos. I try to keep growing spiritually, even though it’s one of the hardest tasks an individual can take on. I try to build a stronger connection with Hashem… So how do I relate when I read Moshe’s words: “And it will be, if you hearken to these ordinances, and guard them, and do them, that the Lord your God shall guard the covenant and the kindness that he swore to your forefathers; and He will love you, and bless you, and multiply you…” (Devarim 7:12-13).

If you look back at what is written above, you will surely recognize the classic question: Why do bad things happen to good people? And it is easy to understand why these thoughts might come to a person who finds themselves in a painful situation. After all, the good things that are meant to happen to those who follow the ways of the Lord are written in singular, so it seems to bear weight to me that if I observe the mitzvos then I should see blessing in my life.

This, alas, is the [spiritually] immature pattern of thought that most people suffer from. Reward and punishment is one of the basic tenants of the Jewish faith, but that does not mean that each person will understand their reward – or their punishment. It also does not mean that reward and punishment is immediate. Somewhere in the celestial realm, “records” [so to speak] are being maintained and at some time, generally believed to be in Olam HaBah (the world to come), our actions will result in their own returns.

But the words of Moshe in Parshas Eikev are so definitively here and now - “He will bless the fruit of your body and the fruit of your land, your corn and your wine and your oil, the calving of your herd and the lambing of your flock, in the land that He swore to your ancestors to assign to you” (7:13). And further: “The Lord will remove from you all sickness, and He will put none of the evil diseases of Egypt, which you know, on you, but will lay them on your enemies” (7:15) – here it really feels like the Torah must be talking about rewards in Olam Hazeh (this world).

Looking back at the beginning of these verses one sees, interestingly, that Moshe does not say “If you will follow these mitzvos.” The text says “if you hearken to these ordinances,” using the word mishpatim, which is the term used for mitzvos that are like civil law – that are meant to build a just society. One can choose to be an “upright citizen,” for lack of a better term, but if the majority of the people choose to live with a different code of law, a different sense of moral right and wrong, then inevitably, one will also be brought down. This is one of the incredibly important lessons one can learn from the Midrashim on Parshas Noach. The hamas, violence, described in that generation was not murder and fighting, as we think of it today. It was about the corruption of morality, about the dissolution of civilization as people chose to live life by putting their individual desires ahead of everything else. It was the opposite of mishpatim, even as their generation had “rules and laws.” Those rules and laws were corrupted.

The significance of mishpatim and the seemingly individual blessings listed in Devarim 7 is that the singular is really the nation as a whole. When our nation as a whole fully follows the ways of Torah, then each of us can be blessed. But there is such a long way to go, and the path is only getting longer and steeper. Stepping back to the comparison above to the generation of Noah, it is not a difficult stretch of the imagination to see how the Western World of the 21^st century, the world in a which a good portion of Bnei Yisrael currently reside, is struggling not to fall into the individual-centered mind-frame that destroyed the generation of Noah. This is not just a comment on the general world. It is also a comment on the so-called observant society, for, inevitably, the societies in which our people dwell tend to leach into us. The shifting in moral viewpoints is incredibly subtle but there, nevertheless.

The opening of Parshas Eikev pricks at a person’s inherently selfish nature, their desire to be blessed and to live a life of goodness and ease. At the same time, this section, and a great deal of Parshas Eikev, is rife with warning. The mishpatim are not just a set of laws;They are a moral compass for our nation. When we as a people truly live according to the mishpatim, we will see blessings.

This being the case, one could easily despair at the idea of ever succeeding in getting all, or most, or even a lot, of the Jewish people to guard/observe the mishpatim. But here too we must look at the words of the Torah for inspiration and understanding. The second half of Devarim 7 is written in the singular second person because at the same time as one realizes that the promised blessings are based on the behaviour of the nation as a whole, one must realize that the only person that one can make certain is living according to the mishpatim is one's self. Each of us needs to regularly assess how much of a different moral standard has entered our point of view and readjust accordingly. And while this may not result in one’s own personal challenge ending, or resolving in the way that one hopes, your actions, each of our actions, have a great impact on the whole of the nation and move us closer to a time when we will each truly see the promised blessings.

 

 

Parshas Va’eschanan: Does the Opinion of the Nations Matter?

Does it matter what the other nations think of us? It is a question that is surely asked in different ways in every generation. Sometimes it is asked in an off-hand manner, sometimes condescendingly, and sometimes with honest concern. It sounds like a philosophical question but, in truth, it is really a practical one… or at least it should be, and it is one that needs to be particularly and uniquely addressed in the age of universal entertainment and social media.

There is a growing sense in the world that not only do we lack total privacy (given that Amazon, Walmart, and such, seem to know what one needs even before one begins to search) but that our every action is being judged. In a world of hyper-sensitivity to any form of “ism,” one might expect a decrease in anti-Semitism. Statistics, however, demonstrate the opposite. In an era of identity politics, Jewish identity is under attack – blatantly reminding us, once again, that it does matter what the other nations think. 

Before anyone gets defensive and declares that the relationship of Klal Yisrael and Hashem is what matters most and that Hashem runs the world and decides our fate – both collectively and individually, this is a fact that is not in question. But it is all one of a piece. The Torah shows us that Hashem wants us to pay attention to the entire world. In the beginning of parshas Va’eschanan, Moshe tells the people: “Observe them [laws and rules] faithfully, for that will be proof of your wisdom and discernment to other people, who on hearing of all these laws will say, ‘Surely, that great nation is a wise and discerning people’” (Bamidbar 4:6).

Moshe told Bnei Yisrael straight out that it is important to heed the feeling of the other nations toward the Jews. He did so because we are supposed to be an Am Kodesh, a sanctified nation. We are meant to be the spiritual leaders of the world, and if the other nations do not find us praiseworthy, we have failed.

It seems that this pasuk becomes particularly relevant as the world of observant Judaism is besmirched in entertainment media. With books and television shows being created as tell-alls about why people were miserable in their lives in observant communities, with a vaudevillian level of hyperbole to make certain it is entertaining, who would want to come to this Am and praise them for their faithfulness? Should we be angry at the people who create this media – certainly, particularly those who ignore the thought that it could damage the lives of many people. But perhaps watching the world swallow those portrayals without question should be an alarm to us, a clarion call to look at ourselves and how we behave.

It is not as simple as demanding strict observance of the law…indeed, perhaps this type of call – the one that demands new stringencies in the wake of tragedy – is one we must reevaluate all together. In this section of the Torah, Moshe also tells the people “Take the utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and so they do not fade from your mind as long as you live” (ibid 4:9). What did Bnei Yisrael see? We saw miracles. And when we reacted to those miracles with joy and song, as we did after the Yam Suf, we rose to a position where the whole world was watching us with awe. This, according to our sages, was actually why the actions of Amalek were so heinous – that while the whole world saw triumph and power and God’s greatness through Bnei Yisrael, they dared to attack. However, when Bnei Yisrael “forgot” the power of the miracles that had been witnessed, when they complained and looked only to what they did not have and to fear and anxiety, then Klal Yisrael suffered.

Our history tells us of the glorious ages of the past, when the Beis Hamikdash was a beacon to the world. And we lost it. First to our inability to remain faithful, as Moshe warns, and then to our inability to live with joy and love – because sinas chinam, senseless hatred, only comes from a place where there is no true joy.

To be the nation that inspires the world, we must remember Moshe’s words to “observe faithfully,” but we must do so with joy and with love. Moshe gives us some subtle clues of how to do this in this parsha as well: “You shall not add anything to what I command you or take anything away from it” (ibid 4:2).  The world of Jewish life that is portrayed so negatively in entertainment media is a world that is fettered by chosen limitations and enforced judgementalism.  We must remember that there were twelve distinct shvatim and that our tradition speaks of seventy faces to the Torah. Do not add means remember that a chumrah is a stringency, something a person or community takes upon themselves to enhance their devotion, but when a stringency becomes a rule then have we not added to the Torah? Have we not created a new “law”? Or, at least, are we not teaching our children that these are laws when they are not?

Does it matter what the other nations think of us? Yes, it does. “Observe faithfully,” pasuk 4:6, is said to the klal as a whole in the second person plural, but the call to watch yourselves scrupulously is spoken individually, in second person singular. For us to rise again to the pinnacle of world opinion, to the place where we are looked upon with awe, we have to focus not on the differences, on the individual expressions within the realm of Torah observance, for each of us must guard our own souls. Rather we must demonstrate joy and ahavas Yisrael. When all Jews feel that they have a place in the nation, then we can start to rise again, and when the world sees our nation come together and radiate the beauty of Hashem’s Torah, we will finally have succeeded in becoming an Ohr Goyim, a light unto the nations.

 

 

 

 

Parshas Devarim: Learning from the Generation

It is, as many know, not a coincidence that we read parshas Devarim, the first portion of the final book of the Torah, on the Shabbas before Tisha B’Av (9th of Av), the day on which we mourn a series of calamities in Jewish life. Devarim is, as is noted in the opening phrase, a recording of the words that Moshe spoke to Bnei Yisrael before his death and their entry to eretz Yisrael, and he began by talking about the demand of the people for sending scouts into the Promised Land and their refusal to enter the Land after the scouts returned. 

There are many excellent reasons for this to be Moshe’s starting point, not the least of which is because the reactions of Bnei Yisrael to the report of the scouts were the reason the nation had to remain in the Wilderness for four decades. And yet, it seems a strange place to begin a review of the journey of Bnei Yisrael. Why wouldn’t Moshe begin at the beginning, with Hashem instructing him to lead them out of Mitzrayim, or with their experiences at the crossing of the Sea and camping at Har Sinai? On the other hand, if one is going to state the great infraction of the burgeoning Jewish nation, most of us think first to the Cheit Ha’egel, the Golden Calf, of which here there is no mention. 

In sefer Bereishis, humanity received two great punishments. They were utterly obliterated, with the exception of Noach, by the flood as a punishment for becoming corrupt and so depravedly self-centered that they wantonly stole and plundered from each other.  Not long after, another generation is struck down and scattered by a transformation in their communication (no longer able to speak the same language) as a punishment for raising a tower to make war against the Heavens. The difference in the two incidents, the reason that Hashem did not destroy humanity again at the Tower of Babel, was that Hashem could accept His creation fighting with Him but He could not accept His creation destroying one another. From here we are taught that Hashem values Bein Adam L’Chavero over Bein Adam L’Makom (interpersonal behaviors over those between a person and the Divine).

Perhaps remembering these distinctions will help us see the difference in Moshe’s perspective on the people's behavior during the Cheit Ha’egel verses their reaction to the scouts. The commentators explain that the people made the Golden Calf because they miscalculated Moshe’s time on Har Sinai. They expected him to have returned and so they panicked. They created the calf not to be a replacement for Hashem, but to be a replacement for Moshe, to be a new intermediary. They were wrong, of course, but they were also misguided and, perhaps, spiritually confused due to the idolatrous world that had surrounded them throughout their lives.

The Incident of the Scouts happened not long thereafter, but the exposure of the underlying flaw of the nation was far more insidious. They did not lack faith, they lacked trust and they lacked hope. They knew that Hashem exists and that Hashem was active in their lives, and yet somehow they could not believe that they could conquer and be successful in the Promised Land. More significantly, however, was that how they each reacted undermined the future of their fellow Jews.

While both the Chait Ha’egel and the reaction to the scouts appear to be issues of trusting Hashem, the comparison is in the ramifications. Like Migdal Bavel, the Cheit Haegel was a group of people but each was compromising their own individual relationship with the Divine. They joined together from peer pressure, but the actions had the greatest impact on themselves. Like the dor haflaga, the nation of the flood, the generation that came out of Egypt and who bemoaned their fate and cried out against their ability to conquer the Promised Land were determined to act in a way that put others in danger. Refusing to enter Eretz Yisrael was an action that affected not only them but their children and their future generations. Moaning that they wanted to go back to Mitzrayim demonstrated a psychological state that preferred the depravity of Egypt to the promises of living a full Torah life. (This fits even with the Midrashim that speak of the generation’s reaction as an attempt to stay in the environment of being secluded with Hashem, because truly acquiring Torah – and the benefits of Torah - mean taking it into the world, into real life, and living it.) 

The generation that came out of Egypt was in no means depraved as was the generation of the flood. They did not deserve to be annihilated in one fell swoop. But they were so deeply flawed that their actions had incredible ramifications on the lives of all of their descendants – for generations. The anniversary of the bewailing of the people as a reaction to the report of the scouts is Tisha B’Av. This is the date on which both Temples were destroyed, on which the Roman Emperor Hadrian plowed over the city, and on which the Bar Kochba Rebellion was decimated. This is the date on which Jews were kicked out of England in 1290 and on which the great Expulsion from Spain took place. This is the date of endless tragedy because the generation that came out of Mitzrayim could not take the lessons they had learned of Hashem’s ability and desire to perform miracles for them and take the first step to independent Torah living. 

Had we moved into Eretz Yisrael when Hashem first led the people there, the history of the world and the fate of the Jewish people would have been very different. The sages placed the reading of Devarim at this time, just before Tisha B’Av, because just as the action of that generation continues its impact on us, we need to read/hear Moshe’s words so that we can try to repair the exile that, in many ways, began before we even entered the land. 

Parshos Matos-Masai: Using Our Roles

WARNING: THIS DVAR TORAH IS NOT POLITCALLY CORRECT BY 21^ST CENTURY STANDARDS

The Book of Numbers, Sefer Bamidbar, concludes just as Bnei Yisrael are ready to enter the Promised Land. All that remains is Moshe’s final speech, which is Sefer Devarim, the Book of Deuteronomy. In the last parshiot of Bamidbar, Matos-Masai, which are usually read together, we learn some interesting lessons on the importance of societal strength over personal happiness in the realm of family values.

One of the more well-known and “fun” to discuss portions of the parsha is the section pertaining to the tribes of Reuven and Gad. These two tribes see the lovely pasture-land where they are encamped and decided that they wish to remain there. When they ask Moshe for permission to do so, he rebukes them for stating: “Pens for the flock shall we build here for our livestock and cities for our small children” (Bamidbar 32:17). Their values are mixed up, he tells them. They understand then that their responsibility is to build cities for their small children and then pens for their livestock. But this passage does not just help them realize that their families come before their material security. In specifying that the men of Gad and Reuven must first build cities and pens and then leave to go and fight for the Promised Land, Moshe is subtly reinforcing the idea that as comfortable as a man’s home may be, he cannot enjoy the comforts of home until he has ensured its security and protection (which in this case means assisting in the conquest of Eretz Yisrael so that all of the people could build for their families).

To the 21^st century ear, this sounds old fashioned. We do not think of the world as dangerous in the ways it once was. And women can, and do, go out into the world to support and protect themselves and their homes.  Indeed, there is much that is in the parshios of Matos-Masai that would raise an eyebrow of any feminist – and perhaps of most women raised in modern society. In fact, the parshios are bookended by such subjects! Parshas Matos begins with the laws of vows and focuses heavily on the circumstances under which a woman’s vow is upheld or invalidated by her father or husband. And Parshas Masai concludes with the men of Menashe seeming to want to undo Hashem’s ruling that Tzelaphchad’s daughters – who had no brother – could inherit their father’s land. A complaint to which Moshe brings Hashem’s response that the five sisters, and any future women in a similar situation, can only marry men from within their tribe.

Shalom – peace – is a primary goal of halacha. Shalom comes from shelaimus, completion, and the societal dynamics set out by the Torah are meant to guide Bnei Yisrael into creating an ideal, Torah society. This is not about individual wants and needs, it is about the weave of the fabric of a strong, sustainable society.

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsh wrote the following at the conclusion of the opening section of Matos:

…the general declaration of the gravity and binding force of the spoken word is only mentioned here as introduction and indeed as a contrast. A man has no power whatsoever to annul his own vows, for that he has to go to his national contemporaries, but towards his young daughter and his wife he has restricted authority to intervene… The calling of woman is, to be absorbed into the home of a man as the most important factor of the component parts of that home. But it is not her calling to found a home independently….

 

To this should be added his comments on 30:4 (earlier in the section on a woman’s vows):

The moral greatness of the woman’s calling in life itself demands entering and adopting herself to a position in life created by another. The woman herself does not provide the house. She enters the home provided by the man and rules in it as the happiness-bringing administrator of all that is to be found there, in the sanctity of manners, and morals and feeling directed towards God. Still more than the man has the woman to guard against making restrictions, abnormal arrangements in the course of her life, they could permanently stand in the way of the fulfilment of her calling…

The power of a father or husband to annul a vow is not about the individual. A woman can make a vow, but that vow cannot go against the current or future possibility of creating a peaceful home by creating a conflict with her husband (or future husband). And we know that a woman can make a vow because it is clearly stated that a vow made by a widow or a divorcee is binding. 

Understanding of the distinction between individual need and societal need is also important to understand the ruling at the end of Masai that states: “And every daughter that has an inheritance from the tribes of Bnei Yisrael shall marry one of the tribe of her father” (36:8). To maintain the larger society, property had to stay in its rightful portion, to its proper tribe. One must look at it from that point of view rather than a modern, feminist point of view as the suppression of women’s independence. If that had been the goal, then God’s immediate response through Moshe would not have been: “They may marry anyone they wish. But they shall marry into a clan of their father’s tribe.” The first statement is a woman’s right to make her own decisions, a very important point of Jewish law.

Twenty-first century society places a great deal of emphasis on making oneself happy. The Torah ideal, however, is to use one’s position in the world to find fulfillment and build toward shalom, then one can be happy. Yes, there are limitations, but those limitations – those rules and roles – are meant to help the larger society attain the ultimate goal of a society dedicated to Hashem.

Parshas Pinchas: Pieces of Unity

 Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch has a beautiful commentary on Bamidbar 26:53, which is the opening of the section of the Torah in which Hashem explains how the Promised Land will be divided. The verse says: “To these shall the Land be divided as an inheritance, according to the number of names,” Rav Hirsch comments that this explains that the land was to be divided by each tribe, each family, and each male over twenty years of age. He then says: “This seems to be a realisation of what we have repeatedly remarked as being the fundamental character of the Jewish nation, that the greatest diversity of tribal family and individual characteristics within an equally great spiritual and moral uniformity belong to the calling of the People of the Torah. Each Tribe, each branch of it, each home had its own special characteristics which it is to keep and develop and which is to have its place on the common universal ground of the Torah…”

Reading this statement brings one to the startling realization that our constant call for Jewish unity is truly attainable - And yet, it remains so sadly elusive. Rav Hirsch here accentuates the beauty of twelve shevatim. Each tribe had their own character traits, their own minhagim, and their own strengths. A man from Dan could not be judgemental about a man from Gad being different from him – wearing different type of clothes or singing different tunes to a song – because it was recognized and understood that they would each be different. Different does not mean better and it does not mean worse. Human nature, however, has an unfortunate habit of thinking that something that is different needs to be something that is comparative. In every corner of the earth, people struggle to realize that it is part of the design of the world that different people have different ways of doing things.

It is actually interesting to take a moment and note that the need to be flexible, to accept and make room for variations on the norm, is a lesson from a separate perek of this week’s parsha. Tzelaphchad’s daughters approach Moshe and request to be the inheritors of their father’s land. Before his sin and punishment, Tzelaphchad was part of those who were to have a portion, and that portion was still the right of their family. In no way does there appear to be an opening for a deviation from the normal laws of inheritance, but the women of the family follow the appropriate channels and make their request. From their actions one could take the lesson that it is ok to step outside the norms as long as one does so in a manner befitting Torah, in a way that still recognizes Hashem and Torah above one’s personal desires.

In the modern age, we have come a long way to accepting differences among major Jewish communities. Ashkenazim and Sephardim have improved significantly on appreciating the cultural differences that make each distinct within the greater whole. The customs that once defined chassidim from misnagdim have blurred as each have taken minhagim from the other. And yet, we still have not come far enough. Even as we speak of respecting others’ differences, within our own communities we make judgements on miniscule variations. This one wears a colored shirt and that one does not… should such small differences really define people? The important part, as Rav Hirsch pointed out, is that all are living within “an equally great spiritual and moral uniformity.”

Jewish unity is a perpetual theme for Divrei Torah because our progress in Ahavas Chinam is two steps forward and one step back. Let us remember that our quest for true Jewish unity begins on the smallest level with our individual interactions. Rabbi Yochanan Kirschblum, in his book Thinking Outside the Box, Bamidbar, references Megila 6a, on which it records that the tribe of Zevulon complained that the other tribes received fields and vineyards and fertile land, while they had received hills and mountains, lakes and rivers. Hashem responded that in his portion would be found the precious chilazon, the snail that provided a unique blue die. Rabbi Kirschblum uses this Midrash to comment that “Each of us is like the land portion of Zevulon. Each of us has hidden valuable talents and abilities that are not readily visible to the undiscerning eye…each one of us has a hidden talent that is representative of all the mitzvos in the Torah.”

In our greater nation and within our individual communities, we have to stop looking at differences as threatening or problematic and start recognizing the values in our variations. We must work to accomplish this and to teach this skill to our children, and only then can we begin to understand the true power of the Jewish nation.

Parshas Balak: Unsaid Words

There has been a great deal of ink shared over the last many years about the dissolution of language, about how texting has degraded the language of the current generations. Whatever changes technology has wrought, one basic fact does not change, and that fact is the importance of clear communications. When left to one’s own interpretation, the words that are said or heard are often just as significant as the words that are unsaid and unheard.

Parshas Balak relates the events that occurred as Bnei Yisrael skirted the border of the Promised Land. King Balak, worried that Bnei Yisrael would displace him, sent messengers to Bilaam, who was a man blessed with prophecy and a unique relationship to Hashem. Balak wanted Bilaam to curse the Israelites, which Bilaam agreed to do but… In Parshas Balak things go slightly wrong throughout the narrative (he ends up blessing Bnei Yisrael), and one cannot help but reflect on the significance of the communication. Let us look at a few of the missed messages.

While the opening verses make it clear that Balak knows exactly who is at his border, when he sends his messengers to Bilaam he appears to deliberately avoid naming the nation. Balak refers to the Israelites as “a people come out of Egypt” (Bamidbar 22:5). In so doing, in leaving their name unsaid, Balak is attempting to diminish their might in the eyes of Bilaam. They are not a nation blessed by Divine guidance, they are merely a people that came out of Egypt (which, while no small feat on its own, negates acknowledging how they came out of Egypt, the splitting of the Sea, Mount Sinai, and etc). In choosing to ignore these important defining moments of the nation, Balak chooses the path of “that which shall not be named”; if I do not say it, it is not real.

It is interesting to note that this verbal diminishing of Bnei Yisrael continues subtly in Balak’s second request. His envoys conclude their message to Bilaam by asking him to “curse me this people,” whereas when Hashem responded to Bilaam’s first request, Hashem referes to Bnei Yisrael as The People. (Bamidbar 22:17, 22:12). "This" and "the" seem like insignificant differences, and yet it has a subtle nuance. By referring to Bnei Yisrael as The People, Hashem is making it clear to Bilaam that He has elevated the Israelites to a unique status. There is no other Am like Am Yisrael.

Whereas Balak makes a choice not to name Bnei Yisrael, Bilaam makes a choice not to understand Hashem’s response, which is strange since in the basic text it seems very clear what Hashem does not want Bilaam to do. Hashem says to him: “You shall not go with them; You shall not curse the people; for they are blessed” (22:12). Bilaam chooses not to hear this as a definite statement (although I am not sure how one can see it as anything else) and comes back to Hashem to ask again. He hears no danger in Hashem’s response “If these men have come to invite you, you may go with them. But whatever I command you, that you shall do” (22:20). Any parent clearly hears the classic line of “Fine, but if you break your leg do not complain to me!” Bilaam does go, but his attempts to curse the people go completely sideways and he blesses them instead.

The sad truth is that human beings have been deliberately miscommunicating with each other since time immemorial (since Adam and Chava, truth be told). It is a way for us to try to take control in our lives. Balak wanted to believe that Bnei Yisrael were just a nation. Bilaam wanted to hear that he had permission to go and curse Bnei Yisrael. What we can learn from Balak and Bilaam and this Parsha in general, however, is that just because we choose to reframe our communication to the way we want the world to be, this does not change how Hashem wants it to be. It is, alas, no easy task to let go of that level of control and recognize that Hashem put us in every place, every situation, and every interaction. Each of us may say that X or Y is not what we want, but that choice is not always ours. Only when we see reality, see the Divine hand in our lives, can we begin to discover a different path because then we can address the true source of our challenges and receive help from the ultimate source.

I would like to point out an additional thought. Parshas Balak contains the strange piece of Bilaam’s talking donkey. As he head towards Bnei Yisrael, a fiery angel blocks his path, but only the donkey can see it. She stops. She pushes against the wall, hurting Bilaam in the process of trying to protect herself and her rider. Bilaam responds by hitting her and trying to force her forward. Finally, the donkey speaks! She asks Bilaam why he is hitting her when she has always served him so faithfully. In a discussion of Parshas Balak and straight communication, could not one ask why the donkey did not say “Don't you see the fiery angel before us?” to explain her behavior? However, in this case, the fact that there is a fiery angel before her is irrelevant. She has been faithful to him throughout his ownership. And yet at this first prostration of a task, he beats her. The language here does not matter because her behavior is another form of communication that we all too often overlook - the gut senses that Hashem sends us. Hashem wants us to make the right choices. If we see the fiery angel, we no longer have the same choices. Hashem will not tell us what to do - that’s free will - but he does try to guide us. Our job, however, is to listen and perceive.

Parshas Chukas: How Serpents Teach Acceptance

Most people would attest that there are an awful lot of things in life that are hard to understand. There are the biggies, of course – the philosophical thrillers that leave us puzzling why good things happen to bad people and vice verse- but there are also the mundane things, like why Hashem created insects to be so annoying.

Parsha Chukas contains one of the most puzzling acts commanded in the Torah, the parah adumah (red hefer) and then waves a flag at its inexplicability by calling it out as a chok, a mitzvah for which there is no rational explanation. But, rather interestingly, Parshas Chukas contains several other items that leave one scratching one’s head and asking for more details, for an explanation.

One example of this could almost be framed as the ever-present question of someone “dying before their time.” That is the type of phrase one hears when a person passes away young or without having fulfilled a specific goal. Neither Aaron nor Moshe were young when they died, but Bnei Yisrael expected them to be with them when they entered the Promised Land. In Parshas Chukas, however, not only is Aaron’s death recorded, but this is where we read how Moshe hit the rock instead of talking to it and lost his right to enter the Land with the people. The Midrash and commentaries provide a multitude of explanations, but just reading about the incident leaves one mystified by the cause of such a strong consequence.

Another rather puzzling incident in Parshas Chukas is the punishment of the snakes. It appears that the “fiery serpents” were sent as a result of another round of complaining from the people, for the repetition of the same old litany of “Better we should have died in Egypt.” When the snake bites caused deaths, the people repented, and Hashem told Moshe to make a snake and set it on a pole and anyone who stared at it would live. That’s it. That is the whole section of the snakes, and it is only six verses long. And yet it leaves us with a vast list of why. Why were they even complaining? Why was this complaining different than the previous complaining? Why did Hashem have Moshe make a copper snake, and was this not a risk of seeming like Avodah Zarah?

It is interesting to note that this is the last round of kvetching in the Midbar that is recorded in the Torah. Perhaps, in some way, this is related to Hashem’s choice of serpents to dispense punishment and a serpent to provide the cure. Other than the staff turned into a serpent in Pharaoh’s court, the only other nachash (serpent) in the Torah is the serpent who offered Chavah the fruit of the Eitz Hadas, the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The nachash introduced discontent to Chavah in the words he used to entice her toward the tree. By eating from the Eitz Hadas, Chava and Adam transformed the yetzer harah (the evil inclination) from an external to an internal force. Their descendants forevermore had to make decisions on right and wrong, and the complainers were making the wrong choice. Before the Eitz Hadas, in Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden), everything a person needed was provided. So too, in the Midbar, Hashem provided for all of the needs of Bnei Yisrael. Each time they chose to complain, and perhaps especially this time when the verses just before record their success in taking the cities of Arad and for which they should have felt empowered, they were choosing to follow the path set out by the nachash so many generations ago.

This, perhaps, speaks to the overall theme of Parshas Chukas. Human nature demands answers, seeks knowledge – but not all answers are for us to know. Why do the ashes of the Red Hefer purify those made impure by the dead but make impure the person who performs the act? Why did Moshe get punished for such a seemingly simple mistake? Why were Aaron and Moshe kept from entering the Promised Land? To every question the most basic answer is that Hashem knew why. Hashem sees the patterns and the far, far longer picture.

That Hashem knows everything does not mean that one cannot ask questions. Questions are important. Questions are active and involved. Most importantly, questions are very different from complaints. Complaints take away a person’s responsibility for their life and lay the blame of all things on the party to whom or about whom they are complaining. That here, in Parshas Chukas, Hashem sent serpents may be a reminder, for the people in the Midbar and for all of the generations to come, that complaining is a direct result of the sin of the Eitz Hadas. Bnei Yisrael are, ultimately, on a mission to rectify that sin, not repeat it.

In studying Torah, it is easy for us to see how Hashem provided for everything in the Midbar, but obviously the people were not able to see that. So too, in our own lives, Hashem provides us with what we need – with what we need to fulfill our role in the world which only He has a clear picture of. You can question that role or the fulfillment of those needs. You can even challenge the path your life is taking. That is one of the many reasons that we have prayer in our lives, that there is teshuva. But complaining is a declaration that one does not believe that Hashem is providing. It comes from that internalized yetzer harah that thinks that our eating from the Eitz Hadas gives us not only access, but the right to access, knowledge far beyond a person’s ability to understand the greater picture of the world.

Parshas Chukas begins with a law that seems a contradiction and that teaches us how we must accept that which we cannot understand. This, in truth, is all the laws of the Torah. Indeed, this is life in this world. Our job is to do the most with what we have and where we are, and to trust that Hashem knows what is best for each of us.

Parshas Korach: Am I Wicked?

 A philosophical question about evil: Do wicked people know that they are wicked? Haven’t you ever wondered how murderous dictators sleep at night? Of course, that is an extreme example. Perhaps at the opposite end of the spectrum of examples might be the town gossip who knowingly shares private information. This may seem a strange musing, but it really boils down to the question of how do wicked people view themselves? A piece of the puzzle might be found in Parshas Korach.

In Parshas Korach there are three fascinating antagonists who, if they were given the opportunity to write the story of their own lives, would probably paint themselves as heroic figures. Although the Torah makes it clear that Korach, Dasan, and Aviram were wrong, it also records their actions in such a way as one might sympathise with their cause (as it does also for Eisav and Ishmael). It is through Midrash that we come to understand them, and one could wonder – particularly in the case of Korach – if they even understood themselves.

According to the text, Korach appeared to really care about equality among Bnei Yisrael. His qualm is stated as concern that Moshe and Aaron had taken too many roles of leadership that should have been more widely distributed. His premise was that all of Bnei Yisrael was equally holy, for they had all stood in the presence of Hashem. It is only through the oral traditions that are integral to Torah that we begin to understand his psychology, and it is interesting because one could see it hinted at in the first word of the parsha: “Vayikach Korach, and Korach took” (16:1). Korach “took issue” and brought it to others. From his perspective, he saw Moshe and Aaron as having taken leadership roles, not as having been given leadership roles by Hashem. He saw Moshe as having taken power because inherently that was what Korach wanted to do. The Midrash explains that Korach’s fatal flaw was that he wanted power, wanted that kavod, for himself. But the question remains, if we need the Midrash to explain this to us, isn’t it possible that Korach was unaware of his true motivations? Isn’t it possible that he himself believed that his motives were pure?

Dasan and Aviram are another matter. They are known consistently through the Midrash as instigators, as troublemakers who seem to almost take pride in bringing contention. With that in mind, one might then question whether it is fair to judge them if their personalities are just contentious by nature. Once again, the question comes down to honest goals and motivations. Dasan and Aviram did not try to help Bnei Yisrael, even if they couched their words in a communal framework. They simply tried, over and over, to break down the leadership, the cohesiveness, and the forward moving motion of the nation. They did so because they could, because they felt powerful acting in this way. They lived for the adrenaline of the fight, not for the actual results. Those types of motivations, however, are often completely subconscious. Most people would not admit – to others or even to themselves – that they like causing others to fight, but they nevertheless sow the seeds of discord (and grab some popcorn to watch!).

That there is enough psychological information to question whether Korach, Dasan, and Aviram were actively wicked – were men who knowingly chose wrong – can help one understand Moshe’s strange, short tefilla recorded in 16:15: “And Moshe was greatly aggrieved, and he said to Hashem ‘Pay no regard to their oblations. I have not taken a donkey of any one of them, nor have I wronged any one of them.’” Why would Moshe even think he needed to defend his honesty and actions unless he believed that these men had enough good intentions not to know how wicked their actions were and to actually have enough merit to give weight to their complaint.

Additionally, the fact that Moshe asks Hashem not to recognize their oblations – their offerings of the mincha – could indicate that these men did not view themselves as wicked. They saw themselves as average people of the community, and Moshe’s concern for the acceptance of their mincha offering could be an answer to whether people who are wicked pray like people who are good. Of course, they do! Even people who know they are doing wrong – let’s say an embezzler – find ways to excuse their actions, to find rationalizations and self-revised history. Korach, when he stood up and questioned Moshe, had made himself believe that he was trying to help everybody.

If intentions and motivations matter so much, was Korach’s punishment fair. For that matter, should he have been punished at all if he erred in his behavior but his intentions were kosher? The Torah asks people to be honest with themselves. It is not written out in any text, but it is everywhere in the topography of halacha. If intentions matter, then knowing oneself – digging in and really assessing one’s intentions – is a necessary skill. Here is a common example: On a minor fast day, a person who is not feeling well is permitted to eat, but that person holds the responsibility of knowing if they really do not feel well or if they are hoping to break the fast.

Korach could have stood down. He could have heard Moshe warning him of the great responsibility that was now resting upon him and realized that his fight could greatly harm Klal Yisrael because Moshe had no hesitation in putting the challenge before Hashem. More than that, when Korach and the Levites were confronted by Moshe with a bit of perspective, they didn’t change. Moshe said: “Now that He has advanced you and all your fellow Levites with you, do you seek the priesthood too? Truly, it is against Hashem that you and all your company have banded together. For who is Aaron that you should rail against him?” (16:10-11). Not only does Moshe point out their already existing elevation, but he removes himself from his umbrage at being their target. Korach here has plenty of time to reassess his complaint from a different view and put an end to the rebellion. And if it was not about his own ego, his own pride, Korach could have seen it.

Why did Korach deserve his punishment? From one perspective it is because he could not recognize his own wickedness, he would not acknowledge his ego and pride, and he did not want to hear that he might be wrong. From Korach we can each take a powerful lesson about being honest with ourselves and about the importance of evaluating our motives and our own rationalizations.