Parshas Ha’azinu – A Very Short Thought on the Poetry of Rain

Parshas Ha’azinu holds a unique place in the cycle of the Jewish year. A parsha of pure poetry, and thus  sometimes difficult to distill a Dvar Torah, it is read during the busiest time on the calendar.

 

Reading the parsha on the brink of Sukkot, there is a special inference that one might see in the opening verses of Parshas Ha’azinu: “Hear, O’ Heavens, I shall speak; Let the earth hear the words of my mouth. May my discourse come down like rain; My words flow like dew; like showers on vegetation; and like raindrops on the grass” (Devarim 32:1-2).

 

Although it is a normal poetic form for an idea to be repeated, there is much to learn from Devarim 32:2. Moshe opens his final song with a comparison of his words to rain. We all know that now is the season when we pray for rain. From an agricultural perspective, that prayer would most probably be shaped more specifically as a prayer for the right rain. (Afterall, a monsoon that sweeps away the soil is also rain.)

 

Traditionally, the Torah is compared to Mayim Chaim, to living water. Just as every living creation needs rain, we know that there cannot be life without Torah. And so, Moshe crafts the opening of his final song.

 

We receive Torah in many ways. Sometimes it is the steady repetition of study, an even flow of regular intake that nourishes us evenly. Sometimes we learn Torah gently, like dew, from the regular ebb and flow of life, from the routine of living our lives. Sometimes true Torah has to be thrust upon us, powerful and loud. Sometimes we have to pay special attention around us to notice the Torah.

 

The earth is nourished by rain. Klal Yisrael is nourished by Torah. This is the basic fact of existence.

 

May you all have a Good Shabbas and a true Zman Simchaseinu.

Parshas Vayelech – Bound to Fail, and That’s Ok

Three times in Parshas Vayelech the verse Chazak Vayamatz, be strong and courageous, is uttered, and three times in Parshas Vayelech the text goes into detail about the future downfall of the nation. Be strong, lead them well, expect them to fail, and Hashem will still remember His covenant… this is the message that Moshe receives from Hashem and that Bnei Yisrael receives from Moshe.

 

It is, of course, not by chance that Parshas Vayelech is read at the auspicious time of the Yomim Norayim, the “High Holidays.” And during a leap year (such as this year), we are granted the opportunity to look at Parshas Vayelech on its own and to focus on its unique message… a message that is particularly important to remember as we contemplate the impending celebration of Yom Kippur.  

 

It could, perhaps, be said, that Yom Kippur is a celebration of humanity. This may seem like a shocking statement, but only until we realize that if there is one unified character trait of all of humanity, it is that, try as we might, we make many mistakes. We are not creatures of instinct, like the animals, nor beings of obedience, like the angels. There has never been a perfect human nor a perfect society.

 

Moshe tells the people not to worry that he will not be entering the Promised Land with them. He tells them that Yehoshua will lead them by Divine command. And he tells them, “Be strong and courageous! Neither fear, nor be dismayed of them [the Cananites], for the Lord, your God He is the One Who goes with you. He will neither fail you, nor forsake you" (31:6).  Then Moshe gives Yehoshua a similar message: Be strong and courageous, you will succeed, and Hashem “will neither fail you, nor forsake you. Do not fear, and do not be dismayed" (6:8). On this note of positive messaging, his duty of leadership transfer is seemingly done.

 

But Moshe isn’t done, and Yehoshua isn’t ready. It isn’t all a neat little package, and this is the most important connection to the Yomim Norayim. Now is when Hashem states, not once but twice, that Bnei Yisrael will not only stray but will bring down Hashem’s fury upon them. Indeed, Hashem even declares that He will hide His face from them.

In between declarations of the future failings of Bnei Yisrael. Hashem commands Moshe to write a song to bear witness to the future Children of Israel. Only after he has done so does Hashem speak to Yehoshua, repeating, it seems, Moshe’s earlier words: “Be strong and courageous! For you shall bring the children of Israel to the land that I have sworn to them, and I will be with you."

 

As Moshe hands what he has written to the Leviim to be placed in the Ark, he concludes his speech of earlier by stating forthrightly to them that they will, in time, become corrupt – that they will do evil and will be punished. And so he teaches them the song he has just written at Hashem’s command.

 

There are many discussions what this song is. Was it Haazinu, the next parsha? Was it something not included in the Torah? Was it a reference to the Torah itself? All are possible.

 

Why, one might ask, was it so necessary for Hashem to repeat the future failings of Bnei Yisrael here? After all, Moshe had spoken of it to the people in his final proclamations recorded in the other chapters of Devarim. But Moshe needed to acknowledge it here as he transferred the leadership of the people.

 

Perhaps the reason that the Torah tells us one more time, woven with the words Chazak Vayamatz, Be strong and courageous, is to remind us of the important fact that Hashem is very aware that we are human. Moshe, perhaps, did not want to end his time dwelling upon the fact that Bnei Yisrael would struggle, but Hashem knew that acknowledging our struggle would be the source of our strength, of our ability to move forward.

 

There are many shiurim available that speak of the annual self-doubt about teshuva. We all have the thoughts of: “I wanted to improve, and yet here I stand with the same mistakes, with the same transgressions.” “I wanted to achieve more than I did, and I feel that I have failed.”

 

Be strong and be courageous! That is to each and every one of us. Hashem knows and acknowledges our humanity, our limitations, and the probability of our imperfections… and He loves us anyway.

 

Hashem repeats to Moshe that the people will be corrupted until Moshe accepts it and says it out loud because it needs to be understood that Hashem already knows our regret. He knows our hopes and our dreams, our successes and our failures. We will fail, each of us in our own way, but this knowledge cannot stop us from moving forward, from trying harder, or from taking a slightly different path.

 

On Yom Kippur we will each stand before the King of Kings and beg atonement. It must be done. But we do so not in terror. We do so in celebration. Yom Kippur is a holiday because we know that Hashem will accept our repentance, because in foretelling our failings He has already granted their eventual forgiveness.

 

May each of you have a Gmar Chasima Tova.

Parshas Shoftim: More Than Property Lines

Parshas Shoftim covers a range of topics, most of them at least at some length. There is however, one topic that seems to be a verse that stands alone: “You shall not move your neighbor’s boundary, that the earlier ones set as borders in your inheritance, in the land that Hashem your God will give to you for an inheritance” (Devarim 19:14).

This is a good law, of course. It is not just good because it is a Torah law; it is a good law because it seems to be a base-line of normal civilized behavior. Moving the boundary line of a neighbor’s property implies theft of the most despicable kind. It is subterfuge. An inch and an inch and an inch…and suddenly there is a foot of difference between the original property allotments. Thus, Hashem declaring a prohibition of just such an act seems appropriate

What makes this pasuk interesting, and not just appropriate, is its placement. The verse comes just before the Torah discusses the requirement of two witnesses in any case needing judgement. The requirement for two witnesses is followed by a discussion of what will happen in the case of a false witness. A man who would bear false witness is as despicable as a person who would move a boundary line. They are both malicious acts performed in devious ways.

Additionally, the first thirteen verses of Devarim 19, just before the prohibition of moving the boundary line, discuss the cities of refuge. These verses go into detail about what constitutes manslaughter and what is, in fact, premeditated murder.  The section concludes with a ruling of what to do when a murderer flees to a city of refuge, and that is to show no pity.

“You shall not move your neighbor’s boundary, that the earlier ones set as borders in your inheritance, in the land that Hashem your God will give to you for an inheritance” (Devarim 19:14). In this seemingly disconnected pasuk, one might see the kernel of rot. Envy and jealousy are at the heart of the one with criminal intent, and revenge drives the victim who has already been harmed. Envy and jealousy that lead to such devious plotting also leads to enough hatred to strike down another Jew or to attempt to bear false witness against him.

We are not in the Promised Land, as even in Eretz Yisrael we are not living under Torah law, but the laws of the Torah are for all times and all places. Do not move the boundary line of your brother can impact so many areas of our lives, from the obvious - not stealing property - to the far less obvious transgression of claiming credit for someone else’s ideas or even of playing mind games that affect another person’s emotions.

May we all find satisfaction with the plot that Hashem has granted us and may we constantly look out for one another.

Parshas Re’eh – The Source of the Evyon

Shemita, the seventh year, is known as the year when the Promised Land is to lie fallow. Of equal significance, Shemita is the year in which all debts between Jews must be forgiven. This remission is described in Parshas Re’eh, in Devarim 15, where the word evyon is used six times. Evyon, which is translated as destitute (by Artscroll), is not a common term. The term usually used for someone in need is Oni.

 

The first use of Evyon in Devarim 15 is in the fourth pasuk, right after the Torah states that one may collect from a foreigner but not from one’s brethren (meaning fellow Jews). Devarim 15:4-5 states: “There shall be no destitute among you – since Hashem will bless you in the land that Hashem our God is giving to you as an inheritance; if only you heed Hashem your God and take care to keep all these mitzvos that I command you today.”

 

The last use of the word Evyon in Devarim 15 is in the eleventh pasuk, right after the Torah instructs the people not to hesitate to lend money to their fellow Israelites even if it is close to the Shemita year. Devarim 15:11 states: “For there will never cease to be destitute in your land, which is why I command you: open your hand to your poor and your destitute in your land.”

 

How is it possible that Verse 4 states that there will be no destitute and verse 11 states that there will always be destitute? The commentators (and I apologize for not noting which ones) describe the juxtaposition of verse 4 and 11 as the ideal and what will be reality. If Bnei Yisrael were to keep all of the mitzvos, as stated in pasuk 5, then the nation would have absolute balance and bracha. Alas, the chances that all of the generations would manage to live up to this ideal were predictably low. Therefore, Moshe reproves the people against their own human nature, warning them not to withhold help. “Rather, open your hand to him and lend whatever is sufficient to his need” (15:8). Giving with an open heart, Moshe assures the people, is the path to bracha.

 

There is little to question over the fact that giving with an open heart, without hesitation or worry over one’s own well-being, is a very difficult standard to achieve. It is a way of thinking, a way of being, that comes from deep felt bitachon, a complete trust in Hashem’s management of the world. That in itself could be the lesson of Devarim 15: 1-11, but…

 

It is interesting to investigate the use of this word evyon; perhaps all the more so because it is used in conjunction with the word oni in 15:11. Rashi, quoting Leviticus Rabbah 34:6, states that the term evyon “denotes one who longs for everything (because he lacks everything).” This is not just poor, not just needing a hand up. The evyon has nothing, and it is a very sad state of society when there are people who reach that level of destitution.

Rather than reading 15:4 and 15:11 as juxtapositions of the ideal and the realistic, perhaps these seemingly contradictory verses offer an important insight into the justness of Torah law. If Bnei Yisrael were to keep all of the mitzvos, then society should operate in a way that everyone’s basic needs are met. It isn’t just a bracha from Hashem. It is the very mechanism of the mitzvos bein adam l’chavero functioning properly. Neighbors should be looking after neighbors. People should be living v’ahata l’reicha kamocha. If they live in such a fashion, no one should slip through the cracks and reach rock bottom.

 

But while the Torah is perfect, people are not. When Bnei Yisrael does not live up to the Torah ideal, then there will be people in deep and dire need. When we help them, we are rectifying a situation that we ourselves have created.

 

Living an upstanding Jewish life requires constant perseverance in rejecting human natures more self-centered motivations, which stem from an instinct for survival but are excellent tools of the yetzer harah (evil inclination). It is not easy to give with a smile, without hesitation or suspicion. Hashem knows this. The Torah is giving us an ideal to strive for, and it is up to us to take the steps (large or small or even baby-steps) to achieve it.

 

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.

 

 

 

 

Parshas Eikev - Love-Eat-Pray

In Parshas Eikev there is an interesting repetition of the idea of eating and being satisfied that is located in Devarim 8:10 and 8:12. Although it is not so uncommon to find repetition in one section of the Torah, in this case the repetition is actually a juxtaposition of the right way to live life and the wrong way to live life. Verse 8:10, which states “And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for the good land He has given you,” is the conclusion of the description of the experience of Hashem’s fatherly love, a love in which we are sometimes tested in order to help us grow strong and a love in which we are rewarded with a wonderful, fulfilling, and independent national life.

 

Devarim 8:12, on the other hand, is a warning. On its own it reads: “lest you eat and be satisfied, and build good houses and dwell therein.” A seeming bracha except for that word lest…Lest you “forget the Lord, your God, by not keeping His commandments, His ordinances, and His statutes, which I command you this day” (8:11), the previous pasuk.

 

The same idea of eating and being satisfied – an allusion to comfort and wealth – is transformed from an act that brings reward to an act that leads to destruction, and the biggest difference is the inclusion of the action of blessing, the active acknowledgement of Hashem. Devarim 8:7-10 describes living in a beautiful land of abundance. So does Devarim 8:12-13. The difference is that these latter verses are a warning against becoming haughty and forgetting all that Hashem did for us, in which case we risk being destroyed as Hashem destroyed the nations that came before us in the land.

 

How do we avoid the “lest”? How do we keep from becoming haughty? The key, we learn in Parshas Eikev, is love. It sounds a bit corny, but the term love (ahava) is used seven times in this weeks parsha. Sometimes it is Hashem’s love for Bnei Yisrael, as in 7:13: “And He will love you and bless you and multiply you; He will bless the fruit of your womb and the fruit of your soil, your grain, your wine, and your oil, the offspring of your cattle and the choice of your flocks, in the land which He swore to your forefathers to give you...”

 

Other times, however, later in the parsha, the word love is used in the language of commandment, in the language of instruction: “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord, your God, ask of you? Only to fear the Lord, your God, to walk in all His ways and to love Him, and to worship the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul” (10:12).

 

The question is frequently asked in relation to the first paragraph recited after Shema, the paragraph known as v’ahavta (Devarim 6:5-9), how can one be commanded to love? Love is an emotion. Love is a feeling. But Jewish tradition speaks of love as something we can build and control. Love is a feeling that is directly connected to acts of giving. The more one gives to another, the more one loves that other. In order to love Hashem, we must give to Hashem, which seems an impossible act.

 

How can Bnei Yisrael give anything to Hashem? He is the Almighty. It is an overwhelming concept, but it is achievable and the Torah explains how: “[Therefore] you shall love the Lord, your God, keep His charge, His statutes, His ordinances, and His commandments, all the days” (11:1).

 

Every time a mitzvah is performed, someone is loving Hashem. Every time one of the Torah commandments is observed, someone is loving Hashem. This is how Bnei Yisrael can give to God.

 

Another means of giving to Hashem is prayer – not the prayer itself, really, but the action of remembering and acknowledging all the Hashem does. “V’achalta, v’savata, U’VERACHTA - And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and YOU SHALL BLESS the Lord” (8:10) is the source for the commandment to say Birkat Hamazon, the Grace After Meals. There is no more basic need than food. This seems an obvious point. But eating is actually quite complex. Eating fills far more than a sense of hunger. Eating meets a physical need, a psychological need, an emotional need, and a spiritual need. In this pasuk, eating represents all of our needs. When our needs – from the smallest to the largest – are met, we must remember to bless Hashem, to acknowledge Him as the wellspring of all that is in the world.

 

V'ahavta sounds like an easy mitzvah. It is not. It is in our nature to take our blessings for granted, to assume our own power and greatness. It is in our nature to hurry on to feed and satisfy our next need or desire. This is why v’ahavta and u’verachta are commandments.

 

Hashem loves us and wants us to live our lives in the best possible way. Our job is to remember that He has already given us the key to achieving that goal.

 

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas

 

*Eat Pray Love was a book written in 2006 that was then made into a movie.

 

Parshas Devarim - US

As a lover of language, there is something spectacular about the subtle flexibility of the Hebrew language. The addition of a letter at the beginning of a word can transform the meaning of the entire sentence, and the shift of a suffix alters the pronouns associated with the word. This subtle nuance of language can add a tremendous message to pasukim, and in Parshas Devarim, the pronoun that Moshe focuses on for the first time is, perhaps, the most important one that Bnei Yisrael must remember as they look at their past and head into their future.

 

Us… Our. These are powerful terms. These are terms that create a nation. These are terms that it would behoove us to remember today, as we begin Tisha B’Av (Shabbas, with the fast on the Sunday, the 10^th of Av). It is well-known that the destruction of the second Beis Hamikdash is attributed to the lack of unity among the Jewish people. The greater “Us” was shattered into us and us and us. It is, sadly, a rift that we have not yet healed – indeed, it has continued to splinter into ever greater discord as the generations proceed.

 

What is unique about the use of “Us/Our” in Parshas Devarim? Verse 1:6 states:  “Hashem, our God, spoke to us in Horeb saying…” If you just read the parsha, the wording feels so common, so un-noteworthy, that it does not make one pause and reflect – especially as it occurs so early in sefer. But, from what I can see, this terminology “our God” is actually rather uncommon in the Torah. The last time the term was used was in Sefer Shemos, and then only in the context of Moshe and Aaron speaking to Pharaoh.  It has not, until this point, been used to address the people.

 

In Shemos, Vayikra, and Bamidbar (Bereishis being a unique sefer), Moshe frequently reiterates to the Children of Israel – or is instructed to reiterate to them – the commandments of God. In these three sfarim, however, Moshe almost exclusively speaks in the second person. He speaks, consistently, to the Children of Israel and talks to them about “Hashem Elokeichem, the Lord your God.” And while he is addressing them as a whole through the second-person plural, it is, in syntax, distancing. It is a language that, if nothing else, segregates the speaker (Moshe) from the audience.

 

Moshe’s distance was necessary. Beyond the fact that he was set apart from the nation because of his unique and incredible level, because he was the only human given the opportunity to come that close to Hashem and to communicate with Him so directly, Moshe needed to speak tp the people this way in order to lead them and communicate Hashem’s words to them. As Bnei Yisrael wandered through the wilderness, Moshe needed to represent “din,” the rule of law.

 

As Sefer Devarim begins, however, Moshe’s job is coming to an end. Now that Moshe knows that the journey is winding down, that the people are ready, he begins his final address with a reminder that everything that has happened, everything that has been commanded, is for Klal Yisrael all together.

 

“The Lord our God spoke to us at Horeb (Sinia),” (Devarim 1:6). On a surface level, this phrase refers to a very specific event. When Hashem began to give the Torah at Sinai, He called out the first few of the Ten Commandments so that everyone could hear. But the people were struck with such awe, with such fear, that they begged Moshe to receive the commandments for them. “Let us not die, then, for this fearsome fire will consume us; if we hear the voice of Hashem our God any longer, we shall die” (Devarim 5:22).

 

Rhetorically, however, as the first words that Moshe speaks in Sefer Devarim, “our God, spoke to us” is a call for the nation to look at themselves as a we, as an us, as a people with far more to hold them together than to set them apart. And it does not matter if he reverts to the use of second-person plural when he reiterates events or repeats the mitzvos to remind them. In the opening words of his speech, Moshe has set the tone of unity. (And, one might note, Hashem Elokeinu, is used approximately 25 times in the sefer).

 

We live in a time where it seems even the fight for Jewish unity, so seemingly prominent in recent decades past, has been resignedly put to the side. We live in a time when we hope, and pray, and gently inquire, for Jews outside of the Orthodox realm, to maintain their Jewish identity and to pass it on to their children. And within the Orthodox realm, we live in an era when hashgafic details create cracks that our children use to pick one another apart on the school playgrounds. The Lord OUR God spoke to US! This is our God. This is our Torah. And we cannot properly move forward unless we start to actively think of ourselves – and not just talk about ourselves -  in this manner.

 

Tisha B’Av is here. We are, sadly once again, sitting down to cry about the destruction. We mourn the loss of the Beis Hamikdash, not the physical place but rather the ability to have the Shechina, the spirit of Hashem, dwell among US. All of the people stood at Horeb and heard Hashem’s words, those who would come to rebel, those who would run to bring a gift to the Mishkan, those who would come to complain and those who sought to move forward, those who come to sin and those who would suffer for the sin of others. It doesn’t matter. Our nation is not perfect, and we never were. But we are a nation and Hashem is OUR God.

 

May this be our last Tisha B”Av and May we see Klal Yisrael come together in love and unity.

Parshas Matos-Masai – Small Borders

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Sofiya Sara bas Merah and for a continued refuah for Leah Nechama bas Shulamit.

Listen to the news in many Western countries and you might hear contradictory reports about there being too many people on the planet or direly low rate of population growth in a particular country. Obviously, these reports are focused on very different concerns; nevertheless, they highlight our natural interest in how the world fulfills the most basic human commandment, the first commandment of the Torah, which is to be fruitful and multiply.

It is well known that peru urevu is a mitzvah that Jewish law takes seriously, and so one must question the fact that the Jewish people are now, and have always been, a tiny sliver of the population. Of course we can point to the horrors of modern history as to why our population is small today, but the fact of the matter is that we have always been an insignificant percentage – numerically speaking.  The constant devastations that have limited our numbers are accounted for in many of the upcoming parshios in Sefer Devarim that make clear the consequences of our betrayal of the covenant, but perhaps we can find in this week’s parsha a different perspective – a hope filled perspective - on our size. Perhaps, looking at the description of the borders of the land, we might see that this was the plan all of long.

 

The borders of the Promised Land, as delineated in Perek 34, do not create an enormous territory. In the next Perek, Hashem specifies that the Leviim were to have 48 small cities, six of which were to be cities of refuge. The size of our land appears to be not much different than that of the State of Israel today, which we know is smaller that most states in the United States. There have always been kingdoms of far greater land mass. If Hashem had intended the Jewish people to grow strong in the way that other nations have grown strong – through physical presence and force of population - would He not have sanctified a far greater territory as that destined for Bnei Yisrael.

 

One could argue that more land was not needed for the nation that Hashem brought forth from slavery in Egypt, but the Promised Land (even with more territory as delineated elsewhere) was never large. It wasn’t large because it was something far greater. This small swath of land nestled against the Mediterranean is the land Hashem promised Avraham, it is the land walked and known by our forefathers. It was never “big,” but it was always holy.

 

Other than nodding our heads at the fact that we remain a small nation, what can we gain from considering the size of the Promised Land, the limitations this infers for the future population? Bnei Yisrael are pledged with being an “Am Kadosh” (a holy nation), a “mamleches kohanim” (a nation of priests), and so forth. The kohanim among the Jewish people were a small sliver of the population, descendants of one man out of thousands. And the kohanim were given the honor of replacing the firstborn sons of the nation, which is, again, a small percentage of a population. To be holy means to be separate, or to separate one’s selves, and to form a people that can truly live up to that title, implies that there will be limits. Bnei Yisrael is not destined to conquer the world with an army or to overpower the world with might. Bnei Yisrael is destined to present to the world the very real possibility of living a life dedicated to serving Hashem.

 

There is a frequently discussed Midrash that explains that when the Children of Israel left Egypt, only a fifth of the people followed Moshe. The other 80% perished in the plague of Darkness. In many ways, this Midrash is a key to understanding the steady disproportion of the Jewish people, and also, perhaps, modern day assimilation into Western society. Choosing to enter the wilderness in order to serve Hashem is not easy, even for those who are born into a fully observant lifestyle. Being an Am Kadosh requires dedication, and that dedication limits Bnei Yisrael. Those limitations, however, are the key to our destiny. Rather than worry over our size, our job is worry about being able to fill the role that merits the fullness of the Promised Land.

 

The Jewish people have never needed a vast population to influence the world; we have never needed to swarm over the earth and force people to join us. The power of the Jewish people, the secret of our survival for so many millenia, has been our choice to stay dedicated to our role. The Land of Israel was then and will be the perfect size for us in the coming days when the state of the world will recognize our sanctified role.

 

May we see the days of redemption and the coming of Moshiach swiftly in our time.

 

Parshas Balak - Maintaining Bechira

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Leya Nechama bas Shulamit

Parshas Balak is a rather strange portion of the Torah. Not only does the Torah present a non-Israelite who appears to have a level of intimacy with Hashem that, until now, has seemed unique to Bnei Yisrael – indeed to Moshe in particular - but there is also a talking donkey and an angel with a sword. These attributes, however, are not what make Parshas Balak so confounding. The most perplexing aspects of Parshas Balak are the seemingly contradictory messages that, when examined closely, illustrate the ever-present tension of bechira (free-will) and the Divine hand in the world, and how important that tension is to the Divine Plan for life.

For those unfamiliar with the narrative, Balaam, a non-Israelite “prophet” whose spiritual connection matched that of Moshe, was asked by King Balak of Moav to curse the Israelites. He tells the emissaries of Moav that he can do nothing without Hashem’s approval, and, when he seeks that approval, he is told no rather firmly (22:12). Balaam sends the messengers home, but Balak sends more emissaries, offers greater reward. So Balaam once again requests to do this task for Balak, and “God came to Balaam at night and said to him, ‘If these men have come to call for you, arise and go with them, but the word I speak to you-that you shall do’" (Bamidbar 22:20).

No hesitation. No mulling over the words. Balaam wakes in the morning, saddles his she-donkey, and heads to Balak. And this angers God greatly. But, it seems necessary to ask: Didn’t Hashem give Balaam permission to go with these men, and, if so, how can Hashem be angry at him?

 Obviously, Balaam missed the tone of the permission, but one doesn’t want to think of Hashem being “Passive-Aggressive.” Indeed, that is not the point at all. Hashem gave him permission to go, but Hashem also provided Him with the framework to make the right choice, to choose to follow the path already set out for him at the very outset. It was, one might presume, obvious to Hashem that Balaam had already determined the course of his actions, and the only way to stop him would have been to alter his will.

 Having free will means that one has the ability to ignore the very obvious proper path; one has the freedom to make bad choices (even over and over and over).  Of course, having the freedom to choose the divergent path does not mean that there are no consequences to those choices. There are, indeed, consequences. The Children of Israel chose to listen to the report of the scouts and believe ill of the Promised Land; Hashem let them react, let them be fearful and angry…but their reaction meant that they could not enter the land immediately, that they were not ready.

 On his journey to meet with King Balak, Balaam’s she-ass sees an angel with a sword and balks.  Balaam gets angry with the ass and eventually strikes it; at which point both the she-ass and the angel speak to him. In this moment, Balaam is facing a higher level of communication than almost anyone in the Torah does. He is being prevented with a direct message of displeasure from Hashem, and yet he still has the choice to ignore it.

 Significantly, as noted by Rashi citing the Midrash Tanchuma, the fact that Balaam did not see the angel in the first place was a message to him of his decreasing ability to connect to the spiritual world. Balaam, however, does not acknowledge this shift in himself. He sees himself still as the powerful-“prophet.” He recognizes that he should have seen the angel, not that he was unable to see the angel, and therefore responds: “I have sinned, for I did not know that you were standing on the road before me. Now, if it displeases you, I will return” (22:34). The conclusion of this pasuk is also loaded with significance. Balaam, according to the commentators, is implying that the angel would be displeased, that the angel would want him to turn back, and, in so doing, is asking the angel if he is contradicting the permission Balaam feels he has already received from Hashem.

 (One can almost feel the angel shaking its head in despair at the man’s stubbornness.)

 When the angel tells Balaam to go with the men, it is, as Rashi notes quoting Maseches Makkos 10b: “On that road that a man is resolved to go, he is allowed to go.”

 Hashem does not want to directly intervene in a person’s free will. This is why we don’t see open, grandiose miracles on a regular basis. Witnessing or being part of direct Divine intervention reduces one’s ability to function with bechira, and perhaps this is why Hashem became angry when Balaam proceeded on the path after the emissaries returned. He didn’t want to have to interfere.

 Hashem directly removing or limiting a person’s bechira happens even less frequently than open miracles. He warned Balaam not to set out on this path, and still Balaam made his own choices.

 By the time Balaam reached Balak, he had been well-warned that his words would not be his own, should he choose to curse the Israelites. But Balaam also believed that he had twice evaded following Hashem’s will, and so, perhaps, when he told Balak that “I can utter only the word that God puts into my mouth” (22:37), he believed that this too he would be able to talk his way out of.

 And thus we come to the actual act of blessing the Israelites when he intended to curse them. Was this not a direct dissolution of Balaam’s bechira? Hashem literally put words in his mouth! But Balaam had been warned; he had been told what would happen and so it was not a limitation of his bechira – it was a consequence of his choice of action.

 Balaam was an evil, stubborn, and arrogant man, but Balaam’s actions provide us with an important reminder about the world Hashem created. Every person has free will. Every person has the power to make choices in their lives. Hashem can provide startlingly direct messages, and we still have the ability to make the wrong choice. It is not just part of being human; it is an essential aspect of fulfilling our roles in olam hazeh.

Parshas Chukas – Past-Present-Future

 It used to be that when people used the term “the good old days,” they were referring to a time of their youth or childhood. In 2022, when we refer to the good old days, many of us are referring to anytime before 2020.

 

The fact of the matter is that here in Parshas Chukas we have confirmation that it is human nature to paint the past in a euphoric light. “Why have you taken us out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place” (Bamidbar 20:5). Right, because Egypt was better than being in the Wilderness in which Hashem has been taking care of everything!

 

It’s true, the Children of Israel were frightened that they were losing leaders, that they needed a new source of water. But the exaggeration of the term hamakom harah, this evil place, tells us a lot about their state of mind. Even if one were to say that they felt this way because they had witnessed their brethren dying, it still does not make sense. Every death was clearly attributable to the punishment determined and declared by Hashem after the incident of the spies. The closest thing to “evil” that occurred to them was having consequences for their own behavior, and yet this was enough for them to think back fondly on Egypt. Perhaps we can understand it like a university student who is suddenly faced with new standards of work and responsibility and thinks back on the idyllic life they had in high school, when in reality they spent high school wishing for something else.

 

Idealizing the past is normal. It’s easy. After all, we have already survived that state of being, and so we know that we can continue to do so. Indeed, often when we look to the past, we see not just how we survived, but how we thrived – no matter what those circumstances actually were…and that longing for the safety and security of the past colors not just the then, but the now as well. Especially when the present gets difficult.

 

“Why have you taken us out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place; it is not a place for seeds, or for fig trees, grapevines, or pomegranate trees, and there is no water to drink” (Ibid).

 

We forget, rather easily, that life is a journey, that our goal in life is to grow and to attain spiritual rewards. For Bnei Yisrael in the wilderness, that ultimate spiritual reward was the land of Israel, and that place in the desert was only a stop on the journey … so of course it did not have seeds or fig trees, grapevines or pomegranate trees. It wasn’t supposed to.

 

The rose-colored glasses with which we view the past are often the direct result of our current day discontent. Every moment of our lives is colored by that which has come before. Human beings are expert complainers, experts at looking around and wondering why the world is not meeting our standards. What we need to become are experts at looking ahead. Today is hard; tomorrow, imertz Hashem, I will be planting grapevines and pomegranate trees.

Parshas Korach - Achieving the Opposite

The last chapter of Parshas Korach describes some of the privileges of being either a Kohain or a Levi. To sum it up quickly, the priests are able to eat many of the sacrificial offerings, including, often, select portions. The priests receive the best of the gifts that the people bring to the Temple, the firstborn of the flocks and herds, and the payment of the redemption of the firstborn. The Levites receive a tithe (1/10th) of the crops of Bnei Yisrael, but from all that they receive they must take a tithe as well and bring it to the priests. These privileges, these rights to eat from the offerings and to receive the tithes, were in compensation for the services they were to perform for Bnei Yisrael as well as for the fact that they would receive no land of their own. 

Receiving the maaser tithe alleviated the need of the Levites to work the land. It made certain that they were provided for. But, if one examines the actual system, one notices that this was nothing in comparison to what was now granted to the Kohanim, who, at many points in Jewish history, actually had a great deal of wealth. This may always have been Hashem’s plan, of course, but if one follows the text of the parsha one might notice the subtle irony that this increase in wealth for the Kohanim, this elevation of the priesthood yet farther from the rest of Bnei Yisrael, was a direct result of Korach’s rebellion. 

Korach, a Levite, approached Moshe and charged him with nepotism. He said to Moshe: “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and Hashem is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves [Moshe and Aaron] above Hashem’s congregation?” (Bamidbar 16:3). 

On the surface, Korach’s argument was that the sons of Amram held too much power, too much honor, among themselves. He railed against the fact that Moshe had appointed Aaron as High Priest when Moshe was already like a king, even though they had both been given their roles by Hashem. 

Commentaries frequently discuss the question of Korach’s underlying motivation. Korach was already placed well above most of Bnei Yisrael. The Midrash informs us that not only was he a leader among his family, but he was both exceptionally wealthy and a well-regarded scholar. Furthermore, he was a Levi, and thus had already received the elevated role of serving in the Mishkan. In trying to dissuade him and his followers, Moshe cried “Is it not enough that the God of Israel has distinguished you from the congregation of Israel to draw you near to Him, to perform the service in the Mishkan of the Lord and to stand before the congregation to minister to them?” (16:9).

Korach and his followers lost their argument when Hashem caused the earth to swallow Korach and sent heavenly fire upon the followers. The dramatic end to the rebellion does not quell the unrest. The people complain the next day that Moshe and Aaron were responsible for the violent end of the rebellion. Hashem struck the people with a plague and then sent Aaron into the people to accept their atonement and be saved from the plague. At the same time, a staff for each tribe was put in the Holy of Holies and the next morning Aaron’s staff budded almond blossoms and almond, thus ending any doubt to Aaron’s having been chosen by Hashem.

At the very end of these tumultuous events, the perek has two interesting pasukim: “The children of Israel spoke to Moshe saying, "Behold, we are dying, we will perish, we are all lost! Whoever comes the closest to the Mishkan of the Lord dies! Have we been consigned to die?” (17:27-28). Thus we come to Perek 18, where Hashem commands: “The Lord said to Aaron: You, your sons and your father's house shall bear the iniquity associated with the Sanctuary, and you and your sons with you shall bear the iniquity associated with your kehunah. Also your brothers, the tribe of Levi, your father's tribe, are drawn close to you, and they shall join you and minister to you, and you and your sons with you, before the Tent of Testimony.” (18:1-2). What had been simply roles and jobs for the Kohanim and Leviim were now responsibilities for which they risked bearing iniquity. 

Korach started his rebellion with pluralistic rhetoric, claiming that one family should not hold so much honor, but his true goal was to elevate himself. It was his actions, his inability to recognize and utilize that which he already had, that led to what could be seen as a further division of the Kohanim to the Leviim and both to the rest of the tribes. 

Parshas Korach can, perhaps, be read as a negative narrative that emphasises the statement articulated in Pirkei Avos: “Who is a wealthy man, he who is happy with his lot…” This does not mean that one should be meek and never stand up for oneself. However, when one feels angry or disgruntled or wronged, perhaps the first step – before the reaction – is a self-check. What are my motivations? Am I angry because of my ego or because an injustice has truly occurred? And being honest with oneself, as we all know and as is plainly clear from Korach’s example, is one of the hardest tests a person can face. When we are not honest with ourselves, however, the consequences may be far from what we actually seek. 

Shabbat Shalom

Parshas Shelach – When and Where and Why

People often joke that students taking classes in psychology are prone to “diagnosing” their friends, to analyzing the personalities of those close to them. The truth is that it is human nature to want to understand what makes others “tick,” most probably as a way to help us understand our own motivations. Parshas Shelach is a parasha that leaves particularly gaping opportunities for asking the question “But why?”

You might think that this question is directed at the primary narrative of Parshas Shelach, the narrative of the scouts who misrepresented Eretz Yisrael to the nation and therefore caused their entire generation to be denied entry into the Promised Land. And, indeed, understanding why they behaved as they did is the source of a great number of commentaries and divrei Torah. Tucked at the very end of the parsha, however, is a completely different narrative - that of the man who gathered wood on Shabbas and received the death penalty for it.

This narrative is contained in five verses, Bamidbar 15:32-36, that begin with a vague statement of time: “And it was when the Israelites were in the wilderness…” Being in the wilderness, according to many commentators, such as Ibn Ezra and Rashi, is understood as being in the Wilderness of Sinai. According to other mepharshim, such as the Ramban, the incident took place in the greater wilderness after the report of the scouts.

If the incident occurred in the Wilderness of Sinai, then it happened shortly after the Jewish people received the commandment to remember the Sabbath day. In fact, Rashi notes that it would have been the second Shabbas. Indeed, he cites the idea that had Bnei Yisrael managed to keep two shabbasim, mashiach would (have) come.

Assuming it was the second Shabbas since the Israelites had been commanded to remember the holy day, one can speculate that perhaps the man forgot, or perhaps he didn’t understand. Assuming it was the second Shabbas, maybe he did not truly conceive of what the punishment would be, even though it had already been declared a capital crime. The idea of the man forgetting, explains the Daas Zkainim, connects this section to the final section of the parsha, which is the commandment to wear tzitzit as a constant reminder of Hashem’s presence. According to this commentary, Moshe told Hashem that it was because tefillin are not worn on Shabbas that the man forgot, so Hashem commanded tzitzit as a constantly available mitzvah for men.

It is interesting to note that the section just prior to the narrative of the man collecting wood discusses bringing a karbon for a shogaig, an unintentional action. Torah law leaves a lot of room for teshuva and very little blame for accidental actions. This, however, leads one to question why, if the man simply forgot, was he sentenced to death? The sages state that those who “came upon” him were witnesses who warned him, for capital punishment can only be decreed if at least 2 witnesses saw the person and warned them against the transgression. We are then left with the question that if he was warned, how can it be a situation of having forgotten?

Assuming that the man collected the sticks on Shabbas after the scouts had returned and the people rebelled, then the hypothesis of the why changes. There is no possible “he forgot” in a camp full of men and women who had kept Shabbas for at least a year. If the entire camp of over a million people are keeping Shabbas, it seems unlikely that he lacked awareness. That fact and the understood warning make one think of the two verses concluding the section on karbanos for accidental incident that precedes it:

 “And the person who acts with a high hand, whether from the community or a stranger, and reviles Hashem, that person shall be cut off from within the people; because it was the word of Hashem that was spurned, and his mitzvos were violated, that person shall be cut off and bears the guilt” (15:30-31).

This is a far more difficult situation. The use of the phrase “high hand” implies that there is a deliberate arrogance in this person’s transgressions. But perhaps that is the case of the wood-gatherer. Perhaps in reaction to the incident of the scouts and to the new knowledge that he himself would never see the Promised Land, we find an insight into the man’s mind-frame. Perhaps we can speculate that the man had a great need to test the boundaries of Hashem’s commandments and Hashem’s forgiveness, which was not the right reaction, but which could be understandable in the realms of human psychology.

To make matters all-together more confusing, there is one Midrashic commentary that notes that the man who gathered wood was named Tzelophchad, famous for his five daughters, and that he acted deliberately. Tzelaphchad, this midrash says, actually sacrificed himself for the greater good. He chose to commit a capital crime so that other Jews would see the complete process of the Torah’s system of law. This motivation could, in fact, place the incident of the wood gatherer in either interpretation of the wilderness.

One might, of course, determine that the man’s motivations are irrelevant as the punishment was the same either way. Put together, however, one realizes that both ignorance and arrogance – either insolent arrogance or benevolent arrogance - leave us prone to making mistakes.

When the man was seen gathering wood, he was brought to Moshe, Aaron, and the community leaders, who placed him under guard, “for it had not been clarified what should be done to him” (15:33-34). Moshe then sought out guidance on how to handle the incident. This is significant to our discussion of motivation. The desire to try to understand another person’s reasoning is natural, but we must always remember that only Hashem is truly capable of understanding a person’s motivation. Indeed, Hashem sees through even the lies we tell ourselves about why we act as we do.

Why did the man gather sticks on Shabbas? We will probably never know. Does it matter? Only in that it helps bring the events into perspective. There are many, many reasons that people transgress. Sometimes we simply mess up and sometimes we deliberately disobey. We are, however, far less likely to do so when we make ourselves mindful of Hashem’s constant presence.

Parshas Naso – So What It’s Not Your Fault?

Have you heard the recent trend in conversations about how children require more grit, about how the younger generations of our age lack a sense of stick-to-itness. The experts point to the increase in attention issues, to online shopping’s near-instant gratification, and to a lack of job loyalty when compared to older generations. One might think that children being raised in a Torah environment, in a society with intricate rules and sometimes lengthy rituals, would not have the same issues, but we do. Just think about the difference in the selection of kosher food thirty years ago and today…as a minor demonstration. There is almost nothing we must defer having or having a near perfect imitation of (Why should there be fish shaped like shrimp?) We have, in many ways, lost the art of accepting limitations.

Although there have been some some-what modern era examples, most of us today have trouble imagining the life of a Nazir, of a person who has dedicated themselves to Hashem and taken a special vow not to cut their hair, not to partake in anything made from a grape plant, and not to come in contact or proximity to a corpse. We understand, perhaps, the drive for dedication, the urge to gain control over one’s spiritual life – indeed, we see people taking such steps today in cutting themselves off from technology that they feel brings them down spiritually. Withholding from using technology, however, is an understandable reaction; withholding from cutting one’s hair or eating stuffed grape leaves is far less concrete.

   

Within the laws of the Nazir described in Parshas Naso, there is a wonderful lesson in having grit. We assume that a person who becomes a Nazir does so at a point of high motivation, whether the source of that motivation is positive or negative. To make such a defined and encompassing vow, a vow that becomes publicly obvious, requires a driving force. Being vigilant to keep the prohibitions during the entire time period requires dedication and mindfulness. But true grit comes into play when:

   

"And if any man die very suddenly beside him, and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it… And he shall consecrate unto God the days of his Naziriteship, and shall bring a he-lamb of the first year for a guilt-offering; but the former days shall be void, because his consecration was defiled” (Bamidbar 7:9 &12).

   

Imagine a Nazir - a week in, three weeks in,to the usual 30 day vow -sitting at the park and the man next to him has a sudden heart-attack and dies on the spot. Without question there is a trauma for anyone just from having watched this tragic event occur. For the Nazir, however, there is a deeper impact. All of the time he has passed as a Nazir until now is null and void, defiled and done. And he starts again.

   

There isn’t an option to opt out. You tried, life got in the way, so you try again. A recent discussion noted that there seems to be an increase in the “not my fault” culture in Western society. It’s the next step of everyone gets an award, and it is an attitude contrary to the values honed by living a Torah lifestyle. Leaning against a light switch as you enter a room and accidentally turning on the light on Shabbas is still a melacha.

   

When we take away personal responsibility, we diminish both our selves and the society in which we live. A Nazir may not be in the proximity of a dead body. This is it. This is the rule. You chose to become a Nazir, and you may not be near a dead body. If a person died next to you, this means that there is a reason, a part of a Divine plan, why you need to be a Nazir longer.

   

Giving up is easy, especially when the thing that interferes with success is “not your fault.” But that doesn’t build you as a human being, that doesn’t make you stronger; it doesn’t give you the internal koach to face the other challenges that life might throw at you.

   

It seems obvious that Bamidbar 7:9-12 is there because of very real and possible situations. Like all pasukim in the Torah, however, it also helps us find ways to live better lives. We hope to never face situations that require deep levels of grit and resilience, but the truth of the matter is that life is full of those challenging moments and the Torah helps us to prepare for them.

   

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

(My grit story is that this is the second worked on for this parsha. When the first one fell apart, or wouldn’t really come together, at 9 am, I could have sent a message declaring no parsha this week, but I pushed forward and started again.)
  

Parshas Bechukosai – A Metallic Metaphor

 Parshas Bechukosai starts with a promise of bracha – of rains in their time and peace in the land – if Bnei Yisrael will follow Hashem’s mitzvos. If, however, Bnei Yisrael does not follow in Hashem’s ways, then Bechukosai presents a detailed and awful list of consequences. Among the descriptive terms is one verse that is particularly perplexing: “I will break the pride of your might. I will make your heaven like iron and your land like copper” (12:19).

 This verse, which is meant to instill fear, begins the second level of punishment; These are the consequences if Bnei Yisrael doesn’t heed the panic and the disease and the fevers, the famine and the violence, all of which is their first warning of being terribly off track. But what does this verse mean? Beyond a basic threat, what purpose does this metallic metaphor serve?

 Rashi notes that the difference between iron and copper is that copper exudes water, while iron does not – and that the combination of dryness in the sky and moisture in the earth, will intensify any famine. And still the question remains. With so many possible words to describe a punishment like drastic change in climate, why this metaphor of iron and copper?

 The common characteristic of most metals is that they are hard – even the soft metals. Iron and copper are utilitarian metals, natural elements that can be transformed and used. The transformation, however, takes great heat and hard pounding. Perhaps Hashem threatens them with making the world iron and copper to remind Bnei Yisrael that it is their own hardness, their own stiff-necked mida, that was the cause of their downfall.

 This suits well with common translation of the first half of the pasuk:  “And I will break the pride of your might.” To be a stiff-necked nation infers that our pride is great, that we place our will at an inflexible height.

 In this pasuk, however the term used for pride is an odd Hebrew word, ge’own. As noted by many commentators, it has within it an inference to the Beis Hamikdash because it can also be translated as majesty or exaltation.  The Kli Yakar points out that in Devarim 28:23, Moshe threatens the opposite - that the heavens will be like copper and the earth like iron. This, the commentator notes, indicates that Vayikra 12:19 is speaking of First Temple because “It is known that iron is harder than copper. In the first Temple Period, their main sin was toward Heaven, through the worship of the stars and the constellations …Therefore the heavens were as hard as iron” (translation via Sefaria).

 When our pride kept us from doing teshuvam from heeding the warning from Hashem, then Hashem destroyed the place where our true pride should have been focused.

 Sometimes it is hard for us to relate to the actuality of the Beis Hamikdash and even harder to grasp the desire for avodah zarah. And if we are not sure whether we still retain the trait of being stiff necked, we do, at least, know that each of us has a yetzer harah to lead us down a path of gaivah (pride) once in awhile.

As Klal Yisrael today, we live in the world after our great punishments, in a seemingly unending era of exile in which we once again see the hatred of the nations festering. Here, in Bechukosai, we have a reminder that we must take down our pride, be flexible in our path in order to truly serve Hashem, and strive to do proper teshuva.

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Acharei Mos: Protecting the Law

 Parshas Acharei Mos: Protecting the Law

The 18th chapter of Sefer Vayikra begins a section of the Torah in which Hashem dictates a long list of laws for Moshe to give to Bnei Yisrael. It starts with a very important statement that the Children of Israel must not do like the ways of Egypt, the land from which they had come, or the ways of Canaan, the land to which they were heading, “and in their statutes you shall not walk” (Vayikra 18:3). This injunction against assimilation is followed by what, at first, appears to be simple guidance for staying true to the new path Hashem has put before Bnei Yisrael, and yet the two verses that follow are anything but simple when looked at more closely.

 

“My ordinances you shall do, and My statutes shall you keep, to walk therein: I am the Lord your God. You shall keep My statutes and My ordinances, which if a man shall do, he shall live by them: I am the Lord” (18:4-5).

 

Simple, it seems. Do these mitzvos and guard these laws. So why do the verses seem to flip into themselves? Why is there a seeming repetition with a reversal in order? Is it more important to do – ta’asei – or to keep/guard – shamru?

Ordinances, in Hebrew mishapatim, are basic civil laws – laws that one expects to help society as a whole function. Statutes, in Hebrew chukim, on the other hand, are generally defined as laws for which there is no reason or explanation other than that Hashem told us to do them. Given the different definitions, it makes sense that Hashem instructed Moshe to tell the people to do the mishpatim and to guard the chukim. Setting up and maintaining a civil society requires constant action, whereas the more esoteric rules (chukim) require deliberate cultivation and transmission to the next generation.

But why then the seeming repetition? Perhaps we must remember Hashem's eternal omniscience. Hashem knew that we would be sent into exile, that the Jewish people would have to both develop its own kingship/nation and to live under the governance of others. 

What is the difference between doing and guarding, between la’asot and l’shmor. One is not meant to just keep the chukim close to heart, one must also “do” them. Perhaps Vayikra 18:4 should be read as a warning. Setting up a just society, following the Torah’s civil laws, is important, but it is not enough. The civil system must be sublimated to the statutes, to remembering that what may seem right and just may be a false front if it would not be acceptable within the framework of the chukim – and there are many who have noted that, at the end of the day, all mitzvos are chukim, are mitvos that we do because Hashem told us to.

Vayikra 18:5, on the other hand, reflects galus. Mishpatim, the ordinances, are both very easy and very hard. Mishpatim are often thought of as laws that most societies would develop on their own, even without Divine intervention, laws like “do not steal” and “set up courts.” Living in a society based, as they say, on Judeo-Christian traditions, we cannot even fathom life without these basic standards. At the same time, living in a society that asserts itself as following just laws, but law which may not actually be Torahdik, makes it challenging to hold fast to the mitzvos that we know we are to follow if we are to walk in the way of the Torah. Thus Vayikra 18:5, which switches the order of the injunction and states that we must keep (guard) the statutes and the ordinances and if we do so we shall live (individually). In this, it is fair to say, that living means far more than actual physical existence, but rather the true flourishing of our neshamos.

Right and wrong. Good and bad. Fair and unfair. These are terms that society casts about on every issue, without necessarily taking the time to consider who determines the parameters of those judgments. Interestingly, Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch notes on Vayikra 18:3 that “the ways of the land of Egypt and the ways of the land of Canaan seem to designate the social behavior that marked the relation of men to each other in Egypt and Canaan…the former are regulated by state-laws, the latter less by legislation but rather by rules which become sanctified by custom and convention.” For Bnei Yisrael, there can only be one source for the decision of right and wrong, good and bad, fair and unfair, and etc. The source is concisely stated as the conclusion to this set of pasukim: Ani Hashem, I am the Lord. 

In the era of galus, may we all have the strength to truly guard our paths.

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas.