Parshas Naso – An Offering of Jealousy and Remembrance.

The parsha of the Sotah is, for many people, an uncomfortable one to read. If you are a woman of the current age, it feels unbalanced, unfair, and almost cruel. In the world at large, a man’s philandering wi considered just as grievous as a woman’s, and yet, in Torah, there is no concept of a cheating husband because, one could argue, the Torah permits a man to have four wives. There are many explanations for why there is this distinction, not the least of which is the basic, practical need to be assured of the paternity of children. Part of it, however, also has to due with the assumed nature of men and women, even as old fashioned and anti-modern thought as these Torah concepts may be (although these natures are still readily apparent, no matter what the modern culture wishes to assert). 

In Parshas Naso, the pasukim describe the process of accusing a Sotah. Among the instructions, it is described that “that party shall bring his wife to the priest. And he shall bring as an offering for her 1/10th ephah of barley flour. No oil shall be poured upon it and no frankincense shall be laid on it, for it is a meal offering of jealousy, a meal offering of remembrance a reminder of sin” (Bamidbar 5:15).

The different perspectives throughout history of marital dynamics, of the nature of husbands and wives and their relationship, has always colored the interpretations of the pasukim relating to the Sotah. Thus the Or Hachaim who lived in the 16th/17th century relates this pasuk to Adam and Chava and the “original sin,” stating: 

“When the Sotah drinks this mixture of water, earth and the residue of the holy name of Hashem that dissolved in that water, the name of the meal-offering as ‘reminder of sin’ is most appropriate if she has indeed been guilt of marital infidelity…Whoever is familiar with the sin of Eve who had been contaminated by sexual intercourse with the original serpent, and who had thus been disloyal to her husband, will realise that the sin the Sotah is guilty of is indeed the original sin committed by man, i.e. woman” (translation via Sefaria).

Relating Sotah only to the idea of a cheating wife is, in some ways, simplistic. A pasuk such as 5:15 tells us that there is so much more to it. What does the Torah mean that it is “a meal offering of jealousy, a meal offering of remembrance” when it is one meal offering? If it is a “reminder of sin,” meaning the original sin, as the Ohr Hachaim proposes,” why is it connected to jealousy? 

The descriptors of this particular mincha offering are subtle warning signs to both the husband and the wife. To the wife it is a warning that the husband will be vindicated if she is untrue, that he can and will bring her forward to the high priest and have his wrongs made right. To the husband, however, it is a warning that jealousy, too, is an avaira, that the course he is embarking on will have deep ramifications, even if his wife is proven innocent. 

Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsh points out that “the husband can prefer to have the marriage concluded, or the wife, without admitting any guilt, can prefer divorce to continuing the marriage after her innocence has been proved, or simply does not wish to undergo the test. Neither the husband not the wife can be forced to have the test made.”

The wife, if she has been unfaithful, need not die. He can let her go; they can just end the marriage. By pursing the process of Sotah he is, most likely, seeking some level of revenge or to assert his dominance. (Unless he knows her innocence and feels a need to make a very public assertion of it.) If the woman is willing to undergo the Sotah waters after her husband accuses her, it seems this would be an assertion of innocence, for she would simply die. If she refuses to partake in the Sotah ceremony, it seems this would be reason enough to simply end the marriage.

The great and painful sin of the situation of the Sotah is, in truth, the real original sin – but not the one this foreign phrase refers to. The sin of the Sotah is the underlying inability of the couple to build a relationship, the foster two halves into a whole, to overcome jealousy. Hashem is not asking the impossible of the husband. Hashem understands jealousy, and we, the Jewish people who have gone astray, remain here – alive and thriving. 

Just some food for thought. Hope you have a beautiful Shabbas.

SHAVUOS – The Chizuk of a Metaphysical Marriage

There is, going around on social media, an adorable replica of the typical engagement announcement/invitation to an engagement party that have become all the rage for parents to send out to their family and friends. This replica, however, has in place of the names of the bride and groom, Hashem and Klal Yisrael. Shavuos and Matan Torah are often compared to a wedding, to the time when the Jewish people are wedded to Hashem. It’s a beautiful and sweet analogy… sort of.  

Marriage is a word that we think should conjure up the emotions of love and trust. That is an ideal that some people are blessed to have on an individual level, but many are not. But, on a metaphysical level, our marriage with Hashem is one that Klal Yisrael can depend on.

It’s interesting to note that there are a lot of relationships in the Book of Ruth. Naomie is married to Elimelech, who alters the entire course of what was probably a normal, steady, happy life for his wife and their sons by deciding to move them to Moav. It isn’t a simple move. According to tradition, he moved to avoid the onus of responsibility to use his wealth to support the people of Yehuda during a time of famine or to avoid seeing his people suffer. Either way, he fled ignobly to a country known to be at odds with Israel and quite often the source of their suffering.  

The Midrashim make it quite clear that the move was not the desire of Naomi, but a woman goes where a woman must. She lived in Moav and raised her family, and she never stopped longing for her homeland. Her sons married local princesses. Her husband died. Her sons died. Through all that she remained steady and was then ready to return home.  

Steady, loyal Naomi was the woman that Ruth and Orpa saw. This was the woman that inspired them to want to stay with their foreign, former mother-in-law when life in a palace potentially awaited them. Through whatever pain or suffering or turmoil Naomi went through, she had one constant, and that was a desire to return to her old life. Not the old life as the wife of a wealthy merchant prince, which she knew was a life that was now long lost to her. She was yearning to be among klal Yisrael, to be in a place where her neshama could best connect to Hashem. 

What Ruth followed when she followed Naomi, when she crossed into the land of Yehuda, was the desire to be part of something truly holy, something far bigger than she had ever known. She wasn’t interested in joining a new nation, per say. Ruth wanted to follow her mother-in-law because she wanted to be in the same relationship with the Divine that Naomi was. They had both experienced hardship. They had both suffered from widowhood and were left, in the end, childless. But Naomi still had her unwavering commitment to Torah and avodas Hashem, and to the understanding that Hashem still loved her as a member of His people no matter where she had been. This is what Ruth longed for. This is what she sought. 

The marriage of Hashem and Klal Yisrael is about commitment. It’s about a commitment to being committed. It means knowing that in all times – good, bad, or otherwise – the relationship is one’s foundation. Naomi knew it. She did what she had to do, but she did not lose track of who she was or where she was meant to be. And Ruth saw that and knew that a commitment of that magnitude meant something. It was beyond the commitment of a mortal concept of love or partnership, because Klal Yisrael became, with the acceptance of the Torah, partners with Hashem, and Hashem is an unfailing, ever-giving partner. Those who recognize it, give with steady, honest devotion to the best of their abilities. And Ruth wanted to be in that relationship with the Divine. 

At some point in most of our lives, we are like Naomi and like Ruth: strangers – individuals in a strange place with few, if any, people whom we know, let alone trust. Almost all of us have, as well, had times in which we suffered silent anguish, when our pain or our pride was so great that we could not share our troubles with anyone around us for fear that just mentioning it would burst us apart. Most of us, in spite of the challenges or the fear or the sense of a void, choose to move forward, choose to maintain a commitment to the eternal essence of the Jewish people…and that is what the holiday of Shavuos is all about. It’s about commitment.

Shavuos is once again upon us. The celebration of receiving the Torah at Har Sinai. The anniversary of our commitment. So pull out some wedding cake (cheesecake), stand up to a good book (Torah, Rus….), and celebrate your ongoing, ever-present relationship with the Hashem.

Parshas Acharei Mos-Kedoshim: Holiness and Our Parents

The double parsha of Acharei Mos- Kedoshim begins with Hashem’s instructions for Aaron (and any future kohain gadol) on the process of attaining atonement for the Jewish people.  As is well known, the Biblical Yom Kippur service required Aaron to take two goats, one for an offering and the other to receive the sins of Bnei Yisrael and then be cast off a mountain. The Torah describes the process thus: “Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites, whatever their sins, putting them on the head of the goat; and it shall be sent off to the wilderness through a designated agent” (Vayikra 16:21).

 

Kol avonos Bnei Yisrael – all of the sins of Bnei Yisrael. How in the course of this one ritual could the kohain gadel confess ALL of the sins of Bnei Yisrael? Unfortunately, that would probably take a lot of time. Chizkuni explains, citing Sifre, that the kohain gadol would make a general statement saying: “The Children of Israel committed inadvertent sins, deliberate sins as well as sins reflecting their obstinacy against the Lord.”

 

The ritual was fulfilled by a blanket statement covering every type of aveira because every type of aveira transgressed the defining mitzva of the second parsha of the week: Kodeshim tiheeyu, holy you shall be, and it continues “for holy am I, the Lord your God” (19:2).  The commandment to be holy is a complicated one given that to be holy like Hashem requires a level of perfection that most individual humans cannot even imagine.

 

Parshas Kedoshim then includes an extensive list of mitzvos. Actually, the parsha contains the commandment for holiness in two places. First in the pasuk cited above and again in the next Perek: “You shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I, Hashem, am your God. You shall faithfully observe My laws: I, Hashem, make you holy” (20:7-8). It is interesting to note then, that both commandments to be holy are followed by references to halachos of kibbud av v’aim. Vayikra 19:3 says: “Each man you shall revere his mother and his father, and My Sabbaths you shall observe.” Vayikra 20:9: “If anyone curses his father or his mother, that person shall be put to death; that person has cursed his father or his mother—and retains the bloodguilt.”

 

These two mitzvos are a fascinating reflection of the rest of the mitzvos of Parshas Kedoshim in that they included commandments that are both positive and negative. This is, perhaps, an excellent reminder that in our work on being holy, we should neither be fully about restrictions nor only about action. The Torah provides a structure of balance, as well as a recognition that the human condition is…complicated.

 

Think about it: If I revere my mother and my father, fulfilling the first mitzvah, then it seems impossible that I should ever come to curse my parents. All too often, however, life puts us on unforeseen paths that lead us to unexpected situations.

 

But why kibbud av v’aim? Why is this mitzvah so strongly connected to the commandment to be holy? Perhaps we should look at it from the perspective of the famous gemara that says that there are three partners in the creation of a human being – the father, the mother, and Hashem. Thus how we treat our parents is a reflection of our relationship to Hashem. (The optimal word here is “treat,” and this is not to suggest that one must accept an abusive or negative parental relationship. However, even in a negative situation, one can still remember the basic level of hakaras hatov to those who gave one life.) If one cannot treat their parents with some level of reverence for having given them life, for having raised them to adulthood, for having instilled in them the basic morals and mores of being a good person, how can one hope to have the proper reverence to emulate Hashem?

 

How one treats one’s parents is also a significant indication of how one treats other people. The mitzvos listed in Parshos Kedoshim makes clear that the Torah ideal of being holy is firmly rooted in bein adam l’chavero, interpersonal mitzvos. A person’s first and most ongoing interpersonal relationship is, normally, with one’s parents. And while childhood and teenagehood may be fraught with the natural battle for independence, once a person emerges into adulthood, they should be able to see and understand the inherent value of that relationship. A person who demonstrates generosity to the poor and restraint in judgements but who has no boundaries of behavior in this primal relationship cannot attain holiness because they are lacking a fundamental value.

 

Kodeshim tihiyu ki kadosh ani Hashem E-lo-keichem, holy you shall be because holy am I Hashem your God, is also understood to infer that attaining holiness is possible because of Bnei Yisrael’s inherent relationship with Hashem. The relationship comes from our parents. We can be holy because our parents, and our parents’ parents, and our parents’ parents’ parents, and etc, strove to maintain their relationship with the Divine. For while ““The Children of Israel committed inadvertent sins, deliberate sins as well as sins reflecting their obstinacy against the Lord,” they continued, throughout the generations, to strive toward the ultimate goal of being an am kadosh.

Parshas Tzav – Preparations

Perhaps the most honest statement a person today could express about this week’s parsha, and many of the parshios in Sefer Vayikra, is a confession of ignorance. We can imagine the sensations of holiness. We can conceptualize the ebb and flow of the offerings. We can discuss every detail of the necessary prayers and rituals. But, in truth, for most of us of the modern era (and even the not so modern era), the actuality of bringing live animals to a priest for him to slaughter and cut up and burn is extremely foreign. Indeed, as residents of a Western culture, one might even feel a negative taint to the concept - perhaps because we have come so far from being an agrarian society.

 

So what can one share in a Dvar Torah on the parshios of Sefer Vayikra? The sanctified rituals of the holy offerings may be distant from us, but the work of avodah is not. We may not serve Hashem in the same way as our ancestors, but we dedicate ourselves to His service in ways unique and significant to our own generation.

 

Parshas Tzav includes a description of Aaron and his sons’ investiture into the priesthood. This meant Moshe dressing them in their special garments and anointing them. This meant Moshe preparing offerings and burning them. This meant Moshe anointing the priests again, this time with oil mixed with blood from the altar, before they then consume the sacrificial meats.

 

The investiture of Aaron and his sons into the priesthood meant Aaron and his sons being instructed to remain in the Ohel Moed for seven days: “…until the day of the completion of your investiture days, he will inaugurate you for seven days. Everything done today, Hashem has commanded to be done [seven days], to make expiation for you. You shall remain at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting day and night for seven days, keeping Hashem’s charge—that you may not die—for so I have been commanded.” (8:33-35).

 

In order for Aaron and his sons to go through the full process of investiture, to achieve the full level sanctification, they must repeat the process dictated in Parshas Tzav for seven days. This week-long preparation resonates in particular at this time of year when our lives are full of preparation and repetition. Clean a room, and clean it again, and clean it again until the final check. Detailed preparation and waiting… waiting to get to a point of being able to perform our ritual celebrating the freedom of becoming Avdei Hashem.

 

Our avodah, particularly at this time of year, doesn’t necessarily feel like the concept of avodah discussed in the Torah. We talk about our tefilla being the equivalent to the avodah in the Beis Hamikdash. That is avodah as service, but avodah also means work. In the first half of Nissan, whether you are working on preparing your house or reviewing and mastering all of the laws of the holiday, the work is real, and real work can feel tedious and repetitive, especially when one studies the same texts year after year. But such repetitiveness plays an important role in our preparations.

Aaron and his sons spent seven days going through the same service in order to prepare themselves to be the spiritual leaders of klal Yisrael. Every day they were dressed in their vestements, and everyday they listened to Moshe instruct them on the rites of the sacrifice, and everyday they ate the meat of the sacrifices that Moshe brought. These were men chosen out for their spiritual greatness. These were people who had already been working on preparing themselves for their roles.  How easy it would have been for them to get frustrated at the repetition of their passive roles during these seven days. “And Aaron and his sons did all the things that Hashem had commanded through Moses” (8:36).

 

The process of preparation has its own level of significance and importance. For each day that they stayed in the Ohel and repeated the process of the day before, they garnered a more profound understanding of their responsibilities. Preparation is never just a means to an end, but rather a process unto itself. It may get frustrating. It may be challenging. But it must be viewed for its own inherent purpose and benefit.

 

There are many people who rejoice at the idea of going away for Pesach. The idea of not spending hours cleaning multiple rooms or “turning over” the kitchen seems enviable, and yet there are few Jews one would meet who do nothing to prepare their homes, because the process, too, is part of the celebration.

 

Wishing you all a good Shabbas, and a Pesach that is kasher and sameach and spiritually uplifting.

 

Parshas Vayikrah - Just Salt Here

My children tend to use an excessive amount of salt in their food. No matter what is served, their first instinct seems to be to grab the salt-shaker and pour. In a world where the supermarket offers a diverse selection of salts, they are generally out of touch with the incredible properties of this mineral.

In Parshas Vayikra, salt is mentioned in one pasuk - which, in a parsha that seems quite repetitious in its wording, should draw our attention. “And all of your meal offerings you shall salt; you shall not omit the salt of the covenant with your God, with all of your offerings you shall offer salt” (Vayikra 2:13).

Vayikra 2, where this verse is found, is a discussion of the Mincha offering, which accompanied the sacrifices. The mincha offering was a meal offering that was generally composed of flour, oil, and frankincense.. and, it seems, salt.

Commentators such as Rabbi Shimshon Rephael Hirsh make it a point to note that there is no bris related to salt but rather that here the Torah is comparing the covenant between Bnei Yisrael and Hashem to salt. The metaphor here is to the preservative nature of salt, which can conserve food for exceptionally long period of time. The bris of Hashem, the Torah and His promises to the Jewish people, is that which sustain us.

Rav Hirsh notes that salt is both a preservative and a corrosive, and, therefore, states: “If we…remember that decay is nothing but the working of the beginning of a new structure, we can take salt generally to represent unchangeableness. It closes an object into itself, and renders it not susceptible to exterior changing influences. To that extent it completely expresses the idea of bris, the basic underlying meaning of which [is]…to be separated and apart, quite independent and unaffected by outside influences.”

There are many fascinating characteristics one can discuss about salt. Most famously, it is an essential element in food preparation, not only because it enhances both taste and texture, but also because it acts as a binder.

 Additionally, when studying the Torah, one finds that salt has a linguistically fascinating feature. The Hebrew word Malach (salt) is a homonym for Malach, which means rule. The covenant between Hashem and Bnei Yisrael, His specific constitution (lhavdeel) for our people, is our preservation. The Torah is ever enduring. One could say further that our minhagim and our traditions are that which enhance the taste and texture of our lives. Finally, the decree to salt is reserved for the mincha offering, for the offering that accompanied almost every other type of sacrifice, because the karbanos bound us to Hashem and raised up our love for Him.

 We do not have a Beis Hakidash today, and we may have a hard time envisioning the actual offering of the avodah. Nevertheless, we place the salt upon our tables and we dip our challah in salt so that we, too, can be constantly reminded of the incredible power of the Torah and the ever-enduring relationship of Hashem and His people.

 

Shabbat Shalom.

Parshas Ki Tisa – It’s Really About Bechira

The incident of the Golden Calf is one of the strangest narratives in the Torah. How could everything degenerate so fast? How could Bnei Yisrael go from hearing Hashem’s voice at Har Sinai to demanding that Aaron make an idol for them, and how could Aaron actually help them?  And one last question might be, why does it seem as if Hashem is surprised; couldn’t Hashem have sent Moshe earlier to correct their mistake?

The Chait Haegel, the incident of the Golden Calf, is a critical moment not just in Jewish history, but in the development of the relationship of Hashem and Bnei Yisrael. In some ways, one could say that it is a crucial narrative to understanding the concept of bechira, free will.

“And Hashem said to Moshe,” Go, descend, for your people whom you have brought from the land of Egypt have acted corruptly. They have quickly turned away from the path that I have commanded them; they have made themselves a molten calf! And they have prostrated themselves before it, slaughtered sacrifices to it, and said: ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who have brought you up from the land of Egypt.’ And Hashem said to Moshe: ‘I have seen this people and behold they are a stiff-necked people’” (32:7-9).

Why does Hashem tell Moshe as if Hashem had not known what was happening? After all, Hashem is omniscient. Hashem was aware of the actions of the people before they were fully aware of their own actions. The intent of the people is explained as the people’s panicking over a miscalculation of when Moshe would return, so all Hashem had to do was demonstrate that Moshe was fine or send Moshe down early. Instead, Hashem let the people run their course.

 Forty days earlier, Bnei Yisrael made a choice that, according to the Midrash, was not 100% a choice. At Har Sinai, Bnei Yisreal accept the Torah when they declared Naaseh v’nishmah, we will do and we will listen. But, according to the Midrash, they accepted the Torah with a mountain over their head, with a threat of destruction. Commentaries who discuss this midrash discuss its impact on the concept of bechira, free will.

 Receiving the Torah at Har Sinai was an exceptional moment in many, many ways. The very nature of the world was altered at that moment. The desert mountain sprouted flowers. Lightening was seen and thunder was heard (a poetic take on the text – sorry).  It was now the time to enter into the era of the Torah, and so, on some level, even bechira was suspended.

 Forty days later – forty days into having accepted the covenant with Hashem – the nature of the world was back in order. The people had full bechira, and, therefore, Hashem could not intervene.  And since the people acted of their own free will, Hashem could, and did, react to their choices (which, of course, put in motion so many other critical moments to the world, as it was designed).

 The Chait Haegel was Bnei Yisrael’s first great misstep, but – as all parents know – one has to let a child make mistakes in order for them to grow. Falling is part of learning to walk.

 There are many questions one might ask on the text of Shemos 32, both because one wants to understand how those who, only a little over a month before, had heard Hashem and accepted the Torah could cry our for and celebrate an idol and because the text itself is filled with fascinating nuances. And in this, too, there is a lesson.

 Life is not simple. No person and no people act from one singular motivation. Hashem is aware of all of the factors that impact each and every one of us, as an individual and as a nation. But Hashem leaves it up to us to choose our responses, to put our choices into action. We do not control the shape of the world, but we have been given the ability to take an active role in shaping our individual lives. 

Parshas Titzaveh - The Significance of Color

Small children often think, perhaps jokingly, that the lives of their parents or grandparents was once in black and white, like the old pictures. It is a cute joke or a sweet inquiry on the part of naïve children who believe that all grown-ups are old and color is a modern day invention. In some ways, however, thinking of the past as a monochromatic world is not limited to children. It is not just the fact that our own personal memories are more subdued than real life. The 21^st century feels bright and vibrant and pulsing with attention seeking behavior. Every step “forward” in technology feels like it changes the spectrum of the life we live. In 2019, there was an article about students at MIT creating “the blackest black,” and, in 2020, there was an article about students at Purdue creating the “whitest white”; we seem to believe that we actually have the power to create improved color.

 

And so it is that we often think of the ancient past in faded tones. We have a natural instinct to think of the men and women wandering in the dessert dressed in neutral tones, in grays and tans and beiges. Parshas Titzaveh, however, reminds us that the most spiritually elevated of our ancestors was swathed in lush color. The garments of the kohain gadol were not somber, but rather were richly worked with blue and purple, crimson and scarlet, and, of course, gold. The Choshen Mishpat was deliberately stones of different colors.

 

So what? It isn’t particularly revealing that they created color in the wilderness, that the Mishkan and the bigdei kahuna (priestly garments) were designed to be beautiful. What can we of the 21^st century learn from this? We aren’t building the Mishkan. We have token kibbudim (honors) for those we recognize as kohanim since we do not have the Beis Hamikdash. And we have no kohein gadol for whom to produce magnificent garb. Perhaps, however that there is a reminder of the basic Jewish value of embracing and creating beauty. This is not an aspiration of art for art’s sake or fashion for vanity, but art and clothing for elevation. Hashem wants us to emulate His ability to create. In many people, it is a driving force of their neshamos.

 

From an outside point of view, particularly in our “advance technological age” with its flashing lights and blackest blacks, the religious world looks austere. It looks old-fashioned and thus muted. In many ways, our own communities strive for that appearance as a contrast to the outside world. And it is a value of our nation to maintain a separate identity, a distinguished appearance that sets us apart and maintains our traditions.  

 

In some ways, however, our traditional communities have been creating their own blackest blacks and whitest whites. When we learn about the flash and color of the bigdei of the kohain gadol and the Mishkan itself, there is, perhaps, a reminder, that color is beautiful. Color brings joy and joy brings gratitude and seeing dignified, richly hued clothing, like seeing a glorious sunset or a beautiful rose, provides an opportunity to thank Hashem for the pleasure of sight.

 

In describing the clothing of the kahain gadol, Parshas Titzaveh also details the creation of the choshen, of the breastplate that bore twelve precious stones. Each stone represents a different tribe, and each stone had its own unique color and characteristics  - and it is interesting to note that some of the stones are multi-colored. The beauty of the Jewish people is our diversity within the same world, how there are “70 faces to the Torah.” We all share the same goal, the desire to serve Hashem and to elevate the world we live in, but how we do that is unique. Those unique shades of being, the colors of who we are, are what represent our people at its most elevated state.