Behold (Ra'eh)

The first word of this week’s parsha “ra’eh,” is often translated into English as the dramatic Behold! “Behold I put before you-all this day a blessing and a curse” (Devarim 11:26). Hebrew, alas, does not have such exclamatory terms, and the most basic translation of this word is the imperative “See!”

See! Look! Behold! This may actually be one of the most common commands in modern language. Look at this mess! See the show! Perhaps this is because, for most people, seeing is one of the most concrete ways of gaining accurate input – together with the sense of touch. When we can see something, we can begin to feel as if we can understand it. As they say, “Seeing is believing!”

Ra’eh is an interesting word, especially if one likes to think of words creatively. For instance, is there a connection between ra’eh (reish - aleph – hey) and ro’eh (reish - vav - ayin - hey), which means shepherd? Perhaps it is that the job of a shepherd is to continually have his flock in his sights and to be keeping his sight ever-alert for threat or wandering lambs.

While Moshe might have been the quintessential shepherd, when he addresses the people in Devarim 11, he is not asking them to look at something physical and concrete. He is asking them to see something greater. This too can have a correlation to a play on the root of the basic verb. The conjugations of liroat are often confused with the conjugations of lirah, to be in awe of/fear. Lirah is not fear as in afraid or terrified (pachad) but rather fear in a sense of feeling as if one is in a situation that is beyond them. In the proper context, it is a positive attribute, for one is meant to have yiras Hashem, awe/fear of God. Only when one can see with one’s inner, spiritual eye can one begin to truly comprehend the significance of yiras Hashem.  

“Behold I put before you-all this day a blessing and a curse.” One can’t technically see a blessing or a curse, but one can use one’s “inner eye” to perceive how actions lead to situations, good and bad. Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch writes: “Ra’eh, see, it is not on faith and belief in the teachings which you have to accept from others, but out of everything you yourselves have experience up to now and what has been recalled to your minds by the retrospective view that you have just been given, you must have formed your own conviction that God has placed the making of your future fate most blessed or most accursed entirely in your own hands by His Torah which He has sent you through Moses.

The use of the imperative is not the only interesting feature of the word Ra’eh. The verse says:   

Ra’eh Behold (singular imperative)

anochi I (in its more formal form)

noten put (literally give)

lifneichem before you all (in the plural second person form)

hayom this day...

Technically, if Moshe was speaking to a large crowd, ra’eh should have been ra’u, the plural form. Moshe, however, was not talking to a crowd. He was talking to Jashub and Elon and Nemuel and… to each individual Jew who stood ready to enter the Promised Land. The Kli Yakar, a medieval commentator explains: “’See’ is singular. ‘Before you’ is plural. This is what our Sages teach us: A person must always view things as if the entire world is half righteous and half wicked. If he performs a single mitzvah he tips himself and the entire world to the side of merit. Therefore Moshe spoke to every individual, ‘See’ that he should see in his thought that every single action affects all of them.

Perhaps “Behold” is the best translation for the use of ra’eh in Devarim 11. Merriam-Webster defines the word as “to perceive through sight or apprehension.” Moshe wants the people to do more than just see. He wants them to behold, to take in and understand everything that has befallen them, everything that they have been taught and that they have witnessed, and everything that they think will and can influence their behaviour.

This level of perception is not easy. In the “Age of Information” society seems to believe that humanity can make better decisions because we have all of the facts so easily accessible. The internet and social media provide all of the facts and all of the opinions, but obscures the ability of individuals to behold, to take it all in and reflect. Finding the clarity of mind to really understand the blessing of Torah and the curse of leaving it behind is incredibly difficult. But it can be done.

Indeed, according to the commentary of the Ohr Hachayim, inspiration for the ability to choose blessing comes straight from Moshe and is alluded to in his use of the word Anochi. “Moses had something else in mind when he said ראה אנכי, "look at me!" Maimonides explains in his treatise Hilchot Teshuvah chapter 5 that every person has the potential to become the equal of Moses. This is precisely what Moses meant. He said: "Take a good look at me! Everything that I have accomplished you are able to accomplish for yourselves!" Whenever a person aspires to serve the Lord he is not to look at people who have been under-achievers compared to himself and to use such a comparison in order to pat himself on the back on his relative accomplishment, but he is to train his sights on those who have achieved more than he himself and use this as a challenge to set his spiritual sights ever higher.”

Not by Bread Alone (Eikev #2)

“Not by bread alone” is an idiom that most people know but don’t even realize comes from the Torah. Sadly, it has also become a somewhat trite expression that people use to infer a right to excess. The original verse containing these words is Devarim 8:3, in which Moshe recounts how Hashem let the people hunger so that He might provide them with manna “in order to make you know that not by bread alone does man live, rather by everything that emanates from the mouth of God does man live.” In the wilderness, Hashem gave Bnei Yisrael a very concrete means of understanding that Hashem is the source of everything. He provided them with all of their needs, right down to ever-fresh clothing.

It is interesting that God gave humankind a rather limited short-term memory. In times of want people turn to God. They cry out, plead, and cajole. What happens in times of plenty? Man claims victory over the forces of nature.

A few weeks ago, as many Jews around the world refrained from eating meat as a sign of mourning, there was a not-so-surprising uptick in conversations about the Beyond Burger, a veggie burger promoted as being incredibly close to the real thing (reviews appeared to be mixed).  Similarly, there has been a steady stream of media conversations about the Impossible Burger, which contains plant heme cells that make it “bleed” like real animal meat.  And, if I am not mistaken, at least one kashrus organization has ruled that meat made from the molecular structure of stem cells could be pareve. Scientists around the world are full of a sense of triumph. In this way, and in many others, man has created food.

This is the significance of bread. As Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch points out: “Lechem (bread) is the food ‘wrested’ from Nature and the competition of your fellow men. ‘Bread’ is the product of human intelligence mastering Nature and the world. So that ‘bread’ represents human intelligence creating the continuance of its existence by mastering nature in social co-operation.”  And even when we cut out nature and create food in a lab, it still falls into the category of Rabbi Hirsch’s abstract lechem.

One could say, without much hesitation, that Judaism is fully prepared for such an abstract culinary concept as “cultured meat,” meat grown in a lab. One of the main brachot said before eating food is “She’hakohl nihiyeh bidvaro – who brings about all things by His word.” In this one concise bracha, even the newest edible invention reflects the eternal truth.

There is an important connection between food and blessings that comes up just a few verses later in the chapter: “V’achalta vsevata uverachta…” (8:10), words many of us mumble through or race past on a regular basis during Birkat Hamazon. “And you shall eat and you shall be satisfied and you shall bless.” In a commentary based on the teachings of Rabbi Joseph Soleveitchik was the following interesting insight (here abbreviated) connected to this idea:

“The Shechinah, the Divine Presence, resides with us on earth…we encounter the Shechinah continually. Yet God is not clearly revealed to us; He is hidden from view: ‘Behold I come to you in a cloud’ (Shemos 19:9) …The obscuring cloud takes on any number of guises. For the physicist, the cloud is mathematics. For the biologist, the cloud is chemical reaction (etc.) ….The cloud is any manifestation of nature or man that promotes the illusion that the world operates automatically, concealing the reality that God is responsible for all that occurs on earth…When one recites a bracha, he in essence is saying ‘Master of the Universe, You are hidden behind a cloud; no one sees you. Yet, as I drink this glass of water [or eat the Beyond Burger], I reveal Your presence. The very fact that I can eat that my body absorbs food, that I can digest…Through this recognition I am removing the obscuring cloud.”

The job of removing the cloud is never ending because human nature and modern society constantly pull the obscuring cloud back over our eyes. Nehama Leibowitz beautifully stated the lesson God was trying to provide: “Just as your progress in the wilderness was only made possible through visible miracles, so your existence in ‘the wilderness of this world’ with its ever-present serpents and scorpions is only possible through hidden miracles. Though in place of water from the rock of flint and the manna of heaven there will be here underground water, springs, rain and bread from the ground, the latter too are heavenly gifts originating in His bounty and not the product of ‘my power and the might of my hand.’”

Cellular agriculture is now being used to try to create meat, dairy, eggs, coffee, and even whisky. As what was once science fiction becomes part of our reality, the pressure of the cloud hindering our ability to perceive the Shechinah will probably grow stronger (until the light of Mashiach blasts it to smithereens!).  Being a person of faith is becoming an exception where once, even superficially, it was the norm.

It is all the more important, therefore, that Bnai Yisrael remember the manna. We must eat and be satisfied and bless. We might even eat and be satisfied and bless a “cheeseburger” that really did once seem impossible! Bnai Yisrael need not hesitate to accept new science as long as the ultimate credit is given to the Creator of All Things.

Bibliography

Hirsch, Rabbi Samsom Raphael. The Pentateuch: Volume V Deuteronomy. Translated by Isaac Levy, Judaica Press, LTD, 1999.

Leibowitz, Nehama. Studies in Devarim. Translated by Aryeh Newman, The World Zionist Organization, 1980.

Soleveitchik, Rabbi Joseph B. Chumash Mesoras Harav: Sefer Devarim. Compiled and edited by Dr. Arnold Lustiger. OUPress, 2018.

Thoughts on Supplication (Va’eschanan #2)

This week’s Torah portion starts with the word va’eschanan, which, in English, translates to “And I supplicated.” (Also translated as to seek concession and to entreat)

Supplication. It’s a powerful word. Awkward, a bit, in modern English; Perhaps because in 21^stcentury Western society, with no true authoritarian figure to respectfully fear, we rarely find ourselves in need of supplication. In Hebrew, however, it is a particularly beautiful word. As Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch notes: “Chanan is granting, conceding. Chen is to be worthy of concession. Hitchanen is to seek concession for one’s self, to make one’s self worthy of concession…It is a reflexive action on one’s own inner self in connection with God to make it worthy of His being kindly disposed to grant.”  

In Hebrew the verb to pray is l’hitpallel…another reflexive verb. It is taught that proper tefillah is composed of three elements 1. praise, 2. request, and 3. gratitude. As I thought about the name of this week’s parsha, I was struck by the thought that, of these three elements of prayer, proper request is often the most challenging. That may sound strange since it is often noted how people most frequently turn to God only in their times of need. But how many of us actually know how to really voice our requests, how to make one’s concession worthy of “His being kindly disposed to grant [it].”

Praise and gratitude are challenging in that one must determine the difference between the two. One may appreciate (praise) the beauty of the sky and also express gratitude for how the sun gives warmth. The desire to praise Hashem is fueled by the awareness that the power of creation is just so awesome and life is full of reasons to be thankful to Hashem.

Requests, however, are sometimes difficult. Hebrew has a lot of words for asking: l’shoal, l’vakesh, l’hazmin, but l’hitchonen is asking something from a much deeper place in one’s soul. This is what one should be striving for.

Nevertheless, it is easy to struggle to get beyond a shallow level of request. How does one actually supplicate? Perhaps it is east to get stuck at basic asking - although the hard truth is that more often we end up alluding to the problem and assuming that Hashem knows what we mean. Afterall, if Hashem is omniscient, then heHe already knows what we each need, so why are we bothering Him? More than that, if Hashem put a person into whatever situation is bothering them, isn’t it so that they should grow from dealing with it or because it is a situation that He knows they can handle? This attitude prevents one from reaching the proper level of reflection necessary to reach the point of l’hitchonen, to entreat Hashem from the bottom of one’s heart, opening one’s self up to be judged as to what He really wants from us and will do for us.

For all of the significance of the word va’eschanan, one might argue that Moshe’s tefillah to which he is referring (the desire to go into the Promised Land) was refused. In a commentary based on Rabbi Joseph Soleveitchik, I found the following interesting explanation: “When he was told that he would not enter Eretz Yisrael, Moshe pleaded for forgiveness. Had the people joined him in prayer, the Holy One would have been forced to respond. But they did not join. Thus we read that with tears in his eyes Moshe tells them ‘Va’eschanan,’ I prayed alone. ….It was not the fault of Am Yisrael that Moshe made a mistake. But had the people possessed the sensitivity and love for Moshe similar to that love that Moshe felt for them, they would have torn the decree into shreds…”

The difference between va’eschanen and va’nischanen (we plural) is significant. We are a people that is a brotherhood. When one Jew suffers, we must all feel that pain.

I thought about these ideas as I was settling in after a long drive returning from the Bike4 Chai, in which my husband was one of over 500 amazing riders who biked 180 miles to raise money for Chai Lifeline’s Camp Simcha. They raised over $10 million by asking people to open their hearts and their wallets.  How much power the Jewish community has to make a difference in the world! Imagine how much more we could do if we out that same focus into supplicating, and not just asking, Hashem for everything we need.

Two Mountains Too Much (Devarim)

The Book of Devarim is often explained as Moshe’s recap of the Torah. Knowing his death is imminent, he gathers the people and reminds them of their travels and of many of the halachot they have learned. The first five verses of Devarim explain that these are Moshe’s words and set the time and place in which they were spoken. Then Moshe begins: “The Lord our God spoke to us at Horeb (Sinai) saying: ‘You have stayed long enough at this mountain’” (1:6).

It is actually a bit puzzling that Moshe began his recap with the people leaving Sinai. What of all the events before – the 10 plagues, the flight from Egypt, the crossing of the sea, and, most specifically, receiving the Torah (and the incident of the Golden Calf)? Rather Moshe starts by reminding Bnei Yisrael that God told them to move on from Sinai.

If one wanted to compare Bnei Yisrael to a person, once could almost say that until they received the Torah at Sinai, the didn’t yet fully exist, at least not as a unified whole. Sinai was their first breath. Breath, in the world of Jewish metaphor, is the essence of the spiritual, for God breathed life into Adam and thus gave him the unique gift of a soul, a special connection to the Divine. At Sinai, Bnei Yisrael was given their soul, their special direct connection to the Divine. Is it surprising that they wished to stay longer in the area of Sinai?

Instead, as we learn here, God wanted the people to move on. In Hebrew the words that God used are: “Rav Lachem,” which is understood with commentary as “You have stayed long enough,” but which could really be translated as “It is too much for you.” Then the Jewish people were told “Turn yourselves and journey” (1:7).  Now that Bnei Yisrael had drawn the breath of Torah, it was time for them to live life.

It is interesting that Moshe next recaps how the Israelites went to the borders of the Promised Land … and proved themselves unworthy and unable to enter. This is the narrative of the scouts, their negative report, and the reaction of the people. Bnei Yisrael were so caught up in the physical elements of the land – the large fruit, the mighty giants – that they could not imagine how they had the strength through their spiritual connection to the Divine to conquer it. Their lack of physical self-confidence undermined their spiritual strength. Thus concludes the first chapter of Devarim.

The second chapter of Devarim has an oddly similar beginning. “We turned and journeyed to the Wilderness, toward the Yam Suf, as Hashem spoke to me, and we circled Mount Seir for many days. Hashem spoke to me, saying: ‘You have stayed long enough circling this mountain. Turn yourselves northward’” (2:1-3). Once again, Rav Lachem – It is too much for you. The mountain that they were circling, Har Seir, was the area given as an inheritance to Esav and his descendants.

Two mountains and two commands of Rav Lachem, a phrase not particularly common in the Torah.* Is there a connection? Sinai was the place where the Jewish people received the Torah, where they were strengthened spiritually, and they were sent away from there because they stayed too long. Seir was the land of Eisav, who was deeply connected to the physical world. Remember, according to Midrash, he sold his bechora because he couldn’t even believe in his own olam habah, World to Come. Perhaps, having failed to merit the Promised Land because they doubted their physical strength and ignored the significance of their spiritual connection, Bnai Yisrael dwelled longer circling the mountain of Eisav because they were trying to harness the power of the physical. Like for their forefather Yaakov, however, trying to be connected deeply to the physical world like Eisav could only be temporary…and so God sent them on their way.

The two mountains could, perhaps, represent the divided aspects of the spiritual and the physical that are both essential for serving Hashem. One must find a balance between these two realms rather than trying to dwell only in one or the other. The Promised Land, however, is the balance of both. It is the land of milk – a manifestation of the physical as the animal eats the grass and produces the milk – and honey – a manifestation of the spiritual in that Torah is as sweet as honey. Bnai Yisrael could not stay only in a world immersed in spirituality (Sinai), nor could they be part of a world immersed in the physical (Seir). Eretz Yisrael, once Bnei Yisrael had truly developed themselves as a nation, was the place for them to achieve that perfect balance.

*although the two words are found next to each other in 3:19, referring to a large amount of livestock. Same words, different usage.

Thoughts On Mourning (Matos Masei)

Rosh Chodesh Av, the beginning of the Nine Days, is also the anniversary of the passing of Aaron Hakohen: “Aaron the priest…dies there, in the fortieth year after the Israelites had left the land of Egypt, on the first day of the fifth month” (Numbers 33:38).  When his death is mentioned earlier in the Torah it is noted: “And all the house of Israel bewailed Aaron thirty days” (Numbers 20:29).

The Jewish calendar is filled with correlations, and it is not by chance that the yahrtzeit of Aaron Hakohein marks the beginning of the second stage of this period of mourning. The Nine Days culminate on Tisha B’Av, the day we mourn the destruction of the Holy Temples and the dispersal of the Jewish people. It is also the anniversary of the crying out of the Israelites in reaction to the report of the scouts that the Land of Israel was too fearsome to capture. This act had repercussions of tragedy throughout history… Aaron’s death, on the other hand, did not make a negative impact on our history, but rather, the weeping that followed reverberates through history as a reminder of how we should feel. In some ways, Aaron was the personification of the Holy Temple; He was the first high priest, and he was a man who sought peace and the glory of Hashem. Shalom, peace, is another name for God, and the Beis Hamikdash was the dwelling place of the Shechina. Just as the people mourned for the loss of Aaron, their conduit to Hashem, so should be our level of mourning for the loss of the Temple and all that that loss represents.

The Privilege of Pinchas (Pinchas #1)

For his great act of zealotry, Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aaron the Kohain was rewarded with both a bris shalom (covenant of peace) and inheritable kahuna (he and his offspring were now part of the priesthood). Pinchas was the only descendant of Aaron that was born before Aaron and his sons were anointed as kohanim, thus making him the only Aaronite who was not a kohain. Reviewing this parsha and this commentary in particular led me to a question: Would the reward have been the same if Pinchas had not been a descendant of Aaron?

To understand the question, let me first present a brief review of the priesthood. Initially, the firstborn of Israel were meant to form the priesthood. However, one of the repercussions of the incident of the Golden Calf was that the firstborn lost that mandate. It was given, instead, to the Levites, who not only refrained from participating in the Golden Calf but who zealously responded when Moshe declared “Whosoever is on God’s side, let him come to me” (Exodus 32:26). Later, God specified the kahuna to Aaron and his sons and all that would be born to them.

Zealotry, passion, seems to be a necessary factor in attaining the priesthood, at least in the original generations. Yet one must ask, could Pinchas have been given a place in the priesthood if he had been a zealous man from any tribe other than a Levi and if he hadn’t been a descendant of Aaron?

It must have been hard growing up as the one Aaronite who wasn’t going to be a kohain. First there was all the fanfare around the dedication of the priests and then there was the necessarily detailed training of the upcoming generation. By the time Pinchas’ father took over the role of Kohain Gadol, were some of Pinchas’ young cousins already starting to serve in the Mishkan? How must Pinchas have felt during Korach’s rebellion, when so much of the argument seemed to revolve around the “special treatment” of his family?

These reflections on Pinchas’ state of mind are significant because it makes it easy to understand why his intentions might have been misunderstood - why anyone could have dared to have thought “Have you seen this grandson of Puti, the father of whose mother used to fatten calves for idolatry (referring to his other grandfather, Yitro!), and he has dared to slay a prince of one of Israel’s tribes!” (Rashi, citing Sanhedrin 82b).  The commentaries explain that God’s statement that “Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aaron Hakohain has turned back My wrath from the Israelites by displaying among them his passion for Me…” was a Divine intervention to make certain that no one doubted the purity of Pinchas’ zealotry.

What else could they have thought? With a background like Pinchas, they could easily have suspected him of being a man out to prove his worth. He could very well have been misunderstood as an outcast who had no definite place. Nechama Leibowitz noted that the sages were ready to excommunicate him, as she cites from the Torah Temimah (Rabbi Baruch Epstein):

“Such a deed must be animated by a genuine, unadulterated spirit of zeal to advance the glory of God. In this case, who can tell whether the perpetrator is not really prompted by some selfish motive, maintaining that he is doing it for the sake of God, when he has actually committed murder? That was why the Sages wished to excommunicate Pinchas, had not the Holy Spirit testified that his zeal for God was genuine. “

One could say Pinchas came by his passionate nature honestly. After all, this was a known character trait of his great-great grandfather, Levi. Some commentaries even suggest that this is one reason for the Torah mentioning that Zimri, the man whom Pinchas slew, was a prince of the tribe of Shimon. Shimon and Levi started out as a pair of zealous brothers willing to decimate Shechem after the immoral treatment of their sister Dinah. Levi, however, took that fire and passion and, over time, transformed it into a zealotry for God. The tribe of Shimon, thousands of whom died for their sins at Baal Peor, remained passionate people who never fully channelled that energy in the right direction. (Idea from the Tzena U’rena).

The factors of Pinchas’ life – being born before the kahuna, being born with the passion of a Levite, being a student and nephew of Moshe, and, even, perhaps, being just a tad bit of an outsider – were all important factors in Pinchas’ ability to be a true zealot.

It is written in the commentary of Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch:

Until now, Pinchas did not bear the character of a priest. But just like the tribe of Levi by their coming to the fore at the Golden Calf attained the rank of “Levites,” which made them worthy of their then being expressly chosen, so did Pinchas by his rescuing deed…truly act as a kohain, showing the way, and achieved the atoning devotion which the avodah of the priests in the Sanctuary symbolically performed.”

One further interesting note. In this week’s parsha, Pinchas is also granted a Bris Shalom, about which Nechama Leibowitz quotes the Netziv:

In reward for turning away the wrath of the Holy One, blessed be He, He blessed him with the attribute of peace, that he should not be quick tempered or angry. Since It was only natural that such a deed as Pinchas’ should leave in his heart an intense emotional unrest afterward, the Divine blessing was designed to cope with this situation and promised peace and tranquility of soul.

Had someone else other than Pinchas done such a deed they would probably have received a different reward. But as that is true, it must also be stated that the very factors that made it the right reward for him are the factors that led him to be the man that he was. 

No Cuddles with Cozbi (Pinchas #2)

The Torah in this week’s parsha (Pinchas) seems to go out of its way, after the conclusion of the story of Pinchas, to go back and name the man and the woman who were slain by Pinchas for their immoral behavior. Zimri, we are told by Rashi, deserves to be named because “Wherever it gives the genealogy of a good man in his praise, it gives the genealogy of a bad man mentioned in the same story to disparage him” (Midrash Tanchuma, Pinchas 2).

But what of “Cozbi bat Zur, the tribal head of an ancestral house in Midian”? So few women are mentioned by name in the Torah, one must wonder why she merits to have her name included. Most commentators stress that this is significant because she was a princess, and this informs us that the Midianites were even willing to push their princesses into lascivious behavior.

Cozbi is actually an interesting name. Perhaps, that there is more to know about her through her name, at least through the name used for her in the parsha, since the sages note that “Her name was not Cozbi, but Shvileni. Why was she called Cozbi? Because she was false to her father”

Jewish tradition loves word play, so what happens when one begins playing with the name Cozbi - כזבי Isn’t it interesting how similar, especially in script, the word כזבי is to the word כלבי C’lavi, like my heart. Cozbi came and made overtures at the Israelite men, offering them intimacy without heart. It was therefore more interesting when I realized that the central part of Cozbi’s name is zav, a word that refers to a state of ritual impurity arising from abnormal male discharge.

When I first started this line of thought, my brain was seen the zayin vais and thinking zev, wolf (which is really zayin-aleph-vais). That was Cozbi, a “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” a shockingly beautiful woman who came to lead men on with no involvement of her heart.