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 Behaalos’cha - Family Dynamic

Brothers and sisters - if you have them or you parent them, then you know that the relationships can be complex. From love to hate, from insepreable best friends to bitter rivals, we find even in the Torah that these are some of the most complicated dynamics that people have to deal with in life. In Parshas B’haalos’cha, we get a close up view of the fascinating dynamic of the children of Yocheved and Amram.

Not included in this week’s parasha are some vital facts to their relationships. Miriam was the oldest, and she was so dedicated to her family unit that Miriam risked her life by approaching Pharoah’s daughter after Bisya had pulled Moshe’s basket from the river. 

Aaron was the oldest son of Amram, a leader of the tribe of Levi, and yet he had no reservation about stepping aside and letting his younger brother lead the Jewish people. He felt no jealosy and presented himself as ready to assist. In the dynamic of Moshe and Aaron, we see the first sibling dynamic in the Torah in which there is no strife (except perhaps Menshe and Ephraim). 

Miriam, Aaron, and Moshe are a family united in their desire to uplift the Jewish people and serve Hashem, which is why we are shocked by the well-known events of Bamidbar 12. Miriam speaks lashon harah (gossip or conjecture) with Aaron about Moshe. 

The midrashim and commentaries generally make it clear that their intentions in discussing Moshe’s marriage were not to demean him or his wife but out of concern for him. Nevertheless, it is considered lashon harah, and the consequence is that Miriam is stricken with the affliction of tzaraas. But some of the details, some of the easily overlooked wording in the Torah, adds a beautiful sense of the dynamic of these incredible siblings. 

For instance, after the Torah alludes to their conversation and asserts that “Moshe himself was very humble, more humble than any man on the face of the earth” (12:3),  the Torah records that Hashem called to Moshe, Aaron, and Miriam to come to the Tent of Meeting and then He called Aaron and Miriam out to rebuke them. This was a situation that effected all of them as a family and as leaders of klal Yisrael. The fact that verse 3 describes Moshe’s humility implies that Moshe knew that they had spoken of him and had chosen not to react. Hashem is showing him that it is okay to stand up for himself and for his special and unique role, but that it is important still not to embarrass those who did wrong by rebuking them in front of him. 

After Hashem gives them tochacha, when Miriam is stricken with tzaraas, the Torah strangely notes that “When Aaron turned toward Miriam, he saw that she was stricken with tzoraas. And Aaron said to Moshe, ‘oh my lord, account not to us the sin hwich we committed in our folly” (12:10-11).  And Moshe immediately did pray for her.

Why does the Torah describe Aaron seeing that Miriam was afflicted, since it would seem obvious as he was standing there and the first half of the verse states that she was thus afflicted? Why does Aaron speak in the first person plural of their sin when only Miriam appears afflicted?

The dynamic of these siblings is, perhaps, a model for us all to understand the broader concepts of self and family, that family being all of klal Yisrael. People make mistakes. Siblings hurt each other, even when they don’t intend to. But when push comes to shove, they stand together. 

Aaron did not accept that Miriam’s tzaraas indicated only her guilt. He saw that his sister was stricken, and he held himself to account, he asked Moshe to forgive both of them. Moshe did not hesitate one moment before praying for his sister’s recovery, recognizing that there was no malicious intent. 

People do bad things. People say things that hurt each other, and often they do so with only the best intentions. And when those incidents occur, we must not look upon the person as an other, as an offender, as an enemy - but rather we must look upon them and see a person who is like ourselves, a member of our family. 

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom

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.)