B”H
Torah Insights
Comforting Adam and Eve
The first portion of the Torah begins with pristine beauty. The creation of a graceful, peaceful world, culminating with the creation of the day of rest, as the Torah describes:
And G-d saw all that He had made, and behold it was very good, and it was evening and it was morning, the sixth day. Now the heavens and the earth were completed and all their host. And G-d completed on the seventh day His work that He did, and He abstained on the seventh day from all His work that He did. And G-d blessed the seventh day and He hallowed it, for thereon He abstained from all His work that G-d created to do.
Alas, the serenity was short lived.
We turn just a few pages and we read of successive disasters. First, the sin of the tree of knowledge; Adam and Eve taste the fruit of the tree, internalizing both good and evil, thus implanting within themselves an inclination to evil, creating a constant struggle within the human heart between the G-dly soul and the animalistic soul.
We read about Adam and Eve being told of their mortality. At the end of their life, they would return to the earth. They understood that it would take death for the evil and good within them to separate. The body and the evil inclination would return to the earth, and the soul would return heavenward, to G-d.
We then read of the first murder in history. We read about how Adam and Eve had to face a double tragedy; the murder of their son Abel, as well as coming to face with the fact that their son Cain, was capable of murdering his own brother.
The Midrash relates that Adam and Eve were weeping beside the corpse of Abel and were not sure what to do with the body because this was their first encounter with death. The Midrash continues; they saw a bird, the Oraiv in the Hebrew burying a dead bird in the ground, Adam and Eve decided to do the same, they too buried Abel in the earth.
On the surface, this Midrash explains how they found a solution to the technical question of how to dispose of the corpse. On a deeper level, however, this Midrash contains profound insight into the human condition.
Adam and Eve were at a loss, not only about what to do with Abel’s body, but they had a much deeper question; how to respond to absolute evil? How could they continue to live after witnessing that humanity was capable of such depravity?
True, they too had sinned. They too had been condemned to natural death. They too were not perfect. But they could never have imagined that a human being could act so brutally, that one human being could or would afflict an unnatural death upon another human being. They could not imagine that a person could act in a way that was the polar opposite of what G-d had intended.
G-d therefore sent the Oraiv bird to teach Adam and Eve how to respond to absolute evil. According to the Sages, the Oraiv is terribly cruel toward its young; the Oraiv abandons its offspring at birth. Adam and Eve witnessed this same Oraiv bird engaging in the truest form of kindness. The Sages explain that buriala is referred to in the Torah as “loving kindness and truth” because, when doing kindness with a living person the doer can always expect a favor in return. Not so with burial. When we are kind to the dead, we do not expect anything in return. Thus, the kindness is absolute. The kindness is true kindness.
Adam and Eve looked at the Oraiv bird and understood. They looked at the Oraiv bird and received the wisdom on how to react. They now understood that the response to absolute evil is absolute kindness. The response to absolute depravity within humanity is absolute love and compassion.
They were comforted.
They were comforted, because they now understood that the profundity of evil that the human is capable of is matched only by the profound kindness within the human spirit.
They understood that the same human heart capable of boundless hate is likewise capable of boundless love.
We too must take this message to heart. We look around the world and see intense cruelty. We know that we must respond with intense kindness. Like Adam and Eve, we understand that this earth is a complicated place, that humanity is capable of extremes. Like Adam and Eve, we respond to negativity with a greater commitment to absolute kindness. When we face unspeakable cruelty, we take a step toward extreme kindness, bringing us closer and closer to G-d’s vision of a perfect world. A peaceful world. A world that experiences the tranquility of the seventh day. The tranquility of Shabbat.
Choose Your Place
The moment had arrived.
On the sixth day of creation, after the creation of the inanimate universe, the plant life and the animal kingdom, the moment arrived when G-d decided to create the human being. The first verse where the human being is mentioned reads as follows:
And God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness, and they shall rule over the fish of the sea and over the fowl of the heaven and over the animals and over all the earth and over all the creeping things that creep upon the earth."
We would expect the verse to describe a truly great feature of the human being. Humanity is capable of awesome accomplishments, the invention of civilization, of art and of philosophy. We have walked the moon, sent rovers to Mars and created the iphone and the app store. Why then does the verse that first describes the human being identify him as someone who can rule the fish, birds and mammals? Is running an animal circus the most interesting thing we can do?
The answer lies in the word “and they shall rule”.
The Hebrew word for “and they shall rule” has another, more common, meaning. The word “Vi’yi’rdu” means to “rule” but it also means to “go down”, “descend”. These two words, rule and descend, have opposite meanings: to rule connotes being on top while to descend connotes being on the bottom, yet, remarkably, biblical Hebrew uses one word to capture both of these two meanings.
G-d was about to create man. Man would look around the world and wonder about his place in the universe. “What is my place on this earth?” “Where is my place in the hierarchy of creatures? “Am I merely a sophisticated animal, or am I a transcendent creation capable of impulse control, of abstract thinking, personal growth, kindness and connecting to the spiritual?”
The answer to this pressing question, the question of how man should self define, is in the word that has the double meaning, to rule or to descend. G-d was telling the human being that man alone defines his place on earth. Only man can decide to be the “ruler”, the creature who is capable of soaring above and beyond all other creations, or whether he would be the creature lower than all of the animals, capable of falling to the depths of cruelty that no other creature is capable of.
As Rashi explains:
and they shall rule over the fish: Hebrew VaYirdu This expression contains both the meaning of ruling and the meaning of subservience. If he merits, he rules over the beasts and over the cattle. If he does not merit, he becomes subservient to them, and the beast rules over him.
Man is a complicated creature.
The Hebrew word man, Adam, has two meaning which together capture the tension at the heart of the human being. The Hebrew word “adam” means “from the earth”, capturing the Torah’s description of the creation of man: “G-d formed man of dust from the ground”, yet Adam, the Hebrew word for man, also means similar, referring to the verse “I will be similar to the one above (G-d).
The most important thing the verse could say to describe the human being, and the purpose of his creation, is that he alone of all creations possesses free choice.
Would he rule and elevate the rest of creation, or would he descend below all other creatures? Would he be “of the earth” or would he be “similar to the one above”?
Only man knows.
Only he can determine his place. Only he can write his own story.
Peeling the Fruit
If you had to choose one word that would describe all negativity in this world, if you had to choose a word with which to capture the heart and soul of evil, which word would you choose?
These are some of the synonyms for the word evil suggested by the thesaurus:
wicked, bad, wrong, immoral, sinful, foul, vile, dishonorable, corrupt, iniquitous, depraved, reprobate, villainous, nefarious, vicious, malicious.
The word the kabbalah uses to describe all negative energy, all unholiness in the universe is, surprisingly, a neutral word, a word that does not evoke a strong image of evil. The Kabbalah refers to all evil with the innocent sounding word “Kelipah”, which is the Hebrew word for a peel.
The metaphor of a peel captures all we need to know about the unholy: its origin, its purpose, the challenges it presents and ultimately the way to deal with it.
Where does all evil come from? There were many who believed that evil could not possibly come from G-d. Since G-d is good, they argued, all evil must therefore come from Satan, from a power independent from, and contradictory to, G-d. Judaism fiercely rejects this explanation. The most fundamental premise of Judaism is that “Hashem Echad”, G-d is one, and there can be no force independent of G-d. Where then does evil and negativity come from?
The answer lies within the metaphor of the peel. The peel, while it is not the primary part of the fruit, does serve a purpose. The peel protects the flesh of the fruit, and guards it against the elements, when man removes the peel and consumes the flesh of the fruit, both the peel and the fruit have served their purpose.
The same is true for all cosmic energy. Everything G-d created, including evil, serves a purpose. Yet there is a distinction between good and evil: the purpose of good is intrinsic, while the purpose of evil is to benefit the good. The purpose of evil is to enable the human being to choose good from evil; choosing the good, consuming the fruit, and removing the peel, rejecting the evil.
Within evil itself, there are generally two categories. The evil that must be rejected outright, and the evil which could become positive if used to serve the holy.
This sheds light onto one of the earliest dramas of the bible, a story that has captured the imagination of humanity since the beginning of time: the story of the tree of knowledge in the Garden of Eden.
What did this mysterious tree represent? And why was its fruit so enticing to Eve?
The Torah tells us that after some conversation with the serpent, Eve perceived the beauty of the fruit:
And the woman saw that the tree was good for food and that it was a delight to the eyes, and the tree was desirable to make one wise; so she took of its fruit, and she ate, and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate.
Eve perceived that there was beauty in the “peel” and therefore she desired the “peel” for its own sake. Before Eve’s conversation with the serpent all the fruit was perceived as nothing more than a tool that served the holy. Until the sin all material pleasures served as a tool for people to escape the confines of self, relate to other people and connect to the creator. The heart of the sin was that the human being perceived pleasure in materialism for its own sake. Confusing the peel for the actual fruit, the means for the end; ignoring the cosmic truth that the peel - the material - is but a tool to serve the spiritual- the actual fruit.
Each and every day we face the allure of the fruit.
The choice is ours. We can live in the tranquility of paradise or be expelled into a world of tension and chaos.
We can desire materialism for its own sake, seek the sensual with no higher purpose. We can pursue selfishness for its own sake, choose the peel and reject the fruit. The result will be conflict between people and between families, as selfish egos will inevitably clash, as well as causing inner struggle and chaos between body and soul.
We can, however, face the allure of the fruit and choose to remain in paradise. We can understand that all the material blessing in our life must be enjoyed and used as a vehicle for spiritual life, thus bringing peace between people, as well as peace to the material and spiritual drives in our personality; recreating the internal paradise, which, in turn, will spread to the rest of the world, transforming the world into the world G-d intended it to be: a world of paradise.
A Memo to Cain
If you had Cain’s ear moments before he killed his brother Abel, what would you tell him? If you had to condense everything you know about justice, morality, and decency into a few short phrases what would you say?
G-d had a chance to do just that. Cain was terribly angry at his brother, so angry that just a little while later he murdered his brother in cold blood. G-d sensed Cain’s anger and He addressed him with just two short verses. Understood correctly, these verses capture all Cain needed to know in order to help him overcome his anger, and, understood correctly, these verses are all we need to know in order for us to make the correct choice in the face of raging negative emotions in our heart.
Here are the cryptic words that G-d spoke to Cain:
And the Lord said to Cain, "Why are you annoyed, and why has your countenance fallen?
Is it not so that if you improve, it will be forgiven you? If you do not improve, however, at the entrance, sin is lying, and to you is its longing, but you can rule over it." (Genesis 4:6-7).
Cain, unfortunately, did not take this message to heart and chose to act on his emotional impulses. But these words were written in the Torah so that we can learn their critical, life changing, message.
Cain felt terrible anger toward Abel. Cain innovated the idea of offering a gift to G-d. “Cain brought of the fruit of the soil an offering to the Lord.” Cain watched as Abel copied his idea and received the credit and recognition for it: “And Abel he too brought of the firstborn of his flocks and of their fattest, and the Lord turned to Abel and to his offering. But to Cain and to his offering He did not turn, and it annoyed Cain exceedingly, and his countenance fell.”
When the rage against his brother was threatening to take control of him, the most important thing Cain needed to hear was this: the rage is not you. The anger is not you. The evil inclination is something you have inside of you, but it does not define you and it is not you. G-d told Cain that although there is a powerful force inside you, you must understand that “to you is its longing”. “It” the evil inclination, the negative passion, “longs” “to you”, but, understand, it is not you.
That leads to the next point: “you can rule over it.” The negative passion is not your true self. You can take control over the passion. The common translation of the verse is “if you improve, it will be forgiven you”. Yet the literal translation is “if you improve, lift up”. G-d explained to Cain that the negative passion in his heart could not only be controlled, but it could and should be elevated. When channeled to positivity the awesome strength of the passion will direct the person to greater heights.
This is an essential lesson for each of us. This one verse contains all we need to know about the inner turmoil of our emotions:
1) The negative passion is not who we are. (“its longing is to you”)
2) it can be controlled (“you can rule over it”).
3) its awesome might is, in fact, a great blessing for us (“if you improve, uplift”). Channeled correctly it can propel us to achieve unimaginable greatness.
The Broken Vessels
In describing the early stages of creation, we read what is perhaps one of the most cryptic verses in all of the Torah:
Now the earth was astonishingly empty, and darkness was on the face of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the face of the water. (Genesis 2:2)
The first half of the verse describes a scene of emptiness and chaos (The Hebrew word “Tohu”, means both emptiness and chaos ), while the second half of the verse describes a scene of tranquility and serenity. The Midrash explains that “the spirit of G-d hovering over the face of the water“ refers to the spirit of the Messianic era, a time when peace and serenity will reign throughout the world. The verse, then, is confusing. What was the state of creation in its earliest stages, was it darkness and chaos or peace and holiness?
The Kabbalists explain that this verse alludes to the Kabbalsitic doctrine of the “breaking of the vessels”, which lies at the heart of the story of creation and its purpose.
When we read a book or look at a completed puzzle we are looking at a “vessel”, a container, a physical phenomenon which contains a spiritual idea or concept. All of creation is a vessel, a tool which expresses the awesome power and unfathomable wisdom of its creator. Yet, for the purpose of creation to play out, the presence of G-d must be hidden. The vessels must break, the puzzle broken up into pieces, the words of the book rearranged and scrambled. Once the vessels are shattered, the content and ideas of the book are gone, what is left is chaos and confusion. Not only do the letters cease to tell the story, they contribute to the confusion.
The physical world could have been a vessel revealing its inner content, the Divine creative energy. But the vessels were shattered. It is a physical world that no longer directs our attention to its maker and its purpose. Instead the myriad creations and experiences leave us in a perpetual state of confusion and aimlessness. The breaking of the vessels is alluded to in the first half of the verse. The earth is now filled with darkness and chaos.
The second half of the verse, however, clarifies the purpose of creation. True, the scrambled letters and the pieces of the puzzle, no longer reveal their inner content, however, the meaning, the purpose, the story, hovers above, waiting for us to unscramble the letters and piece together the puzzle. The universe is waiting for us to discover that the “spirit of G-d”, the serenity and holiness, was hidden within creation all along.
The same is true in the microcosm, within every man and woman. Our life seems to be a collection of unrelated, or worse, conflicting, forces, urges, experiences, emotions, and drives. We often do not see the purpose and meaning of it all. We experience the tension between the physical and the spiritual, between the destructive and constructive parts of our personality. We are experiencing the shattered vessels, “chaos upon the face of the darkness”. However, the story of our life, like the story of creation, is inherently optimistic. It is our task to fix the shattered vessels. To rearrange the letters of our life. To understand which letter goes first and which follows second. We must rearrange our priorities, understanding that the physical aspects of life are here to serve the spiritual dimension of life. Like every story, our story too has a protagonist and a villain, experiences which must be cultivated and others which must be rejected.
Life is the process of organizing all its various aspects into an organic whole. From a collection of random moments of to a meaningful story. The purpose of life is to move from chaos and darkness to the serenity of the spirit of G-d upon the waters.
(Adapted from Totah Or Parshas Vayeshev and Parshas Bireyshis 5712)
What’s Wrong with Knowledge?
When Adam and Eve were placed in the Garden of Eden life was simple. G-d had only one request. They were permitted to eat from any tree in the garden, except for one. The tree which they were prohibited from consuming, which therefore symbolized the most negative thing in the garden, was, of course, the tree of knowledge of good and evil.
This raises many questions, among them: 1) What is wrong with knowledge? Would G-d prefer that Adam and Eve remain ignorant? 2) The question which Maimonides, in his philosophical work The Guide to the Perplexed, refers to as an “astonishing question” raised by a “learned man”: How can it be that because Adam and Eve violated the commandment of G-d they were rewarded with knowledge, which is the greatest gift man can possess? How is it possible that violating G-d’s will elevated man to the state of enlightenment?
The answer, according to Maimonides, lies in the words good and evil, which imply subjective good and evil. Before the sin Adam and Eve would think in terms of truth or falsehood; if something was objectively positive it was true, if something was objectively negative it was false. The result of the consumption of the fruit of the tree of knowledge was the introduction of a heightened awareness of self. The human being began to think primarily in terms of self. How does this experience make me feel? If the experience feels good subjectively, it is then desirable. When G-d did not want Adam and Eve to know good and evil he was not trying to keep them ignorant of knowledge, on the contrary, G-d hoped that humanity could hold on to objective knowledge. The “opening of the eyes” that Adam and Eve experienced by consuming the fruit, was not an upgrade that was awarded, but rather on the contrary, it was a downgrade. They traded-in superior objective knowledge for inferior subjective knowledge.
The consequence of developing a subjective sense of good and evil is that we were expelled from the tranquility of Eden. Each person evaluated good based on their own self interest, which inevitably led to a chaotic clash of egos. In the short term, the fruit of the tree of knowledge moved us away from G-d.
The story of the tree of knowledge is not an all out tragedy. The subjective perspective introduced passion, enthusiasm, and excitement. If I am attracted to something because I feel that it is good for me, that will intensify my longing and desire for it. So while initially the introduction of the subjective idea of good may have turned us away from the truth of G-d, toward the pursuit of our own temptations, in the long run the subjective perspective could, in fact, enhance our relationship with G-d, intensifying the yearning, deepening the love, and stoking the passion to reconnect to G-d and transforming the world back into Eden.
The Torah's View on Urbanization
What is the Torah's perspective on urbanization?
Would we be better off, spiritually and morally, if we lived in a rural setting, closer to nature, or is there an advantage to living in populated centers, where we can collaborate and engage in commerce, technology, the arts, and culture
It seems that the Torah's first mention of a city is in a negative context, which would imply, perhaps, that the Torah views cities negatively. After Cain killed his brother Abel, the Torah tells us:
And Cain knew his wife, and she conceived and bore Enoch, and he was building a city, and he called the city after the name of his son, Enoch. (Genesis 4:17)
Indeed, many commentators view the choice of words in this verse as implying a negative message about Cain and his city-building enterprise. The verse states "he was building" in the present tense (as opposed to "and he built"), implying that Cain was perpetually building the city. Cain had a deep ambition to expand his possessions and acquire new assets (in fact, his name, Cain, comes from the Hebrew word for acquisition, "kinyan"). He was unable to find satisfaction in his achievement and constantly desired more. This extreme, unhealthy ambition robbed him of the peace and serenity that comes from being satisfied with one's lot.
Although the city can be a place of greed, of distraction from G-d and expansion of the selfish ego, there is another way to view the city built by Cain.
Cain repented from the atrocity of the murder of his brother Abel. To correct the terrible sin of the destruction of life, Cain sought to enhance and support civilization by founding the very first city. Viewed from this perspective, a city is a place that brings people together, collaborating to improve the lives of its inhabitants.
Kabbalah teaches that there are two primary forces in the world, "chaos" and "order." "Chaos" possesses potent energy that often cannot mitigate itself to collaborate with an opposing form of energy or perspective. The world of chaos consists of extreme energies that ultimately self-destruct because they cannot humble and limit themselves to respect and incorporate an opposing viewpoint. In the world of order, by contrast, the energy is not as potent, and as a result, the various energies can co-exist and develop to create a world that will endure.
Cain's soul was from the world of chaos. However, his potent energy was manifested in a negative form, causing him to see his brother as a threat instead of seeing how their differences could enrich them both. Cain was not able to tolerate another person encroaching on his space, so he killed his brother. When he wanted to correct his sin, he had to delve into the deep recesses of his soul to address the root causes of his sin. He then realized that he must apply his chaotic energy to the harmony of the world of order. He understood that he must create an environment where not everybody needs to engage in growing bread from the earth; instead, each person can develop a specific contribution and be part of a larger organism, the city. This constituted Cain's spiritual rehabilitation because, according to the kabbalah, the model of the city, the world of "order," is the model that will ultimately lead the world to correction.
In every relationship with parents, children, spouses, colleges, there is a tension between being loyal to one's own perspective, feelings and opinions and creating space for the other person to do the same. The preferred model for relationships is that which Cain achieved through his repentance. The ultimate relationship follows the city model: understanding that, without abandoning one’s own perspective, one can be enhanced and grow specifically from the person who is different from oneself.
Perhaps the Torah doesn't state clearly whether urbanization is positive or negative because it can go both ways. In the final analysis, then, it is up to us whether the city can be a place of chaos or order. We decide whether the city is an extension of Cain's sin, an expansion of unchecked greed and ego, or part of Cain's repentance and rehabilitation, a place where many individuals come together to create a greater story, a deeper harmony by advancing both physical and spiritual life.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 35 Bereishis 2.
Which Was Created First, Heaven or Earth?
Creation of heaven and earth is described differently in two verses in our Torah portion. The first verse of the Torah mentions heaven before earth, whereas in the second chapter of Genesis the verse mentions earth before heaven.
Indeed, based on this discrepancy, the Talmud records a dispute between the House of Shammai and the House of Hillel on this very question: which was created first heaven or earth?
Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel dispute the order of Creation, as the Sages taught: Beit Shammai say: The heavens were created first and afterward the earth was created, as it is stated: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth” (Genesis 1:1), which indicates that heaven came first. And Beit Hillel say: The earth was created first, and heaven after it, as it is stated: “On the day that the Lord God made earth and heaven” (Genesis 2:4).
Shammi and Hillel both agree that heaven was created before earth. Their debate is about the purpose of creation. Shammai argues that “heaven was created first”, meaning heaven is primary. The purpose of creation is that a person seek to escape the confines of the material and connect to the spiritual. Earth is the starting point for man, yet the goal is to reach heaven. Hillel disagrees, and, as in the overwhelming majority of their disputes, the law follows Hillel’s perspective. Hillel argues that while the first verse in Genesis describes the chronological order of creation “the heavens and the earth”, the second chapter of Genesis, “The Lord God made earth and heaven”, describes the purpose of creation. “Earth was created first”, because earth is primary. The purpose of creation is not to get to heaven but to sanctify earth.
This dispute is at the core of all their disputes. Whenever a question arises, Shammai tends to be strict, and to forbid the object or practice, whereas Hillel is lenient, seeking to permit the questionable item or action, including it in the sphere of the Jew. From Shammai’s perspective, being that the purpose of life is to reach the spiritual heavens he is inclined to restrict the Jew’s engagement with the material phenomenon. Whereas Hillel’s perspective is that “earth was created first”, the purpose of creation lies in the sanctification of the material. Therefore, whenever possible, he seeks to expand the scope of the material that can be cultivated and sanctified.
Our Right to The Land of Israel
The choice of where to start a story will affect the entire narrative.
The Torah begins with the story of creation:
In the beginning G-d created the heavens and the earth.
The Midrash, quoted in the very first Rashi in the Torah, questions this choice. Why does the Torah - (from the root word Horaah, lesson) begin with the story of creation, rather than beginning with the first instruction, commandment, to the Jewish people in Egypt? After all, isn't the primary purpose of the Torah to teach us the will of G-d expressed in the commandments?
The Midrash explains that the Torah begins with the stroy of creation in order to establish the bedrock of the Jewish people’s right to the Land of Israel. In the future, we may be accused of robbing the land of the Canaanite nations. The Torah, therefore, explains that all of the earth belongs to the creator, who desired to give the land to them and then desired to take it from them and give it to us.
In the beginning: Said Rabbi Isaac: It was not necessary to begin the Torah except from "This month is to you," (Exodus 12:2) which is the first commandment that the Israelites were commanded, (for the main purpose of the Torah is its commandments). Now for what reason did He commence with "In the beginning?" Because of [the verse] "The strength of His works He related to His people, to give them the inheritance of the nations" (Psalms 111:6). For if the nations of the world should say to Israel, "You are robbers, for you conquered by force the lands of the seven nations [of Canaan]," they will reply, "The entire earth belongs to the Holy One, blessed be He; He created it (this we learn from the story of the Creation) and gave it to whomever He deemed proper When He wished, He gave it to them, and when He wished, He took it away from them and gave it to us.
The accusation about the "conquest" of "the land of the seven nations" also applies to the figurative and spiritual "Land of Israel". Creation is divided into heaven and earth, the spiritual and material. Indeed, many faiths understand the divide to be absolute, where one must separate and escape the material in order to experience spiritual transcendence and enlightenment. The Jewish people, however, are different. Every day of our life, we are engaged in the conquest of the mundane, the figurative "land of the seven nations", in order to transform it into holiness, the figurative holy “Land of Israel”.
The claim of the nations of the world is that the physical and spiritual are diametrically opposed; when one is engaged in physical life, one cannot have any connection to spirituality. To refute that mistaken notion, the Torah begins with the story of creation to emphasize that everything in the universe was created by G-d, who desires that we reveal its potential and transform it into the "Land of Israel", into a dwelling place for the creator.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 20 Bereshis 1
The Tower of Technology
In this week’s Parsha we read about how the descendants of the survivors of the great flood sought to unite through the building of a city with a great tower. The Torah relates:
Now the entire earth was of one language and uniform words. And it came to pass when they traveled from the east, that they found a valley in the land of Shinar and settled there. And they said to one another, "Come, let us make bricks and fire them thoroughly"; so the bricks were to them for stones, and the clay was to them for mortar. And they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make ourselves a name, lest we be scattered upon the face of the entire earth." (Genesis 11:1-3.)
G-d is alarmed by their actions. He steps in to foil their plan. He disrupts their unity and the building project collapses. As G-d tells the angels:
“Come, let us descend and confuse their language, so that one will not understand the language of his companion." And the Lord scattered them from there upon the face of the entire earth, and they ceased building the city. (ibid. 11:7-8.)
Why is building a city a terrible sin? What is wrong with building a tower?
The story of the tower is relevant today, perhaps more than ever before. For it is a story, not about an ancient construction site, but about the development of cutting edge technology.
The building of the Tower of Babel represents a dramatic leap in the development of industry. Up to that point, people built a home out of stone. Stone is a Divine creation. Places like Babylonia, where there were no mountains and thus no stones, were considered inhospitable to the building of cities. Human ingenuity, however, created a new technology, which was none other than the brick.
The verse states that the people said to each other:
"Come, let us make bricks and fire them thoroughly"; so the bricks were to them for stones, and the clay was to them for mortar.
Fascinated by their ability to create a man made brick, they sought to demonstrate that the brick was far superior to the stone created by G-d. They wanted to show that the brick, not the stone, was the material of choice in building the tallest tower in the world, within the greatest city in the world.
The Torah does not state clearly that they rebelled against G-d, lest we mistakenly think that developing technology is a sin.
What then was the problem?
The Midrash (Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer, 24.) relates that during construction of the tower, when a person fell off the tower and died nobody cared. However, if a brick fell and cracked, they all stopped to mourn the lost brick. This is a powerful Midrash. It teaches us that a single minded goal to achieve power and independence, with no higher purpose, can lead to totalitarianism where a human life is not valued.
The message of the story is relevant, now more than ever before. The past century has witnessed the “floods” of the most devastating wars in the history of humankind, as well as the explosion of human scientific knowledge and technological advances.
The message of the tower of Babel is that the towers and cities we create must have a higher purpose. Advancements in technology alone, do not necessarily mean advances in human rights, and it certainly does not necessarily lead to us being better people with a closer relationship with G-d.
Each and every one of us has a choice of what to make of the everincreasing technologies introduced into our lives. We can become the builders of the tower of Babel, or we can emulate Abraham.
The Midrash relates that Abraham watched the building of the tower, and he saw the lack of deeper meaning. He understood that a building with no higher purpose is dangerous. He realized that humanity’s purpose cannot merely be to make a name for itself, to achieve material success.
In next week’s Parsha we read how in contrast to the builders of the tower, whose only purpose was to make a name for themselves, Abraham made it his life’s mission to proclaim the name of G-d. He made it his life’s mission to teach anyone who would listen, that all of human achievement should just be a tool for a higher, more spiritual, purpose.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutey Sichos, Noach Vol 3).
Natural Light
The story of Noach (Noah) and the flood is not a legend from ancient history. It is the story of the life of every soul’s journey on this earth. The word Noach is derived from the Hebrew word for rest. The soul, prior to its voyage on the journey we call life is in a state of peace and tranquility. In the state of Noach, the state of rest, there is clarity of purpose, there is no worry and no inner conflict.
Then, the soul is sent down to a stormy world, a world filled with challenges and turmoil, confusion, and tension. Like the Biblical Noach, the soul rides the turbulent waves in its ark. The soul must overcome torrents of distraction, survive in a materialistic world, and stay true to its inner self despite the external challenges.
In order for the soul to stay on course, to keep inspired, to remain connected, to discover spiritual light, it must turn to Noach and his ark to see how Noach himself was able to illuminate his ark.
When commanding Noach to build the ark G-d said: “You shall make a light (“Tzohar”) for the ark”. The big question was, what kind of light should Noach use? How does one create light amidst the darkness of the flood? Rashi, the primary Biblical commentator, quotes the Midrash which offers two opinions as to the meaning of the word “Tzohar”, light, in G-d’s commandment to Noach:
a light: Heb. צֹהַר, lit. light. Some say [that it was] a window, and some say [that it was] a precious stone, which gave them light.
These two opinions, a window or a precious stone, Chasidic Philosophy explains, represent two approaches on how to bring spiritual light into one’s life. A window allows light to enter from the outside. In life, there are “window” moments. Moments when we experience the extraordinary. A moment of deep inspiration, the birth of a child, a new discovery, and the like. “Window” moments are moments of small miracles, moments when the ordinary is pulled away, a window is created, and we feel the light from above, we feel the touch of the Divine, the warmth of inspiration from above.
That is the first step, and the first opinion of the “light” in the Ark.
Then, as Rashi continues, there is a second opinion. “Some say”, after the first, more obvious light is attained, after we learn to celebrate, appreciate and derive inspiration from the miraculous moments of our lives, “some say”, some reach a more profound perspective and say that there is no need to wait for the light from above, there is no need to depend on the extraordinary for inspiration. “Some say” that the light in the ark was that of “a precious stone, which gave them light.” According to the second opinion the light does not come in from above, but rather, one can find light within the ark itself. The “precious stone” moments, are within day-to-day existence itself.
After learning to identify the extraordinary experiences, “the windows” of our lives, we can learn to find “precious stones”. We can learn to see the Divine in the mundane, the miracle in the natural reality, in the seemingly mundane, we learn to see the remarkable Divine touch.
Be Fruitful
Something went terribly wrong.
The beautiful, pristine world we read about in the beginning of Genesis had turned corrupt. G-d decided to hit reset and begin anew. In the second portion of the Torah, the portion of Noah, we read about the great flood and about how this time G-d falls in love with the earth again, this time, G-d sets the rainbow as a covenant that He will never again destroy the earth.
Why? What changed? What caused G-d to decide never again to destroy the earth?
As Noah and his children stepped out of the ark, they experienced what Adam and Eve experienced when they first opened their eyes: a new world. There is a striking parallel between Adam and Eve and Noah and his wife: as Noah emerged from the ark G-d said to him “be fruitful and multiply”, just as he said those very same words to Adam and Eve as soon as they were created.
Why were the words “be fruitful and multiply” repeated? Why was the commandment to Adam and Eve not sufficient? Why must the commandment be reiterated to Noah?
A careful comparison of the verses will reveal the mystery of the difference in the nature of the earth brought about by the flood.
When G-d created Adam and Eve the verse tells us:
And God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it...”
After the flood we read:
And God blessed Noah and his sons, and He said to them: "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.”
The most important change between the words G-d spoke to Adam and Eve and the words he spoke to Noah, a change that captures the core of the story, is that while Adam as well as Noah were both told to “be fruitful and Multiply” and to “fill the earth”, Adam alone was told “conquer” the earth, yet conquest was omitted from the commandment to Noah.
Filing the earth means more than merely increasing and spreading the human population. To “fill the earth” means to imbue the earth with holiness and spirituality, to direct all its resources and creatures toward a Divine purpose, to infuse all corners of the earth with goodness and kindness, with G-dliness and meaning. Filling the earth with a spiritual energy is something only humanity can achieve.
It the beginning of creation Man was commanded to “conquer the earth”. Conquest implies that the earth itself, the materialistic perspective, resisted the holy and the spiritual. Man was called upon to superimpose his appreciation of the Divine upon the creation and to force it to live in harmony with its creator. Ultimately, however, Man was unsuccessful. Creation turned corrupt and G-d brought the mighty waters of the flood upon the earth.
Yet the waters of the flood also possessed a purifying property. When the water receded and Noah emerged from the ark, he stepped into a purified world. This time, G-d commanded humanity to "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” This time there was no mention of conquest. Because, after the flood, the earth needed not to be forced but rather to be educated, not to be broken but rather to be redirected. After the flood waters covered the earth, the earth was no longer an enemy that, in extreme circumstances, needed to be destroyed. Now, post flood, the earth itself, intuitively, yearns for meaning. The earth itself longs to reunite with its creator.
Our task is to reveal the innate goodness within the world.
Waves of Change
There are extreme fluctuations in the creator’s attitude toward his creation in the first two portions of the book of Genesis.
At first G-d is in love with the world. He created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. Each day of creation G-d looked at the creation of that day and “saw that it was good”. [The words “and it was good”, do not appear on the second day; instead, as the rabbis explain, they appear twice on the third day. Once for the creation of Monday and once for the creation of Tuesday]. And upon the conclusion of the sixth day G-d saw that all that He created was not only good, but “exceedingly good”:
And God saw all that He had made, and behold it was exceedingly good (Genesis, 1:31).
Yet, very quickly things turned in the opposite direction. Toward the end of the first portion we read that G-d decided to take the drastic measure of destroying all that He had created on earth.
We then read, in the second portion of the Torah, about the terrible flood. After which, G-d seemed to, once again, take the opposite approach. Somehow, he again fell in love with creation and promised never again to bring flood the earth.
Why was G-d’s response to the evil of man so dramatically different before and after the flood? If G-d could somehow tolerate the evil after the flood, why could he not have done the same before the flood? Why was it necessary to destroy all the creations of earth?
The generations from Adam to Noah are compared to a student who is close to a most inspirational teacher. As long as the student is in close proximity to the teacher, he will be uplifted and filled with the wisdom and enlightenment flowing from the teacher. But the student himself did not yet learn to innovate, he did not yet cultivate the skills needed in order to discover wisdom on his own. If, for whatever reason, he departs from his teacher's presence, he will be unable to innovate and discover wisdom from within.
In the beginning of creation, the world was solely an expression of the creator. He created the human being who had the potential to choose to do good. But at that point in history, “good” meant the ability to receive intuition from the creator, to “see” G-d’s vision for humanity.
This explains why the generations chronicled in the first book of the Torah, lived exceptionally long lives, although they were not deserving of the blessing they received. Because in that period the flow of energy descending from above was an expression of G-d’s “giving”. It was not inspired by, nor dependent on, the actions of man.
On the sixth day of creation “Everything He made was exceedingly good”, because it was created and was inspired from above by the almighty G-d.
Then the people sinned, they filled the earth with corruption and separated themselves from their Divine source.
G-d therefore flooded the earth, because the people lost the spiritual sensitivity that was required to hear the voice from above. At that point in history there was no hope that they would find the calling to goodness and morality from within themselves. At that point there was no hope for correction, because they did not yet have the ability to self inspire, self refine, and self transform.
When Noach emerged from the ark, the spiritual vitality that was previously available was no longer present. No longer did people live exceptionally long lives. The divine vitality was hidden, leaving people in a weakened state.
But something else happened as well; the waters of the flood were waves of purification.
While the people were no longer able to receive the “goodness” that flowed from above, they were able to create “man-made” inspiration. The potential for their spiritual enlightenment was not as great, but they were refined enough to be able to find the voice of goodness within themselves. After the flood, humanity is likened to a student who learns how to cultivate wisdom on his own. The wisdom may not be as lofty as that which he received from his teacher, but it is wisdom he can generate no matter where he is.
The waters of the flood have created a world that is no longer solely dependent on inspiration from above. No matter how low they fall, even when the figurative clouds block the rays of Divine consciousness, ultimately people can transform themselves; to transform, the concealment into a magnificent work of art. They can now, using the very cloud of concealment, reflect the light of the sun and generate a rainbow.
(Based on the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Noach vol. 15 Sicha 3).
Noah's Ark - The Key to Successful Marriage
Toward the end of the portion of Bireishit, the first portion of the Torah, we read about how the downfall of society began with immoral relationships between men and women:
That the sons of the nobles saw the daughters of man when they were beautifying themselves, and they took for themselves wives from whomever they chose. (6:2)
Rashi explains that this verse represents the breakdown of morality:
“from whomever they chose: even a married woman”
Noah’s ark was more than a mere tool through which Noach, his family and future mankind were saved from the flood. The floating ark would rehabilitate humanity by embodying the key to a wholesome and holy relationships, which is the bedrock of a healthy, moral, and holy society.
The Kli Yakar, the sixteenth century commentator and Kabbalist, points our attention to the numbers, dimensions and dates mentioned in the story of the flood. Interestingly many of the figures are related to the number fifteen:
Fifteen cubits above did the waters prevail, and the mountains were covered up. (7:20)
“And the water prevailed upon the earth a hundred and fifty days. (7:24)”. One hundred rand fifty is fifteen times ten.
“And this [is the size] you shall make it: three hundred cubits the length of the ark, fifty cubits its breadth, and thirty cubits its height. (6:15)”. Each of the three flours of the ark were fifteen thousand square cubits.
According to the Kabbalah the number fifteen is alluded to within the dimensions of the ark because the ark represents the ability to create a holy reality which would correct the spiritual corruption that led to the flood.The first two letters of the name of G-d are “Yud” and “Hey”. “Yud” has the numerical value of ten and “Hey” of five, the number fifteen represents the connection between the “Yud” and the “Hey”.
The Talmud (Sotah 17a) explains that the letters “Yud” and “Hey” are the way one can build a blessed relationship. The Hebrew word for man, “Ish”, and women, “Isha”, are both comprised of the letters “Alef” and “Shin” which create the word “Aish”, which means fire. In addition to the letters of the word fire, the word “ish”, man, contains the letter “Yud”, and “Isha”, woman, contains the letter ”Hey”. “If a man [ish] and woman [isha] merit”, says the Talmud, when man and woman unite, the letters of G-d’s name, the Yud and Hey in their names, unite as well, and “ the Divine Presence rests between them”. If however the letters of G-d’s name are absent from the relationship, if all they have is the fire, then “fire consumes them.”
Man and woman have within them passionate fire. This can be a tremendously powerful positive force. It can bring people together in love and create a deep bond between man and woman. Fire, however, also has destructive properties. If man and woman define their relationship based on passionate fire alone, it can become destructive. For the fire seeks to break all boundaries and shatter all discipline and its quest is to consume the fuel which sustains it. The people in the generation of the flood followed their inner fire, leading them to destroy respect for wholesome relationships.
The key to creating harmony between man and woman is to introduce a higher dimension to the relationship. When man and woman introduce the letters of G-d's name into their relationship, when both the male and female fire are experienced in the context of a spiritual purpose, then, the positive fire in the relationship will last. The letters of G-d’s name, the “Yud” and the “Hey”merge as one, and the relationship becomes the protective ark of Noah.
Master of the Soil
Noah found favor in the eyes of G-d, he was saved from the flood and tasked with repopulating the earth, G-d extended His covenant to Noah and promised never again to wipe out all the creatures from the face of the earth. G-d’s love to Noah was palpable.
Noah himself seemed not to share G-d’s optimistic view of the future. Before the flood we read that “Noah did, according to all that the Lord had commanded him (Genesis 7:5)”. Yet, after the flood Noah did not seem to live up to his greatness. He planted a vineyard, got drunk and lost his dignity - “he uncovered himself within his tent”.
As the Torah relates:
And Noah, master of the soil, began and planted a vineyard. And he drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent. And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness, and he told his two brothers outside. And Shem and Japheth took the garment, and they placed [it] on both of their shoulders, and they walked backwards, and they covered their father's nakedness, and their faces were turned backwards, so that they did not see their father's nakedness. And Noah awoke from his wine and he knew what his small son had done to him. And he said, "Cursed be Canaan; he shall be a slave among slaves to his brethren." May God expand Japheth, and may He dwell in the tents of Shem, and may Canaan be a slave to them (Genesis 9:20-27)”.
The Torah tells us “And Noah, master of the soil, began and planted a vineyard.”. The Hebrew word for “began”, “Vayachel”, also means “Mundane”. Rashi tells us: “he made himself profane, for he should have first engaged in planting something different.”
Why did Noah, immediately after the flood, plant a vine, which is a symbol of mundane pleasure? The Chassidic Masters explain that after seeing the corruption of the earth Noah wanted to engage with the soil in order to protect it from future spiritual corruption. Noah felt that his responsibility was to be “master of the soil”, he must engage with the most material pleasure and demonstrate how it could, in fact, be used for holiness.
Yet, Noah was mistaken. And his mistake was that - “Vayachel” - “he began”. The mistake was that he began with material pleasure. The material will intoxicate one’s spiritual senses unless the person is first saturated in holiness. Had Noah began his day with intensifying his connection to spirituality and only then proceeded to plant, he would have elevated the vine rather than having the vine pull him down.
When Noah awoke from his wine and recognized his mistake he proceeded to bless Shem and Yafet, the two sons who had treated him with dignity and covered his nakedness. Noah said:
May God expand Yafet, and may He dwell in the tents of Shem…
Noah, who “uncovered himself within his tent”, saw within his son Shem the potential for the correction of his own negative experience in his tent, an experience of pleasure disconnected from a holy context. Noah proclaimed “may He (G-d) dwell in the tents of Shem”, emphasising that Shem and his descendants would bring G-d into their homes, they would infuse their homes with holiness, which, in turn, would allow them to proceed and elevate the mundane. They begin with prayer, study and good deeds ensuring that their tent is a place where G-d will dwell, and only then do they proceed to plant the vine.
(Adapted from the Maor Vashemesh)
Did Noah Lack Faith?
"A righteous man perfect in his generations" is the resounding endorsement the Torah gives Noah. Yet, when we examine Rabbinic literature, we find that Noah was less than perfect.
The Zohar contrasts Noah, who did not seek to pray for, nor influence, the people of his generation, with Abraham, who pleaded with G-d to forgive the wicked people of Sedom, and with Moses, who prayed on behalf of the people who worshipped the golden calf. Noah’s significant fault was that he did not influence the people around him.
When describing how Noah entered the ark, the verse states "and Noah went in and his sons and his wife and his sons' wives with him into the ark because of the flood waters." Rashi quotes the Midrash, which states:
because of the flood waters: Noah, too, was of those who had little faith, believing and not believing that the Flood would come, and he did not enter the ark until the waters forced him to do so.
How could it be that the person who the Torah classified as entirely righteous, the person who G-d chose to be the one to repopulate the earth after the Flood, lacked faith?
Noah did not believe in himself, he did not believe that he was worthy of being saved, and therefore he did not think that G-d would bring a flood, wipe out every living thing except for him.
"Noah had little faith", explain the Chassidic masters, means not that Noah lacked faith in G-d, but rather that Noah did not believe in himself. He did not think that a human being could have the power to pray and influence G-d, nor did he believe in his ability to influence the people around him.
The lesson we must derive from Noah's shortcoming is that belief in G-d requires belief in the incredible potential G-d invested within the people he created. Our choices matter. Our prayers can influence G-d, we can shape our environment and have a profound impact on the people around us.
Adapted from the Kedushas Levi
Enter Your Ark
It's not merely an ancient story about a flood of epic proportions. The story of the Biblical flood, like all Torah's stories, is the story of our own life.
The waters of the flood are the torrents of worry, anxiety, and distraction that threaten to drown us and divert us from the path of happiness, meaning, and fulfillment. The waters of the flood surround us from every direction, leaving us with no place to run or escape. The only solution is to enter an ark and ride the waves.
The Hebrew word for ark, Teivah, also means "word". The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, explained that the words of prayer and Torah study are the spiritual and psychological "ark" which protect us from the waters of the flood. The words form a spiritual haven of peace and serenity that ground and anchor us when we emerge from the "ark" and engage in daily life.
The Torah's words, "And the Lord said to Noah: "Come into the ark", is G-d's calling to each of us to begin our day with creating an "Ark", a Teivah, holy words of Torah and prayer.
Two generations after the Baal Shem Tov, The Alter Rebbe, founder of Chabad, added a new dimension to this teaching. He pointed out that while the conventional understanding is that the ark was a response to the flood, serving merely as protection from its threatening waters, upon a careful reading of the Torah's words, we see that the purpose of the flood waters was to actually raise the ark:
"Now the Flood was forty days upon the earth, and the waters increased, and they lifted the ark, and it rose off the earth." (Genesis 7:17)
The challenges that one experiences actually intensify the spiritual experience. The tension, and energy of the negative worries, become the fuel that raises the spiritual experience, intensifying the passion and drive to connect to holiness.
When you enter your ark, you will realize that the waters are not there to drown you. They are there to raise you ever higher.
Be a Noah
The Torah introduces the story of the great flood by describing Noah with beautiful praises:
These are the generations of Noah, Noah was a righteous man he was perfect in his generations; Noah walked with God. (Genesis 6:9)
Despite the beautiful adjectives "righteous" and "perfect", the sages debate whether these terms are meant as praise or critique. As Rashi explains:
in his generations: Some of our Sages interpret it [the word בְּדֹרֹתָיו] favorably: How much more so if he had lived in a generation of righteous people, he would have been even more righteous. Others interpret it derogatorily: In comparison with his generation he was righteous, but if he had been in Abraham's generation, he would not have been considered of any importance.
We understand why the Torah would seek to praise Noah because that would explain why he was saved contrary to the rest of his generation. It is, however, difficult to explain why the Torah would choose to diminish Noah's stature; why would the Torah go out of its way to highlight that Noah was less than perfect and that, in comparison to Abraham, he was insignificant?
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 37a) teaches: ״each and every person is obligated to say: The world was created for me", meaning that every individual must take responsibility for the world, and cannot assume that someone else will solve the world's problems. If a problem has come to one's attention, one must act as if the entire world was created for him alone, for him to solve this problem.
The Torah, therefore, highlights that Noah was not an extraordinary person. Indeed, in comparison to Abraham he would be considered insignificant. Yet this is a profound message to each one of us. We don't have to be extraordinary people to accomplish the extraordinary. Anybody can be righteous and wholesome in his or her generation. Anybody can take action to save the world regardless of what other people are doing. Each of us can be a Noah, bringing comfort, salvation, and serenity to others and ultimately to the entire world.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 5 p. 282
The Brand Name
The first to understand the power of branding was G-d.
He understood that a brand name that captures the essence of who you are, what your customers can expect of you and what you hope to achieve, you can, overtime, have a deep impact on people’s thinking.
G-d therefore decided to tweak the name of Abraham, the founder of Monotheism (whose name, at that point, was Avram). The change will upgrade the brand, and cause the message to catch on and create a movement that will change the course of history.
So G-d adds the Hebrew letter ‘Hey’ to the name. The change seems small but, as any good marketing expert will tell you, a small change in a brand often symbolizes a great changes in direction.
Abraham’s name from Avram to Avraham (adding the Hebrew letter Hey). As the verse states:
And your name shall no longer be called Avram, but your name shall be Avraham, for I have made you the father of a multitude of nations.
[The Hebrew letter Hey stands for the Hebrew word “Hamon”, which means Multitude.]
As Rashi, the primary commentator of the Torah, explains:
The letter “Resh” that was in it [his name] originally, denoting that he was the father only of Aram, which was his native place, whereas now [with the added letter Hey, he becomes] the father of the whole world.
With the new and improved name G-d tells Avraham that he cannot be satisfied with leading and inspiring only his close circle; that he cannot limit his goal to creating a haven of Divine morality, rather he is charged with being a father to a multitude of nations. He must change his name, modify his mission statement and dramatically broaden his vision. He must understand that his intended audience is not a few people, his audience is every nation on this earth.
Avraham must teach his children that anybody who wishes to carry the torch, to perpetuate his legacy, will have to follow the message embedded in the letter Hey. He or she will have to constantly remember that the goal is to fill all the earth with the knowledge of G-d.
There is, however, some danger in adopting so broad a goal.
For often, those who try to impact the world, those who have the passion and ambition to make a significant impact on the lives of millions of people, forget about those closest to them. They sometimes overlook the “petty” problem of their five year old daughter. They are sometimes too busy to remember the hungry person in their own neighborhood.
G-d wants to prevent Avraham and his children from making this mistake. So when he adds the letter Hey to the name, thus instructing him to direct the message to all of humanity, he was careful to leave the Hebrew letter Reish in place.
As the passage of Rashi quoted earlier continues:
“Nevertheless the “Resh” that was there originally was not moved from its place”.
The marketing experts would certainly protest and argue: “if the Hebrew letter Resh represents that Avraham was a father only to his native land (Reish stands for Aram, where Avraham was borm), and the Hebrew letter Hey represents that he is a father to the entire world (“multitude of nations”), why can’t we drop the letter Resh? Isn’t Avraham’s native land included in the “multitude of nations”?”
Yet the letter Reish must not be moved from it’s place. Just like in the past, before his mission was expanded to include all the people of the earth, Avraham understood that he must drop everything and risk his life to save his nephew Lot, so too after the broadening of his goals he must still be devoted to those closest to him.
Perhaps that is why, in the later portions, the Torah emphasizes that Avraham ultimately does impact all of his family. That even after he is forced, by his wife Sarah and by G-d, to expel Hagar he does not forget about her. That eventually he is able to bring her back into his household, remarry her, and bring her back to the belief in one G-d .
So, yes, carry the torch of Avraham, go out and make a deep impact on the world around you. But never forget that about those who need you most.
Climbing the Ladder of Love
Each and every episode of the patriarchs that is recorded in the Torah is relevant to the story of every single Jew. There are events in the lives of the patriarchs, that are essential to the story - for example: Abraham discovering the one G-d at an early age and his debates with the people of his native land – and yet, they are not recorded in the Torah. By contrast, there are details that seem trivial, yet they are recorded in the Torah. That is because the Torah records only those aspects that are relevant to us; the Torah records only those episodes that will recur, in some form or another, in the life of every Jew.
Who was Abraham? What did he stand for? What does he teach us?
Chassidic philosophy teaches that Abraham embodied loving-kindness, love to his fellow human beings, love toward the people closest to him, and love toward his creator. If there is one theme that runs through many of the stories about Abraham, it is the theme of love; his love to G-d as well as his love to people who were not necessarily deserving of love: his love to his nephew Lot, his older son Yishmael and to the wicked people of Sedom. Abraham’s journeys, to Israel and especially his journeys within Israel, is a story about Abraham’s journey toward achieving true love.
This week’s Parsha, begins with G-d commanding Abraham to “go forth” and begin a new journey:
And the Lord said to Abram, "Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you.”
The Torah describes how Abraham fulfilled the commandment and travelled to what will later become the Promised Land, and how he built an altar to G-d:
And the Lord appeared to Abram, and He said, "To your seed I will give this land," and there he built an altar to the Lord, Who had appeared to him.
Why does Abraham decide to build an altar to G-d precisely at this time and place? Rashi explains, that Abraham built the altar to thank G-d for the two great promises he had just received: the promise that he would have children, and the promise that he would receive the land, as Rashi puts it:
And there he built an altar: [in thanksgiving] for the good tidings concerning his descendants and the good tidings concerning the Land of Israel.
In the following verse we read about Abraham journeying to the next stop in his travels, near a place called Ai, where, once again, he built an altar to G-d:
And he moved from there to the mountain, east of Bethel, and he pitched his tent; Bethel was to the west and Ai was to the east, and there he built an altar to the Lord, and he called in the name of the Lord.
Why did Abraham decide to build this second altar? Rashi explains:
And there he built an altar: He (Abraham) prophesied that his sons were destined to stumble there because of the iniquity of Achan, and he prayed there for them.
The story continues. Abraham was forced to move to Egypt because of the famine. His wife Sarah, (at that point her name was still Saray), was taken to Pharaoh. Subsequently, she was saved from Pharaoh, they returned to Israel, Abraham and his nephew Lot parted ways, and Abraham reached the city of Chevron, where he built his third and final altar:
And Abram pitched his tents, and he came, and he dwelt in the plain of Mamre, which is in Hebron, and there he built an altar to the Lord.
Why did Abraham decide to build the third altar? Being that Rashi explained why he built the first two, we would therefore expect Rashi to explain the rationale for the third one, yet, mysteriously, Rashi is silent. This is because, once we understand the lesson of the three altars, we will understand why Abraham built the third altar, and we will understand why no reason is given for its construction.
In general, there are three stages of love. These three levels are represented by the three altars that Abraham built.
The first stage of love, is a love motivated by a benefit received. We fall in love because of what we receive from the relationship. Because of what the relationship does for us. Because we like the way it makes us feel. Because we like what we get from the relationship.
The second stage is more complicated. We fall in love, and then, sometimes, we grow apart. Eventually, a distance springs up between us and the recipient of our love. This distance is painful. There is, however, a second stage of love. This love is motivated by “returning” to the original love, after the feeling of separation. The second stage of love is fueled by the pain experienced from being distant from our beloved.
Finally, there is a third stage of love. This love is not motivated by what we receive from the love, nor is it motivated by the pain felt by the lack of it. The third level of love is all about connecting to the object of the love for its own sake. The third stage of love is not about the one loving, it is about the beloved. We are drawn to connect, not because of something we will receive, not because of the pain we will endure if we lack the connection, but rather because there is no other way. We sense that, like the bond between parents and children, deep down we are one.
The story of Abraham’s travels in the land of Israel, is the story of a man journeying toward a relationship and love to G-d. Each altar represents another stage of love.
The first altar that Abraham built, the first stage of Abraham's love to G-d, is based on the benefit that Abraham would receive. As Rashi explains, Abraham built the altar; he connected to G-d, because he understood that the relationship was beneficial to himself. He had just been promised the blessing of children and he had just been gifted with the Land of Israel.
Abraham traveled further. He came to a place called Ai, he sensed that his descendants would sin at this very location. He wasted no time, he built an altar. He teaches his children that sin can be a cause to connect to G-d. That estrangement is, in fact, key to a second, and deeper, stage of love. He teaches his children that love intensifies when it overcomes the pain of separation.
Finally, Abraham reaches the city of Chebron. The word Chevron comes from the Hebrew word “Chibur” which means connection. In Chebron, Abraham reaches the third, and ultimate, stage of love. Abraham built an altar. Why did he build this altar? Rashi is silent. Rashi’s silence communicates a deep truth. There is no reason for this altar, no reason for this relationship. This stage of love is not based on reason; it is not based on a benefit that Abraham will receive. Why build the altar? For no reason other than to be connected to G-d. Not for any personal benefit, spiritual or otherwise, but for the sake of the bond itself.
Abraham is the patriarch of each and every Jew. We read about his journeys, not merely for historical information, but as a lesson for our life, a lesson in our relationships, and a lesson for our bond with G-d. We read the story to inspire us to seek to reach the final stage of love. As Maimonides describes:
One who serves [God] out of love occupies himself in the Torah and the Mitzvot and walks in the paths of wisdom for no ulterior motive: not because of fear that evil will occur, nor in order to acquire benefit. Rather, he does what is true because it is true… This is a very high level, which is not merited by every wise man. It is the level of our Patriarch, Abraham, whom God described as, "he who loved Me," for his service was only motivated by love.
See the Land
Abraham was a newcomer in the land.
After heeding G-d’s call to “Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you”, after making the long journey from Charan to Canaan, G-d reiterates the promise that he will give the land to Abraham and his descendants. The Torah tells us (Genesis, 13:14-17):
And the Lord said to Abram after Lot had parted from him, "Please raise your eyes and see, from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward.
For all the land that you see I will give to you and to your seed to eternity.
And I will make your seed like the dust of the earth, so that if a man will be able to count the dust of the earth, so will your seed be counted.
Rise, walk in the land, to its length and to its breadth, for I will give it to you."
On the surface, these verses, containing the promise of the land, seem straightforward; upon deeper examination, however, they appear to be contradictory.
At first, in verse 14, G-d tells Abraham “Please raise your eyes and see”, meaning, that in order to acquire the land, all he has to do is look, “raise your eyes and see”, no further action required. As Reiterated in the next verse: “For all the land that you see I will give to you and to your seed to eternity”.
Very soon afterward, however, G-d seems to have changed his tone. All of the sudden seeing the land is not enough; in order to acquire the land Abraham was required to walk its length and breadth. As stated in verse 17: ”Rise, walk in the land, to its length and to its breadth, for I will give it to you", all of the sudden, it was not enough for Abraham to look at the land, he was required to actually walk it.
The reason for the double commandment, to “lift up your eyes” and to “rise, walk the land”, is because in truth, G-d was granting Abraham not one gift but two gifts, one was to be acquired through seeing, while the other was acquired through walking.
The land of Israel possesses plains and hills, a sea and rivers. It is a land flowing with milk and honey. The physical land of Israel was to be acquired by the physical act of walking the length and breadth of the land.
But that is only part of the story.
In addition to the physical land, in addition to the beautiful hills and valleys, there is another gift: the spiritual land of Israel. The spirit of Israel, the holiness of Israel, cannot be attained merely by walking the land. To connect to the spirituality of Israel, G-d tells Abraham, one must “raise your eyes and see”. One must look beyond the obvious, one must “raise” and uplift oneself to see and connect to the holiness and spirituality of the Holy land.
Thus, when G-d told Abraham to walk the land, to take possession of the physical land, G-d said “for I will give it to you”. Yet when commanding Abraham to “raise your eyes and see” in order to acquire the spiritual land of Israel, G-d promised “For all the land that you see I will give to you and to your seed to eternity”. For, historically, while the ownership of the physical land was not always in our hands, the spiritual connection, was always in the possession of the seed of Abraham, and will be so for eternity.
We are not always on the physical land of Israel, not always able to walk its length and breadth. But we always possess the spiritual Israel: a yearning to connect to the Divine and the desire and will to create a home for G-d on this earth.
Next time you visit Israel savor every moment, take in the beauty of the land, enjoy its landscapes. Eat Hummus overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, visit the green hills of the Galilee, and the stone hills of Jerusalem. Explore the Negev Desert and the cafes of Tel Aviv. But most importantly, just like our Patriarch Abraham, make sure to “raise your eyes and see”. Experience the spiritual Israel, tap into her holiness and touch her heart and soul. See how she reconnects you to the creator of all life.
Self Discovery
Say you call your friend and ask him to go somewhere. The most important piece of information you must convey is the destination where he is to go.
Yet that is not what happened when G-d spoke, for the very first time, to Abraham, the very first Jew. G-d told Abraham to “go forth”. G-d elaborated on the place from which Abraham would depart, but said nothing about the place where Abraham would travel to. As the opening verse of this week’s Torah portion relates:
And the Lord said to Abram, "Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you.
Why, at this point in the story, did G-d not reveal the destination?
To understand why the focus is on the point of departure rather than on the destination, we must first contemplate the nature of the commandment to Abraham to “go forth”. G-d did not simply ask Abraham to move and change his place of residence. G-d was defining for Abraham the story of his life as well as the story of the people Abraham was about to father. To be a Jew, to be in touch with the message of Monotheism which Abraham was preaching, is to heed the call to “go forth to you”.
Each of us, including Abraham, define ourselves in certain ways. We know our strengths but we also know our limitations. We tell ourselves stories. We tell ourselves what we can and what we cannot accomplish, what we should strive for and what we should dare not dream of. These stories are influenced by our surroundings. Consciously or subconsciously, much of the way we view ourselves is based on the feedback from our surroundings. Society tells us certain things about ourselves, the people in our neighborhood, our teachers, our school principals, the bank manager, and most importantly our parents, all influence how we see ourselves and how we self define.
The first thing Abraham needed to know was that his potential was limitless. At his very core lay a spark of the infinite G-d. If Abraham would see past the natural order, If he would break free of real and perceived limitation, then he would touch his inner core, tap into his essence, and would be able to achieve what, until then, was deemed impossible. He would be able to go beyond his own nature, to be completely devoted and in love, to stand firm against tremendous odds, and to break free of the bonds of his own personality, perceptions and fears.
Thus, G-d tells Abraham that, in order to reach greatness, he must break free of old patterns of thought, he must journey away from the constraints imposed by his mind and heart, and of the influence of the people around him. He must first leave “his land”, the influence of the broader society, and then leave the influence of his town, and finally, he must reject the limitations imposed by his close family. Instead he must travel to ”the land that I will show you”.
The “you”, in “the land that I will show you”, refers not only to the land but also to Abraham himself. Translated literally, the verse can also read “the land where you will be shown”, the place where your essence will be revealed. When Abraham packed his bags and left his native land, when he left behind the notions of the superiority of nature that prevailed in his father's home, he would reach “the land where I will show you”. He would discover his true self, which is a spark of the infinite G-d. Thus, the destination of the journey remained unstated, for any description is a limitation, and the entire point of the commandment was that Abraham must leave the notion that he, and what he was capable of, was limited. He needed to understand that the true self is undefined because it is limitless.
Over the next two portions of the Torah the story of Abraham highlights the message of “go forth to yourself” - begin the journey of self exploration and discover the true “you”. Time and again, Abraham was challenged. Time and again he was tested. Time and again he discovered that he could rise above the challenge, go beyond the instincts of his personality, and achieve greatness.
This, in one sentence, is the story of the Jewish people, a people whose very existence is a miracle. A people tasked by the calling to “go forth to yourself”, to journey forth and to discover the true “you” the infinity within each and every one of us. A people who no matter the difficulties they faced, defied the odds, they continue to thrive, with their faith and teachings intact, a people who heed the call to Abraham, and believe in achieving the impossible. For they are the people of Abraham, heeding the call to Abraham to journey to the land. A land that cannot be defined, only experienced.
They are on a journey “to the land that I will show you”, where the true “you” will be revealed.
Focused Love
Abraham embodied love and kindness as an expression of the one G-d, creator of the entire universe. Abraham, spent his career teaching people about monotheism, the belief in the one, all omnipresent G-d, and fought against the idea of idol worship, teaching that the human being should serve no force of nature and no other human being, only G-d himself.
Abraham felt a deep closeness to his eldest son Yishmael, the son of Hagar Sarah’s maidservant. Yishmael embodied his teachings. As a result of the time spent in his father’s home, Yishmael refused to submit to any person but to the one G-d. Indeed, even before Yishmael’s birth the angel of G-d told Hagar that her son would be a free spirited person:
And the angel of the Lord said to her, "Behold, you will conceive and bear a son, and you shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord has heard your affliction.
And he will be a wild man; his hand will be upon all, and everyone's hand upon him, and before all his brothers he will dwell." (Genesis 16:11-12)
Despite the influence of Abraham’s ideas and beliefs, Yishmael would not be the one to receive the Divine covenant, and bear the eternal legacy of Abraham. Indeed, while Abraham was content in having Yishmael be his only heir, G-d insisted that the Abrahamic covenant would continue through the son that would be born to Sarah:
And G-d said, "Indeed, your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you shall name him Isaac, and I will establish My covenant with him as an everlasting covenant for his seed after him. (ibid. 17:19)
That is because the Jewish nation could only be established through the union of Abraham and Sarah. Abraham’s love was not sufficient to father the nation that would have an eternal covenant with G-d. Abraham's love was unlimited, he spread his love to all. But Sarah understood that love must be focused and disciplined. To love properly, one must be willing to exclude influences that would undermine the love. The potent force of love must be focused and directed. Just as a mother protects her child, Sarah’s love motivated her to expel negative influence from her home environment. Abraham without Sarah, love without discipline and focus, is like freedom without commitment, which is but a distorted expression of freedom.
Abraham and Sarah did not always share the same perspective. They disagreed strongly about important issues. Abraham’s love spread to everybody, while Sarah’s love expressed strength and discipline. Only the marriage of Abraham and Sarah could produce the holy nation.
The healthy tension between Abraham and Sarah teaches us that both love and discipline are necessary in our own life. When we read the stories of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs, we are also reading our own personal story. Ensuring that the “marriage” between the Abraham and the Sarah within ourselves is harmonious and balanced, will allow us to continue the mission of Abraham and Sarah: filling this earth with goodness and kindness motivated by the awareness of G-d.
The Journey of Your Soul
Expressing abstract wisdom in simple language is difficult and could be painful. To do so, the scholar must leave the comfort of his knowledge and expertise and descend into the world, where the audience is not be on the same level as he is. Expressing abstract wisdom in simple language requires limiting the light, masking some of the beauty of the wisdom, and expressing it in simple terms in order that the listener should understand.
This decent, however, will ultimately lead the scholar to a deeper appreciation of the wisdom. Because when one is forced to explain an abstract idea in concrete terms, when one is forced to create an analogy to help people grasp an intangible idea, one will attain a deeper level of understanding. To be able to communicate a lofty concept in simple terms the wise person has to reach the essence and soul of the idea, only then will he succeed in condensing the concept and expressing it with an appropriate analogy.
The explain the Kabbalist, is the deeper meaning of the G-d’s first communication with Abram (Abraham’s original name):
"Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you” (Genesis 12:1)
This commandment contains multiple layers of meaning. Yes, Abram was to leave Mesopotamia and travel to what would become the land of Israel, but there is a mystical meaning to the verse as well. Abram, represents abstract wisdom. The word Abram is comprised of two words “Av”, father, which in Kabbalistic terminology is a metaphor for wisdom, and “Ram” which means elevated. Abram is exalted wisdom. [At the time Abram was living in Charan, which Kabbalisticly, represents the “neck” which blocks the abstract wisdom from expressing itself in terms that would allow it to descend into concrete language that could inspire emotions in the heart].
Abram’s physical journey was a symbol of his spiritual journey. The journey meant leaving the comfort of his own thoughts and expressing his abstract ideas of monotheism and morality to people who were on a far lower spiritual and intellectual level than himself. Yet, this downward journey, this descent, led Abram to greater heights. As G-d promised Abram, that as a result of his journey:
I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you, and I will aggrandize your name, and [you shall] be a blessing.
Abram’s journey was far from challenge free. He was faced with many physical and spiritual challenges. He was forced to descend to Egypt where his wife was abducted. His close relationships with his nephew Lot and Concubine Hagar were tested. G-d informed him that his descendants would be enslaved for four hundred years. Yet Abraham understood that the more challenging the journey, the greater the spiritual gain. Abram understood that a descent is critical to, and, therefore, part and parcel of, the journey upward.
The story of Abram is the story of every soul.
The soul originates in the spiritual worlds, surrounded by Divine wisdom and awareness. The soul is then called upon to begin the journey we call life. This journey, from the spiritual worlds to life in this physical world seems to be a descent for the soul. No longer can it bask in the glow of spiritual enlightenment and closeness to the infinite light. No longer can it remain in the realm of abstract ideas. On this earth the soul must attend to the concrete needs of the body; food, shelter and comfort. The soul is no longer in the world of “Av” “Ram”, the world of abstract knowledge and enlightenment. The soul is right here on planet earth.
Yet, like Abram our patriarch, like the wise teacher forced to condense his wisdom into a parable, the soul must now express its relationship to G-d in a concrete way. By using physical objects to fulfill the Divine will, by developing an awareness of the Divine on this earth, the soul reaches greater heights than if it had never embarked on the journey.
(Adapted form Torah Or, Parshas Lech Licha)
The Turbulent Journey
Abraham, the father of the Jewish people, set out on a journey that would, eventually, change the world. He left Charan, heeding G-d’s call to "Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12:1). Abraham must have been full of optimism, he was armed with an incredible Divine promise, for G-d had told him: “And I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you, and I will aggrandize your name, and [you shall] be a blessing.”
Yet, Abraham’s journey seemed to be a disaster and a colossal disappointment. As soon as he reached the land of Cannan, a famine broke out and he was forced to descend to Egypt where his wife was abducted and brought to Pharaoh the king. This was not only a personal challenge, but it was also a terrible blow to Abraham’s mission of spreading the awareness of the one G-d. The pagan inhabitants of Cannan took note of the fact that the terrible famine broke out as soon as Abraham arrived. They must have thought that the famine was a sign from above that Abraham’s faith would bring nothing but trouble.
Why was Abraham’s journey so complicated and full of frustration? Why wasn't Abraham rewarded for his loyalty with a tranquil existence in Canaan? The same question applies to the Jewish people, the descendants of Abraham, who carry Abraham’s legacy of teaching the world about the one G-d. Why has our historical journey been so full of disappointment, challenge, and tragedy?
The Answer can be found in the name of our Torah portion: Lech Licha, which means “go to you {to your essence}”. The name of the entire portion, including the parts of the story that seem to be a retreat from Abraham’s destination and purpose, are all critical to the journey of growth. The most important message to Abraham, as well as to his descendants, is that what looks like a devastating setback is, in reality, an opportunity for more meaningful growth. Yes, even the descent into Egypt, with all its negative ramifications, would ultimately lead to Abraham and Sarah emerging stronger, and better able to achieve their purpose and mission. The descent into Egypt, was part of the mission of ascent to Israel.
This is true in the life of each and every Jew. The first, and perhaps, primary message from the life of Abraham is that every disappointment can be an opportunity for reaching deeper joy, every setback can become a springboard, and every challenge can motivate profound growth.
This is the essence of the life of Abraham, the essence of the Jewish story, and of the teachings of the Torah: no matter the circumstances, no matter the pain, every experience is part of the journey to discover our essence. Within every challenging experience is a spark of G-dliness waiting to be elevated and channeled to fuel us further on our journey of reaching our promised land.
Adapted from Likutei Sichos 5, Lech Licha 1.
What is the Reason for the Exile?
One of the greatest mysteries in all of the Torah appears in this week's portion, at the "covenant of the parts", when G-d informed Abraham that his descendants would be enslaved in a foreign land before they would return to the land of Israel. The Torah describes:
And He {G-d} said to Abram, "You shall surely know that your seed will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and they will enslave them and oppress them, for four hundred years.
And also the nation that they will serve will I judge, and afterward they will go forth with great possessions. (Genesis 15:13-14)
The big question that the verse does not explicitly address is, why? Why was it decreed that the Jewish people would be slaves in Egypt? What was the purpose or benefit of the terrible slavery?
The sages and commentators do not reach a consensus. The Midrash offers no less than three possible reasons, yet many of the classic commentators of the bible are not satisfied with those explanations and offer their own. Nachmanides explains that slavery was a punishment for Abram's traveling to Egypt because of the famine, after G-d told him to go to the land of Israel. Abarbanel rejects that interpretation, saying that Abram's decision to travel to Egypt was the correct one. Abarbanel offers his own explanation and says that the slavery of the children of Jacob and their descendants was the punishment, measure for measure, for the sale of Joseph as a slave to Egypt. Others explain that it was necessary in order to prepare the Jewish people for receiving the Torah.
Chassidic teachings explain that the slavery did not come about as a result of any negative act on the part of the Jewish people. When the verse states, "your seed will be strangers in a land that is not theirs," it alludes to the idea that the reason for the exile is "not theirs." It was not a result of anything that the children of Israel had done. The purpose is alluded to in the words: "And afterward they will go forth with great possessions." The "great possessions" were not merely compensation for the pain of slavery, but rather it was the purpose of slavery. The purpose of the descent into Egypt was in order for the Jewish people to extract and elevate the Divine sparks of holiness within Egypt.
In the book of Exodus, G-d tells Moses:
Each woman shall borrow from her neighbor and from the dweller in her house silver and gold objects and garments, and you shall put [them] on your sons and on your daughters, and you shall empty out Egypt."
The mystical interpretation of the verse is that the "woman," referring to the soul, who naturally has no interest in material possessions, should request the "silver" and "gold," the sparks of holiness found within the material possessions which she interacts with either occasionally (alluded to by "neighbor") or regularly (alluded to by "the dweller in her house"). We don't have the luxury to ignore the world. We must engage in and elevate the sparks within our possessions.
What was true in Egypt applies to us as well. The purpose of the exile is so that the Jewish people should spread out to every corner of the earth, elevating their material possessions by using them in the service of G-d.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayigash vol, 3 and Biurei Hachumash)
The Missing Biography
The story told in the Torah of Abraham the first Jew, begins when he was seventy-five years old. The Torah tells us that G-d told Abraham to leave his birthplace and travel to the land that G-d would show him:
And the Lord said to Abram, "Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you. And I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you, and I will aggrandize your name, and [you shall] be a blessing. And I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse, and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you." (Genesis 12:1-3)
While the Midrash tells us a lot about Abraham's early history up to that point - how discovered G-d through his own intellectual inquiry and how he debated the local idolaters who, in turn, sought to kill him - in contrast the account in the Bible makes no mention of Abraham's early life, spiritual awareness, courage, and devotion to G-d.
This missing story led Nachmonides the great 13th-century Biblical commentator, to point out that the story is missing important information:
Now, this portion of Scripture is not completely elucidated. What reason was there that the Holy One, blessed be He, should say to Abraham, "Leave your country, and I will do you good in a completely unprecedented measure," without first stating that Abraham worshiped G-d or that he was a righteous man, [and] perfect?… But there is no reason for G-d to promise [Abraham a reward merely] for his leaving the country.
Nachmonides explains that the Torah omits Abraham's early biography because the Torah does not wish to draw attention to the mistaken opinions of the idolaters. Yet, that answer seems insufficient because the Torah could have briefly mentioned Abraham’s discovery of G-d without elaborating on the mistaken notions of his contemporaries.
The story of Abraham is also the story of every Jew. The opening story of Abraham is also the beginning and foundation of our relationship with G-d. The Torah tells us that the bedrock of our connection to G-d cannot be intellectual inquiry or spiritual awareness because our mind is incapable of bridging the gap between finite creation and the infinite creator. The bond between a person and G-d, cannot be created by human effort; it can only be achieved through a commandment which, as the Hebrew word Mitzvah implies, means connection and togetherness. Only the infinite G-d can invest himself within a finite act of a Mitzvah.
This is a lesson for each of us. We may not feel inspired or enlightened; we may encounter someone who does not necessarily appreciate a connection to holiness, yet the act of a Mitzvah is transformational. For it allows us to connect with G-d Himself, transcending our finite nature and connecting to G-d's infinity.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 25 Lech Licha 1
Why Angles Won't Multitask
When I was in the first grade, just beginning to study the book of Genesis, I was fascinated by the stories, the personalities, and the drama. But nothing captured my imagination more than the angles. There was something so mysterious about them, disguised as ordinary people, they would show up at the right place in the right time, and solve some problem with their supernatural powers.
And yet, I knew that however great the angles, they had a weakness. Immediately at the first mention of angles in the Torah, the commentators are quick to point out that the angles could not perform more than one action at a time.
Why did three angels come to visit Abraham as he was sitting at the entrance of his tent hoping to find people to invite? Because there were three items to be accomplished, and angles do not have the ability to multi task. As Rashi explains:
And behold, three men: One to bring the news [of Isaac’s birth] to Sarah, and one to overturn Sodom, and one to heal Abraham, for one angel does not perform two errands. You should know that [this is true] because throughout the entire chapter, Scripture mentions them in the plural, e.g., Concerning the announcement, however, it says: “And he said: I will surely return to you.” And concerning the overturning of Sodom, it says: “For I will not be able to do anything”; “I will not overturn”. And Raphael, who healed Abraham, went from there to save Lot. This is what is stated: “And it came to pass when they took them outside, that he [the angel] said, ‘Flee for your life.’” You learn that only one acted as a deliverer.
As a young child this was comforting. Maybe I can't fly like an angel, but at least I have the can do other amazing things like run and shout at the same time.
Now, a few years later, I ask myself, why is it so important for Rashi to keep emphasizing the angles weakness? Why is it so important for every child studying Genesis to know that angels cannot perform two things at once?
Perhaps it's because it's not a handicap. Perhaps this is the secret to the angels power. Perhaps Rashi tells us about the angles as a critique of the human condition. Perhaps he is telling us, that although we will never able to achieve the goal completely, we should lose the ability to multitask.
The angel cannot do more then one thing at a time because the angel identifies with the task completely. The angel has no other dimension to his personality other than fulfilling God's mission; no personal name, no personal agenda, no personal ego, to get in the way. At this moment he is nothing but the task. As such he cannot perform two acts simultaneously, as it's impossible to be, fully, in two places at once.
The human on the other hand, even when performing the will of G-d, never looses his own ego. The human always maintains the sense of an independent identity, an identity which happens to be engaged in the mission. As such he can never become one with the mission, and therefore, some aspect of his identity will always be able to engage in something else.
Rashi understood that the child reading the story is no angel. Yet Rashi is trying to teach me how to be more like an angel. How to be fully engaged in what I am doing to the point that I forget about everything else. How to help someone else, and, while doing so, lose my own ego, and know of nothing else in the world. How to speak to my child, carefully look her in the eyes, and listen. Listen as if, at this moment, I have nothing else in my life. Listen as if I have no emails, no deadlines, no one to meet, no place to go, no other interests.
He is teaching me to listen like an angel.
Abraham’s Legacy
This week's Parsha, describes the bitter tension in Abraham’s home. Underlying the tension, was the question of succession; which of Abraham’s two children would be the one chosen to carry on his legacy.
Each of the patriarchs of the Jewish people, explain the Kabbalists, personify one of three basic emotions. Abraham personified the emotion of kindness, Isaac personified awe, and Jacob personified compassion. Being that they are our patriarchs, each of us has a part of them in our spiritual makeup.
Abraham personified kindness. Reading the stories of Abraham, the theme of kindness appears again and again. Abraham made it his life’s mission is to invite travelers into his tent, he loved all people, he prayed to G-d to save the wicked people of Sedom.
Abraham’s oldest child Yishmael, the son of Hagar, the maidservant who he married by the request of his wife Sarah, also embodied kindness. Abraham therefore felt a unique connection to Ishmael. Not only was Ishmael his oldest son, but Ishmael also shared his passion for kindness, leading Abraham to hope that Ishmael would be the one to carry on his legacy.
That was not meant to be.
In this week’s portion we read about Sarah pressuring Abraham to send away his son Yishmael, who she felt was a bad influence on her son Isaac. G-d instructed Abraham to listen to Sarah, leaving him no choice but to expel his own son from his home. G-d reassured Abraham that Ishmael would be blessed, yet G-d also makes it clear that Isaac would be Abraham's spiritual heir who would carry on his legacy.
And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, making merry. And Sarah said to Abraham, "Drive out this handmaid and her son, for the son of this handmaid shall not inherit with my son, with Isaac." But the matter greatly displeased Abraham, concerning his son. And God said to Abraham, "Be not displeased concerning the lad and concerning your handmaid; whatever Sarah tells you, hearken to her voice, for in Isaac will be called your seed. But also the son of the handmaid I will make into a nation, because he is your seed."
Observing both of Abraham’s sons, it seems that Ishmael should have been the one to carry on the legacy of his father. After all, Ishmael shared the attribute of kindness with his father, while Isaac - who embodied the attribute of awe and fear - seemed to be very different. Why then was Isaac chosen?
While Abraham and Ishmael both performed kindness, the motivating force behind their actions could not be further apart. Once we examine the motivation behind Abraham's kindness we see that Isaac was much closer to Abraham than Ishmael could ever be.
There can be two types of motivation for kindness. Abraham’s kindness was motivated by his humility. As Abraham says, while praying for the people of Sedom, “I am but dust and ashes”. The humble person perceives everyone else as being greater than himself. When he sees someone else in need he will do anything in his power to help the stranger who, the humble person believes, is more deserving than himself. This was the kindness of Abraham.
On the other hand, Ishmael, while also performing kindness, was incompatible with Abraham’s essence. Ishmael's kindness was not motivated by humility, On the contrary, his kindness was motivated by arrogance. Ishmael felt that because he was greater than the people around him he should be the one to provide for them, so that his superiority would be apparent. His kindness did not lead him closer to people, his kindness, fueled by his arrogance, pulled him farther apart from the very people he would help.
G-d’s message to Abraham was that Jewish kindness must be one motivated by humility not by arrogance. Therefore, the son best suited to carry on Abraham’s legacy, was Isaac, who embodies the attribute of awe and fear, keeping him humble, keeping him like his father Abraham.
The Sodom Mentality
We read of the wicked city of Sodom, a city where giving charity was a capital crime, and we wonder how did its people become so evil? What caused them to be so opposed to even simple acts of kindness? What did they find so offensive about sharing one's possessions with someone less fortunate?
Sodom and its laws did not just spring out of a vacuum. Sodom, its philosophy and its way of life, was a direct reaction to the generation of the flood.
During the generation of the flood, the Torah tells us:
“the earth was corrupt before God, and the earth became full of robbery. And God saw the earth, and behold it had become corrupted, for all flesh had corrupted its way on the earth. And God said to Noah, “The end of all flesh has come before Me, for the earth has become full of robbery because of them, and behold I am destroying them from the earth”.
The people of Sodom took the lesson of the flood to heart, they understood that the cause of the destruction of the generation of the flood was their robbery, their utter disrespect for private property. The people of the generation of the flood felt entitled to other people's possessions and rejected the notion that one person could own an object and exclude others from using it. The flood, the people of Sodom understood, was a Divine rebuke for robbery and theft.
As a result of the great flood the people of Sodom recommitted to the respect of property ownership and rights. They correctly understood that to violate someone else's ownership was a grave sin, one that would undermine a healthy and moral society.
The problem, however, was that they swung to the opposite extreme.
So strong was their commitment to the notion of private property, so powerful was their devotion to private ownership that they outlawed charity and pronounced it an illegitimate act. To them an act of charity was an immoral act because it transferred possessions from the “deserving” owner to the “undeserving” stranger.
The truth, however, is that both the generation of the flood and the people of Sodom were terribly mistaken. The people of the flood were wrong in denying property ownership, but the people of Sodom were just as wrong in outlawing charity. They missed the truth embodied by Abraham who performed “Charity and Law”. Abraham understood the value of “law”, of private property, but he also understood that the purpose of the “law”, the philosophical underpinnings for the right to possess, is the “charity”. The purpose of private ownership is to allow for people to be charitable and give from what is legally theirs to the less fortunate.
How do we react to a society like Sodom? How do we respond when we see people who seek to outlaw compassion and legalize cruelty to the “other”?
Our Patriarch Abraham taught us just that.
When Abraham’s pleas to G-d were unable to save Sodom, after Sodom was overturned, the Torah tells us that Abraham migrated from that region as Rashi explains: “Abraham traveled from there: When he saw that the cities had been destroyed and that travelers had ceased to pass by, he migrated from there”. Abraham wanted to bring his message of kindness based on the belief in one G-d to the people. Eventually, the Torah tells us that Abraham settled in Bear Sheva and planted an “Eshel”. What is an Eshel? Rashi offers two opinions:
An eishel: Heb. אֵשֶׁל [There is a dispute between] Rav and Samuel. One says that it was an orchard from which to bring fruits for the guests at the meal, and one says that it was an inn for lodging, in which there were all sorts of fruits. We find the expression of planting (נְטִיעָה) used in conjunction with tents, as it is written (Dan. 11:45):“And he will pitch (וְיִטַע) his palatial tents.”
What both the interpretations have in common is that Abraham was sharing with his guests not only necessities, bread and water necessary for survival, but rather Abraham was sharing luxury. He was in the habit of sharing fruit which were the delicacies of his time.
Abraham responded to the culture of Sodom not merely by sharing bread and water, but with treating the “other” with dignity and respect, reserving for them the delicacies of life that one reserves for one’s own family.
Abraham taught a simple, yet profound, lesson. In the face of the cruelty of Sodom we must respond not merely with kindness but with intense kindness. In the face of extreme cruelty we must, like Abraham in his day, respond not only with love but with extreme love.
Too Much Testing?
The life of Abraham, the first Jew, seems to be a series of tests; indeed the Mishnah states: “With ten tests our father Abraham was tested and he withstood them all”. Abraham’s tests culminated, at the conclusion of this week’s Torah portion, with the binding of Isaac. As the Torah says:
And it came to pass after these things, that G-d tested Abraham, and He said to him, "Abraham," and he said, "Here I am." And He said, "Please take your son, your only one, whom you love, yea, Isaac, and go away to the land of Moriah and bring him up there for a burnt offering on one of the mountains, of which I will tell you."
Why was Abraham continuously tested?
According to the Merriam-webster dictionary, the definition of the word “test” is:
a means of testing: such as
(1) :something (such as a series of questions or exercises) for measuring the skill, knowledge, intelligence, capacities, or aptitudes of an individual or group
(2) :a procedure, reaction, or reagent used to identify or characterize a substance or constituent
A conventional test, then, is a means of learning something about the person or object being tested. Presumably G-d, the knower of all things, knew the magnitude of love and the depth of commitment in Abraham’s heart, why then did G-d need to test Abraham?
The answer lies within the multiple meanings of the single Hebrew word “Nes”, which is the root of the word “Nisayon”, the Hebrew word for test.
The Hebrew word for test, Nes, has more than one meaning. A “Nes” also means a banner, as in the verse “I will raise my banner”. A test, then, includes more than measuring the qualities of the subject of the test. A test is also raising a banner, displaying and showing the world, the amazing qualities of the one being tested. Thus, the second meaning of the word “Nes”, the root word for test, informs us that G-d tested Abraham in order to display to all the world Abraham’s great commitment to G-d.
There is, however, another layer of depth in a test.
In addition to “test” and “raising a banner”, the word “Nes” has one more meaning: “Nes” is also a miracle. What possible connection can there be between a test and a miracle?
There are two words for “test” in Hebrew: “Bechinah” and “Nisayon”. “Bechinah” is used for tests such as those offered in school, where the test is designed to determine how much the student knows. “Bechinah”, then, gives insight into the ability of the student. “Nisayon” on the other hand, the second form of test, shares the same root word as miracle, because the purpose of this form of test is not to determine the ability of the person being tested, but rather it is to see if the test itself, the obstacle and struggle, could propel the person to grow beyond his or her natural ability. The test offers an opportunity for the person to perform a miracle, to achieve that which was thought to be impossible and to grow into something greater.
As a wise man once said: ordinary teachers test students to find out what they know, excellent teachers test students so that the students will discover not only how much they know but also what they can become.
The test of Abraham then was not merely a test to measure his commitment to G-d (“Nisayon” as in test), and not only to demonstrate his commitment to G-d to the world (“Nisayon” as in raising a banner) but, most importantly, it was a test to allow Abraham to break out of his own personality constraints, and become something he never thought possible (“Nisayon” as in miracle).
The story of Abraham’s test is the story of the journey of each and every soul. The Kabbalists teach that the soul’s descent from its place in the tranquility of heaven to the chaos here on earth, is, first and foremost, a test for the soul. The descent is designed to test the soul, to see how strong is its connection to G-d, to see whether the soul remains true to itself in the face of tremendous challenge and temptation, to see whether or not the soul has what it takes to overcome the spiritual darkness of the world and transform it to light.
Yet, just as with the test of Abraham, the test of the soul is not merely for the purpose of discovering the existing properties of the soul. The descent into this world is the soul's opportunity to experience the miracle. The test that the descent presents, raises the banner and demonstrates to the soul and to the world, that by being presented with and then overcoming the obstacles and darkness of the world, one can achieve the miracle of exponential spiritual growth, On this earth, one can achieve a bond with G-d that is far greater, far deeper, and far more profound than is possible when the soul is in heaven.
The Heat of the Day
The story of Abraham’s life is primarily told in two portions of the Torah. Lech Licha and Vayera. In the first portion of Abraham's story, Abraham comes across as a deeply spiritual person. The Torah tells how he traveled the land and of the altars he built for G-d in every place that he went. Toward the end of the first portion, G-d introduced a new idea to Abraham. No longer would it suffice for Abraham to be a spiritual person. From now on, Abraham task was to connect the spiritual with the physical. Abraham was commanded to circumcise himself, fulfilling G-d's commandment “my covenant will be in your flesh”. From here on Abraham’s mission was to teach how the spiritual covenant must express itself in the tangible physical world.
The second portion, Vayera, opens with Abraham, on the third day after his circumcision, sitting at the opening of his tent seeking guests. It was an exceedingly hot day and there was no one in sight, yet Abraham sat there, waiting and hoping to find someone to invite into his home. As the Torah tells us:
Now the Lord appeared to him in the plains of Mamre, and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent when the day was hot.
And he lifted his eyes and saw, and behold, three men were standing beside him, and he saw and he ran toward them from the entrance of the tent, and he prostrated himself to the ground.
The opening phrase is “the Lord appeared to him”. As a result of this Divine revelation Abraham reached a greater expression of kindness to others. Typically a kind person will express kindness when he or she sees someone in need, or at least someone who can receive the kindness. In this scene Abraham reaches a new level of kindness. Abraham was sitting at the opening of his tent looking to express kindness even when there was no one in sight who was in need of kindness. Abraham’s heart was overflowing with love. For The more Abraham experienced the presence of G-d the more he sought to share with others, the more he transcended himself and sought to connect and to share with other people.
The verse continues “and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent when the day was hot.” the literal translation of the verse is that “and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent like the heat of the day”. The verse does not read “in the heat of the day”, but rather it says “like the heat of the day”.The verse implies that Abraham himself was like the “heat of the day”. Abraham himself was like the sun spreading warmth, love and enlightenment.
Many spiritual seekers seek to escape worldly distractions and seek enlightenment in solitude. The more enlightenment they experience the more removed they become from the rest of society. But Abraham taught us to realize that the closer one comes to spirituality, holiness and transcendence, the more the person will “sit at the opening of the tent”, seeking to express kindness even when the need is not immediately present before him or her. The closer one become to G-d the the more he or she will be “like the heat of the day”, like the sun, expressing warmth and friendship to all.
Feeling Connected Throughout the Day
The story of Abraham spans two portions in the book of Genesis: Lech Licha, which concludes with the story of Abraham circumcising himself, and Vayera, which begins with the story of G-d visiting Abraham when he was in the process of healing from the circumcision.
Why do the portions divide in a seemingly unnatural place? Why separate between the circumcision and the healing? The story divides at this point because after the circumcision Abraham was a completely transformed person. After the circumcision his experiences were radically different from before the circumcision.
G-d is the infinite creator who created a finite universe. Conventional wisdom would argue that in order to connect to the infinite G-d one must separate from the physical, escape the trappings of day to day life, and meditate on the infinite. Indeed, that was the experience of Abraham himself. When he would experience prophecy he would fall on his face and lose touch with physical reality for the duration of the prophetic experience.
Circumcision however, ushered in a new stage in Abraham’s connection to G-d. Circumcision embodies the purpose of all the Torah: to sanctify the material world, to the extent that the holiness permeates the flesh, and the bond with G-d is seen and felt in the physical world. Circumcision represents the true infinity of G-d. It expresses that G-d is not confined to the infinite but rather He can be found in the finite as well.
Thus, immediately after the circumcision, in the opening phrase of this week’s portion, a new stage in Abraham’s life begins. The Torah relates:
Now the Lord appeared to him in the plains of Mamre, and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent when the day was hot. (Genesis 18:1)
The extraordinary novelty of this verse is not that, for the first time, G-d appeared to Abraham in the middle of the day, while sitting at the door of his tent waiting for guests. In fact, what was exceptional was that Abraham experienced the revelation while simultaneously receiving his guests. As a result of the circumcision, physical reality was no longer a distraction from the Divine. The seemingly impassable gulf between heaven and earth, between material and spiritual, was bridged. Abraham could now experience G-d’s revelation while interacting with other human beings.
Only after the circumcision was Abraham capable of fathering Isaac. It was Isaac’s descendants who would accept the Torah at Sinai, and who would be tasked with the responsibility of connecting heaven and earth, infusing the physical reality with holiness through performing the commandments of the Torah.
The Torah relates that while experiencing the Divine revelation Abraham saw three people. Abraham ran toward them to invite them into his home. Abraham said:
"My lord, if only I have found favor in your eyes, please do not pass on from beside your servant.” (ibid. 18:3)
One interpretation is that Abraham was talking to the leader of the three guests, asking the guests to enter his tent. Another interpretation is that Abraham was talking to G-d; asking G-d to stand by and not leave Abraham’s presence while Abraham tended to his guests.
Contemporary commentators suggest that when Abraham said to G-d, “do not pass on from beside your servant”, do not leave me while I interact with people, Abraham was requesting that he be allowed to experience this newfound spiritual awareness. He was asking G-d for the ability to feel connected to G-d not only while engaging in spiritual pursuits but also while interacting with people. Abraham desired to feel the connection to G-d in every activity he engaged in, thus sanctifying every aspect of life.
(Adapted from Likutey Sichos Lech Licha vol. 1, Abarbenel, and commentary by Sivan Rahav Meir).
Relationships Require Two Wings
A bird cannot fly with one wing alone, and relationships cannot survive on love alone. To escape the pull of gravity, a relationship requires both the passion of love and the discipline of devotion and commitment.
The story of Abraham is told primarily in two portions of the Torah, Lech Lecha and Vayera. Lech Lecha tells of Abraham’s life up until his circumcision at age ninety nine. Vayera opens with the scene of Abraham, experiencing the pain of circumcision, sitting at the opening of his tent and seeking guests to invite:
And he lifted his eyes and saw, and behold, three men were standing beside him, and he saw and he ran toward them from the entrance of the tent, and he prostrated himself to the ground. (Genesis, 18:2).
The sages explain that the three people were in fact three angels, each assigned with a specific task. The Zohar, however, states that the three people appearing at Abraham’s tent represent the three patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. What is the significance of the three angels representing the three patriarchs?
Each of the Patriarchs embodied one of the three primary emotional attributes: Abraham embodied love (or giving), Isaac embodied awe (or discipline), and Jacob embodied compassion. [Kindness seeks to give to everyone, because it sees good in everyone; discipline, the opposite extreme, seeks to restrict the giving to those who deserve it. Compassion blends the two, on the one hand it acknowledges that not everyone is deserving, on the other hand, it is prepared to give to someone who is in need, even if undeserving].
Abraham was the embodiment of love, his entire life was about kindness, inviting guests, feeding travelers, and seeking to enlighten the people around him. Yet, love alone is not enough for a meaningful relationship. Ultimately all love is motivated by self love. A person loves someone or something because of how the person or the experience makes them feel. To transcend the self and connect to someone else, one needs commitment and devotion, or, in the language of the Torah, awe. The ability to put oneself aside and to do what the other person wants, despite it not being something one wants to do.
Indeed, the circumcision begins the process of Abraham being called upon to sacrifice for G-d (indeed, while the first portion of Abraham’s life primarily depicts Abraham’s love for G-d, the second portion, culminating in the ultimate sacrifice, the binding of Isaac, expresses how Abraham was called upon to express, not love, but disciplined commitment).
This, explains the Chassidic Masters, is the significance of the three men, representing the three patriarchs, who appeared at Abraham’s tent after the circumcision. They represent a combination of all three attributes. By not being satisfied with love alone, but rather, by exhibiting disciplined commitment, Abraham reached the level of true service of G-d; embodying the ability to blend the two opposite emotions of love (Abraham) and awe (Isaac), blended together through compassion (Jacob).
The stories of the Patriarchs are relevant to each of our lives. In our relationship with G-d, as well as in our relationship with other people, we must cultivate both “wings” to allow the relationship to soar. We must cultivate both love and commitment, the desire to become one and the discipline to respect our differences. Both wings are held together with the compassionate ability to balance the two.
(Adapted from Kedushas Levi)
The Disagreement Between Abraham and Sarah
Abraham and Sarah, the Patriarch and Matriarch of the Jewish people, were loving partners in marriage and partners in their spiritual path of monotheism. They dedicated their lives to serving G-d and spreading awareness of G-d throughout the land. There was, however, one major disagreement between Abraham and Sarah. They disagreed about how to relate to Ishmael, Abraham's oldest son, born to his maidservant Hagar. As the Torah describes:
And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, making merry. And Sarah said to Abraham, "Drive out this handmaid and her son, for the son of this handmaid shall not inherit with my son, with Isaac." (Genesis 21:9-11)
The divergent perspective of Abraham and Sarah was a result of their specific spiritual purpose. Abraham's mission was to spread monotheism to the entire world. G-d added the Hebrew letter Hey (which is the dominant letter in the Hebrew word Hamon which means many) to Abraham's name (changing the name from Abram to Abraham), because, as the verse states, "I have made you the father of a multitude of nations." In contrast, Sarah's primary spiritual mission was to cultivate and nurture the Jewish people. Therefore, when Ishamel was a threat to Isaac's spiritual development, Sarah demanded that Ishmael be sent away because the Jewish people were destined to emerge from Issac. To Abraham, however, the notion of sending away Ishamel was painful, not only because he was his son, but also because Abraham had a responsibility as the spiritual father and mentor of many nations, including the ones who would emerge from Ishamel.
G-d intervened and sided with Sarah:
And G-d said to Abraham, "Be not displeased concerning the lad and concerning your handmaid; whatever Sarah tells you, hearken to her voice, for in Isaac will be called your seed. (Genesis 21:12)
G-d told Abraham to send away Ishmael in order to protect Issac; in that sense, G-d agreed with Sarah. Yet, G-d also reiterated to Abraham that Ishamel was his child and that Abraham's influence and blessings would extend beyond the Jewish people:
But also the son of the handmaid I will make into a nation, because he is your seed." (Genesis 21:13)
We are descendants and heirs to the legacy of both Abraham and Sarah. Like Sarah, we have a responsibility to maintain and defend the distinct Jewish spiritual path and way of life. Yet, like Abraham, we have the responsibility to positively influence all of humanity. Perhaps the Torah is telling us that in order to influence Ishmael, we must first cultivate and protect Isaac. In order to contribute our unique contribution to humanity, we must first cultivate our Jewish Identity.
The Advantage of Brit Milah at Eight Days Old
Sibling rivalry is not a new phenomenon. It is a recurring theme in the book of Genesis.
The Midrash describes a rivalry between Abraham's two sons, Yishmael and Isaac, as to whose relationship with G-d was more "beloved". Yishmael contended that his connection was more profound as he was circumcised at the age of thirteen years old, when he had the ability to protest. Yet, Isaac countered that his relationship with G-d was more profound since he was circumcised at eight days old:
Yitzchak and Yishmael contended with each other. Yishmael argued, "I am more beloved than you because I was circumcised when I was thirteen years old." Yitzchak countered, "I am more beloved than you because I was circumcised at eight days." (Bereishis Rabbah, Vatera 55:4)
While Yishmael’s argument is clear, Isaac's is not at all obvious. What possible advantage is there to circumcision at eight days, when the child has no understanding of the act and no ability to consent?
Yishmael and Isaac represent two perspectives on the relationship with G-d. Yishmael argued that the relationship is predicated on, and proportional to, the person's appreciation of G-d and desire to connect to him. Isaac, however, understood that a human being cannot overcome the unbridgeable gap between a finite person and the infinite creator. Only G-d Himself can fuse creator and creation. Isaac understood that we don't create a relationship with G-d; but rather, by fulfilling a commandment, G-d binds himself to the person.
The Torah describes the covenant of circumcision as an everlasting covenant: "My covenant shall be in your flesh as an everlasting covenant." Isaac understood that nothing a human being can accomplish is eternal. The everlasting covenant is achieved by G-d alone. Isaac, therefore, argued that when a child is circumcised at eight days old, without any input on his part, it is clear and evident that the bond is real, that it is everlasting, because it is achieved by the infinite G-d.
One lesson from Yishmael and Isaac's debate is that Yishmael argued that since the human being creates the relationship, it has to be developed gradually over time. Yishmael argued that it takes years to build a connection based on appreciation and desire. Isaac teaches us that the most profound, eternal bond can happen instantaneously. All we need to do is perform a commandment which invites G-d to create the eternal bond.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayera 25:3 and Achron Shel Pesach 5741.
A Higher Purpose
Abraham led an extraordinary life.
He discovered G-d on his own. He had the courage to go against the popular beliefs and notions of his time. And he changed the course of history.
But how did Abraham keep busy on a daily basis?
The Torah tells us that Abraham's life’s focus was to "call in the name of Hashem", to teach people about G-d.
In last week's portion, we read:
"To the place of the altar that he had made at first, and Abram called there in the name of the Lord." (Genesis 12:4)
and then again (12:8):
"And he moved from there to the mountain, east of Beth el, and he pitched his tent; Beth el was to the west and Ai was to the east, and there he built an altar to the Lord, and he called in the name of the Lord."
In this week's portion (21:33) we read:
And he planted an Eishel {an orchard, or an inn} in Beer-Sheba, and he called there in the name of the Lord, the God of the world.
Earlier in the Torah, we read the cryptic story of the tower of Babel. The people, who at that point spoke one language, sought to build a city and a tower that reached the heavens. G-d was displeased with their plan and confused their language, which caused them to disperse and develop into many nations and languages. What the story does not explicitly state is what was so terrible with their plan that caused G-d to be so disturbed by their effort.
One interpretation is that they had no higher purpose in their life. In presenting their plan, the Torah states:
And they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make ourselves a name.
Their sole purpose was to "make a name" for themselves. They had no transcendent meaning in their life, nothing was greater than themselves. In addition to living a superficial life, being that their sole purpose was the advancement of self, there was no limit to what they would do to achieve that goal, setting aside morality and values.
The Midrash teaches that at first, Abraham, like everyone else, was involved in the construction of the tower, completely and wholeheartedly devoted to the endeavor. Eventually, Abraham became disillusioned, and he abandoned the project.
Abraham's search led him to focus on "the name of G-d" instead of "a name for ourselves". Abraham taught and shared with the world that we must incorporate spiritual values into our life. To live a life of decency, meaning, and joy, we must think about a purpose that is greater than ourselves. We must call in the name of Hashem.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Noach vol. 3
The Marriage of Heaven and Earth
Abraham is, undoubtedly, one of the most successful people in history. He began with an idea that pitted him against the entire world. He was called Abraham the Hebrew - etymologically the word Hebrew means “from the other side” - not just because he arrived in Israel from the other side of the river, but because, figuratively, he was “on the other side” of society’s belief system. While society was pagan, only Abraham was the Hebrew, “on the other side”, the outcast the believer in one G-d.
Today, three millenniums later, Abraham’s ideas succeeded in becoming mainstream. A majority of the world’s population, more than 3.8 billion people, consider themselves adherents to an Abrahamic religion.
How did Abraham view is achievements during his lifetime? What did he see as his mission, and how did he evaluate his accomplishments?
In this week's Parsha we read about Abraham dispatching his servant Eliezer to the Land of Charan to find a wife for his son Isaac. While instructing Eliezer about the details of his mission, Abraham assures Eliezer that G-d will help him succeed in finding a proper match for Isaac. Abraham says:
The Lord, God of the heavens, Who took me from my father's house and from the land of my birth, and Who spoke about me, and Who swore to me, saying, 'To your seed will I give this land' He will send His angel before you, and you shall take a wife for my son from there.
Rashi, the classic commentator of the Torah, is intrigued by Abraham’s description of G-d. In this verse Abraham refers to G-d only as the “G-d of heavens”, yet in an earlier verse Abraham refers to G-d as the “the God of the heaven and the God of the earth”. Why the change? Rashi explains that Abraham was telling Eliezer:
“Now He is the God of the heaven and the God of the earth, because I have made Him familiar in the mouths of the people, but when He took me from my father’s house, He was the God of the heavens but not the God of the earth, because mankind did not acknowledge Him, and His name was not familiar on the earth.”
Abraham is telling Eliezer that when he first heeded G-d’s calling, leaving his father’s home and journeying to what would become the land of Israel, G-d was only the G-d of the heavens. Now, after decades of work in the land of Israel, G-d is not only the G-d of heaven but he is also the G-d of the earth, he is at home not only in heaven but also on earth.
This is Abraham’s achievement. Abraham is not satisfied with a G-d in heaven, Abraham wants G-d to be felt right here on earth.
Each of our lives is comprised of "heaven" and "earth". There are moments when we are in "heaven", we are connecting to spirituality. praying, performing acts of kindness, studying Torah, and feeling connected to the Divine.
Then, there are the "earth" moments. Moments when we feel that our existence is mundane. we may be at work, eating lunch, running errands, sitting in traffic, and the list goes on.
Abraham teaches us that the core of Judaism is to bridge the gap between heaven and earth. The message of Judaism is that G-d wants to feel at home not only in heaven but also on earth. that we can and should infuse our earthly activities with spirituality and meaning.
Abraham teaches us, that to be a Jew is to experience that G-d is "God of the heaven and the God of the earth".
The Emissary
Who is the most important character in the book of Genesis? Who is the character that we can most identify with?
That character is not one of our three patriarchs or four matriarchs, not one of their children or relatives and not one of the twelve tribes of Israel.
That character, in whom we see our own story, is none other than the hero of this week’s Torah portion: Eliezer the servant of Abraham.
The patriarchs and matriarchs are more than just the founding fathers and mothers of our people. According to the Kabbalistic teachings, they are our patriarchs and matriarchs because the soul of each and every individual Jew is comprised of the qualities and attributes embodied by them.
And yet, often, it can be hard for us to identify with our patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The Midrash teaches us that “The Patriarchs are truly the [Divine] chariot”, just as a chariot has no will of it’s own, and is but a vehicle for the rider, so too the Patriarchs served as a vehicle for nothing but the Divine Will.
So while our soul possesses love, the attribute of Abraham, awe and discipline, the attribute of Isaac, and compassion, the attribute of Jacob, we also hang on to our own identity. We navigate through life, and we want to know “what’s in it for me”. We don’t always identify with the “chariot” of our history, with those men and women who saw themselves exclusively as chariots to the divine will.
Enter Eliezer.
Eliezer was the servant of Abraham, dispatched to a distant land to find a bride for Isaac. Eliezer was entrusted with facilitating the marriage that would produce the Jewish people, whose job it would be to bring heaven and earth together in marriage.
Eliezer himself had mixed feelings about his mission. On the one hand, he understood the importance of fulfilling Abraham’s request of finding a wife for Isaac from among Abraham’s family, but on the other hand he had a psychological resistance to the success of the mission. According to the Midrash, Eliezer hoped that his own daughter would be the one to marry Isaac, thus, the success of his mission would spell the end of his own personal aspiration.
Before Eliezer embarked on his mission he said to Abraham: 'Perhaps the woman will not follow me?'. Rashi points out that there was a deeper meaning to this innocent sounding question:
Perhaps the woman will not follow me: It [the word אֻלַי (perhaps)] is written [without a “vav” and may be read] אֵלַי (to me). Eliezer had a daughter, and he was looking for a pretext so that Abraham would tell him, to turn to him, to marry off his daughter to him (Isaac).
Eliezer is not a son who is capable of completely surrendering himself to his parents. Eliezer is an independent person. An Emissary. An individual with his own personality, perspective and agenda. And yet, it is specifically Eliezer, despite his misgivings about the mission, who succeeds in his mission of arranging the marriage. Despite his own doubts and misgivings, he is the one who, relying on his own initiative, using his own creativity, employing his own judgment, is instrumental in the marriage that would perpetuate Abraham’s legacy for all future generations.
If the purpose of creation is to bring together spirit and matter, then that purpose must be carried out by people like you and me, who, like Eliezer, possess both polar opposites within themselves. By combining our own identity and perspective with the perspective of the Divine we are able to use our personal gifts, talents and unique touch to carry out the vision of the creator. Only when the two diametrical parts of ourselves, the voice of Abraham and the voice of our own individuality, collaborate to achieve one goal, are we able to unite our internal ”heaven” and “earth”, are we able to accomplish the purpose of creation of the universe and fuse the material with the spiritual.
Abraham the Landowner
The first recorded real estate deal negotiated by a Jew appears in this week’s Torah portion, when Abraham sought to purchase a piece of land in order to bury his beloved wife Sarah.
What emerges from the transcript of the conversation between Abraham and the sellers, the children of Chet, is that the children of Chet had enormous respect for Abraham, they refer to him as “a prince of G-d”, they were happy to allow him to bury Sarah anywhere he would chose, including in the “the choicest of our graves”. Yet, while they were happy to gift the land to Abraham they were reluctant to sell any real estate to him. As the Torah relates:
And the sons of Chet answered Abraham, saying to him, "Listen to us, my lord; you are a prince of God in our midst; in the choicest of our graves bury your dead. None of us will withhold his grave from you to bury your dead."
Indeed, when Abraham identified the piece of land he wanted to purchase, the cave of Machpela, situated in the field of a man by the name of Ephron, the same attitude prevailed: Ephron did not want to sell the land, instead he offered to gift the field to Abraham free of charge. Only after Abraham insisted that he wanted to pay the full price did Ephron agree to sell the land for an astronomical sum.
Why were the children of Chet and Ephron reluctant to sell to Abraham? Was it just a negotiating tactic to extract a higher price for the desired field?
Nachmanides, the great 13th century Biblical commentary, explains that the sale of the land to Abraham was a political statement, because, in that culture, owning a plot of land for burial was a symbol of permanent residence. The children of Chet considered owning a plot for burial to be a symbol of deep rooted connection to the land, they therefore would grant any sojourner an individual place for burial, but would only sell a burial plot to members of their own tribe. Thus selling land to Abraham for burial was an acknowledgement that the connection of Abraham and his family to the land was deep as well as eternal.
Like every story in the Torah, this story too has multiple layers. In addition to the political interpretation offered by Nachmanides there is also a philosophical interpretation which explains the reluctance of the children of Chet to sell land to Abraham, specifically because of the high esteem in which they held Abraham.
The children of Chet had great respect for Abraham, and understood that he was a deeply spiritual person, who believed in, and was completely devoted to, an intangible, infinite G-d. They referred to him as “prince of G-d”, they were privileged to honor him and allow him to use any piece of land he desired. Yet they did not think it befitting for Abraham to actually own the land, because a title holder was granted the right to voice an opinion and have a vote on matters relevant to the local economy and everyday life. The children of Chet strongly believed that someone as intensely spiritual as Abraham should remain in the world of abstract ideas and not get involved in the tangible details of daily life and the local economy.
Abraham insisted otherwise and he eventually persuaded the children of Chet to agree with him. Abraham explained to them that the sacred is not reserved for the house of worship, that holiness is not exclusive to the realm of ideas. Abraham taught that the calling of a Jew is to bring heaven down to earth, to infuse every aspect of life with spirituality. Abraham taught that a Jew must be a “landowner”. He or she must take ownership of the tangible earth and sanctify it with holiness and meaning.
The Genesis of Liberty
Liberty and freedom are fundamental to the Torah’s values, teachings and stories. The struggle for liberty and freedom plays out dramatically and powerfully in the second book of the five books of Moses. Yet a careful read of the first book, the book of Genesis shows that liberty is embedded from very beginning, early on in the life and teachings of Abraham our first patriarch.
Let us begin with this week’s portion, the portion of Chayey Sarah. Most of the portion is dedicated to the story of how Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, was dispatched to Charan to find a wife for Isaac, Abraham's son. The Torah relates how Abraham requested that Isaac only marry someone from Abraham’s own birthplace.
[This pattern continued in the next generation. Rebecca, Isaac's wife, insisted that her son Jacob not marry a woman from the land of Canaan but rather she instructed her son to go back to Charan, her birth place, and marry from amongst her own family].
Why not marry someone from the land of Canaan? Wasn't the land of Canaan the place where G-d instructed Abraham to travel to, “go to yourself”, “to the land that I will show you”?
To understand the nature of Canaan we must try to figure out who Canaan was, what his value system, culture and belief system were. When we journey back in the story we read about Noah and his three sons who were saved from the flood. The youngest of the children was Ham the father of Canaan.
After the flood, the first thing Noah did was plant a vineyard. The Torah tells us:
And Noah began to be a master of the soil, and he planted a vineyard.
And he drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent.
And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness, and he told his two brothers outside. And Shem and Japheth took the garment, and they placed [it] on both of their shoulders, and they walked backwards, and they covered their father's nakedness, and their faces were turned backwards, so that they did not see their father's nakedness.”
Noah awoke from his wine, and he knew what his small son had done to him. And he said, "Cursed be Canaan; he shall be a slave among slaves to his brethren." [Genesis 9:20-25].
What is the meaning of the curse “he will be a slave”? Does it mean, that the Torah condones slavery? More specifically, does it mean that the Torah approved of the descendants of Shem and Japheth enslaving the children of Ham?
The descendants of Ham believed that the best way to create a successful civilization was through hierarchy; each class submitting to the class above it and ultimately at the top of the pyramid rests the king to who all must submit. They believed that in order for society to reach its full economic potential, and for society to be strong and protected, the individual must submit to the hierarchy, he must give up a significant portion of his freedom in exchange for the prosperity and security he would receive in return.
No surprise then that the first king recorded in the Torah was Nimrod, a descendant of Ham. ["Like Nimrod, a mighty hunter before the Lord.” And the beginning of his kingdom was Babylon and Erech and Accad and Calneh, in the land of Shinar. Ibid. 10:9-10] Nimrod was also the one who conceived of the idea to build the tower of Babel, “a tower whose head reaches the heavens”. Nimrod surely understood that no tower can reach the heavens, but this was a political ploy to get the people to submit to a building project that would never be completed.
Abraham himself [according to some opinions, (see Iben Ezra)] was enthusiastically involved in the building of the tower. The young idealistic Abraham must have been excited by Nimrod’s great vision of transcending the individual and submitting to the collective. Yet, in time, Abraham became disillusioned with Nimrod, Abraham rejected Nimrod and his vision of a society built upon the individual submitting and relinquishing his own freedom in return for economic security.
Abraham’s spiritual search eventually led him to discover the truth of Monotheism: there is only one source of power in the universe and no other angel, force of nature, or human being has any control.
Then, in the third portion of the Torah, we read about how G-d appeared to Abraham telling him to go to the land of Canaan. The Torah then goes into very specific details about the geo-political state of Canaan at the time:
Now it came to pass in the days of Amraphel the king of Shinar, Arioch the king of Ellasar, Chedorlaomer the king of Elam, and Tidal the king of Goyim.
That they waged war with Bera the king of Sodom and with Birsha the king of Gomorrah, Shineab the king of Admah, and Shemeber the king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela, which is Zoar.
All these joined in the valley of Siddim, which is the Dead Sea.
For twelve years they served Chedorlaomer, and for thirteen years they rebelled.
And in the fourteenth year, Chedorlaomer came, and the kings who were with him, and they smote the Rephaim in Ashteroth Karnaim and the Zuzim in Ham, and the Emim in Shaveh Kiriathaim. [ibid. 14:1-5].
Why so many kings? Because they were the descendants of Ham and Canaan who believed in submitting to the stronger party in order to gain security. Which is why the five kings, in turn submitted to the four kings, each class submitted to the class above it in the hierarchy. But as soon as Abraham arrived on the scene preaching monotheism , things began to change. We read about Lot, Abraham’s nephew, moving to Sedom. What happens next? The king of Sedom, and the five kings rebel against the four kings. Hard not to see the influence of Abraham’s idea of freedom beginning to affect the five kings.
The four kings, including Nimrod who was mentioned earlier, the first to create a form of an empire, joined the other three kings and crushed the rebellion. Who do they take captive? Who is their true enemy? Not the king of Sedom who rebelled against them, but rather Lot the nephew of Abraham, the one spreading dangerous ideas of freedom.
Abraham then launched a surprise gorilla attack and defeated the four kings. He risked his life in order to save his nephew, but also to free the land of the oppressive ideology of the four kings, the suppressive ideology of the children of Cham and Canaan.
The attitude of submission to hierarchy prevalent in the political realm, affected their spiritual beliefs as well. They understood the universe to be a hierarchy of power, with the human being controlled by forces outside of himself. Thus morality, which is based on personal choice, on the freedom to make the right choice, was virtually non existent. For if one is controlled by the gods and powers of nature, then one cannot be asked to fight his own instincts and commit to a moral choice.
Underlying the stories of the book of Genesis is a culture clash between the philosophy of Cham, which seeks to submit to and serve any power stronger than himself, which denies that the human beings greatest gift is the gift of moral freedom; and the teachings of monotheism as embodied by Abraham who taught that the one G-d endows us with the freedom to choose moralistically. The human being is not controlled by the forces of nature, not by a group of Gods battling with each other over authority, not by instinct and not by astrology. For the only authority in the universe is the one G-d.
Thus, when Abraham began to search for a wife for his son Isaac, for a matriarch of the future people of Israel, and when Rebecca wanted her son to marry and build the nation that would teach the world about monotheism and the freedom and liberty it inspires, they understood that the culture of Canaan, a culture that believed that the human being is enslaved by his instincts to the forces of nature, must be rejected.
Thus Abraham turned to his own family, the descendant of Shem son of Noah. For they were open and ready to accept the responsibilities of freedom, the dedication to morality, inspired by the belief in the one G-d.
The Journey Toward Joy
From the dawn of history people have been searching for a sense of joy which is as elusive as it is desirable.
When Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden in a state of tranquility and spiritual enlightenment, free of worry and hardship, they were unsatisfied, and therefore susceptible to the temptation of the forbidden fruit:
And the woman saw that the tree was good for food and that it was a delight to the eyes, and the tree was desirable to make one wise; so she took of its fruit, and she ate, and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate. (Genesis 3:6)
According to the Kabbalah, what Eve wanted more than anything, was not the fruit per se but rather she was seeking a feeling of the subjective self. In Eden there was no feeling of self, only an awareness of the Divine presence. The serpent showed Eve that one could experience a sense of self which created desire. Fulfilling one’s own desire and pleasure, argued the serpent, is the way joy can be achieved. Unfortunately, experiencing the sense of ego resulted in tragic consequences. In a matter of a few generations humanity had deteriorated, the world was filled with moral corruption, and G-d brought the flood upon the earth.
As soon as Noah disembarked from the ark, we read:
And Noah began to be a master of the soil, and he planted a vineyard. And he drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent. (ibid. 9:21)
Noah was no simple drunk who was finally able to get back the bottle after a full year in the ark. Drinking wine was Noah’s attempt to correct the spiritual effect of the sin of the tree of knowledge which brought about the moral depravity which ultimately led to the flood. Noah understood that ever since Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden mankind possessed the feeling of self, which among other things, focused their attention on their own needs. This led to selfishness which robbed them of happiness. For the ego is never satisfied with what it has, however much it has it always desires more.
Noah wanted to reverse the course of human psychology, he desired to break free of the confines of the ego, and, at least temporarily escape the feeling of self. He hoped that getting drunk would suspend the sense of self and would bring about bliss and joy.
Very quickly, however, Noah learned that the route to joy is not the suspension of consciousness through consuming alcohol. That episode did not end well.
And then came Sarah our matriarch. According to the Kabbalists Sarah was the first person to achieve the wholesome experience of a joyous life. She was the first to “correct” the negative behavior of Eve and Noah. Sarah understood that the path to joy does not run through the experience of self, like the pleasure of the fruit of the tree of knowledge; nor can it be achieved by escaping self awareness as Noah attempted to do. Sarah understood that while we cannot go back in time and return to Eden,while we cannot liberate ourselves from the sense of self, we can achieve joy by devoting ourselves to something greater than ourselves. When our sense of self is part of a transcendent experience, we are able to escape the ego without destroying awareness.
As a consequence of the sin of the tree of knowledge, G-d told Eve “in sadness you shall bear children. (ibid. 3:16)”. For in a world where people perceive themselves, there is pleasure but also sadness. Yet, many generations later, Sarah understood that devoting oneself to raising a child, devoting oneself to a purpose beyond one's own self, is a model for becoming holy and achieving joy. Indeed when Sarah gave birth she named her son Isaac, which means joy and laughter. She modeled the transformation from pain to joy not only for herself but also for everyone around her, as the Torah relates,And Sarah said, "God has made joy for me; whoever hears will rejoice over me." (ibid. 20:6)
Sarah teaches us that in order to transcend the ego which stifles joy, one must transcend oneself by being part of a greater story and a greater mission; a mission to make the world a better place by carrying out the Divine purpose of creation.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Vayihiyu Chayey Sarah 5741).
The Double Cave
Mearat Hamachpela, “the double cave”, was the place Abraham chose to purchase for the burial of his wife Sarah. The Torah describes how Abraham negotiated and ultimately purchased the cave, yet the Torah does not explain why Abraham chose that particular spot, which ultimately became the burial spot of our patriarchs and matriarchs (excluding Rachel).
In order to discover the mystical and spiritual significance of the cave we must first explore why the cave was called “the double cave”. The Talmud relates:
With regard to the Machpelah Cave, in which the patriarchs and matriarchs are buried, Rav and Shmuel disagreed. One said: The cave consists of two rooms, one further in than the other. And one said: It consists of a room and a second story above it. (Eiruvin 53a)
The Chassidic masters explain that the configuration of the cave explained in the Talmud is a physical representation of a spiritual reality. The patriarchs and matriarchs embodied the concept of “the double cave” in their lifetime, they therefore merited to be buried in that holy spot, which, as explained in the Zohar, is the “opening of Eden”, it is the place on earth that represents the entrance to heaven. This is the meaning of “the double cave”, the space of the cave is “double”, it possesses a dual reality, it is the place where dimensions of both earth and heaven, of physical and spiritual, are present.
The Chassidic masters elaborate: one opinion in the Talmud is that the word “double” refers to the cave consisting of two stories, one above the other. This represents the awareness that every person possesses two dimensions, one above the other; the first level represents ordinary material life, in which we are preoccupied primarily with the needs of our body, and “above” the physical reality is the domain of the soul, the higher more spiritual side of self. The patriarchs and matriarchs teach us to live in both these dimensions simultaneously, not to be satisfied with a materialistic definition of self, but rather to seek and experience our heavenly dimension, to feel the yearning of our soul to ascend to its source within G-d himself.
Once we are in touch with the “higher story” dimension of life we can appreciate the other interpretation in the Talmud, which is that the cave was called “double” because it consisted of an outer chamber and an inner chamber. The symbolism of “two rooms, one further in than the other” is that in every person we meet, and every experience we encounter, we have a choice to focus exclusively on the externality of the person or experience, or we can look deeper and see the “inner room”, the inner soul and spark of G-d that lies hidden within every person we meet and every experience we encounter.
The double cave represents the legacy our patriarchs and matriarchs pass on to us. We should live to its fullest, not being satisfied with the shallow and superficial dimension of existence. We must seek to experience both the “room and a second story above it”, both our physical awareness as well as the heavenly source of our soul. The awareness of both dimensions of self will allow us to see, not only the outer chamber, the external, but also the inner chamber, the deepest holy core of every person and of every experience.
(Adapted from the Sfas Emes)
The Meaning of Kindness
When it came time for Isaac to marry, Abraham called his servant Eliezer and appointed him to go to Abraham's birthplace to find a wife for Isaac.
And Abraham said to his servant, the elder of his house, who ruled over all that was his, "Please place your hand under my thigh. And I will adjure you by the Lord, the God of the heaven and the God of the earth, that you will not take a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, in whose midst I dwell. But you shall go to my land and to my birthplace, and you shall take a wife for my son, for Isaac." (Genesis 24:2-4)
The commentators explain that the Canaanite girls were unkind. Abraham understood that the most important criteria in marriage and the foundational quality for the matriarch of the Jewish people is kindness. Indeed, when Eliezer arrived in Charan, he created a test to determine which girl possesses the attribute of kindness.
Analyzing Eliezer's test gives us insight into the true meaning of kindness. The Torah relates:
And the servant ran toward her, and he said, "Please let me sip a little water from your pitcher." And she said, "Drink, my lord." And she hastened and lowered her pitcher to her hand, and she gave him to drink. And she finished giving him to drink, and she said, "I will also draw for your camels, until they will have finished drinking." And she hastened, and she emptied her pitcher into the trough, and she ran again to the well to draw water, and she drew for all his camels. (Genesis 24:17-20)
Eliezer asked for a sip of water. Yet Rebekah understood that the full extent of kindness is not merely responding to a request. Rebekah understood that beneath the articulated need lie a deeper need.
This story is relevant to each of us. In our relationships, we sometimes wait for a child, spouse, colleague or friend, to articulate what they need, and when they do, we try to provide support. Rebekah, on the other hand, teaches us to look for the deeper need that is not articulated. Rebekah teaches us to be present and in tune with the people around us. Rebekah teaches us that true kindness begins with a deep awareness of another person, which allows us to give without waiting to be asked.
Love and Marriage
This is a Parsha about a matchmaker, Abraham's servant Eliezer, and his efforts to create a marriage between two very different people. Isaac was raised in a holy environment. From the moment he was offered as an offering to G-d at the binding of Isaac, he was considered sacred and was not permitted to leave the land of Israel. Rebecca, by contrast, was raised in a distant land surrounded by less-than-honest people. Isaac was an introvert; discipline and "strength" was the dominant emotion in his personality, whereas Rebecca was the opposite, the epitome of outstanding kindness and giving. Yet, despite this seemingly unlikely match, theirs is the first marriage in the Torah that describes love.
Perhaps the marriage of Isaac and Rebecca offers lessons on how to reach and maintain true and lasting love. Perhaps the first lesson is that the foundation of a healthy relationship is not love but respect. While both love and respect are essential for a relationship, love without respect, the expansion of self that does not consider the other person and their needs, can be overwhelming and even hurtful. Love, the desire to connect to another person, must be predicated on respecting the other person's needs, personality, and perspective. Indeed, the first time Rebecca meets Isaac, the scene describes not euphoric love but rather awe and respect. As the verse states:
Rebecca lifted her eyes, and saw Isaac, and she let herself down from the camel. And she said to the servant, "Who is that man walking in the field towards us?" And the servant said, "He is my master." And she took the veil and covered herself.
The Torah then describes their marriage and love:
And Isaac brought her to the tent of Sarah, his mother, and he took Rebecca, and she became his wife, and he loved her. And Isaac was comforted for [the loss of] his mother.
Perhaps counterintuitively, and sometimes overlooked, is that "and he loved her" is written not as a reason for the marriage but rather as a result of the marriage. The Torah may be signaling that true love is a process that takes time to develop. True love is developed by many small acts of consideration, giving, and kindness. The act of giving is not merely the result of love; but rather, it can be the cause that intensifies love. The more kindness we bestow in a relationship, the more love we will experience.
Finding a Wife, and G-d, at the Well
Abraham dispatched his servant Eliezer to the distant land of Charan to find a bride for his son Isaac. Eliezer arrived at the well in the center of town, and prayed to G-d for success. He requested that G-d give him a sign that the girl was the right one for Isaac. If, when he would ask a girl for water to drink, she would also offer to provide water for his camels, it would be clear that she was the one destined for Isaac.
When the events played out exactly as Eliezer had hoped, his response was surprising. Eliezer was not happy, elated, or grateful. Eliezer was astonished! The Torah tells us:
And the man was astonished at her, standing silent, [waiting] to know whether the Lord had caused his way to prosper or not. (Genesis 24:21)
Why was Eliezer so surprised when his prayer was accepted and his plan was successful?
Eliezer believed in G-d. He understood that one can have a deep relationship with G-d through meditation and prayer. Yet, what was astonishing to him was seeing G-d’s hand play out not in the house of worship but in the daily affairs in the market place or at the well. Eliezer believed in an exalted, transcendent G-d, and was astonished to experience the infinite G-d helping him through what seemed to be a chance occurrence.
Perhaps this is one of the messages of the story, and why the Torah repeats the episode with Eliezer multiple times. As Rashi quotes the Midrash:
Rabbi Acha said: The ordinary conversation of the servants of the Patriarchs is more beloved before G-d than the Torah of their sons, for the section dealing with Eliezer is repeated in the Torah, whereas many fundamentals of the Torah were given only through allusions. (24:42)
“The Torah of the sons” is how we connect to G-d by internalizing His wisdom. Yet the “conversations of servants of the Patriarchs” are more beautiful, because they teach us that the infinite G-d is present not only in meditation but also when one is looking for a soul mate; not only in the halls of study but also in the everyday interactions of man.
Your Heart and Your Mind
Your mind and heart are opposites.
Your mind breaks everything into small bite size pieces, while your heart sweeps everything in as one.
Your heart, knows no details. If your heart is in love, it is in live completely. If it loves someone, then the totality of that person, with all his or her complexities, are all swept up in the love. In the moment of love there can be no annoying details. If someone tells you ‘I love all of you except for one small detail about you that annoys me’, then you know it is not their heart talking it’s their mind talking. for the heart is blind to detail. If her heart loves you then she sees no bad in you.
Your mind, on the other hand, is analytical. It breaks an idea into small parts, it analyzes them, accepting some polishing others and throwing some out. When something exciting happens, your mind’s job is to cool you down. It knows that, indeed, the news is exciting, but it is smart enough to know that ‘the devil is in the details’. The mind gets paid to tell you things like: ‘sure you love the new job offer, but are you really willing to put up with the extra commute time?’, or ‘sure he makes you happy, but is he really right for you?’.
So the next time you are not sure if what you love is right for you, and you take a sheet of paper and list the pros and cons, what you are doing is applying the analytical mind to the passionate heart. This application does not come without a cost. You see, the reason the heart can get so much more excited then the mind is precisely because it does not look at details. For when you weigh every detail individually, somehow, the magic escapes.
But following the passionate heart, is also not a great solution. Sure, the passion and drive are powerful forces that can propel you to great heights, but, like the saying goes, it’s like ‘the blind leading the blind’. Follow your hearts passion, without the mind’s approval, and you may end up in places you don’t want to be. For the heart is from the world of ‘Chaos’, intense passion bit no direction, and the mind is all about ‘Order’. And the holistic lifestyle is the one where the mind, cool and collected, shows the heart where to express it’s passion. In Kabbalistic terminology: only the world of order can elevate the world of chaos.
This, says Chasidic philosophy, explains all you need to know about Esau and Jacob.
Isaac loved Esau. Why? Because he saw the energy of chaos. For the Judaism to survive, argues Isaac, you need passion, commitment, and emotional strength. The intellectual may have the right ideas, but he also has no drive to fight for, and protect, those ideas. You need an Esau to carry, safeguard, and implement your message.
Rebecca disagrees.
Esau has awesome potential. Indeed. But he needs Jacob as his compass. Give Esau the blessings and you risk him using them to further his base desires rather than the perpetuation of his grandfather's legacy. So she convinces a reluctant Jacob to steal the blessings designed for Esau. She understands, that we need Esau’s great quality. But Esau’s chaotic power needs direction.
It needs a Jacob.
The Deception
In what is one of the most dramatic stories in the Torah, we read about Jacob’s epic deception, he tricked his father Isaac, presenting himself as his older brother Esau, thus stealing the blessing from Esau.
This story raises many questions:
Why did Isaac, the quintessential spiritual person, someone who was prepared to offer himself as a sacrifice to G-d, want to bless his older son, the one who abandoned the tents of study and who spent his time out in the field leading a hunter’s lifestyle?
Why did Rebecca conspire to trick her husband Isaac? If she felt, as she did, that her younger son, Jacob, was deserving of the blessings, why did she not speak to her husband and convince him of her perspective?
Why the deception?
To understand the story we must look at the actual blessing that Isaac was about to give. Isaac opened his blessings to his son, whom he thought was Esau, with the words:
And may the Lord give you of the dew of the heavens and [of] the fatness of the earth and an abundance of grain and wine. Nations shall serve you and kingdoms shall bow down to you; you shall be a master over your brothers, and your mother's sons shall bow down to you. Those who curse you shall be cursed, and those who bless you shall be blessed."
The blessing that Jacob received through deception was a blessing for material success. Only later in the story, when Isaac sent Jacob to the land of Charan, did Isaac bless Jacob with the spiritual blessing of the legacy of Abraham and the land of Israel:
And Isaac called Jacob and blessed him... And may the Almighty God bless you and make you fruitful and multiply you, and you shall become an assembly of peoples. And may He give you the blessing of Abraham, to you and to your seed with you, that you may inherit the land of your sojournings, which God gave to Abraham."
Isaac never intended to bless Esau with the spiritual blessing and make him the bearer of the legacy of Abraham. Isaac understood that the studious Jacob was the one fit to carry forth the teachings of Judaism. Isaac intended to bless Esau with a blessing of material prosperity. Isaac hoped that a partnership between the secular Esau and the spiritual Jacob would ensure the future of the legacy of Abraham.
Isaac’s plan was not meant to be.
Rebecca understood that the spiritual blessing, the “blessing of Abraham”, which naturally was Jacob’s domain, as well as the blessing of material success, “the dew of the heaven and the fat of the land”, which naturally was Esau’s domain, must both be given to Jacob. She understood that, in Judaism’s view, the material cannot be separated from the spiritual. She understood that materialism devoid of spirituality and spirituality that does not affect the material are both deeply problematic. She understood that Jacob, the spiritual person, must also possess the material blessings.
And here we arrive at the spiritual meaning of deception.
The first instance where the Torah mentions deception is in the context of the sin of the tree of knowledge. The Torah tells us that the serpent who enticed Eve to see “that the tree was good for food and that it was a delight to the eyes” “was cunning, more than all the beasts of the field”. Thus there is a connection between the cunning snake and the deception of Jacob. The Torah teaches us that the deception of the snake can only be corrected by the deception of Jacob.
According to the Zohar, the primary book of Jewish mysticism, Rebecca and Jacob represent Adam and Eve, who, after being deceived by the serpent, were now using cunningness to correct the effect of the snake’s deception.
What is deception?
Deception occurs when the inner and outer layers are not in sync. When a person’s external actions are inconsistent with their inner motives they are being deceptive. When the serpent told Eve to focus on the outer layer of reality of the fruit of the tree, that it appeared delightful to the eyes, but not on its inner energy and purpose, that was deception.
And when the intensely spiritual Jacob, sought material blessing, when he invested his ambition in the achievement of material success, he was also being deceptive. Jacob’s seeming interest in materialism, was indeed a deception. For in truth Jacob’s inner desire was to serve his spiritual legacy.
On the surface it appeared that Jacob was like the rest of them. That he desired the dew and the fat of the land, the grain and the wealth for its own sake. But that was but a deception. Nothing could be farther from the truth. For Jacob desired material blessing in order to advance his spiritual goals. Jacob wanted the dew and the grain, not for its own sake but rather in order to successfully perpetuate the “blessing of Abraham”.
Happiness vs. Ambition
The art of living a good life is the art of maintaining a balance between happiness and ambition.
Happiness and ambition, while they are both important to our physical and mental well being, are contradictory feelings that, in some cases, can undermine each other. To be happy is to be content with one’s lot, while to be ambitious one must feel that what one has is not enough. To be happy one must feel satisfied while to be ambitious one must feel hungry. To feel happiness is to feel that there is no gap between what you have and what you want, while ambition is motivated by seeing the great gap between what you have already achieved and what remains to be achieved.
The tension between happiness and ambition, between feeling close to one’s goals and distant from them, expresses itself in many other areas of life; one example is in the realm of education.
Say I want to motivate my daughter to tackle a new subject, study a new course of learning and take a test on advanced material. There are two methods I can use to inspire her. I can tell her that the test will not be too hard for her. I can remind her of her gift of intelligence and tell her that if she puts herself to it she will be able to achieve success. What I am doing for her is narrowing the gap between the way she perceives her abilities and the goal. I am telling her that the goal is closer to her than she realizes.
Another method of inspiration would be to do the exact opposite. The second option would be to widen the gap. I would emphasize to her that the subject material is more difficult and challenging than anything she has experienced in the past. I am cautioning her not to underestimate the daunting task ahead. I am reminding her of the awesomeness of the challenge at hand. I am doing so not in order to scare her away, on the contrary, I am emphasizing the distance of the task in order to inspire her to grow beyond her comfort zone and to outperform the effort she is used to investing. I am emphasizing the distance in order to encourage her to do what it takes to grow into the person who can undertake this challenge.
These two paths, emphasizing the closeness and emphasizing the distance, were the two paths of our patriarchs, Abraham and Isaac.
Abraham embodied love. He taught people to develop a love for G-d. Love is only possible when someone feels a degree of closeness to the beloved. Abraham taught people to see that G-d loves them, to feel his closeness and to be inspired by the bond between the creator and his creation. Abraham taught people to rejoice and celebrate in their relationship with G-d.
Isaac embodied the attribute of awe. Isaac felt the intense unbridgeable gap between the finite creation and the infinite G-d. Isaac felt acutely that no matter how much one achieves, no matter how high one climbs on the ladder of holiness, he is still insignificant compared to the infinite. Isaac perceived the distance that exists between man and his creator. Yet the perception of distance encouraged not a feeling of sadness but rather a feeling of ambition. Feeling the distance encouraged the person to keep evolving and growing in their spiritual journey.
Which path is the right path?
To survive in this world we need both happiness and ambition. To enjoy a healthy relationship with G-d we need to experience both love and awe. We need to feel the comfort of G-d’s embrace as well as the ambition to keep climbing, to escape the finite and cling to the infinite.
To be a healthy Jew we must embody both the attribute of Abraham as well as the attribute of Isaac. We need to be spiritually happy and at the same time spiritually ambitious.
Keep Laughing
It’s a strange name to give a child.
The child of Abraham and Sarah, the first child to be born to a Jewish family, was named Yitzchok, or Isaac, which means laughter.
Why would Abraham and Sarah chose the name laughter for their child who was destined to be a deeply spiritual person and a patriarch of the Jewish people?
The name Isaac is even more ironic when we consider that the nature and character of Isaac seems to be the precise opposite of laughter and joy. While Abraham was an outgoing extrovert, Isaac kept to himself; while Abraham is characterized in the Torah as the lover of G-d, Isaac is characterized as being in awe of G-d. While Abraham represents the attribute of kindness and giving, Isaac embodies the attributes of strength and discipline. The name Isaac - Joy and laughter - seems out of character with his identity and spiritual path.
An important ingredient in humor is that in order to be funny the situation has to be unpredictable and unexpected. The same is true about the broader meaning of the word laughter: a person experiencing a measure of goodness will feel happiness in his heart, yet in order for happiness to overflow from his heart and express itself in laughter he must experience more than the expected measure of joy. Happiness becomes laughter when the joyous event surpasses all expectations.
The Torah tells us that when Sarah gave birth to her son she said:
And Sarah said, "God has made joy for me; whoever hears will rejoice over me." And she said, "Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children, for I have borne a son to his old age!" [Genesis 21:6-7]
Sarah’s giving birth to a child in her old age was more than just a happy event, it was an event that defied all expectations. Every time Sarah held her son in her arms she was overwhelmed with joy. The overwhelming joy caused her to name her son Isaac/laughter.
As Sarah held her son in her arms she knew that just as his birth was an event that defied expectations, so too the people he would father would be a people whose destiny would not be defined by predictions and expectations. Their very survival would be a miracle. Sarah understood that while Isaac might not be the most charismatic of the patriarchs, he would possess the ability to create an unpredictable transformation. He would have the unique ability to defy expectations by finding goodness in the most unlikely of places.
Indeed, this was a central theme of Isaac's life. While the Torah tells us precious little about the life of Isaac, the Torah does elaborate on Isaac's success as a well digger. The Kabbalists explain that Isaac's wells represent a departure from his father Abraham's approach. Abraham influenced people by “bringing the water to them”. Abraham was a superb teacher and a charismatic communicator. He showered his listeners with love and, by the force of his character, compelled them to be influenced by his message of G-d and morality. Isaac, by contrast, did not bring the water to the people. Instead he helped people find the well within themselves. He helped them realize that they have a wellspring of G-dliness and holiness within themselves. Abraham would teach through sharing the enlightening, Abraham was like a teacher eager to share the answer with the student. Isaac, by contrast, displayed discipline. He would withhold the answer and allow the student to search for the answer on his own. Isaac empowered the student to believe in his own ability to dig within himself, to remove the psychological barriers, and discover the truth on his own.
Which is why Isaac loved Esau.
Esau was the child who seemed completely uninterested in the ideas of his father and grandfather. He loved the thrill of hunting more than the excitement of ideas. On the surface he seemed to be in a spiritual desert, devoid of spiritual water. Yet Isaac understood that every creation has a spark within it,that every child has a reservoir of pure water within themselves. The job of the parent and educator is to drill the well, remove the dirt and discover the water.
Thus Isaac embodied laughter. Isaac mastered the skill of seeing the good in unexpected places. He had the ability to mine the holiness that lay in the heart of every person and in the soul of every activity.
As the children of our patriarchs and matriarchs we are heirs to the qualities and characteristics they embodied. From Isaac we inherited the ability to be joyous in the face of great challenge. From Isaac we learn to expect the unexpected; to believe in ourselves and in the people around us. From Isaac we inherit the power to create laughter, to discover the deeper truth of reality that is not always noticeable to the naked eye. From Isaac we learn to drill beneath the surface and find the holiness in every person and the good in every experience.
Adapted from Torah Or Parshas Toldos (Mayim Rabim).
How to Bless a Rebellious Child
The aging Isaac decided to bless his eldest son Esau, but, strangely, Isaac would not bless Esau until Esau would prepare food for Isaac, as the Torah relates:
It came to pass when Isaac was old, and his eyes were too dim to see, that he called Esau his elder son, and he said to him, "My son," and he said to him, "Here I am."
And he said, "Behold now, I have grown old; I do not know the day of my death.
So, now, sharpen your implements, your sword [and take] your bow, and go forth to the field, and hunt game for me.
And make for me tasty foods as I like, and bring them to me, and I will eat, in order that my soul will bless you before I die." (Genesis 27:1-3)
How is it possible that Isaac, the quintessential spiritual person, who was prepared to offer himself as a sacrifice to G-d, refused to bless his child until his child would offer him a piece of meat?
In order to understand Isaac’s request for Esau to prepare delicacies, we must first explore the broader question: why would Isaac love Esau the hunter more than Jacob the tent dweller? We would expect that Isaac would appreciate Jacob’s spiritual pursuits more than Esau’s hunting.
Isaac loved Esau because Isaac saw the potential within Esau’s chaotic passion. Isaac recognized that if Esau would channel his energy to constructive and holy pursuits, he would, with the power of his intense passion, be able to achieve far greater heights than Jacob.
Isaac told Esau “So, now, sharpen your tools, your sword [and take] your bow”. The Hebrew word for Sharpen (“Sa”) also means “raise up”. Isaac told Esau that he would be worthy of blessing if he would elevate his talents and passions. Instead of directing his passion to a destructive goal, he should channel his talents and passions toward the transcendent and holy, toward helping feed another. Isaac was not looking for lunch, he was looking to help Esau discover the pleasure of channeling his energy toward a constructive goal. He was looking to give Esau a model for how to live his life. A model of how to navigate the intense energy within his soul. Isaac was teaching Esau not to suppress his nature but rather to elevate it. Not to fight it but to channel it.
We each have both an Isaac and an Esau within our own heart. The Jacob within us seeks the transcendent and the holy, but it lacks the intensity and passion with which the Esau within us pursues its destructive desires. Isaac teaches us that ultimately our purpose is to harmonize the Jacob and the Esau within ourselves. The passion of Esau is should be channeled and focused on the goals of Jacob.
(Adapted from Rabbi S”R Hirsh.)
The Double Blessing
Isaac assumed that the person standing before him was Esau, his eldest son, who he intended to bless before his passing. Unbeknownst to him it was actually Jacob, his younger son, disguised as Esau. Isaac began the blessing with an unusual choice of words, which offer insight into the nature of this particular blessing which was intended for Esau.
The opening phrase of the blessing is: ‘May Elokim {G-d} grant you”. Elokim is the name of G-d which expresses concealment, judgment, and withholding. It is an unusual name to be used in association with a blessing. In fact, most blessings in the Torah are associated with the name Hashem, which represents benevolence and revelation.
The first word of the blessing is “and”, which implies that the statement is a continuation of a previous statement, when in fact, the word “and” is the beginning of the blessing. Rashi explains that the “and” represents a double giving: “May He {G-d} give and repeatedly give”. This explanation, however, prompts another question: why the need for an additional blessing? What is lacking in the first blessing that requires a second blessing?
The conventional meaning of a blessing is the bestowal of a gift which does not require effort on the part of the recipient. Yet, Isaac’s blessings differed considerably. Unlike Abraham, who embodied loving kindness and giving, Isaac embodied the attributes of discipline and restraint. Isaac's idea of blessing was empowering the recipient to achieve through his or her own effort. Isaac did not suffice with the blessing from above, for he wanted his son to acquire the blessing through his own effort. This can be compared to a student who not only receives information, knowledge and enlightenment from his teacher, but rather he also learns how to innovate and create new ideas. Isaac blessed his son that he should receive blessing from G-d, {“may He give”}, additionally, his son should tread his own path and create his own blessing {“and return and give”}.
Generally speaking there are two ways of serving G-d: The first is the path of the righteous who follow G-d's directives as spelled out in the Torah. They seek to receive direction and inspiration from above. Yet, often we are confronted with challenges and confusion, finding ourselves in a state of spiritual darkness, feeling disconnected from the gift of the Torah. At those times we are unable to appreciate the inspiration from above. When that happens we have no choice but to engage in the second, more profound, form of Divine service: the service of Teshuvah, return to G-d, motivated by the inspiration generated from within the person himself. The service of Teshuvah is a true human innovation for it has the power to elevate negativity by transforming unholy, destructive experiences into fuel for good, motivating a deep longing and yearning for G-d.
Isaac knew that his son Esau was out of touch with his spiritual source and the Divine potential gifted to him from above. He therefore began the blessing with the name Elokim, which represents G-d’s ability to conceal his awesome presence. Isaac was telling his son that the greatest blessing is the ability to transform the state of
concealment {which can occur as a result of the name Elokim} through one’s own effort. The greatest blessing is not the one given from above {“may he give”}, but rather the one created by man {“and repeatedly give”}.
Rebekah, however, understood that Jacob was the one who must receive the blessing intended for Esau. For only the righteous Jacob can harness the profound energy and passion generated by returning to G-d from a place of darkness. In the final analysis, Jacob was the one who could cultivate both qualities, the quality of the righteous as well as the quality of the returnee, thus granting each and every one of his descendants the ability to experience both forms of the divine blessing.
Based on Lekutei Sichos Toldos, vol. 10 sicha 2.
Fragrance of Eden
It is the most suspenseful moment of the story.
At the behest of his mother Rebecca, Jacob donned the garments of his older brother Esau, he covered his arms and neck with goat skin in order to appear as hairy as Esav. He entered his father’s room hoping to trick his father into blessing him with the blessings with which his father intended to bless Esav.
Would the deception work? Would Isaac be fooled?
Isaac hesitated:
And Isaac said to Jacob, "Please come closer, so that I may feel you, my son, whether you are really my son Esau or not." Jacob drew near to Isaac his father, and he felt him, and he said, "The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau."
Isaac ate the food. He turned to bless his son, but his attention turned toward the garments Jacob was wearing:
and he (Isaac) smelled the fragrance of his garments, and he blessed him, and he said, "Behold, the fragrance of my son is like the fragrance of a field, which the Lord has blessed!
Why did Isaac's attention drift to the fragrance of the garments? Rashi addresses this question:
Is it not so that there is no odor more offensive than that of washed goat skins? But this teaches us that the fragrance of the Garden of Eden entered with him.
The fragrance of the garments was the fragrance of the Garden of Eden. Rashi is telling us that in order to understand the story of the blessings, we must keep in mind the fragrance of Eden. Eden was a place of egoless purity. Adam and Eve felt only their souls when they were in Eden. Their bodies and all bodily functions, eating, drinking and even intimacy and pro creation, were but a garment and a tool for the soul to fulfil its purpose. In Eden, Adam and Eve were naked yet they experienced no shame. The physical reality was not perceived, it was merely an expression of the holiness of the soul.
When Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they shattered the purity of Eden. They desired the fruit of the tree of knowledge because they wanted to experience a sense of self. They were therefore expelled from the purity of the Garden of Eden.
Isaac was about to bestow blessings of great material abundance (“And may the Lord give you of the dew of the heavens and the fatness of the earth and an abundance of grain and wine...”). Isaac sensed that his son standing before him possessed the fragrance of Eden. His desire for material success was selfless, and, as in Eden, it was solely for the purpose of serving the soul’s sublime needs. Isaac sensed that within the Jewish people, embodied by Jacob, the desire for material success was not for a self centered materialistic purpose, but rather the desire contained the fragrance of Eden. Because for the Jew, “the dew of the heaven, the fatness of the earth”, as well as the “abundance of grain and wine” is a tool to assist the soul in achieving its mission of filling the earth with goodness and kindness.
Why Esau Wanted to Tithe Salt
Rebecca and Isaac were blessed with twins who were very different from each other: “And the youths grew up, and Esau was a man who understood hunting, a man of the field, whereas Jacob was an innocent man, dwelling in tents {of study}. (Genesis 25:27).” Surprisingly, the intensely spiritual Issac loved Esau: “And Isaac loved Esau because [his] game was in his mouth”. Rashi explains that Issac loved Esau because Esau deceived his father by presenting himself as righteous:
who understood hunting: [He knew how] to trap and to deceive his father with his mouth and ask him, “Father, how do we tithe salt and straw?” His father thereby thought he was scrupulous in his observance of the commandments.
Of all the questions Esau could have asked his father, why did he choose to ask about tithing salt and straw, which, according to Jewish law, are exempt from tithing?
Issac loved Esau and sought to bless him because he hoped that Esau and Jacob would form a partnership whereby Esau would use his material success to support Jacob’s spiritual pursuits. From Isaac’s perspective, materialism is worthwhile and meaningful only when it serves a greater purpose of serving G-d.
Unfortunately, Esau was not on board. As Rebecca sensed, Esau did not wish to partner with his brother as he desired and valued material success for its own sake.
Esau, therefore, asked about tithing salt and straw, items that are exempt from tithing specifically because they only have value when they are used to perfect something else. Salt seasons a dish, and hay is used to create bricks. Esau expected the salt and straw to be tithed and to be considered inherently significant, as Esau failed to distinguish between what is of primary importance and what is of secondary importance.
Judaism teaches that each and every aspect of our life, including the mundane and material, is significant when and because it serves a higher purpose. Every achievement and success is significant when subordinate to a higher purpose. Our efforts during the six days of the week become significant when they contribute to our experiencing the holiness of Shabbat. It is our job to sanctify every part of our life by viewing it as part of our overarching purpose of serving our Divine mission and purpose.
Adapted from the Shem Mishmuel
The Fragrant Garments
In one of the most dramatic scenes in the book of Genesis, Jacob, disguised as his older brother Esau, came to his father, who intended to bless Esau. Isaac blessed Jacob with extraordinary blessings:
And may the Lord give you of the dew of the heavens and [of] the fatness of the earth and an abundance of grain and wine. Nations shall serve you and kingdoms shall bow down to you; you shall be a master over your brothers, and your mother's sons shall bow down to you. Those who curse you shall be cursed, and those who bless you shall be blessed." (Genesis 27:28-29)
Immediately proceeding these blessings, the Torah tells us that Isaac smelled the fragrance of his son, implying that the scent inspired and motivated the blessing:
And he came closer, and he kissed him, and he smelled the fragrance of his garments, and he blessed him, and he said, "Behold, the fragrance of my son is like the fragrance of a field, which the Lord has blessed! (Genesis 27:27)
What was it about the garments that inspired the blessing? In fact, as Rashi points out, Jacob was wearing goat skins, which do not have a pleasant aroma at all. Rather, the aroma referred to is a spiritual aroma:
Is it not so that there is no odor more offensive than that of washed goat skins? But this teaches us that the fragrance of the Garden of Eden entered with him.
Garments are external to the person and, therefore, represent wealth and material assets, which, like garments, allow a person to interact with and navigate the world. Isaac sensed that the garments of his son possessed a spiritual aroma because, to the Jew, material possessions, the “dew of the heavens and [of] the fatness of the earth and an abundance of grain and wine” are not an end in themselves but rather they serve a higher purpose. They are the means through which the soul fulfills its purpose of creation, which is to sanctify the earth and infuse it with holiness, goodness, and kindness. The beauty of Jacob, which Isaac sensed, was that not only had Jacob cultivated a spiritual connection to G-d, but additionally he had sanctified the “garments”, the material aspects of life.
Adapted from the Malbim
Leah and Rachel
The complex story of the relationship between Jacob and his wives Leah and Rachel can be understood on many levels, both emotionally and spiritually.
One way to read the story is to realize that every character in the Torah is also an aspect of every human soul. The stories of the patriarchs and matriarchs, their trials and triumphs, their struggles and their successes, is indeed the story of every Jew.
Jacob loved Rachel. He wanted to marry her and he was willing to pay any price to be able to do so. And yet, the story gets complicated. He is tricked into marrying Leah, and only then is he able to marry Rachel. The story of Jacob and his children is the story of the tension between his two primary wives and their children.
The Kabbalists explain that Leah represents the “concealed world” of thought, while Rachel represents the “revealed world” of speech.
Leah’s children were all highly spiritual. The names Reuben, Shimon, Levi and Judah are names which represent seeing, hearing, committing and submitting to the Divine. That is why, say the Kabbalists, Leah had no problem giving birth in the spiritually challenging environment of Charan. Because no matter how dark the surrounding society is, a person always has the option to retreat into their own “concealed world”, to retreat to their own thoughts and consciousness, where one can always see, hear, connect and submit to the Divine.
Rachel, however, represents the “revealed world” of speech. Her mission was to articulate her spiritual reality in language that the people around her could understand and appreciate. No wonder that it was challenging for her to conceive. Her children represent the ability to reveal the Divine in the most physical reality. Rachel’s son Joseph is unique among all the sons of Jacob in his ability to remain loyal to the teachings of Judaism while being fully engaged in the material world. Joseph, alone amongst the sons of Jacob, was able to articulate his spiritual truth while simultaneously serving as the Vicar to the king of Egypt, the superpower of the ancient world.
Jacob loves Rachel.
Jacob understood that Judaism is about affecting the real world. Jacob understood that the purpose of creation is to imbue this physical world with holiness. He therefore had no interest in Leah’s ability to introspect and connect thought and consciousness to G-d. He was attracted to Rachel’s more difficult and challenging path. He was fascinated by her insistence that everything that she understood and felt must be experienced and articulated in the real world.
Opposites attract. Jacob - the man who “dwells in the tent” - was attracted to Rachel, to the woman who had the capacity to reveal and express the hidden truths.
Jacob’s intense desire to marry Rachel was complicated by the Divine plan. Jacob had to first marry Leah and experience her spiritual world, before he could marry Rachel and hope to articulate those ideas to the rest of the world.
This story, like all the stories in the Torah, is a lesson to each Jew. We must love the Rachel within us, we must not be satisfied with living a spiritually introverted life. We must understand that, like Rachel, we have to live in the “revealed world” of speech. We must, however, also cultivate our Leah, our inner spiritual core.
On the Run
Jacob was on the run.
In the beginning of the Torah portion, Jacob was about to embark on the most difficult journey of his life, fleeing his native land of Canaan, and heading towards the spiritually foreign land of Charan.
Jacob spent twenty difficult years in Charan. He faced enormous challenges, yet he emerged tremendously successful. He left Canaan as a single, impoverished man and he emerged from Charan with a family of four wives, eleven children and great wealth. Jacob himself described the contrast between his impoverished lonely self who arrived in Charan and the remarkable wealthy family he had become in the land of Charan. Jacob said to G-d: “for with my staff I crossed this Jordan, and now I have become two camps”.
In the beginning of the portion, on his way out of Canaan, we read about Jacob’s famous dream of the ladder reaching heaven. In the opening verses of the portion, the Torah relates how Jacob arrived at “the place”, which refers to Mount Moriah, the holiest place to Judaism and the future home of the Holy Temple:
And he arrived at the place and lodged there because the sun had set, and he took some of the stones of the place and placed [them] at his head, and he lay down in that place. And he dreamed, and behold! a ladder set up on the ground and its top reached to heaven; and behold, angels of God were ascending and descending upon it.
In the last two verses of the portion, describing Jacob’s journey back from Charan, Jacob again encountered angels:
And Jacob went on his way, and angels of God encountered him. And Jacob said when he saw them, "This is the camp of God," and he named the place Machanaim (camps).
There are at least two major differences between the two encounters. The first difference is: in the beginning of the portion, Jacob had to seek out the angels, Jacob “encountered the place”, while at the end of the portion Jacob did not have to seek out the angels, instead the angels found him, as the verse states “angels of God encountered him”.
The second difference is: in the beginning of the portion Jacob sees the angels in a dream, while at the end of the portion Jacob sees the angels while he was awake.
The Torah teaches a profound lesson.
Jacob was forced to leave the holy environment of the “tents of study” and was forced to plunge into a spiritually dark reality. Jacob overcame the challenge by discovering the sparks of holiness that are at the core of every creation and every experience. Jacob was forced out of the realm of the holy, yet he responded by finding the holy in the realm of the mundane, by finding the holy spark in every experience.
When Jacob was in Charan, when his values and his soul were under threat, the challenge of the culture so foreign to him forced him to grow. Being so distant from his birthplace, he could not rely on retreating to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, but rather, he was forced to discover G-dliness in the land of Charan. He was forced to discover that in order to experience holiness one does not have to dream on the Temple mount, to retreat to the spiritually abstract. He discovered that, if one searches hard enough, the angels are everywhere.
In Charan Jacob discovered that surmounting the challenge to seek holiness in a spiritually hostile environment, elevates the person. That over time, discovering the angels, the sparks of holiness, in daily life becomes easier. Eventually, instead of Jacob having to struggle to encounter the angles, the angles would now encounter him.
The story of Jacob, related in the opening verse of the portion: “And Jacob left Beer Sheba, and he went to Charan”, is the story of every soul.
Like Jacob, the soul is called upon to leave the comfort of its native land and to descend into the physical world. Like Jacob, the soul leaves an environment where the Divine is easily accessible. Like Jacob, the soul embarks on a journey to a place where it will have to engage with the mundane.
And indeed, just like Jacob, the soul reaches deeper spiritual awareness. The soul discovers that the oneness of G-d can be found everywhere. That no matter how far he or she wanders, no matter how distant the soul's journey, the soul does not have to dream of escaping to an angelic reality. Our soul can wake up, and find holiness everywhere. We can open our eyes and see the angels encountering us.
The Thanksgiving Jew
You may be surprised to hear that the word Jew does not appear in the five books of Moses. The Torah refers to our people as the Children of Israel, for we are the children of our patriarch Jacob who was given the additional name of Israel. Israel fathered twelve children who became the twelve tribes of Israel.
The name Jew comes from the name Judah, which means thanksgiving. Judah was the fourth son of Jacob and his wife Leah. As we read in this week’s Parsha:
And she conceived again and bore a son, and she said, "This time, I will thank the Lord! Therefore, she named him Judah.
Why then are all Jews called by the name of just one of the sons? Why are all the tribes referred to by the name of the tribe of Judah? What is it about thanksgiving that captures the essence of the children of Israel?
Thanksgiving is easier said than done.
We often look around and wonder why some of the people around us are so ungrateful? Why don't our children appreciate all that we do for them? Why does our spouse not show gratitude? Why do our co-workers take us for granted?
To understand why the feeling of gratitude is so elusive we must examine the Hebrew word for gratitude.
The Hebrew word for thanksgiving, “Hoddah”, also means to acknowledge, as in two people who have two different opinions yet one acknowledges that the other’s opinion is correct.
Why do these two seemingly distinct ideas, thanksgiving and acknowledgement, share the same word? What possible connection do they share?
The answer is that the key to being thankful is acknowledging the other's perspective. To illustrate: a mother does so much for her child. The greatest obstacle to the child feeling gratitude, is the child’s perspective that whatever mother does for him is because, as a mother, this is what she is required to do. After all, argues the child, isn't this her job? The only way the child can genuinely feel grateful is if he adopts her perspective; if he appreciates all of her sacrifices and all the time she lovingly dedicated to him. The same is true of a spouse. We can say thank you for the act of kindness. But to truly feel grateful we need to see the picture from the perspective of our spouse. We need to appreciate all the thought, feeling and energy that was invested in this one act. Only when we acknowledge and appreciate the other’s point of view - "Hodaah" - can I say - "Todah" - thank you.
To be a Jew, then, is to possess the ability to see beyond the obvious, to acknowledge the other’s perspective and go beyond the limitations of one’s own perception To be a Jew is the ability to experience someone else’s pain as well as to rejoice in their happiness as if it were our own. To be a Jew is to acknowledge and accept the perspective of hope and joy even in the midst of great hardship.
There is an ongoing and long standing dispute between the creation and the creator. Our perspective is that our life, health and success is due to our independent efforts, and that the only one we need to thank is ourselves. From G-d's perspective, however, the entire universe is being brought into existence every moment by the word of G-d. From his perspective the only true reality is the G-dly vitality within every created being.
The Jew has the ability to see the world from G-d’s perspective. To cultivate the point of view that focuses on the spiritual rather than on the physical. The Jew possesses the gift of acknowledgement, which is why he or she can experience genuine thanksgiving.
Jacob’s Ladder
While Jacob was on his way to Charan, fleeing his brother Esau, he went to sleep and dreamed of G-d reassuring him that he would eventually return to Israel in safety. His dream, began with the famous vision of the ladder, as the verse states:
And he dreamed, and behold! a ladder set up on the ground and its top reached to heaven; and behold, angels of God were ascending and descending upon it.
There are various interpretations of the symbolism of the ladder. Some say the ladder represents prayer. Jacob slept on the temple mount, the place where all Jewish prayers ascend to G-d, and G-d was showing Jacob the awesome power of prayer, it’s ability to connect heaven and earth.
Others explain that the ladder is a metaphor for Mount Sinai, the mountain on which the Torah was given, and the message to Jacob was that the Torah, the Divine will and wisdom, is the ladder that connects the person heavenward.
But why did Jacob need to see the image of the ladder specifically at this point in his life, on his way out of Israel while fleeing to the morally debased Charan?
Rabbi Mordechai Hakohen, a 17th century kabbalist of Safed, Israel, explains that the ladder represents Jacob himself.
Jacob was leaving the comfort and holiness of the land of Israel and was heading to a land that was spiritually foreign to his way of life. On his way G-d showed Jacob the vision of a ladder in order to impart to him that he himself had the ability to connect the lowest parts of the earth to heaven. While his father Isaac lived in Israel all his life, and while his grandfather Abraham was commanded to leave Charan and migrate to Israel, Jacob would make the opposite journey. Jacob’s life’s mission was not to flee the negativity but rather to face it and challenge it head on. Jacob, as well as all his descendants, are compared to a ladder. No matter where he might be, no matter how foreign the environment might seem, he was capable of erecting a ladder that would connect heaven and earth, he was able to build a bridge that would allow the epitome of holiness to affect even the most distant of places.
There is another dimension to the comparison of Jacob and the ladder.
The Kabbalah explains that each of the three patriarchs embodied one of the three primary emotions; Abraham represented the attribute of love, Isaac the attribute of awe and reverence and Jacob represented the attribute of compassion.
The attribute of compassion, even more than love, is the ultimate bridge builder. Love is a very powerful emotion, yet its reach is limited to a specific audience. A person loves that which is attractive to him or her. A person does not love everybody and everything, love is selective, it is awakened and attracted to specific people or objects that, for whatever reason, touch the heart in a specific way.
Compassion, on the other hand, can reach anybody. It may be a person who you never met, whose language you don't understand, yet the moment you sense that the person is suffering, something in your heart will connect to the person with empathy and compassion.
In fact, compassion has the power to unleash love. You may have known someone for many years, and felt no connection to him or her. Yet as soon as tragedy strikes and you feel compassion for the person, suddenly, you begin to see how wonderful the person is. You begin to feel a feeling of closeness and love to the person. How does that happen? The love flows over the bridge created by compassion.
We each have a Jacob within ourselves, a Jacob that allows us to empathize with people who may seem very different from ourselves. The Jacob within us is able to connect people with each other because the Jacob within us knows is able to see the soul within each person. Our soul is the bridge that connects us to other people, and which connects heaven and earth.
Rachel or Leah, Serenity or Struggle
Would you prefer a life of serenity and peace of mind, or a life of hardship, emotional crises and inner turmoil?
When Jacob fled to Charan to escape his brother Esau, he arrived at the well. He saw Rachel, the daughter of his uncle Laban. It was love at first sight.
Laban had two daughters. As the Torah describes:
Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel.
Leah's eyes were tender, but Rachel had beautiful features and a beautiful complexion. (Genesis 29:16:17).
Jacob wanted to marry Rachel but he was tricked into marrying her sister Leah. While Jacob’s love for Rachel was greater, Leah became the most important of his four wives. She bore six of his twelve sons, and while Rachel was buried on the side of the road on the way to Efrat, Leah was laid to rest together with Jacob in the cave of Machpelah. As Jacob commanded his children before his passing:
Bury me with my fathers, in the cave that is in the field of Ephron the Hittite…
There they buried Abraham and his wife Sarah, there they buried Isaac and his wife Rebecca, and there I buried Leah.
Rachel was beautiful. She was righteous and spirituality wholesome. Jacob, who the Torah describes as “an innocent man, dwelling in tents” was immediately drawn to Rachel’s purity and innocence. Leah, on the other hand, had a complex personality, she experienced inner tension and frustration and had to struggle to live the life she desired and to achieve her spiritual goals.
The children of Rachel and Leah personified the character traits of their mothers. Rachel’s children, Joseph and Benjamin, were naturally righteous, while Leah’s children had to struggle with their moral integrity. They sold their brother as a slave, Judah went to Tamar, who he thought was a harlot. They were far from perfect. Yet Leah’s children learned to overcome their moral shortcomings, they learned to correct their mistakes and grow from the negative experiences.
Jacob loved Rachel. Jacob was attracted to a woman who had inner peace and serenity. Yet it turns out that Leah, who triumphed over hardships and challenges, became the matriarch who bore six of the twelve tribes, and who was buried with Jacob in his eternal resting place.
We often yearn for “Rachel”, for a life filled with tranquility and inner beauty. The story of Jacob teaches us that we should embrace the “Leah” in our life. The challenges we face in our lives are opportunities for us to discover the deepest and most profound part of ourselves. The true potential for growth lies in the experience of facing a challenge and persevering.
Adapted from Lekutei Sichos Vayishlach, vol. 35 Sicha 3.
Why Did Jacob Pour Oil on a Stone?
It is a strange name to name a child.
The name Jacob, a derivative of the Hebrew word for “heel”, was given because when Jacob emerged from his mother's womb he was holding the heel of his twin brother. Why would anyone name a child, heel? Why would we want him to consistently remember that he emerged grasping his brother's heel?
Chassidic philosophy explains the mystical meaning of the name Jacob, and how the name captures Jacob life’s purpose and calling. The Hebrew word for Jacob, Yaakov, consists of two parts, the Hebrew letter “Yud” and the word “Eikev” which means heel. Jacob’s spiritual task was to engage with the Hebrew letter “Yud” which represents wisdom, enlightenment and vision and bring it to every area of the person including the heel, which is the part of the body with the least vitality, the part of the body with the least inspiration. Jacob's skill was to take this vision and bring it to the everyday mundane tasks of life. Jacob's skill was his ability to see within every moment, within every activity, within every chore, a larger vision, one of an inspired and meaningful life.
This theme plays out in the story of Jacob’s reaction to his dream: as the Torah describes:
And he arrived at the place and lodged there because the sun had set, and he took some of the stones of the place and placed [them] at his head, and he lay down in that place.
And he dreamed, and behold! a ladder set up on the ground and its top reached to heaven; and behold, angels of God were ascending and descending upon it.…
And Jacob arose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had placed at his head, and he set it up as a monument, and he poured oil on top of it.
The commentators point out that before he went to sleep he put stones, plural, around his head. When he woke up he took the stone, singular, that was around his head and poured oil on it. Was it one stone or was it many stones? Rashi, quoting the Talmud, explains:
and placed [them] at his head: He arranged them in the form of a drainpipe around his head because he feared the wild beasts. They [the stones] started quarreling with one another. One said, “Let the righteous man lay his head on me,” and another one said, “Let him lay [his head] on me.” Immediately, the Holy One, blessed be He, made them into one stone. This is why it is stated: “and he took the stone [in the singular] that he had placed at his head.”
This is the essence of Jacob’s spiritual skill. By pouring oil, which represents light, wisdom, and Divine awareness, Jacob could transform many stones into a single stone; within the multiple, seemingly mundane and monotonous details of existence and daily life, Jacob could experience a unifying light and purpose.
Jacob fled to the city of Charan. The word Charan is related to the word “Nichar”, as in the verse “my throat became dry {and therefore unable to speak}”. In Charan, G-d’s speech invested within creation was not apparent. The universe did not tell a unified story, the story of the greatness of G-d. Instead randomness and chaos reigned. Jacob's task was to transform the “Nichar”, the silence, to “Rina”, joyous song, by revealing the myriads of details within creation, each singing their own song, all part of a unified orchestra, proclaiming the beauty and greatness of the creator.
Jacob is the patriarch of each and every Jew. We each possess Jacob’s ability to infuse the specific details of everyday life with overarching, unifying, meaning. We each have the ability to experience a connection to G-d in every mundane act, because every individual moment is a detail of a unified song, the song which connects us to our creator.
Adapted from Vishavti Bishalom, Torah Or, Parshas Vayetze.
Like the Dust of the Earth
Each of the three Patriarchs offered a unique contribution to the creation of the Jewish people; we, as their descendants, inherit each of their spiritual qualities.
Abraham pioneered.
Abraham discovered G-d on his own, he had the courage to stand up to his entire pagan society and chart a new spiritual path. Abraham heeded the call of G-d to go to "the land that I will show you" and founded a nation based on the values of charity and justice. Abraham gives us the ability to discover new ideas, and to chart new paths.
Yet, the pioneering spirit alone is not enough to create an enduring legacy. So often, an idea generates excitement in its initial stages, yet over time, when the idea is no longer novel, when the initial excitement dissipates, the enterprise fails.
Isaac perpetuated.
Isaac’s unique contribution was the ability to preserve and perpetuate the legacy of his father. Isaac represents the commitment to an idea that someone else revolutionized. The Torah relates how Isaac re-dug the wells his father had dug: "And Isaac again dug the wells of water which they had dug in the days of his father, Abraham; and the Philistines had stopped them up after Abraham's death; and he gave them names like the names that his father had given them (Genesis 26:18).” The project might not carry his name, but it would not have survived without him affecting its perpetuation.
While Abraham and Isaac began the formation of the Jewish people in the promised land, in the spiritual environment appropriate for the homeland of the Jewish people, Jacob represents the ability to live the values of his ancestors in a foreign land. Jacob, alone amongst the patriarchs, married and raised his children in the land of Charan, a land foreign to his values and void of holiness. From Jacob, we inherit the ability to live a life with the values of Abraham and Isaac in any environment we may find ourselves in.
When Jacob was en route from Israel to Charan he dreamed of a ladder reaching heaven. G-d promised him:
Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall burst forth to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants. (Genesis 28:14)
While Abraham was told that his descendants would be like the stars of heaven, Jacob was promised descendants who would be "like the dust of the earth”. For Jacob's descents would be in exile; they would be in environments as lowly (in a spiritual sense) as the dust of the earth. Yet specifically in these hostile environments, precisely because of these challenges, they would reach far greater heights than if they had remained in a wholesome, challenge-free environment. Specifically because they were compared to the dust of the earth, they were destined to burst forth with great strength.
Like Jacob, we all face the difficulty of living in a spiritually challenging environment. Each of our souls descended from heaven, the metaphorical land of Israel, to the "dust of the earth", physical existence and reality. Yet precisely because of the challenge, we can reveal a deeper dimension of our soul and experience a more meaningful and authentic relationship with G-d.
The Benefit of the Journey
What is the point of the journey?
Jacob was the first of the Patriarchs to spend significant time outside of Israel, away from his natural environment. The opening statement of our portion, "And Jacob departed from Beer Sheba, and he went to Haran", tells the story of our Patriarch Jacob's departure from the land of Israel and travel to the spiritually hostile environment of Charan. We read of how he emerged twenty years later with a large family and tremendous wealth.
The Kabbalists teach that this story is the prototype for the descent of every soul from the figurative "land of Israel", the soul's abode in heaven to its descent into the spiritually challenging environment of life on this earth.
But what is the point of the descent? Why should the soul be forced to engage in the painful journey instead of basking in G-d's light in heaven? What is the purpose of the turbulent journey we call life?
When the soul descends into this spiritually dark world, its connection to G-d is challenged. The soul is forced to struggle to maintain its relationship to holiness. The tension and struggle intensify its spiritual strength and its natural love and awe of G-d. The soul emerges from this world with a deeper and more meaningful bond with G-d.
This benefit, however, is limited, as it is merely an intensification of the bond with G-d that already existed. The more profound benefit is created when the soul engages with the physical objects of the world, transforming them from physical creations to holy objects that are a conduit to the Divine will. This transformation is a true novelty and is possible only through the soul accessing the infinite power of G-d, which is accessible exclusively "in the lowest realm", right here on earth.
These two elements are expressed in the words Jacob spoke as he began his journey. As he departed the land of Israel, he requested that G-d protect him (verse 20), enabling him to serve G-d (verses 21 and 22).
First, Jacob’s prayer to be able to survive and thrive in this world:
20. And Jacob uttered a vow, saying, "If God will be with me, and He will guard me on this way, upon which I am going, and He will give me bread to eat and a garment to wear;
Then, Jacob explains the benefit of the struggle and the purpose of the journey. Firstly, the soul will emerge "in peace" from the challenges, and secondly, the "Lord will be my God", the soul's connection to G-d will withstand the challenges:
21. And I return in peace to my father's house, and the Lord will be my God
And then, Jacob describes the more remarkable achievement of life:
22. Then this stone, which I have placed as a monument, shall be a house of God, and everything that You give me, I will surely tithe to You.
"The stone", a physical object, is transformed to become "the house of G-d". "Everything that you give me" becomes sanctified.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos Vayetze 15 Sicha 3.
The Sparks That Pursue Us
Jacob was the only one of the three patriarchs to leave the land of Israel for an extended period of time, and his story represents the ability of the Jew to survive and ultimately thrive during the extended period of our exile. Every aspect of this week’s Torah portion, beginning with the opening statement, “And Jacob left Beer Sheba, and he went to Haran”, is relevant to the story of every Jew in the spiritually challenging environment of exile.
After twenty years of separation from his parents and the land of Israel, Jacob escaped his domineering father-in-law, Laban, taking his family and possessions with him. Laban chased Jacob, and after an intense confrontation, they created a monument attesting to their peace.
The Magid of Mezritch explained the mystical meaning of this episode. Every physical object and experience possesses a Divine spark embedded within it. The task of the Jew is to “refine” and “elevate” the sparks by using the physical object for a positive and holy purpose. When Jacob left Charan there were still sparks that he had not yet elevated; when Laban chased him and confronted him, Laban brought these mystical sparks to Jacob to be elevated:
Jacob had left behind “Torah letters” that he had not yet extracted from Laban. Laban chased Jacob to give him the letters that he had left in Laban’s possession. With these letters, an entire section was added to the Torah.
Why was it necessary for Laban to bring the additional sparks to Jacob? Why could Jacob not elevate those sparks during his twenty-year stay in Charan?
The Rebbe explains that there are two forms of sparks. There are those sparks and experiences that a person can incorporate and elevate through intentional focus. Yet there are other experiences whose sparks are so lofty and profound that they surpass the ability to be understood and appreciated through the logical mind. Those are sparks that the person will not pursue, for he cannot fathom how these experiences can enhance his spiritual well-being:
During his stay in Laban’s house, Jacob refined sparks that had to be refined by engaging with them willingly and knowingly. However, Laban also possessed such lofty sparks that Jacob couldn’t elevate them utilizing his service based on will and knowledge. Therefore, these sparks remained in Laban’s possession. Such sparks could only be refined and elevated by a Supernal power.
We, too, encounter both forms of sparks. We pursue happiness, success, and well-being in order to fulfill our purpose of creation and our spiritual mission to bring holiness, goodness, and kindness into the world. Those are the sparks we pursue. But then there are sparks that pursue us. There are experiences and challenges that we cannot imagine leading to anything positive. We seek to run away from them. But occasionally, they pursue us. The lesson of the story is that it is precisely those experiences that possess the greatest and deepest sparks. The sparks of holiness within these experiences have far greater potency and potential for incredible transformation and growth. Often, the most profoundly meaningful moments of our life are the experiences we did not seek out or anticipate, but rather the experiences that pursued us.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos vol. 15 Vayetze 5
The Torch
The Hebrew language, also called “the Holy Tongue”, has a significantly smaller vocabulary than the English language, yet it contains great mystical insight. Every Hebrew word has a root word, comprised of two or three letters, which can then take different forms. When we dig down to the root, we often find similarities between the roots of two words, which on the surface seem unrelated. These connections between seemingly unrelated words, often express deep mystical truths.
In this week’s Parsha, there is a beautiful example of a connection between two seemingly unrelated words. The Torah tells the story of Jacob returning to the land of Israel, traveling to meet his brother Esau, after a twenty year stay in Charan. The night before he meets his brother, Jacob encounters a mysterious man, and they wrestle all night long:
And Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn.
Who was this man? What is the meaning of this encounter?
We must first examine the meaning of the Hebrew word for “wrestle”. The Hebrew word is “Va’ye’A’VeK” (ויאבק), which means struggle; wrestle; fight. The root of the word is AVK (אבק). The same root is also the root of a seemingly unrelated word; the root AVK (אבק) is also the root of the word “torch” (AVuKa אבוקה).
What possible connection can there be between the words “wrestle” and “torch”?
There are many forms of battle. In the modern era battles are fought from great distances. Soldiers sitting at computers in Nevada are operating drones that conduct warfare over the skies of the Middle East and Africa. Wrestling, however, is a completely different form of battle. To wrestle is to come up close to the enemy. Two people wrestling with each other are literally hugging each other.
Let’s return to the story of Jacob wrestling with the mysterious man. The sages teach that the man wrestling with Jacob was no ordinary man, the man was Esau’s guardian angel disguised as a man. Before Jacob could reconcile with his brother Esau he must first wrestle with Esau's guardian angel. The Kabbalists elaborate and explain that Jacob and Esau represent the spiritual and material respectively, the body and soul. Body and soul are in constant warfare, each trying to draw the other to what they appreciate and enjoy. The body tries to pull the soul to materialism, while the soul tries to pull the body to spirituality.
This struggle between body and soul is not fought via intercontinental ballistic missiles. The body and soul are not waging warfare from different continents. Body and soul are literally hugging each other, they are as close to each other as two entities can possibly be. Body and soul are wrestling.
With its use of a single root word for “wrestle” and “torch” the “Holy Tongue” teaches us what the goal of the wrestling match between body and soul is. The goal is not to obliterate the material aspects and pleasures from one’s life. The goal is to create a torch. A torch is not a single candle, but rather it is many candles merged together. To create spiritual light the soul must not retreat from the world, but instead it must embrace the material world, it must fuse the material into a torch of light. It must use the objects and pleasures of the material world as a tool to spread spiritual light. It must use the material blessings it has and fuse them into a torch producing light, warmth and inspiration to illuminate the world.
We wrestle with the material, we embrace it, we elevate it. We weave it into our soul’s torch.
Jacob the Sojourner
In one of the most dramatic scenes in the Torah we read about the emotional reunion of Esau and Jacob. After stealing the blessings that were designated for Esau, Jacob fled to the land of Charan and remained there for twenty years. Finally, in this week’s Parsha, we read about Jacob preparing for and eventually meeting his brother Esau. They embraced, kissed and wept.
Reading this story the question arises: why was the reunion between the brothers short lived? A few verses after the emotional meeting, we read about Esau heading back to the land of Seir, where he had settled, while Jacob remained in Canaan, the land of his ancestors. If the brothers were so moved by their meeting why did they part ways so quickly?
Another point to ponder: In this story, Esau undergoes an extreme transformation. Initially plotting to kill his brother Jacob, he ends up embracing and crying on his shoulder. What exactly caused the change in Esau’s heart? Why did he no longer begrudge Jacob for stealing his blessing? Which one of the gifts and words of appeasement that Jacob sent to his brother was the one that was effective in penetrating Esau’s heart?
The key to understand these questions lies in the very first statement Jacob sent to his brother at the opening of the Parsha. Jacob sends messengers to his brother:
And he commanded them, saying, "So shall you say to my master to Esau, 'Thus said your servant Jacob, "I have sojourned with Laban, and I have tarried until now.
Jacob chose his words deliberately. The phrase “I have sojourned”, is what would affect Esau to forego on the stolen blessing and allow him to forgive his brother Jacob.
What image did the word sojourn evoke for Esau? Where had Esau heard this word before?
G-d promised Abraham the land of Canaan, yet the promise came with a heavy price. G-d told Abraham:
"You shall surely know that your seed will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and they will enslave them and oppress them, for four hundred years.
Jacob was telling Esau that although Jacob received the blessing, he was also forced to pay the price for Abraham’s legacy. Jacob told Esau, I indeed was blessed, but I am also the sojourner who will suffer for many years before ultimately returning to the land.
Esau, well aware of the condition of slavery that was tied to inheriting the land promised to Abraham, decided that he had no interest in paying the price for the land. He therefore, willingly chose to migrate to the land of Seir, which although was not the land promised to Abraham, was a land for which one did not have to pay for with four hundred years of sojourning. In Esau’s cost benefit analysis, being a sojourner was too high a price to pay for the land.
Thus, when Jacob told Esau “I have sojourned”, he was reminding him of the price to be paid for the blessing of their father Isaac. To receive the legacy of Abraham, Jacob reminded Esau, was a great spiritual destiny, but it also demanded a willingness to sacrifice. Esau listened. He understood that indeed the blessings were not for him. They were not the future he envisioned for himself. Thus, he was able to forgive Jacob for stealing the now undesired blessings, and therefore he parted from Jacob, traveled back to Seir. He did so in order to separate himself from having to pay the price of bearing the legacy of Abraham.
Being a sojourner has a spiritual connotation as well. A sojourner who is in a specific place may be tremendously successful, yet he is a sojourner because his stay is but temporary. Jacob and his descendants are sojourners, because to us material blessing is but temporary. It does not capture our true identity. We engage in the physical world, as visitors, because at our core, we are truly at home when we connect to the spiritual.
To carry the legacy of Abraham Isaac and Jacob is to understand that while we are blessed with physical blessings, those blessings do not define our identity. While Esau refused to be a sojourner in the material world, Jacob and his descendants embrace our destiny. We understand that while we seek to prosper and find success, in order to allow us to carry out our mission on this planet, we remember that holiness is our native land, and spirituality is our mother tongue.
Jacob or Israel?
In what is perhaps one of the most dramatic and emotional scenes in the Torah, Jacob meets his brother Esau after twenty years of rift and separation. Jacob fled his father’s home, after stealing the blessings which his father Isaac intended for his older son Esau. In this week’s portion we read about the heartfelt reunion between the brothers.
Prior to the reunion, we read that “Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn”, and finally, when the man saw that he could not overpower Jacob, he asked to be allowed to go, Jacob refused to allow him to go until he would bless him:
So he said to him, "What is your name?" and he said, "Jacob." And he said, "Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, because you have commanding power with [an angel of] God and with men, and you have prevailed."
Who was this mysterious man? One interpretation is that the man who wrestled with Jacob while Jacob was alone (which seems to be an inherent contradiction, if a man wrestled with him, than by definition Jacob was not alone) was none other than Jacob himself. The struggle between Jacob and the man (who the sages refer to as the angel, or energy of Esau) represents an internal struggle between the force of good and the negative within Jacob himself. Before Jacob could reconcile with his brother Esau, he was first compelled to wrestle with his internal Esau. He was compelled to settle the internal struggles and contradictions within himself before he could find peace within himself.
The struggle lasted all night. Jacob asks for a blessing. Instead of a blessing “the man” got into a discussion about names, the conversation went as follows:
So he said to him (to Jacob), "What is your name?":
“the man” asked Jacob: What is your name? What is your identity? How do you self define?
and he said, "Jacob."
The name Jacob denotes struggle. The name Jacob, which also means heel, was given to Jacob because as he emerged from the womb he was holding on to the heel of his twin brother Esau. The name Jacob represents the constant battle between the internal Jacob and Esau, the spirit and the matter, the sensual and the transcendent. Jacob told the angel that his name was Jacob. He explained that he was constantly being drawn between the holy and the mundane, between the physical and the spiritual.
And he (“the man”) said, "Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel (which means to rule), because you have commanding power with [an angel of] God and with men, and you have prevailed.
He told Jacob, that there is a place within himself where there is no struggle at all. At his core, which is pure holiness, there is a state of consciousness where there is no struggle to begin with. When the core of the soul is felt in the conscious mind, then evil, temptation and negativity lose all appeal and are not enticing to begin with.
Each of us has both a Jacob and an Israel within ourselves. There is a place in our heart where we have to struggle to be the person we know we want to be. We have to struggle to be kind, joyful, patient and considerate. There is a place within ourselves where it takes a struggle to delay gratification and invest in a relationship over immediate pleasure. There are times, when we are Jacob.
Yet, when we look deeply within ourselves, we discover that there is a part of us that is Israel, where we reign over the negativity even without a battle. There are times when there is no struggle.
Jacob is compared to a Jew as he is during the six days of the week, when he is involved in the business of daily life; while Israel is compared to a Jew as he or she exists on Shabbat, when they tune out the mundane and touch the spiritual side of existence.
As Jacob prepared to face his brother Esau, he first spent the night in introspection, experiencing the wrestling within his soul. As the sun rose Jacob realized, that from that point on his primary name was Israel. While we experience Jacob, we are Israel. Living on this earth presents us with challenge, difficulty and struggle, yet our identity is not Jacob. The struggle with evil and selfishness does not define who we are. We engage in Jacob but we are Israel. Our truest self is the part of us which sees the material, not as a contradiction to, but rather as a vehicle for holiness. Our truest self is the Israel within us, the part of us which intuitively feels connected to G-d.
The Kiss
Twenty years after fleeing to Charan, escaping the wrath of his brother Esau, Jacob headed back to Israel. The Torah describes, in great detail, how Jacob, with much trepidation, prepared for the meeting: he sent gifts to his brother, he prayed, and he prepared for battle.
There was a lot at stake at this meeting. Jacob and Esau, as we have read earlier in the story, had very different personalities, and embodied very different energies. Esau was the man of the field, the energetic hunter who loved the challenge and thrill of trapping game, and craved sensual pleasures. Jacob, on the other hand, was a man who strived to “dwell in tents”, immersed in study and in quest for enlightenment, far removed from the chaos of the natural world.
Isaac hoped to elevate Esau’s energy and passion by blessing Esau. Rebecca understood that blessing Esau with abundant material success would not elevate him to a higher spiritual plane, but rather, it would cement Esau’s investment in a materialistic lifestyle. Rebecca understood that only if Jacob would receive the blessing of material success would Esau be elevated and influenced. For only Jacob’s intense spirituality would have the ability to educate and inspire Esau, by demonstrating how the material blessings could serve the spiritual and the transcendent.
Twenty years after Jacob stole the blessing, he was about to meet Esau once more. There was a lot at stake at that moment of meeting, not only for Jacob and his family but for all of the cosmos. Would the brothers embrace? Would Esau’s energy and materialistic desires reconcile with Jacob’s spirituality? Or would Esau and Jacob, matter and spirit, be at war forever?
The moment finally arrived. The Torah describes the fateful meeting between the brothers:
And Esau ran toward him and embraced him, and he fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept. (Genesis 33:4)
To our great surprise, and perhaps to the great surprise of the brothers themselves, both Jacob and Esau understood their need for one another. They discovered deep feelings toward one another. They realized that they shared the same source and the same father.
The brothers then parted ways. The bond of love and compassion that had been established between them was still fragile. They realized that in order for them to be able to settle together in harmony, more work would be required. They therefore temporarily parted ways. Only in the Messianic era will the world experience the wholesomeness of the restored relationship between Esau and Jacob, between matter and spirit, between body and soul.
Until then, it is up to us, to foster this relationship, to nurture and to allow it to prosper and grow.
Looking back at Esau’s fateful kiss, the one that reestablished the bond with Jacob Rashi, quoting the Midrash comments:
and kissed him: Heb. וֹיֹשֹקֹהֹוּ. There are dots over the word. There is controversy concerning this matter in a Baraitha... Some interpret the dots to mean that he did not kiss him wholeheartedly. Rabbi Simeon ben Yochai said: It is a well known tradition that Esau hated Jacob, but his compassion was moved at that time, and he kissed him wholeheartedly.
The two opinions of whether or not Esau’s kiss was wholeheartedly sincere, represent two stages in the fusion of the material and spiritual. At first, the bond is not wholehearted. The materialistic side of the person would prefer to live a life unburdened by the discipline of spirituality and meaning. At first, the selfish side of the person would prefer to push back and reject the search for meaning. The first step is to create a kiss, an embrace, that is not yet wholehearted. Eventually, over time, and with practice, the bond, the kiss, will become wholehearted. For the material itself will come to realize the beauty of the harmony.
Based on the teachings of the Rebbe, Vayishlach 5743.
Can you Really Have Everything?
After twenty years of separation the twin brothers were reunited.
Upon hearing that Esau was traveling toward him with four hundred men, Jacob prepared for their meeting by preparing for war, praying, and sending large gifts of livestock to appease his brother.
In one of the most emotionally charged scenes in the Torah, Jacob and Esau reunite and embrace. Esau tells Jacob that he does not need his gift while Jacob implores Esau to accept it. As the Torah describes:
But Esau said, "I have plenty, my brother; let what you have remain yours."
Thereupon Jacob said, "Please no! If indeed I have found favor in your eyes, then you shall take my gift from my hand, because I have seen your face, which is like seeing the face of an angel, and you have accepted me.
Now take my gift, which has been brought to you, for God has favored me [with it], and [because] I have everything." He prevailed upon him, and he took [it].
(Genesis 33:9-11)
Esau and Jacob seem to saying the same thing. They both have an abundance of possessions and they don’t need the gift of cattle. Yet upon careful analysis we discover a slight difference in the way the brothers describe their possessions. Esau says “I have plenty”, while Jacob says “I have everything”.
Esau’s perspective is the perspective of the natural soul and is the reason that, so often, accumulating possessions does not lead to a feeling of joy. Esau says “I have plenty”, but having a lot does not mean that he does not want more. The Talmud says that human nature is such that “one who has one hundred wants two hundred, and one who has two hundred wants four hundred. Having a lot is no guarantee for happiness, in fact, it can actually make happiness more elusive because the more one has the greater is his appetite for more.
By contrast, Jacob’s attitude toward his wealth is “I have everything”. Jacob does not need more. He has everything he needs to be able to live his life and fulfill his purpose with meaning. If he does not have something, than he is certain that that is not necessary for him to be able to achieve the purpose of his creation. As the Ethics of our Fathers teach: “Who is wealthy? One who is happy with his lot”. Jacob is joyous because he has everything.
There is a deeper dimension to Jacob’s statement. To understand this, we must first ask the question, how can Jacob state that he has everything? He can say that he has all he needs, but how can he say that he has everything if, in reality, he does not have everything? The Sfas Emes, the 19th century Chassidic commentary, explains that Jacob does indeed have everything, because Jacob is connected to G-d who is the source of all existence. When Jacob looks at a physical object he sees its soul, the divine spark which continuously brings it into existence. When Jacob connects to the soul of the object he is indeed connecting to the soul of all of the world. When he connects to the soul of a given object, by using it in a manner that is consistent with its inner purpose, he indeed has everything. For he is connected to the Divine source of all existence which permeates everything and encompasses all of existence.
Value Thy Possessions
It was a tense night for Jacob, as he prepared to meet his brother Esau after twenty years of separation. Jacob was afraid. Would Esau accept his gifts and his friendship, or would Esau seek confrontation and conflict?
The night before Jacob was to meet Esau he crossed the stream of Jabok with his wives, children and possessions, enroute to the land of Israel. Jacob returned to the other side of the Jabok alone, where he met a mysterious man and they wrestled until morning. As the Torah relates:
And he arose during that night, and he took his two wives and his two maidservants and his eleven children, and he crossed the Jabbok stream.
And he took them and brought them across the stream, and he took across what was his.
And Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn (Genesis 32:23-25)
What was Jacob’s state of mind on that fateful night as he stood alone in the dark, on the other side of the Jabok stream? The sages offer two seemingly contradictory possibilities. Rashi explains that Jacob crossed the Jabok seeking to retrieve a few small jugs:
And Jacob was left: He had forgotten small bottles and returned for them.
Jacob was alone, not for any spiritual purpose, but rather because despite his great wealth, he was seeking to recover something of very little value. On the other hand, the Midrash reads this verse in an entirely different fashion. The verse states that Jacob was alone, the word alone, is used by the prophet Isaiah to describe G-d’s presence in the Messianc era, when G-d will be “alone”, because all will recognize that all existence is dependent on, and therefore insignificant to, his presence. As the Midrash states:
Just as, regarding the Holy Blessed One, it is written, "None but the G-d shall be Exalted on that day" (Isaiah 2:17), so too regarding Jacob it is written: "Jacob was left alone." (Breishis Rabbah chapter 77)
So which one is it? Was Jacob alone because he was trying to save a few dollars or was he alone because he was experiencing the oneness of G-d? Can these opposite interpretations coexist in the same verse?
The Chassidic answer is yes. Indeed, both these interpretations are true, simultaneously. The Talmud (Chulin 91a) states “from here {Jacob’s concern for the jugs} we derive that the righteous value their money more than their body”. The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, explains this startling statement as follows: every creation possesses a spark of holiness in a dormant state, waiting to be released back to its source. This can be accomplished by elevating the object, using it for a higher purpose. The righteous, explains the Baal Shem Tov, sense the sparks of G-dliness, the holy potential waiting to be unleashed, within their possessions. Thus, when Jacob crossed the stream to collect his possessions, he sensed, not the physical worth of his possessions, but rather, the spark of G-d within the material. Within the material world, Jacob sensed that indeed G-d is “alone”, the true and ultimate existence.
The meeting of Jacob and Esau represents the unity between body and soul, between physical and spiritual. Before Jacob could meet, unite, and elevate Esau, he must first experience oneness within himself. Thus, the night before the meeting Jacob was alone, introspecting, seeing the Divine unity within each creation.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 15 Vayishlach sicha 3.
Why Jacob Bowed to Esau
The twin brothers Esau and Jacob embody the two energies of chaos and order.
The Kabbalists explain that initially, G-d created the spiritual world of chaos, in which each of the ten fundamental energies was in a state of great intensity. In the “world of chaos”, each of the ten energies exists in the fullest possible measure. The “world of chaos,” however, is unsustainable because the intensity of the energy cannot express itself in a limited and defined way. In the language of the Kabbalists, the intense "lights" (energies) shattered the "vessels", which were supposed to contain and express the light. The ״vessels" “broke” and "fell”, they no longer fulfill their purpose, and, like the metaphor of a shattered vessel, they can be harmful. The "broken vessels" become the sparks scattered throughout the physical world and within the forces of unholiness and negativity.
Following the “world of chaos”, “G-d created the “world of order”, in which the energies were diminished and the vessels were, therefore, able to contain and express the light.
The world of order is what we refer to as positivity and holiness. The world of chaos contains a duality; in its fallen and broken state, it expresses itself in harmful and destructive ways; in its origin, however, it is far more potent divine energy than the "world of order". The world will experience its ultimate healing and perfection when we utilize the holiness of the "world of order" to elevate the "shattered vessels" of chaos, marrying the intensity of the "world of chaos" with the discipline and order of the "world of order".
In our Torah portion, we read about the intensely emotional, climactic reunion between Jacob and Esau. Just like the world of chaos he embodied, Esau was the firstborn; he was intense and passionate; Jacob, by contrast, was a wholesome man dwelling in the tents of study, embodying the "world of order." The Torah describes the encounter:
And he went ahead of them and prostrated himself to the ground seven times, until he came close to his brother. And Esau ran toward him and embraced him, and he fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept. (Genesis 33:3-4)
Jacob bowed to Esau because Jacob sensed that in its source, Esau's chaotic personality is far superior to Jacob's source in holiness. While Jacob hoped to partner with Esau, to channel the energy of chaos constructively through the world of order, the time was not yet ripe; the harmony was short-lived. The complete reunion between the "world of chaos," the chaotic passion of the physical world, with the "world of order," the awareness and holiness of the spiritual world, will occur in the messianic era. This will be brought about when each of us, within our personality, directs the chaotic energy of the heart to fuel and enhance our spiritual purpose.
(Adapted from Torah Ohr, Vayishlach)
The Two Columns
When Jacob, the third Patriarch, prepared to meet his brother Esau, he divided his family and the people with him into two camps.
Jacob became very frightened and was distressed; so he divided the people who were with him and the flocks and the cattle and the camels into two camps. And he said, "If Esau comes to one camp and strikes it down, the remaining camp will escape." (Genesis 32:89)
Esau represents the world of "chaos", whereas Jacob embodies the "world of order". Before the world as we know it was created, G-d emanated ten intense energies; each was too intense to compromise and interconnect with the others. As a result, the energies clashed and were shattered. Then, G-d emanated the powers of order, whose energy was dimmed and thus able to interact with a different energy to become the building blocks of creation.
Jacob was the third Patriarch, for he embodied the "middle column", which exists specifically in the world of order, that can synthesize the two extreme "columns", the kindness and love of his grandfather Abraham with the discipline and awe of his father, Isaac. Yet, in preparation to meet his brother Esau, a product and embodiment of the intensity of the world of chaos, Jacob divided his camp in two, because he understood that it was his responsibility not to ignore or destroy but rather to elevate and channel the chaotic energy. To align his camp with the chaotic energy, Jacob divided his camp in two, for the number two represents the two extremes that cannot interact with each other. The meeting of Jacob and Esau represents the fusion of the intensity and passion of chaos with the focused application of order.
The Torah teaches us, the descendants of Jacob, how to balance order and chaos. Each morning we dedicate time to pray, to awaken the chaotic desire to "run", to escape the confines of life, and cleave to G-d. Yet that feeling is followed by the commitment to "return", channeling that desire for transcendence and applying it within the framework and limitation of daily life.
Adapted from Torah Ohr Vayishlach
Tamar And Her Twins
The Torah is obviously fascinated with twins. Every time twins are born, we hear every detail of the birth; as if we are the grandparents who are desperate to hear about every step of the labor and delivery.
When Tamar gave birth to her twins, the Torah gives us this detailed description:
While she was in labor, one [of the babies] stuck out his hand [from the womb]. The midwife took a scarlet thread and tied it on his hand to signify, "This one emerged first." [The baby then withdrew his hand.]
But as soon as he withdrew his hand, his brother emerged, and [his mother] said, "With what vigor have you pushed yourself ahead!" So [Judah] named him Peretz ["breaking through"].
Then his brother, who had the scarlet thread on his hand, emerged, and Judah named him Zerach ["shining"].
Why do we need to know that the one stretched out his hand, pulled it back, and the other burst ahead and emerged first? Why do we have to know that the midwife tied a crimson thread on his hand because she thought that he will be born first? What message is the Torah conveying?
There are two paths we can walk on our journey on this planet.
We Can walk the bright and shiny path. We can strive to never succumb to evil temptation, and to always make the right choices. Or we can take the more tricky path. We can follow our heart even when it directs us to places our mind cautions us to stay away from.
Those of us taking this second path will make mistakes.
Like Tamar we will lose our innocence. We will probably cause pain to ourselves and to the people who love us. We may even reach a place of total spiritual darkness, a place where we can no longer hear the whispering voice of our G-dly soul trying to direct us back to the path of life.
And then we burst forward.
We are not sure where we get the strength from. We are not sure if and how we will able to rebuild our shattered relationships, if we will have the strength of character to sustain the push forward and to escape old habits. But we burst forward and push ahead. And do all it takes to make it to where we need to be.
And then we discover, that taking the second path has its advantages.
While it is not the “firstborn” path, while that is not the path G-d wants us to choose, while at the outset we should have taken the first path, we nevertheless come out ahead in the game of life. For the journey through the raging sea of life forced us to dig deeper, to mine our soul for spiritual courage, and to discover treasures that most people never discover.
We discover within us the power to burst through any challenge, to overcome any obstacle, and to shatter any roadblock. We discover that our commitment to the people and ideas we hold dear, is bulletproof. The strength needed to burst forward and get us back on the right path is now channeled to sustain and nurture our commitments.
We recognize that "one [of the babies] stuck out his hand [from the womb]. The midwife took a scarlet thread and tied it on his hand to signify, 'This one emerged first.'" We recognize that our midwife - The Torah and G-d - tells us to take the first path. The path that has the shiny crimson string on it. It’s the path that will get you the name Zerach which means to shine. It’s the path that the Torah is pointing toward. And yet, if we fail to take the preferred path, if we find ourselves in the dark, we must know that we can be a Peretz - the one who bursts forward. The Torah is telling us that ultimately Peretz is the one who achieves greatness, and becomes the ancestor of King David, who becomes one of the greatest leaders in our history, precisely because he overcame spiritual failure.
King David, the descendant of Peretz, is the ancestor of Moshiach. Because the perfection of the world will be achieved, not by those who never experienced pain, but by those whose pain was transformed into fuel for good. To the point that they, as well as the people around them, cry out in amazement: "With what vigor have you pushed yourself ahead!"
Strive to stretch your hand and reach for the crimson path of Zerach, but if you fail, burst forward like Peretz. You will be the first born. You will achieve more than anyone would dream is possible.
Destiny or Free Choice?
Does Judaism believe in destiny? Do we believe that G-d is in control of all that transpires in the universe, that every human being is just playing a pre-determined role in a vast Divine plan? Or, do we believe in the freedom of every human being to choose his or her own path, to experience the consequences of their own decisions?
These two possibilities, destiny or free choice, seem to be mutually exclusive.
If we believe that everything is determined by G-d, seemingly, we cannot also accept that the human being can be held accountable, or rewarded, for his or her actions. Yet Judaism teaches us that Divine destiny and free choice are both true.
No biblical story expresses this truth more powerfully than the story of Joseph and his brothers. Joseph dreamed that his brothers would bow to him; the brothers in turn viewed him as a threat and planned to kill him; at the last moment they decided to sell him as a slave. Many years later, Joseph became the viceroy of Egypt and his brothers indeed bowed to him. Joseph was reunited with his brothers and sustained them during the terrible famine.
How should we view the actions of the brothers?
On the one hand, the brothers were certainly guilty of sin. After all they conspired to kill Joseph and they sold him as a slave. On the other hand, the selling of Joseph was part of the Divine plan so that Joseph would achieve greatness and lead the superpower of the world. Were the brothers succumbing to sin or were they pawns in the divine plan that would ultimately save their entire family? Was this act a sin or was it an act of redemption? The Torah responds to the sale of Joseph by issuing two commandments. The first is the commandment to redeem the firstborn son, and the second is the commandment to give a half shekel, once a year, (every Jew would give a half Shekel each year to the funds that would pay for the communal offerings offered in the temple). The Torah refers to the half shekel as an “atonement for the soul.”
The Talmud explains the connection between these commandments and the sale of Joseph:
Rabbi Berechyah and Rabbi Levi in the name of Rabbi Shimon Ben Lakish say: Because they sold the firstborn of Rachel for twenty pieces of silver let each one redeem his firstborn with twenty pieces of silver.
Rabbi Pinchas in the name of Rabbi Levi says: Because they sold the firstborn of Rachel for twenty pieces of silver (twenty Dinars) and each one of the brothers received (a Tibbah, which is) two Dinars, as his share of the proceeds, therefore let each one give for Shekel obligation (a Tibbah, which is the value of) two dinars.
The theme of each of these two commandments is completely different. The half Shekel is about “atonement for the soul”, atonement implies that there is a sin that needs to be atoned for. The commandment of the redeeming of the first born, commemorating the saving of the Jewish first born children at the exodus of Egypt, is a symbol of redemption. Despite the opposing themes, sin and redemption, both these commandments are associated with the sale of Joseph.
The Talmud is teaching us how to view the actions of Joseph’s brothers, as well as how to view the broader question of free choice versus Divine destiny. Every scenario has multiple layers of meaning and can therefore be viewed from multiple perspectives. Free choice and divine destiny operate simultaneously, yet each one does not negate the other.
If we look at the sale of Joseph from the perspective of the brothers, we see sin. We look at how much each brother profited from the sale - a half Shekel - and we understand that the Torah's commandment to give an annual gift of a half shekel is a reminder to correct and avoid the terrible mistake of the brothers. If, however, we choose to look at the story from the Divine perspective, we understand that no human action can interfere with the Divine plan. While the brothers used their free choice to choose sin, G-d used the sale of Joseph as the conduit for Joseph’s eventual greatness. If we look at the big picture, if we don’t look at the sum that each brother profited by, but rather we look at the general story, at the “combined profit” from the sale of Joseph, we see a totally different story. When we focus on the totality of the profit earned by the sale, which symbolizes the totality of the story from G-d’s perspective we see a story of salvation.
We commemorate the story by thinking about the redemption G-d brought about through the sinful act of the brothers.
The lesson we learn from the story of the sale of Joseph is profound. A fellow human being can choose to harm us. We can even use our own free choice to harm ourselves. We can make a choice that will lead to failure, pain and tragedy. Yet, like Joseph, we must remember that despite human choice, G-d’s plan is always at work. We recognize that where the human chooses evil, G-d plants seeds of redemption.
We must remember that human free choice is no contradiction to Divine destiny.
Binding Bundles
So much of our history was shaped by the conflict between Joseph and his brothers, which can be traced back to Joseph telling his brothers about the dreams he dreamed, in which he saw that they would bow to him. As the Torah relates:
And Joseph dreamed a dream and told his brothers, and they continued to hate him. And he said to them, "Listen now to this dream, which I have dreamed: Behold, we were binding sheaves in the midst of the field, and behold, my sheaf arose and also stood upright, and behold, your sheaves encircled [it] and prostrated themselves to my sheaf."
Everything in the Torah is precise. The setting of the dream - the brothers binding sheaves of wheat in the field - was chosen specifically because gathering stalks into bundles is a metaphor for the purpose of the Jew on this earth.
As we look around the world, we often experience the world as concealing the truth of the one G-d. Often it is a challenge to feel the presence of the one G-d in the chaos around us. How did this disconnect emerge? By what process does the oneness break down into multiplicity?
Let us think about a sentence.
Although a sentence is combined of many letters it is nevertheless able to convey one specific idea, as long as the many letters combine and organize in an orderly fashion to create words, and those words align in a specific order to convey one idea. If, however, the letters that form the words are separated from each other, if their order is lost, then, although the letters themselves are intact, the meaning, the energy and the idea conveyed by the sentence is lost.
The same is true with the creation of the universe. The world was created by Divine speech. G-d spoke and the world came into being. Those sentences, “let there be light”, “let there be a firmament” etc., conveyed the Divine energy. Somewhere along the way, however, in a process called “the breaking of the vessels”, the letters and words separated from each other, they were rearranged, and as a result, the meaning, the purpose, and the divine source, is no longer legible within the universe. What was once a unified sentence that expressed the truth of reality, now appears to be no more than a mix of random, fragmented letters.
And this is where the children of Jacob entered the picture. The twelve tribes of Israel were charged with the mission of collecting and organizing the scattered letters, they were tasked with arranging them in the proper order which would allow the meaning to be conveyed. Thus, in the dream, Joseph and his brothers were in the field binding individual, seemingly random, stalks, and creating a unified bundle.
Living on this earth a person is constantly pulled in many directions. In the same day a person may have to be a father, a spouse, a son, and an employer. He must eat, drink, sleep and groom. He must feed his psychological needs, and nourish his spiritual soul, he must relax and he must invest time in achieving his long term goals. No wonder then that at the end of a day a person is often drained and uninspired. He feels that too much of his day was spent on trivial matters: overcoming distraction, finding a parking spot, or waiting in line at the coffee shop.
Yet the Jew knows that his task is to collect the various scattered sparks embedded in the various experiences and combine them into one meaningful entity. Moving through the day we take the scattered letters - moments what seem mundane and trivial - and string together a meaningful sentence. We spend our time bundling sheaves of wheat, taking individual stalks and revealing that they can be bound together in a common purpose.
We, the children of Jacob, understand that our job is to demonstrate that there need not be a dichotomy between body and soul. That life does not have to be a collection of meaningless fragmented moments. Every activity, every moment and every detail in life can be an expression of the same intention: to fill our lives, and the lives of the people around us, with a unified purpose, to fill the world with goodness and kindness. We do so by binding the scattered stalks of wheat, revealing the spark of holiness in every experience, organizing the letters and allowing them to express the message that all of the world is an expression of the Divine oneness.
Double Dream, Single Reality
There is only one person in all of the five Books of Moses that the Torah refers to as being “successful”, that person is Joseph. Joseph's extraordinary gift was his ability to rise to the top of any situation he was placed in. When his brothers sold him into slavery he became the leader of his master’s home; when he was thrown into prison he became the administrator of the prison; and finally, the epitome of his success, he rose from the lowest rung in society to the highest rung: from a slave in prison to the acting leader of Egypt, the superpower of the ancient world.
What was the secret to his success? How did he remain focused, optimistic and upbeat despite all the difficulties that he had to endure?
Joseph brothers would mock him by referring to him as “the dreamer”. Indeed, to understand Jospeh, his story and his success, we must understand the unique nature of his dreams.
In the beginning of this week’s Torah portion we read about the two dreams Joseph dreamed, both with the same theme, namely, that Joseph was destined to be the leader over his brothers who would bow to him, as the Torah relates:
And Joseph dreamed a dream and told his brothers, and they continued to hate him.
And he said to them, "Listen now to this dream, which I have dreamed:
Behold, we were binding sheaves in the midst of the field, and behold, my sheaf arose and also stood upright, and behold, your sheaves encircled [it] and prostrated themselves to my sheaf."...
And he again dreamed another dream, and he related it to his brothers, and he said, "Behold, I have dreamed another dream, and behold, the sun, the moon, and eleven stars were prostrating themselves to me."
Joseph’s dreams were different than the dreams of Pharaoh and Pharaoh's butler and baker recorded later in the story. Joseph first dreamed about the earthly, the grain in the field, and then continued to dream about the heavens, the celestial bodies, the sun, the moon and the stars.
Joseph understood that the dreams were conveying that the material and the spiritual are not two separate entities, but rather they are two layers of the same reality. Joseph understood that if he would indeed become a leader in the physical sense, if his brothers’ “wheat” would bow to his “wheat”, if he would be the leader who would provide them with bread, then that is but the first dream and the outer layer of the story. The deeper layer, the spiritual counterpart, is found in the second dream; it is that Joseph must bestow upon his brothers not just material bounty but also spiritual insight. While his brothers thought they had to retreat from society and become shepherds in order to maintain a connection to holiness, he must share with them his unique ability to remain loyal to sanctity and holiness, even while being involved in the heart of the Egyptian economy and culture.
Joseph’s double dream taught him that one could simultaneously be in a field with the grain, and in heaven with the stars. That one can exist on two planes at the same time. That within every earthly scenario one must seek and find the inner layer, the spark of heaven, that is the purpose of the experience.
Thus, Joseph’s spirit could not be crushed. No matter the circumstance, Joseph understood that there is a hidden piece of spirituality, there is celestial energy amidst what might appear to be the bleak, earthy reality of the field. Whether he was a slave in his master's home, or worse yet, confined to prison, his spirit remained high as he understood that reality is layered, that beneath the first dream lay the second dream, that there must be a deeper purpose in the physical existence.
Just like Joseph himself, each of us is empowered to connect the wheat and the stars, the heaven and the earth, the spiritual and the mundane. The Torah gifts us with the ability to find the good in every situation, to find the spark of opportunity in every challenge. We can elevate the earthly experience and discover that even while in the field we are living a transcendent, heavenly, experience.
Joseph
His brothers misunderstood him.
Joseph's spiritual composition, attitude and skills were different than their own, different than their father’s and grandfather’s. If anything, Joseph seemed similar to their uncle Esau.
The Patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob lived in a spiritual realm. To them, the only true reality was G-d; the world did not present a challenge to their spiritual pursuits, for, to them, the worldly temptations were meaningless and had no appeal. The Talmud refers to them as the “chariot of G-d”, meaning that they had no desire other than to serve as a vehicle and a conduit to fulfill the will of G-d on this earth.
The children of Jacob, however, experienced the earthly reality. To them, the world was full of challenges and temptations. For them, the world around them, with its material pleasures and temptations, was seductive. For them to remain loyal to the teachings and lifestyle of their forefathers, they had to retreat from society and surround themselves with the tranquility of the shepherd's lifestyle.
Joseph was different than his father and grandfather in that, to Joseph, the world presented a spiritual challenge. Joseph appreciated the perspective of the contemporary culture and was not oblivious to its appeal. Joseph was also different than his brothers, in that he could not see himself as a shepherd removed from city life. Joseph aspired to engage in agriculture and commerce, and to embrace the world around him.
The brothers could not connect to Joseph’s approach, they viewed him as a foreigner in the family, and when they saw that their father favored him, they kidnapped him and sold him as a slave to Egypt. From their perspective they were engaged in an act of spiritual greatness, removing the threat that Joseph’s path and aspirations presented to the family legacy.
His brothers misunderstood him.
Joseph was blazing a new path, superior to those of his father and brothers. Joseph did not remain aloof from the worldly, as his father did, nor was his spiritual life threatened by engaging the world, as were his brothers. Joseph perfected the art of entering the world and transforming it. Instead of being influenced by the values of contemporary society, Joseph was successful in influencing society while remaining loyal to his own inner identity.
Jacob understood his son Joseph. He looked forward to the fruition of Joseph's dreams that foretold how the brothers would bow to Joseph, symbolizing that they would accept the superiority of Joseph’s approach. Jacob favored Joseph's path for he understood that for the world to reach its purpose, each of us will have to follow Joseph’s leadership. We must not remain aloof, unaffected by the world and it’s challenges. We must not retreat from facing the temptations of the material world. Like Joseph who descended into Egypt as a slave yet ultimately ruled over and influenced all of Egypt we must engage and transform. We too descend into this world in order to engage it and transform it so that it too will express the truth of the creator.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayeshev 19 Kislev vol. 25.
How to Climb Out of the Pit
If you happen to live on planet earth it is likely that occasionally you will feel trapped. You may feel something holding you back, keeping your spirits down and depleting your joy and passion for life. What is the secret to redemption, to escaping the confines and trappings of negativity?
In this week’s Torah portion we begin to read about the turbulent life of Joseph. We read of his going from being his father’s favored child, to being sold as a slave in Egypt. If that was not bad enough, he was then placed in prison on false charges. We read about how Joseph descended to the lowest state of society. In the coming weeks we read about the dramatic and abrupt reversal of his fortunes. Joseph was taken directly from prison to become the leader of Egypt.
What was the moment that triggered the redemption for Joseph? What was the turning point that ultimately led to Joseph’s freedom and ascent to power?
With Joseph in prison were two of Pharaoh’s ministers. Each of them dreamed a mysterious dream on the same night and in the morning they were troubled by the dream. Joseph’s interaction with them is what ultimately brought salvation to Joseph (and by extension, to his family and to the entire Egyptian economy):
And Joseph came to them in the morning, and he saw them and behold, they were troubled.
And he asked Pharaoh's chamberlains who were with him in the prison of his master's house, saying, "Why are your faces sad today?" (Genesis 40:6-7)
This seemingly simple question “why are your faces sad today?” is what led to Joseph’s redemption. If Joseph was indifferent to their mood, if he had not inquired about what was troubling them he would not have had the opportunity to interpret their dreams and subsequently he would not have been recommended to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams which led him to royalty.
What is remarkable about the exchange is that Joseph himself had all the reasons in the world to be sad and bitter. He was in prison based on false charges and there was no realistic hope for him to be freed. Yet Joseph was able to break free from the constant focus and concern for self. Joseph transcended his own perspective and was concerned for the wellbeing of others. And indeed, this internal liberation, eventually brought salvation to Joseph and ultimately to his entire family.
Each of us has two souls within ourselves, The natural soul, which is self oriented, and the G-dly soul, which seeks to transcend the confines of self and connect to G-d and to the Divine spark within each and every person. When we feel confined and limited by difficulties or internal shortcomings and challenges, when we sense that we need to free ourselves from negativity, we should follow Joseph's lead. The best path to redemption is tapping into our G-dly soul, reaching out and connecting to others. For the liberation from the confines of focusing exclusively on the self, will ultimately unleash broader liberation, freeing us to reach our fullest potential.
(Adapted from Sichos Kodesh, Miketz 5734)
The Wedding Ring
Perhaps one of the most puzzling stories in the Torah is the story of Judah and Tamar. Judah promised Tamar, his twice widowed daughter-in-law, that he would give her his third son in marriage. When Tamar realized that Judah had no intention of doing so, she disguised herself as a harlot and became pregnant from Judah, giving birth to twins, one of whom became the ancestor of King David, as well as the ancestor of Moshiach, who will bring the world to perfection.
Every detail in the Torah is layered with significance. Tamar asked Judah for security for payment. As the Torah describes:
So he said, "What is the pledge that I should give you?" And she said, "Your signet, your cloak, and the staff that is in your hand." So he gave them to her, and he came to her, and she conceived his likeness. (Genesis 38:18)
Rashi emphasizes that the signet was set in a ring: “Your ring, with which you seal”.
The Story of Judah and Tamar affects an essential aspect of every Jewish marriage. While the Jewish Law teaches that a woman is betrothed by receiving any object of monetary value, it has become the universal Jewish custom to betroth a woman by giving her a ring. The commentators explain that the biblical source for betrothal by a ring is Judah, who gave Tamar his signet set in a ring.
What is the mystical meaning of the ring? Why do we evoke the, seemingly immodest, union of Judah and Tamar in every Jewish marriage?
Regarding the day of Shabbat, the Midrash employs the following parable: “This is compared to a king who made a ring. What was the ring missing? It was missing a signet {on the ring}. So too, what was the world missing? The world was missing Shabbat.
A ring represents nature. The Hebrew word ring {tabbat} consists of the same letters as the Hebrew word for nature {teva}. Like a ring, nature is cyclical, like a ring, nature does not necessarily have an identifying mark expressing its owner. What nature, the ring, is missing is a signet, identifying its owner, it’s meaning, and its purpose. Shabbat is the signet. Shabbat is our declaration that G-d created the world in six days and rested in the seventh. While nature is a ring that tells you nothing about its owner or its purpose, Shabbat is the signet of the ring which infuses nature with awareness of the holiness and transcendence of G-d.
This is the significance of the wedding ring, which represents Judah’s signet. When man and woman seek to unite in marriage, they seek more than a natural, and therefore temporary, bond, they seek to draw holiness and transcendence into their relationship. Marriage is the sacred bond which infuses the natural connection between man and woman, with the energy of the infinite light of G-d, thus creating an everlasting edifice, expressed in the Divine power of procreation.
And finally, the Messianic era, whose seeds were planted by the union of Judah and Tamar, represents the ultimate fusion between the ring and the signet, between the natural order, and the infinite light of G-d. Indeed, the Messianic era represents the culmination of the marriage between G-d and the Jewish people, When “the earth {the ring} will be filled with the knowledge of G-d {the signet} as the waters fill the sea.”
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Vayeshev, vol. 15 sicha 4.
The Impossible Dream
Dreams play a central role in the story of the Jewish people's descent to Egypt. Firstly, Joseph's brothers sold him as a slave to Egypt as a result of him sharing his dreams with them, in which his brothers bowed down to him. Secondly, after being sent to prison, Joseph interpreted the dreams of Pharaoh's ministers, who were imprisoned with him. And finally, Joseph rose to become the ruler of Egypt because he interpreted Pharaoh's dreams.
The exile to Egypt was brought about through dreams because exile is likened to a dream. The verse in Psalms (126:1) states, "When the Lord will return the exiles of Zion, we will have been like dreamers." When a person awakens from a dream, he realizes that what seems so vivid and real was but a dream, so too, when we will return from the exile, we will look back at our time in exile and realize that it was but a dream.
A dream is a state of mind where a person's discerning mind is not conscious, and therefore he can imagine a contradictory and impossible reality. Spiritual exile is when one is living a contradiction, where two opposite desires can co-exist. When one is in a state of spiritual exile, he may have a deep love for G-d, yearning to transcend and cleave to holiness. Yet moments later, he may be wholly invested in love and desire for physical existence and pleasure. When one is spiritually "awake," when the discerning mind functions, these two opposing desires cannot co-exist, yet in exile, they both exist. One may suspect that the love to G-d is not genuine for, if it were, it would permeate all of his desires. Yet, the reality is that the devotion to the material and the spiritual are both real. They may be a contradiction, yet, like in a dream, they can exist simultaneously.
Kabbalah explains that the illogical dream, which occurs when the discerning mind is asleep, can sometimes express truths that the logical mind cannot grasp. The same is true regarding the spiritual dream of exile. When we will be redeemed, we will awake and see that we were dreaming. We will recognize that reality, as we experienced it, was not the ultimate truth, for in truth, the material and the spiritual are not contradictory. They were both created by G-d, and each expresses their Divine source in their unique way. In exile, we are in a dream; we are genuinely drawn to the contradictory experiences of heaven and earth. When we awake from our dream, with the arrival of Moshiach, there will be no more dream because the physical and the spiritual will be at peace.
Adapted from Torah Ohr Parshas Vayeshev as explained by Rabbi Adin Even-Yisrael.
Was She a Villain?
Joseph experienced a dramatic downfall.
This week's Torah portion begins with the description of Joseph as his father's favored son, and concludes with Joseph in prison after his brothers sold him as a slave.
Indeed a dramatic downfall.
One of the characters in the story who advances the plot is Potifar's wife, who, after failing to seduce Joseph, causes his imprisonment. The Torah describes the story in great detail:
Now it came to pass after these events that his master's wife lifted up her eyes to Joseph, and she said, "Lie with me."... Now it came about when she spoke to Joseph day in and day out, that he did not obey her, to lie beside her [and] to be with her. And it came about on a certain day, that he came to the house to do his work, and none of the people of the house were there in the house. So she grabbed him by his garment, saying, "Lie with me!" But he left his garment in her hand and fled and went outside. So she left his garment beside her, until his master came home. And she told him the same thing, saying, "The Hebrew slave that you brought to us came to me to mock me. Genesis 39:7, 10-17)
It would be natural to view Potifar's wife as a villain, yet, surprisingly, the sages explain that her motivation was holy ("for the sake of heaven"). As the Midrash, quoted by Rashi, explains:
Scripture juxtaposes the incident of Potiphar's wife with the incident of Tamar, to tell you that just as that one [Tamar] meant for the sake of heaven, so too this one [Potiphar's wife] meant for the sake of heaven. For she saw through her astrology that she was destined to raise children from him (Joseph), but she did not know whether [they would be] from her or from her daughter {Indeed, later in the story, Joseph married her daughter}.
While the perspective that Potifar's wife had a holy intention may seem radical, it captures the essence of the story of Joseph and replays itself in each of our lives. The Mystics explain that the source of all unholy energy and phenomenon is rooted in holiness, the source of all existence. At the core of unholiness lies its concealed spark, whose intention is not to destroy holiness but to challenge the person to grow and intensify his connection to holiness due to the challenge.
Indeed, every obstacle and challenge in Joseph's path was, in reality, a pedestal that would ultimately allow him to ascend to the most incredible heights. The same is true in our life. When we cultivate the awareness that at the core of our challenge or opponent is a concealed Divine spark; that in reality, there is no experience separate from G-d, the challenge becomes the fuel of commitment, dedication and spiritual growth.
Recognizing the Divine spark in every experience will help reveal that Divine purpose and allow us to see how the challenge is transformed into positivity.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayeshev volume 1
How to Climb Out of the Pit
If you happen to live on planet earth it is likely that occasionally you will feel trapped. You may feel something holding you back, keeping your spirits down and depleting your joy and passion for life. What is the secret to redemption, to escaping the confines and trappings of negativity?
In this week’s Torah portion we begin to read about the turbulent life of Joseph. We read of his going from being his father’s favored child, to being sold as a slave in Egypt. If that was not bad enough, he was then placed in prison on false charges. We read about how Joseph descended to the lowest state of society. In the coming weeks we read about the dramatic and abrupt reversal of his fortunes. Joseph was taken directly from prison to become the leader of Egypt.
What was the moment that triggered the redemption for Joseph? What was the turning point that ultimately led to Joseph’s freedom and ascent to power?
With Joseph in prison were two of Pharaoh’s ministers. Each of them dreamed a mysterious dream on the same night and in the morning they were troubled by the dream. Joseph’s interaction with them is what ultimately brought salvation to Joseph (and by extension, to his family and to the entire Egyptian economy):
And Joseph came to them in the morning, and he saw them and behold, they were troubled.
And he asked Pharaoh's chamberlains who were with him in the prison of his master's house, saying, "Why are your faces sad today?" (Genesis 40:6-7)
This seemingly simple question “why are your faces sad today?” is what led to Joseph’s redemption. If Joseph was indifferent to their mood, if he had not inquired about what was troubling them he would not have had the opportunity to interpret their dreams and subsequently he would not have been recommended to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams which led him to royalty.
What is remarkable about the exchange is that Joseph himself had all the reasons in the world to be sad and bitter. He was in prison based on false charges and there was no realistic hope for him to be freed. Yet Joseph was able to break free from the constant focus and concern for self. Joseph transcended his own perspective and was concerned for the wellbeing of others. And indeed, this internal liberation, eventually brought salvation to Joseph and ultimately to his entire family.
Each of us has two souls within ourselves, The natural soul, which is self oriented, and the G-dly soul, which seeks to transcend the confines of self and connect to G-d and to the Divine spark within each and every person. When we feel confined and limited by difficulties or internal shortcomings and challenges, when we sense that we need to free ourselves from negativity, we should follow Joseph's lead. The best path to redemption is tapping in to our G-dly soul, reaching out and connecting to others. For the liberation from the confines of focusing exclusively on the self, will ultimately unleash broader liberation, freeing us to reach our fullest potential.
(Adapted from Sichos Kodesh, Miketz 5734)
The Dreams
They dropped the ball.
They had been preparing for this moment for their entire careers. They were the greatest experts in their field, the best dream-interpreters money could buy. Yet, when it mattered most, they dropped the ball.
Shaken by the dreams of seven skinny cows swallowing up seven fat cows, and then seven thin and beaten ears of grain swallowing up seven healthy and full ears of grain, Pharaoh called the interpreters and demanded an interpretation. The verse states: “Pharaoh related to them his dream, but no one interpreted them for Pharaoh (Genesis 41:8)”. To be sure, they tried offering interpretations, yet Pharaoh was unsatisfied with their explanations. As Rashi points out:
“They did interpret them, but not for Pharaoh, for their voice did not reach his ears, and he had no satisfaction from their interpretation, for they said, “You will beget seven daughters, and you will bury seven daughters.”
The failure of the official dream interpreters created an opening for Joseph, the Hebrew slave languishing in prison, to step in to offer his interpretation. Joseph offered the most simple and straightforward interpretation possible. Joseph explained that there would be seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine. Joseph suggested that Pharaoh appoint someone to collect and store food during the years of plenty which would sustain the country and the surrounding countries during the years of famine. Pharaoh was impressed with the brilliant explanation. He did not think twice. He appointed Joseph - the Hebrew slave, the foreigner - as the second in command of Egypt.
How could the expert interpreters miss such an obvious interpretation of the dream? How difficult was it to figure out that skinny cows and beaten-thin grain represents famine? Why did they drop the ball?
There was one important, yet often overlooked, detail that did not allow the interpreters to explain that the cows refer to years. When the Torah tells us about the dream, it tells us that there were seven fat cows grazing, and then seven skinny cows emerged from the Nile and here is the critical detail:
“(And behold, seven other cows were coming up after them from the Nile, of ugly appearance and lean of flesh,) and they stood beside the cows on the Nile bank (ibid 41:3)”.
Pharaoh's interpreters were convinced that there was no way that the skinny cows could represent years of famine that would follow years of plenty, because years of famine do not “stand beside” years of plenty. In other words, the years of famine follow the years of plenty, the two are not experienced simultaneously. The interpreters therefore suggested that the meaning of the dream was "You will beget seven daughters, and you will bury seven daughters.” The advantage of their interpretation was that seven daughters could be born, from multiple wives, and simultaneously seven other daughters could die, in which case both the “fat cows” and the “skinny cows” would stand next to each other, representing joy and sorrow standing side by side.
Joseph’s interpretation was novel in that Joseph explained that the dream Pharaoh dreamed was not just a notification of future events. Joseph explained to Pharaoh that the dreams were a call to action. Joseph helped Pharaoh understand that the dreams were not a description of a problem - seven years of devastating famine following and eliminating the seven years of plenty - but rather, the dreams depicted the solution. Joseph explained that the meaning of the key verse “and they stood beside the cows on the Nile bank” was indeed the key to the solution to the problem. The dreams were telling Pharaoh that the only way to survive the famine was if the years of plenty and the years of famine would be experienced simultaneously. G-d was showing Pharaoh that during the years of plenty the people should experience the years of famine by being cognizant of what was to come and by collecting and storing food for the upcoming years of famine. And during the years of famine the people would experience the years of plenty, by eating the food that grew during the years of plenty.
In Joseph interpretation there were no years that were exclusively “good” or exclusively “bad”. The good fat cows and the bad skinny cows stood side by side.
Likewise, it is incumbent upon us to realize that in this world there is a mix of good and evil, a mix of spiritual plenty and spiritual famine. Joseph, the dreamer, the ultimate optimist, taught us that at any given moment we may decide what reality we want to live in. Although we may find ourselves spiritually in a situation of “years of famine”, we must be aware that at any given moment we can access the spiritual “years of plenty”.
Joseph taught us that when faced with a challenging circumstance, we must realize that G-d never sends us seven years of famine alone. Embedded in the reality we face, is the potential to discover the “plenty”. After all, the seven skinny cows always stand beside the seven fat cows.
Inspired by the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutey Sichos, Mikets, Vol. 15 sicha 1.
Dreaming of Light
The great Pharaoh, ruler of the world’s mightiest superpower, was in distress. Pharaoh was in agony because of the two dreams he dreamt one night.
Pharaoh dreamed of seven fat, robust, cows being eaten up by seven lean ugly cows. He then had a second dream, this time seven thin and beaten ears of grain devoured seven healthy and good ears of grain.
Pharaoh was shaken.
The Torah tells of how he summoned his advisers seeking an explanation to his dreams:
Now it came to pass in the morning that his spirit was troubled; so he sent and called all the necromancers of Egypt and all its sages, and Pharaoh related to them his dream, but no one interpreted them for Pharaoh.
Why was this dream so troubling to Pharaoh? Did Pharaoh not have other dreams he ignored in the past? Why did this dream affect him so deeply, to the extent that when Joseph interpreted the dreams to his satisfaction, he awarded Joseph with the position of viceroy of Egypt?
Pharaoh was the most powerful person in the most powerful kingdom of his time. Yet, like many powerful people, Pharaoh had a deep persistent concern, he always feared what would happen if the people would rebel against him? What would happen if neighboring countries decided to band together and dethrone him? He may have held tremendous power but deep down he feared that one day he might be challenged and his power might be lost.
To manage his fears, Pharaoh would constantly reassure himself that he had nothing to fear. In battle between the mighty and weak the mighty would prevail and the weak would be crushed. He would remind himself that in a confrontation between the powerful and the powerless, the powerful would triumph every time.
And then came the dreams.
The dreams were so troubling because they were the antithesis to what Pharaoh was reassuring himself. The dreams undermined and undercut Pharaoh’s sense of security, because they spoke of the weak overpowering the mighty, the emaciated cows and the downtrodden ears triumphing over the powerful cows and healthy stalks.
Pharaoh was shaken because the dream reinforced his deepest fears.
Joseph interpreted the dreams and explained to Pharaoh that the dreams represent seven years of famine that would follow seven years of plenty; he told Pharaoh to appoint someone to gather food during the years of plenty in preparation for the years of famine. Pharaoh was relieved and appointed Joseph the viceroy of Egypt.
Joseph interpreted the dreams for Pharaoh, but he also drew his own lessons from the dreams. The Zohar, the primary book of Jewish mysticism, teaches that there were multiple layers of meaning embedded within the dream. Joseph shared the outer layer with Pharaoh yet he kept the inner layers of interpretation close to his heart.
The dreams encouraged Joseph to facilitate the transplanting of his father’s household to Egypt. The dreams reassured Joseph that, although the Jews were destined to experience terrible oppression in Egypt, in the end they would triumph and emerge as a great nation, a “nation of priests”. Joseph was reassured that the physically weak Jewish people, would prevail over the mighty Egypt.
The lesson Joseph derived from the dreams was echoed many centuries later during the story of Chanukah. Like Joseph, the Maccabees believed that the morally superior would succeed against the most powerful army of the time. They believed in what we say in the Chanukah prayers: “You delivered the mighty into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few, the impure into the hands of the pure, the wicked into the hands of the righteous, and the wanton sinners into the hands of those who occupy themselves with Your Torah.”
As we light the Chanukah Menorah and listen to the whisper of the candles we hear their message of hope. We hear the candles tell us of the miracles of the past as well as the miracles of the future. We listen as the candles reassure us that ultimately, over time, the good will prevail over evil and light will expel the darkness. The candles remind us to appreciate the superiority of spirit over matter. The candles remind us to create miracles in our lives and in the world around us. They remind us to work toward a time when the world will be filled with light.
Joseph the Charmer
Woven into the story of Joseph are dreams and their interpretations. Joseph’s terrible hardships, beginning with being sold as a slave by his own brothers, were caused by his dreams that his brothers would bow to him. His rise to the height of power was also brought about by Joseph's skillful interpretation of dreams.
Indeed, in this week’s portion we read about Pharaoh summoning Joseph from prison, in order to interpret his dreams:
And Pharaoh said to Joseph, "I have dreamed a dream, and there is no interpreter for it, but I have heard it said of you [that] you understand a dream, to interpret it."
Dream interpretation turned out to be central to Joseph’s story, because, according to the Kabbalists, it represents Joseph's spiritual makeup and his unique divine mission.
Life is like a dream.
A dream is a state of mind where there is no orderly thinking, a place where opposing forces can co-exist. A consciousness where chaos reigns free. A dream is a place where one can move between opposite extremes very quickly, one moment the dreamer is in grave danger, and a moment later he is safe and sound.
Life is like a dream.
This world we live in is a world of fragmentation. In a single day we experience opposite feelings, highs and lows, the pull to transcend and the opposing gravitational pull of the earth. We experience moments of meaning and mindfulness, as well as moments of distraction, pain and confusion.
Joseph's experience was like a dream, one moment he was a slave in prison, a moment later he was the leader of Egypt.
If life is similar to a dream, then the key to success in life is to be a dream interpreter.
The Hebrew word for “(dream) interpreter” is “Poter” (פתר), (which means to solve, as in solving a riddle). The same letters rearranged spell the word “Tofer” (תפר) which means to sew.
Joseph was able to solve the dreams as well as solve the challenges of life, by realizing that he must serve as the needle that would sew together all of the fragments and create unity. To Joseph every experience, both positive and negative, was part of the tapestry of a single story. The negative moments in life, the challenges one faces, are confusing until one sews them all together to achieve the big picture. The ability to solve and “interpret” the dream comes from infusing every moment and every experience with meaning. No matter where a person is, he is always able to ask: what can I accomplish this moment? Who can I help? How can I advance the cause of goodness and kindness?
Which is precisely what Joseph told Pharaoh. Pharaoh saw many details. In the first dream he saw seven fat cows and then seven skinny cows. In the second dream he saw seven healthy ears of grain and seven thin ears of grain.
The first words that Joseph said to Pharaoh are the clue to how Joseph cracked the code of the dream and it represents Joseph's attitude towards life in general:
And Joseph said to Pharaoh, "Pharaoh's dream is one; what God is doing He has told Pharaoh.
Both dreams are one dream. Both the good years and the bad years are part of one story. Both give us the opportunity to bring G-dliness into the world and to work to help others.
This was Joseph’s key insight.
From Joseph we learn that every soul is like a sewing needle. Like the needle's point, we possess the ability to penetrate the fabric and sew things together. We have the ability to penetrate the material and connect it to the divine, to pierce through the outer shell and discover that all of creation is but an expression of the one G-d.
As Jacob was about to pass away he blessed each of his children. He turned to Joseph and said: “Ben Porat Yoseph”, “A charming son is Joseph”. The word Jacob used for charm and beauty is “Porat” (פרת), the same letters as the letters of the word Interpreter, “Poter” (פתר), and the same letters as the word for sewing, “Tofer”.
When one learns to (פתר) interpret their life by (תפר) sewing all details of life into one story, then life, every part of life, becomes (פרת) beautiful and charming.
Dreams of Hope
Joseph was appointed to be the viceroy of Egypt because he alone was able to interpret Pharaoh's dreams. Joseph explained that the dreams foretold that seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine were to come. Joseph suggested that Pharaoh appoint officers to collect food during the years of plenty in order to sustain the land of Egypt during the seven years of famine.
Pharaoh was so taken by the interpretation of the dreams that he appointed Joseph, an unknown prisoner from a foreign land, to be the ruler of Egypt, second only to Pharaoh himself:
Then Pharaoh said to Joseph, "Since God has let you know all this, there is no one as understanding and wise as you.
You shall be [appointed] over my household, and through your command all my people shall be nourished; only [with] the throne will I be greater than you." (Genesis 41:40)
The story seems strange. Why would Pharaoh appoint Joseph as leader, instead of Pharaoh’s government ministers and agencies? Even if Pharaoh liked Joseph’s interpretation, why could he not have accepted Joseph's advice while instructing his own government agents to implement the policy?
Egypt was a pagan society which believed that everything on earth was controlled by the pagan gods. According to Egyptian philosophy, the human being was bound to the will of the gods, trapped by destiny and had no power over his own future and moral choices. In Egyptian culture, the circumstances to which one was born, was where he would forever remain, bound by the gods of the natural forces. Thus, Egypt did not allow for social mobility, freedom or moral free choice.
From the perspective of the Egyptian professional dream interpreters, if the gods were planning seven years of famine there was nothing human beings could do to save society. If the gods of nature were about to bring hardship and pain then the people would have no choice but to accept the suffering.
Which is why Pharaoh was so taken by Joseph.
Joseph explained to Pharaoh that G-d informing him of the seven years of famine was a Divine call to action. G-d wanted the people to take action, make the right choices and prepare for the future. Joseph received the promotion because Pharaoh understood that Joseph’s interpretation and his policy suggestion were so foreign to Egyptian culture that only a Hebrew, foreign to Egyptian philosophy and culture, could succeed in preparing for the seven years of famine. Pharaoh understood that there was no one in all his kingdom that could embrace the optimism and proactive approach that came from Joseph’s perspective. Only Joseph could infuse the Egyptians with the spirit of hope and the commitment to action.
Pharaoh's dreams served a more profound purpose than just to help the Egyptians survive the economic downturn. The dreams and their interpretations were supposed to be the first step in changing Egypt’s perspective. Human choice matters. G-d gives us the freedom to choose the path we take. Without the gift of free choice there can be no freedom and no morality.
***
Each year the story of Joseph, the quintessential optimist, the dreamer who never loses hope for a better future, is read on Chanukah. It is the spirit of Joseph which inspired the Maccabees to take action, to be hopeful and to persevere in their efforts to fight for their religious freedom.
May the flames of the Chanukah candles inspire hope and optimism, which, in turn, fuel our actions, to fill the earth with the light of goodness and kindness.
Why Joseph Framed Benjamin
The terrible famine brought ten of Jacob’s sons before the Viceroy of Egypt to purchase bread. The viceroy, who, unbeknownst to them, was their brother Joseph who they sold as a slave, accused them of being spies and demanded that they bring their brother Benjamin to Egypt. Before Joseph revealed his identity to his brothers, he framed Benjamin by planting his silver goblet in Benjamin’s bag and charging Benjamin with stealing. Judah stood up for Benjamin, requesting that Judah himself be punished instead of Benjamin. Joseph then revealed his identity to his brothers, and the extended family was reunited with Joseph and they all settled in Egypt.
The conventional understanding is that the entire plot of Joseph and his brothers serves to explain how the Jewish people came to live in Egypt and how they eventually became enslaved to the Egyptians.The Kabbalistic reading is precisely the opposite. Every step that Joseph took was, in reality, paving the way not for the eventual enslavement but rather for the spiritual fortification of the Jews in exile, which would ultimately lead to the redemption.
From the mystical perspective, in order for their descendants to survive the harsh exile, the brothers of Joseph, who were the heads of the tribes of Israel, had to experience the oppression and accusations of the Egyptian monarch, who was, in truth, their brother in disguise. When the Jewish people, like their ancestors before them, would feel subjected to the Egyptian monarch, they would remember the story of Joseph and realize that there was a deeper reality in play. The hidden reality is one where the oppressive monarch, was their “brother”, who would ultimately bring benefit to them. The exile was a process that would refine them and lead them to great material and spiritual wealth.
In addition to physical subjection, exile also has a spiritual dimension. When we are in exile we are not in our natural environment. In exile we are living a life that is not consistent with our inner core. Our natural, inherent, awareness of G-d and connection to the spirituality of our inner soul is compromised, as our emotions and aspirations are directed exclusively to our physical survival.
Joseph empowered the Jewish people to overcome the spiritual numbness that is exile.
The Torah describes how Joseph had Benjamin framed:
Then he commanded the overseer of his house, saying, "Fill the men's sacks with food, as much as they can carry, and put each man's money into the mouth of his sack.
And my goblet, the silver goblet, put into the mouth of the sack of the youngest, and his purchase money." And he did according to Joseph's word, which he had spoken. (Genesis 44:1-2)
According to the mystics, the silver goblet represents passionate love and joy. The Hebrew word for silver (kesef) is the same word that means yearning and longing. The goblet contains wine which, as the verse says, brings joy to the heart of man.
Joseph’s planting the goblet in Benjamin’s sack empowers us to realize that hidden within us is a goblet that has the capacity to experience the love and joy which a relationship with G-d embodies. Joseph planted the goblet in the sack of Benjamin to remind us that we can dispel the darkness of exile by searching for the hidden reservoirs of positive emotions planted within us. When we discover the goblet and taste the wine, the spiritual exile dissolves paving the way for the physical redemption as well.
(Adapted from Or Hatorah Bireyshis 6, page 2206)
Finding the "Opening of the House"
The brothers were frightened.
The viceroy of Egypt, who, unbeknownst to them, was their brother Joseph whom they sold into slavery, accused them of being spies. When they returned home from purchasing grain to sustain their families during the terrible famine, the brothers found their money mysteriously returned to their bags. When they returned to Egypt with Benjamin to purchase additional grain they were immediately brought to the house of Joseph.
They were afraid to enter Joseph's house.
The Torah describes that they approached the steward of Joseph’s house, trying to convince him of their innocence. As the Torah describes:
so they went up to Joseph’s house steward and spoke to him at the entrance of the house.
And they said, "Please, my lord, we came down at first to purchase food.
And it came to pass when we came to the lodging place that we opened our sacks, and behold! each man's money was in the mouth of his sack, our money in full weight; and we returned it in our hands.
And we brought down other money in our hand[s] to purchase food. We do not know who put our money into our sacks." (Genesis 43:19-22)
The Torah describes how they were reassured:
He replied, “All is well with you; do not be afraid. Your God, the God of your father, must have put treasure in your bags for you. I got your payment.” And he brought out Simeon to them. 43-23
Every detail in the Torah is precise. Why does the Torah emphasize that the exchange happened “at the entrance of the house“?
The Chasidic Masters explain the mystical meaning of the story and its relevance to each of our lives. The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything that happens in this world happens by Divine providence. When a person experiences fear caused by physical concerns, it is in order to help the person reach a higher state of fear, the awe of G-d. The spiritual fear then causes all other fears, which are debilitating and paralyzing, to dissipate. This, in fact, is what happened to Joseph’s brothers. When they were accused of being spies (and later, when Benjamin was accused of stealing Joseph’s goblet), they were frightened. Yet the fear of the viceroy led them to a deeper awe, it led them to realize the severity of their terrible sin of selling their brother. The “external fear”, the fear of the human king, led them to “an inner fear”, the fear of their creator, which led to their ultimate repentance and transformation.
This is the mystical significance of the “opening of the house”. Every challenge is, in reality, an opening to a deeper and more elevated space. When the brothers were faced with a profound fear, they realized that it was an “opening of a house”, an opportunity to get to a deeper awe. They were able to use the external fear as an opportunity to introspect and reach a deeper level of awe.
The same is true for each of us. Every experience in our life could become “an opening of the house”, an opportunity for spiritual growth, deeper awareness. Next time you face a challenge, or encounter an obstacle, ask yourself: how do I use this challenge as an opening to a new “house”, to a space of deeper meaning and spiritual connection?
Based on the Degel Machane Ephrayim.
Keep Dreaming
The second half of the book of Genesis is replete with dreams. Jacob dreams of a ladder reaching heaven as he is fleeing the land of Israel and he dreams of cattle when he is about to head back to Israel. Joseph dreams that his brothers will bow to him. He interprets the dreams of Pharaoh's ministers when they are in prison. And, ultimately, he rises to power when he interprets Pharaoh's dreams.
Our relationship with dreams is complicated. Deep down, we each have something we dream of, a goal to reach, an achievement to aspire to, yet our critical mind places a damper on our aspirations, telling us to be realistic and logical, telling us that our goals are unattainable. Yet, Joseph teaches us never to stop dreaming, always to believe in our ability to reach the loftiest of goals.
Joseph's dreams offer insight into the way to dream in a sustainable and healthy way.
There is an essential difference between the dreams of Pharaoh and the dreams of Joseph. In Pharaoh's dream, there is a descent from a higher form of life to a lower form of life. At first, Pharaoh dreams of seven healthy cows devoured by seven lean cows and afterwards he dreams of seven healthy ears of grain being swallowed up by seven emaciated ears of grain. A descent from the animal kingdom to vegetation. Joseph's dream, by contrast, represents an elevation from the earthly to the heavenly. At first, he dreamt of bundles of grain bowing to him, and afterwards he dreamt of the stars, sun, and moon bowing to him. Joseph, whose name means "increase," teaches us that the way to dream is to increase in small steps in order to elevate oneself. As long as we work to increase and grow, our dream will be kept alive and will ultimately be fulfilled.
The holiday of Chanukah, which occurs in proximity to when the portion of Joseph's dreams is read, embodies this message. Chanukah reminds us that in times of darkness, we must not despair. We must continue to dream for and work toward a bright future by continuously increasing light. We begin with one small candle. But if we keep dreaming, if we keep growing, if we keep adding a candle each night, we will ultimately prevail. The entire Menorah will be filled with light, ultimately transforming the world into a place of goodness and kindness.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos Vayeshev vol. 3.
Joseph and Self Esteem
No other character in the Torah experiences extreme circumstance changes, as does Joseph. He starts as the cornerstone of his home, his father's favorite son, and abruptly descends to become a slave in Egypt. If that were not enough, he is slandered by his master's wife and is imprisoned. Just as abruptly, he ascends from the lowest position in society to become the leader of Egypt, as Pharaoh told him: "besides you, no one may lift his hand or his foot in the entire land of Egypt."
What is Joseph's secret to success, remaining upbeat and loyal to his ethics, beliefs, and inner character, despite the dramatic and changing circumstances? What was the secret of his ability not only to preserve his own identity but to affect the people around him in a positive way?
Our culture values people based on external criteria, such as physical appearance, material possessions, or professional success. Defining ourselves by these criteria, however, is never a route to healthy and enduring self-esteem and could potentially be psychologically dangerous because our circumstances and achievements are not permanent. The healthiest and most durable way of creating lasting self-esteem is by connecting to our spiritual soul, the spark of G-d within, whose value is infinite and unconditional. When we live this way, no one can diminish our self-esteem, and we experience a great sense of freedom. There is no need for validation from others. When we connect to the spiritual side of ourselves, we recognize that our value is infinite and unconditional.
Back to Joseph.
When Joseph was rushed from prison to meet Pharaoh, the Torah states:
So Pharaoh sent and called Joseph, and they rushed him from the dungeon, and he shaved and changed his clothes, and he [then] came to Pharaoh. (Genesis 41:14)
The deeper meaning of "changed his clothes" is that the circumstances of slavery and prison were "garments", they were external to his essence. Joseph did not allow those "garments" to define him. The same was true about his successes. His success in the eyes of the Egyptians was not what defined him. Joseph self-defined as someone with a Divine soul, a conduit to the Divine plan, to bring salvation, comfort, and holiness wherever he was, regardless if he was imprisoned or on the throne of Egypt.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 35 Mikeitz Sicha 1
How to Fulfill Your Dreams
One lesson from the story of Joseph is: if you want your dreams and hopes to be fulfilled, help the people around you achieve their hopes and dreams. If you want to achieve success, focus on helping the people you interact with be successful.
Joseph dreamt that he would achieve leadership. We read in last week's Torah portion:
And he said to them, "Listen now to this dream, which I have dreamed: Behold, we were binding sheaves in the midst of the field, and behold, my sheaf arose and also stood upright, and behold, your sheaves encircled [it] and prostrated themselves to my sheaf." (Genesis 37:6-7)
Those dreams ultimately did materialize, but only after Joseph helped those around him interpret and fulfill the meaning of their own dreams. Last week it was the dreams of Pharaoh’s baker and chief butler which Joseph interpreted. In this week's portion, Joseph interprets Pharaoh's dream saving the entire Egypt from ruin and destruction and, in the process, amassing tremendous power and wealth for Pharaoh.
Joseph is the only person in the five Books of Moses referred to as a successful person. When he was a servant in his master's home, the Torah states:
The Lord was with Joseph, and he was a successful man, and he was in the house of his Egyptian master.
And his master saw that the Lord was with him, and whatever he did the Lord made successful in his hand. (Genesis 39:2-3)
While the conventional understanding of these verses is that the Egyptian master saw that G-d was with Joseph and that "he" - meaning Joseph - was a successful man, the Kli Yakar offers an alternative reading. Joseph's success spilled over to the master and the household. The first verse states that G-d was with Joseph, and Joseph was a successful man. The second verse, however, refers to the Egyptian master: "And the Master saw that the Lord was with him", "him" referring to the master, "and whatever he did", "he" referring to the master, "the Lord made successful in his hand.
Joseph knew the secret to success, and we should learn from him. If you want to be successful, help the people around you succeed.
Judah’s Transformation
Judah is the hero of the story.
Yes, at first he was the brother who suggested and arranged the sale of Joseph. He was the one who was forced to move away from the family, because the brothers deposed him of his leadership role once they realized the terrible pain Joseph’s absence caused their father.
Yet, somewhere along the way there was a transformation. Judah assumed the role of leader of the brothers, and in the opening scene of this week’s Torah Portion we read what is certainly one of the most dramatic moments portrayed in the Torah, Judah alone, confronted the Egyptian leader.
When was Judah’s turning point? When did he transform from the brother who destroyed the unity of the family to the brother who took responsibility to defend Benjamin at great personal cost?
Let us look back in the story to search for clues to Judah’s transformation.
In last week’s portion we read about how Judah was successful where Reuben, his oldest brother, failed. The brothers tried to persuade their father to allow them to take Benjamin to Egypt, to comply with the demand of the leader of Egypt, who, unbeknownst to them was their own brother Joseph. Jacob refused to allow Benjamin, his youngest child, the son of his late most beloved wife, to go to Egypt, out of fear for his well being. Reuben, the eldest brother, the leader of the group, spoke to his father as follows:
And Reuben spoke to his father, saying, "You may put my two sons to death if I don't bring him (Benjamin) to you. Put him into my hand[s] and I will return him to you."
Jacob responded:
But he (Jacob) said, "My son shall not go down with you, because his brother is dead, and he alone is left, and if misfortune befalls him on the way you are going, you will bring down my gray head in sorrow to the grave."
Where Reuben failed Judah succeeded. When Jacob again requested that his sons descend to Egypt to purchase food, Judah steps in to talk to their father, Judah says:
If you send our brother with us, we will go down and buy food for you. But if you do not send [him], we will not go down, because the man said to us, 'You shall not see my face if your brother is not with you.'
Judah then continues:
And Judah said to Israel, his father, "Send the lad with me, and we will get up and go, and we will live and not die, both we and you and also our young children. I will guarantee him; from my hand you can demand him. If I do not bring him to you and stand him up before you, I will have sinned against you forever. For had we not tarried, by now we would have already returned twice."
Judah was successful. Jacob agreed to send Benjamin.
Why? What did Judah say or do that was so different from what Reuben said?
Judah understood what leadership meant. He understood that his job as a leader was to empower others, in this case his father, to take responsibility. Judah understood that as long as the brothers were the ones pleading with Jacob to send Benjamin, Jacob would not agree. Judah understood that his job as a leader was to place the decision in Jacob’s hands, pointing out that the ramifications of the decision would be completely on Jacob’s conscience.
Judah did not try to persuade his father. He did, however, tell his father that the decision whether or not they would go down to Egypt was in their father's hand. He tells his father “had we not tarried, by now we would have already returned twice".
What Judah did was he forced his father to make the decision. Once his father had to decide, Judah was sure that his father would make the right choice.
Where did Judah learn this important truth about leadership? Where did he learn that the key to leading someone to do the right thing is by placing the responsibility in their hands?
The person who was responsible for Judah’s transformation and ultimate leadership role within the Jewish people was Tamar.
Looking back to one portion before the last, we read about Judah’s daughter-in-law, Tamar, who Judah sentenced to death for adultery. In fact, Tamar disguised as a harlot, became pregnant from Judah himself, who she was entitled to marry, since someone from Judah’s family had an obligation to marry her due to the law of the Levirate marriage.
Tamar had Judah’s staff and signet as evidence that Judah was in fact the father of her unborn twin children and thus she was not guilty of adultery. She did not proclaim her innocence by shaming Judah. Instead, she forced Judah to make a choice. Tamar forced Judah to choose between making the right moral choice or between allowing Tamar and her unborn children to be killed:
She was taken out, and she sent to her father in law, saying, "From the man to whom these belong I am pregnant," and she said, "Please recognize whose signet ring, cloak, and staff are these?"
Judah then realized that he must choose, and that the choice he would make would lay on his conscience and on his conscience alone, forever.
Courageously, Judah made the morally correct choice:
Then Judah recognized [them], and he said, "She is right, [it is] from me, because I did not give her to my son Shelah."
Tamar transformed Judah. She taught him how to assume responsibility.
Judah, in turn, internalized her message. When it came time to influence Jacob, Judah empowered Jacob, by highlighting that the responsibility lay in Jacob’s hands.
And when Judah himself saw disaster about to strike, when he saw the Egyptian leader trying to enslave Benjamin, he took Tamar’s message to heart: Don't shy away. Don't wait for one of your brothers to step in. Realize that the solution to this problem will come only when you take action. Realize that G-d is waiting for you to make the right choice.
The Estate of Goshen
The final two portions of the book of Genesis leave us with mixed feelings.
On the one hand, Jacob was finally at peace; his family was reunited and his son Joseph was the leader of Egypt, the world’s superpower. For the first time in many decades Jacob was living in tranquility. Joseph granted Jacob and his family Egypt’s best real estate, the region of Goshen, where they lived a worry-free, peaceful, existence.
On the other hand, it was a sad story. There was a dark cloud hanging over their tranquil life in the land of Goshen. The children of Israel were heading toward a period of terrible slavery.
The Torah, with a carefully selected Hebrew word, alludes to the complex reality of life in the Goshen region of Egypt.
The final verse in this week's Torah portion describes the Jewish people thriving:
And Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt in the land of Goshen, and they acquired property in it, and they were prolific and multiplied greatly.
The Hebrew word for “acquired property” is “Va’ye’ah’chazu”, which is from the word ”Achuzah” which is commonly translated as estate. In our story the word is telling us that the Israelites acquired an estate in the land of Goshen. The word “Achuzah”, however, has another meaning as well. It is from the root word “Achaz” which means to grasp. “Achuzah”, can also mean that the land grasped the Israelites. That in some way they were trapped by the land.
The word “Va’ye’ah’chazu”, then, has different and opposing meanings. It can mean “acquiring an estate”, which is a symbol of freedom, or it can mean being “grasped” by the land, which implies being trapped and enslaved.
The two meanings of the word “Achuzah” - “estate” and “grasped” - teach us an eternal message. It is a lesson about what our attitude toward Egypt should be, and what our general attitude toward the world we live in should be.
When our soul descends into this world, it enters a foreign land. When we are exiled from Israel, we are in foreign territory. The purpose of the journey to this foreign territory is to “acquire an estate”. It is to find and to elevate the sparks of holiness which are in every material object and in every corner of the planet. We elevate the sparks by using physical objects for a meaningful purpose, thus infusing the world with holiness.
Wherever we find ourselves in the journey of life we are charged with transforming that place into an estate for holiness, an oasis of spirituality. G-d sends each of us to “exile” with a mission to find and elevate the thirsting sparks.
And yet, there is a danger in the journey. The danger is that instead of elevating the material, we are grasped by it. That instead of our possessions serving us, we serve our possessions. That instead of enjoying our estate, we are trapped by it.
The essence of exile, then, is “Achuzah”, grasped and trapped by the land.
Yet “Achuzah”, as in estate, also captures the essence of redemption and freedom.
We are all in the metaphorical land of Goshen. We may feel that we are enslaved by the lure of the material, that we are trapped by its grip. Yet, the Torah reminds us that we have the power to free ourselves from its gravitational pull. That the physicality which held us down yesterday can be redeemed and become the building blocks of a spiritual edifice, of an estate of holiness.
Inspiration vs. Action
Judah approaches Joseph.
He did not know it at that moment, but when Judah approached the viceroy of Egypt, to demand that his brother Benjamin be released, he was approaching his long lost brother Joseph.
The Kabbalists explain that the rivalry between the brothers and Joseph, which led to the brothers selling Joseph as a slave, was no ordinary rivalry motivated by a dispute over their father's attention and love. In fact, the dispute between Joseph and his brothers was about something much deeper and more spiritual in nature: it was about which brother should be their leader? Which brother would be their king, the one who exemplified the qualities critical for the Jewish faith to survive? Whose model of spirituality should the family adopt?
The brothers chose Judah. They believed that he was to be their leader, for he personified the qualities necessary for their values to flourish. The word Judah means acknowledgment and submission. Judah was a man of action. Very often his motives were less than exemplary, yet, consistently, in moments of crises, regardless of his own personal feelings and state of mind, he rose to the occasion and made the right choice.
Judah personifies the Jew who is committed to what he knows is correct despite tremendous persecution and pressure. In fact, the word Jew comes from the word Judah, and was first used to describe all the children of Israel in the book of Esther, when the people remained loyal to their faith despite the persecution of Haman, thus exhibiting Judah like - Jewish - qualities.
The brothers crowned Judah as their king. They understood, correctly, that he must lead. That his commitment to action in the face of challenge was the secret ingredient to their survival.
Then, along came Joseph and his dreams. Joseph told the brothers, that in his dreams, the brothers bow to him, that he must be their leader. That they must acknowledge the superiority of inspiration, wisdom and learning. The word Joseph means “to add”. Joseph was like a fountain of wisdom who continuously would come up with new insights, adding layers of understanding to the previously acquired wisdom.
The brothers decided to get rid of Joseph. They mistakenly thought that they were correct in doing so because Joseph rebelled against Judah the king who they had appointed, and because he threatened their survival by undercutting the importance of action based commitment to the correct path.
In this week's Parsha, Judah approached Joseph, Joseph was the powerful ruler of Egypt and Judah was subordinate to him. In what is perhaps one of the most emotional scenes in the Torah, Judah revealed his identity to his brothers, and then, explain the Kabbalists, Joseph revealed a deep truth. He told them “G-d has sent me here before you”. Joseph explained that indeed, ultimately, Judah would rule. That indeed the tribe of Judah would be the tribe of kingship. That indeed action, the quality of Judah, is superior. Yet “G-d sent me (Joseph) before you”. That before you acquire a leader who is Judah you require a leader who is Joseph. There must be a recognition of the role of study and personal growth in the life of a Jew.
Just as it was in the history of the Jewish people, so it is in the life of every Jew. At first our inner Joseph is meant to rule. We are called upon to “add”, to grow our understanding and our emotional bond to the teachings of Judaism. Yet once we reach the limit of where our heart and mind can take us, we appoint Judah as our king. We realize that our wisdom, our Joseph, cannot touch the infinite light of G-d. To touch the infinity we must achieve a Judah like commitment and dedication to G-d’s will. We must take action.
Jacob's Distress
After twenty two years of mourning the loss of his beloved son, Jacob received the news that Joseph was alive and well, and was the ruler of Egypt. Jacob wasted no time and together with his family, he began the journey to Egypt. Jacob was filled with conflicting emotions. On one hand he was about to spend the best years of life, in peace and tranquility, reunited with his beloved son, Joseph. On the other hand, the journey to Egypt was the beginning of what, decades later, would become the terrible enslavement of the Jews in Egypt.
The Torah relates:
And God said to Israel in visions of the night, and He said, "Jacob, Jacob!" And he said, "Here I am."
And He said, "I am God, the God of your father. Do not be afraid of going down to Egypt, for there I will make you into a great nation. (Genesis 46:3)
Rashi explains that G-d’s reassuring words to Jacob were in response to Jacob’s concern about traveling to Egypt:
Do not be afraid of going down to Egypt: [God encouraged him] because he was distressed at being compelled to leave the Holy Land.
A careful read of Rashi reveals a discrepancy in the emotion described; while the Torah describes the emotion as fear (“do not be afraid to go down to Egypt”) Rashi describes the feeling as one of distress (“he was distressed”). According to Rashi, Jacob was feeling distress and G-d told him not to fear. Yet G-d did not tell Jacob not to be distressed.
Rashi teaches a powerful lesson on how Jacob was to approach the onset of the exile, as well as how we should approach our own exile; we must not fear the exile and it’s difficulties, we must, however, be distressed about it. We must never make peace with the exile and it’s spiritual and physical challenges. We must always remember that exile and it’s challenges are not our natural state of being. In fact, these two components, not fearing the exile and experiencing distress from exile, are interdependent: the only way we can immunize ourselves against the negative effect of exile and its challenges (“do not fear”), is if we understand that our true identity is at home only in our own homeland.
The same is true when we experience a figurative “exile”, when we feel trapped by internal or external challenge, when we are frightened by our current state of being and wish we could improve ourselves. We must remember that the challenge and difficulty are but temporary. The negativity we are experiencing does not define us. The most important tool of spiritual survival is to remember that we will overcome and return to our true selves, to our soul, to our homeland.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 30 Vayigash 3)
Which Speech Would you Give?
Joseph just dropped the bomb. He revealed his identity to his brothers. The Egyptian prime minister they were standing before, was, in fact, their own brother Joseph who they sold into Egyptian slavery twenty two years earlier.
They were stunned.
Joseph spoke.
Here is the speech Joseph did not deliver:
Brothers, while it is true that I have attained success, greatness and power, please do not take any credit for that. For while your actions ultimately led to my rise to power, you had nothing but evil in your hearts and minds. Your intention was to sell me as a slave.
Here is the speech Joseph delivered:
Brothers, do not feel bad that you intended to sell me as a slave. For G-d arranged that the result of your terrible act was that I can save our family and reign over all of Egypt.
[“Do not be sad, and let it not trouble you that you sold me here, for it was to preserve life that God sent me before you... And now, you did not send me here, but God, and He made me a father to Pharaoh, a lord over all his household, and a ruler over the entire land of Egypt. Genesis 45:5-8].
Instead of spending emotional energy on feeling resentment and anger against his brothers, Joseph was able to see only the positive, the hand of G-d that led him to success. Joseph saw only the good that came from his brothers cruel act, not their evil intention.
Incredibly, Joseph was able to see past the negativity and focus only on the good. He was able to do so because of his unique philosophy in life. Joseph understood that wherever he may be he was an emissary of God to carry out the Divine will. In his words to his brothers he used the word “sent”. To Joseph, the important questions were not, who harmed me? Who can I blame for my real or imagined difficulties?In every situation, Joseph asked himself: why am I here? For what purpose did G-d send me here? What is my mission in this place?
Every time we encounter a challenge or difficulty in our lives, we too have a choice. We can respond with resentment and anger or we can follow Joseph's example. We too are G-d’s emissaries not only to survive the challenge, but rather, like Joseph, to “rule over it”, to transform the obstacle into an experience of life and growth.
Next time you face a challenge, which speech will you give?
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, 5 Teves 5747)
Judah the Guarantor
The Torah has two facets: both a body, law, and a soul, inner meaning, philosophy, and spirituality. By examining the detailed Talmudic analysis, the body, of a given topic, we can gain insight into the inner spiritual dimension.
The Talmud offers two opinions for the scriptural source of the legal liability of a guarantor, the person who agrees to assume the liability to repay a loan given to a third person. Rav Huna states that the scriptural source is from the story of Judah, who committed to his father to become a guarantor to return Benjamin safely home from Egypt:
Rav Huna said: From where is it derived that a guarantor becomes obligated to repay a loan he has guaranteed? As it is written that Judah reassured his father concerning the young Benjamin: “I will be his guarantor; of my hand shall you request him” (Genesis 43:9). This teaches that it is possible for one to act as a guarantor that an item will be returned to the giver.
This source, however, is somewhat problematic, because Judah’s offer to be a “guarantor” was not referring to the obligation to repay a debt. Since Judah’s commitment does not conform to the scenario of a financial guarantor, the Talmud offers another opinion:
Rabbi Yitzḥak said that the source is from here: “Take his garment that is surety for a stranger; and hold him in pledge that is surety for an alien woman” (Proverbs 20:16).
And it is stated: “My son, if you have become guarantor for your neighbor, if you have shaken your hands for a stranger, you have become ensnared by the words of your mouth”.
While it seems that the two opinions in the Talmud are debating a technical point, the scriptural source for the legal obligation of a guarantor, in reality, they are debating a deeper philosophical question: what is the nature of the obligation of the guarantor?
It is clear that according to the second opinion, the relationship between the guarantor and the borrower is limited to a financial obligation. The quoted verses from Proverbs clearly define the borrower as a “stranger”, a separate and distinct entity.
However, according to the first opinion, the relationship is a far deeper one. When Judah states that he will “guarantee” the return of Benjamin, he is not referring to a financial obligation; instead, he is stating that he is bound to Benjamin as though they were one entity, and he would therefore ensure Benjamin's return. If Judah’s commitment to Benjamin is the scriptural source for the laws of the guarantor of a debt, this indicates that the philosophical underpinnings of the guarantor’s responsibility to repay, is not because he agrees to repay the loan of a “stranger”, but rather it is as if the guarantor himself borrowed the money, because he and the borrower have become one entity.
The Hebrew word for guarantor {arev} derives from the word blended {meurav}. The guarantor can be considered one entity with the borrower because, in our spiritual source, we are all part of one whole, interconnected and interrelated. This explains why, in Jewish Law, one can recite a blessing on behalf of a fellow who is obligated to recite the blessing, although the reciter himself is not obligated. The reason is because all Jewish people are considered one entity, if one person has not fulfilled his obligation, then his fellow is also “obligated”.
The interconnectivity between all Jewish people is because of our shared spiritual identity. Therefore, all agree that we are considered one entity in spiritual matters, such as the recitation of a blessing. The Talmudic debate is whether our spiritual connection can play itself out in physical matters as well, expressing itself in financial matters. If, while engaged in the material world, we are unable to see ourselves as one entity, then the commitment to repay a fellow’s debt can only be considered a financial obligation to a fellow. Rav Huna, however, believes that our spiritual core can express itself even in the marketplace. He therefore says that the financial obligation on behalf of derives from the understanding that we are one entity.
Judah’s family was traumatized by terrible division, when the brothers kidnapped Joseph and sold him as a slave. The healing, the reunion between Joseph and his brothers, could only have occurred once Judah expressed true brotherhood, demonstrating that a family is, in fact, one entity.
Judah, and his descendants, became the leaders of the Jewish people precisely because a true leader senses that he is one with the people he leads. A true leader helps us all feel that we are part of one whole, part of one family. We are not complete until we are all complete.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 30 Vayigash 1)
The Root Cause of The Hate
Now that Joseph had been reunited with his brothers, now that the dreams of his brothers bowing to him had been fulfilled, we can examine the underlying cause of the conflict and animosity of the brothers toward Joseph.
The conventional reading of the story is that the brothers were jealous of Joseph because he was their father's favored son. Their jealousy turned to hate when Joseph shared his dreams in which the brothers would bow to him. They were furious; as the Torah (Genesis 37:8) records their response: "So his brothers said to him, "Will you reign over us, or will you govern us? And they continued to hate him on account of his dreams and on account of his words."
There is, however, a deeper dimension to the dispute.
The brothers saw Joseph as a threat to their way of life, a challenge to their understanding of Judaism, they felt that Joseph’s lifestyle would threaten their ancestors' teachings which they sought to preserve.
The patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the tribes, the sons of Jacob, were all shepherds. This allowed them to spend their time in nature, separated from the distractions of civilization, allowing them to focus on spirituality and their closeness to G-d. Even when the brothers descended to Egypt, they maintained their occupation of raising cattle, settling in Goshen, an enclave within the land of Egypt. Joseph, by contrast, was charting a new path. Joseph had the ability to cleave to G-d while simultaneously being involved in society. Joseph consistently rose to be a leader in his environment, first in the home of his Egyptian master, then in prison and finally in all of Egypt. Yet, despite being thoroughly invested in the economic affairs of Egypt, he maintained his sense of morality, and his connection to G-d.
The brothers were frightened by the prospect of Joseph becoming their leader. They feared that if that was the case they would have to adapt Joseph's lifestyle. They feared being thrust into an environment of materialism, which would mean losing their connection to holiness. To them, Joseph and his lifestyle represented a mortal threat to their spiritual lives.
The reality, however, was that they misinterpreted the meaning of Joseph's dreams. They feared that their sheaves of wheat bowing to Joseph represented that Joseph would dominate them. In reality, however, the dreams predicted that Joseph would sustain them not only physically, during the famine, but also spiritually in an immoral society. Joseph imparted to his brothers from his own spiritual quality, enabling them to retain their connection to G-d notwithstanding the unholy environment they inhabited.
The verse in Psalms (80:2) refers to the collective Jewish people as Joseph: "O Shepherd of Israel, hearken, He Who leads Joseph like flocks… appear." Rashi explains: "All Israel are called by the name Joseph because he sustained and supported them in time of famine. We are called Joseph, not only because he sustained us during the famine thousands of years ago, but because his influence and example sustain us until this very day. Joseph empowers us to cleave to G-d while engaging in worldly matters, allowing us to infuse the world with holiness, transforming it into a place of goodness and kindness.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 25 Vayigash 1
Feminine Redemption
The family of Jacob was heading toward the land of Egypt, a journey that would eventually lead to the slavery which had been foretold to Abraham. As they were entering Egypt, a child was born that symbolized the ability to persevere through exile and ultimately transform it.
When Jacob and his family travel to Egypt, the Torah tells us that they numbered seventy souls:
All the souls coming to Egypt with Jacob, those descended from him, excluding the wives of Jacob's sons, all the souls were sixty six. And Joseph's sons, who were born to him in Egypt, two souls; all the souls of the house of Jacob who came to Egypt were seventy. (Genesis 46:26-27)
The problem, however, is that when we run the numbers, we see only sixty-nine, not seventy, names. Rashi addresses this discrepancy by explaining that both are true; sixty-nine people traveled to Egypt, but seventy arrived in Egypt because at the city's walls, a baby was born who completed the number seventy. The baby was Yocheved, who later became the mother of Moses. As Rashi explains:
This [missing one] is Jochebed, who was born between the walls when they entered the city, as it is said: "whom she bore to Levi in Egypt". Her birth was in Egypt, but her conception was not in Egypt. (Rashi, Genesis 46:15)
Yocheved, born at the gates of Egypt, symbolized the unique ability to be in Egypt but not be from Egypt, to live within the spiritual darkness of Egypt yet to remain connected to the light and inspiration of the holy land. The Kabbalists explain that she embodied the feminine Divine attribute of Malchut, sovereignty, which descends from the spiritual world of "emanation", where G-d is the only reality, to the three lower worlds of "creation", "formation", and "action", where G-d's vitalizing energy is concealed. The energy of Malchut is present within creation but yearns for, and occasionally ascends to, its source in the world of unity.
This feature of the feminine attribute, the ability to bridge two worlds and perspectives, ultimately led to redemption.
In Kabbalistic thought, Masculine energy represents the ability to conquer and dominate. The masculine energy seeks to undermine and destroy its challenger and opponent. The feminine energy, by contrast, seeks not to dominate but to cultivate. Where the masculine energy seeks to highlight the superiority of the spiritual over the physical, of holiness over the mundane, the feminine energy demonstrates how the created mundane reality itself can be cultivated and refined to become a vessel for holiness. While the masculine energy would seek to break Egypt, the purpose of the exile would ultimately be fulfilled through the feminine perspective, that Egypt should not be destroyed but should come to recognize that "I am the L-rd in the midst of the land".
In Biblical Hebrew, numbers can take either masculine or feminine form. When the Torah describes the sixty-six souls that descendent to Egypt (excluding Joseph and his sons and Yocheved), the Torah defies the laws of grammar and writes the number sixty-six in the feminine (Shisim Vashesh, in the feminine, as opposed to Shisim Vishisah in the masculine), to highlight that for the Jewish people to achieve the purpose of exile, they would have to cultivate within themselves the feminine energy as exemplified by the young Yocheved.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 20 Vayigash 2
You Did Not Send Me Here
The brothers were startled. It turned out that the all-powerful viceroy of Egypt, who they were standing before, was their brother Joseph, who they sold as a slave to Egypt twenty-two years earlier. After many months of hiding his identity, Joseph could not hold back anymore and declared: "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?" Understandably, "his brothers could not answer him because they were startled by his presence."
Joseph then sought to reassure them, as the Torah describes:
Then Joseph said to his brothers, "Please come closer to me," and they drew closer. And he said, "I am your brother Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. (Genesis 45:4)
But now do not be sad, and let it not trouble you that you sold me here, for it was to preserve life that God sent me before you. (45:5)
And now, you did not send me here, but God, and He made me a father to Pharaoh, a lord over all his household, and a ruler over the entire land of Egypt. (45:8)
In each of these verses, Joseph says something different. In the first verse, Joseph tells them that they sold him into Egypt ("I am Your brother Joseph whom you sold into Egypt"). In the second verse, Joseph reiterates that they sold him; he, however, requests that they should not be sad or troubled because something good has emerged from his sale ("let it not trouble you that you sold me here, for it was to preserve life that God sent me"). The thirst verse, however, is the most surprising: Joseph tells them, "You did not send me here, but God". How could Joseph possibly say that they did not send him, which contradicts the facts of the story, as well as his very own statements earlier when he tells them that they sold him to Egypt?
The word for "sent" implies that there is a purpose, intention, and reason. The Hebrew word "shalach", "sent", is the same word for "mission" or "emissary". Joseph told his brothers that, indeed, they sold him into Egypt, which is a factual statement, yet they did not "send" him to Egypt. They did not define the reason and the meaning of his stay in Egypt. "Only G-d sent me here", he tells them. The reason I am here is to fulfill the Divine plan to save the family as well as save and impact all of Egypt.
Joseph's words are a lesson to each of us. There is meaning and purpose In any circumstance we find ourselves in. We have a Divine mission to infuse holiness and positivity wherever we may be. Yes, various people and experiences may have caused us to be in a specific space, yet that does not define the meaning of our experience. We were "sent" by G-d with a mission and purpose to bring life and spiritual sustenance to ourselves and our surroundings.
Secret to Survival
In the final portion of the book of Genesis, the portion of Vayechi, the Torah relates about Jacob blessing his children before his passing.
The opening verse of the episode, however, says nothing about blessing, instead it implies that Jacob called his children together in order to tell them the secret of the end of days. The first verse of chapter 49 states:
Jacob called for his sons and said, "Gather and I will tell you what will happen to you at the end of days.
Rashi was troubled by this. Why did Jacob call them to tell them about the end of days and then abruptly change the subject and proceed to bless them instead? Rashi explains that indeed Jacob himself wanted to share the secret, however he felt that it was not G-d’s will:
He (Jacob) attempted to reveal the End, but the Shechinah withdrew from him. So he began to say other things.
Indeed, immediately after Jacob, in verse one, invited his children to hear “what will happen to you at the end of days”, he called them again in verse two, presumably this time for another purpose this time he gathered his children in order to bless them. In verse two Jacob says:
Gather and listen, sons of Jacob, and listen to Israel, your father.
And sure enough the next verses tell of the beautifully poetic blessings which Jacob blesses his children with. And yet, these were not merely blessings, embedded within the blessings were also prophecies describing events and leaders in the future. From Samson to King Saul, from King David to Mordechai, Jacob was both blessing his children and their descendants and also informing them about the events of the future.
If these verses include prophecies about the future, then perhaps Jacob did tell them about the end of days. If in verse one Jacob wanted to tell them when the end of days would arrive, but he could not do so, perhaps in verse two he tells them not when the end would come but rather about how they would survive as a people until the end of days.
As Jacob looked as his children, he understood that he had to give them the secret of Jewish survival, he had to tell them the secret ingredient that would allow Jews to survive the long challenging road that lay ahead.
Jacob instructed his sons to “gather” and to “listen”. Each of these words capture a powerful message.
The first message is to “gather”. The twelve sons of Jacob were indeed a diverse group of people, each with a unique personality, unique gifts and a unique mission. Jacob tells them that for them to survive as a people they must “gather”, they must unite. For Israel to survive as a people they would have to look at themselves not only as individuals but also as part of one united entity. As children of the same father. As children of Israel.
The second ingredient needed to survive until the end of days is to “listen”. To listen is to seek spirituality. The eye sees what is physical, the eye captures only that which is obvious. Hearing, by contrast, represents the ability to close the eyes, not to follow what seems to be the reality, to focus on that which is not obvious to the eye. Jacob told his children that in order to survive as a people they would have to ignore the temptations of the material world, they would have to listen to the cry of their soul. They would have to seek that which cannot be seen.
“Gather” and “listen”. Unite and seek spirituality.
The Living Life
The story of the final portion of the book of Genesis, the portion of Vayechi, is a bittersweet one. We read about Jacob living the best years of his life in the land of Egypt, about the reunification of the children of Jacob, and about the close bond Jacob forms with Joseph’s children. Yet we also read about the passing of Jacob and Joseph. While the book of Genesis concludes with a happy ending for Jacob and his children, we feel the exile closing in on their children. Joseph, their patron and protector, dies and is placed in an ark in Egypt. The children of Israel are trapped in Egypt for the foreseeable future.
The portion of Vayechi is unique in the way it is written in the Torah scroll. All portions begin with an empty space separating the new portion from the previous one. The portion of Vayechi is the only portion which begins without a break of empty space. Looking at the scroll, one cannot easily find the beginning of the new portion.
Why is this Parsha “closed”, why is there no spacing before this Parsha?
Rashi offers two explanations:
Why is this section [completely] closed? Because, as soon as our father Jacob passed away, the eyes and the heart of Israel were “closed,” (i.e., it became “dark” for them) because of the misery of the slavery, for they (the Egyptians) commenced to subjugate them. Another explanation: That he (Jacob) attempted to reveal the End [of the exile] to his sons, but it was “closed off” (concealed) from him.
Rashi believes that the closed space in the opening of this Parsha alludes to the negative aspects of the story. As soon as Jacob passes away, the Jewish people lost their unique status in Egypt and the misery of slavery was inevitable. According to Rashi’s second interpretation, the closed portion refers to spiritual darkness. Jacob attempted to reveal to his children the secret of the end of exile, yet it was concealed from him, leaving his children in darkness about the timing of their salvation.
As mentioned, the portion of Vayechi is a mix of joyous moments and sad moments. No surprise then that while Rashi explains the “closed” portion as a reference to negative elements of the story, the Midrash interprets the “closed” beginning of the portion in a positive way. The Midrash explains:
Why is this portion “closed”? Because all tragedies and troubles have been “closed” to Jacob.
According to the Midrash the “closed” space in the beginning of the Parsha alludes not to something negative, but rather it alludes to the great peace and tranquility that Jacob attained while living in Egypt. According to this interpretation, the “closed” space highlights the positive aspects of the story.
Why then does Rashi not quote the Midrash’s positive interpretation? Why does Rashi insist that the “close” is a reference to something negative, when he could just as easily have given a positive interpretation?
The name of this portion is Vayechi which comes from “Chai” the Hebrew word for life.
What is life?
In Judaism, life is synonymous with eternity. Life comes from the soul, a part of the eternal G-d. The more a person is in touch with their immortal, eternal, soul the more the person is “alive”. Hence, counterintuitively, the portion of Jacob’s death is called the portion of - “Vayechi” - of life. For the test of Jacob’s life is specifically after his passing. Jacob is truly alive only if his legacy and teachings, if his example and inspiration, live on in the next generation. Only if his impact survives the mortality of the body do we know that he is truly alive.
The test of Jacob’s life, therefore, is not in the times of tranquility and peace. Jacob and his family living a life loyal to their ideals when there are no external pressures, does not inform us about whether or not they are truly alive, it does not tell us whether or not their legacy is enduring. Only when they survive difficult and challenging times are we sure that this group is enduring, that its spirit is everlasting, that this nation is alive.
This is the lesson Rashi seeks to teach. The place of the closed gap between the portions is precisely at the opening word “Vaychi” (“and he lived”). Rashi has two possibilities in seeking to explain this anomaly. He can choose the positive explanation - “all tragedies and troubles have been “closed” to Jacob.” - but that would imply that to experience “Vayechi”, to be “alive”, one must experience a trouble-free existence. Rashi, therefore, chooses the negative explanations:
- “the eyes and the heart of Israel were “closed,” because of the misery of the slavery”, “he (Jacob) attempted to reveal the End [of the exile] to his sons, but it was “closed off” (concealed) from him” -
Rashi is teaching that it is specifically the times of oppression and darkness that allow our truest, most pure, most alive self to emerge. When we connect to G-d, the eternal source of all life, despite the challenges closing in us, then we are truly alive.
As Jacob is about to pass away in the land of Egypt, he discovers a new truth. He discovers that his children and grandchildren will continue to live his legacy and survive the Egyptian oppression. He discovers that the children of Israel are eternal.
He discovers that he is alive.
Lion, Donkey or Wolf?
At the end of his life, Jacob gathered his children to impart his final words and blessings.
Time and again in the book of Genesis, we read about the challenge of succession, the challenge of conveying an intangible, fragile, idea, to the next generation. Indeed, all through the book of Genesis it is only one son who is chosen to be entrusted with the spiritual legacy, the selection of the successor was usually surrounded by tension and conflict.
For the first time in Jewish history, all twelve sons of Jacob received the blessing and responsibility for carrying the legacy of Abraham. Each of them had a unique personality, a specific quality; the particular contribution of each of them would be critical to the Jewish story.
Jacob refers to many of his children using a metaphor of animals:
“A cub, a grown lion is Judah… He crouched, rested like a lion, and like a lion, who will rouse him?”
“Issachar is a bony donkey, lying between the boundaries.”
“Dan will be a serpent on the road, a viper on the path, which bites the horse's heels, so its rider falls backwards.”
“Naphtali is a swift gazelle, who utters beautiful words.”
“Benjamin is a wolf, he will prey; in the morning he will devour plunder, and in the evening he will divide the spoil."
Amongst the blessings both wild animals of prey as well as domesticated animals are used to describe the tribes. The wild animals represent passionate love to G-d, while the domesticated animals, who are tamed and who easily submit to human beings, represent submission and commitment to the Divine will.
In the terminology of the Kabbalah, the pulse of spiritual life is both “running” and ”returning”. ”Running” is the yearning to escape the confines of one’s own existence. “Running” is the feeling of passionate love to G-d. “Running”, is the feeling of inspiration. But inspiration alone is like a flame without fuel. Inspiration alone will evaporate unless it is followed by “return”, unless the inspiration and passion are channeled into specific, tangible, concrete action. The flame of inspiration will not last unless it is channeled into “vessels”, into day to day life.
The two qualities of “running” and “returning” are both necessary for any human endeavor. A successful business requires vision and inspiration - the passionate energy that keeps the place “running”, as well as a commitment to the, sometimes, tedious tasks necessary for running the business, the “returning”.
The same is true about relationships. Without emotion there is no energy, no fire, no inspiration. Yet “running” alone is not enough. For a relationship to endure, there must be a commitment to the other, one must submit and invest in the relationship regardless of whether he or she feels inspiration at the moment.
The same is true for our relationship with G-d. The Torah seeks to inspire us with love and awe. We begin the day with an effort to “run”, to escape the mundane, to transcend the material and to connect to the heavens. Yet Judaism teaches that we must “return” to the earth to sanctify it. We must “return” with the inspiration and commit to fulfilling the Divine will on this earth.
Jacob gathered his children and reminds them that each of their qualities is critical to the Jewish story. We must “run”, be passionate, like the lion, but also “return”, be committed and dependable, like the donkey.
The Book of Creation
We are about to conclude the reading of the book of Genesis, the first book of the five books of Moses. We have traveled through the stories of Adam and Eve, Noah and the flood, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs, Joseph and his brothers, and we finally read of how the family of Jacob settles in Egypt. Jacob passes away and Joseph reaffirms his commitment to forgive and sustain his brothers. We have arrived at the climax, we are waiting for a verse that will capture the heart of all we have learned from our patriarchs and matriarchs.
Yet the book concludes with a somber tone:
And Joseph died at the age of one hundred ten years, and they embalmed him and he was placed into the coffin in Egypt.
Why end the book with this mournful verse? By simply switching the order of the last two verses in the book, the Torah could have concluded the book with a powerful message of hope:
And Joseph adjured the children of Israel, saying, "God will surely remember you, and you shall take up my bones out of here."
What better way to end the book of Genesis that the promise of redemption that would sustain the faith and hope of the Jewish people through the bitter slavery? Why then, does the Torah choose to conclude the book with Joseph's death in Egypt?
To understand the conclusion of the book we must first examine what is the theme of the first book of the Torah, what message is the entire book conveying, what is the overarching theme of the book?
In one word, the book of Genesis is about creation.
The book of Genesis is the story of creation. It begins with the G-d creating a physical world to be a home for the human being, and then continues with the stories of human beings striving to reciprocate by sanctifying the world and creating a home for G-d. Genesis tells the story of a family who understands that the heaven and earth and all therein were created for the purpose of being sanctified, that the world in all its diversity yearns to be connected with the Divine oneness its source.
Story leads to story until we reach the climax of the book’s message. In its final verses Genesis tells of the creation of a spiritual haven, of a home to holiness, not in Israel but in Egypt. Not only during Joseph's lifetime, when he ruled the land, but also after his death.
Even in Egypt, at the time considered the most morally debased location on earth, the Jew has the power to be like Joseph, to rule over Egypt, to resist its temptations and eventually transform its environment.
Thus the Torah concludes with the passing of Joseph and his placement in a coffin in Egypt, teaching us, that even while being away from the land of Israel, Joseph’s bones, his essence, power and inspiration is with us.
This is the core message of the book: from the description of the magnificent creation, to the story of Joseph ruling the mighty Egypt, all of the book of Genesis carries the same message: no land too dark, no culture too distant, no circumstance too foreign for holiness. By their example, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs demonstrate to the future Jewish people that they too can create holiness within the mundane, imbuing the material with meaning and spirituality.
Why Would Judah Dip His Shirt in Wine?
Jacob gathered his children before he passed away and gave each one a unique blessing. Judah, the fourth son received the greatest blessing, a blessing for leadership as well as a blessing that his land should be blessed with abundant fertility. In beautifully poetic language Jacob states:
He binds his donkey to a vine, and to a tendril [he binds] his young donkey. [He launders] his garment with wine, and with the blood of grapes his cloak.
He is red eyed from wine and white toothed from milk. (Genesis 49:11-12).
In addition to the literal blessing for an abundance of wine and milk, the blessings contain a figurative, spiritual, meaning as well.
Wine represents passion and love. Wine awakens emotion within a person, bringing to the fore emotions that are sometimes hidden within the heart. Jacob made two references to wine, “wine” and “blood of grapes”, because, generally speaking, there are two forms of love. Love as a feeling of closeness, is referred to as “wine that brings joy”. When one feels the love of closeness he is filled with a feeling of closeness, pleasantness and tranquility. Yet there is another form of love, referred to as “intoxicating wine”, which is a love that comes from a feeling of distance. When one feels apart from the beloved the heart is filled with a sense of yearning, of longing to be connected. This wine is intoxicating. Rather than pleasantness one feels the pain of distance, which fuels the lover to draw closer to the beloved with a renewed sense of dedication and passion.
The first three brothers were blessed with spiritual awareness. According to the Kabbalah, Reuben, Shimon and Levi respectively embodied the attributes of love, awe and closeness to G-d. Judah was chosen to be the leader because he represented action. Judah was blessed with leadership specifically because he had the humility and dedication to take responsibility for his actions, although this caused him great embarrassment.
Jacob blessed Judah “He launders his garment with wine”. Garments represent action, they are not the person himself but rather they are tools through which he interacts with the world around him. Thus, after Judah is blessed for having the strength of character to take the proper action, Jacob blessed him that he launder the action with wine; that the deed be immersed and infused with love and a sense of closeness. “And with the blood of grapes his cloak”. However, in the moments when Judah is not able to feel the pleasantness of the joyous wine of closeness, he can still feel the blood of grapes. The distance can create a passionate longing love, creating a deep yearning that will overcome the obstacles and, once again, unite the lover with the beloved.
Next time you take an action to help another person or to connect to G-d, dip it in wine or blood of grapes, imbue it with the pleasant joy of closeness or the profound passion of yearning love.
(Adapted from Torah Ohr, Vayechi)
Devouring Wolf
Before his passing, Jacob gathered his children and blessed each of them with a unique blessing. Some of those blessings are poetically beautiful:
A cub [and] a grown lion is Judah… He crouched, rested like a lion, and like a lion, who will rouse him?
[He is] red eyed from wine and white toothed from milk.
Zebulun will dwell on the coast of the seas.
From Asher will come rich food, and he will yield regal delicacies.
Naphtali is a swift gazelle; [he is one] who utters beautiful words.
After blessing eleven of his children, Jacob turned to Benjamin, his youngest son, and spoke the following blessing:
Benjamin is a wolf, he will prey; in the morning he will devour plunder, and in the evening he will divide the spoil." (49:27)
Why is Benjamin likened to a devouring wolf?
Rashi offers two interpretations as to what the devouring wolf represents:
He is a wolf for he will prey. He {Jacob} prophesied: {1} that they were destined to be “grabbers” : “and you shall grab for yourselves each man his wife”, in the episode of the concubine in Gibeah.
{2} and he prophesied about Saul {the first king of Israel}, that he would be victorious over his enemies all around.
The second interpretation is indeed a profound blessing, addressing the most glorious period of the tribe of Benjamin: Saul, of the tribe of Benjamin, would be the first king of Israel and would devour his enemies.
The first interpretation, however, is baffling.
The “concubine of Gibeah” and its aftermath were one of the most horrific events in the Jewish people's history in the land of Israel. A mob in Gibeah, a town in the tribal portion of Benjamin, violated a Levite's concubine, leading to her death. To demonstrate his outrage, the Levite dismembered her corpse and sent her remains to each of the tribes. After the Benjaminites refused to hand over the perpetrators, the other tribes waged war and decimated the tribe of Benjamin, of whom only 600 men survived. Before the battle, The other tribes had taken an oath not to allow their daughters to marry men from Benjamin. After the war, the other tribes felt remorse at having doomed Binjamin to extinction. To circumvent their oath, the other tribes allowed the Benjaminites to “grab” wives from Shiloh.
Of all the blessings Jacob could have blessed his beloved child Benjamin, why did he begin with the most tragic event in Benjamin's future? What kind of a blessing is it that after the tribe was nearly wiped out, they had to “grab” {“devour”} girls of other tribes to avert extinction?
While, on the surface, “devouring wolf” does not appear to be an appropriate blessing, Chassidic philosophy explains that, in reality, the blessing to Benjamin is perhaps the greatest blessing of all. The blessing to Benjamin, the final blessing Jacob gave to his children, is also the most profound. The devouring wolf represents the ability to turn around after moral and physical failure. Despite being, in the aftermath of the war, in the absolute lowest abyss, physically, spiritually, and morally, the Benjaminites were able to change course. They were able to forcibly “devour” and pull themselves away from the negative behavior and attitudes that led to their downfall and seek to rehabilitate and refine. The devouring wolf represents the inner force, strength, and courage necessary to pull one away from one’s habits and character and begin a new path.
When the tribes saw the transformation in Benjamin's surviving members, they too sought to help Benjamin rehabilitate and take their place amongst the tribes of Israel once again.
The blessing to Benjamin, the ability to gather the courage, to transform negativity into growth and rehabilitation, reflects the theme of the second half of the book of Genesis. As Joseph reiterates to his brothers after the passing of his father: “Indeed, you intended evil against me, but G-d designed it for good, in order to bring about what is at present to keep a great populace alive.” The entire episode of Joseph, spanning the last four portions of Genesis, expresses this truth: while there is evil in this world, while the brothers sought to do evil to Joseph, G-d blesses us, as he blessed Joseph, with the ability to transform the evil into an opportunity for growth and life.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayechi 25:2
Yearn and Celebrate
The last four portions of the Book of Genesis tell the incredible story of Joseph. From the position of his father's favored son, he was sold as a slave to Egypt, then put in prison before ascending to lead the world's superpower. It is a story of dramatic change, pain, challenges, and hope. It is also the story of each one of us.
Our soul, which originates in a spiritually comfortable environment in heaven, is thrust into the material world, where the soul is challenged at every moment. When the soul overcomes the challenges of the physical world it, like Joseph, achieves far greater spiritual heights than before it descended into the physical world.
Joseph's sons Menashe and Ephraim represent the two different perspectives he cultivated in order to survive and thrive in the challenging environment of Egypt. The Torah relates:
And Joseph named the firstborn Manasseh, for "G-d has caused me to forget all my toil and all my father's house." And the second one he named Ephraim, for "G-d has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction." (41:51-52)
The name Menashe, which means "to forget," evoked within Joseph a sense of yearning and longing for his father's home; it reminded him that Egypt was a spiritually hostile environment that sought to tear him away from the values of his father's home. That awareness intensified his longing for his father's home and reminded him never to become complacent in his effort to remain connected to his past. The name Ephraim, derived from "fruitful," expressed a very different awareness. "G-d has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction," is the realization that specifically in the land of Egypt, Joseph was able to achieve tremendous success, despite, or more accurately, because of the difficulties within the "land of my affliction."
To be successful in the journey of life, we too must cultivate the divergent perspectives of Menashe and Ephraim. We must yearn for and create moments to connect to our "father's home"; we begin each day by reconnecting to G-d by devoting time for prayer and study. Only once we are rooted in our own spiritual identity can we reach the next step, becoming fruitful in the land of our affliction, intensifying our bond with G-d far more passionately than when our soul was still in heaven. Only when anchored in our spiritual source can we achieve the purpose of creation, transforming the material world into a home for the Divine.
Adapted from Lekutei Sichos 15 Vayechi 2
Find Your Blessing
At the conclusion of the Book of Genesis, the first book of the Torah, Jacob, as he is about to pass away, called his twelve sons and blessed each one with a unique blessing. The book of Genesis is full of stories about brothers contending for their father’s affection and legacy. Throughout the book, we read how, in each generation, only one child was selected to carry on his parents' legacy. Finally, at the conclusion of the book, we read how all the brothers were blessed. Each of Jacob's twelve sons possessed a unique quality and gift, indispensable to the fulfillment of the Divine mission to transform the world to holiness.
While the Torah implies that all twelve sons were blessed, "(All these are the twelve tribes of Israel… each man, according to his blessing, he blessed them"), it seems that Reuben, the first Son, was not blessed, and Simeon and Levi were, in fact, cursed with harsh words:
Simeon and Levi are brothers; stolen instruments are their weapons. Let my soul not enter their counsel; my honor, you shall not join their assembly, for in their wrath they killed a man, and with their will they hamstrung a bull. Cursed be their wrath for it is mighty, and their anger because it is harsh. I will separate them throughout Jacob, and I will scatter them throughout Israel. (Genesis 49:5-7)
Upon deeper reflection, however, we discover that, like the other brothers, Simon and Levi were indeed also blessed by Jacob, revealing their unique gift and spiritual purpose.
Jacob identified and cursed the anger and wrath of Simeon and Levi ("Cursed be their wrath for it is mighty, and their anger because it is harsh"), Jacob addressed their tendency to violence that caused them to kill the entire city of Shechem in retribution for the defilement of their sister Dinah. Yet, Jacob also identified the path for them to "elevate" their personality, refine their character, and direct their passion to holiness.
Rashi explains that Jacob's words "I will separate them throughout Jacob, and I will scatter them throughout Israel", refer to the tribe of Levi which was destined to serve in the temple, and would, therefore, not receive a portion in the land of Israel, instead they would scatter around the land to collect the tithings. The tribe of Simeon, too, would travel around Israel as teachers of young children. In other words, Jacob was demonstrating that the same qualities expressed in a negative way could be channeled to public service, with a determination and uncompromising commitment on behalf of "Jacob" and "Israel", in matters of holiness.
As descendants of Jacob, each of us possesses a unique, indispensable personality that is critical to the Jewish mission. We must find our unique blessing and allow it to shine forth.
Adapted from the Kli Yakar
The Blessing of the Unexpected
In the final pages of the book of Genesis, we read about the episode when Jacob placed his right hand (which represents the greater blessing), upon the head of Ephraim, Joseph's younger son, bypassing the elder brother Menashe, echoing a recurring theme of the book of Genesis: throughout the book, the younger son was chosen as the blessed and superior one.
Regarding all the other instances, we can argue that there was a reason that the younger one was chosen, it was because of a negative choice or characteristic of the older one; regarding Menashe and Ephraim, by contrast, it is clear that Menashe was a righteous and virtuous person. The selection of Ephraim points to a general preference of the second over the first.
The book of Genesis begins with the story of the creation of the natural order with all its beauty, precision, and consistency — the laws of nature are precise, consistent, and predictable. Very quickly, however, the book shifts its focus to the stories of individual people who, with the power of their free choice, defy their natural instincts and do the unexpected. It is unnatural to stand alone as Abraham and Sarah did, serve water to ten camels as Rebecca did, or forgive your brothers as Joseph did. And that is also the reason why the first is consistently passed over.
The first represents the natural impulse. The second represents the ability to offer another perspective, to deliberate, to choose. The lesson the Torah conveys is that true blessing comes from the ability to overcome instinct and do the unexpected.
When we begin to read the scene of Jacob blessing Joseph's children, we think we know where the story is headed. Joseph sets up the science so that his firstborn Menashe will receive the superior blessing symbolized by the right hand:
And Joseph took them both, Ephraim at his right, from Israel's left, and Manasseh at his left, from Israel's right, and he brought [them] near to him.
But then the unexpected happens:
But Israel stretched out his right hand and placed [it] on Ephraim's head, although he was the younger, and his left hand [he placed] on Manasseh's head. He guided his hands deliberately, for Manasseh was the firstborn.
The second one is chosen, because the second one represents the ability to do the unexpected. To defy the natural desire and express the gift and blessing of free choice.
The Burning Bush
In the portion of Shemot, the first portion of the book of Exodus, we read about Moses experiencing Divine revelation for the first time. The revelation was unique. Moses was tending the sheep of his father-in-law in the desert, when he saw a bush burning, yet the bush was not consumed.
As the Torah describes:
Moses was pasturing the flocks of Jethro, his father-in-law, the chief of Midian, and he led the flocks after the free pastureland, and he came to the mountain of God, to Horeb. An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire from within the thorn bush, and behold, the thorn bush was burning with fire, but the thorn bush was not being consumed. So Moses said, "Let me turn now and see this great spectacle why does the thorn bush not burn up?" The Lord saw that he had turned to see, and God called to him from within the thorn bush, and He said, "Moses, Moses!" And he said, "Here I am!" And He said, "Do not draw near here. Take your shoes off your feet, because the place upon which you stand is holy soil."
In the book of Genesis, when G-d spoke to Adam, Eve, Cain, Noah, Abraham, Hagar, Isaac, Rebekah, Laban, and Jacob, G-d spoke to them directly, without the need for an attention grabbing scheme. Why did G-d choose to reveal himself to Moses from amidst a bush that was burning but was not consumed?
Moses experienced the Divine revelation, not for his own personal sake, rather for the sake of the Jewish people who Moses would lead out of Egypt and to Mount Sinai - the very mountain on which Moses saw the burning bush - to become the nation of G-d, a nation charged with the mission of making G-d’s vision for this world a reality. It follows, then, that the burning bush was not merely a way to grab Moses’ attention, but rather it was the mission statement of the nation that would be born at Sinai, immediately following the Exodus.
A surging fire represents a soul surging upward, yearning to transcend the physical world and connect to spirituality. The annals of religious experience are full of people who felt this burning passion in their heart, and who chose to retreat from this world. They chose to escape civilization, to flee to the forests and hills in an effort to escape the material. They fled the prickly thorns of daily existence in order to bond with the spiritual.
The most important message of Judaism,, and the first message which G-d communicates to Moses was, that indeed in order to connect to G-d one must reveal the fire burning within the human heart. To experience the Divine one must discover the fire, the passion, the yearning and longing to reconnect with the Divine source of all existence. The fire, however, must not consume the bush. One must not look to escape the world, which sometimes feels like a thorn bush in a desolate place, unsuitable for spiritual growth.
G-d's first message to Moshe was that the “bush is not consumed” - the fire should not lead one to escape the physical. The consuming fire of G-d must burn in one’s heart, yet, paradoxically, one cannot allow himself to be consumed. One may be the greatest prophet of all time, one may be the lawgiver, one may speak to G-d “like a man speaks to his friend”, but one may not be consumed by the fire. One may not abandon the reality in which one lives, one must not forget about the people around him, one must be like the flame surging upward yet remaining grounded by its wick.
Moses was fascinated.
How could this be? How could one maintain the fire while living in a thorn bush? Moses said to himself: “Let me turn now and see this great spectacle, why does the thorn bush not burn up?"
G-d responded to Moses’s wonder:
“Take your shoes off your feet, because the place upon which you stand is holy soil."
G-d told Moses that the physical, “the place on which you stand”, is itself a creation of G-d, which can be elevated to become sacred soil. Indeed, all of the earth can become as holy as Mount Sinai. G-d revealed to Moses the mission statement and purpose of the nation that was about to be born. “The place upon which you stand is holy soil”, we are instructed, not to wear a shoe, which represents separation from the soil, but rather we are instructed to imbue the earth itself with holiness.
The purpose of creation, the reason the soul descends into this world, is to sanctify the material, to discover and to unveil that upon any place on earth there can be a burning bush.
It's All in the Name
“Names” - what a strange title for a book!
“Genesis”, the title of the first book of the Torah, is a brilliant name. It is full of mystery and intrigue. It captures the imagination of billions of people who are fascinated by the timeless question: what is the origin of the universe? How did it all begin?
By contrast, “Names”, the Hebrew title for the second book of the Torah, does not elicit curiosity or intrigue. Unlike the Greek name, Exodus, it does not seem to capture the heart of the story. In fact, the names mentioned in the book, are perhaps the most uninspiring part of the book and they don’t seem to add anything to the plot and message of the book.
The first book of the Torah tells the stories of our patriarchs and Matriarchs, of their children and grandchildren. It is a book that captures the story of a family. The second book, however, tells the story of a people. We are no longer a small family, we are now a nation, and the stories and dramas are about a nation as a whole. We read about the slavery and exodus of a nation. We read about a nation receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai and we read about the national project of building the Mishkan, the home for G-d in the desert.
Nations are comprised of numbers. When people think of nations, when encyclopedias list nations, one of the most important things to list is the number of people that comprise the nation.
Numbers capture the common denominator of that which is being counted. The numbers 1.3 billion Chinese, 1.2 billion Indians, or 320 million Americans, respectively, describe the common nationality of the people, not their individual philosophies, perspectives, hopes and dreams. The number does not tell the story of the individual, of his or her unique personality and calling. The number is blind to anything but what the individual has in common with the group.
A name, on the other hand, seeks to highlight the individual. A name gifts its possessor with the dignity of individuality. If you are needed to fill a number than you may be counted in the census, but you can easily be replaced. If you are valued for your unique identity, if your contribution is indispensable, than you are not merely a number, you are given a name.
Thus, when the focus shifts from the individual to the community, from the one to the collective, from the person to the nation, there is a danger of the individual being lost in the story of the whole. Often, the price of building a nation is sacrificing the focus on the individual. The title of the second book, “Names”, reminds us that in Judaism every individual is not just a number, one that shares a common identity with others, but also, a name, an individual. One who is indispensable.
Indeed in all the epic stories of the book, the exodus, the revelation at Sinai and the building of the temple, events that created our nation, the Torah goes out of its way to highlight the importance of the individual. Moses, the fearless leader of the Jewish people is introduced as someone who risks his life to save not a nation but an individual:
Now it came to pass in those days that Moses grew up and went out to his brothers and looked at their burdens, and he saw an Egyptian man striking a Hebrew man of his brothers. He turned this way and that way, and he saw that there was no man; so he struck the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.
In the moment of the Divine revelation, when G-d revealed himself and spoke to all entire people of Israel gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai, he spoke not in the plural but in the singular, as explained in the Midrash:
When the Holy One, blessed be He, spoke [the Ten Commandments], each Jew said, ‘The words are speaking [directly] to me!’ This is why it says [at the beginning of the Ten Commandments], ‘I am Hashem your G-d,’ using the singular form of the word ‘your’ (rather than the plural form usually used in the Torah).”
And finally, when the Jewish people set at to build the Tabernacle the home for G-d in the center of the Jewish camp in the desert, a monumental project made possible only with the combined efforts of the community, the commandment alludes to the home for G-d in the heart of each and every individual:
They shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell within them (25:8)
The verse does not say “and I will dwell within it,” but “and I will dwell within them”—within each and every one of them.
Thus there is no better name for a book about a fledgling nation then the “Names”. It captures the tension of the story and it gets to the very essence of the Jewish people: yes, we are a group, a community, a nation, but each of us has a name. In G-d’s eyes each of us is indispensable. Each of us is critical to the Divine plan of making this world a dwelling place for Hashem.
Creator of the Future
At the burning bush Moses was called upon to start a revolution. He was called upon to inspire a people bound in slavery to break free from their Egyptian masters and become a liberated people. This transformation was possible only by revolting against the common philosophical beliefs and attitudes regarding the universe that prevailed in Egypt at that time.
This explains why, before he agreed to accept the mission to Pharaoh, Moses raised the question about G-d’s name:
And Moses said to G-d, "Behold I come to the children of Israel, and I say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they say to me, 'What is His name?' what shall I say to them?" God said to Moses, "Ehyeh asher ehyeh (I will be what I will be)," and He said, "So shall you say to the children of Israel, 'Ehyeh (I will be) has sent me to you.'"
This exchange seems strange. What is the meaning of this strange name “I will be what I will be”? Of all the questions Moses could have asked G-d why was it so important for Moses to know the name of G-d? The discussion of G-d’s name seems to interrupt the flow of the story - G-d’s effort to convince Moses to accept the mission to Pharaoh, and ignite the flame of freedom within the Jewish people.
In truth, however, in this exchange lies the heart of the story of the Exodus.
Pharaoh and the Egyptians believed that G-d created the world. Yet the word “created” was in the past tense. Egypt and its culture believed that G-d interacted with the universe at a single moment, at the point of creation; in the distant past, G-d was responsible for setting the process of creation into motion. Once the laws of nature had been established, G-d could no longer interfere and influence the nature of the world. After the genesis of the universe, they thought, the laws of nature reigned supreme, rendering both G-d and man subject and enslaved to the inevitable and unchanging natural order.
There can be no Exodus, no freedom, until people realize the fallacy of a G-d of the past. People can never be free, unless they first realize that G-d is free.
Moses asked G-d, when I come to the Jews and declare that G-d sent me to announce that freedom is imminent, the first question they will ask is “what is His name”? What are His attributes? How can we expect a G-d frozen in the past to shatter the natural order and create change in the present?
G-d responded to Moses: “I will be what I will be”. While “creator” represents the past, “I will be”, represents the future.
This is the revolutionary idea the Jewish people needed to hear before they could dream of freedom. G-d is not enslaved to the natural order created in the past, on the contrary, G-d will be what he chooses to be. He is free to be whatever He chooses to be, and He gives humanity the ability to so the same.
The most bitter form of slavery is internal slavery. The most confining form of bondage is when a person believes he is trapped by his nature, shackled by past experiences and imprisoned by past failures.
At the burning bush, Moses received the key to redemption. G-d is G-d, not only because of what He created in the past, but primarily because of his ability to influence the future.
“I will be what I will be”. G-d is free. He can be whatever He chooses to be, and, by cleaving to Him, the human being, too, can attain true freedom, and be whatever he chooses to be.
In the Face of Suffering
At the burning bush G-d called upon Moses to accept the incredible task of leading the Jewish people, from slavery to liberation. Moses hesitated to accept the task, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?” he said to G-d. G-d replied: “For I will be with you”, Moses, would not go alone. G-d would be with him every step of the way.
Moses understood that before he could seek to influence Pharaoh to let the Jewish people go, he first had to influence the Jewish people. He had to impress upon them that G-d, the G-d of their fathers, was about to take them out of Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. Moses sensed that Influencing the Jews, inspiring them to believe in the imminent redemption, would not be easy.
And Moses said to God, "Behold I come to the children of Israel, and I say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they say to me, 'What is His name?' what shall I say to them?" (Exodus 3:13)
Moses understood that the first question the Jewish people would ask immediately upon hearing that the G-d of their fathers was about to redeem them, was what is His name? The various names of G-d represent the various ways G-d expresses Himself; kindness, judgment, compassion, etc. Moses, understood that the Jews would immediately ask “what is His name?”. How did G-d behave in a way that caused the Jewish people to suffer so terribly for so many decades? What is His name? What is the “name”, the attribute, the justification, for G-d to be silent in the face of such terrible human suffering? Moses understood that before the Jews could accept G-d’s promise for redemption, they must first understand how and why G-d allowed this suffering.
God said to Moses, "Ehyeh asher ehyeh (I will be what I will be)," and He said, "So shall you say to the children of Israel, 'Ehyeh (I will be) has sent me to you.'"
What is the meaning of the name “I will be what I will be”? And how does this name address Moses’s question of what name would allow for so much Jewish suffering?
Rashi explains:
“Ehyeh asher ehyeh (I will be what I will be)”: “I will be” with them in this predicament “what I will be” I will be with them in their subjugation by other kingdoms.
According to Rashi, G-d told Moses that the question of how G-d allows so much suffering, is indeed the most powerful question that can be asked. Yet, to be a Moses, to bring a message of hope to the people, to lead them to physical and spiritual liberation, one does not need to know the answer to the question. Moses must convey to the Jewish people, not an explanation for the suffering, but rather a far more powerful insight: that G-d is with us in our suffering. That he has not abandoned us. That he is present with us even when his presence is hidden.
Indeed, the Jewish people have survived so much pain and suffering not because they had a philosophical explanation to how G-d allows so much suffering. We have survived because we knew, because we sensed, that we are not alone. G-d is always with us.
Each of us is a Moses. We will each experience a time in life when we are called upon to offer comfort and encouragement to someone who is suffering. Perhaps the lesson from G-d’s words to Moses is that when when a child, a spouse, a stranger or friend is suffering, we should not seek to rationalize, explain, justify, philosophize or blame. The most important thing we can do is, just like G-d Himself, to be present. To help the person in pain feel that he or she is not alone. To help them appreciate that G-d is with them. And, that, we too, seek to emulate G-d, and do the best we can to be present with them.
What Were Moses’ Credentials?
Why was Moses chosen to lead the Jewish people out of Egypt, and be their most important leader in history? Was it because he was smart? Charismatic? Handsome? Humble? Persuasive? He may or may not have had the above qualities, but the Torah does not allude to any of these qualities, as the reason he was chosen to lead.
Before G-d appeared to him at the burning bush, all the Torah tells us about Moses is three short episodes. It is therefore logical to assume that, perhaps, those stories give a clue as to the reason he was chosen. Indeed, all three stories share a common theme: Moses could not stand by silently while others were being oppressed. Moses consistently protected the oppressed from the oppressor.
The first story reads as follows:
Now it came to pass in those days that Moses grew up and went out to his brothers and looked at their burdens, and he saw an Egyptian man striking a Hebrew man of his brothers.
He turned this way and that way, and he saw that there was no man; so he struck the Egyptian and hid him in the sand. (Exodus 2:11-12)
Moses was raised in the Egyptian palace as the adopted son of Pharaoh's daughter. When seeing the Egyptian hit the Jew, he could have looked the other way and returned to his comfortable life in the palace. But Moses could not ignore the suffering of his Jewish brother. He intervened at great risk to himself (when Pharaoh heard the story he tried to have Moses killed and Moses was forced to flee to Midian).
The second episode occurred the following day:
He went out on the second day, and behold, two Hebrew men were quarreling, and he said to the wicked one, "Why are you going to strike your friend?" (ibid. 13)
It is natural to protect a member of one’s own group against an outsider (as when Moses protected a Jew from an Egyptian), yet in the second story Moses intervened to protect a Jew from a member of his own group. When the oppressor is a member of one’s own group, the natural instinct to rally in support of one’s own group in the face of a challenge from the outside, is not in play, and thus it is easier to ignore. But Moses did not hesitate to intervene.
The third episode:
Moses fled from before Pharaoh. He stayed in the land of Midian, and he sat down by a well.
Now the chief of Midian had seven daughters, and they came and drew [water], and they filled the troughs to water their father's flocks.
But the shepherds came and drove them away; so Moses arose and rescued them and watered their flocks. (ibid. 15-17)
Moses had just arrived as a refugee in a foreign land. He saw how the shepherds of Midian harassed the female shepherds. Both parties in the dispute were strangers. The natural tendency would be to lie low and mind one’s own business.
Moses intervened.
All we know about Moses before he was chosen is that he could not ignore the cruelty of oppression. Moses stood with the oppressed not only when an outsider oppressed his brother, not only when one of his brothers was oppressed by his fellow brother, but also when a stranger was oppressed by a complete stranger.
The Kabbalah of Shoes
As Moses approached to see the intriguing sight of a bush burning and not being consumed, G-d spoke to him for the first time. G-d instructed Moses to take off his shoes:
The Lord saw that he had turned to see, and G-d called to him from within the thorn bush, and He said, "Moses, Moses!" And he said, "Here I am!"
And He said, "Do not draw near here. Take your shoes off your feet, because the place upon which you stand is holy soil." (Exodus 3:4-5)
"Remove your shoes from your feet" indicates that shoes don't belong on holy soil. Yet, there are many references in Judaism where shoes are highlighted in the context of holiness. One example is in the Song of Songs, which portrays the love between G-d and the Jewish people through a metaphor of the love between man and woman. Amongst the many praises the man uses to describe the beauty of his beloved, the verse states:
How fair are your steps in shoes, O daughter of nobles! The curves of your thighs are like jewels, the handiwork of a craftsman. (Song of Songs 7:2)
The Talmud explains that the verse is a metaphor describing the beauty of the Jewish people as they would travel to Jerusalem to celebrate the three pilgrimage holidays of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot:
Rava taught: What is the meaning of that which is written: "How beautiful are your steps in shoes, O prince's daughter" (Song of Songs 7:2)? How beautiful are the feet of the Jewish people at the time when they ascend to Jerusalem for the Festival.
Every physical phenomenon originates from its spiritual equivalent, which is its source. What is the spiritual root of the "shoe"? The Kabbalists explain that the attribute of Malchut, Divine speech, which is the lowest of the ten divine attributes, is the only attribute which can be expressed within creation. The energy of the higher attributes is too powerful to be contained within creation. The verse states: "So says the Lord, "The heavens are My throne, and the earth is My footstool (Isaiah 66:1)". Malchut is likened to the "foot", the lowest part of the body, which "descends" in order to give life to the lower worlds. If the Divine energy of Malchut constantly vitalizes the entire universe, why is the Divine presence concealed? Why is it so difficult to sense G-d's presence on earth? This is, explain the Kabbalists, because of the "shoe" which conceals the "foot".
Chassidic writings explain that the metaphorical "shoe" exists within every Jew. The name of our third patriarch, Yaakov, Jacob (which becomes a name of the collective Jewish people) consists of two parts: the letter yud, and the word akev, which means heel. Another name for Jacob is the name Israel, which represents the soul's essence, which hovers above the person remaining in the subconscious (or, more accurately, in the supra conscious). The name Yaakov represents the yud, wisdom, which is invested in the akev, heel; the dimension of the soul, which is clothed within the body.
If the heel represents the soul, the spark of G-d within us, then the shoe, which conceals the heel, symbolizes the animal soul, the self-oriented drive which seeks nothing more than physical survival and material pleasure.
Shoes have two characteristics (1) they are generally made of leather, the hide of animals (2) the primary purpose of shoes is to allow the person to walk, and they are especially beneficial when traveling long distances. The animal soul, our metaphorical shoes, has these two characteristics as well: (1) the substance of the self-oriented soul is animalistic, it doesn't see beyond the mundane and the tangible (2) the animal soul, the shoe, allows the G-dly soul, the foot, to travel on this earth, reaching landscapes and horizons it could not reach without the shoes. For just as an animal has more physical force than a human, so too, the animal soul possesses greater passion and excitement than does the G-dly soul. If we channel its energy toward love of G-d, if we can tan the hide, then we have successfully created a figurative pair of shoes: animal energy strengthening and intensifying our love of G-d.
On the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur, we remove our leather shoes. When Moses stood on the sacred soil at the burning bush, G-d commanded him to remove his shoes. Because in the presence of holiness, we focus on our G-dly soul. Yet, the Song of Songs teaches that a truly beautiful sight is the climb to Jerusalem with our shoes. The ultimate spiritual beauty is achieved by transforming the animal soul's passion into fuel that propels us on our ascent to the holy city of Jerusalem.
Adapted from Lekutei Torah Shir Hashirim 43:4
What the Donkey Taught Moses about Freedom
When Moses set out on the mission to lead the Jewish people out of Egypt, The Torah relates that he employed a donkey to carry his family:
So Moses took his wife and his sons, mounted them upon the donkey, and returned to the land of Egypt, and Moses took the staff of G-d in his hand. (Exodus 4:20)
Why does the Torah find it necessary to draw our attention to the donkey? Rashi, quoting the Midrash, explains the uniqueness of the donkey:
Mounted them upon the donkey: The designated donkey. That is the donkey that Abraham saddled for the binding of Isaac, and that is the one upon whom the King Moshiach is destined to appear, as it is said: "humble, and riding a donkey" (Zechariah. 9:9).
The deeper interpretation of the Midrash is that the donkey was the response to Moses's hesitation to accept the leadership role. At the burning bush, Moses resisted the task of going to Egypt. After much back and forth, Moses told G-d:
"I beseech You, O Lord, send now [Your message] with whom You would send." (Exodus 3:13)
Rashi offers two interpretations as to who Moses was referring to when he requested that G-d send "whom you would send"; either he was referring to his older brother Aaron or to the Moshiach who will usher in the final redemption:
With whom You would send: With whom You are accustomed to sending, and this is Aaron. Another explanation: With someone else, with whom You wish to send, for I am not destined to bring them into the land [of Israel] and to be their redeemer in the future. You have many messengers.
After G-d addressed all of his other concerns, there were two final reasons Moses hesitated to accept the position of leadership. Firstly, Moses did not want to offend his older brother Aaron. Secondly, Moses sensed that he would not be the final redeemer. Moses hoped that the person who G-d would appoint to lead the people out of Egypt would usher in the final redemption. Moses sensed that he would not do so; he therefore requested that the final redeemer be appointed.
While G-d did not directly address those two concerns, Moses did accept the leadership because the donkey that would lead his family to Egypt represented the resolution to his concerns. The donkey reminded Moses of the donkey that Abraham took to the binding of Isaac, expressing the incredible commitment and devotion which Abraham displayed toward G-d, next to which the sacrifice required of Moses paled in comparison. The "donkey upon which Moshiach would ride" signaled to Moses that the final redemption would be the continuation and culmination of the Exodus from Egypt. The final redemption through Moshiach, who will ride on a donkey, can only happen if Moses would first initiate the redemption by riding his donkey to Egypt.
Chassidic philosophy explains that Egypt, whose Hebrew name Mitzraim indicates, represents the constraints and limitations we each face in our own life. G-d calls upon us to break free of the restrictions of our negative habits and obstacles. Like Moses, we hesitate. We fear that the task of breaking free is far too difficult. We fear that even if we achieve some level of freedom, the freedom will not be complete as we will revert to our old selves. The message of the donkey, alluding to Abraham, Moses and Moshiach, teaches us the steps to achieve our spiritual freedom. We must cultivate Abraham's devotion to the task, commit to the journey, and begin with a specific expression of freedom. We must understand that the ultimate freedom may take time, but the first step on the journey to freedom, the first victory over our inner exile, will ultimately lead to our final and complete spiritual liberation.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 31 Shmos sicha 2
The Act of Freedom
The challenge is too great, the task too daunting, and the odds of success are too slim. The natural response is to do nothing. This was at the heart of Moses' reluctance to accept G-d's mission and lead the people out of Egypt. Throughout the conversation at the burning bush, Moses raised many objections; he did not think he was the right person who would succeed in liberating the Jews. Moses began by asserting that even before the challenge of confronting Pharaoh, the Jewish people themselves would not believe his message:
Moses answered and said, "Behold they will not believe me, and they will not heed my voice, but they will say, 'The Lord has not appeared to you.'"
G-d responded by presenting three signs to Moses that would persuade the people that G-d did, in fact, appear to him. The second of these signs read as follows:
And the Lord said further to him, "Now put your hand into your chest," and he put his hand into his chest, and he took it out, and behold, his hand was leprous like snow. And He said, "Put your hand back into your chest," and he put his hand back into his chest, and [when] he took it out of his chest, it had become again like [the rest of] his flesh.
With this sign, G-d was conveying a profound message to Moses and to each of us, seeking to break out of our own personal "Egypt", our constraints, limitations, and blockages. The message of this sign is that inaction, "put your hand into your chest", leads to leprosy, a depletion of the life-giving blood, which is synonymous with death. In order for the skin to heal, Moses had to take his hand out of his chest: "he took it out of his chest, it had become again like [the rest of] his flesh". The message was clear. The path to national and personal liberty is to take action. You may not see how this one positive act will solve the problem, but the positive action makes you a partner with G-d in perfecting and healing the world. We must take the first step in the right direction, and G-d will help that one action create a positive dynamism that will ultimately lead to the breaking out of Egypt.
The key to breaking out of our inner Egypt, our negative habits, limitations, and debilitating despair, is to "remove our hand from our chest" and engage in a specific positive action.
Adapted from the Malbim
Why?
The story of the terrible slavery in Egypt, the subject of this week's portion, raises the resounding question, why? Why was all the suffering necessary? Moses himself, toward the conclusion of the portion, when his initial attempt to persuade Pharaoh to free the Jews failed, asked the question:
So Moses returned to the Lord and said, "O Lord! Why have You harmed this people? Why have You sent me?
Since I have come to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has harmed this people, and You have not saved Your people."
Chassidic teachings explain that everything comprises "light" and "essence". Light is the revealed state of the phenomenon, which can be perceived, measured, and understood. Whereas the "essence" is the core that transcends definition, explanation, and interpretation. For example, the soul possesses "light", the faculties of intelligence and emotion that can be explained and felt, whereas the "essence", the core of the soul, defies description and analysis.
To survive the state of exile, a person is forced to tap into their deepest core. In the time of exile, when the presence of G-d is neither felt nor perceived, the commitment to G-d requires a degree of self-sacrifice that transcends logic and emerges from the core of the soul, and therefore, touches the essence of G-d.
Divine light, the expression and revelation of G-d's presence, can be experienced by the soul in the spiritual worlds. Yet, the intimate bond with the essence of G-d occurs not when it basks in the spiritual light but rather when engaging in a Mitzvah commandment, a physical act that radiates no spiritual light, yet within it, G-d invests his essence.
The exile, therefore, is a necessary preparation for the giving of the Torah. The exile is the arena in which the essence of the Jew is revealed within the darkest space, which in turn allows for the giving of the Torah, where the essence of G-d is invested, not in the enlightened soul, but rather by physical action.
In the Rebbe's own words:
This is the concept of the exile of Egypt (and exile in general). It is through exile that a Jew's essential bond with Hashem comes to be expressed. This also prepared the Jewish people for the Giving of the Torah. The Torah's purpose is also to draw G-dliness down into physical entities that comprise the lower realm and to make a dwelling for Hashem through Torah and mitzvot. The essence of the Torah is evinced specifically in this way.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 16, Shmos-24 Teves
Four Cups of Freedom
Two very important concepts, which are often mistakenly understood to be one and the same, are freedom and free choice.
Free choice is a fundamental principle in Judaism. As Maimonides explains:
Free will is granted to all people. If one desires to turn himself to the path of good and be righteous, the choice is his. Should he desire to turn to the path of evil and be wicked, the choice is his... This principle is a fundamental concept and a pillar [on which rests the totality] of the Torah and mitzvot as it is written: "Behold, I have set before you today life [and good, death and evil]." Similarly, the verse states, "Behold, I have set before you today [the blessing and the curse]," implying that the choice is in your hands.
On the surface, free choice is synonymous with freedom. If a person has the ability to choose his own path, to decide what he should do in a given scenario, then, conventional wisdom argues, he is free.
But what if a person makes a choice that imprisons himself? What if a person makes a choice to become enslaved to an activity that robs him of his happiness? What if a person decides to suppress his deepest gifts and talents? That person expresses his free choice, but can we say that he is indeed truly free?
Freedom is more than just free choice. To be free is to express one's inner self. A person who has the gift of being a world class musician, yet chooses not to express that gift, is locking up part of his soul. That person exercises free choice, yet that person is not truly free. The ultimate meaning of freedom, in addition to being able to choose freely, is expressing the deepest part of the self.
In the opening verses of this week's Parsha, G-d once again reiterates his promise to redeem the children of Israel from the Egyptian slavery:
Therefore, say to the children of Israel, 'I am the Lord, and I will take you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will save you from their labor, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. And I will take you to Me as a people, and I will be a God to you, and you will know that I am the Lord your God, Who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.
Our sages read these verses and identified within them four expressions of redemption, (“take you out”, “save”, “redeem”, “I will take you”). To commemorate these four expressions of redemption, they instituted that we drink four cups of wine at the Passover Seder.
When we examine the verses we will notice that there are only three expressions that describe the redemption from slavery (“take you out”, “save”, and “redeem”). The fourth expression (“I will take you”) has nothing to do with the redemption from Egypt, rather it refers to the giving of the Torah at Sinai, when G-d takes us as his people. Why then do the sages say that there are four expressions of redemption, and therefore four cups of wine at the Passover Seder, when, in fact, it seems that there are only three?
The first three expressions of redemption describe how G-d will take us out of Egyptian bondage and give us physical freedom. Yet, physical freedom is not enough. To be truly free, our sages teach us, we must reach the fourth expression of redemption. We must come to Sinai, become the people of G-d, and allow our soul, the deepest part of ourselves, to express itself.
The four cups of wine teach us that freeing the body is not enough. To enjoy true freedom we must experience not merely the first three expressions of redemption, describing the freedom from Egyptian bondage, rather we must also experience the fourth expression of redemption, allowing the soul to express its bond with G-d, thus experiencing ultimate freedom.
Freedom means freeing not only our body, but also our soul.
Redemption means drinking all four cups of freedom.
Philosophy of Freedom
Sometimes the drama can distract from the point of the story.
One such example is the story of the ten plagues, which we begin to read about in this week’s parsha.
Reading about the plagues, we witness the showdown between Moses and Pharaoh, we sense the tension of the confrontation between the powerful Egyptians and the powerless Jews, and we watch, again and again, how the miraculous plagues wreak havoc on the wicked Egyptians. Yet it is easy to miss the point of the story.
How does the Torah describe the purpose of the plagues? Here are a few examples:
“And the Egyptians shall know that I am the Hashem”. "With this you will know that I am the Hashem.” “in order that you know that I am the Hashem in the midst of the earth.” “and in order that you tell into the ears of your son and your son's son... and you will know that I am the Hashem."
This is not only a story about punishing the wicked. It is not only a story about breaking the stubbornness of the Egyptians. Most of all it is a story about an education. It is a story of conveying, to both Jew and Egyptian, the nature of G-d, and, by extension, an education about the power of the human soul.
When Moses first approaches Pharaoh and says “So said the Hashem God of Israel, 'Send out My people, and let them sacrifice to Me in the desert.” Pharaoh responds by asking: "Who is the Hashem that I should heed His voice to let Israel out? I do not know the Hashem, neither will I let Israel out."
There are various names for G-d in the Bible, and the name “Hashem” is critical to Moses’ request as well as to Pharaoh's response. When Pharaoh says “I do not know Hashem” he does not mean that he does not believe in a higher power that was instrumental in the creation of nature. In fact, Pharaoh considered himself an embodiment of a higher power. As the leader of the most powerful nation on earth, he considered himself the representative of the G-d of nature, bestowed with the ability to harness the full strength of nature to increase his power. Pharaoh, however, does not know “Hashem”, the name that captures G-d’s transcendence, the name that incorporates the Hebrew words for “past” “present” and “future” into one word, symbolizing G-d’s transcendence over nature and over all of created reality encompassed within time.
Pharaoh believed in “Elokim”, the name of G-d whose numerical value equals the same as “the nature”. Pharaoh believed in the Divine power expressed in the natural order, but Pharaoh believed that the natural order reigned supreme and that nothing can change nature.
When Moses tells Pharaoh that the time has come to challenge the natural order, that the time has come for the powerful oppressor to release the oppressed, Pharaoh refuses. Pharaoh was rejecting not only the request to liberate the Hebrews, but more fundamentally, he was rejecting the existence of a transcendent G-d, one that is not bound by the laws of nature.
Thus began the ten plagues, demonstrating to Pharaoh and to the Egyptians that the world is not enslaved to nature, that G-d is not bound by the laws of nature he created.
In some ways, the most important audience of the ten plagues is not the Egyptian but the Jew. For the Jew is called upon to carry the torch of freedom. To advocate for freedom, for himself and for the world at large, against all the odds and against all predictions, one must believe that he is not enslaved to the natural order, one must understand that G-d, the creator of nature, is free of its trappings and, as a result, so is the human soul, the spark of G-d within man.
The message of freedom is true in every generation and in every day. To experience freedom one must recognize that the human being is not trapped by past experiences, not enslaved to old patterns of behaviour, and not bound by past experiences. Freedom is the recognition, that, each and every day, one can escape the shackles of the past and choose a new path. To experience spiritual freedom one must know Hashem. One must discover the part of G-d within him or herself. By doing so one can transcend one’s own nature, transform oneself and ultimately transform the entire earth.
From Serpent to Staff
Twice in the book of Exodus we read about a stick being turned into a snake and then back to a stick. This was the first sign G-d gave Moses, after Moses requested a sign to demonstrate that G-d had indeed spoken to Moses. And it is also the first sign that G-d instructed Moses to demonstrate before Pharaoh.
It seems that the fluidity between snake and stick is critical to the story of freedom. It is the first sign because, in some ways, it is the most important sign, for both Pharaoh as well as the Jewish people, to internalize.
Snake and stick are extreme opposites. There are various words for stick in Hebrew, (“Makel”, “Mateh”, “Mot”) the word used in this story is “Mateh”, which refers to a walking stick designed to convey honor and dignity, which implies that the stick provides support for the person. The “Mateh”, the walking stick, is thought to be one of the earliest technologies that man learned to use for his own benefit.
The snake is the polar opposite of support to man. The snake does not lend itself to be domesticated, and ever since the story of the serpent in the Garden of Eden there is animosity and hatred between the human being and the snake, as the Torah tells us:
And the Lord God said to the serpent, "Because you have done this… And I shall place hatred between you and between the woman, and between your seed and between her seed. He will crush your head, and you will bite his heel."
The first step in breaking the oppression of Egypt was the recognition that the destructive serpent, which is at war with man, and the supportive staff, are one and the same, and are therefore interchangeable.
The serpent is a metaphor for the animalistic instincts within the person that can sometimes lead man on a path of negativity and destruction. In the story of the Garden of Eden, G-d cursed the serpent; the curse was that the person would perceive the snake as the enemy. When a person looks within his heart and senses a tendency to be self centered and destructive, the person views it as a serpent that can do nothing but destroy. As a result, the person becomes frightened of what he sees within himself. He feels trapped by his own internal animalistic cravings, he feels he has no choice but to succumb to its powerful lure, and becomes enslaved to and entrapped by, his internal negativity.
Indeed, Moses was frightened by the sight of the snake:
“And He (G-d) said, "Cast it to the ground," and he cast it to the ground, and it became a serpent, and Moses fled from before it.”
G-d then instructs Moses to overcome his fear and grab the snake:
And the Lord said to Moses, "Stretch forth your hand and take hold of its tail." So Moses stretched forth his hand and grasped it, and it became a staff in his hand.
The message to Moses was that the first step on the road to inner freedom, the first step in taking control of one’s life, is the recognition that the curse of the serpent as the enemy of man can be healed.
As soon as Moses grabbed the serpent in his hand, as soon as he resolved to take control of and channel the animalistic desires and passions, that passion ceased to be a destructive serpent and, when applied correctly, fueled an outburst of targeted positive growth.
This then was the message to Pharaoh: you may continue using the power of your kingdom to dominate and enslave, to be a destructive serpent, which will eventually lead to the ruination of Egypt, or you may channel the mighty power of your empire to be a source of positivity for all people. The choice is yours.
The story of the Exodus, with all its intricate details, plays out in the heart of every man and woman. The key to internal freedom is the understanding that we are not enslaved to our inner negativity and we are not entrapped by our inner serpent. To free ourselves we must realize that the passion disguised as a serpent can and must be elevated, channeled, and, when grasped by the mind, it is bound to become a source of support and fuel for all that is pure and kind.
Who Created These?
When you look at a beautiful painting do you only see the art or does the art lead you to think about the artist? When you see a beautifully prepared feast, do you see the food exclusively or does the aroma and taste lead you to think about the chef?
When you look at a sunset, at ocean waves crashing onto the shore or at a brilliant night sky, what do you see? Some see mother nature in all her glory: the predictable, unchanging patterns of the natural order. Seeing the beauty and mystery of the universe intrigues one to study the earth’s secrets, to discover the laws by which it operates, and to harness its awesome strength.
Others see more than a natural world.
The prophet Isaiah tells us: “Lift up your eyes on high and see, who created these”. (Isaiah 40:26). Pondering the magnificent and awesome universe, says Isaiah, will lead us to ask the question: “who created these”. By asking “who created these” the creation itself leads us to the know and to experience the creator.
Egypt, or Mitzrayim in Hebrew, was the most advanced society of the ancient world, their understanding of science was unparalleled in that era. They were the experts in harnessing the power of nature to their advantage. But they were in spiritual constraint. They studied the universe, they worshiped nature, but did not ask the most important question: “who created these?”. This is the question that is the path to discovery of meaning, morals and ethics, for the “who created these?” leads to asking “why did He create?”. “What does the creator expect of us?”.
The Kabbalists explain that Mitzrayim, the Hebrew word for Egypt, is comprised of the words “Meitzar Yam”. “Meitzar”- means constraints, and the letters “Yud” and “Mem” create the word “Mi” which means, “who”. In other words, Egypt, Mitzrayim, is a culture where constraints are able to ask the question “who?” The Egyptian culture encouraged asking all sorts of questions about the universe, except for the question that would lead to freedom from the constraints of the material world, the question that would lead toward the liberating connection with the creator. Egypt, Mitzraim, constrains the “who?”, it distracts from Isaiah's plea “Lift up your eyes on high and see, who created these”.
Being in Egypt means to look at nature and see a set of laws that rule supreme. Trapping man in its grip, enslaving him to his natural habits, temptations and shortcomings.The Torah tells us that we must remember the exodus from Egypt all the days of our life, for each and every day we are called upon to break free of our limitations, of the constraints that hold us back from being the person we want to be and from living the life we are capable of living. We are liberated from Egypt when looking at nature brings us to the recognize the creator who gifts us of his infinity, allowing us to break free of the confines of the natural and predictable order, and to create change in our own society and in our personal life.
Thus, twice a day we cover our eyes and say the most important Jewish prayer: “Hear O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One”. The word “hear”, “Shema”, is an acronym for the words, “Siuh Marom Einichem” “lift up your eyes on high”. Saying the Shema allows us to look at nature and experience the creator of the universe. Saying the Shema, lifting our eyes heavenward, empowers us to transcend the confines of the limited reality by connecting to His transcendent existence.
(Adapted from Maamar Shabbos Hagadol 5679)
From Seed to Fruit Tree
There was once a seed who felt pretty good about himself. He was good looking, quite tasty, had a healthy self esteem, and overall had a wonderful and pleasant existence.
Then, one day, the good times came to an end.
He was taken to the field and buried in the earth. As he began to germinate he was frightened of losing his identity and sense of self. Indeed overtime he was left dormant, cold and covered in earth. All growth and life seemed frozen. Over time however, a miracle occurred, the seed germinated and eventually grew far beyond its wildest imagination. From a seed it was transformed into a fruit bearing tree.
The story of the seed is the story of the exile in Egypt. Referring to the experience of the Israelites, the prophet Isaiah proclaims:
Those who came, whom Jacob caused to take root, Israel flourished and blossomed and they filled the face of the world with fruitage. (Isaiah 27:6 )
The difficulties, the pain, the numbness of exile were, in reality, a process which allowed us to let go of our limited identity, and connect to the infinity of G-d within our soul, and blossom exponentially.
This truth can be observed in many areas of life. The greatest innovations, the most profound flashes of creativity, usually occur after a period of deep frustration with the status quo. When the scholar is truly frustrated and in pain because of an intellectual problem, when the artist experiences creative block, they are frustrated by the confines of their current perspective. The writer may think that the writer’s block is the problem, however, the reality is that the problem is the writer himself, for he is trapped by his limited perspective. The frustration produced by the block is the solution. The pain of frustration, breaks the shell, allowing the artist to touch the infinite reservoir of potential within their subconscious soul.
This explains the conversation between Moses and G-d at the opening of this week’s portion.
Moses’s first attempt to convince the Pharaoh to free the Israelites ended in disaster. Not only did Pharaoh ignore his plea, but Pharaoh intensified the harshness of the slavery. Moses returned to G-d and protested in pain:
Moses returned to the Lord and said, "O Lord! Why have You harmed this people? Why have You sent me?
Since I have come to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has harmed this people, and You have not saved Your people." (Exodus 5:22-23)
In the opening verses of this week’s Parsha. G-d responds to Moses:
God spoke to Moses, and He said to him, "I am the Lord. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob with [the name] Almighty God, but [with] My name Hashem, I did not become known to them.” (ibid. 6:2-3)
How do G-d’s words answer Moses’ question?
Moses wanted to know why the difficulties had intensified. G-d explained that the patriarchs connected to a limited expression of G-dliness, as G-d expresses himself within the natural world, but they were not able to connect to the true infinity of G-d, to the name Hashem, which transcends time and space and limitation itself. Yet through the pain of the slavery the Israelites were able to break through to connect to the true infinity of G-d. Like the seed, they too lost their previous identity, yet precisely because they were forced out of their old, limited, self, they were able to grow into something far greater. They were able to transcend their limitations and connect to the true infinity of G-d.
What about us? Do we too need to experience suffering in order to connect to the infinity of G-d?
The Zohar explains that we can achieve exponential growth through spiritual challenge and effort. The spiritual equivalent of the slavery in Egypt is the challenge of engaging in Torah study, struggling to understand its depth and breath and laboring to reach the correct decision from the sea of discussion, debate, and opinions. The Zohar tells us that the challenge and difficulty that will force us to let go, and, like the germinating seed, break free of the confines of our finite existence, can be self imposed. When we challenge ourselves to grow in our study of Torah and commitment to Judaism, we hit the boundaries of our finite existence. The difficulty, the frustration, the pain, are the growing pains of the germinating seed. We must let go of our limited identity before we can experience infinity.
(Adapted from Torah Or Shmos, and Lekutei Sichos Vaera vol. 21 sicha 2)
How Many Plagues Were There?
You may have heard that ten plagues struck Egypt; in fact, that is the story told in the Torah in the portions of Vaera and Bo (the portions read this week and next). According to the Talmudic sages, however, it is more complicated. Rabbi Eliezer says that each plague consisted of four plagues, for a total of forty plagues, whereas Rabbi Akiva maintains that each plague consisted of five plagues, totaling fifty plagues. As we read in the Passover Haggadah:
Rabbi Eliezer said: How do we know that each individual plague which the Holy One, blessed be He, brought upon the Egyptians in Egypt consisted of four plagues?
For it is said: "He sent against them His fierce anger, fury, and indignation, and trouble, a discharge of messengers of evil": `Fury,' is one; `Indignation,' makes two; `Trouble,' makes three; `Discharge of messengers of evil,' makes four. Thus you must now say that in Egypt, they were struck by forty plagues.
Rabbi Akiva said: How do we know that each individual plague which the Holy One, blessed be He, brought upon the Egyptians in Egypt consisted of five plagues?
For it is said: "He sent against them his fierce anger, fury, and indignation, and trouble, a discharge of messengers of evil": "His fierce anger," is one; "fury," makes two; "indignation," makes three; "trouble," makes four; "discharge of messengers of evil," makes five. Thus you must now say that in Egypt, they were struck by fifty plagues.
The ancient philosophers classified four building blocks of matter: fire, wind, water, and earth. In addition, they understood that there is a "fifth element", the quintessential {from the Latin Quintus, meaning "fifth"}, the undefined essence, the potentiality, and source of the four elements. The purpose of the plagues was to break the impurity and negativity of Egypt. Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva debated on how deep the impurity and, consequently, the plague penetrated the physical matter of the object being smitten. Rabbi Eliezer believed that each plague consisted of four plagues, for the plague affected all four elements in which the unholiness penetrated. However, Rabbi Akiva classified each plague as consisting of five plagues, for Rabbi Akiva believed that the unholiness of Egypt penetrated the essence of the matter as well.
The abstract philosophical dispute, whether Egypt's unholiness penetrated only as far as the four elements or whether it reached the quintessential core, has practical and mystical ramifications.
The Mishnah records a dispute regarding the obligation to obliterate Chametz (leavened bread) from our possession before Passover:
Rabbi Yehuda says: The removal of leavened bread is to be accomplished only through burning. And the Rabbis say: Burning is not required, as one may even crumble it and throw it into the wind or cast it into the sea.
The Rabbis believed that the prohibition of leavened bread (which, on Passover, represents Egypt's unholiness) does not penetrate the bread's essence. Therefore one can destroy the Chametz by altering its form to the point where it can no longer provide a benefit ("crumble it and throw it into the wind or cast it into the sea"). Rabbi Yehuda, however, believed that the prohibition of Chametz penetrates down to its essence; thus, the only way to destroy the Chametz is by burning it, obliterating not only its form but its essence as well.
The debate is relevant to each one of us in our quest to liberate our spiritual selves from negativity and destructive energy. The liberation must reach as deep as the negativity. Rabbi Eliezer maintained that the spiritual freedom and purification must extend to each of the four elements of our soul (1) the external "garments" of the soul; thought, speech, and action (2) Emotion (3) Intelligence (4) commitment and devotion. Rabbi Akiva, who was a descendant of converts, possessed an intense passion for serving G-d, he therefore maintained that the exodus must reach an even deeper level. Our deepest core must also experience the spiritual liberation from the shackles of the ego. True spiritual freedom is the ability to be subsumed in the oneness of G-d, losing any sense of being a distinct entity, separate and detached from the infinite source of reality.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos Vaera 16:5
Transform Your Nile to Blood
The purpose of the ten plagues was not only to crush the Egyptians, thereby forcing them to release the Jewish people from bondage. The ten plagues were designed to demonstrate that G-d is not bound by the laws of nature; that G-d is present within creation and therefore can change the course of the natural order.
This explains why the first plague struck the Nile. The Egyptians worshiped the Nile, which was the source of their sustenance and the cause of their prosperity. The Nile represented the power of nature. They were not dependent on rain, making them vulnerable to drought common in the region; instead, they relied on the consistent waters of the Nile and on their ability to harness its waters for irrigation. The first plague, the plague of blood, demonstrated that nature, embodied by the Nile, is dependent on G-d, who is both transcendent from and present within creation.
The mystics explain that a figurative Egypt exists within each one of us. Egypt represents limitations and boundaries, the gravitational pull of the negative tendencies and habits that interfere with our soul’s desire to soar heavenward and connect to the Divine. The ten plagues are the roadmap that allows us to break the shackles of our inner Egypt and achieve spiritual freedom.
The first step on the journey to freedom is to transform the Nile into blood. The cold waters of the Nile represent apathy and indifference. Blood, by contrast, represents life, passion, and excitement. The first, and perhaps most important, ingredient to escape stagnation is introducing passion into our actions. In every area of life, when we parent our children, engage in business, relate to our spouse, study Torah or perform a Mitzvah, we can go through the motions and act by rote. The key to freedom, the path to growth, is consciously introducing excitement and passion into every act we do. In Deuteronomy (4:24), Moses tells us: “for the L-rd your God is a consuming fire.” When we ignite our actions with passionate fire, we escape the trappings of Egypt and touch the Divine.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vaera vol.1.
Treating the Hardened Heart
Philosophers, theologians, and Biblical commentators grappled with the meaning of the Biblical phrase, repeated multiple times in the story of the Exodus: "and I {G-d} will harden Pharaoh's heart". Is it possible that G-d took away Pharaoh's free choice, causing him to refuse to let the Jewish people go free, bringing upon himself and his people plague after plague? Isn't freedom of choice a foundation of morality? Wouldn't it be unjust to punish Pharaoh for actions for which he had no choice?
There are a wide array of interpretations. Abarrbenel explains that Pharaoh did not lose his ability to choose. "I will harden Pharaoh's heart", means that G-d removed each of the plagues, allowing Pharaoh to continue to sin by refusing to free the Jewish people. Maimonides argues that as a consequence of his wickedness, Pharaoh was punished with losing his free will. The plagues that followed were punishments, not for his refusal to release the Jews after losing the free choice, but for his prior choice to enslave the Jews of his own free will.
When Rashi describes the plagues, he uses two words, "testify" and "warn":
for the plague would be in effect for a quarter of a month, and for three quarters [of the month], he [Moses] would testify and warn them. (Rashi 7:25)
While "testify" implies that the plague will undoubtedly come about, "warn" implies that it is conditional; Pharaoh is being warned to let the people go lest the plague unfold.
As the plagues continue to unfold, the Torah continues to assert that Pharaoh's heart was hardened:
The Lord said to Moses: "Come to Pharaoh, for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his servants, in order that I may place these signs of Mine in his midst, (Exodus 10:1)
Nevertheless, Rashi insists that Pharaoh retained his free will and had the option to free the Jewish people. Rashi explains that the purpose of Moses speaking to Pharaoh was to warn him: "The Lord said to Moses: Come to Pharaoh: and warn him."
Rashi teaches us a profound lesson. Sometimes we feel that our "hearts are hardened". We feel that destructive habits, and harmful patterns of behavior, have molded our personality and formed neuro-pathways that we cannot undo. Sometimes we feel that G-d himself has "hardened our heart" by creating circumstances over which we have no control and that we are therefore subjected and enslaved to our circumstances.
We often will feel that our hearts, or the hearts of others, have been hardened. Rashi reminds us that the "hardening of the heart" is superficial. The essence of our soul, and the soul of every person, is a spark of the infinite G-d that has the capacity to shatter the shell and ignite a fire of holiness. We are free to break out of our negative habits and positive and healthy routines. For the essence of our soul remains infinite and free.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Bo 16 Sicha 1
Is Freedom Bland or Flavorful?
The sages instituted that we drink four cups of wine at the Passover Seder representing the four expressions of redemption at the beginning of our Torah portion:
Therefore, say to the children of Israel, 'I am the Lord, and (1) I will take you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and (2) I will save you from their labor, (3) and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. And (4) I will take you to Me as a people, and I will be a God to you, and you will know that I am the Lord your God, Who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians. (Exodus 6:6-7)
But if the number four is related to redemption, why do we use three Matzot and not four?
Both Matzah and wine represent redemption, yet they are very different and even opposite from one another: while Matzah is bland, wine is full of taste and causes great joy and pleasure.
Redemption is not always enjoyable. In fact breaking free of negative habits and patterns of behavior is often very difficult and, in the short term, can cause deep hurt and pain. Attaining freedom, escaping the inner Egypt, requires a great deal of self-control; ignoring and turning away from the comfort of destructive indulgence. Only after much work, acquiring new habits and developing a taste for positive forms of pleasure, music, knowledge, positive relationships, spirituality, and connection to G-d, can a person internalize freedom and enjoy its blessings.
When the Jewish people left Egypt, they were still steeped in the negativity of Egypt. G-d hastened to redeem them so that they would not be completely swallowed up by the unholiness of Egypt. Initially, the Exodus was gifted to them from above and not internalized within their personalities. That's why we eat three Matzot, called "bread of poverty", because Matzot have no taste and bring no pleasure, referring to the first three expressions of redemption which refer to the moment of the Exodus brought about by G-d.
The fourth expression of redemption, "And I will take you to Me as a people", refers to the events at Mount Sinai, when the Jewish people became G-d's people. We, therefore, drink four cups of wine to symbolize that, after weeks of preparation and self-refinement, the people internalized the state of redemption and appreciated the joy and pleasure of their relationship with G-d.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 26 Vaera 1
Sync Your Calendars
Humans have always looked up to the sky for a clue into the mystery of the universe, and for an understanding of their place within it.
Some fell in love with the moon. Intrigued by her soft and gentle glow, comforted by her light illuminating the night sky. As they watched the waxing and waning of the moon, completing a cycle in just about thirty days, they realized that she offered a convenient and straightforward way to mark the passage of time.
As people became more sophisticated, inventing technology and developing agriculture, they began to realize the power of a solar calendar. Although the sun's changing position in the sky is harder to notice as compared with the changing shape of the moon, they understood the power of the solar calendar to predict major economic events. From following the agricultural cycle to predicting the overflowing of the Nile, you need to look to the sun. Craving the sun’s power, strength, and brilliance, they began moving away from the lunar calendar and adopting the solar one.
The first Commandment G-d commanded the Jewish people, just as he was about to liberate them from Egypt, and establish them as an independent free people, was the commandment to establish a Hebrew calendar. As slaves they did not control their own time, nor were they free to think about time on their own terms. Their time and their perspective on life was enslaved to the powerful Egyptians. To be truly free, they would have to learn to think about time, it's purpose and meaning, on their own terms.
So which calendar should they choose?
Which would be their primary one? would they identify with the mighty, powerful, masculine, sun, or with the more subtle, reflective, feminine, beauty of the moon?
The essential feature of the Hebrew calendar, is that it synchronizes the lunar and solar cycle. It does so by establishing a leap year, adding a lunar month approximately every three years, closing the eleven day gap between the lunar and solar cycle.
While not the first to do sync the calendars (ancient Egypt, for example, eventually moved to eliminate the discrepancies between the solar calendar, wit's primary one, and the lunar calendar, by introducing a leap year with a thirteenth month), the Hebrew calendar is the first to place the synchronization of the sun and the moon as its central feature.
The way we think about time informs our attitude to the universe as a whole: Is there a purpose to creation? Is there meaning to life? Is there meaning to the time that is ticking by? The Jew’s answer is that the purpose of everything is the unity of the sun and the moon, of giver and receiver, of G-d and the Jewish people.
The brilliant sun symbolizes the consistent, powerful and illuminating light of G-d. The moon shining in the dark sky represents the Jewish people, whose job it is to reflect the light of G-d into a dark world. The Jewish people, therefore, are subject to challenges imposed by the world, at times they shine in all their glory and at times their light is invisible.
The first commandment demonstrates the goal of all the following commandments, which is to synchronize the sun and the moon. Every Mitzvah we perform draws down Divine energy and connects the light of G-d with the Jew in this world, uniting them, forming one reality where “in the heaven above and on the earth below there is nothing beside him”.
No surprise then, that the commandment to establish the calendar was one of just a few commandments related to both Moses and Aaron: “ The Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying”. If our calendar synchronizes the sun and the moon that it's commandment should be given through our, metaphorical, sun and moon. Moses - the giver of the Torah is our sun. He shines with a radiant light shines from above, communicating Divine wisdom, with great passion and energy. Aaron is our moon. He teaches us how to refine ourselves to the point that we can reflect the light of G-d. He teaches us how to get along with other people. He is passionate about people. He understands that peace may, in some cases, be more important then truth.
Both the word of G-d and the way the people absorb and reflect it are important to our mission. We need a Moses and an Aaron. A sun and a moon.
The Meaning of Time
The first commandment in the Torah directed to the Jewish people (as opposed to being directed to the patriarchs or other individuals who pre-dated the Jewish people as the nation of Israel) was to establish a Jewish calendar.
Fifteen days before the Exodus, on the first day of the month of Nissan, G-d commanded Moses and Aaron to establish a new month, by observing the new moon. This month would be the first of the months of the year. They were then commanded to instruct the Jews that ten days hence, on the tenth day of the first month, they should designate and prepare a sheep as an offering. On the fourteenth day of the first month they should offer the sheep as a Passover offering, they should eat the offering on the night of the fifteenth, which would coincide with the tenth plague, the plague that would force Pharaoh to set the Jews free.
We would expect that the very first commandment to the Jews as a people would capture a deep spiritual truth, a life altering message, a revolutionary idea that was unique to the nation about to be born. Why then is the commandment of setting a calendar the first thing that G-d commands the new nation? The Jewish people were about to experience radical change, they were about to become a free people. They were about to begin the journey toward accepting the Ten Commandments at Sinai. Why then does G-d burden them with the task of establishing a calendar which seems no more than a footnote to the life altering experiences of the Exodus? A calendar might be a necessary tool for a functional society, yet it does not seem to be a pressing need at the moment of liberation, it seems that a calendar is no more than a bureaucratic tool which could be established sometime in the future.
The one thing which we have no control over is the passage of time. Time ticks by whether we like it or not. All the money in the world, the combined effort of all humanity, cannot stop the clock. We therefore view the passage of time as something we have no control over, as an objective fact independent of human experience. We think of ourselves as bound by time, unable to escape its tight grip on our very existence.
That is until we are commanded to establish a calendar.
When G-d redeemed the Jewish people from Egypt, he charged them with the task of being a holy people. The Jews were called upon to connect heaven and earth, to sanctify the mundane, and to bring the Divine into every facet of creation.
All of creation lies within the boundaries of time. If our mission is to sanctify all of existence, then the first Mitzvah, the place to begin, is with the sanctification of time itself. Setting up the calendar, and establishing the new month based on the sighting of the new moon, is referred to in Hebrew as “Kiddush Hachodesh” - the Sanctification of the new month.
The Biblical system for establishing the calendar was by witnesses who would come to the high court in Jerusalem each month to testify that they had sighted the new moon. The court would then pronounce that day to be a holy day, the day of Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the new month. The Jewish people would wait for news of when the court established the new month. The message they received was, indeed, the human being does control time. The Mitzvah is not to passively observe and mark the passage of time, but rather it is to actively participate in establishing the “Rosh Chodesh”, the beginning of the new months, and the holy days throughout the year.
The message to the Jewish people is, although we cannot control the passage of time, we are very much in control of time itself. We determine the meaning of time. Will this day be mundane or holy; meaningless or filled with sanctity? Will the next moment be just a trivial moment or will it be infused with the infinity of G-d? It is up to us. Time itself is in the hands of each and every individual.
G-d took us out of Egypt and gave us free choice. G-d gave us the ability to be truly free, to be in control of our time.
G-d commanded us to establish a calendar, to understand that we are in control of our time, for only we can determine its significance and meaning.
No Place Like Home
The Passover Seder is the most practiced Mitzvah by 21st century Jews in the United States.
In 2013 the Pew Research center found that:
Attending a Seder is an extremely common practice for the group. While only 23% of U.S. Jews said they attend religious services at least monthly, 70% said they participated in a Seder last year.
Participation in a Seder is more common among Jewish Americans than any of the other practices we asked about, including fasting for all or part of Yom Kippur (53%) – often considered the holiest day of the Jewish calendar.
Why is the Passover Seder so important to the Jewish people, even more so than other practices? What message does the Seder capture that, consciously or subconsciously, speaks to so many Jews today?
To understand this, we need to look at the very first Passover Seder, recorded in this week’s Parsha.
The first Passover Seder in history was celebrated not as a remembrance for an event in the past, but rather as a commemoration for an event that was about to take place in the near future. The Jews were commanded to prepare the Passover sacrifices and to celebrate with Matzah and bitter herbs on the night before the actual Exodus. But unlike the Passover offerings that would be offered in subsequent years, the very first Passover offering had to be offered not in one central location, but rather in the home of each family. Furthermore, each family was commanded to remain within the confines of the home for the entire night. They were commanded to place some of the blood of the Pesach offering on the doorposts and on the lintel of their home. As the Torah relates:
Moses summoned all the elders of Israel and said to them, "Draw forth or buy for yourselves sheep for your families and slaughter the Passover sacrifice. And you shall take a bunch of hyssop and immerse [it] in the blood that is in the basin, and you shall extend to the lintel and to the two doorposts the blood that is in the basin, and you shall not go out, any man from the entrance of his house until morning.
Why the blood on the doorposts? Why the need to remain within the home until morning? The conventional answer is, that marking the entrance and remaining in the home protected the Jews from the plague of the death of the first born. The deeper interpretation, however, is that by using the doorposts and the lentil as part of the Mitzvah, the home of every Jew became holy. The commandment not to leave the home is because, as a result of offering the Pesach sacrifice in the home, the home became a miniature temple, and a haven of holiness.
At the birth of the nation, as the people of Israel were about to emerge from Egypt as a distinct nation, Moses communicated G-d’s message to the people: the goal of Judaism is to transform every corner of life and every place on earth. The objective of Judaism is that spirituality and worship not be reserved for imposing monuments, towers or sanctuaries. Judaism seeks to transform each and every home into a place of spirituality, holiness, peace and tranquility.
Granted, the intensity of holiness is, indeed, stronger in Judaism's most sacred space, on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Thus, in subsequent generations the Pesach offering may only be offered in the temple in Jerusalem. Yet the very first Passover Seder, offered in the critical hours when our nation was being born, served as a symbol to teach us that the essence of Judaism is spreading holiness to every corner of the world, into each and every home.
Thus, intuitively, the Jew feels that to connect to the core of his Jewish identity, more important than experiencing the intensity of holiness in the Shul on Yom Kippur, he must experience holiness as it spreads to the home, where it engulfs in its embrace the totality of the Jew, his home, his possessions, his family and his friends.
Double New Year?
We are a complicated people.
While most cultures and people celebrate their new year on the first day of the first month of their calendar, we Jews, surprisingly, do not do the same.
Our new year, Rosh Hashanah, is celebrated on the first day of the seventh month. As the Torah relates:
In the seventh month, on the first of the month, it shall be a Sabbath for you, a remembrance of [Israel through] the shofar blast a holy occasion.
Half a year after new year's day, we celebrate the new year. As the Torah tells us in this week’s portion, the very first commandment issued to the Jewish people, just days before the Exodus, was the commandment to establish the Hebrew calendar, which would establish the month of the exodus as the first month. As the Torah relates:
The Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying: This month shall be to you the head of the months; to you it shall be the first of the months of the year.
Why the complication? Why do the Jewish people need to have two new years, one for the days of the year and one for the months of the year?
When we look at the world around us we notice that there are generally two tracks by which the world operates. The first is the natural, predictable order. The sun rises and sets, the seasons flow from one to the next, the agricultural cycle produces its crops. The first track is the one we call the path of nature.
The second track is the one of the extraordinary and the unexpected. In every area in life there are moments that defy the predictions, shatter the expectations and leave us in a better place than we could have ever imagined. The second track we call the miraculous path.
Both tracks, the miraculous and the natural, lead to the same unified source, they are both expressions of the one G-d. Judaism explains that both the ordinary as well as the extraordinary are expressions of the Divine. The consistent, unchanging, laws of nature, express the infinity of G-d just as powerfully as the miraculous and the unexpected, the rising sun is just as impressive an expression of the Divine as the splitting of the sea.
Thus Jews celebrate two new years in order to commemorate both aspects of Divine expression. On Rosh Hashanah, in the beginning of the fall, the opening of the agricultural cycle which follows the cycle of the sun, we are celebrating the Divine power expressed within the natural order. Just as the sun appears the same everyday, we need to excel in the realm of the predictable. If we want to reap the produce, we must plow and sow, following the order of nature established by G-d as an expression of his awesome power.
Six months later, we celebrate the new year for the months. We celebrate G-d’s unexpected, miraculous, blessings. As we celebrate the moon’s ability to reappear and reemerge, we remind ourselves of our own gift to miraculously reappear out of the darkness of the sky. We celebrate the supernatural blessings G-d has performed for his people and the ability He instilled within us to free ourselves from the confines of the predictable, and achieve the miraculous.
Why Celebrate the New Moon?
The spiritual definition of Egypt is stagnation. The feeling that we are defined by our past experiences and negative habits. Exodus from Egypt can happen only when we recognize the potential for renewal and capacity for growth. Freedom is the recognition that the person we were yesterday does not define the person we want to be today.
Which explains why, before they were told to prepare for the exodus, the Israelites were first commanded to establish the new Hebrew month with the sighting of the new moon:
The Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying,
This month shall be to you the head of the months; to you it shall be the first of the months of the year. (Exodus 12:1-2)
The Hebrew word for “month” (Chodesh) comes from the word “new” (Chadash). Thus, explains Rashi, the verse means (not “this month” but) “this renewal”:
This renewal. He [God] showed him [Moses] the moon in its renewal and said to him, “When the moon renews itself, you will have a new month”
The Israelites were commanded to count time based on the renewal of the moon, because the theme of renewal is key to redemption and freedom. Looking up at the night sky and seeing the moon recreating itself, inspires us to internalize the message of freedom, the possibility of renewal invested within our soul.
The renewal of the moon has a deeper dimension as well.
Perhaps one of the most significant teachings of Chassidic philosophy, is the idea that creation is ongoing and continuous. The Divine energy that brings the universe into existence must continually be invested in the creation, breathing it into existence. If, G-d forbid, the Divine energy would cease to create the world for a single moment, the world would immediately revert back to its original state of nothingness.
The reason we don’t see the creation as continuous, the reason we don’t always sense the presence of G-d around us, is because we are in a state of spiritual exile, which is defined as the concealment of the creative power invested in every creation. Spiritual redemption, is the recognition that when we look at a stone, a flower, the sky, or a blade of grass, we are seeing the continuous creative power of G-d.
The commandment to celebrate the new moon empowers us to recognize the Divine energy renewing the creation at every moment, allowing us to feel the exciting potential in every moment of life, to sense the presence of G-d in every creation, and to believe in our power to renew ourselves.
(Adapted from Sfas Emes)
Freedom Through Speech
“Whoever would overthrow the liberty of a nation must begin by subduing the freeness of speech."
― Benjamin Franklin
From the perspective of the Kabbalah, spiritual liberation and freedom cannot exist without speech.
When the Torah describes the suffering of the Jewish people in Egyptian slavery, the Torah states:
Now it came to pass in those many days that the king of Egypt died, and the children of Israel sighed from the labor, and they cried out, and their cry ascended to God from the labor. (Exodus 2:23)
The Jewish people experienced terrible suffering. The verse describes the pain, the sighs, the crying, but the one thing the Jews could not do was speak. The people were enslaved not only physically but also psychologically. Not only was their body subjugated, but so was their soul; and when the soul is in bondage, one cannot speak.
Speech is an essential component of the exodus. In the opening verses of this week's portion, the Torah emphasizes that as a result of the exodus, we will have the ability to speak to our children:
so that you tell into the ears of your son and your son's son how I made a mockery of the Egyptians, and My signs that I placed in them, and you will know that I am the Lord." (Exodus 10:2)
Indeed, the telling of stories is one of the most important commandments of the night of Passover. The Torah mandates: "And you shall tell your son". "Vihigadita", (and you shall tell), is the source of the word Haggadah, the story of the exodus read on Passover night. According to the Kabbalists, the word Pesach (Passover) consists of two words Peh Sach, a speaking mouth. Passover, the holiday of freedom, is the holiday of speech.
The world was created through Divine speech, G-d spoke, and the world came into being. Divine speech is a metaphor for expression and revelation. An idea may exist in the mind, but until it is expressed through speech, nobody can benefit from it, it is confined within its source (the mind). The same is true regarding G-d's creative energy. As long as the energy remains in a state of potentiality, it is concealed and confined. Divine speech indicates that G-d revealed his creative power from the state of potential into actuality.
When a person senses the Divine speech, the G-dly energy within himself and within each creation, he is spiritually free. Exile begins when he no longer senses the Divine energy within creation; when he sees nothing other than random natural phenomenon; when he cannot tap into the spark of infinity within himself. If he no longer senses the Divine presence within his soul and within the world, he will submit to the confines of what he perceives to be all powerful laws of physical might, nature, and habit.
Spiritual redemption begins when we perceive Divine speech, when we hear nature's song, when we sense our soul surging upward. When we sense the universe singing, we experience Pesach (Passover), Peh Sach, the talking mouth, unleashing creativity, joy, and optimism, which is the stuff of true freedom.
Similarly, our soul is a reservoir of untold potential, a never-ending fountain of love, kindness, ideas, and creativity. Yet, often, our soul is in confinement. We feel empty, stone-like, irritated, or angry. The Kabbalah teaches that the way to free the soul's potential is through speech. Regardless of how we feel, we can speak words of kindness, love, and compassion. Words are liberating. The spoken word will draw the soul from concealment to revelation, from bondage to liberation.
Next time you feel confined, next time you feel trapped, free yourself through speech. Take control of the narrative of your life. Speak words of gratitude, joy, and love. You will discover that words unlock the feelings trapped within your soul.
Adapted from Ohr Hatorah, Vayikra 3, p. 736.
Bread of Freedom
If Egypt represents constraints and limitations, then Pharaoh, the source of the oppression, is our inflated ego. Our desire to preserve and defend our inflated ego often keeps us trapped in negative space. Whether it is fear of rejection, the inability to apologize to a loved one, refusing to take responsibility, or blaming others, it is the fear that we will not survive if our inflated ego takes a hit that holds us back from growth.
The antidote to the trappings of psychological Egypt and the key to liberation is the matzah, which represents humility. As the Torah commands in this week's Portion:
And you shall watch over the unleavened cakes, for on this very day I have taken your legions out of the land of Egypt, and you shall observe this day throughout your generations, [as] an everlasting statute. In the first [month], on the fourteenth day of the month in the evening, you shall eat unleavened cakes, until the twenty first day of the month in the evening. For seven days, leavening shall not be found in your houses… (Exodus 12:17-19)
The Hebrew words for leavened bread, chametz, and unleavened bread, matzah, share two of three letters (they both have the letters mem and tzadik), the third letter of chametz is the chet (ח) whereas the third letter of matzah is the hey (ה). The shape of the letter chet (ח), the leavened bread's inflated ego, is an enclosed structure that traps the person within it, whereas the hey (ה) of the humble matzah has a small opening on the left which is the path to freedom. The caveat, however, is that in order to take advantage of the freedom, one must deflate the ego to enable himself to escape through the narrow opening. To break free of difficult circumstances often requires ignoring one's inflated ego and focusing on the required task, despite the fear that our ego will be bruised.
Our nature is such that we spend much psychological energy protecting our ego. The matzah teaches us that, counter-intuitively, when we release ourselves from the grip of our inflated ego, we escape the narrow straits of our existence and open ourselves up to the expanses of new opportunities and reservoirs of untapped potential.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekuteu Sichos, Bo volume 1.
The New Moon - the Key to Redemption
While the Jewish people were still in Egypt, two weeks before the Exodus, the Jewish people were commanded to set up a lunar calendar, where the rebirth of the moon is the beginning of the new month:
The Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying, This month shall be to you the head of the months; to you it shall be the first of the months of the year. (Exodus 12:1-2)
The Hebrew word month is the same letters as the word for ”new”, implying that the renewal of the moon ushers in the new month.
The first step of the process of redemption was the establishment of the Jewish calendar, because it represents the spiritual key to both literal and spiritual liberation.
One of the most foundational Chassidic teachings is that creation is not an event that happened in the past, but rather the act of creation is continuous. In the words of the Tanya:
It is written: "Forever, O G‑d, Your word stands firm in the heavens." The Baal Shem Tov, of blessed memory, has explained that "Your word" which you uttered, "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters.. .", these very words and letters stand firmly forever within the firmament of heaven and are forever clothed within all the heavens to give them life, as it is written, "The word of our G‑d shall stand firm forever" and "His words live and stand firm forever. ..." For if the letters were to depart [even] for an instant, G‑d forbid, and return to their source, all the heavens would become naught and absolute nothingness, and it would be as though they had never existed at all, exactly as before the utterance, "Let there be a firmament." And so it is with all created things, in all the upper and lower worlds.
The spiritual definition of exile is when we don’t see the constant renewal. When we look at the world, or when we look at ourselves, our relationships, our mission in life, as “old” and “stale”. When we look at our lives and see the same patterns and experiences that we saw yesterday. We are then trapped in yesterday's perspective and modes of behavior, and often depleted of excitement and enthusiasm. Redemption occurs when we can see the novelty. When we sense the miracle of creation. When we feel that G-d is recreating us every moment, we can tap into the depth of potential of the spark of infinity within us. We view ourselves and the people we love with fresh and curious eyes, excited to experience a greater depth, meaning and joy by breaking free of the past and tapping into the new blessing which is every moment.
Adapted from the Sfas Emes
Invite Your Neighbor
The Pesach offering, which the Jewish people offered on the day before the exodus from Egypt, was unique in that each household had to offer their own animal, which had to be consumed before midnight. What if there were not enough people in the household to eat the entire animal? The Torah tells us that in that case, they would invite a neighboring family to join them in offering and eating the Paschal lamb:
Speak to the entire community of Israel, saying, "On the tenth of this month, let each one take a lamb for each parental home, a lamb for each household.
But if the household is too small for a lamb, then he and his neighbor who is nearest to his house shall take [one] according to the number of people, each one according to one's ability to eat, shall you be counted for the lamb. (Exodus 11:3-4)
In general, societies understand that within every community, there are people who are fortunate, successful, and resourceful, while others are less fortunate. Societies understand that there is an obligation for the people with resources to share their blessings with those less fortunate. For the Jewish people, however, the opposite is true. The model of sharing expressed at the Paschal offering, at the very birth of our nation, is a model that is motivated not by the need of a less fortunate neighbor but by the abundance of the blessing the person has. In other words, the calling to share is in response to the need of the giver, who can't possibly eat the entire offering on their own.
Inviting someone else to partake in our blessing is the way we transcend our limited human existence and connect to our spiritual core that is interconnected with all other souls. Spiritual freedom is the ability to escape the inner Pharaoh, the inner ego, and experience reality beyond the confines of self. Like in the original Passover celebration in Egypt, we begin our Passover Seder by inviting the poor to our table, "Whoever is hungry, let him come and eat. Whoever is in need, let him come and join in celebrating the Pesach Festival", because we recognize that true freedom is the ability to feel the need and perspective of another.
We share our blessings, time, and empathy not merely for the benefit of another person but because of our own deep need for transcendence. Allowing us to experience spiritual freedom by transcending our finite self and tapping into our soul, is a part of the infinite reality of G-d.
Adapted from Rabbi SR Hirsh
The Great Escape
Let’s be honest about it, the Jewish people were not completely transparent and honest with Pharaoh. While they intended to leave Egypt forever and return to their homeland of Canaan, that is not what they told Pharaoh. In all Moses’s talks with Pharaoh never once did he mention that the Jewish people demanded to be free from their slavery and liberated from Egyptian bondage. According to what Moses told Pharaoh, all the Jewish people wanted was a three day break so that they could serve their G-d in the desert:
Moses and Aaron came and said to Pharaoh, "So said the Lord God of Israel, 'Send out My people, and let them sacrifice to Me in the desert.'"
And Pharaoh said, "Who is the Lord that I should heed His voice to let Israel out? I do not know the Lord, neither will I let Israel out."
And they said, "The God of the Hebrews has happened upon us. Now let us go on a three day journey in the desert and sacrifice to the Lord our God, lest He strike us with a plague or with the sword." (Exodus 5:1-3)
Granted, Moses did not say an explicit lie. He never said that the people would return to Egypt after the three day journey and festival to G-d. But why was he not open and demand that it is the right of the Jewish people to be free for good? By the time the tenth plague came around Pharaoh’s resistance was completely broken. Being a first born himself, Pharaoh was frightened that he too would die in the plague of the first born, if, at that point, Moses would have asked that the Jewish people be completely freed, never to return to Egypt again, Pharaoh would have had no choice but to agree. Why then did the Jewish people claim that they were only leaving for three days when in fact they intended to escape for good?
The Jewish people did not ask Pharaoh to free them, because, by definition, an oppressor can never free the oppressed. The oppressed must take the freedom for himself. If the slaves leave Egypt only because the Pharaoh allowed them to do so, then they are still subject to Pharaoh’s rule. The only change is that at first Pharaoh commanded them to be enslaved and noe Pharaoh commands them to leave. To be free, the oppressed must defy the oppressor. He must escape the oppression against the will of the oppressor.
The Exodus from Egypt is also a story of inner liberation. Before we can break free from Egypt we must break free from our internal constraints and limitations which hold us captive and traps us in the grip of our negative behavioral patterns.
The Jewish people were not escaping from Pharaoh, mighty king of Egypt. They were actually escaping from the negativity, from the constraints, within themselves. They were not fleeing from an external Pharaoh but rather from the Pharaoh that was within themselves.
What does it mean to be internally free?
Some assume that in order to be free one must be liberated from negativity, tension, and struggle. They assume that to be emancipated is to live a life of internal tranquility, free of negative impulses. Thus, when they experience the pull of negativity they conclude that they are trapped by its seductive force, believing they have no choice but to succumb to their negative habits and desires. They long for liberation, but don't see a way to achieve it.
The story of the Exodus teaches us the road to true freedom. Freedom doesn't mean that there is no Pharaoh. Nor does freedom mean that Pharaoh decides to release you. We cannot achieve freedom by waiting for the oppressor to leave us alone. We must take our own freedom by defying our oppressor and escaping. Freedom doesn't mean the cessation of temptation and negativity. Freedom is the ability to escape. Freedom is the recognition that despite the great force of Pharaoh, we can pick up and leave. That despite the raging temptation, we are free to “run away” and take the right action despite internal struggle and hesitation.
When the Jewish people were commanded to offer the Passover sacrifice, celebrating the imminent liberation, while still in Egypt, the Torah provides precise instructions as to how the offering should be eaten:
And this is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your shoes on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it in haste it is a Passover sacrifice to the Lord. (ibid 12:11)
We cannot wait until we desire to follow the right path with all our heart. We must be ready with our walking stick in hand, and we must proceed in haste. We must be prepared to escape the parts of ourselves that hold us back and take a step that will begin the journey to freedom. A journey that will ultimately lead to complete redemption, when there will be no need to escape the negativity inside of us in haste, for the negativity will be completely transformed to good. As the prophet Isaiah foretells of a future when “not with haste shall you go forth and not in a flurry of flight shall you go”. (Isaiah 52:12).
(Adapted from Tanya Chapter 31)
The Splitting Sea
Looking at the ocean all we see is water.
The ocean is full of life, it is home to creatures of all sizes and shapes, yet when we look at the ocean all we see is water. The great diversity of creatures, living beneath the surface of the sea, submerged beneath its waters, are hidden from our view. In fact, more than 95 percent of the underwater world remains unexplored.
It is for this reason that the Kabbalists use the sea as a metaphor for the “concealed worlds”. The spiritual worlds are indeed full of spiritual life - angels, souls, energy, Divine light - yet they are concealed from our eyes. Like the sea, the spiritual worlds are rich with life, like the sea, this life is mostly hidden from our eyes. Dry land, by contrast, is a metaphor for reality as we perceive it. If something is tangible enough to be grasped by our five senses, then it is a creation living on dry land. If it is a spiritual reality that cannot be perceived with the naked eye, it is a creature of the sea, residing in the concealed worlds.
This explains the spiritual significance of the Biblical story of the splitting of the sea. When the Children of Israel were traveling from Egypt toward Sinai, they were pursued by Pharaoh and the Egyptians, and trapped at the red sea. Miraculously, the sea split before them, they traveled on dry land in the midst of the sea. The Egyptians followed them, and the waters of the sea came crashing down drowning the Egyptians. One look at the map of the Middle East will show that the Jewish people, en route from Egypt to Mount Sinai, had no business being at the red sea, which is southeast of Mount Sinai and therefore in the opposite direction of their destination. In fact, the Jewish people did not cross the sea and emerge on the opposite side, rather they emerged from the sea on the same side on which they had entered the sea.
What was the purpose of traveling to the Red Sea and of the splitting of the sea? Was it just a theater for G-d to drown the Egyptian army? Couldn't G-d have found an easier way to punish the Egyptians?
The answer is that in order for the people to receive the Torah, they would first need to experience the splitting of the sea.
The sea represents that which is concealed. The sea represents the Divine energy within every created being. The sea represents the spark of holiness that is at the core of every creation.
When the sea split, when the waters were transformed to dry land, when the concealment was transformed to revelation, then the hidden core within every creation was revealed. As the sea split, all of the concealment of the world was torn open, revealing the truth of the oneness of G-d. As the sea split, each and every individual experienced a Divine revelation. The concealed became revealed, to the extent that the Talmud teaches that “a maid-servant at the sea was able to see what the prophet Ezekiel was unable to see”.
When we received the Torah at Sinai, we were charged with a mission which seemed impossible. At Sinai we were commanded to connect the physical to the spiritual, the mundane with the holy, the earth to the Divine. How is that even possible? They seem to be polar opposites.
The splitting of the sea explains it all.
Before G-d could command the people to connect the physical and the spiritual, they must first experience the splitting of the sea. They must understand that the hidden core of all of creation is indeed the creator. They must realize that, in truth, the physical is nothing more than concealed spirituality. Tear open the concealment, and discover the essence. Split the sea, and find that every physical creation craves to be used as a vessel for a Mitzvah, craves to be reunited with its divine source.
To split the sea in the world around us, to reveal the hidden essence of the world, we must first split our own sea. We must first reveal the hidden reality of our soul. Once we reveal the essence of our soul, we discover that the world around us is disguising a deeper truth, a truth waiting to be revealed.
When the Torah tells the story of the split sea, the Torah emphasizes more than once that the waters of the sea became protective walls for the Jewish people as they traveled through the split sea. When we look at our personalities we like to divide things into two categories: the first is the category of the things that we tell ourselves that we are capable of doing, the things we believe we are good at, the accomplishments that we are comfortable striving for. The second group, are the things we believe to be beyond our grasp. The things that are inconsistent with our nature, ability and inclination. We have a long list of things, we tell ourselves, that we cannot accomplish.
When the sea split the verse emphasizes, more than once, that: “The waters were to them as a wall from their right and from their left”. The Midrash teaches that the protective walls on the right and on the left represent the spiritual protection of the study of Torah - the right side - and of prayer - the left side.
Torah teaches us, that as the sea split, as the concealed world was revealed, the core of the soul was also revealed. At that moment of revelation they realized that the soul defies definition. They realized that they could express themselves in opposite ways. They could excel in opposite fields. They could be introverts as well as extraverts, scholars as well as people of action. “The waters were to them as a wall from their right and from their left”, both the right side and the left side are protective walls. A soul is not limited to a single form of expression. A soul cannot be boxed into one model of achievement. As soon as we reveal our essence, there is nothing that we cannot achieve.
The stories of the Torah are not merely stories about the past, they are the stories of our life. To achieve the purpose of our creation, we too must experience the three most fundamental events of Jewish history. We must experience the Exodus, the splitting of the sea, and the giving of the Torah.
Each and every day we have the opportunity to escape our Egypt. To escape the enslavement to our perceived limitations. Each and every day we receive the Torah at Sinai empowering us to connect creation to its creator, to reveal the hidden core of the physical. To do so, however, we must first reveal the inner core of our soul, we must split our own sea, reveal our hidden truth, and discover that our essence is indeed limitless.
We must split our sea and reveal the hidden spark of infinity within our souls.
The Road to Freedom
Clearly the Jewish people were looking for trouble.
After decades of slavery Pharaoh was finally forced to set the Jewish people free. In last week’s Parsha we read about how Pharaoh literally chased them out of Egypt:
“And Pharaoh arose at night… he called for Moses and Aaron at night, and he said, "Get up and get out from among my people, both you, as well as the children of Israel… the Egyptians took hold of the people to hasten to send them out of the land”.
One would expect the Jews to be overjoyed, to move as fast as they could towards their homeland, to the land of their dreams. Yet, the people seem in no rush to escape. In fact, after traveling three days, fulfilling G-d’s commandment to Moshe, they actually turned back towards Egypt, thus inviting Pharaoh to chase them.
The Jews were free. They should have moved on. Why are they heading back? Why were they looking for trouble?
When Pharaoh sent the Jews out of Egypt, had they proceeded on their way, and traveled to Israel, they would never have been free. Because freedom means to be the master of one’s destiny, while the Jews were in fact attaining their freedom on account of Pharaoh. Their oppressor left them no choice and cast them out of his land and into freedom. They were still passively following Pharaoh's orders. The orders may have changed, previously they were commanded to build cities and now they were commanded to exit the land, but the psychological state of the people was still the same: they were following orders.
Freedom cannot be granted. Freedom must be taken.
Freedom cannot be granted by an oppressor. If you are free only because your oppressor ordered you free, then, in truth, you are not free at all.
To be free one must defy the oppressor. The courage that generates the act of defiance is the stuff of true freedom. The courage needed to defy, is in fact what is psychologically liberating.
In last week’s Parsha, the people left Egypt as a result of Pharaoh's command. In this week’s Parsha the people caused Pharaoh to have a change of heart. They traveled back toward Egypt, affording Pharaoh the encouragement and the opportunity to order the Jews back into Egypt. Only now, when the people defy Pharaoh, when they are free not on account of Pharaoh, but rather despite Pharaoh, are they truly free.
We each have an inner Pharaoh who seeks to enslave us to our negative habits and tendencies. We are commanded to remember the Exodus every day of our life, in order to remind ourselves that we can be free of our inner Pharaoh. Often, however, the image of freedom we picture in our minds is one of our inner Pharaoh leaving us alone. We wish we were free. We wish we would just wake up one morning, and the Pharaoh would have released us from his grip. We wish our Pharaoh would grant us freedom.
Yet, as we have seen, freedom cannot be granted.
To be free means to have the courage to defy the oppressor. To stand up and say no. To do the right thing despite the command of our inner Pharaoh. To be free is to have the courage to say no to our inner tyrant.
The Jews turned back to defy Pharaoh, not because they were looking for trouble, but rather because they were looking for freedom.
For freedom cannot be granted. Freedom must be taken.
The Song Called Life
“Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to the Lord”
This is the opening phrase of the song that Moses and the Jewish people sang to G-d after the miraculous crossing of the sea. The children of Israel, following the lead of Moses, sang a beautiful song celebrating the final stage of their liberation from Pharaoh and the Egyptians, and their future entrance into the land of Israel.
The opening word of the verse that begins the song is “Az” (אז), which means “then” (Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song). Every detail and every choice of word in the Torah is precise. The Midrash, therefore, seeks to explain why the word “Az” (אז) was chosen to open the song. The Midrash reminds us that this is not the first time we have encountered the word “Az” (אז). Earlier in the story Moses turned to G-d with precisely the same word “Az” (אז).
When Moses went to Pharaoh for the very first time, to demand that Pharaoh allow the Jewish people to leave Egypt, Pharaoh refused the request and instead decided to increase the burden of the slavery on the Jews. Moses was devastated. The Torah relates:
Moses returned to the Lord and said, "O Lord! Why have You harmed this people? Why have You sent me? Since I have come to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has harmed this people, and You have not saved Your people."
From the outset, Moses doubted G-d, and used the word “Az (אז)” which also means “since”: “Since I have come to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has harmed this people”.
The Midrash informs us that when it came time for Moses to sing the song of praise to G-d, Moses sought to correct his previous lack of faith in G-d. Thus, Moses chose the word “Az” (אז) (“Since I have come to Pharaoh”), the same word he used to question G-d, he is now using to open the song of praise (“Then Moses sang”).
There are two ways a person may react upon being liberated from a distressing situation. One emotional reaction is that although he experiences a feeling of tremendous relief, his joy is dimmed by the feeling that he would have been better off never having gone through the distressing experience.
The second way a person might react is that although he fully recognizes the hardship he has gone through he realizes the hardship was, in fact, a blessing in disguise. That without the adversity he would never have attained the greatness he achieved. Thus the joy is complete. The joy does not seek to forget about the suffering, on the contrary, the joy is a wholesome one, it incorporates the entire experience. Once the challenge has been overcome, the happiness is fueled by both the initial suffering and its conquest.
Initially, in the darkest moments of slavery, Moses saw only suffering and sorrow. He cried out to G-d in pain and cried “Az” (אז).
After the exodus and the crossing of the sea, Moses reached a deeper understanding. Now he realized that the experience in Egypt was critical in order to allow the Jewish people to experience the Divine. The humility of slavery would allow them to rise to the heights of spirituality, sensitivity and kindness to all mankind. Now the joy was complete. Now the song and the joy were fueled by both the hardship and the salvation. By the “Az” of the song of the sea, as well as the “Az” of the cry due to the hardships.
The Torah teaches that each and every day we are capable of breaking free from our inner bondage, our inner Egypt, which holds us back from attaining that which we want to achieve. The same is true of the song of the sea. As we work to free ourselves from Egypt, we hear the music of the song. We understand that every part of our life, the moments of delight, laughter and elation as well as the times of trouble and tribulation, all lead to one joyous song. They may include different notes but they combine to create one song full of meaning and joy.
In the Midst of the Sea
The splitting of the sea is one of the great miracles in the Bible. When the Talmud describes something that is unnatural, and “difficult” for G-d to achieve, the Talmud uses the phrase “it is as difficult as the splitting of the sea”.
If we want to understand the concept of a miracle, what it is, how and why it happens, we must first think about nature.
As human beings began contemplating the incredible universe they began to seek explanations and look for patterns to explain the natural phenomenon they observed. Collectively we label the explanations as “nature”. Why does light travel at the speed of 186,282 miles per second? Well, that's because that is its nature. Why do cells in the human body act the way they do? Why does the human DNA replicate the way it does? Well, that is its nature. Why does gravity operate in the precise way that it does? Again, that’s nature.
If we think about it, we will notice that much of what we call nature is a description not an explanation. We have made incredible strides in understanding the way the universe operates, in observing, and predicting some of its amazing patterns. Yet, understanding how the natural forces operate is not necessarily the same as understanding why it works precisely this way and not slightly, or vastly, differently.
This idea is alluded to in the Hebrew word for nature, which is “Teva”. The etymology of “Teva” is the word “Tuvuh” which means “drowned”. Nature is just as mysterious as a miracle, but because nature is constant, its mystery is “drowned” and concealed. And it appears to be unremarkable. The truth, however, is that the rising sun is as miraculous as the splitting of the sea. The only difference is that the rising sun is a continuous miracle while the splitting of the sea was a one time event.
When a miracle occurs we are reminded that there is a creator who is involved in creation and who has the power to change the usual patterns of the universe, and to give room for the unexpected. But the purpose of the miracle is to help us discover the miracle of nature. When we witness the awesome power of G-d at the splitting of the sea we are reminded that, indeed, all of creation is an expression of the greatness of G-d.
In the Torah’s description of the splitting of the sea we read:
Then the children of Israel came into the midst of the sea on dry land, and the waters were to them as a wall from their right and from their left. (Exodus 14:22)
Israel “came into the midst of the sea on dry land”. Yet just a few verses later the Torah reiterates the miracle, this time it changes the order of “Sea” and “dry land”:
But the children of Israel went on dry land in the midst of the sea, and the water was to them like a wall from their right and from their left. (Ibid. 14:29)
So which one is it? Did we enter “the sea on dry land” or was it “dry land in the midst of the sea”? The Chassidic masters explain: at first the Jewish people entered the sea and experienced the great miracle of “dry land”. Once they experienced the miracle they reached a deeper understanding that even when they are on “dry land”, where there is nothing unnatural to their existence, they are indeed “within the sea” surrounded by G-d’s “constant miracles”, providence, and loving care.
What is Your Craft?
People tend to define themselves by their craft, as they introduce themselves they will tell you: I am a doctor, a lawyer, an artist. What they are telling you is that their craft is something they engage in constantly, to the extent that they identify fully with that craft.
As the Jewish people were facing the red sea on one side and the pursuing Egyptian army on the other the verse tells us:
Pharaoh drew near, and the children of Israel lifted up their eyes, and behold! the Egyptians were advancing after them. They were very frightened, and the children of Israel cried out to the Lord.
Rashi explains:
Cried out: They seized the craft of their ancestors [i.e., they prayed]. Regarding Abraham the verse states: ‘Abraham rose early in the morning to the place where he had stood before G-d.’ Regarding Issac it states: “...to speak in the field’. Regarding Jacob it states: ‘and he arrived at the place’. (Rashi indicates that the terms “stood”, “to speak” and “arrived” all allude to prayer).
Rashi’s commentary presents many difficulties, to name a few: 1: why does Rashi define prayer as a craft, instead of the conventional interpretation that prayer is a request from G-d. 2: the verses which Rashi quotes are verses which merely allude to prayer. Why doesn’t Rashi quote verses which state clearly that the patriarchs prayed and requested that G-d help them?
The revolutionary idea that Rashi introduces here, is that prayer is not something we do to achieve a specific purpose or in response to a specific need, but rather, it is our craft. The words of prayer and Torah study are our craft, we constantly engage in them, not for a specific goal, to express a need, or to acquire knowledge, but rather because our relationship with G-d touches us at our core and defines our identity.
This explains why Rashi quotes the verses that merely allude to prayer. The verses that state explicitly that the patriarchs prayed, are referring to prayer for a specific need, while the verses quoted by Rashi allude to prayer without identifying the specific purpose of the prayer. These verses demonstrate that the Patriarchs prayed not for a need but because it was their “craft”.
You may spend your day as a merchant or a banker; as a volunteer, teacher or philosopher. But, as a descendant of our Patriarchs, your true craft is expressing your relationship with G-d by speaking the holy words of prayer and Torah. Don’t wait for an opportunity or reason to connect, do so today. Express your craft. Express your true core.
(Adapted from Likutei Sichos Bishalach 11.1)
You Are Not Free Until You Can Sing
Egypt is more than a geographical location where our ancestors were once enslaved. Egypt represents the boundaries that confine and limit each one of us. We are commanded to "remember the day you left Egypt every day of your life", because, each day, we are empowered to escape our own personal Egypt, to escape the stagnation and confinement of our habits, nature, and circumstances.
But even after we escaped Egypt, we are not yet entirely free. Just as the Jewish people were frightened of the Egyptians until the Red Sea was split, we too are under threat from our confining limitations until we cross the metaphorical sea within ourselves. Only then are we fully liberated, capable of singing, as our ancestors sang, the "Song of the Sea".
The sea, explains the Kabbalah, represents the barrier between the conscious mind and the soul's hidden deeper recesses. When our experience is limited to our conscious self, then, even if we are free, we are susceptible to sadness, melancholy, and boredom, which drains us of passion and excitement.
To experience the joy of life, we have to split the sea. We must tear the barrier between the conscious mind and the core of our soul. For our soul never gets bored of life, it is never drained of excitement. Like a torch continuously surging upward, our soul is in constant motion, continually yearning to transcend and reunite with its source. The soul's yearning is what fills it with joy every time it can act on its desire to transcend. Every connection with another person, every Mitzvah it performs, is as exhilarating to the soul as cold water is to the person in an arid desert.
Since the conscious mind is oblivious to the thirst and yearning of the soul, it is therefore indifferent to the passion of the soul's never-ending dance between longing and joy.
Just as we are commanded to remember the exodus of Egypt every day, the Midrash explains, so are we commanded to mention the splitting of the sea each day, which is why we include the "Song of the Sea" in our morning prayers.
The key to connecting to the passion of our soul is music. For unlike almost any other pleasure, we don't get bored of music. When learning, inquiring, or reading, enjoyment is associated with novelty. We enjoy the new idea the moment we hear about it, and from then on, the "return", the pleasure, diminishes. The same is true about eating delicious food or any other pleasure. The second piece of chocolate cake is never as enjoyable as the first. Music is an exception. Generally speaking, the music we love most is the music we heard many times over. In fact, the more we listen to a piece of music, the more we enjoy it. That is because music touches the core of our soul, which feels the intensity of the continuous dance of life, the yearning, and the joy.
Each morning, as we sing the Song of the Sea, we participate in the dance. We sing together with our soul, feel its yearning, and rejoice in its pleasure of connecting to G-d.
Ohr Hatorah Shmos, vol. 2 page 397.
Miriam
She was Moses and Aaron's older sister. The Torah refers to her at the beginning of the book of Exodus, but in this Portion, at the song of the sea, she is mentioned by name for the first time:
Miriam, the prophetess, Aaron's sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women came out after her with timbrels and with dances. (Exodus 15:20)
The Jewish people had just crossed the sea, and Moses led the men in song. Yet it was the women led by Miriam who sang and rejoiced with far greater intensity. They sang to G-d not only with words but also with timbrels and dances.
The name Miriam contains within it two seemingly opposite meanings. Miriam contains the word mayim, water. [Indeed, three of the four stories where she is mentioned in the Torah occur in the context of water: she stood at the Nile to see what would happen to baby Moses who was placed in a basket at the Nile; her song at the crossing of the sea; her passing caused the lack of water]. Miriam also contains the word mar, bitter, because, as the Midrash points out, she was born at the darkest point of slavery in Egypt, described in the Torah as "they {the Egyptians} embittered their {the Jewish people's} lives" (Exodus 1:14.)
Miriam's unique quality was that despite living in profoundly dark and bitter circumstances, she was a source of life-giving "water" to herself and the people around her, sharing encouragement, positivity, and hope amid the darkness. As Rashi explains:
Miriam, the prophetess, Aaron's sister, took: When did she prophecy? When she was known only as "Aaron's sister," before Moses was born, she said, "My mother is destined to bear a son" who will save Israel.
Some people react to pain and suffering by freezing their emotions, some people remain positive by suppressing the pain; not so Miriam. Miriam empathized with the people and experienced their emotional and physical pain, yet the pain did not lead to despair, rather, the pain led to hope. Indeed because she felt the pain more than others, her joy at the splitting of the sea was more profound.
The letters of Miriam can be read as meirim - uplifting. Miriam responds to the pain by uplifting herself, by offering hope, ultimately transforming the painful experience into joy.
When facing a challenge, each of us must learn from Miriam. We should not ignore the pain nor lose hope. Instead, the pain can motivate us to find water; the challenge can lead us to the deeper reservoirs of our soul, which can unleash the hope and enthusiasm necessary to transform the bitterness into water.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Hisvaaduyos 5752 vol. 2 page 187.
Battling the Inner Amalek
Amalek attacked the Jewish people when they were traveling from Egypt to Sinai. According to the Mystics, the Torah commands us to remember what Amalek did to us, because the energy of Amalek seeks to block our journey from our inner Egypt to our personal Sinai.
The episode of Amalek concludes with the words of Moses describing the war between G-d and Amalek: "And he said, For there is a hand on the throne of G-d {spelled yud hey, the first two letters of the four letters of G-d's name} (Exodus 17:16). Rashi comments:
Why is the Divine name divided in half? {I.e., why is the Name יָ-הּ used instead of י-ה-ו-ה ?} {The answer is that} the Holy One, blessed be He, swore that His Name will not be complete and His throne will not be complete until the name of Amalek is completely obliterated.
The Kabbalists explain that the first two letters of the divine name, "yud" and "hey" represent the Divine attributes of "wisdom and "understanding" and were referred to as the "concealed worlds", whereas the last two letters represent the "revealed worlds", "vov'' represents emotion, and the final "hey" represents action. Amalek, then, does not oppose G-d as an abstract idea (the first two letters of G-d's name), rather, Amalek opposes G-d's presence in the real world - in the "revealed worlds'' of emotion and action.
This is relevant to each of us. We each strive to grow and develop in our spiritual journey of self-improvement and becoming closer to G-d. Yet sometimes, we experience a block. What we know in our mind (the "wisdom" and "understanding"; the "concealed worlds'') does not seem to play out in our emotions and affect our actions (the final two letters of the Divine name; the "revealed worlds").
The Torah describes the antidote to Amalek.
Moses commanded Joshua to choose men and battle Amalek. Yet the Jewish people were only victorious when Moses raised his hands:
It came to pass that when Moses would raise his hand, Israel would prevail, and when he would lay down his hand, Amalek would prevail. (Exodus 17:11)
The conventional interpretation is that when the Jewish people saw Moses's hands raised heavenward, they turned to G-d and were, therefore, victorious. The Chassidic interpretation is that in order to be victorious over Amalek, we must figuratively "raise our hands above the head". We must not wait for the knowledge of the mind to trigger an emotion that will lead to action; rather, we must commit to doing the action despite the lack of feeling at this moment.
The antidote to the inner Amalek, the cold indifference that interferes with our relationship with the people we love and with G-d, is raising the hand. Despite the temporary emotional block of Amalek, we commit to what is right for the relationship.
Adapted from Shaar Haemunah (Miteler Rebbe) chapter 14
The Light of Sinai
Every Shabbat evening, as darkness descends upon the earth and the Shabbat departs, we perform the Havdalah ceremony. We fill a cup of wine, we thank G-d who distinguishes between the weekday and the Shabbat. We smell the spices and we say a blessing over the braided Havdalah candle.
Why do we light the Havdalah candle on Saturday night?
The Midrash teaches that while Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden they experienced no darkness, as a constant Divine light shined in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden on Saturday night, which was the first time that they were engulfed in darkness. They were frightened by the darkness, until G-d gave them the wisdom to strike flint stones together and create fire. To commemorate the light created by Adam and Eve, we too light the fire every Saturday night.
Why is the discovery of fire so significant? Do we commemorate the first time Adam ate a tuna sandwich or took a swim or sang a song?
The Garden of Eden was a place where the Divine light shined. After Adam and Eve sinned, after they lost their innocence, they were expelled from experiencing the Divine light. They were devastated. They were overtaken by physical darkness. But more frightening to them was the prospect of remaining in spiritual darkness. They were afraid that they had forever lost the warm glow of spirituality which they had experienced. And then G-d gave them a profound insight. They understood that the human being must create his own light. The light may not be as glorious and brilliant as the sun, it may not light up all of the sky, yet, in some ways it is more precious and comforting than the sun. For it is light created not by G-d but by man.
As the Shabbat departs, as the holiness of the seventh day retreats, we may feel bereft of spirituality, we may be frightened of the mundane week that lays ahead devoid of the spiritual ecstasy of Shabbat. We therefore light the candle to remind ourselves that what G-d cherishes most are the man made spiritual candles of light.
***
Six days before the Torah was given, the Children of Israel arrived at Sinai. For the next few days G-d instructed Moses to prepare the Jews for the great revelation, by sanctifying themselves. G-d also warned against climbing Mount Sinai, for anyone who would climb the mountain would die as a result of the intense holiness of the mountain. As the Torah relates:
And the Lord said to Moses, "Go to the people and prepare them today and tomorrow, and they shall wash their garments. And the Lord said to Moses, "Go to the people and prepare them today and tomorrow, and they shall wash their garments. And you shall set boundaries for the people around, saying, Beware of ascending the mountain or touching its edge; whoever touches the mountain will surely die' No hand shall touch it, for he shall be stoned or cast down; whether man or beast, he shall not live.
The message was clear. G-d was about to descend on the mountain, therefore the people were not to climb the mountain lest they be consumed by the overwhelming awesome holiness of G-d.
The verse, however, continues and offers another detail. The verse states that the boundaries around Sinai were only temporary. As soon as the Divine revelation at Sinai was complete, the people are permitted to climb the mountain:
When the ram's horn sounds a long, drawn out blast, they may ascend the mountain.
Rsahi explains:
When the ram’s horn sounds a long, drawn-out blast, this is the sign of the withdrawal of the Divine presence and the cessation of the voice of God. As soon as the Divine presence withdraws, they are permitted to ascend the mountain.
Why was it important to emphasize at this point, before the revelation, that the boundaries around the mountain were only temporary? If the emphasis was the separation from the mountain, why mention that the separation had an “expiration date” and was merely temporary? Seemingly G-d could have waited until after the departure of the thunder, lightning, smoke and voice and only then notify the people that “all is clear” that they may once again climb the mountain?
The permission to climb the mountain after the revelation was not merely a trivial bit of information. It captured the essence of the experience of the Divine revelation at Sinai, therefore, the people had to hear it at the outset.
The revelation at Sinai, despite being the greatest Divine revelation of all time, was merely temporary. Moments after the revelation there was no lasting effect on the mountain itself. The mountain itself was no different from any other mountain and no different than it had been a few days earlier. Unlike the Temple Mount, which is considered a holy place despite the destruction of the temple almost two thousand years ago, Sinai is no longer a holy place.
Because holiness cannot be superimposed upon the creation.
G-d can descend amidst smoke and fire and speak to the people, yet that does not have a lasting effect on creation. In order for the creation itself to be transformed, change must come from below. Only through the organic effort of the the human to sanctify himself and the world around him is the mundane transformed to holiness.
G-d therefore tells the people that, yes, they are about to experience the most dramatic revelation of the Divine. Yet they must understand that imparting holiness into the world cannot come from above. G-d’s descent into our world will not leave a permanent mark. In order for the world to become transformed, people themselves must take action.
For the experience of Sinai to become permanent, we need to be the ones to connect heaven and earth. We need to engage in acts of holiness. We are the ones who light our candle and illuminate the night’s sky.
The Torah of Peace
The number one is an important number in Judaism. G-d is one. The messianic era, when the world will reach perfection, is described by the Prophet as a time when “the Lord will be one and his name will be one”.
Yet, in the story of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, the number that we keep hearing about is not the number one, but rather the number three:
In the third month of the children of Israel's departure from Egypt, on this day they arrived in the desert of Sinai.
Indeed the Talmud draws our attention to many aspects of the story that are associated with the number three:
“Blessed is G-d who has given us a Torah of three [Scripture, Prophets and Writings], to a nation of three [The Jewish people who are comprised of Kohanim, Levites, and Israelites], through [a man] who is third [Moses was the third child to be born in his family], on the third day [of preparation for the giving of the Torah], in the third month”.
It seems then, that the purpose of the Torah is expressed in the number three. The number one represents singularity, the number two represents division, and the number three represents peace and harmony.
To Illustrate:
Scenario number one: Person A is giving a lecture; he is feeling great about himself, for after all it seems that his opinion is uncontested. Nobody is calling out and objecting. He therefore is sure that his opinion must be correct. The problem, however, is that person A happens to be giving his lecture to an empty room when no one else is present. Person A represents the state of number one, he is alone in his environment. There may not be war but it is not peace, for peace requires two entities coming together, while person A is only a single individual.
Scenario number two: And then it happens. Person B enters the lecture hall and before long he is arguing with person A. They are disagreeing about everything. They seem to have opposing perspectives on every issue. They are divided.
Scenario number three: Person C enters the lecture hall and observes persons A and B arguing. After listening for a while he cries: “hey! the two of you are saying the same thing in different words! if you just stop to listen for a moment you will discover that, in fact, there is no disagreement at all!”. Person C then is the third person bringing the other two together. They are finally united.
This is the story of creation.
G-d was the only existence. There was nothing else aside from him. He was one. There was only one perspective, but that was only because there was no one else to disagree.
Sensing the inherent problem with this form of unity, G-d created the universe. As expected, as soon as the universe was created, disagreement erupted. From G-d’s perspective, he is the definition of reality, after all he is the creator of the universe. The people walking the earth, however, disagree. The human consciousness feels that he or she is at the center of the universe, that the ultimate reality is the physical one, and that spirituality, while an interesting idea, is an abstract intellectual idea that has no bearing on the concrete reality.
These are two very different perspectives; thus the dispute lives on.
Ant then, at last, the time for the third perspective has arrived. The Torah given at Sinai teaches us to listen carefully to the universe around us, to peel away the layers of existence and to discover that the dueling voices of reality are, in fact, in no dispute at all. That the universe, albeit in its own way, declares the greatness of its creator.
Thus in the third month we discover the third perspective.
Through the Torah we discover that true peace is found in the number three, in the third perspective which understands that the seemingly contradictory perspectives of G-d and the world are in no dispute at all. That, in truth, at its core, the universe wants nothing more than to reconnect with its divine source.
Jethro’s Contribution
In some ways, it is the most important portion of the Torah. It contains the most fundamental principles of our faith. It tells the story of the most significant event in the history of our people. It is the portion about the Divine revelation at Sinai, where G-d spoke the ten commandments in the presence of all the children of Israel.
We would expect the name of the portion to capture this monumental revelation. Instead the portion is named Yisro, Jethro, who was the father-in-law of Moses, who left his home in Midyan and came to join the Jewish people in the desert. As the Torah relates:
Now Moses' father in law, Jethro, the chieftain of Midian, heard all that God had done for Moses and for Israel, His people that the Lord had taken Israel out of Egypt…
Now Moses' father in law, Jethro, and his [Moses'] sons and his wife came to Moses, to the desert where he was encamped, to the mountain of God…
Jethro said, "Blessed is the Lord, Who has rescued you from the hands of the Egyptians and from the hand of Pharaoh, Who has rescued the people from beneath the hand of the Egyptians. Now I know that the Lord is greater than all the deities...”
While Jethro was certainly a distinguished man and his story adds a twist to the narrative, it does seem strange that the portion is named after a person, Jethro, who has merely a supporting role in the story.
After the splitting of the Red Sea the Jewish people sang a beautiful song to G-d. To sing is to express inspiration. To sing is to elevate one’s self from matters of the mundane. To sing is to surge upward and to seek transcendence.
The ultimate purpose of the Torah, however, cannot be achieved through song alone. The Torah’s message is not to seek escape from daily life but rather to sanctify it. Not to climb the mountain and remain aloof, but rather to draw holiness within the existing parameters of culture and society.
Thus Jethro was critical to fulfilling the objective of the Torah.
Indeed, the Zohar, the primary book of Jewish mysticism, explains that the Jewish people were unable to receive the Torah, until Jethro came to the Jewish camp and offered thanks to G-d.
Jethro was no ordinary person. Jethro was a leader of Midyan and was considered one of the foremost scholars of his time. Jethro was able to state: “Now I know that the Lord is greater than all the deities” because he was an expert on the religions, philosophies, and theories of his time. Jethro represented the peak of human scholarship. His arrival to the Jewish camp represented the ability of the Torah to reach, to transform, and to imbue holiness within every culture and society.
Song is important. Seeking transcendence is essential. But the ultimate goal is to reach the level of Jethro, to draw inspiration into daily life.
Thus immediately after reading of the awesome revelation at Sinai, the Torah continues, in next week’s portion, to elucidate the Jewish civil laws. Because, while it is inspiring to gather at the foot of Mount Sinai, to seek to hear the voice of G-d, to attempt to hear the song of inspiration, the message of the Torah is that we must bring the inspiration into our daily life. We must strive for the Torah to permeate every part of our life, not just in our most spiritual moments but, perhaps more important, in our business and in our interactions with our fellow man.
Seeing the Sounds
As the Jewish people gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai they heard the voice of G-d speaking the Ten Commandments. The Torah describes the awesome experience:
And all the people saw the voices and the torches, the sound of the shofar, and the smoking mountain, and the people saw and trembled; so they stood from afar.
What is the meaning of the words “and all the people saw the voices”? How can voices be seen? The Midrash tells us that there is a disagreement regarding this verse. Rabbi Yishmael believes that the Jews did not see anything unusual. They saw the torches and heard the voices (The word “saw” in the verse refers to the the word “torches”). Rabbi Akiva, however, insists that the verse must be read literally: “the people saw the voices”, they actually saw the voices. In the words of Rabbi Akiva: “they saw that which is usually heard, and they heard that which is usually seen”.
According to Rabbi Akiva, the experience at Sinai was much more than just receiving ten moral instructions for life; Sinai was a spiritual revelation which changed the way the Jews perceived the meaning of existence. In general the world can be divided into that which is “seen” and that which is “heard”. The concrete, physical needs, desires and experiences are “seen”, they are experienced as the ultimate reality. While that which is “abstract”, theoretical and spiritual, is “heard”. The intangible spirit is not something we can see with our naked eye. To experience it we need to “hear” and “listen”. We must use our mind to discover truths that are not obvious to the observer.
According to Rabbi Akiva, at Sinai they “heard that which is usually seen”, the physical matter, which is usually perceived as absolute reality, as the most important thing in life, became an abstract idea, while spirituality, “that which is usually heard”, was “seen”, it became real and obvious.
The experience of Sinai was not merely a one time event. Everytime we study Torah, we are recreating the revelation of Sinai. We are not only hearing the words of G-d being spoken directly to us, but studying the words of Torah also enhances our perception as to what is meaningful and worthy of pursuit. When we study Torah, our priorities are realigned, The sublime ideas in life; meaning, holiness, transcendence, become real and tangible. For each time we study Torah we are standing at Sinai, and “seeing the sounds”.
Based on the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Yisro, vol. 6 Sicha 2.
Does G-d Create on Shabbat?
The fourth commandment of the ten commandments seems straightforward, we are commanded to rest on the seventh day of the week, just as G-d rested on the seventh day of creation:
Six days may you work and perform all your labor,
but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord, your God; you shall perform no labor, neither you, your son, your daughter, your manservant, your maidservant, your beast, nor your stranger who is in your cities.
For [in] six days the Lord made the heaven and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and sanctified it. (Exodus 20:8-10)
Chassidic philosophy teaches that creation is not an event that happened in the distant past, but rather creation is perpetual. The word of G-d that created the universe must continuously breath life into the creation. If the vivifying energy would cease to create for even one moment, the universe would cease to exist. This deeper understanding of the meaning of creation raises a fascinating question: how does the universe exist on Shabbat? If G-d rests from creating the world on Shabbat, if the flow of life is turned off, the world should cease to exist on the seventh day!
In the book of Genesis, the Torah tells us that the universe was created with words: “G-d said let there be light, and there was light”, “And God said, "Let the water that is beneath the heavens gather into one place, and let the dry land appear, and it was so.” Speech was chosen to be the metaphor for G-d’s creative power, because speech is the tool that allows one to communicate with someone who is outside oneself. When one is thinking deep thoughts the idea remains within himself, speech is the tool which allows him to communicate with someone who has a distinct and separate personality and perspective. Speech, therefore, is the perfect metaphor for creation. Before creation the Divine energy was included within G-d’s “thought”, absorbed within the infinite light, and did not express itself in a reality outside of G-d. When G-d spoke, the energy within G-d was projected outward, creating a reality which felt separate and apart from the creator.
On Shabbat, G-d ceases to speak. The words, the divine energy, return back to their source within G-d himself.
How then does creation exist on Shabbat? On Shabbat the world is sustained not by Divine speech but rather by Divine thought. On Shabbat the energy of the world, and the world itself, is elevated and reconnected to its source within the Divine. The Kabbalists refer to it as “the elevation of the worlds”: on Shabbat we can escape the awareness of Divine speech, where we feel separate and apart form G-d, and we can enter the awareness of Divine thought, where we feel surrounded and enveloped within the Divine presence. We can enter the state of Divine thought where we are not a separate entity but rather included in the Divine holiness.
This Kabbalistic insight has practical ramifications as well. During the six days of creation the energy flows outward, on Shabbat the Divine energy returns to its source and flows inward. We too follow the same pattern: during the six days of the week we are in the mode of “speech”, focused on achieving and accomplishing in the world outside of us. We tackle our tasks and to-do lists and strive to impact the world around us. We strive to succeed in the surrounding environment. On Shabbat we turn inward. We enter the space of thought. We occupy ourselves with the things that are important to our internal self. We stop working on improving our circumstances and we return to our inner core. During the sacred twenty four hours of Shabbat we spend our time and attention on our inner core, reconnecting to our soul, our family and our relationship with G-d.
(Adapted from Lekutei Torah, Devarim 66:3)
The Wedding Day
As we prepare to read the story of the great revelation at Sinai, where the Jewish people received the ten commandments, the Torah inserts a story that does not fit the chronological order.
The Torah tells us that "on the next morning" Jethro, the father-in-law of Moses, saw how Moses was judging the people alone. Jethro said: "The thing you are doing is not good. You will surely wear yourself out both you and these people who are with you for the matter is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone (18:17-18)". Instead, Jethro suggested: "You shall choose out of the entire nation men of substance, G-d-fearers, men of truth, who hate monetary gain, and you shall appoint over them [Israel] leaders over thousands, leaders over hundreds, leaders over fifties, and leaders over tens. (18:21)". Moses indeed implemented Jethro's suggestion.
When did this story occur? The verse says: "it came about the next day". Which day is this referring to? Rashi explains that "the next day" does not refer to the previous story, the day after Jethro came to the Jewish camp, but rather it refers to the day after Yom Kippur (Yom Kippur is the day the Jewish people received the second tablets), which occurred over four months later.
Why is the story that occurred many months later inserted at this point before the giving of the Torah?
The giving of the Torah at Sinai was not only a time when the Jewish people accepted G-d's commandments and agreed to submit His word. The Mishnah teaches that the day the Torah was given was the wedding day of G-d, the groom, and the Jewish people, the bride. The Torah therefore represents not the submission to G-d, but rather it represents the marriage and union between the Jewish people and G-d.
This explains the uniqueness of the Torah. The Torah is not only the word of G-d, but rather it is a partnership between the word of G-d, conveyed in the written Torah, and the understanding of the people, the application of the Torah which is found in the Oral Torah (the Mishnah, the Talmud, and its commentaries). In Judaism, the question "what is the will of G-d?" is addressed not only by G-d in the written Torah, but also in the Talmud, which is the human application and understanding of the Divine word.
Moses represents the written Torah, as he was the conduit to deliver the word of G-d to the Jewish people. Jethro, on the other hand, represents the contribution of the oral Torah, the human input. Therefore, Jethro insisted that the people had to be involved in the judicial system, applying the word of G-d to their lives.
By placing the details of Jethro's advice before the revelation at Sinai, the Torah implies that the day we stood at Sinai was not the day we became subjects of G-d. It was our wedding day.
Adapted from the Pri Tzadik
Grasping the Essence
"I am the Lord, your God, Who took you out of the land of Egypt”, is the opening statement of the ten commandments.
The common word in Hebrew for “I” is ani, yet the first word employed in the ten commandments is the far less common word anochi.
There are various explanations as to why the less common anochi is used. One interpretation is that ani is used when the “I” relates to something outside of the self.“I went”, “I spoke” etc. expresses how the person interacts with the world around him. Anochi, by contrast, refers to the “I” in relation to self, as anochi refers to the essence of self. “I {anochi} am the L-rd your G-d”, then, tells us that G-d’s relates to us with the essence of his being.
The Talmud explains that anochi is an acronym for “I myself wrote and gave {the Torah}. {ana nafshi ktavit yehavit}. The Kabbalaists explain the deeper meaning of this Talmudic passage, which, read literally, states: “I wrote and gave myself {in the Torah}. This means that G-d invested himself, his own will and wisdom, within the Torah. Therefore when we study and grasp the Torah we are not just grasping a law dictating how to respond in a given situation, but rather we are grasping the will and wisdom of G-d, in which His essence is invested. When we grasp the Torah we grasp G-d’s essence which is invested within the Torah.
Understanding Torah in this light explains the value of studying all parts of Torah, including the scenarios that are unlikely to ever occur. The study of Torah is not only for a utilitarian purpose, to know what to do, but rather it is a glimpse into the wisdom of G-d. In the words of the Tanya, the foundational book of Chabad Philosophy:
Even if it never did nor ever will come to pass that litigation occur over these arguments and claims, yet, since it arose thus in G‑d’s will and wisdom that if one person would claim this way and the other that way, the verdict be such and such, therefore, when one knows and comprehends this verdict as a Halachah set forth in the Mishnah or Gemara or Poskim (the halachic codifiers), he then actually comprehends and grasps the will and wisdom of G‑d,
When the Kids Leave Home
Did Moses have a blind spot? How is it possible that Moses, the devoted shepherd to his people, who understood their needs and frustrations, and their uncompromising defender, would miss something so obvious?
The Torah relates how Jethro, father-in-law of Moses, saw how Moses was the sole judge for all the people. Jethro protested and said that it was a terrible idea and suggested the appointment of other judges to alleviate the burden of judging the people:
Moses' father-in-law said to him, "The thing you are doing is not good. You will surely wear yourself out both you and these people who are with you for the matter is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone… But you shall choose out of the entire nation men of substance, God fearers, men of truth, who hate monetary gain, and you shall appoint over them [Israel] leaders over thousands, leaders over hundreds, leaders over fifties, and leaders over tens. And they shall judge the people at all times, and it shall be that any major matter they shall bring to you, and they themselves shall judge every minor matter, thereby making it easier for you, and they shall bear [the burden] with you. (Exodus 18:17-22)
Moses missed this seemingly obvious problem because the role of Moses was to teach, educate and uplift. Moses understood that if the people had the opportunity to hear the word of the Torah directly from Moses, they would be elevated to greater heights. Jethro, however, realized that although the people would be inspired and uplifted while in the presence of Moses, when they would depart from his company, they would return to their previous spiritual state and remain unaffected by Moses' perspective. Jethro suggested, and G-d agreed, that the people must be involved in studying and adjudicating the law because the purpose of the Torah is not to offer moments of inspiration but rather to influence our daily, mundane lives.
A parent spends years seeking to teach values, character, and positive traits to their child. Yet, the test of those values is not when the child is in the parents home, but when the child leaves the presence of the parent and incorporates those valused into his or her own life.
The same is true in our own lives. The Torah offers us many opportunities to be uplifted and transcend the distractions of daily life. Opportunities to metaphorically "stand before Moses". Yet, the ultimate test of the Torah is how it affects us when we return to the reality of daily life. For the testament that we have attained the essence of the Torah is if we can extend it to sanctify and influence the most mundane parts of life.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos 16 Yisro 2
Overcoming NIMBY
Many people have strong opinions on how we should solve society's challenges. They may believe that we have to help the homeless, the disenfranchised, and everyone else—but, often, they want the problem to be solved NIMBY.
Used to describe a person or an attitude, NIMBY is an abbreviation for Not In My Back Yard. A NIMBY might agree that a community or a neighborhood needs a half-way house for convicts transitioning back to society, but doesn't want it placed too close to his or her own home or in the neighborhood. (Urban Dictionary)
The NIMBY attitude is in direct contrast to the Torah’s perspective. The Torah’s philosophy is that if you are going to heal society’s ills, you cannot expect to write a check and have someone else solve the problem in some distant part of the country. Rather, you must roll up your sleeves and “get your hands dirty.” Only then can you expect to create positive change.
This idea is crystallized in the Torah law that is perhaps one of the most uncomfortable laws to the modern ear: the law of the Hebrew servant. At first glance, it seems strange that the Torah, the epitome of Divine morality, could condone servitude. Upon close examination, however, this law contains a deep moral lesson.
The Hebrew servant is typically someone who stole and is unable to repay what they stole. Instead of incarcerating the thief—which does little to rehabilitate the criminal (the U.S. Department of Justice writes on its website that “in a 15 State study, over two-thirds of released prisoners were rearrested within three years”)—the Torah puts forth a system of rehabilitation.
The criminal becomes a servant for six years, and the money earned by his work is used to repay the victim of his theft. This service, however, is not performed in some faraway prison camp; rather the thief is sent to the home of an upstanding member of the community. The Torah expects that in the home of the “master,” the thief will find, perhaps for the first time in his life, warmth and compassion.
Now, let’s think about the host family for a moment. Why would they choose to hire the six-year servant in a contract that demands a great deal of the master? To quote Maimonides:
A master is obligated to treat any Hebrew servant or maid servant as his equal with regard to food, drink, clothing and living quarters, as implied by Deuteronomy 15:16: "for it is good for him with you." The master should not eat bread made from fine flour while the servant eats bread from coarse flour. The master should not drink aged wine while the servant drinks fresh wine. The master should not sleep on cushions while the servant sleeps on straw. . . . On this basis, our Sages said: "Whoever purchases a Hebrew servant purchases a master for himself." A master must treat his servant with brotherly love, as implied by Leviticus 25:46: "And with regard to your brothers, the children of Israel."
That said, why would anybody want to purchase a servant?
The answer is that the host family that is hiring the six year servant understands that you can't outsource your obligation to help the disadvantaged. They understand that if you want to help someone, it’s not enough to write a check. You must open up your home and invite the other into your family.
To illustrate this point in a modern context: Steve, my dear friend and study partner, was an officer with the NYPD, serving in the Bronx in the seventies. One day, he was called to a store where the employees caught someone stealing food. Steve approached the suspected thief and asked why he stole. The man responded that he had three children at home and needed to feed them.
Steve went in to speak to Mr. Hurwitz, the store owner. When Mr. Hurwitz heard what the fellow said, not only did he refuse to press charges but he offered the guy a job on the spot.
What’s most amazing about this story is that within three years the guy moved up from his job stocking the shelves to become a store manager.
This would not have happened had Mr. Hurwitz just wanted to help a lost soul. It happened because Mr. Hurwitz did more than write a check; he opened the door and let the other person in. And he did more than let him into his backyard; he let him into his life.
Legal Priority
The first law recorded in the portion that follows the giving of the Torah, the portion of Mishpatim that discusses much of the civil law, is the law of the Jewish slave.
The Torah states: Should you buy a Hebrew slave, he shall work [for] six years, and in the seventh [year], he shall go out to freedom without charge.
Of all the laws in the Parsha, why began with the “regressive” law that discusses slavery? Is this the first, and most important law the Jews have to hear? I know many Rabbis who have secretly confessed to wishing this law was sandwiched somewhere in the third reading, where, hopefully, it would not draw attention. I mean who wants to talk about slavery in the 21st century? Why could we not choose to start with some other universally appealing law, that would showcase the superiority of the values of the Torah's civil law?
Personally, I have come to love talking about, and highlighting, this law. Because once you dig deep you discover that this law speaks directly to the core issue that American justice is struggling with in the 21st century.
Yes, for the most part, we have a great Justice system. But once we take a careful look we discover that, often, there exists a gap between people who can afford great representation, to people on the bottom of the social-economic ladder, who often do not get proper justice.
There are numerous examples that can be discussed. Here is just one angle that recently appeared in the media: increasingly, the Supreme court is most likely to hear cases advocated by a small group of lawyers. Anyone who cannot afford this select group of lawyers has a significantly harder chance of being heard.
In an article titled The Advocacy Gap, the New Yorker reports:
The phenomenon has been described before. Richard Lazarus, a professor at Harvard Law School, wrote in 2008 about the success of the Court bar in persuading the Justices to take cases, and why that is noteworthy: “In the world of Supreme Court advocacy, persuading the Court to grant a petition is the single most difficult challenge.” He detailed how the élite bar helped to persuade the Court to back corporations in antitrust, tort, and other kinds of business cases. In 2007, for instance, the Court struck down a century-old ban on manufacturers and distributors setting minimum retail prices for products. Reuters focussed on more recent examples, such as the 2011 rejection of a class-action lawsuit against Walmart to stop discrimination against women, which made it a lot more difficult to bring class-action cases in general.
In addition, Lazarus warned that the emergence of the modern Supreme Court bar created another, related problem: hiring advocates with strong records at the high court is expensive. He foresaw an “advocacy gap in the Court between those who can pay and those who cannot, which would be bad for the legal profession, the Court, and its rulings.”
Now, let’s go back to the Torah. Who is the Jewish slave? He is a person on the lowest rung of the social ladder. He is poverty stricken, or a thief who stole and is unable to pay back the theft.
The Torah is giving us a profound message, one that is, until this day, deeply challenging for us to accept. The Torah is telling us that the first priority of the law, and the legal community, must be, not the people who can afford the best representation, not the people who can afford lobbyist to write laws benefiting the powerful. The first priority of the legal community must be the lowest person in society. By placing the Law of the Hebrew slave first, the Torah is telling us that, if we are to achieve justice, we must ensure that the weakest amongst us receive justice. For justice is measured by how we treat the thief and the pauper. To create a just society we must start with the people on the bottom. We must ensure that the slave is released on the seventh year.
What the Ox Taught the Therapist
Back in the day, before cars were used to transport people and merchandise, before there were tractors to plow fields, the ox was a central feature of daily life.
Unlike a car, the ox has a mind of its own, which potentially could cause some headache to its owner. An ox would occasionally damage property and the owner of the ox was held liable to pay for the damage.
One category of the laws of torts, explained in this week’s Parsha, are the laws of the goring ox. The Torah teaches that if an ox gores once or twice, the owner of the ox is only responsible to pay for half of the damage. The reason for this is, that it is considered to be unusual for an ox to gore, the ox is considered a “Tam” which means innocent, and therefore the owner is only partially liable, because he was not expected to anticipate that his “innocent” ox would gore. If, however, the ox gores a third time, then the owner is responsible to pay for the full damage, since this animal now has a habit of goring, the animal is a “Muad”, meaning the animal is “warned”, and the owner is responsible to guard the animal more carefully.
This was an important law for people living in the ancient world. But what about for those of us living in cities and suburbs in the 21st century, what can we learn from the law of the goring ox?
It turns out that this law contains lessons with far reaching implications for our lives.
The Kabbalists explain that within each person there are two souls, the G-dly soul and the animal soul.
Each of us has an animal soul, the selfish aspect of the personality. This animal soul is not necessarily destructive. In fact, if the animal causes harm to someone else we assume that the aggression is the exception not the rule. We assume that the animal is still “innocent”. Yet, once the animal soul develops a habit of destructive behavior, it becomes very difficult to rid oneself of the habit.
The first lesson of the law of the goring ox is to recognize the power of destructive habits and to prevent ourselves from falling into negative patterns of behavior.
When we study the teachings of the oral law which expound upon the law of the goring ox, we discover a second, more profound, lesson about what we can do to break free of the grasp of the negative habit; how to free oneself from being enslaved to our destructive behavioral patterns.
The Rabbis in the Talmud offer various scenarios in which the “warned ox”, the ox that gored three times, can revert back to the legal status of the “innocent ox”. One example is if a “warned ox” is sold to a new owner, then the status of the ox changes and it becomes on “innocent ox”. For some reason, we assume that the sale of the ox will change the nature of the ox, from one that is prone to goring to a civilized domesticated ox.
Why would the sale affect such deep change?
The Talmud is teaching a profound lesson about the nature of habit. The Talmud is teaching that a single negative habit is very difficult to change in isolation. The way to change a bad habit is to change the environment. An animal develops bad habits while living in a specific setting, various elements of the environment trigger the compulsive behavior. The moment the animal is placed in a completely different environment, the triggers are no longer present, and the animal could develop new patterns of positive behavior.
The same is true for each of us. Keeping resolutions to improve a specific behavior is very hard, and it takes a tremendous amount of willpower. The path that is more likely to succeed is not to change a specific behavior but to change the overall environment. If one places oneself in a positive environment, with positive influences, the old patterns are more likely to fall away, creating space for new, positive, patterns and habits
And lest you think that this is just an optimistic view on human nature, modern research is discovering this truth. The following is an excerpt from research conducted at Duke University:
"Once you form a habit, it takes willpower to inhibit the triggered response. If you don't have the energy to override the response, you tend to repeat what you've done in the past," Wood says.
In another study, Wood found that college students who transferred to a new university were able to break their television-watching habit if the TV was in a different location at their new school. Students who found the TV in the same location were less successful at breaking the TV habit, she says.
The implication for people trying to stop bad habits or develop new ones is that they should pay attention to their environment in order to sustain a new behavior over time, Wood says.
If the internal animal is getting out of hand you can try to muster the willpower to control and contain the animal; you may or may not be successful. Or, you could take the wholesome approach. Change the environment, surround yourself with positive people and spiritual experiences. The old triggers will fall away, new patterns will emerge, new habits will take hold.
Place yourself in a holy environment.
Tunneling into the Castle
Immediately after the great revelation at Sinai, the Torah continues with the portion of Mishpatim, the logical laws which govern the dealings between people. The Mishpatim differ from the Chukim, the commandments which are categorized as decrees.
Yet, the Mishpatim are part of the Torah. While they may seem similar to laws in other systems of law, upon deeper examination we find the Torah’s values embedded within them.
We will examine one law in the portion of Mishpatim, and compare and contrast the Torah’s approach with the legal system in the United States.
Suppose I am lying in bed, in the middle of the night, and wake up in terror to see an intruder trying to burglarize my home. Suppose I have the option to escape my home unnoticed, am I allowed, instead, to use deadly force to prevent the theft?
Do I have to retreat, if I am safely able to do so, or may I kill the intruder to protect my home?
In most states, including Connecticut, the homeowner may use deadly force to protect his home, the legal basis for this is called the Castle Doctrine:
The Castle Doctrine is a common law doctrine stating that an individual has no duty to retreat when in his or her home, or “castle,” and may use reasonable force, including deadly force, to defend his or her property, person, or another. Outside of the “castle,” however, an individual has a duty to retreat, if able to do so, before using reasonable force…
Forty-six states, including Connecticut, have incorporated the Castle Doctrine into law. Connecticut law justifies the use of reasonable physical force, including deadly force, in defense of premises. Connecticut courts have recognized the common law privilege to challenge an unlawful entry into one's home, to the extent that a person's conduct does not rise to the level of a crime. Deadly force is justified in defense of one's property by a person who is privileged to be on the premises and who reasonably believes such force is necessary to prevent an attempt by the criminal trespasser to commit any crime of violence.
The law, obviously, permits one to kill in self defense. The Castle Doctrine, however, goes much further: it allows one to kill in order to prevent an intruder from entering and damaging his home. The homeowner does not have to believe that his life is at risk to be protected by the Castle Defense; as long as the homeowner reasonably believes that the intruder wants to commit arson or burglary, he would be protected by the castle Doctrine if he kills the intruder.
What would the Torah say about the Castle Doctrine? Would the Torah allow for defending property at the expense of the intruder's life? In this week’s Parsha the Torah states:
If the thief is discovered while tunneling (breaking in), and he is struck and dies, (it is as if) he has no blood.
Like most laws in the Torah, this law is written in concise language, the details and explanations are elaborated on in the Talmud. Rava, the great Talmudic sage, poses the question: what is the reason for the law of the intruder who tunnels? He then offers the following explanation: the intruder enters the home, despite knowing that a person will try to protect his own property. This is ample evidence that the intruder is prepared to use force against the homeowner. Therefore, says the Torah, the homeowner has the right to kill the intruder; as the Torah's position is "if someone comes to kill you anticipate ("get up early" to) him and kill him first".
Rava explains that the law has nothing to do with the right to protect one's property, but has everything to do with the right of self defense.
Rava’s great innovation is that we consider the intruder a threat to life even if it seems that all he wants is jewelry, and he has not yet shown any sign of wanting to attack the homeowner. We don’t have to wait for the escalation of violence, as we are permitted to assume that the intruder will in fact use deadly force, when the homeowner will try to stop him from stealing; the homeowner, therefore, may use deadly force first to protect his life.
In other words, merely entering a home in order to steal, with the expectation that the homeowner is home, is in itself the greatest act of aggression that permits the homeowner to kill in self defense.
[Jewish Law offers important exceptions to the right to kill an intruder: for example, Maimonides rules: “Different rules apply with regard to a thief who stole and departed, or one who did not steal, but was caught leaving the tunnel through which he entered the home. Since he turned his back on the house and is no longer intent on killing its owner, he may not be slain.”]
In summary: although the Torah’s approach seems similar to the Common Law’s Castle doctrine, there is a fundamental difference between them. Namely, the Castle Doctrine claims that in some cases one may protect his own property at the expense of the intruder's life, the Torah, on the other hand, says no such thing. Although the Torah would allow one to kill an intruder, the rationale has nothing to do with protecting property. Rather, since we know the intruder is prepared to threaten your life, therefore, you may protect your life at the expense of the intruder's life.
The Arrow of Fire
Immediately following the Torah portion of the ten commandments, we read the portion of Mishpatim which discusses the laws of monetary obligation.
Among the many laws are the laws of torts, the obligation to pay for damage that one has caused. The Torah classifies four general categories of damages, they are: the ”ox that gored”, a “pit”, “an animal that ate produce” and “fire”. These categories are analyzed and explained at great length in the Talmud.
In this week’s portion the Torah states:
If a fire goes forth and finds thorns, and a stack of grain or standing grain or the field be consumed, the one who ignited the fire shall surely pay.
Of all the forms of damages, damage by fire is, in some ways, the most intriguing. Fire is distinct from all other forms of damage and does not fit neatly into the usual theory of liability. There is, therefore, a disagreement between two Talmudic sages, Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish, as to the underlying reason, or doctrine, under which the “owner” of the fire is held responsible:
Rabbi Yochanan says “fire is like his arrow”, while Reish Lakish says “fire is like his property”.
According to Rabbi Yochanan, when a person’s fire causes damage, it is very different from a scenario in which a person’s animal causes damage. An animal is a tangible possession of value and as such the person is responsible for damage caused by his possessions. Fire, by contrast, is intangible, and therefore cannot be considered as a possession which has caused damage. Rabbi Yochanan, therefore, believes that the obligation to pay for damage caused by fire is based on the doctrine that “fire is like an arrow”.
Rabbi Yochanan’s logic is as follows: when a person throws an arrow which causes damage, the person is held responsible on the basis of the theory that although he did not actually cause the damage with his own hands, the arrow is considered an extension of himself, and thus he is responsible just as if he himself had caused the damage. Similarly, argues Rabbi Yochanan, in the case of fire, although the person did not cause the damage with his own hands, lighting the fire and not protecting it is comparable to throwing an arrow. We therefore consider the damage done by the fire to be equivalent to the damage done by the owner’s own hands.
Reish Lakish disagrees.
Reish Lakish argues that lighting fire cannot be compared to throwing an arrow. While the arrow flies only because the person throws it, fire, by contrast, travels on its own. Fire travels through burning the fuel it finds in its path. Fire, argues Reish Lakish, is very different from an arrow.
Rejecting the arrow doctrine, Reish Lakish believes that “fire is like his property”. Despite the differences between fire and conventional property, whereas conventional property is tangible while fire is not, Reish Lakish maintains that the owner of the fire is responsible for the damage caused by the fire, because the fire is considered to be his property.
Based on this Talmudic discussion, the post Talmudic codifiers rule that indeed “fire is like an arrow”.
***
Law is more than a utilitarian system that allows for a functioning society. The law is an expression and a reflection of the values, attitudes and morals of a culture. Indeed, reading the Talmudic debate, studying and internalizing that indeed “fire is like his arrow” can have a profound impact on our spiritual well being.
Almost all “damage” that a person brings upon himself stems from the separation in his mind between an act that causes pleasure at the moment and the negative consequences which result in the future. Almost all good and valuable achievements, come from investing time and effort which subsequently produce a benefit in the future. In other words, “damage” is the separation of the act from its final result, while “goodness” results from envisioning in the present effort the reward that will come in the future.
The most important ingredient for success in life, then, is the ability to see the end result of a given action as a direct extension of the action.
For, indeed, “his fire is like his arrow”.
Four Guardians
Immediately after the great revelation at Sinai, the Torah proceeds to teach the civil law that governs the interactions between people in day to day life.
One of the topics discussed in this week’s portion is the law of the guardian who agreed to watch his fellow’s item. The Torah introduces four categories of guardians, each with its own level of liability, in cases when the guardian is unable to return the item which was left in his possession for safekeeping. The degree of liability pertaining to each of the guardians is determined by the division of benefit derived by the owner of the object and the guardian.
The first category is the “unpaid guardian”, who agrees to guard the object without receiving payment. Since the unpaid guardian receives no benefit from watching the item, he is therefore not liable if the object was lost or stolen (unless the guardian was negligent). The next two categories of guardians are the “paid guardian” and the “renter”. Both receive some benefit for guarding the object (payment for guarding the object, or in the case of the renter, the right to use the object) and therefore they have some liability. They are obligated to pay in a case where the object was lost or stolen, yet they are not obligated to pay if the object was destroyed by an event which was completely out of their control. The forth guardian is the “borrower”, who receives all the benefit, as he uses the object without paying for the usage, his liability is therefore the greatest. The borrower is liable to pay even if the object was destroyed by an event outside the borrower’s control.
The monetary laws of the Torah are more than just utilitarian laws which allow for a functioning society. Just like all other parts of the Torah, the monetary laws contain deep psychological and spiritual truths. Thus, the laws of the four guardians, also represent four states of mind in our relationship of G-d, our soul and the purpose of creation.
A healthy relationship is one in which both parties benefit from the relationship. Yet, a relationship is more than a “win-win” arrangement, where each party is involved in order to receive that which they consider beneficial. While the parties may have entered the relationship for personal gain, in order for the relationship to be more than a transactional business-like arrangement, it must develop from the original cost benefit analysis and mature to include commitment and selfless devotion to the partner in the relationship.
The Torah tells us that G-d created Adam and “placed him in the Garden of Eden to work it and to guard it” (Genesis 2:15). G-d entrusts us with a spiritual soul and places us on this earth with a mission to “work it and guard it”, to preserve and to increase the goodness on this earth. We, the guardians, receive benefit from our work on behalf of G-d, for G-d blesses us and provides us with our material and spiritual needs. Yet, just like in human relationships, there are different levels in the relationship with G-d. On one end of the spectrum is a person who is primarily interested in receiving the “benefits” life has to offer. On the other end of the spectrum is the person who is an “unpaid guardian”. He is in love with G-d to the point of being completely altruistic, his motivation is to serve G-d, and do the right thing for its own sake.
In a wholesome human relationship, we can and should benefit from our relationship yet we must also experience selfless devotion to our partner. The same is true in our relationship with G-d. At times we will be a “borrower”, motivated primarily by our own needs and desires. But we should always seek those moments when we transcend our own ego and act as an “unpaid guardian”, motivated primarily with the desire to devote ourselves to our beloved.
The Sapphire Brick
One of the most mysterious verses in all the five books of Moses appears in this week’s Parsha describing the vision of the elders of the Jewish people at Mount Sinai:
and they perceived the God of Israel, and beneath His feet was like the forming of a sapphire brick and like the appearance of the heavens for clarity. (Exodus 24:10).
What are we to make of this vision? Brick? Sapphire? Clarity of the heavens? This is obviously a metaphor, but what message is embedded in this description of the vision?
Rashi explains that although G-d is infinite and transcendent, He is not removed from the experiences, the pain and the joy of the Jewish people. In Rash’si words:
like the forming of a sapphire brick: that was before Him at the time of the bondage, to remember Israel’s straits [i.e.,] that they were enslaved in the making of bricks.
and like the appearance of the heavens for clarity: Since they were [finally] redeemed, there was light and joy before Him.
According to Rashi, there are two clauses in the verse which refer to two distinct times. The first is the brick, which refers to the time when the Jewish people were suffering in Egyptian slavery, when their primary labor was the creation of bricks. The second clause, the appearance of the heavens for clarity, represents the joy that G-d experienced when the Jewish people were finally redeemed from slavery.
The most important message at the greatest Divine revelation in our history, was that our G-d is a personal G-d, who is aware of, and emotionally involved in, our challenges, suffering and triumphs.
The Kabbalists see another message hidden within this vision, a message which captures the core of what Judaism is all about. According to the Kabbalistic interpretation it is but one vision: a sapphire brick that is as pure and as transparent as the heavens”. A brick, in contrast to a stone, is a human invention. In the book of Genesis we read how people decided to create the tower of Babel in a valley, where there were no stones: And they said to one another, "Come, let us make bricks and fire them thoroughly"; so the bricks were to them for stones”. Bricks are man made, while stones are excavated from mountains, which are part of nature created by G-d.
Bricks are made from earth. The farthest thing from heaven is earth. Yet this vision tells us that the brick, the earth, is as pure as the heavens! This vision captures the essence of Judaism. Many spiritual seekers seek to flee earthly life and try to escape to the heavens by immersing themselves in spirituality. Yet Judaism’s essential message is that G-d places us upon earth in order to create bricks that are as pure as the heavens.
When we live life here on earth, when we engage in eating, business, raising a family or any other activity, we are creating man made spirituality. We are using earthly material yet we are placing the earth into a fire to create a brick. The passion and love for holiness is the fire that transforms the earthy into the spiritual. We do not escape to the heavens to become pure instead we transform the earth to be like the heavens. The essential message of Judaism is that, yes, the brick, earthly material, when used with fiery passion for G-d, can be just as shiny as sapphire, and just as pure as the heavens.
Adapted from Torah Or, Mishpatim, discourse “Vetachas Raglav”.
The Party at Sinai
When we think about spiritual experiences, we picture prayer, meditation, or perhaps a solitary walk in nature. Yet that is not how the Torah describes the Jewish people’s experience at the greatest Divine revelation in history, the giving of the Torah at Sinai.
… and they perceived the G-d of Israel, and beneath His feet was like the forming of a sapphire brick and like the appearance of the heavens for clarity.
And upon the nobles of the children of Israel He did not lay His hand, and they perceived G-d, and they ate and drank. (Exodus 24:10-11)
It seems almost inconceivable. “They perceived the G-d of Israel,” and how did they respond? They ate and drank!
In explaining this incident, Biblical commentators are divided. Some maintain that eating and drinking was indeed a sin, evidenced by the words, “And upon the nobles of the children of Israel He did not lay His hand.” i.e., the nobles should have been punished for eating, but G-d refrained. Others, however, explain that it was not only permitted, but the right thing to do, since the food and drink were not a distraction from the Divine revelation, rather a celebration of it.
Judaism teaches that our task is to heal the rift between physical and spiritual, to the point where the physical is sanctified by enhancing the spiritual experience.
Chassidic philosophy explains that before the giving of the Torah at Sinai, the divide between physical and spiritual was unbridgeable. At Sinai the separation was broken; G-d descended upon Mount Sinai, enabling us, for the first time in the history of the cosmos, to elevate the physical world and connect it to holiness.
There is, however, another point that requires exploration.
What is the meaning of the verse, “And upon the nobles of the children of Israel He did not lay His hand”? To those who maintain that the Jews sinned by eating and drinking at the Revelation, the meaning is clear: although they were deserving of punishment, G-d refrained. But what is the meaning to those who believe that eating and drinking at Sinai (elevating the physical world we live in) was, in fact, the purpose of the entire spiritual experience?
The Hebrew word for “nobles”, atzilei, shares the same root as the word etzel, which means “near”. The Alter Rebbe, the founder of Chabad, explains: “He did not lay His hand” means that G-d did not place paralyzing fear within their hearts. Many of the Jewish people at Sinai were overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience and were unable to eat. It was specifically the nobles, those close to G-d, who were not awe-stricken, and were able to engage in elevating the food and drink. The lesson, says the Alter Rebbe, is that the more we connect to the sacred, the more we are able to fulfill the task of elevating the physical world.
This explains a Talmudic debate regarding the purpose of Shabbat. Some argue that Shabbat was given so that the Jewish people would have time to study Torah (since labor is prohibited), while others say that Shabbat was given for the Jewish people to enjoy food and drink (as there is an obligation to honor the Shabbat with delicacies). These two opinions do not contradict one another; they address two distinct situations: if we spend the six days of the week completely engaged in material business and we do not dedicate time to holiness, then Shabbat is the time to dedicate to spirituality.
If, however, we create moments of closeness to G-d during the week, then on Shabbat we enjoy the pleasures of food and drink, because the spiritual experiences empower us to be able to sanctify the food and drink.
The more we connect to spirituality and holiness, the more we can elevate the material world.
(Adapted from Mamorei Admu”r Hazaken Haktzarim, p. 378)
Three Ways to Nurture your Relationship
What is the secret to maintaining a happy and meaningful marriage? What actions could nurture a relationship and allow it to deepen?
In general there are three courses of action:
1) Engage in activities that both spouses enjoy. Doing so highlights the things they have in common, and deepens the bond based on shared interests.
2) Spouses should do things to express the love that they have for each other, especially during anniversaries when it is easier to recreate the feelings of love and happiness that were experienced in the past.
But engaging in shared interests is not enough to sustain the deep bond necessary for a healthy marriage. Because a relationship requires commitment.
3) Occasionally each spouse should do something for the other specifically because the other spouse enjoys it. A relationship cannot survive without commitment. Engaging in an activity solely for the benefit of the spouse demonstrates and exercises the commitment, which deepens the relationship.
These three aspects of deepening a relationship, shared interests, remembering the intense love, and acts of devotion, are also present in our relationship with G-d. These are the three categories of commandments in the Torah.
The first category is Mishpatim, the Torah’s civil law, which fills up most of this week's portion. These laws are logical. These are the commandments that make sense to us. These laws allow us to relate and share a perspective with the Divine wisdom. In these laws we and G-d have a shared perspective and interest.
The second category of commandments are called Edut, testimonials, which are designed to remind us of the love and kindness that G-d has done to us in the past. They are the holidays which are the anniversary celebrations which allow us to re-experience the feelings of love.
But shared interests and love are not enough. Relationships require commitment.
The Torah therefore introduces the category of Chukim, decrees, which are the commandments that cannot be explained rationally. We do them not because we appreciate G-ds perspective, nor because they remind us of His love for us. But rather, we do them because we know that there is no relationship without commitment. In some ways, they are the deepest expressions of our bond.
All three categories are critical to a relationship, which is why, even our Parsha, Mishpatim, which highlights the logical commandments, also includes laws that are testimonials, and laws that are decrees. This reminds us that every relationship requires all three forms of love.
The Problem with Faith
"A thief, at the opening of the tunnel, calls to G-d", is the Talmud's colorful depiction of the problem with faith. The cynic would argue that the thief's faith in G-d is not authentic; after all, if the thief truly believed in G-d would he not refrain from stealing? Chassidic philosophy, however, explains that in truth, the thief's faith is genuine, yet faith alone is insufficient to affect authentic transformation of personality and behavior.
That is why, immediately after the great revelation at Sinai, the Torah proceeds, in this week's portion, to introduce the "mishpatim", the logical civil laws of the Torah. The message the Torah conveys is that a revelation at Sinai is not enough to transform a person; but rather, in order to affect our character, we must seek to understand divine wisdom, and internalize the logic of Torah.
But the story does not end there.
After the detailed description of the logical laws of Torah, the narrative breaks the chronological order and returns to describe the events of the revelation at Sinai, indicating that rational exploration is, by definition, limited. Just as the eye can perceive only part of the spectrum of light, so can the mind grasp only a glimpse of the true reality. The human mind cannot grasp the infinity and essence of G-d.
The pattern of the Torah's narrative, therefore, is revelation, logic, and revelation. The Torah begins by describing the foundation of our relationship with G-d, the revelation at Sinai, which, like faith, is beyond knowledge. The Torah then continues to describe the logical laws because we must proceed to explore our faith with logical analysis. We then go back to read about the revelation because the ultimate knowledge is the realization that the essence of G-d is beyond understanding.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 16 Mishpatim 1
A Journey Through a Talmudic Tractate
A majority of the Torah's civil law, based on the principles laid out in this week's Parsha, appears in the Talmud in three tractates: Baba Kamma, "the first gate", describes the laws of torts; Baba Metziah, "the middle gate" discourses laws of ownership, and Baba Batra "the final gate", which discusses laws of neighbors, and real estate.
The Torah contains both "body", the practical law, and "soul", the deeper spiritual meaning within the teaching. Therefore, every aspect of the Torah, including the order of the laws, contains a lesson for each of us.
The final section of the Baba Batra, the final gate, discusses a dispute between Rabbi Yishmael and Ben Nanas regarding the legal obligation of a guarantor who committed to secure the loan for his friend, not at the issuing of the loan but after the loan is due. Ben Nanas argues that the guarantor is not liable since the creditor did not rely on the guarantor when he made the loan. Rabbi Yishamel argues that, under certain circumstances, the guarantor's commitment is binding since the guarantor benefits from making his commitment. The benefit he receives is that - due to his commitment - the creditor stops the collection process against the borrower. In the words of the Mishnah:
In the case of a guarantor whose commitment emerged after the signing of the promissory note…
An incident occurred where such a case came before Rabbi Yishmael, and he said: The creditor can collect the sum from unsold property of the guarantor, but not from liened property that he has sold to others. Ben Nannas said to Rabbi Yishmael: The creditor cannot collect the sum from the guarantor at all, not from liened property that has been sold, nor from unsold property.
Rabbi Yishmael said to him: Why not? Ben Nannas said to him: If one was strangling someone in the marketplace, demanding repayment of a loan, and another person found him doing so and said to the attacker: Leave him alone and I will give you the money he owes, the person who intervened is exempt from paying, as the creditor did not loan the money in the first place based on his trust of the one who intervened.
The significance of the conclusion of all the laws of torts with the discussion about the guarantor can be appreciated when comparing the end of the tractate Baba Batra to its beginning. The first Mishnah in the tractate discusses the laws of how partners may dissolve a partnership and divide the land they once shared:
Partners who wished to make a partition [meḥitza] in a jointly owned courtyard build the wall for the partition in the middle of the courtyard. What is this wall fashioned from? In a place where it is customary to build such a wall with non-chiseled stone [gevil], or chiseled stone [gazit], or small bricks [kefisin], or large bricks [leveinim], they must build the wall with that material. Everything is in accordance with the regional custom.
In the figurative sense, partners dissolving a partnership represents the beginning of all torts, when people see themselves as separate from others and, therefore, are not concerned with the well-being of the other. After studying the entire tractate, we develop spiritually to the point where we recognize that our souls are all part of the same essence and are interconnected. This recognition motivates us to be concerned for the well-being of others to the extent that we commit to be their "guarantor", to take personal responsibility for their well-being.
Spiritual development and redemption occur when we move from "Partners who wished to make a partition" to a "guarantor" who sees his friend being "strangled" by the creditor and he intervenes and says, "Leave him alone and I will give you {the money he owes}".
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos 26 Mishpatim 1
The Truth of the Matter
“In the beginning G-d created the heaven and the earth”.
G-d created a magnificently beautiful world but this world is far from perfect. The Zohar, one of the earliest Kabbalistic works, writes: “this world is a world of lies”. That is because, often, the physical world hides its inner core and essence, often, the physical reality conceals the spiritual soul that is at its core.
The spiritual worlds, by contrast, are called “worlds of truth”. There, the true nature of creation can be seen. There, the world does not conceal its spiritual energy. There each creation is aware of its source, and is drawn to reconnect to its source of life.
Indeed, the last letters of the Hebrew words “in the beginning G-d created” are the letters “tof” (ת), “alef” (א), and “mem” (מ), which spell the Hebrew word for “truth” (אמת). This alludes to the nature of creation. Creation is a place where the truth is concealed, but is waiting to be discovered. If you dig deep enough into the nature of creation, you will discover the truth of the universe.
G-d did his part in creation, and then began looking for a partner to finish the job. He began to search for a people who would make it their business to discover the truth of the world. A people who would help reveal the soul of the world, who would discover that the body is just a conduit for the soul, that the physical is a chariot for the spiritual.
The story of G-d’s search for a nation to partner with spans the first book and a half of the five books of Moses, from creation until the exodus and the giving of the Torah. Finally, we reach the climax of the story. Finally the people would uncover the truth of this world. Finally the people would expose the big lie: the material world is an independent, selfish identity interested only in self preservation. Finally a people would use the material as a vehicle to fulfill G-d’s will, thus aligning it with its soul and spiritual spark.
Thus, the second half of the book of Exodus, the detailed description of the construction of the Mishkan, the portable temple built in the desert, which to some people seems irrelevant to their lives, is in truth the climax of the story of creation. G-d created a physical world that conceals its spiritual core, and we excavate the physical and extract its treasures. We take the material and use it as a home for G-d, as a tool that perpetuates goodness, kindness, and the Divine will on this earth.
The commandment to build the Mishkan, the portable temple, is a commandment which transforms the lie into truth. The structure of the Mishkan was made of beams of wood. The Hebrew word for “beam” (קרש) contains the same letters as the Hebrew word for “lie” (שקר). G-d is telling us that when we use a physical possession for a MItzvah, we are transforming it from a lie, from something that conceals its inner truth, to a “beam” that creates a home and a dwelling place for the truth of G-d to dwell on this earth.
Thus, the portions that describe the commandment to construct a temple for G-d, “And you shall make the beams for the Mishkan of acacia wood, upright”, are not only about a structure built in a desert over three thousand years ago. We are reading about our story. We are reading about our purpose on this earth, about our obligation to partner with G-d in creation. We are reading about our mission to transform lie to truth, and darkness to light.
We are reading about our part in the story of creation.
Cherubim
After reading the story of the Exodus from Egypt and the giving of the Torah at Sinai we arrive at the final theme of the book of Exodus: the story of the construction of the Mishkan, the temple, which the Jewish people built in the desert.
The first article which the Torah commands us to build is the “ark of the testimony”, which would contain the tablets upon which the Ten Commandments were engraved. The Torah then commands us to build the “Kaporet”, commonly translated as “cover”, with two golden Cherubim emerging from the two ends of the “Kaporet”, which would be placed upon the ark. As the Torah states:
And you shall make an ark cover of pure gold, two and a half cubits its length and a cubit and a half its width. And you shall make two golden cherubim; you shall make them of hammered work, from the two ends of the ark cover. And make one cherub from the one end and the other cherub from the other end; from the ark cover you shall make the cherubim on its two ends.
What was the purpose of the ark covering and it’s the mysterious Cherubim? If the ark contained the essence of the Torah, what could possibly be so important as to be placed on top of the Torah?
Nachmanides, the great 13the century commentator, explains that the Kaporet and its Cherubim symbolize that the Divine presence rests upon the ark and the Torah. According to Nachmanides, the ark and its covering symbolize the continuation of the experience at Sinai, where G-d revealed himself to the Jewish people and gave us the Torah. The Angelic Cherubim remind us that G-d dwells within the Torah, and that by studying the Torah we can experience a glimpse of the awesome revelation at Sinai.
Rashi, the primary commentator of the Torah, offers another explanation for the Kaporet (ark cover). He implies that the ark and the Kaporet are two distinct vessels, which hold separate and distinct symbolism.
To Rashi, the ark represents the bond between the Jewish people and G-d that is achieved through the study and commitment to the Torah. Yet, as we recognize the awesome power of the Torah, we wonder, what happens to a person who fails to live up to the Torah’s teachings and values? What happens if, like our ancestors who constructed the golden calf, we betray the teachings of the Torah? Is our connection to G-d destroyed? Is there a path of rehabilitation?
This precisely is the message of the Kaporet and its Cherubim. The word Kaporet, (as well as the word “Kippur”), is derived from the Hebrew word Kaparah, which means atonement. The Cherubim, according to Rashi, had the shape of the face of young children, symbolizing the essential and unbreakable love between parent and young child. Love shown to older children is, often, colored by reason; we love our children because we love the people they have become, we love their wisdom, their talents and their character. By contrast, love to very young children, is an essential love, not defined by the specific achievements of the child.
The Cherubim, then, are placed above the ark because they are a symbol of the unconditional love and unbreakable bond between G-d and the Jewish people. The Cherubim remind us that no matter how far we think we have strayed from the Torah, we can always return and experience atonement. We can always return and rediscover that G-d’s love to us is unconditional.
Construction in the Desert
Reading the second half of the book of Exodus one begins to wonder why the Torah spends so much time on a project that, by design, was only supposed to be temporary.
This week’s portion, Terumah, begins with the commandment to build a home for G-d:
And they shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst.
In this portion, the Torah elaborates on the details of the “sanctuary”, and we learn that G-d was not referring to an enduring temple of stone, similar to the one the Jewish people built, centuries later, on the temple mount in Jerusalem. Instead, G-d was referring to a more modest structure that was assembled from beams of wood for the walls and curtains for the roof. This sanctuary was designed to be temporary. It was designed to be assembled and disassembled as the Jewish people traveled through the desert, it was never meant to serve as the permanent structure in Jerusalem, which was the placed referred to in the Torah as “the place that G-d will choose to establish his name there”.
The temple was the spiritual capital of the Jewish people. It was the place where they were commanded to visit three times year, on the three pilgrimage holidays of Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot. It was, and continues to be, Judaism's holiest site. Why then does the Torah spend so many chapters on the details of the construction of the sanctuary which the Jewish people built in the desert? Doesn't the sanctuary of the desert pale in comparison to the size, beauty, grandeur and permanence of the temple in Jerusalem?
The construction of the sanctuary represents more than a conventional building project. Our sages explain that the verse, quoted earlier, “And they shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell within them”, employs the plural “I will dwell in them”, (instead of the singular ”I will dwell in it”), in order to teach us that every Jew is commanded to construct a figurative sanctuary within their own heart, and, indeed, the Divine presence dwells within the heart of every Jew.
The commandment to construct the sanctuary is the core purpose of the creation of the universe and our mission on this earth. G-d desires that we create a home for Him in the most unlikely of places, constructed of the most unlikely materials. He empowers us to construct a home for Him built of the stuff of daily life, our material possessions and experiences. Every time we use our body or our possessions for a good purpose we are creating space for the Divine presence to dwell and we are sanctifying that part of ourselves and of the world.
Of all the sanctuaries built for G-d, the most precious to Him is the one built, not in the holy city of Jerusalem, but in the inhospitable desert. In our life, we experience “Jerusalem” moments, moments when we feel uplifted, inspired, connected. There are, however, other moments when we feel that we have been exiled from Jerusalem and we find ourselves in a spiritually inhospitable environment. We may feel fragmented, disconnected and deflated of the joy of life. At those moments we must take to heart the message of this Torah portion.
The sanctuary to which the book of Exodus devotes no less than four portions is the sanctuary of the desert. For it is precisely the sanctuary of the desert that captures the transformative power granted to us through the Torah and its commandments. No matter where we may find ourselves, geographically, emotionally, spiritually or psychologically we are able to transform our environment, and create a home of peace and tranquility amidst the inhospitable desert. No matter how challenging the external circumstances, we can take the material of the world and construct a haven, a home, where we can experience the presence of G-d in our life.
The Structure of the Soul
The second half of the book of Exodus presents a dramatic shift from the first half of the book. Until this point, G-d was the active member in the relationship between G-d and the Jewish people. While G-d brought the ten plagues, liberated the Jews from Egypt, split the sea, spoke the ten commandments and dictated Jewish civil law, the Jews were passive recipients of all that G-d was doing. Finally, in the second half of the book, the Jewish people were called upon to take the initiative and build a home for G-d.
The sages teach that the commandment to construct a home for G-d includes the idea of constructing a figurative home for G-d within every person. Each of us are called upon to create a home for G-d within ourselves. From this perspective, the detailed descriptions of the temple and its furniture, which comprise almost five portions in the Torah, have an equivalent spiritual meaning within every person.
The sanctuary was built of three components. The walls were made of beams of wood ten cubits tall, the beams were supported by silver sockets, and the roof was comprised of coverings made of wool and animal skins. Each of us is called upon to build the figurative temple within ourselves. To do so, we need to find the beams, coverings and sockets, within our soul, and dedicate them to the service of G-d.
The Kabbalists explain that the ten cubit beams, which stood vertically, represent the ten faculties, three intellectual and seven emotional, within every human soul.
The foundation of the entire structure were the silver sockets which were the base for the beams. The spiritual equivalent of the sockets, the foundation of the souls structure, is the capacity to be committed and devoted to someone or something.
The curtains that served as the roof of the tabernacle, covering the entire structure, represent a person’s will and capacity of pleasure, referred to by the Kabbalists as the “encompassing powers of the soul”.
[The curtains which covered the entire structure of the sanctuary represent the powers of will and pleasure which effect and inspire all of the faculties. When a person desires something the specific soul power will be awakened and invigorated. When a person has no desire to study and master a specific topic it will be difficult for him to understand. The sages teach us that “a person should always study where his heart desires”, because when the will power is invested in understanding the subject the mind will comprehend, because the encompassing will power will trigger and awaken the specific power of understanding].
Understanding that the temple is a symbol for the human soul, explains the commandments that the Jewish people donate the materials necessary to construct the sanctuary. In this week’s Parsha the Torah tells us that each individual donated both to the construction of the walls and to the covering of the sanctuary in the amount they chose according to their heart’s desire:
"The Lord spoke to Moses saying:"Speak to the children of Israel, and have them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity, you shall take My offering. (Exodus 25:1-2).
Yet, there was another form of donations, specifically designated for the silver sockets which were the base of the structure, where everybody was required to donate an equal amount:
This they shall give, everyone who goes through the counting: half a shekel… The rich shall give no more, and the poor shall give no less than half a shekel (ibid 30:13-15).
There were two forms of donations, one with an equal, set amount for each person to donate, and another which was open ended, each person donated according to their heart’s desire. This is because there are aspects where all are equal and other aspects where each person is unique, and has a distinctive contribution to make. When it comes to the specific faculties of the soul; intelligence, emotion, wisdom, kindness, will power, each of us is unique. Thus the contribution to create the structure is individualized. Yet the foundation of the structure, the foundation of the relationship with G-d, the power of devotion and commitment is the same for everyone. For we all are equal in our capacity to devote ourselves to G-d, yet the nature of our devotion and relationship is based on our own specific personality, and is therefore unique to each individual.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Terumah vol. 1).
Three Dimensions of a Wholesome Relationship
Every Jewish home has the potential of becoming a home for G-d, similar to the tabernacle which we read about in this week’s portion. Our sages teach that “when man and woman merit, the Divine presence dwells among them”, for human relationships are a reflection of the relationship between the supernal bride and groom, the Jewish people and G-d.
The tabernacle had three sections: (1) the innermost chamber, the holy of holies, which contained nothing but the ark of covenant (2) the outer chamber, the holy, which contained the Menorah, the table for the showbread, and the incense altar (3) the courtyard which contained the outer alter upon which the offerings were offered. These sections, and the vessels they contain, represent three dimensions in our relationship with G-d, as well as three dimensions in the human relationship between husband and wife.
The outer chamber (2) represents the emotional bond. The three vessels within the outer chamber represent the three primary emotions necessary for a wholesome relationship. The Menorah represents the attribute of Chesed (love, kindness, giving), the desire to become one, the yearning to connect. Love alone is insufficient. Because love is an expression of self. In order to truly relate to someone else, one needs the figurative table of bread, which represents Gevurah (respect, discipline). Respect is just as critical as love. Respect is the ability to understand that our partner has their own identity with a perspective, and needs, different from our own. If love is the drive to become one, respect is making space for the other’s individuality. Respect allows one to reach the third, and deepest emotion. The incense altar symbolizes Tiferet, (compassion and empathy). Tiferet is the ability to feel connected to someone who is distinct, to sense the harmony in two distinct voices uniting.
The courtyard (3) is where offerings were brought on the altar, representing the ability to use the physical aspects of the world in the service of G-d. When one uses a physical object to do a good deed he is “elevating” the object and connecting it to holiness. The same is true in human relationships. The outer courtyard represents the ability to use experiences to enhance the relationship. Any experience can cause tension and separation or it can be used to enhance a bond. For example, when eating together, the food could be a distraction, where each person is chiefly concerned about their food, or it could be an experience that brings a couple closer to each other.
While the courtyard represents how physical objects and experiences can enhance the relationship, and the outer chamber represents the emotional relationship, the inner chamber, the holy of holies, represents a deeper truth. The Cherubim covering the ark, in the shape of a male and female, emerged from a single piece of gold. At the core of our identity our soul is one with G-d. We are not two separate entities seeking to connect but rather, the soul is a part of G-d. The same is true regarding human relationships: the inner chamber is the intimate union which expresses the mystical truth that man and woman are one entity; two halves of one soul.
The Traveling Ark
The first item which G-d commanded Moses to create for the sanctuary was the Ark of the Covenant, which contained the ten commandments engraved on the two tablets. The Torah provides detailed instructions on constructing the Ark, its material, dimensions, rings, and poles. As the Torah describes:
And you shall make poles of acacia wood and you shall overlay them with gold.
And you shall bring the poles into the rings on the sides of the Ark, to carry the Ark with them.
The Torah then commands that the poles should never be removed from the Ark:
The poles of the Ark shall be in the rings; they shall not be removed from it. (Exodus 25:13-25)
Sefer Hachinuch, which suggests explanations for each of the Torah's commandments, explains why the prohibition of removing the poles from the Ark:
We were instructed not to remove the Ark's poles from the Ark in case the need arose to travel somewhere with the Ark quickly. Perhaps due to the travail and haste we would neglect to ensure that the poles were tightly inserted.… But if the poles remained ready at all times and were never removed from the Ark, they would remain firm. (Chinuch, Mitzvah 96).
The explanation describes why the poles had to remain tightly inserted in the Ark during the forty-year journey in the desert. However, what about the centuries when the Ark remained in one place, as was the case in Shiloh and then in the Temple in Jerusalem? Why was it so important that the poles never be removed from the Ark?
When one engages in the study of Torah, delighting in its sweetness, there is a danger that a person might be tempted to remain in the ivory tower of the study hall, separate and removed from the rest of society. The Torah, therefore, commands that even while the Ark is in its natural place, in the holy of holies, the poles must always be inserted within the Ark, symbolizing that poles, mobility, is critical for the Torah. The poles on the Ark remind us that while solitude may be beneficial for study and contemplation, we are charged with the responsibility of carrying the Torah, its lessons and its wisdom, to every corner of this earth. Doing so will usher in the era of world peace and prosperity when, as the prophet Isaiah declared, "the earth will be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the water covers the sea".
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Tezaveh vol. 16 Sicha 1)
What is the Primary Purpose of the Temple?
Should we value ourselves based on what we do or should we value ourselves for who we are? Is our relationship with G-d based on what we do or is it based on who we are?
This question is the deeper meaning of the debate between two of the great classic commentaries on the primary purpose of the temple that the Jews were commanded to build. The temple contained two chambers, a courtyard, and multiple pieces of furniture, including, the ark, table, menorah, two altars, and a washing basin. The question arises, which of these details expresses the core purpose of the temple?
Nachmanides argues that the main objective of the temple was to house the ark, which contained the ten commandments. In his words:
Thus the main purpose of the Tabernacle was to contain a place in which the Divine Glory rests, this being the ark, just as He {G-d} said, "I will arrange My meetings with you there, and I will speak with you from atop the ark-cover." Therefore He {G-d} first gave the commandment about the ark and the ark-cover, for they are first in importance. (Ramban 25:1)
Maimonides, however, defines the sacrifices as the main objective of the temple. This implies that the temple's main function was the altar that served the offerings. As Maimonides explains in his Book of Commandments:
We are commanded to build a Sanctuary to serve [G‑d]. In it we offer sacrifices, burn the eternal flame, offer our prayers, and congregate for the festivals each year, as will be explained. (Sefer Hamitzvos, positive mitzvah 20)
The altar and the offerings represent the person's effort toward self-improvement and development, refining himself and becoming closer to G-d. By contrast, there was no action or service related to the ark; thus, the ark represents G-d's relationship with the Jewish people that is unconditional and not dependent on anything the people were required to do.
When Maimonides, the great legalist and codifier, looked at the Tabernacle, he focused on what a person is required to do, as symbolized by the offerings upon the altar, whereas Nachmanides, whose commentary incorporates the "hidden wisdom," the wisdom of the Kabbalah, sees the crux of the temple as an expression of G-d's love and desire to dwell amongst the Jewish people.
The Rebbe explains that Maimonides and Nachmanides are not arguing; instead, to employ a Talmudic expression, "one said one statement, and one said another statement, and they do not disagree." Nachmanides focuses on the essence of G-d, whose connection to the core of the soul is unconditional, while Maimonides focuses on how we express our connection to G-d within our conscious mind, personality, and lifestyle.
Returning to our opening question: G-d values us unconditionally because of who we are at our core, as Nachmanides highlights. Yet, as Maimonides alludes, G-d also gives us a roadmap, showing us how we can align the totality of our being with our essential core.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 36 Vayakhel Pekudei.
Where is the Ark of the Covenant?
The location of the Ark of the covenant, the more than 3000-year-old Ark that contained the Ten Commandments, that was placed in the innermost chamber of first the tabernacle in the desert, and then the Temple in Jerusalem has been lost since the time of the destruction of the first Temple; its current location is shrouded in mystery.
Maimonides quotes the Talmudic tradition that states that the Ark is currently hidden deep within the temple mount in an underground chamber that Solomon himself build to hide the Ark:
When Solomon built the Temple, he was aware that it would ultimately be destroyed. [Therefore,] he constructed a chamber, in which the Ark could be entombed below [the Temple building] in deep, maze-like vaults.
King Josiah commanded that [the Ark] be entombed in the chamber built by Solomon, as it is said (II Chronicles 35:3): "And he said to the Levites who would teach wisdom to all of Israel: 'Place the Holy Ark in the chamber built by Solomon, the son of David, King of Israel. You will no [longer] carry it on your shoulders. Now, serve the Lord, your God.' (Maimonides, beis Habechirah 4:1)
Solomon understood two important truths. Firstly, nothing created by man is permanent; thus the Temple was destined to be destroyed. Secondly, Solomon also realized that the purpose of setback, frustration, and destruction, is not for destruction per se, but rather to enable greater growth. Therefore, built into the design of the Temple, in anticipation of the destruction, was an underground chamber that would allow the structure of the Temple to give way but that would preserve the essence of the Temple underground, symbolizing the perseverance, and eventual rebuilding, of the Temple.
The same is true regarding the figurative Temple in the heart of every Jew. We may see destruction when we look at ourselves or our fellow. On the surface, we may see pain, devastation, and failure. We must, however, remember that while the “structure of the temple” was destroyed, the essence of the Temple is intact. Just as the physical Ark of the covenant is preserved in the depths of the temple mountain, the figurative Ark is etched within the subconscious soul, in its most pristine and pure self. Our inner soul preserves the essence of our connection to G-d, and allows us to emerge from the crisis and create an even more wholesome reality.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 21 Terumah 2
The Bridesmaid
Marriage is complicated.
Take two people who are very different from each other, who grew up in different environments, who have their own unique way of living their lives, put them under the same roof and eventually there will be a clash. Love will get them under the same roof, but, as many a couple have discovered to their terrible disappointment, it won’t prevent the clash of two distinct people, each with their own personality, quirks and perspectives.
The secret to lasting relationships is joy. The Kabbalah teaches that joy has the unique power to destroy barriers. When people are happy, they tend to go beyond themselves in order to be with other people. When feeling sad, people want to avoid interacting with other people; conversely when people feel joy they want to get out and celebrate with other people.
When a home is filled with happiness, when the hearts of a man and woman are filled with joy, they can easily transcend their differences. The happier a person is the more open he is to the perspectives and feelings of another, the more he can see the world through the eyes of his beloved.
That is why a wedding should be, more than anything else, a joyous occasion. Yes, the flowers are significant, the food, the wedding cake and the tuxedo are important. But the main ingredient must be joy. Friends and family, bridesmaids and groomsmen are necessary, not for the pictures and the dessert, but rather to rejoice with the bride and groom. Indeed, it is a Mitzvah to bring joy to the bride and groom, to assist them in experiencing an intense measure of joy, which they will, hopefully, capture and recreate in their relationship over many happy years to come.
The detailed biblical story of the construction of the portable temple in the desert, a story that spans four complete portions of the Torah, is, in fact, a story of the wedding between G-d, the groom, and his beloved wife, the people of Israel. Like any wedding, much thought and care goes into every detail of the celebration, from the food on the menu (the various offerings and sacrifices), to the color of the curtains and tablecloths (the detailed description of the precise materials and colors of the curtains which served as the roof and the partition of the temple).
The actual Mishkan, the portable temple, consisted of a structure divided by a partition. The partition represented the divergent perspectives of the bride and groom. The inner chamber, the “holy of holies” represented the Divine perspective. There stood the ark with the ten commandments engraved in stone. In the “holy of holies”, awareness of the Divine was engraved into the fabric of existence. In the “holy of holies” one felt that the physical reality had no independent existence, for it is but an expression of the Divine. The “holy of holies” represented what the kabbalists call the “supernal knowledge”, it represented the perspective of the Divine.
And then there was the perspective of the bride. The bride, the people of Israel,was “outside the partition”, in the outer chamber called the “holy”. She was unable to experience reality from the perspective of the groom. The bride had her own perspective. From her point of view, the world was often a dark place that seemed void of the tangible presence of spiritual light. In her world there were ups and downs, moments of confusion and moments of spiritual ecstasy. In her life there was both “bread” and “incense”, both matter and spirit. In short, her life was a struggle between light and darkness.
And this is where the bridesmaid came into the picture. The bride had a dedicated friend who helped her prepare for the wedding. When the bride experienced some anxiety about the marriage, the bridesmaid reassured her. It was her job to ensure that the bride would “be in the moment” and enjoy the wedding, that she not be distracted and overwhelmed by the enormity of the event. That she would actually experience the joy necessary to ensure the success of the marriage.
Every bride needs a bridesmaid, and the Jewish people needed Aaron.
In the the opening verses of this week's portion the Torah commands:
In the Tent of Meeting, outside the dividing curtain that is in front of the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall set it up before the Lord from evening to morning; [it shall be] an everlasting statute for their generations, from the children of Israel.
The Jew is “outside the dividing curtain that is in front of the testimony”, the Jew is outside the perspective of the “tablets of testimony”. The Jew lives in a reality where there is “evening” and “morning”, where there is darkness that must be transformed to light. It is Aaron who kindles the flame in the outer chamber, who inspires the Jew to draw close to the Torah, and experience the Joy inherent in fulfilling the Divine commandments.
Each of us has an Aaron within ourselves. We must seek to light the candles of our soul, to fill our hearts with joy. For joy is the ingredient that allows us to overcome the barriers of separation, and cleave to the Divine.
Each of us must be an Aaron. We must work kindle our own light, and the light of the people around us.
High Fashion
Moses was commanded to appoint his brother as the High Priest, who would perform the service in the Temple. Much of this week’s Torah portion, the Portion of Tetzaveh, is dedicated to the detailed description of the eight garments of the High Priest, as G-d commanded Moses: “You shall make holy garments for your brother Aaron, for honor and glory.”
Aaron’s service was not on behalf of himself but rather it was on behalf of all the people of Israel. Therefore, Aaron would “carry the names of the children of Israel” on his heart and on his shoulders, in order to remind himself and to remind the people, that everything he would do was on behalf of the people.
But why would Aaron carry the names of the tribes not once but twice?
The names of the tribes of Israel were engraved in the garments of the high priest in two places: 1) on the Choshen, the plate worn on the chest which contained twelve precious stones inscribed with the names of the twelve tribes of Israel:
four rows of stones… And the stones shall be for the names of the sons of Israel twelve, corresponding to their names; [similar to] the engravings of a seal, every one according to his name shall they be, for the twelve tribes.
- 2) on the Efod, the apron-like garment which was worn on the back of the priest, its straps reached the shoulders, the shoulder straps contained two stones upon which, once again, the names of the children of Israel were engraved. But instead of twelves stones there were only two stones:
And you shall take two shoham stones and engrave upon them the names of the sons of Israel. Six of their names on one stone and the names of the remaining six on the second stone, according to their births.
Why the need to engrave the names twice? And why the change in form - on the Choshen each tribe had its own stone, while on the shoulders of the Efod all tribes shared two stones?
The Choshen, sat on the heart of the high priest, and represented the Jewish people who lead a healthy spiritual life, one imbued with passion and feeling. The names placed upon the heart represent a life where one does not only take the right action but one does so with a heart full of love, excitement as well as a reverence for the holiness of the act. While every Jew follows the same commandments, we each do so with our own unique personality, this truth is expressed in the fact that each tribe had its own stone. No two tribes are exactly the same, just as no two people perform one Mitzvah with the same feeling and intention. When looking at the emotions of the heart, each tribe and each Jew is unique, the individuality of each tribe is celebrated and cherished.
Yet, the names engraved on the Choshen were not sufficient. For the leadership of the high priest was not solely reserved for those who were already inspired. A Jewish leader cannot be satisfied with leading those who already have established an emotional bond with the cause.
Aaron, therefore, also had a Efod, an apron, worn on the back, which represents the Jewish person who may take the right action, but does so devoid of heart, without a feeling of connection. The Efod represents the Jew who may show up to the Seder, but his heart never arrived, for he would much rather have been elsewhere. In the action devoid of emotion, all of the Jewish people are equal, as we are all required to do the same action. Therefore there was no unique stone for each tribe on the Efod.
Thus, the High Priest represents and inspires all Jews.
The Torah commands that the Choshen and the Efod, the breastplate and the apron, must be attached to each other. This is a message to the Jew who does not feel connected to the practices of Judaism. He may feel that he is on the Efod apron, disconnected from the feeling to Judaism, symbolized by the stones on the Choshen. The Efod and the Choshen always being connected expresses that ultimately, the heart will follow the action, taking the right action will eventually fill the heart with inspiration.
The Path to Oneness
Just because something is true does not mean that knowing that truth is always helpful. Sometimes, the deepest truths can cause the most frustration and difficulty.
The kabbalistic truth, that bride and groom are two halves of one whole that unite in marriage, that man and woman are two halves of one soul, is indeed the truth, yet it is not always helpful to contemplate on this truth.
After man and woman unite in marriage, when the honeymoon is over, man and woman may look at each other and see not unity but differences, not oneness but fragmentation. Experiences arise that bring to light the differences in personality, attitude, characteristics and values, differences that were not seen previously due to the blinding glare of love.
At that point, reminding them that deep down, on the soul level, they are one entity, may cause more damage than good. After all, “if we are one”, they might each think to themselves, “why is the other so different from me? Why is it that whatever I want he/she wants something dramatically different? If we are truly one, then why doesn't he/she conform to my perspective and desires?”
In truth, relationships cannot be predicated on the truth of oneness alone. Instead, both spouses need to focus not on “becoming one” but rather on “becoming close”.
“Becoming close” implies that there are two distinct people, quite different from one another. “Becoming close” implies that there is a gap between them that must be bridged in order for them to move toward each other. And, perhaps most importantly, “becoming close” contains the secret of how they should view, and than harness, their differences. Like stones placed in a stream of water, which create the tension that transform the peaceful flow to a torrent, so too the tension of difference, is the oxygen needed to fuel the fire of passion that will overcome difficulty and bring them close.
Only once the two become close, can they experience the space in which they can feel their innate oneness.
The same is true about our relationship with G-d. Judaism teaches that human love is a reflection of the relationship between G-d, the groom, and the Jewish people, the bride.
Thus, after the marriage at Sinai, G-d asked the Jewish people to construct the Mishkan, the sanctuary, as a home which would represent how the bride and groom would live together. The primary function of the sanctuary was to perform the service which would bring the people closer to G-d. Most of the activity in the sanctuary associated with the “Kurbanot”, the offerings, whose Hebrew root “Karov”, means “coming close”. Much of the service of the offerings represented the tension that comes about when two very different perspectives endeavor to come close to each other.
The Torah dedicates two portions to the specifics of the sanctuary and its service. The first, the portion of Terumah, describes the commandment to build the sanctuary and it’s furniture: the ark, the table, the altar for the offerings. The next portion, Tizaveh, describes the garments of the priests who would perform the service. Only at the very end of the portion does the Torah “remember” one more piece of furniture: the incense altar. All the commentators ask why the incense altar is not mentioned in the first portion together with all the other vessels of the sanctuary?
The answer is that all the details of the sanctuary and its service represent the notion of coming close to G-d. It captures our struggle to bring our ego, our sense of self, closer to the holy and the transcendent. The two portions describing the sanctuary, its furniture and the garments of those who perform the service represent the act of “becoming close”. Only after we become close to G-d can we experience the incense altar. The Kabbalists explain that the Hebrew word for incense “Ketoret” means bound up, and represents that deep down, at the core of our soul, we are truly one with G-d.
Only after studying about all other aspects of the sanctuary can we learn about the incense altar. For only after “becoming close” can we become one.
The Kabbalah of Fashion
What is Judaism's perspective on the multi billion dollar garment industry?
The Hebrew word for garment is “Beged” which contain the same letters as the word for betrayal - “Bagad”. The connection between garments and betrayal is multi layered. Starting from the beginning of history the garment is intertwined with betrayal. The Torah tells us that garments became necessary only after the sin of the tree of knowledge, when Adam and Eve betrayed their G-d, themselves and their innocence.
In addition to their emergence as a result of betrayal, the function of garments is also a form of betrayal and dishonesty. The very purpose of a garment is to conceal the inner core and portray an external facade. In fact, a rich person can dress as a pauper, and the pauper can dress as a rich person, a person who feels sad can dress in celebratory garments, and a happy person can don a mourner’s garments, thus betraying the truth, betraying one’s inner feelings and projecting an external image inconsistent with one’s inner feelings and reality.
The soul, Just like the body, also has “garments”. The Kabbalah teaches that the soul has an inner “personality”, its emotional and intellectual composition, as well as “garments” its ability to act, to speak, and to think a given thought. Thought, speech and action are called garments because they are not the soul itself and, like the body’s garments, they can betray the inner makeup of the soul. A person can act, speak or think in ways that are inconsistent with and betray his own inner self.
Yet, garments, and the betrayal they represent, are not all bad. In fact, another word for garment in Hebrew is “Sal-mah” which is the same word as “Sh-lay-mah” which means complete. The Hebrew language is conveying a deep truth: the garment, the ability to betray one’s inner feelings and perspective, can and should lead a person to be wholesome and complete. That’s because garments have an influence on how we feel on the inside. The reason people spend so much on clothing is because clothing have an affect. Although initially donning clothing is an external act, the garment has the power to influence one’s mood and feelings.
The same is true regarding the garments of the soul. A person can feel cruel yet he can don a garment of kindness by taking a kind action. A person can feel sad yet he can smile and act happy. Initially, that action is a betrayal of the inner feeling, but, over time, the betrayal leads to completion, the external action will affect the inner feeling.
This explains why the Torah commands that the high priest wear eight beautiful garments when he performs the service in the temple. As G-d commands Moses in this week’s portion:
You shall make holy garments for your brother Aaron, for honor and glory (Exodus 28:2).
One may wonder why garments are critical to the service. Aren’t beautiful garments superficial and a symbol of vanity? Why doesn't G-d focus on the priests internal, emotional and spiritual state rather than on the external garments? The answer is that the garments represent, thought, speech and action, the garments of the soul. The Torah is teaching us that if we want to come close to G-d we should don beautiful garments. We should focus on positive garments, on positive action, even if those garments are a betrayal of our internal feelings. Because, ultimately, the beautiful garments, the positive action, will bring wholesomeness and completion to the internal soul, and our heart will be transformed by the garments.
Make Some Noise
The high priest wore eight garments as he performed the service in the sanctuary. The garments were designed for “honor and beauty”. One critical component of the garments was the bells at the hem of the robe. As the Torah commands:
And on its bottom hem you shall make pomegranates of blue, purple, and crimson wool, on its bottom hem all around, and golden bells in their midst all around...
It shall be on Aaron when he performs the service, and its sound shall be heard when he enters the Holy before the Lord and when he leaves, so that he will not die. (Exodus 28:33-35)
Why was the noise so important? Why was it so critical that “his sound shall be heard”, to the extent that if the sound was not heard he would die? It is even more surprising when we consider that the garments the high priest wore when he entered the holy of holies on Yom Kippur did not have bells and did not produce noise!
Noise is a symbol of passion. When a person experiences the extraordinary or unusual the person becomes excited and enthused. This is reflected in the spiritual service of a Jew. There are moments when a Jew is in a spiritual state of tranquility, when he or she feels close to G-d, in touch with his or her soul, and in harmony with his mission and purpose. When experiencing this state of harmony a Jew is in a state of “righteousness”. There are however moments when a Jew feels chaos and tension within himself. He feels pulled away from his spiritual purpose and source and pulled towards his destructive impulses. In these moments, life is more of a battlefield than a vacation resort. In these moments, a Jew must cultivate a sense of strength and must passionately “escape” the forces of negativity just as one would run to escape danger.
Ironically, the interaction with negativity creates passion and “noise” which surpasses the energy of the “righteous”, tranquil, individual. For the passion of the escape from negativity can create a more profound yearning and desire to connect to G-d.
The Torah tells the high priest that when entering the temple he must appreciate and represent not just the people who naturally feel connected to holiness, but rather Aharon must appreciate that G-d values the passion and noise produced by the struggle.
On Yom Kippur, the day of the year, when the essence of every Jew is revealed, there were no bells on the garments of the high priest. On Yom Kippur, every Jew is in a state of “righteousness”. There is no struggle because every soul feels at home with G-d. The rest of the year, however, the Torah teaches us to celebrate the struggle. For the noise produced by transforming the negativity is precisely the noise that G-d is waiting to hear.
(Adapted from Lekutei Sichos 16 Tizaveh 2).
Constant Awareness
Is love constant or fleeting, stable or fragile?
In our relationship with other people and our relationship with G-d, love is like a flame of fire that surges and retreats. A relationship, therefore, requires not only love but also devotion, not only desire but also willpower.
This is the inner meaning of the "tzitz", show-plate, which the high priest wore on his forehead. As the Torah describes:
And you shall make a show-plate of pure gold, and you shall engrave upon it like the engraving of a seal: Holy to the Lord."And you shall place it upon a cord of blue wool and it shall go over the cap, and it shall be opposite the front side of the cap.It shall be upon Aaron's forehead, and Aaron shall bear the iniquity of the holy things that the children of Israel sanctify, for all their holy gifts. It shall be upon his forehead constantly to make them favorable before the Lord. (28:36-38)
Like every aspect of the Temple, each of the high priest's garments represents a lesson in our Divine service. The tzitz represents our awareness of the presence of G-d. Every moment of the day, and every experience we engage in, is an opportunity to fulfill our Divine service, imbuing the world with holiness.
The Kabbalah explains that there are two levels of awareness. The first level of awareness is achieved through the cognition of the brain, when one meditates in prayer about the greatness of G-d. This cognition gives birth to the emotion of love within the heart. Yet, the love produced by intellectual contemplation can cease when the mind focuses on other matters throughout the day. Thus, the awareness of the understanding and the love it produces will not be "constant" throughout the day.
The second level of awareness is the power of will that emerges from a deeper place within the soul. Even when one does not feel love, one can awaken the will to be devoted to a beloved. The will is represented by the forehead, which covers the brain and the mind, and represents the devotion and will to connect, that is present even when the love is not felt. In fact, the Hebrew word for forehead, metzach, is related to the word netzach, victory, which is one of the ten sefirot {soul-powers}. Of the seven emotional soul-powers, netzach, victory and endurance, is the first of the “branches” of the three primary emotions, and refers to the capacity of the soul to execute it’s decision and will even when the primary emotion of love has subsided.
"It {the tzitz} shall be upon his forehead constantly." The commitment that emerges from the will enables the person to be connected to G-d throughout the day, even when the love is not felt as passionately as it is felt during meditation and prayer.
Adapted from Torah Ohr Parshas Tizaveh and Likutei Torah Shir Hashirim 23:4
The Missing Name of Moses
There is one portion of the Torah where Moses' name is absent. From his birth until Deuteronomy (which is written in Moses' voice), every Parsha mentions his name except for this one.
When Moses insisted that G-d forgive the Jewish people for the sin of the golden calf, Moses stated: ״And now, if You forgive their sin. But if not, erase me now from Your book, which You have written." The Baal Haturim explains that the words of the righteous have an effect, therefore Moses' "erase me now from your book" are fulfilled within this week's portion.
But why was Moses' name removed specifically from this portion?
The portion of Tzevah focuses on the priests. The portion begins with the unique eight garments of the high priest and four garments of the other priests and concludes with a detailed description of the seven-day inauguration of the priests. Yet, while the focus is on the priests, Aaron and his children, the portion emphasizes in multiple places the role of Moses in preparing Aaron for his task ("And you bring near to yourself your brother Aaron", "You shall make holy garments for your brother", "And this is the thing that you shall do for them to sanctify them to serve Me", are but a few of the references).
The priests were dedicated to spirituality and divine service in the temple. The danger, however, was that the priest might forget that his task was to inspire and influence all Jewish people, including, and perhaps especially, those who seem distant, insensitive, and apathetic to holiness and spirituality. The Torah, therefore, emphasizes that specifically Moses, who was prepared to sacrifice his spiritual state, having his name erased from the Torah, due to his unwavering love, commitment, and dedication to the Jewish people, could inaugurate the priests to their position. For they could serve in the temple only once they internalized the example of Moses and appreciated that the goal of their holiness was not for their own spiritual advance but rather to affect each and every Jew.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 21 Tezaveh 1
The Newlyweds
It was Inevitable.
Yes, I know you invested so much in this relationship. I know you spent the last two years planning the wedding and the honeymoon. I know all this. And yet I still think it was inevitable. Sooner or later you would offend her deeply.
Think about it. You are different people with different backgrounds, experiences and expectations. In fact, your differences is what attracted you to each other in the first place. No surprise then that after the magnificent wedding, when you got back to real life, you fell back on your old habits, and shattered her heart.
What should you do now you ask? Should you buy her chocolate, roses, or take her out to dinner? Well, pay attention, try everything you can think of, but keep paying attention.
For, if she loves you, she will let you know.
After the pain subsides, if you listen carefully, she will show you just how you should console her. You'll hear her tell you how she wants you to show her that you care about her, that you cherish the relationship and that you are determined to rebuild the connection. Listen carefully and you will hear.
And that is exactly what happened in the most dramatic story of newlywed betrayal. Just forty days after the most powerful wedding in history – the wedding between G-d, the groom, and his bride, the Jewish people, at Sinai - the people betrayed him. . They served the golden calf, striking the foundation and heart of their
The Jews were sure that the relationship is doomed.
And yet, somehow, the relationship survives.
It survives not only because of the story you heard in Hebrew School, about Moses threatening G-d saying: forgive the people “and if not erase me from your book which you have written”. It survived because of the lesser known continuation of the story Where Moses asked G-d “show me your glory”. Moses asked G-d to show them what they can do to restore the relationship. G-d agreed. And, in what may be one of the most convoluted verses in all of the Torah, G-d says “you will see my back but my face will not be seen”. The Rabbis, aware that this verse captures a deep mystical truth, explain that that G-d wraps himself in an Tallis and Tefilin, then turns hos back to Moses and showed Moses “The knot of the head Tefilin”.
Moses listened.
He listened and learned how the Jews can save their marriage with G-d. He listened as G-d showed him the ingredients needed to recreate the love.
The Talis and Tefilin severe as reminders. As the Torah states regarding the Talis: "This shall be fringes for you, and when you see it, you will remember all the commandments of the Lord". And regarding the Tefilin it is written: "And it shall be to you as a sign upon your hand and as a remembrance between your eyes".
G-d was teaching Moses, that for our relationship to thrive we must “wear the Talis”. We must show him that we “remember”. That we are constantly mindful of how important this relationship is to us. To survive emotional betrayal, our beloved must have no doubt that we constantly remember that we cherish our relationship with him, more then anything else. more than our hobbies and more than our career.
“Remembering”, however, can be a too abstract, and that's why we also need the “knot of Tefilin”. The knot represents our actions which tie a rope connecting us . And, like a rope that was torn, we need to tie a double knot. We need to demonstrate that, because the relationship is now at the forefront of our mind, we are prepared to double our actions that bind us him.
So “put in your Talis and Tie the Tefilin.
Show him that you remember. Tie the double knot. You'll discover that the bond is deeper than ever.
The Shattered Tablets
In the holiest place to Judaism, in the “holy of holies” which is the inner chamber of the holy temple, stood an ark containing Judaism's most precious treasures. The ark contained the ten commandments engraved on two stone tablets, the tablets that were given to Moses by G-d himself.
Less known, is that the ark contained more than just a set of tablets. The Talmud teaches that the ark also contained the shattered stones of the first set of tablets that Moses broke when he saw the Jews serving the golden calf. The Talmud teaches that “the (second) tablets, as well as the shattered (first) tablets stood in the ark”.
The holy of holies was a place of ultimate purity and connection to G-d. Only the High Priest, on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, was permitted to enter. In fact, when the high priest entered he would wear four white garments, in contrast to his usual garments made of gold and various colored materials. The High Priest would remove the “golden garments” before entering the holy of holies, because the holy of holies represented the unity of G-d and the Jewish people unlike gold which was a reminder of the sin of the golden calf. As the Talmud teaches:
Rav Chisda said: Why does the High Priest not enter the inner precinct in garments of gold to perform the service there? Because the accuser may not act as defender. (‘Gold’ is called the accuser in reference to the Golden Calf. The garments worn by the High Priest in the Holy of Holies there were regarded as propitiatory).
This leads to the question: if the holy of holies was to be free of any reference to the sin of the golden calf, why were the shattered tablets, shattered by Moses as a result of the sin, placed within the ark itself? We must therefore search for the reason that the shattered tablets were placed in the ark. This reason must be important to the extent, that it justified placing the broken tablets alongside the complete tablets in Judaism’s holiest site.
To study Torah, to grasp Divine wisdom, is to engage in a perpetual paradox. On the one hand one must be utterly humble. All wisdom can only be attained once a person has the humility to understand that there is great wisdom beyond what he already knows. One must be prepared to let go of one’s own deeply held perspective and be open to new possibilities that can shatter deeply held ideas. This is even more so when studying the Torah. To be able to grasp the infinite Divine wisdom, one must transcend one’s own limited perspective, and face the limitation of one’s ability to grasp. One must have the humility to appreciate the unbridgeable gap between one’s own mind and the mind of the creator of the universe.
On the other hand, studying Torah must not be an act of submission and acceptance. The purpose is to engage one’s mind, not to ignore it. Torah study is about engraving the words of Torah in one’s heart and mind. It is about the words of Torah resonating within one’s own mind to the point that they are engraved and they become one’s own perspective. To study Torah one must use the full capacity of his mind. One’s dedication to understanding must be unwavering and complete.
The holy of holies is the place where heaven kisses earth, where the finite and infinite merge. It is the place that empowers one to be aware of the limits of the human mind, yet to strive for the mind to grasp the infinite.
And this was the secret of the ark. The ark, the study of the Torah, must have both elements. One must understand the wisdom. The words of Torah must be engraved in one’s mind like the words engraved in the complete tablets. Yet, one must always be humble before the Divine wisdom.
Each of us has an ark in our soul. We must possess both the humility of the shattered tablets, as well as the completeness that comes from comprehensive understanding. We must be humble yet completely engaged in the rigorous, inquisitive quest for wisdom.
Each of us has an ark in our soul.
“The tablets, as well as the shattered tablets stood in the ark”.
Shattering Perfection
Parents often ask: “I do everything for my children, so why are they so disrespectful to me?” The answer may just be right there in the question: it may just be because “I do everything for my children”.
To allow children to mature, we must give them the space to take the initiative. If we tell them all the answers they may receive a perfect grade but they still will not know how to solve the problem. We must step aside and give them responsibility. They may make mistakes, they will certainly not be perfect, but they will grow, they will change and, eventually, they will be transformed. The same is true for students and colleagues as well. The more you give them space to invest their own effort, to “make the call” themselves, the more they will internalize the goals and vision you are seeking to impart to them.
There is no better illustration of this truth than the dramatic story of the creation of the golden calf and its aftermath.
Just forty days after the revelation at Sinai, where the people heard the ten commandments directly from G-d, who quite literally had done everything for them, the people abandoned everything they had been taught and served the golden calf.
Moses descended from the mountain holding the most perfect set of tablets; the Torah tells us that both the words engraved on the stone as well as the stone itself were “G-d’s work”:
Now the tablets were God's work, and the inscription was God's inscription, engraved on the tablets.
Our sages explain that if the Jews would have received the first set of tablets they would have achieved perfection in their Torah study, there would be no forgetfulness, no questions, no confusion, because the first set of tablets were Divine and would bestow perfection on the people receiving them.
Moses descended from the mountain, holding the tablets, and saw the most terrible scene imaginable: his beloved people who had experienced the miracles of the exodus were dancing around a golden calf. He must have asked himself a version of this question: “If G-d did everything for his children, how could they do this to him?”
Moses knew the answer. He understood that he was literally holding the answer to the question in his hands. The tablets, the handiwork of G-d, represented the problem. Everything was being giving to the people, they were experiencing greatness without any effort. And the tablets were about to impart within them wisdom that they did not have to struggle to achieve.
Having just seen the terrible results of a people who were not required to invest effort, Moses did the unthinkable. He shattered the tablets. He shattered the perfection. He understood that the people would not mature and internalize the truth without struggle and human effort.
G-d agreed and thanked Moses for shattering of the tablets. And then, commanded Moses to prepare a second set of tablets. This time, however, only the words were inscribed by G-d, while Moses was the one who prepared the stones:
And the Lord said to Moses: "Hew for yourself two stone tablets like the first ones. And I will inscribe upon the tablets the words that were on the first tablets, which you broke.
This time, the study of the Divine words of the Torah would be accompanied by the human stones, and human shortcomings. This time around the study of Torah entailed struggle, questions and disagreements. To grasp the clarity of Torah requires human effort to overcome forgetfulness and drill through obstacles.
Moses taught us that in order to influence ourselves, our children or our colleagues, we too must seek the gift of responsibility, to invest our own efforts and allow ourselves to struggle and ultimately to conquer our challenges through our own achievement. We must shatter the notion of perfection.
We must give others the space to fail and rise again, we must give others the space to internalize the vision.
We must give others the gift of the second tablets.
Unmasking the Golden Calf
Right in the middle of the second half of the book of Exodus the story of the sin of the golden calf is told:
When the people saw that Moses was late in coming down from the mountain, the people gathered against Aaron, and they said to him: "Come on! Make us gods that will go before us, because this man Moses, who brought us up from the land of Egypt we don't know what has become of him."
That a mere forty days after the people heard the ten commandments directly from G-d, they created an idol and violated the first two of the ten commandments, tells us that idol worship had a powerful allure upon the imagination of the people. Indeed for the next thousand years, the story of the Jewish people is a recurring one, relapsing to idol worship.
Idol worship in it’s more refined and abstract form, is still very much a spiritual threat. Specifically when we seek a relationship with G-d, when we stand at our figurative Sinai, there is a risk that we too can fall prey to the spell of the golden calf.
The root of all idol worship is the belief in duality. The belief that there is something, anything, that has a power independent of G-d’s all inclusive unity.
The perspective that the infinite G-d is regulated exclusively to the domain of the spirit, to the moments when we pursue abstraction, religion and philosophy, is Idol worship in its more subtle form. The belief that G-d is disconnected from the finite, from the earthly and from the physical, is the belief that there is something independent and disconnected from G-d.
The Torah tells us that Aaron made an “Eigel Masecha” (עגל מסכה) which usually translates as “molten calf”. Yet the word “Masecha” also means a mask. For that is precisely the function of the idol, to direct our attention to the concealment of nature rather than to the Divine presence beneath the mask.
This explains why the story of the golden calf and its aftermath is sandwiched between the four portions that discuss the construction of the Mishkan, the sanctuary that the Jews were commanded to build in the desert.
The construction of the Mishkan is the antidote to the story of the golden calf. The four portions tell a story that, if internalized, will protect us against the mistake made by the creators of the golden calf. It tells that we are called upon to make a home for G-d on this earth, and that we do so with our material possessions.
The Mishkan teaches that G-d must be found not only in the hall of study but also in the marketplace. Not only when we pray but also when we eat. The apparent dichotomy between the physical and spiritual, body and soul, heaven and earth create not duality but oneness, not conflict but harmony.
The second half of the book of Exodus builds upon and expands the message of the first half of the book. The first half of the book tells of G-d’s awesome, supernatural power. We read about the great miracles that shatter the natural order. We encounter G-d in moments of revelation. Yet, the second half of the book tells a story that, in some ways, is far more profound: beneath the mask of duality and separation lies unity and harmony. When we use our material possessions to fulfill the will of G-d, we are creating a home for him within the concealment of nature.
This is also the theme of the holiday of Purim (which occurs during the week of, or in proximity to, the reading of the story of golden calf). Purim is the sole Jewish holiday that celebrates an event that occurred while the Jews were in exile, while they were subject to the rule of a foreign king. G-d’s name as well as supernatural miracles are absent from the scroll of Esther, the book that chronicles the story. While the events of Passover are far more miraculous than the events of Purim, the story of Purim is no less profound.
Purim teaches that even where we see nothing but darkness, G-d is very much present.
On Purim the custom is to dress up in a costume. The idea is to recognize that what is obvious to the eye is no more than a mask. We dress up so that we become aware of the presence of G-d beneath the mask of nature. Purim teaches us not to be distracted by the masquerade, but rather to look beneath the mask, and sense is oneness.
Defining Work
One of the most important practices in Judaism, the fourth of the ten commandments, is to refrain from work on the seventh day, to sanctify it and make it holy. Yet, the exact definition of rest, and the forms of labor prohibited on Shabbat are not stated explicitly in the Torah.
The Sages of the Talmud explain that the Torah alludes to there being thirty nine categories of prohibited labor. Whenever the Torah discusses the commandment to build the tabernacle, the sanctuary constructed in the desert, the Torah also reiterates the commandment of Shabbat. Case in point is this week’s Torah portion. After more than two full portions dedicated to the intricate details of the sanctuary, the Torah concludes with the theme of Shabbat:
“..the children of Israel observe the Sabbath, to make the Sabbath throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant. Between Me and the children of Israel, it is forever a sign that [in] six days The Lord created the heaven and the earth, and on the seventh day He ceased and rested."
From the juxtaposition of Shabbat and the commandment to build the the tabernacle we derive that the tabernacle may not be constructed on Shabbat. This implies that any labor that was needed for the construction of the tabernacle is considered labor and is therefore prohibited on Shabbat.
This derivation may seem far from straight forward. Why does the Torah communicate its definition of labor through the seemingly unrelated tabernacle? Why is the definition of labor determined based on the labor necessary to construct the sanctuary?
The Torah is teaching us a profound lesson about the purpose of labor. The conventional understanding is that we spend six days of the week working, pursuing our physical needs, and on the seventh day we rest from the pursuit of the physical and we dedicate a day to our family, our soul and to our spiritual life. Yet the Torah is signaling to us that we should think about labor in the context of the work necessary to construct the sanctuary. That is because, indeed, the purpose of all our work is to create a metaphorical sanctuary, a spiritual home for G-d.
The legal definition of labor is defined by the labor used for the construction of the sanctuary, because the spiritual purpose of all our labor is to create a home for G-d. We do so by using our physical possessions and experiences to enhance our soul and to advance the purpose for which we were created, namely to transform this earth to a vessel for G-dliness, by filling the world with goodness and kindness.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayakhekl vol. 1
Are Jews Stubborn?
It’s a tragic story. The Jewish people betrayed G-d on their honeymoon. Just forty days after they heard the Ten Commandments in G-d’s voice, while still camped at Mount Sinai, the Jewish people served the golden calf.
Moses turns out to be the hero of the story. G-d wanted to destroy the people, yet Moses using multiple arguments, persuaded G-d to not only forgive the people, but also to give them the second set of tablets (since Moses smashed the first set of tablets), and to reaffirm his covenant with the people.
Among the arguments that Moses put forth to evoke forgiveness, we read:
"If I have now found favor in Your eyes, O Lord, let the Lord go now in our midst because they are a stiff-necked people, and You shall forgive our iniquity and our sin and thus secure us as Your possession." (Exodus 34:9)
This verse is seemingly strange: Moses asks G-d to forgive the people “because they are a stiff-necked people”, but why is being “stiff-necked” a reason to forgive? It would make sense for Moses to ask that they should be forgiven despite being a stiff-necked people. But why is being “stiff-necked” a reason to forgive?
The truth is that almost every force and energy in the world is neither good nor bad, but rather neutral. Stubbornness is a case in point. The stubbornness of the Jews caused them to sin and harm their relationship with G-d. Moses, however, put forth a brilliantly novel argument: stubbornness is a cause for forgiveness because that quality would allow the Jewish people to cleave to G-d despite all the persecution and difficulties they experienced. Moses makes the point that the only way the Jewish people would survive throughout history, when mighty empires come and go, is because of their steadfast, stubborn, faith and devotion to G-d and his Torah.
Moses teaches us how to look at the seemingly negative aspects of our personality, and inspires us to realize that every part of our character can indeed be used to enhance our relationship with G-d and holiness. The “stubbornness”, when channeled correctly, is a cause for forgiveness, and will reveal the best within ourselves.
Fire From Flintstone
It seems that all hope is lost; the fire has been extinguished.
Fire needs suitable conditions to survive, it needs fuel to burn, and water can wash it away. But what if the fuel was spent, and the diminishing coal is thrown into the water?
In that case, you can create a new fire from a flintstone. The beauty of the flintstone is that its fire yielding potential can lie dormant for many years, the stone can be immersed at the bottom of the sea for decades, yet, when steel hits the rock with force, it can produce a spark that will once again ignite a fire.
The verse says: "the L-rd your G-d is a consuming fire." The Divine energy, like fire, surges upward, seeking to escape the confines of this world and return to its source. In order for the Divine holiness to be present in our life, we must produce the fuel that keeps the fire grounded. The fuel is thought, speech, and action of Torah and Mitzvot. Every time we engage in a holy thought, speech or action, we produce the fuel that keeps the Divine fire alive in our world and in our life.
In this week's portion, we read about how the people betrayed G-d and created the golden calf. Like the tablets Moses shattered, the fire of love and passion to G-d was destroyed. Lacking fuel, the flame of romance escaped and ascended into thin air.
As the story unfolds, we realize that it is, in fact, a story of healing and reconnection. G-d forgives the people and gives them the second set of tablets. And Moses, amazed, asked to see G-d's glory, to understand the essence of G-d, the source of forgiveness.
In what are perhaps the most cryptic mystical verses in all of the Torah we read:
And the L-rd said: "Behold, there is a place with Me, and you shall stand on the rock.
And it shall be that when My glory passes, I will place you into the cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with My hand until I have passed by. (Exodus 33:21-22)
What is the meaning of these words and images? G-d's glory? The rock? The cleft of the rock?
While there are multiple interpretations, one Kabbalistic interpretation is that the rock alludes to the imagery of the fire-producing flintstone. For indeed, the passionate fire of the relationship between G-d and His people is no longer seen or felt. "My glory has passed", the light and the warmth are gone. Yet G-d tells Moses that the core of the Jew, the cleft of the rock, can still produce fire. Even when the stone, the core of the Jew, is immersed in water, nothing can rob it of its ability to once again produce a spark. The forceful pull to return to G-d, motivated by the pain of distance from G-d, creates the spark that will ignite into a fire, healing the pain, and recreating the love.
In our own lives, we sometimes feel that hope is lost; the fire has been extinguished. Like Moses, we must remember the image of the flintstone lying in the water. And remember that our soul, like the flintstone, always retains the ability to create warmth, holiness, and fiery passion.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Ki Tisa 5722
The Golden Calf and Divine Oneness
This week's portion tells the story of colossal failure and spiritual descent, when Jewish people, just forty days after accepting the Torah at Sinai, betrayed G-d and served the golden calf. Yet, the name of the portion, Ki Tisa, "when you will raise {the heads of the Jewish people}" implies that this is a story not of descent but of elevation.
After the sin of the golden calf G-d told Moses
"Go, ascend from here, you and the people you have brought up from the land of Egypt, to the land that I swore to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, saying: 'I will give it to your descendants.' (Exodus 33:1)
G-d tells Moses "Go ascend from here", meaning, the experience of the sin and repentance itself, will lead to an even greater ascent.
Indeed, our Sages teach "where the baal teshuva {the person who repents from sin} stands, even the completely righteous cannot stand." The baal teshuva is superior not just because of his intense, passionate longing for G-d, but also because of his contribution to the purpose of creation. While the righteous person only interacts with the neutral and holy experiences, the baal teshuva, who experiences sin and unholiness, elevates the sparks of goodness hidden within sin and brings them back to their source within G-d.
There are two perspectives on reality. From the first perspective, the perspective of creation, the world is divided into good and evil. G-d's presence and oneness are expressed exclusively in the realm of good, whereas evil must be avoided and rejected. This is the perspective of the righteous. The baal teshuva, by contrast, rises to a far more profound experience of the unity of G-d. The baal teshuva experiences the second perspective, the point of view of the creator, who sees that the true essence of evil is the Divine spark responsible for its creation and continued existence. Therefore, through repentance and transformation, even evil can be elevated and reunited with holiness.
These two paths, of the righteous and the baal teshuva, exist within each of us. While we hope for a life of holiness, serenity, and peace, while we dream of the path of the righteous, we often experience challenges, pain, and disappointment. When we do, we must realize that G-d is blessing us with the opportunity to rise to greater heights, to reconnect and recommit to our goals and values with greater passion. When we do, we will rise from the perspective of the creation to the perspective of the creator. We will discover the hidden spark within every experience. We will extend the awareness of the oneness of G-d into every aspect of reality, ultimately transforming the world into a place of goodness and kindness.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Ki Tisa 16:4)
Merely a Half
It is a straightforward commandment: every Jew should give a half Shekel coin for a census and atonement. Yet, the Torah gets very detailed in describing the coin:
This they shall give, everyone who goes through the counting: half a Shekel according to the holy Shekel. Twenty Gerahs equal one Shekel; half of [such] a Shekel shall be an offering to the Lord. (Exodus 30:13)
Instead of saying that a half coin is the equivalent weight of ten Gerah, why does the Torah have to spell it out for us: “Twenty Gerahs equal one Shekel; half of [such] a Shekel”?
The half Shekel is the opening commandment of an eventful and dramatic Torah portion, which includes how the Jews created and served the golden calf, Moses shattering the tablets, G-d’s forgiveness, and the giving of the second tablets. The half Shekel at the beginning of the portion is the antidote and the correction for the sin, and therefore, although, in general, we are commanded to offer to G-d only from what is complete and unblemished, in this case, the emphasis is that we offer specifically a half.l
The essence of the sin of idolatry is not the denial of G-d but rather the belief that there is duality. The mistaken notion is that while G-d is the creator, he is too sublime to be within the creation; creation itself is therefore controlled by the various forces of nature. The essence of idolatry is the belief that there is a space, an energy, a force that is independent of G-d.
The half Shekel reminds a Jew that he is not an independent person. His personality, the Sefirot {attributes} of his soul alluded to by the ten Gerah, is merely half of a greater whole of twenty Gerah. The ten Sefirot of his soul reflect the ten Divine Sefirot, and are only complete when connected to their Divine source.
By giving the half Shekel a Jew declares that not only is he prepared to offer his ten attributes to the service of G-d fw that he recognizes that his entire being is dependent on, connected to, and a reflection of, his Divine source.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 3, Ki Tisa
A Fiery Coin
Can money buy atonement?
Moses was told to command the people of Israel that they each offer a half-shekel coin for atonement:
"When you take the sum of the children of Israel according to their numbers, let each one give to the Lord an atonement for his soul when they are counted; then there will be no plague among them when they are counted.This they shall give, everyone who goes through the counting: half a shekel according to the holy shekel. Twenty gerahs equal one shekel; half of [such] a shekel shall be an offering to the Lord.
Moses was bewildered: how could a coin create atonement?
The Midrash, quoted by Rashi explains:
This they shall give: He [God] showed him [Moses] a sort of coin of fire weighing half a shekel, and He said to him, "Like this one they shall give."
How does an image of a fiery coin explain Moses' bewilderment?
The common interpretation is that, indeed, a coin cannot offer atonement, for a coin is physical and mundane, whereas atonement relates to the spiritual soul. The insight that G-d offered Moses was that when the coin is "a fiery coin", when the act of giving is imbued with emotion, heart, and feeling, then the coin can create atonement.
According to this interpretation, it is not the coin that creates atonement but rather the fire, the emotion, and the heart invested in it. There is, however, a deeper Chassidic insight that suggests the opposite: G-d was indeed showing Moses that the coin itself offers the atonement.
When one uses a physical object for a Mitzvah, its Divine source, the fire, the spiritual spark within it is revealed and expressed, the actual "coin", mined from the depths of the earth, becomes a coin of "fire", which surges upward seeking to escape the grasp of the wick. By showing Moses the fiery coin, G-d demonstrated that to confine the presence of G-d to the spiritual realm is to impose a limitation upon his infinite light. True infinity is the ability to be in the physical just as in the spiritual.
By doing a Mitzvah, we reveal that what seemed to be a physical object or experience is, in truth, a spark of fire, an entity that, deep down at the core of its existence and consciousness, is a fire that allows us to raise ourselves upward, uniting us with G-d.
What seemed to be a mere coin, is, in fact, a coin of fire.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 26 Ki Tisa 1
Temple Time Zones
The commandment to build the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, was not only in order to construct a temporary building for worship for the journey from Egypt to Israel. Rather, our Sages explain, it was also a commandment to construct a figurative temple, within the heart of every Jew, in every generation.
Thus, the sages and mystics set out to explain the inner meaning of the temple and its vessels, they expanded the symbolism of its materials and colors, they showed how every detail of these commandments can be applied to the spiritual life of every Jew.
The Mishkan, the portable temple, had three sections. There was a courtyard in which there was an altar for the animal offerings, and where the Israelites would stand when they would come to the temple. Within the courtyard stood the actual Mishkan, the tent of meeting, which was divided into two rooms. The larger outer room, the “holy”, contained the “vessels”: the Menorah, the table with the showbread, as well as the inner gold altar for incense. The inner room of the tent of meeting, “the holy of holies”, contained nothing but the ark with the tablets. It was the holiest part of the temple, only the high priest, on the holiest day of the year, would enter the holy of holies.
How are these three sections of the temple - the courtyard, the holy, and the holy of holies - relevant to our lives today?
Our spiritual life is about constructing a figurative temple that contains all three sections. We then move between the courtyard, the holy and the holy of holies. We experience each room with its unique environment and atmosphere. Life is about navigating these rooms.
One way to look at the three areas of the temple, is to view then as three dimensions within time. The courtyard, the most mundane place in the temple, represents the six days of the work week, during which time we are primarily involved with the material world, struggling to make a living, to produce and to achieve material success.
The courtyard was somewhat of a chaotic place. There were people and animals moving about, the priests would wash their hands and feet with the water from the basin, they would offer the animal offerings, slaughtering the animals, cleaning them and burning some of the animal parts on the altar. Other parts of the offerings were cooked and eaten by the priests and the Israelites. All this activity represents life during the weekdays, the noise created by the tension between the material and the spiritual. The activity in the courtyard, the offering of a physical animal as an offering to G-d, represents the struggle to be in the world, to achieve material success, yet at the same time to sanctify the material and the animal within man, to connect the mundane to a higher purpose and calling. Most of our week is spent in the figurative courtyard.
And then, the Shabbat arrives.
On Shabbat we retreat from our work, we embrace our family, and we rest. We dedicate time to nourish our soul. On Shabbat we enter the holy, the outer chamber of the tent of meeting, we experience its peace and tranquility. Everything on the Shabbat, including the Shabbat meals, is holy. It is a commandment to derive pleasure from food and drink on Shabbat, because the food of Shabbat is itself considered holy. The outer chamber, the holy, contained the light of the Menorah and the pleasurable smell of the incense, representing the pleasure we experience from spiritual activities.
And then, once a year, we enter the holy of holies. Once a year, on Yom Kippur, we become spiritual beings. On Yom Kippur we don’t eat or drink. On Yom Kippur we connect to our essence, to our soul that is completely spiritual and has no need for food or drink.
Each of these steps - the challenge of the material world, the sanctification of the material on Shabbat, and transcending the material and being completely spiritual on Yom Kippur - is a critical part of our mission to make a dwelling place for the Divine on this earth. We must move between the varying degrees of holiness of Yom Kippur, Shabbat and the weekdays. Each of these experiences must influence the others. The person we are on Yom Kippur must influence the person we are on a simple Wednesday afternoon.
We each have a body and soul, a material side and a spiritual side. To fulfill the purpose of creation we must live, not in one dimension, but rather we must move between the different levels of holiness. We must make time for each of the three stages of being.
We must experience each of the three sections of our own temple. While we do spend most of our time in the courtyard, we must remember that while we need to be in the courtyard to fulfill the Divine will, our core, our essence, our soul, is at home only in the holy of holies.
Window or Mirror
The Jewish people were eager to donate. The project, the building of the sanctuary in the desert, was a symbol that, despite the pain of betrayal with the golden calf, the relationship had been restored and strengthened. G-d desired to dwell in the midst of the Jewish camp.
The people donated enthusiastically. Bracelets, earrings, rings, all kinds of golden objects, blue, purple and crimson wool, linen, goat hair, ram skins dyed red or tachash skins, silver and copper, were some of the items that were gifted.
There was, however, one item that Moses refused to accept.
The Torah describes that the women contributed even more than the men, they even brought their mirrors to be used in the sanctuary. Moses refused to accept the mirrors. A mirror, he argued, is the antithesis to the sanctuary. A mirror is used to adorn the externality and superficiality of the person, it intensifies a person’s pride and narcissism. A mirror is pure vanity, a tool for self-worship. It has no place in the service of G-d.
Moses saw the mirror as an enemy. Here was a tool designed to, at best, focus attention on the self rather than on the Divine, and at worst, a tool to create destructive lust and seduction.
Moses sought to create a transparent “window”, he sought to teach people how to view the world as a “window” through which one can see the awesome power of the creator. The “mirror”, blocking the light and reflecting the vision back to the viewer, was the precise opposite of everything Moses stood for.
G-d disagreed.
The Midrash describes how G-d explained to Moses that not only should the mirrors be accepted but indeed they are more precious than all the other gifts. For it is precisely the mirror that represents the purpose of the entire effort of creating the sanctuary, and more broadly, the purpose of creation itself.
G-d explained to Moses, that the mirror could be just as holy as it could be destructive. Desire and temptation could be, not ego driven but rather, an expression of intense holiness. As Rashi explains:
Even these [mirrors] they did not hold back from bringing as a contribution toward the Mishkan, but Moses rejected them because they were made for temptation [i.e., to inspire lustful thoughts]. The Holy One, blessed is He, said to him, “Accept [them], for these are more precious to Me than anything because through them the women set up many legions [i.e., through the children they gave birth to] in Egypt.” When their husbands were weary from back-breaking labor, they [the women] would go and bring them food and drink and give them to eat. Then they [the women] would take the mirrors and each one would see herself with her husband in the mirror, and she would seduce him with words, saying, “I am more beautiful than you.” And in this way they aroused their husbands desire and would copulate with them, conceiving and giving birth.
Every creation on this earth, from a beautiful flower to nuclear energy, has a soul, an energy, which can be used for both good or evil. Ironically, the more potent the energy, the more potential it has for good, the more destructive it can be. The reverse is just as true: the more destructive the force, when transformed or channeled, the deeper the goodness and enlightenment.
The mirror captures a deep truth. When glass is covered with a layer of silver that obstructs the transparency the result is deeper. Looking at a mirror, while one cannot see forward, there is no “direct vision”, one is able to see behind. One will see the unexpected.
The mirror does not completely obstruct the light, as do other objects. Instead it reflects the light that shines upon it. It symbolizes how the creation itself can reflect and express the Divine light.
Moses preferred the clarity of vision. He was drawn to transparency, to a place where holiness is obvious. G-d explained that the purpose of the Mishkan, which reflects the purpose of the creation of the world, was to be mirror-like; to see the holiness where it is least expected, to understand that “desire” can be an expression of transcendence and spirituality. The mirror reminds us that in order to experience the true profundity of the infinity G-d, one should look not directly upward to the transparent heavens, but rather instead one should look down here on earth; where the concealment of the material, creates a deeper reflection of the oneness of G-d.
Kindle the Fire
When Moses assembled the Jewish people to relate to them about the construction of the tabernacle, the sanctuary they were to build in the desert, he first reiterated the the Mitzvah of resting on Shabbat:
Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have sanctity, a day of complete rest to the Lord. (Exodus 35:2)
Of all the thirty nine prohibited categories of labor, the Torah proceeds to name only one specific example of a prohibition. The Torah states:
You shall not kindle fire in any of your dwelling places on the Sabbath day." (Ibid. 35:3)
Why does the Torah emphasize that the commandment about not kindling fire applies to “all your dwelling places”? Why would we assume that the prohibition is limited to a specific place?
The Midrash explains that the words “in all your dwelling places” teach us that we may not kindle fire in all our dwelling places, we may, however, kindle fire in the temple. Elsewhere the Torah commands “A continuous fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall not go out.” We may have thought that the prohibition of kindling fire on Shabbat supersedes the commandment to continuously maintain the fire on the altar, and we would therefore conclude that the commandment to continuously kindle fire on the alter applies to the six days of the week but not to Shabbat. The Torah therefore states that the commandment against kindling fire applies specifically to “all your dwelling places” but does not apply to the temple (which is not our dwelling place, it is the dwelling place for G-d).
Every teaching in the Torah has both a body and a soul. In addition to the legal interpretation there is also a spiritual interpretation of the same legal concept. Here too the “fire”, the “dwelling places” and the “temple”, have a spiritual interpretation as well.
Fire represents passion. Fire represents the joy, the excitement, and the vitality that energizes us and keeps us motivated and imbues our actions with spirit and feeling. During the six days of the week, our passion is invested in the world outside of us. We seek to build, to accomplish and to succeed in the material world. And then Shabbat arrives. Shabbat is far more than a day of rest in the conventional sense. On Shabbat we stop working so that we can pause from the specific details of our life and focus on the big picture. On Shabbat we have time to focus on the purpose of the rest of the week: What is the point of all our work? What are we seeking to accomplish? What is the meaning of our life? Are we living the life we want to live? Are we spending our time and attention with the people that mean most to us?
On Shabbat we may not kindle fire in “our dwelling places”. Our “dwelling places”, as opposed to the temple, represent our physical needs and activities. Shabbat is the day when we redirect our passion, to the “temple”, to the holy aspects of our life. Shabbat is the day that we redirect our passion to G-d, to our family, and to our spiritual life.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shabbat Ki Tisa 5717).
The Kabbalah of Colors
The Mishkan, the Sanctuary the Jewish people build in the desert, is described in this week’s portion in all its detail. The commandment to construct the Mishkan, “make for me a sanctuary, and I will dwell amongst them,” employs the plural {“them”} because it alludes to Hashem dwelling in the figurative sanctuary within every individual. As the equivalent of every detail of the temple: its coverings, walls, foundation sockets, courtyard, and furniture, exist within the life of every Jew.
Covering the sanctuary was a magnificent tapestry of woven colored wool and linen. As the Torah describes:
Then all the wise-hearted people of the performers of the work made the Mishkan out of ten curtains [consisting] of twisted fine linen, and blue, purple, and crimson wool. A cherubim design, the work of a master weaver he made them. (Exodus 36:8)
The colors of the dyed wool are significant. The Kabbalah teaches that every soul possesses seven emotional sefirot, or attributes, which blend to produce the full spectrum of human emotion. Three of the seven represent three primary emotions, represented by 3 colors: crimson - love, blue - awe and respect, purple - compassion.
Red is the color of passion. Crimson red represents the soul’s passionate yearning to cleave to Hashem. Like the flame surging upward, our soul is in a constant dance of passionately yearning to reconnect to its source and reunite with Hashem.
Turquoise Blue represents awe and respect. While love is the draw to connect, to become one, awe causes one to pull back. The attribute of love desires to connect and unite. In contrast, the feeling of awe creates distance and respect.
The Talmud (Menachot 43b) teaches that “tekhelet {turquoise-blue} is similar to the sea, and the sea is similar to the firmament and the firmament is similar to the throne of Glory.” Blue evokes the color of the heavens, which reminds us of how small we are in comparison to the universe, and evokes within us the awe of Hasehem.
Purple, a blend of red and blue, represents compassion, which is a blend of love and awe. Compassion is the feeling of love that is awakened by the fear of a painful circumstance. When we feel compassion, we are feeling the love for someone as well as dread of the suffering.
All three colors-emotions are necessary in order to build a relationship with Hashem. Crimson, the love that draws us to come close to G-d, is balanced by turquoise, the retreat in awe back to fulfill Hashem’s will on this earth. And at times when we don’t feel emotionally connected, when we feel numb and cold, we look to the purple, the emotion of compassion. By feeling empathy and compassion for our soul, a spark of Hashem trapped in material reality, the awe and love are again reawakened.
(Adapted from Hayosheves Baganim 5708)
Why are the Goblets Upside Down?
In his drawing of the Menorah, Maimonides drew the "cups" that were on the base and branches of the Menorah as upside-down cups (Maimonides writes that the goblets "had wide mouths and narrow bases"; in the drawing, the wide end of the goblets face downward). This detail seems, at first glance, inconsistent with the principle explained in the Talmud that when performing a Mitzvah with an object, it must be held or placed in its natural position:
Ḥizkiya said that Rabbi Yirmeya said in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai: With regard to all objects used in performance of each and every one of the mitzvot, a person fulfills his obligation only when the objects are positioned in the manner of their growth. One must take the lulav with the bottom of the branch facing down, as it is stated with regard to the beams of the Tabernacle : "Acacia wood, standing" (Exodus 26:15), indicating that the beams stood in the manner of their growth.
Why then were the cups of the menorah upside down?
The answer must be that, at least in the context of the Menorah, the cup's natural position was not to receive and contain but rather to pour and share. The purpose of the temple in general, and the Menorah in particular, was not to create a sanctuary of light and inspiration for the temple itself, but rather to "pour", shine, and influence the rest of the world.
Perhaps we can apply this lesson to our own lives. There is a built-in tension regarding our metaphorical "goblet," our defined personality, talents, and skills. Are we a goblet that "receives" or one that "pours"?
Within each of us, there are two opposing drives. On the one hand, we want to self-actualize, to achieve and enjoy a degree of success, recognition, meaning, and significance. On the other hand, deep within our souls is the desire to transcend itself, to submerge within something greater than ourselves. As the Tanya explains, the Torah refers to the soul as a candle because just as the fire surges upward as if to escape the wick, so too does the soul seek to escape the confines of its independent existence and "unite with its origin and source in G‑d, blessed be He, who is the fountainhead of all life. Though thereby it would become null and naught, and its identity would there—in its source—be completely nullified, with nothing at all remaining of its original essence and self, this is its will and desire by its nature."
Perhaps the Menorah's lesson is that we need to create a goblet which receives and contains our success. Yet, the ultimate purpose of creating a vessel which "contains", why it matters to us to accomplish and to feel significant, is in order for us to "pour", to share the blessing with others. In the final analysis, our desire to be significant is itself part of the greater transcendence because the reason we crave to be a goblet that "contains" is in order for our goblet to "pour" and "share".
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 21 Terumah 3
From Darkness to Light
The final portion in the book of Exodus, the portion of Pekudey, begins with an accounting of the materials collected to build the tabernacle, and concludes with the construction of the tabernacle. The final verses of the portion, and of the entire book of Exodus, describe the powerful imagery of the cloud that rested upon the tabernacle, the “tent of meeting”:
And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan… For the cloud of the Lord was upon the Mishkan by day, and there was fire within it at night, before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys.
The conclusion of the book of Exodus, is an appropriate time to think about the theme of the entire book. What is its central point? What message is it trying to convey through the stories and episodes that unfold in its pages?
There are, generally speaking, three major stories in the book of Exodus: (1) the exodus from Egypt (2) receiving the Torah (3) building the tabernacle. Do these three stories share a unifying theme? Are they three loosely related events or are they essentially part of one big idea?
The second book of the Torah is often called the book of Exodus, from the ancient Greek word for “going out”. The Midrash, however, defines the theme of the second book, not as the book of Exodus, but rather, as the book in which “the Israelites went from darkness to light”.
Indeed, “darkness to light” is the unifying theme of the book. “darkness to light” captures the essence of its three major stories.
We begin with the exodus from the darkness of slavery. The first story, describes in great detail how G-d interceded to liberate the children of Israel with a “mighty hand and an outstretched arm”, from the bitter darkness of slavery to the light of freedom.
Yet the book does not end there, because the quest for light should not end with mere physical liberation.
The material world, left to its own devices, is a place of spiritual darkness. It is a place of darkness because it obscures the truth of its existence, it conceals the divine energy that never ceases to recreate it. When we are immersed in materialism, we are like a person in a dark room, unable to see and appreciate the true nature of the world around us.
To be liberated from the darkness of raw materialism we need the second part of the book, G-d descends on Mount Sinai to give us the Torah. G-d teaches us about the Mitzvot, islands of spirituality and holiness in what would otherwise be a dark world. G-d tells us about specific actions we can take to place ourselves in the brightness of his holiness.
This, however, is also not a complete exodus from darkness to light.
For, although, the Torah gives us certain specific Mitzvot by which we may connect to the Divine, this alone does not address all other aspects of our life. The Torah teaches us how to be holy in moments of prayer, while celebrating Passover and Yom Kippur, while donning Tefilin or shaking the Lulav, but what about the rest of our life? What about the majority of the time, when we are not engaged in a Mitzvah? What about when we are in the office or riding in the car on just a regular day on the calendar?
The Jewish people had just been freed from slavery and blessed with an abundance of wealth. They were overwhelmed by their newfound access to materialism, which led them to one of the darkest moments in their spiritual life - they used their gold to create the golden calf. They experienced a holy moment at the revelation at Sinai, but their day to day life was not enlightened by the light of spirituality,
To reach the ultimate liberation from spiritual darkness, the book of Exodus introduces its final story. After the liberation from the darkness of Egypt, after the Torah teaches how we can achieve moments of spiritual light by fulfilling the Divine commandments, the Torah teaches the story of the tabernacle.
Moses taught the people to take their everyday, mundane possessions and use them to create a home for G-d. By using these objects for a higher purpose, Moses taught that any object, any possession, any experience, can be a building block for a home to G-d. Eating, working, sleeping, vacationing, anything we do can be a vehicle for spirituality. Any experience can be elevated if it brings us closer to a higher purpose.
And so, the story of the liberation from Egypt teaches us how to escape the darkness of slavery. The story of the giving of the Torah teaches us how to find refuge in a holy experience. The final story of the book, teaches us how to find light in each and every experience. It teaches us that the Divine, represented by the cloud, can rest “in all their journeys”, in whatever we do. As the final verse of the book states:
For the cloud of the Lord was upon the Mishkan by day, and there was fire within it at night, before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys.
Furniture First?
Furniture is an important part of our home. How we furnish our home; the colors, designs and art that we choose, says a lot about the people we are and, perhaps more importantly, about the people we strive to be.
Despite its importance, furniture is rarely the first thing we purchase when we decide to acquire a home. First we build a home and then we fill it with furniture.
Indeed, when the Jewish people built a home for G-d in the desert, Betzalel, the chief architect made this very point to Moses.
For Moses commanded Bezalel to first make the furnishings and afterwards the Mishkan… Betzalel responded, “It is common practice to first make a house and then to put furniture into it.”
Moses agreed with Betzalel, and indeed, first the Tabernacle was constructed and only later did they build the furniture.
This leaves us with a question: why did Moses initially command Betzalel to make the furniture first and only later to build the home? Moses surely knew that doing so is indeed unusual.
The home with its walls and its roof provide shelter from the outside environment, the home allows the person to take control of and shape his or her environment. The furniture represents specific actions that fill our day. The furniture facilitates specific things like eating, sleeping, studying, etc. Betzalel’s perspective was that it is pointless to focus on performing a given action before one is in control of his environment. Betzalel argued that taking one positive action before there is a holy environment is like having a couch but no home. Betzalel argued that “the common practice”, the logical approach, is to first ensure a protective environment, secured from the rain, the cold and the outside elements; to first create a spiritual environment in which we are protected from the chaos and confusion of the material world. We must begin by creating a tranquil and holy environment, by removing all negative influences from our surroundings. Only then should we focus on doing a positive action. After all, what would be the purpose of one single positive action, if the rest of one’s day is full of unholiness?
Thus, argued Betzalel, first comes the home and then comes the furniture.
Moses agreed with Betzalel that under normal circumstances one should build a home and then bring in the furniture. Moses agreed that in principle one should first transform one’s environment before focusing on a specific action.
Yet, initially, Moses told Betzalel to first build the furniture and then build the home. Why?
Because Moses knew that unusual times would be coming. There would be times when a person would feel that the darkness is too great, that the unholy is too dominant and that he or she is too weak to build a home, too weak to shelter oneself from the storm. Moses taught us that in those times we should first create the furniture - the action. Moses taught us to choose just one moment of our day and use it for a holy purpose. Moses taught us that even if we don't have a protective home, we should and could engage in holy actions.
Moses told us to fill our life with specific positive moments of holiness.
The energy produced from these moments will ultimately empower us to build a beautiful home, full of material and spiritual blessings.
Linen Curtains
The second half of the book of Exodus, with its detailed description of the tabernacle and its furniture, teaches us how to create a tabernacle for G-d in our life. Each of the many components of the tabernacle represents an aspect of our life.
The tabernacle had three sections, the courtyard, the holy and the holy of holies. The Torah tells us that the courtyard of the tabernacle was surrounded by a fence made of linen hangings.
The length of the courtyard [shall be] one hundred cubits and the width fifty by fifty [cubits]. The height [of the hangings] shall be five cubits of twisted fine linen, and their sockets [shall be of] copper. (Exodus 27:18).
What is the nature and symbolism of the walls of the courtyard? What are the boundaries within which a Jew should live his life? What are the perimeters which the Jew must enter in order to fulfill his purpose of creation and make a home for G-d?
In a written correspondence between the Rebbe and his father, the great Kabbalist Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneersohn, they discuss two possible interpretations of the spiritual significance and meaning of the linen curtains.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak explains that according to the Kabbalah linen represents the attribute of discipline, the ability to judge and reject that which does not live up to the desired standard.
The secret to success in any field or endeavor is the ability to be disciplined enough to say no to distraction. No one ever mastered a musical instrument, graduated medical school, or ran a marathon, without cultivating the skill of saying no to distraction. The same is true for creating a spiritual life. The linen curtains represent the ability of the Jew to reject negative influences. According to this approach, the first and most important skill necessary in order to be able to create a space for holiness is the skill of disciplined commitment. The strength to say no to destructive influences of the outside world as well as within the person himself.
The Rebbe offered a different interpretation. The Rebbe taught that the linen does not represent the ability to reject, but rather it represents the ability to embrace.
The Talmud explains that the Biblical word for linen, “Bad”, means single and alone, because flax, from which linen is made, grows a single stalk from each kernel. Linen, then, represents singularity. The singularity of linen represents the oneness of G-d, and the linen curtains represent the purpose of the Jew: to infuse all aspects of life with a connection to the one G-d.
Life is fragmented and fractured, our attention is constantly being pulled in multiple directions. Any given day we have to navigate between different, often opposing, situations and tasks. Often, the multiplicity of details distract us from the excitement and passion of our overarching goals. We want to be a devoted parent, a loving spouse. We want to be motivated to achieve our professional, recreational or spiritual goals. Yet often, while involved in a specific task, playing with our child, dealing with a frustrating client, or trying to check off an item on our to-do list, we are distracted from the big picture. We lose our passion and commitment because, somehow, this specific moment, this specific task, is disconnected from our overarching purpose.
The Linen material which was used as the outer walls of the tabernacle represent the unique spiritual ability and calling of the Jew. The Jew’s task is to live within the boundaries of the oneness of G-d. The Jew’s purpose is to infuse every detail of life, every specific interaction with the multiplicity of the fragmented world, with a connection to the overarching oneness. To build a sanctuary for G-d is to live a life in which one feels how every detail of life contributes to the overall purpose. To build a home for G-d we must surround ourselves with the embrace of the oneness, experiencing, every detail as just another opportunity for goodness and kindness, healing the fragmentation by infusing it with Divine unity.
Adapted from Reshimos 107.
The Cloud on the Tent of Meeting
The final chapter of the book of Exodus describes the culmination of a great national effort to build a temple that would house the presence of G-d. Finally, after months of donating, building and anticipation, the chapter concludes with the description of how the Divine presence rested upon the temple:
He {Moses} set up the courtyard all around the Mishkan and the altar, and he put up the screen at the entrance to the courtyard; and Moses completed the work. And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the L-rd filled the Mishkan. Moses could not enter the Tent of Meeting because the cloud rested upon it and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan. (Exodus 40:33-35)
The Jewish people built the temple in order to sense the closeness to G-d; to witness how He would dwell in their midst. Yet, surprisingly, the book ends, not with the excitement of revelation but with concealment - Moses could not enter the tent of meeting because of the cloud.
Chassidic Philosophy explains that sometimes “concealment” is, in fact, superior to “revelation” because “concealment” can represent the level that is far beyond our comprehension and our ability to perceive. This explains why the book concludes with concealment, because the “cloud” represents the essence of G-d that transcends our understanding.
Nevertheless, the third book of the Torah, Leviticus, begins with an expression of revelation and closeness: “And He {G-d} called to Moses, and the L-rd spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying.” This expresses the Chassidic principle that when revelation follows concealment, the revelation is far more profound. It is a revelation of the essence, which was previously concealed.
This pattern, where revelation follows concealment because it represents a far more profound revelation, is reflected in our life as well. We all occasionally experience challenge, confusion, and spiritual darkness, when we feel distant from G-d and distant from our true potential. We must realize that the purpose of the darkness is to enable us to reach a greater awareness and revelation when we overcome the “concealment ” and return to a place of inspiration and positivity. Because, as explained, the light that follows darkness is a far more profound level of revelation.
Perhaps this is the overarching theme of the Book of Exodus. The unprecedented revelation at Mount Sinai and at the Tabernacle follow the darkness of Egyptian slavery because the darkness of slavery is an opportunity to reach the far more profound revelation, the revelation that follows the concealment.
Adapted from the Rebbe’s teachings, Lekutei Sichos Pekudei vol. 1.
The Grand Finale
You finally conclude an extraordinary construction project. It took much time and intense effort, but you finally achieved your goal. You designed your home, it is built, furnished, and ready to settle in to enjoy the peace and tranquility.
This is the feeling we expect to get as we reach the end of the book of Exodus, at the conclusion of five portions which discuss the commandment to build the temple and its furnishing, and the actual building of the project. Indeed, the verses toward the end of the book of Exodus seem to be describing this sense of peaceful settling in at the conclusion of the construction:
He {Moses} set up the courtyard all around the Mishkan and the altar, and he put up the screen at the entrance to the courtyard; and Moses completed the work. And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan. (40:33-34)
Surprisingly, instead of the book concluding at this point, focusing on the outstanding achievement of the completion of the construction, the Torah adds three verses that seem entirely out of context:
When the cloud rose up from over the Mishkan, the children of Israel set out in all their journeys. But if the cloud did not rise up, they did not set out until the day that it rose. For the cloud of the Lord was upon the Mishkan by day, and there was fire within it at night, before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys. (40:36-38)
These verses describing the journey through the desert are stated toward the beginning of the book of Numbers when the Jewish people began the journey from Sinai toward the land of Israel. Why are the verses describing the journey repeated here, when we are focusing on the Divine presence resting within the temple?
We each have a" temple" within our own lives; the moments we dedicate to prayer, Torah study, performing a mitzvah; the moments we dedicate to constructing our own personal "temple", the creation of a home for G-d within our consciousness and our lives. Yet, the goal of these moments is, not that they remain isolated experiences, but rather that they "travel" and influence all areas of our life. The purpose of the holy moments in our day is, ultimately, to sanctify and bring meaning and purpose to all of our mundane activities. We are not seeking to escape the ordinary in order to experience a holy moment; but rather we are seeking to engage in holiness in order to sanctify the mundane.
This is the finale of the book of Exodus: we build a home for G-d, yet the purpose of the home is, as the final words of the book declare, "in all their journeys," to spread the holiness to every corner of the world, transforming all of the earth into a home for the Divine.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 16 Pekudei 3
The Sanctuary of Testimony
For the first time since the introduction of the Mishkan, the temple that the Jewish people constructed in the desert, the Torah presents the term "Mishkan of testimony". In the opening verse of the final portion of the book of Exodus, we read:
These are the numbers of the Mishkan, the Mishkan of the Testimony, which were counted at Moses' command; [this was] the work of the Levites under the direction of Ithamar, the son of Aaron the Kohen.
Rashi addresses the word "testimony" and explains:
the Mishkan of the Testimony: [The Mishkan] was testimony for Israel that the Holy One, blessed is He, forgave them for the incident of the calf, for He caused His Shechinah to rest among them [in the Mishkan].
The construction of the Mishkan `was more than just a story of building a place of worship. The Torah devotes so much attention to every detail of the temple because it expresses the triumph of the marriage between G-d and the Jewish people, which survived the terrible betrayal of the golden calf. Underlying every detail of the home is a story of love and forgiveness; the building of the home is testimony that, indeed, G-d and the Jewish people are reunited.
Idolatry at its core is the notion of dichotomy, that there is a space devoid of the Divine presence. Idolatry argues that G-d is far too great to be concerned with the physical world, leaving a vacuum where the forces of nature are in control. The Mishkan was a testimony "that the Holy One, blessed is He, forgave them for the incident of the calf" because the Mishkan is an antidote to the sin of idolatry, the Mishkan is a testimony that the infinite G-d is present within a physical home constructed by mundane worldly materials.
We, too, are engaged in creating a metaphorical Mishkan for G-d. We bridge the superficial dichotomy between the physical and spiritual by using the physical blessings of our lives as a conduit and vessel to bring the Divine presence into our own life and environment, ultimately transforming the entire world into a home of the Divine.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos 1 Pekudei
The Crying Waters
It all began on the second day of creation.
On the second day, G-d separated the “lower water”, the water on earth, and the “higher water”, the water that is in the heavens. As the verse states:
And G-d said, "Let there be an expanse in the midst of the water, and let it be a separation between water and water." And G-d made the expanse and it separated between the water that was below the expanse and the water that was above the expanse, and it was so.
The Zohar, one of the principal books of Jewish mysticism, relates that the “lower waters”, the waters that were placed on earth instead of in heaven, were devastated by the separation and were deeply hurt by what they perceived as rejection. The Zohar states:
the lower waters cry and say “We too want to stand before the King!”
The waters placed on this earth cried because they sensed that they were about to be placed in a physical world where they would be terribly distant from their spiritual source. They cried because they felt that they were being cut off from their divine reality, and sent away to earth, where they would be disconnected from the heavens.
The mystics teach that G-d comforted the waters. G-d told them that they too would have a chance to reconnect to the Divine. That they would be an integral part of the offerings that the Children of Israel would offer in the temple. For the Torah states that all sacrifices must be offered together with salt:
And you shall salt every one of your meal offering sacrifices with salt, and you shall not omit the salt of your God's covenant from [being placed] upon your meal offerings. You shall offer salt on all your sacrifices.
The salt offered on each and every sacrifice represents the sea water, the “lower waters”, being elevated and reunited with their Divine spiritual source in heaven. It is the fulfillment of G-d’s covenant to the “lower waters”. Humanity is charged with the task of reuniting the physical and the spiritual, the “lower waters” and the “higher waters”.
✱ ✱ ✱
The book of Leviticus is more than just a collection of laws of sacrifices that applied in the times of the temple almost 2000 years ago. In fact, the book of Leviticus contains the heart and soul of the Jew’s relationship and connection to G-d. While no longer are we able to offer the offerings in the physical sense, we do continue to offer the figurative animal within man to G-d. The book of Leviticus, with all its seemingly technical details, is in fact a roadmap for how one can become an offering, how any man or woman can “bring themselves close”, which is the meaning of the Hebrew word for sacrifice, to G-d. Reading the laws of the offerings give us insight into the process and the means by which we can indeed reunite with our creator.
There were many different types of offerings, from animal to bird to meal offerings. The one thing they all had in common was that they all had to be offered with salt: “You shall offer salt on all your sacrifices.”
What is the message of the salt in our spiritual service?
There are many ways to connect to G-d. We can connect through acts of kindness, through prayer, through the study of Torah or the fulfillment of any of the Torah’s 613 commandments. Each one of these is an offering, a way to bring ourselves closer to the Divine. The Torah teaches that no matter what the offering, the offering must be sprinkled with salt. Salt represents the tears of the “lower waters”, salt represents the yearning of the spark within every physical being, salt is the cry of the inner soul of every creation longing for its Divine source.
And this is the message of the commandment to offer salt on every sacrifice. The Torah is teaching us that it is not enough to offer an offering. To connect to G-d we must offer salt, we must yearn for a connection to the Divine, we must long, as the “lower waters” did, to reconnect to our spiritual source. We must awaken the deep desire within our hearts to be close to G-d.
The yearning for the Divine, the longing for the spiritual, is what brings us close to G-d.
The essence of every offering is its “salt”.
Don't Sacrifice!
As we embark on the journey through the third book of the Torah, the book of Leviticus, we read, in the English translation of the Bible, about many forms of sacrifices: from sacrifices offered by the individual, as atonement or thanksgiving, to the communal sacrifices. Reading about all the sacrifices, we must remember that often the translation misses the essence of the idea it seeks to translate.
Let’s state it loud and clear: Judaism does not advocate, command, or believe in sacrifices.
The Merriam-Webster’s definition of “sacrifice” is as follows:
1: an act of offering to a deity something precious; especially: the killing of a victim on an altar 2: something offered in sacrifice
3 a: destruction or surrender of something for the sake of something else b: something given up or lost, the sacrifices made by parents.
The word sacrifice, as well as offering, represents the idea that one must sacrifice and give up of him or herself for a cause. The word sacrifice implies that G-d would like to see us take something that is precious to us, something that we would very much like to keep for ourselves, and give it to G-d.
Judaism, however, does not believe in sacrifice. The Hebrew word for sacrifice-offering is “Karban” which means to draw close [the root of “Karban” is “Karov” which means close].
What does draw close mean?
There are various forms of pleasures in this world, on a spectrum from the tangible to the abstract. The more concrete the pleasure, the more tangible it is, the easier it is to experience without any training. A child does not have to develop a taste for sweets, the first time the child tastes candy the child knows that candy is good and pleasurable. But then there are more abstract forms of pleasure: great music, art, wisdom. It takes time and practice to enjoy them and one must invest in developing a taste for them. They may not be as easy to experience in the beginning, but the pleasure they provide, while not as tangible as candy, can be far more enjoyable.
When a mother takes her child to a concert for the first time, the child may be thinking that this is a major sacrifice. After all, why waste the time listening to music when there is fun to be had and toys to be played with? Mother, however, is not demanding a sacrifice from her child. What she is doing is introducing him or her to a higher, deeper, form of pleasure.
In the book of Exodus great things are accomplished. G-d takes the people out of physical and spiritual bondage in Egypt, gives them the Torah, and gives them precise instructions on how to construct a temple, a place where one can become close to the Divine.
And then comes the book of Leviticus. G-d introduces the “Karban”, the drawing close. Nachmanides explains that the purpose of offering an animal was to elicit within the person the feeling that in truth he should be the one offered, and the animal is an exchange for himself. All offerings had two things in common: the blood was extracted and placed on the altar, and some of the fats were burnt on the alter. This symbolizes, not the destruction of the passion and pleasure, but rather it symbolizes devoting the passion and pleasure to the holy and Divine.
In the book of Exodus G-d acts like the mother who took her child from the sandbox to the concert hall. In the book of Leviticus it is the child’s turn to act. It is the child who is called upon to do what no one else can do for him: to draw himself close to the music and experience a deeper pleasure; to draw himself close and experience the pleasure and joy of a relationship with G-d.
Moving Ever Closer
The Third book of the Torah, the book of Leviticus, begins with the laws of various types of offerings that were offered in the temple.
[To be sure, the words “offering” and “sacrifice” do not express the meaning of the Hebrew word “Karban” which means “to come close”. See here for more on this].
The three general categories of offerings mentioned in the Parsha - 1) the elevation offering, 2) the peace-offering, and 3) the sin offering - represent three levels of a relationship, three expressions of our journey to become ever closer to G-d.
The first category, the “Karban Olah”- the elevation offering, represents the yearning to escape the shackles of the material, to escape the pull of gravity and, like a flame surging upward, to elevate oneself and connect to the infinite G-d. When a person felt the intense desire to become close to G-d, or when he wished to cultivate this desire within himself, he would bring the elevation offering to the temple. The entirety of the animal was offered up to G-d as an expression, of man’s desire to be subsumed within the infinity of G-d.
The elevation offering, despite its awesome holiness, is only the first of the three categories of offerings. Because the desire to escape the material and cleave to the spiritual is merely the first step in a journey to reveal our deep-rooted, essential, connection to G-d.
Judaism teaches that far greater than escaping the material is the ability to sanctify it. While we must begin with a yearning to transcend, the goal must be to “return”, to live our physical life on this earth. Many schools of spirituality teach their adherents to escape the confines of the material. The novelty of Judaism is that it shows how the pleasure we feel in living life on this earth, can be elevated from being merely a narcissistic pleasure focused only on the self. Judaism teaches that the enjoyment a person experiences from the material can, in fact, bring him close to the Divine. Judaism teaches that the material pleasure itself, when experienced as a means to serving something greater than itself, can be sanctified and elevated to holiness.
The second category, the “Karban Shlamin” - the peace offering, expressed this truth.
The peace offering was divided into three parts, one portion was eaten by the priests, one portion was burnt on the altar, and one portion was given to the person who brought the offering, who would eat it in celebration within the boundaries of the holy city of Jerusalem. Through the peace offering, eating of meat, an earthy pleasure, became an experience of holiness that intensified one’s joy and connection to G-d.
The peace offering gets its name from its unique capacity to bring peace between the body and the soul.
The third category, the “Karban Chatat” - the sin offering, expresses an even deeper closeness. It gets to the heart of our relationship with G-d: no matter if we cover our ears to the voice of our soul, no matter how far we stray, G-d’s love to us is unwavering. He offers a path for us to correct our mistakes. The third category of offerings is the final one because it expresses the deepest form of closeness: it teaches us that G-d’s love to us is unconditional.
When the Jew would sense that despite any possible betrayal, he was always loved by G-d, he would not only return to the pre-sin relationship, but rather his passion to connect to G-d would intensify. For just as being in the desert deepens the thirst for water so too the distance created by sin is transformed to fuel greater longing and love to G-d.
The three general categories of offerings, the elevation offering, the peace offering and the sin offering represent the three steps of closeness: 1) yearning for transcendence, 2) sanctifying the material, and 3) experiencing G-d’s unconditional love.
Pass the Salt
The beginning of the third book of the Torah, the book of Leviticus, discusses many categories of offerings, elaborating on the details of each of the various offerings. One law that applies equally to all offerings is that every offering must be offered with salt, as emphasized in the verse:
And you shall salt every one of your meal offering sacrifices with salt, and you shall not omit the salt of your God's covenant from [being placed] upon your meal offerings. You shall offer salt on all your sacrifices. (Leviticus 2:13)
This verse is also the source of the custom to dip our bread in salt, as explained in the code of law:
it is customary to place salt on the table [before the recitation of the blessing HaMotzi, even when the bread does not require it. The rationale is that] the table is comparable to the altar [of the Beis HaMikdash] and our food, to a sacrifice, and it is written: “On all your sacrifices offer salt.” (Shulchan Aruch Harav, Orach Chaim chapter 167)
Why salt?
When a Jew would be inspired to ascend to Jerusalem, come to the house of G-d and offer a sacrifice as a symbol of his bringing himself closer to G-d, the Torah instructs him to pour salt on the offering. In the ancient world salt was the primary preservative agent. Salt, therefore, is a symbol of preservation. Before the era of modern refrigeration, the symbolism of salt was clear. With the commandment that no offering be brought without salt, the Torah is teaching a Jew that there is no value to a fleeting moment of inspiration. When one is inspired to come close, to offer an offering, one must seize the flash of inspiration, and preserve it by sprinkling it, figuratively speaking, with a measure of salt. One must seek to internalize the inspiration, the desire to change and improve, to the point that it is integrated within one’s identity.
There is more to the symbolism of salt.
Everything physical is, by definition, temporary and fleeting. Every experience, everything we work so hard for, is but temporary. The only thing that is eternal is the spiritual aspect of life. Say you go out for dinner or you take a family vacation. The physical aspects of the experience are fleeting and will be gone before you know it. But there is a way to make the experiences everlasting. If the dinner deepens your connection to your spouse, if the vacation allows you to bond with your child, if the experience helps you get in touch with your soul, then you preserved it for eternity.
This is the symbolism of the salt on the sacrifices.
The Torah is teaching us that we can take a temporary, fleeting, physical object and make it lasting and immortal. We can and should salt our offerings, infuse them with spirituality which is the true preservative. When we eat a meal, and the same is true of any other physical experience, we can either engage in the material, temporary, aspect of the experience, or we can dip our bread in salt. We can transform the experience and make it one that is spiritual, holy, and everlasting.
The Human Hybrid
The first commandment of the third book of the Torah opens with the word Adam.
Adam, which means Man or human being, is a complicated creature with conflicting and extreme drives. The word Adam itself captures the tension between these opposite extremes. In the book of Genesis the Torah tells us that “Adam” (man) was formed from the “Adamah” (earth):
And the Lord God formed man of dust from the ground, and He breathed into his nostrils the soul of life, and man became a living soul. (Genesis 2:7).
The implication is that the human being is essentially an earthly existence, who is drawn to his source, the earth, and whose aspirations and desires are physical and earthly.
The Kabbalists, however, teach us to look deeper than what appears at the surface and discover the often hidden reality. The word Adam has another meaning as well. Adam comes from the word “Adameh”, which means “similar”, based on the verse “I will be similar to the One above”. According to this meaning Adam’s essential quality is that, at his core, he is a spiritual being, a reflection of the Divine.
Indeed man is a hybrid of heaven and earth. Adam possesses two souls, two essential drives. Part of man is similar to earth, self-oriented, concerned exclusively with physical well being and comfort. Yet that does not capture the full story of the human being, for man is also an Adam, “similar to the Divine”. Part of man seeks to transcend the confines of self and, like a flame surging upward, seeks to reconnect to his source in heaven.
The opening portion of the third book of the Torah, the book of Vayikra, offers the roadmap to resolving the built-in tension within man. The opening commandment of the third book presents the laws of the offerings. G-d tells Moses:
Speak to the children of Israel, and say to them: When a man [Adam] from [among] you brings a sacrifice to the Lord; from animals, from cattle or from the flock you shall bring your sacrifice. (Leviticus 1:2)
To create harmony within the human being man must seek, not only to come close to G-d but also to draw the animalistic, self-oriented, side of self to appreciate and value holiness and spirituality. The beginning of the verse addresses the G-dly soul within the person: “when a man [Adam] from among you brings a sacrifice to the Lord”. The second half of the verse “from animals, from cattle or from the flock you shall bring your sacrifice”, refers to the animal soul within man. The Hebrew word for sacrifice is “Karban” which means to draw close. G-d tells us that if the Divine soul within us desires to come close to heaven, we must resist the urge to forget about the animal side of self. Instead we must bring along the animal with us. We must channel the passion and desire of the animal soul to desire and connect to the spiritual. We must teach our animal, that the most pleasurable thing in life, is to connect to something greater than ourselves.
Man is a hybrid of heaven and earth, Adam is both from the earth and similar to the Divine. The third book of the Torah, which focuses on the laws of the offerings, teaches us to manage the tension within our soul, to strive that not only our G-dly soul but also our animal soul, be drawn to the Divine.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Vayikra vol. 1).
Do You Hear the Calling?
The opening verse of the third book of the Torah, the book of Vayikra {Leviticus} reads:
And He called to Moses, and the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying.
This verse raises several grammatical questions. (1) What is the meaning of the double expression "he called" and "spoke"? The verse could have simply stated: "the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying"? (2) Why does the verse say "He", without stating explicitly that it was Hashem who called; whereas regarding the expression "spoke" the verse states clearly that it was "the Lord" who spoke?
Rashi, the preeminent Biblical commentator, explains that the Torah writes "And He called", in addition to "spoke ", because it is an expression of affection. As Rashi tells us:
Every [time God communicated with Moses, whether it was represented by the expression] "And He spoke," or "and He said," or "and He commanded," it was always preceded by {the expression of} calling {to Moses}. "Calling "{Vayikra} is an expression of affection, the {same} expression employed by the ministering angels {when addressing each other}, as it says, "And one called to the other…" (Isaiah 6:3).
There is a Chasidic explanation for why the Torah uses both expressions "He called" and "Hashem spoke.
The word Vayikra, "and he called," is written in the Torah scroll with a small Aleph {ויקרא}. The letter Aleph, which is the numerical value of one, is related to the word "Aluf," which means leader or ruler, referring to Hashem, the ruler of the universe. The letter Alef is small because although we often hear a Divine call - something inside us is stirred, we feel moved and inspired to change and improve, or we feel that the life we are living is lacking - the Aleph, the Divine source of the call, is hidden. We feel drawn to something, but we are not sure what we are drawn to, we sense our soul yearning, but we don't know what we are yearning for; we hear the calling, but the caller is hidden.
The third book begins "and He called," concealing the identity of the caller, because when Hashem reaches out to us, he does not overwhelm us with his awe-inspiring presence. Instead, He calls to us through a guise of nature, circumstances, or the yearning within ourselves. If, when we hear the call, we continue to explore, we will discover that, in reality, it is Hashem who is calling us. We then reach the second clause of the verse: "the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying", we will come to the tent of meeting, the temple which housed the ark and the Torah. In the Torah, we will advance from hearing the disguised call to understanding and appreciating the holy words of the Torah, which articulate Hashem's words to us.
Hashem is calling you. The Torah will help you understand the calling.
Adapted from the Meiras Einayim
Adam Reappears
The name “Adam”, the first human being, does not appear in the Torah for most of the book of Genesis and the entire text of Exodus. As a result of the sin of the tree of knowledge, Adam became distant from G-d, and is therefore not mentioned again in the Torah.
Yet, in the opening statement of the third book of the Torah, Adam makes a surprising reappearance. The Torah says:
And He {G-d} called to Moses, and the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying, Speak to the children of Israel, and say to them: When Adam {a man} from {among} you brings a sacrifice to the Lord; from animals, from cattle or from the flock you shall bring your sacrifice. (Leviticus 1:2)
The Midrash explains that the verse uses the term “Adam,” one of the four words that mean “man,” in order to allude to Adam, the first human being. As Rashi explains:
a man: Hebrew Adam, Why is this term used here {as opposed to “Ish”}? {It alludes to Adam, the first man on earth, and teaches us:} Just as Adam, the first man, never offered sacrifices from stolen property, since everything was his, so too, you must not offer sacrifices from stolen property.
Adam reappears in the third book because, at this point in history, Adam has been rectified. When Adam and Eve sinned, they were expelled from the Garden of Eden, where they lived in peace, tranquility, and closeness to G-d. The Midrash describes how due to the sin G-d’s Divine presence was expelled from the world in the sense that it was no longer felt and accessible within the world. Yet, at the culmination of the book of Exodus, the Jewish people built the tabernacle, recreating a home for G-d in this world. As the verse states (40:34): “And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan.”
The temple was built, G-d once again had a home on earth, Eden was restored to the earth, and Adam was rectified.
Adam has been rectified. It is now up to his children to extend the holiness of the temple, and expand the atmosphere of the Garden of Eden, to the entire earth.
(Adapted from Tzror Hamor)
The Small Aleph
Glancing at the very first word of the book of Leviticus, the third book of the Torah, something unusual stands out. In the Torah scroll, the last letter of the word "Vayikra" (And He {G-d} Called), the letter Aleph, is written in a smaller font than the other letters in the Torah.
The opening word of the book describes how Hashem called Moses from the tent of meeting:
And He called to Moses, and the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying, Speak to the children of Israel, and say to them: When a man from [among] you brings a sacrifice to the Lord; from animals, from cattle or from the flock you shall bring your sacrifice. (Leviticus 1:1-2)
But why Moses? Why was it Moses who merited to experience this Divine revelation? The answer is alluded to with the small Aleph, which represents humility. The Torah describes how Moshe resisted becoming the leader of the Jewish people, and the Torah testifies, "Now this man Moses was exceedingly humble, more so than any person on the face of the earth." An arrogant person is closed off from seeing reality and perspective beyond his limited abilities. Humility, by contrast, is the key to wisdom and Divine revelation, for it allows one to be open to the awareness beyond the subjective confines of self.
The small Aleph was placed in the Torah as a lesson for each of us, for we, too, can experience a degree of Divine revelation when we read and internalize the words of the Torah. To do so, however, we must cultivate the small Aleph, the ability to be humble and recognize that our perspective is small and insignificant, enabling us to open ourselves to the infinite wisdom of the Torah.
When the Alter Rebbe, founder of the Chabad movement, explained this teaching to his young grandchild, he contrasted the small Aleph with the first verse of Chronicles, which uses a large Aleph in the name of Adam. The Alter Rebbe explained that Adam was aware of his special qualities, he was fashioned by G-d himself, and G-d declared to the angels that Adam's wisdom was greater than theirs. However, the awareness of his special qualities caused Adam to sin with the fruit of the tree of knowledge.
The Rebbe explained that the Alter Rebbe chose to teach his young grandson about the humility of Moses by first evoking Adam's self-awareness because self-awareness is critical in order to understand the meaning of humility. The Alter Rebbe was teaching his grandson that, like Adam, it is important that we should be aware of our unique qualities and our value to G-d. Denying or ignoring one's good qualities and talents is neither desirable nor humble. Humility means recognizing, as Moses did, our unique qualities, yet remembering that they are not a cause for arrogance because they are a gift from G-d. Had G-d granted these gifts to another person, it is possible that they would have achieved even greater heights.
True humility then lies in appreciating the large Aleph of Adam while experiencing the small Aleph of Moses.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos 17 Vayikra 1
The New You
Each and every morning, the first order of the day in the holy temple, was for the Kohen (priest) to remove a small portion of the ashes from the altar, and place it on the floor just next to the altar. The verse states:
And the Kohen shall don his linen tunic, and he shall don his linen trousers on his flesh. And he shall lift out the ashes into which the fire has consumed the burnt offering upon the altar, and put them down next to the altar.
This ritual, was not merely in order to tidy up the ashes left over from the fire burning all night; for if that was the case, the commandment would have been to remove more than just a symbolic amount of ash. In fact, after the priest would remove a small portion of the ashes, the other priests would place the remainder of the ashes in a large heap in the center of the alter.
What then is the significance of the lifting and removing of the ashes? Why is it so important as to be the first service performed in the temple, signifying that it is the first step of all, without which one cannot begin serving G-d?
Ashes are what is left over from the previous day’s service. Yesterday your service may have been perfect. Yesterday you may have actualized your G-d given potential. Yesterday you may have achieved all that you possibly could have achieved with the opportunities, talents and strengths that you were gifted with, and which you cultivated.
That was yesterday.
Yesterday you may have realized your potential, however, if you offer the identical service today, if you do not grow spiritually, if you don't become more loving, more compassionate, more patient, more thoughtful, more committed, then you are stuck in the past. The first step in serving G-d each morning, is the realization, that the ashes that represent "the old me" must be removed, in order to clear the way for "the new me", for "the me" that will actualize today's, even greater, potential.
That is why each night, the Chasidim of the Alter Rebbe, the founder of the Chabad movement, would tell themselves, "tomorrow will be totally different". They did not say “a bit different” they said, “totally different”. They did not feel guilty for not realizing that day’s potential, because they did realize it, but rather they realized that the next day’s potential would be so much greater.
This message is the reason why remembering the exodus from Egypt is so central to Judaism.
Egypt in Hebrew is "Mitzrayim" which means constraints. You may be a great human being, but if today you are in the same spiritual space that you were in yesterday, you are in Egypt. The Torah therefore insists that we "remember the day you left Egypt all the days of your life". Each morning when you wake up, remember to remove the ashes. Do not limit yourself to the person you were yesterday.
Remember the exodus and break free.
The Road to Gratitude
Unique among the various types of offerings discussed in the book of Leviticus is the thanksgiving offering. It was brought when an individual wanted to offer thanks to G-d for being saved from a danger -
as Rashi explains:
“if [he is bringing the offering] to give thanks for a miracle that had happened to him, for instance, those who made a sea-voyage [and returned safely] or journeyed in the desert, or those who had been imprisoned [and were subsequently released]”
- he would bring an offering to the temple.
The thanksgiving offering was unique in that along with the animal it was required to bring no less than forty loaves of bread. In addition, the thanksgiving offering together with the forty loaves of bread, had to be eaten the day the offering was offered up until midnight, unlike similar offerings which were allowed to be eaten for two days.
Why does the Torah obligate the person offering thanks to bring so much food and eat it in so short a time? How can one person possibly eat an entire sheep and forty loaves of bread in one day?
The answer, of course, is that it is indeed impossible to eat all that food alone, yet the Torah requires all that food to be consumed in so short a time, specifically in order to ensure that the person does not eat alone. The Torah is teaching that in order to offer thanks to G-d one must celebrate with family, friends and strangers. In order for the thanksgiving to be genuine, the celebration must be shared.
Gratitude is not always an easy feeling to experience. Gratitude requires humility. An arrogant person feels that he is the center of the universe, that he is entitled to all the blessings in his life, and that anything anyone does for him is not enough for he deserves even more. An arrogant person cannot feel grateful.
To experience the joy of feeling grateful, one must escape the self centered ego. Thus the Torah instructs that no thanksgiving offering may be offered without the key ingredient which is the celebrating and connecting with others. Thus the Torah commands that a sheep and forty loaves of bread must be eaten in one day, in order that the person who was redeemed from a difficult circumstance in the physical sense, should now liberate himself in the spiritual sense. As an expression of gratitude to G-d for redeeming him from a sorrow, he must reciprocate by freeing himself from the confines of the the self and seeking to connect and share with others.
At the Passover Seder we see how these three themes, humility, sharing and gratitude, are bound together and reinforce each other. During the Seder, as soon as we break the middle Matzah, feeling its texture and internalizing its message of humility, we proceed to tell the story of the Exodus. Yet, we begin not with the story but with an invitation and a declaration that are home is open to the needy:
This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Whoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is in need, let him come and conduct the Seder of Passover.
For as soon as we touch the Matzah we begin to experience its liberating energy, allowing us to transcend the self and feel the pain and need of others.
At the culmination of the story is the powerful Dayenu song, the song of detailed thanksgiving and gratitude for the kindness that has been bestowed upon us.
At the Seder table we experience humility, sharing and gratitude. For spiritual liberty is transcending the self, which allows us to connect to others, and to feel gratitude.
Mindful Eating
In recent years it has become increasingly clear that eating mindfully has many health benefits. The Harvard Health blog, for example, reported on the health benefits of mindful eating:
paying more attention to what you eat, not less, could help keep you from overeating. Multitasking—like eating while watching television or working—and distracted or hurried eating can prompt you to eat more. Slowing down and savoring your food can help you control your intake.
Jews have always understood the power of mindful eating.
Judaism teaches that eating is not only a necessity of survival, not just a pleasurable experience, but also a spiritual exercise.
Much of the discussion in this week’s Parsha, Tzav, is about eating the offerings that were offered in the temple. There were offerings which were eaten by the priests while other offerings were eaten by the person who brought the offering. Either way the eating of the offering was part of what achieved the offering's spiritual effect.
The Talmud states: “Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Elazar both said, while the temple still stood the altar used to make atonement for a man, but now that the temple no longer stands a man's table makes atonement for him.” This teaching is extraordinary: how can it possibly be that when we sit down to eat a meal we are experiencing the same spiritual effect, the same atonement, as with the offerings that were offered upon the altar?
Kabbalah and Chassidic philosophy teach that every creation has a soul, a spark of G-d. This is true for each of the forms of life on earth: the inanimate, the plant and the animal. Each possesses a soul that yearns for the opportunity to transcend and reconnect with its source.
All of creation can be elevated through the human being, the only creation created in the image of G-d and the only creation who possesses free choice.
When man consumes the inanimate, plant or animal, one of two things can happen. If he consumes food for his own personal pleasure than he is lowered to their spiritual level, which, from the souls perspective, is a missed opportunity for both man and food. If however he eats the food with a spiritual purpose - so that he will be healthy, so that he will have the energy to serve his creator and achieve his mission on earth - then man elevates the spark of holiness within the food and allows it to be reunited with its divine source.
The daily offerings, which were offered in the temple on behalf of all the Jewish people, were comprised of all the categories of creation. Every animal was brought together with an offering of grain, representing the plant kingdom, and salt, representing the inanimate. The intense holiness of the temple affected holiness not only to the specific offerings but also to the rest of the world as well. Through the offerings in the temple all animals, plants and minerals were sanctified.
Today, however, we don't enjoy the spiritual benefits of the temple. As such, the task of elevating the sparks within creation lies upon each of us. “While the temple still stood”, says the Talmud, “the altar used to make atonement for a man, but now that the temple no longer stands a man's table makes atonement for him”. Today, the atonement of the world around us, its spiritual elevation is in our hands, and is upon our table.
So, next time you eat, do so mindfully.
Next time you eat, notice the colors, smells, flavors, and textures of your food.
But don’t stop there. Dig deeper. Be mindful of the spark of holiness within the food. Be mindful of the soul of the food and its desire to be elevated.
Be mindful of the food, its taste, texture and colors; but most importantly, be mindful of its soul.
Holy Leftovers
Thinking about how we live our lives most people will realize that most of our day is not spent on the things we value most. We work all week in order to enjoy time off on the weekend. We spend all day working in order to provide for our family, which, in many cases, leaves us with few waking moments to actually spend time with our loved ones.
This is even more so when we look at the spiritual side of life. Most of our day is dedicated to providing for our material needs of eating, drinking, earning a living, sleeping, exercising, relaxing, etc., which leaves us with, at best, but a few moments each day for the needs of our soul. Our soul, too, desires to be nourished; our soul, too, needs moments of self expression. Our soul desires to transcend, to engage in holiness, to pray, to study Torah and to engage in good deeds. Yet, we spend most of our day, and most of our life, feeding the body instead of feeding the soul.
For some spiritual seekers this is too painful of an existence. Thus, they seek a life of asceticism. They seek to minimize the time they spend on the needs of the body and maximize the time spent on feeding the desires of their soul. And even during the time they use to attend to the needs of the body they do so with a sense of pain, as they would prefer to spend even those moments on the needs of their soul.
Judaism, however, has a completely different outlook, resulting in a vastly different approach to life.
Judaism teaches that if we begin the day with a moment of holiness, if we offer even a small portion of our time to G-d in the morning then that experience will affect the rest of the day, infusing it with significance and holiness. The rest of the day, when we tend to our material activities and needs, is a continuation of the spiritual experience and is considered holy, for it is infused with the holiness of the moments we offered to G-d.
This is the inner meaning of the description of the meal offering that we read about in this week's Torah portion. When the Jew offers an offering of grain, which symbolizes all of his material needs, only a handful of the flour is offered on the altar to be burned in fire. Only a few moments of our day are completely dedicated to the spiritual service of G-d. Yet, the Torah assures us, that the remainder of the flour, which is most of the flour, while it is eaten by the priests and not offered in the fire to G-d, is nevertheless holy, as it is considered the remainder of the offering.
The Torah tells us:
And this is the law of the meal offering: that Aaron's sons shall bring it before the Lord, to the front of the altar.
And he shall lift out of it in his fist, from the fine flour of the meal offering and from its oil and all the frankincense that is on the meal offering, and he shall cause its reminder to [go up in] smoke on the altar as a pleasing fragrance to the Lord.
The fist full of flour represents the moments which we dedicate to G-d. The Torah then continues to describe the leftover flour:
And Aaron and his sons shall eat whatever is left over from it. It shall be eaten as unleavened bread in a holy place; they shall eat it in the courtyard of the Tent of Meeting.
It shall not be baked leavened. [As] their portion, I have given it to them from My fire offerings. It is a holy of holies, like the sin offering and like the guilt offering.
The leftovers, the remainder of the day which we spend on our own needs, is also holy. For the holiness of the morning Mitzvah, reciting the Modeh Ani, reciting the Shema, laying Tefillin, spills over to the rest of the day, impacting the rest of our pursuits. which reminding us that our material needs, too, serve a holy and spiritual purpose.
Based on the teaching of the Rebbe, Reshimos 134.
Judaism’s Bread Complex
Judaism has a complicated relationship with bread. All year long bread is considered the staple of sustenance, as the verse states “bread, which sustains man's heart.” During the holiday of Passover, however, bread is the enemy. Not only are we not permitted to eat bread, but we are not allowed to benefit from or even own any bread.
If bread is so terrible on Passover, why is it celebrated all year long?
We find this dichotomy in the temple as well. All bread offered in the temple was unleavened, as the verse states:
No meal offering that you sacrifice to the Lord shall be made [out of anything] leavened. For you shall not cause to [go up in] smoke any leavening or any honey, [as] a fire offering to the Lord; (2:11)
Yet, there were a few exceptions. On the holiday of Shavuot there was an offering of two loaves of Chametz (leavened) bread. In addition, in this week’s portion, we read that the thanksgiving offering was offered with loaves of leavened bread:
Along with loaves of leavened bread, he shall bring his offering along with his thanksgiving peace offering. (Leviticus 7:13)
Which begs the same question: if leavened bread is off limits in the temple, why is it offered on the holiday of Shavuot and together with the thanksgiving offering?
Bread, which is made from dough that was left to rise, represents inflated ego, the intense feeling of self. Matzah, by contrast, is flat and represents humility. Therefore, in the temple, where we come to stand before G-d, where we seek to submit to and be subsumed within, the divine presence, there is no room for the feeling of self. The Torah therefore tells us not to offer any leavened bread. That’s because we come to the temple in order to escape the confines of the ego and connect to the infinity of G-d. Therefore we don’t offer any bread which resembles the inflated ego.
The same is true regarding Passover. The moment of the exodus from Egypt is the moment of the birth of our people. The foundation of our spiritual identity is humility before G-d. Therefore, for a full week we eradicate all traces of bread, symbolizing that we seek to rid ourselves of any trace of self orientation and we commit ourselves to a purpose greater than ourselves.
After a full week of Passover (outside of Israel we celebrate an eighth day), once we internalize the feeling of humility in all our seven emotional attributes, which correspond to the seven days of the week, we can begin to introduce bread into our spiritual diet. After a full week of experiencing humility we achieve an even greater spiritual accomplishment: we align our sense of self, our desire and pleasure, with the Divine will. On Passover we transcend ourselves, after Passover the self is transformed to want to connect to holiness.
This explains why leavened bread was offered on Shavuot, the holiday which celebrates the giving of the Torah. The Torah represents wisdom which, in the Kabbalah, is synonymous with humility. When one studies the Torah and internalizes its teachings, the “bread”, the ego, the sense of self, is transformed and it too experiences a relationship with G-d.
The same is true regarding the bread offered with the thanksgiving offering. The Hebrew word for thanksgiving (Todah) is related to the word for acknowledgement and submission to another’s opinion. That's because thanksgiving and humility are related. For an arrogant person never feels grateful because he feels entitled to everything. Only when someone is humble, is he able to feel that he is undeserving of the gifts he received, and therefore he experiences a feeling of gratitude.
The person offering the thanksgiving offering, then, is in a state of humility, therefore he can then offer leavened bread, signifying, that when predicated on humility, the ego itself can be transformed to holiness.
(Adapted from Torah Or, Tehilim page 984)
Constant Fire
How does one keep motivated and inspired? How does one ignite one’s inner passion? In other words, how does one kindle their inner Menorah?
This week’s Torah portion gives us insight.
The Menorah, which stood within the sanctuary, and represents the fire within the heart, is kindled from the fire upon the “outer altar”, which stood outside in the sanctuary’s courtyard.
The Torah states:
And the fire on the Altar shall burn on it; it shall not go out. The Kohen shall kindle wood upon it every morning, and upon it, he shall arrange the burnt offering and cause the fats of the peace offerings to [go up in] smoke upon it.
A continuous fire shall burn upon the Altar; it shall not go out. (Leviticus 6:5-6)
Addressing the words “a continuous fire,” which are redundant since the verse also states that the fire “shall not go out”, Rashi explains that the word “continuous” alludes to the fire of the Menorah, which is ignited from the fire of the Altar:
A continuous fire: The fire which the Torah calls “constant” is that with which they would light the lamps {of the Menorah}, about which it says, “to light a constant lamp.” It, too, should be kindled {using fire} from the Outer Altar.
The Menorah, the inner fire of inspiration, is ignited from the outside altar, representing the external part of the person and his relationship with people outside of himself. The Torah tells us that instead of seeking inspiration that will inspire ourself, we should engage in action that will ignite our inner inspiration. If we want our inner emotions, our “Menorah,” to feel kind, we should engage in acts of kindness; if we want our hearts to be filled with love, we should begin with loving acts. And, we ignite joy within our hearts from the joy we bring to others.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, 17 Tzav Sicha 2
Continuous Passion
More than meditation, more than faith, is the critical importance of passion in the spiritual life of a Jew.
Our portion begins with the commandment that there shall be a fire burning on the Altar in the temple: "And the fire on the altar shall burn on it; it shall not go out." Like everything else within the actual temple, this has a spiritual equivalence in the service of every Jew. The Altar represents the heart, the Torah commands us to ignite a fire on the Altar, to create a passion, a fire, in our heart for the service of G-d. It is insufficient to just do the right thing; we must strive to do it with alacrity, passion, and excitement.
But is passion for everybody? Are there not intellectuals, who understand and relate intellectually to the Torah and its values, do they, too, need passion in their service of G-d? Is their intellectual mediation insufficient? And, on the other extreme, are there not people who are too materialistic, too engrossed in negativity, that passion in Divine service is beyond their spiritual capacity? Should they instead focus on merely taking the right action?
The Torah reiterates the commandment to ignite the fire:
A continuous fire shall burn upon the Altar; it shall not go out. (Leviticus 6:6)
The word "continuous" is redundant, because once the Torah states, "it shall not go out" we know that the fire must be continuous. The Jerusalem Talmud, therefore, explains that "continuous" teaches us a novel law: "continuous, even on Shabbat, continuous, even in a state of impurity." In normal circumstances, the fire, the passion, must always burn. The additional word teaches that even on Shabbat, which represents a state of intellectual awareness, and even when we are in a state of impurity, engrossed in the temptation and distraction of the material world, we are commanded and empowered to kindle the fire of passion.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Tzav vol. 1
Two Chambers of the Heart
Children’s emotions are straightforward. When a child wants something he wants it fully. When a child hates or fears something, the emotion fills her little heart completely. As we mature, however, our emotions become more complex. We want something but at the same time we are capable of realizing the downside of achieving it. We love the piece of chocolate but we hate it’s calorie count. We may hate to work hard but we love how it makes us feel at the end. We can hate and pity someone at the same time. We can love certain traits in someone while hating others.
As we mature spiritually, our emotional complexity develops further. As the holy Zohar states “Weeping is lodged in one side of my heart, and joy is lodged in the other”. We may be saddened because of the state of our material being, but at the same time we can rejoice about the state of our spiritual soul.
On what was the most emotionally intense day of his life, Aaron the high priest was called upon to attain extraordinary emotional maturity.
It was the moment he anticipated all his career, the Mishkan, the portable temple was finally complete, the seven day inauguration period had past, and, for the first time, he was performing the priestly service, causing G-d’s presence to descend. As the verse states:
And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fats upon the altar, and all the people saw, sang praises, and fell upon their faces.
And yet, just a few short moments later, Aaron suffered the greatest tragedy of his life, two of his sons tragically died:
And Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, each took his pan, put fire in them, and placed incense upon it, and they brought before the Lord foreign fire, which He had not commanded them. And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord.
Moses turned to his brother Aaron and instructed him to put his personal pain aside. This was a joyous day to G-d, and Aaron and his remaining two sons were called upon to serve as representatives of all the people, and therefore they were called upon to experience the Divine joy.
And here is where the story gets complicated. Moses found out that one of the offerings, that was meant to be eaten by Aaron and his sons, was burnt. Moses was furious. He asked Aaron:
"Why did you not eat the sin offering in the holy place? For it is holy of holies, and He has given it to you to gain forgiveness for the sin of the community, to effect their atonement before the Lord!”.
Moses was asking “why have not eaten the offering? How could you have placed your personal mourning ahead of G-d’s joy?"
Aaron responded by explaining to Moses that the correct thing to do was to eat some of the offerings (the ones that were unique to that day), and to burn the other (the one that was to be offered on a regular basis). The verse concludes that “Moses heard [this], and it pleased him”.
Aaron taught Moses an important lesson. Aaron taught Moses that it is relatively easy for the spiritual seeker to ignore himself and devote himself completely to the Divine reality. That, however, is not G-d’s will.
The correct spiritual path, argued Aaron, is to be spiritually mature enough to experience both perspectives.
Aaron understood that a relationship with G-d, does not mean suppressing our own sense of reality, it means being able to balance and experience G-d’s reality as well as our own. It means being able to burn some of the offerings, as an expression of feeling personal pain, yet eating other offerings, as an expression of feeling the Divine joy.
Family Harmony
After an act of deep betrayal, the children were about to reconcile with their father. They gathered together for what was to be the culmination of a month long effort to rehabilitate their loving relationship.
All were gathered in great anticipation of the arrival of their father. Yet, one important question remained: could the children reunite with their father before they healed the division between themselves?
The opening verse of this week’s Parsha, Shimini, describes, how after months of tremendous devotion and effort, the Jewish people finally completed the construction of the Mishkan, the tabernacle, in the desert. The Mishkan was the place where the divine presence would dwell. It was the place where the people would see that the terrible betrayal, the sin of the golden calf, was forgiven, and that G-d would once again dwell in their midst, as He did at Sinai.
On that day, the Torah tells us:
And it was on the eighth day, that Moses summoned Aaron and his sons and the elders of Israel. And he said to Aaron, "Take for yourself a bull calf as a sin offering”.
Moses told Aaron to offer a calf for atonement. Why a calf? While we need to turn to Rashi, the primary Biblical commentator, to inform us of the reason for offering a calf specifically, to the people of Israel at the time however, it was certainly clear: the calf was to represent the atonement of the sin of the golden calf. It was obvious to all that the Divine presence could not return to the Jewish people before the betrayal was finally and completely healed.
But then Moses continued:
And to the children of Israel, you shall speak, saying, 'Take a he-goat as a sin offering…”
What now? Why a goat? What other “unfinished business” did the people have to attend to before the glory of G-d would appear before them?
While the “calf” immediately evoked the story of the golden calf, finding the meaning of the “goat” is a bit harder. We must turn back to the book of Genesis to discover that indeed the goat played an important role in the most terrible tragic sin of the family of Israel: the sale of Joseph. After the brothers tore their family unity to shreds by selling Joseph to slavery in Egypt, a sale which eventually led to the entire family relocating to Egypt and eventually descending into slavery, instead of showing any remorse they used a goat for their cover up:
And they took Joseph's coat, and they slaughtered a he-goat, and they dipped the coat in the blood. And they sent the fine woolen coat, and they brought [it] to their father, and they said, "We have found this; now recognize whether it is your son's coat or not." He recognized it, and he said, "[It is] my son's coat; a wild beast has devoured him; Joseph has surely been torn up."
As the people gathered at the temple waiting to see a sign of the Divine presence that would heal the tear between the Children of Israel and their father in heaven, Moses taught them that in order to heal the relationship with their father, the children must first heal the relationship with each other. Moses explained that the jealousy and division that led to the sale of Joseph, was, in fact, the precise character trait that led to the division and separation from G-d at the golden calf and must be eradicated from their midst if they were to find harmony with G-d.
For indeed, the only way for children to be in complete harmony with a parent is when they are in complete harmony with each other.
The Paradox of Eight
In Judaism, every number carries a specific energy and meaning. This week’s parsha, “Shmini” which means “eight” (the eighth day, following the seven days of the inauguration of the temple), is a chance to think about the spiritual symbolism of the number seven and the number eight.
The number seven appears throughout the Torah quite often: seven days of creation, the seventh day being the day of rest, the seventh month of the Hebrew calendar, Tishrei, the month of the festivals, and the seven years in the cycle of the sabbatical year. The kabbalists explain that the number seven represents nature and the Divine force that creates nature. The natural world, which was created through the seven Divine emotional attributes, was created in seven days, the number seven, therefore, represents all that which is natural.
The number eight, however, is above nature. It is the power of holiness that is greater than natural order. When we encounter the number eight in the Torah, the Torah is alerting us that the topic we are discussing is one which transcends the natural expectation.
When the Jewish people completed the construction of the Mishkan, the temple they built in the desert, upon fulfillment of G-d’s commandment “And they shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst”, there was a seven day inauguration celebration. During each of the seven days the temple was erected and offerings were offered. Yet, throughout the seven days of inauguration there was no sign of the Divine presence. This is because it is beyond the natural ability of a human being to draw down a Divine revelation into this world of spiritual concealment.
Only on the eighth day, with the number eight representing the infinity of G-d which transcends the natural order, did the Divine presence reveal itself in the temple. As the Torah describes:
And it was on the eighth day… and the glory of the Lord appeared to all the people.... And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fats upon the altar, and all the people saw, sang praises, and fell upon their faces.
The number eight seems to contain two conflicting elements. On the one hand the number eight is in a class of its own, not included in the cycle of nature. Yet on the other hand, the number eight is a direct continuation of the number seven. This, seeming paradox, explain the mystics, captures the mystery of the number eight. While the supernatural Divine energy cannot be drawn down by the human being and can only be gifted to us by G-d Himself, G-d chooses to reveal the energy of the number eight only after people invest themselves in achieving the number seven. Thus, only after the people celebrated the seven days of inauguration, representing the culmination of human achievement, did G-d reveal the eighth dimension - that which transcends nature and could be expressed by the will of G-d alone.
In our life we are sometimes called upon to accomplish feats that we may think are beyond our natural capacity, whether in our personal life, our professional life, in our role as spouse, child, parent, friend or community member. The goal may seem elusive, far beyond anything we can imagine ourselves accomplishing. We are sometimes called upon to perform what is no less than a miracle: to bring spirituality, inspiration, goodness and kindness to a spiritually desolate environment. We tell ourselves that we don’t possess the ability to create transformation. We tell ourselves that only a miracle can help. We tell ourselves that the job is not for us.
The answer to our despondency lies within the number eight.
For indeed, to break free of natural limitation is beyond our ability, for the infinity of the number eight is gifted from above. Yet, eight follows seven. When we do all that is in our capacity, when we commit to the full “seven days of inauguration”, then we are assured that on “the eighth day”, G-d will bless our efforts with his infinite ability.
The Passion of Youth
It was the day the Jewish people had been waiting for. The day G-d would dwell in the tabernacle which they had built. Yet, on the very day of great joy, a great tragedy occurred. Two of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, entered the temple and died while offering incense unsanctioned by G-d. As the Torah relates:
And Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, each took his pan, put fire in them, and placed incense upon it, and they brought before the Lord foreign fire, which He had not commanded them. And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord. (Leviticus 10:1-2)
There are many explanations as to the nature of the sin and punishment of the sons of Aaron. Perhaps the strangest of them all is that the children of Aaron were punished for secretly hoping that Moses and Aaron would die and that they would assume the leadership of the Jewish people. As the Talmud tells us:
And it had already happened that Moses and Aaron were walking on their way, and Nadav and Avihu were walking behind them, and the entire Jewish people were walking behind them. Nadav said to Avihu: When will it happen that these two old men will die and you and I will lead the generation, as we are their heirs? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to them: We shall see who buries whom. (Talmud, Sanhedrin 52a)
This strange Talmudic interpretation must contain a deeper meaning. For it is unfathomable that great men such as Nadav and Avihu, who were selected by G-d to perform the service in the temple, would hope for the death of Moses and Aaron, their own uncle and father.
Indeed, the Chassidic commentators explain that Nadav and Avihu were full of intensely passionate love for G-d. The incense they offered, and coming close to G-d in a manner in which they were not commanded, was an expression of their desire to come as close to G-d as possible, to quench the powerful thirst and longing they felt toward G-d. Nadav and Avihu looked to Moses and Aaron and they saw two great leaders, but they did not see a passion and love that matched their own. Nadav and Avihu said to each other, “when will it happen that these two old men will die and you and I will lead the generation?” Nadav and Avihu felt that Moses and Aaron were too old to experience the intense passion of youth. Thus they thought that if only they could lead the people and teach them how to experience true love and desire for G-d.
Love is beautiful. But love alone is not sufficient to create a healthy relationship. Love and passion will get one close to the beloved, but once close, too much love and not enough respect may destroy a relationship. Love is an expression of self. Love is the desire to cleave to that which one feels is good for him. But just as critical to the relationship is respect. Respect is the recognition of the other in the relationship, one who has their own perspective, personality and identity. While love and longing is critical in order to come close to the beloved, once close, respect and awe are essential.
What Nadav and Avihu misunderstood about Moses and Aaron was that precisely because Moses and Aaron were so intimately close to G-d, they experienced awe in addition to love. As long as Nadav and Avihu were “outside the tabernacle”, as long as they were distant from G-d, their passionate love was holy and desirable. The moment they “drew near before the Lord”, their love, which was not balanced with awe, was unholy.
The spiritual path of the Jew is one of “run and return”. First we “run”, we experience the soul’s desire to break free of the body, to escape the material, and seek to cleave to G-d in passionate love. But once we experience the love, once we draw near, we experience respect and awe. “We return” to the material world, to sanctify it and elevate it; because that is the desire of our beloved.
(Adapted from Yismach Moshe, Parshas Shmini).
Am I Kind, If I Don’t Always Feel Kind?
Can something be true, if it is only true some of the time?
Am I a kind person, if I don’t always feel kind?
Do I love, if I don’t always feel the love?
In our journey of spiritual growth, we seek to refine our character, and develop a relationship with G-d. Indeed, much of Judaism is designed to help us develop feelings of kindness and empathy to others, as well as an emotional bond with G-d. Each and every day we recite the words of the Shema prayer, we meditate on the greatness of G-d, and seek to bring to life the words of the Shema “you shall love the L-rd your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your might.” Yet, more often than not we are discouraged because it seems that we are not able to maintain this lofty spiritual state. We often fall back on our own self oriented perspective, and are not always able to feel connected to others.
Does the fact that we cannot experience holiness consistently mean that our experience is inauthentic and false?
This question lies at the heart of a passionate dispute between Moses and his brother Aharon, in this week’s Torah portion.
Two of Aaron’s sons died on the day the tabernacle was inaugurated. Aaron, following the commandment Moses, ate the inauguration offerings despite his state of mourning. Aaron felt that the commandment to consume the temporary offerings of the inauguration, did not apply to the ongoing daily offerings. Moses was furious and demanded to know why the daily offerings were burned and not consumed. Aaron explained his position to Moses, and “Moses heard [this], and it pleased him.”
The dispute between Moses and Aaron ran deeper than a technical dispute about a matter of law. Chassidic philosophy explains that Moses represents the unyielding, unchanging truth, while Aaron represents peace and the ability to compromise. Moses argued that there be no distinction between the temporary exhilarating spiritual moments, and the ongoing daily reality. From the perspective of Moses, the exemplifier of truth, if something is true it must be true always. Aaron’s perspective differs. Aaron was a man of peace because he was able to understand and evaluate the point of view of every person. Aaron understood that the spiritual makeup of most people does not allow them to experience the ultimate truth in a consistent way. There are extraordinary experiences (“inauguration offerings”) which are not always felt in day to day life (“ongoing daily offerings”).
Yet, eventually Moses agreed with Aaron, because Moses understood that indeed truth must be consistent, but there are degrees of consistency. While most people will not feel a love to G-d at every moment, they are able to experience the feeling of love for one moment every day. That too, Aaron teaches Moses, is considered consistent, that too is truth.
The answer to these questions, then, is that if we are capable of experiencing a moment of kindness every day, if we can feel a moment of love every time we say the Shema, then those feelings are true. And they will endure.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 17 Shmini 3)
When Moses Could Not Complete the Job
After many months of construction, after the seven-day temple inauguration, the fateful day had finally arrived. On the eighth day, the Divine presence was to rest on the sanctuary, symbolizing that G-d desired to dwell amongst the Jewish people. Yet, even after the services were performed on the eighth day, there was no sign of a Divine revelation. After anticipating this moment for so many months, the people cried out to Moses: what is the meaning of the delay? Is it possible that G-d has no interest in his people and in their efforts to erect a home for Him in their midst?
Moses' response was unexpected. He said that he, Moses, was unable to cause the Divine presence to dwell. As Rashi explains:
Throughout all seven days of the investitures, when Moses erected the Mishkan, performed the service in it, and then dismantled it daily, the Shechinah did not rest in it. The Israelites were humiliated, and they said to Moses, "Moses, our teacher, all the efforts we have taken were so that the Shechinah should dwell among us, so that we would know that we have been forgiven for the sin of the [golden] calf!" Therefore, Moses answered them (verse 6), "This is the thing the Lord has commanded; do [it], and the glory of the Lord will appear to you. My brother Aaron is more worthy and important than I, insofar as through his offerings and his service the Shechinah will dwell among you, and you will know that the Omnipresent has chosen him." (Leviticus 9:23)
Moses states: "my brother Aaron is more worthy and important than I." But why? Wasn't Moses the one who took the people out of Egypt, led them to Mount Sinai, and brought them the ten commandments? Why was Aaron superior in his ability to cause the Divine revelation in the temple?
Moses and Aaron were distinct in their spiritual personality and, therefore, in their leadership role. Moses represented the attribute of truth and Aaron the attribute of peace. Moses's mission was to convey the Divine law, to bring the word of G-d to the people. Moses's chief responsibility was to communicate the unadulterated Divine will. Aaron, by contrast, was a man of love. His task was to inspire the people to elevate themselves and come closer to G-d. As the Ethics of our fathers state: "Be of the disciples of Aaron—a lover of peace, a pursuer of peace, one who loves the creatures and draws them close to Torah."
Since the ultimate purpose of G-d's descent into the world is to inspire the subsequent elevation of the world, therefore, it is specifically Aaron who represents the elevation of the people, who is the one who causes the Divine revelation.
There is a Moses and Aaron in each of our lives. When we study Torah, seeking to connect to the Divine truth, we connect to the Moses within us. When we reach out to help others, to raise them either physically or spiritually, we express the Aaron within us.
The lesson for us is that if we want G-d to rest within our life, we must not only study Torah, focusing on our own growth, but rather, we must be like Aaron, loving the people around us and bringing them closer to the Torah.
(Based on the teaching of the Rebbe, Shabbos Shmini 5732)
The Infinity of Eight
Finally, after many months of construction and seven days of preparation, the children of Israel reached the climactic eighth day. Finally, after months of effort and anticipation, the Divine presence rested in the Tabernacle. As the Torah tells us:
And Moses and Aaron went into the Tent of Meeting. Then they came out and blessed the people, and the glory of the Lord appeared to all the people. And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fats upon the altar, and all the people saw, sang praises, and fell upon their faces. (Leviticus 9:23-24)
If G-d is everywhere, why did he command us to build a home for him in a specific place? If G-d is spiritual, why does he ask for a physical home? A similar but broader question: If G-d is spiritual and transcendent, why do we need concrete and physical acts, the Torah's 613 commandments, to connect to him?
The answer is that spirituality or infinity do not capture the essence of G-d, who is undefinable. The only thing we know about G-d is that he cannot be defined. G-d cannot be confined to the spiritual realm, for G-d defies all definitions. As the Kabbalists write: "the Infinite light is completely perfect, just like He can express himself in the realm of the finite, so too He can express himself in the realm of the infinite." G-d can be grasped only in the interface between physical and spiritual, which indicates that he transcends them both. Therefore, when G-d chooses to express himself within finite space and within a physical act, when G-d invests his infinity within a defined space, that is when we touch the essence of G-d.
This is expressed in the name of the Parsha "Eighth." The number seven represents the natural cycle and includes the six days of creation, which represent the physical domain, and the seventh day of Shabbat, which represents holiness and spirituality. The number eight, by contrast, transcends the division between material and spiritual, holy and mundane, and represents the fusion of the two, where the infinite G-d enters the finite space.
"Know G-d in all your ways." Judaism teaches us to connect to G-d not only by praying and studying but also by infusing our daily physical acts with spiritual meaning. Because only within the synthesis of the physical and spiritual can we touch the essence of G-d, which transcends them both.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shmini 5762)
The Midpoint of the Torah
It would be logical to say that the midpoint of the Torah contains an important message, perhaps the book's central theme. Yet, while many people could recite the first verse of the Bible, some would know the last verse as well, but how many people know the midpoint of the Torah?
The Talmud relates that the early sages set out to discover the midpoint of the Torah:
Therefore, because they devoted so much time to the Bible, the first Sages were called: Those who count [soferim], because they would count all the letters in the Torah, as they would say that the letter vav in the word “belly [gaḥon]” (Leviticus 11:42) is the midpoint of the letters in a Torah scroll. (Kidushin 30a)
It turns out that the midpoint of the Torah is in the portion of Shmini, in the section that discusses kosher food. The Torah lists the prohibited reptiles and states that any creature which goes in its belly is forbidden. The letter vav of the word Gachon, belly, written in a larger font than the other letters, is the midpoint of the Torah.
The word “Gachon” evokes the first and only other time the word is used, in the context of the snake in the garden of Eden, G-d tells the snake: "Because you have done this, cursed be you more than all the cattle and more than all the beasts of the field; you shall walk on your belly, and you shall eat dust all the days of your life.”
The Zohar explains that the serpent represents the evil inclination within every person, which causes a person to orient toward earth instead of toward heaven. The midpoint of the Torah, mentions the serpent because the ultimate purpose of the Torah is the transformation of the serpent. In the garden of Eden G-d told the serpent “And I shall place hatred between you and between the woman, and between your seed and between her seed”, yet the purpose of the Torah is the refinement of the serpent, which will create peace between the snake and the person.
The midpoint letter of the Torah, the letter vav of Gachon, is written in a larger font, alluding to its spiritual energy and source. The serpent possesses an intensity of energy whose spiritual source is positive and holy. The task of the Jew is to reconnect the inner serpent to its source, to refine the self to the point that even the self-oriented animalistic side of the human being appreciates the pleasure and benefit of connecting to holiness.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 17 Shmini 4
Last, But Not Least?
The book of Leviticus, perhaps more than any other book in the Torah, is about man’s service to G-d. The book is packed with Mitzvot and lessons; from how to bring an offering to G-d, to how to treat his fellow neighbor. The word “Adam” - “man” - is the first word that follows the opening statement of the book. It is therefore striking, that when it comes to the laws of ritual purity, in the heart of the book of Leviticus, the Torah does not address the subject of ritual purity of man until it first addresses the subject of purity of the animals.
In the end of last week's portion, the portion of Shmini, the Torah addresses the laws of Kosher meat. The Torah identifies the Kosher animals, fowl and fish. It then describes the instances in which an animal becomes a source of impurity, and the portion concludes with the summation of the laws of purity as they pertain to animals:
This is the law regarding animals, birds, all living creatures that move in water and all creatures that creep on the ground, to distinguish between the unclean and the clean, and between the animal that may be eaten and the animal that may not be eaten.
Only after the Torah deals with the laws of animals does it, in this week's Parsha, address the laws of the human being’s ritual purity.
This led the rabbis to wonder: if the book is primarily addressed to man, why then were the laws of human purity written only after the laws of animal purity? Rashi quotes the explanation of the Midrash:
Rabbi Simlai said: “Just as in the Creation, man was created after all domestic animals, wild beasts, and birds, so too, the law [concerning the ritual purity] of man is stated after the law [concerning ritual purity] of domestic animals, wild beasts, and birds.”
According to the Midrash, the order of the laws of purity follows the order of creation. Being that man was created after the animals, therefore the laws of his ritual purity were stated after the laws of the purity of animals.
This however is not a satisfying explanation. All it does is bring up another question. Why indeed were the animals created before the human?
The Talmud offers two possible reasons.
The first reason is as follows: the human being was created last so that if he should become too arrogant he would be told that “even a mosquito preceded you” in creation. According to this reason, the creation of man at the tail end of creation implies that man is inferior to the rest of creation. If man should become too arrogant, he must be reminded of his humble origins, he was the last in line to be created.
The second reason that G-d created man after all other creations, was in order that man would benefit from a full world prepared for him. As the Midrash puts it: “man was invited to the banquet once the meal was prepared”.
These two reasons are polar opposites. While the first reason indicates that the human is inferior to the animals, the second reason indicates that the human being is in fact superior to all animals, and that is precisely why he was created at the final step of creation.
So which one is it? Is man inferior to the mosquito or is he the crown jewel of creation?
Both are true. They are two sides of the same coin.
Man, alone amongst all creations in the universe, is able to defy his creator. All other creations follow their G-d given nature and instincts, without the ability to oppose their G-d given nature. Man alone has the ability, the free choice, to choose to do the opposite of the Divine will. No other creature has the option to choose to go against the will of its maker. In this, man is indeed inferior to all animals, as stated in Tanya:
For the lusting drive in his animal soul is capable of lusting also after forbidden things, which are contrary to G-d’s will… In this he is inferior to and more loathsome and abominable than unclean animals and insects and reptiles.
Yet, there is more to the story of man.
For man is also unique in his ability to choose to rise above his instincts. Man was given the intellectual power the spiritual freedom and fortitude, to enlighten and improve himself. Man alone has the ability to take the spiritually lowest material - material capable of defying the Divine - and to develop it and elevate it. Man is able to transform himself and the world around him to a place hospitable to the Divine.
Man was created last because he is inferior to the mosquito in his ability to choose evil. Yet this inferiority is the source of his superiority. When man toils with himself, when he plows and plants the soil of his heart, then he indeed becomes superior to all creatures.
For he alone is able to choose.
He alone has the ability to strive to overcome his instincts and nature.
He alone can plant the earth of his heart and cause holiness to grow.
Man must understand that G-d does not seek perfection, G-d seeks the transformative power of toil. Specifically because man was created spiritually inferior to the animals, this is the very reason why, when he chooses the right path, he ascends to the greatest spiritual heights.
Creative Speech
In recent years social scientists began to observe that the choice of words used to frame the dissection determine the outcome. Here is one example regarding health:
A patient has just been told that he has a terminal illness. However, he is informed that there is an operation that might save his life. If he is told that there is a 90 percent survival rate for the operation, he will respond one way. If he is told that there is a 10 percent chance of dying during the operation, he will respond differently. When he is told that he has a 10 percent chance of dying, rather than a 90 percent chance of surviving, he is about three times less likely to have the operation.
If the subject is framed as a loss — 10 percent chance of dying — as opposed to a gain — 90 percent chance of living — people respond entirely differently. They make a different decision.
This should come as no surprise to students of Judaism.
In the middle of the book of Leviticus, between the discussion of the most intensely holy times in Judaism; between the story of the first day the Divine presence rested in the temple and the commandments regarding Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the calendar, the Torah introduces a seemingly unrelated set of laws. The Torah devotes no less than 116 verses to discuss the laws of Tzaraat, the supernatural form of leprosy, which, our sages explain, would miraculously appear as a punishment for the sin of speaking evil about others. Why does the Torah devote so much space and an unusual amount of details, to the subject of the impurity and the following purification process of Tzaraat?
In some ways, the Torah considers the impurity of Tzaraat to be the most severe form of impurity. The person afflicted with Tzaraat, alone amongst all forms of impurity, had to leave the city, was isolated from others and dwelt alone.
This implies that, in some ways, evil speech is worse than any other form of sin.
Indeed, the commentators explain that the foundation of a healthy society is a relationship of friendship and trust. Thus, a person speaking slander is sowing distrust and created division in society which hampers economic and social well being. Thus, to preserve itself, society has no choice but to expel the speaker of evil tongue until he is rehabilitated to the point where he appreciates the benefits of a healthy society.
Yet there is much more to the story.
The Torah has a deep respect for speech. As early as in the third verse of Torah, we read that G-d created the world with speech, “And G-d said let there be light and there was light”. The Torah understands that speech is tremendously potent, that just as G-d created the universe with speech, we too shape our own universe through speech.
A child misbehaves in the class, the teacher cannot seem to grab the child’s attention. If the teacher tells the child ”you are the worst trouble maker who ever stepped foot into this classroom”, then indeed, right then and there a trouble maker is created. If the teacher tells the child “you have so much energy! If we learn to channel your energy you will accomplish great things” then right then and there greatness is born.
The Torah spends 116 verses on the subject of Tzaraat in order to teach us that holiness depends on the words we use. The words we use create our reality. A productive and holy society can only be created through positive speech.
For just as G-d created the universe with speech, we too shape our own universe through speech.
Treasured Words
Often, people like to characterize events or experiences as either positive or negative. Our brain prefers the ease and simplicity of clear distinctions. Life, however, is more complicated than that. Often, the positive and negative overlap in surprising ways; often, the greater potential for risk holds the greater potential for profit. The more potent the experience the more likely it can be either deeply traumatizing or profoundly enriching.
An interesting illustration of this principle is the Tzara'at, the mysterious discoloration, which would appear, in biblical times, on the Jewish home in the land of Israel. As the Torah describes in this week’s portion:
And the Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron, saying, When you come to the land of Canaan, which I am giving you as a possession, and I place a lesion of Tzara'at upon a house in the land of your possession.
The Torah then proceeds to elaborate on the details of the discoloring and how, in some cases, it was necessary to remove the discolored stones (and, in some cases, the entire home would have to be destroyed).
Rashi, the classic biblical commentator, offers opposing explanations as to the purpose of Tzara'at. Rashi explains that Tzara'at would appear as a punishment for “Lashon Hara” for evil speech. Yet he also offers another interpretation:
because the Amorites had hidden away treasures of gold inside the walls of their houses during the entire forty years that the Israelites were in the desert, and through the lesion, he (the Israelite) will demolish the house and find them.
What are we to make of theses opposing explanations? Is the Tzarrat an indication of negativity, a sign of impurity which must be removed, or is it a sign which appears in order for the Jew to take possession of the treasure behind the wall? Rashi teaches us that the positive and negative explanations are both true simultaneously. The same force which the pagans used for impurity, when used correctly could, in fact, be a great treasure.
Indeed, the Amori was the name of the nation that hid the treasures in the walls. The word Amori comes from the word Amor, which means to speak. The Torah is alerting us to the power of the word. Few things can be as destructive or as constructive as the spoken word.
The Tzara'at was designed in order to lead us to a treasure. Indeed, the Jewish home must be free of the impurity of destructive speech. The stones that captured the energy of pagan speech must be removed. Yet removing the negativity is always just a first step, never the ultimate goal. The Torah teaches us that the power of speech must be used to build, to comfort, to empower. Words have a way of reaching deep within ourselves, releasing the inner treasures of our soul, and allowing us to understand, empathize and connect to the people around us.
The Gift of Pleasure
The Hebrew language, “the holy tongue”, is a language of profound depth. Just by looking at its words one can discover the deepest truths of life. One example is the word Nega, affliction, used in this week’s portion to describe Tzaraat, the skin ailment that creates ritual impurity. The book of formation, perhaps the earliest Kabbalistic work, teaches that the Hebrew word for affliction, נגע, consists of the same letters as the word for pleasure, ענג.
“Affliction” and “pleasure” are, in fact, opposite extremes. The affliction of the Tzaraat is considered, in some ways, to be the most severe of impurities. It is the only impurity in which the person must leave the camp and sit in solitude. Pleasure, explains the Kabbalah, is the deepest capacity of the soul. Yet, the Hebrew language teaches us, that there is a relationship between that which we think of as most negative and that which is most positive.
The inner meaning of the laws of the Tzaraat affliction demonstrate this principle. The Torah tells us that when someone is afflicted with specific forms of skin discoloration they are brought to the priest, who will determine whether or not the affliction is ritually impure or ritually pure. There is, however, a deeper, figurative, interpretation, which contains a broader message for the life of the Jew.
The Torah tells us:
If a man has a Se'eith, a sappachath, or a bahereth on the skin of his flesh, and it forms an affliction of Tzara'ath on the skin of his flesh, he shall be brought to Aaron the Kohen, or to one of his sons, the Kohanim. (Leviticus 13:2).
The Hebrew names for the shades of the Tzaraat discolorings, “Se’eith”, “Sappachat” and “Baheret”, are translated literally as “uplifted”, “additional”, and “clear”. According to the inner spiritual interpretation, the Torah is referring to someone who is gifted with a positive quality; wisdom, beauty, wealth, charisma, creativity, insight. This “additional” quality has the ability to “uplift”, to “add”, and to “purify”. Yet, in this case, the person chose to express that quality in a destructive way. Thus the positive quality designed to uplift and purify, now “forms an affliction of Tzara'ath on the skin of his flesh”. The divine gift becomes a spiritual affliction because the person chose to express the gift to advance his own selfish desires, arrogance and narcissism.
The spiritual solution, one would think, is that the person seeking purity, must abandon the path which led to the spiritual affliction. He must walk away from the attribute that led to his spiritual downfall.
The Torah, however, teaches otherwise: “he shall be brought to Aaron the Kohen, or to one of his sons, the Kohanim.” The very quality that led to the spiritual challenge, must be “brought to the Priest”, must be used for the sake of holiness and positivity. The Kohen who would perform the service in the temple teaches us that the gifts we have; beauty, wealth, musical talent, artistic creativity, etc., were given to us in order that we use them for holiness.
Everything in our life can be a spiritual affliction or a source of great pleasure. Everything in our life can be “brought to the priest”. Everything we possess can be used in the service of G-d to advance the purpose of our creation: to transform a world afflicted with challenge and suffering into a place of pleasure and holiness.
(Adapted from Be’er Mayim Chayim)
Why Can't I Get Along With Others?
Of all the forms of ritual impurity discussed in the Torah, only the impurity of the Metzora (a person afflicted with the skin ailment called Tzaraat) is so severe that the Torah commands “he shall dwell isolated; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” (Leviticus 13:46). The sages explain that the Tzaraat affliction comes as a consequence for slander and evil speech. The Torah understands that evil speech undermines and destroys the harmony of a family, community, and society. The Metzora therefore must sit in solitude in order for him to feel the pain of loneliness and learn to appreciate the value of community and togetherness. Only then can he be reintegrated into the community.
The Kabbalists teach that every phenomenon that exists on earth originates in the spiritual worlds. Often, a destructive energy on earth can be corrected by correcting and realigning its source in the spiritual worlds. When the Kabbalists read the portion of the Metzora, they looked to understand the spiritual source of slander and evil speech and sought to heal the symptom, the evil speech, by addressing the spiritual source.
The Zohar states that the root cause of Tzaraat is that the “light of wisdom”, which allows the other attributes to integrate, departs, leaving each attribute in a state of isolation, unable to integrate with the other attributes in a wholesome way. To explain: the divine attributes are the building blocks of creation, these attributes are also reflected within the soul of every person. The attributes and soul powers differ from one another, and don’t always integrate easily. For example, the attribute of kindness seeks to provide kindness to every creation, regardless of whether the creation is deserving. The attribute of strength, or discipline, is judgmental and does not want to give kindness to someone who is undeserving. These opposing perspectives can cause great tension in the universe, within society, within families, as well as within the soul of man.
The integration of these opposing attributes can only happen when wisdom is introduced. In Kabbalah, wisdom is synonymous with humility. When two people who see the world very differently express intense emotion, they will not be able to find a compromise, they will not be able to agree on an approach forward. If, however, they are enlightened by wisdom, if they are open to a greater perspective, they will then be able to soften their approach and integrate the positive aspects of the opposing perspective. The kind perspective will learn that there are times when kindness is counter productive and destructive. The perspective of discipline will learn that a certain measure of kindness is critical even for the goal of inspiring discipline.
When the Metzora, who can’t seem to get along with his fellow man, looks at the revealed part of Torah, he will see the obvious diagnosis. He must cease from evil speech. When he turns to the mystical part of the Torah he will learn the root cause of his ailment. He will learn that he needs humility in order to allow him to integrate his own perspective with that of his family and community.
The Kabbalah teaches that when someone does not have humility to live in peace with others and appreciate their different perspectives, it is usually because the person’s own emotions are intense; each emotion does not have the humility to integrate with the opposing emotion. When one cannot live in harmony with others it is often because his own emotions are not in harmony.
Introducing the wisdom of the Torah will allow the internal soul powers to integrate with each other. This humility will help a person integrate with the people around him, creating a harmonious blend which will produce a more beautiful symphony of voices and experiences.
(Adapted from Lekutei Torah Tazria p. 23)
The Woman Who Will Plant a Seed
The third book of the Torah includes two extreme topics, one of intense holiness and the second describing ritual impurity. The book begins with the discussion of the offerings, which are presented in the temple and bring the person closer to G-d. It continues by describing “the eighth day”, the day the Divine presence rested upon the tabernacle. Yet, soon after, the book describes many forms of unholiness and ritual impurity that a person is subject to.
The tension between the extremes of holiness and ritual impurity emerges from the fact that every person is indeed a hybrid of body and soul, finitude and infinity, physical and spiritual.
And so, a recurring underlying theme of the book is the question of how to navigate the tension between the physical and spiritual dimensions of our personality. The easier path is to choose one and stick to it. Later in the book, we read about the corrupt behavior of the Egyptians and the Canaanites, who succumbed to the animalistic side of the human being. Yet, earlier in the book, we read about the two sons of Aaron who perished because they drew too close to G-d, entering the temple and offering a foreign fire because they wanted to escape the mundane physical world and be subsumed within spirituality and holiness.
The more difficult but proper path is to follow what the Kabbalists refer to as “running and returning.” We must desire to cleave to holiness and spirituality, and we begin our day with a devotion to spirituality, yet, in order to fulfill our purpose in this world, we “return” to the physical world, a place susceptible to pain, negativity, and impurity, in order to sanctify it.
Our portion focuses primarily on the intricate laws of tzaraat, a form of ritually impure skin discoloration. Yet the opening statement of the Parsha inspires us on how to live in the “run and return” model. The verse states:
And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the children of Israel, saying: a woman who will conceive {literally seed} and give birth (Leviticus 12:1-2)
The relationship between G-d and the Jewish people is likened to the relationship between man and woman. The Hebrew word for woman, “ishah”, originates from the verse in Genesis where Adam proclaims: “This one shall be called ishah (woman) because this one was taken from ish (man).” Isha alludes to the state of the Jewish people, the woman, when they feel part of, and therefore, drawn to G-d. Yet, even when we feel the yearning and desire to cleave to our beloved, the verse continues, “will give seed,” we must descend to earth and plant holiness in the most unlikely place, the physical plane.
When we “return” to saturate the earth with holiness, we are assured that we will “give birth”, that ultimately, the seeds of goodness we plant will sprout, grow, and give birth to a transformed reality. We are assured that we, individually and collectively, will fulfill the purpose of creation, which is to create a dwelling place for G-d in the physical world.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos Tazria vol. 1
Housing Crisis
After reading in great detail about the laws of Tzara’at, the supernatural skin ailment that afflicted people in Biblical times, we read, in this week’s portion, about the purification of the Metzora - the person afflicted with Tzara’at:
And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, This shall be the law of the person afflicted with Tzara'at, on the day of his cleansing: He shall be brought to the Kohen. The Kohen shall go outside the camp, and the Kohen shall look, and behold, the lesion of Tzara’at has healed in the afflicted person... The Kohen shall thus effect atonement for him, and he shall be pure.
The sages explain that the Tzara’at affliction would strike an individual who would engage in evil speech. Evil speech tears people and communities apart and undermines the fabric of society. Thus, the Torah commands that the person with the affliction be sent away from the camp. This would encourage introspection and repentance on the part of the Metzora. While he was outside the camp he would undoubtedly learn to appreciate the value of a social life, the value of friendship with others, and thus he would resolve to cease tearing apart the bond of friendship between people, and then he would be allowed to re-enter the camp.
After we read about the purification of the Metzora, just when we thought we had solved the Tzara’at issue by correcting its underlying spiritual cause, we read about another form of Tzara’at which appears, this time, not on the flesh of a person, but rather on a home in the Land of Israel.
As stated in the verse:
And the Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron, saying, When you come to the land of Canaan, which I am giving you as a possession, and I place a lesion of tzara’at upon a house in the land of your possession and the one to whom the house belongs comes and tells the Kohen, saying, "Something like a lesion has appeared to me in the house,"...
What is the meaning and symbolism of the Tzara’at that afflicts the home? Why isn't this Tzara’at written about together with the Tzara’at that afflicts the person and his garments in last week's Parsha? And why does the Tzara’at of the home apply specifically to - “the land of Canaan, which I am giving you as a possession” - the land of Israel?
For a healthy society to function, the most important rule is, as google’s motto would say, “don’t be evil”. The most important rule is, that each individual, as well as any group of individuals, does not harm other people. Anyone who cannot follow this basic principle of human civilization, has no place in the camp, in the city, or in civilization. This is the lesson taught by the Tzara’at which afflicted the person.
And yet, not harming others is not enough of a foundation to build the Land of Israel.
Once they’ve entered Israel, once the Jews were no longer traveling together in the desert, dependent on each other for everything from protection to livelihood, there was a danger that individuals would, figuratively, “lock themselves in their own home”, separating themselves completely from the people around them.
Addressing the homeowner whose home was afflicted with Tzara’at the verse uses the term “he to whom the house belongs to him”. The Talmud teaches: “‘to him” implies one who devotes his house to himself exclusively”. The Torah warns that if a person views his own possessions as something exclusively his own, then although he is not as bad as the person who actively speaks evil, he is still undermining his relationship with the people of Israel, and therefore he compromises his relationship with his home in the land of Israel.
This is a “housing crisis”. They may have learned not to harm others, but they were still susceptible to the “housing crisis” - caring only about their own house, apathetic to what was taking place in the rest of the land.
The Torah believes in private property. The Torah teaches that an individual’s possessions belong to him alone. Each individual’s portion of the land is “the land of your possession”, it belongs to the individual who possesses it. Yet, the Torah teaches that in order for the people of Israel to fulfill their destiny in the land of Israel, they must do more than merely not harm each other. Each and every Jew must view his possessions, his private property, as a means to live a life of meaning, to transcend the self and to share with others.
Only then will the individual achieve the true satisfaction and joy of self transcendence and connection to the Divine.
As Maimonides writes:
a person who locks the gates of his courtyard and eats and drinks with his children and his wife, without feeding the poor and the embittered, is [not indulging in] rejoicing associated with a mitzvah, but rather the rejoicing of his gut.
The Jewish idea of joy and celebration is, as Maimonides states:
When a person eats and drinks [in celebration of a holiday], he is obligated to feed converts, orphans, widows and others who are destitute and poor.
Thus, the joy we strive for comes from using one’s home to transcend the self.
Cain and Abel - Cedar and Hyssop
Two brothers, born to the same parents, yet they could not have been more different from one another. Kayin and Hevel, the children of Adam and Eve, each embodied a fundamentally different attitude toward life.
The Torah describes the birth of Kayin:
Now the man knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Kayin (Cain), and she said, "I have acquired a man with the Lord."
The name Kayin comes from the word “acquired”. Eve named her son Kayin and hoped he would embody her own aspirations to acquire, to possess, to succeed in self preservation. The human being has a deep need to feel independent, strong, and materially successful’ to experience self worth and to feel pride on his or her own self.
Eve had another son, she named him Hevel (Abel):
and she continued to bear his brother Hevel, and Hevel was a shepherd of flocks, and Cain was a tiller of the soil.
The word Hevel means “emptiness”, “futility”. Eve names her son Hevel, because she sensed that he was a deeply spiritual person to whom materialism, and physical existence, was insignificant and futile. The brothers were very different but they were born into the same family because G-d hoped that they would affect one another; that Kayin would ground Hevel by teaching him the importance of physical existence, while Hevel’s spiritual attitude would protect Kayin’s sense of self from becoming egotistical and narcissistic.
Sadly, the brothers never learned to communicate and interact with each other. Kayin, unchecked, had an out-of-control sense of self, cared about no one other than himself, and thus descended to murdering his own brother. Hevel also sinned. His sin was that he did not engage in self defense. To him, material life was futile, and insignificant, thus he did not engage in protecting the sanctity of his own life. Both brothers sinned because they did not learn to integrate their individual qualities. They did not learn that the sense of self that wants to exist and acquire (Kayin), must be cultivated, sanctified, and balanced by the humility that comes from sensing the transcendent (Hevel).
The story of brothers who failed to harmonize their qualities can shed light onto an obscure law in the book of Leviticus. The Torah tells us of the process of the purification for the person afflicted with Tzaraat (skin discoloration):
Then the Kohen shall order, and the person to be cleansed shall take two live, clean birds, a cedar stick, a strip of crimson [wool], and hyssop. (Leviticus 14:4)
Rashi explains the significance of the cedar and hyssop used in the purification process:
a cedar stick: Because lesions of tzara’ath come because of haughtiness [symbolized by the tall cedar].
and hyssop: What is the remedy that he may be healed [of his tzara’ath]? He must humble himself from his haughtiness.
According to Rashi, the cedar’s height represents haughtiness while the lowly hyssop grass represents humility. But if that is the case then why is the cedar a part of the purification process, does the cedar not represent the cause of the spiritual malady which the person needs to correct?
The cedar and hyssop teach us that in order to be pure and holy one must not declare war on the sense of self. Rather, holiness, in Judaism, is to harmonize the tall cedar, the feeling of self, the desire to possess, acquire and succeed, with the humble hyssop. To achieve purity we must sanctify the desire to acquire, and the sense of self, utilizing our possessions, our talents and our strength in the service of G-d, spreading goodness and kindness in the world. The humble hyssop, too, must cultivate the feeling of the tall cedar, a sense of confidence and pride in order to embrace the world and transform it.
Purity is about harmonizing the cedar and the hyssop, the Kain and the Hevel, the desire to possess and the futility of materialism. Holiness is when the feeling of self is cultivated and dedicated to the service of that which is greater than the self.
(Adapted from Shem Mishmuel)
Why Can't I Get Along With Others?
Of all the forms of ritual impurity discussed in the Torah, only the impurity of the Metzora (a person afflicted with the skin ailment called Tzaraat) is so severe that the Torah commands “he shall dwell isolated; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” (Leviticus 13:46). The sages explain that the Tzaraat affliction comes as a consequence for slander and evil speech. The Torah understands that evil speech undermines and destroys the harmony of a family, community, and society. The Metzora therefore must sit in solitude in order for him to feel the pain of loneliness and learn to appreciate the value of community and togetherness. Only then can he be reintegrated into the community.
The Kabbalists teach that every phenomenon that exists on earth originates in the spiritual worlds. Often, a destructive energy on earth can be corrected by correcting and realigning its source in the spiritual worlds. When the Kabbalists read the portion of the Metzora, they looked to understand the spiritual source of slander and evil speech and sought to heal the symptom, the evil speech, by addressing the spiritual source.
The Zohar states that the root cause of Tzaraat is that the “light of wisdom”, which allows the other attributes to integrate, departs, leaving each attribute in a state of isolation, unable to integrate with the other attributes in a wholesome way. To explain: the divine attributes are the building blocks of creation, these attributes are also reflected within the soul of every person. The attributes and soul powers differ from one another, and don’t always integrate easily. For example, the attribute of kindness seeks to provide kindness to every creation, regardless of whether the creation is deserving. The attribute of strength, or discipline, is judgmental and does not want to give kindness to someone who is undeserving. These opposing perspectives can cause great tension in the universe, within society, within families, as well as within the soul of man.
The integration of these opposing attributes can only happen when wisdom is introduced. In Kabbalah, wisdom is synonymous with humility. When two people who see the world very differently express intense emotion, they will not be able to find a compromise, they will not be able to agree on an approach forward. If, however, they are enlightened by wisdom, if they are open to a greater perspective, they will then be able to soften their approach and integrate the positive aspects of the opposing perspective. The kind perspective will learn that there are times when kindness is counter productive and destructive. The perspective of discipline will learn that a certain measure of kindness is critical even for the goal of inspiring discipline.
When the Metzora, who can’t seem to get along with his fellow man, looks at the revealed part of Torah, he will see the obvious diagnosis. He must cease from evil speech. When he turns to the mystical part of the Torah he will learn the root cause of his ailment. He will learn that he needs humility in order to allow him to integrate his own perspective with that of his family and community.
The Kabbalah teaches that when someone does not have humility to live in peace with others and appreciate their different perspectives, it is usually because the person’s own emotions are intense; each emotion does not have the humility to integrate with the opposing emotion. When one cannot live in harmony with others it is often because his own emotions are not in harmony.
Introducing the wisdom of the Torah will allow the internal soul powers to integrate with each other. This humility will help a person integrate with the people around him, creating a harmonious blend which will produce a more beautiful symphony of voices and experiences.
(Adapted from Lekutei Torah Tazria p. 23)
How to Criticize Effectively
A Kohen {a member of the priestly family who would perform the Temple service} represents the attribute of love. In the Ethics of Our Fathers, the Mishnah teaches: “be of the descendants of Aaron {the patriarch of the priestly family}, a lover of peace, a pursuer of peace, one who loves the creatures and draws them close to Torah”. The feeling of love is integral to the role of a Kohen. Until this very day, when the priests fulfill the commandment to bless the Jewish people, they recite the blessing “Blessed… who commanded us to bless his people Israel with love”. The blessing defines the commandment as one which not only commands to bless but also to bless with love. In fact, the reason the Kohen’s words elicit Divine blessing is because the blessing is recited with love.
Yet, in our Torah portion, the Kohen also has a very different role. It is specifically the Kohen who can declare a person impure with the ailment of Tzaraat. While determining whether an affliction is indeed Tzaraat requires the expertise of a sage, nevertheless it is not the sage who can declare the person impure; but rather, the sage notifies the Kohen that the affliction is umpire, and the Kohen is the one who must pronounce it impure. As Maimonides codifies the law:
The designation of a person as impure or pure is dependent on a Kohen. What is implied? If there is a Kohen who does not know how to assess blemishes, a sage should observe them and instruct him: "Say 'You are impure,' and the Kohen says: "You are impure;" "Say 'You are pure,'" and the Kohen says: "You are pure." "Isolate him," and he isolates him… Even if a Kohen is a minor or intellectually or emotionally incapable, the sage instructs him and he declares the person definitively impure, releases him from the inspection process, or isolates him. (Maimonides Laws of Tzaraat 9:2)
Why is this the only law in the Torah which requires a Kohen to decide a matter of law?
The Tzaarat is, in some ways, the most severe form of impurity, requiring the Metzora {person afflicted with Tzaarat} to “dwell isolated, his dwelling shall be outside the camp”. This, precisely, is the reason the Torah demands that specifically a Kohen, whose spiritual makeup and communal responsibility is to love his people, be the one to declare a person impure. For the Kohen will not declare anyone impure unless it is absolutely necessary to do so. When the Kohen is forced to declare a person impure, the Kohen’s empathy, concern, and love will allow the person to accept the Kohen’s declaration without becoming defensive, enabling him to begin spiritual rehabilitation that will ultimately render him pure once again.
A google search on “how to criticize effectively” will yield many good techniques, but, in our Parsha, the Torah teaches that the most important factor in effective criticism is the way in which it is given. The way the recipient of the criticism, be it a child, college employee, or friend, is able to accept the criticism is when they sense that the critique is motivated by your love and concern.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Tazria vol. 27 Sicha 2.
Peaceful Shabbat Candles
Amongst the many intricate laws of the impurity of the Metzora, the person afflicted with the skin affliction described in this week’s portion, the Mishna relates a dispute regarding a Metzora who entered someone else’s home:
If a Metzora entered a house, all the vessels in it, even up to the roof beams, become ritually impure… Rabbi Yehudah says: only if the metzora stayed there as much time as is required for the lighting of a lamp. (Negaim 13:11)
Rabbi Yehudah offers the lighting of a candle as an example to measure the time that must elapse before the impurity sets in because, as the kabbalists explain, the lighting of the candle is the antithesis and the antidote to the impurity of the Tzaraat, which, as the classic commentators explain, is a consequence for the sin of negative speech. Negative speech, such as slander and gossip, is an expression of arrogance and ego that causes the person to separate from his fellow. A lamp represents the enlightenment of wisdom, which, in the kabbalah, is synonymous with humility, which heals the divisiveness that causes the Tzaarat.
The commentators explain that Rabbi Yehudah is referring not to the time it takes to light an ordinary lamp but to the Shabbat candles lit Friday toward evening. That teaches us that light per se is not necessarily conducive to peace. Light can destroy romance, as it can sometimes highlight the less desirable features and characteristics of a person or a situation. The Shabbat candles, by contrast, bring peace into the home. For they represent the light of the Torah as it manifests and illuminates our physical environment and reality. The Torah “was given to bring peace to the world”, because the Torah resolves the perceived conflict between the material and spiritual. The light of the Torah, manifest through the physical light of the Shabbat candles, spreads throughout our home, revealing the inner Divine spark within everything, and creating harmony between all aspects of our life, our homes, and the people we love.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 17 Tazria 3
Mixing with the Crowd
By this point in our journey through the book of Leviticus, we have encountered a great variety of sacrificial offerings, each with distinct laws, significance and symbolism.
In the portion of Achrey Mos, the sixth portion of the book of Leviticus, G-d instructs Moses that his brother Aaron may not enter the inner chamber of the temple at will. The high priest, the only person allowed entry to the holy of holies, Judaism's holiest site, may do so only once a year, only after offering multiple offerings and carrying out the specific instructions of the service, spelled out in the Torah.
Aaron was to offer specific offerings as atonement for himself and his family, as well as various offerings on behalf of the people of Israel. As the Torah states:
With this shall Aaron enter the Holy: with a young bull for a sin offering and a ram for a burnt offering...
And from the community of the children of Israel, he shall take two he goats as a sin offering, and one ram as a burnt offering.
The Torah continues to detail the specific procedure for each of the offerings, and then, the verse tells Aaron to do the completely unusual: to mix the bloods of two offerings and sprinkle the mixture on the alter:
And he shall then go out to the altar that is before the Lord and effect atonement upon it: He shall take some of the bull's blood and some of the he goat's blood, and place it on the horns of the altar, around.
Typically each offering was distinct. Each offering had its unique laws and required a unique intention, the accidental mixing of bloods of various offerings create many Halachic challenges. Yet, once a year, on Yom Kippur, Aaron was commanded to deliberately mix the blood of the goat and the bull. Why? Every detail in the Torah contains profound insight. What can we learn from this detail about Aaron, about the essence of Yom Kippur, and about the meaning of leadership?
The high priest was a spiritual leader serving to inspire the people, to elevate them, to motivate them to climb ever higher and to help them escape the gravitational pull of materialism. The high priest was the symbol of holiness and purity, the high priest embodied the ideal state of sanctity, which, at least on occasion, the people were intended to strive for.
Aaron served as a source of inspiration, as a model of what the Jew should aim for. Throughout the year, however, there was a great gulf dividing the leader and the people. While the people were devoted to navigating the challenges and trials of daily life, their leader Aaron, by contrast, was far removed from the mundane and was immersed in the spiritual service of the temple.
On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, Aaron was required to influence the people of Israel even more than on any other day. On Yom Kippur, therefore, both Aaron and the people of Israel understood, that once the external layers of identity were peeled away, the people and Aaron were one and the same. The Torah tells Aaron that in order for him, or for any leader for that matter, to have a meaningful impact on the people he wishes to lead, he must mix the blood of his bull with the blood of the goat of the people. For Aaron to influence the people and for the people to be inspired by Aaron, Israel must feel that Aaron recognizes that he and they are essentially one.
Mystery of the Lottery
One of the central parts of the service of the high priest on Yom Kippur was the service of drawing lots. As explained in this week’s parsha, the high priest was commanded to draw lots between two goats. He would take two pieces of wood, on one was written “to G-d” and on the other was written “to Azazel”, (to the wilderness). He would place one of the lots on each goat. The lottery would determine which goat would be an offering to G-d in the temple, and which goat would be sent off to the wilderness.
What is the lesson and meaning of the lottery between the two goats?
A central principle of Judaism is that the human being is gifted with the incredible gift and responsibility of free choice. The human being has the ability to make the correct moral choice. He has the complete freedom to overcome any internal or external temptation or pressure and choose the right path.
The principle of free choice is the basis of all of Torah, because what would be the purpose of G-d commanding us if we didn’t have the freedom to control our own actions? In addition, recognition of the gift of free choice is a prerequisite to repentance and returning to G-d. One can only resolve to return to the right path and to reconnect to his truest self, if he believes that he has the ability to do so.
On the day of Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, the day dedicated to correcting the mistakes and omissions of the past year and returning to G-d, the ceremony of the two goats served to remind the people that the choice was in their own hand. They alone could determine whether they wished to, like the goat offered to G-d, move closer to the temple and to holiness, or would they choose to embrace the path of the goat sent to the dessert, a path which leads to a morally and spiritually desolate desert.
But why all the drama and suspense of the lottery?
If the point of the service was to express free choice then why didn’t the high priest make the choice himself and decide where each animal would go? Why the need for the lottery?
Chassidic philosophy explains that free choice is multi layered; its deepest aspects are expressed specifically through the metaphor of the lottery.
A lottery is used when a decision is not based on logical criteria. When a teacher raffles off a gift, he or she decided not to award the gift based on logical criteria. Instead the teacher is delegating the decision to something other than reason; in this case, the decision is relegated to chance.
When we make a logical choice between two options, we are, in a sense, compelled to make that choice. When making a choice because we understand or feel that one choice is preferred, then, in a sense, we are compelled to make that decision because of the logical or emotional superiority of the preferred option. This type of choice, determined by our rationale or emotions, is the type of choice we exercise all year. We choose the right path because our mind or heart directs us and compels us to do so.
On Yom Kippur, however, we experience a deeper dimension of choice. The Yom Kippur lottery symbolized that our decision to return to the path that leads to our inner temple is motivated not merely by logic and rational. It is not based, solely, on the appreciation of the goodness inherent in choosing to connect to G-d. On Yom Kippur the deepest part of our essence, our soul, emerges. The choice to return and reconnect to G-d is not defined by, nor limited to, emotion or logic. It is an expression of the Jew’s core identity. The soul chooses G-d because of its inherent bond with G-d.
For much of the year our relationship with G-d is likened to a couple who seek a mutually beneficial relationship. They choose to remain together because of a logical calculation, because of the fulfillment and happiness they each derive from the relationship. On Yom Kippur, however, our bond with G-d transcends the logical calculation. On Yom Kippur we are like the couple who are committed to each other, not because of mutual benefit, but rather because of the deep commitment to each other.
The lots drawn by the high priest on Yom Kippur remind us that, just as the lottery is not defined by logic ,so too our relationship with G-d is unconditional. On Yom Kippur we sense our soul; the part of G-d that is within us and yearns to reconnect with its Father in Heaven.
Heading Home
Life on this earth is complex. We are a hybrid of body and soul. We have both material as well as spiritual needs and desires. To survive on this earth, our soul must engage and embrace material life, it must spend much time and energy to succeed in a realm foreign to its values and its natural environment. Once a year, however, we separate ourselves from the mundane and the earthly and we seek to get in touch with our inner core. We refrain from food and drink, we separate from our material needs, and we seek to embrace our essence, which, while may be hidden throughout the year, always remains loyal to our spiritual source.
The day of Yom Kippur, which we read about in this week’s Torah portion, is designed to allow us to return to our inner core. Thus, when the temple stood in Jerusalem, once a year, on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, the high priest, the holiest man on earth, would enter the inner chamber of the temple, the holy of holies, which is the holiest space on earth.
The spiritual journey to our core, to peel away the layers of our external desires and distractions and to reconnect to our inner purity, takes time and effort. The Mishnah describes that seven days before Yom Kippur the high priest would depart from his home and enter his chamber in the holy temple to prepare for the service of the holiest day. As the Mishnah describes:
Seven days prior to Yom Kippur the Sages would remove the High Priest, who performs the entire Yom Kippur service, from his house to the Chamber of Parhedrin, a room in the Temple designated specifically for the High Priest during that period. (Yoma 1:1)
The Mishnah then proceeds to elaborate on all the details of the service of Yom Kippur. Finally, toward the end of the tractate we read about the conclusion of the day of Yom Kippur:
They then brought his personal garments. He got dressed, and they would go with him to his residence. And he would make a feast for those close to him, for having exited the Holy of Holies in peace. (Yoma 7:4)
No gradual transition.
No seven day period to internalize the awesome experience before he would head back home to ordinary life. No rest at the chamber, where he spent seven days transitioning from ordinary life to the holiness of Yom Kippur.
The high priest would proceed directly from the sanctity of the holy of holies to his home. Because, Judaism teaches, the purpose of entering the temple to begin with is to experience the holiness of the temple in our daily life. After seven days of preparation, after experiencing the profound holiness of Yom Kippur, the high priest was able to reach true spiritual heights: he was able to experience the holiness of the holy of holies while in his own home.
This idea is relevant to each one of us. In our lives we experience moments of inspiration and clarity, moments when we are in touch with our inner feelings and aspirations. Judaism teaches us to be bold. To aspire to spread those holy moments to all of our life. To realize, if we were truly affected by the experience of holiness, we will now feel that same intensity of holiness in our home.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Parshas Re’eh 5746
Are You Lovesick?
Getting too close to G-d could be dangerous. That, according to Rashi, is the message of the opening verse in this week's Torah portion:
And the Lord spoke to Moses after the death of Aaron's two sons, when they drew near before the Lord, and they died.
Why does the Torah have to state that the commandments of this portion occurred after the death of the sons of Aaron, which is a story that has been clearly stated previously in the Torah?
Rashi, offers an interesting metaphor to explain the repetition:
Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah illustrated [the answer] with a parable of a sick patient, whom a physician came to visit. [The physician] said to him, "Do not eat cold foods, and do not lie down in a cold, damp place." Then, another [physician] visited him, and advised him, "Do not eat cold foods or lie down in a cold, damp place, so that you will not die the way so-and-so died." This one warned that patient more effectively than the former. Therefore, Scripture says, "after the death of Aaron's two sons" [i.e., God effectively said to Aaron, "Do not enter the Holy in a prohibited manner, so that you will not die as your sons died"]
This metaphor explains that "and they died" is a veiled warning to Aaron to adhere to the commandment warning against entering the holy of holies (except on Yom kippur).
But why does the metaphor describe a sick person, when the same point could have been made about a physician warning a healthy person to take preventive measures (to secure their health)? Why does the metaphor imply that Aaron was sick?
The metaphor teaches us that, indeed, Aaron was sick. Aaron was love sick.
Aaron had a deep yearning and desire to connect to G-d, just like a sick person burning up with fever yearns for cold air and cold food. Aaron had to be warned not to enter the holy of holies, because without the warning he would be drawn to escape to the intense holiness and lose the ability to live a healthy balanced life.
Like Aaron, we too must be lovesick. True, G-d desires that we live in the material world and infuse it with holiness. G-d desires that we sanctify the mundane experiences of daily life. But, paradoxically, in order to do so, we must cultivate the desire to escape the confines of materialism and be enveloped in Torah and prayer.
The Kabbalah teaches that the model of connection to holiness is "run and return". We begin our day with prayer. We recite the Shema, declaring the unity of G-d and declaring the verse "you shall love the L-ord your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might". Only after this moment of intense connection (running) in the beginning of the day, do we focus on the "return", channeling our love to fulfilling G-d's will down here on this earth.
The purpose of creation is the "return", yet the only way we can remain connected to holiness while in "return" mode is by "running", cultivating a longing and desire to cleave to G-d.
To live a wholesome life, we need balance. We must focus on life on this earth, but we also need to be lovesick.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichios Acharei vol 7 sicha 1.
The Spectrum of Love
Which of the Torah’s commandments is the hardest to keep? Eating Kosher? Fasting on Yom Kippur? Observing the Shabbat?
Perhaps the most difficult Mitzvah is “love your fellow as yourself”. Now, “love your fellow” is hard enough to fulfill, but the second clause, “as yourself”, seems impossible. After all, were we not born with an innate instinct to care first and foremost for ourselves? Isn't self love more powerful than any other love known to mankind?
Thankfully, there are at least two ways to understand the meaning of the commandment. We’ll call them the conventional interpretation and the exotic interpretation.
There are many prominent commentators, who offer one version or another, of the conventional interpretation. The conventional interpretation acknowledges that to love someone else, and certainly to love a stranger, “as yourself”, is indeed an impossibility. They explain that the verse means that one must desire good things for a fellow person, just as one desires good things for oneself.
The Chassidim, unconventional as they are, love the exotic interpretation, which argues, that if one internalizes the essential message of Judaism, it is possible to love a fellow as one’s self.
What is at the heart of all the commandments, from eating Matzah, to giving charity, to Torah study to prayer?
In the words of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of the Chabad movement: “the basis and root of the entire Torah is to raise and exalt the soul high above the body”. If the Torah has one message, it is that the soul is the essence of the person and the body is but a garment. The Torah calls upon us, not to forget about our core while we are busy feeding the needs of our body. Throughout every day of the year, and every step of our life, the Torah reminds us who we are: we are our soul.
If one self defines as primarily a body, then he will be incapable of loving his fellow as himself, because he - his physical body - is indeed separate and distinct from his fellow. In that case, a person can only experience “love your fellow as yourself” in the conventional limited form, as in “you should want good things to happen to your friend just as you want good things for yourself”. If however, he understands the essence of Judaism, if he appreciates that he is his soul, if he identifies, not with his external garment, but with his core, then he will be able to “love your fellow as yourself”, because at the core, at the soul level, all souls are indeed one.
The Talmud relates that, once a gentile came to Hillel and said that he wanted to convert to Judaism on the condition that Hillel teach him all of the Torah in the amount of time that he could stand on one foot. Hillel responded with the now famous idiom: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow: that is the whole Torah while the rest is commentary; go and learn it.”
The brilliance of Hillel’s response was that it captured the full spectrum of the Mitzvah of “Love your fellow as yourself”. On the one hand, here was a person with no exposure to Torah and its message, if Hillel would have said “love your fellow as yourself” the gentile would have rejected it as an impossibility. So instead, Hillel gave him the conventional interpretation, the one that is simple enough for anyone to understand: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow”. But Hillel did not stop there. Hillel continued to give him the formula that would eventually enable him to grasp the true message of the Torah and the true meaning of “love your fellow”. “This is the whole Torah” says Hillel, study and internalize the core message of the Torah and you will discover that, yes, indeed, you can and should “love your fellow as yourself”.
Because the core of the “you”, and the core of “your fellow” are united as one.
Marshmallows and the Tree of Knowledge
One of the most famous studies in the field of psychology is the Marshmallow Test:
In a series of famous experiments in the 1960s and ’70s conducted by the Stanford psychologist Walter Mischel, preschoolers were invited to sit alone in a room furnished only with a small desk. On the desk sat two marshmallows (or equivalently tempting treats) and a bell. The researcher told each child that he had to leave, but that when he returned, she could eat both marshmallows. If she wanted one marshmallow before then, however, she could ring the bell and eat one, but not both. Then the researcher shut the door, leaving the child alone with the forbidden marshmallows.
Some children gobbled a marshmallow the minute the door was closed, while others distracted themselves by covering their eyes, singing and kicking the desk. One resourceful child somehow managed to take a nap. But here’s the part that made the experiment famous: In follow-up studies, children who had resisted temptation turned out years later to be not only... better socially adapted, but they also scored as much as 210 points higher on their SATs than the most impatient children in the studies did.
Without getting into the debate about the merits of this fascinating experiment, the experiment brings to mind a commandment in this week’s Torah portion:
When you come to the Land and you plant any food tree, you shall surely block its fruit [from use]; it shall be blocked from you [from use] for three years, not to be eaten.
And in the fourth year, all its fruit shall be holy, a praise to the Lord.
And in the fifth year, you may eat its fruit; [do this, in order] to increase its produce for you. I am the Lord, your God.
The same fruit tree, year one to year three the fruit is forbidden, year four the fruit becomes holy and must be eaten in Jerusalem. The fruit of the fifth year may be eaten anywhere. It seems that the Torah wants us to wait before we consume our marshmallows.
Indeed the commentators explain that by refraining from eating the fruit of a tree for three years, we are rectifying the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, who consumed the fruit of the tree of knowledge. According to the Midrash, the prohibition against the fruit of the tree of knowledge was supposed to extend for only three hours of the day. At the fourth hour, when the holy day of Shabbat commenced, they were to squeeze the fruit of the tree, the grape, and use the wine to sanctify the day of Shabbat with the Kiddush blessing. Adam and Eve were not able to wait the three hours. They ate of the fruit early which led to tragic results. We, the descendants of Adam and Eve wait three years in order to rectify Adam and Eve’s choice to not to wait for three hours.
Buy why the need to wait?
If the grape eaten at the fourth hour would have been a positive and holy experience, why is eating it a few hours early so spiritually devastating?
Every time we interact with the world around us there can be one of two possibilities. When we interact with food, with technology, with our vacation home, or any other phenomenon, either we are serving it or it is serving us. Either we are in control of it or it is in control if us. Some people are in control. Their smartphone serves them, they indulge in pleasure when they know it will be conducive to their overall well being. Others are controlled. Their possessions provide not peace of mind but rather anxiety and worry. They are enslaved to food, technology, or other forms of pleasure, they engage even when they know that the interaction is detrimental to their well being.
The deep insight we receive from the Mitzvah to refrain from eating the fruit for three years, is that before we can use the material to our advantage, we must demonstrate restraint. By doing so we exercise control and ensure that we are in the driver’s seat. That it is serving us, not the other way around.
If I can say no when necessary, then when I say yes, I do so in a healthy and wholesome manner.
What is true regarding the fruit of the land of Israel is also true in our daily life.
There are moments when we are engaged in study or prayer, at which time we refrain from all fruit of the world and focus on our inner spiritual identity. This gives us the power to then use the fruit of the world in a holy, productive and healthy manner.
As Yourself?
According to Rabbi Akiva, “love your fellow as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18) is “a great principal of the Torah”, yet, it is a commandment easier said than done. How can we love every person as our self? People possess the full gamut of negative traits, shortcomings and failings. Often, the closer we become to someone the more we see their personality flaws. How then can we be expected to love every person? Must we ignore their negativity?
The most seemingly problematic part of the statement is “as yourself”. Even if, somehow, we learn to love our fellow, can the Torah expect the love to rise to the level of self love?
Chassidic philosophy explains that the words “as yourself” are the key to the ability to love our fellow. When a person loves himself or herself, he is not ignorant of his own personality flaws. On the contrary, no one is as aware of his flaws as he is himself. Despite the knowledge of his own shortcomings, somehow, the awareness of his own flaws does not contradict or destroy his self love. That is because a person does not see his own flaws in isolation, he sees his own flaws against the backdrop of self love. Thus looking at himself, the flaws don't bother him because they are overwhelmed by the self love.
The person who is aware of his own flaws will work very hard to conceal those flaws from others. Because he fears, often correctly, that the other person’s focus will zero in on the fault alone, and the other person will define him by his flaws.
The Talmud (Shabbat 31a) relates that a gentile who sought to convert asked the great sage Hillel to teach him all of the Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel told him “what is hateful to you don’t do to others”. “What is hateful to you”: you hate when others define you by your shortcomings, therefore: “don’t do to others”: never look at the shortcomings in isolation, see them only against the backdrop of love.
How can you “love your fellow”? “As yourself”. Your own faults don't define the way you see yourself. They are insignificant because the self love is so powerful. Apply that same formula to your child, to your spouse, to your neighbor and to your fellow.
(Adapted from Derech Mitzvosecha, Ahvas Yisrael)
How To Judge Your Fellow
What do you think of when you hear the word holiness?
Some would think about spirituality, prayer, perhaps fasting on Yom Kippur. Interestingly, the portion of the Torah called Kedoshim, holy, discusses the proper conduct between people. The Torah believes that the test of holiness is how one treats one’s fellow human being.
Amongst the many commandments in the portion of Kedoshim, we read a verse about the judicial system, the judges must treat all people who come before them equally:
You shall commit no injustice in judgment; you shall not favor a poor person or respect a great man; you shall judge your fellow with righteousness. (Leviticus 19:15)
Rashi addresses the final clause of the verse “you shall judge your fellow with righteousness”, and explains that the verse is referring to the judges sitting in judgment. But there is another meaning as well. For in one sense, each of us is a judge. We each sit in judgment and decided how to evaluate other people. Rashi, therefore, offers a second interpretation: “another explanation is: judge your fellow favorably.”
What does it mean to judge others favorably?
The conventional interpretation is to give others the benefit of the doubt. I must hold off on judging the person before I know all the facts. Even if I do know all the facts, I must take into consideration that I do not know the extent of another person’s challenges and struggles. When someone fails, when someone does something wrong, I can not judge them, because I have no idea of the magnitude of their inner struggle.
Rashi’s words however include a deeper meaning as well. Translated literally they read: “judge your fellow meritoriously”. Not only should I not judge the other person negatively, but I must see them as if they have great merit. At first glance this seems strange. Perhaps we can overlook the negative behavior because we understand that there may be extenuating circumstances, but why would I consider the person meritorious?
The verse states “G-d has made one corresponding to the other”, this means that there is a balance between the positive forces and the negative forces in the world and the human soul. This indicates that if someone has a great challenge, he was also gifted with the strength, energy and skills necessary to overcome the challenge.
When I see someone doing something wrong, I have a choice to make. I can choose to focus on the negative action and deem the person to be inferior. Or, I can judge the person meritoriously. I can choose to see not the negativity, which is an expression of the person’s great internal struggle, but rather I can see the great potential gifted to this person. For if someone is more challenged than me, it also means that he has greater spiritual potential then I do.
It is up to me to judge the people around me favorably. They must feel that instead of their shortcomings I see their merit, and define them by the reservoir of positivity within them.
If I will judge my fellow meritoriously then he too will begin to believe in his merit, and seek to express his innate positivity.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Emor vol. 27 Sicha 1)
Three Categories of Fruit
Of the fifty-one commandments in this week's Torah portion, there is one subject that, according to Chassidic commentary, is a prototype for our entire mission here on earth. The Torah commands that when planting a tree, the fruit of the first three years is prohibited for consumption. The fourth year's fruit is considered holy and must be eaten exclusively in Jerusalem. Only in the fifth year may the fruit be eaten anywhere and for any purpose:
When you come to the Land and you plant any food tree, you shall surely block its fruit {from use}; it shall be blocked from you {from use} for three years, not to be eaten.
And in the fourth year, all its fruit shall be holy, a praise to the Lord. And in the fifth year, you may eat its fruit; {do this, in order} to increase its produce for you. I am the Lord, your G-d. (Leviticus 19:23-25)
Our soul’s descent into the physical world is likened to a tree being planted in the soil. The experiences we engage in and the actions we produce are likened to the fruit of the tree. All of our “fruit” fall within one of three categories: (1) A prohibition, an act that is negative and therefore must be rejected, just like the fruit of the first three years. (2) A Mitzvah; an act that is holy and an obligation, similar to the fruits of the fourth year that must be eaten in Jerusalem. (3) A permissible act; an act that is "neutral," neither negative nor holy, just like the fruit of the fifth year that may be eaten anywhere.
These three steps, according to Chassidic philosophy, are in ascending order. The first step is to separate from negative experiences, after the first step we then ascend to the step of engaging holiness by observing the commandments. But why does the third, and most sublime step correspond to the fruits of the fifth year, which are not holy but are merely neutral?
The commandment of the first fruits indicates a profound message. In some ways, there is an advantage to a Jew engaging in "mundane" "neutral" activities, even over the performance of an actual Mitzvah commandment. The purpose of creation is to transform the entire world into a home for G-d, a place hospitable to holiness, goodness, and kindness. While the Mitzvah imparts intense holiness to a limited set of objects and activities, it is the "neutral" aspects and experiences of life that make up most of our day, and most of the physical objects in the world. When we engage in the neutral, mundane, with a higher purpose, to support our service of G-d, we are bringing the Divine not only to the realm of holiness but also to the entire world.
Based on the teachings of the Rebbe, Ki Bayom Hazeh 5748
Obligation to Save a Life?
Should there be a legal obligation to save a life?
In the common law of most English-speaking countries, there is no general duty to come to the rescue of another. Generally, a person cannot be held liable for doing nothing while another person is in peril. By contrast, the Torah (Leviticus 19:16) presents an unequivocal moral obligation "You shall not stand by {the shedding of} your fellow's blood".
But why does the Torah convey this vital message in the negative form ("you shall not stand by") rather than the more direct, and therefore, impactful, positive form, such as "you shall rescue your fellow"? The answer is that the obligation to rescue applies not only when there is no risk to the rescuer but also when the bystander must assume some degree of risk to save his fellow. The Torah, therefore, employs the negative form ("do not stand by") to indicate that even when one would assume that he may stand by, because of the risk to himself, the Torah instructs us that we may not stand idly by.
The general parameters of the law are alluded to in Rashi's brief words:
You shall not stand by {the shedding of} your fellow's blood: {I.e., do not stand by,} watching your fellow's death, and you are able to save him; for example, if he is drowning in the river and a wild beast or robbers come upon him.
In Rashi's scenario, there is a risk to the rescuer, for not only is his fellow man drowning, in which case he can pull the fellow out of the water while remaining in the safety of dry land, but there is also a beast or robbers threatening the fellow.
On the other hand, the obligation to rescue does have its limits. It applies only when there is a realistic expectation of success, as alluded to in the words of Rashi: "and you are able to save him".
Rashi's wording also conveys a profound mystical truth.
Often, the justification for standing idly by is the feeling of inadequacy, when a person thinks he cannot make a difference in the face of a daunting challenge. Yet the Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, taught that anything a person sees or hears is for a reason. If G-d has brought something to one's attention, there must be something he must learn from it. In the words of Rashi "to see his death", if G-d has shown you that your fellow is in physical or spiritual distress, that itself is an indication that "you are able to save him", that you have the ability, and therefore the responsibility, to step in and help.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 32 Kedoshim 2
The Holiday of Weeks
The Torah refers to it simply as “holiday of the weeks” and many contemporary Jews have never even heard of the holiday. Yet, the holiday of Shavuot celebrates what may be the most important event in Judaism: the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai.
Why does the Torah fail to mention this most crucial detail - the reason for the celebration?
With its silence, the Torah is telling us something important about the giving of the Torah, it is telling us that Divine revelation is not specific to a particular time and place in our history. There is no, one day a year, designated to celebrate the Divine revelation, because Divine revelation occurs every time we open and study the Torah. As we say in the blessing before reading the Torah - ("Notayn Hatorah") "the one who gives the Torah", "gives" is written in the present tense, conveying that G-d is continuously giving us the Torah.
The Torah is silent about the date of the most important event in the history of mankind, in order to teach us, that anytime we open the Torah, G-d is speaking to us, directly, personally.
What then do we commemorate on - Shavuot - the holiday of weeks?
The name "holiday of weeks" describes, not the obligation of the holiday - as does the Holiday of Matzot and Holiday of Sukkot - but rather it describes the lead up to the holiday, the obligation to count seven weeks in anticipation and preparation of the giving of the Torah. Although G-d speaks to us every time we open the book, sometimes we fail to perceive the power of the experience. We are distracted by day to day life, we are tuned out spiritually and we are like an unplowed field being showered with rain: the rain has the power to bring forth growth but the earth is too rough to accept the seed and the water.
So, G-d commands us to designate some time for spiritual refinement, to count forty nine days, to understand that G-d wants to talk to us and we must tune in if we are to benefit from the experience. Finally on the fiftieth day - on the anniversary of the giving of the Torah - after all the preparation, every Jew can finally feel it: yes, G-d is talking to me, personally.
In the final analysis, what is unique about the fiftieth day is only the preparation - the weeks of counting, hence the name "holiday of the weeks" - the actual revelation, however, happens every time we read the book.
The Moon and the Holidays
Who should take the first step?
Eventually every relationship will reach a point where it will need to be strengthened. Someone will have to apologize, offer a compliment, or purchase flowers. Someone will have to make a move to strengthen the bond, and reconnect.
In a troubled relationship, it often happens that each person refuses to take the first step toward reconciliation and renewed friendship. In the troubled relationship, each party tells themselves “sure, I am not perfect, I need to apologize for my part of the mess, but let the other person apologize first for their far more significant part of the fight“. What separates a good relationship, one that will endure and thrive, from the troubled one, is that in the good relationship each person understands that there are times when they will have to make the first move.
The same is true of our relationship with G-d. In this week's Torah portion we read about the holidays, G-d tells Moses:
Speak to the children of Israel and say to them:.. these are the Lord's appointed [holy days], holy occasions, which you shall designate in their appointed time.
The Biblical word for Holiday is “Moed” which means: “appointed time for meeting”. The holidays are times designated for rejuvenation. They are times when we break from the daily grind, and carve out a place in time to meet our beloved, and rededicate ourselves to the strengthening of our relationship with G-d. There are various holidays, each representing a phase in the relationship, these phases are expressed by the phase of the moon on the night of the given holiday.
Some of the holidays represent G-d’s kindness to the Jewish people, they represent the man who makes it his business to step in and take responsibility for the relationship. While other holidays represent the woman who does not wait for the man’s courtship, but rather she takes the initiative and reaches out to her beloved.
Indeed, to learn all we need to know about our relationship with the Divine, all we need to do is look at the phase of the moon on each of the Jewish holidays.
Passover and Sukkot both begin on the fifteenth of the Hebrew month when the moon is full. Passover and Sukkot celebrate the exodus from Egypt when G-d “took the first step”, and pulled us out of Egypt with only minimal effort on our part. Just as the full moon fully reflects the light of the sun, so do Passover and Sukkot represent the divine kindness and inspiration in its fullest form.
In contrast to the fullness of the moon on Passover and Sukkot, Rosh Hashanah, the new year, is on the first day of the Hebrew month when the moon is barely visible. Rosh Hashanah, represents the bride, the people of Israel, taking the first step. On Rosh Hashanah we don't celebrate any miracles or divine inspiration. Roshe Hashanah is the time when G-d, the groom, takes no action. He waits for the people of Israel to call out to him. He waits for them to take the first step and sound the Shofar, which represents the people’s commitment to return to G-d, and amend the strained bond. Thus, on Rosh Hashanah almost none of the sun’s light is reflected by the moon, for Rosh Hashanah is the day that the people are supposed to initiate the inspiration.
And then there is the holiday of Shavuot, when we celebrate the giving of the Torah. On Shavuot both the bride and the groom act in partnership, as Shavuot represents G-d’s descent unto mount SInai to gift the people with the awesome gift of the Torah, as well as the commitment of the people to accept and follow the words of the Torah. Shavuot is on the sixth day of the Hebrew month, when half the moon is visible. Shavuot represents the partnership between bride and groom, G-d will descend, his will and wisdom will shine forth through the words of the Torah, yet the moon is not complete, because, on Shavuot, G-d is only half the story. The people’s acceptance of the Torah is just as integral a part of the story.
Next time you’re on your way to a holiday dinner, look up at the moon and you’ll know all you need to know about who should take the first step.
The Music Symphony vs. the Music Lesson
One of the most common concepts in Kabalistic and Chasidic thought is the idea of the two forms of Divine light: “Makif” and “Pnimi”, the encompassing light and the internal light.
Let us look at the Mitzvot of the holiday of Sukkot to help us understand these two forms of Divine energy.
In the Kabbalistic and Chasidic teachings, the Sukkah is “Makif”, it represents the encompassing light; the Lulav and Etrog represent the “Pnimi”, the light that can be internalized. When we shake the Lulav and Etrog in the Sukkah, we “draw down the encompassing light and assimilate it internally”.
What exactly does that mean?
There are two ways that we can be affected by music. One way is by going to a world-class symphony, the music played touches the core of our being, we feel uplifted and inspired. From this point on, we want nothing else but to be involved in the world of music.
A second option is, by looking through the phonebook, finding a music teacher, who will teach us how to hold a guitar and play a music note. The music lesson is utterly boring, we are uninspired, we cannot understand why anybody would enjoy spending time with this instrument, at this moment, we would prefer to be anywhere else other than with the guitar.
Which one of these experiences has a deeper effect on us, the symphony or the music lesson?
The answer, of course, is that they each one has a very different type of impact.
The symphony, changes the course of our life, it leads us to become a lifelong music fan. Yet, its impact is, in the language of the Kabbalah, “encompassing”, not “internal”. Meaning to say, that despite all the inspiration, we have not internalized the music. We still cannot play even one single note. In fact, we cannot reproduce any music; our music is completely dependent on the world outside of us. The symphony had a life changing impact on us, but is is encompassing, it was not internalized.
Now let us look at the music lesson. We have received no inspiration, no life altering experience, yet the lesson had an “internal” impact on us. We can now, on our own, without help from the outside, play a music note. We have internalized the music to the extent that we can now reproduce music. The skill is ours. It has become part of us.
In our relationship with G-d we experience both the encompassing and the internal light.
We sit in the Sukkah surrounded by the Divine energy, represented by the walls and cover of the Sukkah, we experience great inspiration and joy, the happiness and the spirituality present in the Sukkah can and should move us profoundly.
The Sukkah experience should change us, but the change is encompassing, once the holiday passes we cannot reproduce the feeling, we cannot reproduce the music of the Sukkah. Once we are back at home, we leave the spiritual symphony behind us. The Sukkah did not teach us to play the notes; it did not teach us how to internalize this great experience.
That is why we take the four species. We stand in the Sukkah and wave the Lulav and Etrog in all four directions, bringing them back to our heart, symbolizing to us, that as we stand in the Sukkah, basking in the encompassing light, we must take a limited measure of the light and apply it to our life. We must internalize some of the inspiration and make it part of who we are, we need to be able to reproduce a measure of this inspiration on a simple Tuesday in the cold winter.
We need to learn to play just one note, but that note will be internalized, we need to resolve to do just one more Mitzvah, but that one Mitzvah will become part of our identity.
For music to have the ultimate affect on our life we need to experience both the symphony and the music lesson. For the light of Judaism to have the ultimate affect on our life we need both the Sukkah and the Lulav.
The Non Anniversary
The Jewish year is filled with holidays that commemorate past events: Passover is celebrated on the day we were liberated from Egypt, Shavuot on the day we received the Torah, Rosh Hashanah, the day of judgement, the day Adam and Eve were judged for the sin of eating from the tree of knowledge; and on the day the Jewish people received the second set of tablets, which represented the atonement for the sin of the golden calf, we celebrate Yom Kippur.
In truth, Judaism does not believe in an anniversary as merely a celebration of the past. According to the teachings of Chasisdisim, the same energy that occurred in the past is, once again, available and more easily accessible on the anniversary of that event. Thus, a wedding anniversary, for example, is not just a commemoration of the time that a couple experienced a moment of profound meaning and deep love all those years ago, but rather it is a day when the commitment, devotion, love and friendship they experienced in the past can be readily reawakened. By the same token, on Passover the energy of freedom is once again in the air, and on Yom Kippur we access the energy of atonement, because the events of the past come alive and are reawakened on their anniversary.
Which leads us to the one exception: the holiday of Sukkot.
In this week’s portion the G-d commands Moshe:
Speak to the children of Israel, saying: On the fifteenth day of this seventh month, is the Festival of Succoth, a seven day period to the Lord… In order that your [ensuing] generations should know that I had the children of Israel live in booths when I took them out of the land of Egypt. I am the Lord, your God.
We sit in the Sukkah to commemorate the exodus, to remind ourselves that when we left Egypt G-d had us live in Sukkah huts. But why do we celebrate the holiday on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, six months after the exodus, on a day that is not the anniversary of any profound historic event?
Why is Sukkot celebrated on a non anniversary date?
Sukkot is most joyous of all the holidays: while on Passover there is no explicit commandment to rejoice, and regarding Shavuos the Torah mentions the word joy only once, on Sukkot the Torah instructs us to rejoice no less than three times. Sukkot is the most joyous holiday specifically because it does not occur on an anniversary. Sukkot teaches us that we don’t need to wait for times when a unique energy shines from above. Instead, through building the Sukkah, we have the power to sanctify an otherwise mundane day. Sukkot teaches us that while, ordinarily, the inspiration and joy associated with the holidays comes from above specifically at designated holy times, we are, however, able to produce an even greater inspiration through our own actions.
This explains why the Mitzvah of Sukkah is unique in that it encompasses our entire being. The holiness is not reserved for a specific action, such as eating Matzah or hearing the Shofar, but rather it is all encompassing. Anything we do in the Sukkah, whether it be eating, drinking, reading the paper or just relaxing, is a holy spiritual act that connects us to the Divine. Because such is the power of the Jew: to sanctify mundane time and to imbue daily activities with spirituality and holiness.
On Sukkot our joy reaches its climactic peak because Sukkot represents the ability to feel the closeness and love to our beloved even on the days that are not our wedding anniversary.
Count Yourself
The holiday of Shavuot, which commemorates the giving of the Torah, is unique among the holidays in that every other holiday is celebrated on a specific day of the Hebrew calendar, yet there is no date given for the holiday of Shavuot. Instead, the Torah instructs us to count forty nine days from the second day of Passover and to celebrate the giving of the Torah on the fiftieth day. As the Torah tells us in this week’s portion:
And you shall count for yourselves, from the morrow of the rest day from the day you bring the omer as a wave offering seven weeks; they shall be complete. You shall count until the day after the seventh week, [namely,] the fiftieth day, [on which] you shall bring a new meal offering to the Lord… And you shall designate on this very day a holy occasion it shall be for you; you shall not perform any work of labor. [This is] an eternal statute in all your dwelling places throughout your generations.
There is another anomaly in the holiday of Shavuot. There are other commandments for which counting is required: counting six days and resting on the seventh day, (in the land of Israel) counting six years and celebrating a sabbatical in the seventh year, counting seven sabbatical years and celebrating the Jubilee in the fiftieth year. On all other occasions there is no requirement for each individual to count, the commandment to count is upon the community. The counting of the court, on behalf of the community, establishes the occasion for everyone. The holiday of Shavuot is unique in that the commandment to count is upon each and every individual.
[There is a fascinating practical ramification to the individual count. If one travels from the United States to Australia crossing the Pacific Ocean, he will have crossed the dateline and skipped a day. He would celebrate Shabbat not on the seventh day since the previous Shabbat he celebrated, but rather on the seventh day according to the count of the community in Australia (although it is only the sixth day since his previous Shabbat). The Holiday of Shavuot, however, is an exception to this rule. If one skips a day by crossing the dateline from east to west, his holiday will follow his own count. Thus his Shavuot will begin one day after the beginning of Shavuot for the Jews of Australia].
All holidays are a time when the celebration encompasses the nation as a whole. We commemorate our shared history, we celebrate G-d’s blessings of agricultural bounty and, in biblical times, we would unite with other Jews in a pilgrimage to the temple in the holy city of Jerusalem. During all the holidays the individual is part of the collective, he celebrates as part of a people and a nation.
The holiday of Shavuot, which celebrates the giving of the Torah, is the exception. When the Jews gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai, G-d spoke the words of the ten commandments in the singular. G-d said to every individual “I am the lord your (“your” in the singular) G-d”. As the Midrash explains:
When He (G-d) spoke, every individual Israelite maintained: "He spoke to me!" "I am Hashem your (plural) G-d" is not written here, rather " I am Hashem your (singular) G-d".
The Jew standing at Sinai as well as the Jew reading the words of Torah, must appreciate that his relationship with G-d is not merely with the Jewish people as a whole. Rather G-d desires a relationship with him as an individual. G-d is speaking to him as if there was nobody else present, as if he were an only child. For G-d finds meaning in every individual.
To make this point clear, the Torah emphasizes that to prepare for the holiday of Shavuot, to prepare to receive the Torah anew, to reestablish our bond with G-d, every individual must count seven weeks. Every individual must refine and prepare himself in order to recommit to the relationship. It is not enough to join a community that counted forty nine days. Each individual must rely on his own counting, for each individual has their own, personal relationship with G-d and his Torah.
The Torah tells each individual: Do not rely on the counting of the community. Count, prepare, reconnect on your own. Because G-d, through the words of the Torah, is waiting to speak to you.
Show Me the Dough!
Judaism’s relationship with bread is complex.
The prohibition against bread on Passover is far more extensive than all other prohibitions. Not only are we not allowed to eat bread, we are also prohibited to own bread. Immediately after Passover, however, bread makes a comeback. The bread that was so terrible yesterday, somehow becomes acceptable today.
There was no leavened bread in the holy temple all year long. All grain offerings were made of dough that was not leavened. The verse states clearly: “No meal offering that you sacrifice to the Lord shall be made out of anything leavened. For you shall not cause to go up in smoke any leavening or any honey, as a fire offering to the Lord.” (Leviticus 2:11) Yet, once a year, after counting forty nine days from the second day of Passover, there was a commandment to offer leavened bread. As the Torah states in this week’s portion:
And you shall count for yourselves, from the morrow of the rest day from the day you bring the omer as a wave offering seven weeks...
From your dwelling places, you shall bring bread, set aside, two loaves made from two tenths of an ephah; they shall be of fine flour, [and] they shall be baked leavened, the first offering to the Lord. (Leviticus 23:15-17)
What is the spiritual nature of bread? Is bread completely prohibited (as it is on Passover, and, year round in the temple), is it a neutral substance (as it is all year outside the temple), or is it a Mitzvah (as it is in the temple after counting the seven weeks)?
Leavened bread represents the inflated ego. As such, in the beginning of our relationship with G-d, as we seek to establish a connection to the spiritual side of ourselves, we must reject our pleasure seeking ego. For if we allow our inflated sense of self to dictate how we live our life we will not be able to transcend the self and create a relationship with that which is beyond our self. Thus, on Passover, at the beginning of our spiritual journey, we separate completely from bread.
The purpose of life, and the ultimate goal of Judaism, however, is not to escape the self, but rather the goal is to elevate the self. Therefore, Immediately after Passover, as we count the seven weeks, we work to refine our seven primary character traits, elevating the animalistic side of ourselves. At the conclusion of the seven weeks, the bread, the sense of self, is no longer a distraction from spirituality. On the contrary - the sense of self has been refined to the point that the pleasure seeking self now directs its intense animalistic passion and drive to spirituality, to the love of others and to the love of G-d. At this point the bread, the self, is not only neutral it is a constructive and essential part of our relationship with the spiritual. Thus, after the seven weeks, on the holiday of Shavuot, the bread becomes a Mitzvah.
Our relationship with bread is the model for our interaction with all aspects of the world around us. To ensure that we are using physical objects and experiences, such as the smartphone, food, or any other worldly pleasure, for a good purpose, and that these objects are not controlling us, we must first ensure that we have the ability to separate from them; to turn off the phone, to say no to a given pleasure. Once we establish that we are in control, we can introduce the material object into our life and use it in a healthy way Ultimately, we take it a step further, and the material object or experience can become a positive influence in our life, making us happier, kinder, and more spiritually aware. It can become like the bread offered to G-d in the temple.
Teach Me How to Run
The Song of Songs, the Biblical book that describes the love between a young woman and her beloved, is a metaphor for the deep relationship between G-d, the groom, and the Jewish people, the bride.
Early in the book, we read the verse spoken by the woman to her beloved:
Draw me after you, let us run! The king has brought me to his chambers. We will rejoice and be glad in you. We will recall your love more fragrant than wine; they have loved you sincerely. (Song of Songs 1:4)
The Chassidic masters explain that the first three clauses of the verse refer to three stages of the relationship between G-d and the Jewish people, represented in (1) the holiday of Passover, (2) the counting of the Omer (during the seven weeks between Passover and Shavuot), (3) and the holiday of Shavuot (which commemorates the giving of the Torah at Sinai).
“Draw me after you”: The woman is helpless to pursue the person she loves. She is trapped by her circumstances. All she can do is call out to her beloved to draw her after him. To inspire her and free her from the shackles holding her back. This metaphoric scene captures the reality of the Jewish people in Egypt. They were enslaved not only physically but also spiritually. They were unable to free themselves from the shackles and the perspective of Egypt. They cried out to G-d, and G-d rescued his beloved. G-d pulled them out of Egypt without any effort on their part.
“Let us run!”: After the beloved drew her near, she too can run. This corresponds to the seven weeks of counting the omer, the seven weeks of preparation for the giving of the Torah, when the Jewish people work to refine themselves, growing spiritually in preparation for receiving the Torah. That is why the verse states “we will run”, because, unlike in Egypt where the Jewish people were passive, during the counting of the omer, the Jewish people are investing effort, they are running, to become closer to G-d.
“The king has brought me to his chambers”: This refers to the holiday of Shavuot, when we receive the Torah. When we study Torah we experience an intimate bond with G-d. We are in his innermost chamber.
A careful analysis of the grammar reveals deep insight into our inner self. The Kabbalah teaches that each person possesses two souls. The G-dly soul seeks transcendence and holiness, and the animal soul which is self-oriented seeks physical pleasures. On Passover, when we experience Divine inspiration without any effort on our part, it is specifically our G-dly soul that is affected. That is why the verse states “Draw me”, in the singular. Because the animal soul is not affected by the inspiration that descends from above. During the seven weeks of refinement that precede the giving of the Torah, the G-dly soul seeks to awaken within the animal soul a desire to come close to G-d. Slowly, the G-dly soul demonstrates to the animal soul that it is desirable to experience spirituality. That the greatest pleasure one can achieve is transcendence. Which is why the verse uses the expression “we will run” in the plural. Because at this point both the G-dly soul and the animal soul are involved together.
Perhaps the most surprising insight in this verse is that not only is the animal soul affected by the G-dly soul, but the reverse is also true. The G-dly soul is affected by the animal soul. The G-dly soul is wise, enlightened, and kind. But the G-dly soul does not have nearly as much passion as the animal soul. When the animal soul wants something it wants it forcefully and completely. There is no delay and no compromise. The animal soul is either not engaged or engaged completely, with all its energy and might. While the G-dly soul “walks”, the animal soul “runs”.
The verse states “we will run” in the plural. For once the G-dly soul teaches the animal soul the sweetness of becoming close to G-d, the animal soul begins to “run”, unleashing its desire and passion, which may have been previously directed toward unholy matters, to holiness. In the process, the animal soul teaches the G-dly soul how to “run”. The G-dly soul learns to develop an intense passion for G-d.
The G-dly soul teaches the animal soul what to love, and the animal soul teaches the G-dly soul how to love.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Usfartem Lachem 5711)
The Kabbalah of Dance
A circle dance, according to wikipedia, is probably the oldest form of dance. In Biblical Hebrew there is a specific word for a circle dance, Machol, as King David wrote in the Book of Psalms: “Let them praise His name with a {circle} dance”.
The Hebrew word Machol, a circle dance, is related to the word Mechilah forgiveness. What possible connection can there be between a dance and forgiveness?
When a person is dancing in a circle he begins the dance at a specific point, and then moves farther and farther away from that point, only to once again return to the same point. If a person would observe a dance for the first time, he would probably wonder what the point is of going in circles, moving away only to return once again? Yet, the nature of dance is that the rhythm, exuberance and joy of the dance is produced specifically by moving farther away in order to return.
The Kabbalists explain that all of life is, in essence, a dance. The soul descends into this world, moving away from its sense of closeness to G-d, yet the descent and distance is in order to return closer to G-d with greater passion, excitement and joy. If the soul had not moved away from G-d, it would experience the closeness to G-d as if it were, so to say, sitting on a couch right next toG-d. Yet the descent, and distance, is likened to the excitement and passion which is produced by the dance.
The circle dance explains the rhythm of the seventh month in the Jewish calendar, the month of holidays, which is discussed in this week’s portion. The month begins with the days of awe. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we seek forgiveness, we introspect, we realize that, inevitably, over the course of the year, we have moved away from G-d, from our true self, and from our deepest aspirations and goals. We sense the awe. The distance and gap between the person we are and the person we know we could be. Yet, just like the circle dance, the feeling of distance, is just the first part of the story. Specifically because we sense the distance, feel the longing, and seek forgiveness, we are drawn back to the starting point of the circle in a much deeper way. After the distance, after the forgiveness of Yom Kippur, we experience G-d’s love to us in a more profound way. The second half of the circle, is the second half of the month, “the season of joy”, when we sit in the Sukkah, whose walls symbolize G-d’s loving embrace, and experience a far deeper sense of joy than the soul could ever have felt had it not embarked on the dance we call life.
Throughout the year we experience the pain, frustration, and disappointment of being distant from the people we love, from our true selves and from G-d. We experience setbacks and challenges. We sometimes seem to be moving farther away from the life we want for ourselves. The rhythm of the month of the holidays teaches us a profound lesson: it is up to us to transform the distance into a circle dance. We alone can transform the pain into longing and the longing into profound closeness. All we need to do is realize that we are in the midst of a circle dance.
Adapted from Lekutei Torah, Shmini Atzeres, 86:3.
Your Seven Soul Powers
The Torah commands us to count seven weeks from the second day of Passover until the "holiday of weeks," which celebrates the giving of the Torah. As we read in this week's portion:
And you shall count for yourselves, from the morrow of the rest day from the day you bring the omer as a wave offering seven weeks; they shall be complete. (Leviticus 23:15)
The Kabbalists explain that the Hebrew word for counting, "Usefartem, is related to the word "Sefirah," which means "soul powers," as well as "Sapirut," which means shining. The counting of the seven weeks is the time when we introspect and refine our seven emotional soul powers, each of which includes all seven, leading to forty-nine specific emotions. Each week we focus on one of the seven soul powers, and each day of the week we focus on one of the seven expressions of that general soul power.
Below is a short description of each of our seven soul powers.
1. Chesed - Loving Kindness
Chesed is the soul's ability and desire to flow outward. To share, express, and give.
Within G-d, the sefirah of Chesed is the force that motivates creation. The desire to express Himself and be benevolent toward the creation.
Chesed within the human soul is the desire to love, which is the desire to become one with someone or something outside of the self. The numerical value of the Hebrew word for love, "Ahava," is 13, the same as the numerical value for the Hebrew word for one, "Echod."
2. Gevurah - Strength, Discipline, Restriction
Gevurah is strength and discipline, which is the opposite extreme of love. If loving kindness sees only the good and wants to give without any restriction, Gevurah, restricts the desire to give and wants to give only to those who are deserving and only to the extent that they are deserving. If the attribute of Chesed wants one to give unconditionally to one's child, the attribute of Gevurah wants the child to earn in order to receive.
Chesed and Gevurah, love and restriction, are two wings that every relationship requires. Love is the desire to be one, yet restriction allows us to respect another person's space, perspective, and needs. If one wants to become one with another person, he may seek to impose his will and perspective upon the other person. The restriction allows one to pull back and respect the other’s right to their own will and perspective.
3. Tiferet - Beauty, Harmony, Compassion
Loving kindness is associated with the right side, strength with the left side. Tiferet, beauty and harmony is associated with the middle column, which blends and connects the right and the left.
Compassion blends the perspective of discipline and kindness by acknowledging the view of discipline, that not everyone is deserving, with the view of kindness that seeks to give to everyone. Because compassion is the desire to help even the person who is undeserving, yet, it is elicited specifically by people who require compassion.
Compassion is the emotional bridge that can easily connect to others. Unlike kindness which is motivated by the giver's desire to give, compassion is the ability to be empathetic, to sense the other person's pain and need. In fact, the Kabbalah explains that while love dictates that we love a limited number of people, our compassion reaches a far wider circle. We have compassion for any stranger, even if we know nothing about the person, even if we never see the person, as long as we sense their pain.
We may be upset at the behavior of a spouse, a child, or a friend, but as soon as we sense that they are in pain, the resentment and anger will be replaced with compassion and then love. Because once the bridge of compassion is built, the love will flow on the emotional bridge.
4. Netzach - Victory, Endurance
The first three emotions are considered primary, whereas the second three are their "branches." Victory is the branch of loving kindness and represents the soul power that motivates the person to overcome any obstacle and challenge and carry through that which the loving-kindness motivated them to do. Victory is considered a "branch" and not a primary emotion because it operates even when the underlying love is no longer felt. For example, if a person decides to begin a project, join the military, enroll in medical school, or start writing a book, motivated by love; victory, endurance, is the motivation to carry through with the project even when the love is not felt. The challenges, obstacles, and distractions which block love motivate victory and endurance. The people who are activated and mobilized by crisis and challenges are the people in whom the attribute of endurance is dominant.
5. Hod - Submission, Splendor
Hod, the beauty of commitment. While the attribute of victory is a branch of loving kindness and is therefore rooted in self-expression, Hod, submission, is an extension of the respect of Gevurah-restraint. Even when one no longer feels the sense of awe, the soul has the capacity to be humble and commit to a cause greater than itself.
6. Yesod - Foundation, Connection
Yesod, the sixth emotion, is a branch of the third emotion of Tiferet-compassion. Compassion is the feeling of empathy, whereas Yesod is the ability to convey the sense of connection to the other. When a child feels the bond of the teacher or parent, they will understand the material far better. Not because the teacher is wise or kind, but rather because the teacher is expressing the attribute of Yesod-connection.
7. Malchut - Royalty
Malchut, the final soul power, is expressed through the power of speech. While at first glance, the power of speech does not generate any new content, but rather it is only a conduit to express ideas and emotions; speech will intensify an idea or an emotion. When one verbalizes an idea and communicates it to another, the speaker will reach a deeper understanding of the concept. When one verbalizes one’s feelings, they will magnify and intensify.
Speech is referred to as sovereignty because it is through words that a person can inspire, motivate, and lead others. G-d created the world through speech, and we "create" our environment through the words and ideas we project.
Why Two Days of Holiday Outside Israel?
In Biblical times, the dates of Jewish holidays were based on the sighting of the moon. Rosh Chodesh, the first of the month, was set by the court in Jerusalem, when witnesses testified that the new moon appeared in the sky, marking the beginning of the new month. By the time the fifteenth of the month (the dates of the Passover and Sukkot festivals) would arrive everyone in Israel knew when Rosh Chodesh and by extension, when the date of the holiday was. Yet, the communities outside of Israel were left in doubt as to the start of the holiday, as the news of the precise date of Rosh Chodesh would not reach them in time. Therefore, the communities outside of Israel would celebrate two days, taking into account the two days that Rosh Chodesh could occur (depending on whether the previous month had 29 or 30 days), while the Jews in Israel would celebrate only one day. Even today, when the calendar is set and we know the precise day of the holidays, Jews outside of Israel celebrate two days of the holiday to perpetuate the custom and practice of their ancestors. As Maimonides explains:
Wherever these messengers would arrive [before the celebration of the festivals], the holidays would be observed for [only] one day, as prescribed by the Torah. In the distant places, which the messengers would not reach [before the celebration of the festivals], the holidays would be observed for two days because of the doubt [involved]. For they would not know the day on which the High Court established the new month.
…In the present era, when the Sanhedrin no longer exists, and the court of the Land of Israel establishes [the months] according to the [fixed] calendar,according to law, it would be appropriate for [Jews] throughout the world to celebrate the holidays for one day alone. For [the inhabitants of] the distant regions of the diaspora and the inhabitants of Israel rely on the same [fixed] calendar and establish [the festivals] accordingly. Nevertheless, the Sages ordained [that the inhabitants of the diaspora] retain the custom of their ancestors. (Laws of Sanctification of the New Moon, Chapters 3 and 5)
The mystics explain that in addition to the historical, technical, reason, there is also a deeper spiritual reason. The holy land of Israel is far more intune to the spiritual holiness of the holiday. Therefore, for the Jewish people in Israel, one day is enough to connect to and internalize the spiritual energy of the day. In contrast, outside of Israel, there are additional layers of concealment of the Divine energy and light, therefore one day is not sufficient and more time and effort is required to achieve that which can be achieved in Israel in one day.
While the mystical perspective emphasizes the disadvantage of the diaspora, the Chassidic perspective, taught by the Rebbe, transforms that disadvantage into an advantage. While outside of Israel, we are more distant from holiness, we are farther from the holiness manifest in Israel. Yet that distance creates a deeper longing and yearning for holiness. Then, when the holiday finally arrives, and we sense a measure of closeness to G-d, our joy is far greater than the joy of those in Israel who did not feel the pain of distance as potently. The increased, intense joy, born from the yearning due to the distance, is expressed in the additional day of holiness and celebration outside of Israel.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Toras Menachem vol. 74 p. 119
The Engine and the Steering Wheel
Much of the struggle and tension within the human being could be boiled down to the natural tension between the mind and the heart. Between that which the mind knows to be right and that which the heart desires.
The mind and the heart have trouble communicating simply because they don’t speak the same language, and they don’t respond to the same stimuli.
The job of the heart is to answer a simple question: “is this good for me?”. The heart does not respond to objective truths. The heart is not concerned about the greater good. The heart’s job is to be subjective, to make sure that the self is happy and pampered. On the other hand, when functioning properly, the mind is supposed to be objective. The mind is the tool which allows the human being to transcend the self. The mind has the ability to ponder the abstract, to ask, not, “is this good for me”, but rather, “is this good”. The healthy objective mind will be attracted to that which it understands to be objectively good, while the heart will reject it if it is inconsistent with what it perceives to be good for itself.
With the mind and the heart pulling in different directions, which one should the person follow? Which one should rule the person?
Western society is unequivocal: “follow your heart”. Parents and teachers, songwriters and poets, keep reminding us to “follow your heart, it knows best”.
It does not take much thought to see the flaw in the “follow the heart” formula. What if one wakes up in the morning and his heart tells him to rob a bank. Should he do what his mother always taught him to do and follow his heart?
Both the emotion and intellect are critical to a healthy life. Both are necessary. On the journey we call life, the heart is the engine and the mind is the steering wheel. A person without emotion is a person without an engine, without passion, without the strength to smash through the obstacles and achieve, without the fire to overcome rivers of separation and connect to another. But an engine without a steering wheel will end up in the ditch stuck on the side of the road.
The heart is the stuff of life, but when the mind turns on the “check engine” light then we must stop, lift up the hood, and examine the emotions.
In fact, we “check the engine” every year during the forty nine days between the holidays of Passover and Shavuos. The Kabbalah teaches that there are seven emotions, each emotion includes all seven. On each day of the forty nine days, we examine one of our emotions. We scrutinize the emotion and direct it to the proper road.
We cannot live a healthy life without love, awe, compassion, and commitment. But we must ensure that our emotions are guided by our objective mind to lead us to healthy relationships. Unrefined emotion can lead a person to self centered, destructive, narcissistic behaviour.
This is the symbolism of the Commandment of the Jubilee which we read in this week’s Parsha:
And you shall count for yourself seven sabbatical years, seven years seven times. And the days of these seven sabbatical years shall amount to forty nine years for you… And you shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and proclaim freedom [for slaves] throughout the land for all who live on it. It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return, each man to his property, and you shall return, each man to his family.
We count seven years seven times. Each of the forty nine years represents the refinement of one character trait. On the fiftieth year, we “proclaim freedom throughout the land”. On the fifteenth year we are refined, free of the negative impulses of the emotions. On the fiftieth year we are free to enjoy freedom of objectivity. The freedom to realize the perspective of our loved ones. The freedom to unshackle ourselves from the grasp of our ego. The freedom to apologize. The freedom to improve.
The freedom to use our inner engine, not to self destruct, but to imbue us with the drive and passion to achieve that which we know we want to achieve.
Holy Farmer!
Every seventh year, the Jewish farmer living in Israel was commanded to cease working the land, to separate from the earth and to designate a sabbatical year for matters of the spirit. The Sabbatical year, the Shmittah, was to be dedicated as a “Shabbat to G-d”, as this week’s Torah portion begins:
Speak to the children of Israel and you shall say to them: When you come to the land that I am giving you, the land shall rest a Sabbath to the Lord. You may sow your field for six years, and for six years you may prune your vineyard, and gather in its produce. But in the seventh year, the land shall have a complete rest a Sabbath to the Lord; you shall not sow your field, nor shall you prune your vineyard.
The year of rest followed the six years of working the land, why then does the Torah state: “When you come to the land that I am giving you, the land shall rest a Sabbath to the Lord”, implying that immediately upon entering the land they were to designate a sabbatical year?
Entering the Land of Israel was the opening of a new chapter in the Jewish story. Up until that point the Jews were not in the agriculture business. The Patriarchs and their children were shepherds; an occupation which did not take much effort and which left them plenty of time to be out in nature, separated from the distractions of civilizations, an occupation conducive to leading a spiritual life. Upon entering the land, the descendants of Abraham and the bearers of his legacy, were, for the first time, called upon to take possession of a land, to work it and to reap its bounty. For the first time, the people were focusing their time and attention on the earth.
To ensure that the people of Israel would maintain their spiritual identity and elevate the earth rather than be consumed by it, the Torah tells us that as soon as they entered the land they must know that eventually the land would rest and experience the Sabbatical year. The Torah begins with the mention of the Sabbatical year, although it would not come to pass until after the six years of work, in order to remind us of the goal of the entire enterprise. Why are we in business? Why do we spend six long years working the land? Not merely because we desire the produce. The goal of all our work, the purpose of all our efforts, is to connect to G-d during the Sabbatical year.
The Mitzvah of the Sabbatical, has an unusual introduction:
And the Lord spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, saying
The phrase “and the Lord spoke to Moses saying” appears many times in the Torah, yet the addition “on Mount Sinai” appears only once in the entire Torah. It appears only regarding the commandments of the Sabbatical year.
What is the connection between the commandment of the Sabbatical year and Mount Sinai?
The Torah is telling the Jewish farmer: make no mistake about your identity, and about how you self define. You may be plowing the field or harvesting its fruit, you may be on the trading floor or in a meeting with investors, but that does not define you. The true you is at Mount Sinai yearning for a connection to G-d and his wisdom. The true you understands that the purpose of all your efforts is for the spiritual Sabbatical.
Studying the Torah portion of the Sabbatical year reminds us to create sacred space in our life, in which we allow ourselves to re-experience Mount Sinai. We remind ourselves that it is on the weekly Shabbat, as well as the daily moments we devote to holiness, where we express our true identity. Those moments, in turn, empower us to carry the holiness to all areas of our life.
Proclaim Freedom
In Biblical Israel life vibrated to a rhythm of cycles of seven. We are commanded to work six days and rest on the seventh; to work the land for six years and to let it lay fallow on the seventh. We would then count seven cycles of seven years and proclaim the fiftieth year as the year of the jubilee, a year of freedom, when all slaves were set free and any land that was sold would return to its original owner.
While the laws of the jubilee year don’t apply today, and while the laws of the sabbatical year only apply in the land of Israel, the message and spiritual lesson of the sabbatical and jubilee years are relevant for all of time, they are the roadmap for the journey to achieve spiritual freedom.
When the Jewish people entered the land of Israel they devoted themselves to agriculture; their days were dedicated to plowing, planting, harvesting and working the land, work which required a tremendous amount of devotion. Left unchecked, this devotion could, over time, enslave the person to the land. Left unchecked the earth could rob a person of his or her higher, more spiritual pursuits.
The Torah therefore commands that every seventh year we refrain from working the land and dedicate the year to matters of the spirit:
You may sow your field for six years, and for six years you may prune your vineyard, and gather in its produce, But in the seventh year, the land shall have a complete rest a Sabbath to the Lord; you shall not sow your field, nor shall you prune your vineyard.
The sabbatical year is described as a rest for the land, the person rests only as a result of the obligation for the land to rest. In other words, the sabbatical year does not transform the Jew. During the Sabbatical year, a person might still prefer to be in the field, and, even while refraining from work, might worry about what he would eat. The land achieved its freedom, but the Jew was still only on his journey to freedom.
In the spiritual service of the Jew, the sabbatical year represents the service of “Bitul Hayesh”, subjugating the self to a higher purpose. The person has not yet reached a place of inner peace and tranquility. At this point in his spiritual development, there is challenge and struggle. He overcomes the part of his inner self which only values the material, he separates from the mundane “work of the field” and designates time in which he devotes himself to the service of G-d.
After seven cycles of the Sabbatical we reach the fiftieth year. The year of freedom:
And you shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and proclaim freedom throughout the land for all who live on it. It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return, each man to his property, and you shall return, each man to his family.
The fiftieth year is described as the year of freedom for the person, “It shall be a Jubilee for you”, because by the time we reach the jubilee year, we are transformed. We are in touch with our true identity, our soul, we therefore are happy to experience a reset to the economy, allowing land we may have purchased to return to its original owner and slaves to return to their freedom.
The jubilee, in the spiritual sense, signifies a time when there is no longer any inner conflict and strife. The jubilee represents the Jew who, at least at this moment, understands and internalizes the vision of the Torah. The Jew’s mind and heart are aligned with his core inner self.
Each year we experience a taste of the jubilee cycle. Beginning on the second night of Passover we are commanded to count forty nine days, seven cycles of seven, and sanctify the fiftieth day as the holiday of Shavuot.
Each year as we escape our inner Egypt, we begin the journey to attain freedom. At first we encounter seven sabbaticals, during which we sometimes must overcome temptation, confusion and negativity. The sabbatical is a time when we overcome negative habits by simply abstaining from them and directing our attention to the good and positive, despite our internal struggle.
On the fiftieth day, the holiday of Shavuot, the day we received the ten commandments engraved on the tablets of stone, there is no longer a need for struggle. On the fiftieth day, we achieve a taste of the jubilee and experience a taste of freedom. The words of Torah are engraved upon our hearts, we identify with its teachings, and internalize its message.
Three Dimensional Sabbatical
The third book of the Torah, the book of Vayikra, is also called “Torat Kohanim”, “the law of the priests” (hence the name Leviticus, as the priests were from the tribe of Levi).
Indeed, the beginning of the book focuses on the offerings in the temple offered, on behalf of the people of Israel, by the priests. Yet, the purpose of the Torah is to teach us to spread the holiness outward, and sanctify all areas of life. Thus, as the book progresses, the focus of the book shifts. From the laws directed primarily to a specific segment of Jews, the priests, and a specific place, the temple, the book shifts to discuss the holiness as it applies to all the people of Israel, and to all of the land of Israel.
In this week’s Parsha, the Torah tells us the laws of the Sabbatical year: every seventh year agricultural activity would cease and the land would rest. As G-d told Moses:
Speak to the children of Israel and you shall say to them: When you come to the land that I am giving you, the land shall rest a Sabbath to the Lord. (Leviticus 25:2)
The Law of the Sabbatical was designed to remind the Jew that holiness can be experienced not only by the priests in the temple, but rather, perhaps more importantly, by the Jew on his farm. When the Jew celebrated the Sabbatical year he recognized that holiness is not relegated to the theoretical, the abstract, and the spiritual but rather the holiness can affect the land itself. The land itself is sanctified. The material world itself expresses the holiness of G-d.
After introducing the general concept of the Sabbatical, the Torah elaborates on the three elements which the commandment addresses: (1) the person (2) the land (3) the produce.
At first the Torah tells us the commandment is directed to the person. The person is prohibited from doing any labor on the land: “you shall not sow your field, nor shall you prune your vineyard”. The Torah then continues to tell that the Mitzvah applies to the land: “ it shall be a year of rest for the land. the land shall have a complete rest a Sabbath to the Lord” (25:5). And finally the Torah discusses the produce that grows on its own in the seventh year. The Torah commands that the produce should be available to everyone equally. The owner of the field may enjoy the fruit just as any other worker or resident: “And [the produce of] the Sabbath of the land shall be yours to eat for you, for your male and female slaves, and for your hired worker and resident who live with you” (25:6).
Experiencing the laws of the Sabbatical year helps the Jew internalize that all aspects of his reality are affected by his relationship with G-d. (1) The holiness affects himself (he may not perform work on the land) (2) the holiness affects his natural environment, (the land must rest). (3) the holiness affects his possessions and wealth (the produce of the land must be available to all).
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos Vayelech, vol. 24 Sicha 1)
How to Deal with Burnout?
Sooner or later we all experience burnout. We begin with enthusiasm, excited about an idea, a project, starting a business, or raising a family. We set out to achieve our goal with passion, dedication, and a sense of meaning and purpose. Inevitably, however, we lose some of the excitement. At times we feel burnout, drained of energy, and frustrated by the many details and specific tasks that seem to overwhelm us.
Chassidic philosophy describes this phenomenon as the disconnect between “Chochmah” (wisdom), the general idea, the flash of inspiration, and “Binah” (understanding), when the general idea is applied in detail. The “light” which is present in the general idea, is not felt in the detail.
[To illustrate: a student enrolls in medical school because he is passionate about helping people. He is filled with excitement and charged with energy. Three years down the road, studying for an exam at midnight on a Wednesday night, the excitement has evaporated. Because it is difficult to feel that this specific detail, this exam, is part of the larger process of becoming a healer and helping people.]
The solution to the problem is to connect the general idea with the detail, or, in Chassidic parlance, to connect the details of “Binah” with the light of “Chochmah”. While one is engaged in a mundane task, he must focus on the goal of this detail. If one can see the larger picture, then the enthusiasm which is present in the general will energize the specific as well. [For example, I may be frustrated that I have to stand on line in the market to buy vegetables for dinner, but, I can look at the task of waiting on line as a critical step which will allow me to enjoy dinner with my loves ones. This is the way the detail is connected to the general experience.]
All this applies to our relationship with G-d.
In this week’s portion the Torah tells us that the laws of the Sabbatical year were related to the Jewish people at Sinai. Two great sages, Rabbi Yishmael and Rabbi Akiva debate what the precise meaning of the words “at Sinai” is. Rabbi Yishmael asserts that only the general principles of the commandments were taught at Sinai, while the details of the laws were taught in the Tent of Meeting (the temple constructed in the desert). Rabbi Akiva disagrees and says that both the general rules of the commandments as well as their particular details were taught at Sinai.
What are the implications of their disagreement?
Sinai, where the Jewish people experienced the Divine revelation in all its intensity, represents the intense feeling of connection and devotion to G-d. Rabbi Yishmael explains that only the general ideas of the commandments are “from Sinai”, meaning only the general idea of the commandments can elicit within us the same excitement as we experienced at Sinai. Each morning, during prayer, we experience a general devotion to G-d that is reminiscent of the experience at Sinai. Once we are engaged in the specifics of the commandments, however, once we are engaged in the specific tasks of the day, it is impossible to feel the excitement of Sinai. The details of the laws, therefore, were taught at the Tent of Meeting.
In contrast to Rabbi Yishmael, who was a high priest whose life experiences kept him within the realm of the holy and tranquil, Rabbi Akiva’s spiritual journey was far more challenging. Rabbi Akiva was a descendant of converts, he began to study Torah at the age of forty, and is the embodiment of one who must overcome difficulty in order to serve G-d.
Rabbi Akiva’s life experiences taught him that in order to persevere one must be able to experience the full intensity of inspiration every moment. Rabbi Akiva told his students that every day of his life he was yearning to sacrifice his life in total commitment to G-d.
Rabbi Akiva argues, and exemplifies, that one can indeed have the passion of Sinai not only in the general, not only when one makes general life decisions, but also every moment of every day. Rabbi Akiva shows us that the general ideas as well as the details were both said at Sinai.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 17 Behar 1.
Legal Mechanism of the Jubilee
In Biblical times, when all twelve tribes of Israel resided in the land of Israel, the commandment of the Jubilee year was in place. Every fiftieth year, all indentured servants were set free, and all land which was sold during the previous forty nine years would revert back to its original owner. As the Torah states:
And you shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and proclaim freedom [for slaves] throughout the land for all who live on it. It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return, each man to his property, and you shall return, each man to his family. The land shall not be sold permanently, for the land belongs to Me, for you are strangers and [temporary] residents with Me. (Leviticus 25:10,23)
There are two possible ways to define the precise mechanism by which the Jubilee takes effect and causes all land to revert to the original seller. The first possibility is that it is, in the language of the Talmud, “a release of the King {a Divine decree}.” meaning that the sale in which the two parties engage in is a permanent sale, yet the Divine decree of the Jubilee intervenes and nullifies the sale. The second possibility is that the Jubilee is affected by the buyer and seller themselves. As a result of the commandment, the unspoken understanding of both parties is that the sale is a temporary transaction, which lasts only until the fiftieth year.
[There are practical implications between these two options. One interesting application was presented by the great twentieth century sage, the Ragatchover Gaon. Assuming the land was sold when the commandment of the jubilee was in effect, but by the time the fiftieth year came about the jubilee was no longer in effect (because the exile of the ten tribes nullified the practical application of the Jubilee). According to the first perspective, the Divine commandment would only undo a complete and final sale in the event that the Jubilee year was in effect. In a case that the Jubilee year was no longer in effect, however, the Divine decree would not nullify the sale, and the land would remain in the possession of the buyer. According to the second opinion, however, the land would revert back to the seller, although the Jubilee was no longer in effect. Because at the time of the sale, the sale was only intended to be temporary, until year fifty.]
Just like every law of the Torah, the Jubilee applies within the spiritual service of every Jew. The equivalent of the jubilee in the soul of man is the freedom from inner bondage. The liberation from inner tension and negativity. The two possible mechanisms for the Jubilee to take effect represent two paths to achieve inner freedom. The first argues that inner liberation can come only as a gift from above. The second argues that the mechanism of the jubilee is man-made. And therefore, the inner freedom of the jubilee can be achieved through one's own efforts.
While in the legal realm only one of these perspectives are correct, in the spiritual realm both perspectives are true. The Jew is required to attain the freedom that he can achieve by his own efforts. When he does so, G-d bestows an even greater sense of freedom, that is a gift from on high.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, 12 Tamuz 5737
Profit From a Loan or From an Investment?
Do You Prefer to Profit from a Loan or from an Investment?
Clearly, the Torah prefers the profit from an investment to the profit from a loan. In this week’s Parsha we read the prohibition against paying or receiving interest from a fellow Jew:
If your brother becomes destitute and his hand falters beside you, you shall support him [whether] a convert or a resident, so that he can live with you. You shall not take from him interest or increase, and you shall fear your God, and let your brother live with you. You shall not give him your money with interest, nor shall you give your food with increase. (Leviticus 25:35-37)
The difference between profiting from a loan and profiting from an investment, is that the person giving the loan is positioned to receive profit (the interest payment) regardless if the borrower receives a profit or suffers a loss, the borrower is responsible for repaying regardless of the outcome of the enterprise. In an investment, by contrast, the investor profits only if the underlying enterprise profits and will take a loss if the enterprise loses money.
Another way to look at it is that the lender seeks to profit from money that belonged to him in the past but no longer belongs to him. The money lent no longer belongs to the lender; thus, the lender is not responsible if the money is lost, or poorly invested. The investor, on the other hand, maintains ownership over the money invested, thereby incurring its losses but also benefiting from its profits.
These two models, the loan and the investment, also exist in our relationship with G-d. We can choose the loan model, in which G-d gives us “money” - potential for success, yet the “money” is considered our own, and anything we achieve is exclusively our own accomplishment. Alternatively, we can choose to experience our relationship with G-d In the investment model, where G-d is a partner with us in our work, actively participating in our efforts. When we appreciate that G-d is an active partner in our efforts, we unleash a degree of holiness, spiritual meaning, and success far greater than the limited capacity of a created, finite, being.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Behar vol. 3
Self Made Holiness
Many people expect inspiration to come from above. “If G-d really wants me to follow the Torah”, they argue, “he would plant within my heart a burning desire to do so”. “If G-d felt it important that I dedicate time to Torah study”, they insist, “then I would be born with a natural draw to the wisdom of the Torah”. What they are saying in effect is, “if G-d wanted me to be holy he would have made me holy from the womb, without any effort necessary on my part”. When they think about holiness, they think of G-d descending on Mount Sinai to inspire a people who could not inspire themselves.
This, explain the final verses in the book of Leviticus, is just one form of holiness. The highest form of holiness, however, is the one that is man made.
On the last page of the book of Leviticus, at the culmination of the book about the various offerings and the temple services, the Torah discusses two categories of holy animals which must be offered in the temple. The first is the Bechor, the firstborn animal; and the second, the last offering of the book of Leviticus, is the Maaser, the tithe, every tenth animal born.
These two offerings represent the two forms of holiness; the first is imparted by G-d, the second is man made.
The Bechor is sacred by virtue of being born first. No human intervention is necessary. As Maimonides explains:
It is a mitzvah to sanctify a firstborn kosher animal and say: "Behold, this is holy," as the verse states: "Every firstborn shall you sanctify unto God your Lord." Even if the owner did not sanctify it, it is sanctified as a matter of course. It is sanctified upon its emergence from the womb.
The last offering on the book, the Maaser, is not sacred until the Jew sanctifies it himself. As explained by Maimonides:
He should gather all of the lambs or all of the calves born that year in a corral. He then makes a small entrance so that two cannot emerge at the same time. He positions their mothers outside the corral and they bleat so that the lambs will hear their voices and leave the corral to meet them. This is necessary, as implied by the verse which states: "all that passes beneath the staff," i.e., they must pass on their own initiative; one should not remove them by hand.
As they leave the corral one by one, the owner begins to count them with a staff: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. The tenth animal that departs, whether male or female, whether unblemished or blemished, should be painted with red paint, and the owner should say: "This is the tithe."
The book dealing with all the offerings, culminates with the Masser offering, specifically because its holiness is dependent on man. The person does not expect G-d to inspire him. The person is required to take steps for self inspiration. He cannot rely on heaven to send him a first-born-already-assembled dose of inspiration. Here he must gather his lambs and calves, he must count, he must apply the red paint. It’s in his hands. By doing so he realizes that the true holiness is created only when a person is the one generating the inspiration.
Don’t wait for the inspiration to come from above and fill your heart with a passion for G-d. Even if you are not in the mood, count your sheep and give one to G-d, take some time of your day, and sanctify it, use it to pray, to study Torah, to do a Mitzvah. It may not be as dramatic as the holiness that comes from above, but it is what G-d finds most meaningful.
Ten Women, One Oven
“Ten women will bake their bread in one oven, they will place their bread on a scale, and you will eat and not be satisfied.” This verse is from the “rebuke”, where the Torah tells of the terrible calamities that would befall the Jewish people if they would abandon G-d and his commandments.
Every verse in the Torah has multiple layers of meaning. The simple meaning of the word is the “body” of the verse and the mystical interpretation is the “soul” of the verse. The verses of the “rebuke” are no exception, they may seem to be describing terrible curses but like the body that contains a soul, hidden within these verses are powerful blessings.
On the surface, the verse, “Ten women will bake their bread in one oven” describes the process of baking literal bread. On the deeper level, however, the bread refers to the Torah which is the spiritual bread and nourishment of the Jew.
Bread is about more than just kneading the various ingredients into a dough. Bread must be baked. Dough that isn’t baked will not be digested properly and its nutrients will therefore not enter the bloodstream efficiently. The nutrients of the bread will not become one with the person eating the bread. The heat of the fire enables the bread to be digested properly. The heat of the fire enables the bread to become one with the person eating the bread. The fire allows the nutrients of the bread to enter the bloodstream and become one with the person.
The same is true for the spiritual bread. The Torah that we study must become part of us, it must not remain a distinct entity just sitting in our mind. The teachings of the Torah must become part of our bloodstream, part of our character. Not just an intellectual idea to ponder but rather it must become who we are.
How does this happen? How do the words of Torah that we study become part of us? Well, like any other bread, the Torah must be baked with fire. The fire enables the dough to unite with us.
The fire which bakes our spiritual bread is the fire of passionate love of G-d. The fire is the heart surging upward like a flame. The fire is the soul’s yearning to escape the grip of its wick, thirsting to reunite with its source.
“Ten women will bake their bread in one oven”. The great, yet hidden, blessing in this verse is that the fire of love will consume and involve all ten faculties of the soul, all ten women, and direct them to one oven, to one love. To the love of the one G-d.
And then comes the climax: “and you will eat and you will not be satisfied”.
As devastating a curse this is in the plain meaning so is the greatness of this blessing in the deeper meaning. “And you will not be satisfied”. Your love and yearning will never cease. You will never be satisfied with your spiritual state of being, you will always yearn to grow, to move closer. Your love will only intensify.
“You will not be satisfied”. You put on Tefilin today, you pray to G-d, you learned a portion of the Torah today, you’re in love. “You will not be satisfied”. Your love will not be satiated, it will intensify. When you don Tefilin tomorrow morning, the next time you pray or study Torah, your love will grow, the love will intensify ever stronger, and soar ever higher.
Bake your bread. Infuse your life with spiritual passion. Gather all “ten women”, to “one oven”, to one fire, to one love.
Most importantly, never be complacent. Always seek to grow. Always intensify the passion. “Eat, but don’t be satisfied”.
Finding the Hidden Sweetness
At the conclusion of the third book of the Five Books of Moses, the Torah lays out the blessings and the rebuke:
“If you follow My statutes and observe My commandments and perform them, I will give your rains in their time, the Land will yield its produce, and the tree of the field will give forth its fruit.”
The Torah then continues to describe the rebuke, the painful and tragic exile that will occur if we abandon the Torah.
Chassidic philosophy teaches that all negativity and darkness within the world is a shell which covers and conceals the spark of good that lies at the core of every experience and phenomenon. If this is true about worldly matters, it is certainly true about every verse in the Torah. Thus, the rebuke, which, read literally, describes terrible curses, contains a deeper hidden meaning. Beneath the surface, the curses actually contain hidden blessings, blessings so intense that the only way they can descend upon this earth, unobstructed by the forces of judgement, is under the guise of a curse.
One example for this principle is the following verse:
Each man will stumble over his brother, [fleeing] as if from the sword, but without a pursuer. You will not be able to stand up against your enemies (26:37).
Rashi addresses the words “Each man will stumble over his brother” and explains:
“Each man will stumble because of his brother,” i.e., one person will stumble because of someone else’s sin, because all Jews are guarantors for one another.
Rashi is telling us that in addition to the simple reading - we will stumble on our brother in the physical sense - there is an additional meaning to the curse: we will be responsible and accountable for the sins of each other, because we are guarantors for each other.
The Hebrew word for “guarantor”, ערב (Arev), has two additional meanings: “mixed” and “pleasant”. These three seemingly unrelated words, (1) “guarantor” (2) “mixed” and (3) “pleasant”, are, upon deeper analysis, deeply connected. Why is every individual Jew a (1) guarantor responsible for all other Jewish people? Because we are (2) integrated and mixed with each other. Just as all parts of the human body comprise one organism, the wellbeing of one limb affecting all others, so too all Jews are specific parts of one collective soul, each part of the soul integrated with all other parts of the collective soul.
The exile is horrific, but there is a hidden blessing. While living in Israel we didn't necessarily appreciate how we are interdependent and connected to each other. Yet, under the tragic circumstance of the exile, we realize that (1) we are guarantors for each other (2) Because we are connected to each other. Because we are part of one whole. This recognition is the (3) pleasantness that is the blessing in this verse. The pleasantness of discovering that we are indeed all one. This recognition will ultimately serve as the spiritual healing to the exile, and will allow us to experience the sweetness of the return to our homeland.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Igros Kodesh vol. 2 p. 346)
Should You Parent Like "Tiger Mom"?
The Hebrew language, the "holy tongue" with which G-d created the world, captures the inner essence of reality. Often, words that seem unrelated share a common root because, upon deeper exploration, there is an intrinsic connection between them.
One example is the word “Bechukotai” (“my statutes”), the first word of the final portion of the book of Leviticus, which is derived from the root word of "engraving". What is the connection between a statute and engraving?
[Interestingly, the English words statue and statute derive from the same Latin root, "sta", which means to stand. The statue stands tall in the literal sense, while the law is established and stands in the figurative sense.]
The Hebrew word “Bechukotai”, commonly translated as statutes, refers specifically to the laws that don't have a rational reason; we perform them only because they are the will of G-d. This category of law is therefore associated with engraving, in contrast to writing. Engraving differs from writing in two respects: engraving requires far more effort than writing, and engraving penetrates the stone to the extent that the engraved letter is one entity with the stone, unlike writing in which the ink does not become one entity with the parchment.
It is relatively easy to fulfill the commandments that we understand and relate to; therefore, fulfilling them is likened to writing. By contrast, the commandments that are beyond our understanding require far more effort on our part. Since we have to "push ourselves" to fulfill them, they are likened to engraving. Yet, precisely because of the effort required to fulfill the supra-rational commandments, they have a more profound impact on our personality; they are engraved in our psyche in a far more profound way than the rational commandments.
The idea that effort equals engraving also explains Rashi's commentary on Bechukotai. Rashi points out that in this case, Bechukotai cannot possibly be referring to fulfilling the statutes because the following clause refers to fulfilling all the commandments (including the supra-rational statutes). Rashi, therefore, offers a surprising interpretation: in this case, the word Bechukotai refers to toiling in the study of Torah:
if you follow My statutes: I might think that this refers to the fulfillment of the commandments. However, when Scripture says, "and observe My commandments," the fulfillment of the commandments is [already] stated. So what is the meaning of "If you follow My statutes"? It means that you must toil in the study of Torah.
The connection between toil in Torah and the word Bechukotai, is the effort-engraving equation. When one studies Torah, he or she is metaphorically writing the words of Torah into their consciousness, yet when one toils and invests effort in the study of Torah, then the words of Torah are engraved within their soul.
What is true about our own Torah study can perhaps be applied to education as well. We should not necessarily "tiger parent" by pushing every child to achieve straight A's. We should, however, teach our children to work harder each day. More important than achieving a good grade, we should value the child who tries harder today than he did yesterday. Because the effort invested is what leads to the true definition of success: engraving the divine words of the Torah on our heart and mind.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos vol. 17 Bechukosai 1)
Is G-d Bribing us to Keep the Torah?
In the final portion of the book of Leviticus, we read of the reward for keeping the commandments; the Torah relates G-d's words:
If you follow My statutes and observe My commandments and perform them, I will give your rains in their time, the Land will yield its produce, and the tree of the field will give forth its fruit. Your threshing will last until the vintage, and the vintage will last until the sowing; you will eat your food to satiety, and you will live in security in your land. (Leviticus 26:3-5)
The commentators raise two questions: (1) Why does the Torah describe a reward that is physical, rain, an abundance of produce, etc., and not a spiritual reward in the afterlife? (2) Why does G-d promise a reward altogether? After all, our sages teach that one should serve G-d motivated by love and not by the ulterior motive of a reward.
One answer the commentators offer is that the Torah addresses most people who are not on the level of serving G-d for its own sake and need to be motivated by reward. This explains why the Torah only mentions the material reward and does not explicitly mention the spiritual award. Because the Torah is addressing the majority of people who do not relate to abstract spiritual reward and are motivated only by the tangible and materialistic.
Chassidic philosophy offers a deeper insight.
The purpose of life is for the Torah, G-d's will and wisdom, to penetrate every area of our life and every aspect of our personality. When the reward for keeping the Torah is manifest in material blessings, that demonstrates that every area of our life, not only the spiritual and sublime but also the physical and material, is permeated with the Torah, which is the conduit for Divine energy and blessing.
This explains why Jewish writings emphasize the blessing and abundance that will be available in the Messianic era. Maimonides emphasizes that the "the good will flow in abundance and all the delights will be freely available as dust," and "the occupation of the entire world will be solely to know G-d." Although people will be fully immersed and engaged in the spiritual pursuit of knowledge of G-d, nevertheless, it is essential to emphasize the material abundance in order to emphasize that in the Messianic era, the physical world itself will be in tune with its spiritual source. The pain and suffering that we experience during exile is a result of the unnatural disconnect between the physical world and its spiritual source. The Messianic era will heal the divide between the creation and its creator; thus, the connection to G-d, the source of life, will express itself in the material abundance of the physical world.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Bechukosai vol. 37
The Smallest of all Mountains
The Torah was not given on the tallest mountain, says the Midrash, in order to symbolize that to receive the Torah we must be humble, like Mount Sinai, which was the “smallest of all mountains”.
If humility is so important, why was the Torah given on a mountain altogether? Would it not be better for the Torah to be given in a plain or a valley?
In the Kabbalah, humility is synonymous with wisdom. That’s because the key ingredient to wisdom is the humility to recognize that our own perspective is not sufficient, the recognition that we must seek deeper and higher understanding. Every intellectual breakthrough is dependent on someone having the courage to tell himself or herself, “although everyone, myself included, has a deep rooted perspective on this issue, I know that I may be completely wrong”. Without this humility no new wisdom is possible.
This is true about all wisdom, and is even more true about the divine wisdom, the wisdom of the Torah.
To receive the Torah, we must be humble and small like Sinai. To receive the Torah we must be open to a completely radical shift of viewpoint. To grasp the divine logic, we must be open to a new perspective of reality; a perspective that is not self centered but that is spiritually centered.
And that is why Moses, was chosen to be the one through whom G-d gave us the Torah. Moses was chosen not because he was the smartest, or the brightest, or the best teacher, or the best communicator. Moses was chosen because “this man Moses was exceedingly humble, more so than any person on the face of the earth.” What was the greatness of Moses? What was the quality that made him the appropriate conveyer of the Torah? It was his humility, his ability to put his perspective aside and view reality from G-d’s perspective.
And yet, being Sinai-small is not enough. One must also be a mountain.
For the Torah was given on a mountain not in a valley, because to learn and live the Torah, we must be humble on the one hand, but proud on the other.
Absolute humility is dangerous.
To learn and live the Torah we must be fully aware of our immense worth in the eyes of G-d. The attitude most devastating to spiritual growth is the one that says “G-d does not care what I do”, it’s the one that says “I am insignificant to the creator of such a vast universe”.
To follow the Torah is to understand how valuable we are in the eyes of G-d. To live the Torah is to feel how the purpose of the entire universe's creation is in our hands.
To receive the Torah we must be a Sinai, we must be both “small” and “mountain”, humble yet proud.
Covered for the Journey
The fourth book of the five books of Moses, the book of Numbers, describes the people of Israel’s journey through the desert. The book begins with the Israelites camped in the Sinai desert, and at its conclusion we find the people camped at the bank of the Jordan River, opposite the city of Jericho, ready to cross into the promised land.
The book of Numbers begins with the Jewish people camped in an orderly fashion but very quickly things turn chaotic, as time and again the people reject the leadership of Moses, lose their faith in G-d, and fail to keep sight of their goal of reaching the promised land. Only at the end of the book, almost forty years after the chaos erupts, do the people triumph over the obstacles and reach their destination, the entrance to the promised land.
The first portion of the book, the portion of Bamidbar, describes in great detail the order in which the Jewish people camped and traveled in the desert. The temple was in the center surrounded by four camps, each containing three tribes. When it came time to travel the Levites would deconstruct the temple, cover the ark and the other vessels, and the people would proceed to travel in the same formation.
The Torah tells us that during its journey, the ark was to be covered with no less than three coverings:
When the camp is about to travel, Aaron and his sons shall come and take down the dividing screen; with it, they shall cover the Ark of the Testimony. They shall place upon it a covering of tachash skin and on top of that they shall spread a cloth of pure blue wool. Then they shall put its poles in place.
If the book of Numbers is the book describing the Jewish journey through the wilderness, then it must also contain a message for the journey of each and every Jew. We too are on a journey called life, we too must overcome the challenges of the wilderness in order to reach our goal, fulfill our purpose, and arrive at our destination.
Just like our ancestors in the desert, our life can be divided into two periods: the first is when we are “camped”, and the second is when we are “journeying”. There are times when we are “camped”, we are tranquil and rested, free of inner turmoil and struggle. In those times, our figurative temple is constructed and our ark is revealed, we experience spiritual clarity, we feel connected to the Divine wisdom of the Torah. And then there are moments when we “journey”. We are moving through the wilderness of our lives, searching for clarity, understanding, and the embrace of the Divine. There are moments when life resembles, not the tranquility of the set up camp, but rather the turmoil of travel. There are moments when we feel surrounded by uncertainty, engulfed in spiritual darkness. Our ark is covered and our soul is silent. In those moments we ask ourselves, why? Why the darkness? Why the challenge? Why isn't the divine goodness obvious to us?
The book of Numbers gives us the answer.
When the Jews were camped, life was peaceful and spiritually fulfilling. The wisdom of the Torah represented by the ark was accessible. Yet the people were stationary. They did not grow. They were not forced to journey towards their goal.
The Torah teaches that in order for the people to journey, the ark must be covered. For a person to truly grow he must be challenged to reach his hidden potential, he must learn to forge ahead even when his ark is covered and when his inner inspiration is asleep.
Just as the ark was covered with three coverings in order to travel, so too G-d covers the soul with three coverings: the soul is wrapped in a human body, it is surrounded by an evil inclination, and it is placed in a culture foreign to its spiritual source.
When the soul is in heaven it is like an angel, surrounded by the light of G-d, its ark is revealed. However, this is not sufficient. G-d wants more. G-d wants the soul to grow; to be transformed from a “stationary” to a “traveling” soul.
Only when the soul prevails over the concealment of its inner evil inclination and the outside forces of darkness, does the soul “journey”. Only then does the soul break free of its limitation and touch the infinity of the Divine.
Count on Family
The book of Numbers describes the journey of the Jewish people, from Mount Sinai to the Jordan River. More than just a geographical journey, the book of Numbers is the story of the psychological odyssey which formed a nation, spiritually mature, able and ready to enter the land of Israel.
Creating a cohesive enterprise, or a unified nation, is no easy task. In order to reach its full potential, the group needed to unleash the unique personality and strength of each individual. Any effort to suppress the spirit of the individual would stifle all ambition and creativity. On the other hand, nurturing individuality presented its own set of challenges. People are often divided and fragmented. People have trouble communicating effectively with each other and at times seem more interested in using others to advance their own agenda rather than being concerned for their well-being.
In the book of Numbers, the Torah lays out the secret to creating a healthy society: the formula is the model of the family.
In the opening portion of the book we read about Moses and Aaron being commanded to count the Israelites:
The Lord spoke to Moses in the Sinai Desert, in the Tent of Meeting on the first day of the second month, in the second year after the exodus from the land of Egypt, saying. Take the sum of all the congregation of the children of Israel, by families following their fathers' houses; a head count of every male according to the number of their names.
The key to understanding the significance of the census is the phrase “by families”.
Although this was not the first time the Jewish people were counted, this census was unique in that the people were counted by their families. They counted the members of each family which led to the total number of each individual tribe, and then they combined the numbers of each tribe and arrived at the total number of all the people. Thus, the family was the foundation of this census.
What is a family?
The first family described in the Torah was the family of Adam and Eve. The Torah tells us:
On the day that God created man, in the likeness of God He created him. Male and female He created them, and He blessed them, and He named them “Adam” (person) on the day they were created.
A family is comprised of individuals who are unique, who have intellectual and emotional qualities that are different from each other. Yet, the individuals realize that in order for each of them to reach their fullest potential they must come together as a family unit, not in order to dilute their individuality, but rather in order to receive from and give to one another, for only thus are they able to grow to their fullest potential.
“Male and female he created them... and named them “Adam” (person)”. The Torah is teaching us that to be a complete person, to be an Adam, a “Mentch”, one must understand that male alone or female alone, is not a complete ”Adam”. In order to be complete one must be part of a literal or figurative family, where one can be fully himself and, at the same time, transcend the confines of self.
The secret to the survival of the Jewish people is the secret of family. We have learned that in order for the individual to fully thrive he must be willing to connect and give of himself to others. We have learned that the individual can reach his or her greatest heights, specifically when he or she is part of a greater family.
In time all the world will take the lesson of family to heart, ushering in an era of brotherhood and peace.
In The Desert
As we begin to study the fourth book of the five books of Moses, the book of Numbers, it is an opportunity to get a birds eye view of the objective the Torah is striving to achieve with all of its stories, lessons and teachings.
Looking at the book of Numbers in isolation it appears to be a collection of challenging circumstances and negative outcomes. The book begins with the description of the orderly Jewish camp, the temple in its center and the tribes of Israel organized in four camps each on their respective side of the temple; before long, the order and structure turned into chaos. We read about the calamity brought about by the spies, the rebellion of Korach, Miriam speaking about Moses, and the Jewish people constantly complaining that they wanted to go back to Egypt. Moses and Aaron lost control, hitting the stone instead of speaking to it, and as a result, they were not permitted to enter the land. In short, it appears that the fourth book, whose Hebrew name is Bamidbar which means “in the desert”, describes the descent into a spiritual desert, where order, organization and civilization was severely compromised.
When we take a deeper look, however, we discover that the fourth book represents the ultimate purpose of the Torah. For the desert is the arena in which the creation of the world and its divine purpose is completed. The fourth book then, is the climax of the Torah (the fifth book is a repetition and restatement of the first four books).
The first book of the five books of Moses, the book of Genesis (“Bereishit”), describes the creation of the world. It describes the relationships and experiences of the people as they were living within the parameters of nature. Genesis is the story of the people and of civilization prior to the Divine revelation of the giving of the Torah.
The second book, Exodus (“Shmot”), describes how G-d revealed his greatness to the people of Israel. He freed them from Egyptian bondage, gave them his Torah and instructed them to create a tabernacle, a home for Him, so that He would dwell in their midst. In the second book of the Torah, we advance beyond the natural and we experience holiness which transcends nature.
The third book, Leviticus (“Vayikra”), is a collection of laws and instructions, procedures and rules, which teach us when and how we can come close to the Divine. We offer offerings, purify ourselves, and then, on unique occasions, we enter the temple, the home of God, the realm of holiness. The third book teaches us how to elevate ourselves and become close to G-d.
Unlike the third book, which teaches us the appropriate way to enter the tabernacle, the fourth book flows in the opposite direction. The fourth book, the book of Numbers (“Bamidbar”), teaches how to bring the holiness into the desert. In the fourth book we are taught that our object is not we cannot to remain in the confines of the temple awash in holiness, but rather we are empowered to bring the teachings of the Torah to every corner of the world, even to its most inhospitable spiritual desert.
No question, the desert is a challenging place. We experience constant struggle between our inner soul and the world around us. We have our share of “ups” and “downs”, “highs” and “lows”. We face confusion, doubt and delay. We suffer setbacks and disappointment. Yet, despite the setbacks, along the way we experience spiritual triumph, commitment and dedication.
Along the way, we advance to the point where we are able to do more than merely retreat to the house of G-d. Over time, we fulfill the purpose of creation, which is to carry the light through the desert and transform the earth, all of the earth, to the holiness of the promised land.
Balancing Competing Values
After detailing the census of the Jewish people in the desert, the fourth book of the Torah, the book of Numbers, describes how the Jewish people traveled and camped in the desert. The tabernacle and the Levites were in the center of the camp surrounded by four camps each consisting of three tribes. The Torah describes the makeup of each of the four camps, describing the tribe that was the leader of each camp and the other two tribes that were members of each camp.
Reading all this detail leaves the reader puzzled. The Torah’s messages, stories and teachings are eternal; why do we need to know precisely how the tribes organized in the desert? What relevance does this have to our lives today?
Each of us have multiple aspirations and goals in our lives. We want to succeed in multiple realms simultaneously; we work to advance our career, our relationships, our health and fitness and our values. It often seems that we struggle to keep a healthy balance between all of our, sometimes, conflicting aspirations. The story of the tribes organizing and traveling in the desert, is the story of our life. We too should organize and prioritize our values in our figurative journey through the often complicated dessert en route to the promised land.
The four camps of tribes symbolize the four general pursuits which we value: (1) wisdom (2) character (3) physical strength and health (4) wealth. The order in which the Torah places the four camps tells us that they are all critical, yet we must remember the hierarchy of their importance. The first camp, east of the temple, led by the tribe of Judah embodied wisdom. The second camp, south of the temple, led by Reuben, embodied humility and good character. The third camp, west of the temple, led by the tribe of Ephraim, embodied physical strength. The fourth camp, north of the temple, embodied wealth. (see the Kli Yakar for a detailed analysis of how each tribe embodied its own particular quality).
Naturally these values will conflict and undermine each other. Too much of one will take away from the focus on the other. Some of these values are more spiritual and abstract and others are more physical and concrete, thus, appreciating the value of one may lead to under emphasizing the other. The lesson is that in order for these values to create a wholesome life they must be organized around the temple, the house of the Torah. Our core, the center of our own personal figurative camp, is the Torah. Wisdom, good character, health and wealth, are all valuable and must be pursued because they are means by which we express the Torah and its teachings. Once these values are not an end purpose unto themselves but rather a means to express a deeper unified value (the Torah), they can coexist peacefully, each enhancing the other, creating harmony and serenity in our life.
Faith or Reason?
Which is the preferred path to create a relationship with G-d, faith or reason?
Faith is powerful. It is simple. Pure. Not up for debate. Faith inspires commitment and brings comfort. Like a child who puts his trust in his parents, the believer puts his trust in G-d.
Reason is complicated. We seek to investigate and understand G-d, in order to internalize our relationship. We study and explore in order to enrich our relationship. Reason however is complicated. To every claim there can be a counterclaim, to every perspective there is a counter perspective. One who seeks to understand and learn must be ready for the battlefield of ideas. Focusing on reason has none of the tranquility and comfort of pure faith.
Which is preferable, the simplicity of faith or complexity of reason?
In the opening portion of the book of Numbers we read about how G-d commanded Moses to take a census of all the Israelites who were fit for battle:
From twenty years old and upwards, all who are fit to go out to the army in Israel, you shall count them by their legions you and Aaron. (Numbers 1:3)
The Torah then tells us that the Levites should be counted separately from the other tribes, not from age twenty, as the Israelites were counted, but rather from thirty days old:
Count the children of Levi according to their fathers' house according to their families. Count all males from the age of one month and upward. (ibid. 3:15)
And finally, toward the end of the portion, we read about an additional census. This one was for the Levites who were thirty years old, who reached the age of performing the service of the temple:
From the age of thirty until the age of fifty, all who enter the service, to do work in the Tent of Meeting. (ibid. 4:3)
Why were the Levites counted twice, at thirty days old and again at thirty years old? The Chassidic masters explain that, like everything else in the Torah, the census has a spiritual meaning as well. The census of the Israelites going to battle, represents the study of Torah. The census therefore begins at age twenty, when a person reaches his full intellectual capacity. Logical inquiry is like battle, where every idea must be analyzed and challenged.
The Levites represent faith. Faith does not require intellectual maturity, therefore the census of the Levites was from thirty days, because the child is capable of a deeper level of faith than the adult.
Yet the Levites were counted not once but twice, because there are two levels of faith. There is the census of the Levites from thirty days old, which represents simple childlike faith. The census of the Levites at thirty years old represents the higher form of faith, one that follows intellectual inquiry and understanding. After the person studies and explores all that he can understand, he realizes the limit of human knowledge. Following intellectual exploration, the Jews reach a higher level of faith, a faith that follows reason. The reason itself leads to faith.
In the final analysis, our relationship with G-d incorporates all three elements: we begin with simple faith (corresponding to the census of the Levites from thirty days old), this is followed by study and intellectual inquiry (corresponding to the census of the Israelites from age twenty), and finally the higher form of faith (corresponding to the census of the Levites from age thirty), the faith which follows study.
(Adapted from the Kedushas Levi)
The Spiritual Significance of the Flags
The fourth book of the Torah begins by detailing the precise order of how the tribes of Israel camped around the Mishkan (the sanctuary) in the desert. The verse tells how each tribe camped with their specific flag:
G-d spoke to Moses and Aaron saying: The children of Israel shall encamp each man by his division with the flagstaffs of their fathers' house; some distance from the Tent of Meeting they shall encamp. (Numbers 2:2)
Rashi elaborates:
with the flagstaffs: Every division shall have its own flag staff, with a colored flag hanging on it; the color of one being different from the color of any other. The color of each one was like the hue of its stone, set in the choshen [worn by the Kohen Gadol], and in this way, everyone could recognize his division.
The Midrash attributes great significance to the flags. The Midrash describes how, at Sinai, the Jewish people saw the angels divided into camps, each with their unique flag. Observing the scene, the Jewish people desired flags. And, indeed, in this week's Parsha, Hashem tells Moses and Aaron that each tribe would camp with their own flag.
The memory of the flags is, according to the Midrash, what kept the Jewish people loyal to G-d throughout the persecution and pressures of exile. The Song of Songs, the Biblical book that describes the love between the Jewish people and G-d, depicts a scene where the girls ask the protagonist why she cleaves to her beloved, despite the challenges in the relationship. Why doesn't she return to them?
Return, return, O Shulammite; return, return, and let us gaze upon you."
Rashi explains that the verse is a metaphor for the nations of the world who ask the Jewish people to abandon G-d, and they, the nations of the world, will, in return, appoint them to positions of greatness. The Jewish people respond:
"What will you see for the Shulammite, as in the dance of the camps?
The Midrash explains:
"What will you see for the Shulammite?" What greatness can you allot me, that will be equal to the greatness which G-d gave me in the desert, the flag of the camp of Judah, the flag of the camp of Reuben… can you replicate that for us?
What is the meaning and significance of the flags?
A flag creates unity. It is a symbol around which people gather, it reminds them of their shared identity and common purpose and allows them to regroup after being dispersed. The angels are divided into camps and flags. They are constantly aware of the purpose of their creation and their inner identity, that awareness permeates all aspects of their personality. When the Jewish people saw the angels at Sinai, they too desired this awareness, the sense of clarity of purpose and direction. They, too, wanted to experience the unity of G-d in every part of their life. G-d responded that, yes, indeed, in the desert, when they would build the tabernacle and camp around it, they too would experience the awareness of the flags. They would be able to unite every aspect of their lives, every detail of their day, with their purpose, namely to infuse every aspect of reality with holiness.
Through the long exile, the nations tried to persuade us to abandon our relationship with G-d in return for material comfort and prestige. We have not accepted the tradeoff because, as the Song of Songs explains, we would not give up the "dance of the camps". Nothing the material world can give is as powerful as the flags of the desert; no physical pleasure can compare with the sense of spiritual fulfillment that comes from the clarity of understanding the meaning and purpose of one's life.
We, too, travel through a figurative wilderness, with our banner, the Torah, that teaches us how to unify every aspect of our lives with our purpose and mission. We are in the "dance of the camps," referring to the camp of the Jewish people as well as the camp of angels. We are in a dance with the angels: while they pronounce the glory of G-d in heaven, we have a far more challenging task, we reveal G-d's holiness right here on earth.
(Adapted from the Shem Mishmuel)
Order in the Wilderness
The fourth book of the Torah has two names: (1) Bamidbar, which means "in the wilderness," and (2) Chumash Hapekudim, "the book of numbers." These two names are not just different; they are, in fact, diametrically opposed because "wilderness" implies chaos, whereas "numbers" implies order.
Indeed, the first portion of the book elaborates, in great detail, on how the Jewish people were organized in camps while traveling through the desert. The Torah describes the precise number of people in the four camps, each of which included three tribes. In other words, the theme of the book, as reflected in the very first Parsha, is creating order in a place of randomness and chaos.
We all engage in this same experience in our own lives. Essentially, all of the Torah is about combining "numbers" and "wilderness",bringing order to chaos. The physical world is a chaotic place. Every experience is isolated, each moment possessing its own definition and its own distinction. Our lives are full of tension and conflict; we are pulled in different directions by opposing responsibilities and conflicting forces. Seeing the unity within it all is challenging, and it is even harder to experience life as wholesome and holistic.
Torah is the gift that allows us to discover the inner purpose of our life and creation, enabling us to see the internal unity in the universe. We discover how every aspect of our life contributes to the inner meaning of the world and to our overarching purpose.
Essentially, the Fourth book of the Torah is the story of our life. We are called upon to bring "numbers”, order and meaning, to the "wilderness”, the physical world. We are called upon to transform the world of chaos into a place of order, purpose, and holiness.
Adapted from the Sfas Emes
Achieving Spiritual Peace
The human relationship with materialism can vary dramatically.
At times, we are lucky to experience harmony in our life. The world’s materialism does not create a conflict between our spiritual goals and our need to live in the physical world. Our possessions are not distractions, rather they are the tools we use to advance our spiritual goals. At times we live in harmony.
There are other times, when our minds are blinded by the lure of material pleasure. We may have spent years working to achieve success in a career, in a relationship, or in any other worthy pursuit, and yet, at times we not hesitant to throw it all away because of a temptation that is irrational.
Usually we find ourselves somewhere in between. Most people struggle between mastering and being enslaved by the physical world. Yes, food is necessary for sustenance, but are we in control of what we eat or does our impulse enslave us to the chocolate cake? Sure, technology can serve us and make our lives much easier, it can be a powerful tool to serve us. Yet, if it takes control of us, if it forces us to interact with it instead of interacting with the ideas and people closest to us, than, let’s be honest, we are not being served, we are serving.
In this week's torah reading, Naso, the Torah teaches us how to move from folly to peace. It does so, by teaching three portions in the following order: 1. the law of the “wayward woman 2. the law of the Nazarite 3. the portion of the Priestly blessing, which concludes “May Gd turn His countenance toward you and grant you peace.”
At first the Torah describes the law of the “wayward woman”. The Hebrew word for “wayward” (Sotah) is related to the word foolishness (Shtut). The Talmud states, “a person does not commit a transgression unless the spirit of folly enters him”, thus the Sotah represents the person who loses their intellectual judgement as a result of great temptation.
To discover how to respond and overcome the state of the Sotah, we look to the next portion, the portion of the Nazarite, which, when understood correctly, is the secret to achieving the inner spiritual harmony described in the priestly blessing.
The Nazarite, the man or woman who take a vow to temporarily refrain from drinking wine, cutting hair, and becoming ritually impure - is referred to as “holy”. Yet, paradoxically, the Torah teaches that at the conclusion of the Nazarite period, he or she must offer a sin offering. This implies that although the choice to become a Nazarite was right for this person at this specific time, thus it was a holy choice, the Nazarite way of life is not the preferred one.
The Torah’s ideal model of holiness, is one, in which the human engages with the physical and imbues it with spirituality, creating peace between body and soul and between heaven and earth -as described in the priestly blessing. In order to achieve that level a person may have to take the path of the Nazarite. If one wants to make sure that he is in control, that he can use the wine, the chocolate cake, the smartphone, to enhance his spiritual life, than sometimes, he has to practice disengaging. He has to demonstrate that he can survive for a period of time despite disengaging from a particular material possession.
After the Nazir was able to break away from the folly, by refraining from drinking wine for thirty days, he can then drink wine and still maintain his holiness, as the verse states: “After this, the Nazirite may drink wine”.Although initially one may have had to disengage to maintain holiness, through undergoing the process of the Nazirite, one can be holy while engaged, in the spiritual metaphorical heaven while living on earth.
Half a Wagon?
The Jewish people donated generously to the construction of the temple in the desert. Their enthusiasm to donate to the construction project was so great that Moses had to tell the people to stop donating. Yet, after the Tabernacle was built, it was the leaders of the tribes of Israel who donated the means to transport the tabernacle through the treacherous desert. In this week's portion, the portion of Naso, the Torah states:
And it was that on the day that Moses finished erecting the Mishkan, he anointed it, sanctified it, and all its vessels, and the altar and all its vessels, and he anointed them and sanctified them. The chieftains of Israel, the heads of their fathers' houses, presented [their offerings]. They were the leaders of the tribes. They were the ones who were present during the counting. They brought their offering before the Lord: six covered wagons and twelve oxen, a wagon for each two chieftains, and an ox for each one; they presented them in front of the Mishkan.
The leader of each of the twelve tribes offered one ox, but only half a wagon, thus a total of twelve oxen and six wagons were donated.
Why did each leader donate only half a wagon? Would it not be more appropriate to donate a complete item to the temple? Would it not be more appropriate for the leaders of the tribes to express more generosity?
In our life, there are two ways in which we can express our creativity and contribute to the world around us; the first way is to do it alone and the second way is to collaborate with others. There are certain things that we feel we must do alone. We like to express our talents in a specific way that captures our unique perspective. It is often hard to include someone else in a project in which we feel deeply invested, because including another perspective would compromise our unique contribution.
Sometimes we like to donate a figurative “complete ox”.
But there are times when we understand that we must collaborate. We understand that in order for society to advance and accomplish great things people must come together in collaboration. People must pool their resources and talents to achieve great results. We understand that we are no more than a part of a whole, that our contribution is hardly significant without combining it with the hard work of others.
There are times when we realize that we are not a “complete wagon”. We recognize that in order to maximize our potential and impact we must combine with others.
The leaders’ choice of gifts reflected an important truth: on one hand, we are complete on our own; while on the other hand, we are half of a greater whole. In our service of G-d, in fulfilling our purpose in life, we are called upon to be a “complete ox”. The powerful ox represents the unique excitement and energy we derive from “going it alone”, we sense that we alone have made a unique contribution to the universe. Yet, we also recognize that in the service of transporting the Tabernacle, in the awesome mission of bringing the Divine to the spiritual desert, we need a wagon. And for the wagon to be complete we can never be alone.
Study or Action?
Two pillars of Jewish life are Torah study and good deeds. The great Talmudic sages, who analyzed and debated every detail of our law and tradition, were curious about the hierarchy of study and deed, which of the two is greater?
The Talmud relates:
Rabbi Tarfon and the Elders were reclining in the loft of the house of Nit’za in Lod, this question was asked of them: Is study greater or is action greater? Rabbi Tarfon answered and said: action is greater. Rabbi Akiva answered and said: study is greater. Everyone answered and said: study is greater, as study leads to action.
The meaning of the conclusion, “study is greater, as study leads to action”, is not entirely clear. If the virtue of study is that it “leads to action”, then it seems that action is greater because it is the ultimate goal and purpose. If that is the case, why doesn't the Talmud simply say that action is greater?
The ability to think, to learn, to grow intellectually, is the greatest gift man possesses. Most of the personality is egocentric and subjective. The person's heart tells him what feels right to him, his will tells him what he should want, his taste buds tell him whether the food he is eating is enjoyable to him. The mind, by contrast, is the tool which allows the person to escape the ego’s gravitational pull. The mind allows the person to be objective, to see truths separate from his own limited perspective. The mind allows the person to understand and identify with people, cultures, opinions and experiences different from his own. The mind enables the person to be transported to another time and place, losing his grounded self and being completely immersed in new stories, experiences and ideas. In short, the mind is the ticket to freedom, it is the tool through which one can transcend the self.
This then is the deep insight of the Talmud. When faced with the question of which is greater study or action, the sages give the typical Talmudic answer: it depends. Wisdom that does not set one free from his own sense of self, wisdom that makes a person arrogant, wisdom which robs the person of the humble sense of mystery and wonder, is no virtue, in fact, in extreme cases it can be directed toward evil, and it is certainly not superior to good deeds.
By contrast, wisdom which leads one to see beyond the self, that allows one to understand the needs of others, wisdom that propels the person to do for the benefit of another, is wisdom that is superior, because it is the ultimate superiority of man, the ability to break free of one's own limited self.
When the Talmud says “study is greater, as study leads to action” it is telling us what type of study is great. Only study which leads to action, study which inspires the person to do for others, study which frees the person from focus on the self and enables him to grasp a perspective beyond his own, is the greatest state of being one can achieve.
This idea is reflected in the beginning of the book of Numbers. In the first portion of the book, after the description of the order in which the twelve tribes camped around the tabernacle in the desert, the Torah describes the responsibilities of the Levites. In the first portion of the book, the Torah lists only one of the three families of the Levites, the family of Kehot, while the other two Levite families are listed in the second portion of the book, the portion of Naso, which means “lift up” or “elevate”.
The family of Kehot whose primary responsibility was to carry the ark which contained the tablets, and later the Torah, represent Torah study. Yet, they are not mentioned in the portion of Naso, which means “elevate”. That is because study alone does not elevate one to the greatest heights unless it leads to the contribution of the families of Gershon and Merari, the Levites whose responsibility it was to transport and assemble the walls and coverings of the tabernacle. Gershon and Merari transformed the uninhabitable desert into a tabernacle, a home of peace and tranquility. Their service, therefore, represents action and good deeds. Thus, they are listed in the portion of Naso, “elevate”, because they passed the test of true elevated wisdom. They embody the wisdom which leads to action on behalf of others.
To be truly elevated is to achieve great wisdom: wisdom which leads to action.
The Blessing of Peace
Finally, it was time to bless the children of Israel.
After the exodus from Egypt, the receiving of the Torah, the construction of the tabernacle and the tribes organizing themselves into four camps, as the Jewish people were preparing to depart from Mount Sinai and travel toward the land of Israel, they were ready to receive the Divine blessing. At that point G-d commanded the priests, Aaron and his sons, to bless the Jewish people with the words dictated by G-d. Until this very day, the priests use these holy words when they bless the Jewish people.
What is the nature of a blessing?
If a blessing is just a form of prayer, asking G-d to bless the people, and if the people are merely passive recipients of the blessing, then the blessing should be said to G-d and not to the people. In fact, the Torah commands the priests to say the blessing to the Jewish people because the purpose of the blessing is not merely to receive without exertion but rather it is in order to inspire the recipient to strive to achieve the blessing, and make the blessing a reality in his life. The priestly blessing, then, represents the totality of all that the Jewish people should aspire to achieve.
The blessing reads as follows:
"May the Lord bless you and watch over you. May the Lord cause His countenance to shine to you and favor you. May the Lord raise His countenance toward you and grant you peace."
Each of the three verses represents another dimension in the life of the Jew. The first verse, “"May the Lord bless you and watch over you”, is a blessing for material prosperity. Rashi explains “your possessions shall be blessed” and “no thieves shall attack you and steal your money.” The Torah does not shy away from material blessing, the Torah teaches us that we should strive for success and blessing in the material world.
Material success, however, brings with it a challenge. Materialism can present a threat to, and a distraction from, spiritual pursuits. The second verse of the blessing, therefore, addresses this concern. The Torah continues “May the Lord cause His countenance to shine to you and favor you”. The “Lord's countenance” is a metaphor for spirituality. The second step of the blessing is that despite our material blessing we should be successful in cultivating a spiritual life. G-d’s spirit should shine upon us.
The ultimate level of blessing is expressed in the third verse, which concludes with the words “and grant you peace.” The peace in this blessing is not only peace between the people of Israel and the surrounding nations, not only peace among the Jewish people themselves, but also peace within every individual. The third blessing, inner peace, is the ultimate goal of Judaism. Judaism teaches that the material and spiritual do not need to be at war with each other. Instead, the blessing in the first and second verses, the material and spiritual blessings, should complement and enhance each other. The spiritual experiences give meaning to the material possessions and the material possessions serve to enhance the spiritual life.
Throughout the continuation of the fourth book of the Torah we read about the natural tension between physical and spiritual aspirations. We read about some of the Jews descending to pure materialism, which is why they demanded meat, and, on the other hand, we read about the spies who did not want to enter the land of Israel because they wished to remain in the desert, retreat from the material, and remain in a completely spiritual environment. The fourth book represents the struggle to reach the promised land, to reach the ultimate purpose of existence. In the beginning of the book the Torah reminds us of our mission: to succeed in both the material realm as well as the spiritual realm, and, most importantly, to make peace with them both.
Transporting the Temple
After describing the order in which the twelve tribes of Israel traveled through the desert, the Torah tells of the census of the tribe of Levi, the tribe tasked with transporting and building the tabernacle (the temple) which was in the center of the Jewish camp.
Like everything in the Torah, the details of the story of the Levites are relevant to our lives just as they were relevant to our ancestors in the desert. For we too are tasked with the mission of the Levites, to erect a home for G-d, in the figurative, spiritual desert, the world we live in. In order to create the temple we rely on the spiritual side of ourselves, on the Levites within our soul.
The tribe of Levi was divided into three families.
The families of Gershon and Merori were tasked with transporting the curtains that covered the temple and the wooden planks of the temple walls. As the Torah tells us:
This is the service of the Gershonite families to serve and to carry.
They shall carry the curtains of the Mishkan and the Tent of Meeting, its covering and the Tachash skin covering overlaid upon it, and the screen for the entrance to the Tent of Meeting….
[As for] the sons of Merari...
This is the charge of their burden for all their service in the Tent of Meeting: the planks of the Mishkan, its bars, its pillars, and its sockets. (4:24-31)
To create a temple in our lives, to build a haven of spirituality in the midst of a spiritual desert, we too employ the skills of the Levite families. To create holy space in our life, we too, like the families of Gershon and Merari, must create walls and a roof in order to take control of our environment. We must cultivate the capacity to say no, to reject, negative influences, temptations and distractions.
Yet saying no, rejecting the distractions and negativity is not enough. The third family of Levites, the family of Kehot, was tasked with transporting the vessels of the temple, the ark, menorah, table and alters.
Aaron and his sons shall finish covering the Holy and all the vessels of the Holy when the camp is set to travel, and following that, the sons of Kohath shall come to carry [them], but they shall not touch the sacred objects for [then] they will die. These are the burden of the sons of Kohath for the Tent of Meeting. (4:15)
Like the family of Kehot, we too must fill our space with the holy vessels, with holy positive experiences.
The spiritual mission of each of the Levite families are alluded to in their names. Gershon is derived from the word Garesh, which means to chase away, to divorce. Merori comes from the word Mar, which means bitter. They represented the difficult task of learning to say no to אhat which seeks to pull us away from our commitment to holiness. Kehot, on the other hand, is derived from the biblical word Yikhat which means to gather. Kehot teaches us to cultivate positive experiences; to collect all of our daily experiences and gather them into our temple, to use them as furniture for the home of G-d, to use them as a conduit to fulfill the purpose of our creation.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 13 Naso 1).
Your Unique Offering
The portion of Naso, which concludes with the description of the offerings of the leaders of the tribes on the day of the inauguration of the temple, is the longest portion of the Torah. The Torah describes how each of the twelve leaders brought an offering on the day of the inauguration, a total of six covered wagons and twelve oxen, and G-d then instructed Moses that each leader should offer his individual offering for the dedication of the altar on the subsequent days, one offering per day.
The chieftains brought [offerings for] the dedication of the altar on the day it was anointed; the chieftains presented their offerings in front of the altar.
The Lord said to Moses: One chieftain each day, one chieftain each day, shall present his offering for the dedication of the altar. (Numbers 7:10-11)
The Torah is written in concise language, many laws of the Torah are derived from a single letter in the Torah. Why then does the Torah devote so many verses to reiterate each of the twelve identical offerings?
A Jew may feel that his effort to serve G-d and to create a relationship with G-d is not significant in the eyes of G-d. After all, there are so many other Jews practicing the same Mitzvah. One may wonder about what value there is in his listening to the sound of the Shofar, eating Matzah on Passover or lighting Shabbat candles, when there are millions of other people doing the same thing.
The repetition of the specifics of each of the identical offerings teaches us a profound lesson: to G-d, no two offerings are the same. While two people may do the same deed, the intention, the emotion, the struggle, is unique to each person. While the leaders wanted to offer their offerings on the day of inauguration, G-d told Moses that each leader should offer his offering on his own day. Because to G-d every offering, every action, is unique.
You are unique. No other person does the Mitzvah with the identical intention as you do. No other person experiences life exactly the way you do. Your contribution, your offering is of crucial importance in the eyes of G-d. The Torah reminds you, that no one can offer the universe what you can.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 8, Naso Sicha 2 p. 43)
When Logic is Ineffective
The relationship between the Jewish people and G-d is likened to the marriage between man and woman. Therefore the Torah laws regarding marriage also inform us about our relationship with G-d.
In this week's Parsha we read about the Sotah, the married woman who was secluded with another man after being warned not to do so. The Torah outlines the process by which the relationship between the Sotah and her husband can be restored.
The word Sotah is derived from the word to go astray (Tisteh), which introduces the law of the Sotah:
The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: Should any man's wife go astray and deal treacherously with him (Numbers 5:11-12)
The Talmud remarks that the word for going astray (Tisteh) is related to the word for folly (shtut), that is because: "A man commits a transgression only if a spirit of folly [shetut] enters him." The implications of this are far-reaching. The Talmud is saying that essentially the inherent goodness within every person would naturally lead them to choose the correct moral path. The reason we often stray from what we know is the correct path is because of the spirit of folly which blurs our rational thinking and distorts our true desire. Therefore, no matter how far we stray, the Talmud is telling us, we must remember that our mistakes don't define us, as they don't reflect our true self, and we can therefore always return to our true self, which is inherently good.
While this message is uplifting, the question still remains: how do we deal with the spirit of folly which leads us to stray from our true selves? How do we deal with the spirit of folly which, by definition, being folly, is not moved by logic?
This solution is alluded to in the word Tisteh (which, as mentioned, means both to go astray and folly). There are two ways to go astray, to deviate from the path of reason: one way can be irrational and foolish, the other way can be unreasonable by committing to the right path even more than reason dictates.
The Talmud tells the story of a sage whose commitment to the Mitzvah of dancing at a wedding, bringing joy to the bride and groom, was beyond the limitations of logic:
Rav Shmuel bar Rav Yitzḥak would base his dance on three myrtle branches that he would juggle. Rabbi Zeira said: The old man is humiliating us, as through his conduct he is demeaning the Torah and the Torah scholars. It is further related: When Rav Shmuel bar Rav Yitzḥak died, a pillar of fire demarcated between him and everyone else, and we learn through tradition that a pillar of fire demarcates only for either one person in a generation or for two people in a generation. Rabbi Zeira said: His branch [shotitei] was effective for the old man, due to this Mitzva that he fulfilled so enthusiastically he was privileged to receive this great reward. And some say that Rabbi Zeira said: His nonsense [shetutei] was effective for the old man. (Talmud Ketubot 17a)
Chassidic philosophy explains that the spirit of folly, which seeks to pull the person in the direction of negativity, cannot be managed through intellectual reasoning since folly is utterly uninterested in reason. The only way one can counter straying toward the direction of negativity is not by trying to follow the standard path but rather by straying toward the direction of increased positivity. The only way to combat negative folly is by countering it with positive folly. When logic does not work, one must respond with a commitment to goodness that supersedes the demands of logic: one’s actions must be kinder, more patient, more loving, more giving, and more empathetic than reason demands.
Adapted from Basi Ligani 5710
Do I Matter?
What is the basis and foundation for our self-value and self-esteem? Should we value ourselves based on our talents, achievements, and accomplishments, or is our value inert to our humanity, unconditional, irrespective of performance metrics?
Each of these approaches alone may produce substantial negative consequences. When one's self-esteem is pegged to external accomplishments, the person has an unquenchable need for consistent confirmation and validation from others. The person is left without a psychologically healthy anchor and is in constant need to justify their own value and existence. On the other hand, focusing on one's unconditional value is a disincentive for a person to work hard to achieve greatness and impact the world.
At the beginning of the Book of Numbers, we read of two distinct censuses for the tribe of Levi. The opening verses of this week's portion describe the command to count the Levites who would serve in the temple, the Levites who were between 30 and 50 years old:
The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Take a census of the sons of Gershon, of them too, following their fathers' houses, according to their families. From the age of thirty years and upward, until the age of fifty years you shall count them, all who come to join the legion, to perform service in the Tent of Meeting. (4:21-23)
In last week's portion, by contrast, we read of the census of the tribe of Levi in which they counted all levites from thirty days old:
The Lord spoke to Moses in the Sinai desert, saying:
Count the children of Levi according to their fathers' house according to their families. Count all males from the age of one month and upward. (Numbers 3:14-15)
With the double census, the Torah teaches us that both perspectives on self-value are true. The foundation is that we are created in the image of G-d, and therefore every human being has infinite and unconditional value. We must remind ourselves and teach our children that, despite a society that evaluates people by their wealth, power, beauty, and influence, our value is infinite as it is predicated on the spark of infinity that is our soul. This truth is expressed by counting even the infant Levites who could not possibly have any achievements to speak of. Yet together with that, there is a second census, at the age when the Levites would perform service in the temple. The second census symbolizes that we attain meaning and satisfaction from our ability to express our G-d given talents. In the second census, every action and every accomplishment adds value since it is an opportunity for us to fulfill the purpose of our creation, namely to transform the world into a home for the Divine, a palace of harmony, goodness, and kindness.
Balancing Individual and Communal
The Passover offering, discussed in this weeks portion, is an anomaly, it does not fit comfortably into any of the categories of offerings.
There are two categories of sacrificial offerings in the Torah. The first is the communal offering; it was offered at specific times on behalf of the entire community. The daily offerings as well as the additional offerings on Shabbat and holidays are examples of communal offerings. The second category is the personal offering, which did not have a specified time when it should be offered, and was brought by an individual on behalf of no one but him/her self. A thanksgiving offering and a sin offering are examples of the personal offering.
The Passover offering defies categorization.
On one hand, the Passover offering had to be offered at a specific time, the afternoon of the fourteenth of the Hebrew month of Nisan; having a specific time is a feature of the public offering. On the other hand, every individual was commanded to join a group, and partake in offering and then the consumption of the Passover offering. This makes it similar to the personal offering.
We became a people at the exodus from Egypt. Thus the Passover offering suggests how we are to define ourselves as a nation.
In general, there are nations whose system of government emphasizes the well being of the collective, even at the expense of the individual citizen. There are other systems of government which emphasize the rights of the individual, even if the individual’s right will encroach on the well being of the group.
The Passover offering teaches us that the Jew must view him/her self as both a member of the collective and as an individual. On the one hand, the Jew cannot only be concerned with his/her own needs. Every individual must view themselves as a vital organ in the body of the collective Jewish people. Hence, the obligation to be a guarantor, for the material and spiritual well being of every Jew. On the other hand, the Jew cannot look around and say “I am just part of a collective, and as such, it is sufficient that the community as a whole is spiritually engaged, I as an individual, am not important”.
The Passover offering teaches us that, from the moment our nation was formed, embedded in our DNA is both an individual and a member of the collective. Yes, I am a member of the collective, just a part of a greater entity, yet, at the same time, I am an individual with qualities, responsibilities, and rights; imbued by G-d with a unique personality, unique gifts and a unique mission.
Balancing these truths is the secret to Jewish survival, the secret of the Passover sacrifice, and the key to Jewish life.
Crisis in Jerusalem
The Talmud tells a story of a historic Passover, when the people had to determine which element of the Passover offering should prevail.
About 2000 years ago, the 14th of Nisan, the day on which we are commanded to bring the Pesach offering, happened to fall on Shabbat. The family who were the leaders of the Jewish people at the time, the children of Beteyra, could not decide whether or not the Pesach offering should be offered on the Shabbat.
The Talmud relates that Hillel, alone amongst the sages, knew the answer to the question. Hillel quoted the verse “The children of Israel shall make the Passover sacrifice in its appointed time”, and taught that the word “in its appointed time” implies that the offering should be brought at its appointed time, even if the appointed time is Shabbat.
The Talmud continues to relate, that because he knew the answer, the children of Beteyra resigned from their post as leaders, and “they immediately set him (Hillel) at their head and appointed him leader over them”.
Why was the settling of this question so important, as to motivate the children of Beteyra to hand over the leadership to Hillel?
Only a communal offering is offered on the Shabbat. The question the children of Beteyra grappled with was, which aspect of the Pesach offering is the dominant one? If the personal aspect is dominant, then we should not offer it on Shabbat; if the communal aspect is the dominant one, then we should.
When Hillel proved that the Passover offering should be brought on Shabbat, he did more than answer a specific technical question. This question has ramifications for the basis of the philosophy of what all the law should strive for. Hillel teaches that although we are both an individual and a part of the larger community, the communal aspect should be the more dominant one.
Hillel recognized that balancing both elements is the secret to a wholesome life. That is why he proclaimed, in the ethics of our fathers:
“If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?”
Lekutey Sichos, Volume 18, Behaalotcha Sicha 2.
On a Distant Road
As the first anniversary of the Exodus of Egypt was approaching, G-d commanded the Jewish people to offer the Passover offering, with all its laws and customs, on the 14th of the month Nisan, on the same day it was offered, back in Egypt, one year earlier.
There were a group of Jews who were ritually impure, and thus they were not able to participate in the Pesach offering. They approached Moses and asked: “why should we be excluded so as not to bring the offering of the Lord in its appointed time, with all the children of Israel?” G-d accepted their demand and instituted a “second Passover”. Anyone who was ritually unfit, unable, or unwilling, to offer the Passover offering on the proper date, the 14th of the of Nisan, would be permitted to do so, one month later, on the 14th of Iyar, as stated in this week’s Parsha, the portion of Bihaloscha:
The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Speak to the children of Israel saying, Any person who becomes unclean from [contact with] the dead, or is on a distant road, whether among you or in future generations, he shall make a Passover sacrifice for the Lord.
When talking about the person who could not bring the Passover offering because he was far from Jerusalem, the Torah uses the term, the person was “on a distant road”. Why assume that he was on a road? The same law applies to anyone who was in a distant place, whether he was in his home, office, the beach or the park. Why then does the Torah write that the person was “on a distant road” and not, the all inclusive, “in a distant place”?
The Torah does not write that the Jew was in a distant place, because that would imply that the Jew, being where he was, far from the Temple in Jerusalem, was indeed in his “place” - in his natural place, in the place where he belonged. The Torah is teaching us that the “place” of every Jew is in the home of G-d, celebrating together with the entire Jewish people.
A Jew may seem far removed from Judaism, to the extent that on Passover he is ritually unfit, unable, or unwilling, to join his brothers and sisters in Jerusalem. A Jew may have traveled far away, literally as well as figuratively. A Jew might think that he has found a new home. He might think that he has found a new place for himself. Yet the Torah teaches us that no Jew is in a “distant place”. For the distant place is not his place. He is merely on a journey, he is merely on a “distant road”.
The message of the second Passover is that the Torah will never give up on a Jew. The Torah will always offer a “second chance”. Because no matter how far a Jew may roam he is still only on the read. Home for the Jew, the place of a Jew, is the house of G-d in Jerusalem.
The Lonely Leader?
Something about this episode was different. While the Jewish people disappointed Moses many times in the desert, by creating the golden calf, losing their faith in their ability to conquer Israel, and rebelling against Moses, never before or since had Moses reacted with such pain and despair as when the People asked for meat.
The Torah tells us:
The multitude among them began to have strong cravings. Then even the children of Israel once again began to cry, and they said, "Who will feed us meat?
Moses reacted with great pain and anguish, he turned to G-d and said:
"Why have You treated Your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in Your eyes that You place the burden of this entire people upon me?
Did I conceive this entire people? Did I give birth to them, that You say to me, 'Carry them in your bosom as the nurse carries the suckling,' to the Land You promised their forefathers?
Where can I get meat to give all these people? For they are crying on me, saying, 'Give us meat to eat.'
Alone I cannot carry this entire people for it is too hard for me.
If this is the way You treat me, please kill me if I have found favor in Your eyes, so that I not see my misfortune."
Why was the request for meat so terrible? Is asking for meat really more severe a transgression than created the golden calf, after which Moses did not ask to die, nor did he complain that he had to carry them like a nurse carries the suckling, and after which Moses defended his people with enthusiasm and force?
To understand this, we must first look at the beginning of the Torah portion.
The portion of Behaalotcha, begins with the Torah reiterating the commandment to light the Menorah. Why was the commandment to light the Menorah singled out for repetition at this point in the story, as the children of Israel were about to embark on their Journey toward Israel?
Lighting the Menorah is more than a specific detail of the service of the temple. The Menorah captures the mission of the Jew, namely to add spiritual light to his own life as well as to the world around him. Thus the commandment to light the Menorah is repeated as they were about the leave Sinai and begin the mission of our nation.
Shortly after the departure from Sinai, Moses discovered that his people were in no position to be a Menorah radiating spiritual light. Moses came to the realization that the people had no interest in matters of the spiritual in general, and were not concerned with their calling of adding light in the world in particular. Moses discovered that their chief concern was: “what’s for supper’. This was the greatest disappointment because it represented an abandonment of their core mission.
When Moses said “Alone I cannot carry this entire people” he did not mean that he was incapable of leading them. Moses meant that he could not carry the mission of the entire people alone. He could not be the only one holding the light of the Menorah, the only one carrying forth the Jewish calling.
G-d instructed Moses to gather seventy elders, G-d would take from the spirit which was on Moses and place it upon them, and they would experience prophecy. How would that solve the problem of the request for meat? G-d was demonstrating to Moses that although the people were not as intensely spiritual and humble as Moses, they could also experience the spirit of holiness and be a part of the Menorah, spreading spiritual warmth and light.
Moses realized that he was not alone. As he watched the seventy elders receive inspiration from his spirit, he understood that he was not carrying the Jewish mission on his own. For every Jew throughout history is inspired by the words of Moses, and would carry the message and inspiration forward. That indeed, even the Jew who is concerned with material success, can and will be part of the Menorah. Moses learned that indeed he was not alone.
Who will Give us Meat?
Only three days had passed since the Jewish people left Mount Sinai, beginning their journey toward the Land of Israel, and already there was a stunning setback. The people who experienced Divine revelation, the people who merited to see the cloud of glory rest upon the tabernacle they built for G-d, began complaining. They cried out that they wanted meat!
As the Torah tells us:
But the multitude among cultivated a craving. Then even the children of Israel once again began to cry, and they said, "Who will feed us meat?
How is it possible that the people so quickly abandoned the spirituality which they had cultivated at Sinai and demanded meat?
Every story in the Torah is multi layered, and can be understood on many levels. According to the Chassidic interpretation, the people’s desire for meat was, in fact, a positive desire. Upon closer reading of the story we discover that the people complained not because they wanted meat, but because they wanted a desire for meat (the literal translation of the verse is “they desired a desire”, meaning they desired to experience desire). After almost a year of intense spiritual experience, they departed from Sinai and realized that they had ceased to feel any craving for materialism. The lack of desire troubled them because they felt that the purpose of life is to experience challenge. They craved the challenge of overcoming temptation. They said:
We remember the fish that we ate in Egypt free of charge, the cucumbers, the watermelons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now, our bodies are dried out, for there is nothing at all; we have nothing but manna to look at.
They wanted fish, cucumbers and watermelons, because they wanted to experience desire, to be challenged by passion, and then channel the desire. They desired to feel the natural craving for delicious food and transform that desire to a craving for G-d. At Sinai, they did not experience passionate love to G-d, which is predicated on feeling the self and feeling how the self desires to cleave to G-d. At Sinai they experienced complete devotion and humility before G-d. The humble person does not focus on himself, instead he is devoted to and focused on someone or something outside of himself.
Moses responded with despair. Moses turned to G-d and cried:
Where can I get meat to give all these people? For they are crying on me, saying, 'Give us meat to eat.' Alone I cannot carry this entire people for it is too hard for me.
Moses, was the humblest of men. Moses is referred to as Moses our teacher. According to Kabbalah wisdom is synonymous with humility, for wisdom is the ability to separate oneself from his or her own subjective emotions and point of view, and focus on the objective reality that is greater than the self. Moses, therefore told G-d that he, Moses, was incapable of leading the people who craved a desire. He had no common language with people who wanted to experience passionate love. As the Torah continues:
Moses said, "Six hundred thousand people on foot are the people in whose midst I am, and You say, 'I will give them meat, and they will eat it for a full month'?
Moses said “these are the people in whose midst I am”. Moses said to G-d, that he, Moses had invested much time and effort in order to impart within the people a spark of Moses, a glimpse of his own selfless humility and devotion to G-d. Now that they wished to experience desire, argued Moses, they were disconnecting themselves from Moses and his unique spiritual lifestyle!
G-d, however, did not share Moses’s concern. He told Moses:
"Is My power limited? Now you will see if My word comes true for you or not!"
G-d gave the Jewish people meat. He allowed them to experience desire and to transform the desire and passion for meat to a passionate love to G-d. Because, as G-ds told Moses, “is my power limited?” The message of Judaism is that G-d can be found not only in the humility of Moses, but, perhaps even more importantly, in elevating our craving and channeling our passion to bring us closer to G-d.
Raise the Flame
Nearly a year after they arrived at Mount Sinai the Jewish people began their journey toward the promised land. Before our portion describes the tumultuous journey, which, ultimately, lasted forty years, the Torah reiterates the commandment to light the Menorah:
The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and say to him: "When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall cast their light toward the face of the Menorah." (Numbers 8:1-2)
The Menorah is a symbol of the mission statement of the Jewish people. Our task is to illuminate ourselves and the world around us with the warmth, enlightenment and inspiration of the Torah. As we depart from Sinai to implement the teachings of the Torah, we are reminded that each of us is heir to the legacy of Aaron, who would kindle the lights of the Menorah, symbolizing Aaron’s effort to inspire and illuminate each and every soul.
The word the Torah uses to describe the lighting of the Menorah, (“Behaalotcha”), means to lift up, which is an unusual word to describe kindling a flame. Rashi offers two explanations on why the word “lift up” is used in the context of kindling the flame:
He is required to kindle the lamp until the flame rises by itself. Our Sages further expounded from here that there was a step in front of the menorah, on which the Kohen stood to prepare [the lamps].
These two explanations apply to the figurative kindling of the flames as well. The first interpretation explains that the word “rise up” is used because the flame rises up independently and no longer needs the influence of the candle that ignited it. This teaches us that when we seek to inspire others, be it a child, a student or a friend, it is not enough to bring our flame close to theirs and allow them to be affected by our excitement and passion. To “lift up” the flame is to “kindle the lamp until the flame rises by itself” by sharing the fire until the recipient of the inspiration no longer needs the teacher in order to receive inspiration. For the child is inspired and passionate on her own, even without the continued presence of the teacher.
The second interpretation explains that the words “when you rise up” refers not to the flame but to Aaron who kindles the flame, because Aaron would rise up on a step in order to light the Menorah. This interpretation too contains a lesson for each of us. The Torah is telling us that the surest path to elevate oneself is to seek to inspire others. While the natural tendency of someone who seeks to grow spiritually may be to seclude himself and focus inward, the Torah teaches us that by preparing to ignite someone else’s flame, you too will rise up, you too will be inspired.
This double message - that we must seek to inspire others until they shine on their own, and that the surest way to grow ourselves is by inspiring others - is at the heart of what the Rebbe constantly taught us, and is the message the Rebbe imparted to Rabbi and Rebbetzin Yisrael and Vivi Deren before they got married and set out to establish Chabad in Western and Sothern New England.
In the words of Rabbi Deren (Derher magazine, Tamuz 5778):
Before our wedding, we went into yechidus (a private audience), and the Rebbe told us something very powerful, which continues to guide us until today. The Rebbe said, “Ir vet machen lichtig un varem ba andere, un der Aibershter vet machen lichtig un varem ba eich—you shall bring light and warmth to others, and G-d will bring light and warmth to you.” That blessing and assurance is what keeps us going until today.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Behaalotcha 5748 and 5749).
Advantage of the Second Chance
One of the few commandments in the Torah that were initiated not by G-d but by the Jewish people is the commandment of the second Passover. There were people who were ritually impure during the appointed time for bringing the Passover offering, on the 14th of Nissan, which disqualified them from bringing it. They approached Moses and demanded “why should we be excluded so as not to bring the offering of the Lord in its appointed time, with all the children of Israel?”. G-d then instructed the laws of the Second Passover, if someone was unable to bring the Passover offering he would have a second chance to bring it exactly one month later.
Chassidic philosophy explains that the broader theme of the second Passover is that G-d grants us a second chance to correct anything we have missed or done wrong initially. The first Passover represents the service of the righteous. Because at the time of the exodus from Egypt, which is the birthday of our people, we were spiritually pure as a newborn child. The Second Passover, by contrast, represents the service of Teshuvah, the service of returning to G-d after the experience of separation.
When we examine the laws of the second Passover we see that there are profound advantages to the second Passover. In some ways, the second Passover is more spiritually powerful than the first.
During the entire seven days (or, outside of Israel, eight days) of the holiday of Passover it is prohibited to eat and even to own any bread. The second passover differs from the first one in two important ways: 1. It is permitted to own bread and have it in the home while eating the Passover offering. 2. The second Passover lasted for only one day.
The difference between the service of the righteous person and the service of the returnee, is that the righteous person does not interact with negativity. His effort is devoted to the realm of holiness: he studies Torah and fulfills the commandments with a steady pace of growth. The lifestyle of the righteous is represented by the laws of the first Passover: bread, which represents the negativity that stems from the inflated ego, is prohibited, because the righteous person does not succumb to the negativity. The holiday lasts for a complete cycle of seven days which represents that the righteous person gradually fills all of his seven emotional characteristics with holiness.
The second Passover, By contrast, represents the person returning to G-d after experiencing sin and unholiness. Unlike the righteous person who has no contact with negativity at all, the one returning to G-d transforms the negative experience to holiness, the negative experience itself has been transformed to intensify his relationship with G-d. Therefore, during the second Passover, both Matzah and bread can be in the home simultaneously, because the bread, the negativity itself, has been transformed to be able to be incorporated into the life of the Jew. While the influence of the righteous person is limited to the realm of holiness, the returnee can elevate every experience, vastly expanding the reach of holiness.
Having experienced the pain of separation, the returnee returns to G-d with far greater passion than the commitment of the righteous. The returnee’s connection stems from a deeper place within his soul, a place that transcends calculation and limitation, the transformation that comes through his connection to G-d transcends the orderly process of growth. As the Zohar states: “returning to G-d occurs in one moment”, therefore the second Passover is one day. Because when one reaches the deep recesses of his soul the transformation occurs instantaneously.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 18 Behaaloscha 3)
Chametz on (the Second) Passover?!
During the holiday of Passover, all leavened bread is off-limits. Not only are we not allowed to eat it, it is also a biblical violation to see one's Chametz (leavened bread) or even to own Chametz.
In this week's Torah portion, we read about the second Passover. In response to the demand of individuals who could not offer the Passover offering because they were ritually impure, G-d introduced the second Passover, exactly one month later, offering the opportunity to remedy the missed opportunity. As the verse states:
In the second month, on the fourteenth day, in the afternoon, they shall make it; they shall eat it with unleavened cakes and bitter herbs. They shall not leave over anything from it until the next morning, and they shall not break any of its bones. They shall make it in accordance with all the statutes connected with the Passover sacrifice. (Numbers 9:11-12)
Virtually all of the laws of the first Passover apply to the second Passover. Still, there are two important differences: (1) On the first Passover we are obligated to rid the Chametz from our home, and we are even prohibited from owning Chametz. On the second Passover, by contrast, we are permitted to have Chametz in the home even while eating the Passover offering. [As Rashi quotes from the Talmud:" On the second Passover, one may keep both leavened bread and unleavened food in the home.... the consumption of leaven is not forbidden except while he eats it (the sacrifice)]. (2) While the first Passover lasts for seven days (in Israel, and eight days outside of Israel), the second Passover is only one day. These two distinctions are interconnected and stem from the inner meaning and energy of the second Passover.
The first Passover represents the "path of the righteous", the path which we should strive to follow. We rid our home of Chametz, which represents freeing ourselves from negative influences and phenomenon. We seek to celebrate our relationship with G-d without the distractions of negativity and challenge. This experience lasts for seven days because our service of G-d, and commitment to holiness and personal growth is a process that takes time (represented by seven days, a complete week) to achieve.
Despite aiming for the righteous path, we sometimes find ourselves on the second path, the path of challenge, pain, and hardship. We sometimes succumb to negativity and cannot celebrate the holiday of freedom, as we are enslaved to our negative traits. The Torah introduced the second Passover, which is not only a second chance to achieve what we have missed, but rather it is a far deeper and more profound experience. Granted, While on the first path, we avoid the challenge of negative experiences (symbolized by banning the Chametz from our home), yet on the second Passover, by contrast, we transform the pain of the negative experience into fuel which deepens our commitment to holiness, positivity, and spiritual growth. The experiences that are a distraction from the first path can, through the process of return, be transformed to bring us to a deeper connection with G-d, in the second Passover.
The second Passover, the process of transformation and return, takes place on only one day which symbolizes that transformation can happen instantaneously. All a person has to do is turn around and face a new direction, and the transformation has occurred. Because where we are is not the important consideration. What is important is where we are heading.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos Behaaloscha vol. 18 Sicha 3.
The Second Passover, Correct or Complete?
It was the very first anniversary of the exodus from Egypt. The people who could not offer the Passover offering, because they were ritually impure, approached Moses and protested the fact that they would miss the opportunity to offer the Pesach offering. G-d then instructed Moses that there would be a second chance to offer the Passover offering precisely one month later:
The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Speak to the children of Israel saying, Any person who becomes unclean from [contact with] the dead, or is on a distant journey, whether among you or in future generations, he shall make a Passover sacrifice for the Lord. In the second month, on the fourteenth day, in the afternoon, they shall make it; they shall eat it with unleavened cakes and bitter herbs. (Numbers 9:9-11)
The message of this beautiful story is that it is never too late. In our spiritual connection to G-d, there is no such thing as a missed opportunity because one can always correct the mistake and fill in what he missed.
Upon closer analysis, however, it seems that the definition of the second Passover is a matter of debate.
The Talmud (Pesachim 93a) presents a debate on the precise definition of the second Passover. Whereas some authorities define the holiday as either “a redress for the first {Passover}” or a “repair” for the {failure to offer the Paschal lamb on the} first {Passover}, The opinion of Rebbi is that the second Passover is “an independent festival”. A ramification of this debate is in the case of a convert who converted to Judaism during the thirty days between the first and second Passover. According to the first two opinions, which state that the second Passover is a redress or a repair for the first one, the convert, who was not obligated to offer the first Passover since he was not yet Jewish, would not be required to offer the second Passover. However, according to the opinion that the second Passover is an independent festival (for those who, for whatever reason, did not celebrate the first Passover), the convert would be required to offer the Passover offering on the second Passover.
Although the legal ruling follows the opinion that the second Passover is an independent festival, nevertheless, the theme of the holiday is that it is always possible to correct. That is because the Hebrew word for redress, “Tashlumin,” has two meanings: (1) to correct a deficiency. (2) To make something complete. This second definition applies even when something has no blemish or deficiency; even then, it can be improved and made more complete and more perfect. The connection between these two definitions is that, according to Judaism, one has a responsibility to reach their full potential since every person must develop their G-d given gifts to their fullest. It follows then that reaching one’s full potential, making oneself more "complete" (the second meaning of "Tashlumin"), is, in fact, “correcting a deficiency”, (the first definition of “Tashlumin”), since not developing our full potential is in itself a deficiency.
In the final analysis, the commandment of the second Passover empowers us not only to correct the mistakes we may have made (“correcting a deficiency”), but, just as important, it inspires us and empowers us to reach our full potential (“making something more complete”).
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Behaaloscha 18 Sicha 4
Maintaining Excitement
Beginnings are exciting. Starting a family, enrolling in a new school, starting a business, or embarking on a new project, generates passion and enthusiasm. The challenge, of course, is how to maintain that same excitement and passion on an ongoing basis. This, explains the Rebbe, is the inner meaning of a discussion between G-d and Aaron as described in the beginning of our Parsha.
The Torah states:
The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and say to him: "When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall cast their light toward the face of the menorah." (Numbers 8:1-2)
Rashi, quoting the Midrash, explains:
When you light: Why is the portion dealing with the menorah juxtaposed to the portion dealing with the chieftains? For when Aaron saw the dedication [offerings] of the chieftains, he felt distressed over not joining them in this dedication - neither he nor his tribe. So G-d said to him, "By your life, yours is greater than theirs, for you will light and prepare the lamps."
At first glance, this Midrash is puzzling. Why did Aaron regret that he was not included in the offerings brought on the day of the inauguration of the tabernacle? Why wasn't Aaron satisfied with his more prominent role in the Temple? And, in what way is Aaron's lighting of the menorah greater than the inauguration offerings of the princes?
The princes’ offerings at the inauguration represent the additional excitement and passion that is granted from above at the beginning of a new journey. Aaron was distressed, for it was his task to inspire the Jewish people in their ongoing service of G-d, on a day-to-day basis, once the initial excitement had evaporated. Aaron wondered: "How can I generate within the Jewish people that same thrill and joy that the princes’ had during their inauguration? "
G-d responds, "By your life, yours is greater than theirs." Aaron, as well as the Aaron within each one of us, achieves a far more remarkable accomplishment. Aaron can tap into the essence of our soul, unleashing a reservoir of life and passion. Aaron inspires us to approach every day and every task with the same excitement as if it is the first time we are engaging in this activity. Whether you are educating your child or dealing with a tedious task on your to-do list, you can turn deep within yourself, reconnect to the reservoir of life in your inner soul and infuse the seemingly mundane activity which you are facing at the moment, with delight, excitement, and enthusiasm.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 18 Behaaloscha 1
The Leader's Faith
His daughter asked him if she should try out for the sports team. He thinks she is not up to the task. He wants to protect her from failure. He tells her not to try. He tells her that it will be too difficult. He tells her that the sport is not that much fun anyway. He tells her that she will be much happier if she would just do something else.
His employee approached him with a brilliant new idea. He loves the idea, but he does not believe his team could pull it off successfully. He tells them it’s too risky, too much work, and ultimately it is not a good idea to begin with.
He is acting like the Biblical spies.
In what was the most disastrous episode in their lifetime, the Jewish people traveling through the desert, requested of Moses that he should dispatch spies to the land of Canaan, to scout out the land and its inhabitants. Moses hand-picked twelve leaders, one per tribe, and sent them off. They return to Moses and the Children of Israel and report, that despite G-d’s assurances, conquering the land was impossible:
“We came to the land to which you sent us, and it is flowing with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. However, the people who inhabit the land are mighty, and the cities are extremely huge and fortified, and there we saw even the offspring of the giant… We are unable to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we.
They spread an [evil] report about the land which they had scouted, telling the children of Israel, "The land we passed through to explore is a land that consumes its inhabitants”.
Virtually all the commentators ask the same question: how is it possible that the spies have a complete loss of faith, despite all the miracles of the exodus which they experienced firsthand? How is it possible that great men, hand-picked by Moses, failed to maintain their trust in G-d?
Perhaps we can suggest that the spies never lost faith in G-d, nor did they lose faith in his ability to perform miracles.
They trusted G-d, but they did not trust the people.
Sure, they thought, G-d is perfectly capable of performing miracles if he wishes to do so. The problem, the spies thought to themselves, was that there was no chance the people would remain loyal to G-d and deserving of his protection. They therefore concluded that conquering Canaan is impossible, because the people were not up to the task.
Seeking to protect their beloved people from failure, the spies react like the father trying to discourage his daughter in order to protect her from failure. They say that the task is too difficult: “We are unable to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we”, and they tell the people that the land is not desirable in the first place: “The land we passed through to explore is a land that consumes its inhabitants”.
The spies may have acted out of love, but they failed both the mission and the people they were meant to serve. When someone is facing a challenging moment a leader must lift up, inspire, teach, encourage, and show him or her how to discover the reservoirs of faith, courage, and strength hidden within his soul.
Each of us are leaders in our circle of influence. Our family and friends look to us for guidance. We must remember never to underestimate and discourage as the spies did, for we must always be like Moses Joshua and Caleb, who believed in the people and sought to discover within the people the treasures which lay hidden deep within the people’s soul.
In 1974, Rabbi Moshe Yitzchok Hecht, the Rebbe’s emissary to New Haven, CT, sent a letter to the Rebbe in which he described the difficult challenges he was facing, and asked the Rebbe to do something to help him, implying that he (Rabbi Hecht) felt that he was unable to carry out the mission successfully.
The Rebbe wrote back:
I preempted you and responded even before you made your request. I already did precisely as you advised. Rabbi Moshe Yitzchok Hecht was sent to your city. It appears from your letter (and from your previous one) that you are unfamiliar with Rabbi Hecht or the abilities and powers he has been granted. In any event, endeavor now to acquaint yourself with him, and immediately everything will change - your disposition, your trust in G-d, your everyday joy etc.
The portion of Shelach is read in proximity to the Rebbe’s Yahrtzeit on the third of Tamuz. Like Moses in his time, the Rebbe believed in every Jew. Like Moses in his time, the Rebbe taught us to believe in ourselves. The Rebbe taught to never judge ourselves or others based on external appearances, but rather to believe in, and therefore work to discover, the spark of infinity within ourselves. The infinity of our soul.
The Power of Desire
It was one of the most tragic moments in Jewish history. After generations of exile and slavery, after the miracles of the Exodus and the revelation at Sinai, the Jews were about to reach their ultimate destination: they were at the cusp of entering the land of Israel. Tragically, at that pivotal moment, it all fell apart. The spies, sent to scout out the land, reported about the might of the native inhabitants. The Jewish people lost faith in their ability to conquer the land of Israel. As the Torah relates:
The entire community raised their voices and shouted, and the people wept on that night. All the children of Israel complained against Moses and Aaron, and the entire congregation said, "If only we had died in the land of Egypt, or if only we had died in this desert. Why does the Lord bring us to this land to fall by the sword; our wives and children will be as spoils. Is it not better for us to return to Egypt?" They said to each other, "Let us appoint a leader and return to Egypt!"
The obvious lesson of this story of colossal loss of faith is the importance of believing in G-d, and not losing hope at the critical moments of life’s journey.
Yet, if we examine some of the details of the story, we will notice that, this is a story about more than faith alone.
Let us begin with the end of the story. G-d told Moses that in punishment for the sin of the spies the people would be barred from the land. Only their children would merit to enter Israel:
As for your infants... I will bring them there, and they will come to know the Land which You despised.
Here we see that G-d classified the sin as despising the land.
Let’s examine another verse. When ten of the spies shared the negative report, Caleb and Joshua, the two spies who remained loyal to G-d and to Israel, responded:
They spoke to the entire congregation of the children of Israel, saying, "The land we passed through to scout is an exceedingly good land.”
Why did Joshua and Caleb keep talking about how good the land was? How was that relevant to the question of whether or not the Jews were capable of conquering the land? Why did G-d say that the Jews “despised” the land, if all they did was lose faith in G-d?
What G-d was saying, and what Joshua and Caleb understood, was that faith follows desire. The reason the people lost faith in their own ability, and the reason they lost faith in G-d’s ability to help them conquer the land, was because they had no deep desire for the land. Desire is the deepest of the soul’s powers and is the key that unlocks all other aspects of the soul. If one truly and deeply wants to achieve something, that desire will unlock the wisdom, the emotions, and yes, the belief in the possibility of achieving the desired goal.
That is why, when Moses sent the spies to scout out the land, he did more than just ask them to investigate the military might of the Canaanites. Moses instructed the spies to investigate the produce of the land, hoping the Jews would fall in the love with the land, its beauty and bounty.
Moses sent the spies because he understood that it is important for the people to desire the land. It is not enough for the people to head toward Israel because G-d promised it to their ancestors, and because G-d assured them that it is a land that flows with milk and honey. Moses understood that the people needed to desire Israel. It is not enough to march ahead fulfilling G-d’s orders, but rather the time had come for the people to identify and internalize and desire the Divine plan.
G-d, Moses, and Joshua and Caleb, each in their own way, expressed this important truth: don’t wait for faith and belief. If you have a deep desire to achieve what you know is your inner purpose, if you want to succeed in reaching your potential, then belief and the confidence in your ability to so, will follow.
The Miracle of Bread
The spies returned from scouting out the land of Israel with a report describing the might of its inhabitants. The hearts of the Jewish people filled with fear, they lost faith in G-d’s ability to bring them into the land, and they cried: “Let us appoint a leader and return to Egypt!”. As a result of their rejection of the land, it was decreed that they, the generation that was liberated from Egypt would remain in the desert for forty years. Only the next generation would merit to enter the land and to see the fulfillment of the Divine promise to bring the people to the land of their ancestors.
After the tragic episode of the spies, the Torah tells us:
The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Speak to the children of Israel and you shall say to them, When you arrive in the Land to which I am bringing you, and you eat from the bread of the Land, you shall set aside a gift for the Lord. The first portion of your dough, you shall separate a loaf for a gift... From the first portion of your dough you shall give a gift to the Lord in [all] your generations.
Why would G-d choose to place the commandment of Challah, the commandment to dedicate the first piece of dough to G-d, at this point in the story? The words: “When you arrive in the Land to which I am bringing you”, clearly state that the commandment would not take effect for forty years. Discussing a Mitzvah that applies only in the Land of Israel immediately after the decree barring the Jews from entering the land, seems, at first glance, to be quite cruel.
To understand this, we must turn back and analyze the mistake made by the spies, we must address one of the most difficult questions raised by this story: How is it possible that the same people who experienced great miracles, from the ten plagues and the splitting of the sea to the manna descending from heaven, could undergo a dramatic change of heart and suffer a colossal loss of faith? How could a people who perceived G-d’s wonders deny his ability to help them conquer the land?
The answer to this question is, that the spies, as well as the Jewish people, witnessed G-d’s ability to perform miracles, to shatter the laws of nature, and they understood that the laws of nature are no match for G-d’s might. G-d can, and occasionally will, suspend the laws of nature and display his miraculous wonders.
Yet, they were aware that once they entered the land the miracles would cease. They would have to wage a natural war of conquest, they would have to farm the land to sustain themselves, no longer could they expect G-d to interfere and change the laws of nature on their behalf. Thus, they were afraid to enter the land; not because they thought that G-d could not perform miracles, but rather because they thought that G-d would choose not to perform them. Without shattering the laws of nature, they feared, they would be powerless to conquer the land.
What they failed to understand is that nature itself is a miracle.
They understood that G-d could shatter nature but they failed to grasp that G-d operates through nature, that the miraculous as well as the natural are both expressions of the Divine.
That it is why, shortly after the debacle of the spies, G-d commanded the Jewish people to separate the first piece of dough and gift it to the priest. Kneading dough follows many months of toil; man must invest his effort, plow, sow and harvest; months will pass before the earth works its magic and produces wheat. At the culmination of all his effort, before he enjoys the fruit of many months of labor, the Jew dedicates the first piece of dough to the priest, because the Jew understands that the bread is a result of G-d’s blessing. The Jew recognizes that the earth yielding its produce is an expression of the Divine power. That nature is nothing but an expression of G-d’s will. That the loaf of bread is as great a miracle as the splitting of the sea.
Thus, the commandment of Challah is placed soon after the story of the spies for it is, in fact, a roadmap to rehabilitation from the mistake of the spies. Understanding that G-d operates through nature would give the Jew the confidence, as well as the merit, to leave the miracles of the desert and embrace life in the land.
The Commandment of Challah reminds the Jew that while he is engaged in the natural process of plowing, sowing and harvesting, he is experiencing the kindness of G-d. The Jew realizes that G-d is found not only in the miracles of the desert but also in the fields of the Land of Israel.
Separating the Challah demonstrates that for the Jew, G-d is present not only in the miraculous but also in the mundane.
Scouting a New Path
For the first time in his career Moses did not receive a direct instruction from G-d. The Jewish people requested of Moses to send spies to scout the promised land. G-d told Moses:
Send out for yourself men who will scout the Land of Canaan, which I am giving to the children of Israel.
Rashi, the primary commentary on the Torah, clarifies and explains that the words “for yourself” are not a commandment to dispatch spies, in the words of Rashi:
Send for yourself: According to your own understanding. I am not commanding you, but if you wish, you may send.
The spies brought calamity upon the Jewish people. When they returned from scouting the land they reported that the Jewish people were incapable of conquering the land. The Jewish people wept and called for the appointment of a new leader who would l bring them back to Egypt. In response to their rejection of the promised land, G-d decreed that the Jewish people would wander in the desert for forty years, the generation of people that was liberated from Egypt would die in the desert. Only the next generation would merit to enter the promised land of Israel.
Why did Moses decide to send the spies? Until that point Moses did not make a move without an explicit instruction from above. Why did Moses not consider that, by emphasizing that He was not commanding Moses to dispatch the spies, G-d may have been signaling to Moses to hold back and not send the spies? Why did Moses miss the red flag?
When he heard the words “if you wish, you may send” Moses was filled with joy. Moses understood that the Jewish people were being asked to climb to greater spiritual heights and exercise free choice. They were now developed to the point where they were capable of performing the will of G-d, not because they were commanded to do so, but because of their own will and desire. G-d was opening a new path in the service of G-d, no longer would there be a direct commandment from above, specifically because the goal of the Torah is not to superimpose its will from above, but rather it is for people to discover that they themselves want to do the right thing.
Until now, the people were shown which path to take, G-d led them out of Egypt, took them to Sinai, and led them through the desert toward the land of Israel. Once they entered Israel, they would no longer experience Divine revelation leading their every step. The sending of the spies, represented the critically important ability of the Jewish people to decide that they wanted to enter the land, not because of a commandment alone, but because their own will and desire directed them to do so.
This explains why forty years after Moses sent the first group of spies, Joshua, the student and successor of Moses, once again sent spies, as we read in the Haftorah:
And Joshua the son of Nun sent two men out of Shittim to spy secretly, saying, Go see the land and Jericho.
The mission of Joshua’s spies was successful. Joshua, despite witnessing the calamity brought on by the spies sent by Moses, took a risk and sent spies. Joshua understood that they could not enter the land without first sending spies. Because we cannot truly transform the earth, we cannot imbue the earth with lasting holiness, unless we do so because of our own desire.
Battling Self Doubt
Do you ever wish you would have more faith in yourself? Do you ever wish that you would be confident in achieving your goals? Do you ever tell yourself that if only you believed in your ability you would be able to reach greater heights?
When a person believes he can achieve a goal, commit to a challenge, or sell a product, it seems that the true believer will succeed simply because of the confidence he has in his own success. This benefit of belief, it seems, cannot be achieved by the skeptic. Because merely imitating the actions of the believer will not suffice, because, often, a critical factor to success, is the belief that success is possible.
When the Biblical spies returned from scouting the land of Canaan (Israel), they proceeded to persuade the Jews that conquering the land of Canaan would be impossible. The inhabitants were too powerful and the cities too fortified. The spies employed many subtle but effective tactics in their persuasion of the people. Perhaps one of the more powerful points they argued was that the people would not be able to conquer the land because, by dispatching spies in the first place to assess the strength of the inhabitants and evaluate a plan on their own, the people demonstrated a lack of faith in G-d’s promise that they would take the land. The lack of faith, argued the spies, would undermine the motivation, morale, and ability to achieve their goal.
Caleb, one of the two spies who remained loyal to the land of Israel, pushed back forcefully. The Torah tells us:
Caleb silenced the people to [hear about] Moses, and he said, "We can surely go up and take possession of it, for we can indeed overcome it." (Numbers 13:30)
Rashi offers the back story. Caleb acted as if he was about to speak against Moses. The people, who by that point were disillusioned of their hope of following Moses into Israel, were eager to hear what they thought would be Caleb’s disparaging words against Moses:
He (Caleb) cried out, “Is this the only thing the son of Amram has done to us?” Anyone listening might have thought that he intended to disparage him, and since there was [resentment] in their hearts against Moses because of the spies’ report, they all became silent so they could hear his defamation. But he said, “Didn’t he split the sea for us, bring down the manna for us and cause the quails to fly down to us?”
Caleb was strategic about the examples of the miracles he employed. Caleb left out the most obvious examples, the exodus from Egypt and the ten plagues, because Caleb was specifically addressing the fears that the spies planted in the hearts of the Jews. We will focus on Caleb’s last example: “cause the quails to fly down to us”. The quail came to the Jewish camp in response to the complaints against the manna. The people were tired of the manna and wanted meat. They complained and bemoaned “who will give us meat?” By evoking the story of the quail Caleb demonstrated that G-d would help even if their trust was not complete.
***
Just as the Jewish people were tasked with entering the land of Israel and transforming it to a holy land, each of us is tasked with the transformation of our surroundings and environment into a “holy land”, a place hospitable to G-dliness. We often despair and doubt our own ability to stay focused, upbeat and achieve our purpose. We question ourselves: are we able to battle distraction, despair, cynicism, apathy, and create an environment of holiness, joy and harmony? We sometimes doubt ourselves, and then use the self doubt as proof that we cannot succeed.
The lesson Caleb teaches us, explains the Rebbe, is that we will succeed in facing our challenges and fulfilling our purpose. Even if we are unsure, even if we experience self doubt, G-d will help us succeed. Because G-d believes in us.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 8 Shlach 1.)
Two Types of Spies
The spies that Moses sent to scout out the land returned with a devastating report and convinced the Jewish people that conquering the land would be an impossible task. In the story, there are two words used for the act of spying. In the book of Deuteronomy Moses recounts how the people approached him and requested that he dispatch spies:
And all of you approached me and said, "Let us send men ahead of us so that they will search out the land for us and bring us back word by which route we shall go up, and to which cities we shall come." (Deuteronomy 1:22)
The Hebrew word for spying employed by the people was “veyachperu”, which is related to the word “to dig” (“lachpor”) and “shame” (“cherpah”). The Jewish people asked Moses to send spies whose mandate would be to “dig” and uncover the vulnerabilities of the defenses of the land which would allow them to conquer it. Yet, the word also means “shame”, which implies that, perhaps subconsciously, the Jewish people hoped that the spies would look for the weakness of the land to discover its faults and undesirable traits.
Yet, when G-d told Moses to send spies, G-d used a different word for spying. In our portion the Torah tells us:
The Lord spoke to Moses saying: "Send out for yourself men who will scout the Land of Canaan, which I am giving to the children of Israel. You shall send one man each for his father's tribe; each one shall be a chieftain in their midst." (Numbers 13:1-2)
The Hebrew word for spies used by G-d is “veyaturu”, which means to look for something positive. G-d agreed to send spies, but only once the mandate of their mission would be defined. G-d said, in order for the mission to be successful, it must be defined, the keyword is not “veyachperu”, the spies must not look for the “shame” and negativity of the land, but rather “veyaturu” they must look for the positive.
This lesson applies to each of us as well. When we look at any circumstance, relationship, or opportunity, it's up to us to determine what we will see. If we look for the negative we will find it. If we look for the positive we will find it.
What we see depends on what we look for.
(Based on the commentary of Rabbi S.R. Hirsh)
Your Offering Needs Wine!
Immediately after the tragic episode of the spies, when G-d declared that all men liberated from Egypt would perish in the desert over the next forty years, G-d offered a word of encouragement. The verse states:
The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: When you arrive in the Land of your dwelling place, which I am giving you…
Rashi explains that the commandment is prefaced by the introduction “when you arrive in the land” because: “He {G-d} informed them that they {the children of those who were destined to die in the desert} would enter the Land”.
Of all the commandments that apply in Israel, the one mentioned here is the commandment of libations, pouring wine on the altar together with an offering. As the verse explains:
{when} you make a fire offering to the Lord, the one who brings his offering to the Lord shall present... a meal offering containing one tenth fine flour mixed with a quarter of a hin of oil. And a quarter of a hin of wine for a libation, you shall prepare with the burnt offering or for the sacrifice, for each lamb.
The commandment of libations is presented here, and not in Leviticus, the third book of the Torah where the laws of offerings are discussed, because the libations represent the antidote to the mistake of the spies. Chassidic philosophy explains that the spies preferred to remain in the desert where they would live a spiritual existence, secluded and protected from physical life. They sought to escape the mundane and live a spiritual life where they could be close to G-d. In a word, they sought to be “an offering”; they sought to be utterly devoted to holiness. Their mistake was that they were not aligned with the purpose of creation, which is to create a home for G-d in the physical reality. They were happy to offer a “fire offering”, like the fire which surges upward, they sought to escape the gravitational pull of the physical. G-d, therefore, introduced the commandment of pouring wine together with the offering. Because the purpose of ascending to spiritual heights is to then "flow downward", to figuratively “pour the wine”, infusing physical life with meaning and joy.
The Talmud equates the relationship between offering and libations with the relationship between reciting the Shema and putting on tefillin:
Rabbi Chyya bar Abba said that Rabbi Yoḥanan said: {one who recites Shema without Tefillin} it is as if he has offered a burnt-offering without a meal-offering or a peace-offering without libations.
When we recite the Shema we are raising ourselves to a higher spiritual plane. We meditate on the unity of G-d, and awaken a passionate love for G-d in our hearts. But just as the offering placed into the fire on the altar must be followed by the wine flowing downward, so too the fire of the Shema needs to be channeled into the Tefillin, which represent tangible, action based, commandments; thus fulfilling the purpose of creation, making a home for G-d, not in heaven but right here on earth.
(Based on Likutei Torah Shelach, 40:1)
Mission Oriented
It was perhaps the most dramatic part of the story. Caleb, one of the two spies who remained loyal to the land of Israel, stood up against the other ten spies and "silenced the Jewish people to Moses."
The twelve spies had just returned to the Jewish people in the desert after scouting the land of Israel and presented their report:
"We came to the land to which you sent us, and it is flowing with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. However, the people who inhabit the land are mighty, and the cities are extremely huge and fortified, and there we saw even the offspring of the giant. The Amalekites dwell in the south land, while the Hittites, the Jebusites, and the Amorites dwell in the mountainous region. The Canaanites dwell on the coast and alongside the Jordan." (Numbers 13:27-29)
At this point, the spies did not yet say anything wrong, in fact, they did precisely as they were instructed by Moses, who dispatched them to determine the fertility of the land and the quality of its produce, as well as the might of its inhabitants and the fortification of its cities. That is precisely what the spies addressed at this point. The spies' sin was only obvious later when they added a conclusion of their own and declared: "We are unable to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we." Why then did Caleb interrupt them at the point when they were still offering their factual report?
Caleb saw that the spies made a subtle but profoundly critical change from Moses' request. Moses first asked them to report about the might of the people and the fortification of the cities, and only then to evaluate the produce and fertility of the land.. The spies, however, changed the order. They first reported about the beauty of the produce ("flowing with milk and honey, and this is its fruit"), and only then did they talk about the might of the inhabitants ("However, the people who inhabit the land are mighty…")
When Caleb saw the spies making this change of order, he understood that he needed to silence them immediately.
Evaluating the might of the native people was necessary in order to know how to engage in the battle of conquest and was therefore relevant to the mission of the Jewish people. The produce of the land, by contrast, represented the benefit that the Jewish people would receive for fulfilling their mission. To Moses, the task was primary, and the benefits were secondary. The spies, however, were primarily interested in the benefit, the produce of the land, and their interest in the actual mission was secondary. Caleb silenced them because he understood the danger of their attitude. A person who is focused on the benefit and not adequately committed to the mission is somebody who will look for the easy way out and will ultimately underestimate their own abilities and skills.
Each of us is on this earth on a mission from G-d to transform the world into a “Holy Land,” a place of goodness and kindness. Like the biblical spies, we too face fears, worries, challenges, and obstacles. We sometimes question our ability and our resolve to fulfill our Divine mission. Caleb teaches us that when we focus on the goal and put our own concerns aside, we will ultimately be successful in completing our mission. The less we focus on “what’s in it for me”, the more we will be able to fulfill our purpose, and the more we will benefit from “the land that flows of milk and honey”, in both the spiritual and material sense.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shelach 5710)
Can You Climb to the Heavens?
Ten of the twelve spies that Moses dispatched to scout the land of Israel reported back to the people that the task was impossible. They said: "We are unable to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we." Caleb and Joshua fiercely disagreed. The Torah describes Caleb's response:
Caleb silenced the people to [hear about] Moses, and he said, "We can surely go up and take possession of it, for we can indeed overcome it." (Numbers 13:30)
Quoting the Talmud, Rashi gives the full version of Caleb's statement to the people:
We can surely go up: even to heaven; if he tells us, "make ladders and go up there," we will succeed in whatever he says.
Why does Caleb employ this unusual imagery of climbing to the heavens with ladders, seemingly an impossibility, instead of evoking a more realistic example that the people could relate to?
The spies sought to dissuade the people from entering Israel, not because they did not value Israel as the Holy Land where one's connection to G-d can be felt and expressed to the greatest degree, but rather, they hesitated to enter the land precisely because they understood the intense holiness of Israel. They understood that living in an environment of potent holiness requires a person to tune in to and align with its holiness. Living in Israel without soaring to great spiritual heights, they argued, is not just a missed opportunity but also offensive. "Israel", they argued, is "a land that consumes those who dwell in it," Israel cannot tolerate "dwelling" in one place without constant spiritual growth. The spies did not feel that the Jewish people were capable of connecting to the holiness of Israel, and therefore tried to persuade them to remain in the desert.
Caleb disagreed. "We can surely go up: even to heaven". Every Jew can "ascend to heaven" and connect to the intense spiritual heights accessible in the Land of Israel. How so? Caleb explains: "if he tells us, "make ladders and go up there”, we will succeed in whatever he says”. The ladder, composed of many individual steps, is the image Caleb evoked to demonstrate that the path to ascend to heaven is not dramatic or extreme, it is a series of small steps. Focus on one step at a time, focus on the next positive action, and you will reach success.
(Adapted from Maayanah Shel Torah)
The Beauty of Darkness - Korach 5775
Korach’s philosophy was as provocative as it was fascinating.
Make no mistake. Korach did not start out as a jealous, power hungry man, who resented being overlooked for the position of leader and therefore chose to rebel against Moses and Aaron. In fact, argue the Kabbalists, Korach had a deep philosophical dispute with Aaron’s approach to spirituality.
Korach was a great Kabbalist. He was also an absolutist. Combine the two and you come up with Korach’s strange but compelling claim:
Light is a distraction, darkness is beautiful.
Korach’s argument goes something like this: spiritual light, with all its virtue, cannot capture the essence. Only when the light is swallowed up by the pull of the source of light (similar, perhaps, to a black hole), only when the light is submerged in its infinite source, only when it is dark, does one notice the infinite source of light. Only darkness expresses that there is an essence, a force far superior than anything light can capture.
Light, argued Korach, is not only unable to reveal the essence, in fact, it actually obscures it. Only darkness, ironically perhaps, is a testament to the source of infinity that the light can never express.
Korach resented Aaron, specifically because Aaron was in the light business. Aaron spent his days lighting the Menorah. His life’s mission was to light the physical Menorah that stood in the temple, as well as to light the metaphorical Menorah in the heart of every Jew. Aaron was all about inspiring people to ignite spiritual light in their life through the study of Torah and observance of Mitzvot, to focus time and energy on spiritual pursuits, and to illuminate their souls with a light-producing love and yearning for G-d. Aaron was the embodiment of the divine attribute of Chesed, kindness-sharing-light.
Korach believed that Aaron’s approach to increasing spirituality missed a deeper truth. He believed that it was far better to help people understand materialism as a religious symbol and testament to G-d who cannot be defined by anything spirituality can capture.
Korach said: give me the job of high priest and I will introduce a completely different model of spirituality. I will teach that no matter what the people are engaged in they are still holy: “the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst”. No need for spiritual light. No need to inspire people to yearn to cleave to their source in heaven. No need to seek inspiration to escape the lure of the material and cleave to spiritual light. What I will preach, said Korach, is to celebrate the physical. For the very reason that the physical represents the absence of spiritual light it is capable of directing our attention to the essence, to the infinite source of both darkness and light.
Korach viewed light with disdain. In his view, the light, by definition, compromises the absolute truth of the infinite creator.
According to Korach’s plan the people would live a materialistic life, without the burden of seeking spiritual inspiration. Eventually more and more people would come around to appreciate what Korach himself understood. They would understand that they could be satisfied with materialism because it is a testament that the undefined G-d cannot be expressed in a limited measure of light.
Where did Korach go wrong?
Let’s begin by pointing out what he got right.
He was right that darkness has a higher source than light.
He was right that the material has a higher source than the spiritual.
Yet, his philosophy was completely wrong.
He was wrong because to understand the truth of darkness, a person needs light. Yes, indeed, the material is the greatest manifestation of the essence. In the messianic era the material itself will express its source, as the prophet says “all flesh together shall see that the mouth of the Lord spoke”. Yet, the only way a person can crack the shell of the material and connect to it’s source, is by subjugating the material to the spiritual.
Only when one allows Aaron to illuminate his life with spiritual light, with a yearning for holiness, will he be able to appreciate that the material is an expression of the essence of G-d. Only a soul inspired by Aaron can reveal and connect to the superior essence of the body. Only light can reconnect the darkness to it’s lofty source.
A soul illuminated with spiritual light can find G-d where ever it looks. Not only in the light but also in the darkness; not only in the holy but also in the mundane; not only in heaven but also on earth.
Based on Or Hatorah Bamidbar page 722, and “Hasam Nafsheynu Bachayim” 5718.
Korach the Populist
Korach was a savy populist. He told the people exactly what they wanted to hear.
In this week’s Parsha, Korach began a rebellion against Moses and Aaron. He was, he said, sick and tired of the elite leading the masses. He had enough of Moses and Aaron serving as the moral voice for the people, encouraging them to grow ever higher in their devotion to G-d and in their commitment to a lifestyle of holiness.
The slogan he chose for his rebellion was: “the entirety of the people are holy”. No need for a Moses or an Aaron. No need for spiritual leadership.
As the Torah states:
Korah the son of Izhar, the son of Kohath, the son of Levi took [himself to one side] along with Dathan and Abiram, the sons of Eliab, and On the son of Peleth, descendants of Reuben. They confronted Moses together with two hundred and fifty men from the children of Israel, chieftains of the congregation, representatives of the assembly, men of repute. They assembled against Moses and Aaron, and said to them, "You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?"
Korach’s claim seemed impeccable. Did Moses not agree that the people were holy?
Earlier, in the book of Leviticus, G-d’s told Moses:
Speak to the entire congregation of the children of Israel, and say to them, You shall be holy, for I, the Lord, your God, am holy.
There is a profound difference between Korach’s claim “the entire congregation are all holy”, and G-d’s statement “you shall be holy”. Korach’s claim, “(you) are all holy”, is in the present tense, he was telling the people that they were already holy. Korach’s statement required nothing of the people, there was no need for them to grow and advance, to strive to ascend ever higher. They were perfect. They were holy. By contrast, G-d’s statement “be holy” was in the future tense. It was a call to put in the effort it took to refine themselves. It was a call to the people to improve, to change, to advance, to become holy.
Which of the two claims - that the people “are all holy” as Korach preached, or “you shall be holy” as Moses taught - held the people in higher regard?
On the surface it seems that Korach’s claim, that the people were already holy, was the greatest compliment they could receive. The opposite, however, is true. When Moses saw the Jews he saw not only their exterior but rather he saw their essence as well. When Moses saw a Jew, he saw the infinite potential of the soul. Moses understood that no matter how great the Jew was, he could become greater yet. Specifically, because Moses held the people in so high a regard, he was not satisfied with their state of holiness. The core of his message, therefore, was always: “be holy”. No matter how holy you are, become more holy in the future.
There are two types of leaders: one who is always loving, accepting and understanding of the people and their shortcomings. The other is always demanding more. Moses captured both of these seemingly opposing traits. On the one hand, whenever the people sinned he was the first to run to their defense. He was their greatest advocate and defender. On the other hand, he always expected more from them. He understood that the role of a Jewish leader, of a Moses and an Aaron, was to encourage the people to grow and unleash the infinite energy of their soul.
These two traits, accepting and demanding, are not contradictory. In fact, these two traits stem from the same root. Moses saw the essence of the people, he therefore understood that sin was just an external and temporary state of being that did not define their essence. And because Moses saw their essence he understood that no matter how holy they were, they had the potential to soar ever higher.
✱✱✱
This Shabbos, the third of Tamuz, is the twenty second Yahrtzeit of the Rebbe. It is a day when Jews around the globe reconnect to the Rebbe’s teachings and inspiration. The Rebbe, the Moses of our generation, saw the essence of the soul within every Jew. Therefore, like Moses before him, the Rebbe was the loving defender of the Jewish people. And therefore, he taught us never to be satisfied with our achievements, to always climb ever higher, to understand that our capacity to grow is boundless.
He taught us to look for the soul of every person. To continuously seek to uncover and connect to the treasures within our own soul, as well as within the soul of every individual Jew.
Naming Rights
Korach was a dangerous man. He led a rebellion against Moses and Aaron which threatened to undermine the veracity of Moshe’s prophecy and destroy the cohesion of the Jewish people necessary for them to survive in the desert and ultimately enter the land of Israel.
Why then do we give the “naming rights” of a portion in the Torah to Korach? Why do we refer to the portion as the portion of Korach, thus enshrining his name for eternity as a model for admiration?
Korach wanted to be the high priest instead of Aaron. Korach spoke out against the division within the people whereby Aaron was deemed the only one holy enough to perform the service of the temple while all other Jews were excluded from that role and, in his estimation, were therefore less holy and spiritually significant. Korach wanted spiritual equality: he wanted everybody to be on the same level of holiness.
The truth, however, is that there must be various grades of holiness.
The High Priest must remain completely dedicated to the temple service and disengage from worldly matters. The High Priest is likened to Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, a day when all Jews experience an angelic existence, ignoring the needs of the body and focusing on the soul's relationship with G-d.
Now consider the following question: if Yom Kippur is the holiest day, if it is a day on which we touch our core self as like on no other day, why don’t we simply declare everyday as holy as Yom Kippur? Why are most days mundane?
The answer is that if every day is as intensely holy as Yom Kippur then the purpose of creation, which is to sanctify the mundane and make it a dwelling place for the Divine, cannot be achieved. A world where every day is Yom Kippur, or, where every person is a high priest, is a world where, although the soul is connected to G-d, the body and the mundane reality are out of the picture. As a result, instead of the material existence being elevated and sanctified, it will fall lower, it will become more selfish, and farther away from its Divine source.
Which is why the devastating results of Korach’s rebellion were that the rebels were punished in two ways. The two hundred and fifty leaders who offered the incense were burned by fire, while the rest of Korach’s camp was swallowed up by the earth. The consequences demonstrated what would have happened had Korach’s plan been implemented. Fire, always surging upward, is a metaphor for spirituality. Yes, if we were all high priests, then our spiritual side would surge upward and would always be connected to G-d, yet our body would not come along for the ride. Our intensely spiritual existence could not understand or communicate with the more physical part of our existence. Thus, while the soul would ascend in fire, the body would be swallowed up by the earth, unable to elevate itself.
Which is why the Divine plan was that there should be both holy and mundane. One day a year we escape the body, and that experience empowers us to elevate the body during the rest of the year. At all other times, we have a high priest who is intensely holy, who inspires the rest of the people, who are engaged in the material world, to be more spiritual.
While Korach was mistaken, as there must be varying degrees of holiness, there is one aspect of Korach which is not only desirable but also necessary. In order for the mundane to be elevated it has to experience the desire and yearning for holiness. Thus although on a Tuesday afternoon in November, a Jew is not as holy as he is on Yom Kippur; there must be part of him which, like Korach, wishes it were Yom Kippur. In the final analysis, then, while Korach’s actions were disastrous, his desire for holiness must be celebrated.
Thus, the name of the portion is not “(and Korach) took”, the first word of the Parsha, which describes Korach disastrous actions, his rebellion; but rather the Parsha is named Korach. For Korach himself, the desire to be holy, is positive and should be celebrated.
Korach himself, as opposed to his actions, earned for himself the naming rights to the Parsha. Because the desire for holiness must be cultivated and celebrated.
The Gift of Individuality
Korach, a prominent member of the tribe of Levi and a cousin of Moses and Aaron, led a rebellion against Moses.
He instigated others and together they claimed that the Jewish people were all holy and therefore there was no need for Moses and Aaron to lead the people, as the Torah tells us:
They assembled against Moses and Aaron, and said to them, "You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?"
The rebellion had a tragic ending. G-d intervened, punished Korach and his camp, and reiterated that G-d himself was the one who chose Moses and Aaron as leaders.
Perhaps the part of the story which is most difficult to understand is, not why Korach rebelled or why he was punished so severely, but rather, what was wrong with his claim? Korach put forth a convincing argument; all Jews are holy. The entire Jewish nation heard G-d speak to them at Sinai. All Jews have a soul that is part of G-d. So why are there differences between people? Korach argued that if indeed we all have the same source, if we are all part of the same G-d, then why is the priesthood reserved for only a small group of Jews? Why can’t all Jews be equal?
Rashi quotes the Midrash which refers to Korach as an astute, wise person (as the Midrash asks: “But what did Korah, who was astute, see to commit this folly?”). The wise person has the ability to see not just the reality as it presents itself but also the source and energy of the phenomenon. Thus, when Korach looked at the Jewish people he saw them as they were within their source above, complete oneness with no distinctions between them.
Yet Korach was wrong. His desire to blur the differences between them, his claim that all Jews are equally holy and therefore there is no need for a leader, is misguided and dangerous. We live in a world of limitations, definitions and distinctions. This world cannot be a vessel to receive the full potency of Divine unity. In this world, the Divine unity is revealed when the multiplicity of creation joins together to express unity. Divine unity is expressed, not by eradicating the differences between people but rather by each individual celebrating their own individuality, recognizing that specifically because he or she is unique, different and distinct from the billions of human beings living on the planet, he or she is indispensable to G-d. Only when each individual expresses their own unique perspective and talents, contributing a critical, vital detail to the overall purpose of creation, is a true and lasting unity achieved.
At the conclusion of the story of Korach’s rebellion the Torah tells us that Moses collected one staff from each of the twelve tribes of Israel, the staff of the tribe of Levi was inscribed with Aaron’s name. Miraculously Aaron’s staff blossomed and produced almonds, which was a sign that G-d chose Aaron as the high priest. As the Torah describes:
Moses spoke to the children of Israel, and all their chieftains gave him a staff for each chieftain according to their fathers' houses, [a total of] twelve staffs, and Aaron's staff was amidst their staffs.
Moses placed the staffs before the Lord in the Tent of the Testimony.
And on the following day Moses came to the Tent of Testimony, and behold, Aaron's staff for the house of Levi had blossomed! It gave forth blossoms, sprouted buds, and produced ripe almonds.
When the Staff of Aaron blossomed, the story continues:
Moses took out all the staffs from before the Lord, to the children of Israel; they saw and they took, each man his staff.
The Torah emphasizes that, after Aaron’s staff blossomed, the leader of each tribe took his own staff back. This captures the purpose of the story. You may not be a Kohen, you may not have the gifts that someone else has, yet you must know that you do have your own staff, your own path, your own mission, your own gifts. Moses teaches each of us, that after our staff is placed next to Aaron’s staff, after we are inspired by Aaron’s leadership, we must each take our own staff and pursue that which we alone can achieve.
***
This Shabbat, the third of Tammuz, is the twenty fourth Yohrtzeit of the Rebbe. The Rebbe saw the unique beauty within every person. The Rebbe inspired each person he met to express the Divine soul that is within them, by illuminating their surroundings with the light of Torah and Mitzvot. May we each continue to live the Rebbe’s legacy until we merit the coming of Moshiach, speedily in our days.
Moses and the Mezuzah
Korach set out to spark a rebellion against the leadership of Moses and Aaron. He gathered his followers and presented the following question to Moses: If there are Torah scrolls inside a home, does the home require a Mezuzah (which contains merely two paragraphs from the Torah) on the door? Korach was sure that Moses would respond that the home is exempt from the obligation of Mezuzah since the home possesses the far greater holiness of the entire Torah. Korach planned to argue that the people of Israel, like the home which contains the Torah scroll, are holy and therefore they don’t need Moses and Aaron to lead and be the figurative Mezuzah.
The Midrash describes how Moses’ answer surprised Korach, and how Korach proceeded to mock Moses:
Korach asked Moses, “If a house is full of Torah scrolls, what is the law? Should it be exempt from the obligation of having a mezuzah?” Moses replied, “It is still under the obligation of having a mezuzah.” Korach retorted, “The entire Torah cannot exempt a house, but the two sections [of the Torah] in a mezuzah can?”
It turns out that Korach had a philosophical disagreement with Moses. Korach felt that if the home was full of books the inhabitant was holy, while Moses believed that the key to holiness was the Mezuzah on the door.
Our home is our personal space, we create walls to insulate us from the outside environment, to protect us from the elements, as well as from the influence of the masses. A home is a place where we can live as we please and create an environment based on the ideals and values that we choose. Korach said if your inner home possesses the sacred scrolls then you are holy. That is all you need.
Moses taught that having a Torah scroll in the home is not sufficient.
The Mezuzah is placed “on the posts of your home and on your gates”. The Mezuzah is placed at the contact point between the personal home and the outside world. When a Jew sees the Mezuzah he is reminded that not only is his home, his personal environment, sacred, but rather the Mezuzah calls for him to carry the message of the Mezuzah - the Shma Yisrael, the holiness and unity of G-d, which is written in the mezuzah - with him as he leaves the gates of his home and sets out to engage the outside world.
Korach opposed the Mezuzah because he sensed that the Mezuzah captures the essence of the teachings of Moses: the teachings of the Torah are not abstract ideas delegated to books, but rather they are the very purpose of creation.The goal of Judaism is to spread the ideas of the Torah from the mind to the heart and then to action, from the home to the outside world, until the entirety of the earth will be filled with the awareness of G-d, filling the earth with peace and harmony.
(Adapted from the Rebbe’s teachings, 26 Sivan 5723)
***
The Rebbe spoke these words to the 1963 graduating class of the Beis Rivkah girls school in Brooklyn, NY. The Rebbe encouraged the young women to personify the message of the Mezuzah; to spread the teachings and inspiration they received from studying Torah and carry it as they walk through the gates of their personal life and into the tumultuous world.
As we commemorate the Rebbe's twenty fifth Yahrtzeit tonight, may we merit to carry the Rebbe’s legacy, embodying the Mezuzah, and transforming the earth into a place of goodness and kindness.
Inspired Action
Korach, the cousin of Moses, ignited a rebellion against Moses. He gathered a group of disgruntled men and they sought to undermine the leadership of Moses. As the Torah describes:
They assembled against Moses and Aaron, and said to them, "You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?" (Numbers 16:3)
Moses had been leading the Jewish people for a number of years at this point, why did Korach wait until this point to rebel against Moses? The classic interpretation is that Korach was upset at the appointment of his younger cousin as the leader of the tribe of Levi, and that was the grievance that inspired the rebellion. But that interpretation is insufficient because the rebellion occurred a few months after the appointment.
The Chassidic interpretation is that the rebellion of Korach could only have happened after the sin of the spies. The Chassidic writings explain that the spies did not want to enter the land of Israel and preferred to remain in the desert because they did not want to engage in action. They preferred to live a life of study and meditation, and they felt that entering the land, working its soil, engaging in positive actions to create a just society, would distract them from their spiritual enlightenment.
They, however, were terribly mistaken. Because the purpose of creation, explains Judaism, is action. Before the soul descends upon this earth the soul lived a spiritual existence, the purpose of the descent is to impact the world through tangible action.
The takeaway of the story of the spies is, the superiority of action over thought, emotion, and spiritual enlightenment. And here is where Korach stepped in with his rebellion.
Korach understood that in the arena of wisdom, prophecy, spirituality, character refinement, and holiness, Moses and Aaron were far superior to the rest of the people. Korach argued that in the arena of action, which, as we have learned from the error of the spies, is primary, everyone is equal. True that Moses was a greater scholar, prophet, and was far more in touch with Divine reality, but in the realm of action, Moses was just like everyone else. All Jewish people, including Moses, do the same actions, they eat the same Matzah, light the same candles, and put on the same Tefillin.
Just like the spies, Korach too was deeply mistaken.
For while Judaism highlights the supremacy of action, Judaism calls for inspired action. It is not enough to act, our actions must also be imbued with understanding and feeling. While it is certainly true that the act of helping the poor is supreme, nevertheless Judaism teaches that the act of kindness must be imbued with compassion and empathy, wisdom, and a feeling of closeness to G-d. And because Judaism requires inspired action, we, therefore, need the leadership of Moses and Aaron, spiritual giants who teach us how to find the treasures of spirituality embedded within our heart and soul.
The spies sought spirituality alone.
Korach sought action alone.
Moses and Aaron embody the truth of Judaism: action is superior, but the goal is to inspire the action.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Korach vol. 4)
Can a Relationship Survive Dispute?
After Korach's rebellion against Moses and Aaron, G-d commanded Moses to take the pans which Korach's clan used to offer incense and make it into a covering for the Alter. This would remind the people never to repeat the mistake of Korach and his company. As the verse states:
as a reminder for the children of Israel, so that no outsider, who is not of the seed of Aaron, shall approach to burn incense before the Lord, so as not to be like Korach and his company, as the Lord spoke regarding him through the hand of Moses. (Numbers 17:5)
Based on the words "as not to be like Korach and his company", the Talmud derives that it is a sin to engage in a dispute:
With regard to the verse: "And Moses arose and went to Dathan and Abiram" (Numbers 16:25), Reish Lakish says: From here we derive that one may not perpetuate a dispute, as Rav says: Anyone who perpetuates a dispute violates a prohibition, as it is stated: "And he will not be like Korach and his assembly. (Talmud, Sanhedrin 110b)
But is dispute indeed a sin? Are we afraid of varying opinions? Aren't there multiple opinions on every single page of the Talmud?
The very first "division" in the Torah appears on the second day of creation, when "God said "Let there be an expanse amid the water, and let it be a separation between water and water."". The origin of all division in the world is the division between the spiritual ("the waters of heaven") and the physical ("waters of earth"). The purpose of the separation on the second day of creation was in order to create harmony on the third day. The purpose of the second day was to create two distinct entities that could be interconnected, and whose differences could complement each other. The potential for harmony between the spiritual and physical realms is formed on the third day, when dry land appeared, creating the space for humankind whose task it is to bridge heaven and earth by creating a home for G-d in the physical world.
The same model is true regarding all relationships. A relationship requires two distinct entities that unite to become one. A healthy relationship, therefore, requires both love (the desire to become one) and respect (honoring the distinct perspective, personality and needs of the other), because the oneness of a healthy relationship is not the absence of distinction but rather, on the contrary, growing as a result of the complementing distinctions.
The Talmud's wording is precise. Korach wanted to "perpetuate dispute", Korach wanted that distinction should be absolute. He celebrated the differences between people because he believed that each person is independent and self-standing. The proper model of Judaism is that the various points of view complement and enrich the experience. The division between people, which gives each person their unique identity and perspective, is there to enhance each other, each contributing their own unique perspective and personality to the whole. The distinction between heaven and earth, which occurred on Monday, was not, as Korach would have it, meant to be perpetuated. Instead, the distinction was the first step to creating harmony as modeled by Moses in the Torah.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Hasam Nafsheinu Bachayim 5718)
Affection vs. Action
You may have heard, or experienced, one version or another of this story.
Spouse 1 says (or thinks): why don't you express your appreciation and love?
Spouse 2 responds: Don't you see how much I am doing for you? Don't you see how I take every action possible to ensure that you are not inconvenienced and that you can enjoy and do the things meaningful to you?
Spouse 1 thinks (or says): Action is great, but that is no substitute for expressing love and affection.
***
Korach was infuriated that Moses and Aaron enjoyed leadership positions, so he went on to spark a rebellion. "The entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst," cried Korach, "So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?"
Chassidic philosophy explains that Korach's rebellion against the leadership of Moses and Aaron, who by then were leading the people for a few years, was possible only at this specific point in time, after the episode of the spies, whose position to remain in the desert and live a spirituality-based lifestyle, was utterly rejected. Only when it became clear that G-d desired that the people enter the land of Israel and engage in action, could Korach claim "why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?"
Everybody, including Korach, would readily admit that Moses was far superior in his love, awe, and intellectual awareness of G-d. No one would ever claim to be on the spiritual level of Moses. But, if, as they have now learned, action is superior, then Moses and Aaron are no more significant than any other Jew since every Jew performs the same action-based commandments.
While Korach was correct that action is superior, he was wrong in his anarchistic claim. Because while action is superior, it is most meaningful when imbued with "light", with emotional excitement and intellectual awareness. Moses and Aaron were selected specifically to inspire, illuminate, and infuse the deeds of the Jewish people with enthusiasm and love.
Korach was like the spouse who felt that action is enough. But, as I'm sure you would agree and intuit, action should be illuminated and inspired by awareness and love.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Shelach 4)
How to Vacation (How To Live Like Ash and Water)
It is the most difficult law in the Torah to understand. It seems to defy logic, and it seems to inherently contradict itself. King Solomon, the wisest of men, said: "I thought to be wise to it, but it is distant from me". He explained: "All of the Torah's commandments I have comprehended. But the chapter of the Red Heifer, though I have examined it, questioned it and searched it out -- I thought to be wise to it, but it is distant from me".
Yet, all you need to know for your spiritual life lies in this one law.
The opening words of the law of the red heifer, whose ashes were mixed with water and sprinkled to purify the ritually impure, are: “This is the decree of the Torah”. Meaning that this law captures the essence of all that the Torah wants to teach. We don't have the luxury to skip this portion and move on to the more "exciting" and "relevant" parts of the portion. If this is “the” decree of the Torah, then we must discover it's message to us, living in the twenty first century, without a Holy Temple and without the actual offering of red heifer.
All you need to know for your spiritual life lies in this one law.
The purifying waters have two primary ingredients: the ashes of the red heifer and spring water. The ashes are the byproduct of fire, the polar opposite of water. In essence the law is telling us that our approach to spirituality must contain two opposing forces: - on one hand, fire, the gravity-defying, yearning to escape the confines of the physical reality. The fire constantly reaches upward trying to get to a higher place. On the other hand, water, which expresses the downward flow, the “return” from the yearning for spirituality to the physical world; imbuing the physical existence with spirituality.
Conventional wisdom teaches that to connect to the Divine one must escape to the Himalaya mountains and abandon the challenges of materialism that present themselves in everyday life.
“Not true!” cries the red heifer. You must also have water, which nourishes all life on earth. If you want to connect to G-d you must find him on this earth.
However, you must not fail to cultivate the other essential ingredient, the ashes produced by fire. In order for your “bowl of water” - your material life - to become holy, and not swallow up your spirit, you must mix ashes into the water, balancing the extremes. Only by yearning to escape the confines of the earth, can we imbue the life on earth with meaning.
Two people are on a flight home from vacation. Both are returning to a similar home, job, and lifestyle. The first went on vacation to "escape" everyday reality. On the flight home, the first person, realizing that the paradise of vacation is over, facing the prospect of falling from the intense pleasure of vacation to the mundane reality, is devastated. The vacation did nothing to improve her daily existence. In fact, she would have been better off taking the money spent on vacation and using it to enhance some part of her normal existence. On the contrary, the second person went on vacation, not to "escape" her life but rather to enhance it. She realizes that if she takes some time off, she will "return" to her routine with a greater focus and passion. She "runs" to vacation, with the intention, and for the purpose of "returning" to real life.
The same is true for the "spiritual vacation". We need to "go on vacation". We need to devote some time every day to escape from the mundane and immerse ourselves in spirituality. We need ashes, which represent the flame yearning to escape it's wick. Our intention in "running" on our "spiritual vacation" is not to "escape" the world but rather to "return" to the world We "run" in order to be recharged and to better be able to accomplish our mission of mixing fire and water, of connecting heaven and earth.
Water From a Rock
We all heard the story. The Jews thirsted for water in the desert. G-d told Moses to speak to the rock and it would give its waters. Moses hit the rock instead of speaking to it and was therefore denied entry to the land of Israel .
There are many mysteries in this story. Why was G-d so offended by Moses hitting the rock rather than speaking to it? If G-d was so upset with Moses for hitting the rock, why did he then perform a miracle, causing water to gush forth from a rock despite Moses hitting the rock? What lesson can we learn from this story?
If we believe that something is beyond our reach - that we can't master a particular wisdom, learn to play a particular instrument, or overcome a particular challenge - there are two ways that we can accomplish what we thought was beyond our reach. The first way is by force. If we are thrown into a pool we have no choice but to swim. We will be forced to achieve what we thought was impossible, however, the achievement occurs because of a force outside of ourselves. The downside of this method is as follows: since the growth was forced upon us by external circumstances, once the circumstances change we may fall back to our previous thinking, questioning our ability to succeed if we lack an external push.
There is a second, more effective way to cause growth. If we are shown that deep within ourselves lies abundant potential; that in order to grow we need not look to a force outside of ourselves, but rather we need to look inward; when the growth is not forced upon us, it will endure.
Sometimes, when we try to teach our child or student, we feel like we’ve hit a wall. He or she just does not get it. We begin to think that "we are wasting our time, there is no one home". We try the first option. We “hit the rock”. We try to force growth upon them, by applying the force of our charisma, the threat of consequence, or the promise of an award. Just like Moses did, we will probably manage to get water out of the rock, but like Moses, we will have missed an opportunity.
We will have missed an opportunity to demonstrate the second option, to “speak” to what appears to us like a rock. We think that our child cannot listen, understand, and identify with the message; but the Torah teaches that we are misjudging him. G-d says: “speak to the rock in their presence so that it will give forth its water”, what appears to us as a rock is, in truth, a fountain.
If we speak again and again, dig deeper and deeper, we will discover the water.
***
Moses was terribly disappointed. After more than thirty nine years of teaching Torah, after more than four decades of leadership, it seemed that the new generation of Israelites had not learnt anything. As soon as they hit a slight bump on the road they (reverted back to old behavior) threw out everything that they had ever learned. As soon as they hit a difficulty, they dropped all that they had worked for, they were ready to head back to Egypt:
The congregation had no water; so they assembled against Moses and Aaron.
The people quarreled with Moses, and they said, "If only we had died with the death of our brothers before the Lord.
Why have you brought the congregation of the Lord to this desert so that we and our livestock should die there?
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, grape vines, or pomegranate trees, and there is no water to drink.
G-d told Moses "Take the staff and assemble the congregation, you and your brother Aaron, and speak to the rock in their presence so that it will give forth its water". G-d was doing more than giving Moses directions about how to get water from a rock. G-d was telling Moses how to deal with the Israelites. G-d was telling Moses to speak to them, to believe in them, to understand that with some effort he would be able to discover the faith deep inside their hearts.
Yet, Moses hits the rock. Consciously or subconsciously, Moses acknowledges that he can't find the key to their soul. Sure, he can "hit" some faith into them, but he can't find the words to unlock the faith buried in their hearts.
This is the moment of transition.
G-d says: "Since you did not have faith in Me to sanctify Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly to the Land which I have given them". This is not a story about an angry G-d punishing Moses. This is a terribly sad story about the transition from one generation to the next. It's a story about G-d acknowledging that the new generation needs a new leader who they can respond to. It's an acknowledgement that every generation needs a new leader who will speak to them, who will believe in them, and who will be able to discover the treasures hidden in them.
Please allow me to close on a personal note:
It is more than twenty years since the Rebbe's passing. And yet, I, as well as my fellow Chassidim, consider ourselves to be his students. He is our Moses and we are not looking for a Joshua. Why not?
One reason for this, is because his teachings talk to us. All these years after his words were spoken, we read his words, listen to the audio recordings and watch the videos of the words being spoken, and the words penetrate our hearts and stir our soul. He is our Moses because his words enter our hearts and reveal the waters beneath the surface of every soul.
He is our Moses, because his words speak to us.
Purity of Freedom
In the introduction to the laws of the red heifer - which enabled the purification from the most severe ritual impurity, an impurity brought about by coming in contact with a dead person - the Torah states: “This is the law of the Torah”. Not “the law of the heifer”, which would imply that this law is specific to the idea of ritual purity, but rather “this is the law of the Torah”. If you want to know what is the “law of the Torah”, what is the Torah’s essential message, look no further than the law of the red heifer.
Is there one word, or one idea, that captures the essence of all the Torah? There is no question that an essential and foundational message of the Torah is freedom.
Looking through the Torah, we find the message of freedom everywhere. The exodus from Egyptian bondage is central to our story, it is central to the biblical holidays, and the Torah insists that each of us “remember the day you left the land of Egypt all the days of your life”.
Freedom is much more than just an important part of our history, freedom is the foundation of all of morality. If we believe that we are unable to choose, that we are trapped by our nature, by our environment, and by our animalistic instincts then all of Torah is pointless. For the Torah and all its commandments are predicated on the idea that each of us has the freedom to control our instincts, change our nature, and follow, not the desire of our hearts, but rather the teachings of morality.
Impurity imparted by the dead, represents the greatest threat to the Torah’s message of moral freedom. When a human being confronts death, he is confronting his own limitation. No human being can escape death, and the thought of death forces the human being to acknowledge that he or she cannot escape fate, that ultimately life is progressing toward a specific end, and there is nothing that he or she can do that will change the fact that the human being is trapped by the laws of nature. This in turn can lead a person to mistakenly think that his spirit is also governed by fate; that he has no ability to choose freely, no ability to attain moral freedom, and that he is powerless to free himself from the grip of his nature.
Contact with the dead, coming face to face with human mortality and limitation, makes one spiritually vulnerable to the mistaken notion that, not only the body, but the soul as well is trapped by the confines of nature.
To achieve spiritual purity, is to understand, that while the body is subjected to nature, the spirit is not. Thus the Torah commands us to take a red heifer - a symbol of vibrant life - to slaughter it and to burn it to ashes. This is a stark acknowledgement and reminder of the truth; that the human body is destined to disappear, as we say in the high holiday prayer: “A man's origin is from dust and his destiny is back to dust... he is likened to a broken shard, withering grass, a fading flower, a passing shade, a dissipating cloud, a blowing wind, flying dust, and a fleeting dream.”
Yet, that is only part of the story. We take some of the ashes and place them into the “living waters”, water taken directly from a spring, and sprinkle them on the person who came in contact with a corpse. The message is powerful. Indeed the body cannot escape its destiny. The vibrant red heifer was just a temporary state in the journey to an inevitable end. Yet, the human spirit is like a spring of living water. The human soul is free of the limitations of natural physics. The human soul lives on and even while on earth there is nothing that can prevent it from making the right moral choices.
“This is the law of the Torah”. If you want to know what is the “law of the Torah”, what is the Torah’s essential message, look no further than the law of the red heifer.
Pure Happiness
In the background of all existence lies a deep sadness. The sadness is faint, it can be ignored, but it always lurks in the background, occasionally bursting forth into the human being’s consciousness.
The sadness is a result of the mortality of existence. We are all trapped by the march of time. Time consistently moves forward, it never stops to take a rest, and it refuses to free us of its grip and allow us to slow the clock, to freeze a moment in time for prosperity.
No matter how strong the joy felt in the human heart, perhaps at one’s wedding, at the birth of a child or another intensely joyful experience, the joy is experienced against the subtle knowledge that this moment in time can never be recreated. That in a fleeting moment this experience of joy will slip away.
The sadness is magnified when a person contemplates that from the moment of birth the clock is ticking, he is moving closer to the end of his life. While most people successfully navigate through daily life without facing the sadness of mortality, when we come in contact with death, this natural feeling of sadness is magnified. When we see death we are forced to recognize our own mortality, we realize that eventually everything we cherish and our very existence will end. Thus, the Torah teaches that if someone touches a dead body they become ritually impure, because death produces sadness which is the antithesis to a relationship with G-d, who is the source of life and the source of joy.
The opening commandment of this week’s Torah portion discusses the law of the red heifer, which provided ritual purity for the impurity of contacting the dead. The portion begins:
The Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying: This is the statute of the Torah which the Lord commanded, saying, Speak to the children of Israel and have them take for you a perfectly red unblemished cow, upon which no yoke was laid...
The commandment of the red heifer is categorized not as the “statute of the heifer” but rather as the “statute of the Torah”. The commentators explain that the laws of purity and impurity in general, and the law of the red heifer in particular, cannot be fully understood by the human mind and must be observed simply because it is a statute commanded by G-d with no explanation that we can comprehend.
How does this commandment provide purification? How does it cure one of the sadness produced by experiencing human mortality?
There is one path to true and lasting joy; when a person transcends himself, freeing himself from his obsession with self and doing something that is beyond himself, in that state he is breaking free of his mortality. Which is why, perhaps counter intuitively, happiness comes from giving to others. When a person shifts his focus from himself and empathizes with another, when he reaches into himself and takes something which is precious to him, whether it be his time, his money, or his attention, and gives to another, he will feel joy. Because he has broken free of the grip of material existence, and experienced a spiritual existence, one that transcends time and space.
A person has a limited lifespan but when he fills his life with experiences that connect him to the infinite creator, he achieves immortality, for G-d is the infinite source of life. Connecting to the Divine, going beyond human reason and fulfilling a Mitzvah simply because it is the will of the infinite G-d, allows a person to escape his limitation and leave the sadness of the universe behind him. For he is connected and becomes absorbed in the infinite, transcendent, source of life.
The law of the red heifer, then, captures a profound lesson in life: in order to be able to experience joy, we must not look toward accumulating more physical objects and experiences. In fact, doing so may increase our sadness as it makes us realize that that which we value is physical and therefore ultimately fleeting. Instead, in order to experience a purifying feeling of happiness, we should turn to the spiritual. We must fill our lives with moments of transcendence. We must connect to the source of life and joy.
Confronting the Heifer
The law of the red heifer is the most mysterious law of the Torah. Somehow the red heifer would provide purity for the most severe form of ritual impurity, that of coming in contact with a human corpse.
Life is synonymous with holiness, for G-d is the source of life. The red heifer represents the power to purify even the most severe form of ritual impurity, represented by death, the antithesis of holiness and life.
Indeed, Chassidic philosophy explains that the red heifer captures the secret of the uniquely Jewish approach to purifying the negativity within each of us; the key to dealing with our inner passions, which overwhelm us with the force of their energy.
What were the key requirements for the red heifer? The Torah tells us:
The Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying:
This is the statute of the Torah which the Lord commanded, saying, Speak to the children of Israel and have them take for you a perfectly red unblemished cow, upon which no yoke was laid.
The heifer must be red, it must be unblemished, and it must never have been burdened by a yoke. Red is the color of passion. The heifer represents the animalistic emotions within the human heart. A yoke represents the taming of the animal. At times we look inside ourselves and we experience the emotional intensity of our animalistic urges and cravings.
We look at our inner red heifer and we fear that its animalistic raw energy is too powerful for us to control; we look at our inner red heifer and we see nothing but impurity.
The Torah’s insight into the red heifer is as profound as it is revolutionary. After the priest would slaughter the heifer the Torah tells us:
The cow shall then be burned in his presence; its hide, its flesh, its blood, with its dung he shall burn it…
They shall take for that unclean person from the ashes of the burnt purification offering, and it shall be placed in a vessel [filled] with spring water…
A ritually clean person shall take the hyssop and dip it into the water and sprinkle it on the tent, on all the vessels, and on the people who were in it, and on anyone who touched the bone, the slain person, the corpse, or the grave.
Purity is not achieved by suppressing or waging war against desire. The Torah teaches us to look right at the passionate, forceful red heifer. Look at its core and understand that, the red heifer is not negative, nor is it spiritually neutral. The Torah wants us to understand that the heifer can be the most powerful agent of purity in our life. The power of desire, its incredible force and energy, is not evil. For while the external expression of the desire may be negative and must be burned, the ashes of the heifer, its inner essence, the power of desire, is the source of purity. Mixed into the “living waters”, when the power of desire is directed toward a positive goal, the heifer itself will be an unbridled force which will provide spiritual and emotional purity.
Serpent, Symbol of Life?
The Jews complained, yet again, against G-d and Moses. G-d sent serpents who bit the Jewish people. When Moses prayed, G-d instructed Moses on a means to heal the Jews who were affected:
The Lord said to Moses, "Make yourself a serpent and put it on a pole, and let whoever is bitten look at it and live.
Moses made a copper snake and put it on a pole, and whenever a snake bit a man, he would gaze upon the copper snake and live. (Numbers 21:8-9)
What was the purpose and function of the copper serpent? Did this not suggest that the serpent had mystical healing powers? Did this not seem idolatrous?
Rashi, quoting the sages of the Mishnah, explains that indeed the serpent itself was not the source of the healing. The serpent placed on the pole caused the people to look heavenward and that would focus their attention upon G-d, the source of healing:
Our Rabbis said, Does a snake cause death or life? However, when Israel looked heavenward and subjected their hearts to their Father in heaven, they would be healed, but if not, they would waste away.
According to the rabbis, the healing was a result of looking toward heaven. The question, however, still remains: why, of all things, should Moses raise a copper serpent? Why not have Moses raise his hands heavenward (as he did in the battle with Amalek)?
The serpent represents any challenge in our life that distracts or prevents us from living a wholesome, meaningful and joyous life. The serpent's bite represents the debilitating challenges which stand in our way. G-d told Moses that the way to overcome challenge, the way to heal pain, is to raise the serpent itself on a poll. To look at the serpent, at the challenge, as it exists in its heavenly source. For in its source the purpose of the challenge is not to obstruct, but rather the objective is to offer an opportunity for growth, an opening to conquer new frontiers and experience a deeper part of the self. The Hebrew word for pole, (Nes), is also the root of the word test (Nisayon). What appears as an insurmountable challenge is, in truth, a means to be elevated to a higher state of consciousness.
Each of us, explains the Zohar, has a spark of Moses within ourselves. We too are able to elevate the serpent. We too can “put it on a pole”. When we come face to face with the serpent, we can ask ourselves: how can this encounter make me a better person? We can “gaze upon the copper snake and live”, viewing it from the perspective of its heavenly source. When we do so, we allow the challenging experience to be transformed into a source of life, passion and vitality.
Based on the teachings of the Rebbe, 13 Tamuz 5729.
The Illogical Cow
Did you ever look at somebody and wonder whether or not they are capable of spiritual healing? Whether or not they are capable of transformation? Did you ever look at yourself and wonder whether you can overcome your inner negativity and external challenges?
Well, Moses himself did wonder.
The Midrash relates that when G‑d told Moses about the impurity resulting from contact with a human corpse, Moshe’s face turned dark. “How will such a person regain ritual purity?” he wondered. What troubled Moses was the question of how could there be purity and healing for someone who touched a corpse, which symbolizes the most severe form of disconnect from G-dliness, which is synonymous with life.
G-d responded by teaching Moses the laws of the red heifer.
The Torah introduces the law of the red heifer with the words “this is the statute of the Torah”. Statute refers to a commandment that is beyond logic, a commandment that we perform only because G-d decreed it to be so. The red heifer defies logic, it represents God's compassion even to a person who is undeserving because he has strayed too far. The red Heifer defies not only human logic but it transcends Divine logic as well; it affects purity even where there is no logical formula for transformation and healing. The red cow represents God's compassion that transcends logic, and runs deeper than calculated analysis.
How is this Divine boundless, unconditional compassion elicited?
One of the paradoxical features of the red heifer is that the person who prepares the red heifer to purify the impure, becomes impure himself. This is because G-d’s purifying compassion is elicited specifically when a Jew is prepared to sacrifice his own spiritual purity for the sake of another person. This devotion which transcends calculation and logic, evokes G-d’s unconditional, boundless love, which reaches every person no matter how far he strayed.
In the words of the Rebbe:
A person has to be willing to ignore his own concerns to do a favor for another Jew. Moreover, the help which he offers must be given freely, without thought of personal benefit. Our Sages teach: “More than the donor gives to the recipient, the recipient gives to the donor.” But when a person gives with such thoughts in mind {thinking of the benefit he will receive in return for his gift},he has not transcended his limits, and therefore it is impossible for him to draw down G‑d’s essence. When does a person draw down G‑d’s essence? When he does a favor for another person despite the knowledge that he will sustain a personal loss by becoming impure.
Lekutei Suichos, Chukas vol. 4
The Secret of Jewish Strength
For a leader living in Biblical times, before the era of sophisticated intelligence gathering, modern spy satellites, and NSA electronic surveillance, preparing for war included calling on a prophet to give insight into the nature and character of the enemy.
In our Parsha, Balak, king of Moab, does just that. Balak is afraid of being attacked by the children of Israel, so he sent for the Prophet Bilam:
“He sent messengers to Balaam the son of Beor, to Pethor, which is by the river of the land of his people, to call for him, saying, "A people has come out of Egypt, and behold, they have covered the "eye" of the land, and they are stationed opposite me.
So now, please come and curse this people for me, for they are too powerful for me. Perhaps I will be able to wage war against them and drive them out of the land, for I know that whomever you bless is blessed and whomever you curse is cursed."
Balak asked Bilam to come curse the Jews, but he also wanted to understand the nature of the Jews. Who were they? What was the secret to their strength? What were their weaknesses? The curse, Balak hoped, would be more than just a mystical weapon but rather, it would serve a practical purpose as well. A curse is an attack on the personality of the person being cursed; the prophet hired to curse was expected to identify character traits worthy of curse, the king would then have a better understanding of the enemy, and would seek to exploit the enemy's character weaknesses and vulnerabilities in the battle.
This story of Bilam, then, is a story about the character of the Jews; how G-d perceives them, how they perceive themselves, and how the nations of the world should, and ultimately will, perceive them.
In the first series of blessings, Bilam is addressing the fear which caused the Moabites to hire Billam to curse the Jews in the first place. The Torah describes the fear as follows:
“Moab became terrified of the people, for they were numerous.”
Addressing this fear, Bilam responds:
“Who counted the dust of Jacob or the number of a fourth of Israel? May my soul die the death of the upright and let my end be like his."
Moab feared the Jews “for they were numerous”, Bilam responds: who cares about their number? “Who counted the dust of Jacob”? Their strength is not in their physical numbers. Do not look at the “dust”, at their materialistic elements, because their “dust” - the body which G-d formed of “dust from the ground” - is not the secret of their success, or source of their strength. Their strength is their spirit, which, unlike their “dust”, can’t be measured.
Billam is honest enough to admit that, despite all his prophetic powers, he is unable to grasp the precise nature of the Jew’s strength, because the power of the Jew is completely different than Bilam’s understanding of power.
The conventional meaning of power is the solidification of one's existence. The strength of the Jew, by contrast, is their ability to be like their patriarchs and matriarchs, to be like a flame yearning to escape the confines of the candle, to lose its confining existence and to become one with the Divine oneness. The Jew’s strength is his ability to defy his own ego and to sacrifice for someone else. The strength of the Jew is his understanding that the true existence is not himself but rather it is G-d.
Bilam wants to describe their power, but he cannot grasp or explain it, so he does what prophets do when they have a message too deep for people to understand: he offers a parable.
“I see them from mountain peaks, and I behold them from hills.”
While the straightforward meaning of this verse is that Bllam was standing on a mountain peak gazing at the Jewish camp, Rashi, uncharacteristically, ignores the straightforward interpretation and interprets this verse as a parable.
Rashi explains:
I see them from mountain peaks: I look at their origins and the beginning of their roots, and I see them established and powerful, like these mountains and hills, because of their patriarchs and matriarchs.
Their strength, says Billam, is a strength, not of numbers, not of physical might, but rather of spiritual fortitude which they inherit from their patriarchs and matriarchs.
In the next series of Blessings, Billam continues on the same theme, this time directing his words to the Jews themselves:
“How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!”.
Jacob and Israel are both names of the Jew. On weekdays, when the Jew is immersed in worldly matters, struggling to make the world a holier place, the Jew is called Jacob, as Jacob is the name that alludes to the struggles with Esau. On Shabbat, when the Jew retreats from the chaos of worldly struggles and returns to his natural spiritual environment, spending the day on matters of the soul, he is called Israel. For the Jew, on Shabbat - prevailing and becoming a ruling minister - the meaning of the Hebrew word Israel - over the struggles of the past week.
Billam is telling the Jew: “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!”, your “Jacob”, your weekday, your involvement with the material is beautiful. But you must remember that it is only a “tent”, it is only a temporary state. You are in the tent to fulfill a purpose. It is not your natural home.
“Your dwelling places, O Israel!”. Your Israel, your soul-nourishing Shabbat, is your dwelling place. That is who you are. That is how you should self define. That is your essence.
Anti-Semite or Admirer?
Billam, the prophet hired by Balak, the king of Moab, to curse the Jews, was, arguably, the most paradoxical character in the Torah.
He was not Jewish, yet his prophecy was as great as the prophecy of Moses. He was “one who hears God's sayings and perceives the thoughts of the Most High”, he proclaimed the most beautiful praises of the Jews, yet his hate for the Jews was profound. He was one of the most spiritually gifted people to ever live, a man who “sees the vision of the Almighty”, yet he did all he could to try to curse the Jews and then cause them to sin.
How do these opposite qualities reside together in one individual? How is it that one of our greatest enemies is the one who declares our greatest praises?
To understand Billam, we must first ask ourselves the age-old question: why are we so hated? What is the nature of anti-semitism?
Throughout the generations, up to this very day, researchers and scholars pondered this question, and came up with a variety of answers, some more true than others. Does the Torah offer any clues for the cause of anti-semitism? If we look carefully we discover that indeed, the Torah does offer insight into the minds of some of our greatest haters.
The Torah tells us that the nation of Moab, whose king, Balak, hired Billam to curse the Jews, was terrified of the Jews. In addition to the fear-factor that was at play, the Torah tells us that “Moab became disgusted because of the children of Israel”:
Moab became terrified of the people, for they were numerous, and Moab became disgusted because of the children of Israel.
The root of the Hebrew word “Va’y’kutzu”, translated here as “became disgusted”, also means “thorn”, translated literally that would mean “(the people of Moab) became like thorns because of the children of Israel”.
The Hebrew word “Va’y’kutzu” appears once more in the Torah in the context of anti-semitism. When the Jews were enslaved in Egypt the Torah tells us of the attitude the Egyptian people had toward the Jews. Once again the Torah uses the word “Va’y’kutzu”, which means (“disgusted” or) “they became like thorns”:
and they [the Egyptians] were like thorns because of the children of Israel.
What does it mean that the Egyptians, and then the Moabites, felt like thorns?
To feel like a thorn is to feel inadequate. To feel like a thorn is secondary to the primary product of the earth - the plants that require cultivation.
Let’s say a person who is exceptionally kind moves into a neighborhood. People will respond in various ways. People who don't appreciate the kindness will not be affected. The people who appreciate and value kindness, the people who always aspired to being kind will be stirred. Some of them will be inspired to grow, to improve, to emulate the kindness of the newcomer. For them the arrival of the newcomer is an inspiration to work toward the goals and values that they always held dear but never invested the effort to achieve. Others, however, have no interest to improve, no desire to change. To them the newcomer serves as a reminder of their shortcoming. To them the newcomer is a source of feelings of inadequacy. Instead of being inspired by the newcomer, the feelings of inadequacy cause them to hate the newcomer. Not because they don't understand the gift the newcomer possesses. On the contrary, precisely because they value the gift of the newcomer, precisely because they wish they possessed that gift without having to sacrifice for it, precisely because they value it, is why they hate the possessor of the gift.
In this case, the hate, which is the result of jealousy, is a sign of appreciation. One can only be jealous of someone who possesses something one values.
Sometimes, your greatest hater, the one who is the most jealous of you, is also your greatest admirer.
The same is true about the people of Israel. The People of Israel were chosen for the task of carrying the message of morality to the nations of the world. The Jews were tasked with being the “newcomer” who comes to town preaching the values of goodness and kindness. Some nations ignored us, they were unmoved by the message. Some were inspired by our call. Others felt like thorns in the midst of a vineyard. They felt that in comparison to the people of Israel, their lifestyle was devoid of higher meaning. Refusing to work to heed the message carried by the Jews, they turn to hate the messenger. Not because they don’t value the message. On the contrary, the more they value the message, the more inadequate they feel, the more they hate. The deeper they admire the message, the more powerful the hate.
This understanding of anti-semitism, that hate stems from jealousy which is a result of admiration, leads to great optimism. For it teaches that deep within the hearts of our adversaries lies an admiration for us. It helps us understand that even our greatest detractors have the potential to be transformed.
They too, like Bilam, will eventually take the message to heart. They too will eventually declare the praises of the messenger.
Who’s Your Zaidy?
After more than two hundred years in Egypt, after forty years of wandering in the desert, the children of Israel came back to the border of their homeland; only the Jordan River stood between them and the land promised to their ancestors.
Then it happened. Billam, a gentile prophet, was called to come from Aram, (Charan, modern day Iraq) to curse the Jews. His intention was to harm the Jewish people, but G-d intervened and the curse was transformed into a blessing.
Does this story sound familiar? Have we heard of someone coming from Aram to harm the Jews when they were on their way back to Israel? Does this story ring a bell?
If so, it is because there is a strikingly similar story in the book of Genesis, the very first book of the Torah. When Jacob was returning home to Israel, after a twenty year stay in Charan, Laban, his dishonest father-in-law, chased after him and wanted to harm him. G-d came to Laban in a dream and warned him not to harm Jacob. The evil plan was averted and Laban created a peace treaty with Jacob.
With so many similarities between the stories - both Bilam and Laban came from Aram, both wanted to harm the Jews, both were forced by G-d to refrain from causing harm, both experiences led to a transformation, Laban created peace and Billam blessed the Jews with extraordinary blessings - is there an inner connection between the stories?
Indeed there is.
The Talmud states that the prophet Bilaam was a descendant of Lavan. It would seem that the story of Billam offers closure to the story of Laban. Somehow the transformation of Laban was incomplete, and therefore his descendant Billam had to correct and finalize the transformation of hostility to blessing.
Just before Laban offered a covenant of peace to Jacob, the verse states:
And Laban answered and said to Jacob, "The daughters are my daughters, and the sons are my sons, and the animals are my animals, and all that you see is mine.”
Laban declares that he, Laban, was the patriarch of Jacob’s family. While he understood that Jacob had a moral legacy which he had received from Abraham and Isaac, Laban declared that the spiritual legacy which Jacob received from his fathers was relevant solely for Jacob himself. Jacob himself was free to believe as he desired. However, the daughters and sons, the next generation, as well as all of Jacob’s material possessions, are attributed to and belong to Laban. They would carry the legacy of Laban. Laban declared that the Jewish ideals of morality have no place in the real world. They may be interesting abstract concepts, but they have no place in influencing the manner of raising a family and earning a living.
More than two centuries later, Billam, like his grandfather before him, came to curse the Jews. He expected to find a people that fit Laban’s description "The daughters are my daughters, and the sons are my sons, and the animals are my animals, and all that you see is mine”. He expected to find a people who were the descendants of Laban and the bearers of his materialistic legacy. He expected to find a people whose holiness was confined to specific moments; a people who, in their daily life, are a nation like all other nations. A people whose unique values don’t influence their real life experiences.
Billam, inspired by prophecy, discovered his mistake and set out to correct the record. He said:
For from their beginning, I see them as mountain peaks, and I behold them as hills; it is a nation that will dwell alone, and will not be reckoned among the nations.
“Mountain peaks” and “hills” are a metaphor for the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the Jewish people. As Rashi explains:
For from its beginning, I see them as mountain peaks: I look at their origins and the beginning of their roots, and I see them established and powerful, like these mountains and hills, because of their patriarchs and matriarchs.
Billam declared that Laban was unequivocally wrong. Billam declared that the roots of the children of Israel are not the conniving Laban but rather Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel and Leah. They are a nation loyal to the teachings of the patriarchs and matriarchs. A nation whose holiness, morals and spirit permeates every area of their life. They are “a nation that will dwell alone, and will not be reckoned among the nations”, because their unique beliefs affect the way they raise their families and the way they engage in commerce and agriculture.
Billam declared that they are not the descendants of Laban, but rather of the “mountains” and “hills”. Their Bubys and Zeidys are the patriarchs and matriarchs.
Saddle the Donkey
There are two towering figures in the Torah that originate from the city of Aram in Mesopotamia. The first one is Abraham, the patriarch of the Jewish people, the second is Bilaam, the gentile prophet who is the protagonist of this week’s Torah portion.
While Abraham and Billam were both great prophets who hailed from Aram they could not be more different from each other. Abraham was a man whose heart was filled with kindness, a man who spent his life teaching love for G-d and every one of G-d’s creations. Abraham looked for goodness even within the wicked people of Sodom. Abraham journeyed, to what would eventually become the land of Israel, on a mission to spread the awareness of G-d and morality. Billam could not have been more different than Abraham. Billam was a man full of hate, he possessed an “evil eye”, the unfortunate “skill” of seeing bad within people. Billam journeyed toward Israel by request of Balak, the king of Moab, who hired Billam to curse the Jews.
Billam’s journey to the hills of Moab is one of the most fascinating and unusual stories in the Torah; a journey which included multiple encounters with an angel of G-d, and a talking donkey. At the start of the Journey the Torah tells us:
In the morning Balaam arose, saddled his she-donkey and went with the Moabite dignitaries. (Numbers 22:21)
When Billam was called to Moab, so anxious was he to perform the service which promised to be the highlight of his career, that he didn't rely on his lads or servants. He saddled his donkey all by himself.
On the journey to the binding of Isaac, the climax of his devotion and love to G-d, Abraham too saddled his donkey by himself, as the Torah tells us:
And Abraham arose early in the morning, and he saddled his donkey, and he took his two young men with him and Isaac his son; and he split wood for a burnt offering, and he arose and went to the place of which God had told him. (Genesis 22:3)
Rashi comments on this striking similarity of saddling the donkey in these very different journeys:
[Billam] saddled his she-donkey: From here [we learn] that hate causes a disregard for the standard [of dignified conduct], for he saddled it himself. The Holy One, blessed is He, said, “Wicked one, their father Abraham has already preceded you, as it says, 'Abraham arose in the morning and saddled his donkey’”.
Rashi is offering insight that is relevant to each one of us. We look at the world around us, as well as within our own selves, and we sometimes see intense negativity, similar to the hate of Billam, which causes people, and sometimes ourselves, to “disregard the standard”. The selfish, destructive forces within ourselves can sometimes propel us to do things that we ourselves understand is “below the standard”, it is below the standard that we set for ourselves, it is below the person we want to be. We feel helpless in the face of the intense urge “to saddle our donkey”, in the service of the negative energy.
Rashi is telling us that Abraham saddled his donkey with intense passion to fulfill the will of G-d. That the Intensity of the Abrahamic love that is within each of us “precedes” the hate of Billam. Although we each have both forces within ourselves, the positive energy of Abraham is our essence, while the negativity of Billam is just an externality which does not define our identity.
By emphasizing that both Abraham and Billam saddled their donkeys by themselves, the Torah teaches us that the way to overcome the negativity of Billam is to awaken and reveal the Abrahamic passion that is within us. The passion and commitment of the Abraham within us will absorb the negative passion, and transform it to fuel which will intensify our commitment to holiness and positivity. Just as described so poetically in the Biblical story, Billam’s curses were transformed into magnificent and beautiful blessings.
(Adapted from the teaching of the Rebbe, Chukas Balak 1982 - Leku”s Balak vol. 28 sicha 1).
What Kind of Prophet Will You Be?
Billam, the gentile prophet hired by the king of Moab to curse the Jews, was as great a prophet as Moses. He, too, possessed the ability to see the mystical energies that lay beneath the surface, hidden in the subconscious. Despite G-d’s reiterating to Billam that the Jews are blessed and must not be cursed, he nevertheless traveled to the plains of Moab with the intention of cursing the Jews. Billam knew that he would be unable to curse the Jews without G-d’s permission, but Billam was confident in his own ability to persuade G-d to allow the Jews to be cursed.
Billam’s plan was to draw attention to the negativity and sins of the Jewish people. He would evoke their shortcomings by looking toward the desert, gazing at the places where they had committed sins. Billam was sure that by focusing on the negativity within the Jews, G-d’s attribute of judgement would be awakened, allowing him to use that moment to curse them.
Billam’s plan failed. Instead of cursing the Jews, he offered the most beautiful blessings. He tried to get G-d to focus on their negativity, yet G-d would not pay attention:
He does not look at evil in Jacob, and has seen no perversity in Israel; the Lord, his God, is with him, and he has the King's friendship.
Rashi offers two interpretations as to why G-d would not see evil in the Jewish people despite their being far from perfect. The first interpretation, from Onkelos the translator, says that the sin that G-d did not see, was the sin of idol worship; while the Jewish people may have had other sins, at that point they were free of idol worship.The second interpretation is far more profound, and Rashi himself refers to it as a “beautiful” interpretation:
Another explanation: According to its plain sense it can receive a beautiful exposition: He does not see — i. e., the Holy One, blessed be He, does not see the iniquity which is in Jacob: when they transgress His words He does not deal so strictly with them as to pay regard to their iniquitous doings and their transgression by which they infringe His law.
According to the second interpretation, G-d does not focus on the negativity, because He sees their core and essence. To his loving eyes, their shortcomings do not define them. Their frailties and imperfections are but an opportunity for transformation and elevation.
The western world’s notion of love is that people fall in love because they are blinded to the shortcomings of the other. Once the intoxicating effect of love wears off, the shortcomings emerge and challenge the love. The Jewish idea of love is radically different. When one experiences love one is not blind to the other’s shortcomings, they simply don’t have any effect on the love because they are seen against the backdrop of love. The shortcoming does not define the person and is therefore not a contradiction to the love.
There are generally two perspectives one can have in life. The first is the path of Billam who had the trait of finding fault in every circumstance and person. Anticipating the negativity became a self fulfilling prophecy. The second perspective is the G-dly one. “He sees no iniquity in Jacob”, for He focuses on the positive within every experience and within every person. This perspective, too, becomes a self fulfilling prophecy, allowing the negativity to be channeled and transformed to goodness and beauty.
What Kind of Prophet Will You Be?
The Blessing of the Jewish Home
The greatest blessings and praises of the Jewish people recorded in the Torah, were, ironically, spoken by the gentile prophet Balaam, who tried to curse the Jewish people.
Balaam was the great gentile prophet hired by Balak, king of Moab, to curse the Jews, who were camped at the bank of the Jordan River as they readied to cross into the promised land. The Torah relates in intricate detail, the story of Balaam's travel to the proximity of the Jewish camp, how Balak took Balaam to the mountain peaks so he could gaze upon the Jewish people as he would curse them. Balak’s plan was foiled when G-d placed blessings in the mouth of Balaam instead of curses.
Of all the praise and blessings uttered by Balaam, one verse was incorporated into our daily prayers:
How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel! (Numbers 24:5)
“How goodly are your tents Jacob”: Balaam was a prophet, steeped in spirituality, the service of G-d was not foreign to him. What impressed him about the Jewish people and their culture was that while virtually all people created temples and designated places for worship, the Jewish people understood that it is primarily in the home, not the shrines and temples, where the connection to G-d is experienced and celebrated. Balaam understood that a Jew’s relationship with holiness is not relegated to a specific time and place, when he separates from daily life and goes to worship, but rather, holiness permeates life itself and expresses itself within the home of every individual Jew.
“Your dwelling places Israel”: The word for “dwelling places” is the same word the Torah uses to describe the tabernacle, the temple that the Jewish people built in the desert, fulfilling the commandment: “they shall make for me a sanctuary and I will dwell amongst them”. At this point in the Torah when we hear the word “mishkenosecha” (your dwelling places) we can't help but think of the word “mishkan” (tabernacle). What Balaam was saying about the Jewish people was that every Jewish home is indeed a mishkan, a sanctuary for the Divine presence.
As we read Balaam’s words, we are mindful of our own individual mission. Each of our homes can become a dwelling place for G-d, when it becomes a place of Torah study, hospitality, charity, celebration of Shabbat, and performing all Mitzvot, creating a dwelling place for G-d in our home.
What is Billam doing in the Torah?
Yes, it is always nice to get a compliment. But why is there an entire portion of the Torah dedicated to the strange story of Billam, a gentile prophet, blessing the Jewish people?
The entire story (Balak, king of Moab, hired Billam to curse the Jews, and eventually Billam ended up blessing the Jewish people) does not seem to advance the plot of how the Jewish people reach the land of Israel. The Jewish people have no active role in the story. Why then does the Torah devote an entire portion to this story?
The truth, however, is that the story of Billam is critical to the Jewish mission and the entire purpose of creation.
The Jewish mission is a universal one. It is to transform the world into a place of peace and harmony, into a home for G-d. The world as we know it is a place of pain and chaos, where often evil wages war against the good and where there are seemingly insurmountable obstacles in the face of goodness and holiness.
Billam represents the powerful forces hostile to holiness. Billam represents the creativity, ingenuity, and strength determined to ignore the will of G-d (just as Billam was blind to the angel which even his own donkey could see), determined to destroy the potential for holiness by cursing and thereby destroying the Jewish people.
And here is the profound significance of the story: unlike the generation of the flood, the wicked people of Sedom, or the Egyptian army drowned in the sea, Billam was not destroyed. He did not lose his gift as a prophet or his oratory skills. Instead, the passion and creativity that Billam hoped to employ to curse the Jews were used to praise and bless them, signifying that ultimately, the very forces of negativity in this world will be transformed to positivity, highlighting and advancing holiness in this world.
The prophecy of Billam remains one of the very few references to the Moshiach in the Torah. As Maimonides writes:
Reference to Mashiach is also made in the portion of Billam who prophesies about two anointed kings: the first anointed king, David, who saved Israel from her oppressors; and the final anointed king who will arise from his descendants and save Israel in the end of days. That passage {Numbers 24:17-18} relates:
'I see it, but not now' - This refers to David;
I perceive it, but not in the near future;" - This refers to the Messianic king;
'A star shall go forth from Jacob' - This refers to David;
'and a staff shall arise in Israel' - This refers to the Messianic king;
Maimonides emphasizes that Moshiach is mentioned in the "portion of Billam" because the story of Billam signifies the era of Moshiach. As Maimonides states: He will then improve the entire world, motivating all the nations to serve God together, as stated (Tzephaniah 3:9): 'I will transform the peoples to a purer language that they all will call upon the name of God and serve Him with one purpose.'
(Adapted from the teaching of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 23, Balak 1)
Spiritual Dust
Billam, the gentile prophet hired to curse the Jewish people, arrived at the eastern bank of the Jordan River, where the Jewish people camped. Try as he may, his plan to evoke G-d's wrath against the Jews failed, and instead, he expressed the most eloquent and poetic praises of the Jewish people found in all of the Torah.
Amongst the blessings, Billam said:
Who counted the dust of Jacob or the number of a fourth of [or, of the seed of] Israel? May my soul die the death of the upright and let my end be like his." (Numbers 23:10)
Rashi, the foremost Biblical commentator, addresses the meaning of "the dust of Jacob". If Billam's sole intention was to highlight that the people were numerous ("who counted?"), then why refer to them as "the dust of Jacob"? Rashi offers two interpretations; the following is the second one:
The dust of Jacob: The number of mitzvot they fulfill with dust are innumerable: "You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey [together]"; "You shall not sow your field with a mixture of seeds", the ashes of the red cow, the dust used for a woman suspected of infidelity, and others similar to these.
Rashi explains that the "dust of Jacob'' refers not to the Jewish people themselves but rather to the commandments that are fulfilled with the earth, the commandments regarding agriculture, and other examples. But why, of all the commandments of the Torah, did Billam single out these specific commandments? Why was he so impressed with "the dust of Jacob", the commandments performed with the earth?
Billam was a profoundly spiritual man; the Talmud explains that his level of prophecy was on par with Moses. The spirituality of the Jewish people, per se, would not impress him as he was immersed in his own form of spirituality.
What awed and astonished him, causing him to offer the most beautiful praises of the people, was the radical idea that spirituality must express itself in "the dust". That closeness to G-d must express itself in how we live our mundane physical lives; that the test of intimacy with G-d is expressed not in gazing at the stars but right here on earth. For the mission of the Jewish people is to educate the world that the purpose of creation is to sanctify the earth, to make it a place hospitable to goodness and kindness, and to create an abode for the Divine presence in the most spiritually distant plane, right here, on the dust of the earth.
Leadership in TImes of Darkness
There is a powerful, yet, seemingly unfair, contrast between the reward which Pinchas received for his deed and the reward which Moses did not receive for his similar deeds.
Pinchas was the hero of the moment. In what was an act of great self sacrifice, putting his own life in danger, risking revenge by the tribe of Simeon, Pinchas killed the leader of the tribe of Simeon and the Midianite woman, thus stopping the plague that ravaged the Jewish people.
As the Torah relates the dramatic story:
Then an Israelite man came and brought the Midianite woman to his brethren, before the eyes of Moses and before the eyes of the entire congregation of the children of Israel, while they were weeping at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.
Pinchas the son of Eleazar the son of Aaron the Kohen saw this, arose from the congregation, and took a spear in his hand.
He went after the Israelite man into the chamber and drove [it through] both of them; the Israelite man, and the woman through her stomach, and the plague ceased from the children of Israel.
In the opening statement of this week’s portion Pinchas receives an awesome reward from G-d for his great act of courage. A reward not only for himself but also for his descendents for all time:
Pinchas the son of Eleazar the son of Aaron the Kohen has turned My anger away from the children of Israel by his zealously avenging Me among them, so that I did not destroy the children of Israel because of My zeal.
Therefore, say, "I hereby give him My covenant of peace.
It shall be for him and for his descendants after him [as] an eternal covenant of priesthood, because he was zealous for his G-d and atoned for the children of Israel."
Pinchas receives an incredible award. Pinchas receives the gift of priesthood, not only for himself but also for his descendants for all time. Why does he merit this great reward? Because he “turned My anger away from the children of Israel”, because, with his act, he caused G-d to forgive the Jews.
In this very Parsha we read about the desire of Moses to see his own children succeed him. Moses beseeches G-d:
Let the Lord, the God of spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation, who will go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them out and bring them in, so that the congregation of the Lord will not be like sheep without a shepherd."
According to Rashi, Moses asked G-d to appoint his own child as his successor, yet G-d refused:
When Moses heard that the Omnipresent told him to give Zelophehad’s inheritance to his daughters, he said, “It is time to ask for my own needs-that my son should inherit my high position.” The Holy One, blessed is He, said to him, That is not My intention.
This seems terribly unfair. If Pinchas was rewarded with the gift of his children inheriting his priesthood because he “turned My anger away from the children of Israel” just one time, why did Moses not merit the same reward? After all, Moses turned G-d’s wrath away from the children of Israel numerous times (at the sin of the golden calf, at the sin of the spies, to name just two instances)!
There was an important difference between the leadership of Moses and the leadership of Pinchas, which will explain why Pinchas’ position of leadership was passed on to his children.
Moses was the leader during the time of spiritual illumination. At every turn he was led by G-d. G-d was at his side, holding his hand, directing his every step. From the moment of the first revelation at the burning bush, to the day of his passing, Moses’ primary job was to communicate the Divine revelation to the people. Moses did not face moments of personal spiritual darkness. Moses was blessed with the constant revelation of the Divine countenance.
Pinchas, by contrast, steps up to the plate and shows leadership in a time of great spiritual confusion. There was no Divine communication; Moses himself was at a loss of what to do. Pinchas faced a completely different situation than Moses did. Moses continuously had to figure out how to communicate the divine revelation to the people. Pinchas, however, faced a very different challenge: what to do when there was no clear directive from Moses? What to do when many of the leaders of the people were engaged in sin and there was no clear spiritual and moral path forward? What did Pinchas do? Pinchas took action. Pinchas did not wait for the revelation from above; he found the path forward from within the spiritual darkness.
This is why Moses' style leadership could not be passed on. Not always can one rely on Divine revelation and intervention. Divine revelation will not necessarily prepare the leader, or his descendants, for the moment when the revelation is over. Pinchas by contrast, was able to find the right path without relying on Divine revelation. His
leadership, therefore was not limited to a specific time, and the skill of finding the right path forward could be passed on to his children and grandchildren as well.
✶ ✶✶
Like Pinchas before him, Jeremiah, who we read about in the Haftarah, also led the people in a time of spiritual darkness. He was the prophet in the years leading up to the destruction of the temple and the exile of the Jewish people.
Jeremiah did not feel up for the task. As we read in the Haftorah:
And I said, "Alas, O Lord God! Behold, I know not to speak for I am a youth.”
G-d responds by reassuring Jeremiah that he has the power to lead in what were the darkest moments of Jewish history:
And the Lord said to me; Say not, "I am a youth," for wherever I send you, you shall go, and whatever I command you, you shall speak.
Like Jeremiah, we question our ability to bring light and spiritual warmth to the world. Yet, we know that the words of the Haftorah - G-d reassuring Jeremiah of his ability to inspire in times of terrible crisis - apply to us as well. The lesson we must take from Jeremiah, as we begin the three week period which marks the commemoration of the destruction, is that we too must carry the word of G-d, the values and teachings of the Torah, to a world that is often spiritually dark.
G-d’s words to Jeremiah apply to each of us:
When I had not yet formed you in the womb, I knew you, and when you had not yet emerged from the womb, I had appointed you; a prophet to the nations I made you.
Each and every soul is a prophet, carrying the divine message to this world. Each and every soul has the power to inspire all those she touches. Each and every soul was sent to this world to do just that.
Separation of Powers?
As we approach the end of the fourth book of the Torah, we are nearing the end of the life of Moses. We read of how Moses asked G-d to appoint a successor who would lead the next generation of the Jewish people as they would cross the Jordan River and enter the Promised Land, the land of Israel. Moses says to G-d:
Let the Lord, the God of spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation, who will go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them out and bring them in, so that the congregation of the Lord will not be like sheep without a shepherd."
Moses was not just asking for any leader to be appointed, according to Rashi, Moses requested that G-d appoint one of his own children. Yet that was not meant to be. G-d told Moses to appoint his faithful student Joshua. G-d explained to Moses that there was no better candidate to succeed Moses than Joshua. Joshua was the most committed student, never departing from the tent of Moses. As Rashi explains:
Moses… said, “It is time to ask for my own needs-that my son should inherit my high position.” The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him, “That is not My intention, for Joshua deserves to be rewarded for his service, for he would not depart from the tent”. This is what Solomon meant when he said, “He who guards the fig tree eats its fruit”.
This leads to the following question: Moses was the humblest of men, the last person we would expect to put his own agenda ahead of the needs of the people. So how could Moses overlook his student Joshua, who was clearly the right candidate, and ask that the leader should be his own child, who was less qualified? This seems completely out of character for Moses!
The 17th century Rabbi and kabbalist, Rabbi Nosson Shapira, author of the Megaleh Amukos, offered the following explanation: Moses thought it appropriate that G-d create a separation of powers. While Joshua, the student most devoted to the wisdom of the Torah would be leader of the “judicial branch”, the chief teacher and conveyor of the Torah, Moses felt it would be best to have a separate branch of government, a political leader, which, he hoped, would be his own child.
Indeed, Moses used a double expression when he asked to appoint a successor. He asked that G-d appoint a leader: “who will go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them out and bring them in.” Why the double language? The Megaleh Amukos explains that he was asking for two leaders. The first expression “who will go forth before them and come before them” refers to a political leader who would lead them in battle, while the second expression “who will lead them out and bring them in” refers to a leader who would lead them in their pursuit of wisdom and understanding of Torah.
Moses, understood that separation of power was the best protection against an unhealthy concentration of power, it provided for checks and balances against corruption. In fact, separation of powers was the model for Jewish leadership in subsequent generations. There was a division between the king, the political leader, and the Sanhedrin, the Jewish high court, led by the Nasi, the chief justice.
And yet, G-d did not accept Moses’ request. As it was with Moses, the successor of Moses would also embody both powers, the political as well as the judicial. Thus, Joshua, who excelled in the wisdom of the Torah, would also be the political leader who would lead the people in the conquest and division of the land of Israel.
Why no separation of powers? If separating the powers was the right approach for the subsequent generations, why was it not right for the generations of Moses and Joshua?
Torah represents the ideal world. It is the exercise of seeking to understand the will and wisdom of G-d. The Torah leader’s mission is to elevate the people to greater heights of wisdom, and refinement. The political leader, by contrast, deals less with the ideal and more with the practical. The political leader is one who can navigate the less than desirable current reality. Thus, the spiritual and political leadership are divided, as they require different skills and operate in different domains. An expert in battlefield may not be an expert in the battle of ideas.
And yet, at the foundation of our peoplehood, at the beginning of our national identity, when we left Egypt and entered Israel, there was to be one person who embodied both spiritual and political leadership. The reason for this is that at the core, the goal and purpose of the political leader and the spiritual leader are one and the same. Ultimately our politics are a tool to implement our spiritual ideas. So while the spiritual and political goals, sometimes are not fully in sync, while they play by different rules, contemplating the stories of our founding fathers - Moses and Joshua - we are reminded that ultimately, we have one goal, and that is to make the ideals of the Torah a political reality. Ultimately, the chief of the Jewish court and the head of the executive branch, are both working toward the same truth.
The life of each and every one of us is divided into the political and the spiritual, the needs of the body and the needs of the soul. The Torah expects us to operate differently in each realm, we are not expected to operate during the six days of the week as we do on the Holy Shabbat. We don’t employ the same skill set when we are praying and studying as we do when we are seeking to earn a living. We do accept a figurative separation of powers.
Yet, we remember that we are not living a dichotomy. That, just as Moses and Joshua modeled how a political leader and a spiritual leader can and must have the same purpose and goal, so too, in our life, both parts of us, the mundane and the holy, the body and the soul, the weekday and the Shabbat have the same goal.
Both want to connect heaven and earth. They operate in different theaters, they speak different languages, they play by different rules, but deep down there is no separation. Both body and soul strive for a single goal. Both body and soul are working to fill the earth with the oneness of the creator.
In Love with the Moon
Jews are in love with the Moon.
We have always been fascinated by its soft glow, by its ability to illuminate the dark night, and, most importantly, by its capacity for rebirth. At the end of the Lunar month we look up at the sky and we see no moon at all, yet, a day or two later, the moon reappears, reborn, invigorated and reassuring, it once again begins to steadily grow and increase its beauty and light. We look up at the moon and we see our story. We, like the moon, are called upon to illuminate an often spiritually dark world. As individuals and as a people we wax and wane, we experience ups and downs, we are sometimes fully bright, while at other times we feel devoid of all light and we fear that this may be the end of our people. Yet, miraculously, we reappear. We have a capacity to adapt, to recreate ourselves, not to be trapped by the negativity of our past, to rise to the new challenges of the day. Thus, every month we celebrate Rosh Chodesh, the rebirth of the moon, on the first day of the Hebrew month.
Looking back at the verses in Genesis which describe the creation of the moon, there is an interesting discrepancy. At first the verse states that G-d created “two great luminaries”, and then the verse proceeds to elaborate: “the great luminary (the sun) to rule the day and the small luminary (the moon) to rule the night”. The question is obvious: are they both “great luminaries” or is one “great” and the other “small”?
The Talmud explains that initially both the sun and the moon were created as “great luminaries”, however, the moon was diminished and it became “small”:
The moon said to the Holy One, Blessed Be He, ‘Master of the Universe, How can two kings share one crown?’
He said to her, ‘Go and diminish yourself!’
She said to him: ‘Master of the universe, because I said a logical thing before you, I should diminish myself?’...
The Holy One said, “I will bring an atonement on Me for I have diminished the moon.”
Indeed, in this week’s Torah portion, the portion of Pinchas, we read about the commandment to offer a sin offering on Rosh Chodesh, as the Talmud continues:
“Why the difference in how the New Moon offering is written, “A he-goat on the new moon, for the Lord?’ Because the Holy One is saying, ‘Let this he-goat be an atonement for me, for the diminishment of the moon.”
What are we to make of this seemingly strange teaching? Why indeed was the moon punished for speaking the truth? And how can human beings possibly be the ones who atone for G-d’s injustice?
The sun is a metaphor for the shining light of G-d, while the moon, which has no light of its own and receives its light from the sun, represents the creation. G-d’s plan was that both the sun and the moon would be great luminaries. That the infinity and intensity of the Divine energy and light would be felt by the moon, by the creation, just as powerfully as when it shines forth from G-d. There would still be a creation separate from the creator, but there would not be any spiritual darkness within the creation, because the Divine light would shine in all its intensity. Thus both the source of light and the recipient of the light, both the sun and the moon, both the creator and the creation, would be great luminaries.
The moon protested.
“How can two kings share one crown?” cried the moon. “If the full force of the divine light will shine in this world then I will not have my own distinct identity and personality”.
G-d agreed. G-d told the moon: “Go and diminish yourself!”. Yes, creation will plunge into spiritual darkness, yes, creation will feel separated from its great source of holiness, but the moon, and the creation it represents, will have its own identity. It will have the ability to forge its own path, to illuminate the darkness with its light. For once the moon is diminished, once it no longer reflects the full intensity of the sun’s light, there is spiritual darkness in the world. There is chaos, pain and confusion, yet, precisely because of the darkness, the human being is able to feel its own identity, to feel the satisfaction of creativity, and to discover his or her purpose: to bring light to the darkness, to fill the world with goodness and kindness.
The moon, however, was still troubled. It tells G-d “Master of the universe, because I said a logical thing before you, I should diminish myself?” The moon was protesting all the pain that would exist in this world as a result of the world being plunged into darkness. The concealment of the Divine light is, in fact, what enables all suffering loneliness and sadness to exist.
G-d therefore responds that indeed, the moon has a just claim. In order to create space for man and woman, to give meaning to their choices and a feeling of satisfaction to their achievements, there must be darkness and pain. And G-d is in need of atonement for the suffering enabled by the darkness of the diminishment of the moon. Thus G-d says to the Jew: “bring a he-goat to be an atonement for me, for the diminishment of the moon”. G-d is telling us that we alone can atone for G-d. That we alone must work to overcome the spiritual darkness, the pain and suffering that exists in this world. We alone must look up to the moon, watch it emerge from the darkness, and take its lesson to heart.
Like the moon, we must always understand that it is our responsibility to keep shining even in the darkest of times. It is our responsibility to heal the pain on earth, and to bring the universe closer to its creator.
Appointed Time
The Biblical word for holiday is “Moed”, which means “appointed time” as well as “meeting”. Holidays are “appointed times” set aside for us to “meet”, for on the holiday we have the space to meet with G-d, and with the parts of ourselves which we sometimes overlook due to the demands and distractions of everyday life.
Each of the holidays has a unique theme and energy. Each holiday gives us the opportunity to experience and internalize the inspiration of the extraordinary. Each is an “appointed time” to celebrate the blessings we are blessed with: exodus and freedom on Passover, Torah and spiritual enlightenment on Shavuot, holiness and atonement on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and joy on Sukkot.
Our weekly portion, Pinchas, lists the offerings we are commanded to offer at the holy temple on each of these “Moadim” - “appointed times”. Yet, in what seems to be a departure from the overall theme, the Torah reiterates the commandment to offer the daily communal offerings. The daily offerings were mentioned earlier in the Torah, why are they reiterated here, and, more specifically, why were the ordinary daily offerings, reiterated in the context of the extraordinary holidays?
We tend to view our lives as divided between the ordinary and extraordinary, between the usual routine and the excitement of the novel experience, between habit and inspiration.
Indeed there are times that feel like holidays. We feel that the hand of G-d that took our ancestors out of Egypt is once again present in our life. We feel the light from above shining brightly upon us, the wind of inspiration in our wings, and energy in the air filling our entire body with enthusiasm for life. Yet there are also days which feel unremarkable and monotonous, times when we feel sapped of energy, devoid of excitement and purpose.
The Torah seeks to teach us that, in truth, every moment is a miracle and every day a holiday. There is no such thing as an ordinary day. The magnificent sunrise, the beautiful sunset, is no less an expression of the Divine power than the exodus from Egypt.
When referring to the daily offerings the Torah says:
The L-rd spoke to: Moses, saying:
Command the children of Israel and say to them: My offering, My food for My fire offerings, a spirit of satisfaction for Me, you shall take care to offer to Me at its appointed time.
The one lamb you shall offer up in the morning, and the other lamb you shall offer up in the afternoon. (Numbers 28:1-3)
The Torah refers to each and every day as a “Moed”, a unique appointed time. As Rashi puts it:
at its appointed time: Each day is the appointed time prescribed for the continual offerings.
Rashi is telling us that each and every ordinary day can indeed become a “Moed”, a holiday, a day filled with enthusiasm, holiness and joy. If we take the time to experience the blessing of life G-d gifted us with, if we make time in every day to serve the purpose of our creation, then, indeed, each and every day is a Moed, a holiday, a day in which we enjoy the blessing of life and the joy of a meaningful day.
Selecting the Successor
Toward the end of the forty year journey in the desert, Moses turned to G-d and asked that a leader be appointed to succeed him, as we read in this week’s portion:
Moses spoke to the Lord, saying:
Let the Lord, the God of spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation
who will go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them out and bring them in, so that the congregation of the Lord will not be like sheep without a shepherd." (Numbers 27:16)
In these few words Moses described the task of the leader (“who will go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them out and bring them in”), but does Moses provide any insight into the perspective and mindset necessary to lead?
The great Chassidic master, Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berditchev, known as the “defender of Israel” because of his inability to see anything negative in his fellow Jew, offered a powerful insight. Moses referred to G-d with an unusual title: “G-d of spirits of all flesh”. With these words Moses was alluding to the quality required of a true leader. A leader must understand that a human being is a composite of both body and soul, both “spirit” and “flesh”. A great leader who seeks to inspire his people to get in touch with their inner soul, their spirit, and soar to great heights, may sometimes forget that a human being is also “flesh”, plagued with challenges, weaknesses and deficiencies. A great leader, explained Rabbi Levi Yitzchok, must accept and love his people despite their shortcomings, he must defend them even when they make mistakes, because he must remember that people are imperfect by design. They are not angels. For G-d himself created the hybrid of spirit and flesh otherwise known as the human being.
Perhaps we can build on Rabbi Levi Yitzchok’s insight.
Every person is a mix of spirit and flesh, a mix of the self-centered and the transcendent, a combination of desire for the fleeting material pleasures and longing for spiritual connection. A proper spiritual leader understands that the spirit and the matter do not have to be at war with each other. The spirit can be found within the flesh and the flesh can serve as an expression of the spirit. The leader who will be chosen to lead the people of Israel, helping them to apply the Torah study of the desert to material life in Israel, must teach them that, (material life does not have to be a contradiction to a life of holiness. Our material pleasures can be a tool in the service of G-d, enhancing our ability to fulfill the purpose of our creation.
Living a wholesome life is experiencing the Divine not only in the spiritual but also in the material. Discovering that indeed G-d is the spirits of all flesh.
Inheritance: the Deepest form of Relationship
What is the nature of your relationships? Are they rational, based on the benefit we receive, or are they unconditional?
There are three dimensions included in the relationship between the land of Israel and the Jewish people. (1) The land was divided based on the population of the tribe. As the verse states: “To the large [tribe] you shall give a larger inheritance and to a smaller tribe you shall give a smaller inheritance, each person shall be given an inheritance according to his number (Numbers 26:54).” (2) The land was divided by lottery. As the verse states: “Only through lot shall the Land be apportioned; they shall inherit it according to the names of their fathers' tribes. The inheritance shall be apportioned between the numerous and the few, according to lot (Numbers 26:55-56).” [According to one opinion, the lottery miraculously confirmed the division based on the size of the tribe. Another opinion is that the lottery determined the location where the tribe would receive its portion]. (3) The land of Israel is the inheritance of every Jew. As the verse states: “I will give it to you as a heritage; I am the Lord (Exodus 6:8).”
The three aspects of our relationship with the land of Israel reflect the three dimensions of our relationship with G-d.
The first is the “allocation based on population”. The rational division of the land represents the logical relationship with G-d. We serve G-d because we appreciate and understand the importance of the relationship, and, in turn, G-d’s connection to the people of Israel in general, and the individual Jew in particular, is commensurate with the love, loyalty and service of the Jew to G-d. At this level G-d values and derives benefit from the commandments that we fulfill and the service we perform.
The second aspect of the relationship to the land of Israel is the lottery which determined which portion the Jew would receive. When we don't want to decide based on logical criteria, we employ a lottery. In our relationship with G-d, the lottery represents the supranational bond, which is unconditional, not dependent on any reason. On this level, G-d’s connection to us is not because of anything we can offer Him but rather because G-d chose us to be his people. On this level, G-d’s choice is free of any external influence. He chooses to relate to us not because of anything we can give him (which would then influence his choice to choose us), but rather we were chosen only because that is what G-d chose to do, regardless of our own worthiness.
The third dimension of the relationship is even deeper. On the first two levels, G-d and the people are two distinct entities that relate to each other. From the third perspective, the inheritance dimension of the relationship, G-d and the people are one.
The conventional understanding of inheritance is that the estate is transferred from the ownership of the deceased to the ownership of the heir. According to Jewish law however, the mechanism of inheritance is not that the estate transfers to the heir, but rather the heir takes the place of the deceased relative, because the heir is considered one and the same with his relative.
This represents the deepest element of our bond with G-d. We recognize that we are not an entity separate from G-d, who merely enjoys a relationship with G-d, but rather we are like the heir who 0is legally considered an extension of, and one entity with, the relative. We are in fact one with G-d, since our soul is a part of G-d above.
The history of our people can be divided into three general periods, consistent with the three perspectives described above.
The patriarchs experienced the logical relationship. Abraham discovered G-d by his own intellectual inquiry and G-d loved him as a result of his dedication and loving kindness.
When we received the Torah at Mount Sinai a new era was ushered in. When G-d chose us to be his people the deeper dimension of our relationship was expressed. We experienced the unconditional bond that kept us together even when we ignored our connection and did not live up to our responsibility and purpose.
The third and most profound element of the relationship will be experienced in the era of the future redemption. We will then feel the deepest truth, that we and G-d are in fact one.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Pinchos vol. 28 sicha 2)
Does G-d Need Bread for Breakfast?
At this point in the story, toward the end of the fourth book of the Torah, in the portion of Pinchas, we find the Jewish people preparing for their entry into the land of Israel. We read about the lottery through which the land would be divided. We read about Moses asking G-d to choose a successor who would lead the Jewish people into the land of Israel (since it had been decreed that Moses would not enter the promised land). The conclusion of the portion, which discusses the laws of the daily offerings and the offerings of the holidays, however, seems completely out of place. Why was the commandment about these offerings given at this point in the story, and not forty years earlier, in the third book of the Torah, which discusses the laws of offerings?
Rashi explains that the commandment about the offerings was in response to Moses' request for a leader to be appointed:
Command the children of Israel: What is stated above? "Let the Lord…appoint {a leader}". The Holy One, blessed is He, said to him {Moses}, "Before you command me regarding My children, command My children regarding Me."
Moses asked G-d to appoint a leader "so that the congregation of the Lord will not be like sheep without a shepherd." G-d, in turn, responded that in order for the Jewish people to sense that they are not "like sheep without a shepherd", for them to feel the presence of G-d, their ultimate leader, they should offer the daily (and additional, holiday) offerings.
This dimension of the offerings, which creates the awareness that G-d is present in our lives, is expressed in the opening phrase of the commandment:
The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Command the children of Israel and say to them: My offering, My food for My fire offerings, a spirit of satisfaction for Me, you shall take care to offer to Me at its appointed time. (Numbers 28:1-2)
Why does G-d refer to the offerings as "my bread"? Isn't it absurd to think that G-d needs to eat twice daily, and He, therefore, asks that we give him bread?
Chasidic philosophy explains the metaphor of G-d's bread as follows: the function of food is not for the soul per se. If the person doesn't eat and, G-d forbid, expires, it is the body that dies, the soul remains intact. The food is what connects the soul with the body. Similarly, the offerings are G-d's food, not because he needs food for his sustenance, which would be absurd, but because the offerings serve to connect G-d, the "soul" of the world, with the "body" of the world, the created reality.
How do the offerings function as "my bread," connecting the "soul" of the universe to its "body"? The answer is found in the following word in the verse: "{my bread} my fire." The offerings placed in the fire, represent the desire of a person to break free of the earth's gravitational pull and, as a flame of fire, ascend upward. The offering represents the Jew's desire to connect to G-d, which elicits within G-d the desire to transcend the trappings of infinity and relate to the finite human being. [As alluded to in the following word of the verse, Nichochi {my pleasing aroma}, which is related to the {Aramaic} word descent].
Following the destruction of the holy temple, our sages instituted daily prayers to substitute for the two daily offerings. The morning prayer is the fire. When we dedicate time each morning and afternoon {the evening prayer was added later}, we are offering G-d his "bread". We are connecting the "soul" of the universe with its physical existence; we are allowing G-d's presence to enter every aspect of our awareness and we are infusing our physical lives with meaning and with blessing.
Adapted from Lekutei Sichos vol. 12 page 18 and Lekutei Torah, Pinchas 76:1
The Power of the Daily Offerings
Who doesn't love holidays? Holidays offer a break from the routine and a chance to find excitement and inspiration from the changed schedule and environment. Sometimes we find that the best way to invigorate our daily responsibilities and routines is to take a break and do something out of the ordinary.
Our service of G-d also requires "holidays”, times when we stop the daily flow of our life and are more focused on celebrating and enhancing our relationship with G-d. Indeed, in this week's Parsha, the Torah lists the additional offerings brought in the temple on Shabbat and the holidays, symbolizing the additional closeness to G-d which we experience on those days.
Yet, this week's Parsha also highlights the profound power of consistent routine.
The sages of the Midrash discuss which verse in the Torah is the one that encompasses and captures the core message of the Torah. The first three sages offer verses that indeed seem to capture the essence of Judaism: all people are created in the image of G-d; the belief in one G-d; and the obligation to love our fellow as ourselves:
Ben Azzai says: "This is the book of the chronicles of man; on the day that G-d created man He created him in the image of G-d." is a general principle of the Torah.
Ben Zoma says: We have found a more encompassing verse, which is, "Shema Yisrael."
Ben Nanas says: We have found a more encompassing verse, which is, "Love your fellow as yourself."
The fourth opinion, however, is surprising:
Shimon Ben Pazi says: We have found a more encompassing verse, which is, "The first lamb you shall sacrifice in the morning and the second lamb you shall sacrifice in the afternoon." a certain rabbi stood up and said: The halachah follows Ben Pazi.
Shimon Ben Pazi states that the most critical principle in the Torah is the consistency with which we can apply the Torah to our daily lives. Shimon Ben Pazzi refers to the daily offerings offered in the temple every day of the year as the most encompassing principle of the Torah because, ultimately, the daily commitment is what affects and impacts our lives. More important than the great principles of the Torah is the ability to take daily action expressing these truths.
We often wait for a new beginning, an inspired moment, or an extraordinary event that will help us grow and become a better person, parent, spouse, and friend. But perhaps the most consistent and impactful growth comes from the seemingly small, consistent, daily action.
A Stick for the Journey
The twelve tribes of Israel, descending from the twelve sons of Jacob, are sometimes referred to as the twelve Shevatim, which means branches, and at other times, such as in the opening phrase of this week's Torah portion, are called Matos which means sticks.
Read literally, the opening phrase sounds something like this: “Moses spoke to the heads of the sticks”. The question immediately presents itself: why would the Torah use the word stick to describe a tribe?
Shvatim, branches, is a beautifully poetic choice of a word to describe the tribes. It evokes the image of a beautiful tree sending forth its branches in all directions, each branch, while unique in its specific character, intrinsically connected to the root. It evokes the image of the diverse family of Jews, all sitting around our forefather Jacob.
Matos, sticks, conveys none of that warmth and beauty. A stick is dry, a stick is hard. Why, then, would we call ourselves sticks?
A stick was once a branch. At one point the stick was just an extension of a tree. Yet eventually, the branch was separated from the tree, and over time its moisture dried up, and it hardened to the point that when looking at the stick it is hard to imagine that this stick was once part of a living tree.
The stick metaphor is therefore a great analogy for the Jewish family. Initially, we were a small group, we all sat around the same table, we all recognized one another and we saw each other as different branches of a common tree-trunk. And then, as the generations passed, we look around and we didn't necessarily identify with all the members of our now extended family. We know that once upon a time we had a common ancestor, we know that we were all part of the same tree, but now, we feel more like a stick who is separate and independent from the other sticks in the neighborhood.
The same is true for our soul. In some ways, our souls have become sticks.
Yes, each and every soul was once a branch, visibly connected to its source, alive and sensitive to spirituality. And then the soul descended into this world, its connection to its roots is no longer visible. Its openness to the Divine reality, its sensitivity to the intangible is severely compromised.
And yet, the transition from branch to stick, however difficult for the soul, is not just necessary but it is also tremendously beneficial and rewarding. For only once the soul descends into this world, detaching itself from its tree, facing the challenges of human life, does it discover and express the strength hidden within its deepest recesses. Only once it is severed from it source does it gain the strength of a stick, enabling it to achieve what no branch can achieve. As a stick it has the chance to experience a more powerful relationship with G-d, a relationship that is strong enough to survive, and is intensified by, the challenges of this world. As a stick it has the power to do what no soul has ever done in branch form; as a stick it has the power to impact the physical world.
This is why immediately following the portion of Matot, sticks, comes the portion of Masey, journeys (which describe the 42 journeys traveled by the children of Israel from Egypt to the Land of Israel). These two portions are often combined. The message is clear: there is no way to journey to our goal, to journey toward the fulfillment of our potential, and to journey toward fulfilling our purpose of creation, without achieving what can only be achieved when the branch becomes a stick. For it is the stick, the strength that we must produce in order to overcome challenge, that leads to the journey toward, first to the figurative, and then to the actual, land of Israel.
Be the Bridge
Toward the end of the book of Numbers we read about the Jewish people concluding their journey through the desert and arriving at the border of the Promised Land.
The Torah describes that the tribes of Reuben and Gad requested that they be granted the lands that the Jewish people conquered outside of Israel, on the east bank of the Jordan River, as their inheritance. At first Moses was angered with their request. He suspected that it would discourage the other tribes from wanting to cross the Jordan and enter the land, but once they explained their intention of leading the other tribes in battle, Moses agreed to their request and gave them the lands east of the Jordan as their inheritance.
Although they did not request it, Moses also placed half the tribe of Menashe, the son of Joseph, on the eastern bank of the Jordan. The question arises: if Moses was so disturbed by the request of the tribes who wanted to settle outside of Israel, why did Moses, on his own initiative, split the tribe of Menashe in two, and place half the tribe outside of Israel across the Jordan River?
What do we know about the tribe of Menashe?
Back in the Book of Genesis we read about how ten of the twelve children of Jacob, who later became the tribes of Israel, kidnapped their brother and sold him into slavery. We read about the many challenges Joseph, a seventeen year old boy, a slave in a foreign country, had to face, and how he miraculously rose to become the viceroy of Egypt and the acting leader of the ancient world’s superpower.
We read about Joseph naming his eldest son Menashe: “for G-d has caused me to forget (“Nashani”) all my toil and all my father's house.” With the name Menashe Joseph reminded himself that the culture of Egypt was a foreign one, it was a culture that sought to make him forget his father’s home. He chose this name to remind himself that while he was physically distant from his father’s home, while he was completely invested in the well being of the Egyptian nation and economy, he must never forget that his essence remained back home with his father and with the legacy of Abraham.
Menashe, then, was a symbol of Joseph’s ability to have a foot in both worlds. On the one hand he was present, invested and successful in Egyptian society, while on the other hand, at his core, he was a Hebrew. His heart and soul, his thoughts and aspirations were back home in the land and ideas of his father’s home.
This is why Moses divided the inheritance of the tribe of Menashe, placing them on both banks of the Jordan River. Moses understood that Mensahe could bridge the gap between Israel and the rest of the world. Moses knew that the purpose of the Jewish people was not only to build a haven of spirituality in the land of Israel, but rather they were also tasked with spreading their influence and message to the rest of the world. No tribe was better suited to this task than Menashe, who exemplified that even while living in a spiritually hostile environment one can bridge both worlds. One could remain loyal to his spiritual home, while prospering in a foreign land and one could bring the influence of Israel to the heart of a foreign capital.
We read the end of the book of Numbers in the days leading up to the ninth of Av, the day the temple was destroyed and we were exiled from the land of Israel. The lesson to be learned, especially at this time of year, is clear. Although, our people were exiled from Israel, we have not abandoned Israel and its message. Like the tribe of Menashe, we are able to have a foot on both sides of the River. Although we are in the diaspora, our heart is in Israel. Our presence is the bridge that allows the holiness of Israel to reach the rest of the world. We are the bridge upon which the inspiration emerging from Jerusalem will transform the rest of the world, the bridge that will fill the world with the knowledge of G-d, ushering in an era of peace and harmony.
East of the Jordan
How are we to know what our life’s mission is? How are we to go about considering which path we should follow, which avenue to pursue? What clues can direct us to follow the road leading to the very purpose of our own creation?
The tribes of Reuben and Gad had an insight.
They felt that one must look at the specific gifts and opportunities that one was blessed with. They sensed that with the specific blessings they were gifted with G-d was directing them on the path that was their true calling.
Which is why the tribes of Reuben and Gad did not want to cross the Jordan River and enter the land of Israel.
They looked around and saw the lands which the Jewish people had conquered east of the Jordan River, and they immediately sensed that their destiny was tied to the land which was outside the borders of the holy land, outside the land that G-d promised to give the Jewish people. They saw that the land east of the Jordan was a land perfect for pasture. They turned to Moses and said:
“The land that the Lord struck down before the congregation of Israel is a land for livestock, and your servants have livestock." (Numbers 32:4)
They argued that if G-d blessed them with an abundance of livestock, if “your servants have livestock”, then surely their divine mission was to embrace their individual blessing and settle in the land best suited to raising livestock, even if that land was not the land of Israel.
At first Moses was furious. Moses feared that, just like the episode of the spies almost forty years earlier, he was once again witnessing a rebellion of the people who were rejecting the land of Israel out of fear of conquering and living in the land.
Ultimately, however, Moses granted their request, for they explained that, in fact, they could not be more different then the spies. For the tribes of Reuben and Gad sought not to reject Israel, but to expand its holiness and its influence outside its borders.
Gad and Reuben understood that if G-d was directing them to find their calling outside the land of Israel it was not because they were disconnected from Israel’s story and mission, but rather because they were charged with the mission to expand the holiness of Israel beyond its borders; demonstrating that the morality and light of the Jewish people is able to transform foreign territory.
Yet there was one condition that the children of Gad and Reuben had to meet before they were given the lands they requested. They had to commit to be in the front lines of the conquest of the land of Israel. As Moses told them:
Moses said to them, "If you do this thing, if you arm yourselves for battle before the Lord, and your armed force crosses the Jordan before the Lord until He has driven out His enemies before Him, and the Land will be conquered before the Lord, afterwards you may return, and you shall be freed [of your obligation] from the Lord and from Israel, and this land will become your heritage before the Lord. (Numbers 32:22)
To be able to extend the holiness of Israel to a foreign land, one must be even more committed to Israel than if he were living in Israel. To be able to sanctify land that is not holy one needs to be even more committed to holiness than his brethren who are living in a land permeated with holiness.
The children of Gad and Reuben teach the Jew living outside of Israel that his purpose is to expand the holiness and inspiration of the land of Israel to all four corners of the earth.
(Based on the teaching of the Rebbe, Reshimos booklet 51.)
Engage or Disengage?
Rabbinic sources offer conflicting messages on whether or not asceticism is a Jewish value. On the one hand, our sages say, "Are not those things which the Torah has prohibited sufficient for you that you must forbid additional things to yourself?" On the other hand, the Mishnah declares "vows are a safety fence for abstinence", implying that vowing against engaging in worldly pleasure is a tool to becoming more sanctified.
Jewish life is focused not on separating from the world but rather on elevating it. When the physical blessings and pleasures are used to enhance a life of holiness and devotion to G-d, they serve a higher purpose and are elevated and transformed into holiness.
Yet, occasionally there is something that, for whatever reason, poses a challenge to a person, not only is the person incapable of harnessing the pleasure for a holy and productive purpose, but on the contrary, the experience will be destructive, undermining his ability to live a spiritual life. In that case, a vow to separate himself from that item or experience is the right thing to do.
Our Parsha begins with a discussion about the laws of vows. A woman's vow is binding unless her father or husband chooses to nullify the vow. [The Rabbinic tradition asserts that a man's vow may be nullified by the court under certain circumstances.] The mystical interpretation of the laws of the nullification of the vows is as follows:
If a woman makes a vow to the Lord, or imposes a prohibition [upon herself] while in her father's house, in her youth:
"A woman in her youth" refers to a Jewish person who has not yet reached full spiritual maturity, and therefore elements of the material world may pose a spiritual threat. Therefore, the person may vow to disengage from the spiritual danger.
Since the ultimate purpose is not to flee and hide but instead to engage and elevate, the Torah offers two paths that would allow the person to grow to the point where the vow can be nullified, and the formerly prohibited object elevated: the nullification by the father and the nullification by the husband.
As the Torah states:
But if her father hinders her on the day he hears it, all her vows and her prohibitions that she has imposed upon herself shall not stand. The Lord will forgive her because her father hindered her…
In Jewish mysticism, "father" is a metaphor for the level of wisdom ("Chochmah") which is accessible on the holy day of Shabbat. On Shabbat the Jew experiences a deeper awareness of the Divine reality. On Shabbat, a Jew can access a place within his awareness where the creation is nothing but an extension of the Divine.
In addition to the father, there are cases when the husband can nullify the vow:
But if she is [betrothed] to a man… if her husband hinders her on the day he heard it, he has revoked the vow she had taken upon herself and the utterance which she had imposed upon herself, and the Lord will forgive her.
"If she is betrothed to a man", explain the mystics, refers to a time when the Jew's relationship to G-d develops to the point that the latent, natural love the soul feels for G-d, develops into passionate yearning love, like the love between man and woman. When a Jew is drawn to G-d with passionate love, then, as the verse states regarding man and wife, "they will become one flesh", the Jew senses nothing other than the desire to cleave to G-d. At that point, the vows can be nullified since the person can elevate and sanctify the physical world.
Adapted from Lekutei Torah, Matos 83:2
The Women of Menashe
At the conclusion of the fourth book of the Torah the Jewish people were camped at the eastern bank of the Jordan River ready to cross into the promised land. We have reached the conclusion of the story of the five books of Moses. (The fifth book consists of Moses’ repetition of the first four books, there are, however, no new episodes in the fifth book).
We would expect the final verses of the fourth book to capture an important story, idea or lesson that would express the culmination of the story of our people. Yet, the concluding story seems trivial, and inconsequential for us today.
At the conclusion of the fourth book we read about how the members of the tribe of Menashe approached Moses, concerned about the possibility of the five daughters of Tezelafchad marrying members of another tribe. Earlier in the story, in response to their request, the daughters of Tzelafchod were granted the right to inherit their deceased father’s portion of the land of Israel. If the daughters of Tzelafchad would marry members of another tribe, they would then ultimately pass the inherited land to their own children, the land would then be transferred from their tribe to the tribe of their husbands (as the tribal division is patriarchal), depriving the tribe of Menashe of tribal land. Moses agreed with the members of Menashe, and instructed the daughters to marry within their tribe. The book concludes by telling us that the women did just that:
Mahlah, Tirzah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Noah married their cousins.
They married into the families of the sons of Manasseh the son of Joseph, and their inheritance remained with the tribe of their father's family. (Numbers 36:11-12)
Upon deeper analysis, this episode does, in fact, capture a central theme of the Torah; the story of these five women symbolize the purpose of the Jewish people on this earth.
The backstory is as follows: two of the tribes, Reuven and Gad, requested that they be granted land east of the Jordan, outside the borders of the land of Israel. After some discussion, Moses reluctantly conceded to their request and allocated the land east of the Jordan to them. Surprisingly, although they did not request it, Moses also decided to settle half the tribe of Menashe east of the Jordan.
Why did Moses split the tribe of Menashe and place half the tribe outside the land of Israel?
Moses, explains the Rebbe, was teaching us that our mission is not merely to live a holy and wholesome life in Israel, but rather our task is to spread the holiness of Israel to the rest of the world, to infuse all lands with the holiness of the land of Israel. While Reuben and Gad did not want to enter Israel, Menashe, divided between both banks of the Jordan, had a foot in both worlds. Half the tribe was in Israel, and half the tribe was tasked with expanding the holiness of Israel to foreign soil.
More than anyone else in the tribe, The five sisters embodied this message. For while the collective tribe of Menashe lived on both sides of the Jordan, every individual member of the tribe lived either in Israel or outside of Israel. The five daughters of Tzelafchad, however, married their cousins who lived on the other side of the Jordan. Thus they inherited land and settled on both sides of the Jordan, they optimized the Torah’s central purpose: first to create a holy environment in Israel and then to spread that holiness all throughout the earth.
We who live outside of Israel must look to these remarkable women for inspiration. Our presence in the diaspora should not be a rejection of the holiness of Israel, as was the attitude of Reuben and Gad, but rather, like the five sisters of the tribe of Menashe, we are tasked with spreading the wholeness of Israel wherever we may be. We too, like Mahlah, Tirzah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Noah live, figuratively, with a foot on either side of the Jordan River. May we succeed in ushering in the era when “G-d will expand your boundaries” (Deuteronomy 12:20) and “the (holiness of) land of Israel is destined to spread to all lands” (Sifri, Devarim).
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe Lekutei Sichos, Matos Masei vol. 28)
The Journey
Finally.
After a fortyyear journey, the Jewish people reached their destination. The 400 year old Divine promise to Abraham, that his descendants would be redeemed from exile and return home to Israel, was about to be fulfilled.
In the final portion of the fourth book of the Torah, the Jewish people are in the plains of Moab, at the bank of the Jordan River, opposite the city of Jericho, ready to cross into the Land. Yet the Torah turns to the past. The portion begins with Moses writing and recounting the names of all 42 steps of the journey. Why does the Torah, whose every word and every letter holds meaning, choose to recount all 42 stops in the journey?
Rashi, quoting the Midrash, offers an analogy:
Why were these journeys recorded?... Rabbi Tanchuma expounds it in another way. It is analogous to a king whose son became sick, so he took him to a far away place to have him healed. On the way back, the father began citing all the stages of their journey, saying to him, “This is where we sat, here we were cold, here you had a headache etc.”
The recounting of the 42 step journey, then, is similar to a father who traveled with his son to a distant place in order to heal his son. On their way home, the father recounted all the places and occurrences they experienced earlier on the journey.
The problem, however, is that the story of the Jews in the desert is different than the father-son parable. In the parable the father and son are returning to their original place. On the way back they are, once again, in the same places where they experienced the earlier events, thus it is reasonable to recount the events that happened at those precise places. The Jews in the desert, by contrast, were not returning, they were heading farther and farther away from Egypt, and they had no plans of returning. Why then does the Torah focus on the past, the retelling of the journeys, instead of focusing on the future - the land of Israel that they were about to cross into?
Life is a journey.
Each of us must travel through the wilderness, experiencing many trials and tribulations to achieve our goals and reach our destination. The journey we call life is by no means straightforward. While there are moments, “stops on the journey”, of deep meaning, great achievement, and extraordinary joy, there are also difficult stops on the journey. We sometimes find ourselves going in circles, taking detours, experiencing spiritual “headaches”. We sometimes feel cold, alone, abandoned, and sometimes we just feel that our inner strength and vitality, that our values and convictions, are asleep.
The journey is tedious, yet, we must remember that like the Jews on their journey toward Israel, eventually we will reach our destination, eventually G-d will help us overcome the challenges and reach our promised land.
While on the journey, we must keep focused on the future, always striving to move one step forward. We don’t always have the luxury to dwell on the challenging experiences. Yet, when we overcome the challenge, when we reach our goal, we must do what the father did. We must figuratively “return” to the past difficult and painful experiences. Once we are ”healed” we reach a deeper realization: that all the stops of the journey are indeed part of the healing. As Rashi puts it: “he took him to a far away place to have him healed”. Every step of the road, the cold, the headache, the complaining, was necessary in order to transform the child into a wholesome person.
The name of the Rabbi who taught the father-son parable was Rabbi Tanchuma, whose name comes from the Hebrew word, Nechama, for comfort. Rabbi Tanchuma teaches us that no matter what stage of the journey we are on, no matter how challenging the road ahead, we should be comforted. Because we must know that (1): eventually, “on the way back”, after we conclude the journey, we will discover that every step of the journey was indeed part of the healing. And (2): we will discover that although it is not always obvious, our king, our father, is with us on the journey“.
The Fall
In the final portion of the fourth book of the Torah we read about the borders of the land of Israel.
Command the children of Israel and say to them: “This is the land that shall fall to you as an inheritance, the land of Canaan according to its borders.” (Numbers 34:2).
There are two points in this verse which Rashi addresses:
1) Rashi explains that the exact borders of the land were written to inform us regarding the area in which the commandments that are dependent on the land of Israel apply:
Since many Mitzvot apply in the land {of Israel} and do not apply outside the land, the Torah found it necessary to describe the outer limits of its boundaries from all sides, to inform you that the Mitzvot apply everywhere within these borders.
2) Rashi moves on to explain why the verse uses the term “falling”, which is a negative term, in relation to the land of Israel (“this is the land that will fall to you”):
Shall fall to you -- Since it was apportioned by lot, the division is described in terms of falling {a word commonly used in connection with lots}. Midrash Aggadah says that {this expression is used here} because the Holy One, blessed is He, cast down {lit., caused to fall} from Heaven the celestial ministers of the seven {Canaanite} nations, and shackled them before Moshe. Hashem said to him {Moshe}, “See, they no longer have any power.”
Every concept in the Torah has a mystical interpretation in addition to the plain meaning of the verse. According to Chassidic teachings the verse, as well as the points Rashi clarifies, is relevant to the purpose of every Jew on this earth.
According to the Kabbalah, the source of the Jewish soul, the Divine attribute of Malchut, is referred to as land. While earth is lower than vegetation, animal and human life, the earth produces and sustains life. The same is true regarding Malchut, the divine attribute of royalty, it is the lowest of all attributes, yet it sustains the creation by infusing it with Divine energy.
The verse “this is the land that will fall to you”, refers to the “falling”, the traumatic and steep descent, of the “land”, the soul, when it descends from heaven to earth. What is the purpose of the descent? Why does the soul leave its spiritual paradise and “fall” into a spiritually hostile and challenging environment? Rashi explains: “many mitzvos apply in the land and do not apply outside the land”. The reason the soul descends to the earth is because the earth is the arena in which the commandments can be fulfilled. For the Divine purpose of creation is that the infinite light of G-d should be drawn down within the finite space, the “boundaries”, of creation.
If the descent into the world allows the soul to fulfill the Divine purpose, and thus elevate itself to even greater heights, why does the verse use the term “fall”, which implies descent?
Rashi offers two interpretations.
The first is that the term “fall” refers to the lottery that is cast in order to divide the land among the tribes. The mystical interpretation of the lot is as follows: when the soul is in heaven it experiences the Divine reality and is therefore filled with love and awe to the creator. Its relationship with G-d is based on its understanding and experience of God's greatness. When the soul descends, it loses its Divine awareness. The love and awe are no longer felt naturally. Instead, the soul reaches the level of “lottery”. A lottery is not decided based on logic; the lottery represents a level deeper than logic. While in heaven the soul’s relationship with G-d was conditioned on its understanding, on this earth the soul, lacking the understanding and awareness, experiences an even deeper level of connection. The unconditional bond. The lottery.
Rashi’s second interpretation as to why the Torah uses the term “fall” is: “the Holy One, blessed is He, cast down from Heaven the celestial ministers of the seven nations, and shackled them before Moshe.” When the soul responds to the descent into this world, to the “fall” from its heavenly state, by cultivating the “lot”, the unconditional bond to G-d, then G-d removes all obstacles that stand in the way of man’s service.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Masei vol. 13 sicha 2)
Optimism at the Plains of Moab
The fourth book of the Torah, the book of Numbers, is, in many ways, a sad book. The book begins on a very positive note; the Jewish people were preparing to travel from Mount Sinai and, in a matter of days, enter the land of Israel. And then, to our painful disappointment, we read about the debacle of the spies, when the Jewish people despised and rejected the land of Israel. G-d, in turn, decreed that the entire generation would remain in the desert.
The very last verse of the book, however, allows us to revisit the entire book and see it in a positive light. The concluding verse of the book reads as follows:
These are the commandments and the ordinances that the Lord commanded the children of Israel through Moses in the plains of Moab, by the Jordan at Jericho.
The Hebrew words BiArvot Moav {in the plains of Moab}, have an additional meaning as well. The Hebrew word BiArvot {in the plains of} comes from the word guarantor. And the word Moab means from the father (Moab's name was a reference to the episode where Lot's daughters, thinking that the entire world was destroyed at the destruction of the evil city of Sedom, had children from their father). Taken together, the phrase alludes to the idea that children are the guarantors of their parents.
The concluding episode of the fourth book relates to the daughters of Tzelafchad, who cherished and desired the land of Israel. They demanded, and were granted, their deceased father’s portion in Israel. (The book concludes with the request of their tribe that Tzelafchad’s portion remain within the domain of the tribe. They, therefore, married members of their tribe). The book's conclusion, then, points to the inner theme of the book: that no matter how severe the failings, the children can correct the mistakes of the previous generations. By learning from the past, by cultivating a desire for the land of Israel, the generation of the daughters of Tzelafchad elevated and rectified the mistakes and missed opportunities of their forbearers.
The conclusion of the fourth book then expresses the Torah's optimistic outlook: ultimately, the painful mistakes and experiences within our personal life, as well as throughout our history, will be corrected. We have the potential, and therefore the responsibility, to rectify the past. We can cross into the Promised Land, ushering in the era of Moshiach, when the world will reach perfection.
Adapted from the Sifsei Kohen al Hatorah
Journeys or Encampments?
The final portion of the Book of Numbers begins with the recounting of the forty-two places where the Jewish people camped as they traveled from Egypt to the bank of the Jordan River:
These are the journeys of the children of Israel who left the land of Egypt in their legions, under the charge of Moses and Aaron. (Numbers 33:1)
The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, explains that these encampments are relevant to every Jew because each of us experiences these forty-two journeys throughout our lives, beginning with birth (when we leave the “Land of Egypt”) until one concludes one’s mission on this planet, at the figurative “bank of the Jordan River”, ready to enter the “supreme life in the supernal land”. The Baal Shen Tov goes on to explain that while, on the surface, some of the encampments represent negative experiences, in the spiritual life of a Jew, these events could play out in a positive sense. For example:
Kivros HaTaavah {lit., “the graves of the craving”, the place where the people who craved meat were punished by a plague} is associated with the aspect of Chochmah {wisdom, enlightenment}, because “over there, they buried those with cravings.” Meaning, physical desires cease to exist for those who attain the attribute of Chochmah out of their intense embrace of G-d.
The Torah refers to the encampments as “Journeys” {“Masei”} as opposed to what they really are, namely “encampments” {“Chanayot”}, in order to emphasize a profound teaching. A Jew must always be in a state of “Journey”, never satisfied with their current spiritual state, always seeking to escape the confines of their own limitations. No matter what level or achievement one attains, if he is comfortable in that space, and is not motivated to progress from his present position, he is in a state of spiritual Egypt (“Mitzrayim” etymologically related to the word of limitation and straits).
Reading the list of journeys in the desert, and reflecting on our own personal life journey, we will inevitably see occasions of setback, negativity, and pain. The Torah helps us understand that these experiences, too, can become not encampments, places where our growth is stifled and held back, but rather part of the journey forward. The negative experience itself can become fuel for longing and love, propelling us to positivity and holiness.
For indeed, every experience in our life, can and should become a part of our journey forward.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 23 Masei 1
Too Much of Sinai?
Thirty six days before his passing, on the first day of the Hebrew month of Shvat, Moses began his final series of talks to his beloved people. He spoke words of rebuke, inspiration and hope. Moses related the story of their leaving Mount Sinai after being there for almost a year. At that point, before the sin of the spies, they were heading straight for the land of Israel.
Moses stated:
The Lord our God spoke to us in Horeb (Sinai), saying, 'You have dwelt long enough at this mountain. Turn and journey, and come to the mountain of the Amorites and to all its neighboring places, in the plain, on the mountain, and in the lowland, and in the south and by the seashore, the land of the Canaanites, and the Lebanon, until the great river, the Euphrates River.
G-d said “You have dwelt long enough at this mountain”, G-d said to the Jewish people “enough already”, you have had too much of Sinai. This seems quite strange. Wasn't the revelation at Sinai the most important event in our history, the foundation of our religion and the basis of all of the Torah? How can one have “too much” of Sinai? What can be better or more spiritually uplifting than camping at the foot of Sinai?
Herein lies the first lesson of this verse:
Sinai was a great place to be. The revelation at Sinai was the most formative experience of our people. Having said that, there came a moment when dwelling at Sinai became a distraction. The moment came when G-d told the Jewish people that it was time to take the Sinaic inspiration and bring it to day-to-day life in the land of Israel. You have been there too long, says the verse, it is time to face the real world.
Rashi, the primary commentary of the Torah, offers a homiletic interpretation of the verse:
Aggadic explanation: I have given you much greatness and reward for your having dwelt at this mountain: you made the Mishkan, the Menorah, and the [other] furnishings; you received the Torah; you appointed a Sanhedrin for yourselves, and captains over thousands and captains over hundreds.
Rashi interprets the verse to mean, not that you have spent too much time at Sinai, but rather, you have achieved much at Sinai. What have you achieved at Sinai? Rashi enumerates the achievements: you made a Mishkan, a dwelling place for G-d, and a Menorah, you received the Torah, and you appointed a Sanhedrin (supreme court) and a system of Justice. What about the most important achievement? What about experiencing the divine revelation? Moses himself spends a good chunk of next week's portion describing the revelation at Sinai:
For ask now regarding the early days that were before you, since the day that God created man upon the earth, and from one end of the heavens to the other end of the heavens, whether there was anything like this great thing, or was the likes of it heard? Did ever a people hear God's voice speaking out of the midst of the fire as you have heard, and live?
When Moses told the Jewish people to pack their bags and depart the camp at the foot of Mount Sinai, the people were surely unhappy. They certainly preferred to remain in spiritual paradise, they must have feared the possibility of losing inspiration, vision and spiritual resolve. Moses reassured them. He told them not to worry. He told them that after all the time spent at Sinai they certainly had the tools to continue their journey to the promised land. Therefore, when Moses enumerated the achievements at Sinai he mentioned, not the revelation itself, but rather he spoke of the Menorah, the study of Torah and the court system. These were symbols, not of an earth-shattering, awe-inspiring experience, but rather these were symbols of a divine wisdom being implemented into daily life. Moses understood that Sinai was spiritual bliss, but to fulfill the purpose of creation, to connect heaven and earth, the Jewish people needed to follow specific steps, they needed to introduce measured, consistent, spirituality into their lives.
Moses taught an important lesson. Yes, the occasional spiritually intense moment is critical. Yes, once a year we need to experience a Yom Kippur, a day in which we are like angels in heaven. But that it is not enough. The question we ask ourselves is, not how often do we feel as spiritual as we do on Yom Kippur, but rather, the question is, what specific action will we take today to ensure that our life is imbued with the light of the Torah's teachings?
Moses The Translator
Why him? Why could he not have found someone else to translate the manuscript?
The fifth book of the five books of Moses, describes the last thirty seven days of Moses’ life. In the fifth book Moses repeats many of the laws of the Torah, he rebukes the people and retells some of major events of the previous forty years.
In addition to all that, Moses also took on a new role: until this point Moses was the conveyer of the Torah, communicating the Divine wisdom to the Jewish people, at this point Moses became the first translator of the Torah, as the verse states:
On that side of the Jordan, in the land of Moab, Moses commenced and explained this Torah, saying.
Quoting the words “explained this Torah” Rashi says:
He explained it to them in seventy languages.
Why would Moses decide to involve himself in the translation? His audience, the children of Israel about to enter the Promised Land, all spoke Hebrew and had no practical use for a translation of the Torah in Egyptian, Babylonian or Chinese. Why would Moses spend the last days of his life translating the Torah, instead of delegating the task to other people? Centuries later, as the Jews scattered to every corner of the planet and began to speak all languages, the translation of the Torah would become an important priority, but why would it not suffice for the great scholars of subsequent generations to translate the Torah? Why did Moses himself have to dedicate the last days of his life to the translation?
Language captures culture. Each language captures a unique perspective, a distinctive way of understanding the world. Each language represents a particular point of view based on the culture of the people speaking that language. That is why translation is a tricky business. It’s not enough to translate the word, the translator needs to convey an idea, a phenomenon, that is unique to one culture.
Moses, therefore, understood that translating the Torah was not just a pragmatic need that could be left to the future generations. He understood that the translation was essential to the purpose of Torah. The Torah, G-d’s infinite will and wisdom, is relevant not just in Hebrew and not just to the people living in ancient Israel who were dealing with the challenges and environment of their specific times. The Torah is the ultimate truth, it is therefore applicable to all places, to all times, to all cultures, and it therefore can, and must, be translated into all languages.
There is also a deep mystical meaning in translating the Torah into seventy languages. The central idea of the Torah is oneness. The goal of the Torah is to unite all people with the one G-d. The seventy languages, by contrast, are the source of division between people. In the beginning of time, the Torah teaches, all people spoke one language, which led them to experience a deep sense of unity. They tried to preserve the unity by constructing the Tower of Babel. G-d, however, decided to disrupt their unity by confusing their language, thus forcing them to scatter across the earth. The seventy languages, then, represent the division between people, while the Torah seeks to unite the people with each other, and all people with the unity of the creator. The act of translating the Torah, therefore, is an awesome spiritual undertaking. An undertaking so radical it had to be spearheaded by Moses himself. The act of translation is the bridge which brings the unity of G-d into the diversity of existence. It is the thread that transforms diversity into harmony.
As we read about the last precious days of Moses’s life, we take this message to heart. We hear about Moses translating the Torah and we understand that, yes, the message of the Torah is as true in ancient Hebrew as it is in modern English. We remind ourselves that we too must be translators of the Torah carrying on the task of connecting the plurality of existence with the oneness of G-d, and revealing that the incredible diversity of the universe is an expression of the one G-d.
Allow them to Fail?
What took them so long? Why did it take the Jewish people forty years to cross the Sinai Desert?
In the opening of the fifth book of the Torah, the Book of Deuteronomy, Moses retells the history of the forty year journey and address this question. In the second verse of the book the Torah states:
“It is eleven days' journey from Horeb [Mt. Sinai] by way of Mount Seir to Kadesh Barnea [just south of Israel’s southern border]."
In the next verse we read that forty years later they were still in the desert:
It came to pass in the fortieth year, in the eleventh month, on the first of the month, that Moses spoke to the children of Israel…
By juxtaposing these two verses the Torah is implying that there are two possible answers to the question of how long it takes to get from Sinai to Israel: the journey could either eleven days or forty years.
How long does it take to cross the desert? Well, if the journey is one where the people are passive participants, being led by G-d who is sheltering and protecting them from internal and external harm and conflict, if the journey is one in which the people are the mere recipients of G-d’s blessing and, like a loving parent he solves all their problems, then, indeed, it is an eleven day journey. If Moses would have discouraged the people from sending spies, if Moses could have protected them from failing, he would have been able to lead them quickly and decisively to the border of Israel.
Moses explained to the people that they could have arrived in Israel in eleven days. Moses could have protected them from facing challenges, and sheltered them from the possibility of failure. Yet, had that been the case, they would have eventually experienced disappointment and pain; they would not have had the tools to survive, overcome, and transform, when they reached their destination.
If however the people were to reach Israel on their own accord, by the fruit of their own effort, then the duration of the journey was forty years. If they were to learn to trust their inner voice of inspiration, if they were to learn to conquer their own fears, find the courage to believe in their own ability and awaken a desire to enter the land, if they were to cross the desert, literally as well as figuratively, with their own effort, then the journey and the transformation would take forty years.
As parents, we sometimes feel that we must step in and protect our children from failure. Here, for example, is an excerpt from a review of the book 'The Gift of Failure’ which describes the phenomenon:
Any day they can “help” their child — on the playground, rushing breathlessly from sandbox to swings to ensure nobody gets hurt; at home, shuttling forgotten lunches or assignments to school and doing the student’s homework; in class, contesting grades; or at sports, second-guessing coaches and referees — they reassure themselves that “Yes, you are a good parent today.” It’s a parent’s ego trip, but children pay the price. When parents try to engineer failure out of kids’ lives, Lahey says, kids feel incompetent, incapable, unworthy of trust and utterly dependent. They are, she argues, unprepared when “failures that happen out there, in the real world, carry far higher stakes.”
To express true love we must withhold the urge to solve all our children's challenges.
We learn from Moses that true parental love is allowing the child to fail in a safe environment. We must allow them to realize that they can survive defeat and recover from setbacks. We must teach them to find strength within themselves to work their way through pain, to overcome failure and transform pain and disappointment into a drive for even greater success.
In Your Own Voice
The fifth book of the five books of Moses,“Devarim”, Which means words, is named for the opening statement in the book:
“These are the words which Moses spoke to all Israel on that side of the Jordan”.
The Torah continues:
It came to pass in the fortieth year, in the eleventh month, on the first of the month, that Moses spoke to the children of Israel according to all that the Lord had commanded him regarding them;
Toward the end of Moses’s life, as the Jews were about to cross the Jordan and enter the promised land, Moses spoke to his beloved people. He repeated all the commandments written in the first four books and he retold the stories of their sins and shortcomings of the past forty years, in hopes that his words would help them learn and grow from their negative experiences.
While the first four books are written in third person narrative, (as in the very common verse “And G-d spoke to Moses”), the fifth book is written in first person narrative, in the voice of Moses himself. This difference is significant. It represents a change in the role of Moses, and a change in the way we are to understand the Torah.
Moses received the Torah from G-d and transmitted it to us. Moses’s role was to be a loyal conduit who would convey the words of the Torah precisely as they were given to him. In the fifth book, however, Moses was no longer a mere transmitter, in the fifth book, the words, ideas and teachings were internalized within Moses, he therefore spoke them in his own voice.
This explains how both themes of the book of Devarim, the repetition of the Torah in Moses’s own voice and the words of rebuke, are interrelated. The purpose of rebuke was to inspire the Jewish people to return to G-d. What was the inspiration to return? How would a person who rejected the voice of morality, and the will of G-d, be inspired to return? Returning to G-d, then, comes not from heeding the voice from above, but rather from listening to the voice that emanates from within ourselves. The inspiration, commitment and courage to return to G-d comes from the teachings and values of the Torah that have become part of the Jew. Returning to G-d means listening to the words of Torah, not as they are communicated from heaven, but rather as they emanate from deep within the heart of the Jew.
Like Moses, we too, in our own study of the Torah, experience both these steps. At first we listen and learn. We seek to hear and understand that which the Torah is teaching us. This is the first stage, the stage represented by the first four books, in which we seek to receive the divine words handed down to us.
And then we arrive at the fifth book. It may not happen overnight, it may take forty years of wandering, but over time we began to discover the ideas of the Torah presented within our deepest self. Over time, the words of the Torah become our own. We identify with them, and they express our own point of view. In the second stage of study, in the fifth book, we speak the words of Torah in our own voice.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei sichos vol. 19 Divarim Sicha 2.)
Transformative Words
The fifth book of the Torah opens with no less than nine descriptions of the precise location from where Moses began to speak to the people thirty six days before his passing. As the opening verse of the book tells us:
These are the words which Moses spoke to all Israel on that side of the Jordan in the desert, in the plain opposite the Red Sea, between Paran and Tofel and Lavan and Hazeroth and Di Zahav.
The problem with the verse however, is that some of these locations do not exist and some of them that do exist were nowhere near where the Jews were at that time! Rashi addresses this problem and explains that this verse is an example of Moses’s sensitivity and love for the people. Moses intended to rebuke the people for their sins over the previous forty years, yet he did not want to embarrass them, so he concealed the sin and alluded to it by evoking the name of the place which referenced the specific sin.
Since these are words of rebuke and he [Moses] enumerates here all the places where they angered the Omnipresent, therefore it makes no explicit mention of the incidents [in which they transgressed], but rather merely alludes to them, [by mentioning the names of the places] out of respect for Israel.
But if Moses was concerned about respecting the people of Israel, why then does he, later in the portion, describe some of their sins explicitly and with great detail? If Moses began with a veiled rebuke to protect the dignity of the people, why does he then proceed to speak about the sins directly?
One interpretation (see Alshich) is straightforward: Moses feared that if he began with an explicit rebuke the people would refuse to continue listening, he therefore began with a veiled rebuke. When he saw that the Jewish people were accepting his words, he realized that he could speak directly and the people would still listen, he therefore continued the speech discussing the sins directly.
The Chassidic commentary offers deeper insight.
Sin and betrayal is cause for pain and negativity. Yet when a person corrects the sin and heals the betrayal, the experience is transformed. The pain caused by the sin can become a powerful motivator to correct the mistake and strengthen the relationship, fueling a greater bond and passion. Once corrected, the sin is no longer negative and shameful, for it has been transformed into fuel for positivity and growth.
Moses began speaking to the Jewish people with veiled rebuke. Those words penetrated their hearts and caused them to return to G-d. At that point there was no need to hide the negative experiences because they had become engines of growth, and a source of tremendous passion and enthusiasm in their relationship with G-d.
The first portion of the fifth book is always read just before the ninth of Av, the day of mourning for the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. We can either experience the sadness and pain of the day, or we can transform the pain into motivation and fuel to bring us closer to G-d and to each other. The choice is ours.
(Mayanah Shel Torah)
Two Forms of Urban Life
There are two words in Biblical Hebrew for the word city. The common word, used in the overwhelming majority of cases is ir, the second word is kiryah.
There are two words for city, because there are two types of cities. The two cities may look the same, they both have shops and boulevards, parks and homes, yet there is a profound difference between them. The ir is a city that houses many individuals, the kiryah is a place where the many individuals experience social cohesion. They feel interconnected and interdependent, part of one social fabric. The kiryah is more than a collection of individuals, the people in the kiryah are united, they care for each other and they view the needs of their neighbor as their own. In short, the ir is a collection of individuals, the kiryah is a community.
In our portion Moses uses the word kiryah to describe the cities that the Jewish people conquered east of the Jordan:
From Aroer which is on the edge of the valley of Arnon, and from the city that is in the valley, even unto Gilead, there was not a kiryah (city) too high for us: the Lord our God delivered up all before us. (Deuteronomy 2:36)
During wartime the unity of a city, and the cohesion of its inhabitants, is critical. For the city to survive a large scale threat, each individual person must suspend their personal wellbeing and work to save the collective city. Therefore when Moses describes the fortitude of the enemy they overcame, he mentions, not only their physical strength, but their spiritual strength as well: they were a kiryah, united and connected. This highlights the great miracle that the Jewish people were successful in conquering cities that were physically fortified and, perhaps more importantly, spiritually fortified.
[Kiryah also appears regarding the commandment to establish cities of refuge to protect the inadvertent killer, the Torah states:
You shall designate (vihikrisem) cities for yourselves; they shall be cities of refuge for you, and a murderer who killed a person unintentionally shall flee there. (Numbers 35:11).
The word the Torah uses for “designate” is vihikrisem, which is the same root as the word kiryah. The Torah is telling us that in order for the city of refuge to have the desired effect of rehabilitation and atonement, we must ensure that the city of refuge is indeed a kiryah. The inadvertent killer was not careful enough in protecting human life, for him to be rehabilitated and healed, he must learn to transcend his own ego and care for others as much as he is concerned about himself. The city of refuge, then must be a place whose inhabitants exemplify unity and concern for one another. Therefore the commandment to establish the city of refuge literally reads “transform the city into a kiryah”.]
As the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, Moses introduced the concept of kiryah. There are many cities that are united around a common cause that all members of the society can relate to. Yet in order for the Jewish people to succeed they would have to produce a deeper level of kiryah, a deeper level of unity and connection, one that would run deeper than the unity based on a common cause and benefit. The Jewish people are able to create a kiryah, a united society, because at our core we are one, we are part of the same spiritual soul and energy. If we are to be successful in creating a healthy society in Israel, we must tap into the part of our soul that is one with the souls of our fellow, and sense the oneness. We must create a kiryah, where each individual is part of a greater collective united community.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 29 Devarim 1).
Eleven Day Journey
Deuteronomy, where Moses retells the history of the forty-year journey in the desert, begins with verses that describe the place and time of Moses' speech. Verse one describes the site, "across the Jordan in the desert, in the plain opposite the Red Sea, between Paran and Tofel and Lavan and Hazeroth and Di Zahav.", and verse three describes the time, "It came to pass in the fortieth year, in the eleventh month, on the first of the month".
Between the description of the place and time, verse two offers information that seems out of place. The verse tells us: "It is eleven days' journey from Horeb by way of Mount Seir to Kadesh Barnea." Why is this information pertinent as an introduction to the book?
Based on the teachings of the Arizal, Chassidic philosophy explains that this verse includes the purpose and mission of the journey through the desert. The desert is not merely a geographical obstacle that the Jewish people had to cross in order to reach the promised land. The desert represents the terrain of the world that is not hospitable to holiness. By journeying through the desert, the Jewish people brought holiness into the spiritual wilderness, empowering all future generations to do the same, until ultimately, the entire world will be transformed into a place of goodness, kindness, and holiness.
And this is the significance of the eleven-day journey.
While the number ten represents the complete number within the realm of holiness (there are ten divine attributes, ten utterances through which G-d created the world, ten commandments that are the foundation of the Torah), the number eleven represents the forces and energy of unholiness. Why is unholiness represented by a higher number than holiness? Every creation, even one which is destructive and unholy, has a divine spark that brings it into existence. The definition of holiness is that the divine spark is integrated within the creation because the created entity allows the divine spark to shine through it. The definition of unholiness is that it conceals and obstructs the divine spark of goodness within it; the spark, therefore, is counted as a distinct entity. The number eleven, therefore, represents unholiness which contains ten attributes as well as the divine spark, which, while animating the unholy creation, remains distinct and apart.
The incense offered in the temple had eleven ingredients. The incense represented the service of refining the unholy forces. Therefore, it had eleven species, symbolizing how a negative experience can be transformed to positivity, creating a pleasant aroma within the temple.
The journey through the desert is described as "by way of Mount Seir to Kadesh Barnea", "Kadesh" is the Hebrew word for holiness, and "Barnea" is comprised of two words: to refine {bar} and movement {"nua"}. The purpose of our journey through life is to refine (Barnea) the unholiness (eleven) and transform it to holiness (Kadesh).
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Devarim 5742
Protesting the Blessing of Moses
Moses blessed the Jewish people, but they protested.
At the beginning of the book of Deuteronomy, where Moses retells the history of the Jewish people's journey through the desert, Moses blesses the Jewish people. He said to them:
May the Lord God of your forefathers add to you a thousandfold as many as you are, and may He bless you, as He spoke concerning you! (Deuteronomy 1:11)
Rashi explains that when Moses blessed the people that they should increase one thousand fold, the Jewish people protested by telling Moses that he was limiting their blessing, as G-d had promised Abraham that his descendants would be too many too count:
They {the Israelites} said to him, "Moses, you are limiting our blessings {i.e., our numbers being multiplied only a thousandfold}. The Holy One, blessed is He, already promised to Abraham, 'so that if a man will be able to count {the dust of the earth, so will your seed be counted}!'" [Moses] replied to them: "This [blessing of a thousandfold] is mine, but He will bless you as He spoke concerning you!"
G-d offered the Jewish people a limitless blessing; why would Moses then add a limited one? What does Moses' limited blessing contribute above and beyond G-d's limitless one?
Many spiritual seekers seek to grasp the infinite. Their soul feels confined by everyday reality; they desire to transcend reality and to be enveloped by the infinite light. Judaism, however, offers a radically different approach. Our relationship with G-d is a marriage between the finite and the infinite. In a healthy marriage, each partner contributes of their own unique identity to create something more significant than the sum of their parts. In our union with the infinite G-d, we must offer our unique and finite contribution, which is spelled out in meticulous detail in the laws of the Torah.
Moses tells the Jewish people that while the Divine blessing is limitless, we must offer a limited blessing which is our limited input. Only then do we create a meaningful relationship with the Divine; only then do we reach true infinity, which is not confined to the realm of infinite but can express itself in the finite reality.
This conversation between the Jewish people and Moses is recorded in the beginning of the fifth book as the Jewish people were listening to Moses' final words, preparing to cross the Jordan River and settle the land of Israel. Perhaps this conversation captures the challenge that lay ahead. For they were now being called upon to express the abstract, undefined, infinite sense of holiness and spirituality they experienced in the desert, within the confines of order and structure within the society they would create in the holy land.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Devarim 19:4
When and How to Critique
Moses had a lot to say.
The entire book of Deuteronomy consists of the words Moses spoke during the last thirty-seven days of his life. Words in which he retold the history of the prior forty years, which included not only Divine miracles and the extraordinary revelation at Sinai but also words of rebuke.
The Torah tells us the precise date when Moses began speaking the words of rebuke:
it came to pass in the fortieth year, in the eleventh month, on the first of the month, that Moses spoke to the children of Israel according to all that the Lord had commanded him regarding them; (Deuteronomy 1:3)
Yet, the Torah also informs us that this date was:
After he had smitten Sihon, king of the Amorites, who dwelt in Heshbon, and Og, king of the Bashan, who dwelt in Ashtaroth in Edrei. (Deuteronomy 1:4)
Rashi explains why the Torah emphasizes that Moses spoke after the conquest of the land of Sichon and Og, a fact that was well known as it was recorded in great detail earlier in the Torah.
After He had smitten [Sihon]: Moses said: If I rebuke them before they enter [at least] part of the land, they will say, “What [claim] has this [man] on us? What good has he ever done for us? He has come only to vex us and to find some pretext, for he does not have the power to bring us into the land.” Therefore he [Moses] waited until he had defeated Sihon and Og before them and had given them possession of their land, and [only] afterwards did he rebuke them.
Rashi teaches us a profound insight. Although Moses loved his people and was devoted to them unconditionally, he understood that, for whatever reason, the people did not necessarily appreciate the love. Moses understood that the prerequisite to offering words of critique is that the receiver feel appreciated, safe, and loved. Moses understood that as long as the people did not appreciate his devotion to them, he could not critique them.
Moses waited.
Moses waited thirty-nine years before he told the people the words of rebuke, which were motivated by his love for them. He waited thirty-nine years to ensure that they could hear the love in the rebuke.
This is a lesson for us in our relationships. Before offering constructive criticism it is insufficient that our words emanate from a place of love rather than from our own ego. To help someone grow, it is not enough to love someone with all our heart; rather, we must ensure that they sense the love.
Seeker of Wisdom
While Moses was barred from crossing the Jordan ever and entering the land promised to his forefathers, he did merit to lead the conquest and then the settlement of the lands east of the Jordan, thus meriting to begin the process of settling his beloved people in the promised land, concluding his life’s mission.
Then, just a few weeks before his passing, Moses designates three cities of refuge in the lands which east of the Jordan river, to serve as a safe haven for anyone who killed another unintentionally:
Then Moses decided to separate three cities on the side of the Jordan towards the sunrise, so that a murderer might flee there, he who murders his fellow man unintentionally, but did not hate him in time past, that he may flee to one of these cities, and he will live.
Those last words “and he will live” teach us, says the Talmud, that we must not only provide for a place for the unintentional murderer to flee, but that the place must be a place that is conducive to and can support a life. As the Talmud explains:
These cities of refuge [...] should be medium size towns; they are to be established only in the vicinity of a water supply [...] they are to be established only where there are marketplaces. What is the verse [that teaches us these laws]? The verse states: "and he shall flee to one of these cities and live", which means — we must provide him with arrangements that will enable him to live.
This idea - that we must provide an environment that will enable the unintentional murderer to live - leads to another law. As Maimonides explains:
When a student is exiled to a city of refuge, his teacher is exiled together with him. This is derived from the verse which states: "He shall flee to one of these cities, and he shall live." Implied, is that everything necessary for his life must be provided for him.
Therefore, a students must be provided with his teacher, for the life of one who possesses knowledge and seeks it without Torah study is considered to be death.
This law is astonishing. Granted that there are a select few for whom life without knowledge of Torah is like life without water - and perhaps we would be obliged to force their teacher to move into the city of refuge so that they will be able to “live” - but how can we apply this law to all students? Can we indeed say that every last student is a person who “possesses knowledge and seeks it” to the extent that a life without Torah “ is considered to be death”?
The answer, of course, is a resounding yes.
We look at ourselves, we look at our children, we look at our students, and we sometimes tell ourselves that we are superficial beings. That we care about materialism more than wisdom and spiritual enlightenment. We look at a student making trouble in a classroom and we say “this child will never make a good student”, we say “this child will never understand”. This attitude, says the Talmud, is a terrible mistake. The student making trouble, although he is not yet a “possessor of wisdom”, his heart is a “seeker of wisdom”. Deep down he is a person to whom spiritual wisdom is not just an enjoyable luxury but it is absolute necessity.
If you are the teacher, and each and every one of us is a teacher in some form, if you crossed the path of a child - or of a grown up who is spiritually still a child - it is your obligation to see “the seeker of wisdom” within this child. It is your obligation to discover the spark and reveal the essence. It is your obligation to help the child discover the beauty of a life imbued with wisdom. Help the child discover that he or she is a “seeker of wisdom”.
Learning from the Day
It’s a beautiful summer day. The August sun is shining, the pleasant summer breeze is blowing and the waters of the Long Island Sound beckon. My good friend says to me: “perhaps I don't have to read the weekly Torah portion so carefully this week. After all, in this part of Deuteronomy the biblical plot does not advance significantly, the story does not take any unexpected turns, there are no major historical events that take place, no earth shattering miracles, and as far as I can tell, no significant character development occurring in this part of the story”. “Perhaps”, my friend continues, “I’ll tune out for a week, and when I return the Jews will still be at the same spot: at the bank of the Jordan River, opposite the city of Jericho listening to Moses speaking to them.”
“You must be kidding” I say. Yes, perhaps, the plot does not twist and turn, but this week’s portion touches upon Judaism's deepest philosophical truths. Studying this portion gives us the understanding and the tools to face some of life’s most challenging philosophical and emotional questions. Listening to the Torah portion this week gives us the ability to thrive not only on a beautiful summer day, but also in the figurative, cold, cloudy, bitter, winters of our life.
The big question, one that every person encounters at some point in their life, is: what is the nature of darkness? How are we to view the darkness in the world around us? How do we explain the challenges, the pain, the loneliness that we sometimes see in the world and how do we think about the darkness that, to one degree or another, lies within ourselves?
Some philosophies offer an easy answer. They argue that G-d is the source of all good, that any and all good in the world should be attributed to Him alone. The darkness, however, has nothing to do with G-d. All darkness, all tragedy, all pain, has a different source, some call it Satan, but you can call it whatever you want, the important thing, they argue, is that darkness does not come from the G-d who is the source of all good, and who is the source of nothing but good.
Their answer, however, does not work for us Jews. One of the most important principles, if not the most important principle, is that G-d is one. In this week’s portion, in what is one of the most famous verses in the Torah, one that we are commanded to read twice every day, the Torah states:
Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God; the Lord is one.
“The Lord is one” means that there are no two sources of power, one the source of goodness and one the source of darkness and evil. If that were the case there would be, heaven forbid, two Lords. “The Lord is one” means that there is only one source of power in the universe. One source that is responsible for both the good and the bad, both the light as well as the darkness.
On the first day of creation the Torah states “And it was evening and it was morning day one”. The Torah does not say “first day”, which is linguistically consistent with the subsequent days of creation where the Torah writes “second day” “third day” etc., instead the Torah writes “day one”. Chasidic Philosophy teaches that the expression “one day” captures a profound truth: the twenty four hour cycle that is “day one” is not complete unless it contains evening and morning, both darkness and light. Both parts of the day, unite to become “day one”. Or, to put it in other words, it is not a complete ”day” unless it transforms both darkness and light into “one” entity.
Right there, on the very first page of the Torah, on the very first day of creation, the Torah alludes to the purpose of darkness on earth. The Torah tells us that the darkness within ourselves, the evil inclination of our animal soul, was placed in our hearts in order to be transformed to light. The darkness in the world was created so humanity could dispel it and move from “evening” to “morning”.
In the words of Moses:
And you shall know this day and consider it in your heart, that the Lord is God in heaven above, and upon the earth below; there is none else.
“This day”: just as the darkness and light are two sides of the same day, so too “know” that the “Lord”, the Divine power of expression, the source of light, and “G-d”: the Divine power to conceal, the source of darkness, are all one. “The Lord is G-d” the power of revelation and power of concealment are both one and the same. They come from the same G-d, and they are here to serve the same purpose: both express the oneness of G-d.
The same is true about the world within man.
The deepest relationship comes, not from the absence of challenges but rather from overcoming them. The deepest connection to G-d comes from being confronted by the power, the passion and drive of the evil inclination, and by channeling it to the love of G-d and to the spreading of light.
Hear the Oneness
To experience life on this earth is to experience opposite extremes. There are moments of creativity, love, joy and meaning, while there are other moments of frustration, pain, sadness and confusion. Likewise, when we look into our hearts we also find opposing drives: the selfish and the selfless, the animalistic and the G-dly, the inclination for good and the inclination for evil. These extremes are a source of tension that, to one degree or another, each of us experiences.
What advice does Judaism offer on how to manage these tensions? What insight does the Torah provide to help us make it through the times of darkness and confusion? In this week’s portion Moses speaks the phrase which, perhaps more than any other, captures Judaism's heart and soul, as well as relaying its message on how to navigate the stormy sea we call life.
Moses tells us that despite the tension we feel every day, despite the world being divided and fractured - as expressed so poetically by King Solomon in Ecclesiastes: “there is a time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot… A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time of wailing and a time of dancing… A time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace” - despite all of this, the true essence of our existence is oneness. As Moses states:
Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God; the Lord is one.
This message is so radical, so counterintuitive, so life changing that we are commanded to recite these words, as well as teach them to our children, not once but twice each and every day - once in the morning and once at night.
When we recite the words of the “Shema” prayer, we are telling ourselves and telling our children, that both the “morning”, the moments of life in which we feel the blessings of G-d shining upon us, as well as the “night”, the moments of darkness and challenge, are expressions of the one G-d. The Kabbalistic meaning of the phrase “the Lord (Hashem) is our G-d (Elokeynu)” is that the Divine power of expression and revelation (Hashem), as well as his power to conceal and hide his presence (Elokim), are, in truth, one and the same. The difference between revelation and concealment, between good and evil, between night and day, is only from our prospective. The truth however is that both are expressions of Godliness. There are times when G-d’s love, providence and protection is concealed, yet the central pillar of our faith is that G-d’s presence, although it may be hidden, exists and pervades all of reality.
The same is true for the opposing drives within our own heart. Immediately after declaring that at the core all of reality is oneness, Moses continues in the Shema: “And you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart”, Rashi, quoting the Midrash and the Mishnah, explains that “with all your heart” means “love Him with your two inclinations [the good and the evil].” What is true for the macro universe is also true for the micro universe, the one within the heart of man. Although we feel the evil inclination and the good inclination pulling us in completely different directions, although it seems that the animal soul and the G-dly soul do not share a common goal, the truth, however, is that at the core they are one. They were both created for the same purpose, and both are necessary in order for us to reach the purpose of our creation. The passion of the animal soul must be transformed to the love of G-d, not by suppressing the passion but by channeling it. At its core, the animal soul wants what is good for itself, once we teach it to develop a taste and an appreciation for spirituality, the passion and might of the animal soul will be reoriented, and the love to all that is positive, constructive and holy will be far greater than the love that the G-dly soul can produce on its own.
This then is Judaism's unique perspective: G-d is the one truth that pervades all existence and we, in turn, must create that oneness within our heart, channeling the animal soul’s immense passion toward the love of G-d.
Cover Your Eyes
Two spouses don’t seem to be able to relate to each other. Their perspectives are very different, they don’t see the world the same way. Their underlying values, what they consider significant, meaningful and worthy of pursuing, differ considerably between them.
Is their relationship doomed to failure? Is there anything they can do to strengthen the bond, to enhance their closeness?
Even before they can communicate, deliberate, negotiate and compromise, there is a more fundamental exercise that they must first engage in, in order for the relationship to survive and then thrive. The most important step, the one that will allow all further growth to occur, is that they each need to accept that the other person has a legitimate perspective. Each of them must practice “closing their eyes” to their own perspective, and, at least for a moment, learn how to see reality from the other person’s perspective.
This does not mean that anybody needs to abandon their own point of view, values, attitudes, and mindset. But they must each attempt to put their perspective aside, to “cover their eyes” on their own point of view, in order to appreciate and give legitimacy to the other perspective. Only then can they once again “open their eyes”, get in touch with their own mind and heart, and, overtime, learn how the different, occasionally opposing, perspectives can not only co-exist, but, in fact, can complement each other, leading to a far more interesting and far deeper experience.
This, precisely, is what we do when we recite the “Shema” every morning when we awake, and every evening as we prepare to go to sleep.
We are in a relationship with G-d. He is the groom and we are the bride. But make no mistake, the honeymoon is over. There are differences between us, and those differences run deep, and they touch the essential definitions of reality. From G-d’s perspective, He is the all pervading reality. After all, all of the universe is dependent on G-d’s vitality for its very existence. From G-d's perspective, the only significant thing, the only thing worth pursuing is connecting to G-dliness. Our perspective is different. From our point of view, reality is the physical world, pleasure and joy are derived from the material world.
In this week’s portion, Vaetchanan, Moses retells the history of the relationship. At first we fell in love with G-d’s perspective. At our wedding, at Sinai, G-d gave us a glimpse at his perspective. As Moses relates: “You have been shown, in order to know that the Lord He is God; there is none else besides Him. (Deuteronomy 4:35)” . At that awesome moment we felt that there was nothing else significant in the universe other than G-d.
But the wedding concluded, the music stopped playing, the excitement faded. Suddenly we realized that the perspective of G-d is very different from our own. We wonder is this relationship viable? Can we connect to a G-d whose perspective is so different from our own?
Moses has the answer. He tells us that twice a day we should recite the “Shema”. We cover our eyes with our right hand and we say:
Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God; the Lord is one.
We close our eyes, because we need to put our perspective aside. We need to acknowledge that although from our perspective we see not oneness but plurality, not one divine truth but a multiplicity of material needs and desires, nevertheless there is another perspective. We acknowledge and try to appreciate that we are able to close our eyes, remove ourselves, albeit momentarily, from our interpretation of reality and appreciate that from the perspective of G-d there is nothing but Divine unity, and all of the universe is but an expression of that truth.
And then we open our eyes, we once again accept our perspective. But at this point we are able to create a relationship that does not negate either of the perspectives, rather it fuses and enhances both perspectives. As Moses continues in the Shema prayer:
And these words, which I command you this day, shall be upon your heart. And you shall teach them to your sons and speak of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk on the way, and when you lie down and when you rise up. And you shall bind them for a sign upon your hand, and they shall be for ornaments between your eyes. And you shall inscribe them upon the doorposts of your house and upon your gates.
Despite our different perspectives, in fact, specifically because of our differences, we can experience a deep and meaningful relationship. We are able to connect the words of the Torah, the unity and love of G-d, to our daily life. Our material pursuits are sanctified because we use them as a conduit for holiness. Our daily life - when we walk on the road, lay down in the evening or rise in the morning, in the cities we create and the homes which we build - our homes and our gates - are imbued with spiritual meaning and Divine holiness.
When You Go on the Road
The Shema, the prayer that captures the essence of Judaism, is said by Moses in this week’s Torah portion. Moses commanded the Jewish people to recite the Shema twice every day, “when you lie down'' which is interpreted by the sages to mean in the evening, “and when you get up” which is interpreted to mean in the morning.
The words “and when you lie down and when you get up” are subject to a debate in the Mishnah. The sages of the House of Shammai believed that the verse addresses the position of one’s body when one recites the Shema. They explain that one is required to lay down during the recitation of the evening Shema, and stand up during the recitation of the morning Shema. While the sages of the House of Hillel believe that the Shema should be read in any position. As the Mishna explains:
Bet Shammai say: in the evening every man should recline and recite the Shema, and in the morning he should stand, as it says, “And when you lie down and when you get up”. Bet Hillel say that every man should recite in his own way, as it says, “And when you walk on the way”. Why then is it said, “And when you lie down and when you get up?” At the time when people lie down and at the time when people rise up. Rabbi Tarfon said: I was once walking by the way and I reclined to recite the Shema according to the words of Bet Shammai, and I incurred danger from robbers. They said to him: you deserved to come to harm, because you acted against the words of Bet Hillel. (Brachot 1:3)
This dispute is more than a specific debate about the meaning of the words “when you lie down and when you wake up”. The schools of Shammai and Hillel are debating a fundamental point about the nature and meaning of our relationship with G-d.
When reciting the words of the Shema, “Hear O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d the L-ord is one”, we focus on the existence of G-d and our relationship to Him. The House of Shammai believe that in order to experience a connection with G-d we have to cease “walking on our way”, and we have to align our bodies in the position spelled out in the Torah. The Shema, argue the House of Shammai is a time to cease our mundane activities and focus on G-d.
The House of Hillel disagree. The House of Hillel believe that the essence of our relationship with G-d is for our connection to permeate all areas of life. If the recitation of the Shema requires aligning the body in a specific way, that would mean that our connection to G-d is reserved for the specific times when we cease from our activities and focus exclusively on G-d. The House of Hillel teach that the Shema should be read “when you walk on the way”, in any position you may be in, without disengaging completely from natural life, while you are engaged in your activities. For the purpose of Judaism, and the calling of the Shema, is to allow the oneness of G-d to affect, inform and sanctify every aspect of our life.
(Nishmas Hamishnah)
Declaration of Faith or Lifestyle Manual?
The most important Jewish declaration, which we are commanded to recite every evening and every morning, appears in our Parsha. The Shema is the declaration of the unity of G-d: “Hear O Israel, the L-rd our G-d, the L-ord is one.
The Shema, however, is more than a declaration of faith. Abstract faith is not enough; Judaism teaches that our purpose is to impact life on earth. In the realm of faith, our connection to G-d is theoretical, the Shema reminds us that our relationship with G-d must permeate our daily lifestyle. The Shema then, is not merely a declaration of the unity of G-d, but rather, it is a manual of how to experience the Divine unity in every aspect of our life.
Thus, the Shema continues by describing how the idea of faith effects, not just our understanding, but our emotion as well:
You shall love the L-rd your G‑d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.
The Shema guides us on how to implement the unity of G-d in our thought, speech, and action.
We connect our thoughts to G-d through the study of Torah: And these words which I command you today shall be upon your heart. You shall teach them thoroughly to your children. We influence our speech through the recitation of the words of the Torah (and the words of the Shema): and you shall speak of them when you sit in your house and when you walk on the road, when you lie down and when you rise. The oneness of G-d permeates our action through the performance of the commandments, symbolized by the commandments to tie the Tefilin on our head and arm: You shall bind them as a sign upon your hand, and they shall be for a reminder between your eyes.
A personal relationship with G-d has been achieved, yet the Shema is not yet concluded. Because our task is to spread holiness, not only in our own space but rather, to the rest of the world as well. The Mezuzah, the words of the Shema written on parchment which we place on the posts of our doors, reminds us that the light of holiness must spread through the doors of our homes and the gates of our courtyards, and influence the rest of the world as well: And you shall write them upon the doorposts of your house and upon your gates.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Tzion Bimishpat Tipadeh, 5739)
Hand Tefillin vs. Head Tefillin
There is a subtle but significant difference between how the Torah describes the commandment to don the hand tefillin and the head tefillin. In this week's Torah portion. The Torah states:
And you shall bind them for a sign upon your hand, and they shall be for ornaments between your eyes. (Deuteronomy 6:8)
The commandment to wear the hand tefillin is introduced by a verb "you shall bind", whereas the head tefillin are described as "they shall be", without a commandment to take a specific action. This led the gaon of Rogotchov to conclude that there is a distinction between the definition of the commandments. The definition of the Mitzvah of the hand tefillin is the act of tying. Therefore, the commandment applies only to the first moment one binds the hand tefillin. By contrast, the definition of the commandment to wear the head Tefillin is ongoing. "They shall be", implies that the Mitzvah applies not to the action of placing them on the head but rather to every moment that they are on the head.
Although the Mitzvah to don the hand Tefillin applies only to the first moment, we nevertheless wear the hand Tefillin for as long as we wear the head Tefillin. But that is not because of the hand Tefillin per se, but rather as a result of wearing the head Tefillin. As the Talmud explains;
The verse states: "And you shall bind them for a sign upon your arm and they shall be for ornaments between your eyes," and it is derived from here: As long as the Tefillin of the head are between your eyes, the number of Tefillin you are wearing shall be two. (Talmud, Menachot 36a)
The varying definitions are a result of the spiritual significance of the commandments. The hand Tefillin, which is placed on the arm near the heart, represents emotions. Since a person can't control what he will feel, there can be no ongoing commandment regarding emotions. The commandment is only to "bind them". Binding is not an act of transformation; we are not commanded to transform our hearts, for that is impossible for most people, but rather, binding indicates that we keep our heart under control, not to allow negative emotions to take over our behavior. The head Tefillin, by contrast, represents thought and awareness, which are areas where a person does have absolute control at any moment to direct his thoughts toward holiness and positivity, thus the Mitzvah is constant and ongoing.
Ultimately, we are, however, able to affect our emotions indirectly. While one cannot change how one feels at any given moment, over time, the awareness of the mind does trickle down and affect the heart. Therefore, we wear the hand tefillin, as a result of and for as long as, we wear the head tefillin, in order to help facilitate the effect of the mind on the heart, ultimately instilling the love of G-d within our emotive experience.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 39 Vaeschanan 2
Know or Believe?
In his words to the Jewish people, reminding them of the great revelation at Sinai and enjoining them to remain loyal to G-d, Moses tells the Jewish people not to believe in G-d, but rather to “know” G-d:
You have been shown, in order to know that the Lord He is G-d; there is none else besides Him… And you shall know this day and consider it in your heart, that the Lord He is God in heaven above, and upon the earth below; there is none else. (Deuteronomy 4:35-39)
Faith in G-d is mentioned earlier in the Torah, at the crossing of the sea, where the Torah tells us:
And Israel saw the great hand, which the Lord had used upon the Egyptians, and the people feared the Lord, and they believed in the Lord and in Moses, His servant. (Exodus 14:31)
What did Moses mean when he said we must know G-d? Is knowing G-d the same as believing in G-d?
Unlike the popular phrase “seeing is believing”, Chasidic Philosophy explains that faith is not necessary for something that could be seen or sensed. Therefore, faith is not required in order to know that one has a soul, since the effects of the soul are clearly evident, as the body is alive and infused with consciousness. The same is true regarding the soul of the universe. As the book of Job states: “from my flesh I can see G-d”; meaning that just as we can sense our own soul bringing our body to life, so too we can sense the soul of the world, which is G-d Himself, within the life that we see around us.
Faith is required not in order to establish the existence of G-d, but rather in order to relate to the full extent of G-d’s infinity and transcendence. For the ray of Divine energy vivifying creation is insignificant in relation to the essence of G-d. It is the essence of G-d which no mind can grasp and which can only be accessed through faith.
When Moses tells us to know G-d, he is telling us to sense the presence of G-d within creation. Moses is telling us that when we look around and see life on earth with all its beauty and elegance, we are sensing the soul of the universe; we are sensing the presence of G-d.
(Adapted from Lekuteui Torah, Veyadatah Halom 4:1)
The Limits of Love
Love is powerful. Love is passionate. It allows strangers to overcome great distances, both physical and spiritual, it allows them to come together. It fuels the overcoming of great obstacles in the path of two distinct beings who want to become one. It is the glue that binds families, friends and all relationships. It is the force that brings a person to oneness with G-d.
Love is the focus of the first paragraph of the most important prayer in Judaism, the Shema, taken from the words of Moses to the Jewish people in the book of Deuteronomy: “And you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your might”.
Western culture and society preach love. They told us that a relationship can endure exclusively on love. They told us that ideally we should be in love every moment of our life. They told us to follow our hearts and fall in love.
And yet, they did not tell us the entire story.
They failed to mention that love is a torch of fire. Like fire, it keeps jumping, first up then down, never staying in one position. They failed to teach us that love's fiery passion, the force that overcomes great distance to bring people together, will have ups and downs just like a torch of fire. They failed to tell us that anybody who tells us that we can constantly experience a fiery love is lying to us.
They failed to tell us that in order to have a healthy relationship we must experience not only the love described in the Shema but also the fear-awe-respect described by Moses in this week's portion: “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord, your God, demand of you? Only to fear the Lord, your God, to walk in all His ways and to love Him, and to worship the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul”.
To have a balanced relationship one needs to experience love as well as awe.
Say we love our job. If we were to go to work only on the days we feel the burning love, we would be fired. For it is impossible to feel the love constantly. So what do we do when we don't feel the love? We go to work because we respect. We respect the needs of others. We respect that there are people counting on us, and the question of whether our heart is in the mood is beside the point.
Love is about me. My heart loves what makes me feel good. “All love returns to the lover”, means that the lover loves because the subject of his love is desirable to him.
For a relationship to survive there must be respect. Respect means that we are not focused on “what’s in it for me?”, but rather, we respect that there is another person with a differing point of view. While love is about the self, awe is about respect for the other.
This, parenthetically, is why the Hebrew word for awe - Yirah - is comprised of the same Hebrew letters as the Hebrew word for seeing - Reiyah. Love’s center of gravity is internal; I look to my heart to see what it wants. On the other hand, awe, the ability to acknowledge and respect the other’s existence, personality and point of view, is predicated on the ability to see outside of one’s frame of reference and relate to the perspective of the other.
G-d created the world with opposite forces, the force of expression and the force of restraint. The world was created by the expression of Divine energy, yet the divine energy is concealed within creation. These two forces are reflected in humanity. To connect is to express your love, express the fire burning in your heart. When the fire subsides, and it absolutely will, it is time to show respect. Hold back from expressing your own love, it is time to listen and feel the perspective of the other. Understand that your beloved is a distinct person entitled to their own personality and space.
And then, when your heart feels that you respect the boundaries of your beloved, when it senses that there are two distinct beings that respect each other despite not being in love at this moment, only then, the fire hidden in the soul will do what it was designed to do. It will surge into a flame of passion.
Moses is teaching us that, like any relationship, our relationship with G-d can only be supported by the two pillars of love and awe, of passion and respect.
Teach the Child
When we think about Torah scholarship we think of a vast library of Jewish books. We think of the great Jewish sages; we think of Moses, Hillel, Rabbi Akiva, Rashi, Maimonides, and the list goes on and on. When we think of scholarship,we do not usually think of a young boy or girl in the first grade reading the first verse of Genesis, or the first line of the Mishnah. Yet, the commandment to study the Torah is derived from the verse in the Shemah ”You shall teach them thoroughly to your children”, (repeated in this week's Parsha “You shall teach them to your children”).
Why is the commandment that the scholar study Torah derived from the commandment to teach a child? Isn't the child’s learning only a necessary first step in the process of intellectual enlightenment? Isn't the adult’s wisdom the key to true learning? Why is the Child’s learning the source of the scholar's commandment? The Torah must be telling us that there is something unique in a child’s learning that the adult must aspire to. We must therefore say that quintessential learning is the domain of a child.
In the Ethics of our Fathers, Elisha Ben Avuyah teaches:
One who learns Torah in his childhood, what is this comparable to? To ink inscribed on fresh paper. One who learns Torah in his old age, what is this comparable to? To ink inscribed on erased paper."
The first half of the statement, praising the study of Torah in childhood, is understood. We want to encourage young people to learn while their mind is still fresh and impressionable; yet the second half of the statement is perplexing. Why would we disparage the adult learner? Do we not remember that Rabbi Akiva, one of the all time greatest Torah scholars, began to study Torah at age forty? If Rabbi Akiva would have learnt about the "ink written on erased paper" would he not have been discouraged from learning - and one of the greatest minds would have been lost to the Jewish people?
The answer is as simple as it is profound:
The Mishnah is not telling us to learn when we are a child; but rather the Mishnah is telling us to learn like a child. Not to avoid learning in old age, but rather to avoid learning with the attitude of an adult. Often, the adult feels that he has seen it all. Often, he feels wise, full of knowledge, and in possession of the answers to all the big questions. A new idea cannot enter his mind unless it can squeeze through his existing knowledge. His mind is not interested in revolutions, it is interested in ideas that confirm his perspective and conform to his existing point of view.
The child, on the other hand, is curious, open to new insights, and intrigued by the mysteries of the universe. The child recognizes that the there is much he or she does not understand. The child harbors no illusion that he understands all there is to know. The child approaches learning with a thirst for ideas that will revolutionize his perspective and dramatically expand his intellectual horizons.
The Mitzvah to study Torah is derived from the words “teach them thoroughly to your children”, because to grasp the infinite Divine wisdom that is in the Torah one must cultivate the attitude of a child. One must understand that no matter how wise he is, he is merely a child compared to the infinity of the Torah’s wisdom.
The word for wisdom in Hebrew is "Chochmah", which is comprised of two words "koach" and "Mah" - the "power" of "what". Every intellectual and scientific breakthrough in history came about because someone possessed the strength of character, the "power", to ask "what". While the "experts" of the conventional wisdom were sure they understood all there was to know about the topic, there was a person with wisdom, with humility, with a child-like desire to question and learn, with a child-like openness to the mysteries of the universe. The breakthrough was possible only because somewhere someone retained the child's intrigue.
So when your mother told you to "always remain a child", she was articulating the Mishnah's point of view. She wasn't telling you to keep playing in the sandbox, she was saying: "you may have a PHD at the end of your name, but next time you pick up a book, do so with an open mind".
No need to worry, we’ll have plenty of time to evaluate and assess at a later point, but at the moment we must be humble, we must be curious, we must be open.
We must learn like a child.
Two Tablets
The Ten commandments are the foundation of the Torah. They encompass the most important principles of the Torah and therefore, unlike the rest of the Torah that was transmitted through Moses, the entire Jewish people heard the Ten Commandments spoken directly from G-d himself.
The Ten Commandments were inscribed on two tablets, each tablet containing five of the commandments. In this week’s portion, while retelling the story of Sinai Moses emphasizes that there were two tablets: “And it came to pass at the end of forty days and forty nights, that the Lord gave me two stone tablets, the tablets of the covenant.” The question arises: why the need for two tablets? Couldn't Moses have inscribed all ten commandments on one tablet?
The Torah contains two general forms of Commandments: 1) the Commandments that relate to the relationship between man and G-d, such as loving G-d, fearing G-d, not mentioning His name in vain, etc. 2) and Commandments that relate to the relationship between man and his fellow, such as the Commandment to love a fellow as one’s self, and various forms of charity. Examining the ten commandments we find that they contain both categories of commandments. In fact, the first five are between man and G-d, and the second five are between man and fellow man.
Had all the Ten Commandments been written on one tablet, the only way to read them would be vertically from top to bottom, which would lead to the mistaken impression that somehow there is a hierarchy between the categories, that somehow G-d is more concerned about how we treat Him than about how we treat our fellow person.
The Torah therefore emphasizes that the commandments were inscribed on two tablets, which allows the commandments to be read not just vertically but also horizontally, thus the first commandment, “I am the L-rd your G-d”, which was inscribed on top of one tablet, and the sixth commandment, “You shall not murder”, which was inscribed on top of the other tablet, are both on the same level.
In fact, when we read the Commandments horizontally, we see that the column of man’s responsibility to G-d and the column of man’s responsibility to fellow man share the same theme:
1. I am the L-rd your G-d etc. 6. You shall not murder:
Murder is a terrible sin specifically because “I am the L-rd your G-d” and every Human being was created in the Image of G-d. Thus taking a human life is denying the sanctity of G-d.
2. You shall have no other gods before Me. 7. You shall not commit adultery:
The binding theme between these two commandments is the theme of loyalty. We must be loyal to are relationship with G-d and to our sacred relationship with our spouse.
3. You shall not take the name of the L-rd your G-d in vain. 8. You shall not steal:
Stealing from someone else compromises our honesty and will inevitably lead to swearing falsely in G-d’s name in order to deny the theft.
4. Remember the Sabbath Day, to keep it holy. 9. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
By resting on Shabbat we testify that G-d created the world in six days and rested on the seventh, thus celebrating Shabbat is an act of testimony.
5. Honor your father and mother. 10. You shall not covet.
Coveting something that belongs to another person implies that one believes that he does not have what he needs, and he feels that in order to achieve happiness and meaning he must possess that which belongs to someone else. The truth however is that meaning in life and happiness comes from celebrating the talents, personality, possessions and circumstances we are blessed with. Honoring the parents who brought us into the world implies that we accept that the person we are, the G-d given talents we possess, our unique life story, being born into a specific family at a specific time, is exactly the person we need to be in order to fulfill our purpose on this earth.
Bread from the Earth
Almost all the blessings in the Jewish prayer book - blessings within the various prayers, blessings of praise or request, blessings celebrating the Shabbat and holidays - were instituted by our sages, and are not biblically mandated. The only exception is the biblical commandment to bless G-d after eating bread, as Moses tells us in this week’s Torah portion:
And you will eat and be sated, and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for the good land He has given you.
Over time the blessing after the meal evolved and is now a series of four blessings composed over more than a Millennium. The Talmud tells us when and who composed these blessings. We will focus on the first two blessings:
With regard to the origins of the four blessings of Grace after Meals, Rav Naḥman said: Moses instituted for Israel the first blessing of “Who feeds all”, when the manna descended for them and they needed to thank God. Joshua instituted the blessing of the land when they entered Eretz Yisrael.
(Talmud, Brachot 48a)
Why on earth do we thank G-d with a blessing about bread from the heavens? The bread we eat, bread grown from the ground with a great investment of toil and time, is categorically different than, the manna, the bread that the Jewish people ate in the desert, which miraculously descended from the heavens each morning of the forty year journey through the desert. Why then do we say the first blessing, composed by Moses for the miraculous Manna and not begin directly with the blessing composed by Joshua as he and the Jews entered Israel and ate natural bread, bread grown from the land?
Perhaps the sages included the blessing composed by Moses because it captures the essence of the purpose for the blessing.
While much of the previous Torah portion is dedicated to reminding the Jewish people never to forget the awesome experience at Sinai, much of this week’s portion, the portion of Eikev, is focused on the spiritual dangers of entering the land of Israel. The miracles of the exodus from Egypt and of the journey through the wilderness were about to end. Moses cautioned the people that there would be a great temptation to attribute the success in the land of Israel to one's own power and wisdom. In the land of Israel, where the Jew must grow bread by the sweat of his own brow, he might forget about G-d and attribute his success to his ability to navigate and channel nature’s force. Moses therefore reminds us that when we eat natural bread, when we are satiated, when we enjoy blessing, we must recognize G-d the source of the blessing.
Perhaps this is why the Sages included Moses’s blessings for the Manna, the bread from the heavens, together with Joshua’s blessings for the bread of the land of Israel, the bread of the earth. For the purpose of the grace after meals is to recognize that the natural bread is a blessing from G-d no less than the bread from the heavens. Both Moses and Joshua teach us to recognize the truth, that G-d is manifest not only in miracles but also in nature, not only in the bread from the heavens but also in the bread from the earth.
Meaning of a Meal
“And you will eat and be sated, and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for the good land He has given you”. (Deuteronomy 7:11). Based on the biblical commandment to thank G-d for the food we eat, the sages instituted that we recite four blessings after every meal (at which we eat bread). In these four blessings we cover several themes: in the first blessing we thank G-d for the food. In the second, we give thanks for the land of Israel, the Torah and the covenant of circumcision. In the third blessing we mention Jerusalem, the kings of the house of David and the holy temple, and in the fourth blessing we thank G-d for the kindness he showed us during one of the darkest periods of our history, under Roman rule. As explained in the Talmud:
Rav Naḥman said:
Moses instituted for Israel the first blessing of: Who feeds all, when the manna descended for them and they needed to thank God.
Joshua instituted the blessing of the land when they entered Eretz Yisrael.
David and Solomon instituted the third blessing: Who builds Jerusalem, in the following manner: David instituted “…on Israel Your people and on Jerusalem Your city…” as he conquered the city, and Solomon instituted “…on the great and Holy Temple…” as he was the one who built the Temple.
They instituted the blessing: Who is good and does good, at Yavne in reference to the slain Jews of the city of Beitar at the culmination of the Bar Kochva rebellion. They were ultimately brought to burial after a period during which Hadrian refused to permit their burial. (Brachot, 48b)
Why do we need to mention all this every time we simply want to eat a piece of bread? Why the need to mention so many events in Jewish history, and cover so many themes? Why is it not enough to simply say “”thank you for the piece of bread”?
When we eat we are focused on our own needs, on our biological and physical needs. When we eat we are feeding the material, zeroing in on the self-oriented side of self. Therefore, as we conclude the meal we seek to elevate the activity of eating by expanding our perspective. We remind ourselves that we eat not just because we need to survive, not merely because it provides us pleasure and comfort,but rather because the energy and vitality we receive from eating becomes fuel to elevate us to greater spiritual heights. We eat not only for biological survival. Yes, we eat in order to live, but the life we live is part of a greater spiritual calling. We are part of a people who are charged with a mission and purpose, symbolized by Israel and Jerusalem. We are part of a people who have learned to seek out and find the hand of G-d even in the midst of terrible darkness.
Specifically when we are focused on the physical aspect of life, when we are engaged in eating our meal, we remind ourselves that we feed our body for the sake of our soul. We remind ourselves that the bread we eat is part of the story of Israel and Jerusalem; part of the mission to transform the earth into a dwelling place for the creator.
(Adapted from Olos R’iyah).
Can We Please Finish the Job?
Beginnings bring along a fresh sense of optimism and excitement. When we embark on a new task, when we tackle a new challenge, there is an excitement that motivates us to push forward. I will speak for myself. It is much easier for me to start a project than to finish it. Easier for me to write a paper than to edit it. And, I’ll confess, easier to begin playing with my child than to finish. Eventually burnout sets in, the excitement evaporates, my attention moves on, and completing the task seems tedious and a drain on my energy.
Just a few weeks before he was to pass away, in his parting words to his beloved people, Moses stated:
The entire commandment that I command you this day you shall keep to do, that you may live and multiply, and come and possess the land that the Lord swore to your forefathers. (Deuteronomy 8:1)
What is the meaning of “the entire commandment” (kol hamitzvah)? The simple meaning is that Moses was referring to the entire body of the six hundred and thirteen commandments. Indeed, that is Rashi’s first interpretation. This interpretation, however, is somewhat problematic, because at that point, when the Jewish people were still outside the promised land, there were many commandments they could not have fulfilled on “this day”. How then does the verse state that the Jewish people will merit to enter the land by keeping the “entire commandment”? Rashi therefore offers a second interpretation, which explains that “the entire commandment” refers, not to all the commandments, but rather to the totality of a single commandment. As Rashi explains:
A midrashic explanation is: If you have started a mitzvah, finish it, because it is attributed only to the one who completes it, as it is said, “And the bones of Joseph, which the children of Israel had brought up from Egypt, they buried in Shechem”. But did not Moses alone occupy himself with them to bring them up? However, since he did not complete the mitzvah [of burying the bones], and [the children of] Israel did, [this mitzvah] is accredited to their name.
Beginning the commandment, is the easy part. Here Moses is reminding us of the importance of concluding the task. The people who eventually brought Joseph’s bones back to Israel, completing the cycle, returning Joseph to the land from which he was kidnapped more than two centuries earlier, could not claim that they developed the idea to perform this good deed. It was not an expression of their own creativity and kindness. But they are the ones who get the credit for they are the ones who completed the task.
This is true in our life as well. We may feel far more inspired in the beginning of a project, but it is not truly ours unless and until we conclude those final touches and complete the endeavor. And, this is true in the span of history. The great giants of our past, our patriarchs and matriarchs, sages and scholars, mystics and philosophers have revolutionized the world and began, and continued, the Jewish mission of transforming the world into a Divine garden of goodness and kindness. They had the vision, passion and focus, that we could never match. But it is we who will receive the credit for ushering in the era of redemption with the coming of the righteous Moshiach, because it is we who will complete the task.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 19, Eikev Sicha 2)
Are You a Merchant?
"You shall eat, be satiated, and bless the L-rd your G-d for the good land He gave you". This verse is the source of the biblical obligation to thank G-d after we eat bread. Based on the word "land" which appears in the verse, the sages derive that to fulfill one's obligation, one must mention the land, as well as the covenant of circumcision and the Torah, in whose merit we receive the land of Israel.
The Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, The founder of the Chabad movement, asked the following questions:
1) If the land of Israel is a requirement for grace after meals, then why are we obligated to say the blessing outside of Israel when we do not benefit from the land?
2) The Torah (Genesis chapter 17) states that G-d made a covenant with Abraham that his descendants would receive the Land of Canaan in return for keeping the covenant of circumcision. How, then, were we exiled from the land, although we do indeed fulfill the covenant of circumcision?
These two questions lead us to the conclusion that even while in the diaspora, we do, in fact, possess the land of Israel. While we may not be in the physical land, we do experience the spiritual gift of Israel, which is why we are obligated to thank G-d not only for our bread but also for the spiritual land we were blessed with.
We can derive the meaning of the spiritual land of Israel from the etymology of its native name: Canaan, which is similar to two seemingly unrelated words: submission (Hach'na'ah) and merchant (see, for example, Hoshea 12:8). The merchant submits an object to the buyer and, in return, receives payment of money.
Spiritually speaking, we are all merchants. Our spiritual calling is to submit our physical possessions and experiences to G-d, thereby transferring them from the "ownership" of the material world to the domain of holiness. As merchants, we receive money in return. The Hebrew word for money, Kesef, which also means silver, is etymologically related to the word for love and yearning (nichsof). The love of G-d which we produce through our effort and meditation, is limited by our understanding and perspective. By contrast, the love we are given from above, as payment for submitting and transferring our physical possessions to the domain of the holy, is boundless. It is a love far more intense than any emotion we can produce by our meditation and effort.
When we bless G-d for the gifts of food and the land, we are also blessing him for our spiritual sustenance and the spiritual land. We are thankful for the opportunity to be the merchants who "earn" the "payment" of boundless love in return for transforming the physical into the spiritual.
(Adapted from Likutei Torah, Eikev)
The Virtue of the Shema’s Second Paragraph
The commandments to study Torah, don Tefillin, and place a Mezuzah on the doorpost are stated in the first paragraph of the Shema prayer (which appears in last week's portion, Vaetchanan) and are reiterated in the second paragraph of the Shema (which is in this week's portion, Eikev). Rashi explains that the commandments are re-stated in the second paragraph in order to teach that even after the Jewish people are exiled from the land of Israel (a possibility mentioned in the second paragraph of the Shema), they should nevertheless continue to fulfill the commandments.
Each of the Shema paragraphs expresses their respective portion's general theme. While the emphasis of last week's portion, Vaetchanan, was Moses' description of the Divine revelation of Sinai, when the people were in a state of holiness and righteousness, in this week's portion, Eikev, Moses describes the sin of the golden calf, the shattering of the tablets and how Moses carved out the stones for the second tablets. In other words, Vaetchanan represents the Divine revelation that inspires the person. In contrast, Eikev describes the people's return to G-d due to their own effort, in the aftermath of a spiritual downfall.
This explains the difference between the first and second paragraphs of the Shema prayer. The second paragraph differs from the first in that, (1) it reiterates only the commandment to "love the L-rd your G-d with all your heart and will all your soul", but omits "with all your might", (2) it introduces the idea of reward and punishment ("if you hearken to My commandments… I will give the rain of your land at its time… Beware, lest your heart be misled… "and you will perish quickly from upon the good land") (3) it mentions the commandment to put on Tefillin before the commandment to study Torah ("bind them for a sign upon your hand and they shall be for ornaments between your eyes. And you shall teach them to your sons to speak with them…").
This is because in the first paragraph of the Shema, the person's inspiration is far more intense as it comes as a gift from above; it is a product of the Divine revelation that awakens his soul. By contrast, when in a state of physical as well as spiritual exile, (1) the love for G-d is not felt as intensely as the love in the first portion (2) the person needs to be inspired by reward and punishment (3) one must take action (Tefillin) even before he is inspired by study.
Conventional wisdom says that the first paragraph of the Shema represents the greater level of holiness, for it describes the intense service of G-d resulting from the soul shining within the human consciousness. Yet, counter-intuitively, Chasidisim explains that there is an advantage in the second paragraph of the Shema. For when the Jew serves G-d while in spiritual exile, the less intense but self-generated inspiration is a testament that his connection to G-d has been internalized to the degree that it is not dependent on external factors. No matter where the Jew may be, in a physical or spiritual exile, the Jew can express his connection to G-d.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 9 Eikev 2
Why the Soul Loves the Body
Body and soul are opposites. The soul wants nothing more than to escape heavenward, to escape its existence in this world and reunite with its infinite source. The body, on the other hand, seeks to experience an earthly life full of earthly pleasures. The body is not interested in abstract spiritual concepts. The body craves instant, tangible, gratification.
How then do the body and soul unite so smoothly to become the human being? Why is the soul not at war with the body's gravitational pull? Why does the soul not escape the confines of the body?
The Kabbalists teach that the divine energy that creates the world, the soul of the world, is comprised of two parts: light and vessels. The light is the undefined energy and the vessel expresses the energy in a limited and defined way.
Just like the human body and soul, the vessels and the light are opposites. The light seeks to escape upward, and reunite with its infinite source; while the vessels are happy to maintain their own distinct personality. Why then does the light bond with the vessel? Why does the light not retreat to its source?
A brilliant professor taught in graduate school, where he had many brilliant students who understood the depth of his teaching, and who appreciated his profound insights. One day, the professor invited his students to join him on a visit to a first grade classroom where he would explain his latest discoveries to the children of the first grade. Understandably, the graduate students declined to join him. They preferred to experience the teaching of their great professor in graduate school, not in grade school. They had no desire to limit their learning to the intellectual capacity of a first grader.
One student, however, decided to go along with his professor. The student understood that for a theory to be projected to the distant world of a first grader, the Professor must reach far deeper within himself. In order to communicate with people so intellectually distant from himself, he must search and discover the essence of the idea. The student understood that the first grade classroom was the place where the professor’s true brilliance would be expressed, the ability to communicate with a distant reality comes from the deepest resources of one's intellect.
And so, as the first graders were listening to the older gentleman talk, they were oblivious to the greatness of his wisdom. They would have preferred to play with the toys piled up in the back of the classroom. Yet the graduate student marveled at every word which emerged from his teacher's mouth. Never before had he experienced this element of the professor's awesome intellectual power. Never had he heard ideas so deep expressed in words so simple. Interestingly, the first graders were the cause of this revelation, yet they were not mature enough to appreciate it. It was the graduate student alone who appreciated the lofty nature of what was transpiring in the first grade classroom.
Similar to the graduate student appreciating the lecture given to the first grade, the soul appreciates the greatness of the body. The body, like the first graders, does not understand that the body is a deeper expression of G-d’s greatness than is the soul. In order to create a body, in order for G-d to express his energy in a spiritually distant place, G-d must express an even deeper part of himself. And yet, it takes a soul to understand the great spiritual source of a body.
And so it is with the divine lights. They too feel that the vessels, specifically because they are limited and defined, are rooted in a higher place within the divine. The undefined abstract light senses that the creation of vessels is G-d projecting a deeper part of himself.
This then illuminates Judaism's attitude to all things physical. Physicality, left to its own devices, is empty of spiritual light, and is a distraction from one’s purpose in life. Yet, when the soul engages with the physical, the soul reveals the truth, that physicality is a greater expression of the awesome power of G-d. It is an expression of the infinity of G-d that enables G-d to express himself anywhere, even in the physical realm.
Thus, in this week's Parsha, the Torah describes the Jew’s ultimate spiritual experience. The Torah describes the Jew’s pilgrimage to Jerusalem “in order to learn to fear G-d your G-d for all time”. How does the Jew reach the epitome of spiritual heights? By celebrating and eating his grain, wine, oil, cattle and sheep! As the verse states:
And you shall eat before the Lord, your God, in the place He chooses to establish His Name therein, the tithes of your grain, your wine, and your oil, and the firstborn of your cattle and of your sheep, so that you may learn to fear the Lord, your God, all the days.
For light feels the superiority of the vessels. The soul feels the superiority of the body and the Jew senses that if while engaging in delicious meat and wine he can simultaneously experience a spiritual joy, he has reached the essence of G-dliness.
Jerusalem
Camped at the bank of the Jordan River, while talking to the Jewish people in preparation for their entry into the Promised Land, Moses painted a beautiful picture of one place where all the Jewish people would gather to celebrate. No longer would every individual choose their own place to present an offering to G-d, instead there would be one place where all the people would unite in the service and celebration of the one G-d:
And you shall cross the Jordan and settle in the land the Lord, your God, is giving you as an inheritance… And it will be, that the place the Lord, your G-d, will choose in which to establish His Name there you shall bring all that I am commanding you: Your burnt offerings, and your sacrifices, your tithes, and the separation by your hand, and the choice of vows which you will vow to the Lord. And you shall rejoice before the Lord, your God you and your sons and your daughters and your menservants and your maidservants, and the Levite who is within your cities.
The phrase “the place the Lord your G-d will choose” appears no less than ten times in this Portion, the portion of Reah. The pilgrimage to Jerusalem to celebrate the festive holidays is a central theme in the portion, the Torah commands us how to celebrate, with whom to celebrate, but there is one glaring omission: “the place the Lord your G-d will choose” is left unnamed.
Moses spent forty years teaching Torah, he passed on the Mitzvot with intricate detail. He transmitted the laws of the sacrifices with all its details, everything from what type of animals may be offered to the location on the temple where the animals should be offered. Yet the place where all this should happen is undisclosed. Why did Moses keep the location of the spiritual capital city of Israel a secret? Why does the name of the city where the Holy Temple will be built remain a mystery?
The answer can be found in the verse where the phrase “the place the Lord, your G-d, will choose” is used for the first time. The verse states:
But only to the place which the Lord your God shall choose from all your tribes, to set His Name there; you shall seek his presence and come there.
“You shall seek his presence”, says the Torah. G-d will choose Jerusalem only after the people themselves choose a place that they feel is appropriate for G-d's home. Only the Jew, who is part and parcel of the physical reality, can create a permanent dwelling place for G-d in this physical world. Only once King David chose the site of Jerusalem, did G-d, through the prophet, agree with the choice, making Jerusalem, and the Temple Mountain, the spiritual capital of the world.
The holiness of all the places that G-d chose for divine revelation was temporary. Neither the physical location of Mount Sinai nor the physical locations of the sanctuary in the desert - chosen directly by G-d - retained their holiness. The one place that was chosen by human beings, where they did not wait for a sign from on high, but rather they fulfilled the command to “seek his presence”, the place that was selected with human input, was the place that achieved permanent and everlasting holiness.
This is a life lesson for each one of us. The gifts we receive, from parents, friends, teachers, as well as inspiration received directly from G-d, will not have a permanent effect on our lives unless we choose to get involved, to become a partner, to contribute to the effort. To become the person we want to be, we cannot wait for inspiration from above. Inspiration alone will not change us for the better, unless we do our part to “seek his presence”.
G-d will choose to send you Divine inspiration and success, but it will have a permanent effect only after you do your part in building your spiritual Jerusalem.
Choice?
In the 20th century, as brain scanning technology was rapidly developing, many scientists began to question, and ultimately reject, the notion of free choice. Looking at brain scans they argued that everything the human being does is determined by the physical properties of our brains.
As a recent article put it:
The contemporary scientific image of human behavior is one of neurons firing, causing other neurons to fire, causing our thoughts and deeds, in an unbroken chain that stretches back to our birth and beyond. In principle, we are therefore completely predictable. If we could understand any individual’s brain architecture and chemistry well enough, we could, in theory, predict that individual’s response to any given stimulus with 100 percent accuracy.
What’s most interesting about this argument is that it is as old as human history. In the first story in the Torah, in the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we discover that the first to make the claim that a person has no free choice was none other than the serpent.
The serpent engaged Eve in conversation and planted within her a morally dangerous idea. As the Torah tells us:
Now the serpent was cunning, more than all the beasts of the field that the Lord God had made, and it said to the woman, "Did God indeed say, 'You shall not eat of any of the trees of the garden?'"
And the woman said to the serpent, "Of the fruit of the trees of the garden we may eat.
But of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, God said, "You shall not eat of it, and you shall not touch it, lest you die.'"
Reading the conversation between the serpent and Eve the most important word is the word that does not appear. If we turn back to the verse that describes how G-d forbade the fruit if the tree of Knowledge the Torah says:
And the Lord God commanded man, saying, "Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat. But of the Tree of Knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat of it."
There is a crucial difference between the verb the Torah employs to describe the prohibition of the tree of knowledge and the verb the serpent employes. The Torah uses the verb commanded - “And the Lord God commanded man” - while the serpent uses the verb said - “Did God indeed say”. While it is easy to overlook this seemingly subtle change, in fact, the serpent's chief claim lies within this change.
What is the difference between “commanded” and “said”? Command implies free choice, for there is no meaning in issuing a command about something that the recipient of the commandment has no control over. “G-d said”, by contrast, does not imply free choice. In the story of creation, all through the first chapter of Genesis, the Torah uses the phrase and “G-d said” - “and G-d said let there be light”, “and G-d said let there be a firmament” - to describe the creation of natural phenomena that have no free choice at all. When deliberately substituting “G-d said” for “G-d commanded”, the serpent was telling Eve that the human being is essentially no different than an animal, that she too, like the serpent and like the rest of nature, doesn't have choice regarding her actions. When the serpent said "Did God indeed say, 'You shall not eat of any of the trees of the garden?'" he is asking Eve did G-d indeed say, did he create you to naturally be attracted to and unable to consume the fruit of the tree? Eve, accepted the terms imposed by the serpent and in all her discussion she does not refer to the prohibition as a commandment. She does not tell the serpent clearly and explicitly that the human being is indeed unique for he/she was created in the Divine image and blessed with the potent ability to choose freely.
Adam and Eve succumbed to temptation and ate the forbidden fruit; yet the underlying mistake was succumbing to the idea that they were just like the serpent. That the human is no more than a sophisticated animal trapped by its instincts.
In the midst of Moses’s final words to his beloved people, Moses repeatedly emphasizes the idea that is the foundation of any code of morality, namely, that we were endowed by our creator with the freedom to chose our own path, thus we are responsible for both our failings as well as our triumphs.
As Moses says in the opening phrase of this week’s portion:
Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse.
The choice is yours.
Eating in Jerusalem
At the bank of the Jordan River, after the forty year journey in the desert, Moses spoke to the people as they were about to enter the land of Israel. Up until this point, in the book of Deuteronomy, Moses spoke about the history of the forty year journey through the desert, as well as words of rebuke warning the people to remain loyal to G-d even after they achieve success in the land of Israel. In the fourth portion of the book, the portion of Reeh, Moses is ready to describe the apex of the entire journey, life at its greatest in the holy land of Israel.
Moses told the people that when they would enter the land they would no longer be permitted to bring offerings to G-d in the place of their choice, but rather there would only be one place that G-d would choose to bring their offerings.
Contemplating on the way Moses described the “place that G-d will choose” is critical to understanding Judaism’s approach to spirituality, holiness and life itself.
When we think of religious pilgrimage we often think of people bowing in prayer, submission and awe. Contrast that with Moses’s description:
But only to the place which the Lord your G-d shall choose from all your tribes, to set His Name there; you shall inquire after His dwelling and come there.
And there you shall bring your burnt offerings, and your sacrifices, and your tithes, and the separation by your hand, and your vows and your donations, and the firstborn of your cattle and of your sheep.
And there you shall eat before the Lord, your G-d, and you shall rejoice in all your endeavors you and your households, as the Lord, your G-d, has blessed you. (Deuteronomy 12:5-7)
What is the scene Moses paints? After hundreds of years of Jewish history, what do we do when we finally come to the place that G-d will choose?
We eat. (“And there you shall eat before the Lord, your G-d”.)
We rejoice. (“you shall rejoice in all your endeavors”.)
When a Jew travels to Jerusalem to become close to G-d, he is not escaping his daily life. The Jew brings the tithings of his crop along with him to Jerusalem. All the effort he invested in agriculture, in growing his produce comes along with him to Jerusalem. The Jew is commanded to “eat before the Lord, your G-d, and you shall rejoice in all your endeavors”, because the material labor and success is in itself part of the service of G-d. The purpose of creation is to sanctify the material world, to elevate it and to use it, as well as the joy it creates, in the service of holiness.
After the Jew celebrates in Jerusalem, when the Jew experiences how the earth's bounty can be sanctified and celebrates in the context of holiness, he is ready to extend the holiness even farther. The Torah continues:
When the Lord, your God, expands your boundary, as He has spoken to you, and you say, "I will eat meat," because your soul desires to eat meat, you may eat meat, according to every desire of your soul. (Ibid. 12:20)
In the desert, as Rashi explains, eating meat was permitted only in the context of an offering. Only if the animal was offered in the tabernacle as an offering to G-d would some of the meat be given to the person offering the offering, who would then fulfill the Mitzvah of eating the sacrificial meat. Once the Jewish people entered Israel, however, they were permitted to eat meat that was not a sacrifice, even when they were distant from the temple. While on the surface this may seem as though the people were stepping down from their holy state of being as they began to indulge their cravings. The truth, however, is that this represents a far greater level of holiness. Once the people entered Israel they reached greater spiritual heights, they were now able to bring holiness not only to the celebration in Jerusalem but also to their daily “mundane” life, throughout Israel. In the desert only an act of a Divine commandment, a Mitzvah, was holy. Once we entered Israel, once we experienced the holiness of the temple affecting our produce and our festivals, we could then carry the holiness over to daily life itself.
In the desert only the Tabernacle was holy. When we ascended to Jerusalem we elevated our physical reality to the point where our eating and drinking was an expression of connection to G-d. And then, descending from the mountains of Jerusalem and returning home, we were empowered to sanctify all of our existence, our body and its cravings, as well as all aspects of society, by using them in the service of holiness; thus expanding the holiness of Jerusalem throughout the entire world.
Multi Layered Festivals
Virtually all ancient cultures had festivals celebrating the agricultural harvest, paying tribute to the bounty of mother nature. Judaism’s ’s three pilgrimage festivals, discussed in this week's Torah portion, capture a far deeper perspective. On the one hand the festivals coincide with the natural agricultural cycle: Passover is a celebration of the spring, Shavuot of the harvest, and Sukkot the completion of the ingathering of the produce. Yet these same agricultural festivals also celebrate historic events that celebrate not nature but rather the miraculous relationship between the Jewish people and G-d. Passover is the commemoration of the miraculous exodus, Shavuot is a commemoration of the Divine revelation at Sinai, and Sukkot is a celebration that follows the Divine atonement of Yom Kippur.
To Judaism the natural and the miraculous are not a dichotomy. For nature is not an independent force, but rather it is an expression of the Divine creative power.
The Chassidic teachings further elaborate on this idea. The Kabbalah teaches that the physical reality is a mirror of the spiritual reality. Earthly reality is a reflection of heavenly energy. Thus, the Jewish agricultural festivals are a multi layered commemoration. They come to celebrate the material bounty of the harvest, but they also celebrate a spiritual harvest, the reaping of the spiritual produce.
Passover, celebration of the Exodus, is in the spring. The spring is the time when the wheat begins to ripen, yet it has not matured to the point that it can be harvested and taken home. This holiday is a celebration of potentiality. It is a celebration in anticipation of the ripening produce. The same is true regarding the spiritual growth process. The ten plagues, the exodus, the splitting of the sea, occurred not because the Jewish people were deserving of these incredible miracles; but rather it was in anticipation of the spiritual heights they would achieve in the future, by receiving the Torah and implementing its teachings in their life. The Shavuot holiday, is the celebration of the harvest. Although the wheat is not yet in our home, we nevertheless celebrate the tangible gift of the produce we have been blessed with, which we can now hold in our hands. Likewise, Shavuot is the time when we receive the Torah. While we did not “bring the Torah home” by internalizing its teachings, we have the gift in our hands. We can begin the process of internalizing its teachings and inspiration.
And finally, on the holiday of Sukkot, our joy is complete, because the produce has been gathered into our home. It is now ours to enjoy. Just as it is with the produce of the field so too it is with the produce of our spiritual toil and effort. Sukkot is the celebration of the internalization of the Torah. During the months between the giving of the Torah and Yom Kippur, the Jewish people betrayed the Torah by creating the golden calf. Then, on Yom Kippur, G-d forgave them and gave them the second tablets. We realize that our relationship with G-d is unconditional. Even if we stumble we are able to reconnect to the Torah; for at our core, the Torah, our soul and G-d are all one. We realize that the “produce”, the relationship we are creating with G-d, is “in our home”. It has been internalized to the point that it can survive any challenge and overcome any distraction. The produce has been “gathered in”.
(Adapted from Lekutei Sichos. Beracha vol. 29)
The Word Moses Introduced
The gap between G-d and the human being seems unbridgeable. G-d is infinite and transcends time and space, while man is finite, a speck of dust in comparison to the vast universe, here today and gone tomorrow. Yet the Torah teaches that man can achieve a meaningful relationship with G-d, through the six hundred and thirteen commandments, each of which is a vehicle man can use to transcend his limited existence and to touch the infinite light. Because the Hebrew word for commandment, Mitzvah, also means connection, every commandment is a mode of connection.
In the Book of Deuteronomy, Moses introduces a new word that does not appear in the first four books in the context of our relationship with G-d. The root word is
Dveykut, which means to cleave. Dveykut is a powerful word, because it demands more than just doing what G-d commands. Dveykut means that we cleave to G-d and become one with him.
What exactly does that mean? And is it even possible for the human being to cleave to G-d?
When we examine the instances when Moses employed the word Dveykut, we note that Rashi offers divergent interpretations depending on the context of the verse.
The first time the word Dveykut appears, in the verse “But you who cleave (Hadveikim) to the Lord your God are alive, all of you, this day.” Rashi does not explain the term. That is because Rashi assumes that the meaning is self understood. Indeed, earlier in the Torah the term is used to express deep love. In describing how Shechem loved Dina, the Torah says: “his soul cleaved to Dina the daughter of Jacob and he loved her”. To cleave, then, could mean to love.
The word Dveykus appears again:
“For if you keep all these commandments which I command you to do them, to love the Lord, your God, to walk in all His ways, and to cleave to Him.” (ibid. 11:22)
Because love is mentioned earlier in the verse, Dveykut there cannot mean love, it would be redundant. Rashi therefore introduces another interpretation:
and to cleave to Him: Is it possible to say this? Is God not “a consuming fire”? Rather, it means: Cleave to the disciples and the Sages, and I will consider it as though you cleave to Me.
In this week’s portion the word cleave appears once again:
You shall follow the Lord, your God, fear Him, keep His commandments, heed His voice, worship Him, and cleave to Him. (ibid. 13:5)
Here, cleave cannot mean love, as this verse appears in the context of the theme of love of G-d, to cleave then must mean something beyond love. To cleave is the climax of the verse, therefore it cannot mean to cleave to the sages and scholars, because that cannot possibly be of greater importance than: “to follow the Lord, your God, fear Him, keep His commandments, heed His voice, worship Him”.
Rashi therefore explains:
and cleave to Him: Cleave to His ways: bestow kindness, bury the dead, and visit the sick, just as the Holy One, blessed is He, did.
Although there are other examples of G-d performing kindness, such as when the verse states: “And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife shirts of skin, and He dressed them”, Rashi cites specifically two forms of kindness that G-d performed: burying the dead and visiting the sick. This is because Rashi is referring to a unique form of kindness. The two examples Rashi quotes were instances where there were others available to perform the kindness, and therefore G-d was not “obligated” to step in and perform the kindness. G-d buried Aaron, although the Jewish people were present and they could have performed the burial; G-d visited Abraham after the circumcision, although there were other people available to visit him. This represents a deeper form of kindness, one that goes beyond the legal and moral obligation.
This form of kindness represents the profound meaning of Dveykut, that, in some ways, is even more powerful than a Mitzvah, a commandment. When a person fulfills a commandment he is seeking to connect to G-d, yet there are two entities, the commander and the commanded, the person feels like a distinct and separate entity seeking to connect to G-d through fulfilling the commandment. On the other hand, Dveykut, cleaving, is a state of being when the person does not feel separate and apart from G-d. Therefore, he cleaves to G-d’s ways even when the commandment does not compel this degree of kindness. Why does he perform this kindness? Only because this is what G-d does and he is in a state of Dveykus, cleaving to G-d.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 14 Re’eh Sicha 2)
Found In Translation
Translation is a tricky business. It is incredibly difficult to translate the nuances, cultural references, connotations, and subtleties from one language to another. Indeed, since there is no one perfect way to translate, no two translations are the same.
Translating the Torah, in which every word is infused with nuance and layers of meaning, is even more difficult. Any translation, therefore, is a compromise; some of the meaning will, inevitably, be lost in translation.
In this week's Torah portion, however, a translation reveals deeper insight than is apparent in the original. The inner meaning of the original Biblical Hebrew is found, specifically, in the translation.
The opening statement of this week's portion highlights the fundamental principle of the Torah, the concept of free choice. Moses, conveying the word of G-d, says:
Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse. The blessing, that you will heed the commandments of the Lord your G-d, which I command you today; and the curse, if you will not heed the commandments of the Lord your G-d, but turn away from the way I command you this day, to follow other gods, which you did not know.
Onkelos (the convert, nephew of the Roman Emperor Titus; whose Aramaic translation of the Torah was universally accepted and is printed in most editions of the Chumash) translates "curse" ("I set before you today a blessing and a curse") as "milattaya", which is the Aramaic word for curse. Yet the translation of Yonatan (compiled by the great Talmudic sage Rabbi Yonatan ben Uziel) offers an unusual translation: "curse" is translated as "chilufa", Aramaic for "its exchange".
"Exchange" is a surprising choice for translation of the word "curse", because not only does it seem unrelated to the word "curse", it seems to have the opposite meaning. There must be some relation between two things in order for one to exchange the other, whereas blessing and curse are polar opposites. How can the curse be considered the "exchange" of the blessing?
The verse states "I set before you today a blessing and a curse" The term used in the verse is "notain" which means "I gift". This leads to two questions: (1) how can we say that the curse is a gift? (2) A more profound question: how is it possible that something as negative and painful as a curse can emerge from G-d, who is perfect and good?
The translation of Onkelos, the primary translation used in Babylonia, does not address these questions, because Babylonia represents the spiritual exile, where the light of G-d is concealed. In a state of spiritual exile all we see is the negativity of the "curse".
The translation of Yonatan, by contrast, was a translation written in the land of Israel, where even in the time of exile, when Aramaic was the prevailing language, spiritual awareness and enlightenment were accessible. Targum Yonatan, therefore, seeks to shed light and explain that what appears to be a curse is, in reality, the "exchange" of blessing. Both the blessing and the curse are an expression of G-d's love and connection to us. The only difference is that we can perceive the goodness in the blessing, whereas in the curse, the blessing is "exchanged", it expresses itself in a different form, we, therefore, cannot sense the Divine source, as the positivity is hidden.
The curse is the "exchange" (which implies similarity) of the blessing, because G-d is present in both good times and challenging times, in moments of pain just as in moments of blessing.
When the Jewish people read the Torah in the original Hebrew, they were living in Israel basking in the light of Divine blessing, yet, their understanding of G-d was limited. They only knew how to sense the presence of G-d in times of blessing. Yet, specifically when the Jewish people were exiled, they discovered a deeper truth. When they experienced spiritual descent, represented by the inability to understand the original Hebrew, they discovered, within the translation, that G-d is present even when the blessings are no longer apparent. Since G-d is truly infinite, he is not confined to "light"; He is present in the "darkness" as well as in the light, because the darkness is merely an "exchange", another form of the blessing.
The recognition that within pain and difficulty lies hidden goodness will allow the concealed good to be revealed, transforming the "curse" into open and revealed blessing.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 19 Re'eh Sicha 1.
A Grammatical Error?
The opening statement of the Parsha, the declaration of free choice, seems to have a grammatical error. Moses states:
Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse. (Deuteronomy 11:26)
In the original Hebrew, “see (behold)” (“Re’eh”) is in the singular form, whereas the continuation of the verse “before you” (“Lifneichem”) is in the plural.
Moses commands the people that when they enter the land of Israel, they should create a ceremony of collectively accepting blessings and curses:
And it will be, when the Lord, your God, will bring you to the land to which you come, to possess it, that you shall place those blessing upon Mount Gerizim, and those cursing upon Mount Ebal. (11:29)
When the Jewish people stood at Sinai and accepted the covenant with G-d, they did so as individuals; each individual Jew stood before G-d and heard the ten commandments, which were stated in the singular. Once they entered the land of Israel, however, the covenant was expanded, whereby each individual was responsible not only for himself but also for the entire community and nation. This explains the grammar of the verse: the covenant begins with the singular and shifts to the plural to highlight that every individual is responsible for the collective.
When people form a nation, the danger is that the individual loses the sense of the power of his own actions. One may feel that he is only one person whose actions are inconsequential in comparison to the many. Judaism reminds the person of the incredible power of each and every action. Every effort can make a difference within himself and within the broader world. Sometimes the effect is spiritual, but often one action can have a tangible impact on the person's environment, whereby a positive act can ripple and begin a revolution of blessing and positivity.
As the Talmud states, and as codified by Maimonides and repeated countless times by the Rebbe:
A person should always look at himself as equally balanced between merit and guilt, and the world as equally balanced between merit and guilt… if he performs one mitzvah, he tips his balance and that of the entire world to the side of merit and brings deliverance and salvation to himself and others. (Maimonides, Teshuvah 3:4)
(Adapted from the Kli Yakar)
Why Was the Temple Mount Chosen?
Maimonides refers to the Temple in Jerusalem with two different names: (1) the house of {G-d's} choice, and (2) the house of holiness; because these two words, choice, and holiness, each express a unique aspect of the Temple.
Choice, Chassidic philosophy explains, is used specifically when there is no reason for the selection. If there was a compelling reason for the selection, it would not leaves room for a choice. Choice implies that the selection is based on nothing other than the choice of the selector. The term "choice " indicates that the degree of Divine revelation is infinite, for it is generated not by a reason, which, by definition, is limited, but by the choice of the infinite essence of G-d.
Yet, "choice " has a disadvantage. If the revelation comes by G-d's own choice, not motivated by the effort of a human being, then the holiness cannot become internalized and transformed into an inherently sacred space.
The term holiness, by contrast, represents the effort a human being invests to transform a space or object into a fitting space for the presence of G-d. While human action alone cannot elicit infinity, it does allow for the inherent refinement of the space.
The temple mountain, the place that represented the home for the marriage of G-d and the Jewish people, possessed both the advantages of "choice" and "holiness". On the one hand, in this portion, the Torah refers to the temple mountain as "the place that the L-rd your G-d will chose", without offering any reason for the choice, indicating that the selection was generated by G-d Himself and is therefore not bound to the limitation of human action. On the other hand, after highlighting the aspect of choice, Maimonides emphasized the concept of "holiness". The space of the temple mountain had a long history of people's efforts to connect to G-d; as Maimonides explains:
It is universally accepted that the place on which David and Solomon built the Altar, the threshing floor of Ornan, is the location where Abraham built the Altar on which he prepared Isaac for sacrifice. Noah built [an altar] on that location when he left the ark. It was also [the place] of the Altar on which Cain and Abel brought sacrifices. [Similarly,] Adam, the first man, offered a sacrifice there and was created at that very spot, as our Sages said: "Man was created from the place where he [would find] atonement." (Maimonides, Beit Habechirah 2:2)
The same is true regarding the figurative temple we are enjoined to create within ourselves. We are “chosen” because G-d chooses to invest His infinite self within us, yet, for His presence to be internalized within ourselves we must be “holy”, for only human action can truly refine the nature of the physical world.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos 19 Re’eh 2
Justice For All
This week's Torah portion begins with Moshe’s eloquent cry to the Jewish people to establish courts and to pursue justice:
You shall set up judges and law enforcement officials for yourself in all your cities that the Lord, your God, is giving you, for your tribes, and they shall judge the people [with] righteous judgment.
You shall not pervert justice; you shall not show favoritism, and you shall not take a bribe, for bribery blinds the eyes of the wise and perverts just words.
Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may live and possess the land the Lord, your God, is giving you.
All agree that justice is important, but justice is elusive. Even in this great country, in the 21st century, there are serious questions whether our criminal justice system has a long way to go to ensure that every individual can expect equal access to justice.
As one scholar recently argued in an op-ed piece:
Our justice system has become inaccessible to millions of poor people and so every day, we violate the “equal justice under law” motto engraved on the front of the grand United States Supreme Court. Americans who cannot afford legal help routinely forfeit basic rights as a result. Because the law does not enforce itself, veterans seeking benefits the nation has guaranteed, victims of domestic violence needing legal protection, and tenants and homeowners pursuing their rights since the financial disaster all need advisors and guides through the law and its agencies and courts.
Writers often save the most powerful point for last. The last sentence is your chance to emphasize your point and to shape the impression your reader will ‘take away’.
The last section of this week's Torah reading is where the Torah highlights its understanding of the true test of justice. The final section describes the law of an unidentified murdered corpse lying in the field. The victim is not a prominent member of society who travels with an entourage. The victim is not a celebrity who is well known. The true test of justice is whether society will care about this crime. Whether society values the most vulnerable, lonely, least respected, unknown members of society.
How do we respond when an unknown victim is found slain? Do we ignore the case because there is no one to lobby for justice, or, as the Torah demands? The Torah demands force the most prominent members of society to come down to the crime scene, to investigate, to declare that they did not ignore the plight of this person, and to force the story into the headlines:
If a slain person be found in the land which the Lord, your God is giving you to possess, lying in the field, [and] it is not known who slew him.
The Torah commands the members of the supreme court of Israel to drop everything they are doing, and they - not their helpers not their surrogates - should show up at the crime scene:
Then your elders and judges shall go forth, and they shall measure to the cities around the corpse.
In the pre-mass-media world, the surest way to create news, which in turn may encourage a possible witness to the crime to come forward, is for the members of the court to come and draw attention, to the crime. They then proceed to perform a strange ritual; it is strange unless you understand its purpose. It's purpose is to grab people's attention to the terrible crime committed against someone they never heard of:
And it will be, [that from] the city closer to the corpse, the elders of that city shall take a calf with which work has never been done, [and] that has never drawn a yoke,. And the elders of that city shall bring the calf down to a rugged valley, cannot be worked and cannot be sown and there in the valley, they shall decapitate the calf.
The valley "cannot be worked and cannot be sown", which means that there is a valuable piece of real estate that cannot be used until the case is solved. That serves two purposes: 1. the follow valley does not allow the murder to be forgotten, 2. and it serves as a financial incentive for the owner(s) of the valley to keep the pressure on the authorities to keep investigating the case.
The Torah understands that the test of justice is not “at your gates”, not how we treat the prominent members of society, rather the test of justice is whether the “elders and judges” will leave their ivory tower, leave the city, and search for justice for the unknown stranger.
The Problem with Astrology
The Torah’s position on astrology is clear: while the nations of ancient Canaan would seek the counsel of astrologers that predict the future, astrology should be off limits for the Jew:
For these nations that you are possessing - they hearken to astrologers and diviners; but as for you - not so has Hashem your G-d given for you.
The Jews may ask: how then will we survive with this disadvantage? While all the nations look to their astrologers to guide them in everything they do, from planning war to picking stocks, the Jews, will be in the dark regarding the future. Moses puts them at ease by telling them that they will have a different source of information:
A prophet from your midst, from your brethren, like me, shall Hashem, your G-d establish for you - to him shall you hearken.
The question, of course, is what is the difference between the prophet and the astrologer? If listening to an astrologer is so terrible, why is the Jew, not only permitted, but in fact commanded, to listen to the prophet? The question is intensified when one realizes that prophets have a far from perfect track record in predicting the future. Perhaps, the most famous prophetic prediction gone wrong was the prophecy of Jonah, which warned that the great city of Nineveh would be destroyed forty days henceforth, when in fact, no such thing happened. The people of Nineveh repented, and G-d averted the terrible decree. The reason the prophecy was not actualized was because only a prophecy predicting something good must materialize, a prophecy predicting a negative event can change, because G-d is compassionate and may change the bad prophecy up until the very last moment.
The astrologers, by contrast, are straightforward. They don’t say that their prediction might change.
Why then would we want to listen to a prophet, whose prophecy might or might not come to fruition? What good was the Nineveh prophecy, if, due to the inherent uncertainty of prophecy, one could not use it to bet against the Nineveh stock market?
The answer is that the prophet and the astrologer are not at all in the same line of business. Their mission statements cannot be further apart.
The astrologer tells a person that based on his or her personality, nature, or spiritual make-up, his destiny is such and such. In some ways, the information is very useful. Why should a person spend a lifetime trying to discover what he is good at and what will cause him to fail, when he can take the shortcut and get this crucial information from the astrologer? The Torah declares it a sin to listen to the astrologer. Because, implied in the message of the astrologer is that a person cannot change. The astrologer is paid to predict the future, to tell the person what his destiny is, based on his nature, and this nature, argues the astrologer, is not subject to change.
The prophet, however, is not in the business of predicting the future. The prophet is here to inspire a person to break out of his nature, to break free of his destiny, and to understand that there is no barrier to spiritual growth that cannot be shattered. In the final analysis, the astrologer limits a person, while the prophet liberates him.
When Nineveh was spared Jonah was terribly angry. His worst fear was realized. Initially he had tried to escape his mission precisely because he was afraid that at the end, G-d would not destroy the city. He was afraid that his reputation as a professional predictor of the future would be severely damaged. No one would ever trust his predictions again. G-d was upset at Jonah’s anger, precisely because Jonah missed the point of prophecy. Jonah did not realize that had his prediction succeeded, his mission would have failed. For the prophet's mission is not to tell a person what his destiny is, but rather it is to tell him that he can change and become a new person anytime he so desires.
Although we are no longer in the era of the prophets, we must nevertheless take the message of the prophets to heart. We need to ignore our inner astrologer and listen to our inner prophet. The greatest impediment to growth, both spiritual and material, is the voice inside of us which tells us, that, after all these years, we know who we are, we know our strengths and we know our weaknesses. We know where we will succeed and we know where we will fail. We have it all figured out. We know what we allow ourselves to hope for, and we know what we afraid to even attempt to dream for.
The commandment to heed the prophet, in the portion of Shoftim, is read during the month of Elul, the month of introspection and repentance leading up to the New Year, And we read the book of Jonah on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement because at this time of the year, as we prepare for the new year, we must listen to the voice of prophecy. We must understand that whatever our nature is, we can and must not be limited by it. We must understand that G-d gives us the power to break out of our limitations, to change, to become the person we know we should be.
Plead the Fifth
To “plead the fifth” is to evoke the fifth amendment of the United States Constitution which protects against an individual being forced to testify against himself.
Legal protection against forced self incrimination is anything but obvious; it did not appear in Roman law or in early Common law. Historically it was common practice to torture defendants until they would confess. 17th century England saw the beginning of the rejection of forced confessions, the shift in attitude and practice made its way across the Atlantic and ultimately became part of the Bill of Rights.
In 1966, in the landmark case of Miranda v. Arizona, the United States Supreme Court expanded this right and ruled that a statement of a defendant who is in police custody can be admitted as evidence at trial only if the defendant was aware of, and explicitly waived, his right to remain silent. To comply with the ruling, Police officers are required to tell the defendant that he or she has the right to remain silent.
The Torah's perspective on self incrimination is astonishing.
Not only does the Torah disqualify a forced confession, but the Torah goes much further; even if a person confesses voluntarily, the court cannot use the testimony against him.
At first glance this seems very difficult to understand: after all, it seems that a voluntary confession is the most powerful evidence.
There are multiple ways of understanding the Torah’s view of self incrimination. We will focus on three perspectives, one legal, one psychological and one mystical.
The Legal Explanation
The Talmud offers two legal interpretations as to why we reject self incriminatory testimony. The first is the opinion of the Talmudic sage Rav Yosef and it is based on a legal doctrine that states that the testimony of a wicked person is not admissible in court because the wicked person is not trustworthy.
Now, if a person enters the courtroom and confesses to murder, he is obviously wicked. Had he offered testimony on behalf of or against anyone else we would not be able to accept his testimony, as he is clearly wicked. We therefore cannot accept his testimony against himself either, if we believe his self incriminatory testimony then we must accept that he is a wicked person whose testimony is not trustworthy.
Rava, one of the most famous of Talmudic sages, offers an alternative explanation as to why we reject self incriminating testimony even if a person offered the confession voluntarily. This interpretation is based on the Biblical law that a person cannot testify about his relative.
Rava explains that “a person is his own relative”. Rava argues that if the Torah rejects a relative's testimony because the relative is close to the subject about whom he is testifying then the same must apply to the one testifying against himself, as “he is his own relative”. He is also “close” to the subject he is testifying about, namely himself, therefore, we must reject his testimony.
Psychological Explanation
The Talmud’s explanations on why we reject self incriminating evidence, although logical from a scholarly perspective, it is undoubtedly counter intuitive. Maimonides therefore offers a revolutionary psychological explanation:
The Sanhedrin (the high court)… may not execute a person who admits committing a transgression, lest he have become crazed concerning this matter. Perhaps he is one of those embittered people who are anxious to die and pierce their reins with swords or throw themselves from the rooftops. Similarly, we fear that such a person may come and admit committing an act that he did not perform, so that he will be executed.
It was, and in many cases still is, very hard to imagine that someone would confess to a crime they did not commit; therefore studies show that juries consider a confession as the most conclusive evidence of guilt. Maimonides argues that there can be many unanticipated reasons why an innocent person would confess.
In recent years science has been confirming the Torah’s position on confessions. In recent years there has been an effort to overturn convictions on the basis of DNA evidence. After studying the Torah’s perspective, it should be no surprise that about 25 percent of 240 wrongful convictions overturned by DNA evidence in the U.S. have involved some form of a false confession. We are beginning to discover that people will confess for many reasons; psychological coercion is the most common, yet there have been many cases that prove the basic point of Maimonides: not only is a confession not the ultimate proof of guilt, as most people believed up until relatively recently, but it is (by itself) no proof at all.
Mystical Dimension
The mystical explanation to the law is gleaned from contrasting the law of confession about a capital crime, which we reject, to the confession of a monetary obligation, which we accept, as the Talmud explains (regarding a monetary confession): ”One’s own admission is equivalent to the testimony of one hundred witnesses.”
Why the difference? Why would we accept testimony against one’s self in monetary cases if we reject it in criminal cases? Are we not concerned about monetary injustice?
The answer is that a person has the right to give a gift to whomever he wants; and once a person declares that he will give a gift he must do so. Meaning, a person can obligate himself to pay even if there is nothing obligating him to so – other then his own voluntary commitment.
The Radvaz, in his commentary on Maimonides, explains that one's money belongs to himself, thus he is able to choose to gift it to anyone he would like. Therefore we accept a person's testimony that obligates him to give money to someone else, because it is within his right to spend his money as he pleases. Life, however, does not belong to the person. It is given to us loan from G-d, it isn’t ours to forfeit.
This, according to the Torah, must be our approach to life: our body, our soul, and therefore life itself, is a gift from G-d, given to us to as a loan, in order to accomplish the purpose of our creation.
Cities of Refuge
Humanity’s capacity to build is spectacular. We have built towers, cities and civilizations. Yet the greatest construction projects often came at a high cost. Historically, the drive to create came at the expense of the the rights and well-being of individuals. An estimated 20,000 people died, mostly due to disease, in the effort to construct the Panama Canal. Hundreds of thousands of people are estimated to have died building the great wall of China.
When people pooled their efforts to advance a great cause, when they came together to achieve a great project, they often focused on the collective at the expense of the individual. They felt that in comparison to the collective, the individual was insignificant. Societies celebrated the great achievement, but, often, would ignore the individuals who may have been sacrificed for the sake of the collective.
Thus, as the Jews were about to enter the land of Israel, Moses addressed this very issue: the relationship between the individual and the communal in the land they were about to build.
In the book of Deuteronomy, Moses reminded the people of their history and the fundamentals of Torah. in this week’s portion, the portion of Shoftim, Moses discussed institutions they would create in the land of Israel, the priesthood, the monarchy, judiciary and the supreme court. And then, Moses repeated the commandant of the cities of refuge. This commandment was written twice in the first four books of the Torah and repeated twice more by Moses in the fifth book, because the cities of refuge represent the founding principle of the country the Jewish people were about to establish.
Moses tells us:
you shall separate three cities for yourself in the midst of your land, which the Lord, your God, is giving you to possess.
Prepare the road for yourself and divide into three parts the boundary of your land, which the Lord, your God, is giving you as an inheritance, and it will be for every killer to flee there…
As when a man goes with his fellow into the forest to chop wood, and his hand swings the ax to cut down the tree, and the iron flies off the handle, and it reaches his fellow, and he dies he shall flee to one of these cities, and live.
The Torah describes a “work accident”. Somebody was chopping wood in the forest and accidentally a bystander was killed. The Torah tells us that we cannot ignore the tragedy. We cannot allow life to go on as usual just because the person chopping the wood was doing so in the service of the community. The Torah tells us that the accidental murderer needs atonement, he needs to flee to exile in the city of refuge.
This commandment captures the foundation of the Jewish state. An individual cannot be sacrificed for the building of the collective. In fact the opposite is true. The state, the collective has legitimacy only to the extent that it is devoted to protecting the life and dignity of the individual. The Mitzvah of the cities of refuge is a reminder, that in the land of Israel, an individual is never sacrificed on the altar of the collective. The society which the Jewish people built in the land of Israel, represented the truth that every human being is created in the image of G-d.
* * *
The city of refuge exists not only in the realm of space but also in the realm of time. The month of Elul, which precedes the Jewish New Year, is a metaphorical “city of refuge”. It is a time when we seek refuge from the distractions of the broader world, we engage in self reflection, introspection and self betterment.
When we think about the passing year, we will inevitably discover a discrepancy between the life we are living vs. the life we know we want to live. We have lofty goals and ideals, we want to live a life full of accomplishment and meaning, we want deep and rewarding relationships, we want to live by the values we believe in and cherish. Yet, the trouble begins with individual moments.
Somehow, sometimes, the general ideals and aspirations of our life do not infuse and inspire the individual moments, when we have to choose between investing in a meaningful relationship or pursuing something of no lasting value.
The “cities of refuge” remind us that a collective is only as strong as the individuals who comprise it, and life is only as meaningful as daily, seemingly inconsequential, moments and decisions.
The month of Elul is the time we resolve, and we practice, to be mindful of the individual moments of our life. For the life we live, it’s joy and fulfillment, meaning and accomplishments, are determined by individual moments.
Holy Witnesses
Witnesses are an important part of every Judicial system. Yet, as is often the case, Judaism presents a deeper dimension and perspective of the function and purpose of witnesses.
The conventional definition of witnesses is "clarifying witnesses”. Witnesses observe an event and later testify to confirm that the event indeed occurred; for example, witnesses can testify that a man borrowed one hundred dollars from his friend. The witnesses, however, are not part of the transaction and have no part in the obligation to repay. The borrower is morally obligated to repay the loan whether or not the witness testifies. The witnesses are necessary in order to prevent the borrower from avoiding his moral obligation to repay by denying that he borrowed the money. The witnesses themselves, however, are merely observers, the moral obligation to pay is created by the act of the loan not by the witnesses.
Jewish law introduces a second category of witnesses: “witnesses who establish”. According to Jewish law there are events that have no legal significance unless there are witnesses present. For example, the witnesses at a wedding ceremony are a critical part of the onset of the marriage. Marriage witnesses serve not only to clarify in the case where there is a question as to whether a wedding took place, but rather they serve as the ones who actually establish the marriage (in Jewish law, a marriage without proper witnesses has no legal significance).
Torah is comprised of body and soul. These two categories of witnesses are relevant to the inner, spiritual dimension of the Torah.
The prophet Isaiah tells us: “‘You are My witnesses,’ says the Lord (Isaiah 43:10)”. We are the witnesses charged with the responsibility to “testify” and reveal the truth of G-d throughout the earth. Our spiritual task as witnesses contains both dimensions of witnesses, the “clarifying witnesses” who do not create but only reveal, the legal reality, and the “witnesses who establish” who actively participate in creating a legal reality.
We serve as “clarifying witnesses” when we recognize the presence of G-d in the magnificent universe he created. We serve as “clarifying witnesses” when we remind ourselves and others of the good inherent in the world and within people.
Yet merely observing, appreciating, and sharing does not capture the full potential and greatness of the Jew, for the Jew is a witness to a marriage, the marriage between creator and creation, between the groom, G-d, and the bride, the Jewish people, between heaven and earth. As previously explained, the witnesses of a marriage are “establishing witnesses”, part of the creation and establishment of the marriage.
To be a witness to the marriage of heaven and earth the Jew must do more than appreciate and focus on the inherent G-dliness found on earth. The Jew must partner with G-d in creation. The Jew actively improves and elevates the world around him. He transforms the mundane by imbuing it with meaning and holiness. The Jew doesn't just tell a story, the Jew seeks to actively create it.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Reshimos booklet 160).
Is Man a Tree of the Field?
“Man is the tree of the field” says the Torah in order to explain why we should not cut down a fruit bearing tree. But does a tree capture the essence of man?
The Midrash states that man is a microcosm of the entire world. The Kabbalah explains that human emotions are likened to trees and human intelligence is likened to the animal kingdom. Just as a seed grows into a full grown majestic tree, so too, human emotions grow and mature over time. A child loves things that are small and immature, as the child grows, his love grows too. He desires things that are more expensive and more valuable.
A tree is stationary. While it grows upward it is rooted in one place and cannot uproot itself and implant itself elsewhere. Human emotions are similar, while one’s emotions evolve, the basic emotional makeup of a person remains the same. Some people are more inclined to love, others to anger, some to compassion, others to jealousy.
The human mind, however, is likened to a living animal. The animal is not planted in one place. An animal can travel great distances and explore great expanses. The human mind, too, can travel great expanses. The human mind is objective and can explore perspectives very different from its own. The emotions are centered in one place, they are chiefly concerned with how the self feels, and all stimuli is filtered through the lens of the question: “how does this make me feel”. The mind, by contrast, is able to escape the trappings of self, transcend the familiar perspective of one’s own inclinations and explore ideas foreign to his native environment.
If the tree represents subjective emotion and the animal represents the objective mind, why does the Torah tell us that man is a tree of the field, implying that the uniqueness of man is something other than his intelligence?
The ability to think abstractly is unique to the human being. Yet abstract thought per se is not the superiority of man. Yes, humanity has made great leaps forward in developing advanced sciences, culture and philosophy. We have uncovered distant galaxies and subatomic particles. We have landed man on the moon and a rover on mars. Impressive indeed. But does abstract intelligence alone make us better, kinder, more compassionate people?
The Torah is telling us that the greatest achievement of man is when abstract thinking affects his emotions, when his capacity to be objective allows him to see the needs of others and to relate to them with human emotion. Man is the tree of the field, because abstract knowledge is valuable only to the extent that it affects the person we are. A man is a tree, because the greatest achievement of a person is when his knowledge makes him into a mentch.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Shoftim vol. 4)
King vs. Judge
In the portion of Shoftim, the Torah addresses the institutions of leadership within the Jewish people: the Judiciary (the courts which we are commanded to establish "in all your gates {cities}", as well as the supreme court in Jerusalem), monarchy, prophecy, and priesthood.
In addition to the literal meaning, every part of Torah exists on multiple levels, including within the soul of man. Each of us has the "institutions of government" that can lead us toward a healthy, productive, and meaningful life. Exploring the characteristics of two forms of leadership in our Parsha, the judge and the king, will help us understand their equivalent within our personality, which will help us utilize them to their fullest potential.
Based on the verse in our Parsha regarding the king "so that his heart will not be haughty over his brothers," Maimonides defines the king as the "heart" of the Jewish people". As Maimonides explains:
"Deuteronomy 17: 17 warns: 'lest his heart go astray.' His heart is the heart of the entire congregation of Israel. Therefore, the verse commanded him to have it cleave to the Torah to a greater degree than the rest of the nation, as it is stated: 'all the days of his life.'
The king seems to be the most powerful leader, yet, the metaphor of "heart" also points to the weakness of the king (indeed the Zohar explains that the heart is "sensitive and weak). While the king is the most powerful person in the kingdom, in many ways the king is weaker than his subjects. The phrase "there is no king without subjects" highlights that the monarchy is dependent on the subjects for its very existence. In addition, based on the verses in the book of Samuel, Maimonides describes how the king is permitted to tax his subjects and draft them to his armies. While that emphasizes the king's power, paradoxically, it also highlights his weakness; he is dependent on his people for all his needs. The king is therefore likened to the heart, whose relationship with the other limbs of the body also portrays its strength and weakness simultaneously. On one hand, the heart pumps life-giving blood to the rest of the body. On the other hand, the heart can only share the blood it receives from the other limbs. Thus, the heart is in a dance with the limbs, it is their "leader, yet the heart is constantly working on their behalf, pumping life non-stop. The same is true for the king. He is the leader of his subjects, yet his primary role is to serve them. His role is to "go forth before them and come before them, who will lead them out and bring them in."
The judge, by contrast, is likened to the "head." The judge is a scholar whose knowledge of the Torah and his expertise in applying its legal wisdom is independent of other people. He is aloof and apart from the rest of the population. In contrast to the heart, which is in the midst of the torso, integrated with the rest of the body, the judge, like the head, is above and distinct from the rest of the body,
There are two primary leaders within each of us: the intelligent mind, which is the figurative judge, and the emotions, which are the figurative heart. Emotions seem all-powerful; they have the strength to motivate us with far more force than the mind. However, like the king, the emotions serve the person. Emotions are rooted in the person's subjective experience. By contrast, the intelligence of the mind, our inner "judge", does not seem as strong as our emotions; just because we understand intellectually that something is good for us does not mean that we will be motivated enough to pursue it. Yet, like the judge who is aloof from the people, the mind is objective, able to break free of a person's narrow experience and biases, allowing the person to grow beyond his own ego and perspective.
Judaism believes in the separation of powers. We need both the judge and the king; both the cold, aloof, intellectual analysis, which directs us to the correct path, as well as the passionate, subjective emotions, whose force fuels our journey of growth and achievement.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 19, Shoftim 1
What Separates Successful People From the Pack?
"You shall set up judges and law enforcement officials for yourself in all your cities that the Lord, your God, is giving you, for your tribes, and they shall judge the people [with] righteous judgment."
This verse, the commandment to set up a justice system, is the opening statement of this week's Torah portion, the portion of Shoftim.
The Chasidic commentaries explain that it also has another meaning. Every individual person is called upon to appoint figurative "judges" and "officers" at their own "gates", at their eyes, ears, and mouth, the "gates through which we interact with the world. "Judges" refers to our intellectual ability to evaluate what stimuli we want to allow into our consciousness; our inner "Judge" differentiates between what is a productive or destructive interaction with the people around us. Yet, Judges are not enough because we often know which action is correct, but occasionally, that is not enough to motivate action because we choose the more comfortable, momentarily convenient path. The Torah, therefore, tells us to establish "officers" who are responsible for implementing the judge's verdict. The appointment of "officers" represents the ability to commit to taking the right action despite internal or external obstacles.
Apparently this ancient wisdom is true not only for our spiritual growth and interpersonal relationships but also for achieving success in the material world. While reading the Chassidic commentary, my brother sent me an article from inc.com with the catchy headline: "Warren Buffett Says What Separates Successful People From the Pack Comes Down to 1 Simple Word”’ the article quotes him as saying: "The difference between successful people and really successful people is that really successful people say no to almost everything”, and it was the late Steve Jobs who said: "People think focus means saying yes to the thing you've got to focus on. But that's not what it means at all. It means saying no to the hundred other good ideas that there are. You have to pick carefully. I'm actually as proud of the things we haven't done as the things I have done."
Hear O Israel
When you hear the words "Hear O Israel," you probably think of the most important declaration in Judaism, the Shema prayer, which we are commanded to recite twice each day, in the morning and at night: "Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G‑d, the L-rd is One."
Yet, in this week's Torah portion, the words "Hear O Israel" appear in what seems to be a completely unrelated context. The Torah describes how, in preparation for battle, the priest would speak words of encouragement to the soldiers:
And he {the priest} shall say to them, "Hear, O Israel, today you are approaching the battle against your enemies. Let your hearts not be faint; you shall not be afraid, and you shall not be alarmed, and you shall not be terrified because of them. (Deuteronomy 20:3)
Rashi is sensitive to the connotation of the words "Hear O Israel" and explains that there indeed is a connection between the preparation for battle and the Shema prayer:
“Hear, O Israel": even if you have no merit other than the reading of the Shema, you are worthy that He [God] save you.
The Chassidic commentary adds a deeper insight into the connection between a battle and the Shema. The Shema expresses the unity of G-d, that there is no existence or experience outside that is independent of the Divine oneness. G-d is present both in the "morning", when there is "light”, and His presence is felt, as well as at night, in times of "darkness", pain and suffering, when his existence is concealed.
When we face a challenge, either spiritual or physical, we may become terrified by the magnitude and difficulty of the battle we face. By evoking the words "Hear O Israel", our inner "priest" reminds us not to be afraid because the core and energy of our adversary is a spark of the one G-d. When we have faith that the challenge was created in order to lead us to greater heights, to help us discover the enormous potential in the most unlikely of places, we are able to be victorious in battle and ultimately transform the adversary by revealing its inner essence and core.
Adapted from the Sfas Emes
The Woman of Beautiful Form
One of the most puzzling commandments in the Torah, is the commandment regarding the “Woman of beautiful form”, which opens this week's Torah portion. The Torah commands that when a Jew goes to war and captures a beautiful Gentile woman, and desires her, he may marry her providing that he follows the conditions placed by the Torah. He may cohabit with her once, he then has to bring her to his home, she should then be in a state of mourning for her family for a full month, and then, if the Jew still desires her, he may marry her. If he does not want to marry her, he must set her free.
When you go out to war against your enemies, and the Lord, your God, will deliver him into your hands, and you take his captives. And you see among the captives a beautiful woman and you desire her, you may take [her] for yourself as a wife. You shall bring her into your home, and she shall shave her head and let her nails grow. And she shall remove the garment of her captivity from upon herself, and stay in your house, and weep for her father and her mother for a full month. After that, you may be intimate with her and possess her, and she will be a wife for you. And it will be, if you do not desire her, then you shall send her away wherever she wishes, but you shall not sell her for money. You shall not keep her as a servant, because you have afflicted her.
This law seems strange. Isn't the purpose of the Torah to lead us toward greater moral heights, to elevate us to a life of spirituality and holiness? Yet, this commandment seems to give permission for man to follow his most animalistic instincts?
The conventional answer is, the Torah understands the nature of man and “is speaking to the evil inclination” of man. In other words, the Torah recognizes that the person's evil inclination is so powerful that if the Torah would prohibit all possibility of marrying the beautiful woman, the person would disregard the prohibition, ignore all morality and would exploit the vulnerable woman. Instead the Torah prefers to give a “road map” to a kosher marriage, thus ensuring that the beautiful captive woman would be given the protections of marriage and would be protected from exploitation.
There are, however, mystical explanations to this law, which interpret this law, not as a concession to Human weakness, but as a deep lesson into the nature of a Jew’s spiritual journey on this earth.
The Kabbalists teach that to understand this law’s mystical meaning one must think about these verses as an analogy. What if the “woman of beautiful form”, who is in captivity, is none other than one's soul? What if this commandment teaches how to appreciate the pain of the soul, who is often trapped and unable to self-express, while in the body? What if this commandment is teaching how to set the captive free?
Then, the verses would read as follows:
When you go out to war against your enemies - when a person enters this world, he or she must know that the journey he or she is embarking upon is not a spiritual cruise, but rather it is a spiritual battlefield. Every step of the way the person will be challenged by his evil inclination, the enemy of spirituality.
and the Lord, your God, will deliver him into your hands, - the first thing the person must know is that although at times it seems that the evil inclination is exceedingly powerful, nevertheless, G-d gives him or her the strength to be victorious over the evil inclination.
and you take his captives, And you see among the captives a beautiful woman - the beautiful woman is the soul, which was taken captive by the evil inclination. When the evil inclination entices a person to do something wrong, the person invests the energy of his soul into the negative act, which in turn places the soul in captivity in the hands of the evil inclination.
And you desire her - the key to releasing the soul from spiritual captivity is desire. The person must awaken a passion and desire to connect to and bond with his own soul. The desire, which was previously directed toward earthly pleasures, must now be directed toward his inner soul.
you may take [her] for yourself as a wife. You shall bring her into your home - the soul will then enter the home, meaning the soul will now be able to express herself in the person's body and in the person’s life.
After that, you may be intimate with her and possess her, and she will be a wife for you - once the soul is freed from captivity, you may be intimate with her; you may enjoy the great spiritual pleasure of bonding with a soul.
Perhaps the greatest lesson the Torah can teach us is to be sensitive to the pain of the beautiful soul which is in captivity within our body. Only we have the power to release her from captivity and allow her to express herself. Only we have the power to set her free.
Field or Vineyard?
Among the many laws in the Torah that command us to treat those less fortunate than us with dignity, in this week’s Parsha we read about the commandment to allow an employee, while on the job, to eat from the produce he is harvesting. As the Torah states:
When you enter your neighbor's vineyard, you may eat as many grapes as you desire, until you are sated, but you shall not put [any] into your vessel.
When you enter your neighbor's standing grain, you may pick the ears with your hand, but you shall not lift a sickle upon your neighbor's standing grain
Why does the Torah repeat the same idea, one about an employee working in a vineyard and one about an employee working in a grain field? Why is it not enough to state the principle once?
The repetition of the law is an indication that the Torah seeks to tell us more than the straightforward meaning of the verse. The Torah repeats the law because, on a deeper level, the two employees, the one working in the vineyard and the one working in the field of grain, refer to two different types of employees, they refer to two very different attitudes toward man’s work and purpose on this earth.
G-d created a beautiful but imperfect world. At the conclusion of the six days of creation the Torah states: “G-d rested on the seventh day from all his work which G-d created ‘Laasot’, which means to correct and to perfect. The world is an often chaotic field; we were placed on this earth to “work” it, to create order out of the chaos, to discover the fertility hidden within the earth, to plant and to harvest and ultimately to bring the world to perfection.
There are two ways of looking at our “work”. Some see the world as a field of grain, while others see it as a vineyard. Grain, in the Bible, is staple food; it is a necessity needed for survival, while the vine, and the wine it produces, represents pleasure and enjoyment.
A person can be G-d’s employee, he can understand that he has a purpose in life, a goal he must achieve in order to perfect the world and to fulfill his responsibility toward his maker. Yet, he is working with grain. He does what he needs to as a result of moral necessity, his work is void of any passion or pleasure. Then, there is another person striving to achieve the same goal as the first person. He too recognizes his responsibility, as an employee of G-d, toward the world around him, but he sees the world as vineyard. He sees the work, not as a burdensome task, but rather as a source of pleasure and satisfaction. Both of these people are employees, they are both in the same line of work, yet one is in a field and one is in a vineyard.
Both are entitled to “eat on the job”, both are entitled to benefit from G-d’s blessing, both physically and spiritually. There is, however, a fundamental difference between them. The employee working in the field, the one who has no pleasure and just does his obligation, receives a limited flow from above. The employee working in the vine, the one who invests his pleasure and essence into the work, going above and beyond the call of duty, receives an infinite flow from above as he connects to the essence of G-d.
That is why, explain the Kabbalists, when talking about the employee in the vineyard, the Torah says “you shall not put [any] into your vessel”, in the literal sense this means that he may not put any grapes into his vessel to take home. The inner meaning of the verse is that the Divine blessing that the employee in the vineyard will receive, the level of G-dliness he will reach, will be infinite. As such, it will not be able to be contained in the limited confines of a vessel.
Mother Bird
Raising children in a modern democracy introduces unique challenges; chief among them is how to impose some measure of authority in a society that promotes individual choices, freedom and rights?
As parents it is our responsibility to show our children unconditional love, but also to set boundaries for our children. We often hesitate and wonder what right do we have to teach our children to respect us? What right do we have to impose our perspective on our children? Perhaps our children know best when they argue that our suggested bedtime is too early and our taste in fashion is outdated?
We watch with amazement as our children surpass us in the ease with which they navigate technology, and we wonder: perhaps we are holding them back, perhaps they know what's best for themselves in this changing world, perhaps they are better suited to creating their own boundaries just as they are in writing their own computer code?
In this week’s portion, Ki Teitze, the Torah provides deep insight about the importance of honoring parents. The Torah instructs us how to treat a mother bird:
If a bird's nest chances before you on the road, on any tree, or on the ground, and [it contains] fledglings or eggs, if the mother is sitting upon the fledglings or upon the eggs, you shall not take the mother upon the young. You shall send away the mother, and [then] you may take the young for yourself, in order that it should be good for you, and you should lengthen your days.
A person may not take the eggs or young birds together with the mother, instead he must send away the mother before he takes the children. Taking the mother bird together with the children exploits the mother's natural kindness to her children which causes her to stay with her children and not escape. The Torah commands us to send away the mother in respect of the mother bird's natural motherly devotion.
The Torah is teaching us more than just to respect our parents who brought us into this world, as described in the fifth of the Ten Commandments: “honor your father and your mother”. With its instruction to send away the mother bird the Torah is teaching us that we have to respect parenthood in general, even if the parent isn't our parent and even if she is not a member of our species. Respecting a parent brings to our attention that every phenomenon has a parent, a source, from which it derives. That, in turn, makes us conscious that the entire world has a source, a parent, a creator. G-d, the first cause, the parent of all existence, who possesses the power to create, bestowed that power to a created being, gifting him or her with the ability to give life.
Thus, when we teach our children to honor their parents we are not asserting our own right to authority, we are not claiming that we are always correct or that we always know all the answers. We are teaching our children to respect their parents because their parents are a vessel to the Divine power to create.
Immediately following the Mitzvah to send away the mother bird the Torah continues:
When you build a new house, you shall make a guard rail for your roof, so that you shall not cause blood [to be spilled] in your house, that the one who falls should fall from it [the roof].
Once our children learn to recognize that their parents were gifted with a Divine creating power, they will discover that same creative spirit within themselves. They will learn that G-d placed within their souls the imagination and spirit to create, they too, can “build a new home” and leave their unique imprint and contribution upon the world. When they realize that their creative ability is a Divine gift, they will ensure that it is used in a responsible way, in a way that is not harmful to other people. They will create a “fence” on the “roof” of the “home they built” to ensure that others are not harmed, and that the gift of creativity is used consistent with the will of G-d, the “parent” of the ability to create.
Teach your children to respect their parents. They will learn to respect the Divine spark wherever they see it: within their parents, within nature and within themselves.
The Mystical Marriage
Many of the laws of Jewish marriage are derived from this week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitze. Just a few words in this parsha are the basis for an entire Talmudic tractate packed with the legalities of Jewish marriage, from its major legal principles down to specific intricate details of its laws.
All aspects of Torah, the law, morality, mysticism and instructions for life, are part of one whole, the legal part of Torah is the body of Torah while the mystical part of Torah is the soul. By examining the body, the legal “mechanism” of the marriage, we can discover the Torah’s perspective on the “soul” of marriage.
“Kiddushin” (betrothal) is the Hebrew word for the legal status of marriage. While there are three ways to affect a “Kiddushin”, the most common one is when a man gives a woman something of monetary value for the sake of “Kiddushin”, and the woman accepts the object of monetary value for the purpose of becoming betrothed.
A close analysis will show that “Kiddushin” contains two components. The first is “Kesef”, which is the Hebrew word for money (or its value), which the woman receives. The second component is the “Kiddushin” itself, the woman is betrothed “consecrated” to this marriage, and she is prohibited from marrying anyone else.
The Talmudic commentators ask an interesting question: which of these components takes effect first and triggers the other? Is the money the trigger, meaning is the woman betrothed as a result of the acquisition of the money or does it work the other way around, the woman acquires the money only as a result of the onset of the marriage.
A careful examination of the Talmudic sources will reveal that this is not merely a theoretical discussion, but rather there are practical legal ramifications to this question.
These two components, “Kesef”, the money and “kiddushin” the betrothal, represent two spiritual ideas which are necessary in order to create a marriage, without either one of them no marriage can survive and thrive.
The Hebrew word for Money, “Kesef”, comes from the Hebrew word “Kosef” meaning love and yearning. The word “Kiddushin” comes from the word “kodesh” which means “designated”, representing that marriage is about exclusive commitment. Marriage is created and nourished by both love and commitment.
These are very different, perhaps even contradictory, emotions. Love is passionate and exciting, it is where the person who loves expresses him or her self. When I love something or someone I do so because of how it makes me feel. Commitment, on the other hand, is not about what I want and how I feel at the given moment. Commitment is the ability to place my will aside and create space for someone else’s needs and perspective. Commitment is the ability to be there for someone on their terms. Commitment is the ability to connect even when one does not feel the passionate love; in fact, commitment is the oxygen which allows the passionate love to reignite.
Love is self centered. When I feel love, I am in the center of the relationship. When I feel, and practice, commitment, the other person is in the center. Both love and commitment, both “money” and “betrothal” are critical to a healthy relationship.
Marriage between man and woman is a reflection of the the spiritual “marriage” between G-d and the Jewish people. Our “marriage” with G-d is also centered on the two ideas of “Kesef” money, which, as explained earlier, represents love, and “kiddushin”, betrothal, which represents exclusive commitment, which in the context of our marriage with G-d represents the commitment to separate form negativity and unholiness.
The question is, which of these elements comes first and triggers the other? Should we first seek to love, to feel inspired and connected to holiness before we work on ridding negativity and distraction from our life, or, alternatively, should we first focus on being committed to G-d, on separating from negativity, before we can hope to experience the bliss of love and enthusiasm in our relationship with G-d?
In our spiritual marriage, either of the elements will trigger the other. Both paths will lead to success, for each of these two components will trigger the other, the commitment will inevitably trigger love and the love will solidify the commitment.
This is a profound lesson in our service of G-d. We don't need to wait until we rid ourselves of negativity, we don't need to wait until our relationship with G-d is exclusive and all encompassing. Instead we should focus on the good, creating moments of inspiration and love in our life, which, ultimately, will trigger the “kddushin”, the betrothal, the complete, exclusive, committed, relationship with G-d.
Betrothal
The Biblical source for the laws of marriage are derived from this week’s Torah portion. The Talmud explains that there are three ways to betroth a woman:
A woman is acquired by, i.e., becomes betrothed to, a man to be his wife in three ways, and she acquires herself, i.e., she terminates her marriage, in two ways. The mishna elaborates: She is acquired through money, through a document, and through marital relations.
Jewish law may appear to be technical and legalistic, yet, upon deeper reflection we discover that the nuances of the law express Judaism’s philosophical and spiritual perspective on a given subject. Judaism’s perspective and insight into the profound meaning, beauty, romance and mystery of marriage can be discovered by exploring the meaning behind the seemingly technical details of the law.
There are three ways to betroth a woman, not merely because the Torah would like to give us more options on how to create the legal state of marriage, but rather because marriage has three dimensions or layers. Each of the three methods of betrothal express one of the three dimensions of the relationship.
[To be sure, one of the methods of betrothal suffice to usher in all three dimensions of the marriage. In fact, the rabbis prohibited betrothal through intimacy, and it has become the universal custom to betroth through a form of money. Yet, the law offers three forms of betrothal to teach us to be aware of all three dimensions that can be initiated by any one of these three forms of betrothal.]
The first form of betrothal is betrothal through money, where the groom gives the bride something of monetary value. Money is tangible and physical. Money represents the physical aspects of the relationship. The couple will live under the same roof, eat dinner together, have a joint bank account and file a joint tax return. They will spend time together and enjoy each other's company. Yet, while important, the physical aspect of the relationship is not all there is to marriage.
The second form of betrothal is through writing a legal document. The document itself does not have to have any monetary value. The document’s value is abstract and intangible. The document represents the spiritual aspect of the marriage. The relationship is not merely an arrangement encompassing the physical aspects of life, but rather the relationship includes the spiritual dimension as well. They will share ideas with each other, enjoy each others wit, wisdom and point of view.
Betrothal by document reminds us that marriage is more than just sharing together, marriage is about creating a bond between two souls (or, as the mystics say: reuniting two halves of the same soul).The document represents the soul connection that is established (or reestablished) through marriage.
The third form of betrothal, marital intimacy, represents the ultimate goal of marriage. In Judaism, intimacy in the context of a sacred marriage is considered a holy experience for it is a fusion of both body and soul. It is when the first two dimensions of marriage, the physical unity and the spiritual unity merge. The physical union expresses the deepest spiritual bond.
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The marriage of man and woman is a reflection and mirror image of the spiritual marriage between G-d, the groom, and the Jewish people, the bride. Perhaps we can add that our relationship with G-d is also expressed in these three forms of betrothal: 1) betrothal by money: G-d blesses us with our physical life, health, and necessities, allowing us to enjoy our physical life on earth 2) betrothal by document: we enjoy a spiritual connection with G-d, by studying his document, his Torah, which contains the mysteries of his deepest thoughts 3) betrothal by intimacy: the ultimate expression of our connection with G-d is through performing a Mitzvah. For the physical act of the commandment is an act of intimacy with G-d, whereby our body and soul become one with his infinity.
(Adapted from Binyan Adei Ad, by Rabbi Yosef Karasik)
Song of the Angels
The songs sung by the angels occupy a central part of the Jew’s daily prayers:
“Whose ministering angels all stand at the height of the Universe, and proclaim with reverence... they all open their mouths in holiness and purity, with song and music, and they bless, and praise, and glorify, and revere, and sanctify, and proclaim... Holy, holy, holy is Adonoy of Hosts, the fullness of all the earth is His glory. And the Ofanim and the holy Chayos, with a mighty sound rise toward the Serafim. Facing them, they offer praise and say: Blessed is the glory of Adonoy from His place.
The question begs to be asked: why do we plagiarize from the angels? Could we not have commissioned a writer to create man-made, original material to use in praise of G-d? Why couldn't our great sages and poets collaborate to produce a few pieces of good writing?
Each of us possess not one but two souls. The animal soul which is self oriented, and the G-dly soul, which is a spark of G-d yearning to reconnect with its source in heaven. We pray with the totality of ourselves, we therefore address both the G-dly soul as well as the animal soul.
A central part of the daily prayer is the Shema prayer, in which we meditate on the oneness of G-d, and seek to awaken a love to G-d. In the opening phrase of the Shema, “Hear O Israel”, we are talking to our inner Israel, to the divine spark within us. We seek to feel its perspective and connect to its feeling of yearning to G-d.
But before we can focus on the G-dly soul we must first address the more dominant and aggressive force within ourselves, the animal soul, whose self oriented passion is often directed to materialism and superficiality, and directed away from the transcendent and meaningful.
Yet Jewish mysticism teaches that everything on this earth has a source in heaven, what appears to be a negative phenomenon is, in truth, a distortion of a holy energy rooted in the spiritual source. It is our task to realign the phenomenon with its source, by channeling its inner spark in a positive direction. Doing so heals the distortion and corrects and perfects the earthly phenomenon.
When we look at the animalistic passion in our heart and seek to direct it to positivity, we cannot inspire it with songs written by a human being, because the animalistic passion is not influenced by rational thinking and is not affected by the music of humanity. Instead, we sing the songs of the angels. The Kabbalaists explain that the intense love, awe, and passion that the angels experience, is the spiritual source for animalistic passion here on earth. The angel's passion to G-d is supra rational, and when that energy descends into this earth it is distorted into irrationality.
Thus, every morning, before we talk to our G-dly soul we take a few minutes to sing to our animal soul. We talk to it in the language it understands, the language of unbridled passion, love and desire. We tell the animal soul that the source of its intense passion is the powerful yearning and intense desire to G-d experienced by the angels and expressed in the angelic songs of praise.
This, explain the mystics, is the meaning of the opening verse of our Parsha: “when you go out to war upon (literally: on, or above) your enemy and the L-rd your G-d will place him in your hand” The intense passion of the animal soul is the spiritual “enemy” that seeks to destroy our connection to holiness. The battle we are engaged in is the battle to transform the animalistic passion to a passion for holiness. To achieve victory in this battle, we must tap into that which is “above” the enemy. We allow it to experience its spiritual source, by letting it hear the songs of the angels.
(Adapted from Likutei Torah, Ki Teitse)
The Blessing of "Letting Go"
When harvesting a field, the Torah commands that we share specific gifts with the poor. We are commanded to leave a corner of the field (Pe'ah), and individual stalks of wheat that fall to the ground (Leket), for the poor people. These commandments were written in the book of Leviticus and repeated in our Parsha in Deuteronomy.
Our Parsha introduces a new commandment that was not written in Leviticus, the commandment regarding the forgotten sheaf (Shi'chi'cha):
When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to take it; it shall be [left] for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow, so that the Lord, your G-d, will bless you in all that you do. (Deuteronomy 24:19)
Leaving the forgotten bundle is more than just a way to feed the poor. It is introduced specifically in the book of Deuteronomy, as the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel and transition from a life of spirituality in the desert to a life dedicated to earthly matters. The life of agriculture can be all-consuming, potentially distracting the person from spiritual life.
The command to leave the forgotten sheaf frees the farmer's mind of worry. Naturally, when the farmer comes home from work, his mind drifts back to the field. He wonders, "did I leave anything behind?", "did I maximize my potential for profit?", "did I miss any opportunities to increase my income?" The Torah liberates the farmer from constant worry, allowing him to focus on the time with his family and his spiritual life. There is no point in worrying about the forgotten sheaf because even if he forgot something in the field, it is no longer his; it belongs to the poor people.
Although we are not farming the land of Israel, this message is just as relevant to each of us. We are called upon to achieve success in every realm of life: personal, spiritual, and material. We were blessed with a sense of ambition to accomplish, which propels us toward greater success. However, the danger of ambition is that after we do what we can, once we "return home", we cannot enjoy our blessings. We cannot focus on the present, our family, and our spiritual life because we are thinking about the "sheafs" and the opportunities we may have left in the "field". The commandment of the forgotten sheaf, the recognition that what we left in the field was not meant for us, allows us to receive the blessing "that the Lord, your G-d, will bless you in all that you do." It is the blessing of a mind free to focus on the deeper gifts in life.
Adapted from Rabbi S.R. Hirsh
You Will Not Be Able To Ignore
Every morally just legal system requires that a person not cause damage to his fellow. Yet the Torah goes much further in its moral calling. A person must invest time and effort to prevent his fellow from suffering a loss. This principle is demonstrated in the commandment to return a lost object:
1. You shall not see your brother's ox or sheep straying, and ignore them. [Rather,] you shall return them to your brother.
2. But if your brother is not near you, or if you do not know him, you shall bring it into your house, and it shall be with you until your brother seeks it out, whereupon you shall return it to him.
3. So shall you do with his donkey, and so shall you do with his garment, and so shall you do with any lost article of your brother which he has lost and you have found. You shall not ignore [it].
(Deuteronomy 22)
But are there any limits to this obligation? Does one have to return a lost object even at great monetary expense to himself or at the expense of one's dignity? The Talmudic sages isolate the words of the first verse of the passage, "and ignore them", and teach that there are scenarios when one may ignore a lost object:
The Sages taught in a baraita: It is stated with regard to the return of a lost item: “You shall not see your brother’s ox or his sheep wandering and ignore them; you shall return them to your brother” (Deuteronomy 22:1). The tanna explains that the phrase “and ignore them” means that there are occasions in which you may ignore lost items and there are occasions in which you may not ignore them.
How so; under what circumstances may one disregard a lost item? One may do so in a case where he was a priest and the lost item is in the graveyard (Leviticus 21:1–4), or where he was an elderly person and it is not in keeping with his dignity to tend to the item, or where the value of his labor was greater than the value of the lost item of the other person, i.e., if the finder was to return the item, reimbursing him for his lost wages would cost more than the value of the item; therefore, it is stated: “And ignore them.” (Baba Metziah 30a)
Rabbi Moshe Alshich, the great 16th-century mystic, explains a deeper dimension of these passages. When seeing a lost object and realizing the cost of time and effort it would take to return it, a person's first instinct is to ignore it. Therefore, in the first verse, the Torah emphasizes "you shall not see… and ignore them" because a person's natural inclination is to be self-oriented and therefore "ignore" another's potential financial loss. Yet, after engaging in performing the commandment - as described in the second verse ("your brother is not near you, or if you do not know him, you shall bring it into your house, and it shall be with you until your brother seeks it out, whereupon you shall return it to him") the person's nature is transformed. He becomes empathetic and sensitive to the other person to the extent that he can no longer ignore his fellow. This is expressed in the final verse of the passage, which, while commonly translated as "You shall not ignore", actually means "you will not be able to ignore”.
The portion of Ki Teitzei includes 74 of the Torah's 613 commandments, which cover virtually every area of life. Every Mitzvah further refines our character. From the natural inclination to be self-centered and ignore the people around us, we become people who "are not able to ignore".
Don’t Forget the Vinegar
The commandment to remember Amalek, “remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt,” (Deuteronomy 24:17), is one of the six events in Jewish history that we are commanded to remember every day. What is the benefit of constantly reminding ourselves of Amalek? Would it not be more beneficial to ignore the negativity that Amalek represents and focus on living a healthy, positive life? Indeed, this is the meaning of the Midrash which records the Jewish people’s response to this commandment:
Remember what Amalek did to you on the way when you were leaving Egypt — The Jewish people said: Moshe, our teacher! One verse says, Remember what Amalek did to you, and another verse says, Remember the Shabbos day to sanctify it. How can both be fulfilled? This one says remember, and that one says remember!...
The memory of Shabbat is one of the most important principles of Judaism. Shabbat reminds us of the creator who created the world in six days and rested on the seventh day; it reminds us that the world was created for a purpose, and we dedicate the Shabbat day to fostering and developing our spiritual life. The memory of Amalek, by contrast, seems to be the antithesis of the memory of Shabbat, it reminds us of the human ability to defy G-d, to undermine morality and to prey on the weak. Why then would the Torah tell us to constantly be mindful not only of the Shabbat but also of Amalek?
The Medrash records Moses’ response:
Moshe replied to them: “A cup of spiced wine cannot be compared to a cup of vinegar {even though} this is a cup and that is a cup. This is a remembrance to guard and sanctify the Shabbos day, and the other is a remembrance of a punishment.” (Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer ch. 44)
While it seems that the Midrash presents spiced wine (Shabbat) and vinegar (Amalek) as two matters which cannot be compared to one another, the reality is that the origin of vinegar is wine. The deeper meaning of the Midrash is that, like every reality in this world, including Amalek, originates from G-d. Amalek too can be transformed to serve a positive purpose. While vinegar cannot be consumed alone, when added to a dish it can improve and enhance the taste of the food. The negative energy and passion of Amalek can be transformed to positive passion that will bring us closer to G-d. The negative experience itself can become fuel that generates intense longing and closeness to G-d.
Both Shabbat, the holy experiences in our life, and Amalek, the negative aspects of our personality, can both serve as “cups” that enable us to “receive” and experience the flow of holiness. The difference is that Shabbat is inherently a “cup of spiced wine”, whereas Amalek must be transformed before it can enhance our spiritual lives.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos 19 Ki Teitze
Entering the Land
It is a Mitzva which can only be fulfilled once a Jew enters the land of Israel. After waiting all winter and spring, the farmer’s trees begin to give their fruit. The farmer would then take the first fruit, the Bikurim, and bring them to the Temple and bestow them upon the Priest, as a recognition that all the land, its produce and its blessings are a gift from G-d.
As the Torah says in the opening words of this week’s Parsha:
And it will be, when you come into the land which the Lord, your God, gives you for an inheritance, and you possess it and settle in it, that you shall take of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you will bring from your land, which the Lord, your God, is giving you. And you shall put [them] into a basket and go to the place which the Lord, your God, will choose to have His Name dwell there. And you shall come to the Kohen who will be [serving] in those days, and say to him, "I declare this day to the Lord, your God, that I have come to the land which the Lord swore to our forefathers to give us."
When exactly does the commandment begin?
An important difference exists between the commandment of the first fruit and other commandments that apply to the produce of the land (i.e. the commandment to gift the priest with the first piece of dough).
Historically, the Land of Israel was not divided amongst the Jews at one time. It took seven years for the Jewish people to conquer the land of Israel and another seven years to divide the land amongst the tribes and families. The people who were first in getting their portion of the land were enjoying the fruit of their land years before the last Jew received his portion of the land. Other commandments that apply to the produce of the land take effect as soon as an individual Jew enters the land and takes possession of a portion of land. The first fruit were different. The verse states:
“When you come into the land which the Lord, your God, gives you for an inheritance, and you possess it and settle in it”
The first fruit are brought to the temple only after “you possess it and settle in it”. As Rashi explains: “This [verse] teaches us that they were not obligated [to bring] first-fruits until they conquered the Land and divided [all of] it [the land].” Meaning no farmer was obligated to thank G-d for his fruit until the entire land was divided.
Why not?
If the purpose of the commandment is to thank G-d, why the need to wait until every last farmer receives his portion of land?
The answer lies in the verse that describes the feeling the farmer must experience while bringing the fruit:
Then, you shall rejoice with all the good that the Lord, your God, has granted you and your household you, the Levite, and the stranger who is among you.
The purpose of the Bikurim is not just thanksgiving; the purpose is joyous thanksgiving. Herein lies a powerful message the Torah is teaching the farmer: yes, you are happy when your trees bear fruit. However, when you come to the place which “the Lord, your God, will choose to have His Name dwell there”, you must experience a deeper part of your soul. You must reveal the essence of your soul, which is in fact, one with all souls of Israel, and is thus incapable of experiencing the joy of inheriting the land, so long as there is another Jew still waiting for his portion.
It is easy to feel a bond with the collective Jewish people in times of crisis or in moments of overwhelming miracles. At these moments, we are shaken to our core, and at our core, we are all one. The Torah teaches that we must take these feelings of love and unity with us “when you come into the land”.
It is easy to feel connected when we are all at the foot of Mount Sinai, but we must carry the unity with us as we enter the land. In the land of Israel each man sits in his own home, “every man under his vine and under his fig-tree”, trying to grow his own personal wealth. The economic system tells us that each man is on his own. Here, the Torah teaches us otherwise.
The Torah teaches us to know that we cannot proclaim our joy while a fellow Jew is still wondering about. We know that our soul will not feel a full measure of joy until every last Jew is joyous.
Celebrating the Mission Statement
There are many Biblical commandments regarding the produce grown in the land of Israel. The Jewish farmer is commanded to offer various tithings, to the Levite and to the poor, that added up to almost twenty percent of the produce. Yet no other commandment of the produce was done with as much ceremony as the commandment of Bikurim, the commandment to bring the first fruit to the temple. In addition to actually bringing the first fruit to the temple, the Torah commands the farmer to declare a very specific declaration of thanksgiving to G-d, the declaration begins with the description of events that took place centuries earlier, going back in history to the story of Jacob, it continues with the description of the slavery and exodus from Egypt, bringing the people into the Promised Land, and concludes with the farmer’s declaring that he is offering the first fruit as a gift to G-d.
In addition to the declaration, the Mishnah describes the details of the procession through which the fruit were carried to Jerusalem:
A bull would go before them and its horns would be plated with gold and it would have a olive wreath around its head. The flute would play before them until they got close to Jerusalem. Once they got close to Jerusalem, they would send ahead of them [a messenger] and adorned their Bikurim. The overseers and the officers and the treasurers would go out to greet them; in accordance with the stature of those coming in would they go out. All the artisans of Jerusalem would stand before them and greet them, "Our brothers from so-and-so, come in peace!"
The flute would continue playing before them until they arrived at the Temple Mount. Once they arrived at the Temple Mount, even Agripas the King would carry his basket on his shoulder and enter until he reached the courtyard. Once they got to the courtyard, the Levites would speak in song (Psalms 30:2), "I will extol you, O Lord, because you have raised me and not allowed my enemies to rejoice over me."
Why was the commandment to bring the fruit accompanied with this great ceremony and a detailed declaration? After all, it was not the largest gift that the farmer was required to give, as the commandments of the tithings far surpassed the value of the few first fruit brought as Bikurim? What was so unique about Bikurim that the Torah sees it as the culmination and high point of all the Jewish trials and tribulations going all the way back to our Patriarch Jacob?
Bikurim was more than the Jewish farmer’s token of appreciation to G-d for the blessings of the harvest. In fact, the Bikurim was a symbol of the mission statement of the People of Israel. While many spiritual seekers chose to escape the mundane constraints of civilization in order to cleave to spirituality, while many lofty souls chose to abandon the confines of the material world in order to transcend, the Torah teaches us that we must not escape the world. The Torah teaches that the purpose of creation is not to escape physicality but rather to sanctify it. Not to abandon the work in the farm and the orchard, but rather to bring its first fruit to G-d.
What is the purpose of the Jewish people? What is the purpose of all the ups and downs, challenges and triumphs of Jewish history? It is all in order that the Jewish people engage in the world and imbue it with spirituality. We take the first fruit of our field, the fruit of all our effort and labor, and bring them to Jerusalem, using the physical fruit to create a spiritual experience of spiritual joy and connection with G-d.
This is not the first time the fruits of the land of Israel take a prominent place in the Biblical story. In the book of Numbers, the spies that were dispatched by Moses to scout the land of Israel returned to the people with a negative report. They convinced the people that they would be unable to conquer the land, and as evidence they displayed the extraordinary large beautiful fruit of the land, in order to “present a slanderous report, namely, just as its fruit are extraordinary, so too its people are extraordinary.” Chasidic Philosophy teaches that the spies also presented a spiritual argument against entering the land. They presented the beautiful fruit of the land and argued that the fruit, and all the effort needed for its cultivation, would be a distraction from the service of G-d. The fruit, and the material bounty it represents, argued the spies, would pull us away from spirituality. Yet the spies were wrong. We the Jews are not afraid of abundance, we sanctify the abundance and use it to intensify our spiritual life.
Thus, the farmer who takes the first fruits to Jerusalem in a celebratory procession is doing more than offering thanksgiving. He is embodying the Jewish mission on earth. He is personifying all that Judaism teaches. He is sanctifying the mundane and elevating the materialism.
He is bringing his first fruits to Jerusalem.
The Heart of the Covenant
It is a word that describes the heart of the bond between the Jewish people and G-d, yet no one knows for sure what the word means.
As the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, as the time of Moses passing was fast approaching, Moses facilitated a covenant between the Jewish people and G-d, in addition to the covenant created at Sinai.
At Sinai it was G-d who pursued the relationship, he took the people out of Egypt and expressed his great love to them by selecting them to be a “kingdom of princes and a holy nation”. The people were passive recipients of this love. Forty years later, however, the relationship had matured, the people were active in its creation, they were the ones who pursued the bond with G-d, and G-d reciprocated to the commitment shown by his people.
The verb used to describe what the people did for G-d, and in turn what G-d did for the Jewish people is “Heemarta” (הֶֽאֱמַ֖רְתָּ) and “Heemircha” (הֶאֱמִירְך). What exactly does this verb mean?
Rashi, the classic Biblical commentator, tells us that in the entire Bible there is no word precisely the same as this one, thus we don’t know for sure what the word means, yet he does suggest two possible meanings:
We do not find any equivalent expression in the Scriptures [which might give us a clue to the meaning of these words]. However, it appears to me that [the expression הֶאֱמִיר] denotes separation and distinction. [Thus, here, the meaning is as follows:] From all the pagan deities, you have set apart the Lord for yourself, to be your God, and He separated you to Him from all the peoples on earth to be His treasured people.
Rashi continues:
[Notwithstanding,] I did find a similar expression [to הֶאֱמִיר], which denotes “glory,” as in the verse “[How long will] all workers of violence glorify themselves (יִתְאַמְּרוּ)?”
Why does the Torah choose to use a word that is so rare that it defies a precise definition? How is it that the Torah does not describe the heart of the covenant with a word whose meaning is clear?
Perhaps the reason is that our relationship with G-d is multifaceted and multidimensional and does not always look the same. Thus the Torah specifically uses a word that has multiple shades of meaning so that it will encompass all phases of our relationship.
Rashi’s first suggestion is that the verb describing the covenant “denotes separation and distinction”. This interpretation describes a person who is totally committed to a bond with G-d, and is not distracted or enticed by anything else. To him G-d is separate and distinct from anything else in the world, holiness is all that is worth pursuing, everything else in his life serves his relationship with holiness. Thus G-d is the only one who he has a relationship with, and he, in turn, is the one who G-d has a sole relationship with. The relationship is just like two people newly in love, who, while navigating through work and life, see nothing other than each other and experience an exclusive and wholesome relationship.
Yet there is more than one way to experience a relationship.
While sometimes we feel a wholesome connection to the holy and to the spiritual, at other times we feel the struggle and pain. Our spiritual life is sometimes more like a warzone than a vacation resort. We try and fail. We sometimes face disappointment frustration and confusion. We experience a deep struggle in our attempt to bond with G-d.
This is why Rashi continues with his second interpretation.
Rashi tells us that the verb describing our relationship can also mean “Glory”, and the verse he quotes is one that describes “workers of violence”, which is a verse with a negative connotation. What Rashi is telling us is that while we prefer a wholesome, loving, tension-free relationship, sometimes we “find” another meaning. Sometimes life teaches us that there is beauty in overcoming challenge. That struggle produces a deeper bond.
The verses describing our covenant can be read as describing the times when we are in love with everything good and holy. When we designate G-d as our exclusive love. In those times the verses read:
You have designated the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways… And the Lord has designated you this day to be His treasured people.
Those same verses can also be read to describe the times of challenge and the beauty of engaging in the struggle. Describing this dimension the verses read:
You have glorified the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways… And the Lord has glorified you this day to be His treasured people.
For indeed, the heart of the covenant is that the Jew is connected to G-d both in peaceful times and in challenging times. The nature of the relationship may be “separation and distinction” - where there is nothing that distracts from the exclusive relationship - or it may entail the “glory” of struggling with darkness, Either way the bond between the Jew and G-d is unbreakable.
Fruit in the Basket
Standing at the bank of the Jordan River, days before he was to pass way, Moses spoke to his beloved people, and, just as they had done forty years earlier at the foot of Mount Sinai, Moses once again instructed them that they were about to reaffirm their covenant with G-d. Moses proceeded to present the people with the blessing for the fulfillment of the Torah and the terrible curses, and exile that would occur if they abandoned the Torah.
Indeed, The theme of this week’s portion, Ki Tavo, is the covenant that Moses made with the Jewish people:
These are the words of the covenant, which the Lord commanded Moses to make with the children of Israel in the land of Moab, besides the covenant which he made with them in Horeb. (Deuteronomy 28:69)
Why then does the Parash open with the specific commandment of Beekurim, the obligation of the Jewish farmer to bring his first fruit to Jerusalem as a gift to G-d? What is the connection between this specific commandment and the rest of the portion which discusses the acceptance of the covenant, a general acceptance of the entire Torah?
It is safe to assume that, somehow, the commandment to take the “first fruit”, place it in a “basket” and bring it to “the place that G-d will choose” is, in addition to the conventional meaning, also a general mystical lesson for the way we are to live, for the way we are to follow the Torah, and, ultimately, for the purpose of all of the Torah.
The Torah tells us:
And it will be, when you come into the land which the Lord, your God, gives you for an inheritance, and you possess it and settle in it,
that you shall take of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you will bring from your land, which the Lord, your God, is giving you. And you shall put [them] into a basket and go to the place which the Lord, your God, will choose to have His Name dwell there. (Deuteronomy 26:12).
The Hebrew word for “land” “Eretz” is related to the Hebrew word “Ratzon”, will. [The Midrash says “why is she (Israel) called (“Eretz”) land? Because she desired (“Ratzah”) to do the will of her creator”.] Both “land” and “will” are related to the Hebrew word for ”running”, for such is the nature of strong will, it forces us to get up and “run” toward that which we desire.
The Kabbalists explain that “Ratzon”, will and desire, is the most powerful force within the human being. The will has the power to control the other faculties and unleash the dormant potential. Awakening the desire to feel or to understand, will, in fact, awaken the heart and mind, [which is why the most effective teachers are not the ones who understand the subject matter the best, nor the ones who can articulate and explain the best, but rather it is the ones who are gifted with the ability to instill a love for the subject, which will inspire the student to want to grasp the subject].
Like the farmer who tills the earth to plant, sow, irrigate and reap fruit, a Jew must also seek to cultivate the “first fruit”. The first and most important thing a Jew should seek to cultivate is, what the Kabbalists call, “Ratzon” (“will”), a desire, a longing and a yearning to transcend the confines of the material and reconnect to the source of all, the infinite light of G-d. Indeed, the purpose of all of Torah is to elevate us, to instill within us a desire to grow and to climb ever higher.
Yet the the desire to “run”, to escape the mundane, to transcend the physical and to cleave to the source of life is only the first step.
Judaism demands much more. Judaism teaches that we need to capture the desire, the urge to run, and direct it to a “vessel” that will be able to contain and preserve the inspiration in daily life. “Take of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you will bring from your land, which the Lord, your God, is giving you. And you shall put [them] into a basket”. Placing the “fruit” in the “basket” means applying the inspiration, the desire to transcend, and investing it into our daily life, into our daily activities.
And as the Torah continues, the purpose of placing the fruit in the basket is to “go to the place which the Lord, your God, will choose to have His Name dwell there” . Where is that “place”? Well, the answer is different for each person. For G-d places each of us in a unique place where it is our mission to “have His Name dwell there”, to fill that place with the inspiration, kindness and joy of Judaism.
So yes, the heart of the covenant, the heart of all the Torah is to take “your first fruit”, place in in a “basket”, and bring to “the place that G-d chose”.
[Adapted from Hayom Yom 18 Elul (Based on the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chasidic movement, whose birthday is the 18th of Elul].
Ingredients of Joy
The ceremony seems disproportionate to the actual gift.
The Jewish farmer was commanded to give various forms of tithings and donations of produce that amounted to about twenty percent of his yearly yield of produce. The Bikurim, the commandment to bring a basket of the first fruit that grow in one’s orchard to Jerusalem, and donate them to the priest, is a very small gift in comparison. Yet the Torah devotes a great deal of attention to the ceremony accompanying the donation of the Bikurim. The Torah describes the specifics of the ceremony and the precise formula and wording the Jewish farmer uses to thank G-d. When presenting the Bikurim the Jew would thank G-d not only for that year’s crop but also for all of Jewish history going back to the days of Jacob our patriarch. Which leads the commentators to ask: why does the Torah make a “big deal” about the small gift of the first fruit?
The concluding verse of the portion of the Bikurim is: Then, you shall rejoice with all the good that the Lord, your God, has granted you and your household. (Deuteronomy 26:11). The Torah is telling us that the two most important ingredients of joy are right here in this commandment. Bring the first fruit announce the declaration and you will experience happiness.
The first ingredient is gratitude. Despite popular belief, the amount of blessing we receive has no impact on our state of joy. The chief ingredient of joy is gratitude. If we take time to be mindful of the blessings we have in our life, we will be joyful. Thus, Moses tells us that in order to achieve joy we need to experience and express our gratitude. The Torah therefore attributes great significance to the gift of the first fruit, not because the fruit themselves are so valuable but because the fruit represent the gratitude which is the basis of joy. The Torah composes the declaration recited by the Jew offering the Bikurim. The declaration of thanksgiving allowing us to focus on the blessings that we, as a people and as individuals, are blessed with.
The second ingredient to happiness is meaning. When the Jew offers the first fruit in the temple he declares that he is part of a broader story which begins with our patriarchs, through the slavery and exodus from Egypt. He too, living in Israel and enjoying its produce continues to contribute his own page to the story. While bringing the fruit the Jew cultivates the art of storytelling, the art of finding meaning in what initially seems to be unrelated, random events. A Jew who sees his life not as a collection of meaningless random moments but instead realizes that there is an overarching purpose to his existence will experience joy in good times and in challenging times. For he senses that the challenging times too add meaning and significance to his life.
In our times, when there is no Holy temple in Jerusalem, we do not fulfill the commandment of Bikurim in the literal sense, however, we do have an opportunity to experience the mitzvah of Bikurim in the figurative sense. Every morning we donate our “first fruits” to G-d. We dedicate the first few moments of the day, to thank G-d, be mindful of his blessings and focus on our purpose. When we say Modeh Ani, recite the Shema, pray and study a portion of the Torah, we are acknowledging the gift of life and its blessings. We realize that G-d gifted us with life and blessing in order for us to fulfill our purpose and mission on earth. Being grateful and mindful of our purpose will inevitably lead to experiencing deep joy. As the Toarh concludes:
Then, you shall rejoice with all the good that the Lord, your God, has granted you and your household you, the Levite, and the stranger who is among you. (Deuteronomy 26:11)
How Do You Spend Your Money?
How you spend your money reflects what you value and the life you strive to create for yourself. What does the Torah tell us about what we should strive to create with our money?
The farmer in the land of Israel is commanded to give three forms of tithings:
The first tithing: six years of the seven year Sabbatical cycle the farmer was commanded to give ten percent of his produce to the Levites, who did not receive a portion of the land, and were dedicated to serving G-d, teaching Torah, and supporting the priests in their service in the Temple.
The second tithing: in the first, second, fourth and fifth year of the Sabbatical cycle, the farmer was commanded to designate ten percent of the produce and eat it, or its value, In Jerusalem, in celebration with his family and with others.
The tithing of the poor: in the third and sixth year of the Sabbatical year the farmer was commanded to give ten percent of the produce to the poor.
These three forms of tithing are not merely a list of the causes we are commanded to support, they represent the values we strive to create in our lives. Our efforts, the money we spend, the possessions and experiences we accumulate, should all serve one of these categories of tithing.
In order to live a healthy and wholesome life we must first create moments and experiences of spirituality, moments of prayer, study and meditation. We take some of our money, which is the produce of our efforts, creativity and energy and invest it in the holy. That money, that investment of time and effort, is the figurative “first tithing” which is designated to support the “Levite”. For in those moments of spirituality we are experiencing the lifestyle of the Levite.
The ultimate purpose of creation, however, is not to escape the physical world and retreat to spirituality, but rather to sanctify and elevate the material world. This is represented by the second tithing, when the Jew was commanded to eat and enjoy food, the benefit from the material world, but to do so in Jerusalem. Figuratively, this represents benefiting from the material blessings in our life but doing so in a holy context, for a spiritual purpose.
While the second tithing is the actual purpose of creation it cannot be achieved before we experience the first tithing. In order to ensure that we are using the bounty of the physical world for a spiritual purpose we must first experience the first tithing, the spiritual experience. Only when we begin our day with a moment of study and prayer can we ensure that the experiences of rest of the day will be elevated and sanctified.
If the first tithing prepares us to be able to experience the second tithing then the tithing of the poor is the gauge that indicates to us whether we are indeed experiencing the second tithing. The indicator that our physical possessions and experiences are not making us more self centered and materialistic, but, on the contrary, are enhancing our service of G-d, is that we are able to transcend ourselves and help our fellow.
To live a balanced life, every dollar you spend should be included in one of three categories: (1) The first tithing: serving a spiritual purpose. (2) The second tithing: a physical need or pleasure that is sanctified because it enhances a spiritual purpose. (3) the tithing of the poor: to transcend the self and contribute for the benefit of others.
(Based on the commentary of Rabbi S.R. Hirsh).
Until Forty Years
On the final day of Moses' life, he gathered the Jewish people to reestablish the covenant with G-d. Up until that point, he said to them, although you have seen G-d's miracles in Egypt and in the desert, you have not yet experienced an internal transformation for the better. Only today, forty years after those events, would the Jewish people have the ability to internalize what they saw:
And Moses called all of Israel and said to them, "You have seen all that the Lord did before your very eyes in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh, to all his servants, and to all his land; the great trials which your very eyes beheld and those great signs and wonders. Yet until this day, the Lord has not given you a heart to know, eyes to see and ears to hear. (Deuteronomy 29:1-3)
Based on these verses, the Talmud states:
Rabba said: Conclude from here that a person does not understand the opinion of his teacher until {after} forty years {as Moses said this to the Jewish people only after forty years since the Torah was given.}
Chassidic teachings explain that the covenant Moses established with the Jewish people on the final day of his life, is recreated every year on Rosh Hashanah, to reestablish our relationship with G-d, by refocusing our life and desire toward him. During the year, when we are involved and invested in material life, our passion is fragmented and dispersed in multiple directions. On Rosh Hashanah, all external desires fade as we rediscover the essence of our soul, whose desire and pleasure is to connect to G-d. When we refocus our desire toward G-d, He reciprocates by gifting us with awareness, sensitivity, awe, and love that is far more elevated than we could hope to achieve on our own. He gives us "a heart to know, eyes to see, and ears to hear."
As the new year approaches, we often think about our aspirations for spiritual growth and personal betterment. We aspire to be a better person, child, spouse, parent and friend. Yet, we are sometimes discouraged because we don't think we will achieve our spiritual dreams. We may have tried in the past and not succeeded. The Torah tells us that if we do our part, invest our effort toward growing spiritually, then G-d will bless us with success beyond our ability. He will bless us with "a heart to know, eyes to see and ears to hear", allowing us to internalize and be transformed by the teachings of the Torah.
Adapted from Lekutei Torah, Ki Savo 43:3
Renewing the Vows
In a healthy relationship, there is a time for each party to take the initiative.
Indeed, the Song of Songs, the Biblical romantic poem which is a metaphor for the love between G-d and the Jewish people, contains two very similar verses: in chapter 6, we read: “I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me, who grazes among the roses.”, whereas in chapter 2 we read the reverse order: “My beloved is to me, and I am to him, who grazes among the roses.” The commentators explain that both patterns are true. During the season of Passover, we experience “My beloved (G-d) is to me (the Jewish people)”. Passover was the time when G-d initiated. Like a knight in shining armor, G-d led us out of Egypt. Our commitment to Him was a response to His initial expression of love for us.
By contrast, the High Holidays season is expressed in the verse “I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me”, when the Jewish people are called upon to take the first step and return to G-d.
As the Jewish people prepared to enter the land of Israel, the nature of their relationship was about to shift. Until that point, G-d took the initiative in redeeming the Jewish people from Egypt and leading them through the desert while providing for all their needs. From the time they crossed the Jordan, they would be called upon to take the initiative, to work the land, and build a morally just society.
This explains why, in this week’s portion, as they were about to cross the Jordan, Moses commanded them to reestablish the covenant with G-d as soon as they would enter the land. At Sinai, G-d wrote the text of the tablets, in the second covenant, it was the people who were commanded to write the Torah:
And it will be, on the day that you cross the Jordan to the land the Lord, your God, is giving you, that you shall set up for yourself huge stones, and plaster them with lime. When you cross, you shall write upon them all the words of this Torah. (27:2-3)
When at Sinai, the Jewish people passively heard the voice of G-d speaking the ten commandments, in Israel, at the renewal of the covenant, it was the Levites who spoke the words of the Torah: “The Levites shall speak up, saying to every individual of Israel, in a loud voice”. At Sinai G-d inspired the Jewish people, whereas in Israel the Jewish people were called upon to self-generate inspiration; only then would G-d reciprocate.
In our Parsha, as an introduction to renewing the covenant, Moses expressed the pattern of “I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me,” where the people initiate the relationship. First, the verse states, “you have selected the Lord”, and only then “the Lord has selected you”:
You have selected the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways, and to observe His statutes, His commandments and His ordinances, and to obey Him.
And the Lord has selected you this day to be His treasured people, as He spoke to you, and so that you shall observe all His commandments. (Deuteronomy 26:17-18)
A Heart to Know
In the final days of his life, Moses spoke to the Jewish people and told them that only now, forty years after receiving the Torah, are they ready to internalize its message and understand its teachings. Moses stated:
Yet until this day, the Lord has not given you a heart to know, eyes to see and ears to hear. (Deuteronomy 29:3)
Indeed, based on this verse, the Talmud derives that the same applies to all teachers. A student will not comprehend the full depth of his teacher's wisdom until forty years have passed:
Rabba said: Conclude from here that a person does not understand the opinion of his teacher until after forty years (Talmud, Avoda Zarah 5b)
Nevertheless, the verse seems a bit difficult to understand. How can we say that the Jewish people who experienced the extraordinary Divine revelation at Sinai did not possess knowledge of the Torah? The sages refer to the generation of Moses as "the generation of Knowledge", how can the Torah imply that they lacked "a heart to know"?
The Chassidic commentaries offer a beautiful interpretation.
The verse does not say that the people did not have knowledge, or the ability to see and hear. The key emphasis of the verse is on the words "heart," "eyes," and "ears". At Sinai, and throughout the forty years in the desert, the Jewish people's experience was intensely spiritual. In a sense, they studied Torah in an effort to transcend the world, to escape the gravitational pull of earthly existence, and to become submerged within holiness and spirituality. So, while they certainly experienced knowledge, the knowledge did not permeate and affect their physical reality, their heart, eyes, and ears.
Specifically after the forty-year period in the desert, as the Jewish people stood at the bank of the Jordan river prepared to enter the land of Israel, were they going to experience a life not of transcending the world but rather of transforming it. The holiness of the land of Israel and the Temple in Jerusalem represent the ability to sanctify the earth and permeate it with holiness. Only at that point did the Jewish people receive not only knowledge in the spiritual sense but knowledge that had the transformative ability to sanctify every aspect of our life.
Adapted from the Sfas Emes
Choose Life
On the last day of his life, Moses speaks to the Jewish people, and tells them to choose life:
This day, I call upon the heaven and the earth as witnesses [that I have warned] you: I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. You shall choose life, so that you and your offspring will live
One does not have to be a genius to understand the superiority of life over death. Why then does Moses spend his last moments with the Jewish people saying something so obvious?
If there are two distinct paths, one path of life and another of death, then, indeed, we do not need Moses to tell us to choose life. The reality, however, is much more complex. Moses is addressing the reality that for the most part, there is but one path. Yet, the path itself is a combination of both good and evil. Moses is saying that everything one does, any activity one engages in, any relationship one pursues, contains both life and death. Moses is telling a person to discover and choose the life within any given act.
Everything on this earth is comprised of matter and spirit, of body and soul. The body, even while alive, represents the element of death, as it is destined to die and decompose. The same is true of all matter. It will eventually decompose or change its form. Its current existence is destined to cease to exist, and therefore, even in the fleeting moment of cosmic time when it does exist, it represents death.
The soul of every person, and of all matter, is life. The soul is alive, not only at this given moment; but rather it is alive for eternity.
When Moses tells the people to choose life, he is not telling them to disengage from the material and to cleave to the spiritual. On the contrary, if we look carefully we will notice that Moses never says that there are two paths, one of which a person should choose. Moses is saying that when a person takes the one and only path, the path of life on this earth, which consists of the fusion of body and soul, he should choose to cleave to the dimension of life within the given act.
When a person interacts with the world around him, he has a choice. He can engage, enjoy, and relate to the externality of the thing/person/place, to the material dimension. Alternatively, he can relate to the soul of the thing/person/place. He can engage, enjoy, and relate to its essence, its soul, its life.
When one takes a bite of food, one can practice mindful eating, paying careful attention to the taste and texture of the food. Alternatively, one can choose life, one can be mindful of the divine spark in the food, waiting to become part of human energy, waiting to become fuel for a good deed, thus returning the spark to its spiritual source.
When one interacts with family and friends, with co-workers and neighbors, one can look at the external aspect of the person. Alternatively, one can choose life. One can choose to focus on the essence of the person, on the soul.
Moreover, when one stands in Shul on Rosh Hashanah, with a heart full of hope and prayer, for a blessed new year, one thinks about his needs, desires and aspirations. One can and should choose life, thinking about the needs, desires and aspirations of his soul as well.
On the last day of his life Moses implores every Jew to choose soul, to choose life.
The Center of the Universe
When a baby is born the baby can be excused for assuming that it is the center of the universe. All the people around it, mother, father, grandparents, seem to be doing nothing other than caring for the baby. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, adults will respond to its calling.
As the child begins to grow, as he or she develops from infant to child to teenager to adult, the child begins to recognize that he or she is indeed not the center of existence. As children grow into adulthood they are burdened with the intellectual recognition that they are only one of seven billion people, that the entire human species, as well as the planet they inhabit, are but a speck in a solar system within a galaxy, containing one hundred billion stars, which is insignificant compared to the vastness of the universe.
Yet, despite this knowledge, something deep inside of us protests. Something deep within the psyche of the individual insists that he or she is special and indispensable. A healthy person cannot fully escape the perspective of the infant, something within himself will always look out at humanity, at the world, and at the universe, from a self centered, perspective.
And that is a good thing.
Moses’ greatest fear, as the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, was that the Jew would not see himself as the center of the universe. Moses was afraid that once the Jews cross the Jordan River the individual would see himself as nothing more than one among millions; as merely one individual citizen whose choices don’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. Moses understood that in order for a nation to survive, for it to maintain a high moral ground, for it to live up to its calling of being a light unto the nations, each individual must appreciate that the destiny of the nation is in his or her hands. The greatest threat to morality is if every individual believes that the purpose of creation, that the mission of the Jewish people and the fate of humanity is out of his or her control. The greatest assurance that people will make the correct choices in life is when each individual understands that G-d looks to him or her as the center of the universe.
In the opening verses of this week's Parsha, Nitzavim, Moshe creates a covenant with the people, he gathers them together and tells them:
You are all standing this day before the Lord, your God the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water drawers.
And then, after speaking to them in the plural, Moses says the following statement in the singular:
in order to establish you this day as His people, and that He will be your God, as He spoke to you, and as He swore to your forefathers to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.
The “you” in “in order to establish you this day as His people” is written in the singular. Moses is telling each and every Jew “you are not just one in a nation of millions”, you cannot outsource Judaism's great ideals to be implemented by others. Moses is telling each and every individual: “you”, in the singular, are G-d’s nation. Don’t look to others to carry the Jewish heritage for you. Don’t look for others to make the right decisions. There is no one else. You, personally and singularly, are G-d’s nation. He is looking to you to carry the torch.
You are the center of His universe.
Layers of Will
As the year comes to a close and Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, approaches, it is a time to reflect on the past year and to look ahead toward the upcoming year.
Before we can hope to grow and advance, before we can decide on specific resolutions to help us reach our goals, perhaps the most important question to ask ourselves is what to aspire for? What life do we want for ourselves and with what do we want to fill our minutes, hours and days during the upcoming year?
The power of will is the strongest of all the souls powers. Yet, it is also the most complex and is comprised of multiple layers. As the Kabbalists put it, there is “external will” and “inner will”. “External will” is a will that serves a deeper will, while “inner will” is a will that does not serve a goal but rather it is the goal itself.
[To illustrate: Say a person wakes up in the morning and wants to catch the train. She wants to get to the office. She wants to earn money. She wants to spend the money on the purchase of a house. She wants to make the house into a home, a place where she and her family can live a deep and meaningful life. The desires listed earlier are external, as she doesn't necessarily want them for their own sake (if she can get to work without riding the train, she would not object, nor would she object if she earned the money without the work), the “inner will”, in this illustration, is the will to create a home for family, it is the “inner will” because it is the will for its own sake].
Both our “external will” and “inner will” crave to express themselves free of any outside coercion. Yet the free will we crave is different for the “external will” and for the “internal will”. Our “external will” wants the freedom to choose between options. Yet our “inner will” seeks, not the luxury to decide between two possibilities that are outside ourselves, but rather it seeks to express the core of who we really are.
More often than not, we function at the level of “external will”, expressing our free will by identifying the good and the bad, the positive and negative, the productive and the destructive, the selfish and the selfless. Indeed, this Shabbat, the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah, we read the words Moses spoke to the Jewish people on the final day of his life. He tells them: Behold, I have set before you today life and good, and death and evil. (Deuteronomy 30:15). On the level of our “external will”, there is indeed a great choice to be made. Both paths are appealing and exercising the right choice, requires discipline and effort.
Just a few verses later Moses says: “You shall choose life”. The statement seems self contradictory, the commandment implies that we have no choice, so how can there be a commandment to choose? The answer is that “You shall choose life” refers to the “inner will”. Moses is telling us that if we dig deep enough within ourselves, if we excavate deep within our soul, we will discover our “inner will” we will discover that indeed the negativity has no appeal at all. That our deeper self yearns only good. A parent in touch with her “inner will”, does not need to choose to be devoted to her child, for connection to her child is part of her core and, for the “inner will”, no other option exists. The same is true for the connection between our “inner will” and our Father in heaven.
On Rosh Hashanah we seek to peel away the layers and allow our inner will to express itself. Just before we sound the Shofar we recite the verse “He chooses our heritage for us, the glory of Jacob whom He loves eternally (Psalms 47:5)”. We ask G-d to choose us. We ask him to express His will toward us, to have a relationship with us and to bless us. To illicit G-d’s deepest will and blessing we must first reveal our inner will. We must discover the part of us which yearns to transcend. We listen to the part of our heart whose voice is often overshadowed by the voice of the “external will”. As we hear the Shofar’s cry, we express the longing and yearning of our inner soul. The part of our soul that desires all that is wholesome and good.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Nitzavim vol. 19 sicha 3).
Whose Birthday is it Anyway?
Going as far back as preschool we were told that Rosh Hashanah is the birthday of the world. That sounded so beautiful, we loved celebrating our own birthday and it filled our little hearts with joy to know that the world has a birthday celebration as well.
We got a bit older and we discovered that the birthday celebration theme of Rosh Hashanah is confirmed in the Machzor, the Rosh Hashanah prayer book. There we read: “this is the day of the (anniversary of the) beginning of your creation.”
When you do the math, however, you discover that Rosh Hashanah does not occur on the “beginning of your creation” at all. In fact, Rosh Hashanah is celebrated on the sixth day of creation. By the time Rosh Hashanah came around the heavens and earth, the stars and planets, the oceans and dry land, the birds and the fish were already created. Rosh Hashanah is actually the birthday of Adam and Eve, of humanity, not the birthday of the world. If that is the case why do we keep saying that it is the anniversary of the “beginning of your creations”, the birthday of the universe?
The process of creation expresses the awesome power of G-d. As King David put it in the book of Psalms: “How manifold are Your works, O L-rd! You have made them all with wisdom”. An untold number of galaxies and stars, millions of forms of life, endless diversity of creations, yet until the creation of man, the creation of the universe is not complete. For while the first day of creation represents the multiplicity, diversity, and fragmentation of existence, the sixth day, the day of the creation of Adam and Eve, represents the ability of the human being to create unity and harmony amongst the diversity. The Zohar describes that when Adam was created he turned to the creations and said: “Come, let us prostrate ourselves and bow; let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker.” For human beings alone possess the capacity to heal the fragmentation of existence by recognizing that all of creation is part of a greater whole, that all of existence is an expression of one infinite creator.
The birthday of humanity is therefore also the birthday the entire world and its creations. For the creation of the world has not been completed until man reveals the unifying purpose in all the earth, stringing together the multiplicity of creation into a single unified organism.
Judaism teaches that every individual person in a microcosm of the entire world. Initially, when we look inside ourselves, on the figurative “first day of creation”, we see chaos and conflict. We have multiple, often contradictory, desires, thoughts, and aspirations. We often lead a fragmented life, being pulled in different directions. Part of us seeks material well being and pleasure while part of us seeks transcendence. Part of us is concerned only with the self while part of us wants to connect to others. We have big dreams, goals, and aspirations but spend much of our day engaged in mundane tedious tasks that deflate our excitement, energy, and passion.
Rosh Hashanah, the day when humanity discovers the purpose and meaning within all of creation, is the day we heal the division and create a unified holistic life. Rosh Hashanah is the day when we internalize the perception that the drive for materialism can be elevated to serve our spiritual soul. That every detail of our day is part of the greater purpose for which we were created. There is no such thing as a meaningless moment and mundane task. For every moment, every encounter can be a moment that expresses, and is critical to, our purpose on this earth.
(Adapted from the Rebbe’s letter, 25 Elul 5747)
The Cry of the Shofar
The greatest obstacle in the path of exponential growth is past success.
If you ask a successful accomplished person to write down what he wants to achieve next year, chances are that the achievement he hopes for is not exponentially greater than the success that he has already achieved.
He is not alone. Children and young people, who did not yet enjoy a degree of success, dream about reaching the stars, adults, who self-define by their success, usually hope to do better in the future, but not exponentially better.
That’s a problem. It’s a problem because intuitively we feel our infinite soul, and our boundless potential. Tell someone that she is so great that she has maximized her potential, and you are sure to offend her. Because, at the core of our being, we reject that we are limited, and we feel that we can always achieve greater heights.
Once a year we have to shatter our carefully constructed comfort zone. Once a year, as we hear the blast of the Shofar, we have to look ourselves in the eye and ask the dreaded questions: “Am I the person I hoped to be? Is this all I can be?”
The only way to sense the infinite, is by feeling the oppressive constraints of the finite. When we hear the Shofar, we are hearing the purity of the soul within us, and the purity of the person we want to become. And when we hear the Shofar we feel how distant we are from our core, from what we want to become, from what we know we can be.
As we hear the Shofar, we face the confines of our current existence yet we refuse to make peace with it. We refuse to allow our shortcomings to define us. The cry of the Shofar is the cry of the soul feeling trapped by the confines of our current being. Hearing the cry of our soul yearning to break free, is the force that pushes us to escape our limitations and reach our core. When we reach our core, we discover that we are infinite, because we are one with the essence of the infinite light of G-d.
Immediately before we sound the Shofar we recite seven verses of King David’s psalms. The first verse of the seven, the one that sets the tone for the blowing of the Shofar, is a deep cry to G-d:
“Out of the straits, I called to You, O G-d; G-d answered me with abounding relief.”
This verse captures the purpose of blowing the Shofar. The Hebrew word for “abounding relief” (Ba’mer’chav) also means “wide expanse of space”. The verse is telling us that only when we feel trapped in the “straits” of our limitations, will we yearn to break free. The yearning, in and of itself, will cause G-d to answer us and place us in “the expanse”, “the expanse” of material and spiritual blessing for the upcoming year, the expanse of a bond with the infinite G-d.
The Story of Return
After all the rebuke, in which we are told of the terrible calamities that will befall the Jewish people during the exile, the Torah offers profound words of comfort and hope:
And it will be, when all these things come upon you the blessing and the curse which I have set before you that you will consider in your heart, among all the nations where the Lord your God has banished you, and you will return to the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul, and you will listen to His voice according to all that I am commanding you this day you and your children, then, the Lord, your God, will bring back your exiles, and He will have mercy upon you. He will once again gather you from all the nations, where the Lord, your God, has dispersed you. (Deuteronomy 30:1-3)
The Torah tells us that at the end of the long and bitter exile we will return to G-d with all our heart and soul and G-d will then bring us back to the land of Israel. This is the only time the Torah explicitly tells us about the concept of Teshuva, return to G-d.
While Teshuva, the notion that a person can always return to G-d and correct his ways even after straying from the path of goodness, is an important theme in Judaism, the Torah does not explicitly state that there is a commandment to return to G-d. The Torah tells us that it will occur, “and it will be… and you will return to the Lord, your G-d, with all your heart and with all your soul”, but there is no commandment to return. That is why some of the great codifiers do not list Teshuva as one of the six hundred and thirteen commandments.
How is it possible that something as fundamental as Teshuva is not classified as a commandment?
Chasidic philosophy explains that Teshuva is not a commandment because it expresses a bond with G-d which is more profound than a commandment. A commandment implies that the person being commanded must negate his own will and desire and fulfill the will of G-d. Teshuva however stems from the place in the soul of a Jew which wants nothing other than to cleave to its divine source. The Torah does not command Teshuva, for Teshuva can not be a commandment, after all the person in need of Teshuva disregarded the commandment. The Torah tells us that Teshuva will inevitably occur. How can the Torah be so certain? It is because the Torah knows that within every Jew there is a soul which is a part of G-d. Sooner or later it will motivate the person to return, not because it is commanded. For the soul does not need to be commanded. It senses that it is one with G-d and it wants nothing more than to reconnect.
The exercise of Teshuva then, is to remove the layers of distraction and reveal our innate desire to be connected to G-d.
Your connection to G-d is much more than a commandment. It is who you are. It is your story.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, 38 Naso 1)
Reconnecting to Our Inner Core
Although Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are, respectively, the beginning and the culmination of the days of Judgment, as we read in the liturgy, "On Rosh Hashanah, they are inscribed; and on Yom Kippur, they are sealed," nevertheless, the prayers of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are very different. On Yom Kippur we ask G-d numerous times to forgive our sins. We recite the confession no less than ten times, tapping our chest with our fist as we mention every type of transgression imaginable. Whereas on Rosh Hashanah, while we ask for a good life in the new year, we make no reference to sin at all.
The simple reason for not mentioning sin on Rosh Hashanah is because we don't want to draw attention to our shortcomings on the day of Judgment. Just as a trial lawyer will do all he can to divert attention from the defendant's negative action, we seek to place the emphasis on anything other than our shortcomings. Yet, that cannot be the entire reason because, if so, then on Yom Kippur, when the Judgment is sealed, we should also avoid mentioning sin.
Rosh Hashanah is the day when we connect to the essence of our soul. Chassidic Philosophy explains that Rosh Hashanah is the day we coronate G-d as king of the universe. On the eve of Rosh Hashanah G-d's desire to invest himself in the creation returns to its source in the essence of G-d, and it is up to us to reawaken G-d's desire and pleasure in engaging with creation for another year. We do so by calling to G-d from the essence of our soul, which elicits from within the essence of G-d the pleasure and desire to relate to creation, infusing the world with a more profound flow of energy and blessing for the upcoming year.
And therefore, there is no mention of sin on Rosh Hashanah because the essence of our soul is always connected to G-d, not susceptible to the separation caused by sin. As we seek to reconnect to our core, we reach a place within ourselves where there is no sin, no negativity, no shortcoming, only an unbroken connection to G-d. On Yom Kippur, however, we focus on our flaws and mistakes because the unique quality of Yom Kippur is that the essence of the soul, which is usually removed and not present in the conscious mind, is revealed and present within the totality of our persona. Yom Kippur is when the inspiration of the essence of our soul is felt within the part of ourselves that is subject to failure, disappointment and negativity. On Rosh Hashanah we move away from our conscious desires and thoughts in order to connect to our essence. On Yom Kippur we seek to apply our essence, our true self, to the parts of self that require rehabilitation and correction.
The themes of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are reflected in our portion, describing the last day of the life of Moses. In this week's portion, Moses begins:
You are all standing this day before the Lord your God, the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water drawers, that you may enter the covenant of the Lord, your God, and His oath, which the Lord, your God, is making with you this day. (Deuteronomy 29:9-11)
When we stand before G-d, as the Jewish people stood on that day, and as we do every year on Rosh Hashanah, we are united because at the level of our soul there is no distinction between us since all souls are rooted within G-d himself. Yet, this unity is only when the people would leave their own "tent", their mundane life, and gather before G-d. Yet, the next portion describes a more profound form of unity: "And Moses went, and he spoke the following words to all Israel." Moses "went" to the people, to their tents, and there he "spoke… to all Israel", Moses imparted the sense of unity, inspired by the essence of the soul, to the people, not only when they stood before G-d, but also when they were at home, in their tents, in their everyday life..
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 19 Vayelch 1.
Fuel Your Spiritual Light
The Tanya, the foundational book of Chabad philosophy, spends fifty three chapters explaining the statement in our Parsha that the Torah is “very close”, exceedingly accessible to every person. Moses states:
It is not in heaven, that you should say, "Who will go up to heaven for us and fetch it for us, to tell [it] to us, so that we can fulfill it?" Nor is it beyond the sea, that you should say, "Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us and fetch it for us, to tell [it] to us, so that we can fulfill it?" Rather, [this] thing is very close to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can do it. (Deuteronomy 30:12-14)
Is it indeed the case that it is “very close” to serve G-d not only by taking the right action but also “in your heart”? Is it indeed easy and accessible for one to transform his heart from negative and destructive pleasures to the love of G-d?
The Tanya explains that, for the overwhelming majority of people, the meaning of the verse is that we are able to develop enough control and inner motivation to to be in control of the most important aspect of our lives, the realm of action. The verse “in your heart, so that you can do it”, means that it is “very close” to generate enough emotional motivation to take control of our actions.
But why is action primary? Is it only because we live in a physical world and therefore abstract spirituality is less important than tangible action? The Tanya explains that, perhaps counterintuitively, the most profound connection to G-d occurs only through action.
The Zohar states that every human being is called upon to bring Divine light into the world. The Divine presence is the flame, the human body is the wick and the oil that allows the fire to exist is good deeds. Neither the soul nor its emotions can be the fuel for the Divine light. In order for a substance to become fuel it must become absorbed within the fire to the point that it loses its own existence. The soul can never reach that level of unity with the Divine. Only the energy we expend in doing a good deed dissipates and fuels the Divine flame, allowing us to become the luminaries bringing G-d to ourselves and to the world around us.
In the words of the Tanya:
the soul of a person—even if he be a perfect tzaddik serving G‑d with fear and love of delights—does not, nevertheless, completely dissolve itself out of existence, so as to be truly nullified and absorbed into the light of G‑d to the extent of becoming one and the same absolutely, but the person remains an entity apart, one who fears G‑d and loves Him.
{By contrast}, the very energy of the body itself which is engaged in this action is absorbed in the Divine light and in His will, and is united with Him in a perfect union… thereby also the energy of the vital spirit in the physical body, originating in the kelipat nogah, is transformed from evil to good, and is actually absorbed into holiness like the divine soul itself. (Tanya Chapter 35)
Judaism and Capitalism
At its core, Judaism is about unity: the unity of the one G-d, the universe and the unity of all people created in the image of G-d. And yet, Judaism established a commonwealth, giving the ordinary man an irrevocable right to his own property—as we see that the Torah’s divides the Land of Israel to tribes and families, and commands the people to celebrate the Jubilee year (where all property is returned to its original owners every 50 years). The idea of land ownership by definition creates separation and division within society, contradicting the ideal of unity. How is it possible for us to live with these opposing ideals in our philosophy and practice?
On the last day of his life, Moses is well aware of this seeming contradiction between the individual’s right to personal property and the notion of unity. His people are about to transition from life in the desert, where there is no ownership of land, to an agrarian life in Israel, where for the first time, they are to become landowners. Moses knows he has one final opportunity to teach his people how to balance these opposing ideals. That is why, on the last day of life, he commands his beloved nation:
At the end of [every] seven years, at an appointed time, in the Festival of Sukkot . . . when all Israel comes to appear before the Lord, your God, in the place He will choose, you shall read this Torah before all Israel, in their ears.
Assemble the people: the men, the women, and the children, and your stranger in your cities, in order that they hear, and in order that they learn and fear the Lord, your God, and they will observe to do all the words of this Torah.
And their children, who did not know, will hear and learn to fear the Lord, your God, all the days that you live on the land, to which you are crossing the Jordan, to possess.
In these verses Moses is describing a way to instill the fundamental message of unity into the hearts and minds of a people who will spend most of their time, energy and effort working their land. This is through two commandments: Shemittah, the sabbatical year during which we are forbidden to work the land for an entire year, and Hakhel, the gathering in the Temple after the sabbatical year, when the people are headed back to work for the next six years.
During the Shemittah year, the seventh year, every land owner takes a year-long break from working the land, devoting his time to spiritual pursuits. During that year, all produce that grows in the field is legally ownerless, and anyone is free to enter any orchard or field to enjoy its produce. This mitzvah serves as a powerful reminder to the people that there is more to life than amassing wealth, that their true essence is the soul not the body, and they have to devote time to feeding the soul, just as they devote time to feeding the body.
And then, at the end of the long sabbatical, just as everyone is anxious to get back to working the land, comes the mitzvah for all the nation to gather in the Temple to hear the words of the Torah. Moses is telling the people that if they want to be able to juggle the blessings of private property and the unified existence that is the core truth of Judaism, then before they get back to the field, they have to reenact the giving of the Torah at Sinai. They have to gather together—men, women and children—as at Sinai, when all the children of Israel stood around the mountain "as one person with one heart," united around the words and teachings of the Torah. Moses understood that the children, the future generations, also need to experience this powerful feeling of unity which comes through the unifying teachings of the Torah, rather than through material blessings, which can sometimes cause division.
Through these commandments, the people learned that although they may each possess property and material wealth, they are not defined, and should therefore not define themselves, by their material possessions and achievements. Moses was telling each individual: “Although your house may be nicer than your neighbor's, you are still one. You are one, because your soul, the core of who you are, is one with your neighbor’s soul. The material possessions that divide you are nothing more than an external garment. They are not who you are, and therefore cannot separate you from your friend.”
And then there is us.
We, whose bodies did not stand at Sinai, who did not stand shoulder to shoulder with the entire nation of Israel at the reading of the Torah in the Temple, we too must meditate on this message each year, when the story of Moshe's last day on this earth is read in the Torah. We must close our eyes and imagine standing with all our brothers and sisters at the foot of Sinai, listening to the words of G-d.
We must close our eyes and hear Moses telling us that property could only divide if we self define by the size of our field or the size of our bank account. If we create a society that values an individual for his or her net-worth, then, indeed, society will be fractured to the core. If, however, we take the message of Sinai to heart; if we self define as a soul sent to this world for a spiritual purpose; if the society we create values an individual for his or her spiritual essence, then we created a unified society. For our homes, fields, cars, and retirement accounts may look different, but that is not who we are.
Who are we?
We are one.
Because our souls are one.
Because ever since we stood at Sinai we are "Like one person with one heart".
Unity or Diversity?
Diversity is present in society today, more than ever before. All major companies and organizations seek to highlight their real, or staged, commitment to diversity. A society that values diversity is one that values a multiplicity of cultures, races, opinions, etc.
What does Judaism, which values oneness, think about diversity? Is there an inherent contradiction between Judaism, which is all about the unity of G-d, and the celebration of diversity?
The universe is indeed a diverse place. Seven billion humans share planet earth with an estimated 10 to 14 million forms of life. Yet, at the core, all life share the same basic building blocks, and at the soul level, all life is sustained by a soul, part of the one G-d.
The more we focus on the external, the more we focus on the body, the more multiplicity we see. The more we study the soul, the more we focus on the internal, the more we focus of the spark of G-d within every creation, the more we see oneness.
The same is true within our own life. On a given day, we divide our time between a multiplicity of activities and roles. A single person on a single day can be a farmer, a father, a child, a husband, a banker, a tennis coach, a friend, a philanthropist, and a garbage remover. This often leads to great tension and conflict, threatening to rob the person of peace of mind, and of a wholesome life.
Each activity, each role, has a soul, an inner meaning and significance. On the soul level, praying and eating breakfast share an inner purpose. We can connect to G-d both by feeding the body and by feeding the soul.
The Jewish people too, are comprised of people of diverse emotional and intellectual makeup. What bonds us as a people is the feeling that we are all standing at the foot of Mount Sinai, with one soul. With a shared mission and destiny.
Moses understood that once the Jewish people would cross the Jordan River and enter the land of Israel, leaving the experiences of the desert behind them, the Divine revelation at Sinai would become the stuff of ancient history.
Moses understood that in order for Judaism to survive, the Jew in the future generation would need to experience, not just learn about, the uniting experience of Sinai. Moses therefore communicated the Mitzvah of Hakhel (assembly), the commandment that men women and children gather in the temple in Jerusalem, at the end of every seventh year, to hear the Torah being read, reenacting the revelation at Sinai. As the Torah states:
Then, Moses commanded them, saying, "At the end of [every] seven years, at an appointed time, in the Festival of Succoth, [after] the year of release. When all Israel comes to appear before the Lord, your God, in the place He will choose, you shall read this Torah before all Israel, in their ears. Assemble the people: the men, the women, and the children, and your stranger in your cities, in order that they hear, and in order that they learn and fear the Lord, your God, and they will observe to do all the words of this Torah. (Deuteronomy 31:12).
Moses taught that once in every seven years, immediately following the Sabbatical year, we celebrate the year of Hakhel [this year, 5776, is a Hakhel year on the Jewish Calendar] during which time we must unite. We must gather all the diverse parts of our life, all the diverse souls around us, and unite through the study of Torah which allows us to dig deep and discover the unifying soul.
Keep Walking
The opening phrase of the portion of Vayelech, which chronicles the last day of the life of Moses, begins with the words:
And Moses went, and he spoke the following words to all Israel.
The Torah tells us “And Moses went”, the question is: where did he go? Reading the verse and understanding its context reveal that Moses went nowhere at all. At that point, all the people of Israel were already assembled, as described in the opening verses of last week's Parsha: “You are all standing this day before the Lord, your God the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel”.
“And Moses went”, therefore, is not a description of what Moses did on that day, but rather it is a description of what Moses did every day of his life. The Kabbalists explain that the essential difference between an angel and a human being is that an angel is stationary but, by contrast, a human being “walks” and experiences change. An angel does not experience good days and bad days, an angel is never in a bad mood and an angel never has a bad hair day. There are angels who feel a love towards G-d and angels who feel awe of G-d, but what they both have in common is that the feeling and its intensity always remain the same.
A person is another story altogether. A person is almost never stationary. A person experiences a wide spectrum of changing emotions. A person experiences mood swings, one minute a person feels truly altruistic and the next moment the person feels as self centered as a beast.
The human state of change, as opposed to the stationary state of the angels, while on the surface may seem like a disadvantage, is in fact a tremendous advantage. Yes, we have bad days, yes, we lose our temper and we can be cruel to the people we love, but our existence has meaning. We are not a beautiful painting that does not change, we are a living breathing human being who is capable of growth. Yes, we may fail, we may falter, but we can also generate the deep courage to get up dust ourselves off and continue walking. When doing so, we experience growth. We are forced to create a deeper commitment to good; one that the soul did not experiences while it was in heaven, unchallenged, basking in the glory of the Divine.
“And Moses went”, therefore, is a description of the purpose of the descent of the soul of Moses, as well as the soul of every person, into this world. “And Moses went” is the purpose of life - to go forward, to walk, to grow.
On the last day of Moses’s life, after “Moses went”, after he achieved his life's mission and purpose, Moses says:
"Today I am one hundred and twenty years old. I can no longer go out or come in, and the Lord said to me, "You shall not cross this Jordan."
When Moses says “I can no longer go out or come in”, he does not mean that he is too frail and weak. The Torah testifies that “His eye had not dimmed, nor had he lost his moisture”. The Kabbalistic interpretation of “I can no longer go out or come in” is that Moses has completed his mission and thus reached completion and was no longer subject to “go out”, he was no longer subject to falling from his lofty state, no longer subject to failure, and, therefore, he was also no longer subject to “come” to a higher level. Because, if there is no possibility for failure, there is also no possibility for growth. In a state of perfection where the challenge of failure is not possible, there is also no ability to experience the uniquely human sensation of transformation.
We read the portion of Vayelech just a few days before Yom Kippur, when we are called upon to seek atonement and forgiveness for our mistakes, and to try to overcome our shortcomings and correct our failures. On the soul stirring day of Yom Kippur, as we seek to connect to the purity of our soul, we sometimes wonder why G-d has created us as flawed creatures. We sometimes wish that we would be more like the perfect holy angels, who we emulate as we fast on Yom Kippur. Yet Moses teaches us otherwise. “And Moses went”. Moses tells us that the beauty of life is “to go”, to grow, to walk and to change.
Moses teaches us that G-d is not looking for a perfect person. What G-d wants is a person who sometimes falls, but never stops trying. A person who sometimes struggles, but never stops walking.
In Hiding
Our history has not always been rosy. We have experienced tranquility, peace and spiritual greatness, yet we have also experienced terrible exile, destruction and persecution. Indeed, on the last day of the life of Moses, G-d tells Moses what will befall the people when they abandon G-d:
And the Lord said to Moses: Behold, you are [about to] lie with your forefathers, and this nation will rise up and stray after the deities of the nations of the land, into which they are coming. And they will forsake Me and violate My covenant which I made with them.
And My fury will rage against them on that day, and I will abandon them and hide My face from them, and they will be consumed, and many evils and troubles will befall them, and they will say on that day, 'Is it not because our God is no longer among us, that these evils have befallen us?'
The purpose of these harsh words was not merely to warn the Jewish people of the consequence of abandoning their destiny. Perhaps more importantly, the purpose was to ensure that the people correctly interpret, and as a result, correctly respond to, the difficult exile. The natural response to the “many evils and troubles” is for the people to believe that G-d “is no longer among us” - that G-d had abandoned them. Yet, as G-d told Moses, that conclusion would be categorically wrong.
G-d told Moses:
And I will hide My face on that day, because of all the evil they have committed, when they turned to other deities.
Only because of these words, conveyed to the Jewish people by Moses, were they able to survive until this day. If we are here as Jews today it is because generations of Jews understood this truth. That the exile is not the absence of G-d’s love and presence, but rather the exile is merely a concealment of G-d’s grace. “I will hide My face on that day”, says G-d. The Jewish people understood that hiding is by no means an abandonment. They felt G-d’s presence even in the most difficult circumstances.
And then came the mystics.
They understood that all existence is dependent on G-d and that there is no place void of Him. When they looked at darkness, when they saw no obvious light, they understood that although G-d’s presence is not revealed in a given space his essence is present there. They understood that the most powerful message in the verse ““And I will hide My face on that day” is not that G-d will hide but rather that even within the concealment, even within the difficulty, G-d is very much present.
They understood that for a parent to withhold the expression of love in order to give the child space for trial and error, the parent must reach deep within him or herself, the parent must access a deeper level of love. Indeed when the verse says “and I will hide my face” it uses the Hebrew word “Anochi”, which means more than “I” (“I” is “Ani”). “Anochi” means “my essence”.
Every year this portion is read in proximity to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur when we engage in introspection, seek atonement and spiritual betterment. When we look back at the past year we see moments of joy and inspiration, but also moments of darkness, hurt and despair. The Torah teaches us that specifically in the moments of concealment lies the potential to reach the deepest part of ourselves. When we feel no inspiration, no excitement, no enthusiasm, we must understand that the concealment is a tool to encourage us to reach deeper within ourselves, to get in touch with our own core, our own “Anochi”. Doing so will allow us to discover that within the concealment we can access the deepest Divine strength, and, ultimately, transform the darkness to light.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Vayelech vol. 9 sicha 1).
Awesome Joy
The Hebrew month of Tishrei, the month of the high holidays, is packed with a wide spectrum of intense emotions. It begins with the ten days of awe, beginning with Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and then shifts to the holiday of Sukkot, which is called “the season of our rejoicing", culminating with the intense joy of Simchat Torah. The transition between the two extreme emotions occurs in the final moments of Yom Kippur. The Neilah, the final prayer of Yom Kippur, is the climax of awe, and then, with the blast of the Shofar, the intense energy bursts into joy and excitement.
Why are these holidays so close together? How are we to move so quickly between these extreme emotions, awe and joy?
The truth is that awe and joy are two sides of the same coin, two expressions of the same reality.
On Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, we focus on our core self, our soul, which is a spark of the Divine. When we focus on our own core, on the part of us which is connected to G-d unconditionally, we elicit the revelation of G-d’s unconditional bond and love for us. G-d’s unconditional love brings about the atonement from sins and the cleansing of spiritually toxic experiences.
On Yom Kippur, we experience our essential bond with G-d, and on Sukkot we celebrate that connection.
Which is why the theme of unity is essential to the holiday of Sukkot. The Sukkah is a place where many people can unite. On Sukkot we shake the Lulav, the four species of vegetation which represent the unity between all Jews. The celebration of the unconditional bond between G-d and the Jewish soul, will include all Souls, for all souls are united as one.
On the final day of his life Moses relays the commandment that, once in seven years, all the Jewish People should assemble to hear the Torah read in unity. This event, referred to as Hakhel, assembly, occurs on the festival of Sukkot. In order for the people of Israel to truly feel united as one we must experience the part of us which is indeed integrated with all other Jews. We must experience our soul. The unity of Hakhel can occur only after the introspection of Yom Kippur is expressed in the joy of Sukkot.
(Adapted from Lekutei Sichos, Sukos vol 19, and Kli Yakar on Hakhel).
Place Your Scroll Alongside Your Ark
On the final day of his life, Moses instructed the Levites to take the Torah scroll, containing the five books of Moses, and place it alongside the ark which housed the tablets of the ten commandments. As the verse describes:
"Take this Torah scroll and place it alongside the ark of the covenant of the Lord, your God, and it will be there as a witness. (Deuteronomy 31:26)
The purpose of placing the Torah near the ark was to preserve the accuracy of the Torah. Since there is a possibility of error when copying the Torah by hand, Moses instructed that there should be one Torah that would serve as the master copy, preserved and protected within the ark, any question or doubt about the specifics of a word or verse would be checked against the master copy.
There is, however, a deeper meaning as well.
Human nature is such that we get excited and passionate about general ideas. When, however, we implement the general idea in a series of specific, detailed tasks, some of the excitement and passion wear off. It is relatively easy to get excited about raising a child, beginning a new business, enrolling in a new school, or embarking on a new endeavor. The challenge is to preserve the enthusiasm when occupied with the specifics of the project. In the language of the Kabbalah, the "light" (clarity, enthusiasm, and excitement) which is present in the sphere of Chachmoh (wisdom, which refers to the flash of inspiration that produces the general idea), is diminished in the sphere of Binah (understanding, which refers to the details analysis of the concept).
This, then, is the deeper meaning of placing the Torah scroll alongside the ark.
The Torah scroll contains six hundred and thirteen detailed commandments that are an elaboration of the general themes of the Torah contained within ten commandments. On the day of his passing Moses sought to teach the Jewish people that the Torah scroll, which represents the specific implementation of the Divine will, can, and therefore should, be infused with the sense of excitement and clarity felt within the tablets in the ark, which contain the general ideas of the Torah.
[Rashi quotes a Talmudic debate regarding where exactly the scroll was placed: The Sages of Israel differ. Some say that a board projected outward from the ark, and there it was laid, while others maintain that it was laid alongside the tablets, inside the ark. The inner meaning of their debate is to what extent the ark can affect the specific details. Some say that the scroll was outside the ark, because while the general idea can influence the details, they cannot possess the same degree of "light" as the general idea. Others believe that the scroll is placed within the ark, because they believe the details can be infused with the equivalent "light" within the general idea.]
This message is especially relevant to the time of year when we read this portion. During the season of Rosh Hashanah and Yom kippur, we seek to connect to the essence of our soul, which is a reservoir of enthusiasm, spiritual awareness, and positive emotions. We focus our attention on what is truly meaningful in our life. We are in touch with our "ark", our essence. But having an ark is not enough. We are empowered to connect every moment of the year with the clarity of vision and purpose which we experience during the high holidays. We are empowered to place the scroll alongside the ark.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 9 Vayelech 2.
Experience Sinai
Can you do it alone?
Can you ensure you will be dedicated to G-d’s word by studying the Torah on your own?
On the last day of his life, Moses indicated that the answer is no.
To remain committed to the Torah, we must recreate the experience of Sinai, where all the Jewish people stood together and accepted the word of G-d. Something about the tangible experience of standing in one place, along with many people creates a deep impression on the human psyche.
Therefore, in our Parsha, Moses commands the people:
At the end of [every] seven years, at an appointed time, in the Festival of Succoth, [after] the year of release, When all Israel comes to appear before the Lord, your God, in the place He will choose, you shall read this Torah before all Israel, in their ears. Assemble the people: the men, the women, and the children, and your stranger in your cities, in order that they hear, and in order that they learn and fear the Lord, your God, and they will observe to do all the words of this Torah. (Deuteronomy 31:10-12)
If the purpose of the gathering was so that a person would hear the content of the words being read, then it would not apply to the scholar, who already knows it, or to the person who would not understand the reading. Yet, Maimonides explains that the commandment of Hakhel applies equally to the scholar who already knows the words of the Torah that will be read as well as to people who do not understand the words being read:
Even great Sages who know the entire Torah are obligated to listen with exceedingly great concentration. One who is unable to hear should focus his attention on this reading, for Scripture established it solely to strengthen the true faith. He should see himself as if he was just now commanded regarding the Torah and heard it from the Almighty. For the king is an agent to make known the word of God.
This year is the year of Hakhel. While we are unable to fulfill the commandment in the literal sense, the objective of the Mitzvah, strengthening our commitment to G-d and the Torah, can certainly be fulfilled even during the time of exile. The Rebbe taught us that the year of Hakhel should be dedicated to bringing people together for a shared Jewish experience.
This is something that can't be done alone. To experience Sinai you must stand together with others.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 19 Vayelch 1
Get Yourself a Copy
On the final day of his life, Moses relayed the last two commandments of the Torah, the commandment that the Jewish people assemble once every seven years to hear the Torah read:
Then, Moses commanded them, saying, "At the end of [every] seven years, at an appointed time, in the Festival of Succoth, [after] the year of release, When all Israel comes to appear before the Lord, your God, in the place He will choose, you shall read this Torah before all Israel, in their ears. Assemble the people: the men, the women, and the children, and your stranger in your cities, in order that they hear, and in order that they learn and fear the Lord, your God, and they will observe to do all the words of this Torah. (Deuteronomy 31:12-14)
And the final commandment of the Torah, that every individual person write a Torah scroll:
And now, write for yourselves this song, and teach it to the Children of Israel. Place it into their mouths, in order that this song will be for Me as a witness for the children of Israel. (Deuteronomy 31:19)
Both commandments emphasize that, unlike other societies, the Torah is not the domain of a priestly or scholarly class. The Torah is the inheritance of every Jew. That is why the Torah is not exclusively housed in the temple but rather it must be in the possession of every Jew. That is why when the Torah is read after the Sabbatical, it is read not to a select group of delegates but rather to every man, woman, and child.
As we prepare for the new year, let us apply the message of these commandments to our lives: we should purchase a book of the Torah (which is one way of fulfilling the commandment to write a Torah Scroll), and read it ourselves. Let us not rely on others to convey its messages to us; but rather we should interact with the book ourselves, enjoying the flavor and style of the original. And then, like the public assembly in Biblical times, we should join together to study Torah with other people, where we can be enriched by each others perspective and input.
The Music of the Song
“Listen heavens and I shall speak and let the earth hear the words of my mouth."
This is the opening verse of the song of Haazinu, the song that Moshe spoke to his people on the day of his passing.
The song is poetic, powerful and poignant.
It begins with an introduction, followed by a description of G-d’s kindness to the Jewish people:
“He found them in a desert land, and in a desolate, howling wasteland. He encompassed them and bestowed understanding upon them; He protected them as the pupil of His eye. As an eagle awakens its nest, hovering over its fledglings, it spreads its wings, taking them and carrying them on its pinions.”
The song continues with the prediction that the Jews would eventually turn away from G-d:
“And Yeshurun (Israel) became fat and kicked… You forgot G-d who made you. You began to serve idols that are new; your fathers never imagined them”. (The song continues with G-d saying) “I will hide my face from them I will see what will be their end for they are a generation of changes; they are not [recognizable] as My children whom I have reared.”
What follows is a story almost as sad as Jewish history:
“I will link evils upon them. I will use up My arrows on them. They will sprout hair from famine, attacked by demons, excised by Meriri. I will incite the teeth of livestock upon them, with the venom of creatures that slither in the dust. From outside, the sword will bereave, and terror from within; young men and maidens, suckling babes with venerable elders.”
The song closes with a positive note, the song predicts that ultimately:
“The nations will cause His (G-d’s) nation to rejoice, for he (G-d) will avenge the blood of his servants… and he will atone his land, his nation.”
This song was sung quite often in the holy temple. Each day, while the priests would offer the daily offerings, the Levites would accompany the service with music; they would play musical instruments and sing specific songs of praise from King David’s book of Psalms. All of the songs sung were joyous, and were meant to imbue the service with a spirit of joy, in fulfillment of the commandment “Serve the Lord with joy”.
Surprisingly, the song that the Levites sang every Shabbat, as the priests offered the Musaf offering, the additional offering for the Shabbat, was non-other than the Song of Haazinu. They would sing one of its parts per week, completing the song every six weeks.
Why this song? Isn’t this the wrong message for the occasion? Granted, the part sung on week one, two, and six, were indeed inspiring, but what about the weeks in between, in which the portions of the song contained the tragedies that would befall our people? How could a person feel uplifted while the Levites were singing “I (G-d) said I will cause them to be forgotten, their remembrance will be destroyed from mankind”?!
The answer is, in the weeks that the Levites sang the bitter parts of the song; they were teaching us how to overcome the tragic stanzas of our lives.
The Levites were teaching us to be patient as we allow the song to unfold.
We should not expect to wake up each and every day of our life and hear a joyous song playing in our ears. There will be days on which we hear no song, all we can hear is lamentation. Yet, the message of the Levites is, that each stanza is part of a larger song which can be heard, only if we come back next week for more. Ultimately, we will persist, and we will find the joy. We then will realize that the difficult part of the road is just that, a road to a deeper and more meaningful joy.
When everything is going well it is difficult to feel complete joy. Part of us is always worried that the blessings in our life will not last. We can’t be fully happy with our successes because deep down we fear that we may lose them. We can’t fully celebrate our relationships because deep down we are worried that they may end. The young couple, whose love is pure, is not fully happy because they are not sure whether their love is deep enough to survive a major conflict, whether it is strong enough to overcome pain and resentment. Only when the relationship survives deep challenges, can the joy be complete. For only then do we know that the bond is unbreakable.
The Portion of the song of Haazinu, is always read in the midst of the month of the holidays, in the month that contains both the days of awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as well as the days of joy, Sukkot and Simchat Torah. In the beginning of the month we face the pain created by our weakness. We think about the sins of the past year, we think about the pain of separation caused by sin, the pain of separation from G-d and from people we sinned against. In the days of awe, we overcome the pain, we return, we reconnect. And then we realize that our relationship with G-d is deeper and stronger than we imagined. We realize that our bond with G-d is unbreakable. That no matter how much pain we caused, no matter how far we tried to run, he has been waiting for us; waiting for us to return, waiting to accept us, waiting to embrace us.
We discover that the intense joy of Sukkot and Simchat Torah is only possible after we experience the days of awe. We discover that all parts of the journey are integral to the intense joy. We discover that they are all part of the same song.
No matter what life brings us, we remember that we are in the middle of a song. If we keep singing, keep playing the notes, we will discover the music. We will discover that there was music all along.
Find Yourself
The Song of Haazinu - the song Moses sang to the Jewish people on the final day of his life, the song that encompasses all of Jewish history, from the “days of yore” to the future redemption - begins with a description of the great kindness that G-d expressed to the Jewish people. G-d protected them in the desert and gave them his most precious treasure - the Torah. As Moses tells the people in beautiful, poetic, language:
He (G-d) found them in a desert land, and in a desolate, howling wasteland. He encompassed them and bestowed understanding upon them; He protected them as the pupil of His eye.
Most of the verse is understood: “He encompassed them” - G-d surrounded them in the desert and protected them with the “clouds of glory”. “bestowed understanding upon them” - He gave them the Torah. But what is the meaning of “He found them in a desert land”? The word “found” implies that the finder found something unexpectedly. Did G-d just happen to find the Jews roaming in the desert? Did He not take them out of Egypt and lead them into the desert? How could Moses say that G-d found them in the desert?
Rashi, the primary Biblical commentator, explains that, indeed, G-d did find the unexpected in the desert. As the Jews expressed profound faith in G-d, following Moses into an inhospitable desert, and committing to accept the Torah. As Rashi explains:
He found them in a desert land: God found them [i.e., Jacob’s sons] faithful to Him in a desert land, for they accepted His Torah, His sovereignty, and His yoke upon themselves-something that Ishmael and Esau did not do,
and in a desolate, howling wasteland: An arid, desolate land, a place of howling (יְלֵל) jackals and ostriches. Yet even there, Israel followed their faith. They did not say to Moses, “How can we go out into the desert, a place of drought and desolation?”
In the desert G-d found the unexpected, he found a people that were committed to him, that they believed in him, in a way that was beyond reason.
Many relationships are rational. People fall in love because they mutually benefit each other. There is a give and take between that which benefits both parties. The love is rational as it is based on the benefit each party receives from the other. But then there comes a time, that in order for the relationship to survive, what is necessary is not a calculated love, where one gives of him or herself in exchange for what he or she receives from his or her partner, but a love and commitment that is beyond the calculated, business-like, relationship.
Every relationship begins with two happy partners who both feel that they are gaining from the relationship, but what separates the enduring relationship from the transient one, is that somewhere along the way, a deeper, unexpected, commitment was “found”. At some point a person looks at him or her self and is surprised at the level of feeling and connection he or she feels, a connection and commitment that is beyond the logical calculation of investment and reward. When a couple “falls out of love”, when the reason for the initial attraction no longer exists, the relationship will not endure unless, along the way, a deeper connection was “found”.
When a person becomes a parent he or she is overwhelmed with love and devotion to his or her little baby; but no matter how great the love at the moment, at some point later on in life, there is usually a surprise. The parent looks at him or herself and is surprised to have found a devotion and commitment to his or her child that is far greater than what they have ever imagined.
The same it true about our relationship with G-d. Initially the connection between G-d and the Jewish people was a contractual one, where each party was supposed to give something in return for what he would get. G-d would redeem the people from Egypt, bring them to their ancestral land, the land of Israel, and in turn the people would uphold their part of the deal by keeping the Torah. This was a reasonable deal for both parties. But then the unexpected happened. In the desert, G-d found a deeper dimension of the relationship. In the desert G-d discovered that the Jewish people were loyal to him, following Moses into the frightening desert, beyond the dictates of reason. This was no longer a calculated relationship, the people dug deep within their hearts, and found within themselves a commitment to G-d that was deeper than they themselves had ever anticipated.
The portion of Haazinu is read in proximity to Sukkot, the festive seven day holiday that follows Yom Kippur and is an expression of the deep joy in the connection between G-d and the Jewish people. Celebrating in the Sukkah, commemorating G-d’s placing our ancestors in Sukkahs as they left Egypt, we must “find ourselves”, just as G-d “found” the Jews in the desert. When we leave our home to dwell in the Sukkah we must leave behind the notions of self that limit us. We must realize that within each of us there are hidden, unexpected, treasures waiting to be mined and discovered.
We each have infinite hidden strength, courage, kindness and holiness. As we begin the new year, as we sit in the Sukkah celebrating G-d’s embrace, let us surprise ourselves. Let us “find ourselves”. Let us find our true selves.
Heaven and Earth
It contains only forty-three verses, yet the song Moses taught the Jews on the last day of his life, spans all of Jewish history, from the very beginning when “He found them in a desert land”, all the way to the future redemption when the nations will praise G-d “For He will... appease His land (and) His people.”
In the opening phrase of the song Moses calls for heaven and earth to bear witness to the words he is about to speak:
Give ear, O heavens, and I will speak! And let the earth hear the words of my mouth! (Deuteronomy 32:1).
Because Jewish law requires that any legal matter be established on the basis of two witnesses, Moses called upon both heaven and earth to bear witness that he indeed had conveyed this song to the people.
The testimony of heaven and earth is more than merely a poetic metaphor to introduce the song. Rather Moses was conveying a profound message, namely, that in order for the message to endure, the Jew must evoke both heaven and earth.
The purpose of the Jewish people, the objective of all Jewish history, is the marriage of heaven and earth. While many spiritual seekers, and virtually all religions, seek to escape the confines of the flesh and climb heavenward, the Jew is charged with a far more profound calling. The Jew’s task is more ambitious and revolutionary. It is first to create peace, then to build a bridge and finally a marriage between heaven and earth.
Moses uses different words to address the heavens and the earth. He says: “Give ear, O heavens, (“Haazinu”), “let the earth hear” (“Vi’Tishma”). The Hebrew word “Haazinu”, “
“Give ear”, is used specifically when the listener is in close proximity to the speaker, while the word “Tishma”, “hear”, applies to hearing something that is a distance away. Indeed, the Midrash explains that since Moses was “close to the heavens”, since to him spirituality was the reality of existence, he employed the word “Give ear” when addressing the heavens. And being that the material world was insignificant to Moses, because he was “distant from the earth”, he used the word “hear” when addressing the earth.
Moses was close to the heavens, but since the purpose of Judaism is to connect both matter and spirit, Moses must evoke not only heaven but earth as well.
The words of Moses were spoken to each of us. We each have a “heaven” and “earth” within ourselves. Part of us seeks the transcendent and the spiritual, while part of us seeks the earthly and the physical. In his song Moses tells us how, despite a terrible exile, the Jewish people would emerge with a strengthened bond with G-d. The song tells how the Jewish people and their mission would endure. Perhaps more than any other part of the song, the opening words, “Give ear O heavens” and “Let the earth hear”, capture the mission of the Jew.
The song is read on Shabbat in close proximity to the holidays of Yom Kippur and Sukkot, for Yom Kippur and Sukkot are the embodiment of the song. On Yom Kippur we reach to the heavens, we connect to the core of our soul which is “close to the heavens” and feels one with G-d. Yet, as we reach the climax of the holiness of Yom Kippur we transition to the preparation for the holiday of Sukkot, which is a celebration of the ingathering of the harvest, when we celebrate the bounty we were blessed with. As the verse states:
You shall make yourself the Festival of Sukkot for seven days, when you gather in [the produce] from your threshing floor and your vat… Seven days you shall celebrate the Festival to the Lord, your God, in the place which the Lord shall choose, because the Lord, your God, will bless you in all your produce, and in all the work of your hands, and you will only be happy. (Deuteronomy 16:13-15).
The combination of Yom Kippur and Sukkot represents the life of the Jew. We are “close to heaven”, we connect to our angelic, spiritual and pure soul on Yom Kippur, and then we connect the “heaven”, spiritual awareness, to the field, to sanctify and uplift the blessings of everyday life.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos Haazinu vol. 2).
Conflict Between Material and Spiritual
The song of Haazinu, the song Moses sung to the Jewish People on the final day of his life, describes how the great blessings of the land of Israel, the involvement with material pursuits, would ultimately cause the Jewish people to abandon G-d, and ignore their spiritual calling. They would then experience the horrors of exile. Yet, as the song continues, ultimately the people would be healed, and G-d would bring them back to their land.
At the precise point where the song transitions from describing the terrible calamity of the exile to the eventual reconciliation between G-d and the people, the song alludes to the spiritual insight that would correct the underlying problem that led to the spiritual downfall in the first place. The song states:
See now that it is I! I am the One, and there is no G-d like Me! I cause death and grant life. I strike, but I heal, and no one can rescue from My Hand!
The words “I strike and I heal” capture the secret of the transformation. The Midrash points out that the Hebrew word “strike”, “Machatzti”, is the same root as the word “partition”, “Mechitzah”. Thus, the verse can be read, “I created a division and I will heal the division”. Chasidic philosophy explains that the source of all pain, darkness and frustration is the partition between materialism and spirituality. Creation represents the separation of the material from its spiritual source. When we look at the physical reality, we don’t sense its soul, its spiritual core. The material creation distracts us from the spiritual energy that continually brings it into existence. The created being is a partition, concealing the inner, mystical, reality.
The purpose of creation, however, is to heal the divide, to heal the separation between creation and creator. The partition is necessary, without it there is no independent creation, only the infinite light of G-d. Yet the partition can be healed when the created being reveals that its purpose is to express the Divine truth.
The Song of Haazinu, then, tracks the story of our interaction with the material world we live in. We are the products of the partition, we experience the divide, we sense the conflict. We interact with the physical reality and material pleasures and we sense that it has the potential to distract us from our higher selves. We then continue reading the song and our understanding deepens. The partition does not have to be a source of conflict. When we discover the soul and the purpose of the material, the partition will be healed. The purpose of the divide, like the purpose of creation, is to find the unity and harmony in the midst of conflict and tension; to heal the divide between the physical and spiritual.
While the entirety of Judaism is about bridging heaven and earth, no Mitzvah does so as powerfully as the Mitzvah of Sukkah. The Sukkah encompasses the entirety of our physical body as well as our physical possessions and experiences. The Sukkah represents the capacity of bringing every aspect of our life into the holy embrace of the Sukkah, imbuing our material life with holiness.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Simcha beis Hashoeva 5716)
The Kosher Sukkah
The upcoming holiday of Sukkot, which commemorates G-d sheltering our ancestors in protective clouds when he liberated them from Egypt, is alluded to in this week's Torah portion. The opening verses of the song of Haazinu describe the kindness that G-d displayed toward the Jewish people:
He found them in a desert land, and in a desolate, howling wasteland. He encompassed them and bestowed understanding upon them; He protected them as the pupil of His eye.
Rashi explains that this verse refers to the Sukkah:
He encompassed them: There {in the desert}, {God} encompassed {Israel}, surrounding them by {protective} clouds.
There are many intricate laws regulating the Schach (the covering of the Sukkah); these laws are discussed at length in the Talmud tractate Sukkah. The following Mishnah formulates the general criteria of Kosher Schach: (1) the material must be something that grows from the ground, yet it must be detached from the ground. (2) In addition, it cannot be susceptible to ritual impurity, meaning it can not be formed into a man-made utensil or receptacle. As the following Mishnah explains:
If one trellised climbing plants such as a grapevine, or gourd plant, or ivy, over a sukka while they were still attached to the ground, and then added roofing atop them, the sukka is unfit... This is the principle with regard to the roofing of a sukka: Anything that is susceptible to ritual impurity, e.g., vessels, or its growth is not from the ground, e.g., animal hides, one may not roof his sukka with it. And anything that is not susceptible to ritual impurity and its growth is from the ground, one may roof his sukka with it.
The experience of dwelling in the Sukkah reminds us that our protection and security comes not from the homes we build and the possessions we amass, but rather from G-d's protection. That is why we leave our home and sit in a temporary dwelling that does not offer adequate shelter from the elements, symbolizing that our sense of security comes from G-d's embrace. When we sit in the Sukkah, we express that our trust is not in the power of nature nor in the brilliance of man; but rather, it is in the protection of G-d himself.
This general idea is expressed in the specific laws of the Schach. The first primary principle is that the vegetation fit for Sechah must be severed from the ground, the source of its sustenance and nourishment. This symbolizes that we do not find shelter in the vigor of nature. The second primary principle is that the Schach may not be crafted into an artificial tool or utensil; this symbolizes that we place our trust not in the ingenuity and creativity of man but rather in the loving embrace of G-d himself.
Rain and Dew
In the song of Haazinu, the poem he sings on the final day of his life, Moses calls heaven and earth to bear witness to his words:
Listen, O heavens, and I will speak! And let the earth hear the words of my mouth! My lesson will drip like rain; my word will flow like dew; like storm winds on vegetation and like raindrops on grass.
Moses compares the words of Torah, which bring life, nourishment and growth to the world, to both rain and dew, not only for the sake of poetic beauty, but rather because an essential element of the Torah is that it contains both “rain” and “dew”.
The Torah is a marriage and partnership between G-d and the people. Therefore, the Torah contains both the “rain”, the written Torah, the word of G-d that descends and is communicated from above, as well as the “dew”, the oral Torah, which is the effort of the people to explain, interpret and apply the Divine wisdom. Like the dew which forms from the condensation on earth, the oral Torah is brought forth not by heaven but rather by earth.
When we study Torah we are not merely accepting the word of G-d passively; we are, in fact, partnering with G-d, offering our own voice and perspective, contributing our part to the unity of heaven and earth, the marriage of the Jewish people and G-d.
Adapted from the Pri Tzadik
Should We Emulate Moses or Isaiah?
Moses began the song of Haazinu with poetic language. He called upon both heaven and earth to bear witness to his parting words to the Jewish people:
Give ear, O heavens, let me speak; Let the earth hear the words I utter! (Deuteronomy 32:1)
The Midrash points out that Isaiah too, in his very first prophecy, employed a similar phrase:
Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth (Isaiah 1:2)
However, there is a significant difference between the words of Moses and Isaiah.
Upon addressing the heavens, Moses who was “close to heaven” in a spiritual sense, used the term "give ear", (Haazinu), which implies addressing someone who is close by. And since Moses was distant from earthly matters, he used the term, "let the earth hear", as "hear" can imply hearing from a distance. Isaish, by contrast, was "distant from the heavens and close to the earth", and therefore he said, "Hear {from, a distance}, O heavens, and give ear {implying closeness}, O earth".
The question, of course, is, where does that leave us?
The etymology of the word Torah is a lesson, because every phrase in the Torah is not just informative, but rather it is intended for us to implement in our own life. If Isaiah could not live up to Moses' example and be "close to the heavens", how can we possibly expect to be "close to the heavens and distant from the earth"?
In a beautiful essay on our Torah portion, the Rebbe explains that the two expressions of Moses and Isaiah build upon each other. At first, one is called upon to be like Moses, "close to the heavens and distant from the earth". When we begin our day, we dedicate time to pray and study, dedicating a few moments to escape the confines of earth and soar to the expanses of heaven. In these moments, we, like Moses, are close to the heavens. Yet, that is but the first step in our spiritual journey. The greater and perhaps more critical achievement is that after we are like Moses, we advance and learn from Isaiah. We turn toward earth. Because the purpose of life is not to find solace in heaven but rather to extend our influence into the world. After we study Torah and become "close to the heavens", we are empowered to become "close to the earth", transforming it into a place of spirituality and harmony, until the time when earth itself will become a home for G-d, a place of goodness, kindness, and holiness.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos 9 Haazinu
Choosing Moses
Reading the last portion of the Torah causes us to feel a measure of sadness. Moses, the faithful leader who spent decades of his life devoted to his people, is unable to conclude his life’s journey. He led the Children of Israel from Egypt to the bank of the Jordan River, but he was unable to see them enter the Promised Land. As is written in the final page of the Torah:
And the Lord said to him, "This is the Land I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, 'I will give it to your offspring.' I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there."
Looking back at Moses’ long career, one cannot but think about the many disappointments he endured. If leadership is about influencing people, then Moses achieved only a limited measure of success. In story after story, we witness an ungrateful nation, a nation who is resistant to many of the teachings of Moses.
When, however, we take a deeper look at the words of Moses on his last day on earth, we see that he did find comfort. What looks like a rejection of all Moses stood for, is interpreted by Moses as the greatest act of devotion to Moses and to his teachings.
Just a few weeks earlier Moses was faced with what he thought was a colossal threat. The tribe of Reuven and the tribe of Gad approached Moses and said that they did not want to cross the Jordan and enter the land of Israel, they preferred to stay east of the Jordan River, in the lands conquered by the Jewish people on their approach to Israel.
At first, Moses was furious. He accused them of being just like the spies, who, almost forty years earlier, dissuaded the Jews from entering the land, causing G-d to decree that the entire generation be barred from entrance to the land. Moses was afraid that he was facing a replay of that disaster.
Only after the two tribes committed to leading the troops in the future battles to conquer the land of Israel, did Moses, seemingly with great reluctance, agree to allow the two tribes to settle in the lands east of the land of Israel.
As he blessed each tribe, on the final day of his Life, Moses turns to the tribe of Gad, one of those who settled east of Israel and says:
He saw the first portion for himself, because there, the portion of the lawgiver is hidden. And he came at the head of the people; he did what is righteous for the Lord, and what is lawful with Israel."
Rashi explains:
He saw the first portion for himself: He saw fit to take for himself territory in the land of Sihon and Og, whose land was the beginning of the conquest of the Land.
Because there, the portion of the lawgiver is hidden: For Gad knew [through Divine transmission,] that within his territory would be contained a portion of the field designated for the burial of “the lawgiver,” namely Moses.
Moses looked at his people and sensed that beneath every action lies a deep love for their leader Moses. Moses recognized that amongst the Jews, there were some, whose love for him was so deep; they were willing to forfeit their portion of the land of Israel, and to settle outside of Israel just to be in close proximity to Moses. Chasidic Philosophy explains that what they really wanted was to be close, not only to Moses’ burial place, but also to his ideas. Moses was inspiring his people to come to the holy land of Israel, the land that, as the Midrash says, is a land, which “wants to fulfill the will of its Maker”. The tribe of Gad wanted to apply Moses’ teaching even further. They felt that as students of Moses, they could and therefore must, extend Moses’ vision; they must extend the land of Israel eastward, sanctifying the eastern bank of the Jordan as well. Doing so, allowed them to be in close proximity to Moses, it allowed them to extend the holiness of Israel, and, most remarkably, allowed Moses to be buried amongst his people, allowing him, in some way, to be buried in the extension of the land of Israel.
Could there be a greater expression of love toward Moses? Is there anything that Moses could see in his lifetime that would be more meaningful?
***
As we conclude the five books of Moses, on the happiest day of the year, on Simchat Torah, we find comfort and joy from our spiritual bond with Moses. We see ourselves as the tribe of Gad, as people whose task it is to fulfill Moses’ legacy. As people, whose mission it is to bring the Jewish people to the land of Israel, to the place where they have a deep desire to connect to their creator. As people, whose mission it is to create Israel wherever we may be.
The Inheritance
As Moses began to convey his blessings to each of the tribes of Israel on the last day of his life, Moses began his final words by describing how G-d came to Sinai to give the Torah to the Jewish people:
"The Lord came from Sinai and shone forth from Seir to them; He appeared from Mount Paran and came with some of the holy myriads; from His right hand was a fiery Law for them.
Throughout history, the Jewish people refer to Moses as “Moshe Rabeynu”, Moses our Teacher, because, while Moses did many great things for the Jewish people, from liberating them from Egypt to conquering the lands east of the Jordan River, conveying the Torah was his greatest life achievement.
How then does Moses describe the Torah in his final words to his beloved people? What words, image or metaphor does Moses employ to convey to the Jewish people the preciousness of the Torah? How does he seek to inspire them and to do all in their power to transmit it to the future generations?
There is so much to say about the Torah. He could have said any of the following: “The Torah is infinite Divine wisdom made available to the finite human mind.” “The Torah is the greatest moral code”. “The Torah will fill your life with inspiration.” “The Torah will give meaning to your existence.” Moses, however, said something entirely different:
The Torah that Moses commanded us is a inheritance for the congregation of Jacob.
Moses understood that, in order for the Torah to survive the test of time, in order for it to be transmitted and studied throughout the generations, more important than telling the Jew about any particular quality of the Torah, more important than knowing what the Torah would add to his life or her life, the most important thing that the Jew needs to know about the Torah, is that the Torah is his or her inheritance.
What is an inheritance, and how is it different from other forms of acquisition?
When purchasing something, the buyer “earns” that which is being purchased. The buyer receives the item in consideration of money being paid. When receiving a gift there is a reason that the gift is being given to this particular person. The Talmud states that the giver gives a gift because the recipient gives the giver some form of pleasure, joy or satisfaction. In other words, while the recipient of the gift did not pay for the gift by offering payment in accordance with its full value, the gift is “payment” for the intangible satisfaction the recipient gives to the giver. The transfer of ownership from one party to another can only occur if the recipient wants the transfer to take effect.
Inheritance is a different story altogether.
A person may have a child who is merely one day old, the person may have never seen his child, and in fact, may not even know that the child exists. The child, has no capacity to understand that there is an estate, and he is its heir. And yet the transfer takes effect. The heir inherits the estate in its entirety, not because of anything he did, not because he wants it. The heir receives the inheritance because there is an essential bond between the parent and child. The child inherits from the parent, not because the child is deserving, but because deep down, on the soul level, they are one.
The Torah is the inheritance of every Jew.
Moses understood that the most important thing a Jew must know about the Torah is that the Torah is his inheritance, that the Jew and the Torah are bound at the soul level. That even if the Jew is not aware of the preciousness of the Torah, even if the Jew does not want the Torah and even tries to escape it, he and the Torah are one.
The Torah may or may not be the best selling book out there, but it is our book.
To the Jew living in a particular age, Torah may or may not be the most popular story, but it is his story.
The Torah is our inheritance because at the core of our identity we yearn to hear its words, its stories, and its teachings. The Torah is our inheritance because of the essential bond between the Torah and the Jewish soul. The Torah is our inheritance because no matter how much knowledge we acquire, our soul will still yearn for something deeper. No matter how many libraries of wisdom we acquire, our soul will still yearn for the Torah. Because the Jew, the Torah, and the Holy One Blessed be He are all one.
Business Can Make You Happy
On the final day of his life, in the final portion of the Torah, Moses blesses each of the twelve tribes of Israel. After blessing the first three tribes with positions of leadership, he blesses the tribe of Joseph with a fertile portion in the land of Israel, which will produce sweet produce.
Moses, then turns to the tribe of Zevulun, who were destined to be merchants, and blesses them, evoking the word joy:
And to Zebulun he said: "Rejoice, Zebulun, in your departure, and Issachar, in your tents.
They will call peoples to the mountain; there, they will offer up righteous sacrifices. For they will be nourished by the abundance of the seas, and by the treasures hidden in the sand." Deuteronomy 33:18-19
Why is the blessing to the tribe of Zebulun the only one that mentions the word joy?
There is a Talmudic saying that states: a man would prefer one Kav (a measurement) of grain that he produces rather than nine Kav given to him by a friend. The Talmud teaches that deep within a person’s psyche lies the desire to create something on his own. No matter how much he has been given, that deep desire has not been met. Only when a person creates something by the fruit of his own labor, does he feel a deep sense of satisfaction and joy.
All the tribes of Israel were blessed with gifts from above. Leadership was bestowed upon the tribes of Reuben, Levi, Judah. The other tribes were blessed with various portions of the land of Israel. Zebulun, alone, was blessed with the opportunity to sail forth from the land of Israel and engage in commerce, buying and selling and create wealth and prosperity by their own effort. Therefore, it is Zebulun alone that experiences the truest sense of joy.
Every phenomenon in the physical world is a mirror of the same phenomenon in the spiritual reality. The same is true about the joy of Zebulun’s commercial efforts.
Rashi quotes the Midrash’s description of how Zebulun would use their business relationships to spread the light of Judaism:
Through Zebulun’s commerce, merchants of the world’s nations will come to his land. Now Zebulun is located at the border, so these merchants will say, “Since we have taken so much trouble to reach here, let us go to Jerusalem and see what the God of this nation is like and what they do.” And they see all Israel worshipping one God and eating one kind of food [i.e., only what is permissible to them, and they will be astonished], because [among] the nations, the deity of one is not like the deity of another, and the food of one is not like the food of another. So they will say, “There is no nation as worthy as this one!” Consequently, they will convert to Judaism there, as our verse says,“there, they will offer up righteous sacrifices” [and all of this will be due to Zebulun’s commerce].
While all other tribes lived in the holy environment of the land of Israel, the tribe of Zebulun, alone amongst the tribes, spent their time, talent and creativity, outside the borders of the land of Israel. While all other tribes worked the sacred soil of the land of Israel, the tribe of Zebulun was engaged with mundane, physical objects. While all other tribes focused their attention on building their own society, Zebulun was tasked with interacting with and ultimately influencing the countries, people and lifestyles that were foreign to holiness. When Zebulun engaged in commerce, they also spread the light and values of Judaism. Zebulun, therefore, experienced the truest sense of joy for, by their effort, they were able to imbue the most unlikely of places with holiness.
(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, second night of Sukkos 5742)
Back to the Beginning
On the holiday of Simchat Torah we read the final chapter of the five books of Moses. After journeying through the stories, characters, and lessons of the Torah, we anticipate reaching the culmination of our journey, the Torah’s climatic message and its deepest insight.
Yet, there seems to be no clear end to the odyssey. For on the same day we conclude the Torah we once again begin to read it anew. Doing so, represents the depth of the Torah, no matter how much we have understood there is still an infinite amount of wisdom waiting to be discovered. Moving directly from the conclusion to the beginning, tells us that in order to understand the finale of the five books of Moses, we must look at the connection between the final verse of the Torah and the opening words of the Torah.
The Torah concludes with the description of the passing of Moses, and of his unique role in history:
And there was no other prophet who arose in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face,
as manifested by all the signs and wonders, which the Lord had sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and all his servants, and to all his land,
and all the strong hand, and all the great awe, which Moses performed before the eyes of all Israel.
The final words of the Torah are “before the eyes of all Israel”. The unity of “all of Israel” is the purpose of all of Torah. Achieving unity is no simple task. We were each created as a distinct entity, and, naturally, we are concerned primarily with ourselves and our own well being. True unity, therefore, can only be achieved through internalizing the teachings of the Torah, which teaches us to look deep within ourselves and discover our true self. While from the perspective of the body we are different and distinct from one another, Torah teaches us to self-define primarily as our soul. We are to appreciate the soul’s perspective and tune in to its understanding of reality; we are to see our body merely as a vessel and conduit for our soul. From the perspective of our soul, the Jewish people are one, because all of our souls are part of the one G-d.
Once we learn to see the soul within every person, we can then learn to see the soul of all the universe. The soul of the universe is addressed in the first verse of the Torah:
In the beginning of G-d's creation of the heavens and the earth.
The conventional interpretation of the verse is that G-d created a world in which his existence is concealed. When we look around, we see heaven and earth but not G-d. In fact, the name of G-d used in the story of creation (“Elokim”) is the name that refers to G-d’s power of concealment. According to Chassidic interpretation, “in the beginning”, the first and primary purpose of creation is to “create”, to express and reveal that G-d created the heavens and the earth. When we look around us we see a vast universe consisting of an untold number of distinct creations, stars and galaxies, it is our task to reveal the hidden truth, that all the multiplicity in creation is an expression of the awesome greatness of the one G-d.
As we conclude the reading of the Torah, we think about how the Torah teaches us to identify with our soul which feels bound up with “all of Israel”. Upon concluding the reading of the Torah and feeling its impact on our life, we can once again re-read the story of creation and see, not multiplicity but unity. Wherever we look, throughout the heavens and earth, we see the oneness of G-d, we feel the embrace of His unifying presence. It is our task to reveal this unity in every moment of our day, in every part of our life, and in every corner of heaven and earth.
(Based on the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Simchas Torah vol. 2)
"He Dwells Between his Shoulders"
On the last day of his life Moses blessed each of the twelve tribes of Israel, tailoring the blessing to each tribe's unique contribution to the collective Jewish people. In his blessing to the tribe of Benjamin Moses refers to the temple which was destined to be built In the portion of Benjamin, blessing them that the Divine presence shall always dwell in the temple:
And of Benjamin he said, "The Lord's beloved one shall dwell securely beside Him; He protects him all day long, and He dwells between his shoulders." (Deuteronomy 33:12)
Rashi addresses the question of why, when describing the dwelling of the Divine presence in the temple, Moses uses the words “between his shoulders”, and explains that the expression refers to the location of the Temple Mount. It was a bit lower than the “head”, the highest point in the land of Benjamin, it was therefore referred to as “between the shoulders”, just as the shoulders are a bit lower than the head.
As Rashi explains:
and dwells between his shoulders: The Holy Temple was built on the highest point of his [Benjamin’s] land, except that it was twenty-three cubits below the Eitam Well. Now, it was David’s intention to build it there [at the level of the Eitam Well], [However,] they said to David: “Let us build it a little lower, for Scripture states, ‘and He dwells between his shoulders’ [which are lower than the head] - and there is no part of an ox more beautiful than its shoulders.”
The height of the temple mountain was not an accident. The Rebbe explained that the metaphor of the “neck” captures the essence of the temple. Conventional wisdom is that the temple is a “head”, the most spiritual and lofty place, a place where we experience and are in-tune with the Divine presence. That is why David sought to build the temple on the highest peak in the region to symbolize that the temple is the place where we ascend to the highest place within the world. Yet Moses, in his blessing to Benjamin, teaches us that the purpose and function of the temple is to serve as the metaphoric “neck”, connecting the “head”, the holy and the spiritual with the figurative body which is the rest of the world.
The same is true within each of our lives. We each possess a spiritual “head”, the part of our self that is spiritual, idealistic and pure. Yet the Torah teaches that the Divine presence dwells not in the “head“, but rather in the “neck”, which connects our spiritual and holy self with the rest of the body, allowing our spiritual, lofty soul to permeate every part of our existence.
The topography of the temple mount symbolizes that the mission of the temple is not to retreat to a spiritual haven, but rather to connect “head” the core of holiness within the world and within each of our souls, with the “body”, every part of the world and every part of our life.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos, Vayigash vol. 10 sicha 1
The Alternative Vision
"And this is the blessing with which Moses, the man of G-d, blessed the children of Israel [just] before his death." These are the opening words of the final portion of the five books of Moses, in which Moses blesses each of the twelve tribes of Israel with unique blessings tailored to their respective spiritual mission and portion in the land of Israel.
The final blessings of Moses are not merely the parting words from a devoted leader to his beloved people; but rather, they represent a radical shift from the song of Haazinu, the song that G-d commanded Moses to "teach it to the Children of Israel. Place it into their mouths". The song begins with the description of the kindness that G-d bestowed upon the Jewish people in the desert and then turns to the future to describe the blessings G-d will give them in the land of Israel:
He made them ride upon the high places of the earth, that they would eat the produce of the field. He let them suck honey from a rock, and oil from the mighty part of the crag. The cream of cattle and the milk of sheep, with the fat of lambs and rams of Bashan and he goats, with kidneys of wheat, and it [the congregation of Israel] would drink the blood of grapes [which was] as the finest wine. (Deuteronomy 32:13-14)
The song then turns tragic. The blessing causes the Jewish people to become arrogant, abandon G-d, ultimately leading to a terrible exile. As the verse describes:
And Jeshurun became fat and rebelled; you grew fat, thick and rotund; [Israel] forsook the God Who made them, and spurned the [Mighty] Rock of their salvation. (Deuteronomy 32:15)
And then, after faithfully relaying to the Jewish people the song of Haazinu, Moses offers an entirely different vision. Moses offers a vision where the Jewish people integrate the bountiful blessings with a deep connection to G-d. As Moses says:
"His land shall be blessed by the Lord, with the sweetness of the heavens with dew, and with the deep that lies below, and with the sweetness of the produce of the sun, and with the sweetness of the moon's yield, and with the crops of early mountains, and with the sweetness of perennial hills, and with the sweetness of the land and its fullness, and through the contentment of the One Who dwells in the thornbush {G-d}. (Deuteronomy 33:13-16)
In his final words, Moses teaches his people that it is their choice. They can choose to experience alienation from G-d and exile from the land of Israel, or they can create the reality envisioned by Moses, fulfilling the ultimate purpose of creation, creating harmony between heaven and earth.
Adapted from the Abarbenel
Sukkah and Lulav - Two Forms of Unity
In the final portion of the Torah, as an introduction to the individual blessing to each tribe, a blessing which reflects each tribe’s unique spiritual mission, destiny, and portion of the land of Israel, Moses emphasizes the critical importance of unity:
And He {G-d} was King in Jeshurun {the Jewish people}, whenever the sum total of the people were gathered, and the tribes of Israel were together. (Deuteronomy 33:5)
Rashi explains the connection of the two clauses of the verse. G-d is the king of the people only when all tribes are united:
When Israel is gathered together in a unified group, and there is peace among them, God is their King - but not when there is strife among them.
There are two forms of unity, which are reflected in this verse, as well as in the holiday of Sukkot. The first is a unity that is based upon the commonality between people. The common denominator may be that we are all created in the image of G-d, all part of one people, and share a common history, a set of values, a mission, and a purpose.
This form of unity is the theme of the commandment to dwell in the Sukkah for seven days. The Talmud stated that "it is fitting that the entire people of Israel dwell in a single sukkah." for the Sukkah surrounds everyone in its embrace, ignoring the differences between people. This first form of unity is expressed in the verse “when the sum total of the people are gathered”, the “sum total” focuses on the similarity of the people being counted.
The second form of unity is one that specifically incorporates the differences between people. We unite in a group specifically because we realize that each individual has a unique set of talents, a unique perspective, and personality. The differences between people are in fact a cause of unity, when we realize that we are interdependent and interconnected. That it takes many divergent components to create a sophisticated and advanced organism. This second form of unity is the theme of the commandment to shake the four kinds, to take four divergent species, {the Palm branch, Etrog, myrtle, and willow} each with its particular characteristic, and unite them as one.
While the differences between people must be ignored in order to cultivate unity based on commonality, it is particularly the differences that contribute to and intensify the second form of unity, where we are enhanced by our differences.
Before Moses blessed each individual tribe, Moses taught us to understand that we must not be threatened by our differences, on the contrary, only when there are twelve unique tribes, can we reach a deeper level of unity, causing G-d to be our king.
When the Torah Comes Full Circle
On the day of Simchat Torah, when we celebrate the conclusion of the annual cycle of the Torah reading, as soon as we conclude the reading of the final verse of the Torah, we begin the cycle again by reading the first section of the Torah. This is because the Torah is infinite, and therefore, no matter the depth of meaning we uncover in our study, we are just beginning to explore the Divine wisdom within the Torah.
Many commentators, therefore, sought to glean insight from the connection between the conclusion of the five Books of Moses to the beginning.
The final verses of the Torah describe Moses greatness:
And there was no other prophet who arose in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face,
The Torah then describes the great miracles that Moses performed before the Jewish people:
as manifested by all the signs and wonders, which the Lord had sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and all his servants, and to all his land, and all the strong hand, and all the great awe, which Moses performed before the eyes of all Israel.
The beginning of the Torah describes the creation of the world and all of the natural phenomenon:
In the beginning God created heaven and earth —
When we begin to read the Torah, we understand that G-d created the world and the natural order. As we progress through the narrative, we begin to experience revelation, we read of prophecy and miracles, we read of Divine providence and G-dly intervention, which interfere with and disturb the natural order. The Torah concludes by addressing the extraordinary miracles which the Jewish people experienced. And then, we return to the beginning and, once again, read about the creation of the natural order. This is because, after we experience miracles and revelation, we reach a deeper understanding. We come to recognize that nature itself is also a miracle. We realize that G-d is present within the natural order just as He is present within the extraordinary.
Connecting the end of the Torah to its beginning fosters the awareness that the miraculous and the natural are expressions of one G-d, who can be felt and experienced not only in the extraordinary and inspired moments of life but also in what seems to be the ordinary, predictable and mundane times in our life.
(Adapted from Tefilah Lemoshe)