Destination Israel

Parshat Yitro - פרשת יתרו

2012-02-10T14:04:00.001+02:00

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה, לְחֹתְנוֹ: כִּי יָבֹא אֵלַי הָעָם לִדְרֹשׁ אֱלֹהִים. כִּי יִהְיֶה לָהֶם דָּבָר בָּא אֵלַי וְשָׁפַטְתִּי בֵּין אִישׁ וּבֵין רֵעֵהוּ וְהוֹדַעְתִּי אֶת חֻקֵּי הָאֱלֹהִים וְאֶת תּוֹרֹתָיו. - And Moshe said to his father-in-law: 'Because the people come to me to inquire of God. When they will have a matter, it comes unto me; and I judge between a man and his neighbour, and I make them know the statutes of God, and His laws.'
(Exodus 18: 16-17)

In previous Divrei Torah on this Parsha, I have taken a look at why Yitro's story is told before that of the the giving of the Torah. This year I continue with that theme, albeit from a different angle.

In his commentary on this passage, Rashi goes to great lengths to explain how, even though it is possible that this series of events was preserved and written down in their true order, we should not consider this as far more likely than the possibility that its chronology was purposely rearranged. Irrespective of whether or not this episode was told out of sequence, we can be sure of one thing: there is a definite meaning to the fact that Yitro's story is related before that of the giving of the Torah. But what could that meaning be?

One event related is when Yitro rebukes his son-in-law, Moshe, for sitting in judgment before all of Israel. Yitro felt that it was improper for one man to be the sole judge over an entire nation and suggested that he should set up an hierarchical system instead. (Not too dissimilar to the kind of judicial system we are familiar with, might I add.)

I would like to tender that the reason this episode had to come first was so that we understand the nature of the ten commandments. These commandments were split into two categories; commandments that man was to keep between himself and God, and commandments than man keeps with others.

Looking at the verses above, we see that Moshe writes "כי יבא אלי העם - When the people will come to me", with the word יבא in the singular, but a little later the plural להם (to them) is used when it says, "כי-יהיה להם דבר - When they will have a matter". The explanation for this discrepancy sheds light on why this entire episode is placed here in the first place.

In D'rash V'Iyun, it is written that whereas people are often very particular with laws between themselves and God, they can often be less pernickety when dealing with the laws pertaining to inter-personal relationships. If someone has reason to believe that they might have mixed their meaty and milky utensils, for example, some people will be sure to go to their Rabbi and ask what to do. But when it comes to accidentally charging someone too much for something, for example, some people might permit themselves a degree of slack that would be inconceivable to them in the framework of the commandments that are related more directly to God. This was precisely the case in the verses above; the people would come to Moshe so he could settle disputes between them, but only when they had another reason for doing so. Only when the people had what they thought to be a more pressing concern - an issue pertaining to their observance of commandments in the category of Bein Adam l'Makom (Man-God commandments) - would they come before Moshe.

In setting up more courts, we may contend that Yitro encouraged the Jewish people to stop prioritising their relationships with God over their relationships between themselves. To be truly holy, it is necessary to observe both aspects equally. For this reason, I believe, this episode was related before that of the giving of the Torah; its lesson had to be absorbed first.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshsat B'shalach - פרשת בשלח

2012-02-03T14:18:00.003+02:00

"היה רבי מאיר אומר, כשעמדו ישראל על הים, היו שבטים מנצחים זה עם זה. זה אומר: אני יורד תחילה לים וזה אומר: אני יורד תחילה לים. מתוך שהיו עומדים וצווחים - קפץ שבטו של בנימין וירד לים תחילה. אמר לו רבי יהודה: לא כך היה מעשה, אלא זה אומר אין אני יורד תחילה לים וזה אומר אין אני יורד תחילה לים. מתוך שהיו עומדין ונוטלין עצה אלו באלו קפץ נחשון בן עמינדב וירד לים תחילה"

(סוטה ל"ו - ל"ז)

"Rebbe Meir would say, when Israel stood on [the edge of] the sea, the tribes argued amongst themselves. One would say, "I will enter [the waters] first", and another would say "I will go in to the sea first". While they were arguing, the tribe of Binyamin jumped and went down first into the sea. As it is stated: "There is Binyamin, the youngest, ruling them. Rabbi Yehuda said to him: It did not happen this way, but rather this one said, "I will not go down first into the sea", and this one said, "I will not go down first into the sea." But while they were standing there seeking each other's advice, Nachshon the son of Aminadav jumped and went down first into the sea." (Gemara Sotah 36b-37a)

***

In this week's parsha, the Bnei Yisrael, escaping Egypt, find themselves trapped. The Egyptians are hard on their heels, they camp on the edge of the Red Sea. The harsh desert surrounds them. Whichever way they go, there is no refuge. The situation is desperate.

At this point, we read of how the people split into four distinct groups. The first group is described as saying: "וַיֹּאמְרוּ, אֶל-מֹשֶׁה, הֲמִבְּלִי אֵין-קְבָרִים בְּמִצְרַיִם, לְקַחְתָּנוּ לָמוּת בַּמִּדְבָּר: מַה-זֹּאת עָשִׂיתָ לָּנוּ, לְהוֹצִיאָנוּ מִמִּצְרָיִם. - 'And they said to Moshe: 'Were there no graves in Egypt, have you taken us away to die in the wilderness? Wherefore do you deal with us, to bring us forth out of Egypt?''"

Overcome with fatalism, this group sees no future for their people other than death. The next group is recorded as resigning themselves to the impossibility of escape and so instead suggests to return to their former status as slaves. ( הֲלֹא-זֶה הַדָּבָר, אֲשֶׁר דִּבַּרְנוּ אֵלֶיךָ בְמִצְרַיִם לֵאמֹר, חֲדַל מִמֶּנּוּ, וְנַעַבְדָה אֶת-מִצְרָיִם: כִּי טוֹב לָנוּ עֲבֹד אֶת-מִצְרַיִם, מִמֻּתֵנוּ בַּמִּדְבָּר.)

The next two groups are alluded to in Moshe's response. He tells the people not to fear, that they will never see the Egyptians again, that Hashem will battle on the Jews behalf and that they should remain silent. ( וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אֶל-הָעָם, אַל-תִּירָאוּ--הִתְיַצְּבוּ וּרְאוּ אֶת-יְשׁוּעַת יְהוָה, אֲשֶׁר-יַעֲשֶׂה לָכֶם הַיּוֹם: כִּי, אֲשֶׁר רְאִיתֶם אֶת-מִצְרַיִם הַיּוֹם--לֹא תֹסִפוּ לִרְאֹתָם עוֹד, עַד-עוֹלָם. יְהוָה, יִלָּחֵם לָכֶם; וְאַתֶּם, תַּחֲרִשׁוּן.) The third group, evidently, wanted to put up a fair fight. And the fourth sought to find political reconciliation with the Egyptians. Moshe gave short shrift to both factions.

It is important to note that not all of Klal Yisrael was included in these four groups. In a fascinating D'var Torah I read online by Rav A. Leib Scheinbaum. There he notes a claim by Rav Hirshovitz that others took the appropriate action and prayed to Hashem. "They shut their ears to the warriors and to the spineless, to the assimilationists and the politicians" writes Rav Scheinbaum. Even though the four misguided groups existed, the majority of the people stayed faithful to Hashem.

And then while all of this was happening, one person decided to take action. After a failed attempt to enter the sea as Hashem had commanded, the Midrash tell us that Nachson ben Aminadav determined to make his move. Intriguingly, the famous story is not actually recorded in the text. But his bold, brave decision is nonetheless well-known.

Thinking this over, I think (credit to my roommate, Adam Nathan, for the inspiration), that we can compare the people at this time to the four groups of people alluded to by the Four Species waved at Sukkot. The Lulav, Etrog, Hadasim and Aravot are all said to represent a specific type of Jew. The Etrog represents the Jew who is commited to Torah and mitzvot, for it both tastes and smells pleasant. The Aravot, which has neither taste nor scent, represent those who do not engage in either Torah or Mitzvot. The Lulav, which has a pleasant taste, represents those who learn Torah. And finally the aromatic Hadasim are supposed to be a symbol for those who are kind and engage in good deeds.

In our Parsha, I believe we can safely equate Moshe (and his true followers) to be the Etrog. They balanced their observance of mitzvot with study of the Torah. The Aravot can be said to symbolise the Eruv Rav (interesting to note that ערבות and ערוב רב have the same root); that quarreling, provocative element who sought to complain and went about things the wrong way. And then the great majority of the people were those who stayed faithful to Hashem, but were not pro-active.

It is amongst this backdrop that Nachson ben Amindav acted. We don't know much about this man; this was his defining moment. Nachshon jumped in. A true Hadas. He lets his actions speak louder than his words and demonstrated real Mesirut Nefesh. Overcoming his hesitance, he demonstrated the power of committed, devoted action in the name of God. Nachson showed the power of action while others were rationalising and hesitating. Just as all the Arba Minim are needed in order to fulfill the mitzva of Netilat Lulav, so we see all four groups of Jews here in our story. And yet it is not the Etrog - Moshe Rabbeinu - who saves the day. Instead, it is a man of the people who makes the decisive move.

Not every Jew can be learned. Not every Jew has it in them to perform acts of kindness and bravery. Some have neither quality. And only few possess both. The most important thing is to recognise that we all have our role to play.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)

Dedicated to someone very special. Thank you for taking the time to make your decision.

Parshat Bo - פרשת בא

2012-01-27T13:40:00.000+02:00

“החודש הזה לכם ראש חדשים ראשון הוא לכם חדשי השנה – This renewal of the moon shall be for you a beginning of new moons; it shall be for you the first among the months of the year.”
(Exodus 12:1)

Aside from detailing the last three of the ten plagues, this week's Parsha, Bo, is noted as it contains the first mitzvah commanded of the Jewish nation – that of Rosh Chodesh.

Harmless as this mitzvah is, many have wondered why it was selected to be the first mitzvah given to Am Yisrael. Surely there were other, more significant, (or at least more symbolic,) mitzvot that could have been chosen instead of this seemingly trivial commandment? What is so important about Rosh Chodesh?

There is a famous Pasuk that refers to the Chagim, “אלה מועדי ה' מקראי קודש אשר תקראו אתם במועדם – These are God’s appointed times for meeting, convocations to the sanctuary which you must proclaim at the time appointed for them.” To understand the concept of Mo’ed, normally translated as a time or meeting, one must refer to our Pasuk here.

Rav S. R. Hirsch proposes that all the Chagim are based on a concept of מועד, of coming together. But what is the connection between Rosh Chodesh and these מועדים? Rosh Chodesh isn't a מועד; it has no specific historic or seasonal associations. What indeed what is מועד? Does this word constitute a simple reference to time, to meeting, or is it rather to both?

Explaining his answer, Rav Hirsch continues by noting that מועד refers to a place or a time designated for meeting. In the pasuk above, the word has the latter connotation. מועדים are times or seasons designated for our meeting with Hashem. (Note that during these 'times' we confirm our religion. Shabbat is considered a testimony, as are the festivals. Indeed, the root of the word for testimony is עד. It should therefore be unsurprising that these two letters appear in the word מועד.) Explained in human terms, this meeting is to be a voluntary act for both parties. It is not to be a matter of a master summoning his servants into his presence.

For this reason only general terms are specified regarding the time of Am Yisrael’s coming to Hashem; He allows us a certain leeway in setting the conditions, as it were, for meeting up with him, so that the meeting may be of mutual choice. If it were that Rosh Chodesh were fixed, then all the chagim would be fixed too, and then it would be that we would have no input in arranging the time of our meeting with Hashem, and that we would be effectively tied down to a fixed schedule. In fact, it could be somewhat perversely argued that if the beginnings of months and hence also the festivals with them were to be tied inextricably to the astronomical phases of the planets so that the lunar calendar automatically determined the מועד and the מועדים, then we and Hashem would (l’havdil) appear bound to the blind, unchanging cycle of nature. That is absolutely not the case.

There is another aspect to this mitzvah that we may learn from. The moon itself has special value for the Jewish people. Unlike the sun which blazes intensely all day long, the moon is seen as somewhat inferior. But a better understanding of the nature of the moon is revealing. The Medrash explains that just as the moon waxes and wanes, so too does the Jewish people. Just at the moment when the Jewish people seem to be on the verge of extinction, they experience a turnaround in their fortunes. At the time of the giving of this mitzvah, the Jews were at the lowest level they had ever been at. Deeply affected by their experience in Egypt, the Jews were in a bad state. But just around the corner was one of the greatest events in the history of the Jewish people; the giving of the Torah at Sinai. (Similarly, we might note how the Holocaust was followed by the rebirth of the Jewish state.)

The Sfat Emet makes a similar point, claiming that while other nations are more linked to the sun, and can only stand 'during the day, when the sun is shining over them', only to fade away later on, the Jews do not need such external aid. On the contrary; in hard times, the Jewish nation emerges stronger instead of disappearing from view.

With the above in mind, we may now answer the question posed regarding the importance of this mitzvah. In a way, we can say that this mitzvah is parallel in function to the first letter of the Torah. Whereas the Torah could easily have started with the letter Aleph, it commences with a Bet to signify two roles and our entering into a holy partnership with Hashem. In a similar manner, the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh demonstrates the qualities that set the Jewish people apart.

Shavua tov and chodesh tov!

Parshat Va'era - פרשת וארא

2012-01-20T12:30:00.000+02:00

"לָכֵן אֱמר לִבְנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל: אֲנִי יְהוָה, וְהוֹצֵאתִי אֶתְכֶם מִתַּחַת סִבְלת מִצְרַיִם, וְהִצַּלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מֵעֲבדָתָם, וְגָאַלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם בִּזְרוֹעַ נְטוּיָה וּבִשְׁפָטִים גְּדלִים. וְלָקַחְתִּי אֶתְכֶם לִי לְעָם, וְהָיִיתִי לָכֶם לֵאלהִים; וִידַעְתֶּם, כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם, הַמּוֹצִיא אֶתְכֶם מִתַּחַת סִבְלוֹת מִצְרָיִם. - Therefore say to the children of Israel: I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of Egypt, and I will deliver you from their servitude, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. And I will take you to Me for a people, and I will be to you a God; and you shall know that I am the Lord your God, who takes you out from under the burdens of Egypt."
(Exodus 6: 6-7)

The first part of this week's D'var Torah is taken from the Ma'ayanei HaTorah, which cites Chidushei HaRim. It is written there that the ten plagues we read about during the course of this week's and next week's parsha readings are linked to the utterances with which the world was created (Pirkei Avot 5:1). There were ten of those, too, but the link goes a lot deeper than just that.

As the Chidushei HaRim explains, the ten utterances which caused the creation of the world acted to codify the laws of nature. As a result, it became impossible to observe the supernatural wonder of nature. In Jewish mystical thought, there is a concept of constriction - that God had to somehow constrain His eternal and omnipotent Self in a way conducive to forging the world as we know it. God effectively hid Himself through His acts of creation.

In a similar fashion, the ten plagues that are unleashed upon the unwitting Egyptians were directly related to each of these utterances. Step by step, they served to peel back the layers and reveal Hashem's presence in the world to one and all, that there is a creator and there does exist such a thing as an administrator of the universe who can change the rules of nature as He so wishes. Moreover, these ten plagues paved the path for the Jews to leave Egypt in a blaze of glory and made possible the ultimate revelation later on at Sinai. The ten plagues were not merely punishments for the Egyptians' oppression of the Jews; they also served to make a very strong statement about the nature of this world.

The relevance of the insight above is made apparent by something I read a few p'sukim later in verse 9: " וַיְדַבֵּר מֹשֶׁה כֵּן, אֶל-בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל; וְלֹא שָׁמְעוּ אֶל-מֹשֶׁה מִקֹּצֶר רוּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה. - And so Moshe spoke to the children of Israel; but they did not hearken Moshe because of shortness of wind and for hard bondage." The verse seems simple enough, but the Meshech Chochmah explains that Moshe chose his words very carefully. His people were under extreme stress and were unable to listen to him. Had he told anyone that "Everything's going to be alright - God is going to save us all in the close future", he would have likely been completely ignored. Anyone who is experiencing such severe trouble simply cannot pay attention to the future; they are instead preoccupied with the present. As such, Hashem instructed Moshe to speak in the present tense and let them know that their redemption was imminent.

Returning to the first part of this D'var Torah, we may now understand just how vital it was for Hashem to perform these miracles. It wasn't just for the Egyptians. It was for the generation of Jews who never knew their forefathers and fore-mothers. They had never witnessed the miracles that Avraham, Yitzchak and Ya'akov had. They barely knew what it meant to be Jewish. As such, the ten plagues allowed them to be liberated from the oppression of being limited and bound to nature. When they saw Hashem's hand behind nature, they were able to set out on the road that took them out of Egypt and home to Israel.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Sh'mot - פרשת שמות

2012-01-13T12:07:00.001+02:00

וְלא-יָכְלָה עוד, הַצפִינו, וַתקח-לו תבַת גמֶא, וַתחְמְרָה בַחֵמָר ובַזפֶת; וַתשם בה אֶת-הַיּלֶד, וַתּשׂם בּסוף עַל-שׂפַת הַיְאר - And when she could no longer hide him, she took for him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch; and she put the child in it, and laid it in the flags by the river's brink."
(שמות ב:ג)

This week's Parsha, Sh'mot, marks the beginning of the second book of the Torah. The Jews had been plunged into crisis with the evil decree issued by Par'oh that all male babies born that day would be killed. (Intriguingly, the commentaries note that Egyptian baby boys born then were murdered too, such was their desperation to see the future Jewish leader seen off.)

In the verse above, we read of how that great leader, Moshe Rabbeinu, who we learn was born 3 months prematurely, came to an age where he was impossible to hide. Because of the severe penalty for hiding a male baby from the Egyptian authorities, it was decided that he would have to be taken out of his home.

Once, in a conversation with a friend, I noted that pitch is used when the Torah relates the story of Noach's ark. There, it uses the phrase, "כָפַרְתָּ אֹתָהּ מִבַּיִת וּמִחוּץ, בַּכֹּפֶר - and you shall pitch it, within and without, with pitch." Although the term is different, there is more than a passing resemblance between the two episodes, for Moshe's little ark was also smeared with a dark, sticky substance.

My friend answered me by saying that there is indeed a connection between the two episodes. He explained that Noach lived at a time during which there was the greatest destruction the world has ever known. Why was there such destruction? Not because the people were exceedingly wicked - for they were not. Rather, this generation was actually one of the most knowledgeable generations that ever existed. The problem, however, was that they used their wisdom to their own ends. For example, we learn that the people of the time knew that one who stole less than "shava pruta," (a minute amount) would not be considered culpable. (I forget the source, but I believe that it comes from a Midrash.) They would therefore feel free to steal from one another in a manner that exploited and abused this loophole in Biblical law.

The reason that this generation was punished so heavily was that it was a generation with unusually high potential. It could have become the generation to receive the Torah from God, but because the people were so perverse in their way of thinking, they merited destruction by being drowned in the מבול, the great flood that immersed the entire world. There is a saying in Judaism that אין מים אלא תורה, there's no water other than Torah, and here we see an expression of that: whereas this generation might have been deserving of receiving (and being immersed in) the Torah, because of the way they acted, they received, and were immersed under the thing that we equate Torah to - water.

By way of contrast, the generations that came to Egypt were considered worthy of redemption, even though they had sunk to a very low level. But if they had sunk to such a low level, why was it that then that they deserved the miracles of the exodus and receipt of the Torah?

We may answer this question by looking at the opening words of the Parsha: "וְאֵלֶּה, שְׁמוֹת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, הַבָּאִים, מִצְרָיְמָה: אֵת יַעֲקֹב, אִישׁ וּבֵיתוֹ בָּאוּ - Now these are the names of the sons of Yisrael, who coming into Egypt with Ya'akov; every man came with his household."

The phrasing of this verse seems odd - why does it say both הַבָּאִים and בָּאוּ? One word means "coming" in the present tense, and the other means "came," which is in the past tense. What is the explanation for this anomaly. The way to understand this, posits Rav Yehoshua of Belz, is that while the Jewish nation undeniably had come, (in the past tense) to Egypt, they were only present physically. We learn that they did not integrate fully or take on Egyptian names. This generation always saw themselves as being in exile, as temporary residents of Egypt. Due to this clear perception of their impermanent status in a foreign land, they deserved their eventual redemption, the receipt of (and immersion in,) the Torah, and ultimately their return to their ancestral homeland in Israel.

If we compare the two cases, the differences are clear. While one generation acted in a way that was technically pious, they were wicked to the core. The other generation, while almost completely rotten, was careful to never sink down that bit too far. By maintaining their identity, they kept their souls intact and merited redemption. I think we can take this message to heart, too. Many times we feel as if we are slipping religiously. But if we ask ourselves who we are at our core, we know what kind of people we want to be. So long as we preserve that concept of ourselves, we are never too far away from returning to our true selves.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayechi - פרשת ויחי

2012-01-06T12:32:00.000+02:00

וַיֹּאמֶר יוֹסֵף, אֶל-אָבִיו, בָּנַי הֵם, אֲשֶׁר-נָתַן-לִי אֱלֹהִים בָּזֶה; וַיֹּאמַר, קָחֶם-נָא אֵלַי וַאֲבָרְכֵם - And Yoseph said unto his father: 'They are my sons, whom God has given me here.' And he said: 'Bring them to me, please, and I will bless them.'

Although I have read this passage previously, and heard it discussed during my fifteen-years-plus of education in a Jewish environment, when I read this passage again today, I saw a question that I can't believe I didn't know the answer to.

The event described in the Pasuk above is that of Yaakov, Yoseph's father, blessing Yoseph's sons; Ephraim and Menashe. Intriguingly and famously, Yaakov crosses over his hands so that his right hand falls on Ephraim's head, even though he is the younger son. Noteworthy as this detail is, a lot of "commentary inches" are spent on interpretations as to the meaning behind Yaakov's actions.

That, however, is not what I want to focus on. The most obvious question that may be asked here is why were Ephraim and Menashe blessed before all the other tribes? Indeed, they hardly seem like they should join the rest of the tribes, as they are all brothers, whereas Ephraim and Menashe are only the descendants of one of the brothers. So, we can ask, why are they blessed first, and why do they merit their place as equals amongst their uncles?

Rabbi Shmuel Hominer, in his work, "עבד המלך, Servant of the King," explains exactly why these two young men deserved to join the rest of the tribes. He points out that from all the tribes, only Ephraim and Menashe were born outside of Israel. These two were born in Egypt, as Yaakov notes when he says: "וְעַתָּה שְׁנֵי-בָנֶיךָ הַנּוֹלָדִים לְךָ בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם - And now your two sons, who were born unto you in the land of Egypt."

The significance of the brothers' birthplace cannot be understated. Yaakov realised that the blessing he was to give the thirteen brothers were not just for them as people, but for them as heads of tribes, for them as the heads of a future nation. Yaakov chose Ephraim and Menashe because those two knew what it was like to be in exile; away from the holy land. His blessing for them forms a well-known Jewish song, Hamalach Hagoel. The words at the end are particularly noteworthy: "וְיִדְגּוּ לָרֹב, בְּקֶרֶב הָאָרֶץ - and let them grow into a multitude, in the midst of the earth." Yaakov blesses these two brothers, the brothers of exile, that despite all that surrounds them, they (but read we, as all Am Yisrael,) should only grow into a strong and populous nation.

From Yerushalayim, Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayigash - פרשת ויגש

2011-12-30T12:21:00.001+02:00

"וְלֹא-יָכֹל יוֹסֵף לְהִתְאַפֵּק לְכֹל הַנִּצָּבִים עָלָיו, וַיִּקְרָא, הוֹצִיאוּ כָל-אִישׁ מֵעָלָי; וְלֹא-עָמַד אִישׁ אִתּוֹ בְּהִתְוַדַּע יוֹסֵף אֶל-אֶחָיו. וַיִּתֵּן אֶת-קֹלוֹ בִּבְכִי; וַיִּשְׁמְעוּ מִצְרַיִם, וַיִּשְׁמַע בֵּית פַּרְעֹה - Then Yoseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him and he cried: 'Let every man go out from [before] me.' And there stood no man with him while Yoseph made himself known unto his brothers. And he wept aloud; and the Egyptians heard, and the house of Pharaoh heard."
(בראשית מה:א-ב)

In the two verses above, the story of Yosef and brothers finally reaches its climax. The story is one of the most famous in the Torah, and one I thought I was very familiar with. But maybe familiarity does indeed breed a sense of contempt; this week, for the first time, I noticed a discrepancy in the passage above.

Yoseph, we are told, is unable to bear the pressure any longer. To this end, he clears his court of all observers. So far, so good. But what does the Torah tell us next? That he raises his voice and cries so loudly that all of Egypt knows precisely what is happening. If that's the case, what's the point in instructing all those present to exit the room?

The Radak (if I recall correctly – my Chumash doesn’t have his commentary, unfortunately) presents a novel, yet straightforward, explanation of what is meant by "and the Egyptians heard." He posits that rather than Yoseph's voice - miraculously - carrying over the length and breadth of Egypt, his cry was a normal one and only overheard by a few. From here, the knowledge was passed on by word of mouth.

Not that this event wasn't dramatic enough as it was, but Rav Chasman writes in 'Ohr Yahel' that Yoseph knowingly put himself in a situation of potentially grave danger. The last time he was alone with his brothers, they sought to kill him. There was no way he could be sure that, given the circumstances, one of might not attack him. He took a very real risk in isolating himself so.

With the above in mind, we may understand the depth of Rashi's commentary. Rashi is noted for typically giving the simplest explanation. However, despite his simplicity, there are often complicated concepts and motivations alluded to in his words. When Rashi writes here that Yoseph felt it important to protect his brothers from being embarrassed in front of strangers, we may now understand that he wasn't merely writing a simple explanation. Instead, Rashi indicates just how sensitive Yoseph was. Even though he knew that the word would get out in any case, he did his utmost to protect them from unnecessary embarrassment. For as long as was possible, Yoseph wanted to protect his brothers. He understood that sooner or later the story would become known, but while he could, he felt it imperative to guard their dignity.

At this point I'd like to mention that a friend of mine pens weekly D'var Torah, too. This week, he wrote that Yoseph was so sensitive to his brothers that there is no evidence in the Torah that Yoseph ever let his father Yaakov or brother Binyamin (who wasn't present at his sale) know about this episode at all, such was his concern and sensitivity for his brothers' pride.

Wishing a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Miketz - פרשת מקץ

2011-12-23T11:04:00.002+02:00

"וַיִּזְכֹּר יוֹסֵף--אֵת הַחֲלֹמוֹת, אֲשֶׁר חָלַם לָהֶם; וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם מְרַגְּלִים אַתֶּם, לִרְאוֹת אֶת-עֶרְוַת הָאָרֶץ בָּאתֶם - And Yoseph remembered the dreams which he dreamed of them, and said unto them: 'You are spies; to see the nakedness of the land you have come.' "
(בראשית מ"ב:ט)

In this week's Parsha, we read of the famous episode in which Yosef is asked to interpret the dreams of Par'oh. This sets in action a chain of events which leads to his transformation and reversal in fortunes, going from a lowly prisoner to second-in-command over the Egyptian Kingdom.

As we know, Yoseph was sold into slavery by his brothers. Denied the chance to see his father for years, it's surprising that he waited as long as he did to reveal himself. If we stop to think, we may realise that although Yoseph decided to contact his father later on, he might have done so considerably earlier. True, Yospeh kept his identity hidden for some time as he decided to test his brothers, but surely he didn't need to wait quite as long as he did. Why did Yoseph tarry so? This is all the more puzzling given Ya'akov's continued mourning over his long-lost/long-feared-dead son. Surely such a delay was needless?

The Ramban poses precisely this question in his commentary on the verse above. His answer is puzzling; he had to wait until the dreams of his youth, the dreams in which he saw his entire family bow down to him, come true. To tell the truth, I don't really see much of a connection between the two, though. Surely Yoseph could have waited to see the dream be realised and also send his father a message to let him know that he was indeed alive? Indeed, couldn't Yoseph have done this even earlier? Why did Yoseph wait to meet his brothers? He could have easily sent a message home when he was appointed head of Potiphar's household.

Rav Ari Kahn of Aish Hatorah frames Ramban's answer in a different way. As he writes: "The answer which Nachmanides offers is that Joseph could not contact Jacob until the dreams of his youth had come true. Joseph had dreamt that his brothers would one day bow to him, and his revelation of this dream had set off the brothers' jealous rage that led to his eventual sale into slavery. Only when the dream came true could Joseph be vindicated and reveal himself." (From here.)

If I understand correctly, I think Rav Kahn expresses an important aspect of Yoseph's actions which I'd like to elaborate upon; that Yoseph realised that he had to act with the utmost sensitivity to his family. Indeed, he quotes Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch, who in turn writes that: "...Joseph's consideration in not sending a letter to his father in his years of success was: What would Jacob gain in getting one son back, if in the process he would lose ten?... Therefore, Joseph used all the subterfuge [necessary], and in my mind this was certainly worthy of the wisdom of Joseph." (Commentary on verse above.)

I would like to add to this by saying that not only was Yoseph concerned with his father, but that Yoseph was concerned with his brothers. Imagine standing in his shoes for a second. Before you are the brothers who, the last time you saw them, sought to have you killed. Wouldn't you be furious with them? Nevertheless, Yoseph conducts himself carefully. His immediate concern is for his family and to ensure that, at this most sensitive of times, he doesn't cause unnecessary pain. I think that we can all learn a tremendous amount from this.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Vayeshev - פרשת וישב

2011-12-16T13:06:00.000+02:00

ויספר אל אביו ואל אחיו ויגער-בו אביו ויאמר לו מה החלום הזה אשר חלמת הבוא נבוא אני ואמך ואחיך להשתחות לך ארצה. ויקנאו-בו אחיו ואביו שמר את-הדבר. וילכו אחיו לראת אׄתׄ-צׄאן אביהם בשכם.

בראשית לז:י-יג

Yoseph, having just related the second of his famous prophetic dreams to Ya’akov is met with by a certain ambivalence from his father. Whereas his siblings abhorred and utterly resisted Yoseph’s visions, his father’s reaction was to initially rebuke his son, but soon turned to being more open-minded and receptive. The verse employs the conservative “שמר,” indicating that his father quietly listened to him and regarded Yoseph’s words as a possibility in his mind, but did not act on it one way or another.

It is interesting to note that the last of the three verses quoted above is broken with an Etnachta (a symbol used for singing the Torah which indicates a pause) in an unusual place. Liberally translated, the verse then reads, “And the brothers went (Etnachta) to see their father’s flock in Shchem.” Why the break? What does the break imply? Rav Hirsch goes on to point out that Shchem was 80km away from Hevron, where the brothers were. He explains that the brothers left immediately as soon as they heard their father humour Yoseph and seriously entertain the notion that his dreams had true meaning, hence the Etnachta cuts off the words “And the brothers went” from the rest of the sentence to show that the brothers left immediately. And why Shchem? Rav Hirsch points to the Midrash Rabba, which references the two dots that appear above the word את. These two dots signify that the brothers didn’t truly go to the sheep, rather that they used the sheep as an excuse to get away and spend some time mulling things over. They actually went to themselves, in that decided to take some time for introspection. It is significant that they went to Shchem because that was the place where they first demonstrated their sense of family unity. It was at Shchem that Shimon on Levy massacred the whole male population so that their sister’s name would not be besmirched. If this was the case when they were threatened from outside the family, it makes sense that when they were threatened from within the ranks, the family should return to the place where they first experienced true solidarity.

So Yoseph’s brothers did not exactly warm to his predictions, as is clearly stated in the verse, “ויקנאו-בו אחיו – and his brothers were jealous of him.” The traditional understanding of this verse is that the brothers were appalled to hear of their younger sibling’s grandiose statements about his future role as ruler over them. Moreover, the assertion that he would dominate over his father was even more contemptible in their eyes, and they soon moved to act in an attempt to ensure that such an occurrence would never come to fruition.

The interpretation that Rav Hirsch provides however, is far more fulfilling. In the same way that Adam HaRishon came to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil as a result of his ultimately good intentions, it would be churlish to suppose that the brothers’ scheming was simply evil, or that they were acting in a selfish manner.

Rav Hirsch offers the explanation that the brothers actions (like those of Adam HaRishon) were ultimately meant for the good, and that we should not allow ourselves to think that they merely acted on impulse against a perceived threat to the regular familial hierarchy. It would be a mistake to think that they were so simple. Often people look back at history and wonder how famous people could have acted quite so foolishly. If we think that way, we are the fools; those people knew what they were doing. Just because the characters we study in our history classes lived hundreds of years ago, doesn’t mean that they were lacking in common sense! Additionally, as was the case with the twelve tribes, many were far more spiritually sensitive than we are today.

So how can we understand their behaviour? What was the cause for their mistake? Rav Hirsch proposes that only recently had Nimrod introduced the world the concept of a kingdom. Up until that time, the brothers had never been exposed to a ממלכה – a Kingship, and and to be honest, Nimrod’s Kingdom wasn’t all that great. Nimrod was an evil and corrupt ruler who imprisoned his people and subjected them to slavery. The brothers’ cousins in Seir-Edom had “been enslaved by the whip of the Alufim (chieftains) and kings.” By way of comparison, Ya’akov’s family were quietly creating a society of equality and tranquillity. But what would happen to this model if one man were to rise to the top and dominate over everyone else? The brothers had this one terrible example of Kingship, and when they heard their younger brother’s dreams, they quite understandably resolved themselves not to allow the Jewish nation to be ruled over by a monarch, assuming with relative plausibility that a rule of monarchy lead to the oppression of Am Yisrael. The brothers were determined not to let the future generations of the Jewish nation be reduced to slaves, and so we can now understand that their actions were not out of foolish pride or a bloated sense of self-importance, rather they were driven by their perception of Yoseph as a severe threat to the future of Am Yisrael.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Vayishlach - פרשת וישלח

2011-12-09T11:37:00.000+02:00

In this week's Parsha, Ya'akov is given a new name - Yisrael. Unlike other biblical charachters, though, he retains his original name, and the Torah continues to refer to him by this name as well as the new.

The difference here is that while characters such as Avraham and Yehoshua underwent transitions that meant that a new, more appropriate name was required, Yisrael was not intended as a replacement as Ya'akov remained an apt name. How can we understand this?

If we understand Ya'akov's role as the final patriarch before the generation of the twelve tribes, we can see that he had not one, but two defining qualities. It is imperative to understand the Jewish nation's continuing mission in the context of Ya'akov two names.

The Kli Yakar explains that the two names of Ya'akov and Yisrael are analogous to two exiles and redemptions of Am Yisrael. He writes that the name Ya'akov (which etymologically derives from the word "heel") is meant as a parallel to the redemption of the exile in Egypt. He describes that redemption as not being the most notable and prominent of the redemptions of the Jewish nation, rather that its miracles should be regarded as “Tafel,” almost as a bonus. It is said in the Bereshit Rabbah that similarly the name Ya’akov should be regarded as secondary to the primary Yisrael. And if that is so, the two are really two aspects of one particular thing. Both names are necessary to understand the concept of Ya’akov/Yisrael.

During my trawling through the internet, I found an interesting answer on the Chabad website, which posits that: "Jacob and Israel are two different names, with two different meanings. While it is true that Israel represents a loftier state of being than Jacob (thus the Israel element in Jacob is "no longer Jacob"), there are certain virtues to the Jacob state that the Israel state cannot possess. So Jacob remains a name for both the third Patriarch and for the Jewish people as a whole. Israel might represent a higher stage in the Jew's development than Jacob, but the greatness of the Jewish people lies in that there are both Jacob Jews and Israel Jews, and Jacob and Israel elements within each individual Jew."

Turning to the source of Ya'akov's new name, it is interesting to note that he takes his it from Esav’s angel. This was the angel that opposed him at the river, the angel that wrestled with him in a ferocious struggle. The angel’s name was Yisrael, which as the Kli Yakar points out means “Straight to Hashem.” Now, I don’t know how you understood the struggle, but however you read it, it doesn’t seem as if the angel was assisting Ya’akov in his task of getting closer to Hashem. It doesn’t seem as if he was doing anything like getting him towards Hashem, on the contrary, he was opposing Ya’akov, blocking Ya’akov’s path! It is instructive to note that every angel is named after the very specific task he is assigned, so how can it be that this angel seems hell-bent on stopping Ya’akov?

The Kli Yakar's answer is revealing in its depth. The angel was doing exactly what was required of him. To him, it very possibly made little sense at all, but the angel, somewhat paradoxically, fulfilled his task. We all know that this world is not a simple place. Our task is not always obvious, and often takes painful turns and requires arduous journeys. Yet if we stick to our task, we will find the straightest path to Hashem.

Returning to our orginal question of the two names, I see two different answers. Rashi makes the straightforward suggestion that while the name Yaaakov indicates subservience, Yisrael signifies strength and victory. Another view is offered by the Meshech Chochma, who sees the different names as expressing the distinction between Yaakov as an individual versus Yisrael as a national identity. Thus, according to Meshech Chochma, God addresses "Yisrael" exclusively when, and only when, there are national issues at hand. For this reason, both names are retained.

Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayetze - פרשת ויצא

2011-12-02T12:55:00.002+02:00

"וַיִּפְגַּע בַּמָּקוֹם וַיָּלֶן שָׁם, כִּי-בָא הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ, וַיִּקַּח מֵאַבְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם, וַיָּשֶׂם מְרַאֲשֹׁתָיו; וַיִּשְׁכַּב, בַּמָּקוֹם הַהוּא - And he lighted upon the place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took one of the stones of the place, and put it under his head, and lay down in that place to sleep."
(בראשית כח:יא)

One of the focal events of this week's Parsha happens when Ya'akov lies down to go to sleep. He dreams a dream, in which he sees a ladder above him and also receives prophecy that the entire land of Israel would become an inheritance for Am Yisrael.

Many commentators on the Parsha choose to discuss the exact details and the precise meaning of these events, but a seemingly "minor" point is the focus of this D'var Torah. Rashi points on the verse above that the words, "וַיִּשְׁכַּב, בַּמָּקוֹם הַהוּא - And [Ya'akov] lay down in that place to sleep" are an expressed in a way that suggests a measure of limit. Rashi goes on to explain that whereas here Ya'akov lay down to sleep, for the duration of previous fourteen years, when he learned in the Yeshiva of Shem and Ever, he refrained from going to lie down to sleep.

The Yalkut Lekach Tov notes the words of Kovetz Sichot by Rav H. Shmulovitz, that after Ya'akov's fourteen years restless pursuit of Torah, he doesn't go to sleep on a plush king-size bed with soft cushions. No, he lies down on the ground. He does prop up his head, but with what - a rock?

Moreover, Ya'akov takes more rocks and sets them around his head in order to protect himself "from wild beasts." Here too, we have a problem as Rav Simcha Zissel of Kelm points out. Why would a few rocks stop an animal from getting to Ya'akov while he sleeps - surely the rocks could be knocked away with ease.

The answer to be found is a lesson taught by Ya'akov's behaviour. Ya'akov's actions are an example in how to conduct oneself; after massive sleep deprivation, Ya'akov realised that if one pushes himself to the limits, he can do tremendous things. As such, he was able to deal without sleeping properly for all this time. Indeed, Ya'akov has conquered his natural desires and instincts to the extent that after this episode, he felt no need to use anything more than a few rocks to lie on. Similarly, when he placed these stones around his head, ostensibly to protect himself from animals, he was fully aware that they didn't offer proper protection.

Seemingly happy with this relatively insecure barrier, Ya'akov goes on, in the opinion of at least one commentary, to enjoy his best ever night's sleep that night. It seems that he was completely satisfied in his act of השתדלות (acting in a way to demonstrate one's commitment to a cause while accepting that one's own role is always beneath that of God). Nevertheless, the assertion that he was entirely comfortable with this most minimal of safeguards remains troubling. To resolve this difficulty we have to understand that Ya'akov chose to employ this simple barrier in the knowledge that in reality, everything that one does is essentially a miracle. Man is incapable of doing anything himself - he is only permitted to by God. As such, Ya'akov knew that he had no need to place stones around his head. The reason he put them there was to reduce the miracle, as it were. His action was an attempt to limit the need for a miracle. We may tender that in this merit, Ya'akov deserved to experience the bigger miracle of waking up to see the multiple stones unite to become one.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Toldot - פרשת תולדות

2011-11-25T14:39:00.000+02:00

This week's Parsha opens with the words, "וְאֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת יִצְחָק, בֶּן-אַבְרָהָם: אַבְרָהָם, הוֹלִיד אֶת-יִצְחָק - And these are the generations of Yitzchak, Avraham's son: Avraham begot Yitzchak."

There is a golden rule in the study of Torah that, as the Torah is perfect, there are no supefluous words anywhere. Each and every word has a meaning. Why, therefore, are we twice told that Yitzchak was Avraham's son?

Rav Machlis of Ma'alot Dafna in Jerusalem proposes an interesting insight as to why the seemingly needless repetition is warranted. The first mention, "יִצְחָק בֶּן-אַבְרָהָם," is meant to refer to Yitzchak. We may learn from these words that Yitzchak defined himself as "Yitzchak, the son of Avraham." Yitzchak's respect and love for his father extended to him determining himself by his father.

The next phrase, "אַבְרָהָם, הוֹלִיד אֶת-יִצְחָק - Avraham begot Yitzchak" can be understood as Avraham, the father, referring to himself by mentioning his son. While it is inspiring for the son to realise his position by defering to his father, I find it beautiful, and rather poetic, that Avraham Avinu found himself to be fulfilled through his son. Of course the positions of father and son should never be confused, and the son must always defer to the father, but I personally find this expression of mutual love and respect in Avraham and Yitzchak's relationship to be a true measure of the appreciation and depth of their love for one another.

Another interesting phenomenon I'd like to point out comes in response to an academic article I read last year during my studies. Written by feminist Susan Moller-Okin, the rhetorical question (more of an attack, really,) is asked why we read of "all those endless begats" such as the one found above, whereby a father (Avraham in our case) has a son (Yitzchak here), born to him without the mother being mentioned at all. When I first heard this, it really bothered me. Truth be told, it still does, but I'm sure that I'll find an answer if I do my searching. People told me that while it is clear that we wouldn't write things in such a way today, at the time that Avraham lived, women were very much marginalised by society. Whether the Torah is divine or not, (and I firmly believe that it is,) it was suggested to me that we can "excuse" this uncomfortable phrase as a sign of times past.

Nevertheless, reading through the parsha this last week, I realised something that does provide an answer of sorts to the allegation that Judaism is intrinsically sexist and discriminatory. Only a few verses after the one quoted above, we read that, " וַיֶּאֱהַב יִצְחָק אֶת-עֵשָׂו, כִּי-צַיִד בְּפִיו; וְרִבְקָה, אֹהֶבֶת אֶת-יַעֲקֹב - Yitzchak loved Esav, for trapping was in his mouth; and Rivkah loved Ya'acov."

It is intriguing to note that the two parents developed favourites at all, but I'd like to focus on the fact that while Yitzchak chose Esav, Rivkah favoured Ya'akov. Rivkah chose the 'right' son - the son from whom the Jewish people would emanate, the son who would turn out to be righteous. Responding to claims that Judaism is entirely discriminatory to women, it is important to note that no excuses are given for Yitzchak's "misjudgment" - women are regarded as typically being more insightful and in possession of the trait of בינה, proper understanding. I think that the right conclusion to draw is that there are no explanations given for this simple verse because none are really needed. Yitzchak, great as he was, could never have a woman's perception and understanding. During the Shmonah Esrei we speak of the three forefathers, but we don't mention the four foremothers. But this absolutely doesn't mean that they are of no value, that they had no contribution, and that we don't learn things from them. A glance further ahead in this week's parsha bears that out: Ya'akov, whom we learn represented absolute truth, was forced to bend somewhat after his mother compels him to disguise himself in order to "steal" a bracha from under his brother's nose. It is important not to underestimate the strength of Rivka's role here. She hoodwinked her own husband and forced her son to act against his will, but for a very good reason - she perceived that which the male characters couldn't. Without her guidance this whole episode could never have happened. Although it might seem as if women's roles are very low, if we closely analyse events and view them as a chain, rather than as isolated occurences, we may see just how vital women's contributions are. On a personal note, I may not have all the answers, but I feel that if I learn more about this, there are answers to be found.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Chayei Sarah - פרשת חיי שרה

2011-11-18T11:51:00.000+02:00

"ואהברהם זקן בא בימים וה' ברך את אברהם בכל - And Avraham became old of age and Hashem blessed Avraham with everything."

This week's Parsha begins with Avraham Avinu setting out to bury his wife, Sarah. Rav Eliyahu Dessler writes in Michtav M'Eliyahu that out of all the challenging events in Avraham's life this episode was the most troubling. He had just passed the test of the Akeidah, whereby he intended and prepared himself to slaughter to his only son on God's word, and now he hears that his beloved wife had passed away.

Avraham set out to bury his wife in a spot in Hevron that we now call "Ma'arat Hamachpela," in a manner that was befitting of such a righteous woman. Unfortunately though, the people of Hevron, the Chitites, knew that Hashem had given Avraham the land of Israel and did their best to inflate the price. The leader, Efron, was a base man who at first told Avraham that he would give the land away for nothing but when Avraham told Efron that he wanted to pay for the burial plot, Efron raised the price well over the acceptable rate. The Yalkut Lekach Tov notes that Efron's name is composed of the root letters "עפר," - dust. Dust is common and representative of the physical; exactly Efron's nature - all he cared about was that which was physical. Efron's initial "polite" refusal to accept any money was soon revealed to be a front for his true nature. (Indeed, toward the end of this episode, the letter ו is dropped from עפרון's name so that it spells "עפרן," which we may note happens to be numerically equivalent to עין-רע; evil eye.)

In the face of this, and despite his intense pain at his wife's passing, Avraham remained calm, respectful and truly polite. He even bows twice to the Chitites. His behaviour is a real lesson for us to learn - even when in the most terribly depressing moment of his life, Avraham was staunchly pious. While it would be hard for us to emulate him, we can learn from his actions.

Later on in the Parsha, we read, "ואהברהם זקן בא בימים וה' ברך את אברהם בכל - And Avraham became old of age and Hashem blessed Avraham with everything." The word everything seems a bit vague. What is intended? The stock answer is that בכל has a gematria of 52. The word בן, son, also has a gematria of 52 and so we learn that Avraham's reward was his son, Yitzchak.

There's a problem with this though - Yitzchak was born years ago! Another way to read this word resolves our problem. בכל, "with everything," can instead be replaced with בן, but not in the sense of a son. Rather we can read it to mean "with the number 50." Without going too far into things I don't understand myself, I have learned that Kaballah (Jewish mysticism) teaches us that the number 50 has a special significance. There are 50 levels of Kedushah, spiritual levels in which we may ascend. For this reason, for example, we count 50 days until the festival of Shavuot, each day ascending a spiritual level, so that we may arrive at the pinnacle of holiness. Avraham's blessing here was not merely that he was given a son, but also that he attained this fiftieth level of holiness. In that sense, he was completed and we can say that Hashem truly blessed Avraham בכל - with everything.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayera - פרשת וירא

2011-11-11T11:42:00.002+02:00

"ויֹּאמַר: אֲדֹנָי, אִם-נָא מָצָאתִי חֵן בְּעֵינֶיךָ--אַל-נָא תַעֲבֹר, מֵעַל עַבְדֶּךָ - And said: 'My lord, if now I have found favour in thy sight, pass not away, I pray thee, from thy servant."
(בראשית יח:ג)

The words above form Avraham's request of God after his circumcision: please don't leave me now, even though I have to leave.

The days after a circumcision are supposed to be the most painful, with the pain at its most intense on the third day. Although the pain was great, Avraham was pre-occupied with other things; he was desperate to welcome guests into his tent, and sat watching for weary travellers he could welcome in to his abode.

But if we think about this situation over, something seems amiss. Avraham was sitting in the presence of God, and yet he was searching for people he could bring into his house. What more could he need? Surely being with Hashem is better than being with mere mortals!

The Talmud in Gemara Shabbat (127) learns from this episode that: "מכאן שגדולה הכנסת אורחים יותר מקבלת פני השכינה - from here [we know] that hosting guests is more [important] than receiving the heavenly presence." This still leaves a question, though. How did Avraham know how he should act?

In the book Mayanei HaTorah (a compilation of various teachings) a few Rabbis point out the answer to this question. We have to recognise that Avraham Avinu was a tremendous person. He devoted his life Torah and becoming close to Hashem and he had an incredible level of control over his natural desires and instincts. Avraham was so accustomed to defeating his own will and attuned to Hashem's that his body gravitated towards doing mitzvot. When there was an opportunity for performing a mitzvah, he would find that his body "wanted" to take him there. Avraham was aware that his body wanted to take him there, and so he came to the realisation that the proper conduct was in fact to leave Hashem's presence and seek out people to take into his home.

Personally, I learn a great deal from this. If ever there was an example in the whole Torah of the lengths to which we have to go to make other people happy, this is it. To Avraham, nothing in the world mattered more than being with God. Yet he understood that to become closer with God, there are times when one has to do the simple things.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Lech Lecha - פרשת לך לך

2011-11-04T11:33:00.001+02:00

וַיֹּאמֶר יְהוָה אֶל-אַבְרָם, לֶךְ-לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ, אֶל-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ
Hashem said to Avram: 'Go for yourself, from your land, from your birthplace and from your father's house to the land that I will show you.'
(בראשית יב:א)

There are two parts of this Pasuk that I would like to deal with. The part that immediately interests us is the list of places that Hashem commands Avram to leave - Avram's land, his birthplace and his father's house. After that, Avram we read of the oddly vague "place that I will show you."

There is one obvious question to be asked on the first part of this pasuk. It is posed in the Kli Yakar's commentary: when one lists where one hails from, one normally starts with the most local place and then mentions increasingly bigger areas. For example, I was born in Hendon, which is in London, which in turn is in England. Here however, the list order is reversed. One possible reason for this could be that when moving away from a certain place, a person notices things that he used to take for granted. Personally I have noticed many cases of American and English expatriates assuming an exaggerated persona. I believe that the reason for this is as much to do with being homesick and attempting to compensate for the inability to actually be immersed in the old country's culture as it is to play the culture card on local people. By this I mean that I will often exaggerate my Londoner accent for Israeli and American friends as it is both a talking point, and also reminds people where I come from and what kind of behaviour and customs to expect from me. It also serves to confirm to myself that I am different from Israelis and that although I have moved abroad, I am not a native. To misquote Sting, "I'm an Englishman in Jerusalem!"

Coming back to the point, the word ארץ in Hebrew means land, but it also has another connotation. The word may be read as "א-רץ," meaning "I will run." The concept of the ground in Hebrew is the place you are heading to to, what your goal is. By way of comparison, Egypt is called מצרים, which derives from the word צר, meaning thin. Eretz Yisrael, a very thin strip of land geographically, is called "Eretz tova U'rechava - A good and wide land." How can that be? The answer is simple enough; that Egypt was a spiritually stifling place for the Jews to live in, whereas in Eretz Yisrael, our potential is significantly "wider" and expanded.

It is only natural that a man once removed from his natural surroundings will pine for them and attempt to re-enact them in his mind. For this reason, Hashem first told Avram to leave behind the land he came from. He wasn't telling him to literally leave the land first, that would be impossible! What was meant was for Avram to leave that mentality behind, to abandon it completely. Only after he had left behind this mentality could he truly leave his home and his father's house without feeling the need to come back.

But where shall he go to? We have grasped the fact that Avram had to leave behind all that he used to know, but where was he to head to? The Pasuk simply says the place "אשר אראך - that I will show you." How can Avram go somewhere without knowing where it is that he is to be heading?

To answer this, we may look at the beginning of the Pasuk. The first two words Hashem said, "לך לך," may be translated as "Go for yourself," but it can also be rendered "Go to yourself." Or, alternatively, "Go (to) 50." 50 is known as one of the many numbers of Kedusha. The concept here is not that Avram was being instructed to merely head for a different place on the map, rather that he was being commanded by Hashem to go to his limit, to reach the highest spiritual level he possibly could.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Noach - פרשת נח

2011-10-28T12:24:00.000+02:00

"אֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת נֹחַ. נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו: אֶת-הָאֱלֹהִים, הִתְהַלֶּךְ-נֹחַ - These are the generations of Noach. Noach was in his generations a man righteous and whole-hearted; Noach walked with God."
(בראשית ו:ט)

In Zichron Meir, Rabbi Meir Robman writes that there is a problem with the way we perceive Noach. From the verse above, it would seem quite clear that Noach was a particularly holy man, but a number of the commentators on the Torah talk about Noach in a denigratory manner. Commenting on Masechet Sandhedrin in his notes on the Talmud, Rashi points out that "There are a number of our Rabbis who praise Noach... and there are those who denigrate him; "According to his generation he was deemed righteous, but had he lived during the time of Avraham, he wouldn't have been counted as anything."

This perception of Noach's relative merit is not normally challenged, but upon consider things, we may realise that this is a rather odd state of affairs. And it's even more puzzling given the Radak's view of Noach. The Radak explains that "Noach walked with Hashem, he was attached to Him, and all his deeds were in His name," before going on to highlight his great strength in "defeating his natural inclination, for he lived in a generation of wicked and evil people but didn't learn from their ways."

So we have two ways of regarding Noach - we can say that he was only deemed a righteous man because he lived amongst a very low, base people and only by comparison could he be deemed a good man. Or we can say that he was genuinely righteous because he managed to ignore them and stay on the "straight and narrow." These two perspectives are the polar opposite of one another. Either way, we need to resolve this issue - either Noach was righteous or he was not!

The answer to this problem is that the two opinions do not truly clash - both schools of thought agree that Noach was righteous man; what they argue about is the meaning of the word "בְּדֹרֹתָיו - his generations."

When saying that Noach didn't compare to the men of Avraham's generation, Reish Lakish's opinion in the gemara might seem derogatory of Noach, but he actually wasn't criticising Noach. His point was that it although it wasn't his fault, Noach lived amongst wicked people, and because Noach lived at that particular time, he was limited spiritually. Had he lived at another time though, Noach may well have been able to attain a significantly higher spiritual level. Either way, I think this insight is genuinely relevant to all of us - we can't choose the time we were born into; we all live in the present. Maybe we would have done better if we had been around in the times of the Bet Hamikdash of old, maybe we feel that we would have done better if we'd have been born in the future. Maybe we feel that we are surrounded by people who are low, base and evil. All this is out of our control. As it says in Pirkei Avot: במקום שאין" אנשים השתדל להיות איש - In a place where there are no men, try to be a man." We can't help the fact that the world is such a cruel, relentless place. It's too hard to change the entire world when the situation is as bad as it is. But if we all start by changing ourselves for the good, the world will be changed for the better. After all, at a time when the world warranted destruction, in Noach's merit alone did the human race continue.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat B'reishit - פרשת בראשית

2011-10-21T13:22:00.000+02:00

In Lecha Dodi there's a line that I find particularly relevant to this week's Parsha. The line is: "סוף מעשה במחשבה תחילה," roughly meaning that "the end product is found in the first thoughts."

This Shabbat we read B'reishit, which is the first Parsha in the Torah. The concept outlined above, of finding the DNA, as it were, for all that comes afterwards, can be found in various levels in this week's Parsha. As it forms the beginning of the entire Bible, it is here that we read of the creation of the universe - the very first thing that happened, according to the opening verse of the Torah. Following the concept above, we learn that everything in the Torah can be found in the opening act of B'reishit.

Incredibly, the Vilna Gaon claimed to have a way of reading into the first word of the Torah 613 ways; one for each of the Mitzvot. It is told that that he was once challenged by a student/a group of his students, who asked him how he could see the mitzvah of Pidyon Haben encrypted here in the the word B'reishit.

A tough ask, it would seem. But the Vilna Gaon had no trouble responding and answered by explaining that the letters of the word "בראשית" form an acronym. Each of the letters stand for בן ראשון אחרי שלושים יום תפדה, which means "Firstborn son - after 30 days you shall release" and sums up the essence of the mitzvah in six words.

Another thing worth pointing out about Parshat B'reishit, the first Parsha in the Torah, is that it opens with the second letter in the Alef-Bet, not the first letter, Aleph. The typical explanation for this is found in the Medrash, where it is posited that the word ארור - Arur (meaning cursed) begins with an Alef, but as Bet is the beginning of the word ברוך - Baruch (meaning blessed), it is preferred so that there can be no way in which one could imagine that the Torah begins with even a hint of a curse. It's a cute answer, but there's plenty of other reasons, as well.

In the Sh'ma, there's a phrase "ושננתם לבניך ודברת בם," meaning "And you shall teach them your sons and you shall speak of them. The "בם" here is rather vague. It literally means "them," and we are not helped by the fact thay they are introduced earlier on as "הדברים" - another vague term, meaning "things."

Thankfully the Magid Ta'alumah provides a beautiful explanation as to what is being referred to. He notes that the Talmud starts with the letter מ, mem, in the tractate of Brachot. There we read the words, "מאמתי קורין את השמע - from what time do we read the Sh'ma?". The Magid Ta'alumah claims that the two letters of the word "בם" which we have such difficulty with actually correspond to the written Torah and to the oral Torah. The written Torah begins with a ב, as in בראשית, while the oral law starts with a מ - which together form the word בם. Thus, when we read the relevant part of Sh'ma, "ודברת בם," we may now understand what is being commanded of us - to continually speak words of Torah; both the written and the oral Torah.

And all of this is alluded to in just the first word of the Torah!

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Shmini Atzeret, Simchat Torah - שמיני עצרת ושמחת תורה

2011-10-19T12:17:00.001+02:00

A number of the Jewish festivals are referred to by more than one name. For example, Sukkot is also known by the moniker Chag Ha'Asif, Shmini Atzeret is also referred to as Simchat Torah and Pesach is sometimes called Chag Hamatzot. Similarly, Rosh Hashana is called Yom T'ruah, Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaDin, while Shavuot is known variously as Chag HaBikkurim, Chag HaKatzir and Zman Matan Torateinu.

Each of these names have a different meaning and represent a different aspect of each festival. In a speech I had the fortune to listen to, Rav Yonah Metzger, the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, suggested that some of these names are linked. While he didn't go through all the names of all the chagim, he took a few examples.

The two names Pesach and Chag Hamatzot, Rav Metzger suggested, are a pair. Pesach refers to Hashem's passing over the houses of the Jews; it is Bnei Yisrael's way of being grateful for Hashem's kindness in overlooking them while killing Egyptians worthy of death. On the other hand, Chag Hamatzot is Hashem's name for the festival and it refers to how God found our actions favourable. (We displayed a desire to leave Egypt swiftly when the time came, to the point whereby we let bread bake on our backs.)

In the same way, two of Sukkot's names can be seen as a pair; Chag Ha'Asif, Festival of the Collecting (of the harvest,) is the one of the names that the Jewish people uses for it - we thank God that we He has given us sustenance. But Hashem has refers to it from a different perspective; His name for the festival is Sukkot, for He recognises the Jewish people's devotion to sitting outside in the Sukkah, often through what can sometimes prove to be rather unpleasant conditions.

And so too we have the names of Chag Shmini Ha'atzeret and Simchat Torah. Shmini means eight, and Atzeret means stopping. Rav Metzger explained that this name can be understood as belonging to Hashem. After seeing the Jews observing Sukkot for seven days, he says to us "today is the eight day - you may stop dwelling in your Sukkot now and dwell inside with me." So that's Hashem's perspective, as it were.

But there's a second name, too: Simchat Torah. This moniker represents a rather different aspect; it represents the side of Bnei Yisrael and shows the Jewish nation's love for Hashem. When we celebrate Simchat Torah, we are thanking Hashem for the greatest gift given - that of the Torah. While we refer to our festivals by their various names without thought, interchangeably even, it is interesting to note how these names dovetail and reciprocate each other's sentiments, despite the differences between them.

From Jerusalem, wishing you all a Chag Sameach!

Shabbat Sukkot - שבת סוכות

2011-10-14T14:46:00.000+02:00

Although Shabbat Sukkot doesn't seem to have much that separates it from the rest of Sukkot, there is one thing at least upon which we may comment - Megillat Kohelet, one of the five special scrolls we read over the course of the year.

Megillat Kohelet is always read during the festival of Sukkot, but it doesn't quite seem to fit - it's tone is decidedly downbeat and certainly appears to clash with the sentiment echoed in a a song commonly sung, "ושמחת בחגך - V'samachta b'chagecha - and you shall rejoice in your festivals" (Sourced from פרשת ראה: טז:יד).

Two Psukim later in פסוק טז, we read, "שלוש פעמים בשנה... בחג המצות ובחג השבועות ובחג הסוכות - Three times a year... On Chag Hamatzot, V'Chag Hashavuot, and Chag HaSukkot..." We are clearly supposed to be happy on our Chagim, we must rejoice on Sukkot. So if we are meant to be happy, how can we read Kohelet, which talks about the "futility" of life?

If we examine the text of the Mussaf Shmonah Esrei we say every day of Chag, we say "ומפני חטאנו גלינו מארצנו, ונתרחקנו מעל אדמתנו - But because of our sins we have been exiled from our land and sent far from our soil." This is certainly no happy statement, and if we pray the we are meant to, these words must surely evoke a certain emotion within us, an emotion rather dissonant with the theme of rejoicing. Again, it seems to clash. How do we resolve such a discrepancy?

Rav Kook answers the question as follows. There are two types of negative feelings in life, one is sadness and one is pain. Pain is a necessary part of life, as it allows us to realise that something is wrong and to build on it. Sadness on the other hand, is restricting and inhibits us. When we are sad, we can become depressed and caught up in the act of "being sad." Humans tend to wallow in sadness. Sometimes people feel really bad about something, and then compound their feelings by playing a depressing song. That is an example of sadness; it's destructive and a waste of one's time and energy.

Rav Kook argues that we are instructed to be full of happiness during our Chagim. We must not allow oursleves to experience sadness, or any type of negative feeling upon which we cannot build. Pain on the other hand, pain that we wrecked our Bet Hamikdash and consequently been cast into a 2,000 year long exile, is useful. That kind of pain allows us to temper our joy to a degree, and lets us realise that we are still homeless. So too, by reading Kohelet, we understand how all in life is transient. Even the greatest joy passes. Just like the Sukkah booths in which we live during the course of the festival, everything is temporary.

Wallowing in melancholy is not a Jewish quality, it will get us nowhere. Being in touch with that twinge of pain however, is essential for us to build ourselves up.

Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach!

Partially based on a D'var Torah I heard from a dorm-mate of mine (Etan) during my Yeshivat Hakotel days, and added to with thoughts of my own and others found from other sources.

Sukkot - סוכות

2011-10-12T14:23:00.002+02:00

Following hard on the heels of the high hold days of Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah, it is by no coincidence that the festivals of Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah (the latter taking place over one day in Israel but is split over two days in the Diaspora,) also enjoy a special connection. As soon as Sukkot ends, we go right into the festival of Simchat Torah without so much as a moment's pause. Upon consideration, it seems a tad strange to be commanded to live in a Sukkah for seven days, and then without a break, without even a day in which to dismantle the Sukkah, we jump right into another festival.

The word Atzeret comes from the Hebrew root עצר, which means stopping. On this day, Jews around the world celebrate finishing the yearly cycle of reading the Torah. But there's a concept in Judaism that seems to directly contradict this term. The concept is that we never stop going; that there's always more work to be done in this world. I'd like to point out that although this idea seems simple, it's very much the opposite of the prevalent custom today. Most people nowadays live a lifestyle that demands hard work so that ultimately, one may take time off. The Jewish concept though, is that up until one's dying day, one remains obligated to perform Mitzvot - there's no such thing as time off. There's no such concept as retirement in Judaism - one is obliged to do their best till their dying day.

With this in mind, how can there be a Jewish festival that celebrates the completion of the Torah? The standard answer is cute; that we don't just stop - we start again and read from Parshat B'reishit on the same day. We refuse to wait the normal week to progress to the next Parsha, and instead signal our intent to keep going. This answer certainly proves that though this Torah reading has ended, we don't really stop, but I would like to propose an alternative answer.

A point repeatedly made by various Rabbis over the years is that the number seven in Judaism signifies that which lies in the natural. There are seven notes in the musical scale, seven continents and there are seven days in the week - something that remains remarkably undisputed, despite the fact that there are various calendar systems in use around the world, all agree that there is such a thing as a week and that it has seven days. We also say that there Hashem made seven heavens (hence the expression,) Tefillin are wrapped around the arm seven times and the Menorah in the Bet Hamikdash had seven branches. Additionally, it is said that the world was created with the number seven. The first verse in the Torah deals with the creation of the universe, and contains seven words and twenty-eight letters; a number which happens to divisible by seven!

As such, it is no surprise to say that the seven days of sukkot correspond to the natural world. For seven days we sit outside, exposed to the elements. Therefore, the second Gerer Rebbe writes in his seminal work, the Sfat Emet, that during this time we need the extra defence of the Sukkah. But beyond seven, the number of the physical, of the natural, is the number eight - which is said to represent the spiritual. He explains that the festival of Sukkot is one that "gives life to the whole world." This is alluded to by the fact that we observe Sukkot for an entire week. Similarly, in the times when the Bet Hamikdash stood, 70 bulls were sacrificed - for each of the 70 distinct nations* in the world. Through these sacrifices, the whole world was given nourishment.

On the day after Sukkot we go one level above the physical world and enter into the spiritual domain, so to speak. We call this day Shmini Atzeret, which means the eighth day. After observing Sukkot and giving physical life to the world, we don't waste any time and focus on imbuing the world with the spiritual energy it needs. The question posed at the beginning of this D'var Torah, why Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret are placed next to one another, may now be answered. On Shmini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkot outside because we don't need the protection it affords. That protection is only needed by someone living a physical, natural lifestyle. We learn that Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret have to be placed next to one another to show that when one lives life fully and spiritually, one moves beyond the need for such external protection.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant Sukkah experience :)

*There is a Torah concept that there are 70 nations in the world. Although there are over 190 countries in existence today, many of these share roots and originate from one people. As such, it's not so absurd to refer the world in terms of "70 [historic] nations".

Yom Kippur - יום כפור

2011-10-07T13:55:00.001+02:00

The topic of sound and its place in Judaism is one that I have covered from time to time in my Divrei Torah. Once again, I would like to refer to it in order for us to make more sense of Yom Kippur.

In Judaism, a basic concept in emunah (faith), is that one retains the capacity to listen. For this reason, the most basic sentence that encapsulates the essence of what it is to be Jewish begins with the word שמע, meaning "listen!" By way of contrast, the reigning school of thought in Western society today is one that clashes with this perspective - we are not expected to believe in anything unless it is 100% provable. Judaism requires the patience to listen and piece things together for ourselves, but the modern man all too often finds it hard to listen at all. We are busy, immersed in a hundred different things. We are restless and want things given to us on a plate. Consequently it shouldn't really be much of a surprise that we are often unable to tune into the "קול דממה הדקה" - that silent, still voice inside of each of us.

In a well-noted passage found at the end of Mishnah Masechet Yuma, we read that "אמר רבי עקיבה, אשריכם ישראל, לפני מי אתם מיטהרין ומי מטהר אתכם--אביכם שבשמיים - Rabbi Akiva says: Happy are you, Israel: For before whom are you purified, and who makes you purified? Your father in heaven... "

Upon close examination, we may note that two types of purification, separated by a subtle difference, are hinted at here. First we come across a more passive form of purification, as the verse asks, "before whom are you purified?" Then we come to a more active form: "And who makes you purified?" The distinction is a deep one and could be elaborated upon at length in its own right, but for the purposes of this D'var Torah, it is enough to know that two types of spiritual purification exist; one active and one passive.

On Rosh Hashanah, over 100 hundred blasts of the Shofar are sounded in most synagogues. Thus, the process of teshuvah starts in earnest. But for all its obvious grandeur and clear power, the shofar reduces our role to an almost passive one. On Yom Kippur, though, we hear no shofar blasts at all - at least, not until right at the very end. I think that there is a very deep lesson here. On Yom Kippur, we need no artificial stimulation from tools like the shofar. On Yom Kippur, we raise ourselves to a higher level, the level of angels, and so instead of relying on the voice of the shofar, we are able to listen to our own inner voices.

As such, I believe that it is no coincidence, that we are "treated" to one last shofar blast, right at the end of Yom Kippur. After all our activity in reaching the level whereby we are able to hear our own inner voices, we may then realise that the shofar blasts of Rosh Hashanah and then the almost total absence of these blasts on Yom Kippur were not antithetical to one another at all. On the contrary, on Yom Kippur, we finally reach the level where we hear our own voices, our own inner shofar blasts, and we hear how they were connected all along. And once we have reached that level, right at the end of the process of spiritual purification, when we hear that final shofar blast, we hear not only an artificial stimulus, but also our own voices at the same time.

Wishing you, and all of Am Yisrael, a good Yom Kippur. May you have a meaningful fast and all your prayers be answered in the only the best way possible.

---
Collected and adapted from essays by Rav Moshe Dov Kasper, Rav Yaakov Ariel and augmented with some thoughts of my own.

Rosh Hashanah and Parshat Ha'azinu - ראש השנה ופרשת האזינו

2011-09-28T02:39:00.000+03:00

This year, as you probably know by now, Rosh Hashanah occurs the two days prior to Shabbat. Due to this phenomenon, I will not be able to post my weekly Parsha thought on Thursday or Friday, and am making a dual entry. In many ways, however, this is actually a positive thing; due to the workings of the Jewish calendar system, Parshat Ha'azinu is always in the weeks around Rosh Hashanah. As such, there are many links between the two - one of which I hope to explore in this D'var Torah.

In a much discussed passage in the Talmud, the Gemara in Eiruvin (13b) declares that, "נוח לו לאדם שלא נברא יותר משנברא." Translated (somewhat liberally): "It would have been better for man to have not been created." The reason? The number of 'positive' commandments - those that require action in order to be performed - are outnumbered by 'negative' commandments (which require inactivity and abstinence from specific actions). Therefore, if man had not been created, he would have been able to "fulfill" over half of the Torah's laws just by doing nothing; he would still be able to "perform" all the negative-based commandments.

However, positive commandments have something over negative commandments. Negative commandments merely require inactivity and withdrawal; for example, one who sleeps for the entire duration of Shabbat is considered as having observed Shabbat to some degree, even though s/he didn't consciously do anything in order to commemorate the day. By way of contrast, positive commandments require physical (and often deliberate) actions - it is hard to imagine a circumstance in which they can be performed without explicitly knowing that they are being done.

What does all this mean for us? The result of all this is the rabbinic dictum: עשה דוחה לא תעשה - Positive commandments are given preference over negative ones. If we don't take care to do them, they will never get done. Over and over again in Judaism, we hear of the two opposing forces that are love of God and fear of God. We are taught that we supposed to both love and fear God, but it is very hard to do both in equal measure. Hopefully here we can shed some light on their relationship and learn something useful for this Rosh Hashanah.

The Ramban attempts to demystify the rule mentioned above by explaining that positive commandments stem from the trait of love for God, while negative commandments are a result of fear of G-d. The difference between love and fear is best understood by considering the relationship children experience with their parents. While a child is young, they only know how to fear their parents. Infants and little children never obey their parents out of love; they obey because they know that they must, or else! But as children grow up, they relationship with their parents change completely. They learn to love their parents, as well. But in order to get to that stage, children need to pass through the first stage; they must fear their parents.

So too, we must realise that while love is a very beautiful thing, it needs to have a firm base in reality. It is only when we consider the might and the astonishing, infinite power of God, that we can truly love Him. Without a proper appreciation for God, our love for Him is severely limited. It is clear that the optimal state of affairs for us is to act out of love for God.

With this in mind, we can now return to our relationship with God. It is clear that acting and relating to God with love is very important. But no less important is understanding how important it is for us to treat God with proper respect; for us to realise that His might and power are more than we can ever hope to comprehend. The Torah says at the end of Parshat Ha'azinu:

וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם, שִׂימוּ לְבַבְכֶם, לְכָל-הַדְּבָרִים, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מֵעִיד בָּכֶם הַיּוֹם: אֲשֶׁר תְּצַוֻּם, אֶת-בְּנֵיכֶם, לִשְׁמֹר לַעֲשׂוֹת, אֶת-כָּל-דִּבְרֵי הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת. כִּי לֹא-דָבָר רֵק הוּא, מִכֶּם--כִּי-הוּא, חַיֵּיכֶם; וּבַדָּבָר הַזֶּה, תַּאֲרִיכוּ יָמִים עַל-הָאֲדָמָה, אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם עֹבְרִים אֶת-הַיַּרְדֵּן שָׁמָּה, לְרִשְׁתָּהּ. - He said to them: 'Set your hearts upon all the words that I testify against you this day; and with which you may command your children to guard; to do all the words of this law. For it is no vain thing for you; because it is your life, and through this thing you shall prolong your days upon the land; you pass over the Jordan to there, to possess it.' (Deuteronomy 32: 46-47)

Note that the Torah describes our acceptance and observance of Torah law as the essence of our life. We have heard this kind of language before, notably last week, when it is claimed in Parshat Nitzavim, "וּבָחַרְתָּ, בַּחַיִּים--לְמַעַן תִּחְיֶה, אַתָּה וְזַרְעֶךָ. לְאַהֲבָה אֶת-יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ... - You choose life, that you may live; you and your seed. To love Hashem your God..." (Deuteronomy 30:19-20). Here, the call to chose life is deliberately placed next to the command to love God. Clearly, love for God is very important... but how can we resolve this with the seemingly greater importance attributed to fear of God?

I think that the answer can be drawn from the puzzle posed at the beginning of the D'var Torah. The Talmud concludes that it would have been better for man to have not been created at all. But that was not all that was concluded. Chazal went on to say that seeing as God did see fit to bring mankind into existence, we now are best served by following the rules of the Torah. As such, although we most certainly do need to aspire to the heights of love for Hashem, we must first learn how to fear Him properly. Over Rosh Hashanah, a lot of our energy goes into expressing realisation of our own lowly status. We spend much of our time concentrating on building up our Yirat Shamayim, our fear of God. But we should remember that this is part of a two-step process. God does not want us to act purely out of fear. Then we would be automatons. Instead, over Rosh Hashanah, we are to draw a direct line between these two seemingly competing aspects of our relationship to God. Only by connecting them together can we then achieve the right attitude and relationship.

Adapted from an essay by Rav Elazar Hager.

Wishing you all a very happy Rosh Hashanah and a restful Shabbat.

Parshiot Nitzavim and Vayelech / פרשיות נצבים-וילך

2011-09-23T13:07:00.002+03:00

ושב ה' אלוקיך את שבותך ורחמך ושב וקבצך מכל העמים אשר הפיצך ה' אלוקיך שמה.
(Deuteronomy 30:6)

In addition to its simple meaning, this pasuk, so the Chafetz Chaim writes, speaks of the Geulah. Here the Torah assures us that the day of redemption will surely come, and we must expect it to arrive at any time. And even though this long-awaited day is perpetually delayed, continues the Chaftez Chaim, we are obliged to wait because it will come.

One of the biggest problems with faith is that all the time we wait in exile, it is very hard to keep on "doing the right thing" without any sign to encourage us. If anything, all we have is discouragement; the once mighty Jewish kingdom might not be destroyed, but it certainly seems to be at the will of its foes. Given our glorious history, it doesn't seem inaccurate to describe the Jewish people as distressed and even disgraced - in such a low, maybe all we can do is hope!

The Rambam, in his seminal work, "Mishnah Torah," calls on the pasuk above when outlining the obligation for each and every Jew to wait and expect Moshiach's arrival. He explains that anyone who doesn't believe in him, or in his imminent coming, is not only going against the words of the jewish prophets, but also against this very verse from the Torah. (Hilchot Malachim 11:1)

I don't want to make this a slur on other religions, (I clearly believe in Judaism and I have no need to knock other people's beliefs, even if I hugely disagree with them,) but I really do like how in Judaism we don't merely cry out "I believe!" in the manner of one who doesn't know quite what he believes in. One of the most famous songs we Jews sings is that of "Ani Ma'amin," and the last few words we sing demonstrate the point I want to make beautifully. We say, "I believe with complete faith in the coming of the Moshiach. And even though he may tarry, I will wait for at any day he will arrive." These last few words are a perfect example of some of the defining qualities needed of a Jew - persistence, tenacity and patience. We don't merely believe, but we await something that will happen; something that we must prepare ourselves for.

The opening words of Parshat Nitzavim, "ואתם נצבים היום," are ones that have been commented on a lot - there is a much to be learned from the idea of the nation of Israel standing together. And yet, at the same time, there are many divisions - Am Yisrael is split into various groups following these words.

It often taught that when the Torah mentions standing, we are to understand that those who are standing are evaluating; taking stock of themselves. I would like to suggest that it is no coincidence that as Parshat Nitzavim always falls in Elul, in close proximity to Rosh Hashanah, that it should be obvious to all of us that at this time of year we engage in a little "Cheshbon Hanefesh" and refine our characters before we stand before Hashem on the Yamim Neraim.

For this reason, מרן רי"ז הלוי points out, we read the words, "כי לישועתך קוינו כל היום" in the Shmonah Esrei. These words translate as "For we have hoped for your redemption all day," which doesn't seem to flow all too well. A more natural choice of words would be to say that "we have hoped for your redemption every day, but the point is made better by expressing how we are constantly waiting.

The Yalkut Lekach Tov mentions a comment by the Chafetz Chaim on another pasuk further along in Parshat Nitzavim. To summarise briefly, the Chafetz Chaim explains that if one were to be approached by an angel and told that his judgement would be a negative one, that person would do all he could to change his ways. So, the Chafetz Chaim continues, why doesn't this person stop of his own accord? This question is one that challenges each and every one of us, and as I mentioned above, is at the essence of what it is to be a Jew. For when a person stops and takes account of himself, he realises that the activities he engages in are all too often pointless and a waste of time. Coming back to the original pasuk, can we truly say that we believe in the Geulah? If we do then we wouldn't just believe - we would wait anxiously, checking ourselves again and again to ensure that we are ready.

From Jerusalem, wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

"It's All Netanyahu's Fault," They Say. But Is It Really?

2011-09-20T16:59:00.010+03:00

Over the last few weeks and months, a spurious lie has been spreading. Nothing new, perhaps, lies are told the whole time. But this one is a particularly important lie, and it needs quashing with immediate effect.

The lie goes as follows. The Palestinian people want to live in peace. They want to live in peace, alongside Israel. They want to live in peace, alongside Israel, the Jewish state. They want to live in peace, alongside Israel, the Jewish state, but Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, is an extremist and prevents them from doing so. Benjamin Netanyahu and his cohorts, the lie goes, are the sole reason why the peace process appears to be dead in the water.

To understand the claim better, we must go back some time. Earlier this year, Wikileaks collaborated with the Guardian to reveal hundreds of secret documents online. The Guardian went through the archives and found an astonishing incident. In an article entitled, "Israel spurned Palestinian offer of 'biggest Yerushalayim in history'", we are told that "Leaked papers reveal [Palestinian] negotiators proposed concessions on East Jerusalem settlements, Sheikh Jarrah and Old City holy sites" and that Palestinian chief negotiator, Saeb Erekat said the following: "It is no secret that … we are offering you the biggest Yerushalayim [the Hebrew word for Jerusalem] in history." The Guardian had a field day with this quote, using it as proof that the Palestinians were ready to make mass concessions. What was not mentioned in the headline, or in the analysis articles, was that Erekat went on to say, "But we must talk about the concept of al-Quds [Jerusalem in Arabic]."

The Guardian is quick to inform us that an "unprecedented offer” was made “on the East Jerusalem settlements”, carefully picking and mixing quotes that painted a story of Palestinian negotiators adopting a conciliatory approach, going so far as to propose "that Israel annex all Jewish settlements in Jerusalem except Har Homa." Put like this, it sounded very much like the Israelis were acting unreasonably, wantonly even.

In the ensuing debacle, Israel was roundly criticised for deliberately missing an opportunity to forge a real, lasting peace with the Palestinians. Had this been the end of the story, I would no doubt have not been writing about Palestinian lies, but about Israeli ones.

But the story does not end there. There is much that the Guardian neglected tell us in its editorials or headlines. For while Israel was indeed offered concessions by Palestinian negotiators, they were rendered obsolete and utterly invalidated when placed in the context of the greater plan put forward. Deep in the article, toward the end, we are told that Israel's negotiator was "recorded as dismissing the offer out of hand because the Palestinians had refused to concede Har Homa, as well as the settlements at Ma'ale Adumim, near Jerusalem, and Ariel, deeper in the West Bank." As this crucial fact was not afforded anywhere near the same level of prominence, Israel's reaction appears totally unreasonable.

Intriguingly, we are told that "Israel's position was fully supported by the Bush administration." Whatever one might say about the Bush administration, is worthy of note that the Israeli position was fully supported. No reservations were expressed. It was clear as day to the Americans that an offer on Jerusalem offset by a situation in which Ma'ale Adumim and Ariel would have to be ceded by the Israelis to Palestinian control was wholly unacceptable.

Not only this, but we might bear in mind recent statements made by Maen Rashid Areikat, the Palestine Liberation Organization's ambassador to the U.S., who said that the future Palestine should be free of Jews. After the firestorm that followed, Areikat then incriminated himself further when reiterating his position to the left-leaning Huffington Post stating that "Israeli soldiers and settlers -- 'persons who are amid an occupation, who are in my land illegally' -- would be rejected from the new Palestinian state." So, not only would Israel have to give Ariel and Ma'ale Adumim over to the Palestinians, but in excess of 56,000 people would be forcibly ejected from their homes and compelled to find a new place to live. Is it any wonder that Israel rejected such a proposition? The peace process is dead in the water, but not for lack of Israel trying. It is dead in the water because the Palestinian leadership has led us so far up a futile and fruitless path that there is nowhere else to turn but to yet more ridiculous measures. By acting like a petulant child, not only is the Palestinian leadership dismissing Israel's concerns and requirements, but it is effectively sabotaging the demands and needs of its own people, too.

For almost two decades now, there has been an implicit understanding that negotiations will take place based on the cease-fire line of 1949 commonly known as the "1967 borders". This line was never intended to constitute a border. How it came to be regarded as sacred has been one of the greatest deceptions of our time. So when President Obama states that Israel will need to find a solution based on this line, this is a massive break with previous agreements and understandings. Instead of focusing on the abominable racial incitement and insidious accusations of land theft being propagated by the Palestinians, a blind eye is turn to such indiscretions and the heat is turned on Israel for having the gall to demand that tens of thousands of people not be uprooted from their homes.

It is revealing that Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas saw fit to select Latifa Abu Hmeid, the mother of several terrorists involved in multiple attacks on Israeli civilians, to be the ambassador for the Palestinian independence bid. Abbas might be a moderate relative to his predecessor Yassir Arafat, but there can be no doubt that he is absolutely not moderate. In choosing such a person to endorse the bid, we are told everything we need to know about his vision and aspirations.

It would be bad enough if this was an aberration from the norm. But it’s not. Previously, Abbas has overseen the dedication of a town square near Ramallah to another Palestinian national icon, Dalal Al Mughrabi, the terrorist who killed 37 people, including 13 children, after hijacking an Israeli bus in 1979. At least two schools and numerous summer camps are amongst the recipients of having the dubious honour of being named after this murderer. Such are the heroes of the Palestinian people.

Even more disturbingly, you might have missed such enthralling television as this, in which little children are shown dressing up as suicide bombers and clutching mock AK-47 rifles. Similarly, another odious clip depicts a little girl facing the screen telling viewers that Israel “stole” all the land, and “changed the names”. It’s bad enough that the current generation make unreasonable demands of Israel. Much, much worse is that the current generation are being indoctrinated before our eyes, being led to believe that Israel – in its totality – has no right to exist at all.

So. Do the Palestinian people want to live in peace? To be fair, I imagine the answer is that many do. Most people in the world do. But do the Palestinian people want to live peace alongside Israel? Well, no, not if repeated attempts to portray the residents of Tel Aviv, Haifa, west Jerusalem and other internationally undisputed Israel-controlled areas as land thieves and aliens are anything to go by. As long as the entire Jewish state is repeatedly deemed illegal and a travesty of justice, then it follows that the Palestinians are not prepared to accept an Israeli state alongside it. As long as such agitation reigns unchecked, what hope is there for peace?

It would take someone with all the vision of a Cyclops to believe that Netanyahu is responsible for Abbas’s endorsement and glorification of terror and his subsequent refusal to engage in negotiations. Benjamin Netanyahu's fault? Israel wilfully spurning opportunities to make peace? Palestinians forced to a final resort? Hardly. Don’t believe the lie, no matter how many times you hear it.

Parshat Ki Tavo - פרשת כי תבוא

2011-09-16T15:41:00.001+03:00

"וענית ואמרת לפני ה' אלקיך ארמי אבד אבי וירד מצרימה / And you shall respond and say before Hashem your God, 'An Aramean [tried to] destroy my [fore]father and he went down into Egypt..."

(דברים כו:ה)

At the beginning of this week's Parsha, we read of the mitzva of Bikkurim. The Torah explains that one who settles the land of Israel and grows one of the "Shivat haMinim" is obligated to take a ribbon around the first fruit that grows from the land, mark it off as property of the Bet Hamikdash, and once the fruit has ripened fully, the person is to take this fruit to Jerusalem and hand it over to a Kohen.

Part of the process of giving Bikkurim over to the Kohen is a statement, which opens above. At first, the choice of the opening few lines seems rather surprising; what has the old story of Am Yisrael's descent into Egypt got to do with the bringing of fruit to the Bet Hamikdash?

To understand our situation better, we have to examine Jewish behaviour during the Egyptian exile. Famously, we learn that B'nei Yisrael were on the forty-ninth level of impurity and were only moments away from descending into the 50th level; a level from which there could be no return. There can be no doubt about it - Am Yisrael were in a very bad place.

Or can we doubt that? For Am Yisrael warranted to be saved by Hashem on the premise that they insulated themselves from Egyptian society, and Shmot Rabbah (א:א) says that "they were redeemed because they did not change their names, their language and their dress." So now it would seem that Am Yisrael were very careful to protect their religion and culture and did not integrate and assimilate into a foreign society. How can resolve this apparent contradiction?

The Netivot Shalom on Parshat Ki Teitze explains that these Jews were actually almost completely cut off from Hashem. These Jews constantly indulged themselves in pleasures and desires that were not expressly disallowed by Torah law. So needy of material pleasure, these people were indeed culturally assimilated and had started to believe in the Egyptian way of life. Because these Jews maintained their outer appearances but indulged themselves in whatever was technically permissible, their connection with Hashem was almost entirely lacking.

Rabbi Eliyahu Hoffman of Project Genesis suggests that maybe the reason why we read this passage when we bring Bikkurim is to do with the concept of "קדש עצמך במותר לך" (Sanctify yourself with that which is permissible to you). The generation that lived in the Egyptian exile didn't actually break any laws, but certainly weren't too eager too apply the concept of being holy in that which is permissible. Fast forward to the person standing before the Kohen with Bikkurim in his hand, and we may now understand why it is appropriate for him to make reference to his forebears in Egypt. Whereas they fulfilled their obligations to a minimal extent, the Jew who brings Bikurrim is eager to subjugate his pride and ego before God.

Later in the Parsha, a long list of punishments is attached to the statement, "תחת אשר לא עבדת את ה' אלוקיך בשמחה / Because you did not serve Hashem your God with joy." The Torah is very clear that the measurement of real observance of it's laws is when a Jew confirms his actions with desire. Whereas food is something that Jews are permitted to grow and eat, the Jew who brings Bikkurim is careful not to give in to his desires and controls his behaviour in the right way and before eating first makes sure to take the Reishit to Hashem.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Ki Tetzei - פרשת כי תצא

2011-09-09T03:20:00.002+03:00

"כִּי-יִהְיֶה לְאִישׁ, בֵּן סוֹרֵר וּמוֹרֶה-אֵינֶנּוּ שֹׁמֵעַ, בְּקוֹל אָבִיו וּבְקוֹל אִמּוֹ; וְיִסְּרוּ אֹתוֹ, וְלֹא יִשְׁמַע אֲלֵיהֶם. If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, that will not hearken to the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and though they chasten him, will not hearken unto them" (Deuteronomy 21:18).

In this week's parsha, we read of the strange episode of the ben sorer u'moreh. Although there never was a case in reality that fulfilled the exact conditions in order for a child to be classified as such, there are still many lessons which we may learn. I'd like to share a fascinating insight I read by the Ba'al Haturim.

Two P'sukim after the one above, we read of how the the parents go to the city elders to declare their son a Ben Sorer u'Moreh: "וְאָמְרוּ אֶל זִקְנֵי עִירוֹ בְּנֵנוּ זֶה סוֹרֵר וּמֹרֶה אֵינֶנּוּ שֹׁמֵעַ בְּקֹלֵנוּ זוֹלֵל וְסֹבֵא / And they shall say to the elders of his city, 'This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he does not hearken to our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.'"

The Ba'al HaTurim notes two discrepancies in this Pasuk. Firstly, there is a yud missing in the word בְּנֵנוּ, and then the word וּמֹרֶה is missing a letter too; this time a vav.

Fortunately for us, we receive a good explanation as to why these words are spelled as they are. In the first case, the missing yud in the word בְּנֵנוּ, our son, is a deliberate reference to the Aseret Hadibrot, the Ten Commandments. The Ba'al HaTurim briefly explains that that this son was wayward to the extent that he didn't care about the most basic tenets of Judaism, wayward to the extent that he even disregarded the ten commandments.

The next missing letter, the (missing) vav in the word מרה, stubborn, is explained as a reference to the bitter end of this situation. The word מרה in Hebrew means bitter. By dropping the vav, the Torah hints that this stubborn and gluttonous boy will only experience bitterness.

If we break up the verse and digest it in pieces, we see that the son doesn't listen to "the voice of his father". Then, separately, his mother's voice is mentioned: "and the voice of his mother." The pasuk uses discrete clauses for each of the parents, and only groups them together when the son hears them speaking in unison. And the one thing that the parents agree upon is negative, as it says "they turned him away."

It is very clear that the lesson to be grasped here is that parents must always act as a unit, and not just when it comes to condemning a child. A child who hears disparate voices from his parents hardly has a chance at growing up to become a decent person, something for which we cannot blame him or her. The real lesson of the episode, it would seem, is to show us just how much responsibility we have for one another, and for each others' actions.

Wishing you a שבת שלום ומבורך from Yerushalayim Ir Hakodesh.

Parshat Shoftim - פרשת שופטים

2011-09-02T12:50:00.000+03:00

"...ואמר אלהם שמע ישראל אתם קרבים היום למלחמה על-איביכם"

(דברים, כ: ג)

One of the many things set out in Parshat Shoftim are the rules of war. Famously later we learn that a Jewish army is not permitted to destroy trees, although this is normal military behaviour, and we also learn that a man who desires a captive woman must adhere to a strict set of rules before he may take her as a partner.

Here, at the beginning of this particluar chapter, we learn that Am Yisrael are instructed to gather and listen to the words of the Kohen Gadol, who served to act as the Army's Chief of Staff and prepared the warrior for battle. In "Ma'ayanah shel HaTorah" a small paragraph attributed to "Sefarim" points out that the word Sh'ma, (hear,) is crucial. As I have mentioned in my Divrei Torah a number of times, when the Hebrew word for hearing is used, it also means something that is accepted. Another aspect of hearing is that it is intriniscally linked to collecting. You might ask yourself at this point what do listening and collecting have to do with one another, so I'll try to pass over something I've learned about the faculty of hearing.

When a person sees something, he sees the entire entity at once, and there can be no doubt as to what it is that the person is perceiving. But when that person hears something, they only hear that thing in stages; a piece at a time. If we take music for an example, one never hears a song, but rather hears a note at a time. If you ask someone to pick their favourite song and then ask them whether they like an individual note, they'll look at you as if you're mad - a person likes the song as an entity - not for it's constituent parts! Similarly, when one listens to another person talking, one only hears one word at a time, and by the time one hears one word, the previous word is only a memory. Hearing, by its very definition, is a process of memory, collection, and most importantly, unification.

It is no coincidence that "Sh'ma" is the opening word used in the most famous sentence in Judaism, for when we talk of oneness, of achdut, we talk of listening and bring back together that which is seemingly separate. And here too, when the nation of Israel enters into a war, all the constituent parts must come together, else failure beckons (God forbid).

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Re'eh - פרשת ראה

2011-08-26T13:30:00.002+03:00

The name of our Torah portion is Re'eh, which means, "See." After the Jewish People entered the Land of Israel, the first place that they stopped at was the City of Shechem. Moshe commands the twelve tribes to split up and stand on two adjacent mountains, הר גריזים and הר עיבל, Mount Grizim and Mount Eval, where the Kohanim and Levi'im would express God's blessing to the Jewish people for fulfilling the Torah, and God's curse if they would not and instead sin.

These mountains, adjacent to each other, are unique. Mount Grizim is alive with foliage and vegetation, while Mount Eval is bleak and desolate. (These mountains can be seen today outside the city of Shechem/Nablus.) Six tribes were commanded to ascend Mount Grizim, to the south of Shechem to receive the blessing, and the remaining six tribes were commanded to ascend Mount Eval, to the north of Shechem to receive the curse.

The blessing and curse are visually apparent on the mountains themselves. Mount Grizim, the mountain of blessing, is green and verdant. Mount Eval, on the other hand, is barren and accursed.

Rabbi Hirsch explains the symbolism of these mountains. Although both mountains have the same sunlight, rainfall, and fertility, one is verdant and the second is bare. In Kabbalah, we learn that these two mountains represent two eyes. Mount Grizim represents the right eye of wisdom, from which emanates pure blessing. Mount Eval represents the left eye of understanding, from which judgments, even severe judgments, may manifest.

This symbolizes the concept of free will that our Parsha begins with: "Behold, I have placed before you today the blessing and the curse." (Deut. 11:26) It is possible for two people to have the same exact potential, while one thrives and the other withers. We all must choose the path of blessing or curse, and what we sow is what we reap.

The fact that six tribes stood on Mount Eval means that there was a positive element to the curse. In Hebrew, the word for "curse" is klalah (kuf, lamed, lamed, hei). The root of the Hebrew word for curse, קללה - klalah is kalal - קלל (kuf, lamed, lamed) which means "brilliant, shining light," as in the term nechoshet kalal, "brilliant copper."

Thus, explains Rav Hirsch, while it may seem an expression of complete darkness, a curse is actually brilliant, shining light at its source. This brilliance can be blinding, making it impossible for us to understand and incorporate it into our consciousness. We all know the feeling when we get punished for something that we would have preferred to get away with. While we recognise the truth, that we ought to have followed the rules, we don't easily accept the logic of the punishment. In Torah law, though, there is a slight difference - the punishment is designed by Hashem to affect our lives for the better.

In fact, even though a curse is the result of transgression, it is not really a punishment or an expression of Divine revenge, God forbid. Rather, the curse that we talk about comes from a very high source. Rather than being an instrument of retribution, its purpose is to rectify the faults of those who have transgressed and allow us all to lead better lives.

Wishing you a beautiful שבת שלום

A letter I wrote to the British media...

2011-08-19T11:56:00.002+03:00

Sir,

As a Londoner who has made his home in Jerusalem, I write to you with a tear in my eye. Yesterday's dreadful attack on Israeli citizens was not the first, nor will likely be the last, in a long chain.

September draws closer and the possibility of a Palestinian state becomes imminent, it is pertinent for us to ask ourselves whether the Palestinian leadership truly desire to live in peace with their Israeli neighbours. For all the talk of the evil of the occupation, Israelis have no assurances that the Palestinians seek to root out terrorism. Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas might sound moderate, but scratch the surface and we see that terrorism is still glorified in the Territories. Just last year, Abbas dedicated a town square in the memory of Dalal Al-Mughrabi, a terrorist who hijacked a bus and murdered 37 Israelis in cold blood in 1978. Two summer camps also have the dubious honour of being named after this woman. It is evident that the Palestinian leadership is not interested in peaceful relations with Israel. Peace will only come when the Palestinians demonstrate their commitment to bring to justice and cease raising their children in an atmosphere of hate. Why is the Palestinian government not being pressured more to stop this wicked incitement? And why is Israel expected to allow a state characterised by such evil to arise?

Yours sincerely,

Elan Miller
Jerusalem

Parshat Ekev - פרשת עקב

2011-08-19T11:55:00.002+03:00

" הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ, פֶּן תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, לְבִלְתִּי שְׁמֹר מִצְו‍ֹתָיו וּמִשְׁפָּטָיו וְחֻקֹּתָיו, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם. - Beware lest you forget Hashem your God, in not keeping His commandments, and His ordinances, and His statutes, that I command you this day."

(דברים ח:יא)

Parshat Ekev is a parsha that is full of mitzvot. One particular one interests us in this Dvar Torah. The verses preceding the quote above detail the commandment to remember the 40 years the Jews sent wandering in the desert. In that time, we were sent the Mon (Manna when rendered in English for some odd reason) - a heaven sent food substitute that was pure spiritual nourishment. The verses there explain that it was food " אֲשֶׁר לֹא יָדַעְתָּ, וְלֹא יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ - that you did not know, and your forefathers did not know" (i.e. it was totally foreign and bizarre to us) so that we would learn to rely on Hashem and so that we would appreciate our place and role in this world better. Indeed, the narrative goes on to explain "לְמַעַן הוֹדִיעֲךָ, כִּי לֹא עַל הַלֶּחֶם לְבַדּוֹ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם, כִּי עַל כָּל-מוֹצָא פִי יְהוָה, יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם - In order to let you know; that man does not live by bread alone, but by every thing that issues from Hashem's mouth man lives."

Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch writes in his commentary here that there was a reason why bread specifically is mentioned. At first, we might find it odd that that bread is mentioned - bread is a kind of food that requires man's input for it to be completed. One doesn't eat wheat by itself, as it is found in nature. For bread to be eaten, man must work on the wheat. With this in mind, we may understand the reason that bread is mentioned. Almost all people appreciate the wonders of the natural world. Anyone who picks an apple from a tree and eats it will agree with you that it is amazing that something so tasty can be found growing naturally. But a person who works hard on bread might be forgiven for thinking that he is at least an equal partner in the process of creating the food.

For this reason, close to this passage we find the verse quoted above - warning us not to forget Hashem and our responsibilities. There are plenty of commandments in this week's Parsha, but this specific passage merits the warning above. Why is that? Well, Rav Hirsch explains that if we look at the verse closely, we can see three categories מצוות (commandments), משפטים (laws) and חוקים (statutes). Now, traditionally we regard the latter two as more severe categories of obligations toward Hashem. That being the case, there must be a good reason as to why מצותיו (His commandments) is listed first. Rav Hirsch posits the explanation that this category deals with the things that we derive enjoyment from in this world. Bread, and food as a general, is something that Hashem gave us to enjoy. It is a strong Jewish belief that everything in this world is created for man to make use of or benefit from.

The problem is, we are only human and susceptible to momentary lapses of appreciation of this fine gift. As such, Hashem makes a point of stressing that while we are to derive benefit from all "that issues from Hashem's mouth", we must be careful to never become lax and take for granted what we have in this world.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)

Parshat V'etchanan - פרשת ואתחנן

2011-08-12T15:46:00.003+03:00

"ואתם הדביקים ביהוה אלוהיכם חיים כלכם היום / And you who cling to Hashem your God, are living today"
(דברים, ד:ד)

Continuing from last week's high octane start to the book of Devarim, the parsha this week, V'etchanan, is jam-packed full of events, ranging from Moshe's request to enter Eretz Yisrael to the recounting of the Ten Commandments through part of the text we recite daily in Kriyat Sh'ma.

The focus of this D'var Torah, however, is on the last Pasuk of the Levi's Aliyah in Rishon, quoted above. The pasuk is one well-known; each time we read from the Torah, it is recited by the entire congregation as a confirmation of how much the Torah means to us.

The passage is straightforward and can be easily understood without extra explanation, but the Degel Machane Efraim makes an interesting comment on these words that helps reveal something that we would not notice otherwise. He points out that it is well-documented in Jewish texts that three paragraphs of the Shm'a cumulatively comprise 248 words. We learn that these 248 words correspond to the 248 limbs of the human body, and we believe that each word gives strength and vitality to a specific limb. Thus we believe that reading the Sh'ma helps sustain a Jew in this world.

There's a problem though, namely that the 248th word, אמת (Emet - truth), isn't part of the text of Sh'ma as it's found in the Torah. This word is actually part of the next paragraph. By joining the two paragraphs together and repeating the two words preceding it, we gain this 248th word. But this solution doesn't seem to be very tidy. Why should we connect the two paragraphs together?

Fortunately, the Degel Machane Efraim resolves the matter with a neat suggestion. The text here reads: "And you who cling to Hashem your God, are living today" but if we look closely, we may see that the word אתם (Atem - you) shares the same letters as another Hebrew word - אמת. These two words are connected.

Furthermore, when the text says הדביקים (which means clinging/adhering), we may read it literally as an instruction for us to 'stick' something to something else. The insinuation as for us to attach the word אמת (Emet) to the paragraph that precedes it. And what will happen if we are to do this? Simple - the verse continues to bless Israel with life, "חיים כלכם היום - and you are living today" It is my wish that with our prayers, we may realise both our own inner capabilities and be able to make use of all the faculties of our bodies to realise them. Similarly, may we all be blesssed to really live life and grasp the truth of this world.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Devarim - פרשת דברים

2011-08-05T11:41:00.002+03:00

רְאֵה נָתַתִּי לִפְנֵיכֶם, אֶת-הָאָרֶץ; בֹּאוּ, וּרְשׁוּ אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע יְהוָה לַאֲבֹתֵיכֶם לְאַבְרָהָם לְיִצְחָק וּלְיַעֲקֹב לָתֵת לָהֶם, וּלְזַרְעָם אַחֲרֵיהֶם. – Behold, I have set the land before you: go in and inherit the land which Hashem swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give unto them and to their seed after them.'

(דברים א:ח)

One of the principal beliefs in Judaism is that there is nothing in this world that can stop a person who really wants something; "אין דבר העומד בפני הרצון - There's nothing that can stand before one's will."

As Jews, we believe in a all-powerful God, One who is Master of the entire universe and who can turn anything to His will. We believe that if we can tune ourself in to this spiritual energy, we may access huge amounts of power. Given this belief, we may in turn better understand some of the events to occur in Jewish history; how it is that we have seen off multiple great nations and empires including the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Assyrians, the Babylonians. We have witnessed them all come, leave their impression and then go. But the Jews still live on.

More recently, in 1967, Israel won the Six-Day war when the odds were stacked against us. It is said that the American military has a computer that processes all the recorded wars in history in an attempt to determine why the winning side was victorious and to gain insight as to what strategies and tactics can be used in the future. Apparently, this computer can "understand" all the wars put in its system, but for one. The 1967 Six-Day war is said to be incomprehensible; there was simply no way that the Jews should have won. There were thousands more troops fighting against Israel than for it. And yet we won.

The main idea to be understood is that part of being Jewish is to not be limited by nature. All the things described above are highly unlikely events in their own right. At the height of the Greek empire, who would have bet that the meek Jews would outlast the Greeks? And when the Roman empire was at its pomp, who would have cared to wager that the downtrodden Jews would be around long after they had disappeared? One lucky escape can be attribbuted to luck. But for this phenomenon to occur over and over again indicates something deeper at play; that the Jewish nation is not bound by nature's laws. If something has to happen; it will. Our main concern is not in outlasting or fighting against our enemies: as Jews, our challenges are spiritual ones and lie elsewhere.

In the quote above from this week's Parsha, D'varim, Hashem shows B'nei Yisrael the land of Israel, telling them to behold it. Rashi explains here that if the Jews had gone in at that very moment, there would have been no need to fight to claim the land. But since they insisted on spying out the land, they were forced to take up arms and wage battle against the hostile people who were then residing in the promised land.

One of the things we learn is that if God wants something to happen, it makes no difference what the situation is - it will happen. If God wanted these hostile peoples residing in the land of Israel to quietly accept the arrival of the Jewish people, then that's precisely what would have happened.

Touching on the forthcoming fast of Tish'a B'Av, we know that the reason for the destruction of the Bet Hamikdash is because of Sin'at Chinam, baseless hatred, most clearly expressed in the Kamtza/Bar-Kamtza incident. This is the reason that is universally given for the resulting destruction, but Rav Ya'akov Chaim Sofer explains that if we look in the Talmud, we see that another reason is recorded in Masechet Gitin.

The account of one Yosef ben Matityahu, who lived through the time of this destruction, is recorded there. His account is completely different to the standard one, and he claims that the Roman army was large and strong, with healthy and well-armed soldiers. Standing against them, on the other hand, was the weak Jewish military. The Jews lacked food and arms. It was a total mismatch. Our would-be historian doesn't mention the Kamtza/Bar-Kamtza episode once. How can this be?

The answer is simple enough. As Jews, we don't care how it is that we lost in physical terms. We are more interested as to the spiritual causes of such events. As described above, there have been enough events over the course of history for us to know that our military disadvantage is wholly irellevant to the outcome of such a situation. If we could outlast all these other foes, there is no reason why we should suddenly capitulate in this battle. If you want to know how we lost the battle against the Romans and how the Bet Hamikdash was destroyed, refer to the words of Yosef ben Matityahu. But we don't want to know how, we need to knowwhy.

The message remains clear and relevant to this day. We need not worry about external threats. When it comes down to it, we need not fear at all. What we need to worry about is ourselves and how we relate to one another. If we really want to bring peace upon ourselves, we can do it.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and an easy fast next week.

Parshat Massei - פרשת מסעי

2011-07-29T15:56:00.002+03:00

"אלה מסעי בני ישראל, אשר יצאו מארץ מצרים לצבאתם, ביד משה ואהרן. - These are the journeys of the Children of Israel, who went forth from the land of Egypt by their legions under the hand of Moshe and Aharon."
(במדבר, לג:א)

This week's Parsha is the final installment of the book of Bamidbar. In it, we have read of the Jewish people's travails in the desert on their way to the Holy Land. Before going on to describe the land of Israel and appropriate it to the various tribes, Parshat Massei serves as a reminder of the numerous treks and journeys that the Jews completed on their way.

Rav Zalman Sorotzkin writes in Azanim LaTorah about Hashem's intention in compelling Am Yisrael to make these arduous, energy-sapping expeditions. Typically, the answer to this question is that because the people sought to return to Egypt after listening to the smears spread by the spies, they were "sentenced" to 40 years of exile in the wilderness. But this seems strange, though. First of all, weren't the Jews taken out of exile? What would the point be of taking them out of slavery in one place, only to have them broken in another? The real answer lies elsewhere.

Rashi's commentary gives us our first hint. Citing Rav Tanchuma, he explains that Hashem's actions vis-a-vis the Jewish people were akin to the act of a King sending his ill son far away so that the son can be cured. On the way back, the father counts his sons journeys. "Here we slept", "here we felt cold", "here you had a headache" and so on.

Still, this doesn't quite explain what the process of traveling was intended to do. If it wasn't simply a punishment, what was it? Rav Sorotzkin posits an answer: the generation who left Egypt were on the lowest spiritual level possible. For these people to suddenly become observant was very difficult. These people had lived a very unspiritual life and it wasn't possible for them to learn and adjust overnight. Hashem, therefore, devised a specific way of preparing them for life in Israel.

Normally, the process of reward and punishment is delayed. Reward is delayed so that we may enjoy it in the next world, where reward is eternal. Punishment, however, is typically suspended for a different reason - so that we may have a chance to mend our ways. But in the desert, the process was sped up. Open miracles occurred, as was the case with Miriam's well, the Clouds (and Fires) of Glory that accompanied the people on their way, and countless other amazing phenomena. And, in stark juxtaposition, punishment was much closer than usual, too. When the people sinned, they were not given much time, if at all, as the followers of Korach and the generation of the spies found out. All this contributed to a remarkable period in which Hashem personally trained the Jewish people for their new lives.

So these were the "Masa'ot" of the Jews. Less journeys or punishments than training missions, the served as the ultimate preparation. Later in the Parsha we read of how the land was to be divided between the tribes. Hopefully our generation too can find comfort that while we are going through many trials, we shall soon be able to live peacefully in this land once again.

(Sourced from the Yalkut Lekach Tov)

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshiot Matot and Masei - פרשיות מטות ומסעי

2011-07-22T13:13:00.001+03:00

"וידבר משה אל ראשי המטות לבני ישראל לאמר זה הדבר אשר צוה יהוה. And Moshe spoke to the heads of the tribes, to the B'nei Yisrael saying, this is the word that Hashem commands."
~Numbers 30:2

Normally I'd write about that which Moshe goes on to say but instead I'd like to discuss the manner in which Moshe speaks here.

The Sfat Emet raises precisely this issue, noting that Moshe uses the opening statement "זה הדבר," as opposed to the word "כה," which is frequently employed by lesser prophets. The former phrase suggests a level of accuracy that the latter lacks - it roughly means, "This is exactly that which was said."

With this in mind, the Sfat Emet asks a question - why are some of Moshe's prophecies introduced with the word "כה?" The answer is simple but spectacular - that there are things in this world which cannot truly be understood or grasped. We can talk our way around these issues with analogies, allusions and the like, but our understanding will only ever be imprecise at best. We learn that one of the Rambam's 13 principles of faith is to believe that Moshe was Hashem's greatest prophet, a prophet who was far more highly receptive of God's will than any other man. And yet even Moshe, who had the ability to relate his prophecies with absolute precision, could sometimes not address the people with the words, "זה הדבר."

So what is this realm that we cannot really understand? The Sfat Emet explains that it is the "Olam HaZeh." (The World we live in, as opposed to the afterlife.) At first glance, this might seem a little odd; after all, don't we live in "Olam HaZeh," wouldn't the affairs of this world be things that we grasp? Wouldn't goings-on of the spiritual realm of the world to come, the "Olam Haba"; wouldn't they be more likely to be inaccessable to us?

On reading the words closely, we can understand the concept better. The word "Olam," of "Olam Hazeh," is linked to the word "Ne'elam," meaning hidden. The first word of the phrase, "Hazeh," serves to indicate something very specific - something that can be quantified and related to. When we say "Zeh" in Hebrew, or "this" in English, we typically refer to something that is a known quantity. If we put this two words together, we arrive at a contradiction; which world are we living in? Is it a hidden world or a revealed world? Is everything clear to us, or is it all hidden away?

It would seem that the Sfat Emet is subtly teaching that this world has two parallel aspects. It isn't one or the other, but rather a composite of these two elements. There are times when everything seems clear, moments when we can say "Zeh HaDavar." But equally, even to the greatest and wisest minds, there are moments that can only be referred to as a moment when we only partially understand what's happening - a moment that is best defined by "Koh."

In Kabbalah thought, man is referred to as an "Olam Katan," a little world. I think we may see a parallel here, too. Every person has moments where they think that they know themselves inside out. But then we learn something new about ourselves. Nobody knows us like we do ourselves, but even we can be surprised by ourselves if we look and listen carefully enough. I think we may take this experience and apply it to the world at large. Many times I personally have caught myself thinking that I know a lot, only for me to be humbled and find out that my knowledge is actually relatively insignificant and sadly incomplete. It is up to us to learn how to deal with moments such as this; do we act arrogantly and defy what we are learning, or do we take a step back and admit to ourselves that we have much to learn? It's a terrible thing to be stuck in the same mindset and never to budge, even after hearing of a valid disproof to your ideas. I only hope that we can all grow and adapt to whatever new knowledge we may learn in life.

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom :)

Parshat Pinchas - פרשת פינחס

2011-07-15T11:27:00.000+03:00

"Therefore say - Behold, I shall give to him my covenant: peace - לכן אמר הנני נותן לו את-בריתי שלום"
(Bamidbar 25:12)

In this week's Parsha, we read of how Zimri ben Salu, a Nasi of the tribe of Shimon, slept with a Midianite woman, Cozbi bat Tzur. Pinchas, furious with their illicit relationship, slaughtered them together simultaneously with his spear. In this context, it is interesting to read of Hashem's instruction to Moshe - to bless Pinchas with a Brit Shalom (a peace covenant). After such a violent episode it certainly does seems fitting for Pinchas to be blessed with peace, but is there anything else going on beneath the surface, another dimension to this blessing that we may explore?

In Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch's chumash, the commentary on this part of the Parsha details how Hashem "places the responsibilty for the realisation of the supreme harmony of peace on precisely those who individuals whose actions a thoughtless world, anxious to mask its passivity and negligence as 'love of peace,' would brand and condemn as 'disturbances of the peace.'" Whereas the act of killing Zimri and Cozbi might seem horrifying, and understandbly so, we must understand that when an action is required, we must be ready to peform our duties without a moment's hesitation.

I believe that there's a pertinent message to be learned from this episode. Unfortunately, many times Israel has been forced to act in a strong way in order to defend itself. Consequently Israel comes under a hail of criticism for her actions, even if the actions were the right ones. All kinds of "logical" arguments are thrown at the Jewish nation, each with the aim of persuading us from ceasing to defend ourselves. The concept of pacifism is something entirely laudable, but when other nations tell the Jews to be pacifists in the face of terrorism the concept becomes laughable. Unfortunately, there are elements of Jewish and Israeli society who are convinced that if only Israel were to stop defending herself would there be peace and the Arabs would live in peace with us.

Pinchas' blessing of peace was entirely fitting as it was proof that he had acted in the right way. If he had taken a half measure, he would have compromised on his values and not acted out of total fear and love for God. The relevant psukim specifically mention Zimri's and Cozbi's familiy background - if Pinchas had any level of fear for anything other than God, he would have been too scared to act the way he did. We must understand that while we cannot go about killing people carte blanche (this was a special case and not the norm) we must always be ready to act on behalf of Hashem and for this to be true, we must be at peace with our relationship towards Hashem. The truth of the matter is that anyone who fights against that which is injust and immoral, no matter what the world thinks or what is deemed politically correct, is a champion of true peace. Conversely, anyone who cedes ground to an opposition that is in conflict with God is an enemy of peace. It makes no sense to make concessions to an enemy who is in direct conflict with God and for this reason, it is exactly because of Pinchas' dedication and commitment to Hashem that he deserved the blessing of peace.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Balak - פרשת בלק

2011-07-08T04:09:00.004+03:00

"וַיִּפְתַּח יְהוָה, אֶת-פִּי הָאָתוֹן; וַתֹּאמֶר לְבִלְעָם, מֶה-עָשִׂיתִי לְךָ, כִּי הִכִּיתַנִי, זֶה שָׁלֹשׁ רְגָלִים. - And Hashem opened the mouth of the donkey, and it said to Balaam: 'What have I done to you, that thou have hit me these three times?' "
~Numbers 22:28

The last words of the passage above, "שָׁלֹשׁ רְגָלִים," are understood to mean three times. Literally, however, the combination of words means "three feet". This phrase is known in Judaism to refer to the three "foot" festivals: Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot. (They were known as foot festivals because the entire people would descend on Jerusalem, proceeding there by foot, in order to mark the holidays.) The normal way of saying three times in Hebrew would be "שלוש פעמים", so why the unusual terminology here?

Rashi explains that the words were meant as "a hint to him [Bilaam]. 'You seek to uproot a nation that observes the three festivals each year'", was the message. The problem is, while this does explain the reference somewhat, it doesn't satifactorily identify why this specific aspect of the Jewish nation is referred to. After all, Jews have many unique characteristics; why not refer to our observance of Shabbat, Brit Milah, heck, even our big noses! What's so special about the Three Foot Festivals that they are specifically referred to here? And why should Bilaam care?!

Moreover, the Gur Aryeh notes that while the regular פעם and its plural form of פעמים appear over 100 times over the course of the Torah, this word "רגלים" appears just four times in the Torah: three times here and once more in Exodus when referring to the festivals themselves. Clearly, there is a connection, but what is it exactly?

The Sfat Emet asks exactly this question, and posits an answer that I find particularly brilliant and illuminating. His explanation is that these three festivals were a form of testimony that the land of Israel was part of the Jewish heritage, and that it was the place where the Bet Hamikdash would stand. (He sources this from a verse in D'varim: "שָׁלוֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָל-זְכוּרְךָ אֶת-פְּנֵי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחָר--בְּחַג הַמַּצּוֹת וּבְחַג הַשָּׁבֻעוֹת, וּבְחַג הַסֻּכּוֹת; וְלֹא יֵרָאֶה אֶת-פְּנֵי יְהוָה, רֵיקָם. - Three times in a year shall all your males appear before Hashem your God in the place that He shall choose; on the festival of Matzot, and on the festival of Shavuot, and on the festival of Sukkot; and they shall not appear before Hashem empty." [Deuteronomy 16:16])

The curse that Balak was trying to place on the Bnei Yisrael, through his messenger Bilaam, was to remove them from their deserved inheritance of the land of Israel. This actually makes a lot of sense with the text; earlier, Balak complains about that the Jews have "covered the eye of the land" (Numbers 22:5). Clearly, someone doesn't want the Jews to settle down in this particular spot.

Now that we understand what this fear was, and why this particular mitzvah of observing the three foot festivals was referenced, the Sfat Emet goes on to reveal an aspect of the blessing that Bilaam is forced into bestowing upon the Jews. This is the part of the Dvar Torah I most like. Famously, Bilaam pronounces, " כִּי-מֵרֹאשׁ צֻרִים אֶרְאֶנּוּ, וּמִגְּבָעוֹת אֲשׁוּרֶנּוּ: הֶן-עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן, וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב. מִי מָנָה עֲפַר יַעֲקֹב, וּמִסְפָּר אֶת-רֹבַע יִשְׂרָאֵל; תָּמֹת נַפְשִׁי מוֹת יְשָׁרִים, וּתְהִי אַחֲרִיתִי כָּמֹהוּ - For from the top of the rocks I see it, and from the hills I view it: Behold! it is a people that will dwell alone, and shall not be reckoned amongst the nations. Who has counted the dust of Jacob, or numbered a quarter of Israel? Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my end be like his!" (Numbers 23: 9-10) This blessing is amongst the most notable in the Torah, and so I never really paused to consider the way it is phrased. The Sfat Emet, though, remarks upon the words "Who has counted the dust of Jacob." Upon consideration, I think we may agree that the word dust seems rather unusual. The answer the Sfat Emet gives is that this is another link, (Midah k'neged Midah, I might add) to the land of Israel. For just as Bilaam went out to deprive the Bnei Yisrael of their right to the land of Israel, he ultimately only goes to underscore it. As the Sfat Emet explains, the word dust here refers to the land itself and all the MItzvot that the Bnei Yisrael were given that could only be observed fully upon the land of Israel.

I think we might find this passage highly relevant to our times. In an age where there is an ongoing campaign to deprive the Jewish nation of their right to their homeland, it is important that we remember where we got this right from. Not from the League of Nations vote in November 1947, neither from our winning the War of Independence. No, the real reason why the Jewish people deserve to live in the land of Israel is because it is ours; an eternal heritage and our home. We would do well to remember this and that the source of our claim is biblical, no less. If we can remember this, stick to it and observe the Torah, the day will surely come when our claim to this land will be recognised by all. Amen!

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Chukat - פרשת חוקת

2011-07-01T13:20:00.003+03:00

"אָז יָשִׁיר יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת-הַשִּׁירָה הַזֹּאת: עֲלִי בְאֵר, עֱנוּ-לָהּ - Then Israel sang this song: Spring up, O well; sing to it"
(במדבר כא:יז)

In the passage above, we read how Am Yisrael sing of the "Be'er Miriam," the well that accompanied them during their travails in the desert and from which water miraculously flowed. While it seems reasonable enough to mention and praise this incredible phenomenon, a question begs to be asked; why is it only now that Am Yisrael recognise the blessing of this well? After all, they had been in the desert for many years - shouldn't they have made their gratefulness known earlier?

To understand this difficulty, we have to look at the situation in it's proper context. The generation who suddenly found themselves (quite literally) singing the well's praises had never fully appreciated what a blessing this Be'er was. This particular generation had been born in the desert. As such, to them, a rock that rolled around of its own volition and produced drinking water (in huge quantities) was of no great consequence. To them, it was no more miraculous than a rainfall or a sunrise.

When Hashem punished Am Yisrael for speaking against him a few verses earlier in the Parsha, the B'nei Yisrael finally understood what a miracle this well was. Until this time, they had never appreciated Hashem's benevolence and it was only when this blessing (which they had always had) was taken away that they grasped it's goodness and their dependence on Hashem.

Part of their punishment was that "הנחשים השרפים," "the poisonous snakes" that lived in the desert, were sent after B'nei Yisrael, and consequently bit and killed many Jews. In classic fashion, Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch notes with precision the phrasing of the verse, and highlights the letter ה - which means "the". Rav Hirsch teaches that the presence of the definite article here indicates that these snakes were not any old snakes. Rather, these snakes were already in the desert; they had always been there, even though Am Yisrael had not encountered them in their desert travels thus far.

Rav Hirsch teaches that we should understand that these snakes were kept away from the B'nei Yisrael in an act of kindness by Hashem. However, because they had shown themselves to be unappreciative of the kindness of the Be'er, Hashem punished them with the snakes so that they would appreciate all that Hashem had done to prevent them from experiencing hardship.

There is a vital lesson that we must learn from this incident. We cannot only be thankful for that which we are blessed with, rather we must appreciate all that we are not burdened with. Here we learn that the snakes had always been in the desert and only by Hashem's grace were the B'nei Yisrael spared being bitten by them. The B'nei Yisrael grew accustomed to the miracles that Hashem had done for them. The moment Hashem stopped sustaining these miracles, it became abundantly clear just how much we are dependent on his love and good will for us.

I'd like to credit a friend, Ezra Javasky, for teaching me this D'var Torah when we were in Yeshiva together. It's a lovely insight and I thank him for sharing it with me.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Korach - פרשת קרח

2011-06-24T14:21:00.000+03:00

"וַיִּקָּהֲלוּ עַל-מֹשֶׁה וְעַל-אַהֲרֹן, וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם רַב-לָכֶם כִּי כָל-הָעֵדָה כֻּלָּם קְדֹשִׁים, וּבְתוֹכָם יְהוָה; וּמַדּוּעַ תִּתְנַשְּׂאוּ, עַל-קְהַל יְהוָה - And they assembled themselves together against Moshe and against Aharon, and said to them: 'You take too much upon you, for all the congregation, all are holy, and Hashem is amongst it, why wherefore should you lift up yourselves above the assembly of Hashem?'"

(במדבר ט"ז:ג)

The verse above is taken from the opening scene of this week's Parsha, in which Korach instigates a (doomed) rebellion against Moshe. Korach acted as if his intentions were pure, but really his desires and motivations were far from selfless; a close reading of the text with the commentaries reveals that he really wanted fame, recognition and honour.

One of the main issues Korach raises in order to provoke Moshe is that of Moshe's role as leader of Am Yisrael. For example, one of the questions that Korach asks is "If an article of clothing is made entirely of t'chelet, (a certain blue/purple colouring that is used for dying the eighth string of the tzitzit,) would there then be any need to have an additional string attached to this garment, one that would be dyed in the same colour? Surely if the entire garment is holy, argues Korach, there should be no need for an extra string to render the garment as holy; surely it's holy enough already.

The question seems fair enough, but the question wasn't really what Korach was asking. By asking this question of Moshe, he was making a point about the relevancy of Moshe's leadership. In the verse above, the same thing happens, and if anything, Korach's criticism is even more explicit. Here, Korach notes that the people are all holy, and that he sees no need for Moshe to raise himself above a nation of holy people. Just like his question regarding tzitzit, Korach asks sharp questions of Moshe's right to lead.

As it turned out, Korach was proved wrong. (And on more than one level.) The problem with his approach can be seen already from the beginning of his criticism. Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch has an insight into Korach's words which reveal the extent of the flaw in his thinking. In the verse above, Korach deliberately switches the subject of his sentence from at first speaking about the nation as a whole, to then speaking about the people individually before reverting back to the nation as a single entity. "For all the congregation, all are holy, and Hashem is amongst it," he says. Why the switch to the people as individuals?

I would like to tender an answer of my own. We already know that Korach placed too much value on his own pride, his own honour. He clearly valued his own individuality. Here, Korach wanted to make a point to Moshe that if all the nation were holy people (which, for the sake of this argument, I will assume to be true), then a leader above them would be redundant. What he didn't understand was that in his attacking questions lay the flaw in his thinking. He asked Moshe a question about tzitzit. But what is the answer to his question? Actually, it is that such a garment, one comprised entirely of t'chelet, still needs the special t'chelet string! The reason is that despite the undoubted holiness of each of the composite parts, there is still a need for a binding force between them. Returning to the question of the relevance of a leader over a nation made up of holy people, we must answer that a leader is still required. When the Jewish nation stand as one and act as one, our unity is so strong that we can achieve incredible things. But when we are taken as individual parts, the flaws in each of us begin to show. It is not that those flaws weren't there before, but when people come together they help mask one another's failings.

Korach was undoubtedly right that the each person within the entire nation was holy in their own right. What he didn't understand was that despite this, if they were not part of a collective, their imbalances and imperfections would be allowed to get out of control. When people work together though, and under common guidance from a recognised authority, people are able to correct their mistakes and learn from one another. If we can't do that, we too will be doomed to failure. Let us learn the lesson from Korach and only live together in unity and Shalom.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Shelach Lecha - פרשת שלח לך

2011-06-17T14:17:00.003+03:00

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה, לָמָּה זֶּה אַתֶּם עֹבְרִים אֶת-פִּי יְהוָה; וְהִוא, לֹא תִצְלָח - And Moshe said: 'Why is it that you transgress the commandment of Hashem? It shall not succeed!
(במדבר י"ד:מ"א)

The verse above comes at the end of the story of the Meraglim, the "spies" who were sent to scout out the land of Israel prior to what was supposed to be Israel's entry. Unfortunately, the spies' report was highly critical and negative. Because the spies spoke badly about the land of Israel (or according to some explanations, because they saw bad in Israel,) the people of that generation were reprimanded and punished by being told that they wouldn't be given the merit to enter the land of Israel.

In an attempt to correct their earlier error, some of the Jews then declared that they would push forward into the land of Israel regardless. It is at this point that Moshe warns them, above. Immediately afterwards, we read of how this plan was doomed to fail with shocking consequences; those who went to enter the land were met by forces from the Amalek and Canaan armies, and were thoroughly annihilated.

I'd like to take a close look at the wording of the verse above. If we pay attention to Moshe's warning, he words his statement in an odd way; he doesn't say "you will not succeed," rather he phrases it as "it will not succeed." What is the it that he is referring to? The answer is actually fairly obvious, and the Ibn Ezra makes no time in explaining that "it" was the action of making aliyah, of going into Israel. "It" was the plan to do this, and this "it" would not succeed.

But we've only gone halfway to answering the question; now we know what the "it" was referring to, but we still don't know why Moshe referred to the plan as liable to fail rather than telling the people that they would fail. By changing the subject of his sentence, it seems unncessarily clunky. I'd like to tender an answer of my own: Moshe refused to criticise the people. He saw that they had good intentions and wanted to correct their earlier error. He realised that there was no point in telling them off for their hearts were true, even if their actions were off. I am not yet a parent and am not really in a place to direct people how to raise their own children, but I've heard it said that one must never say "stupid boy" or "bad girl", but rather must explain to the child in question that their actions were bad or lacked being thought through properly. The child is almost always good, even if the action isn't. In a similar manner, Moshe make sure to tell the nation that their actions would not succeed.

I'd like to relate this to current affairs. In recent weeks, a Scottish city council has voted to ban buying Israeli books for its library. I think we would to well to note the hypocrisy here. There are many people around the world who condemn Israel and declare it's actions illegal and immoral, decrying it to be an apartheid state. But how would they react when faced with terrorists and supporters of terrorists?

The problem here is one of unfair, destructive criticism, as opposed to fair and constructive criticism. I believe it is vital for a healthy democracy to be subject to criticism. If Israel's soldiers conduct themsleves in a manner not befitting of their role, they ought to be taken to court and sentenced. If Israel's politicians are too careless in their policies towards Palestinians, then they need to be reined in and critcised for their decisions. But the wholesale smearing of a state and all its citizens has no place in aiding the progress of democratic values.

As such, while Israel should not be criticised the way it is, it remains up to us to see to it that the problems in our society are sorted out. It is instructive to note that Israel is barely 60 years old. When America was 60 years old, slaves were still commonplace. Equality, theoretically at least, was only achieved in the last century. And real equality still hasn't been achieved in America. Hopefully Israel can become a platform on which the values of the Jewish people, the values of justice and equality amongst them, will be demonstrated with pride.

While Israel is surrounded by shocking hypocrisy, it remains up to us to ignore such inane criticism. We need to learn the lesson Moshe teaches here: we need not pay attention to those who try to attack us at every opportunity. But at the same time, we need to try to improve our conduct ourselves so that we arrive at the highest moral standard possible.

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Beha'alotcha - פרשת בהעלותך

2011-06-10T14:35:00.001+03:00

וידבר ה' אל משה לאמר. "דבר אל אהרון ואמרת אליו: 'בהעלותך את הנרות אל-מול פני המנורה יאירו שבעת הנרות.' " -Hashem spoke to Moshe, saying, "Speak to Aharon, and say to him: 'When you light the lights towards the face of the Menorah, the seven lamps shall cast light.' "
(במדבר ח:א-ב)

In Rashi's commentary on the Torah, a well-known explanation of the word 'בהעלותך', which we may loosely translate as 'When you light', is given. The normal term for lighting candles is להדליק; it could just as easily have been written בהדלקתך above. Rashi notes that the word used, 'בהעלותך', is "לשון עלייה, שצריך להדליק עד שתהא השלהבת עולה מאליה," which may be loosely translated as meaning that "the terms is one associated with 'going up', and that one needs to kindle [a light] until the flame rise by itself." Rashi's point is that there was a special manner in which Aharon had to light the flames of the Menorah, and therefore the unusual term בהעלותך is employed.

Rav Avigdor Neventzahl, the former Chief Rabbi of the Old City of Jerusalem, explains however, that this isn't actually any different from the way we light any candle. Anyone who's tried taking a flame way from a candle before it's risen by itself knows that the candle will not light; of course you wait for the candle to catch the first flame and rise by itself; that's just the normal procedure.

When I was pondering the matter myself, an old Oxfam advert came to my mind. The voiceover explains that if you "give a child some corn" she won't be hungry for a short while. But if you "give her family the chance to grow their own corn," they will be independent of handouts, and will be able to provide food for themselves, earn money and send their children to school. I see a parallel between the advert and Rashi's point on the meaning of the word בהעלותך; the word teaches us how to give to people. Rather than simply giving people to stop-gap solutions, we must aim to find the root cause of the problem, fix that, and enable people to provide for themselves.

In a similar fashion, Rav Neventzahl points out that the phrase refers to the optimal way in which to teach and learn Torah. If a teacher feeds his students Torah so that they are not excited by what is being said, but listen nevertheless, then the moment he departs from their presence, their Torah learning will cease. Instead the teacher is charged with the task of igniting their students' souls. One of the greatest satisfactions in this world is creativity. Humans are markedly different from other creations in that they are able to change the conditions around them as well as express thoughts and feelings. If we give to someone, we are depriving them of their ability to be human. Rather we must allow them to rise up (as Rashi says, לשון עלייה) with their own creative energy so that they may give themselves.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Shavuot - שבועות

2011-06-07T15:53:00.005+03:00

Tonight is Shavuot, the festival which celebrates the giving of the Torah to the Jewish people. In Parshat Yitro, we read of how the events unfolded that momentous day.

When writing about Parshat Yitro previously, I have noted the fascinating phrase, "וכל העם רואים את הקולות - And the people saw the thunder". Noting that the faculty of vision is one which can be extremely misleading, I wrote:

"We can’t presume to know anything about anything by looking at it. The only way to know for sure is by listening to something, by slowly and closely analysing it. But at Har Sinai, when we were in such close proximity to Hashem, we experienced a return to the state of Adam HaRishon whereby our senses all told us the same thing, whereby they all told us the absolute truth. In this context we can understand the concept of Am Yisrael seeing the Kolot [thunder], because their hearing and their seeing were no different from one another. We can now understand that which normally has to be heard, (as in Sh’ma Yisrael – the knowledge of Hashem,) was so obvious and clear that Am Yisrael could clearly perceive through even the most deceiving of the senses." (Source)

That is one explanation. In this D'var Torah, I would like to mention another so that we can regard this occurence from a different perspective.

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein has an intiguing D'var Torah that sheds light on this phenomenon. There is a Midrash (I can't find the original, but it is cited in Yalkut Shimoni and certainly appears in the Mechilta) that reads thus: "בשם רבי: "להודיע שבחן של ישראל שכשעמדו כולן לפני הר סיני לקבל את התורה היו שומעים את הדיבור ומפרשים אותו". We read here that Rebbi taught that at Har Sinai, when the Jewish people heard Hashem speaking to them, they didn't just hear the words but also interpreted them on their own. The source for this is found in Deuteronomy 32:10, where it says "יסובבנהו יבוננהו", which means "He encircled him, He made him comprehending".

We take the passage above to mean that Hashem made man an intellecual, reasoning and interpretive creature. As such, when we were given the Torah at Har Sinai, we didn't merely enjoy the uniquely magnificent sound and light show in a passive manner. When we read of the incredible spectacle that occured at Har Sinai that day, total silence shattered by blasts of the shofar, iluminated by crashes of thunder and roaring lightning, it would be easy to imagine the onlooking Jewish people as regarding things in a manner somewhat resembling a theatre audience.

It would be easy to simply take in what was happening, such was the awesome scale of this "show". Instead, the people took more than a simple passive role and instead took on a crucial role, participating in receiving the Torah. This is powerful lesson to us all - we never simply receive something in this world. The Torah is not a static entity with no relevance to us. We all have a deep connection to it and it remains up to us to engage with the Torah.

From Jerusalem, wishing you a stimulating and challenging Shavuot

Parshat Naso - פרשת נשא

2011-06-03T04:50:00.001+03:00

With 176 verses, Parshat Naso, is noted for being the longest in the Torah. I'd like to share with you two interesting insights I just read. The first is very short: The Chiddushei HaRim (who happened to be the grandfather of the Sfat Emet), observed that not only is the length of the parsha itself noteworthy, but also the number of column inches relating to this Parsha in the Midrashim and in the Zohar, too. Noting that this week's parsha almost always falls the weekend after the festival of Shavuot (the festival on which we celebrate receiving the Torah), the Chidushei HaRim suggests that Chazal were given the merit to plumb the depths of this parsha to unparalleled levels.

The second thought on the parsha is one that many people observe for themselves; that the reading this week is very long mainly due to the full account of the gifts that the Nesi'im (the heads of the tribes) brought to the temple. It would seem to us that there is an endless repetition here of the gifts brought. We might be excused for thinking that it would have been enough for the Torah to give a brief summary, but clearly Hashem saw fit to write this episode in full, without skipping even the smallest of details.

There are a number of reasons for the Torah's meticulous recording of the gift offerings being brough here. I wrote about one reason earlier this year in Parshat Vayakhel: there, the Nesi'im resolved to wait until the rest of the nation had brought whatever they could for the temple, and when the rest of the people had brought all that they could, the Nesi'im planned to provide all that which had not yet been supplied. Unfortunately for them, they did not anticipate that the people would be so generous, and only managed to make a donation at the last minute when they saw that everything was going to be provided without their help. There, the Torah writes their name והנשיאים, "(And the) Nesi'im" without the letter י, so that it appears as והנשאם. This removal of a letter associated with God's name was a form of rebuke for the princes' seeming lack of eagerness.

Fast forward to this week's parsha, and we read of the princes' willing and abundant procession of gifts. Having first rebuked their behaviour, the Torah ensures that when the princes make good on their earlier error, they are afforded a full account of their deeds. The message is clear: when someone corrects his ways, it is only proper to give that person recognition for having made the effort.

An alternative reason as to why this event is written in full is given by Rabbi Paysach Krohn. Rabbi Krohn tells a story about Rav Yitzchak Elchonon Spektor, the Kovno Rav, who lived in Russia. Back in those days, the Jewish population lived in fear that their young men would get drafted into the Russian Army; something that was very hard to get out of. One who did enter the Russian military had a tough time in store; quite apart from the usual problems of serving in an army, the Russian army made it especially hard for people to remain religiously observant. The only hope was to acquire a military exemption.

In this story, Yaakov, one of his students had applied for an exemption and was waiting for Moscow to respond to his request. Knowing that obtaining such an exemption was a tricky matter, Yaakov and his friends nervously anticipated the authorities' reply. One day, while Yaakov's Rabbi, Rav Yitzchak Elchonon, was engaged with other Rabbis in resolving a complex and thorny affair through Jewish law, a young man interrupted proceedings to tell his Rabbi that he had just received the wonderful news that the case had been resolved satisfactorily, with Yaakov given an exemption from military service. The Rabbi smiled, thanked him, and blessed him for bringing the news.

The boy left happy and the Rabbis resumed their deliberations. But not long afterwards, another student burst into the room. Again, he told the Rabbi that he had very important news to convey; that Yaakov, one of the Rabbi's most beloved students, had managed to get out of serving in the army. Again, the Rabbi was thankful and proceeded to bless him for having brought such good news. A little while later, yet another boy entered the room. Yet again, the Rabbi was careful to smile and thank the "intruder", making sure to bless him for having been considerate and letting the Rabbi know of this development. As the afternoon unfolded, this chain of events went on to repeat itself a number of times over, and each time the Rabbi was careful to treat each visitor in the exact same manner.

The lesson here is one that goes a long way teaching us how to treat others. Despite the news being old, the Rabbi made sure to receive each and every guest in the same manner as the first person who came to tell him. Unaware that their Rabbi had already heard the news, they were eager to share it with him and were each clearly anticipating seeing him take pleasure and relief. Although he could have explained gently that he already knew, the Rabbi understood that it was more important to allow each of them to express their feelings and therefore acted as he did.

Coming back to this week's unusually lengthy parsha, we may now understand why its seemingly inordinate length is necessitated. While each and every gift brought by the princes may have been no more than a repetition of that which was brought previously, Hashem wanted to show them that their intentions and desires were very much appreciated.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Bamidbar - פרשת במדבר

2011-05-27T01:17:00.002+03:00

This Shabbat we commence reading the fourth book of the Torah - Sefer Bamidbar. In fact, there are actually two names for this Parsha and Sefer - it is also known by the name Sefer Pekudim, the "Book of Numbers" as the book opens with the census of Bnei Yisrael. The other name, Bamidbar, might be perceived as somewhat irrelevant, though - how can we relate to Am Yisrael's trek across the desert to reach Israel? We can say plenty about the need for census and how we may learn a lesson in equality from it (each man would be counted equally; each bringing exactly half a shekel no matter what his social standing was,) but how much can we derive from the fact that the Jews traversed the wilderness?

There is a concept in Torah thought that nothing in the world is completely by chance. Everything is by design, right down to the smallest details. Hashem created the world with precision, so that everything would serve a higher purpose. We believe that even the way the earth has been shaped reflects a higher purpose. Therefore, if Hashem wanted mainland Egypt to be next to Israel, he would have arranged the world to be that way. The fact that He designed the world with a desert between Egypt and Israel clearly is significant and not without meaning and intention. When the Jews left Egypyt in the great Exodus, there was no way for them to get to Israel other than passing through the desert. (They happened to take a long way round, but the desert still presented an unavoidable obstacle.)

So, if Hashem wanted the Jewish people to travel through the desert in order to enter the land of Israel, there has to be something we may learn. The Sfas Emet teaches something which will hopefully prove relevant in understanding this problem better. He focuses on the meaning of the Hebrew word for desert, מדבר, and suggests that we may learn how to improve our character traits by understanding the nature of the desert. The Sfat Emet explains that the root of the word for speech (dibbur) is דבר. Clearly there is a connection between the concept of speech and the concept of a desert - a place devoid of all extraneous details.

Some roots have multiple meanings and the root דבר also has another meaning - "to lead". The Sfat Emet then explains that the word Midbar could be interpreted as having a passive meaning, "to be led." The link between these two meanings seems unclear, though.

The Sfat Emet may be suggesting a number of things. I would like to suggest that once the Jews had left Egypt, they were in a state, both physically and mentally, where they were unfit to enter the land of Israel. First they needed the solitary environment of the desert in which they were rid of all distractions and in which they would have the chance to first accept the Torah, and then start to build their lives around it. The metaphor of a child going to school serves as a good example for this; children are sent to school at a young age. Most schools are run according to a very tightly controlled syllabus and timetable. Everything is ordered in such a way so that the students do not need to worry about anything other than their studies. Only after completing their studies do children enter the world of work and adulthood. But that does not mean to say that school was irrelevant and was merely a part of their past. On the contrary, it was an essential building block to progressing further in life.

So too with the desert; the Jewish people had to be taken through a preparatory stage before it was possible for them to enter the land of Israel. Returning to another one of the meanings for those root letters, דבר, "speech", I'd like to repeat something taught by Rav Yitzcak Ginsurgh of Kfar Chabad. He teaches that if we think picture the desert in our mind's eye, we see a vast expanse of land and absolute silence. How paradoxical it is that the Hebrew root for desert is connected with the root for speech!

There is a famous story told in Sefer Malachim of Eliyahu Hanavi encountering Hashem in a cave in the desert. Several natural phenomena accompanied Hashem's presence: first an earth-shattering wind passed him by, but the verse states that Hashem was "not in the wind." Then a tremendous earthquake shook him, but again, the verse states that Hashem was not in this phenomena, either. Following the earthquake, Eliyahu saw a great fire, but once again, Hashem was not in the fire. But the next verse reads, "And after the fire — a still silent voice."

Many things can be learned from this cryptic passage, but most relevant to us is the concept of a voice. Eliyahu heard a quiet voice and through that voice recognised Hashem. Moreover, Eliyahu experienced the still, silent voice of God in the desert. The word used to describe this still voice is Chashmal, a word that means electricity in modern Hebrew, is a compound of two other words; חש - silence, and מל - speaking. We can understand the concept of the "chashmal," having read this passage, as a kind of electrifying charge that can be experienced only in the atmosphere of neutrality and calm.

The lesson seems abundantly clear; before we can ever achieve whatever it is that we need to do in life, it is essential to withdraw to a degree and ready oneself for the forthcoming challenge. We must dispense with all the distractions and be prepared to listen to that quiet voice inside ourselves that serves as our moral compass. It is only when we take the time to listen to ourselves and what we really want, that we can ever hope to achieve our goals.

Speech can be used in many ways. One of its applications is that people may use it as a weapon. It is common, but nonetheless an unfortunate trait, for people to talk too much, in a manner full of bluster and arrogance. Once we take time for ourselves, we find ourselves imbued with a powerful energy borne of our sense of responsibility and a belonging to a higher cause. In turn, we learn how to speak properly; not to talk ourselves up and brag. Hopefully we can learn from the lessons of the midbar and will work towards the spiritual level that Eliyahu attained in the verse above and attain our own connection with God.

Wishing you all a שבת שלום ומבורך.

Parshat Bechukotai – פרשת בחוקתי

2011-05-20T11:17:00.002+03:00

"אם בחוקתי תלכו ואת מצותי תשמרו ועשיתם אתם: ונתתי גשמיכם בעתם ונתנה הארץ יבולה ועץ השדה יתן פריו: והשיג לכם דיש את בציר ובציר ישיג את זרע ואכלתם לחמכם לשבע וישבתם לבטח בארצכם: ונתתי שלום בארץ ושכבתם ואין מחריד והשבתי חיה רעה מן הארץ וחרב לא תעבר בארצכם: ורדפתם את איביכם ונפלו לחרב: ורדפו מכם חמשה מאה ומאה מכם רבבה ירדפו ונפלו איביכם לפניכם לחרב:ף ופניתי אליכם והפריתי אתכם והרביתי אתכם והקימתי את בריתי אתכם: ואכלתם ישן נושן וישן מפני חדש תוציאו: ונתתי משכני בתוככם ולא תגעל נפשי אתכם: והתהלכתי בתוככם והייתי לכם לאלהים ואתם תהיו לי לעם: אני ד'אלהיכם אשר הוצאתי אתכם מארץ מצרים מהיות להם עבדים ואשבר מוטות עלכם ואולך אתכם קוממיות"

If you will follow My decrees and observe My commandments and perform them; then I will provide your rains in their time, and the land will give its produce and the tree of the field will give its fruit. Your threshing will last until the vintage, and the vintage will last until the sowing; you will eat your bread to satiety and you will dwell securely in the land. I will provide peace in the land, and a sword will not cross your land. You will pursue your enemies; and they will fall by the sword. Five of you will pursue a hundred and hundred of you will pursue ten thousand; and your enemies will fall before you by the sword. I will turn my attention to you, I will make you fruitful and increase you; and I will establish my covenant with you. You will eat very old grain and remove the old to make way for the new. I will place My sanctuary among you; and My spirit will not reject you. I will walk among you, I will be God unto you and you will be a people unto Me. I am Hashem, your God, Who took you out of Egypt from being their slaves; I broke the stave of your yoke and I led you erect.

(ויקרא, פרק כו', ג'- יג)

The beginning of this week's Parsha is replete with things to comment on, so I have a number of small divrei torah and will use them together. Although they are rather disjointed by themselves, there is an overall theme - that of the brachot we are promised by Hashem.

Bechukotai begins with Hashem describing what will happen if we follow his laws. The first thing that the Bnei Yisrael are promised is rain. Not just any rain, but "גשמיכם - your rains." It seems a bit odd to single out rain in this way; this phraseology needs some explanation. Rav Moshe Feinstein teaches in his sefer Drash Moshe that the possessive "you" is earned here because the rains will only come as a result of man's good deeds. The concept to be grasped, teaches Rav Moshe, is that the universe functions due to man's actions. When we perform good deed for one another, we help stake a claim to Hashem for the continued existence of the universe - it is as if we are saying, "we are doing do our bit!" As a result, Hashem graciously allows the universe to continue to exist and blesses us with the rain in it's season - rain we truly have earned!

(On a side note, it is interesting that while in English the word "rain" has negative connotations, such as a "rainy day" or why does it always rain on me?" the Hebrew word for rain actually has positive connotations. When we talk about realising one's dreams we use the words להגשים חלומות, which literally means "to cause dreams to rain," or more figuratively, "to see dreams realised.")

A few P'sukim later, we come across another point of interest in the text - Bnei Yisrael are promised that "ואכלתם לחמכם לשבע - you will eat your bread to satiety." This seems fair enough - that if we follow Hashem's laws we will be well sustained and satisfied. The only problem I have with this is that this seems to be rather a small reward for following God. After all, what could stop the Master of the Universe from providing his followers with a bountiful crop and masses of fruit and drink? Why are we only promised to receive enough bread (the simplest of all foods) to our satisfaction?

The answer lies in that hint subtly dropped - bread is among the simplest of foods. Rav Dessler writes in Michtav M'Eliyahu that, as a rule, if one wants to become closer to God, it is better to curtail one's eating and eat only to a minimal level of satisfaction than to fast many times. The point being made is that it is easy to deprive oneself for the sake of God, that it is easy to go to an extreme, but that real value lies in being able to engage with the physical world and yet not allow oneself to forget the source of this world's goodness. Rav Moshe Feinstein points out that the lesson is that one must strive to minimise even those worldly pleasures that are permissible, and only take as much as we need. Now we can understand why the word לחמכם, your bread is used - Hashem will bless us with all that we need, and we should feel the need to worry about any more than what is truly ours.

Lastly, early in the Parsha, we read of another blessing: "ורדפו מכם חמשה מאה ומאה מכם רבבה ירדפו ונפלו איביכם לפניכם לחרב - Five of you will pursue a hundred and hundred of you will pursue ten thousand; and your enemies will fall before you by the sword." Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis of Kinloss (my shul) said something particularly interesting a month or so ago on this. He pointed out that the ratios mentioned are not the same! 5 men conquering 100 is a 1:20 ratio, and 100 slaying 10,000 is a 1:100 ratio - why the disparity?

The Rashi on this pasuk reads as follows: "וכי כך הוא החשבון, והלא לא היה צריך לומר אלא מאה מכם שני אלפים ירדופו, אלא אינו דומה מועטין העושין את התורה למרובין העושין את התורה - And such is the account; and it was supposed to say that one hundred of you will chase two thousand, but [we learn that] few who observe the Torah are incomparable [to the strength of] many who observe the Torah".

Rabbi Mirvis explained that the lesson being taught here is of the strength of אחדות - true unity. When we follow Hashem's commands then five men will have the blessing of being able to defeat 20 times their number. But these are only five men acting in unison. When 100 men act as one, however, Hashem grants us an extra blessing as a reward for our unity and we find our strength hugely increased. I think that this is a significant lesson for us. We can all find like-minded people who we agree with. We can always work in unison with few other people. But to get a large scale of people to work together to achieve somethings is the real challenge. If we can find a way to unite larger groups of people, that is real unity. With that unity, we can go on to reach great things.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom

Parshat Emor – פרשת אמור

2011-05-06T02:16:00.001+03:00

"כי כל איש אשר בו מום, לֹא יקרב: איש עור או פסח, או חרם או שרוע - For any man in whom there is a blemish shall not approach; a man who is blind, lame, one whose nose has no bridge, or one who has one limb longer than the other."
(ויקרא כא:יח)

Concerning the blemishes that animals might have, the Torah uses the word עורת, which Rashi renders as "a noun which is the name of a blemish: blindness." In essence, Rashi is offering a nominal definition and translates the word as "blind." This seems a perfectly normal way of referring to an animal that cannot see - we call it blind. What then is the point of phrasing things in a different way in our pasuk?

The answer is given that an animal has only one faculty of vision - that of normal sight. When an animal cannot see, it truly is blind. Humans, though, are very different. While a nominal definition of sight of obviously exists, the human experience is such that we use a number of our senses to guide us and allow us to perceive more than just what is in front of us. Operationally speaking, our sight depends on more than the simple faculty of merely viewing things.

As such, we can say that man has two kinds of vision; a basic and physical vision and a spiritual vision. The essence of this inner vision is something which cannot be taken away, and it is something that can discern things that normal vision cannot.

Chazal, the Jewish sages, ask a question, "Who is wise?" Their answer is, "He who foresees the [events from their] infancy." The essence of foresight, and of wisdom in turn, is a deep and true understanding of an issue. Anyone with real vision understands that this world is just a trap, and that it is important not to get too involved with all that goes on - all that is required of a Jew is that he learns Torah and acts in accordance with Torah. The Chafetz Chaim famously had only a very few posessions, but when people mentioned this to him, he would explain that this world is nothing but a corridor leading to the world to come. The Chafetz Chaim understood the lack of real value in worldy possesions, demonstrating his clear perception of the value of this life.

With this in mind, we can understand why our pasuk above is phrased the way it is. Whereas most of us judge things by how good they look and place a tremendous amount of importance on "looking good," a true man will understand the superficiality of this kind of vision. True, a man who has lost the faculty of vision is blemished and as such is unfit to serve in the Bet Hamikdash, but the Torah does not refer to him as "blind," but as a "man who is blind", for he does not cease to be a man. A man who has lost his sight may feel very aware of his disabilty, but he does not allow this to overcome him, for he may still perceive things within his mind's eye - and this perceptiveness may even prove more useful than the vision offered by our eyes.

Adapted from the teachings of Rav Zalman Sorotzkin.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Kedoshim - פרשת קדושים

2011-04-28T23:27:00.002+03:00

" לא תקם ולא תטר את בני עמך ואהבת לרעך כמוך אני יהוה. You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of your people, but you shall love your neighbour as yourself; I am Hashem."
(Vayikra 19:18)

This week's Parsha includes one of the most well known passages in the entire Torah: the command to love one's fellow as oneself. This is not without reason - Rashi records that Rabbi Akiva called this a "Klal Gadol b'Torah", an important rule in Torah law.

So important, in fact, that when we read in the Talmud about the famous incident in which a would-be convert comes before Hillel and Shamai to ask them to teach him the Torah while standing on one leg, Hillel's response is that "That which is hateful to yourself, don't do to others. This is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary. Now go and learn." (Masechet Shabbat 31a) Hillel goes so far as to call this mitzvah the central one in all of Torah, and seemingly relegates all others to the status of mere commentary on this one arch-mitzvah.

In Sefer Divrei Shir, a question is posed with respect to this response. How is it possible that all the other mitzvot in the Torah are to be understood as "commentary", interpretations of the mitzvah to love one's fellow? After all, while many mitzvot relate to our relationships with one another, there remain many others that are ostensibly to do with our relationship with Hashem. How are these mitzvot then to be understood as commentary of the mitzvah above?

The answer is given that one who truly loves others will do their best to protect them from all types of evil. Each and every action we make in this life has an effect; often without our knowing so. Implicit in Hillel's words was the recognition that whenever we act in a certain way, we affect others around us. By keeping away from sin, we not only affect our own lives, but the lives of others. Therefore, Hillel told the man that "this" is the whole Torah - all the other mitzvot must be expressed through the understanding that our actions can affect the entire world for the better.

At the same time, Hillel's answer also hints at the need to understand this mitzvah properly - if the rest of the Torah serves as commentary to this one mitzvah, then we need to study the rest of Torah properly in order to understand it fully. Only by taking a look at the entire text can we understand the real meaning of the details found within.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Back to Down to Earth With a Bump

2011-04-28T03:01:00.007+03:00

They say that the best way to compliment a pilot is to congratulate them on a smooth landing. From what I understand, it appears that one of pilots' pet peeves is when passengers complain about turbulence - "it's not as if we are jolting the controls or intentionally going through air pockets" - but landings, however, are far more within a pilot's domain and as such are seen as a good barometer of their skill.

Today, I came back home to Israel after a brief excursion in London to be with my family for Pesach. Upon arriving, I made my way to the airport shul (synagogue). There were only two or three other people about. Before I commenced my prayers, I noticed someone else coming in. From his position at the entrance, he was unable to see how many people were inside and so asked me whether there would be a minyan (group of 10 males) so that he may recite the traditional Kadish prayer for the deceased. I explained that there was not.

Realising that time was running out before the end of the time in which it is permissible to pray (until dusk), we eventually decided to pray by ourselves. In line with Jewish custom, the gentleman took a few steps backward as he was about to start, but before he started, I quickly interrupted his thoughts.

"Tfilati tihiyeh l'aliyat haneshamah shel?" I asked. (Loosely: "My prayer should be in the memory of who, exactly...?)
"Daniel Arieh ben Tamar".
And then he continued, "MeHapigua... Ani Ha'Aba Shelo." ([The boy] "From the terror attack. I'm his father.")

We exchanged weak, clichéd smiles. I nodded my head in recognition, and he nodded to thank me for my gesture. Wordlessly, we both turned forward to resume our prayers.

The second blessing of the "Shmona Esre", the central Jewish prayer that we then recited, reads thus:

"You are mighty forever, Hashem, Reviver of the dead; You are great[ly able] to save, Sustainer of the living with kindness, Reviver of the dead with abundant mercy, Supporter of the fallen, Healer of the sick, and Freer of the bound, and Maintainer of faith with those who sleep in the dust: who is like You, O Master of mighty deeds and who compares to You, O King who causes life death and death and causes salvation to flourish; and faithful are you to revive the dead. Blessed are You, Hashem, He who revives the dead."

As I said these words, I felt a deep, painful connection with the bereft father to my right. I'd landed back in Israel with bump, and it hurt.

Terrorism has many effects. It causes polarisation, and we must be wary of holding overly-extreme postions and believing unwise and often plain untrue things. No, not everyone is out to get Israel. No, not all Arabs hate Israel or support terrorism. Terrorism often causes people to adopt fundamentalist views. It has the double-effect of not only causing real damage, but also in making people cynical and less willing to deal with their enemies peacefully. Victims of terrorism are susceptible to making extreme responses, retaliating rashly and permitting many forms of behaviour that are otherwise deemed inadmissible. But I am glad that it seems that most Israelis refuse to. Israelis recognise, for the most part, that our enemy is not an entire people.

Nevertheless, I am reminded of just how differently the present conflict is perceived from abroad and from within Israel. People outside cannot possibly understand just how profoundly people here are affected by a conflict that has been going on for the best part of 100 years. This is not something which will be easily resolved. Sometimes I think it may not ever be solved at all, the way we are going.

For once, I won't make a political point other than to say that people can never understand us truly without spending a significant amount of time here. Of the many Jews I know and have met who live outisde of Israel, most think that they grasp the situation. But in reality, only very few people do see things as Israelis do. I am not pointing my finger or blaming anyone, but when Israel is described as more right wing than other Western societies, it is important to understand that this is not the result of latent hatred but of fear and pain.

Liberal values are all well and good, but in a scenario as explosive and volatile as ours, such values are open to exploitation. In order to safeguard them, Israel turns to the right. Again, I am not talking normatively, but it is important that we can identify this pattern of cause and effect. Judging, or better still, helping Israel can only be done effectively after this. We have a real enemy here, after all. It can't simply be ignored.

Pesach - פסח

2011-04-18T16:18:00.000+03:00

Tonight, Jews around the world will read at the Seder the command: "בכל דור ודור חייב אדם לראות את עצמו כאילו הוא יצא ממצרים." (In each and every generation, one is obligated to see himself as if he left Egypt.)

The words above form the basis for the Seder night experience; all that we do is meant to remind us of the events of that dramatic period. But for all the props, texts and ceremonies, all our efforts are worthless unless we actively try to imagine ourselves as being part of the miraculous liberation from Egypt. Note that we are all *obligated* to see ourselves leaving Egypt. It's not just good practice; this is an outright command. While we can certainly appreciate that the events of the time were hugely important to the Jewish nation, what on earth is so crucial about our seeing ourselves as part of the generation that left Egypt?

This question is answered in part by the Sfat Emet, who notes that this phrase makes use of two different levels; one of the generation and one of the individual. The point is that there were two different aspects to the miracle of Pesach; one of a social scale and one on an individual scale. Whereas the social miracle was clearly evident on a physical level, the individual miracle was somewhat more discreet. Unfortunately for us, we seem to think that the command is for us to remember the physical exodus of the Jews from Egypt, but actually the command also exists on another, somewhat more neglected, level. It is often noted that the Hebrew word Mitzrayim (Egypt in English,) is related to the word Maytzar, which means constraints.

The Sfat Emet also tenders that every generation experiences its own version of the Redemption from Egypt. As each successive generation sinks to successively lower levels, we can claim with some justification that it is only by the mercy of God that we are permitted to continue our existence, even though we live our lives in opposition to the way we are instructed. With that belief under our belts, the Sfat Emet teaches us, we can then go on to relive the original and prototypical redemption as a private experience.

The two strands connect deeply. The constraints spoken about above were the spiritual constraints of the land of Egypt. In the text of Birkat Hamazon, we declare the land of Israel to be "Eretz Chemdah, Tovah ur'chava," a land that is delightful, good and wide." Now, it might seem reasonable to use the first two terms to describe Israel, but anyone who has looked at a map of Israel will tell you that it is anything but wide. The land of Israel is a narrow strip of land, even at it's widest section, and it's range from top to bottom is far more than it's range from side to side. The word Mitzrayim, Egypt, suffers from a similar poser; the root letters צ and ר make up the word Tzar, which means thin. Once again, anyone who recognises Egypt on a map will tell you that this it odds with Egypt's physical nature. What can this all mean?

I have learned that the way to reconcile these two problems is to understand that the width and the narrowness we learn of are not descriptions of the physical aspects of these two countries. Israel's "width" exists in it's spiritual richness. The narrowness of Egypt referred to it's limited connection to the spiritual. Returning to the point above, we may understand the command properly now; in each and every generation, one must see himself as not only being physically delivered from the oppression of the Egyptians, but also as having been spiritually redeemed by God. We are to imagine ourselves as having sunken to the lowest level possible and yet for Hashem to have come riding to the rescue and take us home to the land of Israel. I find this message very powerful; despite the fractures in the Jewish community (fractures that are often the most intractable when different parts of Jewry disagree on Israel and Judaism itself,) and despite the terrible sense of alienation and feeling of being different and alone in this world, we know that all will be alright in the end.

Wishing you a chag kasher v'sameach!

Parshat Acharei -Mot - פרשת אחרי מות

2011-04-15T13:10:00.003+03:00

"ולקח מלא המחתה גחלי אש מעל המזבח מלפני יהוה, ומלא חפניו קטרת סמים דקה; והביא מבית לפרכת - He shall take a shovelful of fiery coals from atop the Altar that is before Hashem, and his cupped handful of finely ground incense-spices, and bring it within the curtain."
(וירקא ט"ז:י"ב)

If we take a careful look at this pasuk quoted above, we see that the word "מלא - full," is used twice. The repetition of this word is deliberate and teaches us many things, but I particularly like the answer put forward by R' Zalman Sorotzkin.

Rav Sorotzkin points out that the word full is used in two contexts in this sentence. The first time it appears, it relates to the measure of the shovel and the second time it used, it is pertaining to the amount of incense the Kohen HaGadol should take.

Interestingly, there is no measure specified for the shovel - it's proportions are not outlined in the Torah. So how could it be that the required amount is simply that the shovel, undefined as it is, be filled? This means that we can't even work out an approximate size for the shovel given the amount of incense it had to hold! What does "full" mean when we don't know how much can be filled up?!

Similarly, the human hand also is undefined - no human hand has exactly the proportions or is exactly the same size. Some people's hands are tiny and others have monstrous, hands; what kind of measures are to be taken when we don't even have a rough scale to work with?

If the purpose of this Pasuk is not to instruct us as to what amount is to be used in this Mitzvah, then a serious question is posed - why is the word מלא used at all?

The answer tendered is that the hand and the undefined shovel are used here to teach us that the task is not to simply fill a standardised amount or to fulfill a set requirement. Each person has their own unique circumstances, but that it remains essential to do one's best to perform the mitzvot commanded of them, and to perform these mitzvot well. Just because some are able and willing to perform a mitzvah to a very high level, we cannot expect anyone to perform any particular mitzvah in a way that satisfies others. Each person has their own challenges and the most important thing is to be true to oneself.

As such, Rav Sorotzkin's teaching here is brilliant. It is important that we recognise that we each have our own challenges and our own experiences that make each of us unique. At the same time, we cannot make excuses - it is not enough to do a mitzvah to the minimum required level. Neither can we make excuses. Instead, we are to try and find the right balance and attempt to do each mitzvah to our respective "filled handfuls."

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)

Parshat Metzora - פרשת מצורע

2011-04-08T16:06:00.000+03:00

This week's D'var Torah was written jointly by the Miller brothers...

“כִּי תָבֹאוּ אֶל-אֶרֶץ כְּנַעַן, אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי נֹתֵן לָכֶם לַאֲחֻזָּה; וְנָתַתִּי נֶגַע צָרַעַת, בְּבֵית אֶרֶץ אֲחֻזַּתְכֶם. - When you come to the land of Israel which I give to you as a possession, and I will place a tzeraas affliction upon a house in the land of your possession.”
(ויקרא י"ד:ל"ד)

Picture the scene: After years in the wilderness, you have finally moved into your home in Israel, Eretz Hakodesh. You have been living in your house for a few years. And then one day the law comes to tell you that you have to destroy your house. Sound familiar? No, I am not talking about the disengagement of Gush Katif. I’m talking about the main theme of this week’s parsha.

The quote above speaks about a house in the land of Israel that has received what appears to be what’s called a “Nega Tzara’at”. An affliction or mark of some kind, on one of its bricks, that’s of a reddish or greenish colour. The Torah tells us that a Cohen has to come and check this marking to confirm our suspicions. If so, the house may eventually have to be broken and knocked down.

We know that the punishment of Tzara’at comes about due to a person speaking Lashon HaRa, badly about others. Without discussing how this seems a proportional, fair punishment, let’s look at this from a slightly different angle. What happens if the owner of the house, upon seeing the mark, would just ignore it? For those of us who aren’t completely pious and act exactly as the Torah instructs, (and that’s 99% of us), it would be very difficult to ignore this option. “Why should all my neighbours see my house being destroyed and know I have spoken Lashon HaRa? I’ll just repent quietly; perhaps it will go away then” we would likely tell ourselves. We’re all human, after all. We like to rationalise the uncomfortable things.

In his commentary on this verse, Rashi reveals one of his most famous insights, commenting that the “Amorites hid treasures of gold in the walls of their houses all forty years that Israel were in the desert and through the affliction he [the Cohen] breaks down the house and [as a result] finds” the hidden treasure.

Read that again - “the Amorites hid treasures... all forty years”. This seemingly sudden moment of fortune was in the works for four decades! God was planning this good for 40 years! Given that we are told that the generation that came into Israel is a different one than the one that left Egypt, this means God was actually planning this even before the generation that would find the gold was born!

Before reading Birchat HaMazon on Shabbat, we read the following verse in Shir HaMa’alot: “הזורעים בדימה, ברינה יקצרו – They who sow with tears will reap with joy”. We don’t always see the good in this world immediately. But if we only wait a while, we may see how everything really does work out for the best.

But to get there, we have to take the first step. It is up to us to make an effort. Nothing in this world comes by itself; this is a world in which work is necessary. Whatever God asks us to do, we have to do it, no matter how hard it seems. If we just take the very first step, if we make the initial effort, God will do the rest and take care of everything else. God will not just match our effort, but carry on and help us many times over. We don’t need to worry about anything else. As the Gemara says in Masechet Megillah: “הכל בידי שמים חוץ מיראת שמים”. Everything is in God’s hands except from fear of God himself. All we need to do is demonstrate our love and reverence of Hashem.

It is important to realise that out of every situation comes good. Even from bad situations that we make for ourselves, can come good. Returning to my opening thought, sometimes we make bad decisions for ourselves. The disengagement should never have happened. We should never have given our enemies the capabilities to (more easily) target and attack a school bus. We should never speak Lashon HaRa. It is hard right now to see how good will come of our present situation. But it is out of these very situations that much good can be found. All we have to do is listen to what Hashem tells us and follow his commandments. God will take care of the rest.

Shabbat Shalom

Parshat Tazria - פרשת תזריע

2011-03-31T23:57:00.003+02:00

"וראה הכהן את־הנגע בעור־הבשר ושער בנגע הפך לבן ומראה הנגע עמק מעור בשרו נגע צרעת הוא וראהו הכהן וטמא אתו - And the Kohen shall see the affliction on the skin of his flesh: If hair in the affliction has changed to white, and the affliction's appearance is deeper than the skin of the flesh - it is a Tzara'at affliction; the Kohen shall see it and contaminate him."
(יג:ג)

Following the creation of the State of Israel, Jews around the world, and those in Israel specifically, we have reason to believe that the Ge'ulah - the end of the 2,000 year exile - is truly around the corner. We finally have (at least part of) historic Eretz Yisrael back in our hands; Hebrew, the only language in the world to have been successful revived, is the spoken language of the Israeli people, and Jewish culture is flourishing here in the Holy Land. But there are some effects of this two-millenium-long exile that we have to shake off, like the fact that the overwhelming majority of Jews around the world have very real trouble in understanding their prayer.

A friend of mine made a comment to a Rabbi a few years ago, a comment that I perceived as somewhat radical. He suggested that we should pray in the way that Quakers do - that each person should speak to Hashem as he wants, without needing to turn to the fixed texts of the Siddur. In that way, argued my friend, our prayers would be more personal and more relevant. I can't remember the answer that the Rabbi gave, but I do tender an answer of my own now.

In this week's Parsha, we read of the condition called Tzara'at - an affliction that affected those who were spiritually ill. Upon discovering that a person was suffering from this ailment, certain conditions were imposed. For example, they would have to go through a quarantine process, amongst other things. However, all prohibitions and procedures would only start after the sufferer was diagnosed by a Kohen. The Kohen would essentially fulfill the role of "spiritual doctor" and inform the "patient" of the required course of action.

There are many complicated halachot pertaining to Tzara'at, but surely one of the most interesting comes from the words "וראהו הכהן וטמא אתו," which roughly translates as "And the Kohen shall see it and contaminate him." These words are troubling - how can it be that the Kohen would render a person spiritually impure? Obviously a straightforward reading of the text does not suffice, and thankfully Rashi explains this to mean, "יאמר לו 'טמא אתה' - he shall say to him, 'You are impure'", meaning that the Kohen would declare the man to be impure. (As opposed to actually making that person impure by himself.) The problem is that this reading of the text leads to an inner contradiction - why are the words "טמא אתו" used - they are causative and imply that the Kohen makes the sufferer Tamei?

The resolution to this problem is hinted to by Rashi. He states that the Kohen must declare the sufferer to be ill with Tzara'at. We can take this to mean that from the moment the Kohen pronounces a man a "מצורע" (the technical name for one who suffers with צרעת). It is important to note that no matter how evident it is that someone is suffering from this condition, none of the procedures are followed until a Kohen declares the sufferer to be a Metzora. This is even the case when an expert declares a man as having Tzara'at - it is only halachicly regarded as Tzara'at once it has been pronounced as such by a Kohen, even if that Kohen is so unlearned as to practically be a boor.

There are many lessons one can learn from this, but the one I pick out is that the words of the Kohen have tremendous power here, for they effect the condition of Tzara'at. So important are the Kohen's words that we treat someone who is clearly suffering with Tzara'at as spiritually pure monents before the Kohen declares his diagnosis, even if it is abundantly obvious prior to his statement that he will only confim what is readily apparent.

In Parshat Kedoshim we read the famous phrase, "קדושים תהיו - You shall be holy." These words epitomise the Judaic belief that mortal humans can rise to tremendous spiritual heights, and that we are not "eternally damned" as Christians believe. These words imply the Jewish concept that everything in this world is to be used in our mission to attain closeness with Hashem. We believe that when we eat food, we eat it so that we may have gain the sustenance required to perform our task in this world. In a similar manner, we believe that we have been given the blessing of speech for a specific reason - for spiritual use. For this reason we thank Hashem for the food we eat, for the aromas we smell and the when we see sights of natural beauty, amongst other things. This concept is known as "elevating the mundane," of realising that everything in this world was created not out of coincidence, but by a supreme Creator. We learn that Hashem created the world with "עשר מאמרות - ten sayings," something we attest to when we say the Bracha, "שהכל נהיה בדברו - that everything was created by his word."

As Jews we try to emulate Hashem. To this end, we must understand the importance of everything that Hashem has given to us. We can maybe now understand the reason why the correction of the mistake made by one who is not careful with their speech is only initiated once a Kohen speaks and declares their condition - we have to appreciate the true value of each and every gift Hashem gives us. The question my friend posed all those years ago was a good one, but if he had known the meaning of this verse, he would never have been led to ask it. There's tremendously deep meaning contained within the words of the prayers set out for us by Chazal, and even if we don't understand their words, we are still commanded to say them.

We might think why this is, but if we understand the parallel of the Kohen who does not know the laws of Tzara'at, we know that even if one does not understand the words, their merely being spoken still calls significant spiritual forces into action. Of course it is important to understand that which one is saying, but even if one doesn't, we must be aware of the tremendous latent power in prayer. The Pasuk is worded "וטמא אתו," for it is only once the Kohen has spoken that the Tzara'at can come into force, even if the Kohen has no understanding of what actually constitutes Tzara'at. Such is the power of speech.

Wishing you a שבת שלום ומבורך!

Parshat Shmini - פרשת שמיני

2011-03-25T12:02:00.000+02:00

"וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אֶל-אַהֲרֹן, קְרַב אֶל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ וַעֲשֵׂה אֶת-חַטָּאתְךָ וְאֶת-עֹלָתֶךָ, וְכַפֵּר בַּעַדְךָ, וּבְעַד הָעָם; וַעֲשֵׂה אֶת-קָרְבַּן הָעָם, וְכַפֵּר בַּעֲדָם, כַּאֲשֶׁר, צִוָּה יְהוָה - And Moshe said to Aharon: 'Draw near to the altar, and ryour sin-offering and your burnt-offering, and make atonement for yourself, and for the people; and make the offering of the people and make atonement for them, as Hashem commanded."
(ויקרא ט:ז)

Two parshiot ago, in the opening word of the book of Vayikra, we note how the letter א of the word ויקרא is written in superscript so as to make the word look likeויקר and then have a small א next to it. The reason Rashi gives there is that Moshe felt that the word ויקרא, he called, which has warm and affectionate connotations, shouldn't be used so that he would not appear to be closer to God than any other person. From that episode we learn that the root letters of that word, קרא, which reappear here, are ones that betray a sense of warmth.

In his commentary on this pasuk, Rashi explains that Aharon was embarrassed and so, calling out affectionately, Moshe gently reminded his brother that he had no need to feel embarrassed by the command as this was merely his job. The problem is, although this explanation serves us well enough to shed light on why there remains a slight difficulty; it is not entirely clear what it is that causes Aharon to feel so embarrassed.

Picking up on the same issue, Rav Moshe Feinstein writes in D'rash Moshe that the expression that Moshe Rabbeinu uses above, "קְרַב אֶל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ - Draw near to the altar," is an interesting one. Rav Feinstein explains that although Aharon, his sons and all their descendents obviously had no problem in obeying this directive and would surely fulfill this mitzvah, this particular command was quite unlike any other. Aharon and his children were aware that the mitzvot they were commanded to do in conjunction with the Avoda were given to them specifically because they were invested with a higher degree of sanctity that the rest of the Jewish people.

It is for this reason that before the Kohanim bless the congregants in synagogues around the world on Chagim, and daily in Israel, the words אשר קדשנו בקדשתו של אהרן, Who sanctified us with the sanctity of Aharon, are used; these words are not part of the formula of any other blessing, and with good reason. Although the firstborn sons of the Jewish people were originally given the honour of performing the sacrificial service before the Kohanim were formally appointed to fulfill that role, they did not have a similar blessing to recite. The reason is clear; the Kohanim have been invested with a special type of holiness, and that is something that is special and unique to them. The source of this holiness can be traced back to Aharon, the first Kohen Gadol, the very first Kohen ever.

Because of his unique stature and role, Aharon felt ashamed. Not because of any trivial reason, but because it meant his assuming a superior sanctity; something which he did not feel totally at ease with. Seeing this, his brother, Moshe, attempted to both calm him and tell him that this was what God had chosen for him, and that he need not feel embarrassed.

I think we can learn a tremendous amount from this episode. As Jews, we believe that we have a special mission in this role. To that end, we are the recipients of a special type of sanctity; one that sets apart from the other nations of the world, in much the same manner as the Kohanim are set apart from the rest of the Jewish nation. But it is crucial to note that this special attribute is not to be used as a source of excess pride or something to brag about. Similarly, I note two brachot in the morning liturgy; one for males to thank God that they were not 'made' (to translate as accurately as I can) female, and a second one in which both male and female Jews thank God that they were not 'made' non-Jewish.

At first, one might think that these blessings are highly discriminatory and offensive, but that it absolutely not the case. The point in both blessings is that each and every person on this world has their own challenge and that the role that they are tasked with fulfilling is one that is suited to them. There is obviously nothing wrong with being a woman; in fact, we can all agree that a world without women would be a fairly miserable one! The real issue being highlighted is that the person reciting the prayer is referring to the role that he has to play and is thankful for not being given one that he would be entirely unsuited to. In many, many ways, it seems to be a lot harder to be woman than a man, and I only thank God that I was not made a woman. So too with the blessing of being non-Jewish. Just like Aharon was reminded by his brother that he need not be embarrassed by his being mentioned in the Kohanim's blessing, I must understand and readily fulfill my role as a Jew. All the same, it is crucial that I must not let myself become distracted and allow my ego to overtake me; my being a Jew merely means that I am equipped to do a specific job in this world.

Rite of Passage

2011-03-24T04:20:00.005+02:00

First came the explosion. Then, more tellingly, followed the wail of the sirens. In the intervening gap of just under a minute, I stopped in my tracks, as did everyone else around. In perfect silence we listened together, hoping beyond hope that we'd heard something else.

Although I've been living in Israel for five and a half years, have served in the army as a combat soldier, and even been in Jerusalem at the time of other terror attacks, I still found myself shocked and indescribably raw yesterday. I had just left home to go to university (via a local synagogue so that I could pray Mincha), but as I was nearing the top of my road, I heard a distant, yet clearly very loud, explosion.

The other people around stopped in their tracks and peered down the road in the direction of the noise. Some of them immediately identified its source. "Pigu'a," one or two people said after but a few seconds. Unfortunately, they were correct; it was indeed a terror attack. It's horrible to realise that people here are so used to terrorism that they are able to so easily discern the noise made by a bomb. Naively, I tried to convince myself that this was just another loud noise - the type that can be heard in any industrial city around the world. Someone else pointed out a crane a block away that was raising something in the air. "I think maybe he dropped something there - that's what the noise was." But the claim was contradicted seconds later by the distant wail of ambulances screeching into action. And as they got louder and ever more insistent, all doubt was removed from our minds.

I felt myself slip at once into my own world of silent depression, and simultaneously was overcome with a communal sense of anger and fear. My head felt heavy with the awful realisation that some unfortunate soul had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. I am sure that everyone else present felt the same way. People all around me were shocked. Although we were roughly half a kilometre away from the incident itself, everyone stopped talking. The street was eerily quiet. We only resumed to discuss in hushed tones what might have occurred.

I'm not the type to cry. I didn't yesterday. But I feel, even now, ready to. My eyes didn't behold the explosion or even see any smoke, but I was close enough to feel a sensation akin to taking a punch to the solar plexus. It's horrible to think of it as such, but I have now passed through another rite of passage in Israeli life. I have now had to text my parents, and other concerned family members, to reassure them that I am alive. Isn't that an awful, awful reality to live in?

I continued on my way to the synagogue. The news was semi-confirmed when a concerned friend texted to ask what was happening. People on their phones sporadically filled in their fellow worshippers with more details as the minutes passed by. As the news filtered in, the injury count rose steadily from 12, to 20, upwards past 25, 30, then finally settling on somewhere between 40 and 50. And at some point, one of those injured succumbed to her injuries.

People here are tired of all the fighting. We don't want war. We really don't. But we are also confronted with an enemy that has repeatedly demonstrated a lack of respect for human life. Two weeks ago, a friend of mine called Batzion wrote a note on Facebook after the brutally savage and utterly senseless murder of five Israelis, the youngest of whom was less than six months old. She explained that "There is one thing you cannot contest - Israeli soldiers do not murder children, and they do not target civilians... when you try to name the good guys and the bad guys, remember this. We do not murder children in their sleep. No, the murderers of children are on the other side."

Before anyone indignantly points out that this is an over-simplified depiction of events, please note that that's exactly what it's supposed to be. But such a message is still relevant. Israel certainly does shoulder some of the blame for the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. No country is perfect and Israel is not an exception to that rule. Nevertheless, it is not only inaccurate, but does a grave disservice to the supposed "peace process", if we equate Israeli actions with those of terrorists. Israel might or might not illegally occupy Arab land - and many believe that Israel's case is actually legally sound - and it is fair to discuss whether such a policy might be helpful, but it cannot be said that this is equal to a blatantly evil act such as witnessed yesterday in Jerusalem.

Another Facebook friend, Didi, a left-wing campaigner for Palestinians, posted a quite frankly horrific status update following the attack: "Note to Jerusalem bomber(s): Not only have you perpetrated a crime against civilians, you have also given the Status Quo Lobby a rare gift."

On the one hand, I was hugely relieved that Didi had made an unequivocal statement against terrorism. On the other, I am deeply perturbed by the willingness to dismiss Israel's policy of not giving land away to its enemy for free and signing a peace treaty with a people that is clearly unready for peace and normal relations with us. People here fervently hope for peace. But we have basic security needs and concerns. The update accused the Israeli government of exploiting terrorism for its own aims; that those who oppose making peace now are needlessly stalling for more time; that Israel is looking forward to using this as an excuse to ignore the plight of the pitiful Palestinians while we make hay.

But the truth is that terrorism isn't an excuse by Israel; it's the reason why we are so concerned. Yes, it is important that we treat Palestinians with respect. But as Batzion pointed out, we have to make the distinction between the side that sees children as fair game for being killed in their sleep and the side whose army is used to attack military targets. As long as Israel has an enemy that seeks to kill civilians, we have a genuine right to resist signing phoney peace contracts. It would be the height of foolishness to make pretend-peace without confronting the very real differences and problems that so plague this conflict. And first among them has to be absolute rejection of terrorism by Palestinians. How can we expect to make peace with a people who glorify terrorism and the murder of innocents? It is not like your average Israeli doesn't want peace. But we would be fools, nothing less than fools, if we were to ignore the reality.

Did you know that last week, a rally in Gaza attracted thousands of people to gather under one flag and demonstrate as one? No, me neither. But here's the proof. 25,000 Gazans stood together to call for national unity. Now, if that kind of level of activism and desire is achievable, why do we not see even half as many people demonstrating against terrorism? After all, Israel regular witnesses protests against the far more contentious issue of IDF conduct against the Palestinians. Why can't these be reciprocated? Terrorism is almost universally condemned. Why do we make excuses for its continued acceptance in Arab society? No, not all Arabs are evil or want to see us Jews killed. But it is fair to generalise to some extent and say that we cannot make peace with people like this. Not every Arab is a terrorist, but each and every Arab has a responsibility to condemn terrorism. Without that base to build on, Israel cannot make peace, no matter how much it wants to. Period.

Parshat T'tzav - פרשת צו

2011-03-18T13:18:00.004+02:00

"צו את אהרן ואת בניו לאמר זאת תורת העלה היא העלה על מוקדה על המזבח כל הלילה עד הבקר ואש המזבח תוקד בו - Command Aharon and his sons saying: This is the law of the elevation-offering: It is the elevation offering that stays on the flame, on the altar, all the night until the morning, and the fire of the altar should be kept aflame on it." (ויקרא ו:ב)

In his commentary on the Torah, Rashi points out that the tersely worded: "Command Aharon," implies that there should be a certain urgency and zeal to get on with the task at hand. He goes on to explain that though this particular mitzvah incurs a "Chesron Kis" a loss of money, (the offering was to be burned rather than eaten by the Kohanim) it should be performed with the same joy as a mitzvah that is enjoyable.

This seems rather sensible. But the person being commanded here is no less than Aharon, the first Kohel HaGadol. The person being told to regard this mitzva is one of the holiest people Am Yisrael ever had; surely he knew all too well the importance of serving Hashem with real joy? There has to be an added level of meaning that we don't understand straight away.

If we pay close attention, we also note that Rashi says that this is applicable not only then but "ולדורות - And for all the generations". What does this mean exactly?

The answer can be found in the Lekach Tov, which cites Pirkei Avot, "ואל תאמין בעצמך עד יום מותך - Do not believe in yourself till the day of your death." (ב:ה) The meaning of this teaching is that one should realise the root of everything in this world, and be careful not to accredit himself with anything, but rather make a point of acknowledging Hashem's role as the orchestrator of all that goes on in this world.

Beyond that, every Jew is human, and every single one of us is continually struggling with our Yetzer Hara. No matter how high we have risen, we all have the basic inclination to relax and say, "I deserve it!" There will always be a challenge, and it is imoportant to realise that one has never reached his final destination in this life - we can never stop and relax; that is something reserved for the next world. We only have a limited amount of time in this world, and for that reason alone, we should make every mitzvah count.

We must remember that the Rabbis and great people spoken about in the Torah were not demi-gods like those found in other religions, but were flesh and blood like us. They had their only battles, and were made great by winning over their wills. They were not created great; they forged themselves into true servants of Hashem by battling their evil inclination.

Aharon was a human being too, and we must realise that in his generation (and as Rashi points out, in all generations,) those who were pious had just as much responsibility as the common people to be careful to fulfill Hashem's word. Even one who has climbed the ladder to greatness must not believe that they have "achieved it all" - not even on one's dying day must on relent from the pursuit of self-betterment and mitzvot.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a Purim Sameach :)

Parshat Vayikra - פרשת ויקרא

2011-03-11T05:53:00.004+02:00

"ונפש כי תקריב קרבן מנחה ליהוה סלת, יהיה קרבנו; ויצק עליה שמן, ונתן עליה לבנה - When a man will bring a meal-offering to Hashem, his offering shall be of fine flour; and he shall pour oil upon it, and put frankincense thereon."
(ויקרא ב:א)

In Rashi's commentary on the verse above, we read that "It doesn't say 'Nefesh' [literally meaning "a soul"] with the other voluntary offerings, but only [in this instance] with the Mincha offering. Who is it that gives the Mincha? A poor person. So Hashem says, 'I will consider it on his behalf as if he offered his own soul.'"

Rashi makes a profound point here, namely that the Hebrew word for soul is employed here for a specific reason. Whereas it would normally use Adam (man) to refer to a person, here the word Nefesh (soul) is used to show that the sacrifice of a poor person is considered to be of the highest value in Hashem's eyes; so much so that he considers an offering of this kind to be as if the giver had given of their very soul, whatever that may mean. Now, we can certainly understand why the word "Nefesh/soul" is employed here, but it still seems a little odd. What bothered Rashi so much that he had to explain this usage?

To answer, I'd like to refer to a point made by Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch in his commentary to the Torah. He explains that the opening words of the pasuk "When a soul will bring" can be read in more than one way. We can either read this phrase literally as "when a soul brings a mincha offering," or we can interpret these words to mean "when a soul is brought as a mincha offering." In the offerings that are described preceding this one, the blood of a slaughtered animal, it's very lifeblood, was a part of the sacrifice. This blood made up the "soul" of the offering that was given to Hashem.

The word Mincha, when used in it's regular sense, can be taken to mean a gift, a present. This seems at odds with the Mincha offering itself, for in actuality it was only a very simple thing, consisting of nothing more than wheat flour, oil, frankincense and sometimes some water added — hardly a fancy five course meal. Despite this, because the person deprived himself so that he could to give something, despite his circumstances, Hashem finds this seemingly meagre gift to be a real source of pleasure.

As such, whereas the soul of an animal is the essence of those previous offerings, compared to this offering that consists of but a few ingredients, none of which are expensive or require the (costly) slaughter of an animal, this offering is still regarded highly by Hashem. Perhaps this is because, in Rav Hirsch's words, or at least in the words of his translator, "the Nefesh is not the Korban, but the Makriv," meaning that the soul of this offering is not found in the offering, but in the one who comes to offer it.

Isaac Levy, the man who translated Rav Hirsch's commentary from German to English, points out something intriguing in the English version of the Rav Hirsch's edition of the Torah. He explain there that in the section detailing the sin offerings, the name of Hashem used above, the name that is associated with absolute justice (as opposed to another name of God which refers to mercy) is not referred to even once. It's absence serves to teach us that each and every time we sin, Hashem mercifully temporarily suspends true justice.

Rav David Feinstein makes a similar observation on the second pasuk of the parsha. There we read the words, "אדם כי-יקריב מכם קרבן לה, When a man shall bring from you an offering to Hashem." Rav Feinstein notes that one word, מכם, from you, seems to be superfluous. The reason it is written, he says, is so as to indicate that when one brings an offering to the slaughter, he should realise that truly the one who should be slaughtered is none other than himself. Hashem grants us a chance at repenting, but it is only through His mercy that we are permitted to survive so much as a second after sinning. The word מכם teaches that when one brings such an offering, he must have the conviction that he should really have brought the offering literally from himself, and not from some animal "surrogate".

Even though we no longer have a Bet Hamikdash, we can still learn a valuable lesson in regret. When we wrong a human we often go out of our way to apologise to and placate them. But when it comes to lapses in our spiritual obligations it seems that all too often we shrug and say, "Oh well." We might also pause to think about the number of times we upset other people carelessly. Even if that person forgives us quickly, we should be careful to think about how to rectify the source of our mistakes. If we understand the message taught here, and adopt a genuine and serious attitude towards correcting our mistakes, hopefully we can do our best to avoid lapses in the future.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Pikudei - פרשת פקודי

2011-03-04T12:24:00.003+02:00

"ותכל כל עבודת משכן אהל מועד ויעשו בני ישראל ככל אשר צוה ה' את-משה, כן עשו - All the work of the tabernacle of the Tent of Meeting was completed, and the Children of Israel did according to all that Hashem commanded Moses, so they did."
(Exodus 39:32)

The most obvious way to read the verse above is that it makes a simple statement: that the Jews finished building the Mishkan in accordance with the commandments laid down by Hashem. There is, however, another way we may look at this short passage that I'd like to share in this D'var Torah.

There is a well-noted Jewish concept taught in Gemara Sukkah known as "העוסק במצווה פטור מן המצווה - One who is currently involved in performing a mitzvah is exempt from performing another mitzvah." Rationalising this command, we can see that there is a lot of logic in this dictum. Instead of jumping from mitzvah to mitzvah, we learn that so long as one is busy seeing to one mitzvah, one is completely exempt from performing other mitzvot.

Returning to the context of the verse above, we may note that for last few Parshiot in the Torah, we have been reading about how the Mishkan was built. As the Imrei Shefer explains, the Jews were involved in this mitzvah intensively and did not participate in other mitzvot. However, the moment that they finished the work on the Mishkan, they did not rest, but immediately resumed their normal tasks and roles. Instead of allowing themselves to rest contented with the work that they had done, they realised that they were no longer exempt from other mitzvot and it was incumbent upon them to continue working.

I think we may take two rather important lessons from this. First and foremost, if we have a number of tasks to do, it is better to do them each properly than to try and do as many as possible, to the detriment of the quality of each. Far better would be to tackle each task on its own. The person who tries doing five things at once will inevitably do none of them well.

Second, we may also recognise that often after an achievement, we think that we may take things easy. While this may or may not be true in the academic world, when it comes to working on and bettering oneself, and when it comes to Jewish responsibilities, we know that the task demands our undivided attention and energy. There's not a second to lose and we cannot afford to lie back and bask in our earlier achievements. Just like the Children of Israel went back to work on the other mitzvot, so too must we not allow ourselves to rest any more than is necessary. Onwards and upwards!

Shabbat Shalom :)

Parshat Vayakhel - פרשת ויקהל

2011-02-25T14:04:00.002+02:00

In a similar manner to last week's Parsha, Ki Tisa, there is a lot happening in this week’s Torah reading. In both Parshiot, however, there are brief references to Shabbat. Almost right at the beginning of this week's reading, it is written:

“ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי יהיה לכם קדש שבת שבתון לה' כל-העושה בו מלאכה יומת. – These are the things that Hashem commanded, to do them: On six days, work may be done, but the seventh shall be holy for you, a day of complete rest for Hashem; whoever does work on it shall be put to death.” (שמות ל'ה, ב-ג)

The language used here for the work of the weekdays is, “תעשה - te’aseh,” which means, “may be done” or “shall be done.” This seems odd; one would expect the word תעשה to be vowelized so as to read "Ta’aseh," which means “you shall do.” After all, it is talking about the work that one does to the week. Who else would do the work but the worker, the person this pasuk is aimed at. What is meant by this word?

I believe that it’s the Ba’al HaTurim who answers this question by explaining that the rest of this week’s Parsha deals with the building of the Mishkan. But first, it was essential to set out the rules for Shabbat, so that nobody would be confused and think that the building of the Mishkan should continue on Shabbat. Even for something as uniquely holy and important as the Mishkan, Shabbat comes first. And if that’s the case, kal v’chomer that we should not worry about mundane matters on Shabbat!

So the Ba’al HaTurim answers our question by explaining that for one who rests completely on Shabbat, and keeps his mind off his weekly tasks, his work “shall be done.” That is to say, he shall be more passively involved in his week’s work, and he shall not have to work so hard. (As opposed to the language of Ta’aseh, which is somewhat forceful and specific to the person.)

Another aspect I read on the mentioning of the Shabbat prior to the Torah’s description of the Mishkan derives from a D’var Torah I read last year from a facebook group called Inspiring Weekly Torah. (Go add yourself!) The D’var Torah I received states, “Shabbos and the Tabernacle both represent different types of Kedushah - sanctity. The Tabernacle represents Kedushat Makom – the sanctity of a certain space, while Shabbos typifies the notion of Kedushat Zman – the sanctity of a specified time.”

I would like to develop this point a bit. We all understand how Eretz Yisrael is considered holy. And we all know that within Eretz Yisrael, Jerusalem is considered holy, and within Jerusalem we consider Har Habayit, upon which the Bet Hamikdash stood, holier still. Within the Bet Hamikdash we had the Kodesh HaK’dashim, and within that space, we had one focal point of Kedushah between the K’ruvim’s wings. All this is in the space dimension. What about time?

Just as there are specific places that have Kedushah ascribed to them, so too there are certain times at which we may pray for example. (Any religious man will tell you how he has had to rush to minyan at times!) It is important that timing and location are recognised as both vitally important in the service of Hashem. Ultimately, when it comes to serving Hashem, we have to make sure that we settle ourselves down and take the time out (à la Shabbat) to connect with the Creator, and it is also vitally important that we ensure that our surroundings are conducive to prayer, that we are located in a place of Kedushah.

Parshat Ki Tisa - פרשת כי תשא

2011-02-18T14:04:00.003+02:00

This week's Parsha deals with a wide array of subjects. We read of Am Yisrael's first-ever census, the incense to be used in the Bet Hamikdash and the giving of the first set of luchot to Moshe Rabbeinu - and all that's just in the first Aliyah! We also learn of the subsequent incident of the egel hazahav, the giving of the second set of luchot, and of how Moshe's face become "radiant" (well, that's how Artscroll renders the word, "קרן,") as a result of becoming so close to Hashem. And there's much, much more!

But all these things are very specific things, and are not immediately relevant to us. There is one passage in this week's Sidra that stands out as being obviously applicable to us - the introduction of Shabbat, which also appears in the first Aliyah.

Regarding the Shabbat it says, "ואתה דבר אל-בני ישראל לאמר אך את-שבתתי תשמרו כי אות היא ביני ובניכם לדורותיכם לדעת כי אני ה' מקדשכם - [Now] you, speak to Bnei Yisrael saying, 'However, you must observe My Shabbatot, for it is a sign between Me and you for your generations, to know that I am Hashem, Who makes you holy.'"(פרק לא:יג)

It says that Shabbat was given as an אות, a sign. But wasn't Shabbat given openly, in the Aseret HaDibrot? A sign is something that is slightly concealed, something with a private aspect to it, as it says quite clearly, "a sign between Me and you." In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, isn't it very obvious when we Jews keep Shabbat? Any goy passing me on the street can pick out 'the Jew,' all dressed up while the rest of England takes a day off. What's indeed is hidden about Shabbat? What is the אות?

Rabbeinu Bachye raises exactly this question. He answers by refering to the Gemara in Beitzah where R' Shimon Bar Yochai says that all the commandments were given openly, but Shabbat is given in a hidden manner, as is clear from the pasuk quoted above. R' Bachye's take on this statement is that Shabbat was given to our souls, which are hidden within the body.

It is absolutely essential to understand the implications of this. I have often heard it said how "sensible" and "reasonable" it is to take one day a week off work. I hear Jews say how good it is that Shabbat affords us time that we may spend with our families. But if we are honest with ourselves, these are not the reasons why we should keep the Shabbat - we keep it because we have been instructed to by Hashem. It is a mitzvah, and therefore we must do it. On the few occasions I have spoken to non-Jews about Shabbat, they have voiced their opinion that it seems "a good idea."

So when it says that Shabbat is an אות, we have to understand that we keep Shabbat because we have agreed to. This is something private between us and Hashem that no other nation will every fathom. We don't need logical reasons as to why we should do mitzvot other than "Hashem commanded us to, therefore we will."

(Of course, I'm not advocating a laissez-faire attitude towards Torah and faith in Hashem; we have to learn about our religion. It is imperative do our best to understand the nature of our relationship with Hashem, but once we have made that leap of faith and are concentrating on the mitzvot themselves, we cannot "pick and mix" our religion based on what seems reasonable to us.)

If Shabbat seemed unreasonable to us, would we still keep it? Unfortunately, for many this proves to be a very real question that challenges them weekly. It is important to remember that reasonable or not, Shabbat remains one of the many mitzvot we are charged with observing. Shabbat certainly has its benefits, but we must not confuse rationality with obligation. In an age of reason, where all must be explained and where Godly people are regarded as a joke for their "archaic beliefs", must never forget the reason why we keep it. As R' Bachye says, Shabbat was given to our souls. Or put another way - not to our heads. We don't keep the Torah's laws because they seem rational to our puny intellects, or convenient to us - we keep them because we have to do mitzvot lishma. We do mitzvot for their own sake.

Parshat T'tzaveh - פרשת תצוה

2011-02-11T02:52:00.002+02:00

"ואתה תצוה את בני ישראל ויקחו אליך שמן זית זך כתית למאור להעלות נר תמיד - Now you shall command Bnei Yisrael that they shall take for you pure, pressed olive oil for illumination, to kindle the lamp continually." (שמות כז:כא)

Rashi writes in his commentary on this Pasuk that the word כתית, crushed, means that the olives should be crushed so that the resulting oil may be used for the Menorah. He then explains that after this oil had been crushed and the first drop removed, the remaining oil would be unfit for this purpose and would be utilised for another task in the Mishkan; namely for use in the מנחות, the meal offerings.

HaRav Chanoch Ehrentreu, author of Kometz Hamincha, writes that if the two oils were of the same quality, of the same colour and essentially of the same stock, why should the second batch be proscribed from use in the Menorah? After all, if the only difference is that the first round of oil was produced by crushing and pressing and the second was made by being ground up, what was really so different about them that they would be assigned different roles?

Rav Ehrentreu answers by examing the functions of the tools in which these oil were to be used. He explains that if we stop to think what the Menorah represents, we may understand why this halacha exists. The light of the Menorah, so we learn, is meant to symbolise the Torah. The Torah is described as being a light in the darkness, dispelling ignorance and a lack of knowledge. The Menorah is the instrument that makes use of the oil we talk about above. The oil itself is described as being pure by necessity. That the oil should be pure seems obvious enough - would you expect all the tools and objects used in God's house to be anything less than of the very highest quality? The reason why the word pure is mentioned will be put in perspective later on. For the moment, we can make do with the basic explanation that just as the Torah is utterly pure, so too must the oil used for the lighting of the Menorah be pure.

The second halacha we learn in the verse above is that the oil is to be crushed. This, as Rashi elaborates, is pertaining to the oil used for the Menorah. Once that very first drop of oil had been extracted though, the oil processing continues. The crushed olives are then ground up so as to get every last bit of juice out of them. Rashi points out that for the first batch of oil, the oil destined for use in the Menorah, there may be no "שמרים" (sediments), in this batch, it is an inevitability that there will be sediments in the oil. In pointing us to the difference between the step of merely crushing the olives and then totally grinding them, Rashi hints to us how we are supposed to "acquire" Torah. Whereas kings may leave their kindgom as an inheritance for their children and while the rich may leave behind a large portion for their descendents, Torah is not something that can simply be acquired through inheritance. Each and every person has to make the effort to learn and to take his own portion, we learn.

Chazal, the sages of Israel, found a hint to this in the verse where the making of the Aron Hakodesh is described. There the word "ועשו", meaning "and you," is used. The usage of this word is not without significance; with all the other tools in the Bet Hamikdash, the word "ועשית", which also means "and you," is used. The difference is that when detailing the Aron Hakodesh, the ark that was to house the Torah within it, the plural version of the word was selected for usage. The reason for this subtle discrepancy, Chazal tender, is because each and every Jew has to take part in the Mitzvah of learning Torah. Other mitzvot are geared towards certain parts of the population, but in this mitzvah, everyone must work.

As such, it makes perfect sense to refer to the Shulchan, the table upon which the meal offerings were issued. Here the more normative form is used, as it says "ועשית שולחן", and you (singluar) shall make the table (שמות כה:כג). Just as a kingdom and wealth may be passed on, so too may physical possessions. Not every person has the need to work to acquire physical objects in his life. The meal offerings upon which were offered, though, were something that were designed to help bring us closer to Hashem. Now if we may make a contrast with the pure oil that was to be used for the Menorah, we can understand why the oil here had to be ground. Whereas there the oil had to be of the finest quality as it was representative of the total purity of Torah, here it was not just acceptable but even part of the process that it should include sediment. The toil by which this oil was produced resulted in part of the olive being left behind in the oil. For us to acquire that purest of things, the Torah, we learn that we have to invest ourselves. So, now we may understand why it is that the two kinds of oil were produced from the same stock, and yet one was banned from use in the other's role - the way they were each manufactured has a deep significance for us.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Terumah - פרשת תרומה

2011-02-04T11:10:00.001+02:00

"וְעָשׂוּ אֲרוֹן, עֲצֵי שִׁטִּים: אַמָּתַיִם וָחֵצִי אָרְכּוֹ, וְאַמָּה וָחֵצִי רָחְבּוֹ, וְאַמָּה וָחֵצִי, קֹמָתוֹ - They shall make an Ark of acacia wood, two and a half Amot in its length, and an Amah and a half in its width, and an Amah and a half in its height."
(שמות כה:י)

The verse above dsecribes the measurements of one of the boxes* of the Aron HaKodesh, the holy ark that would later house the two tablets upon which the ten commandments were inscribed. As we continue reading this week's Parsha , we read of the other holy artefacts that were also contained in the Mishkan, the sanctuary where the people of Israel would pray and come to make offerings to Hashem.

To this end, the first of the two altars used are detailed here; the one for the ritual slaughter of animals. (The other was employed for the incense offerings.) So too we learn of the Shulchan, the table upon which special "show bread" was displayed, the Menorah which perpetually lit up the sanctuary and various other decorative features such as the curtains, lace hangings and the gate. But first comes the desciption of the blueprints for the Aron Hakodesh. This might seem obvious in one way, but I contend that this is not so obvious: instead of describing this house of worship, let us imagine that we were describing our own houses. How would we first set out our plans for a house that we would like to build? We certainly wouldn't start with the oven, or a big fireplace. Even if it were a dream house, neither would we start with a swimming pool! No, we would first decribe the outer appearance, setting out the dimensions of the entire house, then we would gradually get more specific, mentioning how many rooms, what each room is. Only then would we describe the contents of the house. But here we start with the description for the building of the Aron Hakodesh. Why would the contents of the house be built while the house is not yet standing?

Rav Bachya, points out here that the Torah's importance is reflected in the name of the thing that contained it; the name of the Aron Hakodesh, written ארון הקודש in Hebrew, derives from אורה, light, for the Torah is the real source of light of the world.

Ramban explains that if we were to follow simple logic, the Aron Hakodesh would not have been built first. As it happens, so it proved to be; the Aron was not built before the house that contained it. But this raises another question - why would the order of the desciptions here differ from the order in which the holy artefacts were eventually constructed? I find Ramban's answer to be beautiful in its simplicity, yet highly significant. He responds to this question by highlighting what is really the issue here. When one builds a house, what is really important? In our cases, it is so that we may be afforded shelter from the elements and from other inconveniences. Plush furnishings, for all their worth, are not the most important thing in the house - we are! So too here, we only have a need to build a house for Hashem because there is something we are storing within it. In this passage, Moshe was not speaking so much as an architect as much as a leader and teacher. He chose to first speak about the Aron, even though when it came to it, the Aron would be built later, because the Torah was the reason for the building, and not vice versa.

In my studies in university, I have learned of the classic definition of a nation by Benedict Anderson. He describes a nation as an "imagined community," a people who would otherwise hardly know each other but are part of the communal unit that we call a nation because they believe themselves to be bound together by shared ties. Whilst this may be correct in many instances, Rav Saadia Gaon disagrees somewhat. He claims that Israel is only a nation by virtue of the Torah. Without the Torah, there would be no such thing as the Jewish nation. This is the real issue.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

* There were three boxes layered within one another.

Parshat Mishpatim - פרשת משפטים

2011-01-28T01:34:00.002+02:00

" כִּי תִקְנֶה עֶבֶד עִבְרִי, שֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים יַעֲבֹד; וּבַשְּׁבִעִת--יֵצֵא לַחָפְשִׁי, חִנָּם - When you buy a Hebrew servant, six years he shall serve; and in the seventh he shall go out free for nothing."
(שמות כא:ב)

Growing up as a religious Jew, I never thought to question the ethics and morals of slavery within Judaism. Of course I knew that slavery was "wrong," but I never stopped to consider how it could be that a Jew could be a slave to his fellow Jew. Now that I think about it, the question seems glaring; how could such a thing be defensible on any level?

One of my favourite books, the Yalkut Leckach Tov, quotes Rav Simcha Zissel of Kelm, Lithuania, who explains that we must pay attention to the circumstances of these slaves. He points out that it wasn't possible to simply elect to become a slave; slaves were people who had been found to be thieves but didn't have the means to pay back the victim of their crime. Instead, they would have to effectively loan themselves out on a long-term contract so that they would be in a position to repay their debt. This raises another question, though - who would willingly take a thief into their home? With a distinct possibility that this person (a convicted criminal, no less) would be tempted to take the opportunity to pilfer from his house, what kind of homeowner would knowingly take a slave who was liable to steal?

In order to understand this, we must understand the Torah's concept of punishment. Here we learn something very interesting. Torah law does not condone incarceration as a punitive measure. This stands in stark opposition to almost every (if not every) other judicial system in existence. Hunting around on the web, I found an essay by a certain Rabbi Naftali Silberberg (click here for the full text,) where he explains the rationale: "A person who does not deserve to die must be allowed to be productive in the fullest sense, a prospect which is impossible when confined in prison.

"Indeed, it can conceivably be argued that long term incarceration violates the Eighth Amendment of the [American] Constitution which prohibits 'cruel and unusual punishment.'" Is depriving individuals of the most basic human desire, freedom, any less cruel than inflicting physical pain, he asks, before stating, "I believe that any prison inmate will answer that question in a nanosecond."

The point is well made. The Jewish way of thinking dictates that we don't want a thief to be in prison for a number of reasons. First of all, there is a very real chance that he may be influenced and learn from the other inmates. Moreover, by staying in an environment such as a prison, the convict remains unable to get away from his crime - the stark surroundings are a constant reminder to his mistake. After leaving the prison, it is a well-document a phenomenon that criminals have trouble adjusting to a new way of life and find it hard to go back to work. In addition to all this, a prisoner's family will be left to fend for themselves for the time that he is locked up. If the going gets tough for them, it is eminently possible that they will also turn to a life of crime. All in all, prison has many negative effects and so it seems quite understandable that Jewish law doesn't utilise this option.

Instead, in our case, the thief is taken into somebody else's home. When he is in close proximity to decent, honest people, it is almost assured that he will learn from their proper conduct. Moreover, many laws govern how a homeowner may treat his slave. Indeed, "slave" is hardly a fitting description for the position the former thief fulfills. For example, we learn in the Talmud Yerushalmi that if the homeowner only has one pillow available between the two of them, he is commanded to give it to his "guest" and sleep a little rougher than he usually might.

Yes, all this sounds rather altruistic, but apparently it worked to good effect in days gone by. It is also interesting to think now that the slavery described above is actually a good and moral way of correcting a person's character instead of forcing them through the purgatory that is prison. The concept of "Kol Yisrael Areivim Zeh laZeh - All of Israel are responsible for one another" is one that echoes deeply in Jewish thought. There is no distinction between Jews; we are not allowed to think merely for ourselves. If we see that another Jew is having trouble in some way, it is our duty to come to his aid. And that holds true for both physical and spiritual needs.

I can't offer a full explanation as to why someone would choose to take a slave in, but it seems clear that the chance for restitution and rehabilitation is something that we must be careful to permit.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Yitro - פרשת יתרו

2011-01-21T03:14:00.000+02:00

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה, לְחֹתְנוֹ: כִּי-יָבֹא אֵלַי הָעָם, לִדְרֹשׁ אֱלֹהִים. כִּי-יִהְיֶה לָהֶם דָּבָר, בָּא אֵלַי וְשָׁפַטְתִּי בֵּין אִישׁ וּבֵין רֵעֵהוּ; וְהוֹדַעְתִּי אֶת-חֻקֵּי הָאֱלֹהִים וְאֶת-תּוֹרֹתָיו. - And Moshe said to his father-in-law: 'Because the people come to me to inquire of God. When they will have a matter, it comes unto me; and I judge between a man and his neighbour, and I make them know the statutes of God, and His laws.'
(Exodus 18: 16-17)

In previous Divrei Torah on this Parsha, I have taken a look at why Yitro's story is told before that of the the giving of the Torah. This year I continue with that theme, albeit from a different angle.

In his commentary on this passage, Rashi goes to great lengths to explain how, even though it is possible that this series of events was preserved and written down in their true order, we should not consider this as far more likely than the possibility that its chronology was purposely rearranged. Irrespective of whether or not this episode was told out of sequence, we can be sure of one thing: there is a definite meaning to the fact that Yitro's story is related before that of the giving of the Torah. But what could that meaning be?

One event related is when Yitro rebukes his son-in-law, Moshe, for sitting in judgment before all of Israel. Yitro felt that it was improper for one man to be the sole judge over an entire nation and suggested that he should set up an hierarchical system instead. (Not too dissimilar to the kind of judicial system we are familiar with, might I add.)

I would like to tender that the reason this episode had to come first was so that we understand the nature of the ten commandments. These commandments were split into two categories; commandments that man was to keep between himself and God, and commandments than man keeps with others.

Looking at the verses above, we see that Moshe writes "כי יבא אלי העם - When the people will come to me", with the word יבא in the singular, but a little later the plural להם (to them) is used when it says, "כי-יהיה להם דבר - When they will have a matter". The explanation for this descrepancy sheds light on why this entire episode is placed here in the first place.

In D'rash V'Iyun, it is written that whereas people are often very particular with laws between themselves and God, they can often be less pernickety when dealing with the laws pertaining to inter-personal relationships. If someone has reason to believe that they might have mixed their meaty and milky utensils, for example, some people will be sure to go to their Rabbi and ask what to do. But when it comes to accidentally charging someone too much for something, for example, some people might permit themselves a degree of slack that would be inconceivable to them in the framework of the commandments that are related more directly to God. This was precisely the case in the verses above; the people would come to Moshe so he could settle disputes between them, but only when they had another reason for doing so. Only when the people had what they thought to be a more pressing concern - an issue pertaining to their observance of commandments in the category of Bein Adam l'Makom (Man-God commandments) - would they come before Moshe.

In setting up more courts, we may contend that Yitro encouraged the Jewish people to stop prioritising their relationships with God over their relationships between themselves. To be truly holy, it is necessary to observe both aspects equally. For this reason, I believe, this episode was related before that of the giving of the Torah; its lesson had to be absorbed first.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat B'shalach - פרשת בשלח

2011-01-14T02:18:00.001+02:00

"וַיְהִי בְּשַׁלַּח פַּרְעֹה אֶת-הָעָם, וְלֹא-נָחָם אֱלֹהִים דֶּרֶךְ אֶרֶץ פְּלִשְׁתִּים כִּי קָרוֹב הוּא: כִּי אָמַר אֱלֹהִים, פֶּן-יִנָּחֵם הָעָם בִּרְאֹתָם מִלְחָמָה וְשָׁבוּ מִצְרָיְמָה. וַיַּסֵּב אֱלֹהִים אֶת-הָעָם דֶּרֶךְ הַמִּדְבָּר יַם-סוּף; וַחֲמֻשִׁים עָלוּ בְנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם - And it came to pass when Pharaoh had let the people go, that Hashem led them not by the way of the land of the P'lishtim, because it was near; for Hashem said: 'Lest the people reconsider when they see war, and they will return to Egypt.' So Hashem turned the people about by the way of the wilderness by the Red Sea; and the children of Israel went up armed out of the land of Egypt."
(שמות יג:יז-יח)

The verses above, as is fairly clear, are part of those detailing Am Yisrael's exit from Egypt. The famed exodus, we learn here, did not take place in the most straightforward manner possible; namely that the Am Yisrael did not leave Egypt from the Northern tip of its Eastern border, head North-East through the desert along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea (through modern-day Gaza,) and finally reach the closest part of the Holy Land; South-West Israel.

Instead, Hashem guided the Israelites to their destination in a rather roundabout fashion. As it says above, "וַיַּסֵּב אֱלֹהִים אֶת-הָעָם דֶּרֶךְ הַמִּדְבָּר יַם-סוּף - So Hashem turned the people about by the way of the wilderness by the Red Sea." Instead of heading North-East, the Jews are instructed to go first East, cross a sea, and then turn North so that they may finally enter the land of Israel from the West by crossing the Eastern bank of the Jordan river. We may picture their route as roughly two sides of a triangle, with the "hypotenuse," being the shorter, more direct and seemingly more sensible route. Why did their path meander so? Why couldn't the Jews simply take the shortcut?

Rashi and the Ramban, though, give this question fairly short shrift. They point out that there was a need for Hashem to take Am Yisrael on this indirect and drawn-our route precisely because it was indirect and drawn-out. If the Jews had traveled along the Mediterranean coast, they would have passed through a place we call "Philistia" in modern English, the home of the fearsome and belicose P'lishtim. (Otherwise known as the Phillistines.) Hashem knew that the people would lose heart and turn back to Egypt were that to happen, and so He had them enter the Holy Land another way. By forcing them along a tortuously indirect route that took them far from Egypt, He made it hard for them to even consider turning back. As we see, Amalek did attack the Jews, and Hashem' plan was vindicated as nobody pleaded to turn back.

So far, so biblical. There is an axiom in Jewish thought, though, that each and every word mentioned in the Torah is mentioned because it is relevant to every generation. So what may we learn from this? If I may, I'd like to leave the commentaries here, and make my own observations. (And all faults found herein are my own.)

The question that I'd like to pose is why Israel deserved to be taken back to Eretz Yisrael? They exited Egypt on the lowest level possible and committed numerous despicable sins on the way. Had Hashem at any time decided to call it off, His decision would have been entirely justified. Indeed, after the Cheit Ha-Egel, Hashem initially informs Moshe Rabbeinu that He plans to destroy Am Yisrael. However, He signals to Moshe Rabbeinu that this decision is negotiable. Hashem tells Moshe, “וְעַתָּה הַנִּיחָה לִּי, וְיִחַר-אַפִּי בָהֶם וַאֲכַלֵּם; וְאֶעֱשֶׂה אוֹתְךָ, לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל - And now leave Me and I will destroy them and make you a great nation” (Sh'mot 32:10).

Rashi, citing Chazal, notes that although Hashem speaks seemingly unequivocally, He implies that He will not destroy Am Yisrael if Moshe does not “leave Him alone.” To use an Orwellism, why the doublespeak?

The answer could well be that Hashem wants to communicate a complex message*. On the one hand, Hashem wishes to say that this sin is one for which Bnei Yisrael really do deserve to be destroyed. On the other hand, there is room for them to recover from this ugly incident. In the end, Moshe's pleas are heard, Am Yisrael are not destroyed, they continue on the journey to Israel and ultimately end up in the Holy Land with the Beit Hamikdash.

What may we learn from this episode? Although the answer that Hashem guided the Jews to Israel via an indirect route so as to avoid being attacked is a perfectly viable and correct answer, I'd like to suggest another aspect. It was to take us through a rollercoaster ride in which we would be completely exposed. In the desert we fell apart time and again, only for Hashem to forgive us each time and not destroy us. We reached Eretz Israel not because we deserved to on our own merits, but with the help of Hashem, we were permitted to reach the promised land.

I can't remember where I heard it, but I once heard an intriguing question posed; when the redemption finally comes, will the generation that is alive at the time will be considered as more virtuous than previous generations? Will the Moshiach's arrival really be because of their merits? To make an even more pertinent point; if we are taught to expect the arrival of the redemption at any given moment, then are we to say that if the Moshiach arrives in our time, or generation will have deserved it more than all previous ones? Could we really say that all the incredibly wise Rabbis of previous generations "didn't deserve" such a merit while we did?

The answer is a resounding no. When the Moshiach does come, we learn, his arrival will be due in part to all the merits of previous generations. We must regard the coming of this moment as the result of an accumulation of the merits of the generations, not as the result of the events of only one.

While the Bnei Yisrael in the desert scarcely seemed to deserve passage into the Holy Land, merit this incredible prize they did, because their attempts at becoming close with Hashem, coupled with the merits of previous generations was enough. We may look back at the long, winding route taken with a degree of recognition - we all have our moments of doubt, but if we cast a look at Am Yisrael's travails in Egypt, we may remind ourselves of our final destination: Eretz Yisrael and the ultimate redemption. As this blog is called — Destination: Israel!

*I found this online, in a D'var Torah by Rabbi Chaim Jachter, here.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)

Parshat Bo - פרשת בא

2011-01-06T20:00:00.001+02:00

Parshat Va'era - פרשת וארא

2010-12-31T11:21:00.003+02:00

"לָכֵן אֱמר לִבְנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל: אֲנִי יְהוָה, וְהוֹצֵאתִי אֶתְכֶם מִתַּחַת סִבְלת מִצְרַיִם, וְהִצַּלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מֵעֲבדָתָם, וְגָאַלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם בִּזְרוֹעַ נְטוּיָה וּבִשְׁפָטִים גְּדלִים. וְלָקַחְתִּי אֶתְכֶם לִי לְעָם, וְהָיִיתִי לָכֶם לֵאלהִים; וִידַעְתֶּם, כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם, הַמּוֹצִיא אֶתְכֶם מִתַּחַת סִבְלוֹת מִצְרָיִם. - Therefore say to the children of Israel: I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of Egypt, and I will deliver you from their servitude, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. And I will take you to Me for a people, and I will be to you a God; and you shall know that I am the Lord your God, who takes you out from under the burdens of Egypt."
(Exodus 6: 6-7)

The first part of this week's D'var Torah is taken from the Ma'ayanei HaTorah, which cites Chidushei HaRim. It is written there that the ten plagues we read about during the course of this week's and next week's parsha readings are linked to the utterances with which the world was created (Pirkei Avot 5:1). There were ten of those, too, but the link goes a lot deeper than just that.

As the Chidushei HaRim explains, the ten utterances which caused the creation of the world acted to codify the laws of nature. As a result, it became impossible to observe the supernatural wonder of nature. In Jewish mystical thought, there is a concept of constriction - that God had to somehow contrain His eternal and omnipotent Self in a way conducive to forging the world as we know it. God effectively hid Himself through His acts of creation.

In a similar fashion, the ten plagues that are unleashed upon the unwitting Egyptians were directly related to each of these utterances. Step by step, they served to peel back the layers and reveal Hashem's presence in the world to one and all, that there is a creator and there does exist such a thing as an administrator of the universe who can change the rules of nature as He so wishes. Moreover, these ten plagues paved the path for the Jews to leave Egypt in a blaze of glory and made possible the ultimate revelation later on at Sinai. The ten plagues were not merely punishments for the Egyptians' oppression of the Jews; they also served to make a very strong statement about the nature of this world.

The relevance of the insight above is made apparent by something I read a few p'sukim later in verse 9: " וַיְדַבֵּר מֹשֶׁה כֵּן, אֶל-בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל; וְלֹא שָׁמְעוּ אֶל-מֹשֶׁה מִקֹּצֶר רוּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה. - And so Moshe spoke to the children of Israel; but they did not hearken Moshe because of shortness of wind and for hard bondage." The verse seems simple enough, but the Meshech Chochmah explains that Moshe chose his words very carefully. His people were under extreme stress and were unable to listen to him. Had he told anyone that "Everything's going to be alright - God is going to save us all in the close future", he would have likely been completely ignored. Anyone who is experiencing such severe trouble simply cannot pay attention to the future; they are instead preocuppied with the present. As such, Hashem instructed Moshe to speak in the present tense and let them know that their redemption was imminent.

Returning to the first part of this D'var Torah, we may now understand just how vital it was for Hashem to perform these miracles. It wasn't just for the Egyptians. It was for the generation of Jews who never knew their forefathers and foremothers. They had never witnessed the miracles that Avraham, Yitzchak and Ya'akov had. They barely knew what it meant to be Jewish. As such, the ten plagues allowed them to be liberated from the oppression of being limited and bound to nature. When they saw Hashem's hand behind nature, they were able to set out on the road that took them out of Egypt and home to Israel.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Sh'mot - פרשת שמות

2010-12-23T21:39:00.000+02:00

"וְלא-יָכְלָה עוד, הַצפִינו, וַתקח-לו תבַת גמֶא, וַתחְמְרָה בַחֵמָר ובַזפֶת; וַתשם בה אֶת-הַיּלֶד, וַתּשׂם בּסוף עַל-שׂפַת הַיְאר - And when she could no longer hide him, she took for him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch; and she put the child in it, and laid it in the flags by the river's brink."
(שמות ב:ג)

This week's Parsha, Sh'mot, marks the beginning of the second book of the Torah. The Jews had been plunged into crisis with the evil decree issued by Par'oh that all male babies born that day would be killed. (Intriguingly, the commentries note that Egyptian baby boys born then were murdered too, such was their desperation to see the future Jewish leader seen off.)

In the verse above, we read of how that great leader, Moshe Rabbeinu, who we learn was born 3 months prematurely, came to an age where he was impossible to hide. Because of the severe penalty for hiding a male baby from the Egyptian authorities, it was decided that he would have to be taken out of his home.

In a conversation with a friend previously, I noted that pitch is used when the Torah relates the story of Noach's ark. There, it uses the phrase, "כָפַרְתָּ אֹתָהּ מִבַּיִת וּמִחוּץ, בַּכֹּפֶר - and you shall pitch it, within and without, with pitch." Although the term is different, there is more than a passing resemblance between the two episodes, for Moshe's little ark was also smeared with a dark, sticky substance.

My friend answered me by saying that there is indeed a connection between the two episodes. He explained that Noach lived at a time during which there was the greatest destruction the world has ever known. Why was there such destruction? Not because the people were exceedingly wicked - for they were not. Rather, this generation was actually one of the most knowledgeable generations that ever existed. The problem, however, was that they used their wisdom to their own ends. For example, we learn that the people of the time knew that one who stole less than "shava pruta," (a minute amount) would not be considered cuplable. (I forget the source, but I believe that it comes from a Midrash.) They would therefore feel free to steal from one another in a manner that exploited and abused this loophole in Biblical law.

The reason that this generation was punished so heavily was that it was a generation with unusually high potential. It could have become the generation to receive the Torah from God, but because the people were so perverse in their way of thinking, they merited destruction by being drowned in the מבול, the great flood that immersed the entire world. There is a saying in Judaism that אין מים אלא תורה, there's no water other than Torah, and here we see an expression of that: whereas this generation might have been deserving of receiving (and being immeresed in) the Torah, because of the way they acted, they received, and were immeresed under the thing that we equate Torah to - water.

By way of contrast, the generations that came to Egypt were considered worthy of redemption, even though they had sunk to a very low level. But if they had sunk to such a low level, why was it that then that they deserved the miracles of the exodus and receipt of the Torah?

We may answer this question by looking at the opening words of the Parsha: "וְאֵלֶּה, שְׁמוֹת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, הַבָּאִים, מִצְרָיְמָה: אֵת יַעֲקֹב, אִישׁ וּבֵיתוֹ בָּאוּ - Now these are the names of the sons of Yisrael, who coming into Egypt with Ya'akov; every man came with his household."

The phrasing of this verse seems odd - why does it say both הַבָּאִים and בָּאוּ? One word means "coming" in the present tense, and the other means "came," which is in the past tense. What is the explanation for this anomoly. The way to understand this, posits Rav Yehoshua of Belz, is that while the Jewish nation undeniably had come, (in the past tense) to Egypt, they were only present physically. We learn that they did not integrate fully or take on Egyptian names. This generation always saw themselves as being in exile, as temporary residents of Egypt. Due to this clear perception of their impermanent status in a foreign land, they deserved their eventual redemption, the receipt of (and immersal in,) the Torah, and ultimately their return to their ancestral homeland in Israel.

If we compare the two cases, the differences are clear. While one generation acted in a way that was technically pious, they were wicked to the core. The other generation, while almost completely rotten, was careful to never sink down that bit too far. By maintaing their identity, they kept their souls intact and merited redemption. I think we can take this message to heart, too. Many times we feel as if we are slipping religiously. But if we ask ourselves who we are at our core, we know what kind of people we want to be. So long as we preseve that concept of ourselves, we are never too far away from returning to our true selves.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayechi - פרשת ויחי

2010-12-17T15:45:00.001+02:00

Parshat Vayigash - פרשת ויגש

2010-12-10T13:34:00.002+02:00

"וְלֹא-יָכֹל יוֹסֵף לְהִתְאַפֵּק לְכֹל הַנִּצָּבִים עָלָיו, וַיִּקְרָא, הוֹצִיאוּ כָל-אִישׁ מֵעָלָי; וְלֹא-עָמַד אִישׁ אִתּוֹ בְּהִתְוַדַּע יוֹסֵף אֶל-אֶחָיו. וַיִּתֵּן אֶת-קֹלוֹ בִּבְכִי; וַיִּשְׁמְעוּ מִצְרַיִם, וַיִּשְׁמַע בֵּית פַּרְעֹה - Then Yoseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him and he cried: 'Let every man go out from [before] me.' And there stood no man with him while Yoseph made himself known unto his brothers. And he wept aloud; and the Egyptians heard, and the house of Pharaoh heard."
(בראשית מה:א-ב)

In the two verses above, the story of Yosef and brothers finally reaches its climax. The story is one of the most famous in the Torah, and one I thought I was very familiar with. But maybe familiarity does indeed breed a sense of contempt; this week, for the first time, I noticed a discrepancy in the passage above.

Yoseph, we are told, is unable to bear the pressure any longer. To this end, he clears his court of all observers. So far, so good. But what does the Torah tell us next? That he raises his voice and cries so loudly that all of Egypt knows precisely what is happening. If that's the case, what's the point in instructing all those present to exit the room?

The Radak (if I recall correctly – my Chumash doesn’t have his commentary, unfortunately) presents a novel, yet straightforward, explanation of what is meant by "and the Egyptians heard." He posits that rather than Yoseph's voice - miraculously - carrying over the length and breadth of Egypt, his cry was a normal one and only overheard by a few. From here, the knowledge was passed on by word of mouth.

Not that this event wasn't dramatic enough as it was, but Rav Chasman writes in 'Ohr Yahel' that Yoseph knowingly put himself in a situation of poetentially grave danger. The last time he was alone with his brothers, they sought to kill him. There was no way he could be sure that, given the cicrumstances, one of might not attack him. He took a very real risk in isolating himself so.

With the above in mind, we may understand the depth of Rashi's commentary. Rashi is noted for typically giving the simplest explanation. However, despite his simplicty, there are often complicated concepts and motivations alluded to in his words. When Rashi writes here that Yoseph felt it important to protect his brothers from being embarassed in front of strangers, we may now understand that he wasn't merely writing a simple explanation. Instead, Rashi indicates just how sensitive Yoseph was. Even though he knew that the word would get out in any case, he did his utmost to protect them from unecessary embarrassment. For as long as was possible, Yoseph wanted to protect his brothers. He understood that sooner or later the story would become known, but while he could, he felt it imperative to guard their dignity.

At this point I'd like to mention that a friend of mine pens weekly D'var Torah, too. This week, he wrote that Yoseph was so sensitive to his brothers that there is no evidence in the Torah that Yosef ever let his father Yaakov or brother Binyamin (who wasn't present at his sale) know about this episode at all, such was his concern and sensitivity for his brothers' pride.

Wishing a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Miketz - פרשת מקץ

2010-12-03T09:31:00.001+02:00

"וַיִּזְכֹּר יוֹסֵף--אֵת הַחֲלֹמוֹת, אֲשֶׁר חָלַם לָהֶם; וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם מְרַגְּלִים אַתֶּם, לִרְאוֹת אֶת-עֶרְוַת הָאָרֶץ בָּאתֶם - And Yoseph remembered the dreams which he dreamed of them, and said unto them: 'You are spies; to see the nakedness of the land you have come.' "
(בראשית מ"ב:ט)

In this week's Parsha, we read of the famous episode in which Yosef is asked to interpret the dreams of Par'oh. This sets in action a chain of events which leads to his transformation and reversal in fortunes, going from a lowly prisoner to second-in-command over the Egyptian Kingdom.

As we know, Yoseph was sold into slavery by his brothers. Denied the chance to see his father for years, it's surprising that he waited as long as he did to reveal himself. If we stop to think, we may realise that although Yoseph decided to contact his father later on, he might have done so considerably earlier. True, Yospeh kept his identity hidden for some time as he decided to test his brothers, but surely he didn't need to wait quite as long as he did. Why did Yoseph tarry so? This is all the more puzzling given Ya'akov's continued mourning over his long-lost/long-feared-dead son. Surely such a delay was needless?

The Ramban poses precisely this question in his commentary on the verse above. His answer is puzzling; he had to wait until the dreams of his youth, the dreams in which he saw his entire family bow down to him, come true. To tell the truth, I don't really see much of a connection between the two, though. Surely Yoseph could have waited to see the dream be realised and also send his father a message to let him know that he was indeed alive? Indeed, couldn't Yoseph have done this even earlier? Why did Yoseph wait to meet his brothers? He could have easily sent a message home when he was appointed head of Poiphar's household.

Rav Ari Kahn of Aish Hatorah frames Ramban's answer in a different way. As he writes: "The answer which Nachmanides offers is that Joseph could not contact Jacob until the dreams of his youth had come true. Joseph had dreamt that his brothers would one day bow to him, and his revelation of this dream had set off the brothers' jealous rage that led to his eventual sale into slavery. Only when the dream came true could Joseph be vindicated and reveal himself." (From here.)

If I understand correctly, I think Rav Kahn expresses an important aspect of Yoseph's actions which I'd like to elaborate upon; that Yoseph realised that he had to act with the utmost sensitivity to his family. Indeed, he quotes Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch, who in turn writes that: "...Joseph's consideration in not sending a letter to his father in his years of success was: What would Jacob gain in getting one son back, if in the process he would lose ten?... Therefore, Joseph used all the subterfuge [necessary], and in my mind this was certainly worthy of the wisdom of Joseph." (Commentary on verse above.)

I would like to add to this by saying that not only was Yoseph concerned with his father, but that Yoseph was concerned with his brothers. Imagine standing in his shoes for a second. Before you are the brothers who, the last time you saw them, sought to have you killed. Wouldn't you be furious with them? Nevertheless, Yoseph conducts himself carefully. His immediate concern is for his family and to ensure that, at this most sensitive of times, he doesn't cause unnecessary pain. I think that we can all learn a tremendous amount from this.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Vayeshev - פרשת וישב

2010-11-26T12:36:00.003+02:00

ויספר אל אביו ואל אחיו ויגער-בו אביו ויאמר לו מה החלום הזה אשר חלמת הבוא נבוא אני ואמך ואחיך להשתחות לך ארצה. ויקנאו-בו אחיו ואביו שמר את-הדבר. וילכו אח֑יו לראת אׄתׄ-צׄאן אביהם בשכם.
בראשית לז:י-יג

Yoseph, having just related the second of his famous prophetic dreams to Ya’akov is met with by a certain ambivalence from his father. Whereas his siblings abhorred and utterly resisted Yoseph’s visions, his father’s reaction was to initially rebuke his son, but soon turned to being more open-minded and receptive. The verse employs the conservative “שמר,” indicating that his father quietly listened to him and regarded Yoseph’s words as a possibility in his mind, but did not act on it one way or another.

It is interesting to note that the last of the three verses quoted above is broken with an Etnachta (a symbol used for singing the Torah which indicates a pause) in an unusual place. Liberally translated, the verse then reads, “And the brothers went (Etnachta) to see their father’s flock in Shchem.” Why the break? What does the break imply? Rav Hirsch goes on to point out that Shchem was 80km away from Hevron, where the brothers were. He explains that the brothers left immediately as soon as they heard their father humour Yoseph and seriously entertain the notion that his dreams had true meaning, hence the Etnachta cuts off the words “And the brothers went” from the rest of the sentence to show that the brothers left immediately. And why Shchem? Rav Hirsch points to the Midrash Rabba, which references the two dots that appear above the word את. These two dots signify that the brothers didn’t truly go to the sheep, rather that they used the sheep as an excuse to get away and spend some time mulling things over. They actually went to themselves, in that decided to take some time for introspection. It is significant that they went to Shchem because that was the place where they first demonstrated their sense of family unity. It was at Shchem that Shimon on Levy massacred the whole male population so that their sister’s name would not be besmirched. If this was the case when they were threatened from outside the family, it makes sense that when they were threatened from within the ranks, the family should return to the place where they first experienced true solidarity.

So Yoseph’s brothers did not exactly warm to his predictions, as is clearly stated in the verse, “ויקנאו-בו אחיו – and his brothers were jealous of him.” The traditional understanding of this verse is that the brothers were appalled to hear of their younger sibling’s grandiose statements about his future role as ruler over them. Moreover, the assertion that he would dominate over his father was even more contemptible in their eyes, and they soon moved to act in an attempt to ensure that such an occurrence would never come to fruition.

The interpretation that Rav Hirsch provides however, is far more fulfilling. In the same way that Adam HaRishon came to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil as a result of his ultimately good intentions, it would be churlish to suppose that the brothers’ scheming was simply evil, or that they were acting in a selfish manner.

Rav Hirsch offers the explanation that the brothers actions (like those of Adam HaRishon) were ultimately meant for the good, and that we should not allow ourselves to think that they merely acted on impulse against a perceived threat to the regular familial hierarchy. It would be a mistake to think that they were so simple. Often people look back at history and wonder how famous people could have acted quite so foolishly. If we think that way, we are the fools; those people knew what they were doing. Just because the characters we study in our history classes lived hundreds of years ago, doesn’t mean that they were lacking in common sense! Additionally, as was the case with the twelve tribes, many were far more spiritually sensitive than we are today.

So how can we understand their behaviour? What was the cause for their mistake? Rav Hirsch proposes that only recently had Nimrod introduced the world the concept of a kingdom. Up until that time, the brothers had never been exposed to a ממלכה – a Kingship, and and to be honest, Nimrod’s Kingdom wasn’t all that great. Nimrod was an evil and corrupt ruler who imprisoned his people and subjected them to slavery. The brothers’ cousins in Seir-Edom had “been enslaved by the whip of the Alufim (chieftains) and kings.” By way of comparison, Ya’akov’s family were quietly creating a society of equality and tranquillity. But what would happen to this model if one man were to rise to the top and dominate over everyone else? The brothers had this one terrible example of Kingship, and when they heard their younger brother’s dreams, they quite understandably resolved themselves not to allow the Jewish nation to be ruled over by a monarch, assuming with relative plausibility that a rule of monarchy lead to the oppression of Am Yisrael. The brothers were determined not to let the future generations of the Jewish nation be reduced to slaves, and so we can now understand that their actions were not out of foolish pride or a bloated sense of self-importance, rather they were driven by their perception of Yoseph as a severe threat to the future of Am Yisrael.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Vayishlach - פרשת וישלח

2010-11-19T14:36:00.001+02:00

In this week's Parsha, Ya'akov is given a new name - Yisrael. Unlike other biblical charachters, though, he retains his original name, and the Torah continues to refer to him by this name as well as the new.

The difference here is that while characters such as Avraham and Yehoshua underwent transititions that meant that a new, more appropriate name was requried, Yisrael was not intended as a replacement as Ya'akov remained an apt name. How can we understand this?

If we understand Ya'akov's role as the final patriarch before the generation of the twelve tribes, we can see that he had not one, but two defining qualities. It is imperative to understand the Jewish nation's continuing mission in the context of Ya'akov two names.

The Kli Yakar explains that the two names of Ya'akov and Yisrael are analogous to two exiles and redemptions of Am Yisrael. He writes that the name Ya'akov (which etymologically derives from the word "heel") is meant as a parallel to the redemption of the exile in Egypt. He describes that redemption as not being the most notable and prominent of the redemptions of the Jewish nation, rather that its miracles should be regarded as “Tafel,” almost as a bonus. It is said in the Bereshit Rabbah that similarly the name Ya’akov should be regarded as secondary to the primary Yisrael. And if that is so, the two are really two aspects of one particular thing. Both names are necessary to understand the concept of Ya’akov/Yisrael.

Previously, I read on Chabad's website that, "Jacob and Israel are two different names, with two different meanings. While it is true that Israel represents a loftier state of being than Jacob (thus the Israel element in Jacob is "no longer Jacob"), there are certain virtues to the Jacob state that the Israel state cannot possess. So Jacob remains a name for both the third Patriarch and for the Jewish people as a whole. Israel might represent a higher stage in the Jew's development than Jacob, but the greatness of the Jewish people lies in that there are both Jacob Jews and Israel Jews, and Jacob and Israel elements within each individual Jew."

Turning to the source of Ya'akov's new name, it is interesting to note that he takes his it from Esav’s angel. This was the angel that opposed him at the river, the angel that wrestled with him in a ferocious struggle. The angel’s name was Yisrael, which as the Kli Yakar points out means “Straight to Hashem.” Now, I don’t know how you understood the struggle, but however you read it, it doesn’t seem as if the angel was assisting Ya’akov in his task of getting closer to Hashem. It doesn’t seem as if he was doing anything like getting him towards Hashem, on the contrary, he was opposing Ya’akov, blocking Ya’akov’s path! It is instructive to note that every angel is named after the very specific task he is assigned, so how can it be that this angel seems hell-bent on stopping Ya’akov?

The Kli Yakar's answer is revealing in its depth. The angel was doing exactly what was required of him. To him, it very possibly made little sense at all, but the angel, somewhat paradoxically, fulfilled his task. We all know that this world is not a simple place. Our task is not always obvious, and often takes painful turns and requires arduous journeys. Yet if we stick to our task, we will find the straightest path to Hashem.

Returning to our orginal question of the two names, I see two different answers. Rashi makes the straightforward suggestion that while the name Yaaakov indicates subservience, Yisrael signifies strength and victory. Another view is offered by the Meshech Chochma, who sees the different names as expressing the distinction between Yaakov as an individual versus Yisrael as a national identity. Thus, according to Meshech Chochma, God addresses "Yisrael" exclusively when, and only when, there are national issues at hand. For this reason, both names are retained.
Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayetze - פרשת ויצא

2010-11-12T13:20:00.003+02:00

"וַיִּפְגַּע בַּמָּקוֹם וַיָּלֶן שָׁם, כִּי-בָא הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ, וַיִּקַּח מֵאַבְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם, וַיָּשֶׂם מְרַאֲשֹׁתָיו; וַיִּשְׁכַּב, בַּמָּקוֹם הַהוּא - And he lighted upon the place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took one of the stones of the place, and put it under his head, and lay down in that place to sleep."
(בראשית כח:יא)

One of the focal events of this week's Parsha happens when Ya'akov lies down to go to sleep. He dreams a dream, in which he sees a ladder above him and also receives prophecy that the entire land of Israel would become an inheritance for Am Yisrael.

Many commentators on the Parsha choose to discuss the exact details and the precise meaning of these events, but a seemingly "minor" point is the focus of this D'var Torah. Rashi points on the verse above that the words, "וַיִּשְׁכַּב, בַּמָּקוֹם הַהוּא - And [Ya'akov] lay down in that place to sleep" are an expressed in a way that suggests a measure of limit. Rashi goes on to explain that whereas here Ya'akov lay down to sleep, for the duration of previous fourteen years, when he learned in the Yeshiva of Shem and Ever, he refrained from going to lie down to sleep.

The Yalkut Lekach Tov notes the words of Kovetz Sichot by Rav H. Shmulovitz, that after Ya'akov's fourteen years restless pursuit of Torah, he doesn't go to sleep on a plush king-size bed with soft cushions. No, he lies down on the ground. He does prop up his head, but with what - a rock?

Moreover, Ya'akov takes more rocks and sets them around his head in order to protect himself "from wild beasts." Here too, we have a problem as Rav Simcha Zissel of Kelm points out. Why would a few rocks stop an animal from getting to Ya'akov while he sleeps - surely the rocks could be knocked away with ease.

The answer to be found is a lesson taught by Ya'akov's behaviour. Ya'akov's actions are an example in how to conduct oneself; after massive sleep deprivation, Ya'akov realised that if one pushes himself to the limits, he can do tremendous things. As such, he was able to deal without sleeping properly for all this time. Indeed, Ya'akov has conquered his natural desires and instincts to the extent that after this episode, he felt no need to use anything more than a few rocks to lie on. Similarly, when he placed these stones around his head, ostensibly to protect himself from animals, he was fully aware that they didn't offer proper protection.

Over the course of this past week, I read somewhere* that Ya'akov was happy with this relatively insecure barrier. This seems puzzling. I aso read that Ya'akov went on to enjoy the best night's sleep he'd ever had that night. It seems that he was completely satisfied in his act of השתדלות (acting in a way to demonstrate one's commitment to a cause while accepting that one's own role is always beneath that of God.) Nevertheless, the assertion that he was entirely comfortable with this most minimal of safeguards remains troubling. To resolve this difficulty we have to understand that Ya'akov chose to employ this simple barrier in the knowledge that in reality, everything that one does is essentially a miracle. Man is incapable of doing anything himself - he is only permitted to by God. As such, Ya'akov knew that he had no need to place stones around his head. The reason he put them there was to reduce the miracle, as it were. His action was an attempt to limit the need for a miracle. We may tender that in this merit, Ya'akov deserved to experience the bigger miracle of waking up to see the multiple stones unite to become one.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

*I can't remember exactly where, sorry. I'll try to edit/comment on this note during the next week to rectify my shortcomings.

Parshat Toldot - פרשת תולדות

2010-11-05T13:43:00.000+02:00

Parshat Chayei Sarah - פרשת חיי שרה

2010-10-29T13:51:00.002+02:00

"ואהברהם זקן בא בימים וה' ברך את אברהם בכל - And Avraham became old of age and Hashem blessed Avraham with everything."
(בראשית כד:א)

This week's Parsha begins with Avraham Avinu setting out to bury his wife, Sarah. Rav Eliyahu Dessler writes in Michtav M'Eliyahu that out of all the challenging events in Avraham's life this episode was the most troubling. He had just passed the test of the Akeidah, whereby he intended and prepared himself to slaughter to his only son on God's word, and now he hears that his beloved wife had passed away.

Avraham set out to bury his wife in a spot in Hevron that we now call "Ma'arat Hamachpela," in a manner that was befitting of such a righteous woman. Unfortunately though, the people of Hevron, the Chitites, knew that Hashem had given Avraham the land of Israel and did their best to inflate the price. The leader, Efron, was a base man who at first told Avraham that he would give the land away for nothing but when Avraham told Efron that he wanted to pay for the burial plot, Efron raised the price well over the acceptable rate. The Yalkut Lekach Tov notes that Efron's name is composed of the root letters "עפר," - dust. Dust is common and representative of the physical; exactly Efron's nature - all he cared about was that which was physical. Efron's initial "polite" refusal to accept any money was soon revealed to be a front for his true nature. (Indeed, toward the end of this episode, the letter ו is dropped from עפרון's name so that it spells "עפרן," which we may note happens to be numerically equivalent to עין-רע; evil eye.)

In the face of this, and despite his intense pain at his wife's passing, Avraham remained calm, respectful and truly polite. He even bows twice to the Chitites. His behaviour is a real lesson for us to learn - even when in the most terribly depressing moment of his life, Avraham was staunchly pious. While it would be hard for us to emulate him, we can learn from his actions.

Later on in the Parsha, we read, "ואהברהם זקן בא בימים וה' ברך את אברהם בכל - And Avraham became old of age and Hashem blessed Avraham with everything." The word everything seems a bit vague. What is intended? The stock answer is that בכל has a gematria of 52. The word בן, son, also has a gematria of 52 and so we learn that Avraham's reward was his son, Yitzchak.

There's a problem with this explanation, though: Yitzchak was born years ago! Another way to read this word resolves our problem. בכל, "with everything," can instead be replaced with בן, but not in the sense of a son. Rather we can read it to mean "with the number 50." We learn that the number 50 has a special significance - there are 50 levels of Kedushah, spiritual levels, in which we may ascend. Avraham's blessing was not merely that he was given a son, but also that after many years of hard work, he had finally attained this fiftieth level of holiness.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Vayera - פרשת וירא

2010-10-22T13:42:00.000+02:00

Parshat Lech Lecha - פרשת לך לך

2010-10-15T04:02:00.002+02:00

וַיֹּאמֶר יְהוָה אֶל-אַבְרָם, לֶךְ-לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ, אֶל-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ
Hashem said to Avram: 'Go for yourself, from your land, from your birthplace and from your father's house to the land that I will show you.'
(בראשית יב:א)

There are two parts of this Pasuk that I would like to deal with. The part that immediately interests us is the list of places that Hashem commands Avram to leave - Avram's land, his birthplace and his father's house. After that, Avram we read of the oddly vague "place that I will show you."

There is one obvious question to be asked on the first part of this pasuk. It is posed in the Kli Yakar's commentary: when one lists where one hails from, one normally starts with the most local place and then mentions increasingly bigger areas. For example, I was born in Hendon, which is in London, which in turn is in England. Here however, the list order is reversed. One possible reason for this could be that when moving away from a certain place, a person notices things that he used to take for granted. Personally I have noticed many cases of American and English expatriates assuming an exaggerated persona. I believe that the reason for this is as much to do with being homesick and attempting to compensate for the inability to actually be immersed in the old country's culture as it is to play the culture card on local people. By this I mean that I will often exaggerate my Londoner accent for Israeli and American friends as it is both a talking point, and also reminds people where I come from and what kind of behaviour and customs to expect from me. It also serves to confirm to myself that I am different from Israelis and that although I have moved abroad, I am not a native. To misquote Sting, "I'm an Englishman in Jerusalem!"

Coming back to the point, the word ארץ in Hebrew means land, but it also has another connotation. The word may be read as "א-רץ," meaning "I will run." The concept of the ground in Hebrew is the place you are heading to to, what your goal is. By way of comparison, Egypt is called מצרים, which derives from the word צר, meaning thin. Eretz Yisrael, a very thin strip of land geographically, is called "Eretz tova U'rechava - A good and wide land." How can that be? The answer is simple enough; that Egypt was a spiritually stifling place for the Jews to live in, whereas in Eretz Yisrael, our potential is significantly "wider" and expanded.

It is only natural that a man once removed from his natural surroundings will pine for them and attempt to re-enact them in his mind. For this reason, Hashem first told Avram to leave behind the land he came from. He wasn't telling him to literally leave the land first, that would be impossible! What was meant was for Avram to leave that mentality behind, to abandon it completely. Only after he had left behind this mentality could he truly leave his home and his father's house without feeling the need to come back.

But where shall he go to? We have grasped the fact that Avram had to leave behind all that he used to know, but where was he to head to? The Pasuk simply says the place "אשר אראך - that I will show you." How can Avram go somewhere without knowing where it is that he is to be heading?

To answer this, we may look at the beginning of the Pasuk. The first two words Hashem said, "לך לך," may be translated as "Go for yourself," but it can also be rendered "Go to yourself." Or, alternatively, "Go (to) 50." 50 is known as one of the many numbers of Kedusha. The concept here is not that Avram was being instructed to merely head for a different place on the map, rather that he wass being commanded by Hashem to go to his limit, to reach the highest spiritual level he possibly could.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Noach - פרשת נח

2010-10-08T10:26:00.003+02:00

"אֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת נֹחַ. נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו: אֶת-הָאֱלֹהִים, הִתְהַלֶּךְ-נֹחַ - These are the generations of Noach. Noach was in his generations a man righteous and whole-hearted; Noach walked with God."
(בראשית ו:ט)

In Zichron Meir, Rabbi Meir Robman writes that there is a problem with the way we perceive Noach. From the verse above, it would seem quite clear that Noach was a particularly holy man, but a number of the commentators on the Torah talk about Noach in a denigratory manner. Commenting on Masechet Sandhedrin in his notes on the Talmud, Rashi points out that "There are a number of our Rabbis who praise Noach... and there are those who denigrate him; "According to his generation he was deemed righteous, but had he lived during the time of Avraham, he wouldn't have been counted as anything."

This perception of Noach's relative merit is not normally challenged, but upon consider things, we may realise that this is a rather odd state of affairs. And it's even more puzzling given the Radak's view of Noach. The Radak explains that "Noach walked with Hashem, he was attached to Him, and all his deeds were in His name," before going on to highlight his great strength in "defeating his natural inclination, for he lived in a generation of wicked and evil people but didn't learn from their ways."

So we have two ways of regarding Noach - we can say that he was only deemed a righteous man because he lived amongst a very low, base people and only by comparison could he be deemed a good man. Or we can say that he was genuinely righteous because he managed to ignore them and stay on the "straight and narrow." These two persepectives are the polar opposite of one another. Either way, we need to resolve this issue - either Noach was righteous or he was not!

The answer to this problem is that the two opinions do not truly clash - both schools of thought agree that Noach was righteous man; what they argue about is the meaning of the word "בְּדֹרֹתָיו - his generations."

When saying that Noach didn't compare to the men of Avraham's generation, Reish Lakish's opinion in the gemara might seem derogotary of Noach, but he actually wasn't criticising Noach. His point was that it although it wasn't his fault, Noach lived amongst wicked people, and because Noach lived at that particular time, he was limited spiritually. Had he lived at another time though, Noach may well have been able to attain a significantly higher spiritual level. Either way, I think this insight is genuinely relevant to all of us - we can't choose the time we were born into; we all live in the present. Maybe we would have done better if we had been around in the times of the Bet Hamikdash of old, maybe we feel that we would have done better if we'd have been born in the future. Maybe we feel that we are surrounded by people who are low, base and evil. All this is out of our control. As it says in Pirkei Avot: במקום שאין" אנשים השתדל להיות איש - In a place where there are no men, try to be a man." We can't help the fact that the world is such a cruel, relentless place. It's too hard to change the entire world when the situation is as bad as it is. But if we all start by changing ourselves for the good, the world will be changed for the better. After all, at a time when the world warranted destruction, in Noach's merit alone did the human race continue.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Noach - פרשת נח

2010-10-08T10:26:00.000+02:00

"אֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת נֹחַ. נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו: אֶת-הָאֱלֹהִים, הִתְהַלֶּךְ-נֹחַ - These are the generations of Noach. Noach was in his generations a man righteous and whole-hearted; Noach walked with God."
(בראשית ו:ט)

In Zichron Meir, Rabbi Meir Robman writes that there is a problem with the way we perceive Noach. From the verse above, it would seem quite clear that Noach was a particularly holy man, but a number of the commentators on the Torah talk about Noach in a denigratory manner. Commenting on Masechet Sandhedrin in his notes on the Talmud, Rashi points out that "There are a number of our Rabbis who praise Noach... and there are those who denigrate him; "According to his generation he was deemed righteous, but had he lived during the time of Avraham, he wouldn't have been counted as anything."

This perception of Noach's relative merit is not normally challenged, but upon consider things, we may realise that this is a rather odd state of affairs. And it's even more puzzling given the Radak's view of Noach. The Radak explains that "Noach walked with Hashem, he was attached to Him, and all his deeds were in His name," before going on to highlight his great strength in "defeating his natural inclination, for he lived in a generation of wicked and evil people but didn't learn from their ways."

So we have two ways of regarding Noach - we can say that he was only deemed a righteous man because he lived amongst a very low, base people and only by comparison could he be deemed a good man. Or we can say that he was genuinely righteous because he managed to ignore them and stay on the "straight and narrow." These two persepectives are the polar opposite of one another. Either way, we need to resolve this issue - either Noach was righteous or he was not!

The answer to this problem is that the two opinions do not truly clash - both schools of thought agree that Noach was righteous man; what they argue about is the meaning of the word "בְּדֹרֹתָיו - his generations."

When saying that Noach didn't compare to the men of Avraham's generation, Reish Lakish's opinion in the gemara might seem derogotary of Noach, but he actually wasn't criticising Noach. His point was that it although it wasn't his fault, Noach lived amongst wicked people, and because Noach lived at that particular time, he was limited spiritually. Had he lived at another time though, Noach may well have been able to attain a significantly higher spiritual level. Either way, I think this insight is genuinely relevant to all of us - we can't choose the time we were born into; we all live in the present. Maybe we would have done better if we had been around in the times of the Bet Hamikdash of old, maybe we feel that we would have done better if we'd have been born in the future. Maybe we feel that we are surrounded by people who are low, base and evil. All this is out of our control. As it says in Pirkei Avot: במקום שאין" אנשים השתדל להיות איש - In a place where there are no men, try to be a man." We can't help the fact that the world is such a cruel, relentless place. It's too hard to change the entire world when the situation is as bad as it is. But if we all start by changing ourselves for the good, the world will be changed for the better. After all, at a time when the world warranted destruction, in Noach's merit alone did the human race continue.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat B'reishit - פרשת בראשית

2010-10-01T13:52:00.003+02:00

Shmini Atzeret, Simchat Torah - שמיני עצרת ושמחת תורה

2010-09-29T13:06:00.004+02:00

A number of the Jewish festivals are referred to by more than one name. For example, Sukkot is also known by the moniker Chag Ha'Asif, Shmini Atzeret is also referred to as Simchat Torah and Pesach is sometimes called Chag Hamatzot. Similarly, Rosh Hashana is called Yom T'ruah, Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaDin, while Shavuot is known variously as Chag HaBikkurim, Chag HaKatzir and Zman Matan Torateinu.

Each of these names have a different meaning and represent a different aspect of each festival. In a speech I heard last year, Rav Yonah Metzger, the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, suggested that some of these names are linked. While he didn't go through all the names of all the chagim, he took a few examples.

The two names Pesach and Chag Hamatzot, Rav Metzger suggested, are a pair. Pesach refers to Hashem's passing over the houses of the Jews; it is Bnei Yisrael's way of being grateful for Hashem's kindness in overlooking them while killing Egyptians worthy of death. On the other hand, Chag Hamatzot is Hashem's name for the festival and it refers to how God found our actions favourable. (We displayed a desire to leave Egypt swiftly when the time came, to the point whereby we let bread bake on our backs.)

In the same way, two of Sukkot's names can be seen as a pair; Chag Ha'Asif, Festival of the Collecting (of the harvest,) is the one of the names that the Jewish people uses for it - we thank God that we He has given us sustenance. But Hashem has refers to it from a different perspective; His name for the festival is Sukkot, for He recognises the Jewish people's devotion to sitting outside in the Sukkah, often through what can sometimes prove to be rather unpleasant conditions.

And so too we have the names of Chag Shmini Ha'atzeret and Simchat Torah. Shmini means eight, and Atzeret means stopping. Rav Metzger explained that this name can be understood as belonging to Hashem. After seeing the Jews observing Sukkot for seven days, he says to us "today is the eight day - you may stop dwelling in your Sukkot now and dwell inside with me." So that's Hashem's perspective, as it were.

But there's a second name, too: Simchat Torah. This moniker represents a rather different aspect; it represents the side of Bnei Yisrael and shows the Jewish nation's love for Hashem. When we celebrate Simchat Torah, we are thanking Hashem for the greatest gift given - that of the Torah. While we refer to our festivals by their various names without thought, interchangeably even, it is interesting to note how these names dovetail and reciprocate each other's sentiments, despite the differences between them.

From Jerusalem, wishing you all a Chag Sameach!

Shabbat Sukkot - שבת סוכות

2010-09-24T12:46:00.002+02:00

Although Shabbat Sukkot doesn't seem to have much that separates it from the rest of Sukkot, there is one thing at least upon which we may comment - Megillat Kohelet, one of the five special scrolls we read over the course of the year.

Megillat Kohelet is always read during the festival of Sukkot, but it doesn't quite seem to fit - it's tone is decidedly downbeat and certainly appears to clash with the sentiment echoed in a a song commonly sung, "ושמחת בחגך - V'samachta b'chagecha - and you shall rejoice in your festivals" (Sourced from פרשת ראה: טז:יד).

Two Psukim later in פסוק טז, we read, "שלוש פעמים בשנה... בחג המצות ובחג השבועות ובחג הסוכות - Three times a year... On Chag Hamatzot, Vhag Hashavuot, and Chag HaSukkot..." We are clearly supposed to be happy on our Chagim, we must rejoice on Sukkot. So if we are meant to be happy, how can we read Kohelet, which talks about the "futility" of life?

If we examine the text of the Mussaf Shmonah Esrei we say every day of Chag, we say "ומפני חטאנו גלינו מארצנו, ונתרחקנו מעל אדמתנו - But because of our sins we have been exiled from our land and sent far from our soil." This is certainly no happy statement, and if we pray the we are meant to, these words must surely evoke a certain emotion within us, an emotion rather dissonant with the theme of rejoicing. Again, it seems to clash. How do we resolve such a discrepancy?

Rav Kook answers the question as follows. There are two types of negative feelings in life, one is sadness and one is pain. Pain is a neccessary part of life, as it allows us to realise that something is wrong and to build on it. Sadness on the other hand, is restricting and inhibits us. When we are sad, we can become depressed and caught up in the act of "being sad." Humans tend to wallow in sadness. Sometimes people feel really bad about something, and then compound their feelings by playing a depressing song. That is an example of sadness; it's destructive and a waste of one's time and energy.

Rav Kook argues that we are instructed to be full of happines during our Chagim. We must not allow ourseleves to experience sadness, or any type of negative feeling upon which we cannot build. Pain on the other hand, pain that we wrecked our Bet Hamikdash and consequently been cast into a 2,000 year long exile, is useful. That kind of pain allows us to temper our joy to a degree, and lets us realise that we are still homeless. So too, by reading Kohelet, we understand how all in life is transient. Even the greatest joy passes. Just like the Sukkah booths in which we live during the course of the festival, everything is temporary.

Wallowing in melancholy is not a Jewish quality, it will get us nowhere. Being in touch with that twinge of pain however, is essential for us to build ourselves up.

Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach!

Partially based on a D'var Torah I heard from a dorm-mate of mine (Etan) during my Yeshivat Hakotel days, and added to with thoughts of my own and others found from other sources.

Sukkot - סוכות

2010-09-22T13:33:00.001+02:00

In my last D'var Torah, I spoke about Yom Kippur and its connection with Rosh Hashanah. Similarly, it is by no coincidence that the festivals of Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah (which takes place over one day in Israel but is split over two days in the Diaspora,) fall right next to one another. Upon consideration, it seems a tad strange to be commanded to live in a Sukkah for seven days, and then without a break, without even a day in which to dismantle the Sukkah, we jump right into another festival.

The word Atzeret comes from the Hebrew root עצר, which means stopping. On this day, Jews around the world celebrate finishing the yearly cycle of reading the Torah. But there's a concept in Judaism that seems to directly contradict this term. The concept is that we never stop going; that there's always more work to be done in this world. I'd like to point out that although this idea seems simple, it's very much the opposite of the prevalent custom today. Most people nowadays live a lifestyle that demands hard work so that ultimately, one may take time off. The Jewish concept though, is that up until one's dying day, one remains obligated to perform Mitzot - there's no such thing as time off. There's no such concept as retirement in Judaism - one is obliged to do their best till their dying day.

With this in mind, how can there be a Jewish festival that celebrates the completion of the Torah? The standard answer is cute; that we don't just stop - we start again and read from Parshat B'reishit on the same day. We refuse to wait the normal week to progress to the next Parsha, and instead signal our intent to keep going. This answer certainly proves that though this Torah reading has ended, we don't really stop, but I would like to propose an alternative answer.

A point repeatedly made by various Rabbis over the years is that the number seven in Judaism signifies that which lies in the natural. There are seven notes in the musical scale, seven continents and there are seven days in the week - something that remains remarkably indisputed, despite the fact that there are various calendar systems in use around the world, all agree that there is such a thing as a week and that it has seven days. We also say that there Hashem made seven heavens (hence the expression,) Tefillin are wrapped around the arm seven times and the Menorah in the Bet Hamikdash had seven branches. Additionally, it is said that the world was created with the number seven. The first verse in the Torah deals with the creation of the universe, and contains seven words and twenty-eight letters; a number which happens to divisible by seven!

As such, it is no surprise to say that the seven days of sukkot correspond to the natural world. For seven days we sit outside, exposed to the elements. Therefore, the second Gerer Rebbe writes in his seminal work, the Sfat Emet, that during this time we need the extra defence of the Sukkah. But beyond seven, the number of the physical, of the natural, is the number eight - which is said to represent the spiritual. He explains that the festival of Sukkot is one that "gives life to the whole world." This is alluded to by the fact that we observe Sukkot for an entire week. Similarly, in the times when the Bet Hamikdash stood, 70 bulls were sacrificed - for each of the 70 distinct nations* in the world. Through these sacrifices, the whole world was given nourishment.

On the day after Sukkot we go one level above the physical world and enter into the spiritual domain, so to speak. We call this day Shmini Atzeret, which means the eighth day. After observing Sukkot and giving physical life to the world, we don't waste any time and focus on imbuing the world with the spiritual energy it needs. The question posed at the beginning of this D'var Torah, why Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret are placed next to one another, may now be answered. On Shmini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkot outside because we don't need the protection it affords. That protection is only needed by someone living a physical, natural lifestyle. We learn that Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret have to be placed next to one another to show that when one lives life fully and spiritually, one moves beyond the need for such external protection.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant Sukkah experience :)

*There is a Torah concept that there are 70 nations in the world. Although there are over 190 countries in existence today, many of these share roots and originate from one people. As such, it's not so absurd to refer the world in terms of "70 nations".